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Sage thought that he was pretty good at flying.
The winds around the Peak seemed to have a different opinion.
They way they pushed back against his every advance was not unlike the Peak's sole inhabitant, but Sage far preferred verbal sparring to being thrown around like a leaf in a gale.
Still. He was here. He had made it. But as Sage touched down in front of the wind blasted and battered cottage that the Recluse lived in on the lonely Peak, nerves set in. He'd gotten the idea to visit and had simply…done it. Sage had been more focused on surviving the winds at higher altitudes than on what to say to the Recluse once he arrived.
He straightened his vest and collar anyway, blinking rapidly as he stared at the weathered door to the Recluse's home. It looked like it was having a contest with itself on whether it would fall off its rusted hinges or disintegrate into dust first. A spark of worry went through him. The Recluse seemed healthy enough, but if these were his living conditions…
Sage shook his head. No. Focus. The Recluse wasn't expecting visitors, let alone him. He'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't want anyone disturbing his solitude. And yet here Sage was, intent on disturbing it anyway.
Bracing his nerves, Sage lifted a hand to knock on the door. He'd weather this windstorm and see where the gusts took him. What was the worst that could happen?
He knocked twice. The dust that rose from the rotting wood of the door itself made him pause, choking. Holding up a sleeve to serve as a mask, Sage tried again, three fast knocks this time.
Silence.
Or rather, no answer. The wind still howled above him, already threatening the safety of his journey back. The seconds turned to minutes as Sage watched the dust from the door settle.
Perhaps the Recluse was on a walk. Even with how barren and inhospitable the Peak was, Sage had admired the view on the way here. When the wind wasn't threatening to let him have an uncomfortably close look at the landscape, that is. The shift in the treeline from dark forests to silvered rocks was breathtaking. And that sky! Not to mention the vast horizon beyond. Surely the Recluse went to admire it every now and again. Sage certainly would, if he were up here without classes to teach and students to advise.
He rocked back on his heels. It was the uncertainty that glued him there. He didn't know what hours the Recluse kept. Maybe he was asleep? When did the Recluse hold his vigil anyway? He had so many questions for him, Sage felt like he might just start asking the cottage wall before he could burst.
At the same time, he wouldn't disrespect a closed door. He risked the Recluse's ire enough by just standing there. Sage could only imagine the look of disgust he'd pin him with if he caught him opening his front door without permission.
So again he knocked, three quick taps.
On the last, the door swung inward.
Sage's eyes widened with surprise. Had he pushed it open on accident?
The darkness on the other side shifted. No, it wasn't that. It was a robe as deep blue as the night sky, trimmed with gold.
Sage leapt backwards, startled into hovering just above the ground, as the Truthless Recluse emerged through the broken doorway. The wide brim of his hat and long bangs obscured his expression.
Despite his station, his reputation, and his good intentions, Sage suddenly felt very small and silly as the Recluse turned his tired gaze up towards him. The myriad questions Sage had for the mysterious figure fled from his mind like startled bluebirds.
And then the Recluse spoke.
"What are you doing here?"
There was no confusion or surprise in his voice. Only exhaustion. As if Sage were another pile of dead leaves blown onto his doorstep.
"I wanted to see you," Sage replied before he could consider his words.
"Why?" the Recluse said, somehow sounding even more exhausted.
Sage floated back to the ground, weighing the truth in his mind. Perhaps blurting out an answer was the better method. Then he couldn't feel his face flush with embarrassment for what he was about to admit.
"Because you have not left my mind since our last debate," Sage said, keeping his gaze steady on the Recluse's blank stare. "And I have many, many questions for you. There was nothing keeping me from coming, so… Here I am."
He clasped his hands in front of himself to try to keep them from shaking with nerves. For the first time in a few hundred years, Sage found himself unsure of what to do if truth did not open the path to him.
'The path to what?' the Light of Truth whispered to him, but he hushed it internally.
The Recluse hadn't moved, hadn't responded at all. If it weren't for the slight movement of his shoulders, Sage would've likened him to an impressively detailed statue. The curve of his neck before it disappeared under dark robes, the flex of his arm as it braced itself with his staff—
"Leave," the Recluse said, voice flat. "This place is not for truth seekers. And it is especially not for those who keep naively preaching the truth."
His gaze turned piercing. Sage took a step back, even though the Recluse remained still.
"You have made that clear," Sage said, with what he hoped what a placating nod. "And yet… I still seek to remedy my naiveté, as you put it. You have always offered a fair perspective in our debates, and I seek no more than that. Please tell me. What is wrong with wanting to understand?"
