Light from the morning sun flooded gently through the kitchen window.
Sebastian, stationed at the counter, moved silently to make breakfast. The pan crackled, the air filled with the delicate aroma of heated bread and herbs. He put the food on the table when it was ready, sat down, and took a leisurely bite.
He chewed… paused.
Bland.
He gazed down at the food with mild distaste.
Then, in silence, he lifted his hand. A dim black glow circled his fingers, and with a gentle flick, the dark magic filled the food. It crackled softly — nearly alive — then stabilized, altering its scent and color by a hairsbreadth.
Sebastian bit again.
His gaze relaxed. It was perfectly so now — warm, rich, strangely comforting.
Something only he might savor.
When he was done, he got up and walked the dishes to the sink, filling the still kitchen with the sound of running water.
Master Oliver has not come back…He should have been back by now.
Washing the plates, there was a knock through the stillness.
He blinked and hastily dried his hands.
Opening the door, he stood stock still.
There was Leo, the enigmatic visitor of days past. His cloak was draped loosely over his shoulders, his silver hair glinting with morning light. He gave a slow, familiar smile.
"I want to spend tonight here," he said bluntly. "May I?"
Sebastian hesitated.
Why had he returned?
But something in his calm manner made it hard to deny.
"…Sure," he said softly, moving to one side.
Ignareth entered and sat down on the sofa without unbuckling his cloak. He slouched in a relaxed manner, but there was some tension in the room.
"Do you need something to eat?" Sebastian asked nicely, going back into the kitchen.
Leo shook his head. "No. I'm good."
Sebastian started washing the remaining dishes, side-glancing him suspiciously. He's only a traveler, he reminded himself. Many come through this village.
But… he emits a presence that cannot be ignored.
Then, abruptly, a chill.
A thin, unnatural chill seeped into the room.
Sebastian's fingers tightened on the ceramic bowl. His instincts howled. He went for his magic out of habit — and caught himself in time.
No. If I cast it… He'll know what I am.
Behind him, Ignareth laughed. "Ah… sorry. My magic's playing up a bit. It does from time to time."
Sebastian half-turned. "You practice ice magic?"
Ignareth nodded, leaning an arm across the sofa back.
Sebastian went to a cabinet, opened a tin the size of his palm, and drew out a bowl of pale sweets covered with thin cloth.
"These stabilize your core," he said, setting the bowl down carefully on the table. "Have one."
Ignareth was surprised, then smiled and took one.
Sebastian half-turned back towards the sink.
Did he tell… his magic wasn't there?
Does someone like him lose his grip? Or… did he hold it in himself?
He kept on washing the dishes, but his mind was still on the cold.
And the man sitting quietly behind him, who smiled like a traveler, but gave off something so much more sinister underneath.
Soft clinking of dishes sounded through the small cottage as Sebastian washed the final of the breakfast dishes. Water dripped slowly into the sink, and steam wisped around his fingers as he worked in silence.
Once all was clean and stacked neatly to dry, he rinsed his hands and came back to the living room, sitting down in the chair across from Ignareth—Léo, as he preferred to be called.
There was a heaviness in the air. Not uncomfortable… but strange.
"You're still leaking magic," Sebastian murmured, glancing at him.
Ignareth offered a casual shrug. "Ah. That? It's just my ice magic acting up."
Sebastian narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze sharp and focused. "But that doesn't make sense. A trained magic user doesn't just leak power… unless—"
"I'm just weak," Ignareth interrupted smoothly, a little, sheepish smile on his mouth. "That's all. I've used too much of my energy in recent times."
But he was chuckling inside.
Weak? Please. I'm just restraining myself so you don't know who I am.
Sebastian didn't say a word immediately. He looked at Ignareth, silent… contemplative. His instincts were telling him that there had to be something more behind that smile.
But instead, he breathed softly and rose to his feet. "I'll make tea."
As he headed towards the kitchen, the kettle already brewing on a low flame, his mind was foggy.
He's keeping something from me. No traveler masters ice magic that well… and says he's weak.
At his back, Ignareth sprawled across the couch, observing Sebastian's figure crossing through the soft glow of morning.
He smiled wryly.
You're too clever for your good, Sebastian. But not clever enough… yet.
Ignareth stood up from the sofa, wiping his hands against the edge of his cloak.
"I should bathe," he said nonchalantly. "Might help calm my magic."
Sebastian nodded without glancing at him. "You can use mine. Second floor, right side. Don't touch anything."
His tone was easygoing, but there was a subtle threat beneath it.
Ignareth gave a gentle smile. "Understood.
He climbed the steep, narrow stairs, the boards creaking softly with each step of his boots. At the top, he turned right into Sebastian's room — plain, dark, and silent. A faint aroma remained in the air, reminiscent of herbs and yellowed parchment.
The room was full of books, hand-carved wooden chairs, and a low shelf covered in framed photographs.
One stood out.
A boy, Sebastia, stood next to a man, older, with pale-colored eyes and a gentle face. Oliver, for sure. And Sebastian… much smaller, but as far away in that same look.
Hmph. So that's the connection they have.
He walked over toward them, fingers tracing lightly over a small open cabinet.
A thing inside glimmered.
A necklace. Its gem softly glowed with an enchantment spell, and etched into the interior was a faint rune — a magic control seal. Ignareth gazed at it for a considerable amount of time.
Why would one here require a spell like that?
Is it for Father Or. for Sebastian?
He returned the necklace to its resting place carefully, with his thoughts unspoken.
Then he turned to the small bathing room connected to the side of the bedroom.
It wasn't much — slightly messy, a little worn, but warm with the scent of freshly washed towels and dried lavender. He chuckled to himself.
"No clothes," he muttered. "Guess I'm borrowing this towel."
As he was undressing, he stopped in front of the mirror, allowing the steam to waft up while pouring water over his body. Ice magic danced at the tips of his fingers — brief controlled spits — and the air chilled immediately. He growled.
Still unstable… I need to keep it hidden from him.
He loosely wrapped a towel around his waist and stood against the wall for a moment with his eyes closed.
I wouldn't mind if Sebastian ascended here at the moment.
He smiled weakly at the idea.
Unknowing still, that the boy in the room below—bashful, gentle, and reserved—could be far more sinister than even he was.