Chapter Text
It was late at night on the fateful day that Ulla received that letter, the letter that would change Quirin’s life, and the letter that would end hers.
Her old partner, Donella, requested her help with a new experiment she was conducting. Ulla had always been quite the proficient alchemist, and, after not speaking to Donella for several years, she jumped at the opportunity to help an old friend. Quirin was awoken that late night to the sound of his wife moving frantically around their small home, having finally made her decision to leave. Quirin, being the more sensible and level-headed of the two, tried desperately to reason with her.
“Ulla, darling, it’s late. Let’s discuss this in the morning.” Quirin muttered, his deep voice echoing through the walls. Walls decorated with paintings of their youth, of their marriage, and most recently, of their son. Quirin had always been a reserved man, rarely seen expressing emotion. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the full responsibilities of a father without Ulla there to guide him.
“B-But the letter, Donnie, she needs my help! I-I have to go, Quirin, I’m sorry!” Ulla explained in a desperate hurry, tripping over her words as she raced through the house, grabbing every little thing she might need. It was nearly impossible to reason with the woman once she made up her mind. Quirin knew this. It was better to pray for her safety than to attempt talking her out of whatever new, crazy, and potentially dangerous idea she had. So, with a heavy sigh, Quirin relented.
He knew how much Donella meant to his wife, despite the two of them not having communicated for years. Quirin often saw that look in her eyes, that sort of far-off expression where he could tell she was yearning for something. She never said exactly what, but it was easy to put two and two together when he saw his wife going through old photo albums, tracing her fingers across the yellowed photographs as if she was hoping they were a portal that would transfer her to the past. He had seen the unsent wedding invitation years ago, addressed to Donella. He had read the letter Ulla wrote, informing Donella of their new son and asking her to be his godmother, which was stamped but never sent. As much as Quirin needed Ulla, he couldn’t find it in his heart to ask her to stay, to hold her back from the one opportunity of reconnecting she’s ever had.
“When will you be back?” Quirin asked, his voice tinged with a rare showing of concern. The feeling in his voice made Ulla pause, but only for a moment.
“I… I don’t know. But I will be, I promise.” She whispered sincerely, the earlier erratic behavior slowly dissipating. Ulla stood closer, standing higher to press a short kiss against her husband’s cheek. “Take care of Varian for me, okay?” Quirin nodded solemnly, not trusting himself to speak without revealing all his worries and anxieties.
With a final, lingering smile, Ulla headed for the door. If only Quirin knew he would never see her on the other side of it again, he wouldn’t have allowed it to shut.
~
Fourteen years passed without Ulla by Quirin’s side. Varian was raised without a mother, and Quirin seldom talked about her. Though with each passing day, he could see more and more of his late wife in the young boy. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.
With his heart heavy with loss, Quirin dedicated himself to work. He would fill almost every moment of the day with tasks, not allowing time for his mind to wander too far. This schedule was like a necessity for Quirin – processing his grief meant admitting to himself that Ulla was gone, and that wasn’t something the man was ready for. Deep down, he knew the truth; he knew that Ulla would never return. He knew that the day he hosted her funeral. However, in quiet moments, he would hear the slightest creak of a doorknob, and his gaze would snap to the front entrance, hoping with a desperate longing that his wife had returned. But every time he was wrong, every creak turned out to be nothing but fantasy. Quirin forced himself to build his walls higher and higher, spending more time helping others so that he could escape the haunting house, prolonging his denial for longer.
The small town of Old Corona grew quickly thanks to Quirin. More houses were built, more farmland was found, and more shops were popping up. The townspeople decided to build a small church near the perimeter of the town, just a few blocks away from where Quirin and his son lived. With how much he had helped and supported everyone in the town, Quirin was quickly selected to be the pastor. Despite having no experience in the past and feeling unsure about how inspiring his preaching would be, the man gratefully accepted the position. Surprisingly, he’s proven to be quite good at it, and almost everyone in town joins in for Sunday mass.
Well, all except Varian. His own son.
