Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are a great many ghosts in Wizard City.

Any necromancer worth their salt would know this, but the odd couple of theurgists or conjurers - perhaps even a sorcerer - could pass by a few more than the average wizard in their lifetime. There could easily be hundreds of souls, lost and wandering the streets of Wizard City - and some people might not ever know.

They never cause any trouble - not intentionally, anyways. More often than not, they congregate during holidays, especially that of Yule or Hallowe’en. Hanging off of loved one’s shoulders, creating a breeze that momentarily causes someone to turn around, mistakenly knocking over objects…

Malorn is - understandably - sympathetic towards them.

Most necromancers tend to be actually, so he’s really no different in that regard. But, he gazes upon their cloaked forms, their shaded features and their relatively shapeless figures... and feels something like fondness? He doesn’t know these wandering souls, but someone else did. Someone else must have loved them.

A great many of these ghosts are without form. Forgotten by time, their appearance becomes more and more uniform. Many of the lost souls on Unicorn Way were found like this. Even despite all their troublemaking, Malorn finds it in his heart to sympathize with them.

“Be kind,” he advised the guards on Unicorn Way. “Many of them don’t know who they follow anymore, nor their own names or faces.”

—

There is a ghost in the Shopping District.

Malorn noticed them out of the corner of his eye a few times while getting decks for some of the novices. Most of the ghosts that people remember have a semblance of a form. Many of them can recall their name and past events - but upon looking at their face, you might find a distinct lack of one. In place of this, some of them are followed by smells and sounds.

More often, he heard the distant sounds of laughter, bells ringing and music - and turned to look for the source, only to find nothing. Sometimes, he would pick out the smell of lavender or lemongrass from a crowd and find himself next to a ghost who would smile at him with no mouth, only their eyes.

In this case, this ghost was followed by the sound of wind.

Malorn hadn’t noticed it at first, all the chatter of the Shopping District had drowned it out. But near the quieter corner of the deck shop, he heard it - howling wind, followed by the scent of wet earth in spite of the fact that it hasn’t rained.

Like any sane person, Malorn followed the sound.

What he finds is a person - a wizard - who is somewhere around his age. For a moment, he is shocked, and maybe even embarrassed. Surely, he hadn’t just followed a living person because he had mistaken them for being dead?

In the moment, he pondered the value in turning on his heel and running back the way he came and hoping to never see this person again. If there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he was terrible at lying on the spot, but -

Then they turned around.

Malorn thought he could cry from relief upon seeing their shimmering, slightly transparent form. That saved him from another awkward interaction.

This ghost looked remarkably like a living person, retaining all their features and all the stitched details in their clothing - which he realized is something an older student might wear. There are clouds and snowflakes embroidered onto their tunic which is a lighter color than the rest of him. He must’ve been a thaumaturge.

It didn’t take long for their expression to shift from slightly confused to utterly perplexed.

“Most necromancers pay no mind to any ghosts they see,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Who are you?”

“Malorn!” was what he spouted back, a little bit too loud and enthusiastic for his liking. “Malorn Ashthorn, that is. I’ve never seen one quite like you around.”

“My name is Elik.” And he gestured to himself. Malorn’s eyes must have flickered between him and the cliff behind him because he quickly added, “Yes, precisely that Elik.”

For a moment, Malorn doesn’t quite believe him, but Elik is not an uncommon name in Wizard City. Hell, the owner of the Bazaar is named Elik. Something about this ghost - ‘Elik’ - just feels very untrustworthy.

Though, ironically, his apparent untrustworthiness might be what makes him THE Elik. Most students attending Ravenwood would come to learn about the namesake of Elik’s Edge: an early student of Ravenwood who leapt from the cliff while being pursued for stealing relics from the shopping district and was never seen again.

It was much less a tale of caution and more a tale to scare younger wizards off from getting too close and disturbing any creatures that were often found near the edge. Especially since those creatures had a lot to do with studies in thaumaturgy, which tends to be… unforgiving, according to some.

Still, Malorn was surprised. “How come I’ve never heard of anyone seeing you before? Or seen you before myself?”

