#unveiling

[zegalba]

Shirin Neshat: "Unveiling" (1993)

[theforsakenprince]

I think about this quote every goddamn day of my life

[logwire]

Unveiling the Doors

[thefirstknife]

Hello! Another day, another ask from yours truly. I was wondering what the "first knife" is? I've seen a few people mention it in relation to the shot of the veiled figure holding the shard of glass from the launch trailer, and i've never heard of this in lore. But it sounds pretty important, so now I'm curious. Thank you :)

It's referring to one of Unveiling's pages, called The First Knife. So the easiest and shortest answer is: we don't know! :D

But people have been speculating and trying to decipher it for years, as with all things from Unveiling, which I believe is a little bit of a futile thing to try and do because Unveiling is a metaphorical religious text. Essentially. It's been recently strongly implied that this text was written by the Witness pretending to be something else and using its lies and metaphores to convert the Guardians to its side (Unveiling was first released during Shadowkeep, before we knew about the Witness).

In The First Knife page, the author of the text is continuing with the explanation of, basically, how the universe began, through allegorical language. The Gardener and the Winnower argue about how things should be, the Gardener decides to insert itself "into the game" (the universe?) and this makes the Winnower "discover the first knife." It appears to be an allegorical way of saying that concept/idea of violence was invented, essentially. More under for length:

The Winnower appears to represent a specific concept that the Witness is pushing for which we know better as the sword logic: you have prove your right to exist and if you can't, you will be killed and therefore you never mattered at all. The Hive used this philosophy to eradicate countless of species, and so did the Witness with its disciples. This philosophy of winnowing is something that the Witness' species felt like was necessary in the universe to give meaning to everything that exists; there cannot just be the "meaningless" creation of the Gardener, there has to be a Winnower who will enact the violence and cull those that aren't worthy of existing.

The First Knife in that case would be a sort of a symbolical representation of the winnowing and how it all started. This is also referenced again in the lore book Inspiral, from Lightfall, in the page called Winnowing (last two pages of Inspiral read like a continuation of Unveiling):

It is the winnower that discovers the first knife, but it is not done without the gardener. This, too, is a tradition: a knife does not come to exist without something that must be cut. A woody stem, a colored petal, a vital vessel. The first victims of the blade.

It goes on to end the whole lore book with:

There can be no gardens without knives.

Which to me sounds like an attempt to convince us that the universe cannot exist without those that would do what the Witness is doing. That someone has to winnow, someone has to use the knife to cut things away. And to add to that, it could also reflect this idea that all of life is suffering, that there is no meaning to anything anyone does, that most lifeforms aren't worthy of existing and that a winnower in the universe will makes things better. That the universe should be made better by bringing on the final shape.

Seeing that veiled figure (which may be representing the Witness' species) with a shard of glass/rock (?) that looks like a sharp threatening object (knife?) sparked people's imaginations! It could be a representation of this concept, perhaps, or something completely unrelated. But the appearance of the veiled figures is so interesting because until now we've not had any explanation for them, other than their connection to the Pyramids/Darkness.

Now, at least from the few trailer shots, it seems likely that they represent the Witness' species or that they're in some form connected to that or some other symbol from the Witness' time as a civilisation. We've seen them as statues with the Witness' species and in all Pyramids. Curiously, the one in the Witness' flagship Pyramid appears to be tucked away in a hidden room, as if the Witness did not want it in a place of prominence; possibly signifying its attempt to detach itself from its roots? This is my old post about it before we knew of the Witness' origins.

We might find out some concrete information about the veiled figures in TFS; that would be really cool! They've been a sort of a constant since Shadowkeep and have been the cause of many debates and much speculation! Nothing I said here is in any way conclusive or final, naturally.

In any case, that image of the veiled figure with the sharp object could be a representation of a member of the Witness' species with the first knife, symbolically showing us how they discovered the philosophy of winnowing and dedicated themselves to it so completely that it turned the entire civilisation into this malicious angry entity.

A lot of people are also once again speculating that this could be representing the Winnower, a separate entity from the Witness, similar to the Gardener (Traveler). This is something a lot of people expected and wanted ever since Unveiling was revealed which was always a little bit weird to me because Unveiling openly describes itself as an allegory. A lot of people were disappointed that the Witness was shown as our big bad and some still expect there to be something even bigger and badder than the Witness, which I just don't think would make sense or would be beneficial to anything.

The story of Destiny has always been about choice. Repeatedly throughout every piece of information we've been told over and over that Light and Darkness are tools; they do not inherently tell us anything about their wielders. Using the Light does not make you inherently good, as we've seen from the stories of early Lightbearers; bloodthirsty violent Warlords. And more recently, as we've started learning more about Darkness, it repeatedly became apparent that simply using the Darkness does not make you evil; from the creation of the Awoken, through Drifter's Gambit, and all the way to Stasis and Strand and all the extra information about the Darkness and its users throughout the universe, we've known that this isn't an evil force by default. This was fully and completely confirmed in Lightfall; Light and Darkness aren't opposing moral forces, but the Witness desperately thinks they should be so it shapes itself to oppose the Traveler.

So there being a Winnower that governs all of Darkness which is an even bigger enemy to us than the Witness would just be bizarre to me, because Darkness is not inherently anyone's enemy. It's much bigger than that, as a fundamental force of the universe, as much as the Light is; it is our choice to use it that turns it into what it is. Our choices give morality to our tools, not the other way around. I personally really enjoy this because it creates a much richer world where you can't simply point at a Darkness user and say "evil." Darkness as a force of memories and emotions and history and thought and consciousness is so much more interesting to me than there being some evil Winnower. The Witness misinterpreting this and twisting the Darkness into just being "winnowing" is so much more fitting because it's about choice: the Witness' species chose to do that and they were wrong.

The "knife" allegory fits here as well, because a knife is not inherently good or bad; it's about your choice how to use it. The Witness chose to use it as a weapon.

Obviously, as I said before, none of this is final or complete. And who knows? It's possible that some information may be revealed in the future that turns everything upside down again and maybe there is another entity somewhere. But I'm mostly interested in the stuff we do know, rather than "what if" speculations simply because if we go by that, we could make any option sound true and plausible.

Also, in one of the early lore pieces, a grimoire from D1 which is from the POV of the Traveler, also mentions this imagery of a knife:

The knife had a million blades. And you were giant, powerful and swift. But the knife pinned you. Cut your godly flesh away. ... The knife stole much more than your body.

This is the Traveler most likely recounting the Collapse. The whole "knife" thing has been mentioned a lot throughout the lore, though only in these fairly metaphorical pieces. However, people have been looking into it for a long time and Unveiling turned this whole thing into a big debate and point of speculation. Inspiral reignited it 4 years later and now we also got this brief little snippet from the trailer so everyone is out here losing it and will continue losing it until we finally play. I am honestly hoping that some of this will never be fully explained and that some of it will always remain in this state of almost religious metaphor.

So long answer? We still don't know. But it's something people love thinking about and debating so this is why everyone is discussing it and how it might relate to that phrase, "the first knife." A lot more could be said as well, probably triple the size of this post.

Highly recommend (re)reading Unveiling, but also Inspiral and TFS CE. Unveiling remains my favourite lore book of all time, because to me, it only gains in its brilliance the more people question it. It's such a unique piece of writing that can be a complete lie, a complete truth, or something in between, depending on who you ask. It's a mythology without full context, a religious text and propaganda, possibly with some truth sprinkled in. And we may never know which pieces of the text are which. Perfect.

[jackrussell1907]

The unveiling...

[aaliyahunleashed]

January 19th - 29th, 2021 - Funko Fair Unveiling Event

Back in October 2020, a list of upcoming official FUNKO Pop dolls would be leaked online sending many fan bases (including Selena, Britney Spears, and Aaliyah fanbases) in a craze. The event kicked off with hourly mini episodes of FUN TV with Brian Mariotti and Mike Becker dropping the newest POP figurines for that hour each day.

Each episode depicted Mariotti and Becker going theme park (sneak peek) rides for the newest upcoming Funko Pop figurines.

#TeamAaliyah had to wait till the last day (Day 9: January 29th) to see the unveiling of Aaliyah's POP doll. Per orders were available via Walmart, Hot Topic, and various other sources with the dolls arriving April 2021.

The POP doll is based off the Age Ain't Nothing But A Number era (TAR / Terrence A Reese photography)

2021 would bring many surprises to Aaliyah fans (exclusive rare photos, Limited Edition BumpBoxx, a whole magazine dedicated to Aaliyah, a new biography book, and more importantly - HER MUSIC on streaming services!).

Please feel free to show off your Aaliyah Funko POP (and latest BARBIE) dolls and tag me in your post/stories!

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Unveiling || Rune + Enoch + Olek || May 21st, 1925

 Olek: The familiar could have been mistaken for a statue of the finest marble, clothed and warm and sentient. He knew the song by heart. Had been fascinated upon discovering such a somber love song. Its history was steeped in the very sorrow and longing he felt Enoch could relate to.

Feel what you feel, but walk forward. He had said as much. Given every nook of wisdom he believed Enoch deserved in his ear. There was nothing left to do but cradle and sing, and when the tears stopped, to silently watch the rise and fall of every breath. Watching and waiting for any disturbance of sleep. A skip of his heart. A shudder of fright.

He would rest his eyes, fingers to bare skin, and monitor still. When sunlight finally poured into the room, his eyes would open.

Rune: And the eyes of Felix Rune would close. Tethered to the headboard of his bed, wondering why he bothered as again, for what must have been the thousandth time, he recalled the warmth and taste and sound of Enoch Neumann.

What?

The heat against his cheek was sudden and sharp. A slap to shock his system, to push that horrid question away. Drink did nothing to help. Not gin or genever, and not the warmth of Clarissa's mouth on his neck could erase the memory of cerulean eyes, of his name on those freckled lips and timid tongue. Of sloppy, needy kisses; he yearned to dream again.

In the end, the witch was left disheveled and unsatisfied. Nothing beyond mouths on tepid skin. Far from a suitable distraction. Not a soak in freezing water, not fingernails digging into his hands, not remorseful prayer or cigarettes could save him.

But perhaps self-flagellation was on the table. Not at all Catholic, but tempting.

His eyes opened, staring at the ceiling. Another slap, harder this time. The mage sat up with purpose, pulling his satchel to the bed for parchment and pen. It was time to write letters.

Enoch: Enoch stirred in his sleep, not fully conscious but vaguely aware of the warmth beside him. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling rhythmically, lost in the weight of exhaustion. In the back of his mind, some small part of him knew the familiar was there watching. But when morning came, he woke slowly, blinking at the soft light that filtered through the curtains.

For a moment, he felt disoriented, as if suspended between two realities—the lingering warmth of sleep and the sharp edge of wakefulness. He laid still, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of the previous night. There had been no dreams this time, no haunting visions, but there was something else. Something real.

The kiss.

His fingers hovered over his lips, tracing the memory of it—the press of Olek's lips, tender but brief. A distraction, yes, but not one he could dismiss lightly. The memory of it stirred something uncomfortable within him, a mix of guilt and something he wasn’t ready to name. Had it really been a simple need for comfort? Or had Rune’s absence and his unresolved feelings driven him to seek out something else—someone else?

Turning his head slightly, Enoch’s eyes found the familiar beside him. Olek's face was peaceful, his breathing even, but the sight only deepened the knot in his chest. He owed him an apology—for using him, for the way he'd sought comfort when his mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t fair.

Sitting up carefully, Enoch ran a hand through his tousled hair, eyes drifting across the room as his mind shifted to the day of work ahead. But Olek was right. He couldn’t avoid Rune. His heart fluttered at the thought of seeing him—those familiar dark eyes. The scholar sighed, the weight of it settling in his chest. He needed to see him. To confront whatever that dream was. What would he say? That thought gnawed at him. It had to be done. Not just for answers, but to face whatever was bound to happen between them. One way or another, he couldn't keep running from it.

Olek: Enoch looked around the room while dual-colored eyes watched him. A night of restful sleep was just one aspect of his healing, from the looks of things, and from the feel of his heartbeat still beneath the familiar’s fingertips, rest was one less concern.

“Does Enoch’s heart feel like a bird’s wings when thinking of him?” That would explain the sudden pace of his heart, so brief he almost believed to have imagined it.

But the collar of his shirt smelled of tears; that wasn’t his imagination. Not only had Enoch been given sleep, but a means of catharsis - a purge he could only imagine relating to. So much he wanted to know the ways of his heart, and still, he couldn’t bring himself to sever his present bond.

“Did we finish our food? Yesterday? Olek doesn’t remember eating.” His smile was gentle and true, hoping to start the mage’s morning in a healthy direction, away from the thought of pubs and self-destruction.

Enoch: The stillness of the morning was a familiar comfort, one that Enoch quietly clung to as part of his morning ritual, even with Olek’s presence beside him. But it was the weight of the familiar’s fingers on his skin that finally registered he wasn’t alone, echoed by that gentle question.

 Oh.

The scholar’s hand rose, resting over that larger hand, and a small, silent nod followed. The truth was plain to see—the mage had woven himself into his life, his thoughts, his dreams. What once might have been a passing crush had grown into something that made his heart stutter when Rune’s name came up.

Olek’s hand was squeezed, reminded that they had sleep for dinner instead of finishing their sandwiches. “We didn’t.” Everything had been put into the fridge, including the sticky toffee pudding he had been looking forward to.

But then the mood shifted.

 “Olek, about last night…”

His voice trailed off, hesitation creeping in as he chewed on his lower lip. He glanced down at the crumpled bedsheets, the soft fabric barely covering him as he tried to parse the words together.

“I’m sorry.” It was a start.

“I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t fair to you.”.

His eyes lifted to face the other, hands moved almost instinctively, cupping Olek’s face like they had done so many times before. Their foreheads met, a familiar gesture that had always brought comfort, but this time it felt like more—a silent apology for crossing a line he never should have.

“I’m sorry.”

Olek: Then there was food to look forward to. Perhaps somewhere in this building was a means to make English tea, though he would much rather a hearty swallow of fresh juice.

But Enoch's hand and gentle voice distracted his gluttonous fantasies, and for a moment, just a brief moment, he had no idea what the mage was talking about.

"I'm not sorry." The permissions Enoch had last night were the same in the dawn. The familiar nuzzled, eyes closed, his smile as warm as the morning sun and gentle as his words.

"I'm not sorry," he repeated. "I love you. I will always give you comfort." Pinching his chin was a playful reprimand for that useless guilt. He turned Enoch's head this way and that, giggling, revealing just how tired he still was with that sluggish laugh.

Two more days of this empathetic mortal. More opportunities to nudge and encourage and cheer; to sleep cradling him in his arms. What gifts! But his thoughts were not so selfish. If Enoch desired his mentor's heart, then that was as much Olek's goal as it was his.

"What are we doing today?"

Enoch: If one thing was certain, tea was Enoch’s forte, and it was only one request away from being made from the Englishman, though fresh juice might require an adventure out to the city. But at the moment, he was asking for Olek’s attention as his thumb gently brushed against the familiar’s cheek.

When the familiar didn’t respond right away, Enoch felt that sinking hesitation, the cold pang of having made a mistake. But then Olek spoke, and everything stilled. The nuzzle against his face, the sleepy warmth, it made the scholar relax despite the guilt gnawing at him.

His fingers slid through Olek’s dark hair, brushing it back in return, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but let his eyes close, fighting back the sting of tears. He wanted to argue, to tell Olek how wrong he was—how none of this was fair to him. But instead, he leaned into the touch, letting his head turn this way and that by the gentle giant.

I love you.

I love you.

I love… you.

Enoch stared at Olek, each iteration soft and gentle in his mind, tasting the words he hadn’t echoed back yet. Yet, in a way, he had done all but stated it given how they interacted.

His hands stilled on Olek’s face, gently holding him there, searching his eyes.

“You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me,” he finally murmured, his voice quiet, like a confession that was long overdue.

Then, softer still, as if the words were fragile, precious things he was afraid might break.

“I love you, too.”

Olek: That was all any familiar wanted to hear. To be loved and cherished was a gift earned with every thoughtful deed. To be useful was their life's purpose.

To know confidently that Enoch's life was just a little more tolerable based on his actions, how could he not smile and breathe evenly?

And not ever did he need to hear those words of affirmation. Only to know that Enoch knew was enough. His actions gave what his lips could not, and still, hearing his confession returned gentled his tired features.

"That's mine," he smiled. "I'll keep those words like a locket. One day, I'll be two hundred, and then five hundred, and I'll remember right now, with you."

Enoch: His thumb traced a small circle on Olek’s cheek as their foreheads pressed together.

“Don’t forget me in that time,” he whispered his soft plea. Perhaps a beg of the young mage who wanted to be relevant even in this small capacity.

And they existed in this moment, in the quiet flat, in his bed with the sun gently flitting in through half-drawn curtains, intimately holding this giant man to him.

He loved him.

Enoch didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave, but reality was creeping back in—the lectures, the meetings, the steady march of time. With a gentle sigh, he slowly disentangled himself from the familiar, placing a soft kiss on his brow before slipping out of bed.

