These Cages We Build for Ourselves

Chapter 4

Aster awakens stiff and sore, curled around his still-open laptop on his bed. The chat window reveals that Stardash sent him a goodnight message before signing off, but Aster was already asleep by then.

His hand now feels more uncomfortable than painful, the egg mixture having hardened beneath the bandage. Removing it is a messy process, but to Aster's relief, he's scraping the paper-mache-like concoction off smooth, healed skin. When he's finally done, everything looks and feels normal, though he could swear the lines on his palm are different.

For breakfast, Aster mixes water with a couple scoops from a bag of stolen protein powder. No matter how long he stirs it, the result remains slightly lumpy, but it serves its purpose of filling his stomach.

With a month of free board ahead of him, it's tempting to just spend his day sitting and staring at the walls, but he isn't really any better at doing nothing than he is at doing things.

He dresses in jeans and a sweater, grabs his satchel, and slinks out of his room. As he passes Corrin's door, he shoots it a venomous glare. Sable had better actually make him move. While everyone in this place grates on Aster's nerves, Corrin makes it personal. His magical aptitude is nothing special, but he refuses to simply work with what he has. He's always searching for some simple trick or pill that can make everything easy, and now apparently he's moved on to cursed artefacts.

And that's just one person in this fucking place. Just one of the many constant pains in Aster's ass. If Corrin goes away for good, Aster's life will only be marginally better. That really is the problem with hating everyone and everything. Happiness—or even just not being perpetually pissed off—is virtually unattainable.

Aster heads to the pier, driven more by habit than purpose. Claysey is a bit of a magical nexus, and during the warmer months, the pier is a good place to find tourists to grift with cheap tricks. The uninitiated are easily impressed by simple illusions, and their children even more so. And, well, if you've already gifted their child the wonder of watching a butterfly glide through the air on magical wings, they really should pay you for that, right? It'd be really awkward if they refused.

But early spring isn't prime tourist season. People don't like to take beach vacations in weather they need to bundle up for.

The wind slices through Aster's sweater, whipping his hair across his face and plunging him into a sea of miserable discomfort. That was maybe the thing that hit him hardest coming off Quell, besides the heavy emotional debt he had to pay off. The everyday difficulties of simply existing.

On Quell, none of it had mattered. Sure, he'd still felt hot or cold and dressed accordingly, but he can't recall giving it much thought. And Thoma had been right there beside him, completely sober, seemingly unbothered by anything. He was just naturally like that. Maybe most people are. After all, no one else at his stupid pretentious boarding school had relied on dangerous drugs to function.

A few people are scattered along the pier and beach, but Aster doubts any are in the mood for his tricks. He settles on a bench at the pier's foot, his back to the beach, and closes his eyes. Counting his breaths, he centres himself, imagining a warm, still bubble enveloping his body. Slowly, he lets his magic seep into this imaginary sphere.

Aster's magic has always been intuitive and versatile, if a little chaotic. He's always been told what great potential he has and constantly reminded that if he wasn't such a little bitch, maybe he could make something of himself. He spent his early childhood with his magic being bound on and off, and at one point, his parents even attempted to transfer some of his raw ability to his cousin. Fortunately for Aster, that spell requires consent, and while he lacks many things, stubbornness is not one of them.