“It started five centuries ago, in the... why are you looking at me like that?”

Alicia was scrunching her face. “The whole history of your house? Really?”

“I’m not going to go over the whole thing! Just the start and end,” Cyg said, “Look, it started as a merchant family. Five hundred years ago, the first Scelwyn went around selling elixirs for the plague. Everyone knew nothing could be as good as magic, but it gave them a fighting chance, or so it was said.”

“I see...” The elf already had her doubts, but she decided not to voice them, instead directing the effort to draw with magic on the dirt.

“He struck it rich and got famous. The travelling alchemist, providing relief to the sick and poor, only charging a small fee to afford materials. He did so well that when the plague died out, he bought his own land and title and settled down.”

“I’m not familiar with your nobility and all, but you can do that? Just buy your way in? Granted, now that I’ve said it out loud it isn’t too surprising.”

“The alternative is becoming a court mage, and that’s reserved for the gifted. But, there have been a few standout Scelwyns in its history,” Cyg explained, “We had a pretty big manor, and the most prestigious had giant portraits in the foyer. The founder was of course dead center, grinning at anyone who entered.”

“You’re telling me it’s normal to cover your walls with people’s faces?”

He waved a hand. “It’s a pride thing. Not like it mattered, because after all these centuries the court found out the founder was a fraud and the mages came knocking.”

“Oh?” she said without much surprise. If Merry was struggling so long to develop a cure, some upstart ages ago couldn’t have possibly done it. Especially without all the advancements since then.

The thief leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “Not only was he selling snake oil, he thought he could create more customers by helping the plague along. Throwing rats into wells, into granaries, into whatever he could get into. He also sometimes claimed to offer limited-time elixirs blessed by a court mage, knowing it wouldn’t matter since they’d all die before any official would ever come to verify.”

“This is approaching outlandishness...”

“Apparently it’s very difficult to find intact remains this old, which was why it took them so long. When the court mages arrived, they brought an entire box of bones with them. They had channelers projecting the memories in the sky for everyone to see, right in the courtyard, and when it was done, they walked in and rounded all the Scelwyns into carriages to be wheeled to the Wastes.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “But you didn’t go with them.”

Cyg chuckled. “Because I was the only one who was under six years old.” He remembered the moment very well, lasting through time better than the faces of his family. The magistrate, with his wizened features and red vestments, strode into the manor as if he was untouchable. On his robes, the sigil of a moon sitting inside a sun glinted when he had stopped and studied Cyg. “I was too young to have known, he said, and therefore I was ‘free of sin’. So, I managed to merely be stripped of status and wealth. As for how I ended up here—I’m sure you can put the pieces together.”

The elf struggled to find the right words; the only comforting she’d ever done was for those who were about to lose their own lives, not those who already lost their loved ones. His story was so far removed from the world she knew it felt more unreal than anything. One step away from emotional truth, just as how he told it. “I’m... sorry to hear what happened to your family.”

“Don’t worry, I’m over it. It’s practically ancient history by now,” he said, his face revealing not even a hint of the turbulence underneath. Somehow it felt both liberating and drowning to have dredged it all back up. It was perfectly fine before, well-buried where it could never see the light of day.

“It’s a rather harsh judgement, considering an entire lineage was punished,” Alicia replied anyway, pausing before she extended a question. “...Do you resent the court for it?”

“I was angry! Just fuming at everything, until I was so hungry and tired that I didn’t have the energy for it,” he said, “Eventually, I found a new family, and...” Cyg trailed off as he was reminded of Griff once more. Another thing he tried to bury. “There’s no use talking about things you can’t help, anyway.”

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“Talking could still help.” A bit worried, Alicia watched Cyg while fiddling with the hem of her apron. “If there’s any other things you want to get off your chest, I’ll be glad to listen.”

Annoyed but amused, the thief replied, “Hey, ‘get off my chest’? You were the one who asked!”

“Oh right, thank you for that,” she said, laughing, “But the offer still stands.”

“Maybe another time. Anyway, what’ve you got there?” Cyg asked, motioning to the doodle on the ground.

Alicia’s cheeks reddened a little, ashamed that she was caught not paying as much attention as she should’ve. “It’s supposed to be Bassy and the fairy. Can’t you tell?”

He turned his head to see better, and when that didn’t do any good, he got up and walked over to the other side. All the grass nearby was uprooted and torn, laid out in a way that resembled scales and legs and a weird lumpy head—an overly detailed yet crude rendition of the basilisk they were so familiar with. In its mouth was a little ball with big round wings.

“I’d give that an ‘A’ for effort,” he said.

