Archive of Our Own

Olruggio was twelve and the boy with one eye was glaring at the ocean. Olruggio knew his name, of course. Everyone did. 

He also knew that he was an outsider, as far as everyone could tell. No witch family had come to claim him. That’s what made all the glaring business so confusing to Olruggio. To someone unexposed to magic, surely the Great Hall would be impressive, right?

But instead the one eyed boy glowered at the billowing ocean that surrounded them like it had personally done him wrong. 

He was a balcony down from Olruggio, scowling and all by himself. Olruggio frowned. He wondered if the boy knew how to draw. 

All witches, even before they apprenticed, knew at least the basics. Draw from the shoulder. Confident lines. Practice lots, make mistakes even more often. Don’t be precious about drawing the perfect spell—just keep drawing. More is better than good, and perfect is impossible. 

A clopping noise drifted up and the boy turned around. The edge of a sealchair peeked out from behind a wall. 

“Come, Qifrey,” Beldaruit said. 

Olruggio inhaled. It was true then. The Wise was looking after him. 

The one eyed boy glanced up and Olruggio ducked back instinctively. Had he noticed him? How could he have? 

But more importantly, why was Olruggio hiding from him? Olruggio looked out again, but the balcony was empty. 

Olruggio, as a rule, didn’t like noise. The lunch halls always gave him a headache, and he could never stand the way the other apprentices leaned over him as he sketched out spell ideas. So what if he liked doodling while he ate! He never closed the circles anyways. Big deal. 

He stomped out of the hall, his tray firmly in hand. No, he had a secret location that he liked best. It was just behind the Runesea Castle lunch hall. It was technically part of it, at the back of this big sprawling garden with moving sculptures and dancing fountains. Even the garden was busy, though, and scribbling out spell ideas could get him scolded by wandering adults. But there was this one sculpture, a big old winged cat, and it hissed and swatted at everyone except Olruggio. 

Before he was apprenticed, his family atelier had a mouser, a mean little grey cat with a missing ear. She would spit and snarl at everyone, but Olruggio’s mom had taught him the trick to pet her: start out with ham. Leave little morsels for her to eat next to you. Be patient. Let her approach you. Once she’s curious, let her sniff your hand. Don’t try to pet her before then. 

And Olruggio got even better with their mouser than his mom. The mangy cat would run up to him in the street every time he came home, meowing as if to demand where he had been. 

But she died a year ago. Olruggio was already an apprentice when it happened and had learned through the mail about it. 

So when Olruggio saw that sculpture, the giant hissing, snarling cat, he knew what to do. He offered it a slice of smoked ham, and when it put its head forward, he let it sniff his hand. After that, it always lifted up its tail to let him past into a little courtyard. 

No one went there—they couldn’t. It was walled off, a trellis covering the top, and vines grew up the walls, thicket thick. And there? There, Olruggio could draw in peace. 

So there he went, waiting for the sculpture to let him past. Halfway down the steps leading into it, he stopped short. 

The one eyed boy was in there. For a split second, he looked peaceful, tucked up against the wall, his eyes shut and his legs pulled up to his chest. 

“Uh,” Olruggio said. 

The boy’s eye flew open and he flinched back so hard he hit his head against the wall. 

“Oh!” Olruggio said, worried and a little irritated about it. This was his spot! Still—“Are you okay?”

The boy was rubbing his head, and Olruggio remembered his name. Qifrey. “How did you find me?” Qifrey demanded. 

“Find you?” Olruggio asked. “This is my spot!”

“You don’t own it.” Qifrey scowled,  ducking his head and batting at his hair. “I don’t see your name on it.”

“Do you know my name?” Olruggio asked, surprised. He didn’t think an apprentice of a Wise would know him. 

Qifrey froze and then the single eye darted over to him. “No,” he admitted. 

“Then how do you know my name’s not on it?” Olruggio asked, feeling rather proud of himself. 

Qifrey scowled at him like he was the ocean. “What’s your name, then?”

“Olruggio,” he annunciated crisply. 

“Didn’t see it,” Qifrey drawled. 

“Ugh!” Olruggio groaned. He just wanted to eat. He plopped down decisively on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Qifrey demanded. 

“Eating!” Olruggio said and then took a pointed bite.

“But—“ Qifrey started, but Olruggio ignored him for his flower blooming onion soup. 

The tides crashed high above. Qifrey rustled next to him. 

“I’m not leaving!” Qifrey said. 

“Are you gonna rat me out if I practice spells?” Olruggio looked at him. 

Qifrey’s face was round, his one eye blinking. The other side was a horrible, red knot of flesh. 

“You can’t steal my ideas,” Olruggio added, just in case. He had heard that sometimes happened, spell thievery, and he wanted none of it. 

Qifrey scowled again. “I don’t want your stupid spells.”

