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“… Olruggio, I have a question."
Despite living in the Great Hall for roughly half a year, there was still a seemingly endless amount about Witch culture Qifrey couldn't grasp. As soon as one question was answered, another five popped up in its place. Ah… thank goodness for Olruggio! Whenever puzzled by an odd display here or a custom he didn't understand there, Qifrey would recite this phrase, punctuating it with a gentle tug on his friend's cloak. The ritual had become familiar—comfortable, even, if that’s possible—for young Qifrey. At his prompting, Olruggio would face him, eyes like sunlit sapphires, and say—
“Sure, Qifrey. What’s up?”
“What’s… happening.”
At first, Olruggio’s eyebrows scrunch up—but Qifrey can see the moment his question clicks. As the two apprentices amble across a swooping bridge, connecting a bustling plaza of the Great Hall to the spiraling tower that houses their classroom, it becomes more and more difficult to ignore the excitement throughout the Hall.
Older apprentices flutter to and fro, like a flock of juvenile birds; they scribble spells that craft delicate crystals to decorate each tower in the Hall, all whilst squabbling amongst themselves. Elsewhere, the adult witches busy themselves with sketching boughs of golden light– Qifrey is sure that some are as big as he is. The sing-song echo of gleeful voices drift through the Hall, as a crowd works to hang evergreen branches and holly leaves on the bridge’s sprawling parapets. From atop the tower spires, decorative stars twinkle on and off. A grumpy, older witch grumbles to himself as he tries what might be his fifth spell to get one star to just stay lit. And instead of actually decorating, several apprentices that Qifrey doesn’t recognize kick around in piles of glitter, sending cirrus puffs of the stuff up into the air.
Qifrey's mind races in circles. He swivels his head back and forth to catch glimpses of everything he can, but the spectacle is dizzying, nearly overwhelming— he can hardly keep his thoughts straight.
“Beldaruit didn’t tell you?”
Qifrey shakes his head no.
"Well—he might’ve,” he mumbles, placing his hands on the stone railing of the bridge and peering over. Hand in hand, a pair of witches string intricate, feathery ribbons on the keystones below. “Dunno…”
Watching the witches at work, a familiar ache rises in his chest and threatens to swallow him whole. Right when I was starting to get the hang of things, he thinks, scrunching up his face. There had to be something else.
Qifrey jolts when Olruggio’s hand meets his shoulder.
"Well," his friend starts. "Doesn't matter. 'Cause, listen..."
Pressing his feet together, he launches himself a few feet up into the air with a whoosh. He flourishes his cape—"Winter coming means it’s Solstice, Qifrey! So, the witches of the Great Hall make everything pretty for the season.”
Qifrey purses his lips. Okay. That raises more questions than it answers. His stare is blank, eyebrows knit together; he opens his mouth to speak, but Olruggio anticipates his question.
“Solstice is—well, it’s like… it’s a holiday. Y’know what a holiday is?”
Another shake of Qifrey’s head.
“Sure you do.” Olruggio squints. “Remember, there was... ah... hm…”
“… I guess you really haven’t…” Olruggio trails off, but Qifrey can fill in the blanks. An uncomfortable heat begins to consume him once more, starting at the tips of his ears; he wishes he could melt into the ground, or disappear into his cloak, or...
But Olruggio just floats down to Qifrey's level. “… Hey, that's fine," he says, once again using that gentle little tone that wraps around Qifrey like a blanket. "No problem. In fact, that makes it more exciting.”
“What? Does it?” Qifrey doesn't get it. “I just feel... stupid.”
Olruggio grabs at Qifrey’s hands, lifting him up with him—the sudden rush of cool air against his cheeks makes Qifrey gasp. “Don't feel stupid,” he says. Olruggio’s voice crackles with affection; warmth blooms in Qifrey’s chest. “It'll be so much fun. Way more fun, now that we can celebrate together."
Olruggio explains it to him as they float higher; he guides Qifrey to a nook near the spire where the two can sit. A holiday is a special day, he says. They'd get classes off. Obviously, decoration was a big deal. And, of course, the best part—everyone would make lots of good food. Leaning his legs off the side of the tower, Olruggio joyously kicks his feet at the prospect of taking Qifrey to get a sweet treat and a warm drink after classes. Qifrey couldn't deny that his excitement was palpable– not only that, but contagious. Thank goodness for Olruggio. Whenever Qifrey felt out of place, he was always there to pull him back down, to make sure he wasn't left out. I'll show you everything, he said. Qifrey takes a breath, the softness of Olruggio's hands grounding him as he looks back out to the Hall's sprawling towers. The decorations no longer surround him, no longer overwhelm him. They’re no longer chaotic, a cacophony of visuals; rather, they come together to form a complete picture. From a nearby tower, the bright jingle of bells rings out—and for the first time, it sounds like music.