In his youth, Quirin was easily able to drag the boy along to church with little complaints, though never quite zero. Varian would quietly grumble about the early mornings, about the crowded church, about every little thing if he thought it might get him out of it. However, in more recent years, Varian had grown… difficult. He never directly argued with his father, but he also didn’t obey in the way Quirin thought he should. Despite years of receiving the same answer, Quirin would attempt every Sunday. Every Sunday, just like this one, Quirin would gently knock on the door and say:
“Varian? I’m leaving for church soon, would you like to come with?”
The sound of his father's gruff voice immediately snapped the young boy out of his slumber. Within seconds, Varian was up and out of bed, tripping as his legs slowly regained blood flow. He scrambled around the room, hiding away all his notebooks, chemicals, and experiments. He stayed up late last night, losing complete track of time as he immersed himself in his studies. The boy didn’t realize how much time had passed until the gentle moonlight was replaced by the light blue of dawn. After finally realizing how exhausted he was, Varian skipped out on cleaning up his mess, telling himself he’d deal with it later. And now that it was later, Varian cursed his past self for being lazy. Despite trying to be as quiet as possible at the risk of being caught, Varian had an unfortunate knack for clumsiness. He didn’t even realize what happened until a loud thud rang through the room, a large piece of scrap metal having been knocked off his desk.
“Shit!” He cursed under his breath, wincing slightly as the metallic ringing made it harder to think. Varian quickly bent down, shoveling it under his bed and out of sight. In the process, he bumped against his desk, a lone test tube spinning towards the edge.
“Varian? Are you alright in there?” Quirin asked, his voice hardly changing from his usual tone. The teen's gaze snapped towards the door as he heard the knob jiggle, the door scraping against the ground as it slowly opened. Along the way, he finally spotted the test tube that was now teetering awfully close to the edge. In a flash of movement, Varian jumped out, grabbed it, and hid it behind his back right as his father opened the door.
“Dad! Hi! I-I’m fine, I was just um… cleaning up!” Varian lied weakly. It was more hiding than it was cleaning, with books and notes shoved haphazardly into drawers and equipment tucked under blankets. He was never good at lying, especially to his father. The boy's eyes darted around the room, trying to find anything he might have missed in his frantic ‘cleaning’. His heart seized in his chest as he saw the open alchemy textbook lying on his bed, spread open to a page on volatile chemicals and their reactions. Not the best chapter to be caught reading.
Quirin’s eyes followed Varian’s, and there was almost no discernible acknowledgement. Finally, after many tense moments that felt like an eternity to the young boy, Quirin exhaled heavily. One large hand ran down his face in exasperation while the other gripped the doorframe, trying to control himself. Varian gulped, anxiety making his throat feel painfully dry. Quirin had never yelled at Varian, and the boy hardly ever received any punishments. But the thought of being in trouble, the thought of disappointing his father, always made Varian feel awful.
“I told you to stop messing with these things, son.” Quirin reminded, gesturing vaguely to the textbook on his son’s bed. He finally looked up at the boy, only to shoot him a harsh, dissatisfied glare.
“I-I know, but–” Varian started, desperately trying to explain himself. Though he hardly got a single word out before Quirin raised a hand, effectively silencing him.
“I don’t want to hear it. You know how dangerous these things are.” Quirin remarked, his voice laced with a hidden anger. The older man took a few moments to compose himself, letting out a deep breath to rein in his emotions. “...I’m going to work. Don’t do anything dangerous while I’m gone.” Quirin warned, leaving no room for discussion. Varian nodded silently, not wanting to argue first thing in the morning. After a short stare-down, Quirin finally left, the door slowly shutting behind him.
The morning air was warm yet crisp as Quirin took the short walk to the church; his mind was swimming with thoughts, but his expression remained impartial. Varian had slowly become more obstinate, more disobedient, and Quirin was lost on what to do. It was at times like this that the man missed Ulla more than anything. She would know what to do. She would know how to ensure Varian was safe with his experiments, and she would know how to handle all this… teenage angst that was growing day by day. But, unfortunately for them both, she wasn’t. And as much as Quirin wanted to live in his denial, at times like this, he was forced to accept the truth.
