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Qifrey had always thought that Silver Eve suited Olruggio far too well.
Beneath the silver lanterns, surrounded by music and laughter, he looked like something the festival itself had crafted carefully by hand: elegant dark robes, silver jewelry catching the light, that calm expression softened by the warmth of the crowd around him.
People gravitated toward him instinctively.
They always did.
Qifrey glanced away slightly, unable to suppress the smile now curling softly at his lips as he watched the last few coins slip through his fingers before dropping them into the polished wooden cashbox. All around them, Silver Eve unfolded in a blaze of light and movement, filled with the unreal magnificence unique to great witch festivals. The lanterns did something to the cobblestones; made them look wet, or alive, or both. He had attended Silver Eve a dozen times and it still caught him off guard every year, that smell of warm wax and spiced pastries and underneath it all, the dry chemical sharpness of alchemical powder.
The Starry Sword, Mr. Nolnoa’s shop, stood at the very heart of the festival, wedged between a stall selling handcrafted talismans and a celestial lantern merchant whose creations drifted slowly upward into the sky like stars slipping beyond reach. And despite the constant bustle overflowing through the main street, something about the shop still retained that welcoming, slightly cluttered warmth Qifrey had always associated with the old man. Shelves sagged under potions, secondhand grimoires, dusty trinkets, and hanging vials that chimed softly whenever someone passed through the door. Only a few feet away, Coco was very earnestly attempting to reorganize the merchandise before immediately becoming distracted by the slightest flash of light from outside.
Qifrey followed her gaze for a moment and found himself smiling even more at the wonder illuminating her face; Coco watched the festival as though she were witnessing a living fairytale, eyes wide at the magical fireworks streaking across the sky and the wandering musicians whose melodies wove themselves into the endless murmur of the crowd. Beside her, Tetia was vaguely trying to maintain some semblance of order, while Richeh — far more serious — methodically rearranged the displays Coco kept disrupting without even noticing.
“Thank you again,” Mr. Nolnoa said suddenly as he appeared beside him, moving with the careful slowness now forced upon him by his injured back, his cane tapping softly against the worn wooden floorboards with every step. “You truly didn’t have to do all this for me, but I have to admit… a little help wasn’t unwelcome. Especially in my current condition.”
Qifrey felt his smile falter immediately, so faintly that no one else would likely have noticed, as a sharp pang of old guilt pierced silently through his chest. It was still impossible for him to look fully at the old man without remembering that day, without seeing his own hands carving forbidden seals or feeling once more the crushing weight of that memory violently torn away in order to protect secrets that should never have existed in the first place.
And yet, he let none of it show, instantly recovering that gentle, radiant expression he wore so effortlessly around others.
“I couldn’t very well leave my favorite shopkeeper to survive an event like this alone,” he replied with quiet amusement, tilting his head slightly toward the festival lights reflecting across the windows. “Besides, my apprentices were looking forward to Silver Eve far too impatiently for me to deny them an outing… and as for Olruggio, he claims he’s here for business, but I have the distinct feeling he enjoys the festival atmosphere nearly as much as they do.”
“I can certainly see that he’s busy,” Mr. Nolnoa replied gently with an indulgent smile, “though that is hardly surprising for someone of his reputation.”
A sudden crash echoed behind them.
“Tartah, whatever you do, don’t mix those vials together…!” Mr. Nolnoa exclaimed, hurrying toward his grandson as quickly as he could. “Are you alright? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
Qifrey let his gaze drift beyond the shop, slipping past the silhouettes of customers and the shifting reflections of hanging lanterns toward the wide windows left open for the occasion. He found Olruggio almost immediately, standing only a few yards from the entrance amidst the endless current of festival visitors, his figure dressed in black cutting effortlessly through the colored lights and surrounding commotion.
An elderly witch with a bent back was speaking animatedly to him, her head tilted upward to properly address someone so much taller than herself. Qifrey watched in silence as Olruggio instinctively offered her his forearm. The old woman accepted it with grateful ease, and without even seeming to notice, he slowed his pace to match hers. Then he leaned down toward her with that quiet attentiveness that belonged entirely to him, close enough to hear her words despite the noise of the festival, his expression remaining calm, patient, unexpectedly gentle under the Silver Eve’s lights.
Something tightened painfully inside Qifrey’s chest.
Because Olruggio had always been like this. Beneath the stern demeanor and the dry remarks, beneath the perpetual exhaustion and that constant habit of sighing as though the entire world were a source of irritation, there lived a kindness so deeply rooted that it betrayed itself in even his smallest gestures. It lived in the way he unconsciously slowed his pace to walk beside others, in the silent attention he paid to details no one else ever noticed, and in those midnight-blue eyes that always seemed to smile with infinite consideration long before his lips ever decided to follow.
“Master Qifrey!”
Tetia’s far-too-enthusiastic tone nearly made him jump. Blinking faintly, Qifrey immediately turned toward his apprentices, only to find Tetia leaning over the counter with that bright, hopelessly hopeful expression she wore whenever she wanted something badly enough to become incapable of thinking about anything else.
“Hm?” he replied softly, tilting his head slightly to the side.
“When are we finally going to enjoy the festival?” she asked immediately. “I want to visit the clothing shop near the main square… they’re selling embroidered cloaks made especially for Silver Eve!”
“As for me, I mostly want to try the new bubble-lollipops,” Richeh added with a disgruntled pout that contrasted comically with her usual seriousness. “They say the flavor changes whenever you speak.”
Qifrey couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips as their excitement steadily grew louder.
Then, with a faintly amused sense of guilt, he realized they had all been working here for several hours already, helping Mr. Nolnoa manage the endless flood of customers drawn in by the festival promotions and decorations. He had indeed promised they would be allowed to enjoy Silver Eve afterward as well. Beside Tetia and Richeh, Coco was practically bouncing in place as she struggled not to start begging immediately, while Agott — true to herself — kept her arms crossed against her chest with that falsely detached expression that fooled absolutely no one. Even she occasionally cast quick glances toward the outside, where the festival lights danced between passing silhouettes.
“Perhaps we could take a break.”
Olruggio’s deep voice suddenly rose behind them, calm and casual, and Qifrey turned just enough to find him leaning against one of the shop’s wide-open windows, bathed in the shifting lights from outside. He had settled there with that insolent ease he carried everywhere he went, as though even the lively chaos of The Starry Sword instinctively rearranged itself to make room for him.
Without bothering to ask permission, he leaned forward slightly to steal one of the biscuits left out for customers. After spending a good portion of the previous night baking them together in the atelier’s tiny kitchen, he figured he had earned at least one.
Their eyes met briefly.
And for one infinitely brief second, Qifrey experienced that strange, familiar sensation that the noise around them had drifted farther away somehow, muffled behind something much quieter.
“Yes, I think you’ve more than earned a small break,” Mr. Nolnoa added kindly just as an elderly woman with long gray hair stepped into the shop, removing a coat dusted with light snow. “Mrs. Ilberta has just arrived to help us, and the two of us should be able to manage while you enjoy the festival for a while. Tartah, would you like to go too?”
“Would I what?” the boy repeated immediately in disbelief as he clumsily descended the stairs, arms overloaded with rolls of parchment and scrolls that threatened to spill from his grasp at any moment.
“Go enjoy the festival, of course,” Mr. Nolnoa replied with amusement. “Provided Qifrey and Olruggio agree to keep an eye on you.”
The instant those words were spoken, Coco turned toward them with such a pleading expression that it bordered on theatrical.
“Please, Master…”
An amused sigh finally escaped Qifrey as he closed his eyes briefly before conceding with a small nod, entirely incapable of resisting their overflowing excitement for very long.
“With a little luck, perhaps we’ll even manage to find a good place to watch White Night,” Qifrey said at last as he calmly removed his apron, already able to hear the growing noise outside as the festival intensified with the advancing evening.
“White Night?” Coco repeated immediately, lifting her head in curiosity.
