For Cashmere, naps are a fickle thing. Oftentimes, they come unannounced and unwelcome, a sleepiness that ambushes him like a snake in the grass. But at other times, when napping is the goal, it eludes him utterly. The latter is especially the case when he's excited, happy or after he's drunk too much hot cocoa. And that makes this instance especially difficult, despite the late hour, as this particular nap is done in preparation for something that Cashmere's been waiting for for weeks -- one of Cashmere's favourite things to do in the entire world: learning spells.

Forty-five minutes it took him. The sun hadn't even set by the time he started trying to slumber. But, through sheer determination in the mission of napping, he has achieved dormancy. Here he lays in his star-and-moon-speckled pyjamas, face as peaceful as the morning sky, a faintly whistling snore in his breaths. His one eye is closed gently.

But, unlike usual, this sleep does not mark the end of the day -- much less the end of the day's excitement. Today, this particular nap will be the absolute highlight.

Cyran wasn’t really that surprised when Cashmere approached him earlier this afternoon asking if Cyran would teach him a bit of magic. Unsurprised, because the young witch was a naturally curious mind, and coveted his spellbooks like a dragon with their hoard. Surprised, a bit, because he didn’t really think he had anything to teach that Cashmere might be interested in. His magic was not the fun, bright kind that Cashmere would be interested in - nor did he have many safe spells he felt comfortable teaching Cashmere.

… But there was one that came to mind.

Cyran had explained what he was going to be teaching the young witch, who was beside himself at learning from his headmaster. Cyran had brought Cashmere to his room with a cup of tea for himself, and a cup of hot chocolate for Cashmere in an attempt to help the young man fall asleep. The plan was that Cashmere would rest, and Cyran would teach him the art of dreamwalking via demonstration. It took a bit of time - the young man so excited that he was bouncing in his bed until Cyran agreed to read him a couple stories and help ease him to rest - and soon, Cashmere’s single golden eye shut, and the rise and fall of his chest began to slow.

It was time for the demonstration.

Cyran leaned down and pressed a kiss to Cashmere’s forehead. “Sleep well, little Merlin.”^[1]

---

1. Cyran's Dreamwalker

The first thing that strikes Cyran isn't a sight or a feeling, but a sound -- what almost resembles the ringing of a tiny bells, all in sequence and unsteadily from... above? And then, looking up, their source becomes clear. Cyran stands beneath a beautiful night-sky, full of myriad stars in all sizes. And they aren't ordinary stars, either; far from the pinpoint stars that one would see in the waking world, these are much more like the stylized stars that adorn Cashmere's own pyjamas. Up in the sky, they twinkle, blinking radiantly. The sight is one of unparalleled nostalgia. Every once in a while, one of them will shoot across the sky, bringing the feeling as if he should be making a wish...

It's so mesmerizing that one could easily be lost in it, and forget to look at anything else. But when they break free from this hypnosis, they would find that they are standing in a verdant field, albeit dark in this sunless dream. He stands on the side of a hill, in a plain that stretches as far as the eye can see. And at the top of the hill is none other than the little witch, staring up with absolute wonderment.

It takes him a few moments to realize Cyran's even there. But when he does, two things happen, one after another: first, his eye widens in surprise; and then, his lips curve into a smile.

"Headmaster Cyran! It worked, you're really here!"

Ignoring all caution in his bout of glee, he comes barrelling down the hill, toward Cyran. But caution doesn't take being ignored lightly; in little more than a few steps, the little boy trips on his heel, and his charge becomes something more of a flight!

The sound of bells was the first thing that caught Cyran’s attention. A faint twinkling sound, almost like windchimes. The second thing he noticed was the stars, blinking brilliantly in the night sky. The air was cool against his skin - Cyran took a deep breath, savoring the moment. Given the turbulence of the other dreams he had visited, the peaceful subconscious of a child was something completely new.

And up at the top of the hill, there was Cashmere, standing as bright and happy as any star in the sky.