“You know the story about the Silverwood Tree and the Star, right?” Olruggio asks—Qifrey nods. Beldaruit had told him one night after he awoke from a terrible nightmare; his voice had soothed him back to sleep (though—and he’d never admit it—Qifrey found the whole tale quite far-fetched). “The night of Winter Solstice commemorates when the Star gifted the Silverwood Tree his magic. It’s the shortest day of the year, but it’s the time where—well, on the Surface—the stars shine the brightest.”
Qifrey’s eyes go wide. Beldaruit has only taken him to the surface a few times so far, to see the grass, the sky—feel the wind in his hair. If there's anything Qifrey loves, it's the stars. “Really…?”
“Yep! And, so–”
But a loud chime ringing from their classroom's belfry interrupts Olruggio’s speech.
“... Ah…! We’re late for class…”
Olruggio stands, dusts off his cloak. As he prepares to fly back down to solid ground, Qifrey reaches out to grab his hand.
“Wait, wait. Olruggio,” Qifrey says. “… Can we... maybe... skip classes today? … I’d like to know more. About the— the Solstice thing. We could, um, go explore...?”
Olruggio blinks, taken aback by Qifrey's question. And despite a brief second of hesitation, he grins, his eyes crinkling up with delight.
“… I’d love to.”
Qifrey knows Olruggio hardly ever skips class. In their six months of friendship, Qifrey learned he takes great pride in his studies. ... Not to mention the anxious way he pulls the strings from his tassels when he gets in trouble, looks down at his hands and threads his black ribbon through his fingers when scolded in class. Well, then— Qifrey considers himself rather lucky that Olruggio agreed to skip with him; he justified it to himself, claiming they'd get off class for their Solstice breaks soon anyway. As they hop along, dodging any lingering Watchful Eyes as they scamper to the Shopping Gallery, Olruggio answers all Qifrey's questions with sun-bright glee: “So, what does Solstice even mean…?” “My professor said it means 'the sun stands still.'” “Does it?” “Well, not actually..." "What's that have to do with the Silverwood trees...?" "It's symbolic. When the tree and the star were together, it felt like the whole world stood still..." "Oh, right... it's a love story..." "Kind of sappy, right?"
“Since the season is so cold on the Surface, everyone gets all warm ‘n cozy… even in the Hall. Although, I guess even the ocean gets cold, 'cause it has gotten pretty chilly down here...” Olruggio explains, hand wound tightly around Qifrey's so he won't lose him in the crowd—apparently, the shopping gallery always gets crowded on the first day of Solstice.
When he leads Qifrey into a nearby shop—a glass crafts store, he says—he points to a large, star-shaped lamp made of various pieces of stained glass set up near the entrance. “A lot of the decoration revolves around stars, see? ‘Cause the Star was the first one to have magic.”
Qifrey’s initial confusion has transformed into utter fascination. With wide eyes, he marvels at Olruggio’s explanations. Is there anything that his friend doesn‘t know? While Qifrey wants to focus on Olruggio’s face as he talks and steers Qifrey through the shop, he’s distracted by the colors that the stained glass cast onto the floor. The blue light of the Great Hall makes Qifrey lightheaded most days– fills him with an unpleasant, queasy seasickness. But the lamp, the light it casts on the floor, is clementine-orange, glowing like daylight. The warmth makes Qifrey shiver.
“… They’re really pretty,” Qifrey murmurs, hardly audible. “The stars, I mean. I like them.”
There’s a similar warmth in Olruggio’s eyes; it’s like starlight in itself. He offers Qifrey the gentlest smile.
“I like them, too.” Olruggio gives Qifrey’s hand a little squeeze, as they watch the way the cast light dances on the floor. As the lamp rotates, the colors from the star merge to reflect the pattern of a seal. It takes a moment, but Qifrey lights up when he recognizes it. Those are light sigils, and a float sign... and that’s the sign that would make the light star-shaped! He tugs Olruggio’s sleeve, gesturing down to it. When Olruggio gives him an affirming nod, pride swells in his chest. Even if it’s simple, Qifrey isn’t used to recognizing spells in public.
Olruggio traces the seal with his foot, hopping back and forth between the sigils. “If you think this is cool, just wait. A lot of the shops make really neat stuff this time of the year—so people can buy gifts. Like all this cool glassware. I mean, it’s sort of impractical, but it's neat regardless, right?”
… Gifts? Olruggio never mentioned gifts! He mentioned snacks before he mentioned gifts! “Huh?”
Olruggio smacks a hand over his forehead. "Oh. I can't believe I forgot...! The most important part of Solstice is the big gift exchanges,” he says. “The Star gave the Tree his magic. And then the Tree gave magic to the world. It's thanks to generosity that we have magic to begin with. The least we can do is give back... especially to those we care about.”