The startled silence that followed lasted barely a second before Agott and Tetia turned toward her simultaneously with expressions of utter astonishment. It was the sort of reaction one might have expected if she had admitted to never having heard of Silver Eve itself.
“You don’t know about White Night?” Tetia gasped, caught somewhere between disbelief and dramatic fascination.
Qifrey couldn’t suppress a soft laugh at their reactions before naturally slipping back into his role as teacher, that calm gentleness immediately returning to his voice the moment he began explaining something to his students.
“White Night is the name given to the meteor shower that crosses the sky every year during Silver Eve,” he explained as he retrieved the cloak resting beside the counter. “The phenomenon only appears during one very specific night, and the stars become so numerous that they eventually illuminate the entire night sky.”
“They say the stars become so numerous that the darkness disappears entirely,” Olruggio continued without moving from where he leaned against the window, calmly finishing the rock-ginger biscuit he was still absentmindedly chewing. “For a few minutes, the sky turns completely white.”
At the same moment, Mrs. Ilberta crossed the shop carrying a crate filled with glass vials, setting it down on the counter with the soft clinking of glass against glass. Her wrinkled face immediately brightened with a fond smile when she noticed the younger ones listening with fascinated attention.
“Some people also say that White Night is something both cruel and deeply tender,” she said with the gentle voice elderly people sometimes use when telling an old legend. “Because it supposedly grants soulmates a single night to recognize one another amidst the crowd… before dawn comes to take everything back from them.”
Instantly, Tetia let out a sort of ecstatic whine, pressing both hands dramatically against her reddening cheeks.
“Aaaaw, that’s so romantic…”
Beside her, Agott grimaced with profound skepticism and disgust, as though the entire story represented exactly the kind of excessive sentimentality she categorically refused to tolerate. Coco, meanwhile, frowned slightly, visibly trying to understand the true meaning behind the legend, while Richeh had already stopped listening several seconds earlier, far more concerned about the promised bubble-lollipops than any story involving soulmates.
Amused, Qifrey finally slipped on his cloak, his fingers absently smoothing the folds of the fabric while the children and Tartah were already rushing out of the shop in a whirlwind of excitement to join Olruggio outside.
Puffpuff, Coco’s brushbuddy, immediately took the opportunity to leap agilely onto Olruggio before climbing directly onto his shoulder with the confidence of a creature utterly convinced it belonged there.
The small animal promptly rubbed its snout against the hollow of his neck with a satisfied purr.
Olruggio let out a falsely irritated grunt, crossing his arms while still allowing the creature to settle comfortably against him without making the slightest effort to push it away.
And against all logic, Qifrey suddenly found himself envying the little creature.
Because, unfortunately, he could understand perfectly well why Puffpuff seemed to favor that exact place more than any other. There was something incredibly pleasant about the natural warmth of Olruggio’s body whenever one stood close to him, about the subtle scent of smoke, ink, and burned herbs that always clung to his clothes. And about the surprisingly reassuring feeling of his skin brushing against Qifrey’s whenever their shoulders accidentally touched while passing through a corridor too narrow for the two of them.
The thought crossed his mind with such dangerous spontaneity that he immediately looked away again, profoundly grateful that no one seemed capable of reading his thoughts.
“Shall we go?” he finally suggested as he closed the door of The Starry Sword behind him, the familiar chime of the bell instantly blending into the festival’s endless murmur.
Outside, the streets seemed even more alive than before. The lights suspended above the cobblestones bathed the crowd in shifting gold and silver reflections, while wandering musicians carried their melodies deep into the neighboring alleys. Above them, dozens of magical lanterns drifted slowly across the sky like artificial constellations.
Ahead of them, Tartah had already begun running far too enthusiastically through the dense crowd before Olruggio immediately caught him by the collar of his cloak in one perfectly practiced motion.
“No running,” he muttered with the quietly threatening calm he reserved for children moments away from doing something foolish. “And you stay close to us. There are far too many people out tonight.”
Then, while still keeping Tartah trapped in one hand, he absentmindedly ran the other through the boy’s unruly hair with an ease that felt affectionate before finally releasing him under the child’s outraged protests.
Inside Qifrey’s chest, his heart missed one frantic beat.
***
Qifrey had left the children with Olruggio for barely a few minutes, just long enough to make a quick detour to one of the countless festival stalls, and he had sincerely expected to find them exactly where he had left them. Yet when he returned to the main square, it took him no more than a few seconds to realize they had already vanished somewhere into the dense crowd now flooding the city’s illuminated streets.
Tetia’s crystalline laughter soon rang out above the noise of the festival with absurd ease, immediately drawing his attention toward one of the narrow alleys branching away from the central square. Qifrey felt an amused smile return as he headed in that direction, gradually allowing himself to be swallowed by an atmosphere that felt far more intimate, almost hidden from the rest of the festivities.
The alley had been completely transformed for Silver Eve.
Garlands of silver lanterns had been strung from one building to another above the heads of passersby, casting pale, shifting reflections across the old stone façades and giving the entire street the impression of being submerged beneath some unreal moonlight. The narrow houses, leaning slightly toward one another with their aging balconies and creaking signs, seemed to close around this small luminous enclave where voices, laughter, and fragments of music blended together into a soft cacophony. Tiny enchanted bubbles drifted between the lanterns — violet, or maybe blue, it changed depending on the angle — and occasionally one would drift too close to someone's hair and burst against their cheek in a shower of sparkling dust, which seemed to delight absolutely everyone except the person it happened to.
At the center of all this lively commotion stood a confectionery merchant behind a large cart quite literally overflowing with sweets. Mountains of spun sugar rose inside enormous glass jars, candied fruits gleamed under translucent coats of caramel, and dozens of bubble-lollipops wrapped in shimmering paper had been carefully arranged along wooden shelves, each one enchanted to create bubbles capable of floating through the air for a few seconds when blown properly.
Naturally, his apprentices seemed absolutely fascinated.
“Again! Again!” Tetia exclaimed with overflowing enthusiasm as another translucent bubble escaped from her lollipop before drifting gracefully above the crowd, finally bursting much higher in a shower of silver sparks that immediately drew delighted gasps from the people around her.
“You are literally covered in sugar,” Agott protested indignantly even though she herself was holding one of the sweets between her fingers, her cheeks faintly pink after having most likely sampled far too many different flavors.
Tetia immediately turned toward her with mock outrage.
“You bought two.”
“That is completely unrelated.”
A little farther away, Coco was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath while Richeh, far more focused, carefully attempted to use a bit of magic to shape her own bubble into a small bird flapping its wings. The experiment lasted exactly three seconds before the creation exploded directly in her face, provoking another uncontrollable fit of laughter from Coco.
And at the center of all that colorful, noisy, sugar-filled chaos, Olruggio handled the five children with unsettling ease.
Qifrey instinctively stopped several feet away, remaining motionless beneath the hanging lanterns as he watched him without even truly realizing it.
Olruggio had just crouched slightly in front of Coco to wipe a streak of syrup from her cheek with infinite patience using a handkerchief already stained with sugar. Almost immediately afterward, he handed another handful of coins to Tetia, who had quite obviously already spent every last coin he had given them earlier. He did it all with that vaguely exhausted expression suggesting he regretted every decision he had ever made while still giving in to all their requests with barely any real resistance.
“Don’t wander too far,” Olruggio reminded them calmly while Agott argued with the merchant about whether her bubble had been defective. “And no magic near the lantern wires.”
“That only happened once,” Agott muttered.
“Twice,” Richeh corrected softly.
Tetia suddenly let out a small gasp of wonder when another bubble floated above their heads.
“Master Olly! Look!”
Olruggio looked immediately.
Always immediately.
Something tightened strangely inside Qifrey’s chest at how effortlessly Olruggio’s expression softened, that rare warmth appearing so naturally whenever he was surrounded by children that witnessing it almost felt unfair.
