Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You’re a liar.

That’s how this story began. And that’s probably how it will end, too, because some bitter conclusions simply cannot be told without adding new untruths. It’s something people come to terms with. The universe doesn’t care if anyone finds its rules unfair, and life is too short to protest against them.

Perhaps that is why you remain silent whenever the Knights Moralis enter your cell and bombard you with questions to which they will never receive answers. They know that. Yet every day the same woman appears, sits opposite you and starts all over again. The Brimmed Caps. Meeting places. Stolen knowledge. Experiments. Names. Everything.

If she were to ask in Qifrey’s voice and look at you with his eye, your tongue would be looser. You would tell him everything. A fantasy that harbours nothing but illusions, because he will never speak to you again.

You take a deep breath and listen to the rain crashing against the walls of the tower. In the distance, a rumble rolls across the world, and it reminds you of the day you decided to live a lie.

A quick glance to the side brings a scrap of paper into focus, one you’d carelessly tossed aside. It will vanish before anyone enters this cell again. And even if it doesn’t, no one would care. No one here is interested in you. Not in your body, not in your surroundings. Only in what lies hidden in your mind.

No one has noticed that your clothes consist of nothing more than layers of enchanted writing material. Thousands of thin sheets of paper, hidden beneath fabric and seams, ready to be released with a single spell. You could vanish whenever you like. The only reason you’re still sitting in your cell, imprisoned like a criminal – which is what you are, in the eyes of this twisted society – is that freedom has become meaningless without Qifrey.

You played a game.

You lost.

Now you’re paying the price.

Yet a part of you can’t and won’t let go. Perhaps that’s why you’ve written twenty-seven letters to Qifrey, only to tear every single one to shreds.

Outside, a bolt of lightning tears through the sky. The crash follows immediately, so loud that the cell bars tremble.

Qifrey hates this sort of weather. And yet he sometimes forces himself out, standing in the midst of the storm and rain, protected by a spell, just so his students can feel a glimmer of hope for a moment. Be it a picnic or a short walk, in which he proves that they can shape the world with their own hands.

Coco, who loses herself in her doubts and yet shines brighter than any summer’s day.

Tetia, whose kindness is almost painful, as if she were made for a world that doesn’t deserve her.

Agott, who desperately seeks a purpose she can only find in her magic.

And Richeh, quiet and sharp as a blade, with glances that understand more than she sometimes expresses.

Are they hearing the same storm as you right now?

You shouldn’t remove another sheet from your clothing. You shouldn’t reach for the ink, mixed with your own blood. The Knights Moralis have taken one of your inkwells, overlooking the fact that four more lie hidden between the layers of fabric. Now they serve as your only means of being close to Qifrey.

Letter number twenty-eight begins like all the letters before it: with empty platitudes that everyone uses when the truth has become something that can only be laid out in layers. Impersonal and ugly. Not nearly enough for someone like him. But it is all you’ve got.

It’s as if it were only yesterday. The day Iguin let the girls peer into a dragon’s mouth to give Coco a taste of so many things that aren’t quite right and yet are never wrong.

If you close your eyes, you’re back there. A little younger, a little more detached, yet just as fascinated as ever.

The white walls make you look like an unsightly blot in the heart of this perfect city, which has never really been one. This place is nothing more than a construct – created to drive people mad and push witches to the limits of their faith.

You’ve been here once before. Perhaps twice. It is hard to remember this no-man’s-land where the brimmed caps hide, because sometimes it doesn’t seem quite real, and yet it is too ugly to be an illusion. As if someone took a nightmare and sewed it into the cracks of the earth.

All over the world, there are places like this. Hiding in the fissures of reality, concealed where no one looks.

Actually, you shouldn’t be here. This spectacle of four little witches trying to escape has nothing to do with you. Sure, you’re all interested in Coco. She’s a clever girl and might even be capable of changing the world in your group’s favour. But Coco is part of Iguin’s game. They found her. And no one voluntarily interferes with one of Iguin’s experiments.