The shade - Elik - smiled and said, “I never was very easy to find.”

—

“Do you… need glasses?”

“What?” Malorn’s hand stilled over the page as he looked over at Ceren who had an eyebrow raised at him, seemingly vexed. “No?”

The question left him so confused that he genuinely froze in place for a moment.

The theurgist blinked at him. “You sure? Because it sounds to me that you weren’t seeing right for a second there.”

“Is that really what you’re taking away from this?”

Ceren paused to look over another page. The both of them had made an agreement to grade some student’s papers together a few weeks ago, since it took some of the workload off of Malorn and gave Ceren something to do that wasn’t gardening until his fingers bled or stressing himself about Unicorn Way.

“No, of course not.” There was an eye roll that is implicit with the way said says it, words laced with sarcasm. “But to me, it is pretty cut-and-dry. You met the Elik that the terrace was named for, and he is - unsurprisingly - no longer with us.”

“I’m surprised” - Malorn hisses back, matching Ceren’s energy - “that he is still here, at all. Surely, he would have moved on by now.”

There is a beat of silence. Ceren examined his face a little too closely, thumb pressed into cheek to turn his face left and right, left and right… He started to feel warm under Ceren’s intense scrutiny. “You were squinting again.”

He scoffed, incredulous, “Seriously?”

“You need glasses,” the theurgist said and flicked through a couple more papers for him to grade. “If there’s anything that is keeping him here, you could always ask.”

You could always ask. The words rang in his ears for a second. Just ask.

“You have that look again.” Ceren nudged him slightly. “Did I say something?”

“Yes,” Malorn answered instantly, and Ceren’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, no - but uh…”

You could always ask. He saw a familiar name on one of the sheets, peeking over the edge, as if to taunt him.

“I think that’s enough for today.”

—

Elik is… vain.

Malorn made a note of this the next time they spoke.

“I might be the best thaumaturge they have ever had in Ravenwood,” he boasted with a big grin. “Nevermind the fact that I never officially graduated, I was leagues ahead of the rest!”

As he laughs at the shade’s singing of his own praises, it reminds him of someone again. Something nags at the inner corners of his mind, but he continues to listen.

“You know, I had an older brother once,” he begins, playfully attempting to nudge Malorn as if they were school friends. Again, he feels a chill in his veins. “I even surpassed him! Even Professor Greyrose was amazed and called me a shining example of a thaumaturge! Can you believe that?”

Really, he’s not sure how much of this he should believe.

—

There is… a selfish part of Malorn that believes that none of this should even be his problem.

Even though he agreed to the position of Acting Professor, he finds himself thinking that - it should not have been his to begin with. Couldn’t they have found someone else? Anyone else?

The man you thought very highly of is evil and trying to destroy the Spiral to bring back his wife. Your school is missing. Your friends aren’t supposed to call you by your first name. But you get a shiny new title! And you have to pretend like everything is just fine as you go over how to cast Dark Sprite for the umpteenth time! Isn’t that great?

It’s great. He loves it, he really does. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll just learn to.

He doesn’t know who to go to anymore. It’s… unprofessional to talk about this with his friends - well, students. The other professors don’t quite seem to take him seriously. Or acknowledge him at all.

There is an even more selfish part of him that continues on. As if everything is okay.

—

“I wish… to play a good game of chess with somebody,” Elik says with a wistful smile. For once, he sounds serious.

“Is that,” Malorn clears his throat. “Pardon my rudeness, is that it?”

The shade snickers and waves his hand. “Of course! I was very fond of chess when I was alive, one of the best players in Ravenwood even!”

Dammit. Malorn sucks at chess.

“Um, alright.” A smile creeps onto his face. “Sure, we can play chess sometime.”

—

There is a familiar voice in his dreams.

“Chess?! Ha!” It laughs at him playfully, hitting him on the back. “You suck at chess!”

A warm feeling spreads through his veins. The voice is there - physically - but he can’t quite see it or make out any part of its owner. But he knows.

