Once the last of the sun's rays fell beneath the majestic mountains of the Wastes, when the reds and oranges and yellows of the sky finally subsided into the blues and purples and blacks of the night, he embraced the serenity of such caliginosity. Though the magnificence of such rocky beasts lay miles away, he could still see their impressive height from the comfort of his own backyard. It was a scene that, for a child his age, should have terrified him.

Yet all Morgan Pendragon wanted to do was discover them and answer his own curiosity.

His father said he was too young to even step foot in the Wastes - which, even at the age of seven, Morgan knew to be true. He had heard all the amazing and daunting stories of his family's travels and adventures. From his mom's time as an elderly woman, to Aunt Lona saving Uncle Kenta as a dove, to their triumphant battle against the evil magicians - he believed he had heard every single story.

They were so fantastical, they almost seemed like fairy tales. Every time someone recalled a moment in time, a quest for freedom or danger or love, Morgan's eyes dazzled like a million stars in the sky. Even though these stories were simple retellings of the truth, he was completely blown away.

He couldn't wait until he was old enough to join his family on these adventures. One day, when he was a full-fledged magician like his father or Uncle Kenta or Uncle Calcifer - one day he would be ready.

A sudden shift in temperature left the boy alone in a gust of freezing wind, and the serenity he felt moments ago had briskly vanished in the desolate cold. He wrapped his arms quickly around his stomach and bent his head downward, though the goosebumps traveled up every inch of open skin around his body. How strange it was for him to feel uncomfortable in the place he felt the most at peace, yet this unusual change was suspicious, even for him.

He had never experienced such trembling terror in his precious solitude.

The back door opened with a slam, and the young boy jolted in fear. His mom stood in the doorway, her hand ushering him inside. "Come on, Morgan! Time for dinner."

He didn't waste a moment. Morgan picked himself up on shaky legs and hurried inside. His mother's gentle touch was enough to calm his nerves, but the wind still raged outdoors. Not even locking the door shut erased the fragile state of the Wastes.

"The table's all set up," she told him, walking toward the dining room. "And I made your favorite."

He watched his mother's starlight hair dance as she walked, a sight that normally eased whatever worry came over him. However, Morgan could not ignore the uncertainty of such thrilling jitters. As he turned around to see through the glass door, the colors in the sky began to change. No longer was it the peaceful darkness, but the purples and blues and blacks had deepened their shade and grown more haunting in the sky.

There was no question that those winds came from the Wastes - he could feel it. And he couldn't shake the premonition that something wicked was afoot.

✧･ *✧･ *

She practiced the same spell over and over and over again, like a song repeatedly playing on a broken turntable. Huddled in the comfort of her bedroom, she repeated the words exactly as her father had spoken them, yet still nothing of significance came from her casting. As easily as her failures could have frustrated her to the core, she knew it would only benefit her if she kept trying until it worked.

If there was any such way to describe Wynne Lee, it was how little she knew when to quit.

One more time, she thought, just one and it'll work. She curled her dark hair around both ears and leaned forward in her crossed-legged seating. Maybe her bed was too comfortable for her to be attempting such expertise magic. This was no way to become a master magician.

She uncrossed her legs and jumped to her feet, staring at her new reflection in the mirror. A dark violet dress flowed down to her knees, as many witches her age wore, and the shade was a heavy contrast against the fiery red in her stubborn eyes. Nothing could break her desire to triumph.

She inhaled a long, slow breath. Just one more time.

Her fingers moved in the same, rapid twisting motion she had done dozens upon dozens of times that night. Her eyebrows creased in dedicated concentration, and her mind only thought of water. She stared in between her smooth palm and twirling fingers, waiting for the little droplets of clear water to fill the empty space - and this time, they finally did.

Wynne couldn't contain the giggling smile on her face as her palms soaked in the water that miraculously appeared. Though she only created a few drops, she had accomplished this spell.

"Dad!" She shouted. "Dad, look!" As she rushed to her bedroom door, she stopped herself from opening it when she heard the faint sounds of harsh yelling. Two voices raised in the center of their home, and only now had she realized.

