Work Text:
Really, it was quite common for young men to flock towards the capital, what with all its opportunity, the great temple on its promontory, a chance to join the Royal Guard, or perhaps, for the more magically-minded ones, a chance to become the Lin Jie’s apprentice.
They called it a landmark achievement, after so many years of fearing Summoners and Warlocks and other such spellcasters, but now that Tiny Herb had their very own Witch serving the country, they prospered. They grew.
Wang Jiexi joins the masses seeking opportunity in the capital. When he passes the storefronts, the flags with their protective enchantments singe and blacken, the tips crumbling to ash. The dogs growl if he gets too close, and he wears a protective amulet over his eyepatch, though the pattern churns and glows as if barely holding on.
It scares them, they who for a good twenty years have been protected by the Clerics of the Temple and the king’s Paladins, and most of all, Lin Jie in his plant-choked tower. For years, the people of the capital have never seen no more than an imp’s shadow, and much less a young man versed in the magic arts, with something demonic under his eyepatch.
Not that the king’s spellcasters really had anything to fear. Evil can be contained in the person, and if not, it can be removed, and then it would be far easier to destroy. And even if Jiexi didn’t have that demonic eye that could make him the Goliath, the Balor of their army, he was still a magician. Despite his young age, he had potential, more than most.
Lin Jie took him in, despite the demon eye and how it made the leaves of his plants yellow. The boy was powerful, he’d say more powerful than himself, and eventually Jiexi would learn to control the evil in his left eye. Besides, they had the Clerics half a mile away if something serious happens.
So they lived in the plant-choked tower, studying witchcraft, visiting healers, and the people of the capital learned to be a little less scared of Wang Jiexi.
“Okay,” Though the patterns on the eyepatch churn, and it strains as if barely holding together, Fang Shiqian doesn’t seem to be disturbed by that at all. He prods it with a studying glare. “Why the sweet fuck would you allow something like this into your body? Are you stupid?” He sighs, pasting another talisman onto Wang Jiexi’s brow.
Shiqian was an anomaly among the court’s priests. As a child, he was raised to be a Cleric of the Temple, but eventually he would leave to swear an oath to the holy Paladin’s Order. He had all the magical healing capabilities of a Cleric, and all the strength to fight demons like a warrior. For most people, that would be spreading themselves far too thin, but Fang Shiqian seemed fine. It was probably for that reason that he was Lin Jie’s favorite priest, the one that always came over when he needed assistance of the more god-invocating sort.
“I mean,” Jiexi’s eyebrow twitches at the feeling of the paper stuck on his face. “I didn’t ask for it. I was helping the witch in my village boil down a water—”
“And you looked into the pot.”
His mind brings up the memory of glowing fumes, and how they stung, and burned his eyes, and when he rushed out to check his reflection in the river, the grass shriveled and blackened, and he saw that his left eye turned a glowing reddish-orange. “... Yeah.”
It went a little something like this, he explained. According to his parents, they found him in a fairy circle in the middle of summer— “It’s important later,” He adds, noting Fang Shiqian’s glare— they found him exposed in a fairy ring, during a thunderstorm that had no rain but blinded the sky with light, and he was sleeping there peacefully on a bed of moss. So they got the idea that from birth he lived under the protective gaze of gods, if he survived what must’ve been days without food and water, at the edge of the woods where wolves and weasels roamed.
At six years old he would run through the meadows, to the fairy rings, and despite the fear that he’d be taken away, it turned out it was him that wouldn’t stop catching sprites and pixies. At eight he made dead trees bear leaves, and plants seemed to bloom under his care, and so his parents sent him to help out the local witch, where she worked in her cottage on the edge of the great sprawling forest.
He did simple things, gathering herbs and gutting salamanders, watching the witch make moon-water and tinctures and salves. She taught him how to cast blessings of prosperity and how to enchant bells to scare away malicious spirits, and there was the one time he netted a water-ghoul from the creek, and she told him to boil it down into its essence and bottle it up for later spells.
So he did that, and the water-ghoul, boiling in water with a couple herbs and dried animal parts and whatnot, started releasing glowing fumes, and the cauldron bubbled rather ominously, so he looked into the pot. As it bubbled, it spat out a drop of something steaming like poison, catching Jiexi in the left eye.
He rushed out to douse his face in a bucket of cold well water, and he blinked, once, twice, until he could see clearly through his left eye again and he sees the trees he looks at burn and blight, and the crows hopping on the ground fall over, dead. The Witch gives him an eyepatch and wraps defensive amulets about it, telling him to seek the Clerics in the capital and the Witch of the Court.
“Won’t you just take it out? You’re dangerous with that demon eye, Wang Jiexi, and if a war ever comes they’ll drag you over to kill the enemies at the frontline.” Fang Shiqian sighs, and even though he’s only a little bit older than Jiexi, he all of the sudden looks ages more tired. “Actually— don’t answer that question. I’ll get someone from the temple to make you a better patch than this piece of shit you’re using.”
“Thank you.”