“I have lecture today.” Probably coupled with meetings and spending time in the lab. Usual activities that thankfully would fill up his day and put thoughts of Rune on the back burner for now.

“You are welcome to stay or join me.”

He doubted the familiar would find much excitement in watching him teach, but the offer was there.

Olek: Olek only shook his head. He felt no urge to repeat himself, short of one meaningful word.

"Promise."

But now Enoch was pulling away, and he would let him. He was free to sprawl and stretch in a way unnatural for most, bowing his torso up to the heavens before collapsing with a satisfied sigh.

"Are cats allowed?" he grinned. His feline form would offer fewer questions. Just an assumption, but given the mage's inclination, perhaps safer for his reputation. Couldn't have a towering foreigner unafraid of expression roaming the halls with the demure Professor Neumann.

"Your faithful cat. Olek can wear a collar!"

Enoch: “Promise.”

Their quiet exchange. One that had become a little ritual between them.

“Ah…”

He wasn’t sure if cats were allowed in his meetings, but they would figure it out.

“You could also be a visiting student that I’m showing around.” He offered over his shoulder as he went into his closet to pick out his clothes for the day. Blue and tan tones. It made his eyes stand out more. As his fingers brushed over his collection of ties, trying to decide which one, Olek’s next suggestion stopped him in his tracks.

“A collar?”

He blinked—the suggestion causing the young professor to look over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I have one. But a bowtie…” And the thought of this sent him smiling. Olek would look quite handsome in a bowtie—human or feline.

“Mm. My familiar, at least for the next couple of days. I’ll accept this.”

Turning back to the bed with a gentle grin, he held up a tie.

“Come, sit up.”

And if Olek did, he’d find the soft fabric of a bowtie draped around his neck, Enoch standing in front of him, fingers deftly smoothing it into place.

His gaze softened as his thoughts drifted.

“Maybe before you leave, we can work on setting up a piano.”

Olek: The familiar's brows rose behind his hair. To know Enoch wanted his human form after having adjusted his expectations was a pleasant surprise.

But he said nothing, watching quietly from the bed, in silent agreement with Enoch's color scheme. Warm tones complimented his tone, his hair, and his eyes.

Olek was smiling before Enoch gave instruction, sitting up tailor-style with his chin raised. Holding back laughter was a task forced for the sake of not being a distraction.

"Your familiar," he agreed. It wasn't the words he needed to be mindful of, but his actual mind. Three days had been promised, and for those three days, they could pretend, with confidence.

Fingers brushed the material, the tactile pleasure of such fabric, of it belonging to Enoch.

"Olek needs material. Dirt, wood, wool. Olek can make a piano."

Enoch: “We can gather them throughout our day.”

And he stood there, captured by that smile that was shone at him. This man could be the source of serotine he needed and forget the rest of the world. It was tempting—too tempting—to just stay there, in that small bubble where only they existed, and everything else could wait.

“Mon tournesol.”

And for a brief second, he wished for nothing more than to be pulled back into bed, to be told that he didn’t need to face the world today. He wanted this man to provide that reason and be the weight around his waist.

But the scholar knew better. His fingers brushed gently along Olek’s neck, thumb idly tracing his skin and that gentle dip as he considered staying just a little longer. Yet, responsibility tugged at him. He sighed, letting out the breath he had been holding, and with a soft smile, let his fingers flick lightly against his nose.

“I suppose we should get ready.”

With that, Enoch stepped back, reluctantly pulling himself from the warmth of the moment. He left the familiar in the room as he headed to wash up, the quiet creaking of the floorboards following him as he moved to put on the kettle for tea. The day would catch up to him soon enough, but for now, he let the peace of the morning linger just a bit longer.

Olek: The foreign title was parroted back with flawless tongue. His visual sense was less than keen in human form, but his auditory was impeccable. And while he had no idea what Enoch had said, he had a vague notion it was nothing short of charming.

His eyes closed, feeling the same pleasure to these affections as he would in feline form. Going so far as to lean into Enoch's hand, savoring for as long as he was allowed.

Eyes opened, peering behind the curtain of messy hair when the mage spoke again.

Olek would eventually follow. A splash of water on his face, cleaning of his teeth, and fingers through his hair. Whichever form he walked out the door with was ultimately Enoch's decision. He was, after all, his master for two more days.

Enoch: “My sunflower,” the scholar said as he walked down the sidewalk with Olek at his side. He held out the neatly wrapped sandwich to the familiar. The English breakfast tea hadn’t quite worked its magic yet, but the gentle coolness of the morning and Olek’s company helped. Though, the thought of needing coffee later lingered in his mind.

“That’s what it means in French,” he added as he glanced at the taller keeping him company for today. Olek looked so content, and for a moment, Enoch found himself caught in the simplicity of the moment–the early summer sun, the peacefulness of the walk, and the easy silence between them.

“Have you been to school before?”

He found himself wondering how the familiar would fare in a place like a university. Would Olek find it amusing or stifling? Enoch couldn’t quite picture him sitting through lectures.

Olek: "When did Enoch learn French?" the familiar asked, holding his sandwich in both hands. There was always something to admire, and even still, something to explore. How and when humans grew tired of others had always been a source of befuddlement.

"Have I sat in a classroom of other familiars, absorbed in meditative daydreams and philosophy?" His smile reached his eyes. "No, no. It sounds lovely. To think! Humans - ahem, people have sat, stood, and laid prone for so, so long listening to a great thinker. When was the first era? Pre-Socratic? I might sleep. Listening to a soothing voice for hours is a lullaby."

Enoch: “My late mentor, Professor LaRoux.”

The name lingered in the air. There was weight behind it, the kind that settled heavily on his chest whenever he thought of the man. Étienne had been a steady presence in his life for the past few years before his untimely death—and in memories from a past he still couldn’t remember.

 His own sandwich, neatly unwrapped, remained in his hand, though he hadn’t found the appetite to take a bite. Instead, it was tucked back into his bag, saved for later when hunger might catch up with him.

“Ah…” His voice trailed off. “I didn’t quite mean it like that,” he said with a light chuckle, his gaze shifting from Olek to the sidewalk ahead. “But it’s about learning the concepts and material, not just listening for the sake of it—or falling asleep,” he added, glancing up at the familiar with a smirk. “Should I expect that in my lesson today?”

Olek: Enoch seemed deep in thought with only a name. He would continue eating his sandwich in peace, and keep that discovery to himself. He would not yet insist that he eat, not until nightfall, he decided then and there. The young mage was still recovering.

"Why didn't Enoch interrupt me?" the familiar laughed. "Of course Olek has learned things, but Olek has not stepped into a classroom. That's for Master Enoch."

Ah, there was the word. He smiled at his sandwich and looked away.

Enoch: Enoch’s fingers absently fidgeted with the strap of his bag as they walked toward the university.

“Because that would have been rude, and I respect you.”

He glanced up at Olek, surprised by that term. Master. When they first met, he’d been quick to dismiss it, adamant that the title was unnecessary. Yet today, it hung in the air, oddly fitting, if only for a moment, they could pretend. He could let himself believe it, just for a couple more days.

“Well,” he continued, a smile tugging at his lips, “you’ll be my student today, then. And you’ll learn all the facets of biochemistry—or at least, one lecture’s worth.”

Olek: Today, the word holds value. It was beautiful and true—as true as it could be, given the unfortunate, fortunate circumstances. He would not wish ill on Ignacio nor his daughter, but he would cherish the following days, and wait patiently for next spring.

"Magic and science intertwine so often. My-" No, today he would not say it. "What Enoch is to life magic, Ignacio is to matter. My master before him was an expert on spiritual matters. Knew what talismans pleased and what banished. Every staff and token, written spell, every ceremonial candle, and robe was one room to utilize with precision. My mistress could place her lips on any wound and would know what was wrong and how to mend it."

The last of his sandwich was squirreled away in his cheek.

"Enoch be the same. All of your magic will be an asset."

Enoch: Enoch's fingers tensed around the strap of his bag as Olek spoke.

“Magic and science...” he echoed softly, letting the phrase settle between them. It struck a chord—how effortlessly Olek framed the two disciplines as kindred forces, the way they intertwined. But were they really?

The university loomed ahead, its grand stone architecture bathed in the morning light, the familiar silhouette a reminder of the day’s duties. With each step toward the entrance, the weight of the day began to settle on his shoulders. The chatter of students and the hurried shuffling through hallways grew louder as they neared, bringing him back into the present. It was a welcome distraction. Last night’s lingering thoughts—the kiss, the dream, Rune—were starting to fray the edges of his focus.

As they approached the main entrance, the air was cool, the kind of crisp morning that brought with it the promise of productivity. They stepped into the familiar halls, the scent of old books and worn wood rising to meet them. The footsteps of students echoed around them, the subtle hum of academia falling into place as Enoch led the way toward the lecture hall.

“Well,” he said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder, “welcome to your first day as my student. Try not to fall asleep.”

Olek: Olek desired Enoch's thoughts to understand his body language. Did magic frighten him now? Had it since his awakening, or since his shared dream? Was it his avatar still?

He wanted so much to lean in and kiss the mage's forehead. To nuzzle, allowing him to hear his purr and be soothed by it, but by decorum it was impossible.

Anything for Enoch, including wading through the sea of strange faces, muted voices, and lingering eyes. Those proficient in the art of glimpse and gossip. Whispered inquiry of the exceptionally tall foreigner shoulder to shoulder with their youngest professor.

"As you wish, Master Enoch. Where shall I sit?"

Enoch: Enoch could feel the weight of eyes on him, more curious than usual, though not entirely unexpected given the towering figure walking at his side. The students would talk, speculate—they always did. But today, it felt heavier.

Olek’s question drew him back from his thoughts, and for a moment, he hesitated. The familiar knew him too well—understood him better than most, even without needing the words. Magic had become a part of him, but now, it felt...different. Tainted, in a way, ever since his awakening. His avatar being the reason behind it.

If they had been alone, in the quiet of his office or the solace of his flat, he would have welcomed Olek’s gentle affection. But here, with so many eyes, decorum indeed took precedence.

“Wherever you’d like,” he replied, but it lacked its usual warmth. His hand tightened slightly around the strap of his bag as he moved down the steps toward the front of the lecture hall, refusing to acknowledge the whispers behind him.

As he reached the desk, Enoch began setting up for the lecture, his fingers moving through the motions of preparing notes and adjusting the chalkboard. The young professor glanced up briefly, meeting Olek’s gaze from across the room, offering a small nod. It was his way of acknowledging the other, appreciating his silent support here. Especially here…

Olek: Given permission to sit anywhere, he would sit near, but within reason. The front row, far to the right, just far enough from inquisitive students to avoid a conversation. His hands folded neatly in front of him, spine straight, shoulders strong but relaxed, leaning forward an inch.

He could have been a cat. An easy enough excuse to sit on the edge of Professor Neumann's desk, tail curled and bathing himself. A delightful spectacle for weary students in need of a little morale.

Instead, he was morale for only one, and perhaps the lingering gaze of a heavily freckled student center of the room.

The poor boy ran the risk of losing progress, for he doubted he would ever see his like again.

Enoch: The lecture hall felt different today. Thirty students, eyes bright with curiosity or glazed over with morning fatigue, were scattered across the rows. The familiar cadence of the room helped ease the tension that had wound tight in his chest since the dream. This was better—this was what he needed. Here, all was quiet.

All was quiet… including Raine.

Enoch couldn’t feel the weight of him, not right now. But how long would that last? Would the avatar wake if he tested his limits? What if he tampered with time, just for a second—sped things up, shaved off the minutes from this lecture? Would that bring him out from his slumber? It was dangerous, he knew, and Olek was already upset for allowing the avatar to take over. But how else was he supposed to understand the thing that resided within him, this force that incessantly whispered his failings and seemed to grow stronger with each spell?

Enoch’s fingers brushed the desk. He could feel the tension coil tighter as he considered what Rune might say. The mage always had a way of digging out the truth, pulling confessions from him like threads from a frayed seam. And what would he say when Enoch admitted that he hadn’t been himself—but rather a passenger in his dream? Their dream.

His heart quickened at the thought, the heat creeping across his pale, freckled features as he imagined Rune’s reaction. Anger? No—worse, disappointment. Rune’s expectations for him had always been high, and now... now this thing inside him felt more powerful, more him than Enoch himself. It all felt wrong. Best to avoid the mage altogether, at least for now.

Enoch: He caught himself, forcing the thoughts back down before they could spiral further. He couldn’t dwell on this, not here. He’d deal with it when the time came. For now, there was work to do.

Enoch cleared his throat, letting his fingers settle on the familiar grooves of the wooden desk, his gaze flickering to Olek. The murmur of conversation in the hall died down as students refocused.

“Does anyone have any questions about this week’s homework?” His voice was steady, but there was a brief pause before he added, “I apologize for not being here yesterday—I was feeling a bit under the weather. But I’m… right as rain now.”

A slight hesitation, but he offered a nod to the class, trying to mask the lingering unease.

Olek: The pauses weren't unusual in their personal conversations, but Olek had expected more of the professor's full voice and confidence in front of a chalkboard. He had assumed weeks and weeks ago that this was Enoch's second home. Those blue eyes upon the desk, he wondered as he so often did what he was thinking. Not just his mentor, but his avatar, his life and how it became this. Was he still in this room, or had he left his body behind? If anyone could astral project he expected Enoch to master the challenge; disassociation, unfortunately, wasn't a fairytale; not after relinquishing his will to his other half.

The thought still clinched the muscles of his abdomen. Never had he heard of such a thing.

Perhaps he could reach out with only his mind, his will, his magic, and caress Enoch's face with force alone. The whisper of fingers like a tickle of wind.

A desire so strong as to accidentally create a breeze. One could excuse with the open window.

Olek ducked his chin, hiding his smile behind is linked fingers.

You are, he thought. If not now, eventually you'll be right as rain.

Enoch: Enoch felt the cool brush of the breeze against his skin, a subtle nudge that pulled him from his thoughts. His eyes flickered to Olek, catching the familiar's barely concealed smile behind his hands. The tension in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe a little deeper, and with that, he refocused on the class.

Thank you.

There was no stutter in his speech—a small victory. He hadn’t tripped over his words or faltered as he usually did when emotions overran him—a stammer that had plagued him since childhood, one that required tutors and practice, now only surfaced when fear or uncertainty clawed at him. But today, he was steady, composed—just as a professor should be. And yet, Olek had seen through him. His mind kept wandering, skimming the edges of places it shouldn’t, drifting back to Rune.

Rune. Would he ignore him like he had in the past? Or would he show up at his lecture, as if summoned by the very thoughts Enoch tried so hard to suppress? At times, he believed the Dutchman would simply vanish, returning to the sea, the way he appeared so unexpectedly in his life.

After that lesson, the familiar silhouette had walked past the flat without so much as a glance at his window, while Enoch sat there, writing notes. The memory of that day tugged at him. A week after his arm had been dislocated, a week of silence. Would this be the same?

These intrusive thoughts lingered as he moved through the lesson, drawing the next set of equations on the board. His words fell into their usual rhythm, but his mind remained elsewhere.

The equations, at least, offered a refuge. The class worked on the problems assigned, their heads bent over papers, filling the hall with the quiet scratching of pens. Time slipped by, unnoticed, until the end of the lesson approached faster than he had anticipated.

“Right,” he said, blinking as if waking from a trance. “With that, we’ve covered the last topic for today. One more unit, and then your exam next week.”

Olek: It was not thanks Olek sought, only the confidence in the professor’s chest, and the strength of his broad shoulders. The differences between strength and tension, defeated sagging shoulders and shoulders loose with ease were just subtle. So many people from every culture, age, and range of ethics and intelligence lacked a keen eye for detail. The throes of humanity lost on that very humanity. Neighbors only by name. Every day in the presence of his favorite mages had taught him the art of such nuance. Enoch could say, at least once in his life, that he was seen, truly, by eyes with intent.

These were better shoulders, a powerful chest full of air and cleverness. Wit sharpened his gaze behind polished lenses. This was the best version of Enoch, and he monitored this Enoch for the next hour in revered silence.

For all his strength he was still young, and needy. The kind of needs only youth could afford. That of poetry and hopefulness. The anxiety churning in Enoch’s stomach was revealed in his faraway glimpses to the window, to the chalkboard, and down at his book. That look he had seen before in Olivia, thinking of the young man from Vitoria-Gasteiz, or the young woman next door in Bilbao, when she looked upon his figure every other week.

Enoch had come down with a case of lovestruck. The anxiety must have been terrible.

Olek caught a few stares from spine-straight students, watching in quiet disbelief as he folded his arms, resting his chin in his man-made nest, hair falling over his eye, denying them the indulgence of further investigation. He would be the talk of these halls. Fresh gossip to quench an otherwise barren month. No different than the last odd fellow Enoch had been accompanied by earlier in the year.

The same strange creature taking precious time toward the university.

Enoch: The shuffle of papers and the hum of bags being closed brought the lecture to an end, the students filtering out one by one. A few lingered, asking routine questions—questions that, today, offered Enoch a welcomed sense of normalcy. It dawned on him that the lecture hall, with its familiar rows of benches, was a grounding place for him, a necessary anchor amid the distraction that had shadowed his focus since September, and the administration was beginning to notice.

