2 - 11

"Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go."

― Sarah Dessen

Hey guys! This is the end of the book, and I just wanted to say that I appreciate each and every single one of you for following along this story and sticking with these characters :)) It's so important to me, this book, these little beings I've created, and I'm so glad to share it.

Part Two - Chapter Eleven

"The Dragon's Found Witch"

Once Athanasius flies them back to the open field they've camped in, the sun having fully risen, Oziamon starts to create a portal with the phoenix's help.

They trace runes into the big oak whose branches were draped over their tent the night before, glowing with their power and they settle into the bark. Charcoal stains both their hands but neither seems to mind.

Slowly, sparks fill the air, ripples that turn into a pool showing their living room.

The perspective is weird, all around them is a forest and a field, but right there against the oak is the edge of their bookshelves and across from those, their couch.

The magic is steady but pulsing, meshing two different places together—the spell makes Kaigon uneasy. Stray feels it like an echo of his own emotions, sees it in the way his voidwalker shuffles in place, how they twist their fingers over each other, how their bottom lip goes red with how they chew on it.

Stray remembers a time when all magic was painful, when it was raw like an open wound and twisted their insides into knots, hanging their safety in a noose made from anxiety.

He used to think that it was meant to be cruel.

That witches and magic were all heavy hands and icy chains, that there was no such thing as careful touches or a gentle spell, that it was cold and achy and sharp.

Over the years, his coven proved him wrong.

The shop is full of runes and spells to make every corner steady, every room warm, and every doorway big enough to avoid bruised foreheads or squished wings. There's ointments that heal and rocks that ease panic and everything smells like an herb because the power that's threaded through every floorboard and wall is kind.

Every spell used on one of them is done with permission and Oziamon never takes more from his familiars than he needs, never takes what he cannot give back.

He's seen them treat each other with respect, seen how they're all on the same standing, seen how the magic they have is not malicious.

But Kaigon hasn't.

Stray told them about his family's kindness but it's one thing to hear and another thing to understand; it's difficult to imagine when never experienced. Their old coven was cruel and harsh, they did not care to waste time or pull their punches.

They did not care if their spells would end up with a dead familiar.

And this kind of magic—creating portals from such a distance—took a lot of power.

"It's okay, Kage," Stray reaches out, pulling their twisting hands apart to hold them in his own. Night eyes meet his own and he offers a smile, stepping closer. "No one's getting hurt, okay? Oziamon's really careful whenever he does shit like this."

"It's just—I can feel it," Kaigon shudders slightly, eyes drawing back to the portal. "I can feel how uh, the space is folding in on itself. That's, yeah—that's taking a lot of energy."

There were nights where Stray couldn't stand, when the old coven stole so much from him that each breath felt taxing and his heart hurt in his chest.

Then again the next week, when he barely recovered.

They took and took and took and it hurt.

"Do you see that crystal that Oz's wearing?" Stray says, pointing to the witch, the pendant around his neck is one that the phoenix usually wears. He ignores the memories and the phantom aches that come with them.

"Yeah?" His voidwalker tilts their head, frowning a bit.

"It's kinda like an energy-amplifier. Ras and my dad are really powerful, they're super old or something, so they produce a lot of excess magic. They store their mana in the crystals until they're full, then Oziamon uses them when he does spells like this."

"But... they're still helping?"

"Course they are, they want to make sure that Ozzy's magic is getting directed correctly. Plus, spells are easier with familiars—or, that's what I'm told. Kinda not a witch, big man."

"You helped me with a spell before," Kaigon says, night eyes meeting his own, a little curious but mostly sad. "Do you remember that at all?"

"No." The only spell he remembers willingly being a part of is the one to find his witch. "Can you tell me about it?"

"Of course," they moved their hands so they were holding each other and gave him a gentle squeeze. He does it back, tail swishy contently behind him. "We were young, like real young. Five-ish, I think? No, yeah, we were five and we really wanted to go outside. It was snowing for the first time—I uh, didn't know snow would be bad for you, back then, or that it was even cold—but the only way we knew how to get outside was through this one door, and it was locked. This was right after I made us go to the coven, before I knew how bad they were. So, keep in mind, we really wanted outside."

Snow might've been bad for him when he was young, but it was something he became intimately familiar with in those cold months between escaping his old coven and getting caught by Atlas in the shop.

Every week is best remembered by ice and foggy breath. This doesn't hurt as much as it used to; the memories are all thawing out.