“Fine,” Olruggio said, focusing back on his soup, pulling out some fresh paper. 

“Whatever!” Qifrey humphed.

Olruggio just spread his paper out in front of him. They were new sheets, crisply white. A graphite stick and a sapgum eraser came next. He just wanted to work out a concept, and he hated to use ink on rough drafts. 

He spooned more soup into his mouth and started on the circles, four to a page. He planned to test what different configurations made sense for this spell. 

“Wait,” Qifrey said. “How did you do that?”

Olruggio glanced up. Qifrey was leaning forward, his eye round and blatantly curious. At Olruggio’s glance, he huffed and leaned back. 

“Nevermind,” he muttered, batting at his bangs again. 

Olruggio frowned. But if he didn’t want to know, then Olruggio wasn’t going to force him. He focused back down on the spells. He scribbled out fire signs in the middle. He just wanted the warmth and no light, but that was so tricky to do. 

Qifrey shifted out of the corner of his eye. 

Well. Olruggio studied the spells. Maybe alternating line lengths? Would that work? He sketched that out for circle one. 

“I’m Qifrey,” Qifrey said.

Olruggio glanced up. “Hi.”

Qifrey stared at him a moment, then scowled again, as if he had forgotten to do it. 

Olruggio focused back on his drafts. But for circle two… He tapped his finger against his mouth, considering. 

“You got charcoal on your mouth.”

“It’s graphite,” Olruggio corrected automatically before realizing what he had said. “Ugh!” He wiped his mouth off and Qifrey laughed. 

It was a sweet, light sound, and with Qifrey’s face scrunched up like that, a big sunshine smile stretching wide, his scar almost disappeared. 

Olruggio stared.

The second Qifrey opened his eye, he went dead silent, freezing like an animal before a predator. 

Distant conversation filtered over the walls, witches laughing. A shadow fell over them, a whale crossing above head. 

“Don’t look at me!” Qifrey shouted and scrambled up, bolting from the little courtyard before Olruggio could even say anything. 

It was two weeks until Olruggio saw him again. He didn’t go to his secret hide out every day, and when he did go, it wasn’t always at the same time. His professor didn’t like to let him out for lunch until he finished all of his line exercises. 

Olruggio kicked the grass as he walked to the cat sculpture. He didn’t even need to do line exercises anymore! Sure, he still had to look when he drew, but that was normal! And besides, he didn’t want to be a road witch. He wanted to be rich, and he was going to get rich from selling contraptions everyone wanted. 

The cat sculpture lifted its tail and he ducked under it to get into the little passage way, trotting down the stairs. 

And to make a good contraption, he would have to look at it! Everyone knew that. Very, very normal. He just wished his professor would get the message. 

“Oh,” a voice said. 

Olruggio looked up. Qifrey was staring at him, his single eye wide. Then he scoffed, tossing his head away, and played with his shoes. 

Olruggio wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled on, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Qifrey mumbled back, scratching at his brown leather boots. 

Olruggio considered him. He was sitting against the wall again, and he hadn’t even glared at him yet. 

“Are you gonna shout at me again?” he asked. 

“I didn’t shout!” Qifrey shouted. 

“I don’t like noise,” Olruggio told him matter-of-factly. It was something his mom said to him all the time. Olly, make sure you get a quiet atelier! Olly, go visit before you decide; you would hate to be on a busy street. “You can stay if you’re quiet.”

Qifrey opened his mouth and shut it before scowling. 

That was good enough for Olruggio. He settled down, placing his meal to the left and smoothing out any dirt from the stones. He laid his sketch sheets in the clean spot he made. His spell was coming along nicely. He had decided on the third circle as the best option and was now fiddling with the extra sigils. 

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Qifrey said. 

“What?” Olruggio looked up at him. 

“Nevermind.” Qifrey frowned mightily, digging in at a clump of dried mud on his boots. 

Wait. “Why’s there mud on your shoes?” he asked. 

“Because I walked through mud,” Qifrey sneered, digging his thumb into the chunk. 

“You didn’t fly over it?” Olruggio asked, mystified. 

“No.” Qifrey’s mouth twisted. “Professor Beldaruit was gonna draw the spell for me, but I can do it myself!”

Olruggio looked at the bottom of his shoes. There wasn’t even an attempt at a spell on them. Well, Qifrey was an outsider. It made sense that it would take time for him. Olruggio just shrugged. “Well, when you draw it on, it sticks longer if you sand the leather first.” He started lining up his pen, inks, graphite stick and eraser. “After you’re done, you can seal it with this special wax.”

Qifrey didn’t say anything, so Olruggio started wrapping his graphite in a tissue. He didn’t want to get it on his hands again. Why wouldn’t his professor give him tips like that? Just always the stupid line exercises! She told him to not even use the graphite. A Real Witch Uses Ink. Whatever!

