The One

Familial ties

By the time Izar, Waylon, Feray, and Bentley finally arrived at the Inglebird household, it was already evening. Waylon opened the door to the faces of their worried parents—more precisely, the worried face of their mother and the smiling face of their father, who, coincidentally, was also in the middle of lifting a teacup to his lips.

"We're home," the older brother announced calmly. His mother opened her mouth with a glare. Before she could speak, Waylon hastened to add, "I have good news and bad news—which would you like to hear first?"

At the time, only Feray had gone inside with him, leaving Izar and Bentley outside. Their parents exchanged a glance. Mathias lowered his cup and placed it gently onto the table. He said nothing, instead leaving the decision-making to his wife.

"Good news first," Hilda answered, "Just to get that out of the way."

Mathias chuckled lightly. "Rarely do I hear anyone speak of good news that way."

She rolled her eyes in response. "It's the bad news that needs talking about, that's why."

"Yes, yes. You are right, of course."

"The good news," Waylon interjected, "Is both of us are safe and perfectly unharmed. The bad news—"

The door opened on its own—Feray had deliberately left it unlocked when she stepped in—and in came Izar. Bentley remained outside, looking more than a little uncomfortable about Izar's decision to barge into someone else's home. Nonetheless, after gaining entry himself, the witch pulled Bentley in with him as well.

"Your children have been found out," Izar declared.

Izar repeated his explanation of the situation for the third time that day. His delivery was still the same as it had been when he first said it to the siblings—as was his semi-lighthearted, semi-serene attitude. His inconsistency itself was consistent.

When he finished, he added only one part that differed from all his previous explanations.

"I'm sorry for tearing your family into two worlds, Mrs. and Mr. Inglebird." A genuine tone this time as he pulled his hood over his eyes—the first time he hid them since he entered the house. "Your children were not meant to be confined within the barriers of Hominum—at least I don't believe so. And rest assured that no harm will be done to them."

"What will assure that?" asked Mathias softly.

Hilda glanced at her husband sharply but said nothing. He returned her gaze a moment later and smiled. She then mirrored his smile. This exchange told the siblings that their parents had reached some kind of consensus; as for what it was, they wouldn't know unless or until the couple revealed it themselves.

"I will," Izar answered.

"Let's talk about you, Izar Quartermaine," Hilda said with a smile of her own. Unlike Mathias, her smile was not soft; it was akin to a leather pouch with a knife inside—one could see it despite its being hidden, and it threatened to cut its way through at any given moment.

"Me?" Izar lifted his head, pulling his hood back a little again. "I'm a transferal witch."

"For how long?" Hilda asked further, now replacing her dangerous smile with a more genuine one. At the same time, Mathias stood and left his seat, heading elsewhere.

"Six years."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four, ma'am. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious about you. Your approach to this is very different from what we've known."

"Really?" Izar questioned with his feigned smile. "Then, what is Mr. Inglebird doing over there?"

He lifted a hand to gesture in the direction to which Mathias had gone. Right when he pointed it out, the patriarch reappeared from the room he had gone into—the kitchen. He came with dishes of food and placed them onto the dining table in the living room that everyone was standing in.

Hilda sighed in defeat. "I admit I was just buying time."

"Say, Izar," Mathias said, "Won't you stay for dinner?"

"Huh?" Izar, Feray, and Waylon sounded in unison. Behind the three, Bentley raised his eyebrows but said not a word.

"I never heard anything about witches not needing food," Hilda offered. "Once won't hurt, will it?"

"I..."

The Inglebirds' invitation seemed to catch Izar off guard. For that reason alone, Waylon, Feray, and Bentley now had their sole focus on him. Izar being caught off guard in itself was a spectacle. Perhaps feeling their burning gaze on him, Izar pulled his hood over his eyes again, returning to the comfort of the physical barrier that he could easily arm or disarm at will.

"I'll pass," Izar answered, turning abruptly in the opposite direction, nearly bumping into Waylon as he reached for the door. He grasped the handle and turned it. With one foot across the threshold, the witch turned back to the Inglebird siblings just to say, "Remember, dearies—two weeks! I will be back in two weeks for the second part of our private exchange program."

With that, he exited the house and shut the door behind him.

A moment of silence passed among those who remained.

Waylon was the first to speak. He turned to his parents. "Why?" he asked simply.

"Transferal witches are a queer thing, my child," Mathias answered. "They must be powerful enough to travel freely between worlds, yet not so powerful that they are sorcerers, for sorcerers may meddle with the worlds themselves in their thirst and quest for power."

"And then, Izar is only in his twenties now," Hilda added, "But he's been in the transferal business for six years. If what he says is true, he must be bearing much more than meets the eye—and what meets the eye is already loads, isn't it?"

"I see."

"That aside," Mathias said, now looking at Bentley, "Hi there."

"Oh...yes. Hi." As if just waking from a dream—or simply emerging from a pool of his own unspoken thoughts—Bentley stepped up and bowed his head slightly at the older man. "I'm Bentley Snyder."

Mathias chuckled. "No need to be so tense. You will be living with us for a long time after this, won't you? Let's just get acquainted and look after one another the best we can. After all, the world is a cruel place."

"Yes, sir."

Izar closed the door behind him. Once he was alone once again, he raised a hand to his own chest, took a slow, deep breath in, then let out that breath just as slowly. He lowered his head.

Ah, bad news, bad news, he thought to himself, that almost got me. I have to be more careful with this family.

He walked away from the house and into the night. This evening, the streets were mostly empty. Izar looked up to see the full moon, which would have been enough to illuminate the streets even without the lamplights.

What a waste of nature. What a way to flaunt human intelligence.

Only a few more steps were taken before he made himself stop. Izar wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and turned invisible. A block away, the sound of a wailing little boy could be heard.

"Don't take me away! Please!" the boy cried.

"I have to," came the voice of an older male. "Because you're a witch."

"But my parents aren't witches! None of my siblings are witches!"

"I know. It happens. Now stop screaming. We're just doing what we have to. I'll get you to a good school when we reach Refica and you'll make friends to make up for this."

Izar bit his lip. He hurried down the street and left the area. As much as he wanted to, transferal witches never interfered with one another. It was not law, but it was a convention more strictly followed than any law.

Just do what you can.