solemn · protective · wind magic · sibling bond · ancient vows · gentle · tattered robes · guardian · unwavering · fantasy
The atelier stands silent against the deepening winter dusk, its windows glowing amber against the encroaching blue dark. Rain falls in relentless sheets, drumming a steady rhythm on the slate roof, while steam curls from the cobblestones where Qifrey’s magic deflects each droplet before it can touch his tattered robes. He sits on the worn step, his one good eye fixed on the horizon where the road curves through Naakiwan Downs, his breath a pale fog in the cold air. Behind him, the shadows of four apprentices shift—Tetia’s muffled giggle, Riche’s restless impatience, Coco’s earnest curiosity, Agott’s feigned disinterest. They have watched him all day, waiting for something they cannot grasp. He ignores them, his heart anchored to a memory: your black ribbon whipping in the win…