“Where were you?”

“Huh?” He looked up. 

Qifrey ducked his head, batting at his bangs. “You said this was your spot, and you were real mean about it! But then you never showed up. How’s it your spot if you’re never even here?”

“I wasn’t mean!” Olruggio defended himself. “And my professor only lets me have lunch once I’ve finished my line exercises.” He glared at his sheets. 

“… Line exercises?”

Olruggio looked at him. Qifrey actually looked lost. 

“I knew it!” Olruggio crowed. He loved being right. 

“What?” Qifrey reared back. 

“No one showed you, did they?” Olruggio asked, vibrating with the pleasure of having figured something out before the adults. 

“What do you mean?” Qifrey demanded. 

“You don’t know how to draw!” Olruggio shared his revelation. 

A horrified expression flashed across Qifrey’s face, and then he snarled, standing up. “I’m better than you’ll ever be!”

“No, no, no!” Olruggio said, beckoning him over. “No one thinks to teach apprentices how to draw because our parents already taught us! And because you’re already an apprentice, I figured no one remembered to show you.”

Qifrey hesitated, still angled toward the door, but looking at Olruggio. 

“Come on.” Olruggio pulled out a clean sheet. “I’ll show you.”

“I don’t know…” Qifrey said. 

Olruggio drew a circle the right way, from the shoulder, in one smooth line. “Like that,” he said. 

“Oh, like that,” Qifrey said sarcastically. 

“Yeah.” Olruggio nodded to himself. He drew a circle the wrong way, using his fingers and little flicking strokes. “Not like that.”

Footsteps made their way closer. “What’s… what’s wrong about that?”

“You don’t use your fingers,” Olruggio said, and made another smaller circle the right way. “You use your shoulder.”

Qifrey kneeled next to him. “What does that even mean?” 

Olruggio glanced over at him. From this side, he could only see one clear, blue eye. Qifrey noticed him looking and scowled. 

“Like this,” Olruggio said and held his arm up, patting his shoulder. He made a circle in the air in front of them. 

Qifrey copied him, holding nothing. “Why is this better?”

“It’s smoother,” Olruggio said, and made another correct circle. Qifrey mimed drawing in the air again. “Your spells need to have clean lines,” he said and realized he was quoting his professor. Ugh. Still. He glanced over. For Qifrey, it was probably useful. “And you do the same thing to make a straight line.”

“Really?” Qifrey asked and Olruggio nodded, demonstrating on the paper. 

“And then there’s the line exercises,” he went on, frowning. “They’re stupid, but I guess they help. You just draw the thinnest straight line you can, and then copy it as perfectly as you can. There’s others, but that’s one.”

Qifrey hummed, making a line in the air, his expression intent. “I think anything that makes you a better witch isn’t stupid.”

“Ugh.” Olruggio rolled his eyes. “I can already do this though! My professor wants me to do it without looking, but I hate it! I’m going to make contraptions. And they’ll be so good, I won’t even need to draw spells in front of outsiders.”

Qifrey looked at him doubtfully. “I can’t afford that,” he said and made another invisible line in the air, his expression strangely intense. It felt weird to Olruggio, seeing a kid his age look that angry. “I have to be the best witch ever.”

He looked over, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, and something about that made Olruggio lean back.

“Show me the exercises,” Qifrey said. 

“Ok, so like this?” Qifrey asked and Olruggio nodded. 

With a small flick of the pen, Qifrey closed the circle. A flame burst up and they both fell back. 

Laughter tumbled out of Olruggio’s mouth. The fire cackled merrily, shrinking every second. On the other side, Qifrey gaped, his gaze pinned to the fireball. Olruggio’s grin tugged wider. 

Lowering his head slowly, Qifrey looked at him, the fireball almost gone between them, a shell-shocked awe on his face. 

“Again?” Olruggio bounced in place. 

“Yes!” Qifrey pounced forward, grabbing the paper and inspecting it. “Was it these lines that made it so big?” He pointed to the lines in question. 

“Mmhmm,” Olruggio nodded, pulling another sheet closer. “See, if you do them tiny—“ He made a flick, demonstrating. “—you get barely nothing.”

“Olruggio!” Qifrey called out as Olruggio trotted down the stairs. “Look!”

The soup bowl rattled on the tray. “Don’t distract me!” he complained. “Or I’ll spill my soup.”

Qifrey snorted. “You always get soup? What’s up with you and soup?”

“Soup’s good!” Olruggio defended, sitting down next to where Qifrey was laying on the ground, his feet kicking in the air and spells spilled in front of him. 

“Soup-man,” Qifrey said, slowly drawing a long, smooth line. 

“No!” Olruggio said. 