He was patient with them in a way very few people truly knew him to be. Never condescending. Never pretending to listen. He answered every question seriously, adjusted scarves whenever they slipped from narrow shoulders, remembered which ones disliked certain sweets and which ones secretly wanted a second portion despite their loud protests.
It was such a quiet kind of kindness.
The sort people never noticed unless they paid very close attention.
And Qifrey had always paid very close attention to Olruggio.
“Master Qifrey!”
Coco was the first to notice him, and her face immediately lit up with such sincere excitement that it drew a fond smile from him despite himself.
“Master Olly bought us bubble-lollipops!” she announced instantly as though this represented an event of utmost importance.
“I can see that,” Qifrey replied softly as he finally approached the group.
“Agott nearly started a fight with the merchant,” Tetia added with far too much delight.
“I absolutely did not!” Agott protested immediately, blushing furiously.
“You threatened him,” Richeh pointed out with complete calm.
“That is an extremely dramatic interpretation of events…”
Olruggio stifled a quiet laugh before finally lifting his eyes toward Qifrey.
Because that evening, there was something unbearably soft about the way Olruggio stood under the Silver Eve’s lanterns.
The sleeves of his outfit had been absentmindedly rolled above his wrists, revealing forearms marked by thin traces of ink and old burns, while a few dark strands of hair fell across his face beneath the pale glow of the hanging lights. An iridescent bubble created by Tetia drifted lazily near his shoulder, briefly catching bluish reflections that seemed to shimmer within his tired eyes.
Qifrey felt his heart sink with inevitable tenderness.
Ah.
There it was again. That feeling. The roots growing quietly inside him…
That unbearable gentleness Olruggio carried so naturally through the world, drawing people toward him without ever seeming aware that he was doing it.
Olruggio tilted his head slightly.
“You look troubled.”
Qifrey stared at him for a long moment.
Then he looked at the children happily orbiting around him like tiny enchanted fireflies.
Then back at Olruggio once more.
“You’re very popular tonight,” he said at last.
Olruggio frowned, genuinely unable to understand what the issue was.
Which, in a way, only made things worse.
***
Qifrey lost sight of Olruggio somewhere between Lantern Avenue and the central square.
Which, honestly, should not have irritated him nearly as much as it did.
Silver Eve was so crowded that evening it bordered on absurdity; the streets overflowed with witches draped in fabrics embroidered with silver thread while music and bursts of laughter spread endlessly under the glowing lanterns suspended overhead. Losing someone in the middle of such a crowd was hardly unusual.
And yet, despite himself, Qifrey found his gaze scanning the crowd with growing irritation after only a few minutes.
Ridiculous.
Olruggio was an adult, not one of his apprentices. He did not require constant supervision simply because certain people had the unfortunate tendency to look at him as though he had stepped straight out of the illustration of some children’s fairytale.
Unfortunately, that thought became far less reassuring the moment Qifrey finally found him again.
Olruggio was standing near one of the tea stalls set up in a quieter corner of the market, silver steam drifting softly into the night air from enchanted kettles lined neatly behind the counter. Qifrey caught the scent before he even heard the conversation; sweet willowgrape, star anise, smoked herbs.
He instinctively slowed his steps.
The vendor behind the stall was young. Beautiful in an irritatingly deliberate sort of way, sleeves elegantly rolled to his elbows, silver jewelry glimmering against dark skin whenever he leaned toward Olruggio with interest that was far too obvious.
Far too obvious.
“Well,” the vendor was saying softly, “if I’d known a man this handsome would pass by tonight, I would’ve prepared something rarer than willowgrape.”
Olruggio let out a faint sigh, exactly the way he always did whenever he pretended not to notice someone flirting with him.
Which meant he had noticed perfectly well.
“Do you flatter all your customers this much?” he asked calmly.
“Only the unfairly beautiful ones.”
Qifrey hated him immediately.
Meanwhile, Olruggio remained infuriatingly composed, one hand resting absently against the edge of the counter while steam curled around him in pale spirals.
“Then I assume business is doing very well tonight.”
The vendor laughed softly.
“Careful. You’re going to make me think I still have a chance.”
Olruggio’s expression shifted into something politely apologetic before the man could continue any further.
There it was at last. The rejection.
Gentle. Elegant. Impossible to resent.
Qifrey had seen Olruggio turn people down before. He had always hated how kindly he did it.
The vendor sighed theatrically before beginning to prepare the tea.
“What a shame. And here I was considering giving it to you for free.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist.”
Olruggio frowned faintly.
“You really shouldn’t.”
“Then allow me to pretend Silver Eve has made me generous.”
Qifrey watched Olruggio hesitate.
Only briefly.
Then, with visible resignation, finally accept the cup of tea being offered to him.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
Which somehow only seemed to make the vendor even more charmed by him.
He should leave, Qifrey knew that, before he ended up doing something he would regret. A sudden dull ache spread through him, his emotions stirring the roots of the Silvertree that longed to unfurl and spread.
But he remained exactly where he was as Olruggio finally turned away from the stall, only to stop immediately upon noticing him standing beneath the lanterns.
Their eyes met.
Olruggio blinked once.
Then his entire expression softened with immediate recognition.
“Where were you?” he ask gently, as though he too had been searching for him.
Qifrey hated the relief that unfurled under his ribs at those words. Olruggio crossed the few steps separating them before holding out the still-warm cup along with a small packet of marktea sachets.
“Here.”
Qifrey lowered his eyes toward it. Willowgrape tea.
His favorite.
Still warm enough for thin silver wisps of steam to rise lazily into the cold air between them.
“…You bought this for me?”
“Obviously.”
Qifrey slowly lifted his eyes back to him.
“It’s expensive.”
“Mm.”
“You hate wasting your money.”
“Correct.”
“And despite that, you let that man flirt with you for five minutes just to get my favorite tea.”
The corner of Olruggio’s mouth twitched faintly.
“When you phrase it like that,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair, “it sounds considerably less dignified.”
Qifrey stared at him for a long moment.
The silver light tangled in his dark curls. The faint exhaustion under his eyes after spending an entire evening taking care of everyone else. The familiar simplicity with which he had crossed half the festival simply because he remembered that Qifrey liked a certain kind of tea.
After a moment, Olruggio tilted his head slightly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Qifrey carefully accepted the tea before answering.
“I am trying very hard,” he admitted honestly, “not to become a deeply unreasonable person tonight.”
“Huh ? How so?”
“Never mind,” Qifrey cut in, shaking his head lightly. “Tell me, weren’t you supposed to attend your patrons’ banquet?”
That was, after all, essentially the reason he had agreed to come to the festival in the first place. Olruggio occasionally had to present himself properly to the world and make appearances before the influential and powerful.
“Perhaps later,” Olruggio replied with a shrug. “I’d much rather spend the evening with you and the girls.”
Qifrey could not suppress the smile tugging at his lips, nor the flush slowly rising to his cheeks despite himself.
“You still should have gone for at least an hour,” he murmured at last, glancing up toward him slightly. “Your patrons are going to think you’re avoiding them.”
“I am avoiding them,” Olruggio confirmed without the slightest shame.
Despite himself, Qifrey let out a muffled laugh into the rim of his cup.
Around them, Silver Eve continued to pulse with endless music and light. Farther across the main square, someone was conjuring enormous translucent birds made entirely of stardust, drawing awed exclamations from the crowd, while violin melodies drifted from an improvised stage between the hanging lanterns. The children’s enchanted bubbles still occasionally floated through the streets before bursting against the stone façades in showers of silver light.
And amidst all that movement and noise, there was something terribly calm about Olruggio.
Something that always gave Qifrey the absurd feeling that the rest of the world suddenly grew quieter whenever he stood near him.
“And honestly,” Olruggio continued after a few seconds, slipping his hands into the pockets of his cloak, “political conversations during Silver Eve are probably the cruelest punishment humanity has ever invented.”
“You’re exaggerating, my dear.”
