Archive of Our Own

Whatever entity had led to this moment—with Isagi watching his hands wither down and become like thin paper, hunched over with his bones creaking louder than this broken floorboards—Isagi cursed it.

It began the morning of the parade. Isagi considered himself moderately present in societal affairs—he was there when he needed to be and that was generally, and acceptably, enough. Not enough for Kunigami, however, who treated Isagi’s resistance to attend countless parties as being a shut in.

“It’s fine, Rensuke. I wanted to work on this for a bit longer and I’ll get to finish it in time. Don’t bother me.”

The view from his desk was small—partially due to it being a rectangular window maybe about a foot’s height, and more so because the steam from passing trains and the constant patter of streetlife made the view hardly enjoyable at all. Sometimes, if Isagi squinted long enough, he would see the outline of the hills beyond the city, where planes in colorful, vivid hues would swoop down and duck between the clouds. Other times, the smoke would stick to the window panes and Isagi would have a generally gray and dark morning. With the entire expanse of the room being only wide enough to fit the company of three people at best, Isagi usually put thoughts of having anything but a gloomy atmosphere aside.

His workspace was small and comfy and cold, and he liked that plainness all the same.

Kunigami humphed and put his hands on his hips. Isagi saw a visible crease form between his eyebrows, like the swoop of a valley. He muffled a small laugh under his palm, and turned around to get back to working on his prized piece.

The piece in question was a hat—because Isagi was a hat-maker. A hat-maker who made hats. A hat-maker who made hats in the comfort of his small room shielded by one window that never let in any sun. A hat maker when he could be outside in the streets cheering as the soldiers paraded by. Isagi was a plain and not very well known maker of hats.

The hat was quite pretty, though. It was wide and extravagant, and if you looked closely enough, you would be able to see the thin lines of straw building the fabric. The top part of the hat was wrapped with a pale blue ribbon and woven with a pressed bluebottle, and the rim of the ribbon was embroidered with little blue and white flowers. Under the brim of the hat, a small red tag read, Yoichi Hat Supply. Work of Isagi Yoichi.

“I’ll wait for your answer then.” Kunigami said, finally breaking the silence. “Which you know, I’ll need pretty soon. Because I have to pick your clothes out. It would totally help if you maybe, you know, stood up.”

Isagi kept his mouth shut, but his lips quivered as he fought back a smile. Sometimes, even with Rensuke being almost three years older than he was, Isagi felt like the eldest.

Which, admittedly, was not a great thing because he was supposed to be a vivacious younger sibling like the sing-songing cashier, Kuon, liked to say it.

Isagi kind of disliked Kuon, but Kunigami said he wasn’t bad news in the way that a snake isn’t bad news until you bother it.

Kunigami gave him a tired smile. “I’ve closed up shop, anyway. You should really come with, Isagi.”

Isagi shook his head. “I’ll stay, Ren. Go have fun.”

(When Kunigami left, Isagi heard shouts of wonder and glee as the women picking at the hats on the aisle pressed their faces against the wider glass windows of the store.

“Look! It’s Howl’s castle—it’s moving, it’s moving!”

“Where? Ren-chan, come look at this!” “It really does exist!”

From the smoke of the train clouding the window panes, Isagi couldn’t see much at all. Breathing a sigh of frustration that was bearably fleeting, he set back to sewing the rim of the hat and did not look up again.)

Running out of supplies for the hats was inevitable, and when Isagi looked up, he realized absently that the store was empty, and that Kunigami wouldn’t be able to tag along to get more.

The window had cleared as the trains had halted for the parade—Howl’s castle was gone from the horizon—and Isagi swung his legs out from under the table, dropped to the floor, and brushed himself off. He picked up his battered cap, and set off for the supply store.

At the division between the courtyard and the entrance, Isagi spotted the country’s flag being flown from jets in the sky, and ducked his head lower so as to be left ignored.

In the mirror on his way to the door, Isagi realized he hadn’t thought to make himself presentable. It was the day of the parades, after all. He grinned into the mirror, and while he felt quite silly maybe a second later, it was nice to feel slightly pleasant for once. 

Not much changed, however. If anything, he looked a lot more boring than he had before, and his skin was considerably redder.

A waste of time, then.

He tugged his cap lower over his eyes and walked much faster out the door after that.

Taking the cable cars was easy, because he only had to hitch a ride by gripping the handlebars and letting the wind rush through his hair. If he were a bit more bold, he might’ve stuck out his leg and let himself hang out by one arm, but then he would be putting himself out there and Isagi frankly never had the time for such things.

(Between the alleyways, Isagi spotted the parade. Kunigami’s ginger head was nowhere to be seen, but Isagi did spot the long-haired man from the store. Aryu, his brain helpfully supplied.)

At the corner of an alleyway, tucked between the town-houses and stores, Isagi bumped into a soldier.

Ah, shit. He thought to himself. This is where things get difficult.

“H’lo there, Little Mouse. You lost your way?”

The soldier glanced appreciatively at Isagi, his elbow resting on the wall in a casual manner. A friendly smile spread across his face—but in Isagi’s experience, a friendly smile was not always a friendly intention.

“No sir.” He smiled wanly. “I’m fine.”

“Then how about you and me,” he said, gesturing to the little space between them, “Get a cup of tea, right at the lounge? I’ll pay.” He let his hand curl slightly, inching it towards Isagi.

“No thank you,” Isagi insisted, panic slightly rising. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, you see. Supply restock and whatnot.”

“He sure is a cute mouse, if anything.” Another soldier bent down to meet his eyes. Isagi subconsciously pulled his hat lower, trying to become a bit smaller. This is fucking great. Just great.

“Say, how old are you? You live anywhere near here?” His smile slightly widened.

“Please let me through.” Isagi pressed on, insisting a bit more vigorously than before.

“It’s that nose of yours, Watanabe! Now he’s scared! Look what you’ve done.”

“Eh? It’s not even that big, Keisuke. And look—he’s even cuter when he’s mad, isn’t he? Tiny little thing.”

He flicked Isagi’s hat and chuckled.“Ah, my bad.” he said, as Isagi flinched. “You’re quite a plain thing, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me.”

Isagi felt a hand wrap around his shoulder. A boy much taller than he was stood closely behind him, his hair framing his face in a way that made him almost unseeable. For some odd reason he could not describe, Isagi did not feel like he was foreign at all—in fact, Isagi even relaxed slightly as his arm curled around his shoulders. The soldiers in front of him, however, tensed.

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Who are you?” The soldier—Keisuke—inquired.“Haven’t seen you around before.”

He peered at the boy, whom Isagi could not see because he was currently very frightened and cowering under the cover of his cap.

“I’m with him. That’s quite obviously all you need to know, isn’t it? Why don’t you take a little walk, to clear your head?”

The boy moved his arm from Isagi’s shoulder and flicked twice—Isagi swore he saw the ring on his finger flare up—and suddenly, the two soldier men stood rigid in place, walking towards the way Isagi had come like nutcrackers in a row.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as the men grunted and gasped in surprise as they walked away, “They’re practically harmless. Where did you have to go?”

“Uh—The..The supply store. Cesari’s.” He opened his mouth again. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“Keep quiet.” He replied, grabbing Isagi’s arm and looping it between his. “I’ll escort you. I’m being followed though, so it may be an.. unpleasant ride.”

They walked along the pathway, Isagi slightly rigid, the boy in question still ominously quiet. The patter of their footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

As they passed an archway, Isagi spied exactly who (or what) was following them.

Giant pits of grey and black swirled to form large masses of something he could not identify. Atop their heads sat hats—all identical in shape and size. Their limbs seemed to be akin to tentacles, grappling at the walls and arches of the pathway as the man and Isagi broke into a run.

“Sorry for getting you involved, by the way.” The boy added, as they ran slightly faster. “We’re gonna have to be a bit faster, though.”

They picked up the pace as they reached the end of the path—but it was blocked by even more of the somethings Isagi had seen before, and soon, they were surrounded by them. Isagi had never seen so many of the same hat. It was almost paradoxical, like a mirror maze. Perhaps, this was all a dream, and the boy at his side was really Rensuke, not some warm and comforting stranger.

All thoughts of this being a dream were flung out the window when the boy curled his arm tightly around Isagi’s waist, apologized once again, and jumped. It did not properly register into his head that they were flying until the boy switched to holding both of Isagi’s hands and ordered him to put his legs down and walk.

“Are you crazy?” Isagi asked incredulously. But he had no time to act much anyway, because the boy had started to walk and Isagi would be a fool not to follow.

They were walking on air. Isagi Yoichi, the hatter who hardly anybody in the town knew of because of his shut-in like tendencies, was walking on air above the bustling market, hand in hand with someone who was quite possibly a wizard. Isagi, who had never, in a day of his life, ever believed that he would be able to fly.

He gaped at the height between his shoes and the street, fumbling to hold on tighter to the boy’s hands as he strode much slower through the wind.

“It’s not that bad.” He said. He sounded moderately annoyed. “Don’t be dramatic.”

They rounded over a roof and descended lower over the parade. Isagi laughed as the wind whipped his hair into a frenzy. The boy flushed, still holding his hands to secure him. Isagi, still gazing at the crowd, didn’t notice.

