The biting cold of winter air whipped his skin as Geoffrey curled up in Cerwin’s arms. He was bundled up in his cardigan and the blanket, but that wasn’t enough, and small coughs kept shaking his body whenever he breathed.

“We’re just about to arrive,” Solange said. “Hold on for a bit longer.”

Peeking over Cerwin’s shoulder, Geoffrey stared at the witch, who had no difficulty whatsoever following behind them despite the steep, slippery slope. He wasn’t covered in layers of clothes either, yet the cold didn’t seem to bother him. Admittedly, the mountain spirit couldn’t care less, too, as he was still only wearing that thin, revealing dress of his.

“There we go,” Solange announced as he pulled on an unassuming dead sapling. A moment later, a rumble resounded as a boulder slid to the side, revealing the entrance to a corridor that led deep inside the mountain. “Follow me, and don’t go astray. The maze has changed over the years, so even you, Cerwin, could get lost. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t when you came knocking on our door earlier.”

“Witch, the mountain is and will always be my domain.”  

At the reminder, Solange’s shoulders stiffened, and Geoffrey threw a puzzled gaze at Cerwin. How could it always be his domain if he was dying? But he decided not to ask, for it might not be something the mountain spirit wanted others to know. He also wasn’t so sure about the underlying meaning behind his words.

So, he pretended not to have heard anything and leaned his head against Cerwin’s shoulder instead, his eyes half-closing. He was too tired to speak, anyway.

Their footsteps echoed in the silent corridor. Crystals embedded in the wall glowed as they made their way further inside until, ultimately, they reached an opening.

“Oh, Solange, you’re back! So, what did the—” The woman stopped talking mid-sentence, and Geoffrey curiously peered at her.

She looks shocked. So, maybe not every witch was at ease with scolding a mountain spirit? Was Solange the odd one in the lot? He couldn’t help but scrutinize the young man again. The witch oozed confidence: he held his back straight and his chin high, his eyes piercing, unlike the woman whose head was lowered.

“They will be staying in my room with Marveck.” Solange waved her concerns away. “You can tell the others. Not like anyone has the guts to loiter around my room, to begin with. Also, how has the excavation been going? Have you made any advancement? I know I’ve said it before, but I need those tools now.”

“Well, it’s not going as smoothly as we’d have liked…”

“Is that so?” A sigh, and Solange massaged his temples. “We’ll talk about it later. I have to lay down a patient first.”

With a tilt of his head, he gestured toward the half-hidden Geoffrey in Cerwin’s arms, and only then did the woman dare lift her gaze to meet his. Her mouth fell agape as she brought a hand to her lips, something akin to pain welling in her eyes as she stared at his emaciated face. Self-consciousness made Geoffrey shrink into himself, embarrassment tainting his cheeks red.

“Oh, my poor child! He’s just skin and bones…!”

She repeated the same words Solange had said in Cerwin’s dwelling, and even if Geoffrey would have liked to refute her, he knew he couldn’t, not when his cheekbones seemed about to pierce his skin. It wasn’t because Cerwin hadn’t been feeding him. No, he even hunted birds for dinner, despite his aversion to killing living beings. 

At the thought, a memory followed, and Geoffrey instinctively gripped Cerwin’s dress tighter. 

The first time Cerwin brought a bird to him, his downcast expression carried so much sorrow it felt like an arrow had pierced his heart. He had been bedridden with a slight fever at the time, and the mountain spirit had to pluck the feathers and prepare the meat himself. The bird was cut and cooked, presented to him alongside some dried vegetables. Cerwin hadn’t said a word.

Even if he hadn’t been hungry at the time, Geoffrey had forced himself to eat.  

It was just that no matter what he ate, he threw it up and kept losing weight.

“As you can see, yes, he is.” Solange sneered, a touch of annoyance in his voice. Against who? Geoffrey couldn’t tell. “Can you ask Veronica to prepare some light soup? I fear his stomach can’t hold anything too substantial for the time being.”

“Yes, right away!” The woman turned on her heels and disappeared, leaving a dumbfounded Geoffrey behind. She didn’t even ask who he was, nor did she seem to care, either. Cerwin appeared to have shocked her, but beyond that…

“It’s a little cramped,” Solange’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “but welcome to my humble abode.”

The sound of a squeaking door echoed, and a tidy room appeared behind. The walls were lined with bookshelves, encasing two twin beds and a massive desk. The smell of medical herbs assaulted Geoffrey’s nose, and he instinctively pinched his nostrils, feeling nauseous.

“You’re back already?” Geoffrey’s ears perked up at the familiar voice, and his heart leaped to his throat. “What the… I thought spirits didn’t exist.”

