Chapter Text
The village was burning. Fire devoured the flimsy wooden structures, the barns, the hay bales, the houses, and the barracks. Everything was ablaze. The air shimmered from the intense heat. The wooden palisade and fortifications were gone. Bodies lay everywhere: split-open innards, faces contorted in pain, eyes frozen in a vacant stare. The mage walked through the now-dead village, feeling no fear. He knew that for miles around, not a single living soul remained, except for him and his target. Only the vultures, gathered for the bloody feast, broke the unnatural silence.
Not long ago, this settlement had been strong. Warriors guarded it, fighting off the monsters that lived in the forests and a hostile clan. But now they no longer feared the clan that opposed them, nor the monsters, for the dead care about nothing at all. The Lin Kuei clan did not rejoice in the destruction of the Shirai Ryu for long—for just a few years later, they shared the fate of their sworn enemies.
Quan Chi walked with a measured, unhurried pace. In a matter as important as choosing an apprentice, one should never rush. The boy was a rare prodigy, the kind born only once in decades. The sorcerer had been fortunate to acquire one apprentice already. And now, luck had favored him again, granting him the opportunity to gain a second. However, luck is nothing without the will to achieve one's desires, the courage to take what you believe is yours. This boy would become a valuable addition to his collection. Quan Chi would impart all the necessary knowledge to him. Oh, he could already anticipate how fascinating it would be to cultivate exceptional vessels for his teachings—instruments to carry out his purposes.
He spotted the boy by the well. He was clutching the hand of his dead twin brother. A bloody mark ran across his cheek, cutting through the right half of his face. The boy appeared unnaturally calm. His blue eyes stared vacantly into the distance. He was whispering something under his breath. Quan Chi drew closer.
"Brother, this man has come to take us with him. I know you're tired, you told me to run, but how could I abandon you? It's okay, sleep. I know you'll wake up when the time is right. I won't let those nasty birds near you. Not ever."
Quan Chi knelt down. His staff caught the boy's attention. The skull's eye sockets glowed with a dim, greenish light.
"Bi-Han, you need to see this. Open your eyes. This man is a wizard."
The mage glanced skeptically at the other boy. He was dead. Someone had run a blade through his chest. Blood congealed in the dry, piercing wind. The flames receded from them both. The boy possessed the gift of controlling fire. And perhaps water—as his fingers involuntarily left traces of frost on his brother's lifeless palm.
"What's your name?" he asked. There was genuine curiosity in his voice.
"Kuai Liang," the boy replied trustingly. "And this is my brother, Bi-Han. People often confuse us."
"Don't worry," Quan Chi said silkily. "No one will confuse you anymore." He reached out his palm and placed it on the boy's head. Black hair absorbed the smoke and blood. Ash settled on the back of his neck. The boy flinched. But he did not pull away.
"Will you take us away from here?" Kuai Liang asked. His eyes were expectant. Fear lived in his heart, but a desperate desire for safety made him forget his instinct for self-preservation. And this worked in the mage's favor. He felt something almost like a surge of paternal affection. What potential! What power! No wonder the Lin Kuei hadn't wanted to hand him over when he'd asked nicely. They had proven to be just as foolish as the Shirai Ryu. But that didn't matter. Both boys would now study under him. And together, they would make an excellent duo. They were from feuding clans, but they would become closer to each other than brothers. Because only in unity, in a symbiotic dependence on one another, would they fully unlock their potential—and consequently, prove most useful to Quan Chi.
"That is exactly why I have come, Kuai Liang," he replied, without a trace of dishonesty. And he held out his hand. Tears streaming down the boy's face fell to the ground, barely noticed by the child himself. He let go of his brother's hand and hesitantly, timidly placed his small palm in the mage's. "Let's go home. I will take you to your new family."
And the boy followed him. His eyes were glazed over. He did not see the horrors around him, though his eyes were not blind. But he desperately wanted to return to his brother, to his father—somewhere, anywhere, away from the piercing wind and the dead silence that met his gentle coaxing and quiet, desperate pleas for his brother to wake up. So he went—obediently, as he had done all ten years of his life, compliantly, just as Quan Chi required.
—
Another apprentice was absolutely livid. His eyes burned with fire. He was a pyromancer, gifted yet incredibly hot-headed. Only twelve years old, but what potential was awakening within him! No wonder Quan Chi had pulled him from the ruined Shirai Ryu village years ago.