Finally, Isagi set his feet onto the balcony, and whipped around to meet the boy.

It was the first good look he had had at the boy anyway—because he had been too scared to look before, and too excited to look later. He was tall, like Isagi had guessed, and he wore a red embroidered cloak around his shoulders. He was dressed quite nicely, though it was hard to tell because he was crouched on the edge of the balcony gate, teetering forward. He had black hair, but not like Isagi’s—it was a deep, pure black that seemed to shine in the sun with a sheen of purple, like a raven’s feathers. On his hand was a ring, and set into the ring was a large ruby stone. The boy’s face was pulled into a slightly hard expression, but nonetheless warm.

Isagi wondered if he ever smiled properly, or if his face was just permanently difficult.

His mouth quirked up as he watched Isagi take it all in, and then he unhooked his legs from the balcony edge, stood up, and jumped down the balcony into the oncoming crowd.

Isagi rushed forward and wildly looked for his body. What kind of idiot does that?

But he was gone—and Isagi decided to head into the store to pick up his supplies, and, hopefully, greet Rensuke on his way back.

“What? Isagi’s here?” Isagi heard the echo of Kunigami’s exclamation as he gazed dazedly out the window, his basket of supplies in hand.

“Isagi! You decided to show up? What even happened? You dropped onto the balcony just like that, but theres no entrance from the inside…You’re not a fairy are you?”

Isagi stared at him, his mind still cloudy from whatever the hell had just happened.

“I think,” he said, resting his head on Kunigami’s shoulder, “that I am either in a dream, or going batshit crazy.”

He filled Kunigami in on what had just happened—from the completion of his hat, to the soldiers and the boy, and then the walking on the air.

As he continued, Kunigami’s expression grew more and more surprised, until he finally blurted out, “And you’re sure he wasn’t a wizard?”

Isagi frowned at him. “I thought so too, but he was very peculiar—I felt strangely comfortable around him.”

Kunigami gave him a knowing look.

“That’s what they do, you know. They act all nice and save you.. and then they kidnap you! Don’t tell me he’s stolen your heart because I will actually throw up.” He mimed gagging and Isagi slapped him on the shoulder. “What if he’s Howl? He ate that Martha girl’s heart you know. Lettie told me.”

“Don’t worry,” Isagi waved him off. “Howl’s only after beauties—besides, I’m a boy aren’t I?”

“There it is again. Isagi, you’re fine, stop down-grading yourself. And if gender was a problem, I don’t think he would’ve held your damn waist.” Isagi flushed. “Anyway, these are trying times y’know. You have to be very careful. Even the Witch of the Waste is back on the prowl.” Kunigami sighed.

“I have to go check on the madeleines. You keep that in mind, Isagi.” He pinched his cheek and got up, brushing off his suit and ruffling Isagi’s hair.

“I’ll leave too, then.” Isagi set his cap back on his head. “I have to pick up more stuff, but I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Isagi?” Kunigami piped up, and the boy in question turned around curiously. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life in that shop?”

“Rensuke...we’ve been over this. It meant a lot to Papa. I want to keep it going.”

“Yes, but is it what you want?” He asked exasperatedly. Kunigami waved at the parade and the crowd outside.

“There is so much to see in the world Isagi. I don’t know if Papa would’ve wanted you to say holed up in your store all the time.”

Isagi brushed Kunigami off and bid him farewell. “You have to rethink your choices Isagi! You can’t ignore that forever!”

Laughing quietly to himself, the Hatter padded towards the supply store once again, and Kunigami’s shouts were drowned by the bustle of the crowd and the sound of the planes overhead.

(A small carriage carried by two masked men dressed to the nines in suits and tophats stopped in place on the curb as Isagi walked by.

From inside the carriage, a stick poked out and dropped a small jar on the ground—and suddenly, from between the tiled pathway, the same somethings from Isagi’s hectic morning flooded into the jar.

When the door closed, the masked men picked up the carriage once again and carried on their way, following Isagi to his destination.)

Isagi reached the hat store at night, and he locked the door soon after, lighting the lone candle on the window sill.

As he set his hat down on the table, he heard the door bell jingle. Strange. He thought. I was sure I locked the door. Maybe it’s broken?

“Excuse me, but the store’s actually closed. You can revisit in the morning, though.”

The boy at the door kept quiet. He strode forward.

“What a small store, full of cheap little hats. Cheap little handiwork. And you,” he finished. “A bit cheap looking yourself, aren’t you?”

Isagi glared at him. “This is just a hat shop. I’d like for you to leave, please.”

“Quite brave aren’t you?” He grinned. “Taking on the Witch of the Waste is a ballsy thing if you ask me.”

Oh. Oh no. Isagi thought. Oh. This, this is an actually dangerous situation. I think, maybe, I should’ve listened to Rensuke just this once.

The boy tugged his cloak tighter around himself—it was made of dark, abyssal feathers—and flew through the air, heading for Isagi at some inhumane speed, and suddenly, he was outside the door, at Isagi’s side.

“You won’t be able to tell anyone about your spell.” He said, grinning. Isagi realized fleetingly that he was actually a very beautiful looking boy—he had that kind of vivacious charm about him. “Send Howl my regards, won’t you?”

And with that, he shut the door behind him, stepped into the carriage, and let the two men in top hats carry it away.

When Isagi looked up, everything was considerably smaller. His movements were a lot creakier. Whatever entity had led to this moment—with Isagi watching his hands wither down and become like thin paper, hunched over with his bones creaking louder than this broken floorboards—Isagi cursed it.

(Indirectly, he also cursed the boy from this morning who he knew now as the wizard, Howl.)

“What the actual fuck.” He whispered, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. “Is this actually me? Fuck, fuck, have to say calm.. have to stay calm. I’ll be fine—I’ll be fine—I’ll be fine.”

But everything was not fine, because Isagi had just aged 50 more years and his skin was sagging on his face and quite literally, he could feel his bones crumbling as he walked.

“Isagi?” Kunigami called from behind his door. “Isagi, are you alright? Why haven’t you come down for work?”

“Don’t come in.” Isagi’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, mainly because of his lack of practice speaking as a fifty year old man, but also because he had panicked himself through the entire night and almost gotten no sleep. “I’ve got a terrible cold, Rensuke. I don’t want you to catch it.”

“Yeah you sound pretty shitty to me, Isagi. You want me to get you soup or something?”

“No,” he coughed, “thank you though. I’ll be here all day, I think.”

As Kunigami left, Isagi let himself slide off the bed. He gazed dazedly into the mirror and pulled at his cheeks once again. Only this time, the skin actually sagged. “You’ll be fine, old man!” He gazed at the aged face in the mirror. “You’re strong still, and no one will bother you about wearing grandpa clothes anymore. Win-win situation, isn’t it?”

He packed his stuff in a bag and quietly opened the door, tucking loafs of bread and slices of cheese into a knapsack and folding it in. “Right. Now, I have to find Howl.”

The journey wasn’t hard—being an old man meant he got help from pedestrians, and Isagi was used to his demeanor being that of a polite, well-mannered boy so he didn’t have to act much. (Sometimes, Isagi wished he was a bottle of energy, like Kunigami, but that sounded devastatingly tiring.) He caught a ride with a farmer, tucked into the back of the man’s wagon between bales of hay and farming tools.

When he was dropped at the edge of the village, near the man’s house, his wife peeked out from the kitchen window. “I don’t recommend going further than that, Old man! Nothing but danger and magic up ahead!”

“I’ll be alright,” he called back, tightening his cloak around himself. “Thank you!”

The trudge up the mountain was much harder than expected, because Isagi was used to trekking the mountains with no problem when he was younger. But he was old now, much, much older, and his stamina had all but left him.

“Seriously..?” He asked no one in particular as he sat down for his fifth break in ten minutes. “I haven’t even made real progress.” He took a bite of his bread and layed down against the grass, wincing as he felt his bones crack. “Imagine if I’d lost my teeth too..”

From atop the mountain, the city seemed a lot smaller. Isagi could fit it between his thumbs, however thin they had become. The lake, the city, the people—they were all going about as usual. Only Isagi had changed, only Isagi had shifted. For the first time, Isagi stood out.

It was refreshing, though a bit depressing.

After eating, Isagi set off again, reaching a mass of shrubs where he sat down once more to rest. Across the field, he spotted a stick jutting out from the ground, resting between two bushes thick enough to hold it down.

That might be useful. He thought. Could be a walking stick. Oh fuck, I’m really screwed, aren’t I?

The branch proved to be quite hard to pull out though, and Isagi spent several minutes cracking his bones and yelping in pain as he struggled to pull it out.

“Fuck you!” he exclaimed, tugging at it once again. “Nobody messes with Old Man Isagi. I’ll make you my cane if it's the last thing I do on this Earth.”

That was kind of morbid. He thought bemusedly.

He gave it one last tug, and it straightened up, but it was not a branch, or a possible cane, or a stick at all. It was a scarecrow, and one dressed to the nines with a top hat and a suit and—fuck, was this another one of the witch’s minions? He pushed that thought aside when he realized the scarecrow had no way of really moving, but he passed it small insults anyway and walked away.

