CH. 67 The Case of the Missing Witch & Farros Great Reattachment
Sorien has never looked more like a man on the verge of a heroic meltdown.
The kingdom is celebrating.
The banners are flying.
People are screaming his name in delight.
And the newly chosen heir?
He is ignoring all of it.
Because Drew — his Drew, the snarky, flame-slinging, trouble-breathing menace who got him through every trial — is nowhere to be found.
He storms the palace halls like a particularly handsome thundercloud.
“She wouldn’t just disappear!” he snaps.
Hegar trails behind him, carrying a suspiciously clinking satchel.
“Well,” Hegar mutters, “with Drew, anything is possible. She might’ve been kidnapped. Or cursed. Or turned into a newt. Or eaten by her own tarantulas.”
Sorien stops dead.
“…Why would you say that?”
“I’m just listing possibilities!”
Sorien rubs his face. “She should be here. She promised…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Because saying she promised she’d stay so he could celebrate with her feels too vulnerable.
Too raw.
Too important.
Before he can spiral further, Farro struts in dramatically.
Well—
“Struts” is a generous word.
It is more of a wobble.
A delicate, pained shuffle, as one would walk after a great tragedy.
“Brothers,” Farro announces, “I come burdened by both sorrow and hope.”
Gavin, who has appeared simply to mock, raises an eyebrow. “Gods. What now?”
Farro places a hand over his heart.
“It is time.”
Sorien blinks. “…Time for what?”
Farro points majestically at the satchel Hegar has been holding like a cursed baby.
“That,” he declares, “contains my greatest loss.”
Sorien closes his eyes. “I cannot believe this is happening right now.”
Gavin laughs so hard he nearly chokes.
“Yes!” Hegar says proudly, rummaging inside. “The magical jar of… erm… Farro’s… ah… dignity.”
“It’s not dignity,” Farro snaps. “It’s—”
“NO,” Sorien cuts in desperately. “Do not name it.”
Hegar produces the jar.
Inside floats a… very discreetly blurred, glowing mystical object.
Farro sighs reverently. “My missing manhood.”
Sorien pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Hegar cracks his knuckles. “Right! Let’s get to work. Step one: don’t scream.”
“I never scream—AAAAAAAGHHHH!”
A burst of magic lights up the room.
There is a faint smell of toasted marshmallows.
Farro collapses dramatically onto a chaise lounge that wasn’t there a second ago.
Gavin claps slowly. “So… everything is back where it should be?”
Farro gasps, hand over his chest.
“Yes.
Reattached.
Restored.
Returned to its rightful throne.”
Sorien stares at him. “Farro, you are an idiot.”
“Perhaps,” Farro says, smiling serenely, “but I am an idiot who is whole again.”
---
Sorien turns to the window, jaw tight.
While his brothers argue about magical anatomy, he can’t stop thinking:
Where is she?
Drew —
who fought beside him,
who saved his life four times,
who argued with him so fiercely it made him stronger,
who held his hand without meaning to…
She should be here.
By his side.
Celebrating the end of everything they survived.
Hegar notices Sorien’s clenched fists.
“She’ll turn up,” Hegar says quietly. “She always does.”
Sorien doesn’t answer.
Because it doesn’t feel true.
Because something is wrong.
Because Drew never runs away—
Unless she’s scared.
And Sorien knows with absolute certainty:
Whatever frightened her…
He will find it.
And obliterate it.