Wynne paused. Her parents never fought. The most they argued about was when her dad brought a dog home and mom went berserk after the dog ripped up half the house. It was a minor argument that never happened again. Even when life seemed too overwhelming for them, they never took it out on each other.

She pressed her ear to the door.

"Kenta, please-"

"No, Lona. I'm sick of her pretending like she still doesn't have a prejudice against magicians. She's always hated people with magic, and even Calcifer hasn't changed that."

Wynne peered through the little hole in her door, using magic on her eyes to see the living room more clearly. Mom sat down, her face washed with worry, as her father and Aunt Gwenda stood glaring at each other with a matched, hateful gaze. Though she had not even realized her aunt was in their home, she was more preoccupied with their argument. She had never seen such anger between them, and their words tore at her as they erupted.

"Enough!" Her mom finally said and stepped between them. Always the mediator, she placed herself in the middle of their quarrel. "We have children who do not need to hear us fighting through the walls. I understand that you're both angry and heated right now, but I will not let you drag those kids into the thick of this mess. Now sit down and talk like adults."

Wynne watched through the door, her body unable to move. Something was not right; not just with this fight, though it definitely added to her unease. This feeling was new and foreign, yet it warned her of a terror she knew better than to discover.

The wind picked up rapidly outside her window and banged against the thin glass. She convulsed in shock as the nighttime grew darker and darker, yet even more strange as purple clouds floated around the terrifying skies. The Wastes, in all its ominous nature, always found a way to petrify her.

Even Wynne knew it was better to stay inside tonight.

She peered through the keyhole one last time, only to witness Aunt Gwenda dressing herself as if she were leaving. When she had originally arrived was still a mystery to Wynne, but knowing her aunt would be out there near the Wastes frightening the young girl to her core.

"Well, since I'm obviously unaware of the very nature of my husband, I guess I better go learn for myself."

Dad narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"You said the only other person who could understand Calcifer is another fallen star." Aunt Gwenda replied. "I'm going to find one. I'm going to find someone else who was saved during a Night of Falling Stars. Maybe then I'll get some real answers."

With a harsh slam of the front door, her mom opened it once more and followed her aunt. Wynne simply stared through the keyhole with baffled eyes. A fallen star, like Uncle Calcifer. While there was little she knew of her uncle's past, that much to her was clear. Yet to find another like him - it was, as her dad said, an impossibility.

Wynne stared at her father on the couch, watching as his pride kept him cemented to the soft cushions. She wondered why he didn't try bringing Aunt Gwenda back, why he thought she would be able to handle her own out there.

She wondered how he couldn't see that the Wastes were calling for trouble tonight.

✧･ *✧･ *

It wasn't too long before Calcifer's irate nature imploded upon himself once again. Whether it was the exhaustion or following Howl's strange and twisted sense of direction - or quite possibly, a combination of the two - his frustration was boiling over like a pot on the stove.

They had been walking for hours (Howl's bright idea) since Markl's hologram revealed how little magic he used in his great escape. They noticed simple spells here and there, but the majority of his journey was without the casting of spells or waving of wands. All those years watching the young apprentice practice his magic and cause havoc in his childhood, it was peculiar to see this visual rendering of a boy so passionate for magic not even try.

Yet as frustrated as Calcifer was by this incessant and trifling human motion, he preferred not to have a repeat argument with his friend again.

From the heart of Kingsbury, up and down the hills of the Folding Valley, they finally made their way to the edge of the Wastes just in time for the sky to blacken. Calcifer's eyes drew to the massive height of Seren Saethu, his mind forcing him to remember all that occurred the night before.

He cursed the mountain for all its consequences.

Howl groaned as he saw the landscape. "We're back where we started. I thought this tracking spell was supposed to lead us to him."

Xarx kept his eyes forward on Markl's hologram. "It matches his movements from the last place you saw him and follows his steps. After he left your home, he must've taken a really long detour to Kingsbury and then back."