The last student left, casting a quick, curious glance at Olek, the sole remaining figure in the hall. Enoch's eyes flicked to him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You must have understood every word,” he said as he packed his papers away.

A pause followed, and an odd feeling crept in, an almost déjà vu. Hadn’t he said those words before? Except, back then, he’d been addressing the mage, not Olek. The familiarity of the moment held him for a beat, then he shook it off with a subtle tilt of his head.

Enoch slung his satchel over his shoulder, moving closer. “I have a meeting shortly and then another lecture this afternoon. What would you like to do in the meantime?” His fingers brushed the strap of his bag, lingering there as he held himself back from a small urge to reach out and smooth back Olek’s hair.

Olek: Olek remained seated, chin in the nest of his arms as he listened, in and out of consciousness. He needed his sleep no differently than a well-rested feline. Eight hours wasn't nearly enough.

He would say nothing, only smile at those lingering gazes, bowing his head and expecting nothing in return. Just a blimp in their life, some, if not most, would never see him again. Such was life.

Long arms stretched as Enoch approached, fingers stretching outward like claws.

"Olek will sleep in Enoch's office." He assumed he needn't elaborate on his form.

"Does Enoch feel better?" he whispered.

Enoch: The professor’s gaze softened as he watched those fingers stretch out towards him. He knew how much Olek had sacrificed, losing sleep just to watch over him through the night. It was only fair he got some rest now.

“Of course,” he said softly. “We can walk over together.”

He hesitated to answer the question, but Olek’s gentle whisper left little room for pretense. Enoch’s hands moved almost instinctively, cupping Olek’s face as he brushed back the stray strands of hair.

“I do,” he confessed, “thanks to you.”

He glanced at the doors, reassured by the stillness of the empty lecture hall—no threat of interruption here.

“Come on.”

Olek: They were safe, alone. No one would see Olek turn his face into Enoch's hand, nor hear his subtle purr from the depths of his throat. A declaration of love just between them.

And then he was back on his feet, his coat slung over his shoulder.

"Enoch needs a vacation." The familiar had been dwelling on this idea since the crack of dawn. "Someplace warm and clean, with a beach. Enoch needs to hear waves and backtalking seagulls."

Enoch: The professor stepped back, giving Olek room as he stood, and tilted his chin up to meet the familiar’s gaze. The mention of a beach brought a fleeting smile to his lips.

“I’d burn to a crisp and end up miserable,” he said, half-joking, but there was truth in it. The idea of a beach was exciting, even if he had his reservations. He’d never been much for sunbathing, and the fact that he couldn’t swim further marred the idea.

But that was neither here nor there as they walked through the of the university in the direction of his office.

“Did you have anywhere specific in mind?”

Olek: "Oh, no!" His quiet laugh barely reached the lecture hall walls as they exited.

But he could see Enoch combing the beach for shells on a crisp blue morning, sitting atop of a smooth dune watching wave after wave die a gentle death on the shore. That was the level of peace the young mage needed.

"Spain," he decided. "I think you would make many friends."

Enoch: “Maybe, but I wouldn’t be a great conversationalist. I don’t speak Spanish, remember?”

His tone was playful, though genuine doubt laced his words. Language barriers aside, the thought of sitting under the shade with the sea stretching endlessly before him had its appeal—assuming he could avoid the sunburn.

“I can come and visit you sometime,” he added, briefly entertained the idea. The notion was fleeting, dampened because he knew the university had its demands and breaks were few and far between.

On their way back toward the office, key in hand, Enoch glanced at Olek.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in my office for so long? It’s ok if you decide to go home.”

Olek: His smile was genuine, as everyone before it, well, most everyone before it, but his delight crinkled his eyes like so many of those times.

"Yes, please do." He wouldn't wait on bated breath, but he would hold Enoch to his word, however long that would take. Perhaps 70 years, he couldn't say. Time magic wasn't his forte.

"Olek said three days." A gentle reminder of his loyalty. For these three days, he had but one master.

"Olek will sleep through meeting, and Enoch will tell me if he needs me for the next lecture. Yes?"

Enoch: “And Ignacio is fine with this arrangement?” He couldn’t help but think of that day he visited Olek’s home only to leave it hurriedly. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that their closeness had been brought into question.

He allowed the thought to flicker briefly before pushing it aside. “Three days,” he echoed, a faint smile breaking through as he nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, but don’t feel obligated to suffer through my next lecture if you’d rather sleep.”

As they reached the office, Enoch slipped the key into the lock, the familiar click welcoming them inside. He held the door open with a subtle tilt of his head.

“Thank you.”

Olek: "He knows." If Enoch demanded more, he would give willingly, but not a moment before. Ignacio's days were filled with appointments and lovesickness, not spells and blessings. He would not miss his familiar until the 72nd hour.

How Ignacio addressed his infatuation with the English mage was yet foreseen.

Olek just smiled. Don't thank me, he almost said, instead, he looked in all directions before planting a kiss between his eyes. Into the office he went, leaping onto the kidney desk in feline form.

Enoch: Olek’s assurance did enough to ease his mind, though not completely. Enoch didn't want to overstep—he never wanted to push too far and risk losing this precious being. He couldn’t bear another fracture. Not now.

His eyes briefly closed under the gentle affection, a warmth spreading through him, making his breath catch for a second. When he opened his eyes again, Olek had already shifted and settled on the desk. The professor hesitated in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame before stepping fully into the room. He moved closer, brushing his fingers gently behind the feline’s ears.

“I’ll come find you for lunch.”

With one last lingering glance at the familiar, he reluctantly straightened. There was still a meeting to attend—another few hours of obligations and distractions—before he could return to the office.

Olek: Olek would eventually settle near the window, but for now, he would take pleasure in the lingering scent of Enoch all over his desk and chair. He curled against a stack of papers, paw resting over his nose as he drifted asleep. This was where he wanted to be, the only place worth being until he saw Enoch again.

Rune: Seeing Enoch was all Rune wanted, but outside he lingered, envelope in hand, staring at the massive wall between him and the rest of his life.

He looked at his handwriting again—the address to the Arcanum chapter of London. The location was a reluctant gift from Clarissa. The only address he knew by heart was in Berlin, established in 1284. Kraus had once been a member. Had hinted the goings on behind closed doors. And now he would offer Enoch the chance...

He just had to step forward.

But his hand was shaking. How long had he held his breath?

Biting his tongue, Rune climbed the short steps and pulled at the door. His first assumption was class, so to the lecture hall, he walked.

Enoch: The door clicked shut behind him, and Enoch’s hand instinctively reached for his pocket watch. It confirmed what he already suspected—the meeting had run late, but there was still time before lunch. The discussion had gone well, and, as the mage had predicted, it was remarkable how many subtle lies the provost had woven throughout. The proposed changes to be implemented the next year left Enoch wary, but for now, that was a problem for another day. His thoughts were instead fixed on the feedback he’d received from Dr. Arthur Wilhelm, the department’s senior chemist.

He exited the lecture hall, flipping open his journal as he walked, eyes skimming the notes he’d shared with Arthur. A catalyst, a reaction—the formula had been half-formed, but with chemist's insights, he had a clearer path forward. That focus, however, shattered the moment he turned the corner.

There, at the opposite end of the hall, stood Rune. It hit him like a physical blow, his breath catching in his throat. How could his heart stop and be pounding in his ears at the same time? Torn between confronting the mage and fleeing, his body made the decision before his mind had the chance.

In a swift, awkward pivot, he turned on his heel and retreated down the corridor. Don't look back. Don't let him notice. Panic gnawed at his thoughts. What was he doing here? Why now?

Rune: These halls had become familiar, however brief. Only a handful of minutes sitting outside of Enoch's lecture hall, waiting for class to adjourn. Those were some of the happiest moments of the past decade. The waiting. The anticipation of Enoch's surprised expression dissolving into a shy, genuine smile.

Lord, have mercy.

But was seeing Enoch flee for a second time truly a mercy? No. It was punishment for the sin of lust. This was why he held a letter between tense fingers.

No time was wasted in closing the gap between Cultist and Euthanatos. Mere seconds until he could reach for Enoch's wrist, catching him as he caught his breath.

"Hör auf, vor mir davonzulaufen. Bitte."

Enoch: His body felt like it was on fire, every nerve alight as those fingers wrapped around his wrist and forced his steps to slow down. His ears burned, his breath caught somewhere between his throat and lungs hearing the plea in soft German.

He didn’t dare meet Rune’s gaze, his own fixed stubbornly on the floor as though it might open up and swallow him whole. If only it would. But there was no outrunning this, was there? No flight fast enough to escape the weight pressing against his chest—or the man holding him still.

His voice, when it finally emerged, was small, a cracked whisper.

“Warum jetzt? Warum hier?”

Rune: This... was the correct decision. He could see no other outcome. He should have. Time magic was at their disposal. What should have been a glimpse into the future was instead given to chance.

But, today, Rune was not a betting man.

Stating the obvious would have been salt in his wound. His fantasy had been mutual. And yet, the professor couldn't bear to look at him.

Slowly, his grip relaxed. The wrinkled letter in his fist pushed into Enoch's palm.

"You don't have to speak." But he had to. For both of them. The speech he had in rough draft had been wiped from memory.

"Don't concern yourself with my company. I'm... no longer your mentor. That letter is for the Arcanum. My name isn't important, but my mentor, Kraus... it's good. You have everything you need."

Why did you run? Why won't you look at me? Am I filthy? Can you feel my mind? I'm begging you.

A step back. Another.

"I don't..." No. Enoch had made himself clear.

There was nothing left to do but bow his head in reverence...

"Ik hield van elke minuut van je."

... And retrace his steps to the double doors.

Enoch: The crumpled paper sat heavy in his hand, its edges digging into his palm. The professor glanced down, Rune’s familiar handwriting staring back at him with the address of the Arcanum. Inside, no doubt, were words praising him as a student and his capabilities of being a good steward to the organization. Words he didn’t deserve.

All he could feel right now was the weight of failure. How many times he had teased the Euthanatos that he needed a different mentor? Never did he expect his bluff to be called.

The words Rune spoke felt final, and Enoch’s chest tightened. Why did it feel like this was the end? That if Rune walked out those doors, he’d never see him again?

With the grip on his wrist released, the professor stared at the envelope, fingers trembling slightly as the mage's footsteps echoed softly in retreat. For someone who loved words as much as he did, it was ironic how often they failed him when it mattered most.

Then, those final words reached him, unfamiliar at first. Not German, but Dutch. And while not the exact words he had written on the margin of his borrowed copy of Moby Dick in light pencil, it was close enough to understand.

Before the Euthanatos could reach the doors, arms wrapped around over his shoulders, drawing him close in a desperate hold. The Cultist tipped his head forward, resting his forehead against the back of Rune's head as the tears he’d fought to suppress finally threatened to spill.

It was reckless. Foolish. Anyone could step out into the hallway and see them. Gossip would follow, and consequences would come—but none of that mattered. Not now.

“Stop breaking your promises,” his voice low, trembling.

And then, softer still, barely more than a breath:

“Ik houd van je.”

Rune: Coming here had been a mercy to his sanity. A week of walking by Enoch’s lab would have been cruelty only for himself to endure. This pain couldn’t have been mutual. The churning of his stomach brought upon by the shame of his sins, this ignoble infatuation. The trepidation of his former mentee was evidence of his disgust. There could be no other explanation. An attempt to pardon himself would have been the final blow to what integrity he had remaining in his pocket.

He loved this man. Whether he should or shouldn’t was meaningless now. What he felt was every bit as real as the echo of his footsteps, and the feeling of warm arms enveloping him.

Warm arms…

It was his duty of care to screen the great hall. This foolish man. What was he doing? Concern like a wave of rushing water in his good ear. If not for those lips so near, he would have missed it.

So sweet and meek. A spell meant to upheave his equilibrium. His attempt to breathe was stopped short in his throat. When the will to live exceeded his dulled sense, breathing took conscious effort.

His voice was small and private, posing a mirrored question only the Enoch of his dreams would know. He needed to witness; feel his breath against his ribs and against in his ear. He needed to understand.

“Am I yours, in this moment?”

Enoch: The halls remained silent, but the threat of interruption hung heavy in the air. How much longer could they remain like this? The faint creak of a door or the echo of approaching footsteps would shatter the fragile moment, send them scattering in opposite directions. And yet, despite the risk, Enoch couldn’t force himself to let go. For now, he allowed himself this—these stolen seconds, precarious and fleeting, like holding his breath against the tide.

His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing into the flesh as he forced himself to breathe. He had faced challenges that tested every ounce of his resolve: the grueling years of study, the oppressive weight of his grandfather’s expectations, the harrowing chaos of his awakening. Yet none of it compared to this—his heart hammering against his ribs, the fear of losing Rune, of rejection, held him still.

The scholar’s grip tightened around the mage’s shoulders, his head dipping closer with a subtle nod that brushed against dark strands. And finally, the words he’d been searching for finally found voice.

“This, and every moment you’ll allow me.”

Rune: He couldn't be certain if what he had felt had been a nod or rejection. What his mind wanted and what he expected were as mismatched as Enoch's resolve. From cold, and cold, to hot, and burning.

But his ears didn't tingle. He held his breath upon realization. Not a hint of irritation.

This had to be another dream. Fallen asleep over his writing desk, conjuring hasty closure before licking the envelope shut. Merciful Christ, he longed for it to be true, and prayed it wasn't. What was he to do with himself, other than nurse the whiplash tightening his muscles?

One step at a time. One breath. Enoch's hand was grasped with cold fingers, pulled not outside, but down the hallway toward the lecture hall. The office would have been ideal, but not close enough. He needed answers now.

Enoch: The seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, his words hanging in the air without acknowledgement. The silence eating at him, doubt creeping in like a shadow. Had he misspoken? Misread the moment entirely? Should he apologize and back away?

And then, Rune moved.

Enoch barely had time to process it before he was tugged down the corridor. He followed without resistance, the firm pull breaking him out of his thoughts. The lecture hall was ahead, empty now at least until the first classes resumed after lunch.

Past the double doors, among the familiar rows of desks and the chalkboard he’d written on countless times, he found himself alone with Rune.

Rune: The door was shut within an inch of Enoch's passing. Pressed to the wall in such a familiar fashion that squeezed his heart like a vice.

With such limited time, he didn't know what was worth saying, but the hallway was no place for bleeding out.

"Have you lost your senses?"

Enoch: Enoch froze, his back pressed against the cold plaster of the lecture hall wall, and for a moment, all he could manage was to blink at the mage.

"Have I—" His voice faltered, a half-choked laugh breaking free, though it held no humor. He glanced away, as if searching the empty rows of desks for the right response before his gaze returned to the mage. "Have I lost my senses?” He shook his head.

“Have you? Marching into this school as if—" He faltered, his words catching for a moment before he forced them out. "As if you could write yourself out of my life and everything would just… fall into place. Did you think it would be fine?"

Rune: "What choice did you leave me?" He would not relinquish the fistful of Enoch's vest. Not yet and not for some time. He needed an anchor to this reality.

To make himself perfectly clear, he would continue in German. English would fail him, damn the hours of practice.

His eyes fell to their shoes.

"I rode the current. You left me. What was I supposed to think? You short-sighted idiot."

Enoch: "I…" He started, but the words caught in his throat.

“I was afraid,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet. “Not of you. Of myself—of what it meant.” He let out a shaky breath, his hand moving to rest atop Rune’s.

“What I felt in that dream… it was real.” He shook his head, frustration tightening his jaw. “And I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to… confess anything, let alone let you see it. Because I thought if I stayed, I’d ruin it. Ruin us.”

Rune: His knuckles whitened in his grasp. Hand trembling with the effort. The fabric was stronger than his anxiety.

"You wanted me out of your system. I understand. A man like you, slumming it..."

But what he wanted to believe did not fit into Enoch's bizarre puzzle piece. Not with his confession in the hallway. He couldn't hit this with a hammer.

Enoch: It was easier for Enoch to address the ceiling, to pretend the weight of his confession didn’t press so heavily against his ribs. But Rune’s words, laced with self-doubt, snapped his attention back to him.

“What?”

The need to correct this assumption won as Enoch’s hand lifted hesitantly, settling against the mage’s jaw. “You’re the bloody idiot.”

His insides twisted, the urge to retreat stronger now but the gentle encouragement pressed upon him by the familiar gave him resolve. If life had taught him anything, it was that some truths were worth the risk.

“I’ve been in love with you for far too long to want you out of my system.”

Rune: This idiot man, running away only to tell him that he loved him. This idiot man, saying he wasn't ready, only to keep bombarding him with wave after wave of confessions.

What was he supposed to do? Like holding water in both hands, he could do nothing else but try. And hold he did. To his shirt. To his breath. To what good sense he had left between his ears.

His face felt too close to a healthy fire.

"Since... Since when?"

Enoch: Enoch braced himself for rejection, prepared to be pushed away despite the truths they’d shared in the dream. Instead, another question was posed.