“Wind’s getting stronger.” He said, once again, to no one in particular. “I’ll need to hurry up, or I’ll have to find shelter.”

Tick. Tick.

He turned around. The scarecrow from before was pattering its way up the path, hopping on one stick, following Isagi.

“You don’t need to follow me, you know!” He yelled. “You don’t owe me anything at all. You’re probably some magical thing and quite frankly, I’ve had enough of that!”

The scarecrow stopped in its tracks, the strength of its hops leaving dents in the soil.

“I’ll be on my way, then. Excuse me.”

He turned around and advanced up the mountain, and yet the scarecrow continued to follow him. He heaved a sigh and ignored it, crouching down and shivering.

“This is going to be difficult without a cane.”

The scarecrow lightly brushed against his side and Isagi turned around to meet it. He handed him a stick—a cane—and Isagi gratefully laughed, patting its side in acknowledgement. “You’re a nice thing aren’t you? Why don’t you go get me a house to sleep in, while you’re at it?”

The scarecrow seemed to nod, which was quite impossible seeing as it was a scarecrow. It hopped twice in place and advanced back down the mountain, to which Isagi proudly admired his cunningness and continued walking.

“I smell smoke,” he said to himself after a while. “It might be a cabin. Lucky for me, huh?”

But what he saw on the other side of the mountain, at the foot of it, was not in any way just a cabin, or a cabin at all.

It was a castle—a castle built from several different pieces : a castle with four roofs and walls made of windows and wood and stone, a castle with brick walls and paper walls and cobble walls, a castle with a balcony decorated with flowers. It was heavily rusted and even bulkier than the tales—with cannons poking from every side and pipes winding up and down and around, in every which way. A crane hung from the side, as well as a satellite dish and some strange dome that seemed to have eyes.

But the strangest part of it all, Isagi thought to himself as he gaped at the structure, was that it was on legs, and it was moving towards him at remarkable speed.

The scarecrow came hopping around the corner of the castle as if to say, “I found you a home!” and Isagi’s mouth which he had shut previously fell wide open once again.

“Is that not the Moving Castle? You brought it for me? That’s even worse than asking for a shelter! What even is it? They call this a castle?”

The structure came to a stop, and the entrance hung in front of Isagi. The scarecrow hopped forward, inviting Isagi to follow.

“Is that the entrance? You want me to trespass? On a wizard’s property?” He asked incredulously.

The scarecrow nodded once again, which was odd, once again, but Isagi had learned quickly that if he was to be involved with Howl from now on, odd things would keep happening.

He clutched the bars of the entrance as it moved and dragged his feets across the ground, gasping as it started to walk faster. Isagi finally pulled himself up onto the porch and sat down in awe, watching the scarecrow fade into the distance. When he had waved it goodbye, Isagi opened the door and let himself into the castle.

It was warm, and pleasantly quiet. By the entrance to the stairs, a small fire flickered, tucked into a wide fireplace, dancing between two logs. Isagi pulled a lone chair from the side and sat down, warming his hands on the heat of the fire.

“That won’t do.” He said aloud. “Gotta get more logs. Jeez, this place is a dump, isn’t it? Some castle.” He dropped more logs into the fireplace, gazing quietly at his surroundings.

“That’s a bad spell you’re under, old man.”

Isagi looked up. The fire seemed to have grown eyes. He should’ve been surprised. Should’ve. But, wondrously, he found himself not surprised at all. Maybe being old did that to you.

“It really won’t be easy to break. What did you do? You can’t even tell anyone about it, can you?”

Isagi squinted at the fire. “You’re not Howl’s true form or something, are you? Men are so weird.”

“No!” The fire said indignantly. “My name is Bachira. I’m a fire demon.”

“Well then, Bachira, can you break my spell?”

“Sure!” he piped up, and the fire swirled in vibrant red. This change in emotion, however, did not escape Isagi’s eyes. “Just break the spell chaining me to this place, easy-peasy. I’ll break it so quickly you’ll have no idea it even happened.”

“In other words,” he said teasingly, “you want me to make a deal with a demon. They don’t keep promises do they, Bachira? You should look somewhere else, I’m not that stupid.”

Bachira flared once again.

“But I’m being taken advantage of! I’m being exploited! Tortured, I tell you! I’m chained here by that evil wizard! He forces me to work every day and I’m so tired, old man. It’s part of our contract! I have to move this castle every day!”

“You’ve got it rough.” He said, drifting off. “A contract, huh? That’s cool.” His eyes began to flutter shut.

“Old man!” Bachira said, loudly. “Old man?” But Isagi had fallen into blissful sleep, and Bachira settled back down, heaving a sigh of frustration as he flickered back down into nothingness.

Isagi awoke to knocking on the door. He stared dazedly at the door, before hearing rapid footsteps as somebody rushed down the stairs to answer it. In a panic, Isagi laid his head back down and pretended to sleep.

“Bachira, who’s this?”

Bachira didn’t answer. Isagi presumed Bachira was angry with him, but you could never know with fire demons.

“Ah, wait a second!” The person yelled as the knocking continued. “I’ll be right there!” He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, his appearance changing into that of a bearded old man.

Before, his hair had been a vivid orange, kind of like Bachira’s flames, but it had shifted to gray, just like Isagi’s own. His entire appearance seemed to shift, and he became a stout ball instead of the lanky boy he had been before.

Isagi watched in muted fascination as he twisted a dial, and the darkness outside the window suddenly shifted to bright rays of sunlight—the dial itself switched from black to blue—and the boy (old man?) greeted the strangers outside.

“Why! If it isn’t the Mayor. Good Evening, sir. Are you looking for Master Itoshi? He’s out on complicated matters right now, so I’m answering in his place.”

The mayor huffed and rubbed his extravagant whiskers with an air of indignation. “A letter, for Master Itoshi. His majesty generously invites Itoshi Rin, Wizard of the Moving Castle, to participate in the war between the countries. Every man, woman, witch, wizard, and creature in fifty acres is asked to join the movement. He is needed sorely. That is about it.” The mayor finished his statement, gesturing slightly for his attendants to move along as the man-boy shut the door.

Isagi moved to put more logs into the fire place as the mysterious man-boy advanced up the staircase.

“Who are you?” he asked, gripping the letter in his hand. “I’d remember if I let a grandpa into the castle.”

“I’m nobody.” Isagi said simply. “Bachira is to blame, you know. He let me in earlier.”

“You’re evil!” Bachira exclaimed, flaring up once again. “Wicked! He came from the Wastes, Asahi. Don’t listen to him—you believe me right? I’d never let him in!”

“The Wastes, huh? You're not, by any chance, a witch, are you? Master Itoshi told me the Witch of the Waste is a mean, ugly man who should never step foot in here. He even told me his real name.” Asahi pulled off his hood, shifting back into the boy he had been before. “It’s Kira. Ugly name for an ugly man, I think.”

Bachira dissolved into giggles as Asahi snickered to himself. For once, Isagi felt like the butt of a joke he failed to understand. But it was to be expected, what with his intrusion into this heaping pile of hoarded treasure, so he just smiled wanly.

“Well,” Isagi said, “I don’t know about being a witch. But I am fairly harmless, so I won’t be a bother, will I?” Asahi put a finger to his lips, his eyes drifting back towards the door and the mysterious dial. “No,” he said. “I guess not!”

Isagi clapped his hands and grinned. “Well then, I’m quite hungry. How about I cook something up, hm?”

Asahi glared at him. “Rude old man. You can’t just barge in here and ask to use the fire! Bachira only obeys Master Howl!”

“Yes, yes.” Isagi said, setting a pan over the fire. “Come here, Bachira. I need you to heat this.”

“I refuse! I won’t, I won’t! I don’t answer to anybody because I’m a great big fire demon!” Bachira sang, dancing around the logs, growing higher. “Great Big Fire Demon Bachira! Great Big—”

He yelped as Isagi brought out a cup full of water. “What are you doing? You’ll kill me, you crazy old man!”

“Do what I say, Bachira. Or I’ll pour all of this on you.”

“I should’ve never let you near the door. Crazy old man. You’re crazy. You’re insane!” Isagi pushed the pan further over Bachira’s flames until he dissolved into proper ones, and he cracked the eggs on top, letting them sizzle as Asahi watched in awe.

“That's right, Bachira. Great Big Fire Demon Bachira can listen sometimes too, right? Just to a humble old man, that is.”

Bachira let out muffled cries of indignance and small threats that Isagi could not distinguish—but he knew that inevitably, Bachira would die down, and the eggs would be cooked well enough for Asahi and him to have a proper breakfast.

From the doorway, the dial clicked once again, and in came the boy Isagi had seen yesterday morning—the boy who had been plaguing his mind since he had flown him through the air, the boy who was also known as the wizard Howl.

“Ah! Master Howl! You’re home!” Asahi exclaimed. “You’ve got letters from the king and stuff. Bachira accidentally brought in this crazy old man too.”

Bachira stayed silent. Isagi assumed it was either because he was afraid of Isagi’s stubborn nature, or because he was being forced to cook steak and it was a sore insult to his pride.

Howl (Or Master Itoshi?) hummed slightly and eyed Bachira, who seemed to be cowering as Isagi cooked. “You’re being quite obedient all of a sudden.”

