The atelier had grown loud in recent months. Footsteps pattering down halls, excited voices mixing with the scratch of quills, Coco asking questions faster than Qifrey could answer them. Tetia’s laughter, Agott’s sharp commentary, Richeh’s quiet presence… the place felt fuller than it ever had.
But for you, the oldest apprentice, it sometimes felt smaller.
You had been with Qifrey the longest. His first apprentice. The one he trusted to take on difficult tasks, the one who studied late into the night long before any of the others had even known what a glyph was. At fifteen, almost sixteen, you were already skilled, serious, remarkably self-sufficient. Too self-sufficient, perhaps.
The others assumed you preferred the solitude of the upper room you’d claimed for your studies. They didn’t notice how often you slipped away to the roof or the forest edge just to breathe in quiet. They didn’t see how tired your eyes had become from reading by lamplight long after everyone else slept. And no one seemed to ask why you always came home late, shoulders tight with a pressure you didn’t know how to name.
At first, Qifrey tried to divide his attention between all of you, but Coco’s arrival shifted the rhythm of the atelier. Her endless curiosity and boundless mistakes kept Qifrey and Olruggio occupied for hours. Tetia and Richeh needed guidance with their spell shaping. Agott demanded instruction with an intensity that always required supervision. There was always something.
And you… didn’t cause trouble. You never required correction. You knew how to take care of yourself. So, piece by piece, everyone assumed you didn’t need anything from them.
The change was small at first. You spoke less during group lessons. You lingered in doorways instead of stepping inside. You let your hood fall low to hide how exhausted you were. No one questioned why you ate after everyone else. Why you drifted like a quiet shadow along the walls of your own home.
But Qifrey noticed the absences.
One evening, rain hammered against the windows while the younger apprentices worked around the table. Coco tried a glyph that sputtered into harmless green smoke. Tetia burst into giggles. Agott scoffed. Olruggio muttered something under his breath. The room was busy, warm, alive.
And your chair, your usual place at the end of the table, was empty again.
Qifrey glanced toward the door for the third time in an hour.
“Has anyone seen them today?” he asked softly.
No one had.
When you finally returned long after dusk, water dripping from your cloak, Qifrey was waiting by the entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable behind the lamplight. The others had already gone to bed; the atelier was quiet for once.
He stepped forward. “You’re late.” His voice wasn’t scolding, just gentle and concerned, more than you expected.
You looked down at your boots. “I was studying at the library..." you said, though your voice lacked its usual steadiness.
Qifrey tilted his head, studying you the way he studied spells, carefully, patiently, searching for what others overlooked. Something in your chest tightened, the feeling you’d been holding back for weeks pressing painfully at your throat. You tried to speak, but nothing came out. You hadn’t expected anyone to notice. You certainly hadn’t expected him to. You were so mad. You wanted to scream. Scream at him, Scream at the four girls, especially Coco. You were done. Alone. His help came to late, damage was already done.