Giving to those we care about. The thought turns itself over in Qifrey's head. His eyebrows furrow as he scours his memory; has he ever given a special gift before...? He'd received plenty of gifts—Beldaruit, of course, gave him his wand, and his palm quire, and all the other essentials he needed to be a witch. And Olruggio was always getting him gifts. He loved to buy him treats or make him little trinkets in class. Sometimes, Olruggio would bring him small items from field trips to the Surface. But... Qifrey can't recall a time when he'd given back to his friend. A warm flush spreads across his cheeks as the realization dawns on him: I've been so inconsiderate, this whole time...!!
“… Oh, I see.”
“You look pretty thoughtful. What are you thinkin' about?” Olruggio raises a brow.
“Just... the gifts,” Qifrey murmurs, still lost in thought. What would Olruggio like? Is there anything I can get him that's special…? He draws so many spells for me. And he's helped me so much with my magic. Maybe I could draw him my own spell, to show him how thankful I am? But, oh, what kind of spell do you give someone who makes the most beautiful magic...?
“Mhm?” Olruggio tilts his head. “You thinkin' about what I'll get you?”
… That takes Qifrey by surprise. The heat rushes back to his cheeks, as if it never left. “Wha-wha… huh??”
“You're surprised!? What for??” Olruggio's laugh is reminiscent of the joyful crackle of the hearth at home.
“Well... no... I'm not surprised..."
“Of course I'm gonna give you a gift. You're my best friend.” Olruggio shrugs, like it's nothing. No big deal.
But it is a big deal. A surge of comfort floods his chest. Forget sylph shoes! He could easily float away thanks to Olruggio's words alone. He's said it before—this isn't news, but it still soothes Qifrey down to his soul, in a way he hopes will never go away. “So we'll exchange presents…” Qifrey mumbles. "Ah..."
Olruggio takes his hand again, squeezing it in that comforting way he does. Fighting against the smile forming on his face would be a losing battle. "Don't be nervous. I'll like anything you get me. You could get me the crummiest present in the world, and I'd probably still like it."
Olruggio leads him out of the store, and Qifrey nods.
"... But, listen, that's not an invitation to get me a crummy present...! I mean, I don't think you'd get me a crummy gift in the first place, because you’re not like that, obviously, but, like…”
Qifrey laughs as Olruggio rambles on—and he makes a silent promise to himself: he'll make the greatest spell in the world for his best friend.
For his star.
… Qifrey has never liked magic.
Even Beldaruit's pretty, sparkly magic; Qifrey can’t help but carry contempt for the frivolity of it all. Even the magic he manages to do himself; he can’t help but see the cold clamminess of the coffin reflected in every sign and sigil he draws. I should be grateful, Qifrey tells himself each time he practices his drawing. Forces his hands not to shake. Struggles to make his pen sit right in his hand. I could be dead.
Qifrey has never liked magic.
… Well. Most magic, anyway. The magic that settles in his chest whenever Olruggio talks, explains the confusing parts of living in the Great Hall to him... well, that’s not so bad. It's easier to appreciate Olruggio's magic; watching him draw is comfortable, like he’s cozied up by the fireplace, snug in quilts and draped with blankets, away from the Hall and everything that could possibly want to hurt him. Olruggio’s magic makes him feel something he’s never felt before: the comfort, the safety of home.
He never knew magic could make him feel like that.
Qifrey’s head is a flurry. As he walked home with Olruggio, he could hardly pick just one thing to focus on—the melody of Solstice songs, the comforting scent of spicebark, the dim glow of the lanterns decorating the Hall. After saying goodbye to his friend, letting him go when they reached the grounds of the apprentice dorms, he stumbled back to Beldaruit’s tower. Parting from Olruggio was always the worst part of his day—but now that he was on his own, it meant he could really get to thinking. The most important part of Solstice is the big gift exchanges, was what Olruggio said. The idea shifts around in Qifrey’s head like the water inside a vapor bubble. I have to make him something nice. But what...?
The sing-song voice of his professor chimes from the kitchen as soon as he swings open the door. “Hello, my dear apprentice! How were your classes today? You’re finished up for a few weeks, correct??” Of course, lessons with Beldaruit would continue, but Qifrey was more than happy not to go to group class.
“… Yep.” He ignores the first question. Beldaruit would certainly find out he skipped today from someone, but his professor wasn’t going to hear it from him.
"Did anything exciting happen?”
“… Well.” Qifrey face scrunches up. “You didn’t tell me about all this Solstice stuff.”
There's a brief pause, as Qifrey shuffles around the foyer of their Atelier. But after a moment, Beldaruit barks out a laugh. “What! Qifrey, I told you weeks ago. I said– Qifrey, my dear, Solstice is coming up, I truly cannot wait to introduce you to all our wondrous traditions… your first Solstice with us! Ah, it's enchanting...!– were you paying me any mind at all?” Qifrey doesn’t answer; Beldaruit clicks his tongue. “... Well! I take it that Olruggio has informed you of our celebrations.”
Qifrey mumbles half-heartedly, the tips of his ears flushing red. Is it too soon to rush off to his room...? “He told me a little.”