“He bullied me!” Bachira whined, flames swirling to attention. “He was all like, I’ll throw water on you, Bachira, and what was I supposed to do?” he huffed, and died down once again to heat the meat on the pan.

“That is remarkable. Who are you, then?” Howl (Rin?) turned to Isagi and pulled off his cloak, setting it on a chair.

“I’m just an Old Man. Isagi, if it’s easier to call me that. Bachira here likes to call me Crazy Old Man, and Asahi likes to call me Grandpa, but it doesn’t matter. Take your pick.” He turned towards the meat again, picking it up with a pair of chopsticks and resting it on a plate. “I am your hired cleaning man, Isagi Yoichi! Phew. That’s hot.”

“Yeah, cause I do my job right. Even when I’m being tortured!” Bachira wailed once again.

“Bachira, you’re such a child…” Asahi wondered, poking at the flame with a stick. “Aren’t you supposed to act cool? Since you’re a great big fire demon.”

“How am I supposed to act cool? I’m a fire!” Bachira asked, and the tufts of flame that released from the logs seemed to indicate that he was laughing at his own joke.

“You’re annoying.” Asahi grimaced, leaving the stick at the edge of the fireplace. “I hope Isagi puts you out soon.”

Amidst Bachira’s yowls of betrayal, Rin yanked the pan from Isagi’s hand and gently pushed him aside.

“Let me.”

He cracked an egg and fed the shells to Bachira’s blazing form, moving the pan back and forth. “Who hired you, then?”

“I hired myself,” Isagi said simply, handing him another egg. “Ah, Asahi, can you go get more plates? It seems we’ve run out.”

“On it, Old Man!” Asahi jumped off his seat and rushed to another desk cluttered to the roof with items. He pushed them aside and gently pulled out a stack of plates, bringing them slowly to the foot of the fireplace. “Thank you, Asahi.” Isagi set the plates out onto the table. “Come on. We can eat now.”

“Now then.” Isagi put his hands on his hips. Master Itoshi had left for the baths not too long ago, and with Bachira pre-occupied with heating his bathwater and moving the castle per his orders, Isagi had decided that there was no use waiting around to clean anymore.

“I’ll start with the kitchen. Fuck, this place is a dump...this is what happens to people with no manners. I bet that wizard lazes away in his room all day while we work hard.” Isagi furiously swept remains of rubble and dust from the kitchen, wiping at dishes and scrubbing walls while cursing the name of Itoshi Rin. “Everybody in this hellhole is mocking me, I just know it.”

Isagi splashed a pail of water onto the floor and got to work, running a mop across the long floorboards while Bachira cheered for him from the fireplace.

“Go, old man, go!” Bachira’s flames danced yet again across the sticks in the fire place, having burnt down due to exerting himself too much. He let out a gust of hair air, singing the ends of Isagi’s hair.

As Isagi continued to clean, Bachira began to die out in the fire place.

“Isagi?”

“Isagi!” He yelled once again, growing a little bit, but rapidly shrinking not long after. “Isagi, I’m going to go out! I’ll die if you don’t give me some wood!”

Isagi carefully picked up the stick he rested on and set Bachira into a pail. “I’ll clean the ashes and you can go back,” he explained, “Just a moment, Bachira.”

“But I’ll die! You don’t understand! I’m dying!” Isagi continued sweeping. “I’m dying! I’m dead! I’ve gone out!” Bachira fleetingly poked out from the edge of the pail. “C’mon Isagi!”

“Don’t be dramatic, Bachira.” Asahi said, trudging down the stairs sleepily. “What is it this time?”

“Ah! Asahi. Why don’t you put a log in Bachira’s fireplace for me? I’ve finished cleaning the ashes.” Isagi called from under the table where he was vigorously batting at stray spiders.

“Sure thing!” Asahi yelled back, dumping fresh wood as Bachira danced happily back to life.

“I told you he’s crazy.” Bachira said solemnly. “Crazy.”

“Who is?” Master Itoshi asked as he appeared from the stairway. His face was set in the same hard expression it usually was, but this time, it lacked the abrupt attention it had had when it was set on Isagi.

“Isagi, Master Itoshi.” Bachira replied. “I almost went out!”

“Oh.” Rin frowned and pulled his cloak from where it had been lying on a chair. “That’s alright, then.”

“Are you going out, Master Itoshi?” Asahi asked, hanging from the stair banister as he descended down the steps to the doorway. Rin twisted the dial three times until it was set on black. “I am. Tell our cleaning man not to get too carried away.” He opened the door and jumped out into the darkness, and Isagi did not see him again until later that evening.

Isagi pushed open the windows of the bathroom and stuck his head out of the frame. Beneath him, the castle moved on the same legs he had seen before, and above, the crane and the satellite dish continued to shake with the rest of the castle.

They were considerably high up in the air : the castle was traveling on large hills covered in coniferous trees and small, running brooks that looked like veins in the soil. The clouds breezed past them, and when Isagi stuck out his hand to feel one, it passed through, leaving his hand covered in small droplets of water and crystallized ice.

He ran downstairs (as fast as his old legs could carry him) and rested his hand on the stair banister as he crouched to catch his breath.

“Bachira!” He yelled, his voice laced with wonder. “Are you moving the castle?”

Bachira to life. “Yeah. I told you, Old Man. Howl makes me work day and night. I move this entire castle!”

“You’re incredible, Bachira! You really are a great fire demon! I underestimated you.”

“Really? You think so?” Bachira’s flames seem to dance in giddiness. “Oh yeah. You really think so!” Steam burst from the fireplace and enveloped the room. Isagi felt the rumble of the castle as it surged with energy, the hum of Bachira’s magic thick in the air.“I am that amazing, aren’t I?”

Isagi rushed back up the stairs, his mind fuzzy with pure, raw, wonder as he sought to explore the rest of the castle.

At the edge of the stairs on the second floor, there was a door. Isagi struggled to open it, but when it finally gave in to his remarkable strength, he stumbled out onto a balcony overlooking the rolling valleys they had passed, and he marveled in the pastures of green and the streams of blue. Asahi soon ran out to join him, jumping up onto the gate of the balcony to stare at the landscape with that same wondrous expression.

“Whats that?” He asked, pointing to a branch sticking out from the opening of a small cannon beside the balcony. “A tree?”

“Lend me a hand, Asahi. Let’s pull it out.” Isagi replied, his hands already steadying around the branch.

With a tremendous heave, they both pulled the branch from its place, and when it stood, Isagi gasped as he recognized the scarecrow from the mountain.

“Ah! It’s you, isn’t it! The scarecrow who gave me the cane.” The scarecrow nodded in the strange stiff way it usually did, bouncing backwards and onto a larger cannon above them.

“You’re weird,” Asahi said to it. “I like you. You should replace Bachira.”

From below them, the castle jolted as Bachira flared with indignation. “Whoa.” Asahi said to Isagi, scratching his head. “I didn’t think he’d hear me.”

(While they gazed in awe at the scenery around them, Rin flew from fire to fire, his form cloaked in feathers, his limbs shifting into wings larger than his own body. In front of him, large warships dropped bombs like firecrackers, and Rin flew between them, ripping each every warship to shreds.

He reached home at dawn, his body still half raven, his flesh slightly burnt as he grunted in pain. Bachira watched silently as he shifted to normal, his head still ducked down, his chest heaving for air.

“You’ll be stuck like that one day, you know. If you keep flying.” Bachira said solemnly.

“The entire country is aflame, Bachira. I’m not allowed to sit by and watch. You know that mankind is selfish.” Rin crossed legs in front of the fireplace. “I have an obligation. It’s not a choice.”

“And when you transform to fly and stay like that? You’ll cry, you know.”

Rin gazed at him. “I’ll probably forget how to cry.”

Bachira shuddered. “You’re a weird boy, you know that?”

Rin stood up and strode towards the curtained cot where Isagi slept every night—and when he pulled aside the curtain he hummed in surprise.

Instead of the old man that swept the floor and nagged and cursed Rin under his breath every day, there was the form of a boy not much older than he was, curled up under a blanket. He had plain black hair and a plain face and plain eyes, but it was unmistakably the boy he had met in the city.

Perhaps, this was the Witch of the Waste’s idea of a joke. It wasn’t funny, but it was probably meant to be just that.

“Apparently,” Bachira piped up from the fire place, “He turns back when he feels better about himself? He’s always thought of himself as boring, I think. I don’t know if anyone has ever even tried to change that.”

He hums. “Staying here has helped a bit. He’s starting to look younger, but he always changes back eventually.”

Rin bristled. “And you’re saying I can change that?”

Bachira grinned. “I didn’t say anything about you did I?”)

“Isagi!”

Isagi jolted awake and slid out of bed as Rin’s voice echoed down the staircase. He’d never heard Rin wail, let alone that loudly. Bachira gave him a sly grin. “I bet he’ll kick you out for real this time.”

“Isagi! What the fuck did you do to the bathroom shelves? My hair!” Rin bolted down the stairs, stumbling at the last step.“My fucking hair! It’s orange!” He rushed towards Isagi and tugged at his hair, his voice hoarse from yelling. “Look! It’s turned all ugly! Take a good fucking look! You mixed up all the spells and now it’s turned orange!”