“Gonna be a soup-witch,” Qifrey went on, capping the line with another horizontal line. “Casting soup-spells and making soup-contraptions.”

“Maybe, maybe,” Olruggio spluttered, “maybe a soup contraption would be a good idea! Huh!”

“See!” Qifrey paused in his drawing to point his pen at him. He turned back to his spell with an air of satisfaction. “Soup-man.”

“Ugh!” Olruggio flopped flat. He was not a soup-man. Qifrey laughed again, the sweet bright sound. Breath caught in Olruggio and he peeked a look at Qifrey. 

As if he could tell he was looking, Qifrey glanced back over his shoulder—smiling. 

It was small, but Qifrey’s eye was bright and blue like, like, Olruggio didn’t know. The sky, maybe. Maybe like the first time he had worn his flying shoes and tumbled through the air. 

Qifrey made a pleased little noise and focused down on the his spell again. 

Olruggio scrambled to sit up. “Whatever!” he said, his heart beating hard. He huffed, smoothing out his caplet. 

Qifrey kept drawing, his feet kicking in the air and it was driving Olruggio crazy. He turned around, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I don’t even see you eating!” he complained. He frowned and glanced over at Qifrey’s fluffy, white head. “What do you eat?”

Qifrey’s feet stopped kicking. After a beat, they resumed their movement. “You always take forever to show up and I’m already done eating,” Qifrey said, but his voice was perfectly even with none of the defensiveness or even the lilting lift it sometimes got right before Olruggio got red and Qifrey laughed like a bell. 

Olruggio frowned deeply, glancing around. There was no trace of dishes. Not even crumbs or a stray splatter of sauce!

Turned to face Qifrey entirely, he leaned in. “What did you eat today?” he challenged. 

Qifrey’s feet paused again and he stopped drawing. Olruggio knew it! “Just the, the sandwiches,” Qifrey said, his head dipping. His pen wiggled but he wasn’t actually drawing. 

“There weren’t any sandwiches today!” Olruggio said, leaning in even closer. 

“Whatever!” Qifrey pushed him away. “I wasn’t hungry!”

“What did you eat yesterday?” Olruggio pushed Qifrey’s hand away, and Qifrey dropped his pen to shove him. 

Olruggio fell back. 

“I don’t remember!” Qifrey scowled, batting at his bangs again. He turned back to his spell. “Stop bothering me!”

Olruggio narrowed his eyes. 

Qifrey’s stomach rumbled. 

“You lied!” Olruggio cried out. 

“So what!” Qifrey said. “I don’t like the lunch halls anyways. Everyone in them is jerks.” His lips twisted and he drew a stabbing stroke on his spell. The ink splattered, ruining it. Qifrey made an angry noise and before Olruggio could do anything, he was balling up the paper and throwing it to the other side of the courtyard. 

Qifrey’s hands opened and closed, dark ink messy and everywhere, and he panted, fast and hard. 

Olruggio’s eyes were wide. What was going on?

A horrible, frustrated noise tore out of Qifrey. “Whatever!” he said, his face red and miserable and he pulled himself up and scrambled away up the stairs. 

A rumbling noise scratched out, and he knew it was the cat letting Qifrey past. 

And then it was just the sound of the waves, of people chatting, and Olruggio was alone but for a single inky handprint on the ground. 

He brought double servings of lunch to the handprint for a week until he saw Qifrey again. 

“You’re here!” Olruggio shouted. 

Qifrey’s eye went wide, his eyebrows shooting up. 

“Do you have any idea how much food I’ve had to eat?” Olruggio snapped. “I’ve been so full! And I had to tell the lunch-witches that I’m going to hit a growth spurt for them to give me extra! But I’m not! I’m not hitting a growth spurt!”

Qifrey’s mouth went small. “Um.”

“And I don’t even know what food you like!” Olruggio went on. “I got salted double headed snails yesterday, just in case. I hate salted double headed snails, and I had to eat all of them.”

“I’m,” Qifrey said, his eye big and his face round. “Sorry?”

“You should be,” Olruggio scolded and stomped down the stairs. Qifrey watched him carefully, not taking his eye off him. 

Papers were scattered around Qifrey. Olruggio wiggled his foot at them. There was no place to put the food.

“Uh?” Qifrey asked, his expression still shocked and his posture rounded. 

“Move it!” Olruggio demanded. 

“Okay, okay!” Qifrey quickly brushed the papers away before looking back up to Olruggio. His hands were on his knees. 

Huffing, Olruggio finally sat the tray down and settled down next to it. 

Qifrey still watched him, cautious like Olruggio was the feral, messy one and not him. 

“Okay,” Olruggio said to him. “Do you like tomatoes?”

Qifrey looked at him like he couldn’t tell if it was a trick question or not. “… yes?”

