It was a normal day at the Wizard’s Manor as a certain wizard went about his duties as a teacher. He was simply checking through homework papers in his room while his mirror sat on the windowsill, reflecting the afternoon sunlight at the perfect angle that cast beams of multi-colored light all over his room. The sound of his pen scratching on paper was a rhythm the brilliant-eyed wizard always found calming.

 

In the last few centuries of his life, Faust never thought he would be relishing the same sound ever since his days as a student. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into centuries-old indulgences. This time, however, he was the one teaching instead and his students were nothing short of being more than a handful.

 

But despite that, Faust adored his students as well as the blue-haired cook to no end. 

 

Eastern wizards were not social but it didn’t mean they did not appreciate the human connection. On the contrary, they form the strongest bonds because of the high walls they all had around themselves before lowering them as trust was built.

 

For Faust, however, there were too many walls that he wasn’t ready to lower and he appreciated everyone who never forced him to.

 

With that thought, he rested his pen. Finally, the last of the papers were all marked. The wizard reached for his teacup only to find that the tea Nero brewed for him had already gone cold. He then looked out the window. It was a few more hours until dinner which means there wouldn’t be too many people in the dining room.

 

Perfect.

 

Faust was pleasantly surprised to find the blue-haired wizard going about in the kitchen.

 

“Good Afternoon, Teach. Did you like the tea?” Nero approached him, hands out to take the teacup from the brown-haired wizard.

 

“Hello, Nero. And yes, I did,” Faust said as he placed the cup into Nero’s hand.

 

“That’s great to hear,” Nero said with a vibrant grin on his face. Every chef’s biggest joy is people enjoying their creations after all. “Anyhow, why are you here so early? Dinner’s not served soon.”

 

“I’d like you to pack a basket for me. I don’t feel like dining with other people today,” Faust said, answering the other wizard’s questioning look. Upon hearing his response Nero sighed.

 

“You forgot the Central and Northern Wizards are coming back today, didn’t you?”

 

Faust paused.

 

Ah, right. When a mission ends there is an obligatory group dinner, a celebration of sorts. Faust’s expression must’ve given away his thoughts because Nero proceeded to laugh as the chef started to brew another pot of tea.

 

“Since I finished the preparations for dinner already, how about we have some tea and chat? We’ll save the wine for later. What do you say?” Nero’s invitation was genuine and sincere, it made something in the purple-eyed wizard shift.

 

“... Fine,” and Faust found that sharp edge of something in chest eased slightly

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Faust and Nero sat in the dining room, two cups of tea between them as idle conversation and comfortable silence flowed. 

 

It wasn’t long until the sun set completely and the moon appeared. The soft glow of the Great Calamity painted the gardens of the Wizard’s Manor in such a way that the sight can only be described as ironically beautiful. 

 

For something with such resplendency to cause such catastrophe, Faust only lightly scoffed at the irony of it all. For something once as grande and magnificent to turn into such a disaster, Faust knows the irony of it all.

 

“They should be back any second now,” Nero said as he downed the last of the liquid in his mug. “I’ll start with the final preparations, you can relax here Teach.”

 

Faust only continued to watch the garden as the other wizard left the room, his magic buzzing slightly as the excitement of mealtime began.

 

And for those few seconds in the dining room, Faust was alone. That something in his chest tightened again which caused the brown-haired wizard to grimace.

 

Solitude used to be the one that calmed that edge in his chest but now for that one split second, it felt… empty.

 

“Shino, stop! You’re going to make us fall over!”

 

But then it was hidden again as Faust’s two students stumbled into the room.

 

Shino and Heathcliff were breathlessly laughing as they entered, their exuberant energy was contagious enough that a gentle ghost of a smile made its way to the older Wizard’s lips.

 

“Hello, Mr.Faust! I never thought you’d ever be here before us,” Heathcliff greeted him first as he helped his dark-haired childhood best friend steady himself.

 

“Hello, Heathcliff. Hello, Shino,” Faust greeted both of his students when they finally were able to walk normally. Heathcliff claimed the seat across from Faust and Shino, the empty seat next to Heathcliff.

 

Before the group of Eastern Wizards could continue their conversation, the Southern Wizards entered the room.

