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Gabriel Bortelto had heard the myth of infatuation long before he had ever experienced it himself. He had heard that it took but a glance for you to become completely engrossed in something, to the degree that you knew the moment you lay eyes on it that everything in your previous life had built up to that very moment. Gabriel’s close ones spoke of feeling it first when they experienced their driving force, such as their career or another sort of personal fascination. Many said they felt it when looking into the eyes of their other half, whether that be a lover or friend.
Gabriel hadn’t expected it when he first saw a criminal.
The day was horridly cold and absolutely unlike any other atop the mountain town of Rindwald. The wind twisted its way through the thickly locked evergreen trees encompassing the village, sneaking into the stitching of thick cloaks and into the bones of the unlucky people who had decided to venture out on such an unpleasant day. My, it was freezing, even by the mountain's high standards. Gabriel shivered gently and pulled his numb fingers into his sleeves, determined to place one torpid foot in front of the other. He had been walking for what seemed like hours. No doubt it had only been a mere five minutes. Around him, the mere morsel of sunlight they had received earlier that afternoon had quickly seeped into the standard melancholy array of clouds before dissolving completely, leaving Gabby in the sheen of ethereal gloom that he had grown oh so used to. Running a hand through his curls, he glanced around casually. Lanterns hung from tall posts that spotted and lined the town's many trailways. Thick evergreens bordered the entire town, a protective wall encompassing the tight-knit village. Scattered around the border were countless burnt stubs of what used to be the most eloquent, cloud-scraping trees and mountain-peak-brushing fungi. Gabriel would have given anything to see Rinwald before the accident. Days and nights seemed to blend together now, in the deep twilight that was synonymous with a Rindwald winter.
Gabriel whipped his head over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by a shadow he had presumably imagined in the corner of his eye, and after seeing no motion, exasperatedly fixed his gaze to his path once again. He felt as if something had just been on the brink of his shoulder the last fortnight, which ticked him off more than being an actual reason for concern. He just prayed it wasn’t a Holixade, a slender, aggravating demon that had been spotted around the area recently. They paralyzed their victims after stalking and memorizing their actions, but the real danger was how tedious and bloody expensive it was to get rid of them. Gabriel didn't need another reason to lose money.
The cold nipped and slashed away at the tan skin his coat didn’t manage to cover, eating away at him from the inside out. Gabby didn’t even know how he managed to stay so unreasonably tan with such uncooperative weather. Perhaps one of his parents had a natural tan. God, had the Apothecary always been this far from his home?
His left arm had been aching nearly to the point of unusability for nearly two weeks now. However, admittedly, strolling around outside when the weather was enough to bring a yeti into hibernation all to get a half-assed remedy probably wasn’t the smartest idea. He wasn’t a king, and in no way was he going to waste the few blooms he made working as a scribe on a simple sore arm. Especially not if he planned on paying back the gnome that had begrudgingly rented out one of his humble cottages to him.
Rindwald was a small, standardly populated village now, in stark contrast to its prime, when it peaked at eleven thousand. There was a time when the mountain's foliage whispered to the moon and found haven behind the fogged clouds, a time when spirits soared higher and the fire roared brighter and the people illuminated the sky with magic. Back when the town was home to rich nightly feasts and wines galore and the ability to summon anything anyone could ever wish for just at the snap of a finger. Those times had long since passed. Now, the borders of Rindwald had shrunk a quarter fold, and its population tenfold. It was now home to the blandest of kin. Nevertheless, it was only for the best, and every soul knew it. Sorcery was a dangerous art, if you dared to call it that. Now, Rindwald was most densely populated with needle-eared Mountain Elves, Caverned Dwarves, humans, river nymphs, halflings, half-elves, and the occasional forest elves visiting from the foothills. Gabriel happened to be the penultimate, not that either of his parents were still around to confirm such a thing.
The homes of Rindwald were scattered thoughtlessly around the village, growing in density around the town square until they eventually gave way to stores and warted goblin-owned markets. Warm-tinted lanterns brought the dirt-paved paths to life, opening up into a town square carved into a crescent, so that whenever foolish souls with heavy pockets came running, they were immediately released in the belly of the dragon. Of course, living in the village his whole life, Borteleto had learned what a good and horrible offer was, admittedly, a majority of his bargains still being the ultimate (never in his favor, of course)
The door to the Apothecary creaked open, Gabriel's slender fingers sticking to the frosted metal of the door handle. Though the cold was always a bit jarring, he had long since gotten used to its harshness. Never the blizzards, though. You can never get used to a Rindwald blizzard; hell, you’re lucky if you make it through one with all your limbs intact.