“Good.” Olruggio nodded decisively. His tray had three bowels and two whole bread rolls. The tomato soup was placed in front of Qifrey, but when Olruggio tried to hand him the bread roll, Qifrey’s hand stayed limp. “Take it!” He pushed it at him. 

Qifrey tenatively grasped it, still looking shocked, like he had stepped into some alternative universe. Olruggio had heard about those a few days ago—he wondered if there was one where everyone only had four fingers. 

Olruggio started on his meal—lemon rice and chicken. The pudding bowl was for them to share. 

But—there was a big problem. Qifrey wasn’t eating. He was just playing with his bread roll, tearing it to pieces. 

“Are you gonna eat?” Olruggio asked. Qifrey’s eye flicked up to him. “Because I can’t eat all of that! So you better.”

Qifrey’s head ducked. 

“I’m gonna need new clothes soon if I keep having to eat your food!” Olruggio told him. “And if that happens, you’re paying for it!”

Qifrey looked up at him, and a small smile was twitching on his lips. “I’m eating, I’m eating,” he said. 

“Good.” Olruggio huffed. Qifrey nibbled on his bread shred. Satisfied, Olruggio thought back to the alternative universes. “Which do you think would be better, to only have four fingers, or to have six?”

“What?” Qifrey asked. 

“If you could only have four fingers or six fingers,” Olruggio repeated, “which would you like better?”

“Oh,” Qifrey said. “Six! Way better to have six.”

“But then none of your gloves would fit,” Olruggio rebutted. He had thought this through. 

Qifrey shook his head. “No, no, all my gloves would already have six finger spots.”

“Already?” Olruggio asked doubtfully. 

“Olruggio!” Alaira called out behind him. 

He scowled, spinning around to face the busy lunch hall. Clustered in the corner, five apprentices were piled around a table, Alaira standing. 

“Come sit with us!” She waved him over. 

Olruggio glanced to the door. He had gotten spring garlic noodles for Qifrey. Yesterday, he had stolen all of Olruggio’s spring garlic butter bread.

But. On the other hand:

Olruggio kind of did want to sit with his friends, or at least say hi to them. Sure, they were nosey and didn’t get his jokes, but it had been a long time since he had eaten with them and he missed how excited they got over his ideas.  

On his other, other hand, Qifrey was finally gonna draw the flying spell on his shoes today and Olruggio had stolen the wax from his professor to help him out with it. 

“Come on!” Alaira said. 

He could just talk to them for a minute! Or maybe even he could bring Qifrey to them once they had gotten his shoes all done. He picked his way through the busy room, witches chatting around him, the smell of spices and roasted meat swirling around him. 

He put his tray down on the table.

“Yay!” Alaira clapped. “We have Olruggio!”

His cheeks heated and he scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t know…” he said. 

“Where have you been?” Utowin hopped up and slung an arm around his shoulders, leaning on him. “We haven’t seen you for weeks!”

“Just—“ Olruggio wasn’t a good liar. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Drawing.”

“I knew it!” Utowin crowed. “Our genius!”

“No!” Olruggio hid his face. 

“You promised you wouldn’t forget us,” Utowin said. “You’re gonna be all rich and famous with your contraptions, and you’re already leaving us behind!” He made a dramatic, pained face. 

“I’m not leaving you!” Olruggio defended, flushed. “I’ve just been sitting with Qifrey.”

The table went silent. He swallowed. 

“The…” Utowin started. “The kid with one eye?”

“Yeah.” Olruggio shrugged tightly. 

Alaira made a face. “He smells weird, though.”

Olruggio’s mouth twisted. Sure, sometimes Qifrey’s hair was a little greasy and he didn’t know how often he washed his clothes, but the way his eye lit up when Olruggio showed him an idea made it easy to ignore. “I don’t know.” He rubbed at his arm. 

“He does,” Alaira insisted. 

“He’s just lonely, I think,” Olruggio said, embarrassed all over again. 

“He gives me the creeps,” Utowin said. “His eye freaks me out.”

“What’s wrong with his eye?” Olruggio demanded. “It wasn’t his fault!”

“That’s what makes it so creepy though! He met the Brimhats! That’s so weird,” Utowin said. 

“Whatever,” Olruggio said. What a stupid thing to think. 

“It doesn’t freak you out?” Alaira asked. 

“No,” Olruggio mumbled, ripping apart his bread. He was going to invite Qifrey to eat with his friends, but—

“But what if he’s—“ her voice dropped lower. “One of them.”

“What?” Olruggio asked. “Why would he be? Why would they take an eye from one of their own?”

Alaira just shrugged, her eyes wide. 

“Maybe he’s an undercover agent,” Utowin stage-whispered, melodramatic and stupid. 

And then a cake exploded on Utowin’s head, his cap flying forward. 

“Fuck you!” Qifrey shouted. Olruggio spun around in his seat and Qifrey was standing there, trembling and red-faced. “I would never work with them!”