Now the Recluse moved, eyes flashing as they widened. He stepped back into the doorway as if Sage had tried to hit him.
"Leave," the Recluse repeated, anger reaching his voice for the first time. His glare felt like it could physically cut through Sage.
"Clearly I have offended you," Sage began, raising his hands. His mind spun as he tried to think of how to salvage this situation. "But I have never lied to you, not once. If you give me a reason, then I will not come back. I swear."
The Recluse's eyes narrowed.
"Are you a child?" he snapped at Sage. "Do you need someone to explain to you the meaning of the word 'no'?"
Sage opened his mouth only to close it. He shook his head.
"The reason is that I do not want you here," the Recluse continued. "And I do not have to offer you any reason at all. It is ridiculous of you to demand one."
Before Sage could think of an appropriate apology, the Recluse crossed the space between them. His dark robes made a soft sound as the fabric passed over the broken stones of the pathway.
Sage inhaled out of surprise. The Recluse had never been this close to him before. Underneath the sharp, clear scent of ozone, Sage smelled something warmer, softer.
Why did the Recluse smell like vanilla?
"Clearly our debates have given you the wrong idea," the Recluse said, voice low. "What I want is for you to stop. Not to send others, not to follow me. Just. Stop."
The circles under his eyes were so dark. Did he sleep at all?
The Recluse turned away with a sigh. "And now you're silent," he said. "Do you only stop talking when you get an answer you don't want to hear?"
"N-No, I…" Sage trailed off. This couldn't have gone worse. Was there any combination of words that could convince the Recluse that he truly meant what he'd said?
"Just go, Sage," the Recluse said, passing back through the doorway once more. "Next time it won't be words. I'll remove you by force."
Threat still hanging in the air, the door closed behind him. Sage was left with unspoken questions and a heavy weight in his chest that made the flight back all the more difficult.
He couldn't ask for a clearer night, but by the Witches, it was cold. Had the wind grown worse since the last time he'd made the journey? It felt like it was shearing off pieces of his dough.
Clutching his telescope and bound pages of observations, Sage circled ever higher in spite of the cold. He had to focus on his flight path, not the shivering in his limbs. It was a new moon, and the stars were bright, but the ground was too dark to quite see where the treetops ended and the sky began. But with this much wind, he'd be a crumbled cookie if he tried to move higher, so skimming the treetops was his only option.
Not to mention—
Sage pushed thoughts of the Recluse out of his mind. He wasn't journeying to the Peak, and he was still well within the slopes of the treeline. Besides, even if Sage headed up there, it wasn't to see him. His star charts needed updating, and this was the highest, clearest point for miles in a woefully under-mapped area. It was for the sake of accurate record keeping, nothing more.
He frowned into the wind. Yes, only for the charts. Not for any other reason.
The Recluse hadn't come to a single lecture since that day. Sage hadn't realized that he'd grown used to looking up and spotting him in the back of the hall, a dark form but a welcome sight. Sometimes that was all. He'd finish the class and while his back was turned, answering a question or erasing the chalkboard, the Recluse would vanish. Other days, he would chime in, offering a perspective that Sage hadn't considered, or supplementing the lesson with a long overlooked detail. Sage appreciated those days. But his favorite had to be the debates.
Being able to match wits with someone as educated as the Recluse was a rare gift. Their debates turned into puzzles, a race to see who could solve theirs first. They built on each other's arguments and reasoning with equal respect, never dropping into petty logical fallacies. The students seemed to enjoy them too, watching with better attention than he could garner by himself even on his best days. Sage adored it.
And missed it more than words could say.
A stronger burst of wind knocked him out of his thoughts and out of the air. Sage spun out of the fall, just avoiding crashing into the dark trees below.
Shaking his head, Sage clutched the pages he'd nearly lost in the fall to his chest. He had to stop thinking about this. The Recluse had made himself clear, and his absence made it transparently so. Whatever his goals were, they had nothing to do with the pursuit of truth. So he would have nothing to do with Sage, either.
Despite the wind, his view of the dark surroundings blurred with tears. Sage blinked them away. This was ridiculous. Perhaps the Recluse was correct to call him naive. He glanced around, looking for somewhere to land. The sooner he completed his charts and left, the better.
Something flashed between the trees.