“Not at all. Last year, I was trapped for forty minutes listening to an obscenely wealthy man explain why handcrafted teapots represented the future of modern alchemy.”
This time, Qifrey burst into genuine laughter, utterly unable to hold it back any longer, and Olruggio’s expression seemed to relax immediately at the sound of it.
***
A witch dressed in a long midnight-blue silk gown whose silver embroidery resembled shifting constellations whenever she passed under the lantern light suspended above Silver Eve’s main square. Elegant in a way that bordered on dangerous, refined enough to draw attention naturally without ever seeming to seek it deliberately. Her fingers were adorned with delicate rings that shimmered discreetly whenever she moved her hand. And there was something in her calm posture, in the quiet confidence with which she observed the crowd, that immediately gave the impression she belonged perfectly to this sort of worldly gathering where influential people recognized one another with nothing more than a glance.
And for several minutes already, she had been watching Olruggio.
Which, honestly, was nothing unusual.
People had been watching Olruggio constantly that evening.
Even lost in the crowd, he drew attention. A woman had stopped walking entirely just to watch him pass, which Qifrey found privately infuriating. He stood slightly apart from the densest part of the crowd, near the edge of the square where silver lights drifted lazily above the passersby like suspended stars, his dark robes softened by the golden and bluish reflections spilling from the surrounding stalls. A cup of mulled wine rested absentmindedly between his fingers while he listened to Tetia with that absurd patience that seemed to come naturally to him even when she launched herself into dramatic, never-ending stories accompanied by wildly enthusiastic gestures.
Calm. Attentive.
Beautiful in a way that felt profoundly unfair.
The kind of quiet, effortless beauty that made Qifrey want to clench his teeth for no valid reason whatsoever.
Then the witch finally approached him.
Qifrey followed her instinctively with his eyes as she crossed through the crowd with graceful ease, the hem of her gown brushing the lantern-lit cobblestones, and he immediately felt something tighten unpleasantly inside his chest before she had even opened her mouth.
Olruggio turned toward her with the polite curiosity he always reserved for strangers approaching him, slightly surprised to be interrupted in the middle of Tetia’s passionate monologue. Beside Qifrey, Coco was in the middle of asking him a question about the magical fireworks illuminating the sky, but he was already no longer truly hearing her voice.
Because he instantly hated the soft, confident smile appearing on the woman’s face.
She said something Qifrey could not make out above the music drifting from the main square, drowned under laughter, violins, and the tangled conversations of the festival.
Olruggio blinked once in visible surprise.
Then a faint laugh escaped him.
A real laugh. Small, quiet, but sincere.
But before Qifrey could fully process what he was seeing, Olruggio extended his hand toward her.
Qifrey’s stomach tightened violently.
The witch accepted the invitation immediately with a delighted smile before Olruggio gently guided her toward the open space at the center of the square. Several couples were already turning slowly under the lanterns while an orchestra played an old, melancholy melody.
Around them, the crowd suddenly seemed far too loud.
Qifrey remained perfectly motionless. Olruggio's hand settled against her back like it belonged there, and something about the ease of it made Qifrey want to leave immediately. The witch lifted a luminous gaze toward him, visibly charmed, and Olruggio answered her with that gentle politeness he used without thinking whenever he wanted to make someone feel comfortable.
Something deeply unpleasant stirred inside Qifrey’s chest.
Because he knew perfectly well that he had absolutely no valid reason to react this way.
Olruggio was simply dancing with a stranger he had met during a festival.
That was normal.
Ridiculously normal.
But seeing someone else receive that quiet attention, seeing that woman smile under Olruggio’s midnight-blue gaze while he listened to her with all that effortless gentleness, awakened something so strangely bitter inside Qifrey that it almost caught him off guard.
“Master Qifrey?” Coco called hesitantly after several seconds of silence.
He did not answer.
Because Olruggio was dancing. In movements that were both commanding and powerful. He guided the dance, holding the woman firmly against him.
And apparently, Olruggio danced extremely well.
Of course he did.
Honestly, Qifrey probably should have expected it long ago. There seemed to be very few things in this world that Olruggio did not accomplish with that quiet, deeply irritating grace that came so naturally to him, as though he simply moved through life with an ease other people had to struggle painfully to learn.
The crowd swirled around them. The violins were playing something Qifrey didn't recognize, which was somehow worse — a melody with no name he could attach to it, no memory to hide behind. The lights suspended above the square drifted gently with the wind, casting shifting reflections across dark fabrics, glittering jewelry, and the city’s damp cobblestones like some old memory pulled from a dream impossible to fully awaken from.
And at the center of all that shifting light, Olruggio moved with profoundly aggravating ease.
Qifrey felt his jaw tighten almost despite himself when she let out a soft laugh at something Olruggio had just murmured near her ear.
He looked unfairly at home like this. He looked like this world belonged naturally to him.
The world of precious fabrics, candlelit salons, crystal glasses, and elegant conversations exchanged beneath enormous chandeliers. The world of refined witches with hands covered in silver rings and slow dances that lasted until the heart of the night while snow fell beyond the windows of great manor houses.
But the thought suddenly awakened something so deeply unpleasant inside Qifrey that for a moment he found himself incapable of looking away.
Because Olruggio also appeared perfectly suited to belonging to someone else.
Qifrey hated the thought immediately with alarming intensity.
Then the realization struck him hard enough to leave him perfectly motionless. Because suddenly, he could no longer bear the idea of someone else touching Olruggio so easily.
Something twisted painfully inside his chest as he watched the witch’s fingers slide along Olruggio’s arm during one movement of the dance, and a violent, burning, profoundly unreasonable jealousy surged through him with terrifying clarity.
Because he knew that hand perfectly well.
He knew the warmth of Olruggio’s body when they worked side by side for too long in the workshop. The absentminded brush of his fingers when he tucked a strand of hair behind Qifrey’s ear without even seeming aware of what he was doing. The familiar weight of his arm against his. The scent of smoke, ink, and burned herbs that perpetually clung to his clothes.
Suddenly, seeing someone else granted access to that closeness so naturally gave him the absurd feeling that something was being torn away from him despite the fact that it had never truly belonged to him in the first place.
“Master…?” Coco repeated more softly, visibly worried this time.
Qifrey finally blinked.
Then he abruptly tore his gaze away before Olruggio could possibly glance in their direction and understand exactly what was happening inside his mind.
And Qifrey understood with terrifying clarity that he was capable of enduring many things.
Danger. Pain. Solitude.
But not this.
Not standing motionless in the middle of Silver Eve while realizing that the rest of the world was also capable of falling in love with Olruggio.
***
At some point during the evening, the music had changed.
Qifrey would not have been able to say exactly when.
The violins had grown slower, softer, the discreet percussion giving way to something gentler, warmer — a melody so old it now seemed to wrap itself around the entire main square. And yet, despite his usual habit of noticing such details immediately, he had failed to pay attention to this particular transition.
Which was hardly forgivable, considering everyone seemed to have collectively decided to orbit around Olruggio that evening with persistence bordering on obsession.
Qifrey had spent most of the night trying very hard not to look at him.
And he had failed absolutely spectacularly.
So instead, he had focused on keeping watch over the apprentices and Tartah with an attention far too intense to appear natural, absently conversing with Mr. Nolnoa, who had only recently joined them after closing his shop earlier in the evening. But even then, his gaze continued drifting helplessly back toward Olruggio as though pulled by some deeply irritating force.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of yet another witch stopping Olruggio near the lantern stalls, exactly as several others had already done before her. Only moments earlier, an elderly couple had monopolized him for nearly fifteen minutes simply because he had helped them carry their purchases through the crowd, both of them immediately deciding that Olruggio was apparently “an absolutely charming young man.” Before that, a group of overly enthusiastic young witches had asked where he had learned to dance, which had visibly plunged Olruggio into sincere confusion since his answer had sounded vaguely like: “…among irritating nobles?”
Qifrey was beginning to seriously suspect Silver Eve itself of conspiring personally against him.
