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Sir Faust.
A year has passed since you disappeared. I know that if you wanted me to find you, then you would have left a note. But I still worry for your well-being. Before you left, you weren’t in a good condition mentally or physically. I don’t mean to say that you would die easily now that you’re alone though. You’re stubborn that way.
I’m stubborn too. It’s because I’m stubborn that I have to find you. I’ve traveled a lot already in one year to search for you, but I haven’t found a single trace. I have no doubt that that was intentional on your part, because you’re careful and it wouldn’t be hard for you to hide yourself using magic. Your skill with it is greater than mine, and I hope you’re using it to heal yourself.
I’m unsure if you would want to hear this, but Sir Alec has begun laying the groundwork for a kingdom. The last time I heard about him, I heard rumors of Central Country, saying that it would be a place for humans and wizards. It’s like the dream you used to tell us about, but I don’t know how to feel about it now.
Wherever you are, please be safe and well, Sir Faust. You won’t be able to read this note until I can deliver it, but I want you to know that I will always do what I can for you. If you have no place to return to, then come to me and I will provide one for you.
Lennox.
—
Centuries ago, Lennox found himself taking ink to paper. He had never been graceful with his words, but he wrote letters. They were short and simple, and often straight to the point, but they were letters nonetheless.
He would write one each time he failed to find Faust somewhere. Decades passed, and the amount of letters he kept tucked in his bag continued to grow. Centuries passed, and by then, Lennox had already been using magic to create space in his bag to store the letters. Even when he settled down in the South as a shepherd, Lennox still wrote occasionally.
Sometimes he would read old letters. He lost track of how many times he’d reread the first letter he wrote to Faust. The edges of the paper were worn, and the ink was slightly faded, but the sentiments still rang true no matter how long it had been since he wrote it.
Running his thumb over a corner of the letter that had folded into itself, he looked over his old words multiple times. It was like a mantra at this point: “It’s been longer than a year, I still worry for his well-being, I still have faith he’s alive, I still hope he has a home to return to.” Every time Lennox read the letter, it always felt like he’d written it just yesterday.
“Again?”
Lennox sighed and folded the letter, carefully placing it back inside its yellowed envelope. “... Sir Figaro. You should knock before you enter someone’s house.”
Standing up from where he leaned on the doorframe of Lennox’s room, Figaro shrugged. “The front door was unlocked.” They both knew it wasn’t.
Lennox tucked the envelope into his bag, which was set on the desk in front of the seat he was in. It was a familiar motion, one he’d done countless times before.
“Did you need something from me?” Figaro shook his head.
“Did one of my sheep leave their pen and start walking through the town again?” Figaro shook his head again.
“... Then what is it?” The last one came out more like a statement than a question. “Sorry.”
“No worries. But you didn’t answer me, you know? It hurts an old man’s heart to be ignored, Leno.” Figaro stuck his hand on his chest, and looked towards Lennox with a frown they both knew was fake.
“Sir Figaro.” Lennox stared at him.
Figaro raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll cut it out, but seriously. You didn’t answer me. Again?” He nodded his head towards Lennox’s bag. “That letter’s gonna get so worn out it won’t be readable if it ever—” Figaro caught the expression on Lennox’s face, and backtracked. “It won’t be readable by the time it gets to him.”
“The ink is still there. It’s legible.” Their eyes met. “... And I can always rewrite it.”
“You always say that, Lennox.” Figaro broke eye contact and ran his hands through his hair. “What’s the point in a letter with no address to mail it to?”
“You’re the last person I would want to hear that from, Sir Figaro.” Lennox paused, considering whether he should include the rest of what he wanted to say. Figaro waited until he decided he would. “... I’m not like you, who stopped trying the second he heard someone might move away.”
Figaro raised his eyebrows, and slowly stepped over towards Lennox, who was still in his seat. Bending down to eye-level, he crossed his arms. “You’re not really still mad over that, are you? I told you I was just kidding.”
Raising a hand to Figaro’s shoulder, Lennox pushed him away as he stood up. “I’m not.”
“Sure you aren’t. Come on, do you wanna head out for a drink together?” Figaro had already started heading towards the door, and raised his arm to beckon Lennox over without looking. “That’s what I came here to ask in the first place.”
Lennox didn’t move. “You should try writing a letter one day, Sir Figaro.”
Already a step away from the front door, Figaro stilled for a moment before letting out a humorless laugh. “You’re not too great at answering questions, are you, Leno? Come on, let’s go.”
Wordlessly, Lennox acquiesced and walked side-by-side with Figaro.
—
Sir Faust.
I met a Western wizard named Colin yesterday. He had a traveling garden, and he used it to search for an old friend of his named Chloros, who he was separated from a century ago. Chloros was a frog, and Colin told me he was taken by a bird. When you read this, you will likely come to the same conclusion I did. But I couldn’t tell him.
A long time has passed, but Colin is still searching for his lost friend. I told him that I would pray for his journey, and that I hope he finds him so they could share a dance again. I hope I find you too.
Lennox.
—
Western wizards had a tendency to talk circles around Lennox. He didn’t particularly mind, and it never seemed like they did either.
“It’s like a long game of hide-and-seek, in a way. The longer it takes me to find him, I feel like the more rewarding it will be when I finally do.” Colin was leaning on Lennox’s side as they sat on the grass of his oasis.
“You think it will be rewarding?” Lennox wasn’t looking, but he imagined Colin had a wistful kind of smile on his face. He never really thought of finding Faust as a reward, moreso a goal.
“You don’t?” The question hung in the air between them, and remained unanswered for a few long seconds that felt like hours.
“... I don’t know,” Lennox answered. “I don’t play hide-and-seek.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?” Colin adjusted himself, and let his head lie on Lennox’s lap so he could look up at his face. “You’re the one seeking, and this wizard you’re looking for, he’s hiding. It sounds like he’s pretty good at it if a guy with senses as sharp as yours hasn’t found him yet.”