Yet you have come to observe the moves being made, because one never stops learning and also because the dragon that lives here is sometimes fed by you. To see it now, settling on a cloud that gives off warmth, is almost miraculous enough to make the corners of your mouth twitch. It’s a scene that seems just as out of place here as you do.

For a moment, you forget everything else. The girls. The tower. The trials. Even Iguin’s game loses its significance as the dragon makes the cloud bed tremble beneath his weight.

It takes you a while to notice the witches watching the symbol on the tower wall.

There are thousands of things they could get wrong here. Two hundred options that could make the way out that much harder. Iguin would like that. They’re just waiting to see how far Coco will go. Until the desire for more magic becomes big enough to devour everything else.

But the dragon knows its role too.

The warmth of the clouds doesn’t hold it for long. Eventually, it straightens up again, its enormous wings beating once through the air. The gust of wind hits the girls and the tower with such force that parts of the staircase break apart. Stone crashes down into the depths. One of the small bodies follows.

A necessary sacrifice.

At least, it would have been.

Before the beast can take a bite, someone intervenes. You have to narrow your eyes to slits to see it from where you’re standing, but it’s a man. White robes, a pointed hat, and a body that knows how to move in flight precisely enough to dart past the dragon’s fangs by a hair’s breadth and put enough distance between himself and the winged lizard – the girl firmly in his arms.

He soars so high that he vanishes behind the veil of clouds that shrouds everything in a dull grey darkness. You don’t want to imagine that someone who is quite obviously the teacher of these witches is foolish enough to believe that a path upwards is also a path out.

Fortunately for you, he proves to be wiser.

And powerful.

Your breath catches for a second as the clouds vanish in an instant. It seems as though, with a snap of his fingers, he has cast everything within reach into a world just as artificial as the space in which you are moving. But the truth is different. He controls water. Not just rain or moisture – everything. Every single bit of it.

Golden light spreads out. It creates a framework of magic, delicate and luminous as molten sunlight, while water wraps around it like living skin. It’s a spell that lasts no longer than two breaths, and yet its splendour seems to last an eternity.

For a second, nothing else exists. Not the city. Not the girls. Not even your own body.

Only this magic.

It’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen in the sky. A beauty that means nothing to the Brimmed Caps, because you’ve dedicated yourselves to things far more important than beauty. Yet it’s impossible to look away as the magic in the sky transforms into a dragon that dwarfs your lizard many times over. It can’t even fly away before it’s swallowed by the water’s maw, as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly.

The world trembles beneath the roar of the surging waters as the dragon’s body is dragged down into the depths. Waves crash through the streets, flooding half the city, and the golden water bloom that rises shortly afterwards possesses a grace that seems almost surreal.

This spell is an attack. Something with which you can kill someone. Yet it’s so beautiful that people would probably applaud while watching someone drown in it. It’s one of the thousands of facets of magic that make it cruel and wonderful at the same time. It’s like a well-kept secret: even the most beautiful magic can be used to kill. Eventually, the magical community will realise that even the most stunning spells are merely more elegant forms of violence. And when that moment comes, either everything will collapse, or magic itself will suffocate.

Both would be interesting to observe, partly because humans are prone to blasphemy and partly because it would be an opportunity for the Brimmed Caps to sweep all problems aside and pave the way for a new age of magic.

A thought that fizzles out in the distance as you look up once more at the witch responsible for this water spectacle. Here, he is merely a small figure on the horizon with abilities that seem intriguing. Yet out there, amongst his peers, he too is likely a guarded secret.

“You’re interested in him?”

The voice behind you doesn’t even make you flinch. The throbbing of your skin, covered in endless magical tattoos engraved with invisible ink, signals company before they reach you. Besides, you’d recognise that voice anywhere. That soft way of speaking, beneath which something fragile lurks.

You don’t turn around as you reply that you’ve been drawn in and that you do indeed feel a certain interest in someone who knows how to use a spell like this.