He waved at the young witch as Cashmere shouted in delight. “Be careful, don’t run down the hill -“

-His warning came too late, apparently, as Cashmere could not contain his excitement enough before barreling down the side of the grassy hill, tripping and flying through the air. In his shock, Cyran waved his hands, hastily morphing the environment around them to something safer. Grass bloomed and changed color until it resembled a myriad of different, soft flowers, from dandelions to hydrangeas to little sunflowers, all catching his fall and allowing Cashmere to bounce harmlessly down the hill until Cyran caught him at the very bottom.

“Now, what have I told you about looking where you’re running?” He chided softly.

Still dizzy in Cyran's arms, Cashmere's giddiness ebbs away to mild shame at his reprimand.

"Umm... Look both ways first?" He twirls his fingers as he offers an honest guess.

It's now, and it's strange that it hadn't been more noticeable before, that something strange about this Cashmere can be noted. He's wearing the same clothes and speaking with the same youthful voice, but he's missing his little witch-hat.

"S-Sorry..."

Cyran’s gaze softened when he saw that Cashmere was fine, if not a little sheepish over his tumble. In the dreamscape, injuries didn’t quite hurt the same way when you were aware enough that you were sleeping, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry.

Cyran reached up a hand to ruffle Cashmere’s hair - in absence of his usual witch’s hat, which was strange to see, a crown of flowers manifested itself. “I just ask that you always make sure to look out before you run off, okay?” Cashmere had a lot of enthusiasm and love to give, more than Cyran knew how to handle at times. He only hoped that Cashmere would not stumble and fall every time he set off in search of adventure.

“… So, you wanted to learn how to manipulate the dream, right? Would you like me to show you how it’s done?” He changed the subject, more cheerful than he had been moments ago. “Where’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, little Merlin? Pick it, and I’ll take you there.”

The little one's mirth is reignited as the flower-crown manifests upon his head.

"Whoa!" he ogles as he feels the little pedals that now adorn him. "That's amazing! I'll be able to do this, too?"

And his amazement continues as he looks about, at all the wondrous flora that's sprouted around them. Indeed, the hill was verdant before, but the colours it now sports are a bouquet of beauty. It's a wonder to little Cashmere's eye -- but not so much a wonder as the question that comes to his ear.

"Somewhere I've wanted to go?" he echoes, turning back to Cyran with an astonished look. "Anywhere?! Oh my goodness!"

He hops out of Cyrans arms, falling and bouncing merrily in the flowers and simply enraptured in all the sights which Cyran's conjured from mere imagination. For a moment, it seems little Cashmere's forgotten Cyran's question.

But then, he points up -- straight up, to the starry sky.

"I've always wanted to go up there..." For some reason, his voice has become more mellow than before. He sounds oddly nervous. "C-Can you take me up there?"

Of all the things Cyran expected Cashmere to say, seeing the sky was not one of them. He was prepared to conjure up anything in Charon that a child could possibly want… but he’d failed to take into account who he was talking to. Cashmere had always dreamed bigger than that.

“The night sky?” He asked in confirmation, though he already knew the answer. It was written all over the bashfulness in Cashmere’s face, the way his voice went suddenly quiet. Cyran pursed his lips, falling silent for a moment as he stared up at the sky. It would be difficult for him to fully picture it - dreams were best shaped from memories, after all - but he had flown through the sky enough times that it would not be… too much of a headache for him.

He hoped.

Either way, it was all worth it to make Cashmere smile.

The point of this exercise was to teach him magic in a safe and controlled environment where he could have fun, and Cyran would do whatever he could to give the little witch that much.

“Sure.” He nodded. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

He closed his eyes in concentration for a moment, bringing the night sky to mind. All at once, the stars seemed to grow brighter around them, leaving bright streaks smeared in the dark sky where they grew closer… or perhaps it was Cashmere and Cyran themselves who were getting higher. Within a few seconds, they stood in the middle of a swirling vortex in the cosmos, cobbled together partially from Cyran’s own memory and his imagination of what the sky ought to look like.

When he opened his eyes, he felt a bit woozy, though not unbearably so.

“… It works kind of like that.”

