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a writing prompt. PART 01
โฆ
ใ คใ คใ คใ คwhen the excitement of a travelling archivist and their helper spread across the school, hajun ceased whatever he is occupied with at a drop of the hat โโ figuratively and literally speaking โโ just so he can rush to the hearth room. with the flyer in his hand and folded neatly into his back pocket, the linguist couldn't help the awe that took him as he observed the activity in the room, both of magical signatures and people alike, and he'd let his feet drag him to start anywhere. perusing, browsing, grabbing whatever that piqued his interest at first sight regardless of the price that accompanied the books and scrolls that now filled in his arms.
after a long time of internal debates, hajun carefully stacks these titles on the archivist's counter:
simple spells for sunny days.ย do you consider witchcraft fun?
a thesis on physics and magic.ย do you prefer the physical or nonphysical aspects of magic?
consecration in the modern age.ย what is the one thing you hold most sacred?
parables and poems from a past life.ย who were you in a past life? what life did you live before this one?
ใ คใ คใ คand if he places a pause on his classes so he can read everything in weeks to come or if he has to compromise on a loose schedule to make this happen, then it is what it is.
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค ๐ฏor the first set, the researcher finds it easier to compare both books together and place them side-by-side. the first book had seen better days, judging by the faded title on its spine while the other begged to be chosen, tucked in between the ancient and the bold. inside, the pages are not entirely blank, but neither are they fully written. the ink seems to lay heavy where his eyes meet the canvas, and each word forms where his gaze lingers โโ as if each page tries to remember its contents, and the strokes end up making the titles inconspicuous:
ใ คใ ค ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ฌ๐ข๐ฌ ๐จ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ฌ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ ๐ข๐.
do you prefer the physical or nonphysical aspects of magic? &&.
๐ฌ๐ข๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ย ๐ฌ๐ฉ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ฌย ๐๐จ๐ซย ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ง๐ง๐ฒย ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฌ.ย ย ย ย
doย youย considerย witchcraftย fun?ย
ใ ค there is a faint, almost imperceptible lift at the corner of his mouth.
fun is not the word he would use.
witchcraft, to hajun, is survival. it is a way of life rooted from nature, transformed into being through magical abilities passed from one offspring to another, and how the surviving traditions in tongue, movement, and attunement of a witch are drawn from the divine. "what constitutes the divine" as another subject for another day, one that defines transcendence for each practicing witch and familiarโโ hajun returns his thoughts to the extensive and intensive training it took him to get to this level instead.
how witchcraft became the foundation for his way of life, as a means to exist. how his grandmother's love echoes beyond time and space, pouring most of her life and energy into creating the magical structure in which hajun's magic does not continuously burn his soul away with every unsaid thought, with every unchanneled power without a reliable anchor. how witchcraft honed his sense of restraint and precision through language and intent at all times, lest he experience incidences that invite irreversible destruction.
one time, the young boy remembered the unfamiliar hallways of wood and stone, enclosing the scent of decay that followed his footsteps.
he recalled how his parents once brought him down to show the grand collection of his ancestors, knowledge gathered from every corner of the globe and protected by their family from those who did not take kindly to the truth of this world. it was no sooner that this dream always end the same way โโ the earth brought upon its wrath on their ceilings, breaking each timber and concrete and tearing through the olden runes embedded in it, dropping onto ahn sejeong and ahn jung-ah while hajun could only run towards the chaos and scream wildly with all his strength for everything to stop stop stop stโ
ใ ค โ ย [ STOP ! ] โ
then, ahn sehyeon's heart stilled.
struggled in arrhythmic sequences, as the old woman dropped to her knees from losing most of her strength in waking her grandson from a terrible nightmare, and before her heart collapses in the next second, she was able to deconstruct his spell.
the space settled, like something nearly broke ... but it didn't.
hajun's heart, in turn, withered.
as they huddled together in her bed, he did not leave his grandmother's side until she had to wake him in the morning after he had cried himself to sleep for the rest of the night within her arms.
ใ ค ever since then, witchcraft, for hajun, is ORDER. it comprises of various disciplines in symbols, crafts and a hundred languages wherein a witch and familiar can choose to express their definition of nature and exhibit it in their own self-concept. this is how witchcraft is โโ the quiet corrections within a misaligned world and existing systems; the way a door closes properly when it should and the way a room eases into silence without being asked.
but there are moments.
the way a spark returns to a student's eyes when they perfectly landed a counter from hajun's offensive blows, taking confidence in destabilising his flow in friendly fires. the way when irang's magic does not coincide or conflict with his, thrumming in the background like live wire but he learned to not get electrocuted from its input or its owner. the way simple low-level spells with the slightest intention lands cleanly per his expectations, not a syllable or flow wasted; not one body harmed because of his negligence in keeping himself and his ability in check.
in those moments, there is something close to relief.
then, there is joy... in reflecting on how learning magic and sharing what he experienced with others through teaching brings him peace; helps him to connect and navigate the world that she left behind for him. brings him something definitely lighter than duty.