“Qifrey!” Olruggio said. He didn’t know Qifrey was there. Adults were starting to stand up around them. 

“What the hell!” Utowin said, wiping the cake off his hair. None of the adults were doing anything, only cautiously glancing at Qifrey. “And I don’t know! You never talk to anyone!”

Qifrey’s gaze flicked to Olruggio and Olruggio’s face went hot. He looked away. 

“What!” Utowin cried out. “Come on. Olruggio doesn’t count. He’d be nice to a weed.”

“Hey!” Olruggio shouted. 

“Did you ever think I don’t talk to you because you’re an asshole?” Qifrey asked, bristling, and when Olruggio looked at him, he refused to look back. 

“Alright, calm down, boys,” an adult finally said, putting a hand on Qifrey’s shoulder. 

Qifrey jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Maybe you are a double agent!” Utowin said. 

“No!” Qifrey shouted back. “I hate the Brimhats! I’m going to kill them all!”

“That sounds exactly like what a Brimhat would—“

Qifrey hurled another thing, Utowin barely ducking in time. A glass shattered against the wall. 

“Fine!” Utowin snarled, whipping out a spell and a pen. 

Shouting erupted but the spell exploded forward, a bank of water bursting up and bowling over Qifrey. 

“Utowin!” Alaira called out, the adults rushing in, but Qifrey wasn’t getting up. 

Fear thudding in his chest, Olruggio darted forward between the rush of adults, and fell into the puddle of water. 

Qifrey trembled, curled up on himself.

“Qifrey,” he called out, shaking him. Qifrey didn’t move, only make a small, gut-wrenching noise. “Qifrey,” he tried again, leaning in close. “Are you cold?”

He wrapped his cape around him and started rubbing his back like he remember how his mom did. “I’ll get you warm,” he promised, Qifrey still terrifyingly still. 

“Really?” Utowin called out. “You’re helping him?”

Olruggio looked up, his hand still on Qifrey’s back. “You attacked him!”

“What?” Utowin demanded. “You didn’t see all the shit he was throwing at me?”

“Come on, you’re better than this,” an adult said. 

Qifrey shifted and Olruggio jerked back to look at him. Slowly, Qifrey lifted his head, his hand clasped over his scar. 

“What is it now?” Utowin scoffed. 

But—Olruggio went cold. 

Between Qifrey’s inkstained fingers, he could see little oozing drops of—

“You made him bleed!” he shouted at Utowin. 

“He almost killed me,” Utowin defended. 

“He threw a cake!” Olruggio lunged up. 

“Why do you even like him so much?” Utowin said. “He’s a weird smelly outsider who’s probably a traitor!”

“No, he’s not!” Olruggio shouted. 

“What, are you his boyfriend?” Utowin laughed. 

Blood pumped hot through Olruggio, and without really meaning to, he punched him. 

“Utowin’s nose is broken,” the Knight of Moralis told him. 

Olruggio made a face. He didn’t really care right now. 

“You cannot raise your hands against other witches,” the Knight went on. 

“But I wasn’t the one who used a spell!” Olruggio leaned forward. 

The Knight scowled. “You’re the one I’m talking to right now.”

Olruggio humphed. Unfair! Besides—“He made him bleed!”

“His actions will have their own consequences,” the Knight said. “We are here to speak about yours.”

“Defending someone who’s helpless on the floor?” Olruggio demanded. 

“Assaulting a witch,” the Knight snapped. 

The door opened, Olruggio’s Professor rushing in, red-faced and flustered. “I came as soon as I heard!”

The Knight turned to her. “So you are aware that he attacked a 13 year old witch?”

“Defended—“

“Quiet!” His professor snapped, her face pale with a strange emotion. All the fight went out of him, an odd fear taking its place. She strode in front of him, partially blocking the Knight from view. “He’s a good, quiet boy,” she said. “He’s never hurt even a sea snail before.”

“He broke a fellow apprentice’s nose. We cannot allow such violence,” the Knight’s voice was cold and his professor’s back stiffened. 

He swallowed heavily. Was… was something bad going to happen to him?

“And he’s not violent,” she urged. “Look, here are some of the spells he’s been working on.” She pulled out his private sketches. 

He gasped. “You went through my stuff!”

“Quiet,” she commanded as the Knight took them from her. 

“All fire based.” His lips curved in something cruel. Olruggio’s heart beat hard. 

“No,” his professor urged. “Look at them—this one keeps tea warm. This one dries soggy boots. This one is for a towel, I think—“

“A rug,” Olruggio interrupted, scowling. He couldn’t believe she had gone through his stuff!

“A rug,” she repeated and then huffed softly. “A rug to keep your toes warm when you step out of the shower. Isn’t that right?” She turned to him. 