"He's from the Lin Kuei clan! You brought a boy from the Lin Kuei clan? How dare you, Master? They destroyed my clan!"
The boy in question shrank into the corner, watching the other apprentice's rage. He looked frightened.
"Please don't be angry," he whispered. "Bi-Han is sleeping. You're shouting too loudly, you'll wake my brother. Please, don't shout." He timidly touched the enraged Hanzo's arm. Quan Chi froze. It seemed a fight was about to break out. His impulsive apprentice would lose control and strike the boy. Overall, this could be useful. To establish himself as a comforter for the younger one. And later, the aggression would create a painful attachment. Kuai Liang, seeing in Hanzo a replacement for his deceased brother, would begin to gravitate towards him, and his harshness would only intensify the desire to please him, to gain his approval. His apprentice wouldn't be able to resist, for he was lonely and in need of love, like all living creatures. Except for Quan Chi, of course. The mage smirked, rubbing his chin, deciding not to intervene.
Hanzo froze, as if in shock. He hadn't expected the other boy to touch him. He whirled around to face Kuai Liang, but the boy didn't retreat.
"Do you have any idea what's going on?" he snarled. "Damn it! You're Lin Kuei!" — but he didn't pull his hand away. "Go…" he sighed. "Well, of course, where would you even go! You've got nowhere to return to either! Damn it!" He swept the inkwell off the table and crushed it under his boot. He pulled his hand away and clenched it into a fist. "I hate all of this! I will never accept this! I will never accept him! Never! Don't expect any submission from me, Master!" He took a step back and stormed out of the study like a whirlwind. Quan Chi knew Hanzo would submit. He had already inwardly accepted his decision—the proof was that he had already taken his anger out on something else, not on the boy. He simply had nowhere else to go. The mage crossed his arms over his chest. The elder boy's outburst had been so predictable. He could have scripted his entire speech in advance and not missed a single word.
"Come here," Quan Chi called to the boy. He approached, hesitantly, with slight apprehension. He was still afraid of him. "Don't worry. He's just upset. He never had any brothers. He's an only child. He's very lonely. That's why he gets angry. But you…" he stroked his head. "You could become his friend. In time. Would you like that?"
"Bi-Han is silent," Kuai Liang whispered. "And Hanzo shouts. But shouting is better than silence. Shouting isn't silence. Shouting isn't as scary."
"That's right. Good boy," Quan Chi ruffled his hair. "Now go to sleep. Tomorrow we begin your training."
—
Two years passed like a long dream that lasted a lifetime. Kuai Liang studied—diligently, earnestly—mastering the craft and skill of wielding his gift. He wanted to learn more. He buried himself in ancient tomes. How to summon beings from another plane, how to avoid getting lost in the Valley of Oblivion, which spirits to fear and which were harmless. He often thought of other worlds. Could he find there what he so desperately yearned for? He felt that he was missing some crucial part. But whenever he tried to understand what exactly he lacked, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. As if this was something he was not meant to remember. He would retreat, afraid… of something. It was a fear of an entirely different kind. Kuai Liang was afraid of many things—his master, the other apprentice (unpredictable and hot-headed), the spirits in the forests. They were surrounded by perilous lands. They lived on the very border, far from other people, but close to the unknown. The master did not worry about bloodthirsty spirits and monsters. He knew how to ward them off. The important thing was simply not to stray beyond the line of protective wards. Otherwise, you'd have only yourself to blame.
Kuai Liang felt an intense curiosity. What types of crystals would best enhance the conductivity of magic? What equations would best describe the reaction that occurred when mixing magical energy with spiritual energy? Which potions would help with heartache?
His eyes often watered, tired from long hours of reading. But he persistently studied the barely legible lines. It was important to understand. It was important to leave.