“Stop howling, Master Howl.” Asahi giggle to himself. “Ha. Howling. Master Howl. Howl-ing..”

“My life! It’s ruined! You’ve ruined it, Isagi, ruined it! I told you not to get too carried away, you idiot!”

“I was only cleaning,” Isagi said defiantly, because really, there wasn’t any fuss if Rin looked just as pretty as he did before. “Nothing special.”

“I’m done for.” Rin said, setting his head in his hands. His hair seemed to flutter, suddenly changing from bright orange back to raven’s black. “I’m done for!”

The air in the room began to shudder, and suddenly, Isagi stumbled as static buzzed around the room—Bachira gave a yelp of warning for them to stand back—and suddenly, the shadows in the room began to grow, surrounding him like a warped halo, as Bachira protested from his place.

“He did this last time someone dumped him,” Asahi supplied helpfully as he rocked back and forth. “It was real bad you know. He even bought them flowers and they slapped him! Don’t tell Master Howl, but I thought it was pretty funny.”

“That’s not the concern right now! What’s happening to Master Itoshi?” Isagi said, panicking as the room began to violently shake.

“He’s mad. Because he thinks that his hair changing means he won’t be beautiful.”

A wave of anger and raw exasperation overtook Isagi. That was what caused him to throw a fit? Itoshi Rin? Who was fabled to be of a beauty beyond human capacity? Who carried the power of a thousand suns in his castle? To Isagi, who had grown up plain and poised and alone, with not much to him but his father’s business, that entire fit was a load of fucking horseshit. What did it matter if Rin’s hair changed color? He would still be the same Rin, if not prettier, and Isagi would stay the same—as an old man with an ugly face and an uglier deameanor with nothing to his name but a beaten hat store.

Rin was acting like a child.

Isagi pulled up his sleeves. “I’m going out for a bit. Asahi, care to join me?” Asahi nodded vigorously, hopping from foot to foot to avoid the goo as he strode together with Isagi out the door and into the rain.

By the time Asahi and Isagi reached the castle once more, Rin had already melted himself into a heap on top of the fireplace, and Bachira was continously yelping and swearing as the liquid-like substance inched towards him.

“Stop it, Rin!” he shrieked. “Isagi! Stop him!”

“God.” Isagi smiled flatly. “He’s quite dramatic, isn’t he? C’mon Asahi.” Isagi’s face seemed to grow younger. “We’ll carry him to the bath.”

Rin’s room was a lot of what Isagi had expected : it was darkly lit, covered in trinkets and odd objects and things that swung in place, but it was every bit as surprising. There were large jugs filled with jewels and banners decorating the walls—it looked like something had vomited a treasure trove all over the room, because nothing seemed to fit in alone but it blended in altogether.

“I brought you warm milk. You better drink some.” Rin hummed quietly and turned to his side, his back facing Isagi.

“Alright then.” Isagi said, fumbling with his hands. “I’ll leave”

He reached about a foot away from the bed before Rin spoke up.

“Don’t go.”

“Hm?”

“I said don’t go. Keep me company.”

Isagi smiled. “Of course.”

After a small bout of silence, Rin spoke up again. “The Witch of the Waste is searching for the castle.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes reflecting in the jewels scattered across it. “In every sense, I am a coward.” Isagi gaped at him. That was out of no where.

“All of this,” he lifted an arm to gesticulate at the castle and his surroundings. “all of my fleeting magic is to keep him away from me. I’m scared of him.”

“Why is he after you anyway?” Isagi asked. “He seemed quite adamant on finding you, you know.”

“I approached him once. He was interesting.” Rin replied, stretching his arms above his head. “But he terrified me eventually, and I ran away. Now, he’s seeking me out again. To gain possession of my heart.”

“Hm...And what of all those names you use?” Isagi asked. “Howl, Master Itoshi, Rin, you have so many its hard to keep count.”

“Those names,” Rin replied, sitting up, “are my guarantee of freedom from a single label. I can run away anywhere because none of those names are mine except one. And hardly anyone really calls me by it.”

“Which one is that?”

“Rin.” he replied. “That is about the best of it. I use my names in multiple countries, so they ask me to aid them in wars and conflicts. I’d disobey, but I swore in an oath to obey the country I belonged to.”

Isagi sighed. They both sat in silence as the clock ticked and the pendulums moved back and forth, and the steamed milk on Rin’s desk grew cold.

“Why don’t you just visit the King of your country? Tell him straight to his face, I refuse to help! And then be done with it.” Isagi clapped his hands. Rin watched in awe as his face grew younger, his hair still the same grey. “Like a real wizard!”

“You’re crazy.” Rin said, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “I’ll go insane with you here.”

“What if I go?” Isagi asked, a strange rush of bravery coming from seemingly nowhere. “I’ll go—as your—your brother, or your dad or something, and I’ll convince the King for you.”

Rin let out the only laugh Isagi had ever heard from him. “You’re absolutely crazy. It might work though. Lets try it.”

Isagi gazed at the palace in awe. “Nobody told me the palace was going to be this far away. Now I’ve got to walk all the way there on foot.”

The courtyard was fairly packed—men with women clinging to their sides and airships with people riding on the back, flinging all safety to the wind. There were hardly any market places because it was the palace of the King, and nobles were usually the only ones who set foot near it, but there were still some nonetheless.

As Isagi fell into the rhythm of the crowd, the same carriage he had seen that night outside of the store appeared at his side, and he immediately recognized the boy at the window.

“Hello Isagi,” he waved cheerfully, his face decorated with feathers. “Pleasant morning, isn’t it?”

“The Witch of the Waste.” Isagi breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“The King finally decided to call on my gracious self, you fool. How’s the old age working for you? Howl kicked you out in disgust yet?” He grinned. “I bet you were hoping he’s pay attention to you, hm?”

Isagi gave him a sincerely confused look. “What? I’m his cleaning man, not his love interest. Who even strives for someone to pay attention to them so much so that they devalue their own self? Wild, if you ask me.”

He’d slipped an insult somewhere in there, and he knew immediately that the Witch had picked up on it, because his first reaction was to halt his men and reach out to flick Isagi’s face. “What is wrong with you? Do all witches and wizards act like complete children?” Isagi huffed and picked up speed. “It’s like nobody knows basic manners....”

Eventually, Isagi reached the steps of the palace, where he met the Witch once again, only this time he was struggling to catch his breath as he climbed every stair.

“Wait—Wait up,” the Witch heaved, his arms covered in a thick sheen of sweat. “Why should I?” Isagi snorted. “Not like I’m required to. Good day. I think.”

“But I can’t carry on!” He whined, clinging to Isagi’s arm. “I’ll die!”

(He reminded Isagi suspiciously of Bachira, and when the thought crossed his mind, he immediately shook his head, pulled his arm from the Witch’s grasp, and continued onwards.)

When he arrived at the palace gates, the guard regarded him as Mr. Itoshi (which was, albeit, quite surprising, but Isagi reminded himself not to be too taken aback.) He was led to a room by a small boy with short blonde hair dressed in what looked like a school uniform—only it was much more sophisticated and well-tailored than one. It was crisp in the way most of the palace was—and it stood out against the uniforms of the red clad soldiers and the nobles of the palace.

Isagi strode into the room a little bit behind the steps of the younger boy, and was met with a vivid burst of light as his eyes fell on a forest encased in glass. Tall, thick trees with roots jutting out of the ground grew higher than he had seen before, and small red flowers decorated the spaces in between. It was a mass of vines and flora, and in the center of it all, there was a large chair embroidered in gold, and a man who was sitting in it.

“You must be Rin’s father, then? I am the King’s Sorcerer, Chigiri Hyoma.”

Isagi nodded. “Yes sir. Mister Pendragon. An honor to meet you.”

“Take a seat.” He smiled warmly. “The trip must have tired you.”

Isagi sat down. This man seemed to radiate magic—it was much more controlled than Rin’s, but the buzz of electricity was still there, and it made him restless. “I assume Rin won’t be joining us?”

“No sir. You see, my son is a coward. He refuses to ever help! It’s a pain,” Isagi let his face morph into what he hoped was a worried expression. “I’m sure he’d be useless to the king.”

“A shame that is. He was my final apprentice, you know. He could’ve been my heir.” He sighed, tugging at his braid. His hair was remarkably long—Isagi almost envied it.

“I fear he’ll turn out just like the Witch of the Waste. He’s lost his heart, and he’s used his own selfishness to replace it.”

Isagi frowned. “What do you mean?”

Chigiri flicked his wrist, and in rolled in a small cart. It carried a small, crumpled form of a boy Isagi fleetingly recognized as the Witch of the Waste, before he began to properly panic at his state. “What have you done? What’s happened to him?” 

The Witch gurgled slightly, his skin covered in flecks of gray, his hands covered in veins. 

“I restored him to his original age.” Chigiri replied, setting his hands under his chin. “He made a deal with a devil many years ago, and its made him a rotting pit of evil that has consumed too much for me to overlook.” Isagi inhaled sharply. The Witch of the Waste had terrified Rin for so long, and Chigiri had reduced him to shambles in the matter of a few minutes.