“No.” He shook his head, and looked down towards Colin. “It’s not a game. I’m searching for Sir Faust.”
“Haha! That’s just hide-and-seek phrased differently.”
The two stayed like that for a while, with the only light coming from the stars and moon in the sky.
Chloros was a regular frog who got stolen away by a bird, and a century later, Colin was still looking for him. Anyone else could have realized with ease that Chloros was most definitely dead by now, and that Colin would never find him.
Even still, Lennox didn’t have the heart to tell any of that to Colin. After all, he was also looking for someone that everyone had accepted as dead. Faust was immortalized in history as a holy wizard; he was revered as Central Country’s founding saint alongside their first king Alec Granvelle.
Knowing Faust was remembered in a good light was reassuring, yet bittersweet at the same time. Lennox could only imagine how Faust would react to it.
Pulling him out of his thoughts, Colin called Lennox’s attention with a pat on his shoulder.
“Hey, Lennox, right? That’s your name?” Lennox nodded, then Colin continued. “We might be unlucky seekers, but right now we get to share this moment together before continuing our searches. One day I’ll reunite with Chloros, and you with your Sir Faust. Lighten up a little and smile.”
“Smile? Like…” Lennox smiled.
Colin’s eyes widened and he sat up. “You sure have a unique smile, huh?”
—
Sir Faust.
I wonder how much of the world you’ve seen by now. It’s been nearly two centuries since that night. I still have the key to your cell. Whenever I think of parting with it, I’m unable to. I think it’s come to hold power because of how much time I’ve spent with it wondering what I should have done.
I stopped aging, but I still count the years. A part of me is curious how much you have aged in comparison to my memory of you. If you weren’t already aware, paintings and statues of your likeness are common in the new Central Country. They look exactly as I remember you, but… it’s worse that way. They remind me of how I failed.
A few days ago, I saw Bianca. One of the witches who fought beside us for the sake of her family’s future. I witnessed her turn to stone at the gallows. I failed her because I couldn’t make it in time. I’ve already failed you once. I don’t want to fail you again because I couldn’t find you in time.
Lennox.
—
The sight of Bianca’s execution would remain clear in Lennox’s head forever. She had succumbed completely to her own despair. Her hair that she used to braid so properly had been messy and uneven, her hands had dirt and bits of dried blood on them, and her face had a haunting smile that could have come straight from a storybook monster. Not once was there any glint of recognition in her eyes when she saw him.
Choked laughter came from her mouth even as her feet kicked wildly, finding no purchase as she hung from a noose. Her body began to go limp, and Lennox looked away. He heard the stone remains of her body crumble into rocks on the ground.
Bianca from Landsberg. That was who she was.
“Leno, aren’t the sunflowers in this field beautiful?” Bianca loved flowers, and always took the time to smell the roses metaphorically and literally.
“Yes.” He didn’t have more to say in response. Bianca was right. The sunflowers were beautiful.
“They’re taller than I am.” She stepped closer to the field, and held a hand flat atop her head to compare her height to the sunflowers. “By that much, look! Nearly an entire head, Leno.”
He moved to the other side of the sunflower she stood beside. “... It’s shorter than me.”
“Everyone and everything is shorter than you are, Leno,” Bianca said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if even the most powerful wizards in the world were.” She laughed for a moment. “I wouldn’t be surprised if even Oz were.”
Lennox smiled and walked over to another sunflower, one that was a few centimeters taller than him. “What about this one?”
The Bianca whose execution he witnessed was a shell of the Bianca he knew from the revolution. To hear of Bianca being referred to as the man-eating witch from Landsberg hurt. To see the state she died in hurt worse.
Before leaving, Lennox cast a blessing. It wouldn’t do much to give her a peaceful death (since she already turned to stone), but he hoped that it would allow her a peaceful afterlife (if such a thing existed).
It was the least he could do for her.
—
Sir Faust.
Today is another one of your birthdays. It’s been centuries since we celebrated it together, but I heard Central Country celebrates it grandly each year. I’ve never been there during this time so I don’t know firsthand. When I mentioned today was your birthday, Sir Figaro made a casual remark like he forgot. He said, “I guess that’s why Central Kingdom gets so loud this time of year.”
The two of us live close by in the South now. The people here treat wizards kindly. I think you would like it. It gets hot during some seasons though, and Sir Figaro always leaves during that time. Maybe that would be the best time for you to visit.
Happy birthday, Sir Faust. In the future, I’d like to celebrate our birthdays together again.
Lennox.
—
When Figaro asked him to subdue soldiers without using magic upon their arrival to the manor, it was mere muscle memory. Fire roaring as humans and wizards fought, protecting others using his own body, and the aftermath as he helped those who’d fallen rise once more to their feet. Lennox remembered all of those things like the back of his hand.
Lennox also remembered the face of the wizard standing a distance away, and he remembered how that face looked when the light of fire glowed against it.
He looked older, but not physically—it was as if 400 years of life weighed heavily upon his back, and as far as Lennox could guess based on his character, they probably did.
His attire was different, too. Completely dark. His bright eyes were obscured by sunglasses, even during the night. The hair that Lennox knew was soft to the touch was trapped beneath the brim of a hat. The delicate hands unmarked by calluses that Lennox spent years of his life fighting to protect the owner of were hidden under gloves.
Despite the changes, Lennox knew who it was, and it was like 400 years of time had disappeared.
After all these years, the man he’d been searching for was finally in front of him, and equally as stunned.
“You…” Behind those sunglasses, Lennox could see his eyes widen. Though he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, there was no way Lennox could mistake that voice for anyone else.
“... Sir Faust…”