Kuai Liang knew he had been shown great honor. The master had chosen him for training, generously sharing his knowledge. The parents he barely remembered had given him into the service of a powerful sorcerer. Yet somehow the boy felt a sense of dread before his mentor, even though the man showed him kindness. He would turn away from his searching gaze, try to avoid long, private conversations about the transience of human connections. Somehow even the other apprentice, Hanzo, did not frighten him as much as the master did. Hanzo was rude, rejecting his timid attempts to establish contact. That hurt. But that pain was familiar. Much worse was another kind of pain. Kuai Liang feared it so much that he preferred not to dwell on it. Despite his natural curiosity, he did not touch that pain, did not seek to discover its source. He only hoped that one day he would find a better world and go there, finding his happiness.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that he had wandered further than intended. He had planned to look for sleepy flower petals. An elixir created from them would help him wander in the space that exists only in the dream realm. Kuai Liang was curious to better study this mirror world. He wondered: should he offer to share the dream with Hanzo, so they could explore it together? But he hesitated, unsure whether the apprentice would agree or not. The sleepy flower petals shimmered in the moonlight. Kuai Liang bent down, careful not to inhale the pollen. The flowers bloomed only at night, and now was the most opportune time to gather them—dawn had not yet broken, but falling asleep while gathering herbs would be the greatest and final mistake of his life. He carefully cut the stem, taking care not to damage the root so the flower could bloom again in the future. He placed it in the prepared pouch. Two flowers were enough. Not many petals were required. This would last them a long time.
Kuai Liang smiled at finding what he sought earlier than expected, then froze as if enchanted, gazing at the river waters. The river was bound in ice. Snow-white, pure, cold. A snowflake fell onto his palm. Kuai Liang looked up at the sky with interest—it had started snowing. The snowfall caused no trouble, but amazed and captivated him. He loved snow so much. A pity that the last time he had seen it was… When, when had he seen it? His head began to ache, but then a cool, pale palm touched his forehead.
"Mother?" the boy whispered. A young woman, beautiful as the stars themselves, smiled at him tenderly and beckoned him to follow. Her transparent blue eyes resembled cornflowers. Kuai Liang trustingly stepped after her. The woman's hair flowed like liquid silver, her skin shimmered with whiteness. Kuai Liang's heart beat with admiration at this beauty. She was so cold. And he loved winter so much.
She stepped onto the ice. Her feet were bare and left no prints. Kuai Liang felt the crunch of snow, the frosty air stinging his cheeks, and something in his chest tightened with a strange joy and anticipation. Mother would embrace him, take him home. He would never be alone again. As if in a dream, he stepped after her.
"Kuai Liang!" Someone's angry voice intruded upon his snow-white fairy tale. "Stop!"
The voice seemed familiar, but Kuai Liang remembered that it would surely bring pain. So he did not turn around. Mother took his hand, stroked his hair. His eyelashes were covered with frost.
"You get away from him, you icy fiend!" The owner of the voice showed no sign of calming down, despite Kuai Liang not wanting to hear him. "You won't have him!"
Flames—bright and merciless—shot forth in a stream, grazing his arm. The woman released him. But a livid burn bloomed on his skin. Kuai Liang did not cry out in pain. He knew pain was familiar. Training could be dangerous. Even life-threatening, if you weren't careful.
He finally turned around and saw Hanzo. He looked incredibly angry. Probably angry at me again for the sins of my clan.
The thought was strange and almost indifferent, sinking into the depths of his consciousness. He didn't remember his clan. His parents had never visited him again. They had received payment for selling him to the sorcerer. It was enough for them to live comfortably. Quan Chi was generous.
"Come back!" Hanzo shouted. "Don't follow Yuki-onna!"
Kuai Liang shuddered. He didn't want to return. He trustingly placed his hand in the woman's palm. She smiled at him—gently, softly. She would take care of him. She would love him.
"Kuai Liang!" This time there was fear in the voice—desperate and angry. "Kuai Liang!"
And the other apprentice caught up to them, throwing himself at the woman with his bare hands. His palms were wreathed in flames. Kuai Liang watched his companion with slight bewilderment. He seemed to be striking furiously, but the woman took no harm. Her skin remained just as pure, almost transparent, luminous. Hanzo, however, looked far worse. Breathless, with dark circles under his eyes, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But his golden-brown eyes reflected stubborn determination. He wasn't going to back down. Just as he never backed down from any difficult task.
"Help me," the woman whispered. "Freeze him. He envies our closeness. Because he has no family."
But Kuai Liang did not move. Fear slithered into his chest like a cold snake. He was afraid for Hanzo.
Flames burst from his palms involuntarily—golden, bright, like a solar flare. And the woman screamed in pain, blinded, vulnerable. She fled away. And the world plunged into darkness. With astonishment, Kuai Liang realized the snow had vanished, as if it had never existed at all. The water was warm and dark; he stood in it up to his knees. Hanzo grabbed his arm.