"We exploded something, didn't we?" Stray asks, making a face.

Kaigon laughs. "Not quite. We did, however, send the door into uh, into the void? Yeah, that thing was gone. I didn't know what my magic was centered around yet, so I thought it was just like... temporarily misplaced. Your energy has always been really strong, though, and we so, so far overestimated what we needed to do to get outside. So, yeah."

"R-I-P to the door," Stray says, grinning up at his witch. "Did we like the snow?"

"No," they snort, grinning back. "I was fine with the cold but my socks got all wet, and like, you instantly started to shiver even before you decided to throw yourself into a snowbank. It wasn't the best experience—we didn't get caught, though."

"Really?" He pauses, blinking quick a couple times as the memory of glittering white snow and a child's red nose hits him. It's Kaigon, he realizes, when they were younger. "What'd they think happened to the door?"

"No clue," Kaigon shrugs. "But we were never punished for it."

"Blegh," Stray grimaces, wings refolding on his back, uncomfortable at the twinge of ghostly pain that slides up his sides. "I remember the punishments."

"What?" His voidwalker looks alarmed, grip tightening over his fingers. "But—you weren't meant to. I, I wanted to at least spare you of that."

"Oh." He's not quite sure how to reply.

"You were only supposed to remember the good." Kaigon makes a distressed noise and Stray's ears flatten down, shoulders going up a bit. "What—what do you remember?"

"Enough," he says, a little wary to make the other's panic worse. "But it's okay! I promise it's alright that I remember, I worked through it. I still am."

The nightmares haven't haunted him for a while now. Not like they used to.

"I thought—" They take a deep breath, night eyes closing for just a moment. "I'm not sure what I thought."

"Whatever we lived through, whatever I remember from before, I'm strong enough to handle it. I have Atlas and Ozzy and Ras, and you," he stands on his toes, pulling until Kaigon leans down to rest their foreheads together. "And I'm starting to remember you, so it's worth it, okay? We survived."

"Sometimes," they whisper, "it doesn't feel like we did."

"But we did," Stray argues, heart hurting at the confession. "We did, and we're alive, and I know you said the distance is safer but it's not. I'm not going to forget again but I'd rather know where my scars come from than keep wondering."

"Is the knowledge really worth it?"

"Yes. It might be painful but it's my pain. I want to know it, know my past. Besides, memory curse or no memory curse, I'm yours—and I'll try my hardest to teach you how to live again."

"You've always been stubborn," Kaigon chuckles wetly, sounding close enough to crying that it makes their voice crack. "I'm dangerous, Starlight."

"Not to me," he shakes his head, pressing closer until they're sharing the same breath.

"I hurt you before," they say, and he watches as their eyes fill with tears. "It was an accident but it could happen again."

"Nothing will hurt as much as if I lost you again, Kaigon, don't you get that?" He asks, raising a hand to their cheeks, fingers trembling as he wipes their tears away. "Other wounds can heal but not that. Not that."

"But—"

"No," Stray sniffles, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the scruff across their jaw under his palms, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin under their eyes. "We already had this conversation, we already agreed that it's us forever. They're dead, Kage... they can't hurt us. We're free, they can never hurt us again."

"We're free." Kaigon repeats.

"I know it's scary," he says, "but we won't always have this fear."

"I know, I know," they whisper, hands raising to his wrists. "We have time to heal."

When tears continue to run down their cheeks, the youngling's own follow. It wasn't harsh with heavy breaths or violent sobs, it's just blotchy cheeks and stuffy noses, it's just them crying together, feeling through the aches to get somewhere soft.

Moments later, when Athanasius walks over to check on them, they pull away to dry their cheeks and matching smiles turn into soft laughter.

"You both were cryin'," Atlas says, crouching slightly to be more eye level with them, red eyes regarding them with worry. "Did somethin' happen?"

"No, we were just—catching up," Kaigon says, hand coming down to take his in its gentle hold. He lets it, and shuffles closer until he could place a wing around them.

"We're okay, dad." Stray reassures, a small growl bubbling up his throat as his protector straightens up. Safe-safe, loved.

Loved-safe-mine, Athanasius reaffirms. Then, he looks at the witch. "I'm happy you get the chance t'catch up. I don't know if Aster asked ya, but are you comfortable goin' through the portal?"

"I-I think so?" The voidwalker grimaces. "I've never gone through one before."