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค witchcraft, for hajun, is healing.
ใ ค โ ย ...it can be, โ the professor says quietly more so to himself, testing the shape of the thought as he spoke it into reality. after reminiscing the essence of the first book, hajun reaches out to turn the page on the thesis and finds its resistance. the fiber stuck neatly to the next page, as if refusing hajun unless he acknowledges its hypothesis on the current content. to this, his gaze sharpens slightly, head tilting curiously towards a dysfunction he rarely meets, thanks to his magic.
for hajun, a magic researcher, physics and magic contain a false dichotomy.
ใ คใ คใ คใ คใ คใ ค ๐agic does not exist separate from the physical โโ in fact, it is expressed through physical manifestation. nature, in its tangible and intangible forms, uses witches and familiars to physically express itself through magic. magic, in its tangible and intangible forms, must be anchored to a physical means, so it may easily be perceived by the senses in the third dimension: for example, in sounds and music, natural elements, written and spoken language, kinesthetic dances, ritualistic trinkets, and so on and so forth. while these thoughts race in his head, hajun immediately grabbed a pen to jot down his comments and leave his mark on this copy of the dissertation; its tip glided smoothly on paper with less reluctance from before, as the ink flows with every turn, every stroke.
the literature supports his grandmother's hypothesis in proving how magic is first manifested through thought and intent in the space within the caster's mind, only to be transformed into the world through physical or symbolic anchors. and without structure, clarity and precision to express this magical intent, the magic outcomes are often volatile and unstable, posing risks to themselves and everything within their environment.
ใ ค thinking about it, even perception โโ his resonance โโ is not intangible.
his ability manifests as pressure, tension, correction; ensuring almost anything that exists within his field complies to the principle of nature regarding order. his magic constantly seeks equilibrium, making sense of the world in predictable sequences, patterns and flows from the most minute details to the most elaborate spell works.
it is the way that the room stays at a proper temperature despite hajun forgetting to close the windows that invited the winter breeze, or the way that dust never found a place in his room, never been taken with his clothes or shoes. it is the way that hajun can recall someone's magic signature after he'd met them once, as he mentally places descriptors of how he perceived and felt their magic even before they knew what its effects were to another person, and even without them casting a spell or crafting a potion.
and so, if he were to be asked what he prefers between the two, hajun already knows the answer:
ใ ค โ ย i prefer what is observable. โ
not visible to the naked eye, but he thinks of observable phenomena.
deviations. irregularities. stability.
the way magic behaves in a meticulously guided flow or under constraint.
the nonphysical aspect of magic is unreliable without structure. the physical, at least, can be measuredโโspells, potions, witch and familiar bonds, and ritualsโโeven if imperfectly.
and hajun has always trusted what can be measured.
A man with eyes as blue as the Atlantic Ocean stared out into the horizon, catching the sunrise from the large balcony that connected to his grand bedroom. His morning pastime was soon interrupted by a knock on his door. The witch turned to see who it was that dared to enter his room. It was only then, when he laid eyes on a beautiful woman, that his expression softened.
โPrince Caspianโโ
โWeโre behind closed doors, must you address me by my title, Aerith?โ
โMy apologies.โ
โWhat brings you to my room this early in the morning?โ The man named Caspian turned on his heels and walked over to the woman.
The blonde was dressed in rather expensive armor made of the rarest and toughest metals. The cape that flowed behind her held the color of the kingdom, a midnight blue with various medals decorating the front of her plate, dangling freely. The woman then gestured a sign of faith to the Trinity. It was a show of respect to the royal court, Atlantis, and the trident.
โPlease, my love, you donโt have to do that here with me.โ He chuckled as he took her hand in his, thumb brushing along the back of her hand.
โItโs a habit, sorry.โ She smiled at the prince, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek.