The inside of the shop was a pleasant polar opposite to outside conditions. A monstrous, icy white fire roared in the corner, enclosed by a stone fireplace. Every wall was lined with medications and herbs and crystals and everything anyone could ever need to convince themselves their condition was improving. Salt lamps dotted the room, giving it a warm, welcoming sense. The only thing that rude old hag of a shopkeeper was welcoming was people’s wallets.
A tall, shadowed cat pranced across a top shelf, one of its heads looking down at the medicine bottle it was knocking over and the other right at the door. Other than the dual-headed feline, there was one other exploring through the musty store—A young male forest elf Gabriel recognised from preparatory school, hair dark and curled. He was negotiating with the storeman about the unjust pricing of something or other, his sharp English accent cutting in when his polite facade failed to.
Posted on the bulletin board near the door were today’s sales, naturally where Gabby looked first. Directly beside the painfully short list of cheaper ingredients and herbs lay the same red warning all public buildings in all of Rindwald held by mandate: Sorcery was to be punishable by death and death only.
“I’ll take whoever’s next.” The gruff voice of the Apothecary boomed from the counter. Gabriel shuffled to the desk, clutching his materials to his chest. He had managed to secure a solid fraction of what he was looking for: A small bottle of dried wolfsbane, a jar of fireflies (alive and breathing flames from their charred jowls), and a watered-down, premade remedy that smelled rather like coconut and vomit. A shadowed figure just leaning outside the store walls yanked his gaze from his peripheral, and squinting, he turned to peer out the store's boarded window, rocking back and forth casually on his feet. Outside, there was no silhouette; however, the originally clear-but-cold skies had shifted to a full blanket of white, with towering dark storm clouds quickly stacking above them. Snow had already begun to pour down from the heavens above, a thick white sheen shielding the raw, sore soil beneath it. Gabby cursed under his breath. The chances of a possible snowstorm had gone from nearly impossible to like one in fifteen, and though those odds were on his side, he still didn’t like the thought of walking home knee-deep in cold only to be bombarded with bills from Mr. Asshole the Gnome Landlord. The weather forecaster—a small, roundbellied man who stood atop the highest pointed peak of the Linardu mountains—had announced dry skies until next dawn. Borteleto let out a defeated sigh; by the time he planned on leaving the store, there was no doubt he would be up to his chin in ice. It's on him for trusting Rindwald’s infamously unreliable weather…and infamously unintelligent weathermen.
“BOY, I said, would that be all?” The impatience of the Apothecary's voice snapped Gabriel unpleasantly back into reality. Nodding passively, he paid the fair price. Well, not so fair, actually. A dozen buddings for that? Did he look like he was made of money? Well, he did suppose his neighbor Julian was, but everybody knew Julian wouldn't cut off his left arm just to give you pocket change. Idiot.
Gabby snatched the goods with unnecessary passive aggression and shoved them into his coat, glancing at the boy—who he recalled being named Ollie—still arguing with the Apothecary, before heading out the back door. What an odd name Ollie was. I mean who names their child that. At least they didn’t name him Oliver or something.
Gabby ran his fingers through his tight curls once more before pulling his hood tightly over his face, preparing for the horrid journey back home. Oh, how he prayed the snow wouldn’t manage to pick up. He would be a madman to believe he could make it three meters in a blizzard with so little protection, and a dead madman at that. Exiting the Apothecary, he froze when he saw something glimmering from behind the left-hand side of the store, the side where a small subcrop formed between the wooden walls of the storefront and the harsh stone mountain.
An aurora of colorful, beautiful light flickered in and out of sight, just behind the corner. Shades of magenta, yellows, and lavenders subtly gleamed from behind the log wall. Its dimness made it nearly indistinguishable, even with the gray backdrop of the mountain's crevice. Carefully, Gabriel peered around the corner, putting in effort to conceal everything but his eyes as he sneaked a look at the source of the strange light. Perhaps it was a small child lighting dragon crackers, or an assortment of pixies getting in a quarrel. Maybe it was a customer taking a smoke break, or lighting a set of dried herbs they had just purchased. Whatever it was, it was nearly undetectable if not for the occasional spot of light, something no customer would recognise if it wasn’t for them already noticing a shadow in the storefront earlier, though now Gabby wasn’t certain what he had seen was simply an apparition. Squinting, he saw a lean, shrouded shadow blending slyly into the shadowed subcrop, a dark hooded cloak covering his head.