Quirin cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders as he opened the heavy oak door to the church. People were already crowding inside, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows casting multicolored rays on their smiling faces. The narrow building smelled of fresh wood and slight dust, a natural and undisturbed mixture. Some turned to speak to the man as he walked by, offering kind greetings of “Good morning, Pastor!” and “Nice to see you, Quirin!” The church was where Quirin felt most welcome – he could forget about the outside world, about Varian, about the loss of his wife, for just a couple of hours. He was surrounded by people who genuinely listened to him, people who appreciated his presence and took him at his word. If these dozens of people could listen to him, some who hardly knew him, why couldn’t his own son?
As he approached the lectern, Quirin cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the congregation. Everyone began to take their seats in an orderly fashion with minimal chatter, just the way he liked them to. Quirin couldn’t help but let a small smile spread across his sharp face at the sight. And he let himself believe, if only for a moment, that everything would be okay.
The congregation went on without any issues. Quirin, who stood at the far end of the church, instilled hope into the hearts of the townspeople with his preaching. He answered questions, listened to their woes, and ensured all would be fine, that he would take care of anything they needed. The sun had risen a little farther above the horizon, catching the dust in the air in a way that looked like sparkles. It was these moments where Quirin felt that, despite how much his heart ached, he could manage without Ulla. Despite the loss, he had rebuilt his life and his town from the ground up. And now, he used his testament to inspire others.
He was listening intently to an older woman, Edith, share her troubles about how the overgrown bushes in her yard were blocking her view of the sunset at night, but her joints were too weak to deal with them herself. It was a simple issue, something that anyone in the town could help do, but Quirin enjoyed assisting those in need and seeing his beloved town flourish. He opened his mouth to speak, to promise that he would come by later today, when what sounded like an explosion cut off his voice. It was terrifyingly close by, rattling the windows and making the hearts of everyone in the room freeze for a moment. Quirin’s gaze snapped towards the sound, peering through the window. In the distance, he saw a thick cloud of dark grey smoke, occasionally pierced by flying debris.
The church was immediately filled with gasps and yelps of shock, but Quirin was the first to move. “It’s alright, stay calm. I’ll go see what’s going on.” He announced, trying to carry his voice over the panicked chatter. The man rushed out of the church with a few people nervously trailing behind him. Quirin had a growing feeling, a gut suspicion that he knew exactly what happened. He could only hope that he was wrong.
But of course, Quirin’s intuition was hardly ever wrong. And as he approached the cause of the commotion, he saw exactly what he feared.
Varian was on the ground by an old shed Quirin had built, which was now completely decimated. Varian wasn’t moving, covered under ash and debris. The man swore his heart stopped beating for a moment, feeling like he was unable to move until his son did. “No… not again. Not him.” Quirin thought to himself, praying to any higher power he could think of, that the world would not take his son. Varian was the only part of Ulla Quirin had left; he couldn’t live with the cruel possibility of his only son being taken from him, too.
Finally, Varian moved, slowly sitting up, then finally standing through a small coughing fit. Quirin couldn’t help but sigh in relief, his earlier fear dissipating but quickly being replaced with anger.
“Well, it’s not the exact reaction I was hoping for, but it was a reaction! Maybe if I could use some sort of antioxidant, I could–!”
“Varian.” Quirin’s voice rang out low, laced with accusation and disappointment. The sound immediately snapped Varian out of his excited rambling, finally realizing he had an audience. Varian slowly turned around despite not wanting to face everyone, tripping slightly over his own feet, and his shoulders drawing high with anxiety. Although he couldn’t properly see his appearance right now, the boy knew he likely didn’t look presentable. His clothes were tattered and stained, and he could feel the mixture of ash and mud covering his face.