"Want me to describe it for you?" The big dragon asks, doing just that when he gets a nod. "It'll feel like you're gettin' pushed back a bit 'n you'll need to ignore it. S'over quick, the magic won't cling t'you or affect yours."

"What if I don't um, don't make it through before it closes?"

"The spell will only end when Oziamon wants it to. However, if somethin' goes wrong, both of 'em worked fail-safes into it, so you've just come back right where you were before yer went into the portal. We'd just open it again 'n wait for you t'come through."

Kaigon nods, looking uncomfortable as they look back to the portal.

Years ago, before he understood magic, Stray's first concern wouldn't have been if the spell would work or not. It wouldn't have been if he were to get trapped.

The first thing he'd wonder—

"Will it hurt?" The youngling asks, rocking once on the balls of his feet as Athanasius frowns at him, hair falling in front of his face as he shakes his head.

"You think I'd ever let ya do somethin' that hurts you?" His dad scoffs, pupils narrowing slightly. "Or are you askin' for that witch of yours?"

"My witch," Stray says, the words easily rolling off his tongue.

"Alright," Atlas turns to the voidwalker, who looked more sheepish than uncomfortable, but still like they weren't having a good time. "The spell won't be painful—only it pushin' against you, like I said. My witch doesn't practice degenerative spells or potent magic 'n Ras wouldn't use his powers against either of you."

"I understand," Kaigon says, hand tightening in their grasp. "Um, are we leaving now?"

"Soon," the familiar gives a half-shrug. "You should start gettin' everything together."

His voidwalker squeezes his hand once and once he does it back, they let go.

As Kaigon pulls away to grab their bag and make sure they have everything they need, the two dragons watch them for a moment. Stray doesn't look away, still a little awed that they're right in front of him still, but Athanasius hums, glancing back towards his own witch where Ozzy was putting the tent away with Ras.

"Dad?" He says, easily leaning into Athanasius's side when he wraps a big arm around his shoulders, wings coming out so he could wrap one around his smaller pair. "What do I do?"

"Whatever ya want to do, treasure," his dad squeezes his arm lightly. "You both are free 'n safe. The world is yours, truly yours, 'n I know that no matter where you go, you'll have someone by yer side. That Kaigon kid is as loyal as they come."

"What if... what if I lose them again—I, I can't do that. I can't."

"And you won't," Atlas reassures, hand coming up to his chin to make him look up, red eyes to blue, sincere but intense. "My runt, trust Kaigon to do what is best for your happiness. Trust yourself with them. You both are connected, loved. Don't betray that love for fear, yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathed out, letting himself relax more, burying his face into his protector's side. "Hey dad? Have I ever thanked you for saving me all those years ago?"

Chuckling, Athanasius ruffling his hair. "You don't have t'thank me for that, not when you should've never needed savin' in the first place."

"I know, but still," Stray says, giving a soft growl of love-yours-appreciated.

Mine-loved-loved, his dad rumbles back, leaning down to place a gentle kiss onto his forehead, fond and reverent.

-——-——-

"Kage."

"Yes, starlight?"

Stray squeezed his witches hand, giving them a wide grin. "Forever starts now, okay?"

"Okay," Kaigon smiles and squeezes his hand back. "Forever starts now."

-——-——-

On the edge of a ghost town, across from an deserted orphanage and a row of burnt, uprooted trees, is a half-collapsed church that had been a refuge to a witch.

It's old but large, with broken windows and fallen pillars half-hidden behind overgrown weeds. Inside, there are hundreds of things someone wants to avoid—holes in the floorboards, nails sticking out of place, glass on the ground. Splintered pews and shards of cement and tripping hazards, there's dirt and dust and cracking sculptures.

There's cut ropes and heavy, fallen doors resting on the floor between two pews.

There's empty baskets, sections clear of dust and debris as if someone had swept it away. There's a little nook with a leftover pillow, beads and crystals left behind, stuck in the dirt or swaying from the breeze. Spells in the wood, mold in the back, containers never to be used again tossed to the side.

It's everything someone needs to survive, to stay hidden. It's the only thing that a witch used to have but now—now they have more.

The loved witch leaves the town and the church behind, hand in hand with their familiar, and breathes easily for the first time in years. A portal closes around them, whisper-soft and silky with the scent of magic. They close their eyes, gasping in a lungful of air.

Opening them, they stare out at the house around them, at the coven by their side.

The little golden dragon has found their witch, has completed his hoard.

Finally, they are home.