He now stood slightly apart from the densest part of the crowd, at the edge of the main square where silver lights drifted lazily above the passersby like fragments of stars suspended in the night sky. His arms remained firmly crossed under his cloak while he pretended to observe the festivities with perfectly controlled calm.
“You’re sulking.”
Qifrey turned his head sharply.
Olruggio was standing right beside him.
His black hair had grown slightly disheveled over the course of the evening and a few loose strands now fell freely against his face, while the golden rings adorning every finger caught the shifting lantern light with each movement. He still seemed faintly breathless from the dancing and endless conversations, his cheeks subtly flushed from the cold night air and mulled wine. A trace of amusement lingered at the corner of his lips with that quiet softness that always gave Qifrey the profoundly unfair impression that the world suddenly became a little more bearable whenever Olruggio appeared beside him.
Which was particularly unfortunate considering Qifrey’s current mood.
“I am not sulking,” he replied immediately, far too quickly to sound believable.
“If you say so...”
Which, in a deeply irritating way, was absolutely not a sign of agreement.
Qifrey looked away first.
Tactical mistake. A severe tactical mistake, in fact, because the precise moment his eyes finally left Olruggio’s face, he became immediately and painfully aware of everything surrounding them once again.
The music, first of all.
It had changed again, becoming slower, softer, languid now, as though Silver Eve itself had gradually surrendered to something more intimate as the night deepened. The violins rose with warm melancholy above the illuminated square, accompanied by deeper notes that seemed to resonate directly through the chest, while couples turned slowly beneath ribbons of light drifting above the cobblestones like fallen stars.
But Qifrey became far too aware of the fact that Olruggio was standing extremely close to him.
“You’ve spent the entire evening glaring at strangers,” Olruggio observed calmly after a few seconds, using the same quiet tone he always adopted whenever he knew perfectly well that he was right.
“Only the particularly irritating ones,” Qifrey replied immediately, stubbornly keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Which appears to include absolutely everyone who’s spoken to me tonight.”
At once, Qifrey felt a profoundly traitorous warmth creeping slowly up the back of his neck.
The worst part was probably that Olruggio did not even sound especially mocking when he said it. Merely observant. Like he were calmly stating an obvious fact Qifrey happened to be the last person willing to acknowledge.
Silence settled between them then, threaded only with the music and distant conversations of the festival, and Qifrey could almost physically feel Olruggio’s gaze resting on him with that attentive patience that had always possessed the deeply aggravating ability to make him feel entirely transparent.
Then, before Qifrey could recover enough dignity to change the subject or suddenly pretend he needed to check on the apprentices, Olruggio simply extended a hand toward him.
“Dance with me.”
Qifrey stared at him immediately.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The noise of the festival suddenly seemed more distant, more indistinct, muffled behind the far-too-rapid beating of Qifrey’s heart.
People were still laughing nearby. Others continued dancing in the center of the square. Children crossed through the crowd carrying enchanted lanterns in their hands.
And Qifrey abruptly experienced the profoundly destabilizing sensation that the entire world had narrowed to the tiny space separating his hand from Olruggio’s.
“Olruggio…” he began with alarming caution.
“Unless,” Olruggio interrupted gently without lowering his hand, “you intend to spend the rest of the evening murdering with your eyes every person who comes within three meters of me.”
Qifrey immediately opened his mouth to protest.
Then closed it again at once.
Because unfortunately for him, Olruggio’s expression chose that exact moment to soften in an utterly catastrophic way.
Tender. Warm. Terribly dangerous.
But when his voice reached him again, lower this time, nearly drowned under the festival music, Qifrey felt something slowly give way inside his chest.
“Come here, Qifrey.”
That was the real problem.
There were very few things in this world that Qifrey had ever truly known how to refuse Olruggio.
He settled for a small nod before Olruggio’s hand closed around his own, gently drawing him into the flow of dancers.
The warmth of his palm reached him immediately: steady, familiar, comforting.
Qifrey hated how instantly aware of it he became.
“Relax,” Olruggio murmured, a trace of amusement still lingering in his voice as he guided him onto the dance floor. “You dance like someone preparing for combat.”
“Perhaps that is exactly the case, my dear friend.”
Olruggio laughed softly at that.
The sound wrapped itself around Qifrey’s ribs in a deeply unpleasant way.
Silver Eve blurred into motion and silver light, ribbons drifting overhead while couples turned slowly to the distant violins echoing across the crowded square. The air carried the scents of perfume, melted sugar, and smoke from the festival stalls, yet all of it suddenly felt strangely muted compared to the simple fact that Olruggio’s hand rested against his waist.
It should not have felt this intimate.
Qifrey had stood close to Olruggio countless times before. They had traveled together, slept beside the same campfires beneath freezing skies, spent entire nights bent over the same tables discussing magic, ink, and stars until dawn.
But this…
This felt unbearably different.
Because Olruggio was looking at him with an intensity that made him shiver.
“You’re overthinking again,” Olruggio said softly. “Just let yourself be guided. Follow the flow.”
Qifrey exhaled slowly through his nose.
“That is a remarkably hypocritical criticism coming from you.”
“Probably.”
The lantern light shifted as they turned together through the crowd, silver reflections sliding briefly across Olruggio’s face before disappearing back into shadow. From this close, Qifrey could make out the faint exhaustion under his eyes, the small beauty mark near his mouth, the calm familiarity of an expression he had known for so many years and suddenly no longer knew what to do with.
Olruggio’s fingers tightened slightly against his waist to guide him into another step.
Qifrey’s breath caught.
And unfortunately, Olruggio noticed.
There was no mockery in his gaze when their eyes met again. If anything had changed, it was only that the softness there seemed to deepen further still, silent and devastating beneath the silver lanterns drifting slowly overhead.
The music slowed around them once more.
Or perhaps it was simply the world itself.
Qifrey no longer knew.
At some point, the festival disappeared entirely.
The crowd became distant movement. The music dissolved into something warmer and indistinct. Even the silver lanterns above them blurred at the edges until the only thing Qifrey remained capable of focusing on was Olruggio standing far too close.
The steady pressure of his hand. The warmth of his body. The calm sound of his breathing.
Olruggio tilted his head slightly.
“There you are,” he murmured.
Qifrey frowned faintly, still too disoriented to understand.
“What?”
A small smile appeared at the corner of Olruggio’s mouth, subtle enough to seem unconscious.
“You stopped looking at everyone else.”
And absurdly, desperately, Qifrey realized that he truly had.
Suddenly, Olruggio released his hand before stepping back in one fluid motion, abandoning Qifrey in the center of the improvised dance floor with a swiftness unexpected enough to leave him completely disoriented.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Olruggio continued without looking away from him.
For one suspended second, they simply stood there staring at one another amidst the couples slowly turning under Silver Eve’s lanterns, the music continuing to rise around them while silver lights drifted lazily overhead. Then, without breaking eye contact even once, Olruggio slowly inclined forward into a bow of disarming elegance and effortless arrogance.
And Qifrey’s breath stopped immediately.
Because he knew that gesture perfectly well.
That bow was nothing like a mere worldly courtesy or one of the polite dance formalities taught in aristocratic salons. It belonged to something far more intimate and far older as well; a movement reserved for people bound by officially recognized affection, intended only for the one with whom one shared a promise, a commitment… or something even deeper still.
For fiancés. For spouses. For lovers.
Heat surged so violently into Qifrey’s face that for one dizzying instant he felt as though the lanterns suspended above the square had suddenly burst into flames around him.
Several intrigued glances lingered briefly on them among the nearest dancers, some visibly surprised to recognize such a gesture in the middle of the festival, but Olruggio appeared to pay absolutely no attention to it.
He straightened slowly.
But his eyes remained locked onto Qifrey’s with a calm intensity that sent the rhythm of his heart stumbling violently inside his chest.
“Look at me, Qifrey. Me. And only me.”