Fang Shiqian scoffs at the thanks, but he can’t help feeling a bit of satisfaction as he descends the tower, brushing the thick vines aside.
The thing was, that demon eye was dangerous, and it weighed on Jiexi as much as it did his mentor and Fang Shiqian. It burned in its socket, and the pure green magic he used to summon was now tinged with strands of dead black, like some kind of mold. If it made Lin Jie worry, he never said anything about it. He’s already heard the king talking about using Jiexi in the next war, and even if he had nothing to help slow the darkness that seemed to eat away at Jiexi’s magic, the priests had more drastic measures if necessary.
Children in the capital are still told to keep their distance from the Witch’s apprentice, on account of that demonic eye sealed under layers and layers of holy spells. They will admit he is strong, receptive to others’ pain, but it’s as if they’re all holding their breath and waiting for the day that eye would break out of his skull and make everything shrivel and blacken.
There’s still a handful of people that don’t fear Demon-Eyed Jiexi, as they like to call him now, and out of them only Fang Shiqian dares to fight him on a daily basis. He finds it amusing, how one of the most talented priests could be driven to anger so easily, and how despite his professed distaste for how someday, Wang Jiexi will replace Lin Jie as the King’s Spellcaster, he still considered Jiexi some sort of friend.
Rival, maybe. Grudging ally. More grudging than ally once Lin Jie has taught his apprentice all that he knew, and promptly disappeared. Rumors say he went south, to Excellent Era on the coast, where it was reported their Qi Master had also left.
“Maybe they eloped,” Wang Jiexi heard one of the maids giggle as he was walking through a quiet palace hallway.
Fang Shiqian wouldn’t speak to him for weeks after that, like it was somehow his fault his mentor disappeared. He gave him time to fume, understanding full well that to Shiqian, the older Witch was something like a surrogate father.
Wang Jiexi was sorting through Lin Jie’s old things, cleaning up the tower for once, storing what his mentor left behind and what he himself wouldn’t use, and then Fang Shiqian barged in unannounced, apparently done with his weeks of being upset.
“I thought you were still mad at me.” He murmurs, not looking up from the pile of handwritten notes he’s looking through.
Fang Shiqian frowns, closing the door behind him. “I still am.” He doesn’t sound very angry anymore, just worn out. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t make sure you’re not accidentally setting the blight onto someone or something.”
It makes Wang Jiexi smile a bit. “So what do you want?”
“...” He takes a talisman out of his pocket and pastes it onto Jiexi’s head, as if to make up for the fact that he doesn’t really have a reason to come. “... There’s his staff.” He mutters, pointing to a corner of the tower, where it leans against the wall. “Weird that he’d leave it behind.”
“Do you want it?”
“What would I even do with it? You take it.” Shiqian steps over the piles of paper and candleholders and whatevers towards the corner, where he picks the staff up and tosses it to Jiexi. “He’d probably want you to use it.”
Wang Jiexi catches it in one fluid motion, which for some reason kind of annoys him. He was kind of hoping he’d fumble, or grieve, or something to show that he isn’t so ready to be Tiny Herb’s Magician as he pretends he is, because Fang Shiqian knows there’s something weighing on him that isn’t just the demon eye.
“Can you tell the servants to get another bookshelf in here? I need somewhere to put all his notebooks.”
“Do I look like your maid?!”
“No, but if you’re here you probably want to help.”
He can’t argue against that, so he heads down to the base of the tower, flagging down one of the guards to tell the quartermaster to tell the carpenter to make the Magician a bookshelf.
After Lin Jie left, the Witch’s Tower wasn’t as verdant as it used to be. Jiexi must’ve gotten someone to trim the ivy, and he probably gave away the plants that couldn’t be used for herbs. One time he confided in Fang Shiqian that it was a struggle to keep them alive, that perhaps the demon eye took away his skill with nature.
Despite that, he beats on, bestowing what blessings he could on the land, and with each passing day his bright green magic glows a bit darker.
Eventually the day came when the king decided now was the time for conquest, with Jiexi of the Demon Eye under his power and ranks of Paladins to serve the war alongside their common footsoldiers. Their first target— Wind Howl, a smaller kingdom towards the south.
It occurs to him that he’s never seen Fang Shiqian using a battleaxe until now. With conquest on the horizon, and himself part of the Paladin’s order, he’s bound to fight. It’s a little strange, a bit shocking considering how Shiqian still lives in his room in the Cleric’s Temple that he probably grew up in, how Wang Jiexi has always remembered him casting healing spells on the sick and weaving prayers into his eyepatches.
He’s always known Fang Shiqian at peace, and now he’ll see him at war, casting holy fire instead of heals, burning and not soothing. It fit his temper, he thought, he'd make his name known as the country’s greatest priest, but he refused to admit the chance that Fang Shiqian could die.
As for himself, it’s simple enough. He uses Lin Jie’s staff with ease, though it irks him how something that used to belong to so kind a man could be used as a tool of death. They want him on the frontlines, clearing the path for the army with his demon eye, blackening the whole country with blight.