Pushing against the wind, Sage slowed. For a second, he thought it was merely a reflection. Perhaps a small pond matching the bright stars in the sky. But something in his Soul Jam had pinged at the sight of it. That wasn't any reflection or an ordinary light. It was magic.
His feet now brushing the tops of the trees, Sage headed in the direction of the light. He followed the pull of his Soul Jam more than the sight; the light kept dipping behind branches and tree trunks, as if it weren't meant to be seen. But Sage flew faster than it moved, and he was gaining on it. And just as he decided it was time to drop down—
The trees fell away into a clearing dotted with white flowers.
Sage nearly crashed into the grass, catching himself just in time. He hit the ground at a run, almost falling over from the weight of the paper and the telescope in his arms. With a few more stumbling steps, he found his footing.
Sage let out a breath. He needed to pay more attention to where he was flying. At least he didn't have a broken telescope to teach him that lesson.
Placing his equipment and papers carefully on the ground, he turned back to where he'd seen the light. Perhaps it was a remnant of some magical phenomena? At least it had led him somewhere with a clear view of the sky.
Sage felt his body freeze as he looked at the tree line.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, gold accents on his robes shining in the starlight, the Recluse frowned at him.
"Did you forget what I said to you last time, Sage?" he said, his voice echoing his displeasure across the glade.
Sage blinked, but the vision of the Recluse was still there.
"I…have not," he said, his voice pitching higher than usual. "I. Did not expect. To see you. This evening."
Sage wanted to hit himself. Why was he speaking like this?!
He heard the Recluse's sigh, followed by the tap of his staff against the ground as he started walking towards him. Sage felt his heartbeat spike.
"I truly did not think that I would see you!" he half-shouted out of sudden panic. "I do not wish for there to be any animosity between us. You must believe me!"
Sage was more afraid of the Recluse thinking he'd willfully disrespected him than he was of any threat of violence. But the light of the stars wasn't bright enough to see anything other than the Recluse's ever-present frown.
"I'm here to update a record," Sage continued. He reached down for one of the star charts and held it up. "I had wrongly assumed that you would keep to your abode at the Peak, and that I was well out of your way."
The Recluse stopped a few paces back. Now that he was closer, Sage could make out more of his face despite the shadows of the night. Underneath the dark brim of his hat, the Recluse's eyes moved from the star chart to him. His frown did not shift.
"I still would not lie to you," Sage said, meeting his gaze. "…What are you doing this far down the mountain anyway?"
"This is still the mountaintop," the Recluse replied. The anger in his voice had receded to the monotone Sage was familiar with.
"But it is not the Peak," Sage said, brow furrowing in confusion. "Are you on your way somewhere?" He let out a little gasp of excitement. "Were you coming back to the lectures?"
The Recluse shot him a glare colder than the wind. "No," he said.
Sage's shoulders slumped as his enthusiasm faded. "I see," he said, stooping down to collect the rest of his papers and the telescope.
"There was something I discarded here, a long time ago," the Recluse continued.
Sage paused. He didn't look up, and he didn't move. The Recluse had never offered information so willingly before. All direct questions were turned down with one-word denials. He didn't want to spoil whatever had inspired the Recluse to keep talking.
"I was reminded of it recently," he continued. "I wanted to see if it remained here, despite it all."
"Did you find it?"
The question left Sage's mouth before he could think better of it. Wincing, he glanced up, expecting another glare. Instead, he saw the Recluse looking slightly above the trees.
"Yes," he said.
A silent moment passed, then another.
"Why record something like this?" the Recluse asked.
"Like what?" Sage asked, trying not to sound too eager.
The Recluse tilted his head further back, towards the sky. Sage followed his gaze. The clearing they stood in was the perfect spot for stargazing; a bright sky, far from civilization and its own light. Sage could picture his star charts overlaid onto the reality before him, tracking the slight changes between the paper record and reality.
"The stars," the Recluse said. "It's a futile endeavor."
Sage blindly reached for another one of the charts on the ground, still looking up at the view. "I'm not sure I follow," he said.
"The more time passes, the more the sky shifts," the Recluse said. "Your charts go out of date. The names and patterns seen in the sky are erased, forgotten, replaced. Even the light itself comes from stars that may have already burned out long before our world ever even existed."
He paused. "Futile," the Recluse repeated.
Still looking up at the stars, Sage smiled.
"I will have to disagree," he said, pulling a pen from his vest pocket to make a note on the chart. "This may all be fleeting. The stars may have already burned out. Civilization may forget the names and pictures they see in the sky. That is all true.