“Oh? How much is ‘a little’?”
Another shrug. Qifrey hangs his hat and robe up, sliding off his boots with little kicks of his feet. “A little. I gotta go to my room.” There's a focused determination in his quiet voice—there are bigger problems he’s trying to solve than ones involving Beldaruit.
Thankfully, Beldaruit doesn’t press further. “Will you be around for dinner?”
“… Sure.”
With that, Qifrey scampers off to his bedroom. Shutting the door, he heaves a sigh. Time to get to work, then. He sets a few sheets of paper out on his desk.
... Time to get to work, then. Hand shaking, he dips his pen in ink. Hovers the nib over his blank slate. Presses a few cursory marks onto the sheet, watching the ink pool up in dark, shiny drops.
... Okay, now it's time to get to work. Qifrey blinks at his paper. "What would Olruggio like," he whispers to himself, absently scratching a few lines. "... What would Olruggio like..."
The more he thinks, the more Qifrey's face scrunches up. The lines begin to take a familiar form as he ponders his circumstance– a round face, a black hat with a long ribbon. A big smile. Oh, no. How could he be such a lousy friend..?! Olruggio had given Qifrey so many gifts throughout their half a year of friendship, and Qifrey still had no idea what Olruggio would want.
His chest tightens. Um, hrm.
Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he thought.
---
Having classes off is a pleasant change of pace—first, because it means more time to himself. No classmates giving him awkward glances or half-hearted scoffs as he shuffles across the Great Hall’s bridges. No teachers with far too much pity in their voices when they speak to him. And, best of all, no older kids poking fun at him when he passes by, giggling shrill mockeries.
Second, it means more time with Olruggio. Each morning, Qifrey met Olruggio outside the apprentice dormitories bright and early; he lingered by the door, not minding Olruggio’s tendency to wake up a little late. When Olruggio opened the door, with eyes wide as the full moon, he asked: “Qifrey, were you waiting for me?”
“Yep,” Qifrey replied, hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels. “It’s no problem.”
And Olruggio grinned that big, toothy grin of his, grabbed Qifrey’s hand, and they were off like arrows, the both of them.
(Third, it means plenty of time to practice his spells. And try—and struggle, and fail—to conjure a spell suitable for Olruggio’s gift. He spent every night at his desk, wracking his brain for ideas, to no avail.)
On the fifth day of Solstice celebration, Qifrey and Olruggio spent their afternoon racing through the Hall, weaving in and out of shops. Olruggio pointed out special trinkets and fancy sculpted ornaments, adorned with spells (“Look at this one, Qifrey—this one plays a song when you twist it!” “See the sigils here? It’ll make the bells glow.”). Whenever there’s a contraption Qifrey doesn’t understand, Olruggio takes time to explain to his companion—they’ve made a game of it, by now. The smoky aroma of cloves and pine fills the hall, instead of the usual salty scent that stings Qifrey’s nose. As the clockmarks pass, the crowds begin to wane. The lights of the Great Hall grow dim, coloring the whole Shopping Gallery varying shades of dappled blue and orange.
“…So, do you have a favorite Solstice hymn yet? I feel like I’ve been hearin’ ‘em nonstop since a week ago,” Olruggio says with a laugh. Qifrey ponders the question, stopping to hum a tune he remembers from one of the more musical contraptions. Olruggio nods, approving of Qifrey’s choice.
“I like that one, too. There’s words to it, y’know?" Olruggio’s hand finds Qifrey’s once more. “It’s like… a lullaby from the point of view of the star.”
Qifrey ducks shyly into his cloak. “Maybe you could teach me the words sometime."
“Of course! First, though, let’s get something warm to drink. We could get spiced mountain apple cider... or if you want somethin’ simple, hot cocoa will always do...”
“Cocoa...” Qifrey knows cocoa. How could he not, when Beldaruit has spent the last five days baking up a storm...? Cocoa cookies, brownies, with marmalade and cardamom and spicebark… “Cocoa sounds... delicious.” Qifrey, despite not being one to bother with cooking and baking, has grown quite fond of cocoa.
Glittering blue and white ribbons cover the path towards Olruggio’s favorite drink stall, tied in intricate, hexagonal patterns. Each pattern is unique, Qifrey notices; each ribbon twists differently. He hums. Qifrey has noticed this shape several times now; it’s a shape that Olruggio hasn’t explained yet. Then again, Qifrey hasn’t asked.
“… Wait...” Qifrey starts. “One more question, Olruggio. What’s that supposed to be?” He gestures towards the ribbons.
Olruggio blinks.
“… Y’don’t know snow?”
Qifrey shakes his head. “Snow? No. … Ssss...-no-w.” Olruggio sputters out a laugh; Qifrey’s face flushes, turning away from Olruggio’s gaze. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“No, it was funny,” Olruggio says. “Ummm, snow… snow… hm… well. It’s frozen water...”
“That’s ice, isn’t it?”