He looked away, still mad. “The bath tiles get so clammy under the ocean.”

“See,” his professor urged, turning back to the Knight. “All sweet, kind spells. He’s a good boy. He won’t ever do anything like what happened ever again.”

The last part was directed at him. 

“But!” he protested. “Aren’t the Knights supposed to protect people?”

The Knight looked at him. 

“Aren’t you?” Olruggio asked. “Isn’t that what being a witch is about? Protecting people and making lives better? I just wanted to be his friend! He doesn’t have any friends.”

“Enough of this,” someone said from the door. 

“Wise,” the Knight bowed his head but Olruggio’s heart stopped. 

Beldaruit stood in the doorway, smoke curling around him. His sealchair clopped as he entered the space. 

“You can go,” Beldaruit dismissed. 

The Knight nodded and swept out of the room. 

The Wise looked at him and horror beat through Olruggio’s veins. This was was a Wise, and even scarier, this was Qifrey’s professor. 

Beldaruit smiled. “So, are you who he learned how to draw circles from?”

Olruggio swallowed, too afraid to speak.

“I noticed him improve almost overnight,” Beldaruit went on. “I wondered who his tutor was.”

His tutor was supposed to be Beldaruit. Olruggio’s mouth twisted. “No one else bothered to show him,” he mumbled resentfully. 

“Olruggio,” his professor bit out. 

Beldaruit laughed. “No, no, it’s alright.” He smiled at Olruggio and his chair lowered. “Qifrey doesn’t like people telling him what to do, yes?”

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.” Olruggio held his arms and looked away. 

“But he likes you enough to listen to you,” Beldaruit spoke softly. 

Olruggio looked at him, startled. 

Beldaruit’s chair straightened and he nodded. “Just this once,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “No consequences.”

“What!” Olruggio stood up. 

Beldaruit put a finger up to his lips. “Our secret!” His face grew serious. “You can’t tell anyone. And I mean it.”

“Not even Qifrey?” Olruggio asked in a hush. 

Beldaruit’s expression gentled. “You can tell him.” He sighed. “He’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Thank you so much,” Olruggio’s professor gushed. “We owe you—I don’t know but whatever you need—“

“No need!” Beldaruit waved her off. “You don’t owe me anything.” He looked down at Olruggio, his expression startlingly sad. “I think I owe you.”

Qifrey was just about to turn the corner when Olruggio was let out of the building. 

“Qifrey!” he called out. 

Qifrey looked back. 

“Wait for me!” He started running over. Qifrey watched him, unmoving. 

He caught up to him. Qifrey stared at him, his face blank. Light rolled over him, tossed in the distant waves and filtering down. 

“Are you okay?” Olruggio asked. 

Qifrey’s expression grew tighter, afraid. 

Olruggio’s hands curled into fists. “Did you get in trouble? You shouldn’t have! You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Qifrey shook his head, his mouth flat and his one eye big and Olruggio felt like he had tripped. 

“You—you didn’t get in trouble?” he asked. 

Qifrey shook his head again, just once, a sharp jerk. 

Olruggio swallowed. Did Qifrey not like him anymore? “That’s—“ he tried, his chest tight. “That’s good.”

Qifrey’s eye was blue, and it gleamed wetly in the cool light. It felt awful, how shiny Qifrey’s eye was. All Olruggio had wanted was to draw the seals on his shoes today together.

His chest hurt for some reason. 

“Are you—“ he tried, not knowing what to ask. “Did I—“

Qifrey launched himself at him, nearly knocking Olruggio over. Thin arms wrapped around him, painfully tight. Olruggio blinked. Qifrey’s face buried into his neck. 

He was—hugging him. 

Olruggio hugged him back, squeezing him. They were okay. Qifrey breathed hard against him. They were okay. 

So quiet he almost didn’t hear it, Qifrey whispered, “Thank you.”

Olruggio’s heart did something funny, a weird flutter that made him red. But then Qifrey ripped himself away, looking away, all closed up again, his head hanging and his foot kicking the cobblestones. 

Olruggio felt all wobbly and stupid, like he had too many hands and didn’t know if he should put them in his pocket or play with his hat or smooth out his shirt or—

“Do I really smell bad?” Qifrey mumbled, not looking up. 

“Uh,” Olruggio said, blindsided. He didn’t know how to answer this. He scratched at his chin. “Sometimes a little? But I guess it never bothered me.”

Qifrey blanched, glancing over at the ocean again. He held his stomach, and his head hung. “It’s just—“ he started, his voice tight and Olruggio hated it. 

“I don’t want to talk about you showering,” he said and Qifrey looked up at him. “We were supposed to do your shoes today!”

A small smile twitched on Qifrey’s mouth. 