 

“I know you’re excited that Riquet is coming back today, Mitile, but spare him the questions until tomorrow? He must be tired from traveling,” Rutile’s dissuade could be heard as they all entered. However, Mitile, ever excited to see his friend again, could not hold the energy back.

 

“A young boy like you ought to learn to respect other people’s needs, Mitile. Let Riquet rest for tonight, he won’t disappear,” Figaro’s voice followed soon after.

 

There was only Lennox who met his eye and slightly inclined his head, a blink was the only indication Faust had acknowledged it.

 

“Dinner’s serving!” Nero’s voice rang out from the kitchen as he walked out with plates of the most exquisite-smelling food. And of course, none of the wizards could hold back their excitement as Nero carefully laid out each platter on the long dining table.

 

“My, what a delightful meal you have put together, Nero. A true chef indeed,” Shylock sauntered into the dining room, pipe still in hand and Murr still close by.

 

“Truly amazing!” Murr, judging from how gleeful he was, was more than ready to join in the celebration. If the energy in the room wasn’t enough to make Faust slightly dizzy already, Murr’s demeanor would do the trick.

 

Chloe and Rustica followed soon after, showering Nero with praises of his culinary skills. The chef simply laughed in delight before addressing the bartender.

 

“Shylock, would you mind making drinks that would compliment our meal? I have little to no knowledge when it comes to beverages and I would rather let a professional handle it,” Nero said as he set down the last of the plate in front of Faust.

 

Shylock, upon hearing the request, simply smiled. “It would be my pleasure. Would you like me to start the preparations now or rather wait for the others to arrive first?”

 

“They should be here in a few moments so I don’t think it’ll make a difference. I’ll help you with the ingredients,” the rest of the wizards watched as the chef and bartender disappeared into the kitchen before resuming their conversations.

 

Faust decided to then turn his attention back to the garden, ignoring everything before a headache forms. But despite that, the Eastern Wizard could not refuse that hearing his comrades converse among themselves had slightly smoothed the edge inside his chest.

 

“Hello, everyone! We’re back!” It was no surprise that it was Cain who announced the Central and Northern Wizards’ arrival.

 

The stream people forced his attention back to the room as they all welcomed the last guests to today’s celebration.

 

The atmosphere of the room was constantly high, as cutlery and the specially made drinks were passed out. Finally, the celebration began.

 

The next few hours felt like it had passed in a few blinks and when Faust finally let himself sigh into the breeze, he was standing alone in the gardens. The celebration was still going on despite tired souls who excused themselves earlier, Faust amongst them.

 

However, he didn’t make his way back to his room immediately but instead out to the manor’s large garden. The sounds from the dining room were subtle but still audible even far away. He could hear the laughter of the older wizards as they shared stories of each other with each other and sometimes a tired Cain would have to step in before they started turning each other to stone.

 

Faust was so deep into his thoughts that he took more than a few moments to register that Crown Prince Arthur was approaching him. He turned to meet the silver-haired wizard who seemed to be holding a… glowing flower?

 

“Good evening, Faust,” the prince greeted.

 

“Good evening, Arthur. What brings you out here?” Faust replied. He didn’t expect the Prince to leave the celebration inside so soon.

 

“I have something for you,” Arthur said as he held out the small glowing bloom in his hands. “I found this flower while flying down from the North, exactly where the borders of the North, East, and Central met. It felt similar to you, so I took it.”

 

Faust stared. The flower was indeed beautiful, the petals elegant and graceful, the glow of it delicate. And as the midnight winds blew past them, the petals moved in a way that reminded Faust of a bonfire.

 

The sharp edge in his chest seemed to ease for the third time today.

 

“It is, indeed, beautiful. Thank you, Prince Arthur,” Faust took the flower into his own hands.

 

“What are you planning to do with it?” Arthur asked, still lingering to observe the Eastern Wizard who was too similar to his country’s savior.

 

“It would be a shame to see such a flower wilt and die. I do not know if such a flower can grow in the Central Country air since it is quite warm. I mean to settle it in the manor’s greenhouse, amongst our own herbs,” Faust replied as he gently observed the flower in his hand.

 

“Then I shall accompany you,” the Prince’s response had the Wizard looking up to him with a slight frown. Faust did not like working his magic under other people’s gaze yet.

 

He realized he did not mind Crown Prince Arthur Grandwell watching, in fact, the Prince was not ‘other people.’ At least not anymore.