"You idiot!" he rasped. With alarm, Kuai Liang noticed the blood on his companion's hands and the burns. "We were taught to run as fast as we can if it starts snowing! You… careless, dreamy fool! Do you have any idea what would have happened if you'd died… I would've…" He coughed, not finishing the sentence. And then, unexpectedly for Kuai Liang, he lost consciousness.
The boy froze. This was a bad sign. He caught his companion's body, preventing him from falling, hoisted him onto his back, and trudged toward the master, knowing that to counter the influence of the Snow Maiden, one needed to brew red fire. As he walked, thoughts churned restlessly in his head. Why had Hanzo engaged in close combat at all, instead of calling the master? That was precisely a major violation of all the rules. Using magic against the Snow Maiden led to magical depletion. Some unfortunate souls even died, for she could freeze one's gift so thoroughly that even the threads of life became brittle and fragile, shattering at the slightest breath of magic. Hanzo had violated every safety protocol—and in the crudest manner possible. Yet Kuai Liang had no intention of dwelling on that. He knew he must do everything to ensure Hanzo survived.
—
Quan Chi seemed alarmed. He laid the unconscious Hanzo on the couch and set to work on the red fire. Kuai Liang assisted him, diligently and promptly carrying out all instructions. Cut the thorn apple root, grind the poppy seeds, add a little night violet essence and lycoris. The potion brewed quickly. Kuai Liang stirred it, carefully observing the angle at which he held the rod. Half an hour later, Quan Chi poured the potion into vials. Kuai Liang cooled it to the required temperature. He grabbed a flask and carried it to his companion. Hanzo opened his eyes, but looked terrible. With trembling hands, he accepted the remedy from Kuai Liang's palms, drank it in quick, convulsive gulps, and sank back onto the couch, falling into a troubled, prolonged sleep.
"Master, what's wrong with him?" Kuai Liang asked the sorcerer when he entered the room. Quan Chi furrowed his brow slightly and adjusted the blanket over the sleeping Hanzo.
"You want me to reassure you by saying there is no threat to Hanzo's life," the mage intoned. "But for any master of magic, anxiety must not drown out the flow of pure, active thought. Not even worry for the life of one who is dear to you. Show me, Kuai Liang, how well you have absorbed my lessons. Describe the prognosis and the step-by-step process of healing Hanzo from the Snow Maiden's magical poison."
Kuai Liang furrowed his brows, bit his lip, concentrating on the contents of his memory. The mentor was right, he needed to remain calm. First and foremost, knowledge is what matters.
"He will now sleep a deep sleep for twelve hours. During this time, the red fire will draw the Snow Maiden's poison from his body. It will burn away whatever freezes the heart of his flame. He may experience chills, so every three hours his forehead must be moistened with a solution of snow mint and wild sun. His nightmares must be monitored. Yuki-onna, to lure her victims, plays upon their most intimate desires." He spoke detachedly, almost calmly, and it was not a mask. Any information obtained was more valuable than anything else, and he knew that more important than his fear of what might have been was accepting the consequences and fighting against circumstances to achieve the desired result. A mage must above all else influence reality. Involuntarily, he noted that he had called the Snow Maiden by the name Hanzo had used. In his village, that's what they called the Snow Maiden, it seems. "She creates a magical poison that awakens an emotional response in the victim. Consequently, Hanzo may now be experiencing hallucinations and may try to go toward the thing he needs most. To prevent him from doing anything dangerous in his somnambulant state, I will have to guard him—and, if necessary, create magical restraints so he doesn't harm himself or anyone else."
"All correct, Kuai Liang," Quan Chi looked pleased. "I will go work on the hexagrams for summoning earth elementals. You watch over my senior apprentice. I am counting on you. If anything happens, call for me. But remember," he added more coldly. "Do not disturb me for trifles. You haven't forgotten the main rule of this house, have you?"
"Yes, Master," Kuai Liang remembered: the sorcerer's affairs were always paramount. The mage left, leaning on his skull-topped staff, and Kuai Liang remained to watch over Hanzo. He felt drained, but knew he would faithfully fulfill his duty to the senior apprentice. After all, he had saved him, despite his deep-seated animosity.