Since when.

Could Rune feel him trembling under his grasp, like a leaf caught in a storm?

“Since you started to read to me last November." If he wanted a specific date, there it was.

"You made yourself a part of my life." His gaze faltered, dipping briefly. "I realized it only when you broke my heart earlier this year.”

Rune: "Two months?" They had known each other all of two months. How was that - that was impossible. When trading lessons for English? Reading Frankenstein by his window? He had loved him then? Before or after struggling through chapter one, he wondered. Just another piece of debris in the storm of his mind.

"How could I break your heart?" The most incredulous question yet.

Enoch: “Well…n-no.”

The words stumbled out, and Enoch felt heat rushing to his face, the mage’s stare only made it worse. Cornered and questioned, the professor was floundering, out of his depth in the conversation.

“It wasn’t a-all at once.”

What he meant to say was that it likely started then and since grown but having to bring up that lesson gave the professor pause. It had been etched into his memory like a wound that hadn’t fully healed. Bringing it up was like reopening a door he’d locked for his own sanity.

“Do you remember? That lesson your father would’ve been proud of?” The words came slowly, they felt reluctant.

“I wasn’t ok for many reasons. My struggles with my avatar, with magic—they’re still there. But that day? I lost my trust in you."

His resolve was eroding, and it was becoming a battle to not ask the mage to forget this conversation in its entirety.

"And that fucking broke me.”

Rune: Unable to face those words, his eyes closed. Truthful though it was, he relived that hour and the subsequent week leading to the knock on his door.

Was he supposed to give confession next? This had become an interrogation. Every step to the university had been utilized, preparing his farewell. And now this. He thought he had squeezed Enoch's shirt within an inch of its durability, but hardly any strength was behind it.

His face contorted, trying to convey emotions he had yet to grasp.

"Have you... any trust left?"

Enoch: With each inch his shirt was suffocated, the mage seemed to draw closer, collapsing the space between them as answers were demanded from the gentle professor.

Enoch’s hands hung uselessly at his sides, thoughts scattered with the threads of their conversation. He wasn’t sure where they stood—what ground remained between interrogation and confession, or how much more he could answer without turning it back to Rune.

But this question? This one was easier.

For the first time, he allowed himself to breathe. His shoulders eased, the tension ebbing slightly.

No one was perfect, but at the end of the day, Rune was good. He knew this to be true.

“I do,” he said softly.

“It’s why I came back that day… and why I’ve stayed ever since.”

Rune: This wasn't a dream. He strained his ear for lies and found nothing to criticize.

Am I yours...

This, and every moment...

No, further.

Ik hield van elke minuut van je...

Ik houd van je...

Enoch wanted him to forget this, didn't he? He felt it; not an itch, but a buzzing in the back of his mind. Was he so timid, or was he saying what he thought he wanted to hear?

His eyes squeezed shut.

But you didn't stay. You ran from me, twice. Had he pushed this upon him? No. He bid him farewell.

He was more confused than he had felt in years. Fatigued, irritated, and hopelessly, vexatiously in love. No. Infatuation. It was just an infatuation. A dream meant to remove him from thought, now this.

He wanted this.

His hand trembled with effort as he pushed forward, crushing his lips to his former apprentice. He would take him at his word. Trust, more than an empty promise.

Lord, will I survive?

"Don't call me mentor anymore," he whispered, words in English.

Enoch: The shock of the moment paralyzed him, a sudden stillness washing over the storm of emotions that had been wracking him just seconds ago. No, this couldn’t be another dream—Rune’s lips pressing to his own were too real, too vivid for his mind to fabricate. And yet, his mind struggled to process it.

The realization unfurled slowly, like a hesitant breath, before crashing over him with an intensity that made his chest ache. Enoch’s eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he stopped thinking. No calculations, no second-guessing, no walls between them. No Raine.

His hands, useless moments ago, found purpose as they slid up Rune’s arms—one settling against his chest, the other brushing the side of his neck. His stomach somersaulted at the familiarity of this position, questioning his sanity if this was real.

Enoch returned the kiss, softly at first, then with more conviction as he leaned into it, his heart racing as though it might burst. What did this mean for them? How would they move forward? What did Rune—

Stop thinking.

When Rune broke away, the words he whispered sent a shiver down Enoch’s spine. His breath hitched, his lips still tingling with the heat of the kiss.

“Rune…” The name spilled from him like a prayer, quiet and reverent.

Fine. English for now.

“What do I call you then?”

Rune: Those hands were impossibly warm. Had they always been, he wondered. Perhaps he hadn't realized; perhaps he hadn't wanted to dwell on those hands. But that was folly. He had dreamed of those hands, and every freckle mapping every constellation. He knew their strength, and fantasized about them upon his throat.

Hadn't Enoch taken such action of his own accord? Being a dream, much of the memory had blurred in the ticking hours.

"Friend, for starters." His tongue danced across his bottom lip, offering a chaste, almost cautious kiss.

"Lover, whispered in my ear."

Enoch: “And you will entertain this?”  Words whispered between the kiss like a shared secret.

“My inexperience... my naïveté in these matters.”

His hand slid to the back of Rune’s neck, fingers threading through the dark strands he so often teasingly toyed with. Now, the truth of those moments was painfully clear.

“I’m not…” like your other lovers.

I’m not worth your time.

And yet, here they were—Rune’s kiss serving as irrefutable proof, dismantling every carefully erected defense, every excuse. But his thoughts betrayed him. Were these his own insecurities or the quiet influence of his avatar? He couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“I’m not that person you dreamt of.”

Before he could lose himself entirely, his lips found Rune’s again, clumsy and desperate, a plea for acceptance that he didn’t know how to voice.

Have you fallen in love with the idea of me?

Rune: "Everyone was virgin once," he sighed, leaning back into Enoch's hand. "I've never cared."

He relished the thought of being Enoch's first. Was he allowed this enthusiasm? Could he rub his hands together with thoughts of their future? He wanted to cherish every first experience knowing Enoch was in safe hands. Never to repeat his mistake again.

Starting with the professor's doubt. His lips parted, ready to state defense in Enoch's honor when his lips were awkwardly stolen - much to his delight.

"You said... I'm yours," he managed to breathe between kiss after insatiable kiss. "You can't take it back."

Enoch: There was an excitement there, like a giddy teenager realizing the boy he liked, liked him back. It stirred something dormant in Enoch, feelings he had long suppressed when life had told him no too many times. He had learned to admire from afar, redirecting his focus to books and studies. Distractions were dangerous; they had always been the enemy of his work. But now—now it didn’t feel dangerous. It felt intoxicating. And never had it felt sweeter to feel those lips mesh with his.

He could afford a little distraction.

Then Rune’s words—I’m yours—landed like a declaration. The sheer audacity of it. When would this man stop stealing his breath?

“I don’t want to. You are mine as I am yours.”

The words felt foreign on his tongue. Never had he allowed someone to claim his heart, nor had he dared to hand it over freely. Yet here he was, his forehead pressed to Rune’s, catching his breath, realizing how this man had unraveled him so completely. And in that moment, a quiet promise settled within him—a vow to cherish this privilege, to love this man the best he could.

Rune: The concept of mutual ownership hadn't crossed his mind. I am yours, and that was enough. Did Enoch belong to him in kind? He wouldn't blame the man should he seek comfort elsewhere. That had always been the deal, man or woman. He was there for as long as they needed release, and then they were gone. It was uncomplicated.

This was already messy, but then again, it had always been so. The more he considered every confession, every flick and tug of his hair from Enoch's fingers. every lingering gaze, every excuse to stay a moment longer - yes. It was untidy.

With every hungry kiss, he felt his legs weaken. The press of Enoch's forehead caused a gentle sway, clinging with both hands to his lapel to remain upright.

His eyes fluttered open. That was more than lovesickness. He had felt this way for days, worsened now by romance.

"You need to... class," he managed, words through a breathy laugh.

Enoch: This was messy. Complicated. Everything he had been taught to avoid. At the university, a situation like this—especially if Rune had been involved in any official capacity—would have seen him promptly sacked. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case.

Yet even without those constraints, there were supposed to be boundaries. Professional ones. Personal ones. Mentor and mentee. And they had existed—once. But willfully, recklessly, they’d both ignored them.

Didn’t they deserve this, though? To have their feelings acknowledged? To indulge, even if only for a moment, in the kind of connection that felt so painfully raw?

Enoch’s lips curved in a faint, rueful smile as he exhaled, his forehead still resting against Rune’s. “Right. Class…”

The world hadn’t stopped for them. Students, lectures, responsibilities—they all marched on outside this stolen moment.

“Probably best if they didn’t find us snogging in the lecture hall.”

Rune: "I'd be a figment of their imagination." The pad of his finger brushed along the length of Enoch's bottom lip. Finally, he could have such a thing.

"I should..." A gesture to the door. He cleared his throat. "Keep the letter. It's only fair, given you've lost your apprenticeship." His smile was every bit mischievous. The weight that had agonized his chest had lessened an ounce, becoming lighter with the passing moments. Removal of titles was a removal of burden, but not responsibility. Lover, he realized, was just as great. Precious.

Enoch: Lips parted under the touch, the gentle brush of Rune’s finger sending a pulse through the professor, his breath catching in response. His face flushed—a mix of lingering heat from their earlier exchange and the sudden surge of emotions.

“Ah—” A faint protest escaped from him as those words sank in. Lost his apprenticeship? The circumstances were anything but ordinary. His hands slid reluctantly from Rune’s shoulders, smoothing over his vest before straightening the mage’s tie with deliberate care.

“I’d hardly fault the apprentice,” he murmured, lifting his chin in an attempt at decorum. “All fault lies squarely with the mentor, as it should.”

The flush deepened as he caught that mischievous smile, and his hands shifted to his own waistcoat, fussing with the crumpled fabric to occupy himself.

“Yes, well...” He cleared his throat, glancing away in an effort to hide the tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Best we part for now. I’ve a lecture to muddle through, and any further distraction might prove...to be distracting.”

Rune: This had to be some fevered dream, he thought again, watching Enoch's delicate hands upon his tie. It wasn't, he countered. Textures were too detailed to be part of the Dreaming. That part of the Umbra only cared for the extremes of sensation, or how to manipulate for the sake of manipulation.

"I stand holding aces, again." His smile deepened from the truth of it, creating the deepest creases around his mouth.

His lips lingered upon the back of Enoch's hand, enjoying cool skin in contrast to the fever still warming his cheeks.

"I'll see you when I see you. Saturday."

Enoch: The lingering warmth on his hand, the softness of Rune’s lips against his skin—it all felt surreal. How dare this man be so sweet, so disarmingly gentle, leaving him bereft of composure as his thoughts and words stumbled over each other.

Distraction might prove to be distracting.

He’d cringe at these words later in the privacy of his study relaying it to Olek.

Olek!

"See me when you see me, indeed," Enoch murmured under his breath letting Rune escape the room first before he’d follow.

Envelope in hand, he turned on his heel and headed toward the office. His thoughts raced: Had that truly happened? Had Rune actually… No, it didn’t matter. Dream or reality, Raine’s meddling or not, he’d entertain it—if only to keep himself sane for the rest of the day. He could question this more deeply in the privacy of his home.

Rune: Rune was certain this young Cultist would be his ruin. Evident in the rubber his legs had become. He braced himself against the wall, taking a breath before exiting the same double doors that had gained him entry.

Glancing back, the great shadow of the university saturating the courtyard in darkness, he decided then and there that he would bless his lover's lecture hall and office.

Lover. Would his cheeks ever lose their fever? He hadn't felt such warmth since Beatrix Jansen. Calf love indeed.

"Not the same," he muttered, all but limping back to his hovel.

Olek: Olek had become a sleeping ball not on the windowsill, but center of Enoch's leather chair. His purr audible from the other side of the office door.

Enoch: It took the good professor a moment before he could leave the hall, grappling with the fluttering in his stomach and the blush that refused to die down. He was blissfully distracted from observing that stuttered step or the lingering redness in the mage’s face as they parted ways.

Instead, his focus was fixed on the envelope clutched tightly in his hands. He stared at the writing scrawled across. What had begun as a farewell had twisted into... what, exactly? Rambling confessions and now...lovers? The mere thought sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to his face, and he rubbed at his cheeks, futilely attempting to cool the blush. Gods, he needed to compose himself.

Reaching his office at last, his hand hesitated on the brass doorknob, the sound of his own thoughts finally eclipsed by the unmistakable, contented purring coming from the other side of the door.  A very welcomed distraction.

The giant feline was gently collected and nuzzled into, Enoch cradling the familiar.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Olek: Pleasant dreams of cloudless days in a field. Sunbathing on his back, pink toes aimed at the sky surrounded by hundreds of wildflowers. A picturesque moment, once real. The sound of his mistress in her garden, humming a tune of her creation, clicking her tongue to stir her familiar from slumber.

It wasn't clicks that aroused his slumber, but the soothing voice of a man, answered with a questioning chirp, shaking off sleep from his ears.

Was he late? He didn't know. He had been asleep mere minutes. A paw reached out, tapping affectionately at Enoch's chin. Not to worry.

Enoch: Gentle fingers stroked over Olek’s fur, brushing lightly along his cheeks and scratching just behind one ear.

“Much has happened while you’ve been asleep.” His gaze shifted to the letter now resting on the desk.

“He came to the school…” The words trailed off, spoken more to himself than to Olek, his mind still spinning over what had transpired.

Olek: There was an inflection at the end of his chirp, sitting up to look Enoch over. First, he needed to stretch, arms long on either side of the professor's neck. A yawn later he jumped from his arms, landing on bare human feet, hair in his eyes.

"Enoch is all right?"

Enoch: Enoch blinked as the familiar shifted, the sudden change from soft fur to towering over him. His hand, still half-raised from the absent petting, now hovered near his chest as he gazed up at Olek.

“I…I’m not sure.” Honesty slipped out before he could mask it, but he didn’t regret the admission.

He exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly. “I think so,” he amended. One step at a time, one breath—he could manage that, couldn’t he?

“He stopped by to give me a letter for the Arcanum.”

Olek: Towering only for a moment, crouching beside the mage as he spoke. Mossy brown eyes turned from Enoch to the letter on the desk. Long fingers hovered over the thick parchment. No need to read the contents when he could feel its resonance.

"I see. Was this goodbye?"

Enoch: “It started that way.”

He leaned against the desk, his weight braced on his hands as his gaze dropped to the floor.

“I didn’t think I was ready to talk to him.” A bitter laugh escaped, soft and self-deprecating. “But he didn’t give me a choice.” His fingers curled against the desk’s edge.

“It felt final. Like it was the last time I’d ever see him.” He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. Then, with a small exhale, he added, “But I did as you said. I told him how I felt.”

Olek: "Was he angry? Rude?"

Enoch was so soft-spoken. A gentleman in all manners. So much he wanted to understand. The warmth of his skin, the grasp of his fingers, and the drifting look in his eyes could have translated to sadness, whimsy, or emptiness.

Rather than whelm with further questioning, Olek remained small, watching patiently. One oversized hand coming to rest on the desk; an open invitation, should Enoch desire comfort.

Enoch: Enoch gave a subtle shake of his head.

“No, he wasn’t angry. Confused, perhaps... maybe shocked.”

The scene replayed in his mind—being yanked into the lecture hall, the mage demanding answers he fumbled over, the fevered look shared between them as Rune clung to his vest.

“He kissed me.”

His face burned, a flush crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. Saying it made it real, and he could feel the ghost of those lips lingering against his own.

Olek: Olek leaned an inch closer, and then another inch. Was he meant to congratulate yet? Was he supposed to be offended on his behalf? He didn't know what he was supposed to feel, and wished, as so many times before, to connect with this man.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Are you... happy?"

Enoch: He gave a small nod.

“I think I am.”

He should be happy—he was happy. The lingering heat in his face, the unsteady flutter in his chest, the lightness in his head—it all pointed to joy, didn’t it?

“I didn’t know he felt the same way.”  Though his brow furrowed as if still parsing the reality of it. His gaze finally lifted to Olek, finding the familiar much closer than before.

Olek: "Not a teeny tiny little bit?" Beside the dream, of course, but it was a given to him. Perhaps -

"Was he aware? That you shared the dream?"

Enoch: Enoch's mouth opened, then shut as he sifted through the memories. The night before the dream. The night his journal was held ransom. The many times his glasses were stolen.

Oh.

Oh, gods.

How had he missed it?

“I didn’t think anything of it.”

The realization hit him, and he groaned, burying his face in his hands as if that might somehow shield him from his own embarrassment.

“Yes,” came his muffled reply.

“I think... I’ve been missing a lot.”

Olek: Olek's arms folded on the desk, resting his cheek as he watched Enoch sort himself out. His gradual smile gave way to a gentle laugh. There was love in the familiar's eyes. To know the man he so deeply cared for harbored one less burden was a blessing. Love couldn't be a burden; whatever happened going forward was the burden of culture and expectation. Enoch was better than fear, stronger than fear.

"Should Olek leave tonight? For the two of you..."

Enoch: Enoch peeked through his fingers, his blush deepening under Olek’s laughter.