His voice was low, nearly drowned under the music and murmurs of the festival, and yet Qifrey had the absurd impression that it resonated more clearly than everything else around them.
Captivated. Completely trapped beneath that midnight-blue gaze that refused to leave him even the smallest space to breathe properly.
Qifrey nodded slowly without even truly realizing he was doing it before placing his hand against the one Olruggio offered him once more.
And immediately, they began turning together again.
The dance subtly shifted rhythm then, becoming slower, almost ceremonial, while Olruggio lifted their joined hands above their heads in one fluid motion that forced Qifrey to pivot against him. The pale fabric of his cloak and the wide sleeves of his robes unfurled with the movement like the wings of a bird in flight, blending with the deep black of Olruggio’s clothes under the festival’s silver lights.
Their fingers remained linked with delicate precision as they circled one another through a series of fluid, perfectly synchronized movements. Sometimes they drifted close enough for Qifrey to feel the warmth of Olruggio’s body even through layers of fabric; sometimes a gliding step stretched their arms between them without ever truly breaking contact.
Every movement seemed to tell a story. A secret.
The way Olruggio tilted his head slightly before guiding Qifrey into another turn. The way their sleeves brushed endlessly against one another like waves of black and white light. That ancient elegance hidden within every gesture, almost too intimate for a simple festival dance.
Several times, their hands rose above them in graceful intertwining movements that gave the impression they were tracing constellations into the night air themselves. The hanging lanterns caught the outlines of their silhouettes while the crowd around them seemed to slow alongside the music.
Qifrey was no longer truly aware of the rest of the square now.
Not the lanterns overhead. Not the passersby. Not even the music except as something vibrating softly through his bones.
He saw only Olruggio.
The way his fingers held his own with quiet certainty. The fluid movement of his body guiding every step with devastating ease. The pale reflections sliding through his dark curls each time they passed beneath another row of lanterns.
And above all, that gaze.
That deeply attentive gaze that never left him for a single second, as though the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.
With his heart pounding so hard it was becoming painful, Qifrey suddenly realized he had entirely forgotten how to breathe properly several minutes ago.
And yet…
For the first time in a very long while, despite the crowd, despite the watching eyes, despite that constant fear buried somewhere deep inside him for years, he felt strangely light.
Free. Happy.
For a few stolen moments under the unreal lights of Silver Eve, he was finally allowed to exist exactly where he had always wanted to be.
***
The music ended far too quickly. Or perhaps not quickly enough.
Qifrey could no longer truly tell.
Only a moment earlier, Olruggio’s hand had still rested against the hollow of his waist, warm even through the layers of fabric separating them. The entire world had seemed reduced to the faint tremor of violins, the scent of spiced tea and wax carried by the night breeze, and that unbearable awareness of Olruggio’s closeness…
Then suddenly, applause began spreading softly across the square as the final notes dissolved into the evening air and the couples around them slowly started to part.
Qifrey stepped back immediately.
Far too quickly.
The sudden absence of contact struck him with physical violence.
Olruggio noticed.
His hand lingered suspended in the empty space between them for one fleeting second too long before slowly falling back to his side, his dark eyes fixed on Qifrey’s face with that deeply aggravating silent attentiveness that always seemed capable of seeing far more than Qifrey wished to reveal.
“Qifrey…”
“I need air.”
The lie came out far too fast to sound believable, sharpened by panic before he had any chance to soften it into something more convincing.
Olruggio’s expression shifted imperceptibly; one eyebrow lifted slightly.
“You’re already outside.”
“Then I need fewer people around me.”
The words had barely left his mouth before he was already moving, turning away from the warmth of the square to disappear into the crowd before Olruggio could say anything else capable of shaking him further.
Coward.
The thought followed him immediately, relentless and humiliating.
Around him, Silver Eve continued in all its luminous splendor as though nothing catastrophic had just occurred. Laughter spilled through the streets while musicians somewhere behind him were already tuning their instruments for the next dance, and silver ribbons drifted from the balconies overhead like fragments of moonlight caught in the wind. The entire city seemed suspended within that magic state unique to festivals after sunset, when reality softened under candlelight, music, and too much wine… when strangers smiled more easily and hands lingered longer than they normally should.
Qifrey hated how beautiful all of it felt that evening.
Because he could still feel Olruggio’s hand against his waist.
Still feel their fingers intertwined.
And worse still, he remembered with unbearable clarity the way Olruggio had looked at him while they danced: not with amusement, not merely with affection, but with a silent intensity entirely focused on him. It had erased all the noise of the festival until Qifrey had genuinely forgotten there were hundreds of people surrounding them.
As though Olruggio had looked at him and found nothing else in the world worth seeing.
The memory lodged painfully beneath Qifrey’s ribs.
He turned abruptly into one of the quieter streets branching away from the main square, the sound of his boots echoing softly across damp cobblestones while the noises gradually faded behind him. The canals crossing this part of the city reflected the lantern light in trembling ribbons of silver and gold, the water rippling gently under narrow bridges while a few pale lights still drifted above the old stone buildings — fewer here now — their glow faintly catching on windows and ivy-covered walls.
The cool night air should have helped.
Instead, it only made him more aware of the lingering warmth still burning through his body.
Qifrey crossed one of the bridges and wandered farther up the hill, drawing closer to an isolated oak tree while unsuccessfully trying to calm the far-too-violent rhythm of his heart.
This was ridiculous.
Completely, catastrophically ridiculous.
He was an adult man. A teacher. A witch whose life had been shaped by responsibilities, secrets, and burdens infinitely heavier than something as painfully ordinary as wanting to be looked at too tenderly by the wrong person.
But the problem was not truly the dance itself.
The problem was that he had liked it far too much.
The problem was that for several terrible and wonderful minutes, he had entirely forgotten how to look away from Olruggio. Forgotten the crowd around them. Forgotten the music. Forgotten that careful distance he had spent years maintaining between them because it had always seemed safer that way.
Because he had promised him to live.
A faint sound escaped Qifrey somewhere between frustration and despair before he pressed the palm of his hand against his eyes, as though darkness alone might miraculously restore his self-control.
“You left rather dramatically.”
Qifrey nearly jumped violently and turned sharply.
Olruggio stood several yards behind him, one hand absently tucked into the sleeve of his robe while the other still bore the thin silver ribbon some festivalgoer had tied around his wrist earlier that evening. The pale fabric drifted softly in the night breeze like a deliberate provocation considering how beautiful he looked standing there beside the canal.
Calm.
Composed.
Insufferably beautiful.
Qifrey’s heart struck painfully against his ribs.
“You followed me.”
“Obviously.”
The answer came so naturally, so immediately, that for one dreadful instant Qifrey completely forgot how to breathe.
Because there had been no hesitation.
No embarrassment. No uncertainty.
Only that simple, absolute certainty, Olruggio could not even imagine a version of the evening in which he would have allowed Qifrey to disappear alone without going after him.
Olruggio approached slowly then, gently enough to leave Qifrey every possible opportunity to step away again if he wished, while the festival music continued somewhere far behind them.
“Qifrey,” he asked softly with that unbearable tenderness that always managed to slip through every one of Qifrey’s defenses despite all his efforts to keep them intact, “what’s wrong?”
That was the true danger of Olruggio.
It was not his beauty, nor his kindness, not even the unbearable gentleness with which he moved through the world.
No.
Olruggio’s real danger had always been this: the way he unfailingly came looking for Qifrey every single time Qifrey tried to run away.
A soft sigh finally escaped him as he shook his head faintly before Olruggio came to stand beside him, his hands resting against his hips in that vaguely tired posture he always adopted whenever he finally gave up trying to fully understand Qifrey. Then his gaze lifted toward the sky above the illuminated rooftops of Silver Eve.
By reflex, Qifrey followed the movement.
And only then did he realize that the first shooting stars had already begun to appear.