"And yet, we are still here to witness it, however short that time may be. Is it not also a kind of truth, to see the last flickering of a star? To write the names of the constellations for the future to remember?
"What a privilege, to watch the sky change. To witness it, to say that 'I see you,' however short that time might be. Isn't that meaning enough?"
Tearing his eyes away from the view, Sage finally looked back down. Blue and gold eyes met his own as the Recluse stared back at him with wide-eyed wonder, the same way Sage had looked at the sky.
"You're glowing," he said.
"Hm?" Sage squeaked. What in the world was he talking about?
The Recluse took a step closer, his staff sounding soft in the grass.
"You glow," he said. "Like a far off star."
Sage let out a strangled laugh. Whether from nerves or confusion, he couldn't say.
"What sort of deflection is this?" Sage said, waving a hand in front of him as he spoke. "Were we not discussing the stars? I know that your argumentative skills are far more refined than—"
He stopped, looking closer at his hand. His blue dough had a slight shine to it, one that he couldn't attribute to the starlight. Sage raised his arm. The shine carried up through his sleeve. Looking down at his legs, the radiance was there too.
Sage felt his face flush. How long had this been going on?! For a moment, he thought he heard the Light of Truth laughing.
"You notice others far more than you notice yourself," the Recluse said. "I still believe your efforts are futile. But I will concede that standing witness is not without meaning."
Sage looked back at the Recluse. The other's expression had returned to a blank mask. Had he imagined that look?
The Recluse turned away, the gold accents on his robe flashing silver in the light. Whether they were reflecting the starlight or him, Sage couldn't say anymore. Face burning, he looked back to his telescope. At least calibration was straightforward. It didn't inspire the same swings in emotion that he felt around the Recluse.
He watched him so closely that he'd noticed something Sage hadn't noticed about himself. An obvious detail in retrospect, but the truth that the Recluse observed him remained. How much did he notice? How much did he know?
More than anything, Sage wanted the truth about him.
Sage continued to take notes, only pausing to check some finer details of the sky through his telescope. His mind buzzed as he tried to think of what he could say, what could encourage the Recluse not to leave. To keep talking to him.
"Would you stay?" Sage finally asked, flinching at the desperation in his own voice. "Just to…watch the stars with me?"
He looked up, allowing himself a little bit of hope—
The glade was empty.
Sage let out a long, disappointed sigh as he sank to his knees on the ground. Witches help him, he hadn't even noticed when the Recluse left. For all his intelligence, he could not stop acting like a fool.
Far above him, the stars kept shining. He turned his telescope over in his hands.
At least, Sage consoled himself, the Recluse was willing to speak to him again.
If it had been any other day, Sage would not have even considered flying in the storm. The clouds were too dense. He could barely see where he was going even without the packed sheets of rain and the static buildup of lightning searching for the perfect conduit to the ground. The Soul Jam offered him something close to eternal life, but Sage remembered being mortal. Besides, no measure of magical power shielded him from the pain of stupid choices.
And yet. The Recluse was waiting for him.
After a lecture a few days ago, he'd found an envelope sitting on the edge of his desk. After Sage was done mentally berating himself for missing the Recluse leaving again, his attention was seized by the opportunity. The message inside was right to the point.
The Recluse wanted to see him. He would be waiting at the Peak two days from when he left the letter.
There is something I would like to give to you, it read.
So even though it went against every last one of Sage's self preservation instincts, he was going. He would make it to the Peak. Despite the rain soaking his dough, the wind battering him around, and the several near misses with bolts of lightning, Sage was going to meet the Recluse.
But he had to admit, it would be easier if he knew which way was up.
The wind had torn away his hat and his monocle with it. Sage was already half blind from the rain, so even less visibility was no help. He'd expected to pierce through the cloud cover by now, but all he could see in any direction was gray concentrated water vapor.
There were a number of spells he could use, but Sage disliked midair casting. It threw the magic forms out of alignment. He'd wait until things were truly dire.
Thunder rumbled next to his head. Best not to tempt fate with further thoughts, Sage decided. If he could find something, anything in this downpour to get his bearings on a direction—
Something flashed in the haze.
He spun, the wind and rain pushing against him. Through a slight break in the clouds, flickering against the gray, Sage saw a light.
The same light from the forest. He'd forgotten all about it until this moment. Seeing the Recluse that same evening had pushed it out of his mind. But now he flew straight towards it, hoping he wasn't heading right into a thicket of tree branches—
Rocky ground rose out of the fog. The barren fields of the Peak stretched in front of him, pools of rainwater collecting below and reflecting the gray sky.