“I know,” he groans back with a smile - a natural smile. “What am I gonna do? Just bungle it in front of Elik? THE Elik?!”

“Haha! You know - you ought to let me play,” they say. “I’m great at everything!”

“What - like casting wraith?” Malorn teases and pushes him lightly, hand clutching the warm black fabric of his shoulder. “I ought to teach you how to really cast it.”

“Wha-?!” He cries in response and pushes him back with no real force. “There is nothing you could teach me!”

There is nothing you could teach me.

Malorn wakes up. It’s cold.

There is nothing but this.

—

“I know you, Malorn.” Elik juggles the black pawn between his hands and carefully sets it among the other captured pieces. “You want to help people - and while I cannot fathom ever understanding that, I find it admirable.”

Malorn was fighting a losing battle. Again.

“You cannot save everyone,” he says and plucks the black king off of the board. “Doing so will hurt, yet you do it regardless. This trait - it is much like most necromancers, right?”

There was silence for a moment. He was looking upon another loss. In chess, that is. “You remind me of someone.”

Elik grinned. “Truly?”

“You lied about your unfinished business.” Not wanting to elaborate, Malorn fidgeted with his tie. “I can’t… Whatever it is, I can’t help you with it.”

The shade shook his head. “You cannot.”

“I’m sorry,” Malorn sighed, his grip tightening around one of his bishops.

There was a soft chuckle, followed by full-bellied laughter. “Why do you apologize?”

The necromancer blinked and scrambled to find his words. “I… Because I can’t help you?”

“There’s no need!” Elik went to pat his shoulder, but his hand would only phase through, so he opted to hover over it instead. The cold still lingered over him. “I do not wish to be helped, Malorn. Nothing against you - of course - but there is just nothing anyone can do.”

He sighed very deeply because maybe he needed to hear that. Elik tilted his head gently.

“What troubles you, Malorn?”

Malorn breathed in. “Well —“

—

It’s hard to say if he feels any better after all that.

Well… Really, it’s hard to say if he feels much of anything at all these days.

Malorn continues to live his life day by day. Planning, working and planning again… Sometimes Ceren is there. Very occasionally Elik. There is a small joy to be found in that.

But mostly, he just doesn’t feel any differently. Not that he has the time to ponder it.

There are many tragedies that go unspoken, and he too leaves it that way. He hasn’t had time to mourn any of them. He hasn’t had the time for much of anything.

But he isn’t sad, nor is he happy. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.

…

It’s not fair to him.

Not fair that he has to put aside all his grief. Not fair that he has to be the one who gets isolated from all his friends. Not fair that he hadn’t even gotten to see the grave they laid out for Malistaire before it was rendered obsolete.

It’s just not.

Duncan won’t even look at him.

It’s just not fair.

—

Malorn requests a day off.

Is that so groundbreaking? To him, maybe. To anyone else, maybe deserved - or maybe selfish. He’s not even a real teacher. Plus, it took him a non-zero amount of time to even ask for time off because - well - is he even allowed that?

As it turns out, he is.

Accusations of laziness be damned, he felt like he needed it. Even after walking out of Ambrose’s office, paying mind to the sunflower on his windowsill that is faring far better these days, he feels no different.

Malorn doesn’t feel any braver. Nor does he feel anymore relaxed. It doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels right, in a way.

His lungs feel heavy once he’s left the office and breathed a sigh of relief. And for once, he’s given a choice with what to do with his day.

So he walks,

and he walks,

and he keeps walking.

Barely paying attention to where he’s going, except to dodge the living people he passes. Though, for a moment, his eyes snag on something. A robe that is warm and black, moving like a ghost through the crowd. Malorn contemplates running after him, grabbing his wrist and asking where he’s been. How he’s been doing. Asking how his studies have been.

But his feet move forward.

At a certain point, Malorn knew he would run into something or someone - and eventually, he does. Sylvia Drake. Well - a statue of her, constructed in Unicorn Way after her passing.

There are gifts placed thoughtfully by the stone pedestal she rests upon by students and people who loved her. He finds an empty spot underneath her kind gaze and sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

There is nothing but this.