“...Effort starts with an ‘E’; what are you talking about?”

“It’s... oh never mind, forget it.” Cyg shook his head and went looking for the faerie who had gotten bored and went off a short while away. “Hey, get over here! We got something important for you.”

It didn’t really understand at first, but after the thief waved his hands for far too long, it indulged him. When the faerie saw the work of art, it tilted its head and circled around, and without an iota of hesitation, it scattered the grass with its breath. Then giggling, it took off to find more entertaining things to play with.

Alicia huffed. “Perhaps there’s nothing we can do after all.”

To that, Cyg snorted.

* * *

It’s strange how on Tuesdays, their hearts rarely matched the dreariness of the weather. Cyg was learning soul magic from Merry, and Alicia was drafting schematics. The Salt didn’t bless Alicia with a breakthrough, and its effects faded an hour after returning to the house. Still, both of them could hardly hold in their excitement for the end of the week.

In front of the cauldron, Merry and Cyg sat facing one another. The witch, with crossed legs and folded arms, asked, “How did you already know this?”

“I didn’t,” he replied, “It was how I meditated when I took Salt for the first time. Otherwise, I couldn’t have slept at all.” As it turns out, the act of stilling his soul was also the same as protecting it.

“Interesting...” She stayed silent for a few minutes before declaring, “If you’re already familiar with the basics, let’s move on to the next steps. It seems like it takes all of your concentration to protect yourself, which is worthless in a situation where a soul mage is right up beside you.”

“They can just slip a knife between my ribs, huh?” Cyg noted, fidgeting with his hands. “So, I should get used to multitasking?”

“The goal is to do it until it becomes thoughtless, like second nature. We can start simple with a conversation—try manipulating your soul while talking with me. You’ll have to pay attention to the results yourself, as I can’t properly see what you’re doing.”

Surely that was a lie, Cyg mumbled mentally. Nevertheless, he drew focus inside of himself, and while holding it, he said, “Erm... what should I be talking about?”

“Start with something basic. How was your day?”

“...I just woke up, so it’s great, I think.”

“Perhaps I should’ve asked something more challenging... How about the other way around? Surely you must have many questions for a mysterious witch in the middle of the woods,” she said with an exaggerated roll of a wrist, “I’ll answer what I can.”

Which wasn’t much, she implicitly said.

“A question?” Cyg repeated, finding it difficult to conjure something meaningful. “Uh... Maybe something about Bassy. Right, yeah, how did you get a basilisk as your familiar? That sounds like a fairy tale.”

“It’s less absurd than you’d believe. I happened on her when she was a hatchling who had picked a fight with something much larger, and after fixing her up, she grew awfully attached to me, following me around wherever I went. Only after a few years did I think to learn how to more formalize the relationship.”

“Wait...” Cyg said, “Bonding souls is that easy?”

“I may have skipped a few steps, and this is a little shameful to admit, but I was never too interested in contractual magic. It was more of a brute-force type of deal—a one-sided familiar contract. If you spend a decent amount of time with them and have a ‘sample’ of their mana throughout it all, you’re already ninety percent of the way there,” she explained.

She left out all of the technicalities, but he wasn’t so interested that he wanted to dig deeper. “I didn’t know that’s how it worked,” he babbled, speaking for the sake of speaking. “Then again I didn’t know anything about familiars in the first place.”

“If you’ve lived as long as I have, you would learn a surprising amount without ever intending to.”

“So... how old are you?” he asked.

“Haven’t you heard of courtesy? You shouldn’t ask a lady her age,” she said with a sardonic smile, “Centuries. I’ve lost track.”

But he wasn’t really paying attention, already doing the math in his head. Long, at least as old as House Scelwyn. “Not a thousand years?”

Her expression soured. “I don’t think anyone can go that long without going mad, and I mean entirely incoherent. Honestly, I think people lose a marble or two after two centuries already. A thousand? Maybe if you turned yourself into a statue.”

“That makes sense...” Quite a frank answer, one that Cyg believed to be given from the bottom of her heart. Judging by the old saying regarding magnitudes, one could extrapolate that someone can find their fourth Aspect when they’re thousands of years old—and it was absurd to imagine the witch was in that range.

Leaning forward, the witch scrutinized Cyg. “You seem to be thinking an awful lot, and for some reason I doubt it’s about defending your soul.”

“Hey, you said not to ask,” the thief said, frowning.

She chuckled and dropped the topic, deciding to check on the cauldron instead of prodding him, and he was relieved, knowing he’d never have to do something outlandish as defeating an ancient witch to escape.