“Well, you thought wrong.” Solange snorted as he signaled to his guests to enter so that he could close the door behind them. “I said we don’t worship spirits; I never said they didn’t exist.”

“You little—wait, Geoffrey?”

Marveck stood up, putting the book he had been reading on the desk before scrambling closer to his subordinate. Only his sunken face could be seen in that bundle of fur, but it was hard to miss the strands of ginger hair.

His lips curled up in a smile, and Geoffrey nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

There was a short moment where everything seemed to be at a standstill, then his unit leader stretched a hesitant hand to touch his face. Geoffrey noticed a finger was missing. Scars littered his hands and arms, the white marks unmistakable.

Still, Marveck looked healthy. If anything, he appeared even healthier than before the tragedy, having gained weight. His skin appeared smoother, and his brown hair, tied at the nape of his neck, more lustrous. Exhaustion also wasn’t pulling his face taut, and life seemed to have returned to his eyes, giving his gaze a light he had never seen before.  

“You look well,” Geoffrey said with a smile.

“And you look terrible!” Marveck didn’t mince his words and shot a glare at Solange. “What happened?”

“Why are you asking me?” The witch’s mouth twitched. “Your subordinate is just as stubborn as you and didn’t want witches to treat him, and here we are! I swear! Soldiers and their useless pride!”

Geoffrey could feel Marveck’s calloused hand tense on his cheek. His unit leader had always been smart, and he had a hunch he had already figured out what exactly had transpired. The stern, paternal gaze he threw at him also validated that thought. So, he averted his eyes and mumbled in a small voice, “I didn’t have the right to ask witches for their help, and I still don’t have it. It’s Cerwin who asked for Solange’s help, not me.”

“And I should have asked earlier.” The mountain spirit’s grip tightened, and Geoffrey was pushed against his chest a bit more. He didn’t complain, however. He had grown used to being in Cerwin’s arms and leaning against his chest. “It’s my fault.”

“It definitely is!” Solange didn’t spare Cerwin, his sharp voice startling Geoffrey. The witch gestured to one of the beds and ordered in a tone that wouldn’t allow disobedience, “Make yourself useful and put him down here. I want to check on his lungs one more time. Also, Marveck, we’ll have to share a bed for a while. The others won’t be at ease if your comrade sleeps elsewhere, and I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

“As long as you don’t grab my dick, I don’t really care.”

“Don’t get a hard-on against my butt, then.”

What…? His cheeks and ears felt as though they had been set on fire, and Geoffrey looked back and forth between his unit leader and the witch, uncertainty widening his eyes.

“Oh, come on!” Marveck stroked Geoffrey’s defined cheekbone with his thumb one last time before taking a step aside, allowing Cerwin to walk to the bed. He didn’t comment on the bright shade of red that had crept onto Geoffrey’s face. “Sol, are you still holding a grudge?”

“What do you think?” Solange rolled his eyes as he flipped the blankets on one side, shifting his attention back onto Cerwin. “Lay him here. And—”

The witch’s eyes grew wide as dark blood dripped from Cerwin’s nose, cascading on his lips and chin. Geoffrey instinctively brought the blanket of fur under the mountain spirit’s nose, expertly grabbing the back of his head so that he didn’t throw it backward.

Cerwin never learned.

“I told you to keep your head lowered!” Geoffrey scolded, his brow furrowed. “You know your stomach gets upset when you let the blood fall into your throat and swallow it, don’t you?”

“I know, but the blanket and the cardigan…”

“Both can be washed!” Geoffrey narrowed his bright green eyes. “I don’t want you to start throwing up blood on top of your nosebleed!”

Rushed footsteps resounded to his left, and Geoffrey turned his head toward Solange, who had grabbed towels and was handing them over to him. His hands were trembling. So, it is normal to panic when a spirit has a nosebleed. A mocking thought that made Geoffrey grit his teeth. He had been hoping, oh-so-dearly, that the anxiety surging in the pit of his stomach was unfounded. Now he knew for sure it wasn’t.

“What’s going on?”

Pursing his lips, Geoffrey didn’t answer, but took the towels and pressed them under Cerwin’s nose. Thankfully, it wasn’t a heavy nosebleed this time.

“Cerwin, please!” Solange’s voice sounded frantic, and Geoffrey felt a lump form in his throat. It reminded him too much of his own despair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll be joining my siblings soon. That’s all.”

“But you… You’re the last one remaining! You can’t—!” The witch bit his bottom lip, and his voice grew faint. “You can’t also disappear. Please, not you too.”

The mountain spirit didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to, for his silence spoke of a thousand words.