For the following week, Kuai Liang diligently cared for Hanzo. The teacher disappeared into the forests, and they were left alone. Outside the window, spirits wailed, but Kuai Liang carefully patrolled the boundaries and checked the integrity of the magical fortifications. No outsider or otherworldly being could penetrate here. But the voices of the spirits, calling out to them, still frightened him.
Kuai Liang prepared food for himself and Hanzo, cared for him, and brewed batches of the potion. The red fire had a cumulative effect. During the periods when Hanzo slept, Kuai Liang would also fall asleep, curling up in the armchair. Later, he dragged a mattress in, spending the nights in Hanzo's room, as there was an urgent need for it now, and he needed rest as well.
Hanzo was indeed plagued by nightmares. He would call out for Kuai Liang and only calm down when the younger apprentice reassuringly squeezed his hand. Kuai Liang comforted the older boy, seeing him so vulnerable for the first time. Hanzo would return to his bloody past, curse in an unfamiliar language, and then call for Kuai Liang. He wouldn't calm down until he was certain that Kuai Liang was alive and beside him, that he hadn't perished like his own Shirai Ryu clan.
Sometimes Hanzo would fly into a rage if he didn't find him immediately, and Kuai Liang had to stay alert, ready at any moment to make his presence known and let Hanzo reassure himself that he hadn't been devoured by hungry spirits, that the Yuki-onna hadn't taken him away.
Kuai Liang began weaving a protective charm—an intricate bracelet of knots and sunstone shards. He wanted to thank Hanzo for saving him, to do something nice for him, and simply to encourage him, so he wouldn't be upset about falling behind in his training. The work, surprisingly, came easily. He infused the threads with his own magic, weaving knot after knot, experiencing a surge of pure inspiration. His solar fire made the threads warm, and their warm touch somehow gladdened Kuai Liang's heart. He knew this effect would be permanent. The protective amulet would allow Hanzo to defend himself against snow spirits, and would also warn him of danger. Of course, it wasn't a valuable artifact. He lacked the experience and knowledge to create something truly powerful on his own. But he hoped that Hanzo would like it. For some reason, he wanted so badly to believe that when the older boy recovered, everything would be different. They could share interesting facts, discuss books, search for potion ingredients together. Kuai Liang eagerly awaited the moment when Hanzo would be completely healthy. He anticipated the beginning of their possible friendship. After all, why should they be enemies when they could be friends?
And on the ninth day, his bracelet was finally complete.
Quan Chi returned on the tenth day, but immediately locked himself in his workshop after hearing the apprentice's report on Hanzo's treatment and studies. For some reason, Kuai Liang didn't want to mention the bracelet. It was personal. His and Hanzo's.
On the eleventh day, Hanzo fully regained consciousness and felt completely healthy. Kuai Liang, having finished an elixir assigned by the master, almost ran to his room. He so wanted to see him soon, to talk, to give him the gift. His heart pounded wildly in his chest with excitement. He opened the door, clutching the amulet in his hand, and stepped boldly over the threshold. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and Hanzo was thoughtfully surveying the room. Upon seeing Kuai Liang, he frowned, but said nothing.
Kuai Liang approached him, his entire demeanor radiating impatience. He smiled and held out the bracelet to Hanzo. Hanzo's expression remained unreadable.
"What is this?" he asked coldly. His voice came out sharp.
"I'm glad you're better. Thank you for saving me. I made this for you. It's a gift. It will protect you from snow spirits and let you know when danger is near. Here, put it on." He placed the bracelet in Hanzo's hand, accustomed after these days to touching him. He felt no threat or awkwardness, only a desire to say everything, to express his joy and relief. "You know, we could go gathering herbs together, or discuss books, and…"
He didn't have time to finish. Hanzo rose abruptly, his eyes blazing with deep anger.
"You think I'm weak?" He approached almost closely, and Kuai Liang swallowed nervously. Anxiety and confusion replaced his joyful excitement.
"No," he shook his head desperately. Fear, like sticky resin, coiled around his stomach. "That's not it, Hanzo! I just wanted to do something nice for you…"
"You're the one who needs protection, not me, Lin Kuei," Hanzo said, as if he hadn't heard him at all. "I'm not the one who disregarded all the rules and went charging after an icy fiend." He hurled the bracelet away in fury. Despite the clatter, it didn't break, merely rolled into the corner. Kuai Liang flinched, still not understanding anything. His fingers trembled. "You're free to forget your past," Hanzo hissed. "But I'm not. Your clan killed my kin, my family. I will never forget that. Your speech, your appearance, your mannerisms—everything reminds me of who you are. Every look, every habit of yours, especially when you're lost in thought again, retreating into yourself… You're weak, preferring to run from pain. I'm not like that. You and I are completely different. I don't need you. Remember this, Kuai Liang," his name sounded like acid burning. "I am not your friend. And I never will be. Don't you dare come near me again. Ever."
