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The windows of the atelier quivered as thunder roared outside and rain poured relentlessly. Qifrey bustled around the atelier, mentally checking off tasks on his chore list. With Olruggio and the girls out on a job, Qifrey had stayed back to hold down the fort and clean up. But with the worsening weather conditions, it was proving to be more difficult than he had thought.
Lightning lashed across the night sky like a whip, randomly illuminating it and casting eerie shadows on the floor and walls of the atelier. Qifrey had tried to ignore the storm and focus on cleaning up instead, but he couldn’t ignore the trembling of his hands or the way he flinched at every crash of thunder.
Eventually, he gave up and decided to try calming himself with some tea. He grabbed a jug from the kitchen counter and heated up some water. However, the violent shaking of his hands caused his fingers to brush against the jug’s heated surface. He yelped and instinctively let go, leaving the jug to smash to pieces on the ground.
Qifrey cursed under his breath, kneeling to collect the jagged shards. Suddenly, a thunderclap echoed off the walls of the atelier, startling him. He hissed as he felt a sharp pain on his palm, like the sting of a blade. Droplets of scarlet bloomed across his palm like a bed of roses with dew drops glistening on their petals. But all he could do was stare, frozen in fear, as his blood dripped onto the floor.
Blood. Rain. The smell of damp soil. Memories flashed within his mind’s eye of the first day he could remember. Trapped. Drowning. Suffocating. His breath seemed to catch in his throat as though he couldn’t inhale fully. His chest began to ache, constricting painfully as his heart raced. His mind whirled with glimpses of the past. There was no calming the storm within him now. He just needed to get out.
Before he could realise what he was doing, he was already heading to the windoway and turning the dials to form a path to the Great Hall. There was only one person who comforted him on the day he was found in that coffin. It was the same person who he could confide in when the rain kept him up as a child, so it was practically instinct to seek him out when Qifrey felt this way. Hence, despite it being well past an appropriate hour to visit, Qifrey stepped through the windoway without hesitation.
…
The Great Hall was filled with chatter and the hustle and bustle of witches closing shop and winding down for the night. Fortunately, people paid him no mind as he weaved his way through the crowds and down familiar corridors to a huge door covered in doorknobs. Qifrey automatically reached for the most familiar one, decorated with smoke patterns, but his fingers faltered just short of it.
What am I doing here?
Maybe it was the time that had passed or the quiet hallway, but his mind cleared just enough for him to process some of his doubts. Considering the time, Beldaruit was probably asleep or, being a Wise One, he might be occupied.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Qifrey thinks, his fingernails digging into his palm.
He winced, feeling the dried blood on his hand replaced by a layer of fresh blood. Upon closer inspection, his wound seemed deeper than he had initially thought, but in his haze, it felt like a mere scratch. He felt the blood beneath his fingernails dry out. It reminded him of a different time he had blood and dirt caked under his fingernails, trying to claw his way out of his prison. He shoved his hands into the folds of his coat as he felt something bubble in his throat, panic seizing him once more.
“Hello there, dear,” a voice called out.
Qifrey nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and came face to face with Beldaruit. But no, that wasn’t quite right. After all the time they had spent together, Qifrey could tell the image before him was simply a smoke sculpture. Hope fluttered in his heart. He hated how relief flooded him, knowing that he wouldn’t have to go back to the atelier now.
“Why do you hesitate, dear? It’s been so long since you’ve come to visit!” Beldaruit chirped. “Besides, I always have time for my beloved apprentice!”
Qifrey stammered, still caught off guard by his appearance. “I, um, I thought you might have been resting, or busy, or…or away...”
Beldaruit scrutinised Qifrey, taking in the signs that something was wrong. He noticed how the boy’s breaths came in short, shuddering pants. He realised the way he stuttered, babbling his stream of thought as it came. Worst of all, his eyes seemed distant and vacant as though recalling a different time. A more unpleasant time.
“Qifrey, are you all right?” Beldaruit questioned, interrupting his ramblings.
“I…I d-don’t know.”
“Why don’t you come in, my dear,” Beldaruit invited, gesturing towards his doorknob, his face set with a warm smile.
…
Qifrey exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His senses were greeted by the familiarity of Beldaruit’s room. The air was perfumed with the smell of willowgrapes and other flowery teas his master was fond of. The hearth crackled in the corner of the room, enveloping it in a warm embrace. Qifrey remembered the times he had spent by the fire, sitting by the foot of Beldaruit’s sealchair and listening as he narrated stories of witches in the days of yore.