“Ahhh, stop laughing,” he mumbled, reaching out in a half-hearted attempt to cover the familiar’s face.

At Olek’s suggestion, he froze for a moment, blinking in quiet surprise. After a beat, he shook his head, his expression softening.

“Three days. We’ve promised to each other that,” he said softly. The professor leaned forward, cupping Olek’s face gently in his hands.

“Let’s have lunch.”

Olek: Rather than retreat, Olek leaned in and nuzzled Enoch's inviting palm. His shoulders bounced now with silent laughter. Sweet mage. He could cup and cradle as he pleased. The familiar he held purred from his touch.

"As you wish."

Enoch: Fingers gently curled against Olek’s cheek, brushing back a few dark strands.

“Do you think I should do differently?”

Olek: "In what way?" he asked, head tilting into Enoch's right hand.

Enoch: "Well, what would you do?"

Olek: "With your man?"

Enoch: Full stop.

His stomach did that funny little flip again.

“What would you do if you were me?”

Olek: Such a simple answer. The familiar smiled. "I would live happily ever after."

Enoch: “You are not helping.”

Olek: "What do you want to hear?"

Enoch: “I’m not sure.”

Olek: His chin returned to his folded hands.

"You think... something should change?"

Enoch: "I'm looking for a friend, to tell me what to do."

Olek: Olek shook his head. "Mm-mm. Not with love. If you do what I would do, are you doing what you should do? Olek doesn't think so."

Enoch: “Then lunch it is.” His shoulders lowered as he glanced at the door. He had made a decision, be it wrong or right, time would tell.

Olek: Had he missed something, he wondered. The temptation to laugh at the absurdity tickled his chest, but he refused.

"Enoch." Gently does it. "Talk to Olek. What's wrong?"

Enoch: He had tried. It felt like he had tried but he wasn’t being heard. At least that’s what it felt like from his perspective and so tamping down the problem and sorting it out later was the next best thing. If only Olek would let him.

Deep breath in. And out.

“Usually I know what to do, but in this? I’m…utterly lost. And I don't know how to sit with that.”

Olek: Hmm. "You," yes, you, "said you aren't sure, what you want to hear. You want me to tell you what to do. I can't do that. No one should. What would I do, Olek, if I learned the one I love, loves me, too?" He took a breath, for Enoch's sake.

"Nothing. Nothing I wasn't already doing. Why would I change? He loves the me I am, so I am me. Just me. What do we want right now? Food in our bellies, and - and Enoch has another class?"

Enoch: Olek’s words landed like a gentle tide, washing over the professor’s restless thoughts. A lifeline. Enoch felt his shoulders ease, tension slipping from his brow as he nodded, clinging to the words offered. Would Olek notice those minute changes in his posture?

“Yes, I do.”

Olek: If I say it, I betray Master Ki.

Olek took another quiet breath, this time for himself. He leaned forward, bumping his forehead with his pseudo-master.

"When is Enoch's class?"

Enoch: Enoch’s hands cupped Olek’s face gently, his thumbs brushing against the familiar’s skin as their foreheads met. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the quiet weight of the moment settle.

“In half an hour.”

It didn’t leave much time to get something off campus and make it back in time. He exhaled through his nose.

“Tea, then. Or coffee. Something quick to tide us over until I’m free again.”

Olek: Us, said the sweet man. Olek looked around the room and back. A drink alone would not suffice the mage, and with so little breakfast to begin with!

"Tea. Where?" And after only a second of consideration, asked, "Does Enoch like bread?"

Enoch: “I’ve made you tea right here before! Well… just across the kitchenette, but close enough.”

He gestured towards the door.

“I’ve got everything we need for a proper cup.”

But at the mention of bread, he nodded. “I do. What do you have in mind?”

Olek: His smile instantly reached his eyes. "Olek has an idea." He followed into the next room, leaning against the tea and coffee station, watching the mage work his magic, so to speak. He hoped the weight that had been on his temporary master's shoulders had lifted, but he had an inkling something else would take its place. That was the way of this anxious creature.

But, in the meantime, there was tea, and soon bread. As soon as he could gather the tea leaves and some sugar, piled to a peak in his palm. From there, he began to knead. Rolling and rolling the substance between his hands, through his fingers, until the mass became a solid form, changing shape and color to resemble that of a scone, presented to Enoch with a sunshine smile.

Enoch: Enoch followed Olek like his shadow, moving to gather everything needed to brew a fresh cup of tea. Once the water was set to boil over the small stove, his attention shifted to the familiar, watching him curiously. He watched, quietly captivated by the shape of the scone as it formed in Olek’s hand. His brows raising as he accepted the offering gingerly.

“Absolutely brilliant,” he murmured, inspecting the pastry with care, turning it over. He wondered if it would taste like tea. A quick sniff brought a smile to his lips.

"How? Transmutation?"

Breaking the scone in half, he offered a piece back to Olek while taking a bite of his.

Olek: A tea scone, yes. Olek wasn't as imaginative as one might assume. The answer was right before his eyes, and he was curious for the taste. Just this once, he would accept a shared meal of his creation without fuss. He wanted Enoch satisfied, but also didn't want an argument.

"Mhm. Olek loves that word. Isn't it brilliant?"

Enoch: “Fascinating,” Enoch agreed, savoring another bite of the scone. It tasted as if it were from the bakery. A marvel indeed. The rest of the scone was polished off, savoring the last few morsels before taking over the kettle and adding the boiling water to their cups. He watched the steam curl up from their cups as he spoke.

“After my last class, we can get the materials to make the piano.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Hopefully Olek hadn’t forgotten about this.

Olek: His smile was instantly rekindled. "Mm! Yes. We must!" Time was short, and precious, and if playing piano helped Enoch think of him -

His chest tightened, his gaze dropping to his half-finished scone.

"Olek will miss you."

Enoch: “Then we will,” promised the professor as he gently stirred their tea, the soft clink of the spoon against porcelain filling the quiet. He added milk and sugar to each cup—unless protested, presenting one to the familiar.

His gaze softened as Olek’s words settled between them. The familiar didn’t outwardly seem upset, but he could sense it.

“As will I.” His fingertips gently grazed the back of Olek’s hand, trying to reassure him. Enoch attempted a lighthearted smile that didn’t entirely mask the shared sentiment he felt in his chest.

“But we’ll write to each other until you come back, yes?”

Olek: "Mm. Yes. I could write spells if Enoch wants? Enoch can show me what he's learned when I return!"

All that separated them was a single sentence, a single desire, as thin as wet translucent paper. It was enough to know Enoch shared his feelings.

"You are my first friend," he confessed into his teacup. "Everyone else has been called master."

Enoch: “And I’ll add them into my grimoire,” he smiled, having fallen in love with the concept of his journal turning into one after Olek’s initial observation.

Enoch held onto the teacup, absorbing its warmth as he observed the familiar. Listening to that confession made his heart break. How could this sweet, sunshine of a man not have any other friends?

“It is an honor I’ll carry with me always.”

He set his teacup down with care, doing the same for Olek’s before leaning forward. Arms slipped around the familiar’s neck, pulling him into a hug. The sting prickled at the bridge of his nose as he thought about what little time they had left together.

“You deserve so much more.”

Olek: He would meet no resistance. Only a gentle head tilt as their lunch was set aside. Always without question, Enoch would have his desires reciprocated. Two long arms warm around his waist squeezed without hesitation.

Just... there. Like a brush of fingers in his hair. He had learned mind magic because of Ki, and he was so grateful to have this tiny window into the mage's mind.

"Olek is happy with what he has. I'm happy. I am. I'm happy to know you."

Enoch: Fingers curled gently at the back of Olek’s neck, brushing the familiar warmth there. A year felt unbearably long, and the thought tugged at his chest like a weight, urging him to ask—to be selfish just once—and have Olek stay longer. But he wasn’t, and they were friends. And that…that would always be better than being Olek’s master.

Still, his heart ached. That last thread of composure strained, threatening to snap if he lingered much longer on these thoughts. He exhaled softly, resting his forehead briefly against Olek’s temple.

“We’ll have a proper dinner tonight,” he said quietly, drawing strength from the promise of time they still had. “We’ll build the piano together. And—" There was a pause in his words before he pushed himself to finish.

“And I’ll play for you. Promise.”

Olek: That thought, friendship, master and familiar, these suggestions of his conscious thought, this was Enoch, wasn't it? Another whisper encouraging the practice and mastery of mind magic. He craved more of the young mage's mind.

"We will," he nodded. "Olek will help cook. We'll have a beautiful piano. The best there ever was. Enoch - You'll make the best, prettiest music."

Why were his eyes glossy? He could feel warmth around his eyes.

"Olek is happy," he had to say, quick before Enoch could misunderstand.

Enoch: "You won't have an excuse now but to learn how to play."

Pulling back, his gaze settled on Olek and his chest tightened at the sight of damp eyes. Without hesitation, his hands lifted to gently brush the tears away.

"Don’t do that," he murmured, half-chiding, half-pleading. "I can’t be a mess before lecture." Olek was too sweet for his own good, and Enoch felt the weight of this moment more than he wanted to admit.

He inhaled deeply as the back of his hand brushed against his own cheek, catching the first hints of tears.

“I am too,” he admitted, “for everything that’s happened since meeting you.”

Olek: The familiar could only nod. No excuse. Perhaps while in Spain he might make another. A surprise for his dear friend should he learn any little children's song. With his memory, it was probably all he had capacity for, but he would not forget.

He hadn't intended to let his tears fall, but then Enoch touched him so sweetly. His chin quivered at such thoughtfulness. Rather than speak and cause the dam to break, the tiniest noise escaped his throat, nodding. He forced a smile for both their sakes. Why was it getting worse?! Not poor Enoch! Not before his class! He began cleaning the mage's face with the cuff of his sleeve.

"Mm-hmm." His attempt elicited a wet laugh.

Enoch: Oh. Oh no.

He’d only made it worse—for both of them. That tiny noise, so soft, so vulnerable, a whimper that cut through him like a knife, and that was it. The dam broke. Tears spilled over, unbidden and unstoppable.

“A-ah,” he half-laughed, the sound trembling as he tilted his face upward, desperate to will the tears away. But the effort was futile. They traced hot paths down his cheeks, slipping sideways even as he tried to blink them back.

His heart squeezed when Olek’s sleeve brushed gently against his cheek, dabbing away the tears with a tenderness that unraveled him further. His chest ached, the barricade he’d worked so hard to maintain splintering under the weight of too many emotions in one day. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking, so Olek’s hand was gently taken his and led back into his office. The door closed behind them, away from prying eyes.

Olek: Olek could have told him his efforts would have been in vain. It was in those desperate moments when tears became merciless, offended by the audacity to hide them.

Enoch's tears were beautiful. They were beautiful because they were honest. To love meant to cry.

He would follow without word, waiting for the delicate click of the latch to strike. Long arms captured the mage, pulling him to his chest. His sanctuary. Both hands in his hair, he held strong and breathed deeply, releasing only for a moment to cast a spell. One Enoch had seen before.

"No one will hear you."

Enoch: The door clicked shut, sealing them away from the world outside. Before Enoch could fully gather his thoughts, he was pulled into Olek’s embrace, his cheek pressed to the familiar’s solid chest. Their tea forgotten, left in the kitchen as time moved relentlessly forward, indifferent to this moment.

A soft sigh escaped Enoch as he lifted a hand, wiping at the tears that still clung to his face. A sniff punctuated the motion, his breath uneven but steadying as he fought to regain his composure.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice hushed but sincere. For the sanctuary. For the silence. For being there when he couldn’t stand alone.

Olek: As Enoch set to clean his face, Olek combed his fingers through the mage's hair. Just a little messy, but it was an unnecessary excuse to offer even more affection.

"Olek doesn't want gratitude. Olek wants Enoch to feel what he feels and feel better. Olek will, too."

Truly a trying day for someone so young. What he needed was some tea and warmth and rest.

"When is Enoch's lecture?"

Enoch: The young mage drew a slow, deliberate breath, exhaling it as the emotions passed and he was able to collect himself. The fingers in his hair, the extra affection was soothing in calming frayed nerves.

Another breath, deep and measured, and he focused on the time. He would never get used to that.

“Fifteen minutes.”

He should start making his way to the lecture hall. This was the last task on today’s agenda; after this, he could finally go home. The experiments could wait until tomorrow.

“Would you like to come?”

Olek: "You would like Olek again? Same place?" He enjoyed Enoch's lectures. He knew he would simply for it being Enoch, but the professor had chosen a suitable profession. He smiled at his thought. For one so shy, Enoch shined in lecture halls.

"Olek will come. Thank you."

Enoch: “Of course,” Enoch replied softly. “I enjoy your company.” His hand lifted, brushing against Olek’s cheek with affection.

“There’s no need to thank me,” he added, letting his hand drop away. "But we should get going."

Enoch would lead them out of the office and back to the lecture hall after he had collected his materials for the lesson.

Olek: Olek was determined to finish the tea Enoch had prepared them. Gone in just a few grateful gulps, hand under his chin for good measure. The warmth if offered his stomach was a relief and a distraction from the warmth of his eyes and cheeks.

They would do everything they promised and more. The more, that promise of unknown excited him, but present tense trumped any mystery.

No more tears, at least not for another year.

The same as this morning. Sitting in the same seat, hands neatly folded. No one else in the room mattered. No one else existed. More eyes upon him, more eyes ignored. There was a determination in his gaze, this time. Enoch didn't need the same encouragement, only his undivided attention.

Enoch: Enoch’s tea would join the same fate, encouraged by the familiar. Paired with half a scone, it was enough sustenance to see him through his final lecture of the day.

This session, though still rooted in biochemistry, was a more introductory version of the morning’s material. Unlike earlier, the young professor found himself more at ease, his nerves no longer distracting him. Perhaps Olek would notice the subtle boost in confidence as Enoch guided the class through the lecture.

During the quieter moments, as students worked on their assignments, Enoch couldn’t help but observe a few wandering gazes directed toward Olek. Approaching the taller figure, his expression softened.

 “Are you doing okay?” he asked gently, his voice low as his gaze flicked briefly over the room to check for raised hands. So far, none required his attention.

Olek: Olek's smile would have been answer enough, but the little noise from his throat was the quietest of his attempts. A small leather book and charcoal pencil was produced from the depths of his coat.

"Am I bothering you?" he whispered, carefully choosing his words in the presence of others.

Enoch: "No, not at all," Enoch said with a small shake of his head. "I just know how... dry this material can be."

He glanced down, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tried to hide it from his students. Adjusting his glasses, his gaze flicked up, catching a raised hand toward the back of the room. With a light tap of two fingers on Olek's desk, Enoch straightened and moved toward the student.

Olek: "Hush." His smile became a grin. He was dangerously close to a laugh, saved by a raised hand. The familiar ducked his head. Soon, his little notebook would be decorated with poetry and a rough sketch. A drawing of Enoch's back facing his watchful students, his hand raised to the chalkboard, and a book in hand.

Pastel edict of a diaphanous heart. Gossamer tears. Waterproof genteel crushed pearl. Soft, soft, glittering, brittle exuberance. Quick, quick, plunge.

Olek swirled and weaved the fine tip of his pencil in between the words, bringing the tail back to the start.

Enoch: The remainder of the lecture was a steady rhythm of Enoch addressing questions, solving problems on the board, and engaging the class with pointed questions. Time slipped by faster than anticipated, the hour coming to an abrupt end, signaled by the rustle of papers and the shuffling of backpacks being packed away.

"Don't forget your homework—it's due at the beginning of next class!" he called out, his voice carrying over the growing hum of students filing out of the lecture hall.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the emptying doorway, his thoughts drifting to where he’d stood pressed against the wall earlier, caught in a fleeting moment of reflection.

The spell was broken by his name, pulling him back. "Professor Neumann? Professor?"

The interruption was brief—a last question posed before the final student departed, leaving the lecture hall quiet save for the familiar and Enoch. The professor began gathering his things.

Olek: Olek stuffed the little book and pencil in his coat, meandered to the professor's desk to help where he could.

"This class was better," he decided, hugging one of Enoch's books to his chest. "Good listeners. Good questions."

Had he his feline ears, they would have perked. "Is Enoch ready for home? And a piano? And music?" And then, that sweet smile deepened, chin ducking. "Is Enoch ready for..."

Enoch: “Yeah?” Enoch glanced up from fastening his bag.

“They’re a good group. It’s different from my earlier class—less reserved, less worried about sounding unsure.” It was refreshing really and he enjoyed his afternoon class a little more because of it.

“Ah, yes. What do we need to gather?” Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he straightened, his gaze shifting to Olek. He had a feeling what was to follow was something mischievous that might make him nudge at the familiar.

“Ready for…what?”

Olek: The familiar was quick to shake his head, hiding half of his face behind the textbook.

"Mm-mm." His shoulders quivered. It was out of turn! It was lewd! Or was it? It would certainly make the sweet mage blush.

Enoch: Enoch’s smile widened as he caught the familiar’s retreat.

“Oh, come now,” Enoch teased, stepping closer and lightly nudging the edge of the textbook.