He turned and strode away quickly, his fists clenched. His movements were wide and angry. Kuai Liang blinked in confusion, looking at his bracelet. The sun glinted off the sunstone shards, blinding, absorbing all the light. It was no wonder the stone was called sunstone—it had the property of shining brightly on sunny days, and even at night it would glow faintly, especially when the full moon rose. It was also always warm to the touch if it had absorbed someone's magic. Kuai Liang's solar fire had only intensified this effect.
Kuai Liang pressed his hand to his mouth, stifling a sob, but hot tears already blurred his vision. The first drop fell, then a second, and the boy could no longer hold back. The pain in his chest was sharper than ever before. He sank down beside the bed and rested his head on his knees. His fingers covered his face. He wept, experiencing a soul-crushing anguish. The pain he had unconsciously been hiding from now burst forth. No one needed him. His parents had sold him for the well-being of their other children. The mentor didn't love him—he knew it, he felt it. And now Hanzo… the very name triggered only a new wave of agony. He sobbed, unable to stop, no longer caring whether Hanzo would return to the very room he had fled, or whether Quan Chi would rebuke him for excessive emotionality. The pain of rejection and shattered hopes was too great. His throat constricted, painful hiccups accompanying his quiet sobs. He was burying his hopes of being understood, accepted, loved. He felt a sharp, piercing longing for something he himself didn't understand. And any attempt to remember only brought unbearable agony. He felt so alone. So unwanted and superfluous. The one person he could have been friends with had rejected him as unworthy, for something he couldn't even remember. Tears streamed down his face, and his eyes ached.
He didn't know how long he sat there until the door creaked open cautiously. Kuai Liang looked up, expecting to see an angry Hanzo, but it was the master. A flicker of mild disappointment gave way to relief. At least the other apprentice wouldn't call him even more pathetic than he already was, wouldn't see his tears. He didn't know how he would ever look at him through the pain, how he would even dare to show his face after that conversation.
The master's steps were soft, cautious. He knelt down to the boy's level and touched his shoulder.
"Oh, child," Quan Chi wiped away his tears. "Attachment can sometimes be so painful," he looked thoughtful. "But oblivion grants peace. You see, I need both fire and ice. Fire feeds on rage and passion, ice on calm and silence. One balances the other. That is why one, by remembering, grows stronger, while the other only strengthens by forgetting. In this harmony lies the key to power. It aligns with my plans and makes you both better. Tell me, Kuai Liang," his voice sounded sympathetic, "would you like to forget the pain? All of this, as if none of it ever happened? I can give you comfort and peace. Your bond must be tempered. Several times. Nearly broken, yet still remain. I can give you a remedy for the pain."
Kuai Liang froze. Tears still streamed down his cheeks. Not to remember the rejection. Not to feel the pain. What could be more tempting? Was there any comfort more wonderful than that?
"Yes, Master. I don't want to feel pain. Never again. I want to forget."
And Quan Chi placed his hand on the boy's forehead, erasing the memories of the past two weeks. A satisfied smile played on his lips. Everything was going exactly as he had planned.
Many hours later, in the silence of the night, the other boy thoughtfully picked up the bracelet and clutched it in his hands. His golden-brown eyes glittered in the darkness like two fireflies, lit involuntarily by his gift. He understood everything when he saw Quan Chi leading Kuai Liang out of his room by the hand. And that look—one of perfect calm—wounded Hanzo to the depths of his soul. He had chosen not to remember again. He had forgotten everything once more.
A burning sense of guilt tormented his chest. He thought it would become easier once he finally pushed him away, tore out that need like a weed. But it hadn't become easier—quite the opposite, as if the severed tendrils of their connection were still bleeding. It hurt so much, as if his chest were squeezed in a stone vise. Two teardrops fell onto the bracelet. But contrary to the cold despair in the apprentice's soul, the bracelet remained warm. The golden shards glowed softly in the darkness.