Chapter Text
Sunlight cascaded through the towering ancient trees, scattering dust-like motes of light upon the tips of the white-haired boy’s hair, his cheeks, and his sleeves, casting dappled shadows upon the ground. The air held the scent of fresh grass, mingled with the clear sound of a distant stream. Butterflies fluttered past him; the occasional beat of bird wings drifted over, accompanied by the chirping of cicadas. The boy looked left and right, wondering: Where are the Fairies?
The boy possessed a head of rare silver hair, soft and shimmering like tassels under the sun. Accustomed to farm work, he had a sturdy, healthy build, though by the calendar of Kephale, he was merely ten years old. He carried a small cloth bag, faded by the sun, on his back. Inside was a leather water skin, two pieces of dry bread, and a single coin—that was for making his wish.
A bard had come to the village a few days ago. The elderly were wary of him, but the young people and children cheered for the stories the outsider brought. Aedes Elysiae was a wonderful place, isolated from the world; its seclusion preserved its unfading scenic beauty and kept it untouched by the fires of war, maintaining a pastoral tranquility. The bard cradled a lute, strumming the chords of the Immutable, chanting epics of heroes and gods.
Hark, upon that God-blessed summit—from dawn unto eternal night, Kephale drags the chains of daybreak. The Sons of Man shatter the unkindled morning light, treading the path of Flamechase with blood of red gold...
The bard drank the village ale with a grin, thanking his audience of little friends for listening. He told them that the Age of Gods had long passed. If you have a wish, he said, go seek the magic of the Fairies. Fairies are beings of "Non-existence"; they hold the Holy Grail of wishes. Of course, most importantly, Fairies like people with pure and kind hearts. Only underage children can be chosen by the Fairies... An old uncle like me has no chance.
So, in the moment when his father lay unconscious and his mother was bedridden with grave illness, he thought of the story of the Fairies.
Twilight deepened. The evening light was intercepted by layers of branches and leaves, turning the ground damp. A thin mist spread through the forest. The fresh fragrance of grass mixed with the rot of withered leaves, rising into a fermented, wine-like mellowness. When the wind stirred the leaves, what he heard was no longer the rustling song of nature, but the mournful sigh of wind chimes and orchestral strings.
He stopped and looked back. The road had vanished into the shadows; the insect chirps and bird calls faded away, and a green mist shrouded the jungle under the night.
All things and all existence dissolved into green leaves and shadows.
Sweat slid down his forehead, his soaked clothes clinging to his skin. His arms were scratched red by wild grass half the height of a man, and the solid earth beneath his feet turned soft and sticky.
He walked slower and slower. He began to miss home—the fragrant honey cakes, the warm bed, the bright oil lamp. But then he remembered his unconscious father and his critically ill mother. He gritted his teeth, thinking of the heroes in the stories, and told himself he could not give up.
"Mr. Fairy! Ms. Fairy!" he couldn't help but shout. His echo reverberated in the jungle, as if someone were mimicking him. The echo stretched longer and longer, gradually losing his own timbre. The wind howled; pine wood and green leaves played a thousand tones; peaches and honey-fruits burst, splashing a billion scents. Fallen petals returned to the branches, every petal holding infinite sound and color. The jungle groaned, then began to sing happily: Fairies~ Fairies~ The story of Fairies~ The homeland of Fairies~ Humans~ Crowds~ Human Reason~ Dislike~ Unwelcome~
The Fairies refused.
The illusory mystery receded, and the desolation of the mortal world shrouded him once more. He wandered in a daze, drained of all strength. He suddenly wanted to cry but held it back, telling himself he needed to be strong. Yet, he couldn't help but think bitterly: I failed. I am not a hero after all.
In his drowsiness, he collapsed beside a tree. He dreamed. In the dream, he was bathed in white light, seemingly embracing someone. That person’s face was also shrouded in light, unclear, but Phainon inexplicably felt that the person was very sad. That person held him and said...
When he woke up, the first thing Phainon heard was the crackling sound of firewood bursting. Flames climbed in the fireplace, casting an orange-red glow on the edge of the bed. He was lying on a soft cotton mattress, changed into dry clothes, and wrapped in a fluffy, warm blanket.
There was the aroma of food in the air—the gentle scent of meat porridge, laced with the spicy fragrance of black pepper smoked venison. He moved his fingers. The figure in front of the fire immediately stood up, walked to his side, and placed a palm on his forehead: "The fever is gone."
Only then did he have the strength to give a weak response. He said, "Thank you..." But as soon as his hoarse voice came out, it startled even him. The person was amused, rubbing his short moon-white hair. He smirked an evil smile and said, "No need to thank me. I am a Witch who specializes in eating children. In a little while, I'll put you in the pot and boil you."
Phainon sat up abruptly, as if truly frightened. But his body was weak; the sudden movement made him dizzy, and he began to cough violently. The young man, who had been posturing just a moment ago, was instantly thrown into a panic: "Hey, don't move, don't move! I won't scare you anymore, okay?"
Phainon responded softly. The young man conjured a glass of water from somewhere and handed it to him. He drank it and asked in a small voice, "Then who are you? Can I go home?"
