Zeke trudged along.
The drizzling rain soaked his entire body.
The chill of the rain seeped all the way into his bones.
His heart felt cold too.
It was while he was walking, gripped by that piercing cold.
A carriage passed by his side.
Should he ask for a ride?
He shook his head inwardly.
He recalled the coachman's reaction from just moments ago.
As something less than human, mere trash, his conscience stung too fiercely at the thought of begging anyone.
Right then, the carriage came to a stop.
-Bang!
The carriage door flew open roughly, and a woman in a dress stumbled out in a fluster.
Mysterious pink hair.
Pink eyes even more mysterious.
With her eyes bulging wide, the woman froze in place.
Zeke did the same.
The moment he laid eyes on her, all thought ground to a halt.
The two of them, master and disciple, silently stared at each other amid the rain.
"Huh...!"
The woman ran toward Zeke.
As she ran, she kicked off her cumbersome shoes.
Mud-splattered water flew up, staining the hem of her dress.
She paid no mind to the dress getting filthy.
Closer.
Closer still.
Soon enough, the woman—Freya—reached right in front of Zeke.
"Huff... ha... hah..."
Freya panted raggedly.
With every breath, her full bosom heaved up and down.
Her eyes trembled wildly.
Her lips quivered.
To hold back the emotions threatening to overflow, she clenched her fists tight.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!
The pounding of her heart was drowned out by the pattering rain.
"Uh..."
Zeke averted his gaze and parted his lips ever so slowly.
"...It's been a long time, Master."
In that instant, heat bloomed across Zeke's left cheek.
His head snapped slightly to the side.
"You, you...! You...!"
Freya pounded Zeke's chest with her fists.
She had so much to say, so many words she wanted to unleash.
But all that escaped her throat were choked sobs.
Zeke quietly looked down at Freya.
Her delicate brows furrowed in fury.
Her eyes glistened damply.
Whether from a flood of emotion or simply the rain, only Freya knew.
"...I'm sorry."
Zeke forced the words out.
Words he should have said long ago.
He had fled out of fear that their bond would shatter completely.
Even though it already had.
He dreaded hearing the final verdict from Freya's lips.
The same fear gripped him now.
Being cast aside by his Master.
Being hated by the one he loved.
It terrified him beyond measure.
"...I'm sorry."
Zeke could only repeat his apology.
He knew he should confess his wrongs, but he couldn't bring himself to go that far.
Coward.
Gutless.
Yet no matter how he tried, nothing came out but "I'm sorry."
It was then.
Soft hands cupped Zeke's cheeks.
"My foolish disciple... have you been well?"
Freya spoke with a faint smile.
A master is like a second parent.
A master's love for their disciple mirrors a parent's for their child.
Unconditional, forgiving any sin, always ready to embrace.
"Sor, sorry...! I'm sorry...!"
Like a child, Zeke buried himself in Freya's arms.
She's so small.
He had always thought her fairly tall, but held like this, Freya's frame felt fragile and slight.
"Don't stay out here like this. Let's go home."
Freya said, soothing him.
"Home."
2.
In the eastern reaches of the Empire, deep within the Forest Where the Wind Lingers.
There lies the mansion of the Witch of Sorrow.
Barriers envelop the estate.
Only those granted permission can pass beyond them.
Intruders without leave wander lost in the woods forever.
The carriage crossed the barrier.
Beyond it stood a pristine white mansion.
Freya's home.
A five-story main building and three-story annex faced each other across a central garden.
The carriage halted before the main entrance.
The rain had stopped unnoticed.
Zeke alighted first and extended a hand to escort her.
Whoosh.
Freya disembarked, brushing past his offered hand.
They had exchanged not a word inside the carriage.
Zeke had been too busy stealing glances at Freya's impassive face, while she stared blankly out the window.
In the end, they reached the mansion without a single conversation.
"Zeke."
Freya finally spoke as they ascended the stairs.
"My dress is soaked from the rain, so I'm going to change. Wait in my study until I return."
He knew she could dry her clothes with a mere flick of her finger, but Zeke let it slide and nodded.
"...Yes."
-Clack, clack.
The measured rhythm of her heels echoed slowly.
