An excerpt from Treatise on Star-Making by Dr. Marius Beeton
"The magical field of the earth has long been used as a source of raw energy, especially in locations such as chalk downs and certain mountain ranges that act as channels for magic storms, but nowhere has its use reached such a refinement as in the art of star-making…
…Magic, in its raw semi-solidified form, is drawn over a frame with specialized equipment, varying from workshop to workshop, in a form suited to the type of wish the star is intended to grant; thus a star intended to grant the wishes of a soldier has a more militaristic, combative aspect to it than a star intended to grant the wishes of a child…
…This profession arose in roughly the year 1563 in the mountains around Kestrel's Well, Braxton, and Lord-under-Mountain, but swiftly moved to Saint Stanislav, as the workshop system grew beyond the means of said towns, and centered in a port area of the city. The star-makers began separating into workshops, similar to guilds, almost immediately, and inter-workshop trade of techniques or material were near nonexistent…
…At the time of this publication, the most powerful workshops are Saqqara and Melammu Ummani."
Excerpt from the Saint Stanislav Herald, 18th of the 11th month, 1682:
"Romulus "Roma" Vargas, aged 74, died the 16th of this month at his home in Dancer Street of complications from an infection of the lungs.
He was born in Saint Stanislav in 1608, 5th of the 4th month, to Marce and Atilia Vargas, grew up in Saint Stanislav, and founded the Palatine star-making workshop at age 23. Married to Thiphilia Cilnia, he had one daughter, Renata. She passed, leaving him three grandsons, of which Romulus is survived by two, Feliciano and Carlino, respectively in Saint Stanislav and Housemartin.
After his passing, the Palatine workshop will be closed permanently."
"Soon," Ludwig had said Ewald had said, and that had apparently meant the next morning.
Feliciano was woken up early by the hammering of the rain on the fire escapes, and now he knocks on the door of the first set of rooms on the right, shifting awkwardly as he waits.
He does not have to wait long. Ewald opens the door, stern-faced, and gestures to him to sit at the tiny dinner table.
"So," he says. "Romulus Vargas's grandson."
"Y-yes."
"How much—" Ewald is still stony-faced, but Feliciano catches the minute hesitation. "How much did your grandfather teach you before he died?"
"I—well—he taught me the general theory about star-making, but I never got to do much application." Feliciano has a feeling where this is going, but he hasn't ever heard of workshops hiring someone from another one, it's just something that doesn't happen, and why him anyway?
Why not the grandson of Romulus Vargas? some part of him says, some part he hears on clear nights when the stars—his grandfather's—shine over Sifter Street and Österlie's lighthouse in the bay, why not the grandson of the head of Palatine, why not the grandson of the greatest star-maker Saint Stanislav has ever known—
Because Palatine closed, the rest of him says. Palatine closed and Nonno worked himself to death and you don't know enough.
He could, though. Feliciano still hears bits and pieces about the workshops, from the men who follow him (some of them worked at Palatine, and he should have carried on, they say, with no real practical experience, with debt and the other workshops rising, it's his fault they lost that job), and Theoderic's is growing. Good chances, good production.
He could.
Feliciano could see his stars up there with Nonno's, with Ewald's and Helena's and Eudokia's, he could—
"I'll—I'll learn. If you'll teach me, I'll learn, I'll get better," he says, breathless, because he will—
—Ewald holds up his hand. "Let me finish. Gunderic, one of our apprentices, just left. If you are willing, I could persuade Theoderic to let me take you on in his stead."
Feliciano nods as quickly as possible, nearly shaking in his seat, and then he really can't stay there anymore and he jumps out of the chair to hug Ewald, who seems very startled by this.
"Thank you," he almost squeaks, clinging to the stern-faced man. Ewald pats him on the back stiffly.
"It may be difficult," Ewald says as Feliciano prepares himself to brave the rain outside. "You are Romulus Vargas's grandson."
He must catch the look on Feliciano's face, because then he adds "But, after all, you are Romulus's grandson."
It takes a week and a half.
A week and a half, and then Ludwig knocks on Feliciano's door.
"I—Grandfather told me to tell you, he's still working so he can't come right now but, uh—he said you'll start Monday. At the workshop." Ludwig is staring at his shoes, which is really kind of weird, but Feliciano really doesn't have time to concentrate on that because he starts Monday and he lunges forward and hugs Ludwig as hard as he possibly can, which makes Ludwig jump a little.
Feliciano doesn't say much for the longest time, there really isn't much to say, and when he detaches himself from Ludwig his cheeks hurt and Ludwig is standing still and stiff as a board, face red.