Finally, he focused on the figure sitting upright in his bed, hands clasped and resting on his lap. His hair flowed around him like a waterfall, splaying out at the ends. At the sight of Qifrey, he opened his arms, welcoming him, but not with a smile as he usually did. Instead, a look of concern twisted his aged features.
“Oh, my dear boy. What troubles you?”
Qifrey couldn’t hold it in any longer. Everything felt so familiar. It felt like home. It made him feel like a child again, frightened by some nightmare or terror and seeking out his master for comfort. Qifrey felt his chin quiver, tears pooling in his eyes. Before long, they fell freely and Qifrey all but collapsed to his knees at Beldaruit’s bedside. Muffled sobs ripped from his throat as he buried his head in the folds of Beldaruit’s bedsheets.
For a moment, Beldaruit froze, stunned by Qifrey’s sudden outburst. As a child, Qifrey had been reluctant to let his guard down and rarely showed his true emotions. It took a lot of time and coaxing for Beldaruit to convince Qifrey not to lock up his feelings, but rather to let them run their course no matter how scary that seemed. Beldaruit swiftly overcame his shock, reaching out to stroke the boy’s hair soothingly.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay, dear, I’m here,” he murmured, reassuringly. “Breathe, Qifrey.”
After a few beats, Qifrey shakily raised his head and tried inhaling slowly. Beldaruit encouraged him, running through breathing exercises they had practiced when Qifrey was younger. It felt like falling into old habits. In those moments, it felt like no time had passed since Qifrey was merely his apprentice. Eventually, Qifrey’s breath slowed, and he stopped trembling, grounding himself in reality. He gripped Beldaruit’s sheets in his fists, inhaling deeply but Beldaruit noticed something else. A stain beneath his clenched fingers, dyeing the cloth a deep crimson.
“Qifrey, you’re hurt!”
Qifrey gasped sharply, letting go of the fabric as though it stung him. His hand began to shake once more when he stared at his palm as though he had forgotten about the injury.
“I-I’m sorry!” Qifrey stammered.
Beldaruit’s expression softened, his heart tightening at the sight of his fear. “You have nothing to apologise for, my dear. Now let me take a look at that for you.”
Begrudgingly, Qifrey extended his arm, presenting his palm. Beldaruit took Qifrey’s hand in his, examining the wound. Beldaruit didn’t know much about medicine, due to the rules of their society, but Beldaruit did know how to dress wounds. In fact, the only reason he knew that was because of the injuries Qifrey had sustained as a child. Early on, Qifrey would refuse to let the doctors examine him, leaving Beldaruit to bandage him up.
Beldaruit shifted in his bed, moving away from Qifrey to reach the first aid kit he kept near his bed. He patted the now empty space beside him, gesturing for Qifrey to sit. Slowly, Qifrey clambered on and nestled in beside him, just as he used to as a child. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him as Beldaruit went about cleaning and bandaging Qifrey’s hand to the best of his abilities.
As he stemmed the bleeding, however, Beldaruit caught sight of more concerning details about his apprentice’s appearance. Thin red scars slithered up his wrists, peeking out from beneath his sleeves like serpents. Scratches. Recent ones. Beldaruit glanced at Qifrey’s nails, noting their length and felt something pool in his gut. He remembered the way Qifrey had clawed at his arms as a child whenever he was panicked. But Beldaruit thought he had managed to rid himself of that habit.
Beldaruit chewed his bottom lip. His mind argued with itself, debating whether or not to mention anything. What if saying something caused Qifrey to withdraw further? What if it sent him into a spiralling panic again? Ultimately, he decided against it and focused on wrapping his hand in sterile bandages. However, Beldaruit would not settle for nothing. He still needed some answers.
“Now, will you tell me what happened?” he asked.
Qifrey lowered his head, averting his eyes, as he took a deep breath and explained. Beldaruit listened patiently, wrapping his hand with a bandage. Even when Qifrey faltered or paused, he simply offered soft encouragements to continue. When he finished, Qifrey kept his head down, out of shame or anxiety, he didn’t know, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to face his old master.
“You needn’t feel shame, my dear. Given what you have gone through, it’s perfectly normal that you feel this way,” Beldaruit soothed.
Qifrey glanced up, meeting those familiar, kind eyes. He saw no judgement in them. No malice or hatred. Only warmth, love and security.