“You can’t start something like that and leave me wondering. Go on, say it. I promise I’ll survive.” Though, judging by that look, he might regret it.

Olek: Olek peeked from behind the book, laughter teetering on the edge of every word as he asked, "Is Enoch ready for romance?"

Enoch: The professor fixed Olek with a look, dark brows lifting as his lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile threatening to break through.

“What do you mean romance?” he asked, his tone somewhere between feigned incredulity and amusement. Though he had a feeling there was more that Olek wasn’t saying as he led them to the door.

Olek: "Romance!" His yell was no better than a whisper, following a half-step behind.

"Kisses, cuddles, playing with his hand. Letting him play with your hand! Crying together, laughing together."

Enoch: There was no hiding the flush that spread across Enoch’s cheeks, warmth beneath his freckles. His lips parted, as if to counter, but all that came out was a soft laugh—part embarrassment, part disbelief. His hand reached out, a gentle push against the familiar’s shoulder, though there was no force behind it.

“I—I don’t know about all that.”

Olek: A little noncommittal noise followed the push. He would not say anthing in the company of others. The halls were filled at this hour; how fortunate they hadn't been sooner.

But once on the street, the familiar breathed deeply.

"What is romance to Enoch?"

Enoch: Enoch adjusted his glasses, his hand hesitating before it could betray him by rubbing at the warmth still lingering on his face. He shifted his satchel as they walked, eyes fixed somewhere ahead but unfocused.

“What you mentioned earlier, I suppose,” he began, his voice thoughtful, measured. “Poets write about it, books dissect it, countless stories weave it into their cores…” He trailed off, exhaling softly.

“And yet,” he admitted after a beat, “it has always felt distant to me. Quiet, like something you watch through a window but never step outside to touch.” His gaze flickered downward for a moment before returning to the path ahead.

“I must confess, I’m hopelessly lost in these matters.”

Olek: Olek allowed a breath between Enoch's thoughtfulness and his own, widening the gap between people so as not to arouse suspicion. As silly as he believed such prejudice to be, he was no fool.

What's more, they were in public; he had to cater to English syntax.

"I don't think humans are supposed to prepare their entire lives for romance. I think humans are meant to be good people, good to their soul, and when it happens, being the best them they can be. Romance is honest. It's... honesty."

His smile reached his eyes.

"Enoch has a beautiful soul," he whispered.

Enoch: “You, my friend, have a very biased opinion about me,” Enoch teased softly, his steps slowing as he spoke. Their conversation was quiet, blending into the rhythm of the street, with most passersby offering only brief glances toward the tall familiar before moving on.

“Well, yes,” he continued, tilting his head thoughtfully, “but there are gestures—flowers, music, other things…” He paused, his brow knitting as he tried to think of more examples, but none came to mind.

“Spending time together,” he finally said, his voice carrying a note of certainty. “If I’m pressed to give an answer, I’d say it’s about inviting someone into your world, letting them see the parts of you no one else does. Sharing that… feels innately intimate, doesn’t it?”

Olek: He had nothing to say in regards to bias. He liked to believe himself an excellent judge of character. Familiar pride.

"Gestures are pretty," he agreed. "Because you want to, not because you think you must. It must always come from the heart."

Enoch: “Of course,” the scholar agreed, his hand slipping into his pocket. His mind was already turning over ideas for a gesture, something thoughtful for the next time he saw the mage. Would it be well-received? There was only one way to find out.

“So, about our project,” he said, the shift in topic slightly abrupt. “You’ve yet to tell me what materials we’ll need for the piano. And dinner! Right—what’s the plan for that?”

Olek: "Olek did! Olek swears!" Fingers brushed over his lips, smiling as he glanced at the two women in gray and blue walking in the opposite direction. Only one gaze lingered. Eye contact, and then they were gone. He really needed to be more careful.

"Dirt, wood, anything that Enoch can afford. Nothing fancy. Trash is fine!"

Enoch: “Oh, well, if that’s the case...” Enoch murmured, his brows knitting together as he rummaged through his satchel. He missed the lingering gaze cast in Olek’s direction, too focused to fish out his journal and a pencil, flipping to a blank page.

“Right, so the bits we’d need are...” He began jotting down a list: wood, leather, felt, steel wire, iron frame, ivory. His pencil hovered for a moment as he reread the items, wondering if he had missing anything.

Satisfied, he turned the page towards Olek.

“I assume we’ll need the right proportions to make this work?”

Olek: Olek looked over the list while they walked, nodding, tilting his head this way and that. Typical curious cat.

"Mm, a console weighs... mm, no. Just the material. Olek just needs stuff. Just, stuff! Heavier stuff is better. Olek will work for a week with water! But rocks, wood, metal, Olek can finish in hours."

Enoch: Enoch tilted his head thoughtfully, mentally sorting through the possibilities of where they might procure the materials. Free would be ideal, though he accepted some items might require purchase.

“The craft workshop on campus likely has most of these. Perhaps we start there and see what we can gather. As for ivory...” His voice trailed off, brow furrowing. That would be far harder to come by. Wooden keys would suffice, he decided.

“I’d have assumed precise proportions were necessary for transmutations, but I gather you’re integrating Tass to stabilize the material?” It was his best hypothesis, drawn from their impromptu lessons and the workings he’d seen thus far.

Olek: The familiar stared ahead, ready to give an impromptu lesson before Enoch pieced together his understanding independently.

"Mm. Olek can do the rest. Turning lead into gold into platinum piano keys."

His mouth whispered of a smile.

"Does Enoch want a gold piano? Silver fall board? Wool and silk cushion for your onyx chair?"

Enoch: Enoch glanced up at Olek, the familiar’s enthusiasm proving dangerously infectious. A soft smile curled his lips as he gently shook his head.

“Gold, silver and silk? Olek, you are spoiling a poor science teacher,” he gently teased.

He paused to consider before continuing, “I’d prefer something traditional if possible. There’s a certain resonance that only wood offers, a sound that shifts subtly with the seasons. I’d like to preserve that, if we can.”

He gently touched Olek’s elbow to direct them to cross the street, back towards the university. It wouldn’t be far until they got to the workshop.

“Wood expands and contracts with the weather,” he explained as they walked.

“That affects the piano’s sound—its tone and harmony. It’s why the keys should all come from the same slab of wood. If they don’t, the uneven shifts would throw off the balance, and the sound wouldn’t be as cohesive.”

He glanced at Olek, wondering if he’d gone too far into his explanation. As they neared the workshop, Enoch could only hope the professor who ran it was still around to let them rummage for materials.

“I won’t say no to the chair though…”

Olek: "Not spoiling! Enoch won't turn to mold!" His smile softened. Enoch wanting something practical came as no surprise. Less about being a burden, he hoped, and more about personal tastes. Parting would be bittersweet, and he would worry for him in the coming months. He hoped the exchanging of letters wouldn't become a passing fancy.

"Olivia's is made of cedar. The soundboard is cedar. The framing is mahogany, I think, or rosewood. The sound is so crisp. The keys are different colors. We did that. Her papa and I. To help her practice."

Olek nodded, seemingly ripe with decision.

"Cedar," he declared. "Cedar and rosewood for Enoch. Olek will remake Olivia's console. I've slept on it so many times. I know it by heart."

Enoch: “Cedar and rosewood, that sounds like a perfect combination.” It would make for a handsome console; one he would cherish for years.

The university woodshop was tucked into the corner of a sprawling workshop building, its red-bricked exterior softened by creeping ivy that thrived in the damp London air. A tall chimney rose from its roof, hinting at a furnace within. The wide, arched windows were partially fogged with condensation, streaked with sawdust that clung to the panes from years of use. Through the glass, faint shapes of workbenches and tools could be glimpsed, shadowed by the flicker of gaslight sconces inside.

“Here we are.”

The air grew heavier as they approached, rich with the mingling scents of cut pine, varnish, and machine oil. A sturdy double door stood slightly ajar, one half propped open as if to invite them in.

The blond professor rapped firmly on the door, the knock echoing faintly within. Peeking his head through the ajar door, he called out, “Hello?”

 Inside, golden sawdust coated nearly every surface, while planks of dark mahogany, pale birch, and chestnut wood leaned in neatly organized rows along the walls. A pot-bellied stove sat in the corner, radiating a cozy warmth that battled the chill seeping in through the workshop’s stone floor. A few partially completed projects rested nearby—a chair frame missing its seat, a carved panel of intricate floral designs, and a violin stripped of its strings.

From deeper within, a gruff Irish voice carried over the rhythmic hum of machinery.

“Yes? Come in, boy.”

Olek: The scents were surrounding and warm. Unlike anything he had experienced before, short of his master's experimentation with scents and combinations. He would commit this bouquet to memory for Ignacio to sample later.

Olek didn't question why Enoch wanted to come here. He was far too clean to step foot in a landfill. One person's trash was an Etherite's pile of gold.

Getting the required weight hauled to the mage's flat would be a feat, he realized, looking about the sawdust-covered room. He said nothing while Enoch greeted the stranger. The man was of an impressive size. Half as wide as he was tall, he reminded him of someone from a child's fairytale.

But soon he was back to his calculations. Some 200 pounds each - no. Yes. Maybe. Could Enoch carry so much? Just a little spell. A teeny tiny spell would aid their endeavor.

His attention drifted back to the pair, offering only a polite smile.

Enoch: The thought had been to pop in, grab what they needed and move on. Little did he know that Olek was calculating the proper masses of everything for their venture!

Stepping forward with a bright smile, Enoch extended his hand. “Good evening. Professor Neumann, Biochemistry,” he introduced himself crisply, the contrast between his tailored demeanor and the rugged workshop almost humorous. The instructor—built like the very oak beams framing the shop—glanced at Enoch’s outstretched hand before holding up his own gloved ones in silent explanation.

“What brings you over here, professor?”

“Well,” Enoch began, slipping his hand back into his pocket, “my colleague and I were hoping to gather a few scraps you might have no need for. Nothing valuable, of course—just odds and ends for a project.”

The instructor’s thick brow arched, his sharp gaze flickering to the towering, quiet Olek before settling back on Enoch.

Enoch cleared his throat, pulling out the list he’d hastily scrawled earlier. “We’re, ah… building a frame for a teaching display.” He paused, adjusting his glasses. “Something to help visualize the kinetics of enzymatic reactions—simple materials, truly.” The explanation was vague enough to be plausible, yet specific enough to sound legitimate.

The man squinted at the list, nodding slowly before gesturing toward the back of the shop. “Help yourselves. Just keep clear of the mahogany. That’s spoken for.”

“Thank you, Professor…”

“Fearghus McNalty,” the man replied, already turning back to the project he’d been working on before their interruption.

With a gesture toward the piles of scraps.

“Take what you need.”

Enoch: The thought had been to pop in, grab what they needed and move on. Little did he know that Olek was calculating the proper masses of everything for their venture!

Stepping forward with a bright smile, Enoch extended his hand. “Good evening. Professor Neumann, Biochemistry,” he introduced himself crisply, the contrast between his tailored demeanor and the rugged workshop almost humorous. The instructor—built like the very oak beams framing the shop—glanced at Enoch’s outstretched hand before holding up his own gloved ones in silent explanation.

“What brings you over here, professor?”

“Well,” Enoch began, slipping his hand back into his pocket, “my colleague and I were hoping to gather a few scraps you might have no need for. Nothing valuable, of course—just odds and ends for a project.”

The instructor’s thick brow arched, his sharp gaze flickering to the towering, quiet Olek before settling back on Enoch.

Enoch cleared his throat, pulling out the list he’d hastily scrawled earlier. “We’re, ah… building a frame for a teaching display.” He paused, adjusting his glasses. “Something to help visualize the kinetics of enzymatic reactions—simple materials, truly.” The explanation was vague enough to be plausible, yet specific enough to sound legitimate.

The man squinted at the list, nodding slowly before gesturing toward the back of the shop. “Help yourselves. Just keep clear of the mahogany. That’s spoken for.”

“Thank you, Professor…”

“Fearghus McNalty,” the man replied, already turning back to the project he’d been working on before their interruption.

With a gesture toward the piles of scraps he added, “Take what you need.”

Olek: Silence, he felt, was the best course of action. Quiet but pleasant. He put his hands behind his back and his shoulders low, making himself small in his own way. Still, he smiled in greeting, bowing his head when their eyes met.

Perhaps a bit of luck had rubbed off on Enoch. Perhaps good fortune smiled upon him from sunrise to sunset. If anyone deserved such respite, it was his beloved Cultist.

"I'll carry most," Olek whispered, hunched down just shy of Enoch's ear. "The heavier the better." Heavy, rather than long. The last thing they needed was for one of them to clock an innocent pedestrian with a wide load.

But, the familiar couldn't resist a quick detour. Just a moment to run his bare fingertips across the mahogany. Yes. Olivia's piano was made of rosewood. He was certain, now. The grain wasn't the same.

"Mm, sorry. You can fill my arms, now."

Enoch: Enoch approached the heap of scraps, a chaotic mess that seemed to defy the notion of organization. He studied the components with quiet determination, nodding faintly at Olek’s whisper.

“Alright.”

Methodically, he began sorting through the materials, picking out items from his list. Leather, felt, metal wire. So far, so good. But despite his best efforts to remain pristine, the environment conspired against him. A thin layer of sawdust clung to his coat, and his fingers brushed against smudges of oil as he found a piece of iron. Heavy, yes, but precisely what Olek had requested.

Enoch carried the first armful to his companion, depositing it into the familiar's waiting grasp. With his arms now free, he returned to the woodpile, shifting and sifting through the planks in search of usable pieces.

A careless nudge sent a few boards tumbling, the sharp clatter reverberating through the space. Enoch winced, his shoulders rising instinctively as though bracing for a reprimand.

"Sorry!"

Bending to collect the fallen wood, his eyes caught the distinct grain of rosewood hidden among the scraps. A quiet surge of triumph fluttered in his chest. Surely, this was a stroke of luck—not his own, perhaps, but borrowed from the Euthanatos. Enoch shook the thought away. Surely it didn’t work like that.

"Will this do?" he asked, stepping back toward Olek with an armful of planks.

Most were the perfect length; a few shorter pieces nestled on top. One particularly long board rested precariously against his shoulder, but he was sure they could maneuver if they were careful.

Olek: Enoch understood he didn't need every little material to match their requirements. That was what he was for. Perhaps it was out of kindness. A string of logic believing the closer the material to their desire, the less transformative magic required.

Olek would have been satisfied with seven heavy wood planks balanced in his arms.

"I should have made us a bag," Olek whispered, on the verge of giggling.

The noise was sudden and sharp, but the cat remained still, glancing in the direction of their carpenter Santa Claus.

"You're safe." It was a natural slip. Instinctual comfort.

"Plenty to start," he nodded. "If Olek needs more, Olek will make it. Ready?"

Enoch: Brilliant as he could be, Enoch had a gift of listening without actually listening. Yes, he understood that not everything is needed, but as much as Olek had surmised, he wanted to get things as close as possible in the proper amounts to ease the weight of what the familiar was about to do.

"Ah? Why is that?" But quickly he realized as soon as the words left his mouth and he looked down, suppressing a grin, "Right."

Mishap aside and their haul secured, Enoch nodded, adjusting his glasses as they prepared to leave. He called over his shoulder to the teacher, “Thank you again!”

The blonde adjusted his grip on the materials and tilted his head toward his familiar. "Ready," he confirmed, falling into step beside Olek as they headed toward his flat.

Olek: The trip home felt neither shorter nor longer. Nothing was out of the usual, including the stares in the familiar's regard. Not only did his height turn the usual heads, but so too did his adornments, his smile, his idiosyncratic allure, and now, the handful of odds and ends he labored.

In truth, Olek was aware he could have carried every last splinter and wire, but he had thought better of Enoch's pride. His friend leaned on his usefulness in all manners, including the unimportant burden of lumber. The mage was nothing if not sweet.

But Olek was quick to sit aside his pile when the door closed, offering his hands as soon as they were light.

"Enoch must be starving."

Enoch: Enoch followed carefully behind Olek, being mindful of his steps and turns until they arrived back at his flat. When they arrived, the professor leaned the lumber against the wall and carefully eased the door open. He was grateful to put down his belongings and dust his hands free of the lumber.

"Hm?"

Olek’s words took a moment to settle. Food. He blinked, realizing just how little he’d eaten in the flurry of their day—tea and half a scone, and that was hours ago.

As if on cue, his stomach voiced its displeasure with a low growl. He chuckled, slightly sheepish, placing a hand over his middle as though it might stifle the sound.

“I suppose you’re right. Do you have something in mind?”

Olek: Olek did a small spin, exploring the little room claiming to be a kitchen. It was hardly anything to work with, but he had just the meal in mind. Something warm and comforting. There was just one pot in the oven and that was all he needed. A few items from the shop around the corner should do.

"Olek will go get some things. Won't be gone long. Promise. Enoch stay here? Rest. Please."

Enoch: In the quiet comfort of his home, Enoch could finally relax. With the materials stacked neatly for later this evening, Enoch felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

The offer to help had been on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it, nodding instead. He could grant Olek that much.