Uncertainty seeped through Gabriel like blood through white cotton. He wasn’t the paranoid type, but something about the figure made him uneasy. Why dress yourself in the linen of secrecy if the body beneath was anything but a cruel truth? Why disguise yourself in shadow if not to conceal yourself from those that attempt to bring you to light? Why the hell would anyone pick an apothecary as the perfect area to light a blunt? Gabriel attempted to distinguish the figure whilst simultaneously inching further behind his safe haven of a store corner. His mind began turning: what if it was just some old dwarf that would try to break his jaw at his apparent spying. What if it was a mean ancient hag of a woman that would grab his ear and talk it off with reprimanding remarks?
The hooded figure rotated slightly to the right, just hardly enough that Gabby could spy a sliver of his arms and face. That's when Gabriel saw it. The bottle of wolfsbane crashed to the ground and shattered, glass flying in a thousand different directions. The boy’s hands were laced with glimmering fire, lavender flames dancing on long, lithe fingers. His eyes glowed with the art he had created around him. Every movement was intentional, fire dancing around his hands, winding back and forth through encased fingers before leaping into the hair and dying in vivid embers, only to fuse together in the fallen flames and rise again. The flame seemed as connected to him as his own four limbs, growing from his very soul, lighting up the dim space around him. A gentle hum rung from the light show, a beautiful, idyllic sound that seemed to vibrate the walls of Gabby’s skull. Gabriel was poetically horrified.
The sight was ineffable. It wasn’t a party trick or a betrayal of the eyes. What he was seeing disturbed him. Or at least, it should have. Subconsciously, Gabriel took a step towards the sight, pulled to the flame as if the boy had bound a rope onto whatever empty, desperate hook of a heart Gabriel still had and swore to draw him in wherever he went. Borteleto was heaved to the sorcery like a moth to the flame, but it wasn’t the magic that engrossed him—but the boy himself. God, he had never seen a boy so beautiful. Loose, light curls fell to the pointed tips of his slender ears. His hazel eyes hung low, completely engulfed in the magic he had created as his fingers flew gracefully through the air, doing… well…whatever the hell he was doing. Flakes of ice landed on his long lashes and caught in his jet of hair, cheeks and nose warm with color from the cold. Though snow had begun to fall swiftly and the temperature had dropped far too low to be mucking about, the boy did not waver, his frame still engulfed by the flowing robe.
Gabriel had to run. He had to call someone to report something, to DO something. And yet his feet couldn’t move. No matter how much he begged and bartered with them to simply budge, they wouldn't. This boy could kill someone; he was a sick, disgusting outlaw who would rather betray his entire kingdom than control the power that was cursed upon him, so why was his face so heated on such a miserable day?
His boots made quite a racket in the crunching snow as he pivoted suddenly and ran, senses finally returning. He had to get home before either the beautiful boy or the snow would see the end of him. Glancing over his shoulder as he fled the scene, he saw the hooded boy visibly shrink in the horror that he had been discovered, looking up with a face powered…not in anger, but fear. His light quickly extinguished, both metaphorically and literally, as the flame on his finger vanished to a snub. In that moment, Gabriel knew there was quite literally no way he could report him to the authorities. He simply couldn’t. Rushing away, Gabriel was suddenly thankful the snow drifts had become too thick for the world to see in or for him to see out.
The white had blanketed all the way up past his ankles now, footsteps so loud it seemed as if there was another pair of feet shortly behind him, moving when he did. Gabriel couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen. His first encounter with magic had been far less traumatic than he had anticipated, yet not at all anticlimactic. Gabby had expected wizards to look like harsh old hags, or maybe tall, paper-thin old men with horns plastered to their balding heads, like how they were described in the paper. Nothing like the boy in the robe. Flakes of ice hit him square in the face, and wind began to pick up. He could still see a few feet in front of him if he squinted, which he supposed was a plus. Even with fabric covering every inch of his skin, the cold was nearly unbearable, cutting deep into his flesh and freezing him from the inside out. What was at first a flurry of ice had quickly become a full-fledged snowstorm, wind prying his eyes open with greedy fingers and pressing them into his sockets mercilessly.