“Snow is sorta like... ice’s brother?”
Qifrey’s blank stare from before is back. Chewing the inside of his cheek, Olruggio pulls Qifrey away from the main traffic of the Shopping Gallery’s walkway. In the small enclave where they stand, it’s like they’re the only two witches in the whole world. Like the sun is standing still.
“… I’ll show you,” Olruggio whispers, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hold out your palms, okay?”
Qifrey nods, doing as instructed, no hesitation. As Olruggio scribbles in his quire and closes the ring, a fluffy cloud spins itself together. White and wispy, it looks soft enough to reach out and touch. Wonder shines in Qifrey’s eye. Flakes of white drift out the spun cloud and float down, as delicate as powdered sugar. His hands, still warm from Olruggio’s touch, melt the crystalline flakes against his skin. As soon as the first flake falls into his palm, a chill travels through his hand; with a gasp, he locks eyes with Olruggio.
“… Cold!” How wonderful...! The snowflakes are cold yet beautiful, dancing as they drift downward from their home in the fluff of the cloud.
“That’s what winter is like on the surface,” Olruggio says. “Clouds fill up the whole sky, and then the snow blankets the ground, and...”
Trailing off, the smile disappears from his lips, the flickering candlelight of his eyes snuffed out. But before Qifrey can speak up, Olruggio continues.
“... Uh, yeah! That’s snow. It’s like rain, but… y’know, frozen. Like ice cream,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t care for it.”
“… But you just made some,” Qifrey whispers, not pulling his eyes from Olruggio’s, searching for the light. “It’s so… pretty. Your spell is... it’s beautiful. You don’t like it?”
Another shrug. “… No.”
“Oh.”
Olruggio pulls his cloak tighter, arms held around himself. In his small voice, Qifrey says, “Okay. You don’t have to draw it for me again, if you don’t like it.”
Olruggio looks away. “I don’t mind. You’ve never seen it before.”
But Qifrey insists, shaking his head. “No. If you don’t like it, I don’t like it.” He wipes his hands off on his cloak, as if to prove himself and say, see? It wasn’t even that cool.
When Olruggio tilts his head back towards Qifrey, his smile is gentler than before—more genuine—a silent thank you reflecting in his eyes. Qifrey reaches out and takes his hand. The candlelight is back.
“So... cocoa!” Qifrey’s hand squeezes, ever-so-slightly, mirroring the gesture Olruggio uses whenever his own thoughts start to drift. “You wanted hot cocoa, right?”
With his shoulders relaxing, the tension strung in them dissipating, Olruggio laughs. “Oh, right! Cocoa! Yeah, I definitely need somethin’ to warm me up!”
Qifrey is practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing up and down on his heels. “Yep! Me, too!!”
But there’s something more exciting than cocoa on his mind—somewhere in their conversation, something clicked. An idea tucked itself into his mind. Now, all that’s left is to put it to paper.
Tick, tick, tick...
It’s late. He’s been working for clockmarks now. Well, more accurately, trying to work. He finally had an idea for Olruggio’s gift—a good idea, at that—but now… a new problem arose: making it. What am I thinking..?! I’m not an inventor!
Qifrey tosses his head on his desk, a half-groan, half-sob escaping him. Night envelops the Great Hall in an inky blanket, and despite the exhaustion that threatens to crush him, Qifrey can’t sleep. Not yet. Paper litters the room; balled-up scraps pile on the floor, while torn sheets lay scattered across Qifrey’s desk. Breath shaking, Qifrey lifts his pen, trying another line, but it wobbles in an unsightly manner that causes Qifrey to cry out once again. No, no, no! Every line he draws is... so ugly. Another choked sob, laced with agitated frustration, escapes him; he scatters his paper around the room, launching his pen against the wall.
Why, why, why can’t he draw a single spell? Not even anything simple?! Half a year of careful study, and nothing he’s drawn tonight is any good at all! Tears well in his eye, a few trickling down his cheek and onto his desk. Everything Olruggio makes is so beautiful. How could he ever draw a spell he finds beautiful? How could he ever draw anything worthy of being a gift for his friend? Olruggio is so talented with magic, and everything I draw is… wobbly, and messy, and... and… wrong-looking. Even the apprentices in the younger classes draw better than I do.
Qifrey takes in a ragged breath. It’s not fair. If he were raised a witch, maybe he’d be as good as Olruggio. Maybe he could make something he deserves. But he wasn’t. Everything surrounding him reminds him of that fact. Everything surrounding him mocks him for that fact. I’ll never be an actual witch, Qifrey thinks, pulling his knees to his chest. I don’t even know why Olruggio bothers with me. The hot lump in his throat chokes him as he squeezes his eye shut, digging his fingernails into the fabric of his pants.
He can hardly hear the creak of his bedroom door, or the patter of cloven hooves, over the sharp, uneven intake of his breath.
“... Qifrey?” comes the gentle voice of his teacher. “My dearest apprentice, whatever is the matter?”