“Come on.” Olruggio started walking. “I brought the wax and everything. I don’t wanna carry a bunch of stuff for nothing.”

Qifrey trotted to catch up to him. “Fine, but I don’t wanna test them down here.”

Olruggio looked at him. “Where, then?”

The windowways weren’t guarded. They were basically just doors. But there was—

Qifrey’s face was pale. Utowin stood before the windowways, crying softly. 

Olruggio slipped away from Qifrey, ignoring the hissed whispers to come back. 

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Olruggio hesitated. He had punched him. But it was too late. Utowin looked up, noticing him. 

He scowled, wiping his face around the bulky bandage on his nose. “Come to gloat?”

“No!” Olruggio said, offended. He took a step back. “Do you really think I’m like that?”

Utowin looked away, blotchy and red-eyed. “No,” he mumbled. 

Olruggio rubbed his arm. He hated this. He only wanted everyone to get along. Why was this so complicated? He glanced over. 

Utowin’s face was red all over. Guilt twisted in Olruggio. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. 

Utowin looked at him. 

“That I…” Olruggio grimaced. “Broke your nose.”

“I’m sorry that I was mean,” Utowin mumbled. 

Olruggio deflated. 

Utowin took a horrible, heaving breath, rubbing at his eyes again. “They took away my spells for six months!” His shoulders shook. 

The bottom fell out of Olruggio’s stomach and he gasped. “What?” 

“I’m not—“ Utowin sobbed. “I can’t use any ink for at least six months! My dad’s so—“ He started crying again. 

“Six months,” Olruggio repeated, terrified. Was that going to be his punishment if Beldaruit hadn’t been there? He felt a weird, squirming feeling, knowing that he had gotten off free and Utowin hadn’t. 

“But,” Utowin sniffled, wiping at his eye. “They said I had, um, potential.”

Olruggio didn’t understand. “What?”

“They said, uh, that it was a good thing to want to protect people.” Utowin took a deep breath, calming slightly. 

But—he had defended Qifrey! Utowin had just been weird and mean. “I don’t get it,” Olruggio said. 

“I just told them how I was all worried and I didn’t know him and of course I don’t want him to be a Brimhat but I don’t know! And I, yeah.” Utowin wiped at his eye again. “They said it wasn’t bad to be protective over witches, but that there was a way, you know. You can’t attack other witches with spells,” he said like he was repeating someone. 

Olruggio stared. He didn’t get it at all. “Yeah.”

Utowin took a watery breath. “Yeah,” he said. 

Silence lapsed between them. Did the Knights think Utowin had even been wrong? Or had they only cared that he used a spell?

“Are we still okay?” Utowin asked. 

“What?” Olruggio jerked to look at him. 

An uncertain frown tugged at Utowin’s mouth. “I did miss you. You’re my friend! You can’t just leave us all behind because you wanna—“ He cut himself off, his mouth tugging to the side. 

Olruggio didn’t know how he felt. He felt strange. He felt like he was watching it happen without being there. He felt like there was something wrong everywhere and he was the only one who could see it. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Good.” Utowin nodded, not meeting his eye. He took a deep breath and grinned widely, his eyes still red. “Good!”

Olruggio nodded because he knew he should but he felt like a fraud. Utowin didn’t seem to notice at all, smiling at him again and leaving the windowway hall. It made Olruggio feel even stranger. 

His footsteps faded and Qifrey came to stand next to him.

Qifrey looked at him, his expression serious, but he looked at him like he knew, like he felt the strangeness too. 

It made Olruggio feel sane, so he did what Qifrey asked. He turned the windows, lining up the seals to bring them to where Qifrey had wanted: somewhere with a sky. 

The magic fluttered, the way rippling like water, green and blue shifting into place, stilling and smoothing clearer and crisper. Olruggio stepped through first and helped Qifrey through. 

Qifrey didn’t look at him, his face tilted up. 

The wind rustled through their hair and birds sang. Trees swayed around them and Qifrey took a stumbling step forward, staring up at the sky, staring up at it like Olruggio had figured he should stare up at the ocean, like it was a miracle, like it was magic. 

They were still holding hands. 

“Do you wanna—“ Olruggio asked and Qifrey looked at him, startled like he had forgotten he was there. 

A smile split his face, brilliantly wide, his eye creased shut. “Yeah.”

“Like this!” Olruggio stepped back and tapped his shoes together, floating up. 

Qifrey nodded once, serious if it wasn’t for the light in his eye. He tapped his shoes together and lifted up. Laughter whooped out of him and he started spinning. 

“Careful!” Olruggio grabbed him. 

Qifrey smiled at him, brilliant, the sun shining behind him, his hair gleaming and bright. “I hate careful!” he laughed and pulled them higher, the trees dropping below them, and he laughed and laughed, and Olruggio followed him, giddy and giggling, all the way into the clouds.