In the center of it all, a dark robed figure stood, holding a light. The sheets of rain around them glowed like diamonds, briefly illuminated by the light before falling away.
Sage felt the smile break across his face as he flew closer. "Recluse…!"
He looked up. Underneath the blond bangs stuck to his face from the rain, Sage saw a wide-eyed look of concern on the Recluse's face—right before Sage tackled him.
They stumbled backwards a few steps from the impact, but the Recluse managed to keep his footing. Sage felt an arm wrap around him as his feet finally reached the ground. The comfortable weight of the Recluse's robes settled over him, shielding him from the rain. Only then did Sage realize that he was shaking from the cold of the storm. He pressed deeper into the warmth of the Recluse's hold, stunned that he was letting him get this close.
He still smelled like vanilla.
A silent moment passed, only broken by the softer patter of the rain on the ground.
Sage finally dared to glance at the Recluse. A familiar glare and frown greeted him.
"Why did you come here?" he demanded.
Sage frowned in turn, starting to pull out of the comfortable, warm hold. "Because you invited me, of course!" he said. "Did you think I would ignore your letter?"
"I wish you had," the Recluse said. And yet his arm locked around Sage's shoulders, not letting him go. "Why didn't you at least wait for the storm to pass?"
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Sage answered, voice rising to match the Recluse's anger. "You gave me a specific day and time. And if I hadn't arrived, clearly I would have left you waiting!"
Thunder rumbled above them.
It would be easy to leave. The Recluse's arm couldn't stop Sage if he wanted his hands off of him. But at the same time, this was the closest he'd ever been to the Recluse, in more than one sense of the word. And he wasn't going to let this chance get away so easily.
"Your words and your actions do not match, Truthless Recluse," Sage said. His hands pressed back against the other's chest. "You say you want me to stop my lectures, yet you participate in the debates. You compare me to starlight and then leave without another word. You are upset when I arrive without asking, and now you are upset that I arrived when you asked me to!"
The rain continued to press at both of their faces, but Sage wasn't shaking from the cold anymore.
"You were right before," he continued. "I am not entitled to a reason. But at this point, I will demand one regardless."
Sage leaned in closer, enough that he could see the drops of rain trembling on the Recluse's lashes.
"So I ask you again. What is wrong with wanting to underst—"
A soft mouth pressed against his.
The Recluse pulled back before Sage realized what had happened. The wind had stopped, but the rain still fell, creating a soft echo around them. Sage could sense every droplet of water streaming down his face, but the chill was gone. He didn't move.
His lips were still warm.
With a slight shift, the Recluse lifted the edge of his cloak over Sage's head, giving him further cover from the rain.
"Words tend to fail me," the Recluse said. "So please judge me by my actions."
Emotion returned to Sage all at once. Frowning, he thumped a fist against the Recluse's chest.
"No, you are far more articulate than that!" he said. "Do you think you can just kiss me to shut me up?"
The tiniest smile showed on the Recluse's face. "It did for a moment, did it not?" he said.
With a frustrated groan, Sage punched his opposite fist against the Recluse this time.
The other didn't respond. Instead he lifted up his other arm.
"This is why I invited you," the Recluse said.
Sage blinked. A glowing orb sat in the Recluse's hand. The guiding light through the forest and the storm. He'd forgotten about it yet again.
"It was a gift to me, a long time ago," the Recluse continued. "And I discarded it. I think it suits you more than me. Will you accept it?"
Something in that light felt oddly familiar. Almost as if Sage were meeting the Light of Truth for the first time all over again.
Wordlessly, he held out his hands. As the Recluse passed the light into his palms, it dimmed for just a moment, and then flared even brighter.
How odd. The light felt so cold.
And yet the Recluse was still so warm.
"Stay," the Recluse said.
"Mm?" Sage let out something like a strangled squeak in response.
"My home," Recluse continued. "It's not much, but it will keep you out of the rain. Until the storm passes."
Right. Of course. Where had his mind gone? Sage quickly nodded, bobbing his head perhaps a bit too hard. He didn't trust himself to speak over his heart hammering in his chest. Or perhaps that was just the Light of Truth laughing at him again.
"Here," the Recluse said, his now free hand slipping into Sage's. He kept his cloak above him as they walked to the run-down cottage, the cool light in Sage's hand illuminating the way.
If his feet weren't firmly on the ground, Sage could've sworn he was still flying.