“Your trauma is not something you can get rid of easily. Even after years, it rears its ugly head once more, but when it does, it is of the utmost importance that you handle it in a healthy manner. Like seeking help from others and not bottling up your emotions or bringing harm to yourself.” he continued. “Thus, I do appreciate you coming to see me. I’m proud of you, Qifrey.”
Qifrey felt guilt writhing through his veins as he subconsciously tugged his sleeves over his palms. The implication of Beldaruit’s lecture was clear. This would happen again, and when it did, his door would be open to welcome Qifrey. He hated that he had not visited on happier circumstances, but he also felt he didn’t deserve such warmth.
Qifrey hated that no matter of cold and standoffish he was, Beldaruit always welcomed him back with a bright smile and a warm embrace. It made something stir within him. But just for one night, Qifrey felt himself relax. He leaned against the headboard and felt the tension ease off his shoulders.
“Well, I suppose you were the first person I thought of,” Qifrey admitted.
“Oh, you flatter me, darling!” Beldaruit giggled, ruffling Qifrey’s hair.
Qifrey rolled his eyes at Beldaruit’s theatrics, batting his hand away like a grumpy kitten. Beldaruit simply chuckled at his apprentice falling back into his old ways.
“I am sorry for dropping by unannounced at this hour,” Qifrey said. “I should leave you to rest for the night.”
As Qifrey moved to leave, Beldaruit felt something flare up within him. “Qifrey, wait!”
There was a beat of silence as Qifrey turned to face him inquisitively. It was then that Beldaruit realised what he felt. Fear. Images raced through his mind. Memories of times he had found his young apprentice rocking back and forth in the corner of this room, hyperventilating with his arms scratched up.
“Why don’t you stay the night, dear?” Beldaruit suggested.
“Um, well…though I appreciate the offer that’s hardly necessary Master,” Qifrey said, sheepishly. “Besides, I think I’m a little too old to sleep in your room now.”
“Well, your old room is still available,” Beldaruit said, gesturing towards the small door by the fireplace. “I know it may seem hard to believe, but not many wanted a room which was directly connected to a Wise One’s own chambers.”
Qifrey smiled slightly at his sarcasm. As a young boy, he had been terrified of small spaces. Thus, he didn’t like closing his room door completely, but that made him feel vulnerable as the whispers of the Great Hall bled through the tiny gap the door left when it was ajar. As a solution, Beldaruit had proposed a door with multiple doorknobs, allowing his room to open up to the Great Hall and Beldaruit’s bedroom.
Not only had the solution granted the boy some privacy, but it was also easier for Beldaruit to travel to Qifrey’s room for lessons. At least, that was what Beldaruit had answered when questioned about the decision. Truth be told, as a light sleeper, Beldaruit could always hear whenever Qifrey woke up, and it brought him relief to know that he could check in on his boy whenever he needed to.
“Well, I suppose Olly and the girls won’t be back until the day after tomorrow,” Qifrey mused. Sleeping in the Great Hall also meant he didn’t need to worry about hearing raindrops pounding onto the ceiling. “All right then.”
Beldaruit’s heart eased, letting go of tension that he didn’t even realise was there.
“Would you like me to accompany you until you sleep?”
As much as Qifrey wanted to agree, he knew his master was getting old, and given his condition, Qifrey couldn’t ask him to get up now.
“I’ll be okay.”
With that, Qifrey got up and left for his old bedroom. As he cracked the door open, he was astonished to see that nothing had changed. A bright smell filled the air, and not a single speck of dust was to be found. The room had been cleaned recently, but still remained untouched as though locked in a time capsule.
Qifrey prepared for sleep using the soft glow of a spell. He glanced outside the large windows lining the wall. It opened out to the sea, with the seabed in view. Qifrey had enjoyed watching little marine creatures swim about outside his window, as though they were performing their own personal show just for him. He extinguished his light spell as he settled into bed.
It was only then that he realised light still entered his room through the gap of the door. But just as soon as he noticed it, the light was snuffed out. From his room, Qifrey could still hear the crackling and feel the warmth of the hearth, its gentle glow entering his room. Even as a child, Beldaruit had always stayed awake until he was sure Qifrey was sound asleep.
“Goodnight, Master,” Qifrey called out, a thousand unspoken thank yous whispering behind his words.
“Goodnight, my dear.”
With that, Qifrey fell asleep peacefully, his mind free of nightmares and the horrors of his past.