“Oh. H-Hi, Dad. Hi… everyone. I-I’m sorry about the explosion, I was just…” Varian stumbled over his words, his voice slowly trailing off into silence. He was never good at speaking in front of crowds, especially when he knew he had messed up. Quirin’s glare of warning made it all the harder to speak, a glare that silently said, “Stop. Go inside, now. We’ll talk about this privately.” Varian’s shoulders slumped, taking one step back, then another, before turning around and quickly stumbling inside.
As Varian retreated inside, Quirin had to take a deep breath to compose himself before facing the small, growing crowd. He was meant to be the strong one, the support, the staple of the community – there was so much expectation and pressure weighing on him that little room was left for emotional expression. So, forcing a tight-lipped smile, he finally faced the townspeople who expected nothing if not bravery from him.
“It’s alright, everything is under control.” He reassured, raising his hands in a weak replica of a calming gesture. Beneath all the bravado, Quirin was terrified as much as he was ashamed. His son was in danger, could’ve possibly been killed, and likely is currently hurt. The crowd shared faces of fear and concern, some shooting disapproving glances towards the door through which Varian disappeared, as if they could see him through the walls. Everything in Quirin’s mind was telling him to forget the brave face, run inside, and hug his son until he was certain the boy was safe. He had already lost his wife, and today he felt painfully close to losing his son.
Though, of course, Quirin, ever the sensible man, hardly let his emotions take hold of his actions. Acting on emotion is what led Varian to continue playing with alchemy despite his father asking him to stop. And acting on emotion is what led Ulla to chase after Donella, ignoring Quirin’s worries, and leading to her death. At least the people before him now would listen to his words, and some would take them to heart.
“There’s nothing to be concerned about, I’ll handle it.” The man continued, some people relaxed by his assurance, some were still wary, and Quirin remained as tense as before. Though words could only do so much, and as Quirin headed towards the house to talk with his son, some conspiracy whispers drifted through the air.
“That boy is weird… I hardly ever see him around town.” One woman commented. She clearly wanted to say more, but it was never easy to be the one to start gossip.
“Weird is being polite. That son of his is positively scary. Did you see how close it was to my house?” Another man shared. The explosion was actually rather contained, or at least as contained as an accidental explosion can be. It was nowhere near the man’s house, but, in the nature of rumors, everything had to be dramatized.
A scoff came from the crowd, and everyone turned to look as Edith spoke. “He’s dangerous, plain and simple. He’s a danger to the community. I give it two weeks before he catches the entire village on fire.” She croaked, huffing in annoyance as she waddled off. Since there was no longer a spectacle to see, most of the lingering crowd followed along to continue with their days.
With each whisper of concern, every voice of warning, more and more doubt crept into Quirin’s mind. Varian was an untameable force, just like his mother. He didn’t know how to make him understand, how to make him see the danger of his actions, how to make him see how much his behavior scared Quirin beyond belief, without explicitly stating it. With another loosely controlled sigh, which was becoming more common for Quirin, he finally stepped into the small house.
“Varian?” He called out, his deep voice echoing across the walls. He expected his son to be inside waiting to speak with him, but now the boy was nowhere to be found. Quirin stayed quiet for a moment, attempting to find any sign of life in the house, when he heard hushed but excited rambling coming from Varian’s room.
Quirin opened the heavy wooden door without knocking, and he was not at all surprised by the sight he found. Varian was darting around the room, a bright smile across his face as he grabbed textbooks off the shelves, opening them to a particular, memorized page before seemingly forgetting about them and moving on to the next thing. All the while, the boy kept talking to himself, as if performing a science pitch to an invisible crowd.
Quirin blinked, and the next moment, he saw his wife going through the same routine Varian was now. The room used to be her office, and he could still remember the way she looked in there. He could still feel her lingering presence, as if it was intertwined with the splinters of wood on the floor. He remembered standing in the doorway, just as he was now, silently watching as Ulla rambled on about whatever new idea she had. The sunlight would catch her auburn hair in the most beautiful of glows, making the frizzy texture appear as strands of magical silk. If only she knew that her son had her smile, the same lopsided grin that graced her tanned skin as her mind ran faster than anyone could comprehend. And her eyes… the same charming light blue that shone like sapphires with enthusiasm. He knew that if Ulla were here now, she would be so profoundly proud of their son. She would be pacing around the room with him, and they shared ideas as if they had the same mind. She would be able to help him discover what went wrong and guide him towards success. She would be able to do so much more than Quirin could.