Phainon noticed the young man had rare gray hair and amber eyes; a wondrous sense of trust and familiarity arose spontaneously. The young man scrutinized him for a moment and said, "Nothing serious. You can go back tomorrow morning. The jungle at night is too dangerous."
"You still haven't told me who you are," Phainon insisted stubbornly.
The young man sighed. "Kid, didn't your family teach you to respect questions others don't want to answer?"
"...Dad and Mom are both bedridden with serious illnesses. I wanted to find the legendary Fairies. I heard Fairies can save people," Phainon said dejectedly.
"...Since when do Fairies offer that service?"
Seeing the two cowlicks on the boy's head droop listlessly, the whole child radiating a depressed fragility, the young man sighed for the countless time, thinking this was truly his tribulation.
The young man pondered for a moment and said, "Give me your hand."
Phainon obediently extended his hand. The young man's warm palm covered his wrist; the thin calluses on his fingertips pressed gently on the side of his wrist, bringing a ticklish sensation. Before Phainon could fully register that warmth, the young man withdrew his hand and said, "Not a big problem. It's mild hysteria and a low-level curse. I'll give you two bottles of medicine; take them back and have them drink it, and they'll be fine."
"...Really? Are you Mr. Fairy!" Phainon lifted his face, revealing a huge smile. The young man turned his head away as if he had a toothache. "I told you, I am a Witch. As for Fairies, they have secluded themselves from the world for a long time and are no longer willing to interact with humans. Besides, they know nothing about human curses and pathology. I really don't know where you heard that from."
"Then, Mr. Witch." At this point, Phainon paused, asking with some confusion, "Mr. Witch, why are you a Witch and not a Wizard? Also, also, where did the Fairies' Holy Grail for wishing go?"
"...'Witch' is a Class. It involves concepts too complex for you to understand even if I explained them. Just treat it as a profession independent of priests. As for the Fairy Grail, there is no such thing in this world. There are Wishing Machines... but it's better if you don't know about them." The young man took two bottles of potions from the shelf, labeled one for the father and one for the mother, and handed them to Phainon. He patted the boy's head. Phainon felt that Mr. Witch's expression looked somewhat lonely.
The young man clapped his hands and said, "Brat, stop thinking about random things. Just take pity on me, a lonely old man, and eat something with me."
"I'm not a brat! I am Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. Mr. Witch, you must respect me and remember my name!"
"...I couldn't care less what you're called," the young man muttered, yet he carefully supported him to sit at the table and set out the tableware. Green vegetable and lean meat porridge, black pepper smoked venison, golden honey cakes, olive juice. Phainon let out a small gasp of amazement, saying, "Thank you, Mr. Witch. These are all things I like to eat."
Mr. Witch rested his chin on his hand, sitting opposite him, watching him quietly. Candlelight cut obliquely across the bridge of his prominent nose, leaving half his face in warm light and half in shadow. A smile slowly surfaced on his handsome yet cold face. Phainon’s heart stirred, and an inexplicable bitterness welled up inside him.
Mr. Witch said: "That is good."
After sending the silver-haired boy away, the young man yawned. Just then, the membrane-like barrier vibrated gently, splitting open a thin crack. A transparent figure turned solid, its aura so familiar it was reassuring. He greeted lazily: "Teacher Dan Heng... hope you've been well."
"Caelus." Dan Heng stepped forward quickly, grasping his shoulders. His tone carried blaming worry as he advised, "You shouldn't have involved yourself in his life in this era."
The young man leaned his weight onto Dan Heng as if he had no bones: "Teacher Dan Heng, you've said that hundreds of times. My ears are calloused from hearing it."
Dan Heng looked at him helplessly and changed the subject: "The Divine Throne of Kephale—have you returned it?"
"Don't worry, Teacher Dan Heng. I'm not that reckless. The Witch of Star and Night must avoid getting too deeply entangled with the worlds within the Astral Plane; I'm very clear on that. Right now, I am borrowing March 7th's 'Seat' of Oronyx, the Curtain of Evernight, to intervene in Amphoreus. March 7th ran off to Penacony for a vacation recently; she said she just recovered Evernight and needs to nurture their bond. I really don't know what's so fun about that dreamland amusement park."
Dan Heng looked at him speechlessly. The young man recalled the past incident where he first logged into Penacony, got too immersed in the Dream Bubble games, triggered the anti-addiction system, and had to shake Dan Heng awake in the middle of the night to pass the adult verification check. He couldn't help but feel sheepish.
Dan Heng said: "I checked when I was patrolling the Vortex of Genesis. Kephale's Tinder is fine; the power is stable. So, presumably, there are no issues." He admonished: "However, the affairs of Amphoreus involve much. Borrowing the False to cultivate the True, transforming Reality and Illusion... without a Godhead watching over it, the Tribulations are no small matter. If you insist on entering the fray, you must be prepared."
The young man gave a vague laugh. "Let's talk about it next time. Teacher Dan Heng, did you go back to the Xianzhou recently? You sound awfully lecture-heavy."