When Cyran opens his eyes, there's a short-lived fright as it seems like Cashmere simply isn't there. Had Cyran somehow botched the spell...? But that doubt is squashed instantly as the figure of the little witch zooms by, soaring with outstretched arms and cheering as he weaves between the glowing stars that hover around them! Each one glows with its own radiant life, like a beacon in the sky. They're like lighthouses; and he soars between them, revelling in the wonderment of it all!

"This is amazing, headmaster Cyran!" he calls from afar. His voice is little more than an echo.

Some time passes. Cashmere is a difficult boy to tucker in the waking world; here, where exhaustion is a far-flung concept, he's even more so. And in a dream, there is no telling how long he truly soared, as no such measurement exists to gauge it. Is it minutes that he flew, or hours, or merely seconds? All that exists is the feeling -- and for Cashmere, that feeling is joy.

But he does return, eventually, whether in hours or minutes or seconds. He hovers down, stardust scintillating around his arms and legs. His eye gleams in the light of a single star before him. It seems to shine especially bright among all the others...

As he stops his descent just before it, staring directly into its light, he cradles his arms around the celestial form.

"This one showed up a while ago, when we first met in Sol City." Suddenly, he becomes more bashful. "So I named it after you."

There was a terrifying moment where Cyran thought he’d lost track of Cashmere somewhere in all the chaos. Not that Cashmere could truly be gone in his own dreamscape - Cyran was still here, after all. So he hadn’t woken up. And then the panic subsided when he spotted Cashmere flying through the air, weightless and gleefully laughing while he zipped around, a shooting star in his own right.

Cyran could have warned him to be careful, to mind himself - but not in that moment. He would let Cashmere have all the fun he wanted, for as long as he wanted. With everything he had been through… far too much than a child his age should have to endure. It was okay, just for a moment, to let him be carefree. To watch him soar, and be there to catch him if he fell.

But Cashmere was so talented that Cyran didn’t think he’d have to catch him.

Cashmere could have flown for minutes or hours - it was impossible to tell. Cyran hovered in the air, watching the little witch have fun in the distance with a fond smile on his face. Eventually, Cashmere started making his way back to Cyran with something bright and large clutched in his hands… he’d captured a star.

Cyran smiled as Cashmere brought up their meeting in Sol City. He didn’t think he’d be able to forget that day. Cashmere and his sister… it broke his heart to see them living on their own, fending for themselves. They deserved a stable home. They deserved the world. Something Cyran was not able to properly give them, for all his best efforts.

And here Cashmere was acting like Cyran already had.

Cyran sniffed, so overwhelmed for a moment at the small gesture that he couldn’t breathe. His cheeks felt wet - with a start he realized they were tears. “… Named after me?” For someone who normally seemed calm on the outside, Cyran’s voice was oddly small.

“I don’t know what to say…” Truly, he didn’t. The words felt stuck in his throat. “I think that is - that is wonderful, Cashmere. I am honored to be one of the stars in your bright constellation. But you’re the brightest of them all, okay, my little witch? Don’t you ever forget that.”

The smile remains. Bathed in starlight and outlined in stardust, Cashmere's youthful smile stays wide across his face. It's full of so much joy, so much love and admiration. But as Cyran speaks, little imperfections manifest themselves. His eye casts downward in the evening glow, and the rosiness fades from his cheeks. His shoulders gradually slink lower, and the rim oh his hat tilts downward and downward. The smile remains, but its honesty fades.

He doesn't answer Cyran. He doesn't answer the high praise, nor acknowledge Cyran's claim. He simply looks down... until the silence becomes too much to bear.

"Umm..." His voice is awkward and weak. "Can you teach me the spell now, Headmaster Cyran?"

On the surface it looked like nothing had changed. But at Cyran’s words, there was a strain to his smile. Unfortunately for him, Cyran was versed at reading lies. “Oh, poppet, did I say something to upset you?”

He moved to scoop Cashmere out of the sky, if the young child would allow him. It was easy to forget, for all of his enthusiasm, hid a fragile child with a desperate need to prove himself… and a fear of disappointment. He had known this ever since he’d met the witch in training.

He moved to brush some of the hair away from Cashmere’s face, resting a hand on his cheek.