 

The frown on his face softened into one of his rare smiles as Faust accepted Arthur’s offer of the company.

 

Rows upon rows of plants and flowers greeted them once they entered the greenhouse and the Eastern Wizard wasted no time pulling out one of the prepared pots from not far away. Faust was a maledictor, herb, plants, and botany weren’t foreign subjects.

 

With ease and grace one would say similar to the steps of a Waltz, Faust settled the glowing flower into the pot. Its petals still sway slightly despite the still air of the greenhouse. Once he was satisfied, Faust turned to the Grandwell Prince.

 

“What would you like to name it?”

 

Arthur was slightly startled but resumed his composure quickly, a small reminder of what the Crown Prince truly was, a child carrying a burden too heavy. But then it was not the child that approached him, instead, it was a Prince whose will was like hidden diamonds, the strongest of substances, unbreakable.

 

He gently took the potted plant from where it was and held it up against the light of the moon, the petal’s glow seemed to have diminished, reflecting purple that was too similar to Faust’s own eyes in the strange light, yet, the glow somehow caused it to look ethereal.

 

“Lavinia. The Lavinia flower.” Arthur’s voice sounded slightly fleeting like he was in a trance, enthralled by the beauty of the small flower in his hands.

 

Faust only stared at the plant whose wisping petals reminded him of his very first dance at the bonfire centuries ago.

 

In a breath softer than a whisper, the once-great wizard repeated.

 

“Lavinia.”

 

And he felt the sharp glass-like edges inside his chest ease a little more.

 

 

 

At first, there was just one flower. 

 

The Lavinia swaying in the phantom wind and glowing under the unwavering moonlight, like an unending bonfire never ceasing to burn.

 

Then there was a second one. This was one Oz found. It had been shy, unbloomed, and slightly wilting when Oz had handed it to Faust. 

 

“For Arthur,” he said.

 

Until Faust set out to pot the flower that night. Its silver-laced petals were now in full bloom reflecting the light in a way that had resembled one of those rare auroras.

 

A Nix Lux, Arthur had decided to name it. Fitting, for the white snow-like petals it showed during the day, then the colorful lights it reflected throughout the night.

 

Many months later, Faust made his now usual trip to the Manor’s greenhouse. Instead of the unnamed, unimportant plants and flowers he had been so accustomed to, there was a section where 20 unique flowers had accumulated, each from a different part of the continent. They were strange flowers, never discovered until now and most likely caused by the effects of the Great Calamity. But, for some reason, all Sage’s Wizards had been drawn to them one way or another. And, for reasons unknown, other than the fact that he potted them all, Faust remembered all their names.

 

Of course, there was the Lavinia, never ceasing its dance in the wind, and the Nix Lux, sleeping peacefully in the afternoon sun.

 

In the pots next to it was the Everbloom, named by Riquet for its ever-blooming bud that seemed to sing hymns into the wind. The Eventide, named for its pitch-black petals and affinity to the cold of before dawn; a flower fitting to be named for the Great Wizard Oz. Then there was the Orarian, an aquatic flower that blooms best in the spring wind. Its gold-laced red petals reminded many of Cain’s hair.

 

On the other side, closer to the Lavinia, there was the flower named by Heathcliff: the Heavydew. Its scent was of fresh rainfall and somehow dusk. Next to it, a bush of wildflowers grew. Its flowers were small yet it was growing rapidly, furiously. The Littleblues, Shino called them, and who was Faust to object to such a genuine name. In the pot behind the Lavinia was the solitary flower of grey and blue. Its stem was strong against the wind, yet gentle to the touch. The Argen, named by Nero for its color similar to his very own silverware.

 

The Vinrits grew a bit further from the rest. It was a vine plant that bloomed a wine-colored flower, each time with a different and unique scent which Shylock had been happily experimenting with in his cocktails. Then there it was, intertwined with the Vinrits was the Sephila. Murr had immediately taken a liking and the incentive to name the flower, despite its unconventional habit of shedding petals each time moonlight streamed through the greenhouse’s glass ceilings but growing beautifully again the next day. Chloe’s flower was called the Ruberia. Its bright red petals can not be named another, the young tailor had claimed. In the pot next to it was the Ornira, named by Rustica, its small white petals fluttering in the wind resembling a bird’s rustling feathers.