Master's tense too.
He could tell just from her footsteps.
Freya rarely betrayed emotion on her face; it showed in her gait instead.
When anxious, her pace lagged a half-beat behind her usual stride.
"Zeke."
It was as he turned toward the study.
Freya gazed down at him from the stairs.
"Don't run away."
"Yes."
Zeke bowed his head once more.
-Clack, clack.
He lifted it only after her footsteps receded.
He wasn't foolish enough to flee after coming this far, but her words severed even the faintest flicker of doubt.
Zeke headed for the study.
The path to the study brimmed with familiar scents he had longed for.
Every corner held memories.
Here, there—reminiscences everywhere.
He swallowed his nostalgia as he walked the silent corridor.
For the record, this sprawling mansion had not a single servant.
Freya lived alone.
For the past eight years.
For centuries before that, until she fetched him from the ruins.
Save for the occasional guest, she was always by herself.
"This is..."
A wooden pillar along the way to the study.
Several knife marks scarred its surface.
Records of Zeke's growth.
Each time, he would stand before it as Freya measured his height.
Until the day he outgrew her and it became impossible.
'Creepy.'
'What?'
'A disciple taller than his master—such ingratitude.'
He recalled how she had sulked when they could no longer measure.
The first time he saw her pout.
Eyes narrowed in mock grumpiness.
One cheek puffed out.
Lips jutting in a sulk.
All while lightly kicking his shins, demanding he shrink back down.
Zeke reached the study.
It looked exactly as he remembered.
Perfectly preserved.
One change, though: Freya, who favored tidiness, had left magic tomes and research parchments strewn about haphazardly.
The sole neat item amid the mess was a small frame on the desk.
It held a photo of Zeke as a boy.
"..."
He bit his lip gazing at it.
That his Master still saw him as her disciple stirred his chest.
As he gathered the scattered books to shelve them.
The door opened, and Freya entered.
She had changed into a more comfortable dress.
"Sit."
"Shall I brew some tea?"
"Sit."
"Yes."
He had come this far, yet facing her terrified him; he tried dragging out time, only to be shot down.
He sat on the sofa in one corner of the study.
And resumed the awkward standoff that had begun in the carriage.
He craved a smoke.
His hand patted his pocket out of habit.
Come to think of it, he'd burned through his last cigarettes ages ago.
Zeke squeezed his eyes shut and bolted upright.
"I've committed a mortal sin!"
He flattened himself prostrate on the floor in atonement.
"Whatever punishment you decree, I'll accept it gladly."
Like a convict begging forgiveness, Zeke knelt and awaited her judgment.
Freya regarded him silently for a long moment.
Then she let out a deep sigh.
"If I told you to die, would you?"
"I would die."
Zeke replied resolutely.
He was prepared for death.
Half the reason he had joined the mercenary band and fought like a rabid dog on the battlefield was a death wish.
Death seemed preferable.
"As I've said before, you're truly ungrateful."
"..."
"A disciple trying to die before his master."
"..."
That too was filial impiety.
A child preceding their parent in death.
A disciple outliving—no, preceding—their master.
What could rend the heart more?
"Zeke, do you know how long it's been since you left this mansion?"
"Eight years... a little more."
"Exactly 3042 days. Eight years and four months."
Freya had counted every single day, waiting for his return.
"To a witch, it's but a fleeting moment."
But, she continued.
"To a master with a human disciple, it's an eternity."
"...I'm sorry."
Beyond apologies, Zeke had nothing to say.
"It's all so sudden; I need time to decide your punishment."
Freya rose from her seat.
"Zeke."
"Yes."
"Eight years ago."
As the topic arose, Zeke clutched his knees as if to tear them.
"Do you remember?"
"...I remember."
"So you do remember."
Trash already; forgetting would make him worse.
"Then in the end..."
"Yes?"
"It's nothing."
Freya muttered to herself, then shook her head.
"I'll think on your punishment, so stay put in the mansion."
"...Understood."
Freya left the study.
-Clack, clack.
Her heels receded.
Very slowly.
Excruciatingly slowly.
The footsteps of the Witch of Sorrow in her grief.
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