Qifrey shoots up—no! The last thing he wants to do is cry in front of Beldaruit! He sniffs, wiping his eye with his sleeve. “Nothing. Nothing.” As long as he hides his face, he’ll be able to pretend he wasn’t crying…
But Beldaruit persists, making his way into the room. “… Are you quite sure?” he asks, gentle as sea foam; Qifrey can’t stand it. “… You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish. But… well… it seems you have been… rather busy! What are you trying to make, my dear boy?”
… Qifrey can’t help it; he chokes out another little sob as he thunks his head back on his desk, tears spilling onto his paper. Beldaruit sets a slender hand on his back.
“I can’t—I can’t do it,” he mumbles. “I wanted to make Olruggio something nice. F-for—for the Solstice.”
“… Is that so?”
“But everything I—everything I draw is so ugly,” he sobs, the word ripping through him with disgust. “He’ll hate it. And then he’ll hate me.”
Beldaruit begins to rub his hand in tender circles over Qifrey’s back— repetitive, predictable, reminiscent of the even ticking of a clock. “Why would he ever hate you?” Beldaruit asks. Qifrey sputters a sad little laugh in response.
“‘Cause he’s so good at magic,” he says, matter-of-fact.
“… Has he made fun of your magic in the past?” Beldaruit’s question has no malice or accusation behind it—just earnest curiosity.
Qifrey grumbles, sits up, and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. He leans into Beldaruit’s touch. “No.”
“Do you think he would start now?”
“… I don’t know.”
“Well.” Beldaruit’s sealchair curls its legs inward, cozying up next to Qifrey’s desk. “You know Olruggio better than I do, but from the times I’ve met him, he seems very kind.”
“He is.” It’s hard for Qifrey to resist the comforting circles Beldaruit rubs into his back. He sniffles; it’d be so easy to reject his affection, stomp off to bed, and hide under his blankets until morning, but… he’s too tired to put up a fight. His eyes are heavy, his brain tangled in knots. That’s the only reason he’ll accept the comfort.
Beldaruit goes quiet for a moment. “Would you like my help? For your gift.”
“No.”
“… No?”
“No.”
His sealchair stands, does a brief stretch. “Suit yourself, my child. But if you change your mind…”
“Wait,” Qifrey says, reaching out to grab the hem of Beldaruit’s sleeve as the sealchair turns. “W-wait. Um… could you… show me how to… how to draw this?”
Qifrey gestures to a surviving piece of paper. His handwriting is still messy, his letters still wobbly; scrawled on his paper is his gift idea, and a few small sigils, accompanied by scribbles of Olruggio. His black ribbon twists and twirls throughout the page.
Tilting his head away, Qifrey mumbles to himself. “… Olruggio said he doesn’t like the snow, and even though it doesn’t snow down here, it gets chilly sometimes…” He fidgets with his fingers, picking at a cuticle. Softer, he adds—“He’s always doing stuff that, uhm… that makes me feel warm. So I’d really like for him to… to feel warm, too.”
He forces back a laugh at how stupid it sounds coming out of his mouth. Qifrey isn’t sure if it’s possible for him to be warm. To make something that carries the warmth Olruggio embodies, anyway. Could something cold and mangled, something inhuman and ugly—make something kind?
Beldaruit traces over his drawings with careful fingers. “Oh, Qifrey…”
Qifrey pulls his knees closer, almost as if he’s trying to disappear into himself. His cheeks burn as Beldaruit inspects his work. “You can tell me if it’s stupid,” he mutters. “I feel like it’s stupid.”
But the ridicule he expects never comes. Beldaruit’s opal eyes are misty, and the corners of his lips twitch into a smile. “Not stupid, Qifrey. Do not say such things about yourself,” he whispers. “… I’m so proud of you. You’ve never put such heart into your magic before. I know it’s difficult for you–”
A loud, embarrassed squeak escapes Qifrey. “What?!”
“It’s wonderful! I’m overjoyed!!”
“A-ah?! I…” Qifrey’s hands fly to cover his face, which might as well be on fire now. This is more embarrassing than the crying…!
“This is the spirit of magic, Qifrey,” Beldaruit continues. “You wish to make something to bring your friend joy. I know it has been difficult for you, given the circumstances—and as much as I wish to, I cannot force you to enjoy magic. But it is important to learn that this kindness is the true purpose of magic.”
All this fuss is mortifying. Is it possible to make a spell to help him melt into his chair…?? “… Okay… well… I just figured you’d know how to make it…”
A thoughtful hum rumbles in his professor’s throat. “Yes, I know how you can craft it,” Beldaruit says with a smile. He mutters to himself, thinking out loud. “Yes… it’s a good idea! And the creation will be a wonderful professor-pupil bonding activity! But we’ll need to pick supplies up from the market tomorrow, and… hmm, when did you wish to give this to him?”
