Winter settled, and a thick layer of snow shrouded the mountain, turning the scenery into a barren landscape of white.

The hole in the ceiling, reminiscent of a window, had been blocked by Cerwin when the temperature started to cool in late autumn, keeping the sun and the cold breeze from entering his dwelling. Regardless, the air in the chamber held that frosty freshness hard to describe. It made Geoffrey’s lungs clench in pain, and each breath seemed to parch his throat.

Still, Geoffrey couldn’t stay sprawled on the straw bed forever—at least, not just yet. For now, he had things to do. 

He pulled the blanket of fur over his shoulders, forcing himself to sit cross-legged behind Cerwin. Muffling a yawn, he tried to chase away the fatigue and get his heavy arms to move. Cerwin’s braid was becoming loose, and he needed to undo and remake it, something he now did almost every morning. Leaving the mountain spirit’s hair untied would result in it falling before his chest and getting dirtied in one of his bloody coughing fits or sudden nosebleeds. These had become a daily occurrence, and they couldn’t afford to wash his hair in the bath every day, not with the pipes that were at risk of freezing due to the cold temperature.

His fingers weaved the strands of dark brown hair under the pale blue light cast by embedded crystals on the walls. In a few hours, sunlight would be entering the dwelling through a complex setting of mirrors, but until then, Geoffrey had to make do with the dim lighting he had. He couldn’t comprehend how these crystals worked, even after Cerwin explained their functioning to him multiple times, but at least, he had light, and that was all that mattered.  

Winter days were short, and nights were long.

“Here we go,” Geoffrey announced, as he lowered his half-closed eyes to Cerwin’s tail. It stood up like always, looking so fluffy that his fingers twitched. It was becoming harder by the day not to pinch it.

I wonder how annoyed he’d get if I touched it. Cerwin would certainly get irked, but Geoffrey also had a hunch he would let him be with an exasperated sigh. He always did.

So, should he give in to the temptation…?

Just as he was about to stretch an arm, the little tail wiggled, and he stopped mid-movement. He blinked, then let out a half-stifled giggle. Ah, this tail was too adorable for words.

“Will you stop giggling?” Cerwin glanced over his shoulder at Geoffrey, narrowing his pitch-black eyes. “You’ve seen it a thousand times already.”

“So what? It’s still as cute as the first time I saw it.”

“You have weird tastes.”

“I’ve been told, yes.” Geoffrey smiled, undeterred. He fiddled with his fingers for a moment before ultimately brushing them against the soft fur of the deer-like tail. “It simply contrasts so vividly with your ill-temper that I can’t help but be smitten with it. It’s like when you see a kitty or a puppy.”

“Is that so?” Cerwin turned his head back to the front. He did not comment on him touching his tail, so Geoffrey took it as a silent permission to continue. If he wanted him to stop, he would tell him. “I’ll be going out in a bit to gather wood. It’s not too chilly today, and even if we’re not running out of wood yet for the firepits, I’d rather we keep a healthy stockpile.”

Geoffrey hummed an agreement, his gaze locking onto the tail he was stroking. He could discern the underlying meaning behind Cerwin’s words; the mountain spirit wanted to gather wood today because he felt fine enough to do it, but knew it wouldn’t always be the case. Both of them had ups and downs lately, although admittedly, Geoffrey had been in a down for a few days already. He was sleeping most of the day away, as if hibernating.

“You go back to bed and rest.”

“I’m fine, I can—”

“No, you sleep today. Your lips are pale and even a bit blueish.”

What could Geoffrey even reply to that? He might not have seen his face in the mirror yet, but he could see his nails. It had taken on purple and blue hues. He did try to brush it off at first, excusing the unnatural color as a reflection cast by the glowing crystals. Still, he couldn’t lie to himself forever.

“Alright, I’ll take a nap. Don’t exert yourself too much.”

“I won’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another thing Geoffrey had noticed over the months was that Cerwin was good at preaching, but not so much at putting it into practice. It didn’t matter if he was the one collapsing, as long as it wasn’t Geoffrey.

Somehow, it felt like the mountain spirit intended to outlive him, just as Geoffrey intended to outlive him. Neither spoke of it, however.