As soon as the words fell, Dan Heng rapped him on the head. The young man clutched his head, crying out in pain. Dan Heng lectured: "Don't play dumb with me. You even lost your True Name for this trip before. Since you've returned the Divine Throne of Kephale, it's better to retrieve the Witch's True Name as soon as possible. Since you insist on forcing this, finding a loophole to let him live another life, the entanglement of karma and destiny will make the Tribulation difficult. Be prepared to face it. But what worries me more is that after the chaos of Irontomb, several Godheads have successively turned their gaze here... They may not be willing to let go."
The young man was silent for a few seconds, then whispered a promise: "...I understand, Teacher Dan Heng."
The next day, morning light fell from the treetops, flowing like grains of fine sand across the young man's brow and eyes. The young man was half-squinting, lying comfortably in a rattan chair, directing squirrels, foxes, and white rabbits to jump up and down to serve him tea and water, cut melons and remove seeds, enjoying the pleasures of retirement life. Suddenly, a boy's shout, voice not yet broken, came from afar: "Mr. Witch—! Mr. Witch—!"
The young man clicked his tongue as if his teeth hurt, finished gnawing the watermelon in his hand, and clapped his hands. The rattan chair turned into green vines and scattered with a rustle; the attending squirrels, foxes, and white rabbits also scattered in a hubbub. Then, he waved his hand. Tree vines broke through the soil and grew as if urged, spiraling and intertwining, growing into a treehouse in an instant. The watermelon rind he had casually thrown on the ground also vibrated slightly, glowing with a green light, and moments later transformed into a small boat, resting quietly on the stone surface in front of the courtyard.
Not long after, the watermelon rind boat, following his instructions, steadily delivered the energetic silver-haired boy to the front of the courtyard.
Phainon jumped off the boat, his silver hair bouncing like a ball of silver fire. He ran to the young man, a thin layer of sweat on his fair face.
"Kid, what are you here for again today?" The young man squatted down, took out a wet handkerchief to help him wipe his sweat, and then reached out to scrape the tip of his nose, teasing him.
An expression between embarrassment and anger appeared on the little boy's face. The little boy protested: "I have a name, Mr. Witch! I told you, I am called Phainon. On the contrary, Mr. Witch, what is your name?"
Meeting the little boy's sincere cornflower-blue pupils, the young man was momentarily at a loss for words. He involuntarily recalled a similar friend, recalled those azure eyes that likewise reflected the colors of the sky. The past had shattered like a bubble, but the new illusion was full of vigor before him. The young man shook his head and said somewhat coldly: "My name is Caelus."
The young man raised his hand to pat Phainon's head again and asked, "Are your parents' bodies better?"
Phainon nodded immediately. "Mhm, thank you, Big Brother Caelus! Mom and Dad could get out of bed after drinking your medicine. They went to the market together today to buy groceries. I sneaked out while they were away. Don't worry, Big Brother, I didn't tell them about you."
Caelus was dumbfounded. He wanted to say he didn't care about that, but felt a lack of interest. However, he wouldn't take his anger out on this unrelated new individual. So he asked, in a singing tone: O youth favored by fate, rising from the shores of bountiful wheat fields, where the west wind and the morning sun both sing of his bright fame. O Savior who has yet to set forth, quietly dismissing the morning light and morning dew, draped in star and night and dawn to visit the Witch's secret forest—what business do you have?
The little boy was stunned, tilting his head with some distress. His eyes were excessively sincere. Why is Big Brother talking like that? Big Brother just wants to ask what I'm doing here, right? Actually, I just wanted to come. There's no specific reason. I wanted to share the joy of my parents' recovery with Big Brother, and I'm very happy to see Big Brother.
Saying this, Phainon took out a small jar of clear golden maltose from his bosom and placed it in the Witch's hand. He said, Big Brother, you seem to be unhappy always. This is the sweet maltose I made with my mom last year. You'll feel happy after eating candy. I hope Big Brother can be happy too.
The young man looked at the jar of brilliant gold maltose and accepted it silently. He suddenly asked: Traveler who has not yet set forth, what is your wish?
Phainon blinked. "Huh?"
A wish, an ideal, or a dream. A thing desired in the mortal world, a thing demanded from the departed world, a thing seeking the false and void. In that blurred starry sky of illusions, what do you wish for?
Is Big Brother Witch going to help me grant my wish? Phainon jumped up with a smile, his cornflower-blue eyes filled with sincere laughter. He said, But I haven't seriously thought about this question yet. I think, as long as I can live happily with Dad and Mom, the friends in the village, and Big Brother like this, that's enough.
Me?
Mhm, Big Brother is also a very important person. Big Brother looks very lonely. Being lonely is because there is no one to keep you company, right? I presumptuously think so.
Caelus didn't think so. He had realized yet another mistake of his. He had to admit that Teacher Dan Heng was his teacher forever. Getting involved in this new life's life was bad for his mental health—very bad!
But he just raised his hand again to ruffle the little boy's hair, which felt excellent to the touch, and said as if admitting defeat: "I really lost to you, Phainon."
The little boy looked up at him and grinned, that tender face filled with an undisguised, happy smile.
So, the Witch smiled too.