โDid you come here to watch the sunrise with me, or did you have something important to address?โ
โRight, so, the first general has picked up an unusual amount of activity in the west wing of Atlantis. His lieutenant has determined it to be linked to someone capable of dark magic.โ
โHas word reached my mother?โ
โIโm afraid so, which is why Iโm bringing the news to you, Caspian. The Queen wishes for me and my squadron to team up with the first generalโs squadron. There is suspicion that someone is trying to stop the wedding from happening.โ
โThe wedding isnโt for another monthโโ
โI know, my love, but this is to ensure your safety as well as Princess Lysithea. Not everyone is in favor of peace.โ Aerithโs hand then pulled from his to rest against his cheek, gently brushing the soft skin.
He could only stare into the brown eyes of his lover as he sighed to himself, leaning into the touch. If he could have it any other way, then he would run away with Aerith, even if it meant being exiled from Atlantis, but he was the only heir to the throne, so he could not abandon his people. Caspian then pulled the general in close for a hug, wanting nothing more than to be close to the one he wished to spend the rest of his life with, but of course, he could never have things his way.
A loud knock rang throughout his spacious bedroom, an indication for the two to separate from their embrace. The prince then called whoever it was to enter the room, and Princess Lysithea and her personal guard greeted the two.
โClaude,โ Aerith greeted the royal guard before turning to the princess, โPrincess Lysithea, it is a pleasure to see you again.โ
โPlease, no formalities are needed here.โ She responded with a warm smile, brushing her dark locks out of the way, tucking them behind her ear. โWeโve come to discuss some strange magic near our kingdom.โ
And with that, Claude closed the doors behind them.
click.
This wasโฆ darkness? No, he felt this before, and it was only when he realized where he was that his lungs felt like they were on fire. Beomseok swam up to where he saw there was light, continuing to hold his breath until he broke through to the surface. A loud, audible gasp for air could be heard along with strong ripples of the water around him. He shook the water off his hair and face, wiping it off fast so he could get a look at his surroundings. Beomseok didnโt recognize the area he was in but noticed the cloaked figures around him.
โYoung prince, you shouldnโt be here. It isnโt time yet.โ One of the figures, with a deep voice, replied urgently as their footsteps quickened to the edge.
Beomseok gasped for air before he was pushed back into the pool of water. His arms flailed in a panic as his head passed through the threshold of the water. It was only then, when he realized he could finally breathe, that he noticed he sank to the bottom of the pit. No matter how much he jumped, he couldnโt float back to the surface.
His eyes raced to the walls, looking for any cracks or imperfections to hold onto. He would have to climb out if he needed to. It was only then, when he had reached into one of the holes, that his body jolted forward into darkness once more.
โMy beloved prince,โ A voice suddenly called out to him.
It wasnโt until he felt droplets hit his cheek that he took in who held him. He was met with a pair of beautiful brown eyes that overflowed with tears. Beomseok reached his hand out to touch her face, brushing blonde locks out of the way. All of this felt too real to be a dream, especially when he felt the wetness of her tear-stained face.
โMay we be reunited in our next life, Caspian.โ
The words echoed in his head before he was revisited by darkness, though it didnโt last long, as something lingered in the darkness, almost darker than the void. It pierced through the veil, revealing two glowing blue eyes.
It was a crow.
โYou, human, are so weak.โ A voice from the darkness vibrated through the airwaves, resonating deep within the manโs chest.
No matter how much he backed off, there didnโt seem to be an end to this darkness. It was only then that he realized the space around him was no longer water.
โEven now, you continue to be weak!โ The animal growled at him, causing the man to stumble and fall to the ground.
โWho are you?โ He managed to squeak out. โWhat do you want?โ
A squawk then an audible snicker was let out as the creature slowly circled Beomseok, replying, โI have no name, but my people call me King.โ
โKing... King of what?โ
โOf the crows.โ
Something about this crow felt familiar to Beomseok, almost as if it were a part of him. It was like he had seen the world through its lens before.
โWhat is it you desire, Caspian?โ King asked as he slowly walked closer.
โWhat do you mean?โ Beomseok responded, confused.
โYour deepest desires.โ The crow then looked off to the right, where two pools of light appeared.
Beomseok turned his head to the pools of light, peering into one beforeโ
โHey, man, if youโre gonna sleep through the session, then Iโm going home.โ Youngmin, the drummer of Beomseokโs band, shook him awake.
โYou were talking in your sleep again.โ Jaeseop, the pianist, added rather nonchalantly as he chewed the end of his pen. โSomething about Aerith and a king or some shit.โ
Beomseok felt groggy and a bit disoriented from his supposed nap. He added a short sigh as he rubbed his temples, eyes closed as he tried to remember what his dream was about. Oddly enough, he couldnโt remember anything.
โHad a rough night last night, sorry. Let's finish up the session quickly and go home,โ He looked down at his notebook, noticing a strange sketch of a woman.