“Qifrey,” Iguin begins as they stand beside you. As always, the mask hides any genuine emotion, yet the truth still resonates in their voice. “He’s responsible for these girls. Obsessed with us. Presumably willing to do anything, as long as it fits with his plans. That makes him perfect for Coco. He knows how to bend the rules.”

Iguin probably doesn’t know everything about Qifrey, yet at the same time they have enough information to find amusement in this situation. You take note of it with a hum. Meddling with their ideas rarely bodes well. At least, that’s what you hear now and then when there’s been a clash with those who don’t care about their opinion or don’t share it. Not everyone wants to force change in the same way as Iguin. Yet they all have their own experiments.

Even you, caught up in your thirst for information, which is barely distinguishable from devotion. Learning all the magic in the world and having an answer for everything must be wonderful, and one day you will achieve that goal.

Until then, you can listen to Iguin’s talk and perhaps find a way to gain something for yourself. For that reason alone, you let your companion know that you will take a closer look at Qifrey, and by extension, at Coco.

“Whatever you desire.” A soft laugh rings in your ears as Iguin turns away. “I have a seed to sow. Let me know if you find out anything.”

A nod is your only reply before you, too, turn away from the scene. Infiltrating witches is child’s play when someone else has already opened the door.

Your fingers glide gently over the pen. The memory of it has long since become blurred at the edges – how you dressed yourself, how you scraped your hands and arms, and how you bloodied your knees before stumbling towards that small, innocent group, covered in dirt, trembling, and with nothing but lies on your lips.

A bite on the lower lip brings back the pain you felt back then too. Throughout your whole body, and yet mostly just in your knees – and perhaps also in his gaze, without actually noticing it.

Your steps falter as you drag yourself along the edge of the building’s wall, which leads into the narrow alley where Qifrey and his apprentices are gathered. You take a deep breath and gather your act like a cloak, draping it over your shoulders. It isn’t hard to mimic fear when you’ve seen it often enough or studied it in books.

Then you push off from the wall and stagger into the darkness. The alley is already being swallowed by the shadows. It won’t be long before the stars creep across the sky, leaving behind nothing but streets that invite secret meetings and silent disappearances.

Your legs tremble with every step. The wounds on your knees hurt, clearly visible beneath the skirt that ends just above them. Clothes you chose because you’re wise enough to pick cheap fabric for cheap stories. A simple cloak that looks dirty and worn out. A pointed hat, the sort you’ve never worn before. A blouse that looks as though it’s had a run-in with a pair of scissors. And then that skirt, to show off your legs and heighten the effect. You’re not even wearing shoes – cruelty comes in many guises.

The first to notice you is a girl with pink hair. For a second she seems indecisive before her eyes go wide and she comes running towards you, long before Qifrey notices.

“Are you okay?” she blurts out, circling you like a hyperactive squirrel. “Are you hurt?”

Her questions are enough to catch the others’ attention too. Qifrey’s head lifts, and what you see exceeds a certain expectation that had taken root within you. The blue of his single visible eye is reminiscent of an open sky – vast, free, and yet tinged with something dreamy that shouldn’t belong to someone occupied with brimcaps.

As he rises to stand beside Coco, you watch his every movement. He is slender. Almost too thin in places, and yet, in a strange way, athletic. Unusual for witches, who solve almost every problem with magic and rarely see any reason to train their bodies at all.

It takes him just four steps to bridge the distance, and he raises both hands as if unsure whether to place them on your shoulders to support you or whether it would be better to keep his distance. You like this slight uncertainty immediately.

Beneath his calm demeanour lies a hidden restlessness. Competence, carefully layered over something that is clearly more chaotic. “What happened?”

The hectic atmosphere in this place intensifies even before you can open your mouth. Coco has got back on her feet, and the two girls standing with her are scrutinising you carefully – one almost stoically, the other with poorly concealed nervousness. They all look exhausted. Iguin’s game has already begun to gnaw at them. And now you’re rubbing salt into a wound they can’t even properly recognise yet.