“Let me tell you a secret.” He whispered. “I did not start learning magic until I was already well into my three hundreds. Do you know how amazing it is that you are already so incredibly talented? Look at how much you’ve learned in such a short amount of time. The world is not just yours for the taking… all the stars in the sky are.”

He gestured around them, at the bright, twinkling cosmos. A planetarium of lights, a private show just for the child in his arms.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you and everything you have accomplished. You have such a spark in you, little Merlin. And no matter what, you are not alone. Your sister loves you. I love you. That will never change. I swear it.”

He sat down in the middle of the stars, setting Cashmere in his lap.

“I don’t just teach my spell to any plain old witch, you know. Only the most skilled can learn how to walk between dreams. Now, let me tell you how it works…”

Cashmere almost seems surprised as Cyran plucks him from the air, like an apple off a branch of time. And as Cyran delicately brushes his face, and speaks words so soft and calming he looks... confused, as if he'd received a letter that wasn't addressed to him, or under a name he hadn't used for a while. Beneath a halo of stars, the elf who is his headmaster looks so very much like an angel...

But what is he? Cyran says he didn't use magic for centuries. So much time to practice and learn -- time that Cashmere will never have. What chance does he have?

More words brush through his golden hair, before he's turned and sat upon Cyran's lap. But still he remains simply, childishly puzzled, almost more like an infant.

"The most skilled witch...?" he echoes as if the notion were a passing dream. "But... I'm little. I couldn't even get into the Academy..."

He hangs his head low, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"I don't think I'll be able to learn it..."

Rather than reassure Cashmere, Cyran’s words only seemed to stir up more doubt. Cyran sighed, a soft breath that seemed to stir the cosmos around them. He knew little about Cashmere’s attempts to gain entry to the Arcane Academy - told to him secondhand from Cypress when the young boy was too dejected to talk about it. The burden of such a rejection weighed heavily on his heart… one that mere words could not repair so easily.

He only wished that Cashmere could see himself the way that Cyran saw him.

Cyran took a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully. He knew how much the academy - his dream - meant to Cashmere. He could not shatter the boy’s vision. “Do you know how incredible it is that you are skilled enough to apply, even at the age of ten? I don’t think I’ve met anyone as young as you with as much talent and potential as you hold. When I watch you practice spells in your room, do you know what I see? I see a dedicated, skilled mage who puts in time and effort into everything he does. I have no doubts that the next time you walk up to the academy, you’re going to take them all by storm. And your family will be right there, cheering you on.”

He ruffled Cashmere’s hair one last time.

“I know you have everything it takes to learn my spell. That’s why I offered to teach it to you. Now, come, sit next to me.” He picked Cashmere up from his lap and set him down so that the two were sitting cross-legged side by side.

“Now, the important thing to understand about walking through dreams is that you cannot be fully asleep to enter the dreamscape. It’s more like a trance. Have you ever meditated before?”

While the two sat side by side, Cyran gently explained everything he knew to Cashmere about meditation, and the art of slipping out of one’s subconsciousness and into another’s. Cashmere listened patiently, even attempting to practice meditation with Cyran - with great difficulty, as expected of a ten-year-old with limitless exuberance - but in the dreamscape, up in the sky, everything was calm. Calm enough that Cashmere was at least able to calm his mind somewhat.

The two practiced until the dream began to grow blurry around the edges - Cashmere was waking up.

In their last moments in the stars before Cashmere’s nap came to an end, Cyran drew him in for a hug. “Never forget how proud I am of you, okay?”

...

...

"...?"

He can feel the moonlight on his face once more -- not as warm as the starlight, and far less so than Cyran's arms. It's a gentle coldness on his skin... He's awake. But it feels strange, being very much pas his usual bedtime.

He gently turns his head to the right, and there he is: Headmaster Cyran, wearing a tired smile and heavy eye glinting in the moonlight. How long had they been practicing? The question matters little in a dream... but it was obviously long enough for the elf to grow weary.

"H-Headmaster Cyran...?" He asks quietly, so as to not wake Cypress, though forgetting that his sister had slept in another room for this occasion. "Did I do it? Did I learn the spell?"