“… Um… is there… a deadline…???” Qifrey’s eyes widen; Beldaruit laughs out loud.
“Well!! Invite him over for the Solstice Night’s Celebration here at the tower! We were planning on doing a gift exchange anyway, so—”
“… Were we?!”
Beldaruit slings an arm over Qifrey’s shoulder, pulling him close. “… My dear boy, you really don't listen to a word I say, do you?””
“There is much more to magic than pretty drawings,” Beldaruit explains.
As he speaks, he sits with Qifrey at the hearth, a brushbuddy scrambling around on the floor. Qifrey takes a bite out of a piece of homemade bread; it crunches delightfully in his mouth. “Here is the truth, Qifrey—please don’t forget. Dexterity comes with practice. Your hands are still getting used to the craft. Do not shame yourself for that. Your drawings will get steadier as you grow. The important thing is your intention and your ideas.”
The brushbuddy scampers up Qifrey’s arm as he listens—with a soft grumble, he plucks the fuzzy creature off with two fingers and places it by the fireplace. Holding his bread in his mouth, his hands return to his project, pressing a sewing needle through dark fabric. Today makes the third day of work on it, and he’s poking himself with the needle much less. “You have a kind heart—or you would not be working so hard on your gift for your friend,” Beldaruit continues. His motions are much more elegant than Qifrey’s, his practiced hand working the needle through the fabric with precision and ease. “And you had a grand idea. Those elements are just as important as your handiwork. If you use your magic to bring joy, and never stop being inspired, you will always be a witch.”
Qifrey nods, keeping his focus glued to his sewing needle. Each stitch is steadier than the last—save for the moments when the brushbuddy bothers him with a fwii!. This confounded thing…
“… Thanks, Professor,” he mumbles through his full mouth.
Beldaruit also explained that this project would help with his dexterity. (“Your drawing and handwriting will be even lovelier once you’re finished, I’m sure!” is what he had said). Qifrey hated it at first. If using a wand was difficult, using a sewing needle was an even bigger struggle. But he began to find peace in the project, and sitting by the fireplace working beside Beldaruit (and the brushbuddy!) was quickly becoming his favorite way to wind down before bed.
The process was repetitive, simple and soothing. Beldaruit brought snacks and read stories while Qifrey toiled away with his needle and thread. His professor handled the more complex stitches, the seals and the sigils. He’d take over stitching when Qifrey’s hand got too tired. Or when he’d poke himself too many times. Or when his frustration won out, and he chose to simply lie on the floor instead. By the seventh day, though, Qifrey was less frustrated and more determined. He’d stay up late, working away, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and the teeny snores of the brushbuddy. By the eve of the Solstice Night’s Celebration, Qifrey had completed his project. Turning the gift over in his hands, Beldaruit admires his pupil’s diligent work.
“You’ve done excellent. Your friend will just adore it.”
Beldaruit’s Solstice Night’s Celebration is everything Olruggio could ever want in a party. Good food, music, and, of course, his best friend. Olruggio and Qifrey spent most of the festivities off on their own; Qifrey showed Olruggio around the tower, while the adults mingled and the older apprentices showed off their magic. The two of them were once again lost in their own little world.
A few clockmarks into the celebration, Beldaruit calls together the party guests for the main event—exchanging gifts. He has a drink in one hand, several gifts in his other, and a brushbuddy sleeping in his lap. The party’s gift exchange was lively yet casual, which Olruggio was thankful for—back in Ghodrey, his family did Solstice gift exchanges one-by-one. They would sit in a silent circle, all eyes glued on Olruggio as he opened a gift—usually a new palm quire or conjuring ink. He’d mumble out a squeaky thanksalot, before the circle moved onto the next person. He shivers at the thought.
No matter. The most important moment of the evening was upon him: he got to give Qifrey his present! Olruggio always loved to give Qifrey small presents, but this one was extra special. Coming up with a gift idea was hard, but on their fifth day of exploration, inspiration finally took hold. He cradles his gift, wrapped up in cloth, in his arms, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
“I’m so glad I can finally give you your gift,” he says. Qifrey’s eye sparkles, his mouth slightly agape with wonder; Olruggio recognizes that look. That’s the look Qifrey always gives him whenever Olruggio gets him a present. He can’t help but let out a laugh. “Don’t look so surprised!”
In response, Qifrey just opens his hands, and Olruggio sets the bundle of cloth in his palms. With hesitant, shaking fingers, Qifrey unlaces the velvety black ribbon tying it together.
Inside is a wooden box, a star etched on the top, a carved seal surrounding it. Qifrey explores further, shy fingers tracing over each etching in the wood before flipping open the lid. Inside is a small, spinning contraption, which Qifrey looks at quizzically. It takes a second for him to notice the box’s wooden handle, and when he does, he looks up at Olruggio, as if asking for permission. Olruggio, in response, gestures towards it. Qifrey nods; he takes the handle in between his fingers and turns it three full rotations before letting go. The contraption inside then moves, and small, whistling notes of sound emanate from the box. Each note comes together to form a song, melodic and melancholy. A wind spell makes the ethereal sound; the whisper of the wind through the wooden contraption sounds reminiscent of a flute. The box is mesmerizing; Qifrey stares, unblinking, unmoving. Almost as if he believes moving will cause the contraption to fall apart.