Ahead of him, the trail had been completely concealed, leaving only an unwalkable, calf-deep layer of snow and ice. Gabriel cursed under his breath, doing his best to remain responsive in the conditions. He hesitated for a pace, standing in the snow. The world swirled around him in fire and ice, and despite its dangers, he couldn’t deny the eloquence of the monster forming around him. Ice collected in his curls, framing them solid against his cheeks, burnt red with ice. Gabby peeled his eyes open once again, using every last ounce of energy to keep walking. Snow was only picking up, his perception only worsening. He should've stayed in the store. He should’ve…
Borteleto swayed side to side on his feet, but he didn’t dare stop again. Stopping in a Rindwald snowstorm was like being offered a ten-year sentence and choosing the firing squad. Still, the world around him was spotted with black, if apparent at all, and his head was losing blood quicker than ever. Shitshitshitshits Gabby stay standing. Stay standing or your jackass landlord will sell your belongings on a street market for like fifty cents.
Despite the super encouraging encouragement he was encouraging himself with, Gabby could feel his consciousness slipping away from him, just out of his reach. His body swayed once again, this time completely out of his control. His legs shook and eventually buckled, toppling him over like a stack of parchment lacking a paperweight. The snow provided little to no cushion, his knees slamming against the stone ground hard enough to send an unbelievable strike of pain Gabriel could feel even through the anesthetic the ice provided. Snow piled past his collapsed legs, shrouding his entire lower body. Movement was impossible; the snow couldn’t even bear him a pitiful chance to escape. He was frozen.
And yet—the footsteps behind him didn’t falter.
Gabriel awoke bathed in sunlight, which he knew was impossible. He was also comfortably warm, which didn’t help the raised suspicion. His surroundings blurred back into reality with a painfully slow tempo, every dim light sending bullets into his sore eyes. He was suddenly painfully aware of his right leg, which was aching with pain from…oh my gods. He should be dead right now. The memories of what had happened in the blizzard came flooding back to him, a dam in his memory very suddenly broken.
The world around him had only begun to fade into focus, but Gabriel shot up, his grogginess gone in an instant. He was wearing just his shirt and pants, his coat and bag (along with their contents) taken. Gabby glanced around. He was in someone’s house. Or at least the facade of a house. Everything was mismatched, as if you asked a thousand men to show you their furniture and had a blindfolded goat pick at random. The floors were smooth rock, but the walls—which sloped inward in a dome—were raw, clean rock. Almost as if he was in a cave. The room had no windows but a solid oak door left on the front wall, and despite the strange architectural and design choices, it was quite comfortable. Gabby was sitting on the ground on a dusty, rectangular Arabian carpet, back pressed against an ottoman, unbound. Which, in his opinion, was a strange kidnapping method, but who was Gabriel to critique.
The walls were lined with shelves piled with an unorganized mess, with anything from hats to stubbed-out candles to steel tools to half-eaten bags of chips. There were couches, footstools, chairs, cushions, even a small table, all with varying textures and patterns that clashed heavily in quite a charming way. A tall lamppost lurked in the corner, shining yellow light around the pleasant room, a cloak hanging on its pegs. The cloak, while presenting as a simple black robe, Gabby could see was actually surprisingly intricate, varying from shades of deep navy to black indigo, its lining and texture equally impressive. It was quite beautiful, and oddly familiar, but before he could crawl towards to get a better look, the door slammed open.
Gabriel jumped back, still on the floor, and strained his eyes to get a better look at the figure.
“Oh. You’re not dead.”
His mouth dried up completely. It was now impossible for him to move or breathe; his heart rate so excruciatingly loud he swore it shook the room. The Boy strolled into the room, hands casually in his pockets. Gabriel was fighting the reflex to scream and run.
“I noticed you were having quite a hard time in the snow, so,” The Boy gestured with his hands, “consider this a sort of, I don’t know, civil, friendly neighbor act of service. You know,” He added, shoving a random pastry from a shelf into his mouth and speaking with muffled words, “It probably isn’t the smartest idea to go prancing around with such bad weather, ‘specially just for a sore arm.” He walked over to the frozen Gabriel and grabbed his left arm not-so-gently, before turning it over no different than someone would do a slab of meat on a grill. “See, no more pain.”