At first they were rare, discreet, timid amidst the vast darkness of the night, but now they crossed the sky in thin silver trails that vanished immediately after passing, as though someone were slowly tearing open the darkness above the festival.
“Where are the girls?” Qifrey asked suddenly, far too quickly.
The change of subject was so obvious it was almost painful.
Because talking about the apprentices had always been safe ground between them. An easy conversation. Neutral. They both worried about the girls’ safety, their future, their studies, their injuries, their joys… and it allowed them to avoid everything else. Everything that suddenly became far too dangerous the moment their eyes lingered on each other too long beneath Silver Eve’s lights.
Olruggio cast him a brief glance from the corner of his eye.
A perfectly knowing glance, he had understood immediately what Qifrey was trying to do.
And with that quietly magnanimous gentleness that belonged entirely to him, he still chose to follow him into the attempted diversion.
“With Mr. Nolnoa,” he replied calmly, turning his attention back toward the sky where the shooting stars were already growing more numerous. “They went a little farther north of the village to watch White Night. It’s the best place to see the stars without the festival lights.”
Qifrey nodded slowly.
His hands had instinctively clasped together under his cloak, and he vaguely realized his fingers were twisting nervously against one another with that silent agitation he became incapable of controlling whenever Olruggio remained too close to him for too long.
Above the rooftops, the luminous trails were multiplying now, crossing the darkness like flowing rivers of silver.
“Tetia needs new shoes,” Olruggio said suddenly in a distracted tone without taking his eyes off the stars. “That little one is growing far too quickly. And I was also thinking Agott and Richeh should probably both have…”
Qifrey was no longer truly listening.
The shooting stars crossed the sky above them in long silver streaks, occasionally illuminating Olruggio’s face whenever he turned his head slightly while speaking. He continued calmly discussing winter coats, Tetia’s shoes, Richeh’s new dresses… as though the world were not quietly collapsing around Qifrey.
Suddenly, nothing else truly mattered anymore.
Not White Night. Not the stars crossing the Milky Way.
“Coco also…”
Olruggio’s voice finally dissolved somewhere inside the chaotic thunder of Qifrey’s heartbeat.
One of his hands clenched against the fabric over his chest.
“I love you.”
The words escaped him in a breath.
Olruggio fell silent immediately.
And only in that precise instant did Qifrey realize he had actually said them aloud.
What surprised him most was how easily they had finally left his lips.
As though the truth had been waiting for this exact moment for years. As though it had always been there; patient, unmoving, ready to emerge the instant he finally stopped fighting against it.
His fingers tightened unconsciously against the fabric of his clothes while beside him, Olruggio suddenly froze.
Completely.
His voice died within the silence of the rising White Night as he slowly turned his head toward Qifrey, finally tearing his attention away from the shooting stars now crossing the sky by the hundreds. Above them, the darkness had already begun whitening beneath the relentless passage of luminous trails, as though dawn itself had arrived far too early simply to witness this moment.
And in Olruggio’s eyes appeared something Qifrey had never seen this clearly before.
Surprise. Disbelief. And an emotion so profound it nearly stole his breath away.
Strangely, it gave him courage.
Qifrey felt a trembling smile slowly pull at his lips despite the burning moisture threatening his eyes, a smile at once infinitely sad and unbearably tender.
“When we first met, I had no idea you’d become this important to me…” he murmured in a fragile voice.
Once again, the words flowed with painful ease.
They had been held back for far too long. Much too long.
“I was lost…” he continued softly. “I was angry and yet, somehow, in the middle of all my chaos… there was you.”
A small, unsteady laugh escaped him as he shook his head faintly, incapable of believing he was truly saying all of this aloud.
“I have loved you since we were children,” he confessed at last, laying his soul completely bare before him with an honesty so raw it was almost terrifying.
The truth struck him all at once.
After all those years spent looking away. After all those years spent calling it something else. Attachment. Loyalty. Tenderness. Habit.
He loved him the way fire could consume ice. Like the day rising in the East and the night unfolding in the West. Like winter inevitably following summer.
He loved him like an inevitability. Like a truth written long before either of them existed. As though his heart had always known the path leading back to Olruggio, even when he himself still refused to admit it.
Qifrey slowly closed his eyes.
Trying to push away the remorse and anxiety flooding through him for every time he had lied to him. For every time he had stolen his memories while pretending it was for his own good.
“Olly…”
But the words died in a broken breath.
Because a hand had suddenly slipped against the back of his neck with desperate gentleness before pulling him closer.
The world seemed to tilt.
Their breaths mingled in the cold air of White Night while their foreheads barely brushed for one infinitely fragile second, and then at last their lips met.
Softly at first. As though neither of them truly dared believe this was allowed.
Then more firmly, in a kiss carrying all those silent years they had spent orbiting one another without ever crossing that final distance.
At that exact moment, the sky turned completely white. Thousands of shooting stars swept together across the night above Silver Eve, illuminating the entire world in a fairytale radiance.
But Qifrey no longer paid attention to anything else.
Nothing except the frantic beating of his own heart and the warmth of Olruggio’s lips against his.
As though the stars themselves had waited for this precise moment to silently offer them their blessing.
They parted for a single second, just long enough to look at one another, to make certain this was not a dream or some illusion conjured by desperate minds. Olruggio brushed his thumb along Qifrey’s cheek in a movement both tender and languid.
A small broken sound escaped Qifrey when their lips found each other again; something inside him had finally given way after being restrained for far too long. The kiss was hesitant at first — clumsy in its softness — their breaths mingling within a closeness so new it became dizzying.
Then Olruggio kissed him again.
And this time, the restraint between them slowly cracked apart.
Olruggio’s lips were warm, soft, still carrying the sweet taste of the pear wine they had shared earlier that evening, and a shiver climbed Qifrey’s spine when Olruggio’s fingers tightened slightly more firmly against his waist, as though he still feared Qifrey might disappear.
Years spent brushing against one another without ever daring to cross that boundary. Sleeping side by side during their travels. Sharing silences, glances, habits that had become far too intimate to still be called friendship.
And now that Olruggio was finally kissing him, Qifrey felt as though he suddenly understood why his heart had always seemed unbearably heavy in his presence.
A second sound escaped him despite himself when the kiss deepened slowly, carrying that restrained hunger unique to things awaited for far too long. His hands slid to the back of Olruggio’s neck to pull him closer still while Olruggio held him with almost desperate tenderness, as though he no longer knew how to endure even the slightest distance between them.
The world around them vanished entirely.
There remained only the warmth of their bodies under the stars, their trembling breaths mingling between awkward kisses, and that overwhelming, painful sensation of finally touching something they had both desired silently for years.
With one sudden movement, Olruggio lifted him entirely against his body as though he weighed absolutely nothing. And that simple display of strength nearly stole Qifrey’s breath as much as the kiss that immediately followed.
Olruggio’s lips left his only to trail slow warmth along his cheek, descending toward his neck in a succession of kisses capable of making every thought inside him tremble. Qifrey clung to him instantly by pure instinct, his fingers tightening against Olruggio’s shoulders and the back of his neck with that almost desperate urgency born from the simple need to remain close.
And despite the delicious vertigo already setting his stomach ablaze, part of him still could not stop marveling at the strength Olruggio always hid so carefully beneath his usual gentleness.
Because he had always been like this.
Calm. Patient. Tender, even.
But capable, when necessary, of a precise and terrifying violence that contrasted painfully with the delicacy of his everyday gestures. A silent, perfectly restrained strength Qifrey had spent his entire life observing with a fascination he had never truly managed to explain.
Even as children, there had always been something about Olruggio that gave him the strange impression of watching a storm that had deliberately chosen to remain still.
His back suddenly struck the wide trunk of the old oak under which they had taken refuge away from the crowd, and the sensation finally sent the burning warmth curled deep inside his stomach spreading entirely through him. Shooting stars still crossed the sky beyond the tree’s dark branches, occasionally illuminating their silhouettes in silver flashes while the noise of the festival now seemed to belong to another world—distant, muffled behind their still-unsteady breathing.