Left to his own devices, Enoch wandered toward his modest library. His fingers skimmed the spines of familiar volumes, pausing here and there to pull one free. Soon, a small stack formed in his arms—his favorite works.

It was enough to occupy him, until Olek returned.

Olek: He could only work with what was available. The store was modest but stocked. The essentials for okayu were gathered in his arm. Rice, thank goodness, chicken bullion, ginger, honey, and salt to be sure. Though his instinct was to gather cabbage, he considered what an Englishman would prefer. With some hesitation, bacon was also gathered for purchase.

Twenty minutes, and he was heading back to the dorm.

"I'm home!" Olek called. "Enoch?"

Enoch: The flat had been quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint creak of the floorboards. Enoch had retreated to his room, books splayed out on his bed. His coat, tie, and vest were discarded neatly on a chair, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled up—comfort taking precedence over formality.

His fingers lingered on the edges of Sonnets of the Portugues, their words stirring something bittersweet in him.  Beside him, The Time Machine was already set aside. The remaining books—Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—awaited his verdict when the sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts.

Enoch glanced up, a faint smile softening his features. Home he said. This sweet familiar. It only made the ache of Olek leaving in a few days hurt all the worse.

“Back here,” Enoch called, setting the book in his lap.

“Do you need help?”

Olek: Both smiled for different yet similar reasons. To hear his voice across the little dorm, for Enoch to be so comfortable with his presence to not rush to greet him. That was trust, and it warmed his chest to know they had come so far.

"Only eating it, when it's finished!"

Olek quickly set to work washing the rice. Once the water ran clear, what some (his master) would consider as far too much stock was added to the pot and set to simmer. Sounds of light chopping and gentle humming filled their private space. Soon the aroma of cooked rice and chicken stock joined the ambiance.

With the heat turned low, Olek tiptoed to the pile of odds and ends to begin transformations, starting with the legs and keys.

Enoch: Three months. That’s how long Enoch had known Olek, though it felt like much longer. Who would have thought that his natural fondness for animals and an innocent whisper of kidnapping the feline would one day lead to a friendship as dear as this?

“Let me know if that changes!” He called back.

From his room, Enoch had a clear view down the small hall, catching a glimpse of Olek’s frame moving towards the kitchen. There was something deeply comforting about sharing his space like this. It reminded him of his time in the all-boys dorm during his youth, a nostalgic warmth settling in his chest.

Enoch leaned over the side of his bed, fishing out a pen and hunched forward over the open book of sonnets in his lap. The tip of the pen touched the first page, and he got to work, the quiet only broken by the soft sounds of water and knives from the kitchen.

Then the aroma hit him. Warm, savory, and inviting, it curled through the air and pulled him from his thoughts.

“It smells amazing!” he called, though his resolve to stay put was short-lived.

Moments later, he was up, abandoning a small nest of books, his sketch pad, and a pile of brown paper and twine. Barefoot, Enoch padded softly into the hall, drawn first to the simmering pot on the stove and then to Olek, who was busily at work.

Leaning against the wall, Enoch’s smile was gentle, his expression tinged with quiet fondness as he observed the familiar. If he could bottle this moment, seal it away as something to revisit in the years to come, he would. It was a memory worth keeping—one to cherish and replay when life felt a little lonelier.

It’s only until next year, Neumann.

Olek: Smiling, he realized, couldn't be heard across the flat, but hearing the passive praise warmed him from the inside out. That was exactly what he wanted. To know Enoch was comforted, comfortable, and could experience the action of love through something as simple as cooking. He had no claim to expertise. This was his one and only skill with an open flame and raw ingredients. It was not a scone made of random material and Quintessence, but it had been his first mistress' favorite meal, so it had been his duty to learn.

Perhaps an Englishman such as Enoch would enjoy a humble meal. He would find only a bowl of minced ginger and honey remained untouched on the counter.

The familiar smiled up at his approach, oblivious of his thoughts, though he would have agreed. Moments like this were life itself.

"Is Olek being loud?"

Enoch: Enoch’s approach was quiet as he would come to join Olek as he worked on the piano. He crouched carefully beside the familiar, his gaze sweeping over the scattered materials. It was a marvel to see his magic at work.

“Oh? No, no, of course not,” Enoch replied with a small, amused smile. “You’re perfect.”

Settling beside Olek, the professor tucked his legs beneath him, making himself comfortable on the floor.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company,” he added, his voice quieter now, as if not to disturb him further.

Olek: Hmm. His eyes squinted playfully, his smile as honest as everything else ever and always.

"Can Enoch sing?" he asked, matching the mage's tone as he set to work on the bottom and upper panel. "I think Enoch would be pretty."

Enoch: "No, you've heard it already before!"  Enoch was shy about singing, not so much as playing, but Olek had looked at him so sweetly in the practice room, and he had asked so nicely that day.

"I'm absolute rubbish, why would you ask for that torture?" He chuckled.

Olek: "Enoch plays piano," he grinned. "Olek wants more singing! Singing brings a house to life. Makes plants grow bigger, better. Makes animals happy."

Enoch: "Will it make you happy?"

Olek: He wanted to say yes, because it absolutely would, but he considered Enoch's bashful demeanor.

"You make me happy."

Enoch: The response caught him off guard, warming his features as his gaze flicked downward.

"Will humming suffice?"

That was a fair middle ground, was it not?

Olek: Olek leaned forward and bumped his forehead against Enoch's shoulder. Cat behavior, even now.

"What shall we sing?"

Enoch: Olek had his attention, that little bump rewarded with a gentle pet as his fingers brushed back his dark hair.

"I don't know many songs with lyrics, but my grandfather sometimes would hum in his study."

Olek: "What would he hum?" He asked. The structure was slowly coming together. At least the foundation of it was upright. It was the minute details he knew would take up the bulk of his time.

Enoch: Enoch tilted his head, considering the question as the familiar worked. His fingers lightly tapped his knee, searching his memory.

“I think... it’s German,” he murmured, the words trailing off as remembered the melody.

Softly, almost hesitantly at first, he started to hum Die Gedanken sind frei. The tune was old, older than him and it had been something Doc had probably picked up while in the military.

He watched the piano as it took form, the hum threading through the space between them so gently.

Olek: He would do nothing to interrupt Enoch in his vulnerable moment, instead concentrating on the remaining wide and long pieces, including the lid and key bed. The hundreds of little pieces, hammer rail, keys, pedals and bridge, would wait. He turned at last, watching the young mage with a gentle smile.

Only after the song came to an end did he ask, "Did he teach you German?"

Enoch: Humming for the sake of humming—it wasn’t easy. Without his hands occupied, it left him feeling too exposed, his focus darting between the floor, the half-formed piano, and picking at his cuticles. Anything to distract from the fact that he was doing it at all. But eventually, the tune came to an end.

Enoch adjusted his position on the ground, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

“My tutors,” he said, a faint shrug following.

“Languages were... expected. Though I imagine Doc approved of that particular one.”

Olek: Olek nodded thoughtfully, glancing back when catching movement in his peripheral. There he went again, making himself appear small. He was dangerously close to abandoning the piano to hug him. To nuzzle into him in cat form, offering every ounce of his affection. An urge which he bedded only be turning back to his task.

Just a little bit more. They had time.

"Does Enoch like learning languages? Is there one... one you want to learn?"

Enoch: Here was another glimpse into Enoch's life that Olek got to witness—lingering habits etched into the young professor, born from past struggles and now woven into the fabric of who he was. His instinct came naturally to shrink away from discomfort.

"I-I’m… trying to learn Latin,” he admitted, his fingers absently tracing the fabric of his trousers. Not to speak it, of course, but there was much value to studying the dead language.

“I would’ve rather learned art,” his attention on the piano instead of the familiar as it was built.

“But my grandfather—he thought my talents were better suited elsewhere. Said it was a waste of time, a frivolous distraction.”

The memory stirred something bittersweet, and he let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“So, I’d sit outside the art classroom at my school whenever I could. Try to follow along from the hallway, sketching on scraps of paper and hoping no one would notice. But too many times I was caught and dragged by the ear for missing study hall.”

Olek: He couldn't stand it any longer. Olek turned on his knees and pulled himself closer, offering his presence in whatever measure Enoch saw fit. Nearness, a touch, a hug, his forehead pressed to his shoulder. If need be, another kiss of reassurance.

"We'll write letters. Every day, if you want. You can show me your art. I'll draw trees, and water, and leaves. You want to see Spain? I'll show you. You can give me anything you want."

Enoch: It took a moment for Enoch to shake free of the memories, their edges still sharp but softened by Olek's closeness. The silence stretched, but eventually, he spoke.

"You get parts of me no one else sees."

Music, singing, these moments—they were theirs. He could feel the sweet familiar yearning to comfort him, to close the distance in every way possible. And Enoch let himself lean into it, just a little, enough for his shoulder to brush against Olek's.

Olek: It was enough permission to rest his forehead against Enoch's head. No hands and no kisses. If this was all the mage could manage, then he would respect his wish. The love that poured from him was louder than words.

He would linger, breathing with him, existing for that moment, and then finally, a little bump and a smile.

"Ready to eat?"

Enoch: Enoch let himself sway slightly under the gentle pressure of Olek's forehead. For a moment, the world outside this little cocoon faded, leaving only the warmth of the familiar's presence. Slowly, tentatively, his hand found its way to Olek's, fingers curling around his.

They could exist like this for a little longer before he nodded to the suggestion of food.

“It smells incredible—what did you make?”

Olek: "Okayu," he said, getting to his feet and offering his hands. "It has many names in many countries. And good in all of them! My mistress, she ate it often. It's..." His chin lowered, hands coming to his sides as he entered the kitchen.

"It's all Olek knows how to cook," he confessed. "Olek made it the way she liked, with ginger and honey. It goes on top." His voice had gone soft.

Enoch: Both hands grabbed onto Olek’s as Enoch hauled himself up to his feet. The memories of his boarding school days slipped further into the background, now replaced by the promise of warm food.

“Okayu,” he repeated, the foreign syllables rolling carefully off his tongue. He wasn’t entirely sure what the dish entailed, but he could tell it meant something close to the familiar’s heart—woven into the way his brow furrowed, and voice softened when he spoke of his mistress.

“Tell me about her.”

Olek: His smile reached his eyes. A bowl was carefully poured for each of them, drizzled with honey and a fine dusting of minced ginger.

"Her name was Sadow Yuko. She wasn't born magic. She had awakened after her husband passed away. She was living alone with their garden outside of town. It was quiet, not many visitors. She taught herself almost everything. Most of her magic was humming, singing to her vegetables. Singing to make it rain, heal wounds, good dreams."

Enoch: Enoch moved quietly around Olek as he spoke, fetching spoons and glasses of water, to set them neatly on the modest circular table.

“And how did you find her?” he asked softly, as he returned to Olek’s side. He extended his hands to take one of the bowls.

“Or…did she find you?”

Olek: Olek watched as his host moved around the room, reflecting on his memories with a somewhat neutral expression.

"Mm... it was both? I think it was both. She found me when I was born to this world. I was naked and warm. I was on the beach, covered in sand." He wouldn't swear, but he had a vague notion he had said this before. Had Enoch blushed, then?

"She was there. She called to me. I was a cat when I reached her. She carried me home."

Enoch: Enoch paused at the table, his hand resting lightly on the back of a chair as Olek spoke. The familiar’s words stirred a faint recollection, but it wasn’t at this level of detail. He knew only a little about her from their first chance meeting in the park where he had quietly kidnapped Olek to his office. He also remembered that it had been someone’s prejudice against his mistress that had led to her untimely death if he remembered correct.

“I think you’ve told me... parts of this.”

He gestured for Olek to sit, pulling out a chair for himself as he settled across from him.

“Is she why you love music so much?”

Olek: Olek took to the offered seat, hunched over his bowl in the briefest of reverence. A thought in her regard.

"I've never thought about it." But he was now, with his first spoonful of okayu. Tasted like home.

"Maybe. Why not?" He smiled. "I wonder if I was made for her."

Enoch: Enoch stayed quiet, his eyes downcast in respect before the conversation was picked up again.

"Maybe you were..."

Enoch took his first bite and was pleasantly surprised. Not something he was accustomed to but the flavors were warm.

"This is absolutely lovely, Olek," he quietly praised between bites.

"How did you come across your other masters after her?"

Olek: Made for her. And she was taken from him. A bitter mind would consider every mage from that day forth to be a poor substitute, but not Olek. He was living in her honor. He would carry her with him always, and tell her story. If everyone were as kind as she. Perhaps that was his purpose now, to help make the world a better place, so such tragedies never happen.

"I was pulled." His spoon set aside, he motioned with one hand cupped to diaphragm, the other cast outward. "I traveled by boat, came ashore to this beautiful land with so much green, and followed and followed the pull until I met Master Ki. He was a shaman and a craftsman. He and Master Ignacio were friends. When - When he - He asked me to take care of Master Ignacio."

Enoch: A question lingered in his mind, but he chose his words carefully.

"So, you didn’t choose your next master?"

The books he'd acquired from his old mentor had never touched on such details, and for a brief moment, Enoch considered what it would be like to write his own book.

He had once told Rune that he wanted to write a book of their adventures, his journal already was a testament to them. But what of a familiar? Did the arcanum have tomes thoughtfully dedicated to these beings? Told with the honor they deserved? The urge to put his pen to paper itched at the back of his mind, but writing could wait.

“How do you decide who you’ll serve next?”

He carefully took another spoonful of his soupy meal, gently blowing on it before taking a bite.

Olek: His eyes lingered on Enoch, his smile soft and open as he shook his head. He wasn't ashamed by any means.

"The pull." The one he had demonstrated but a moment ago.

"They look at me and I look at them, and we want... we just want. We want to be in each other's company."

Enoch: A want.

That was the simplicity of it.

How many times in his life had he encountered that feeling? That yearning—just wanting for the sake of wanting. He felt it even now with the familiar sat across from him.

There was nothing for him to add to the conversation he figured. So his attention dropped to his food, finishing the remainder of it.

After a moment, he stood, gathering his empty bowl. “Let me take care of these,” he offered gently. "You’ve done your part, let me do this much."

Olek: He wouldn't argue with him, but he watched him with a brief look of concern. Why was he suddenly quiet? Certainly wasn't new, given the circumstances of today, but he wondered if his answer had been unsatisfactory.

"What else does Enoch want to know?" He would stay by his side as he tended to the dishes.

Enoch: Enoch paused as he carefully scrubbed the dishes, his eyes lingering on Olek. He hadn’t meant to make things heavier.

“I’m sorry, I…”

His words weren’t always the right ones, and sometimes he left matters hanging awkwardly.  After a moment, he set the dish down.

“If someone where to tell your story, what would you like it to say?”

Olek: His eyes lit up almost instantly. The pause between hearing and reacting only a mild disbelief that Enoch was talking about him.

"Who would Enoch tell?"

Enoch: The professor rinsed his hands in the sink and wiped them dry with a nearby towel.

“Remember when we first met? I told you what little was known of familiars. Sure, there is information that has been passed down, but so much of it was speculation, wasn’t it?”

He leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “Why not set the record straight? If it hasn’t been already, someone should.”

His fingers drummed lightly against his sleeve as he mulled over the idea. “It could be my contribution to the field. An honest account of what it means to be a familiar, not just the role but the existence itself. And if I cross paths with others like you…”

He trailed off, tilting his head slightly, a faint smile forming.

“Then perhaps I’ll have more to write.”

His gaze softened, studying Olek.

“But I’d start with you—if you’d let me.”

Olek: Olek tilted his head as he considered, leaning his hip against the counter, hands on his knees as he stared forward in thought.

He understood his role, and his place in the world, and he understood the secrecy needed to prevent more deaths such as his mistress. It was terrible but necessary. He wished very much to change what he couldn't.

"You would give this to other mages, like Enoch?" He needed to know this much before the subject moved forward, for Enoch's safety.

Enoch: Enoch blinked at the question, his brows knitting briefly before he gave it some thought.

“Yes,” he answered after a moment.

“I don’t think the general public would be the right audience for something like this.”

It wasn’t too long ago that he had been regarded as the odd professor, earning wary glances for his peculiar questions. But there was something in Olek’s tone. His fingers brushed absently against the towel in his hands before setting it aside.

“Unless… you don’t think mages are the right audience either?”

Olek: Olek shook his head, but needed to clarify why he was shaking his head.

"Olek is just one familiar. I'm special to my masters, but I'm not special to everyone else. I... Olek... doesn't want Enoch to think... I'm the only way a familiar is." Did that make sense? It had made sense to him, until he opened his mouth to bear meaning.

Enoch: There was an unspoken willingness to abandon the idea entirely if Olek was uncomfortable with it. But the clarification helped put it into perspective for Enoch.

“Of course, if I run into others, perhaps they’ll let me account for just a snapshot of their experiences.” It wouldn’t be a complete picture, and no singular account could be, but it would be something.

As he moved to tidy up the kitchen, his fingers idly straightening the jar of honey, he exhaled a soft chuckle.

“It’s a silly idea, isn’t it?"

