1. The empty cottage

The cottage in the woods had long fallen from local memory.
Its once-lavish herb gardens grew wild, spilling over the crooked fence. Glass jars cluttered dusty shelves inside, still faintly humming with traces of spells.

Most assumed the witch who lived there had taken her last breath decades ago.

But not everything inside had stilled.

A single presence remained — Yuma, a familiar bound by old magic, long after his witch's final heartbeat.

He could have slipped free. Most familiars did, as soon as the bond broke.
Instead, he stayed.
Patrolling the creaky floorboards, watering plants out of habit, humming the songs his witch used to hum while grinding lavender.

Not out of duty.
But because it felt wrong to let all their work — and all their quiet days together — simply vanish.

2. A new witch arrives

Years blurred into each other until one afternoon, the door creaked open again.

A young witch-in-training — Taki — stood there, eyes wide, clutching a worn satchel to his chest.

"Hello...? I'm looking for old records on feverroot—"

He paused, gaze snagging on Yuma, who leaned lazily in the doorway, one eyebrow arched in wry greeting.

"You're late," Yuma drawled.
"By about forty years."

3. The teaching begins

Taki nearly bolted. But curiosity won.

Especially when Yuma poured him tea without asking, flicked his tail dismissively, and announced:

"You're a mess. Your aura's all over the place. Your chant pronunciation is embarrassing. If you're going to be stumbling through spellwork, you might as well do it properly. I'll teach you."

"...Why would you?" Taki asked, genuinely confused.

"Because this place needs someone breathing in it again," Yuma said softly, almost to himself.
"And because — don't make a face — I was very fond of the last witch here. Seems fair I help the next one."

So mornings were spent pruning stubborn herbs, afternoons reviewing potion ratios, and evenings curled by the hearth while Yuma tested Taki on charms with ruthless (and secretly amused) precision.

A tiny scene: learning spells

It was a rainy afternoon, the kind that made the old cottage smell of damp stone and crushed thyme.

Taki stood in the center of the kitchen, brow furrowed, trying to coax the soft blue glow of a warming charm into steady life between his palms.

The first time, the light sputtered out with a sad pop.
The second time, it flared too bright, singeing the edge of his sleeve.

"Careful," Yuma drawled from where he lounged on the counter, tail flicking. "Unless you want to warm your entire arm off."

Taki shot him a glare — but didn't give up. This time, he slowed his breathing, whispered the old phrase just like Yuma had demonstrated, letting the magic gather gently instead of forcing it.

A soft, even glow bloomed across his palms.

Yuma's ears twitched, his face perfectly deadpan.

"Finally. Took you long enough."

But then his voice dropped a note lower, almost fond.

"...Good work, spark."

And Taki's smile was so wide it almost broke the spell.

4. The familiar who stayed

Over time, Taki grew into the cottage like ivy — filling it with bright laughter, new books stacked alongside old, fresh sigils on fading walls.

And every so often, he'd find Yuma watching him with an expression too soft to mock.

"You could have left long ago," Taki whispered once, brushing his hand over Yuma's head in a shy, careful stroke.

"I could have," Yuma agreed, leaning in with a satisfied rumble.
"But I think I was waiting for you."

Years later: "his familiar"

They were older by then — Taki's hair longer, shoulders straighter with quiet confidence. The cottage had flourished around them, brimming with herbs, bottled moonlight, and hand-written recipes stacked wherever they'd fit.

A traveling witch visited one morning, marveling at the neat rows of enchanted planters and the subtle wards humming through the beams.

"I've never seen a place so well-tended. Do you have help?"

Taki's hand slid almost absently to rest atop Yuma's head where he sat by the hearth, tracing one ear with a thumb.

"Of course. This is my familiar."

Yuma only smirked, eyes glinting with unmistakable pride.

"Obviously."

And for just a breath, the whole room seemed to warm — as if even the cottage itself knew exactly how long they'd chosen each other.

A gentle ending

And so the familiar stayed.
Not bound by contract anymore, nor by grief.

But by choice — by a promise unspoken, stitched slowly through shared days and gentle magic.

Because sometimes the deepest kind of spell isn't written in runes or sealed in candlewax,
but in deciding to stay.