There were so many things Gabby wished to say at that moment. He was utterly shell-shocked, grasping at words like a man to a rope at a cliff's edge, completely unable to grab at any at all. He was horrified; for the gods' sake, he was being held by the hands of a criminal, quite literally at the moment he might add. A part of him understood but refused to acknowledge the fact that his life might have just been saved, and that perhaps he should thank the criminal. He might have wished to run, rather than saying anything at all. Whatever he had wished to say, it was most certainly not the words that left his mouth in a rather accusatory tone.
“It was YOU!”
The boy's mouth was strung into an uncertain smile by what looked nearly like hope, or at least a dangerous replica.“What..?”
“It was you who had been following me. The hell’s wrong with you, man?”
“Ah.” The boy's expression was quickly replaced by a confident, polite smile. “It seems you have been mistaken…no, no, don’t apologize; I understand the situation might be a bit hard to understand. You do seem rather overwhelmed. Here, let me explain everything for you quite simply.” Gabriel waited, more pissed than anything now. “If it weren’t for me, you would be dead, frozen solid at the bottom of the mountain, with no one to give a shit about the fact you’re gone except the people you’re in debt to, and even then they’d realize they hadn’t had dinner yet and what do you know you’re out of their mind. So,” The boy shoved Gabriel's emptied wallet back into his hand, “A thank you would be greatly appreciated, but I suppose a few blooms would do too.” Seemingly oblivious to the look of disgust on his victim's face, the boy shifted to the wall and carelessly sifted through the contents of Gabby's wallet.
“Oh, your name’s Borteleto, huh.” He tossed Gabby’s ID card into a pile of trash in the corner. “Your friends call you Gabby? Bort? Gabbs? Bottle? That is, if you have friends anyway…” Genuinely what was with this kid. What was he, some corny love interest in a 2018 harry potter wattpad fic? I mean, gods, Gabriel was sure being a criminal didn’t get you a lot of social interaction, but this was another level.
Gabriel considered shooting up and grabbing his wallet from The Boys hands, but not wanting to look like the fussy female character insert in said 2018 harry potter wattpad, he decided against it. He couldn’t exactly run; I mean Gabby had no idea where he was. Unsurprisingly, he was panicking, but he couldn’t let his attacker know that. He snatched a small, golden candlestick to his left, turning to hide it behind him. Before he could, Gabby’s leg erupted in pain. He felt as if someone had taken an icy sledgehammer and rammed it against his shin mercilessly. Sucking in a breath, his hands immediately dropped the candlestick and rushed to his leg, causing The Boy to glance at him.
“Oh, your leg, of course. Let me just,” The Boy crouched down in front of Gabby, pulling up the sleeve on his arm. They were surprisingly lean when a coat wasn’t shrouding them, hands creating a green ball of light right before his eyes. The sight was so breathtaking Gabriel nearly forgot to react. Nearly. Kicking his legs out, Bortoleto leaped to his feet.
“Get that…” Gabriel faltered. “That fire thing away from me, you no-good rotten criminal!”
“I’m trying to fix your leg, and you sound like a scared Victorian child. Calm down, would you?”
Gabriel was exasperated. “My leg's fine, just a bit sore.”
“You sure about that?”
Gabriel glanced down at his pulled-up pant leg and sucked in a breath. A thin, bleeding gash had corrupted his right leg where he had presumably fallen. Around it, his toned shin was spotted with pulsing red splotches, some turning deep shades of purple. The sight was far from pleasant.
“I numbed the pain slightly while you were asleep, but it fades every three hours. The pain will slowly be coming back to you any time now.” Gabriel flinched. Three hours? How long had he been out? He didn't even remember anything past collapsing in the snow. It was a bit terrifying, actually, like a gaping hole in his memory.
“What do you mean you ‘numbed the pain?’”
“Ah,” The Boy smiled, “I kindly decided to remove some of your pain while you were out cold; I thought it might help wake you up…I don’t know.” He said it like he was humblebragging to a fellow citizen that he had cleaned up the litter in their yard, not admitting to a crime punishable by death and informing Gabriel he was the victim.
Gabriel was going to die in this cave at the hands of a murderer and criminal if he didn’t die of irritation beforehand.