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They used to call him the Star of Ghodrey. The Witch of Light. Olruggio of the Torch. But that was when he was still young and naive, still a mighty sun in the eyes of others. If they knew he was alive, wandering the peninsula, they would call him Olruggio of the Soot or Olruggio the Fallen; those were the sort of names given to failures, and he was a failure through and through. Yet for all of his mourning, he never thought he’d be lost in the damned Forest of Thristas, dogged by phantom voice—
“I’ve never seen a crow before in the Forest of Thristas.”
Olruggio peered through the fog, trying to decipher the direction from which the voice had come. After fumbling a teleportation spell, he’d spent a full day wandering the woods in search of a way out. The voice could have been a figment of his harried, exhausted mind, yet the prickle crawling up his spine told a different story. Someone was watching him from beyond the ghastly, undulating haze.
“There are only ever owls here. Or one owl, at least. And foolish trespassers.”
Olruggio minced through the gloom like there was a trap at every step. He’d heard rumors about the forest’s mysterious guardian, the one that punished those who tried to poach the silverwoods for their centuries-old ink. Olruggio hadn’t believed any of it. No one could survive in this haunted place—not for long. But he’d never been good at listening to others. That had been his downfall at Noz, and the precious lives of others had been the price. At least this time he could finally pay with his own blood. He drew his pen, ready for anything.
“As a child, I enjoyed the tales about the three-legged crows. They were emissaries of the sun. Why don’t you raise the sun for me, Crow Witch?”
Maybe if Olruggio appeased the phantom, he would get away unscathed. “If you say so,” he said as he raised his staff, a twisted branch of silverwood topped with a carving of a crow. The everlasting flame that burned inside the hollow bird flared higher, illuminating the form of a thick-bellied tree. Olruggio craned his head upwards into its swollen canopy. Slowly he could make out a figure sitting on a heavy branch. He had the face of an owl and the robes of a witch.
Olruggio gasped, tensing as one of the tree branches extended towards him in slow, stiff movements. He could even hear the old wood creak and groan. Then he caught sight of the gnarled hand covered in bark. The twisted finger that extended to point at his face. Ink dripped from the palm’s center and onto his own brim. He could smell the brack in it—a sign of its potency.
But for some reason, the guardian paused in his casting. He gazed into the crow carving, its glow bringing color to his pale cheeks. When he turned to face Olruggio, his sole eye was flecked with the gold of fire. “What a familiar light…” he said, his voice gone soft. “It reminds me of someone I knew long ago. Someone who created things that were warm and kind.”
Olruggio stared back. He couldn’t see all of the guardian’s features from underneath the hat, but the amount that was visible was enough. “What a familiar face,” he said, his own voice gone wistful. “A face I never thought I’d see again.”
He raised the staff higher, needing to see him better, his heart swelling with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Come down from there, Qifrey. Let’s greet each other like old friends should.”
Qifrey tensed as if getting ready to jump down, but in the end he stayed where he was. He eyed Olruggio’s brim. “When we were younger, you were always complaining about how everyone had so many high expectations for you, yet here you are fulfilling them all the same.”
“Pfft. No beloved student of the pointed caps wears one of these.” Olruggio tugged the brim of his hat.
Qifrey shrugged. “I can’t see your point of view. You look perfect now, bringing the sun to a dark and dreary world.”
His old friend pointed at the crow staff. “It suits you. You were always full of light.”
Before Olruggio could respond, Qifrey stood and took flight. His robes fluttered in the air like he was an owl itself.
Olruggio watched him disappear into the fog. Maybe messing up the teleportation spell hadn’t been so bad after all. He no longer felt as exhausted or anxious. He was, after all, in the home of a friend. No true harm would come to him.
Olruggio lowered his staff, gazing into the crow’s glowing eyes, thinking back to a time when he’d been comfortable. They’d called him a prodigy. A genius. Important witches had tempted him with private tutelage or high-paying jobs. He turned his back on everyone in the end. Yet apparently someone still believed he was worth something.
“Crow Witch, eh?” he said to himself. It didn’t sound pretty, but it lit a spark of hope within him.
He continued walking through the woods, confident now that he would find his way out. Qifrey had always been elusive, but Olruggio would make sure that they saw each other again. While they’d been full of energy and adventure as children, as grizzled men it’d be nice to simply wake up together and watch the sunrise. Back then they’d watched its long arms plunge through the ocean, reaching places as deep and secretive as the Great Hall. He looked forward to the day when such power broke through the Forest of Thristas, parting the fog, chasing lonesome birds of the night until they too wished to rest in its warmth.