When the song finishes, Olruggio scratches the back of his neck.
“I made this for you. It’s the song you liked. Just a little contraption for you to remember your first Solstice in the Hall,” Olruggio says. “If you close the lid, the star on top glows, too!”
Qifrey lets out an excited little squeak, flipping the lid shut and winding the box up again.
“Uhm, since the song is a lullaby, if you wanted to, you could use it as a nightlight. Or somethin’,” Olruggio says, face flushing. Hope he doesn’t think it’s babyish, or anything. “I was just thinkin’, since you don’t—”
But Qifrey interrupts him, rubbing at his eye. “It’s perfect, Olruggio. Thank you.”
A lopsided grin spreads across Olruggio’s face. “I’m glad you like it, Qifrey!”
Qifrey nods. “I really love it,” he says, as he sets the box next to him. He scrambles around—looking for his gift, Olruggio presumes. Letting out another happy little squeak once he finds it, he pushes it in Olruggio’s direction.
“Okay! Your turn,” he says, sitting criss-cross in front of him.
The gift is beautifully bound in ice-blue fabric, and attached to the side is a paper note. Olruggio plucks the note off first.
Olruggio,
You’re the nicest person I know. I’m glad we’re friends. … I hope you appreciate this gift. Your magic inspired me... so I hope you like it.
Qifrey
Heat floods Olruggio’s cheeks—Qifrey isn’t one for big, eloquent speeches, and his small, scribbled handwriting makes everything that much more sincere. With another half-smile, he unties the shimmering blue bow that holds the fabric together.
Immediately, the gift tumbles out of the wrapping and into his hands—deep blue and crafted out of different types of patterned fabrics, it’s a quilted version of the night sky, decorated with several yellow stars. Each blue is different; some squares are cut from shimmering, starry fabric, while others are paler, closer in color to Qifrey’s eyes than his own. Some are a swirling, dusky color, and others are the shade of moonstone, with white specks twinkling throughout. The colors blend together to mirror the sky itself. His hands brush over the yellow fabric stars, and at his touch, they glow with a soft light. The entire thing radiates warmth, not just because it’s a blanket—Olruggio searches for the source. Hidden in the squares are small seals, stitched with thread dyed by ink, creating an even heat that flows through the quilt. Olruggio whips around to face Qifrey; he pulls the quilt up to his face, breathing in the way it smells like starlight.
“Qifrey,” he says, muffled by the quilt. “You made this?”
The other boy fidgets in his spot. “… Beldaruit helped. I’m not really good at sewing yet.”
Pulling the quilt—which has a nice, heavy quality that he knows he’ll love—over his shoulders, he scrambles towards Qifrey. “Qifrey, you’re amazing!” He lets out a laugh. “I can’t believe it…!”
The other boy flushes, shrinking into himself. “You think so…? I mean, really, I only came up with the idea…”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “This is… the best gift.”
“… You really think so?”
Grinning, Olruggio nods, and without thinking, he throws his arms around Qifrey—he stiffens at first, but soon melts into water in his arms. “I love it. Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Qifrey puts his arms around Olruggio, too, pressing his face into his shoulder.
Olruggio has never felt so warm.
The two boys spend the rest of the evening playing, drawing together, eating snacks. They gulp down warm, sweet drinks as they listen to songs and poems about Stars and Silverwoods. Beldaruit gives them each fancy treats and several more small gifts. As the festivities dwindle, Qifrey fights the heavy sleep weighing on his eyelids, threatening to drown him in the darkness of dreams; he’s desperate for a few more hours with the party. A few more hours with Olruggio.
Olruggio leans in towards Qifrey, pulls on his robe to get his attention—“These gifts from Beldaruit are nice, but not as nice as yours,” he says, happily, sleepily, through a big yawn. “I’ll keep it forever. Promise.”
Midnight is pleasant and fuzzy; blurry like a memory or a dream upon waking. Qifrey’s best efforts to stay awake aren’t quite enough—especially not when he’s curled up next to Olruggio, in their nest of pillows and blankets, Olly’s quilt draped over the both of them. The only lingering illumination left in the atelier is the dying light of the fireplace, and the quilt’s dim, steady glow.
Eyes heavy, somewhere in his half-conscious somnolence, Qifrey’s hand reaches for Olruggio’s. Despite his soft snoring, his fingers curl around Qifrey’s. Here, it’s easy for sleep to envelop Qifrey in a hug as comfortable and safe as the one Olruggio wrapped him up in earlier.
… Maybe Beldaruit was right.
Maybe this really is what magic is for.
illustration by me <3 thanks for reading!