Cerwin’s footsteps grew faint as he left the chamber, and Geoffrey lay back onto the straw bed. Not even a moment later, a violent coughing fit shook his body, and he had to roll over on his stomach, propping himself on his arms, not to choke on his saliva. The coughing was so quick-paced he could hardly breathe, much less swallow his saliva, and it dripped on the straw bed, alongside snot and tears. Panic crept on him, and his vision blurred for an instant, enough to make him believe he’d faint at any given time. 

It hurts. It hurts so much.

Whenever this kind of coughing fit happened, Geoffrey feared it would be the last. That was, until it calmed down, and he could breathe again between two raspy gasps. His heartbeat was still drumming against his temples, and his throat seemed to be burning, but at least, air was getting into his lungs. 

Collapsing onto the straw bed, Geoffrey thanked the heavens that Cerwin hadn’t been around this time. Otherwise, the mountain spirit would be all over him by now, fluttering in the chamber like a chicken without a head. He panics when I get a coughing fit, but I’m not supposed to panic when he gets a nosebleed or starts throwing up blood. That’s kind of unfair, no? 

“I’m so, so tired,” Geoffrey sighed, rolling up into a ball under the blanket, “but it doesn’t seem like I’ll be able to fall asleep.”

He felt exhausted after that coughing fit, yet sleep refused to grace him.

Time ticked, seconds and minutes passed, but he was still wide awake, battling against the intrusive thoughts tormenting his mind. When he was left alone, things he would rather not think about came back to him, and memories he had tried to bury resurfaced, mocking him.

It had been relatively easy not to dwell on the past because he had kept himself busy these past few months. Now, though, there wasn’t much left to do after the onset of winter, and most importantly, he didn’t have the strength to do anything—just braiding the mountain spirit’s hair left him with a throbbing pain in his arms. If Cerwin wasn’t around to distract his mind, his thoughts inevitably wandered back to a past he couldn’t forsake and smiles he had tried to forget.

Richardson had often haunted him, for the man had been a loudmouth, and everything and anything reminded Geoffrey of him, but the other members of his unit had been quieter. Marveck, in particular, had never been noisy, mostly keeping his thoughts to himself.

Again, he heard his unit leader’s desperate scream, his name resonating in his ears as Geoffrey clenched his fists, and his smile slipped off.

How would Marveck have reacted…? I’ve been fraternizing with a being who’s clearly not human. Would he have accepted Cerwin? Lately, the question clawed at his mind, even though Geoffrey knew he would never get an answer to it.

***

“How is he?”

Cerwin’s voice echoed in Geoffrey’s head like thunder, making his skull feel as though it was about to split open, and a frown creased his brow as he slowly emerged from sleep. The cold breeze had woken him up, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and shivers running down his spine. How strange. Something seems amiss. Where’s my cardigan? And who is he talking to? The wind? It wouldn’t be the first time, as Cerwin often talked to himself. Yet, somehow, it didn’t seem to be the case today—

“…How is he?” A male voice replied, followed by a deep exhale loud enough for Geoffrey to hear distinctly. He didn’t recognize that voice. Who…? “That’s a stupid question; how well do you think he is faring? Why didn’t you fetch me earlier? He’s nothing but skin and bones!”

“He didn’t want me to ask witches for help, so…”

“Well, considering you did it anyway, you should have done it sooner!”

The words were like a sharp dagger, and Geoffrey jolted awake, his wide-open eyes landing on a man kneeling by his bedside. His dark eyes were locked onto him, disapproval written all over his face, making his sharp features appear even sharper. His raven hair was braided and rolled up into a loose bun, giving a clear view of his face.

“You shouldn’t sit up so quickly.” The man gently held onto Geoffrey as black stars dotted his vision. “In your state, that will only result in you getting dizzy and throwing up the little you have in your stomach. Stay still. I’m not done with the medical exam yet.”

“A medical exam…?”

“Yes. You kind of need one right now.”

Blinking, Geoffrey lifted his eyes to peek at Cerwin, who turned his head sideways, avoiding his gaze. The guilty expression on his face, alongside the conversation he had overheard, told Geoffrey everything he needed to know. The man currently examining him was a witch, a being he had been tasked with burning at the stake in the past, and a being from whom he had asked Cerwin not to seek help.

“For fuck’s sake, I can barely hear your lungs.” The witch let out a disheartened scoff as he moved the stethoscope over his chest, under his loose dress, the coldness sending shivers down Geoffrey’s spine. “Try to take a deep breath.”