He never feared the chance that something could happen to himself; he feared more what might happen to Fang Shiqian, if he’s the type of person that gets too cocky at times, and he fears more what might happen to the people of Wind Howl the coming winter, if too many of their fields are blighted.
Yet he carries on with orders, and travels with the army like some kind of Hannibal’s elephant. Fang Shiqian remains by his side, being the priest that knows him best.
“Don’t pull on your eyepatch like that, or at this rate, I’ll have to make you a new one every day! You know how hard these things are to enchant?”
Wang Jiexi shooes away the offending hand. “Won’t you be used to making these now?”
“ Well I don’t want to make one every day! ”
He smiles, slightly amused by Shiqian’s outburst, though he makes a mental note to be a bit more gentle when taking off the eyepatch next time. “The land is so bleak here.”
“Because you fucked it up.”
“Yes, I did.”
“... I’m just hoping we can get out of here soon. Soldiers are so annoying to tend to.”
It hurts Shiqian to see so many people wounded, and perhaps even more if they consider the people he’s cut down with his battleaxe. Most of the enemy troops were drafted, that much Jiexi can see, pulled from their lives as farmers and smiths and scribes to defend themselves against Tiny Herb. “If you’re really tired of this, I’m sure the lieutenant can give you leave.”
“Can’t do that.” Shiqian uncaps his waterskin, taking a long drink of water. He’s worked his throat dry yelling at so many people, particularly Demon-Eyed Jiexi. “Who’s gonna take care of you if I’m gone?”
“Another Paladin?”
“They don’t know jack shit .”
In retrospect, he shouldn’t have feared Fang Shiqian becoming complacent, because in the end it was he himself that suffered hubris, and lost an eye.
Wind Howl gained an ally in Blue Rain, far in the south, and alongside their footsoldiers, they had someone with a great number of hounds. Even that wasn’t enough to hold off the conquerors, but a single slinger was.
He doesn’t quite remember which battle it was, or in what area of Wind Howl, but he remembers a young man with a mirrorlike shield hiding among the soldiers. His magic had turned dark green, and the blight more ferocious every time his left eye looked upon the land. It would’ve concerned him at any other time, but as of now— they’re in a war, what else matters?
He remembers reaching for his eyepatch, and the moment he removed it a lead shot flew towards his face. Then, that constant burning in his left eye socket he’s lived with since coming to study under Lin Jie — the burning is gone, and in its place is pain. He stumbles backwards, and behind him he can hear screaming, and the burning smell that comes with the blight.
Fang Shiqian destroys the fallen eye with a holy incantation, and slings Jiexi’s arm over his shoulder. Through his one good eye, Jiexi sees that he looks worse for the wear, and he tells him so.
Shiqian looks as if he’d drop kick Jiexi if he wasn’t wounded. “Shut up! You’re literally half-blind right now!”
They don’t let him join the battlefield again until after his eye socket heals, and Tiny Herb’s army retreats soon after that, back north.
Wang Jiexi wears a glass eye now, instead of an eyepatch. His magic is bright green again, clear of darkness, and the plants in the Witch’s Tower bloom like crazy. Fang Shiqian still visits on pretense of making sure he’s okay, though he knows Jiexi is better than ever before.
After that one fiasco trying to invade Wind Howl, the king decides to go with less… Ambitious conquests. The Magician stays out with it, and so does the country’s greatest priest. Wang Jiexi decided he liked Shiqian at peace much better, where he didn’t have to agonize over the people he’s killed or the suffering the Paladins have brought.
“Don’t you think there’s too many plants? Shouldn’t you get someone to trim the ivy?”
“No,” Jiexi calls out, from behind a thick growth of honeysuckle. “This is fine.”
“I visited one of the orphanages the other day.”
“Oh?”
Fang Shiqian nods. “There’s a kid there, they say he’s quite talented.”
“Why would I need an apprentice now?”
“To rest better. Have some time for yourself, go outside, maybe— I keep on asking you to visit the botanical gardens they just installed, because I know you’ll like them, but—”
“I went there yesterday.”
“ What? And you didn’t ask me?!”
“When were you so interested in plants?”
Fang Shiqian ducks under the honeysuckle, looking Jiexi straight in the eye. “Did you ever consider that I want to spend time with you?”
“Yes? Why else would I leave the tower door unlocked?” It’s not like he ever had to ask Fang Shiqian to visit, the man always comes over on his own.
The priest sighs, shaking his head. “Whatever. The kid’s name is Gao Yingjie. If you don’t want him, I’m adopting him and his friend—”
“I’ll take them both. It might be nice to have someone help around, who actually knows what to do.”
“Like I don't?”
“I get distracted with you around.” He nudges Shiqian, silently asking him to move.
Fang Shiqian would say that his Magician was far better after the war, without a demon’s eye weighing on his soul, and though he no longer needed any holy incantations from Tiny Herb’s Paladin-Cleric, the priest seemed to visit far more often, tending to the thick plant growth that wrapped around the Witch’s Tower as Wang Jiexi teaches his new apprentice how to charge moon-water.