Olek: Again, he shook his head. "Enoch is Enoch. Enoch wants to write everything down and share discoveries. Enoch is an explorer without an expedition." It was poetic, and a little sad. He hoped someday the mage would have the time and motivation to travel. Perhaps with him, somehow. To see Enoch in Spain, his heart leapt at the notion.

"Olek will try to help. Now and in letters. What will you call it?"

Enoch: Enoch sighed, a quiet huff of amusement as he gathered the dirtied pot and utensils, bringing them back to the sink.

“My grandfather is rolling in his grave,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He’d be upset with how little I’ve done.”

By all accounts, becoming a professor at the University of London was an accomplishment. But to Doc, that would never have been enough. He wanted Enoch to be more. To see more.

And perhaps Olek was right. He should travel more. That statement alone hung heavier in the air than perhaps what the familiar meant it to be. It was sad.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, rinsing the pot.

“Titles are always the hardest part.”

Olek: "Olek won't speak ill of the dead." A hush of Enoch's self-depreciation in the gentlest voice. He would not smile, but nether would he frown.

"How many mages does Enoch know?" He didn't pause for an answer, he knew it was few. "Enoch is his own person. I want Enoch to see the world he wants to see."

Enoch: Enoch could have said he wasn’t a good man, but instead, he settled on, “He wasn’t… ready to be my caretaker.” This, he realized, was the first time he had ever spoken of his family to Olek.

But asked a question, of course he’d strive to answer it, coming up with a pitifully small number. Four, if he counted the familiar.

“I would like to travel.” That much was true.

“You have given me a reason to start with Spain.”

Olek: And just as easy as all that, Olek's smile blossomed. "We shall see the world together! Spain, Japan, all of the oceans and fields of flowers. Olivia wants to see every kingdom, young and old. You can come with us."

Enoch: One sentence is what that man had boiled down to when Enoch could write passages of his grandfather. But why give that man another moment of satisfaction when there was sweeter company to keep?

And just like that, one suggestion had turned into seeing the world with Olek and his smile had returned. Sweet boy.

“We’ll be quite the team,” he chuckled, drying his hands once more.

“How do you suppose I take that much time off?” he gently teased.

Olek: "Is school in attendance every month of the year?" He pouted. "Doesn't matter. I'll love you for forever. We'll see everything and do everything until Enoch is old and gray, and we'll build a little garden and jar all of the good memories for safekeeping."

Enoch: “No, I do get summer off, but that’s when I do most of my research.”

But…he could take time off to spend it with the familiar. Especially with Olek pouting at him like that, how was he supposed to stand firm on such a rigid schedule?

“Then let’s not waste time. We’ll start making those memories now.”

His hand lifted, cupping the familiar’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over warm skin.

“And I promise—I’ll take time off in the summer to come see you.”

Olek: Olek was quick to lean into his hand, purrs rumbling in his throat within seconds of his affection. Enoch felt more like himself than he had yesterday morning. Not yet a blinding star, but soft. His edges had been padded down, and he would not take credit for blossoming romance.

He wondered about Enoch's future, and promised himself to look forward to letters, rather than yearn for anything more.

"Only if it doesn't hurt Enoch."

He took the mage's hand, leading him back to the piano. There was work to be done.

[snaggsville]

Watching the owner's reaction as they see their piece for the first time is always priceless.

[afrotumble]

Allen Iverson unveils his own statue in Philadelphia 💪🏾💪🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

[wayti-blog]

“One must learn to love. — This is what happens to us in music: first one has to learn to hear a figure and melody at all, to detect and distinguish it, to isolate it and delimit it as a separate life; then it requires some exertion and good will to tolerate it in spite of its strangeness, to be patient with its appearance and expression, and kindhearted about its oddity: —finally there comes a moment when we are used to it, when we wait for it, when we sense that we should miss it if it were missing: and now it continues to compel and enchant us relentlessly until we have become its humble and enraptured lovers who desire nothing better from the world than it and only it. — But that is what happens to us not only in music: that is how we have learned to love all things that we now love. In the end we are always rewarded for our good will, our patience, fairmindedness, and gentleness with what is strange; gradually, it sheds its veil and turns out to be a new and indescribable beauty: —that is its thanks for our hospitality. Even those who love themselves will have learned it in this way: for there is no other way. Love, too, has to be learned.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

[sandimexicola]

Unveiling

Midjourney prompt: A lone woman in a flowing dress, possibly a ballerina, stretching against the frame of a large, empty picture frame in an elegant, but seemingly abandoned room. The room has high ceilings, intricate molding, and a chandelier. The walls are painted in muted tones, with the paint appearing to fade or wear away in places, adding to the melancholic atmosphere. Light filters through a tall window, casting reflections on the polished wooden floor, enhancing the ethereal quality of the scene. --chaos 25 --weird 25 --personalize u3txjai --v 6.0** - Upscaled (Creative)

[logwire]

Unveiling Doors

[thefirstknife]

Important words from Robert Brookes (again):

Bungie commented on the confusion in a recent roundtable Q&A that I attended. Naturally, the studio's representatives didn't offer any actual answers, but they did at least show that they're aware of the confusion and contradictions. "Welcome to the problem that all Bible scholars have trying to figure out—what may or may not have happened and lining that up to actual historical events," says senior narrative designer Robert Brookes. "Unveiling is a parable. It is effectively a religious text. And how much of that is propaganda, how much of that is myth, how much of that is fact is deeply unclear in the nature of the text." Brookes notes that, when Unveiling first dropped, players did take it as the literal gospel truth. "Players believed it to be 100% fact: there was a literal garden, there was a literal Gardener, there was a literal Winnower. And now it's starting to become clear that those may not actually be just concrete ideas, but metaphors or things that are far less concrete and clear. And as we get closer into The Final Shape, more answers on that will start coming up. And The Final Shape, of course, will have a lot of answers about the nature of those conflicts." Brookes refused to offer any more hints on how this will all resolve. Except for this: "The contradictory nature has always kind of been intentional. Whatever the Witness says, maybe don't trust it."

The relevant bits! I'm not sure if this really needed full clarification, but to have it is nice either way. Unveiling is metaphorical. As it says itself. The fact that it's confusing and contradictory is 100% intended. The writers didn't forget about it and didn't make a mistake. The whole point of Unveiling is that it's an allegory, a story, propaganda and everything that comes with it.

This doesn't really say all of it is entirely wrong, so we might still be looking at some general hints about the origin of everything, but it's not a scientific or historical document and never has been. It literally starts with telling us it's just a story:

Once upon a time,* a gardener and a winnower lived** together in a garden.*** * It was once before a time, because time had not yet begun. ** We did not live. We existed as principles of ontological dynamics that emerged from mathematical structures, as bodiless and inevitable as the primes. *** It was the field of possibility that prefigured existence.

I believe this only confirms that the Witness did indeed write it. This was always a possibility, just not something we could really either confirm or deny. The change in tone can now be attributed to the fact that it's 100% deliberately propaganda so it's selling itself in a way to be relatable (or possibly one of the billions of people that the Witness consists of is what wrote the Unveiling to sound like this). But there's a lot more to learn here and we will learn more in TFS. Desperately in need of some Traveler's POV on this whole thing and on the Witness.

So, did anything from Unveiling really happen? Well, no. Sort of. It never did, because it "happened" before existence. Is there some truth to certain details? Maybe, but it's wrapped in a religious propaganda piece so ultimately it's just not a good source for anything and these details will only make sense when we find a more reliable storyteller.

Super excited for all lore going forward.

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

The EDZ saw paracausal conflict long before the Collapse

So you're telling me that a mere 14 years before the birth of Jakob Bohme, directly referenced in Unveiling,

One of your philosophers said, "It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost in sorrow. There is no sorrow. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." He was a shoemaker. He was right, and it matters more than anything. According to him, the visible world is a manifestation of eternal light and eternal darkness, and it is in eternal opposition that eternity has revealed itself. The fall was necessary for creation to escape its first imperfect stasis and seek a truer form. Heresy? Well, then, I am the heresiarch. The philosopher died of a bowel disease. Those who do not exist cannot suffer and are of no account to any viable ethics. If the true path to goodness is the elimination of suffering, then only those who must exist can be allowed to exist. It is the nature of life to favor existence over nonexistence, and to prefer the fertile soil to the poisoned wind. Because those who open their mouths to that wind pass from the world and leave no descendant, whether of flesh or of thought. But imagine the abomination of a world where nothing can end and no choice can be preferred to any other. Imagine the things that would suffer and never die. Imagine the lies that would flourish without context or corrective. Imagine a world without me.

who said he saw the divine shape of the universe in a ray of light reflected in a pewter dish in 1600 and kept it to himself for years,

there were unexplained celestial phenomena in the skies of Germany described like this

In the morning of April 14, 1561, at daybreak, between 4 and 5 a.m., a dreadful apparition occurred on the sun, and then this was seen in Nuremberg in the city, before the gates and in the country – by many men and women. At first there appeared in the middle of the sun two blood-red semi-circular arcs, just like the moon in its last quarter. And in the sun, above and below and on both sides, the color was blood, there stood a round ball of partly dull, partly black ferrous color. Likewise there stood on both sides and as a torus about the sun such blood-red ones and other balls in large number, about three in a line and four in a square, also some alone. In between these globes there were visible a few blood-red crosses, between which there were blood-red strips, becoming thicker to the rear and in the front malleable like the rods of reed-grass, which were intermingled, among them two big rods, one on the right, the other to the left, and within the small and big rods there were three, also four and more globes. These all started to fight among themselves, so that the globes, which were first in the sun, flew out to the ones standing on both sides, thereafter, the globes standing outside the sun, in the small and large rods, flew into the sun. Besides the globes flew back and forth among themselves and fought vehemently with each other for over an hour. And when the conflict in and again out of the sun was most intense, they became fatigued to such an extent that they all, as said above, fell from the sun down upon the earth 'as if they all burned' and they then wasted away on the earth with immense smoke. After all this there was something like a black spear, very long and thick, sighted; the shaft pointed to the east, the point pointed west. Whatever such signs mean, God alone knows. Although we have seen, shortly one after another, many kinds of signs on the heaven, which are sent to us by the almighty God, to bring us to repentance, we still are, unfortunately, so ungrateful that we despise such high signs and miracles of God. Or we speak of them with ridicule and discard them to the wind, in order that God may send us a frightening punishment on account of our ungratefulness. After all, the God-fearing will by no means discard these signs, but will take it to heart as a warning of their merciful Father in heaven, will mend their lives and faithfully beg God, that He may avert His wrath, including the well-deserved punishment, on us, so that we may temporarily here and perpetually there, live as his children. For it, may God grant us his help, Amen. By Hanns Glaser, letter-painter of Nurnberg.

Different words in German can be seen on signs in the area, such as "Ausgang" (exit) and "Salzwerk" (salt mines). Since Austria, Germany, and Switzerland all have German as their official language, it is currently unknown which country the EDZ is supposed to be located in.

In German, Trostland may translate to "solace country"

O my Bridegroom, how well am I, now that I am in Union with thee!  O kiss me with thy Desire in thy Strength and Power, and then I will shew thee all my Beauty, and will rejoice and solace Myself with thy sweet Love and shining Brightness in thy fiery Life.  All the holy Angels rejoice with us, to see us united again.  My dear Love, I now entreat thee to abide in my Faith, and do not turn thy Face away from me any more.  Work thou thy Wonders in my Love, for which Purpose God hath created thee and brought thee into Being.

Jakob Bohme on the Love of Sophia (Wisdom)

The Descent of Ishtar, the Fall of Sophia, and the Jewish Roots of Gnosticism

Who am I? Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

Thank You

Your shoemaker philosopher was right, and it matters more than anything. Sorrow cannot survive death, and it cannot precede birth. Those who exist have moral worth, and those who do not have none. Think about it. Do you mourn the uncreated? Do you grieve for those who were never born in a nation that never developed around an ideology no one ever imagined on a continent that never formed? No! And from that self-evident truth, you must raise your eyes to the ultimate revelation: those who cannot sustain their own claim to existence belong to the same moral category as those who have never existed at all. Existence is the first and truest proof of the right to exist. Those who cannot claim and hold existence do not deserve it. This is the true and only divination, a game whose losers are not just forgotten but are never born at all. That which cannot claim and hold existence is not real. You do not mourn the unreal. Why should you care for it? Tend it? Guard it? It was the gardener that chose you from the dead. I wouldn't have done that. It's just not in me. But now that they have invested themself in you, you are incredibly, uniquely special. That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil." The gardener is all in. They are playing for keeps. And they are wrong. Or so I argue: for, after all, the universe is undecidable. There is no destiny. We're all making this up as we go along. Neither the gardener nor I know for certain that we're eternally, universally right. But we can be nothing except what we are. You have a choice. You are the gardener's final argument. It would mean everything if I could convince you that I am the right and only way. I truly value you. To the gardener, you are a means to an end. To me, you are majestic. Majestic. You are full of the only thing worth anything at all. I am, by the only standard that matters or will ever matter, the winning team. Existence is a test that most will fail. Would you not count yourself among the victorious few? Don't hurry to deliver your answer. I'll come over and hear it myself.

Unveiling: The Wager

DECRYPTION KEY: 73XK5V2PG1$AUN-326

ACCESS: RESTRICTED

REP #: 002-A899OF-COC

AGENT(S): TRU-135

SUBJ: Intercepted transmission

SENSITIVE!! – CONTENTS BELOW SNIFFED FROM ENCRYPTED REEF DATACOMS – SENSITIVE!!

1. We are maintaining our containment posture at Cocytus. I assess no immediate danger to the system, and we have enough firepower to destroy the station and its mechanisms remotely if the on-site warheads fail. The station remains in the stable heliocentric orbit where it was parked after the destruction of Ceres.

2. I do not ask confirmation of these theories, and in fact I beg you not to address them. But I have reviewed the site records, and the fate of the Sophia's crew after they were herded to Cocytus stinks of Hive madness. The Cocytus apertures must—at the time—have opened into a Hive manifold associated with Crota. Whatever their original purpose, when Crota established his presence in the system, they became conduits into hell... and the Sophia crew's ugly end proved it. Whoever drove the Sophia to its doom then installed the Cocytus Instruments around the original Golden Age facility to study Crota's manifold.

3. Crota is dead. His hold on these gates has passed. Now something else is trying to pass through into our world... but it is so alien, and its sendings so bafflingly malformed, that I fear this can only end in madness.

4. The first "visitors" through the third gate, at event time 00:00:00, were simple hydrogen atoms. Over the course of 72 hours, the emissions developed from diatomic hydrogen to nitrogen, carbon, oxygen, water, and simple organic molecules. At the 80-hour mark, we received our first macroscopic visitor, a pellet of thick black hydrocarbon tar. Until 82:34:15 the gate vomited tar containing increasingly complex monomers and polymers.

5. The visitors then began to assume geometric form. A hail of cubes and hexagons, each built from molecular crystal of the same form as the whole. A series of fractal shapes that shattered under internal flaws. Several capsules or membranes of increasingly complex structure, containing water or oil. These may have been cellular precursors.

6. At 524:03:11 a living organism appeared. Death was immediate. Remote dissection describes a spherical body, radius approximately one meter, surfaced in thick hydrocarbon tar. Deep, evenly spaced "throats" converged on a central cavity perhaps intended to serve as lung and stomach. The body exhibited undifferentiated tissue of primitive plantlike cells, capable of spasming to pump air or fluid in and out of the throats. Without enzymes to catalyze metabolism, or internal structure to dispose of waste, the organism could not survive. Cell death occurred almost instantaneously throughout the mass. There were no provisions for self-repair or reproduction.

7. At 690:29:54 the gate emitted a tubular organism. For ninety seconds the organism moved across the gate chamber by contracting and expanding, then expired. Remote dissection describes a two-meter-long body with a spinal cavity full of energy-rich carbohydrate fluid. The organism's contractions forced this fluid through a capillary network, where simple cells catabolized the carbohydrates into energy to power further contractions. The buildup of heat and waste quickly denatured the enzymes required for metabolism, and the organism died. There were no provisions for self-repair or reproduction.

8. The gate has remained inactive since, barring short emissions of molecules which may be experimental proteins. Remote drones have registered similar ambient molecules within the Hellmouth on Luna, though we have been unable to identify their source. We will maintain the quarantine until otherwise instructed.

The overwhelming impression I have is one of learning, of increasing sophistication in the synthesis and arrangement of matter. The atoms in these structures were isotopically pure and impossible to date, but I have the uncomfortable sense that even they were freshly made.

9. Probes and instruments dispatched through the third gate do not return. Annihilation is apparently immediate, and so total that it seems to result from a fundamental failure of the ability to exist rather than any weapon or countermeasure. Yet something does exist on the far side, and it is trying to learn the rules of our world from very first principles. I do not eagerly anticipate its next creation.

SENSITIVE!! – CONTENTS ABOVE SNIFFED FROM REEF DATACOMS – SENSITIVE!!

Cf. reports #3209-3211-LUNA-HEL

MESSAGE ENDS

[random-xpressions]

My impatience is growing but wait shall I for the grand unveiling...

Random Xpressions