 

To the other side of the greenhouse, there was also the Cyanus. One of the only two aquatic plants. Figaro had been the one to have found it and to Faust’s fascination, the flower bud’s strange cycle of being an aromatic herb in the morning, poison in the afternoon, and blooming into a flower in the night. Lennox’s was much simpler, a small, fluffy bush of white that had the name of Airi. Then there was Rutile, who the flowers Lenthia was named for. They were golden and smelled of unending harvests, like grapes and sunsets. And smaller flowers that never seemed to grow fully caught Mitile’s eyes, he named them Thiya and had hoped that someday, one day, one of those flowers will bloom fully for him to witness.

 

The last ones were kept in the colder section of the greenhouse. With their affinity to the North’s harsher temperatures, it was understandable. The one Bradley brought back had the smell of bitter salt, he named it the Blackeye. Then the twin flowers, the Giel, grew from one stem and both beautiful but as if tragedies could not leave Snow and White, their flowers were set for a life of solitude. One dies while the other lives on until seeds fall and then it wilts, only to grow again just to repeat this cycle. The one Mithra had named was Exos, for the plant was as pale as any human bone and turned as rigid as night came. The only sweet-smelling one was Owen’s. The Educur flower was more poisonous than any Faust had encountered, though there were certain hours of the night where the flower could be harvested and used as herbs.

Faust enjoyed the tranquillity of the greenhouse. He had taken over the duty of keeping it in its great condition and had been carefully meeting each unique plant’s needs. It was a duty he finally found that he could endlessly lose himself in, and he was grateful for it. It was also a place where he felt the sharp edges of glass in his chest slowly smooth over.

 

Today was also one of those days, he was so lost in the rhythm of the shovel digging into the dirt that he did not see the Sage enter the greenhouse. Until they were a few steps away from the counter Faust was working on.

 

“Hello, Faust,” the Sage greeted gently. Faust turned, slightly distracted but his careful expression was shown once again.

 

“Hello, Sage. What can I do for you?” The Eastern Wizard asked as he set down the gardening tools onto the table. Strangely enough, he did not feel disturbed when the Sage walked in, in actuality, he never felt disturbed if anyone entered while he was working on the flowers.

 

“Yes,” the Sage answered him timidly, then held out a beautiful bush of flowers. It was breathtaking as if it had been designed to bloom in every color possible as if the flowers blooming were small shards of the Great Calamity itself.  “I found this on my window sill this morning and I would like to ask if you could keep it potted along with everyone’s.”

 

Faust smiled at the request. “Of course.”

 

When the plant was finally settled into its designated pot, Faust held it up for the Sage to see.

 

“It is a very beautiful one, Sage. Would you like to name it?” The Wizard asks his superior. To his surprise, the Sage shook their head.

 

“You should name it, you’ve been taking care of all of the flowers but you have not even named one of them. No, and the Lavinia does not count. I remember Arthur named it for you,” The Sage’s response made Faust grimace. After all, he had never named any of the flowers, he didn't know how to choose something, a word, or a group of them that would represent a concept, a person that would be remembered for eternity.

 

Slowly, the newly potted plant began to bloom. Each flower was different, distinct yet unified by its conditional situation. But at the very same time, as if it had all learned how to live under one roof, one branch, it learned how to bloom.

 

“Akira.” Faust lowered the pot to meet the eyes of the person who was staring back at him in bewilderment. “For the Sage who unified us all, this flower will be called Akira.”

    

 

 

That night, Faust was going through the last of the homework papers, his pen scratching against paper was a sound he could never get bored of. The cup of tea on his table was still steamy and the aroma of it relaxing. Suddenly, the pen stopped when the mirror on the windowsill started to show reflections of falling stars.

 

They fell and fell, faster and faster and before he could cast even a spell the wizard was blinded. By the time he had recovered, the lights were gone. Nothing was damaged, nothing had changed.

 

But when Faust walked to his window, he was greeted with a sight he wished history would never forget.

 

In the Manor’s garden and in every possible place for a flower to bloom, there was an Akira. Blooming bright and beautiful, as if the Great Calamity was to remind everyone yet again that there is resplendency in the disastrous.

 

And, somehow, the sight of the unending bloom of the Sage’s flower made the sharp edges of the broken shards in Faust Lavinia’s unhealed heart ease over completely.