Calcifer snorted. "He could've at least made the trip easier and teleported there and back."

"Never mind how he moved," Howl said, "I just want to know why." There was so little he felt he understood about Markl lately. It wasn't just their petty fights anymore - any teenager was willing to argue about anything - he had been losing the boy for a while, like a wave that slowly pushed the sand away from the shore and drowned it under the sea.

Markl's absence was still a mystery, yet Howl wasn't one to quit.

As Markl's hologram stopped, so did the trio. It was very quite sudden and unexpected - one moment he walked with a sullen uncertainty, and the next he dropped to his knees with a new sense of clarity. Howl moved forward and stared at the imitation, wondering how he had not seen the internal torment that anguished over him when Markl was physically present.

Calcifer narrowed his gaze. "What's he doing?"

"I'm not sure." Xarx knelt down in front of the hologram, examining his movements and expressions and the mute words he spoke. The hologram opened a brown satchel, but the contents were invisible to them. While this spell allowed answers to many of their questions, there was so much more it limited them from understanding.

Markl mouthed the words to a spell, one Xarx was all too familiar with, and then he was gone.

Howl jerked forward, hoping his eyes were deceiving him, but the truth was clear and empty. "Where is he? Did the hologram stop working again?"

Xarx rested on the balls of his feet, his mind racing a million times faster than usual. He mouthed the same words, mutely rephrasing them exactly as the young apprentice had, and though he knew not where he'd gone, he knew that it was far away from here.

"Xarx." The magician looked up, his eyes full of an unsettling worry that neither Howl nor Calcifer had ever seen in him. "Where is he?"

Xarx stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. "He's not here anymore."

Howl rolled his eyes. "We know that. Where did he go? Back to Market Chipping or Kingsbury? Did he go back to Ovela?"

Xarx bit his lip for a moment before speaking. There was no hiding this truth. "No, I mean he's not in this world anymore. Not Ingary, not Ovela, not even Monguru. He left our world, and stars know which one he went to."

Part of Howl refused to believe his comrade's words. It didn't seem plausible; Markl running off seemed likely, but to completely enter a foreign world was beyond anything Howl expected. The devastating reality crashed against him like a raging thunderstorm or some unforeseen blizzard. They were close; he thought they were so close to finding Markl. Instead, he learned that they weren't even in the same realm.

How could he? Howl thought. How could he just leave like that? No warning, no inclination, not even a goodbye. While he understood why the boy possibly didn't mention anything to him, Markl hadn't even uttered a word to Sophie or Morgan. He left them just as much as he left Howl.

And just when he thought things were turning brighter between them, this had completely changed the course.

Howl paced back and forth with swift strides. He refused to wait any longer. "All right. There are only so many worlds he could have gone to. Hmm… there's the Spirit World, but I've never mentioned anything about it to him. He could have gone to the Valley of the Wind, but to get there would require such an elaborate spell, I don't even have the skill to do it. Let's see…"

As Howl listed all the worlds he could remember, Calcifer simply stared at Xarx. Though he'd never truly felt close to the magician, he saw enough now to feel the guilt present on his face. His downcast eyes spoke a melancholic story, in place of where he used to hide his emotions entirely.

This was the first time he'd ever seen the wizard feel something.

Before Calcifer could console him, a rough voice sang sweetly inside the depths of his mind. He heard such ragged anger and irritable grace that forced him to stop thinking about Markl's whereabouts and instead listen to this angel. The words spoke inside his mind, words he had heard from so many in the past and so many as of late - those terrifying words he hoped she would never say.

I wish...

Calcifer looked out to the oncoming storm. The sky had changed - no, the entire atmosphere of the Wastes. As Howl paced further and Xarx stared blankly at the ground, Calcifer felt the chills pulsating throughout his entire body. The dark clouds grumbled in the air and forced him to acknowledge the awry ambiance.

He pleaded for this to be a mistake; he begged that it wasn't her being so careless with her words.

Yet he was certain - this was Gwenda.

This was her wish.