“If Rin cannot come work for the King,” He continued, “I will be forced to strip him of his magic just as I have done with the Witch of the Waste.”

“Wait a minute.” Isagi interrupted, his eyes blazing. The attendant at Chigiri’s side stood at attention, his hand at his sword. “Let him speak, Nagi.”

“I understand why Rin refused to come here. You’re setting traps for witches and wizards you swore to protect? There’s definitely something not right about that. You call Rin heartless, but so are you! All he desires is to be free!”

(“What’s happening to him?” Nagi whispered as Isagi continued to talk.

Chigiri grinned. “He’s growing younger. I think, we may be dealing with someone from outside the Itoshi family after all.”

Nagi hummed. “He must truly believe in Rin, then. What a paradoxical wizard Rin is.”)

“— he’ll battle the demon on his own, because Rin deserves to be free! I believe in him.”

Isagi finished, his chest heaving. Strangely, he felt much lighter than he had before, and his back seemed to lack the same ache it usually did.

“Ah! You’re in love with Rin, aren’t you?”

Isagi flinched, and suddenly the same deadening ache returned to his back, and he felt much heavier again.

“Rin? Rin’s here? Ah, his heart. I want it.”

The Witch of the Waste grappled at Isagi’s legs, his skin heavy against his bones.

“Agh..men are so difficult. Rin’s not here, old man.”

Chigiri laughed. “He’ll come. I know he will.”

Isagi frowned. “Well, I’ve learned not to trust people who can do magic. You’re all crazy. All of you.”

“That’s quite harsh—Ah! Your Majesty. Pleasant timing. Nagi, let him in.”

A man clad in a pilot’s uniform landed in the garden outside the glass dome, and Chigiri’s attendant opened the pane to allow him inside. He was tall and pale, with short hair neatly combed under a cap bound by a pair of pilot’s goggles. Isagi distinctly noticed that his hair was a peculiar shade of purple, and that his gaze was oddly familiar.

“I appreciate your eagerness for the use of magic in our war, Mr. Itoshi.” The King’s face held a warm smile. “However, I’m afraid that the usage of magic seems hardly plausible in this case, and I’m sure it’d be of no use to try at all.”

Isagi stared at the King. That’s odd. He thought. I thought Rin said the King wanted his help. If the King has no use for magic, why keep a sorcerer?

Another man walked into the room—a man dressed identically to the King, with the same features as the King, and both Isagi and the King turned to face the imposter.

“Chigiri! This next battle will be our best one. We’ll win for sure!” He turned to face the King. “Ah. Chigiri, you’ve outdone yourself! What a believable duplicate of myself. Alright, await further good news!”

He marched excitedly out the door, Nagi in his stead, and when the door finally shut, Chigiri and Isagi turned to meet the wizard Howl.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Rin? I saw right through you.”

Rin’s expression took on the same grave one as he morphed back into his usual self. He wrapped an arm around Isagi’s shoulder. “I’ll be taking him and leaving, then.”

“You know I won’t let you go.”

Chigiri tapped the arm of his chair twice, and the ground between his feet split open, letting in a flood of water, and pulling both Rin and Isagi under it.

“Don’t panic. If you panic, it’ll draw you in. It’s all just an illusion.” Rin gave Isagi’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

Isagi glared at him. “I hope so. Because I sure as hell didn’t come in here expecting to be a part of some extravagant escape.”

Rin spread his arms under the water and bubbles of air whipped around them—he was transforming into whatever thing he usually turned into—and large wings erupted from them, one gently wrapped around Isagi’s shoulder and the other flapping against the rapids as they burst into the air with the Witch still gripping at Isagi’s legs. Rin set them both down on the airship he had flown here in, and they flew into the air much faster than before.

“Isagi, you sit up front. Oh. You brought an extra plus one along.”

He warily eyed the Witch, who gurgled and stretched out his hands to touch Rin‘s.

Rin grimaced and set Isagi’s hands on the steering wheel. “Ok, you steer. Take this ring,” he slipped an identical ring to his onto Isagi’s finger, “and it should guide you to the castle in the Wastes.” Rin set his hands on Isagi’s shoulders and let him take control of the wheel. “Wait—Wait, you idiot, don’t let go of the wheel!”

The ship lurched forward and tilted sideways, and Isagi thought for a heart stopping moment that this was indeed the moment where he would die. He managed to pull himself up in the last second.

“You’re a great driver, Isagi.” Rin commented, laughter clear in his voice. “Shut the fuck up.” Isagi was quivering. How the fuck am I supposed to fly all the way to the Wastes like this? “You seem to have the hang of it now. I’ll buy you time, then.” He stared at Isagi solemnly. “Stay safe.”

With that, he fell backwards and off the ship to meet the blazing cannons behind him, and Isagi surged forward through the clouds until he was no longer visible to the enemy fleet behind them.

It was nightfall when Isagi finally set his eyes on the castle, because Bachira had moved the castle to come meet them. Unfortunately, Rin had conveniently forgotten to teach Isagi exactly how to stop the airship, and by the time he had veered upwards, they had already crashed into the mouth of the castle. Isagi groaned and pushed through the rubble to meet Asahi on the other side.

“I’m home, I guess.”

“Welcome back,” Bachira yelped from the fireplace. “You should get some rest.” Isagi hung his coat on a chair. “You’re surprisingly cooperative today. Something happen?”

“Don’t be stupid. Isagi.” Bachira said seriously. “I can tell you’re exhausted. Get sleep before I make you.”

“Yes, yes.” Isagi waved his hands, tucking himself into bed. “Goodnight Bachira, Asahi.”

He was met with no reply, but Isagi had already fallen asleep, so there wasn’t much questionable about it.

Rin reached home when everyone was fast asleep (yet again.) His footsteps were dark—he had not yet changed back, and he was still the hybrid of a human-demon that he had been hours before. Every step he took seemed to be heavy and delayed—he trudged with some sort of unconscious thought as Bachira piped up from the fireplace.

“Oh no. You’ve gone too far, haven’t you? You won’t be able to change back now, Rin.”

He did not receive an answer—either because Rin had lost the ability to speak, like he had explained he may eventually, or because he was simply too far gone to even want to.

Rin rushed down the stairs next morning, and Bachira flickered in indignance because how was he acting like he had not breached death three times in one night?

He regarded Asahi and the Witch with the same indifference he usually found himself in, and flashed Isagi a small smile. “We’re moving.” he announced. “Chigiri and the King can find us here in no time at all.”

Isagi rubbed at his eyes. “And how are you going to do that?”

“With Bachira’s help. Now, Asahi. Bring out the pails of paint. We’ll draw a circle outside and set the castle in it, and then Bachira and I can get to work.”

“But we just started breakfast!” Asahi whined, poking at his eggs. “They’re not even cold yet. You’re so cruel.”

Rin glared at him. “Do you want me to throw you out?”

Asahi clung to Isagi in fear, and while Rin regarded him with growing annoyance, he ordered them to get to work while he sat in Bachira’s company and finished the leftovers of their breakfast.

Isagi set to work: Asahi brought out the pails of white paint, and they spent the next hour painstakingly brushing the blades of grass with paint until they had formed a visible circle. From time to time, the scarecrow would hop from pail to pail, pushing white paint into the ground to help, and the Witch, while basically useless, lounged silently in front of the lake.

When they had finished, Rin drew his final seal on the inside of the castle, picked Bachira up with a pan, and let him flare free. It was minorly terrifying to watch—the tame, red flame that Bachira’s form usually took on became a violent, blazing blue, and his eyes, usually round and innocent, became slitted like a cat’s. Isagi and Asahi watched in awe as the castle began to bend and shift, and when it had finally died down, the interior of the castle shifted until nothing was the same anymore.

Isagi jumped off the table and ran towards the window—and it was there that he realized that they were in the Wastes, because the same billowing smoke was coating his windowpanes, and the same morning train had just run through the rail that always led to the front of Isagi’s hat shop.

“Rin,” he breathed. “You brought us back—here?” Rin gave him a curious glance, but the tips of his ears were still tinged slightly red any way, as if it was embarrassing that he had even remembered such a large part of Isagi’s memories. “I thought you might like it better. It’s nothing.” he waved it off hastily. “I added more stuff since we have a plus one now. He walked further down the hallway and beckoned for Isagi to follow him.

“C’mon. I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

Isagi’s bedroom was exactly the same room that was tucked behind the hat store in the Wastes: the same desk and chair, the same bed, the same rectangular window, and even the same view. Every last detail had been copied and carefully recreated with precision.

“You’ve remade—everything.” Isagi breathed in awe. “Even the window. Even the courtyard.” He pushed open the glass panes to stick his head outside. “Rin, this is incredible!” Rin leaned against the door way and gave Isagi a small smile.

“Yeah. I thought it would suit you.”

Isagi’s youthful appearance that had reappeared moments before fell once again, and he smiled at Rin once again, much older than before. 

Rin pulled Isagi by the arm towards the doorway.

“Here, look. See how there’s a new dial to replace the blue one? It’s my gift to you. C’mon.”