"Thank you," Feliciano says. "Thank you thank you—your grandfather—I—" He can't make sense of the thousand million things rushing through his head, they're all spilling over each other to get out of his mouth, and the one that beats all the others to the punch is "Do you and Gilbert and your grandfather want to come over for dinner? I'm sorry I really don't know how to thank you—"
"I—I think so. Yes. I'll ask." Ludwig coughs a little. "Um. Why—why are you thanking me? I didn't do—"
"Well, you told me, didn't you?" Feliciano chirps, still beaming. "That's something. Come in, if I'm having your family over for dinner I'll have to start cooking now, oh I hope noodles are okay I haven't much else right now—do you think they'll be okay?"
"I think they'd be wonderful." Feliciano laughs a little at that, and a little at the way Ludwig looks like he's said something he didn't mean to.
"Ludwig? Could you be really really nice and go fill this pot? The pump's at the other end of the hall."
Dinner is noodles and peas, and there's not enough room around the table but all four manage to fit.
The summer trails on towards its panting, humid close, and Feliciano takes the tram to work when he can because Ewald might be tall and carry himself well but he is old, and Ludwig goes with them.
One day, Gilbert just…isn't there.
Feliciano asks Ewald, but he gets this look in his eyes that reminds Feliciano of when Nonno got the letter about Lovino, and when he asks Ludwig Ludwig just tenses up.
He stops asking out loud, but it's so strange not having loud voices filter up through the floorboards, not having raucous laughs that make Ludwig flush and Ewald grumble, and the table is still small but it feels a little too big without Gilbert there.
It's late late late and Ewald and Feliciano are still working when he finally learns.
The workshop is empty except for the two, and they're still working on a star, Feliciano shaping the face with a stylus.
"I think that's enough," Ewald tells him. "You've an eye for details."
"Thanks." Feliciano steps off the stepstool he's been given—this is some sort of extended-family business as far as he can tell and they're all tall so all the equipment is just a little too high up for him. "Um. If you don't mind my asking…?"
"Go ahead."
"Why don't Ludwig and G—why doesn't Ludwig work here? I m-mean, it's kind of traditional, that's what Nonno told me at least, you follow your family and—"
"Because…" Ewald sighs. "Because it wouldn't be…right. Especially not with Gi—it wouldn't be right, and he doesn't want to."
Lovino had always told Feliciano he had a habit of picking up on the parts of sentences people really really didn't want him to pick up on and he can't help it and he wants to kick himself when "What happened with Gilbert?" is the first thing out of his mouth.
Ewald's face nearly goes thunderous for a moment, and then his shoulders slump just the tiniest bit.
"I told you they were my grandsons," he says quietly. "They're…not."
He sits down on a workbench, gesturing for Feliciano to sit next to him, and begins to explain.
How he'd never really had much of a family, and then what family he'd had had died or moved away. How he'd realized how old he was becoming, as his hair whitened each day and he'd come home every day to a small set of rooms that were always, always dark.
How one night he'd wished, silently, on the late tram from Botany Way to Antler Street, that he had a family, someone to talk to away from the workshop, and then the next night he'd been working late (again, he always did) and in the corner of his part of the workshop there'd been two stars he was working on, nearly completed, and then there had been a moment of—not silence, not the absence of sound, but the opposite of sound, deafening—and then—
—one of the stars had, quite gracefully, fallen forward off of its stand and landed face-first on the floor.
It had stood, shaking off the casing layer of magic (which had clattered on the floor like pottery except for the flashes of yellow-green light), and become a boy, about twelve years old by the looks of it.
Not a moment later, the other one followed suit.
Ewald had taken them home, because what else was there to do, and they spoke and left faint trails of the casing-layer dust through the slushy streets and stared at the dingy buildings through the tram windows with something approaching awe.
Feliciano stares at Ewald through this whole story—he can't help it.
They were still stars, though, the two, for all they grew older, and Gilbert had been older and he'd had to—go. Up.
Where the rest of the stars went.
"Do you know," Ewald mumbles at the end, "I think the star that enabled this was one of your grandfather's. He always did specialize in familial wishes."
Feliciano hasn't much to say after that. The questions buzz in his brain but he knows none of them have answers and—
the little glow in the corners of the Beilschmidt rooms the odd warmth of Ludwig's skin the half-hidden hurt in his eyes when Feliciano asked about Gilbert
—the thing that comes out first is "It m-must have been a r-really good star, to do that."
"It was," Ewald says softly. "It was."