Varian was just like his mother, and Quirin was the exact opposite of them both. And now, the same opposition that drew Quirin and Ulla together was now creating a rift between him and their son. Quirin knew that Ulla would be able to fix it, or at least make it easier. She always had a solution for every little thing.
Quirn’s daydreams were cut off in an instant as he saw the same book from this morning, opened yet again to the chapter on volatile chemicals. He cleared his throat once, both to regain his composure and alert Varian of his presence. The boy immediately froze, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he finally noticed his father standing in the doorway.
“Dad! I-I’m really sorry about the mess, I’ll clean it all up, I promise!” Varian professed, unsure if he was referring to the current sorry state of his room or the broken shed. Though either way, he didn’t explain further, instead immediately jumping back into rambling about his next scientific exploit. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m close to a breakthrough here! I-I need to go to the library and see if they have anything on antioxidants. I’ll be back before dinner!” Varian chattered quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he prepared to leave. Right as he was about to push past his father, Quirin caught his arm in a warning grip.
“You won’t be going anywhere. You’re staying here and facing the mess you made." Quirin growled as he looked down on his son. His hand momentarily tightened around Varian’s arm, and the boy felt much more than the physical sensation of it. It felt nearly suffocating, controlling – Varian felt like a bird in the process of getting their wings clipped. Varian paused, looking up at the man with a look of disbelief. The crops in their small town had been slowly dwindling for a while now – he was just trying to find a way to help. So what if he caused a minor explosion? That old shed hadn’t been touched in years, and now it finally had a purpose, another small step towards success.
“I-I was just trying to help!” Varian blurted out, his tone more defensive than he meant as he tore his arm from his father’s grasp. He took a couple of backwards steps towards the door, still facing Quirin as if he were escaping an attack from a predator. “If I could just go find the book I need and run a few more tests, then–”
“No.” Quirin’s tone was sharp, immediately stopping Varian with just one word. “Listen to me. You’re staying here.” The man's voice was slow and left no room for discussion, no chance for debate. The way he looked down on Varian made the boy slowly deflate, his shoulders slumping and hands gripping his bag like it was the only thing holding him together. Neither moved for a few tense moments, the room feeling smaller as Varian gazed at the floor, Quirin’s eyes not moving from his son.
“You don’t understand…” Varian muttered bitterly, quietly, as if those three simple words could get him out of this mess. He knew that if he just had the chance to speak, Quirin would understand. If Varian could get more than half a sentence out, then maybe his father wouldn’t look at him like he was nothing more than a disappointment. “Why does he never listen to me?” Varian wondered silently, a bitter, melancholic feeling growing in his chest. He stared at the floor as if he wished the wooden planks would open up and swallow him whole – anything to escape the all-encompassing feeling of his father’s gaze
“Maybe I don’t,” Quirin agreed after a few more silent beats. Varian looked up again, feeling a flicker of hope, but his father’s tense expression extinguished that growing ember. “But what I do know is that you will not leave this house, and you will not play with any more alchemy, until you clean up this mess.” The man demanded, his shoulders squared and tense as Varian’s slumped yet again, trying to make himself seem as small as possible.
“...Yes, Father.” Varian mumbled defeatedly. He always subconsciously called Quirin ‘Father’ instead of ‘Dad’ when he wasn’t particularly happy with what he said but didn’t want to argue further. It was always the quickest way to end things. Quirin knew about this habit, but never said anything about it. He would never admit the way guilt crept into his heart when he saw Varian look so upset, so crushed.
After a curt, forced nod of approval, Quirin left the small hallway and retreated to his room, needing to be alone to process everything and regain his strength. Varian stood in the hallway for a minute longer, finally leaving for his room too once he felt the sting of tears growing in his eyes.