He switched to the dial and opened the door, letting Isagi hook his arm through his as he walked out the door and into the soft, rolling grasses of what looked like utter paradise. The entire landscape was covered in flowers of different colors: green battered by blue and pink and yellow and white, large blue-gray mountains piercing the sky, capped with snow—and then the lakes, cutting between the mass of grass and flowers and soil, like ponds of glass under the sun.

“It’s my garden.” Rin said. “I wanted to share it with you, at least.”

Isagi let Rin guide him through the brooks and fields, towards the edge of the lake—beyond which there were larger and smaller islands of flora, and the water reflected the sky as such that Isagi could not tell the difference between either.

“Rin!” Isagi whooped in delight. “This is amazing! I feel like I’m dreaming or something. Stuff like this really exists, huh?”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a softer smile. “I’m glad you like it. Give me your hand. There’s somewhere else I want to show you.”

Rin led Isagi up the hill and into the view of a small cottage—there was a wheel churning water back and forth, a table and a chair, and a door that was wide open, but Isagi could tell that it had been long abandoned.

“That,” Rin said, pointing to the house, “Is the place where I used to spend my summers alone.”

Isagi frowned. “All by yourself?”

Rin looked at him in surprise.

“Yeah? I never had any one else to spend it with, you know. I have an older brother, but I never got to know him much. He’s somewhere far away, I think.” He looked slightly wistful.

“Anyway, since I’ve never had any one to spend it with, I thought I might let you have it. Come with me.”

Isagi hesitated slightly, and Rin looked back. “I’m scared,” he replied, “because I think you’ll leave me alone and disappear when I’m inside like you always do.”

“Don’t be stupid, Isagi.” Rin replied. “Look, there are so many flowers here. You could start a flower shop.”

“I don’t mind if you’re a monster, Rin.” Rin stayed quiet. He fumbled with his fingers, however, and Isagi noticed that the growing silence only meant Rin was going to throw a fit.

“Are you going to leave us alone?”

Rin stayed quiet. His expression seemed mildly conflicted, however. 

“I want to help you, Rin, but I don’t know how. I’m plain—the only thing I’m good at is cooking or cleaning, and I’ve got nothing else to me. I’m not handsome, like you are, and manners don’t matter if you don’t stand out.” Isagi began to shrink back down to an old man. Since he had step foot into the garden, he had returned to his youthful state, but the mention of Rin leaving had jumpstarted his thoughts again, and there was no stopping them.

“You’re not plain, Isagi! You’re colorful—thats why I brought you here! You’re full of color. You are what brought this field to life.” Rin hastily held his hands. “What’s wrong with not standing out? You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Rin,” Isagi said tiredly. “Nothing about my colorfulness will ever convince you to stay, now will it?”

And he kept his mouth shut, because he knew that Isagi was right, and as much as the bone deep ache hurt his back every day, that kind of resolute resignation hurt much, much more.

At midnight, the castle began to shake. “Asahi!” Isagi yelled from his bedroom, “Get the Witch and watch over Bachira! I’m going outside!”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the Witch said slowly from his seat at the window. “Chigiri’s minions will find you there, you know.”

Isagi glared at him.

“Like I give a single shit. Now make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

When Isagi opened the door to meet the Wastes, the entire street was in flames—the air strikes had reached the city, then, and the absence of people in the streets save for the somethings that Chigiri seemed to have summoned were enough for Isagi to be put at attention.

(Isagi realized that if he had the courage to do this—to face off against some impending doom, then there was really no reason to not believe in himself after all. And with that, and a surge of courage, Isagi grew taller and younger and his face grew softer, and he was back to the same black haired boy he had been before.)

The curse had not been lifted yet. But Isagi knew that right now, none of that mattered as long as he was unable to protect the castle. Isagi rushed towards the door and hurried inside, locking it to prevent their invasion, but they began to squirm through the door, and he quickly ran towards the courtyard to escape.

From above the open space, Isagi watched in awe as an airship dropped countless missiles from its bottom; and then suddenly, one was falling towards him, and Rin was there, grappling to the edge of it, until it erupted and there was nothing but rubble. Isagi felt the wind and the heat, but it seemed that Rin had sent the brunt of it into the ground, and that whatever disaster had almost occurred was primarily over.

He stumbled off of the pile of rocks and dove into Rin’s arms. (Or wings.)

“You’re an actual fucking idiot.” He said, grabbing tighter around Rin’s frame, even though he was covered from head to toe in feathers and he really wasnt much of a human at all. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Sorry for taking so long,” he replied, his voice muffled as he rested his head in Isagi’s hair. “Had—unexpected company.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Isagi scolded. “This isn’t time for jokes.”

Rin eyed the somethings fighting to break the entrance. “You’re right. I have to go—Isagi, c’mon,” he sighed, as Isagi held on tighter. “You know I have to leave. You can’t just make me stay here—another round of bombs are coming and Bachira can’t stop those by himself.”

“Then run away! You don’t have to fight. We can run away; us, and the castle, even the Witch. We’ll all leave and live in the mountains—“

“I’m done with running away, Isagi.” Rin gently pried himself off of Isagi’s arms.“I have things to protect.” He pinched Isagi’s nose lightly. “Like you, for example.”

Isagi slapped at his hands, and Rin laughed lightly, letting go. He braced himself, let the feathers overtake him once more, and headed for the doorway.

“Be careful, okay?” Rin bolted down the stairs. “Rin! I said be careful, okay! Come back safe!”

But he was long gone—and there was no use waiting for him to come back, so Isagi decided to put himself to work instead.

“Bachira, get up. We’re going to move the castle.”

“Are you crazy? Chigiri will find us right away!”

“He already has, you dipshit.” Isagi replied, helping the Witch up with his arm.“Rin won’t come back alive if he keeps fighting. So we’re moving.” 

“I can’t just leave!” Bachira protested as Isagi came nearer. “It’ll make the house collapse!”

“Fine then!” Isagi retaliated, digging him out of the soot and placing him into a pan. “If that’s how it’ll be for Rin to come back alive, then I don’t mind it.”

“Have I ever told you you’re crazy?” Bachira fluttered in panic. “You’re crazy. You’re so insane.”

“Sure.” Isagi said as he advanced down the stairs. “You’d better let me out last. I don’t know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Bachira glared at him a final time. “If I die, this all your fault.”

And with that, Isagi removed Bachira from the Moving Castle, and with a rumble of metal and creaking of wood, it collapsed on itself, the legs falling into each other to become nothing but dust. 

Even the valley seemed to gasp, in a way, because a gust of wind blew threw and they all began to shiver. 

“Whoa.”

“I told you that’d happen.” Bachira said ominously.

“It’s raining.” Asahi wondered aloud. “Is there an opening in the house, Isagi?”

“I can search for one. I think theres one over by the side. It’ll be a tight fit, but I’m sure Bachira can make it work.” Isagi felt around the side of the collapsed structure. “Aha! Right here. C’mon Asahi. Bring the Witch with you.”

Isagi set Bachira onto the fireplace. “Now then, Bachira. Can you take us to Rin?”

“Pfft. Can I take you to Rin. Of course I can take you to Rin. But I’m low on fuel, so I’ll need something valuable of yours, Isagi.” Isagi glanced around. “I haven’t got much.”

Bachira flared slightly, his flames turning a deeper red. “A kiss, maybe?”

Isagi stared at him. “You want me, to kiss you. A fire demon. Made of fire.”

“It won’t burn!” Bachira persisted. “It’s for motivational purposes. I get bragging rights too. Win-win.”

“Alright then,” Isagi grinned. “I’ll kiss you. But then, you take us to Rin.”

And he leaned down and pecked Bachira slightly on his cheek (or wherever the cheek of a flame might be) to which the demon erupted in response and lifted the house onto its feet until it was standing itself once again.

“Incredible Bachira! You’re amazing!”

“Imagine what I could do with your eyes and your heart, Isagi” Bachira fluttered in annoyance. “You’re too sensible to give me those, though.”

“A heart? You have a heart?” The Witch stumbled forward and cupped Bachira in his hands. “A heart. Rin’s heart. You are Rin’s heart.”

Isagi leaned under the floorboards.

“There!” He pointed at the cluster of black against the fiery red horizon. “There’s Rin! Bachira, take us to him! He can’t fend for himself.”

A strike of lightning cut through the frenzy of black and red.

“Bachira, hurry!”

Bachira gurgled in reply; and Isagi knew immediately that something was wrong.

Isagi turned around and yelped. Kira was gazing at Bachira in awe, pulling at his flames, his eyes glittering with some rapt attention he had lacked before. “Oh no, oh no no no what are you doing? Stop it!” He pulled at the Witch’s hands to no avail—Kira had them hooked around Bachira’s form and he refused to let go. From between them, Bachira yelped in muffled cries of, “Cut it out!”

The house slowly began to collapse and break down—with Isagi and the Witch and Asahi falling with it, while the rubble and debris crowded around them. Bachira fell backwards, from the Witch’s hands, and onto the Witch’s body, and suddenly, he was enveloped into bright red flames.

With rising horror, Isagi rushed forward, pulling at his hands in a frenzy as he burned and Bachira yelped, but nothing seemed to defeat his resolve.

”You’ll burn to death!” He shrieked at him. “Let Bachira go, Kira, you’ll burn! You’re burning yourself alive.”