But Geoffrey didn’t, frozen in place.

“Oh, please, I’m already there, so comply with me, will you?”

His bowels twisted into knots, and Geoffrey forced a smile, although it looked more like a taut line than a smile. His voice was shaky when he asked, “Did Cerwin tell you what I am?”

And what I’ve done.  

The witch rolled his eyes and said, “I’m a doctor, and I have an oath to uphold. I don’t care about your background; my job is to treat you regardless of your beliefs and past actions.”

“But…”

“There’s no but. Now, take a deep breath.”

Geoffrey shook his head, stubborn. “Why would you try to save me? I don’t deserve your help. It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m just going through what I deserve—”

“Oh, I swear! Like captain, like subordinate.” The witch clicked his tongue, grabbing Geoffrey’s chin to lift his head and look directly into his eyes. “Then tell me, why would an errand boy inadvertently drop a set of keys in front of a prison cell containing witches, hm?”

“Eh…?”

“And don’t you dare tell me you’ve never done that. Your ginger hair is a dead giveaway. Now, will you take that deep breath for me, please?”

Again, Geoffrey didn’t comply and stared at the witch with the countenance of a lost child. How could the man know about that? It was something he had done years ago, one of the rare acts of defiance he had dared to commit against his superiors, thanks to the brashness of his teenage years, when he didn’t know better.

That day, he had been ordered to clean the dungeon where the witches were detained. The younger Geoffrey had overheard soldiers discuss the unfairness of children being burned at the stake because of their parents’ evil deeds. Some of these witches were around his age, and his young mind couldn’t fathom dying due to what adults had done, just like these poor souls were about to. Didn’t the priest preach that children were innocent and shouldn’t be burdened by their parents’ sins? So why weren’t these children innocent? It didn’t make sense.

It might have been sympathy, it might have been hypocrisy, but he wanted to appease the gnawing voice in his head.

Impulsiveness pushed Geoffrey to move, and he went into action, stealing the key ring and pretending to drop it in front of the cell as he swept the ground before it. Then, he left the crime scene as if the devil in the flesh was on his tail, nervousness just about to make him empty his stomach—had he been right to do that? Even to this day, he couldn’t tell.

Only, what was done was done, and the past couldn’t be changed.

Later that day, he learned that Richardson willingly took the brunt of their superiors’ ire for him, as he had been in charge of supervising the witches’ cell and knew very well who had been in and out of the dungeon around the time of the breakout, yet he kept quiet about who was there. It also marked the day that he first saw Marveck turn a blind eye to witches fleeing under his nose.

These two men’s actions comforted him in the thought that even if freeing the witches was wrong, some of his comrades weren’t against it and might have done the same in his shoes.

The thing was, only Richardson ever knew he was the one behind the breakout, and he had brought that secret to his grave. So, how did that man know...?

“You, h-how did you…?” Geoffrey gulped, fiddling with his fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Unless he had been present in that cell, he wouldn’t know, even though his ginger hair was a giveaway. Geoffrey wasn’t the only man on earth with that hair color.

“Oh, please, not you too.” The witch’s mouth twitched. “I know my face was swollen, but I don’t think it was swollen beyond recognition, was it now? Anyway, can you do me a favor and not spout the same nonsense as your captain and connect the dots already?”  

Geoffrey’s breathing hitched.

Something was slowly dawning upon him.

Like captain, like subordinate.

Don’t spout the same thing as your captain.

Hope was a dangerous thing, a poison that eroded people’s minds and abilities to reason, and Geoffrey was no exception. The rush of adrenaline turned his cheeks red as he grabbed the witch’s wrist, his bony hands barely able to wrap around it. He stuttered words he hadn’t allowed himself to ever think of these past few months.

“H-have you met my leader?” Geoffrey licked his dry lips and dared to put that ardent wish of his into words. “Is he a-alive?”

“Alive and well enough to pace in my room all day long and make a mess out of my bookshelves, yes,” the witch grunted, exasperation tainting his voice. “Now, can you please take that deep breath?”

But then again, Geoffrey didn’t, for he broke down crying tears of relief, his thin shoulders shaking as a smile stretched his lips wide. He hadn’t been the sole survivor.

No, his unit leader had also survived.

Marveck was still alive.