Finally, you open your mouth. You tell them about a brimmed cap you encountered. About how you tried to stop him. Information that clearly makes the air catch in Qifrey’s lungs.

Of course, you carry on, recounting how narrowly you escaped. How you begged for your life, because you’re just a simple witch after all – specialising in herbs and remedies, useless against someone like him. That’s probably why they let you live. Frightened witches make loyal messengers, and so you have now come to deliver news from the Brimmed Caps.

You pull a piece of paper from your cloak, an old, forbidden spell inscribed upon it, designed to make people compliant. Centuries ago, such magic was used to control entire armies – soldiers whose thoughts were directed like pawns on a board. Not a spell for children, but one that might interest Qifrey. Obsession makes people greedy for even the smallest clue.

He takes the paper. The girls hold their breath almost in unison as his gaze glides over the symbols. He probably doesn’t fully understand what he’s looking at. Yet at the same time, he’s already sinking deep enough into his thoughts for you to take the next step.

You begin to creep into his mind.

Your story isn’t perfect, but it serves its purpose. You explain to him that the Brimmed Caps want you to stay with him. You say his name, loud and clear, so that even in the back of his mind he realises they know who he is. Then you make it clear to him that if he refuses, they’ll kill you. You can’t tell him why they want to do that, or why they’ve chosen you of all people. All you know is that they want to play a game. If he wins, they’re willing to give him whatever he wants.

Lies, nothing but lies.

You assume an identity that isn’t yours, yet at the same time, it reflects a part of you. Because, certainly, if he entertains you well enough, you’re willing to grant him a wish. After all, you know more than most of the others out there. And Iguin’s plan is merely a stepping stone.

Qifrey doesn’t answer. His fingers are clenched so tightly around the paper that it threatens to tear. At the same time, his face does something that makes you hold your breath.

The rigidity of his features gives him the air of a handsome statue. The sparkle in his eyes has vanished, as if all life has drained from him. The once-free blue of his eyes is eclipsed by a darkness reminiscent of the depths of the sea – ready to swallow every sailor and every ship and never let them go. His thin lips are pressed together into a narrow line, and as he looks at you, his face framed by snow-white hair, he could hardly be more beautiful. He resembles the moon, cold and deadly on winter nights.

“They want to play a game?” The sound that escapes his lips is sharp.

You, in contrast, try to inject a tremor into your words, a hint of fear and uncertainty, as you nod and tell him that they have a certain interest in Coco and in him as well. The Brimmed Caps seem to find a certain amusement in the fact that he has become their teacher. And that is probably also the reason for throwing you into the equation. They’ll probably capture you at some point, and you’ll have to tell them everything you’ve seen.

The gentle restlessness in Qifrey vanishes as he studies you. Then he places a hand on your shoulder. “For now, I’ll take you to my atelier.”

He doesn’t elaborate on the rest. It’s obvious that he sees you as a lead. A way to get closer to the Brimmed Caps than ever before. Should they ever want to kidnap you – which they never will; it’s almost too funny – then he’ll stop them, play the hero, and simultaneously satisfy his own obsession.

The thought of it is grotesquely fascinating.

You stand here with a forbidden spell in reach, gazing into the face of a creature who is far too beautiful, far too curious and far too dangerous to be just another witch in this tamed society.

Your head bangs against the wall you’re leaning against. When you first met Qifrey, he was the most fascinating being you’d encountered in a long time. A helpless man desperately clinging to something he could never attain.

That’s one of the thoughts you’re paying for now. Qifrey is so much more than what you saw at first.

Now, you’re trapped in a tower where they’ll let you rot until you’re of no use to them anymore, surrounded by cold and the smell of damp earth seeping through the walls after the storm. And for the first time, you can admit to yourself that you should never have approached him. You shouldn’t have entered Iguin’s game in the first place that day.

Your gaze falls back on your letter. Every word is a little crooked, as if you haven’t written anything for years. It’s ugly. But it’s also a part of you.

And you’re determined to finish the message.