The stench of smoldering skin had started to envelop the room—Isagi decided that there was not much else he could about it besides to a pail of water, and before he knew it, Bachira had receded into a small blue flame, and the house was no more.

When he fell backwards, from one half of the house, with the scarecrow beside him, he thought absently that maybe somewhere, his actions could’ve caused Rin to die too.

The scarecrow buffered his fall. It did not do much to ease the pain.

Isagi sat with his head in his hands surrounded by the remains of the moving castle and a beaten up scarecrow, and he began to cry. 

Under the blanketed night, he wondered that if he cried hard enough, he might wake up from whatever nightmare he’d put himself in, and be back home—at the hat shop, with Rensuke at his side.

The ache at his side had seized, but his throat was burning nonetheless, and his eyes watered so much so that his vision was completely blurred.

(Then again, there was no way he was going to be able to live without Rin.)

The scarecrow bumped against him as he cried, and Isagi looked up as the ring that had guided him back to the castle lit up once more, pointing forward through the rubble, and towards the doorway and the dial that led into abyssal darkness.

”You want me to go in there?” He whispered. 

Yet again, the scarecrow seemed to nod. Isagi did not question it this time—the scarecrow had helped him time and time again, and brought him to Rin, and so Isagi decided to take its word for it.

Isagi stepped through and found himself in the cabin from Rin’s garden.

It was small but not abandoned this time—the cabin showed evident signs of life, like the compass and bottled ship on the table, and the map spread out on the floor. There was a photo on the windowsill of Rin and a taller boy with wilder hair and a deadened expression. Beyond the window was a field of flowers. A familiar field of flowers.

When he broke into a run and pushed open the door, he was not met with flames or Chigiri’s minions or even Rin himself.

The sky was a brilliant navy. And running like tears across the horizon were bright, fiery shooting stars that exploded against the grass like firecrackers. Isagi followed the trail of one star as it dropped to the ground beside a boy, much younger than he was, but unmistakably with the same dark hair and hard expression—Rin.

And he watched as Rin caught a stray star—and he cupped it in his hands, watching it glow. Then he began to sing to it, letting it flourish between his palms as he laughed and let the sparks fall to the ground like tears, and when he had stopped, he raised it to his mouth and swallowed it whole. 

He jolted and coughed—and then he held his hands over his heart where a small red flame blazed to life—Bachira.

Bachira is Rin’s heart.

So the Witch had not been crazy, then. He’d been right.

Suddenly, the air began to warp, and Isagi felt himself falling backwards. He yelled for Rin and Bachira, and he watched them turn to him in surprise before the darkness swallowed him whole.

The darkness seemed to be watery—Isagi was swimming in it—and it enveloped him slowly but surely, but from the light on his ring that had been pointing to Rin all along, Isagi swam his way through the abyss and back towards the doorway.

He found Rin on the other side.

Rin, who was wrapped around himself and covered in blood, and who was cold and barren and sharp. Whose feathers bristled and tensed as his wounds opened and closed, who no longer had any hands because he had become some kind of monster.

(Rin, who had remembered Isagi’s favorite things like they were his own memories. Rin who was soft and kind-hearted and who let Isagi into his childhood home.)

“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” He said, pushing the feathers aside. Rin’s face stared back, his eyes slightly unfocused. Isagi pressed his lips lightly to Rin’s cold ones.

“Take me to Bachira, Rin.”

And Rin heaved himself slowly upwards, his legs much more inhumane now, his form taking that of a raven, with Isagi’s arms around his neck and the scarecrow clutching his wing. He took flight, while Isagi gently muttered the directions under his breath as they surveyed the land. The land of the Wastes was torn—it was battered and littered with cracks and debris of the castle, the brooks were clogged with wood and brick, and the animals that had surrounded the area before seemed to have fled.

Nestled between the chaos of the Wastes, teetering along on two legs and a platform, were Asahi, The Witch, and Bachira—all alive and well. Bachira’s blue form hiccuped from between the Witch’s cupped hands, and Asahi was curled on the ground, the remains of a pillow underneath him.

As soon as Rin landed, he collapsed into a heap on the floor of the platform, the feathers withering away like festering insects. The scarecrow hopped to the side and Isagi leaned down and cupped his cheeks with his hands.

“Cold.” He murmured. “Nothing Bachira won’t be able to fix.”

“Isagi!” Asahi exclaimed. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” he smiled, “and I’ve got Rin with me this time.”

He glanced slightly at the Witch of the Waste, who clutched Bachira closer to his heart.

“No.” He said stubbornly. “It’s mine.”

“Kira,” Isagi said, leaning down to meet him. “Please.” He rested his head on the Witch’s shoulder. “Please just give me Bachira.”

Kira gave him a long stare. His eyes, which had paled from whatever Chigiri had done to him under the cover of palace, seemed unfocused and glassy.

“Take it, then” The Witch handed him Bachira.  “He’s barely alive, you know. Take good care of it.”

Bachira’s warmth in his hands was like a small, fluttering heart—like that of a baby bird before it learns to fly, like the warmth of a spring breeze. It flickered across his palms and around his fingers until Bachira had grown large enough to muster the strength to speak.

“Isagi,” he said tiredly, “I’m all worn out.”

“I know. If I give you back to Rin, will it kill you?”

“Maybe not,” he said thoughtfully, “because the water didn’t kill either of us, so I don’t see why this should. Maybe it’s a you-thing, Isagi.”

“I’ll try then.” And with that, Isagi gently pressed Bachira over Rin’s heart. At first, Bachira disappeared under his chest, and Rin’s body grew much warmer—his hands twitched lightly in Isagi’s—but soon, from the center of his chest, a star erupted into the sky, and began to dance between the clouds.

It was like the stars he had seen behind the door, the ones that skipped on the water like fireworks and exploded against the ground like droplets. A shooting star.

“You’ve done it, Isagi! I’m free!”

Isagi laughed with delight as Bachira danced around him, and then he swirled twice and disappeared into the clouds, taking the last of the magic keeping the platform standing with him.

As they slid down the mountain, the scarecrow pushed itself against the rocks, pressing friction against the stone to prevent a harsher fall—and when they finally stopped, the end of the scarecrow’s branch had shaved off into nothing at all. Isagi held it close, whispered a small thank you, and pressed his lips to the head of the scarecrow.

It warped into nothingness—in its place stood a man in a suit, with peculiar looking hair and a topknot, whos face looked slightly like a frog but was attractive nonetheless.

“I am a prince from a neighboring kingdom. My name is Gagamaru.” He bowed. “Your kiss has saved me. To break my curse, I was to be kissed by my beloved—and in our case, that is you.”

Isagi wrinkled his nose. “That’s a bit cheesy, isn’t it?”

“What’s cheesier is this, Isagi.” Kira pointed to Isagi’s features. “By some miraculous phenomenon, your curse has broken—I think because my wish to gain Rin’s heart was fufilled, if even for a second. You’ve gone back to normal. In fact, you’ve been normal since the castle broke.”

He gazed appreciatively at Asahi and Rin. “They must have blurred your insecurities so much so that you did not care to think about them anymore. I’m glad.” And he smiled, bright and wide, before dropping back down to the ground so that he could sleep.

Asahi poked at Gagamaru’s suit. “So, how much money do you have? What kingdom is it exactly? Do you pay people all the time? Do you get to sit in those carriages?”

From behind him, Isagi heard pained grunts as Rin struggled to sit up.

He turned to Rin, who mournfully gazed at his bare arms. “Isagi. Your hair is all dark again, just like it was before.” He held it between his fingers and tugged at it.

“It’s so pretty.”

“Yeah?” He said teasingly. “So the first thing you say when you wake up is that you like my hair? Nothing like, Oh Isagi! Thank you for saving my life! None of that, right?”

Rin’s face burned and Isagi laughed with delight. He pinched Rin’s nose and tackled him to the ground. “I’m just kidding.” He said abashedly. “This is more than enough.”

Isagi began his day sewing hats. Then, he visited Rensuke at the patisserie and apologized profusely—he explained the whole thing, from the Witch, to the palace, to the bombs, to the castle, and to the end. Rensuke cried a bit, and then laughed a bit, and ultimately decided that Isagi had to attend every party he asked him to from now on to make up for it. Isagi agreed, because it was probably the easiest way out of it.

Rensuke also pushed for details about “your boyfriend, Isagi! The wizard, Howl!” but Isagi refused to say more than the fact that he had a moving castle, and that Isagi had decided to stay with him from now on.

(Then, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, Isagi set off for home. He passed the woman and her husband, passed the bushes where he had met the scarecrow, passed the hill where he had first seen the moving castle, and then he met the castle half way, stepped inside, and made his way to the balcony.

“Good morning, Rin.” Isagi smiled, his eyes curling as he wrapped his arms around Rin’s waist. Rin’s arms circled Isagi’s until they both melted into each other.

“Good morning Isagi.” Rin replied, his hands warm against his sides. He dipped down to kiss him. Isagi’s lips were warm, and they seemed to melt Rin’s colder ones (because he had been standing on the balcony for so much longer) until they became one, and when they seperated, Rin eyelashes were decorated with snow from the cold as he smiled, his cheeks pink with happiness.

“Where would you like to go today?”)