“You always did know how to choose your timing,” Olruggio murmured against his ear before pressing one final kiss into the hollow of his jaw.
His deep voice vibrated straight through Qifrey’s chest.
Then Olruggio slowly raised his hands to his face, gently cradling his cheeks between his palms. Qifrey immediately felt the familiar coolness of his rings against his burning skin, the contrast drawing a faint shiver along the back of his neck.
Without taking his eyes off Olruggio for even a second, he tilted his head slightly to press a kiss against his palm before parting his lips just enough to absentmindedly graze one of his knuckles with his teeth.
Olruggio froze in surprise.
“Brat.”
The sudden flush spreading across Olruggio’s cheeks immediately drew a soft laugh from Qifrey.
And seeing Qifrey laugh seemed to undo something inside him, because a laugh escaped Olruggio in return, that warm, genuine sound Qifrey probably could have listened to for hours without ever growing tired of it.
At last, Olruggio rested his forehead gently against his own, briefly closing his eyes.
“You realize,” he murmured finally, “that this is probably the cruelest thing you’ve ever done to me?”
Qifrey’s fingers trembled faintly against the dark fabric of his sleeve.
“What exactly?” he whispered.
Olruggio slowly opened his eyes again.
And the quiet intensity living inside his gaze made Qifrey’s heart falter painfully inside his chest.
“Making me wait this long.”
The confession immediately drew a painful warmth through him.
Qifrey instinctively lowered his eyes, incapable of enduring any longer the way Olruggio looked at him as though he had suddenly become something precious and terribly fragile all at once. He tried vaguely to turn his face away, seeking to hide beneath the unbearable weight of affection now made far too real by finally being spoken aloud.
But Olruggio stopped him immediately.
With a grip both firm and infinitely gentle, he delicately caught Qifrey’s chin between his fingers and turned his face back toward him. His thumb slowly traced the line of his jaw in a touch so soft it felt hypnotic, and Qifrey immediately felt his breathing falter all over again under that simple gesture.
No, he wanted to scream. No, that is nowhere near the cruelest thing I’ve ever done to you.
“Olruggio…”
His voice cracked softly.
“I love you too. And if you ever dare doubt that again,” Olruggio continued more quietly without breaking eye contact, “then listen carefully, because I’ll repeat it as many times as necessary until it finally sinks into that pretty little head of yours.”
The warmth flooding Qifrey’s chest became almost painful.
Slowly, Olruggio slipped his glasses away, brushing aside white curls with the tips of his fingers to reveal the scarred eye beneath. His thumb caressed the thin, delicate skin around that cursed eye, and the smile curving his lips suddenly intimidated Qifrey, making him feel absurdly like a little boy again.
“I love you…” he murmured. “Like the Sun loved the Moon so passionately that it allowed itself to die every night just to let her breathe.”
Closing his eyes, Qifrey shook his head faintly as he clung to him more tightly now, refusing to let his emotions spill any further. Because there, in Olruggio’s arms, Qifrey felt safe. He felt loved.
The pain struck without the slightest warning.
Qifrey inhaled sharply.
Something burning tore violently through the back of his right eye, the agony spreading through his skull like roots splitting stone apart.
Oh.
No… no. No. No.
Not now!
His hand flew immediately to his face, fingers pressing violently against the hidden eye as another wave of pain ripped through him — sharper this time, with sudden wet heat slipping between his fingers.
The Silvertree was reacting to the overwhelming happiness flooding through him. He had foolishly lowered his guard…
And tonight, under the silver glow of White Night, his heart had become far too full.
“Qifrey?”
Olruggio’s voice cut instantly through the haze of pain.
“Don’t…”
The words came out harsher than he intended.
Olruggio froze immediately, concern replacing the lingering softness in his expression as his gaze fixed on the thin silver stream beginning to slip between Qifrey’s fingers.
The branches were rising to the surface.
Qifrey could already feel them beneath his skin, twisting, growing, desperately trying to break free behind the ruined eye hidden under layers of magic and fabric.
Another wave of pain tore through him.
This time he barely swallowed the sound threatening to escape him, his shoulders trembling violently while a pale silver glow flickered weakly between his fingers, like moonlight trapped behind cracked glass.
“Qi…”
“Kiss me.”
Qifrey seized Olruggio’s face, trembling with pain; whether the agony came from the tree twisting beneath his skin or from his own heart threatening to collapse in on itself, he could no longer tell which was worse.
“Kiss me, Olly,” he whispered in a rushed, desperate voice thick with hidden tears. “Kiss me, please.”
And because Olruggio had probably never truly known how to refuse him anything, his gaze immediately faltered with painful worry before he slowly nodded.
Then he kissed him.
With an intensity full of distress.
As though the kiss itself might somehow save him from a reality he still did not understand.
Olruggio’s lips crashed against his with enough warmth to steal his breath away, and Qifrey immediately felt his own fingers tighten harder against his face as he surrendered to the contact with painful hunger. Their breaths mingled in the cold air of White Night — trembling, uneven — and when Olruggio instinctively deepened the kiss, their tongues brushed in one slow movement that sent a shudder through Qifrey, incapable of distinguishing pleasure from suffering anymore.
And taking advantage of that exact moment, taking advantage of the absolute trust with which Olruggio held him against his body, Qifrey slowly slipped one trembling hand inside his sleeve.
Where he always kept the seal.
His fingers closed around it with automatic precision despite the pain violently pulsing behind his eye, and for one atrocious second, his heart seemed to shatter entirely inside his chest.
The spell activated silently beneath Qifrey’s fingers, pale ink-light trembling faintly between them before dissolving into the night air.
Olruggio stiffened.
Qifrey felt the precise instant realization struck him.
“No…”
His voice broke under panic for the first time that entire evening while his free hand weakly caught at Qifrey’s sleeve.
“Qifrey, wait…”
Qifrey kissed him again before he could finish speaking.
Softly. Desperately.
Like a goodbye.
Despite everything, Olruggio kissed him back immediately, his fingers instinctively tightening in the fabric of Qifrey’s robes while the magic slowly unraveled between them.
Qifrey could feel it working.
Feel the memories beginning to fray under the spell.
The confession. The dance. The way they had looked at one another beneath White Night’s silver sky.
All of it slowly slipping from his memory piece by piece.
Tears burned suddenly behind Qifrey’s eyes.
“Forgive me,” he whispered in a trembling voice against Olruggio’s lips.
Olruggio looked at him as though he wanted to say something else. Something important.
But the magic reached him first.
The tension slowly left his body. His grip weakened. The confusion in his gaze gradually softened into gentle disorientation as the spell settled fully within him.
Qifrey caught him before he could collapse to the ground. Carefully, he lowered himself under the oak tree while he felt the branches of the Silvertree retreating at last, even as grief and remorse began devouring his soul and blackening his heart. With Olruggio’s head resting in his lap, he closed his eyes and drew a slow breath, forcing back his tears and struggling to recover some fragile semblance of composure.
When Olruggio awoke, Qifrey would be the only one left who would remember everything.
He would be the only one still carrying the weight of their whispered confessions beneath the stars. The only one remembering the taste of that first kiss. The only one preserving the warmth of that dance, of that bow, of those words spoken with cruel honesty.
And it would remain that way, an impossible love they could never truly live, because long ago, Qifrey had promised Olruggio that he would live.
He adjusted his glasses again like an actor putting on a mask before stepping onto the stage. His gaze drifted across Olly’s peaceful face, because even unconscious, he remained beautiful in a way that felt profoundly unfair. His lashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks, his lips still faintly parted as though preserving the trace of the last kiss they had shared, and something about that peaceful expression hurt Qifrey so violently that he had to look away briefly to avoid completely falling apart.
Then finally, unable to stop himself despite everything, he lifted his eyes toward the sky once more.
And with the last shooting star came the end of White Night, leaving behind nothing but a quiet starry sky.