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“Are you well, Shadowhand?”
He’d been trying to work up the nerve and find the right moment for the past 23 minutes, sitting beside the other wizard on an off-shoot of an enormous ancient tree that burst from the earth like the gnarled finger of some ancient nature deity.
The words finally spilled from him as he had watched Essek draw his mantle a little more tightly around himself, as though he might use the thick fabric as a shield for something.
The wind was whipping up again and it was bitterly cold. Caleb had suffered through harsh winters in the Zemni Fields so he was...Comfortable was the wrong word, but he knew how to cope with it.
Essek had teleported to them out of nowhere two days ago claiming that the Bright Queen had sent him to aid them as they drew ever closer to their final confrontation with Obann and the Laughing Hand.
He did not appear to have enjoyed himself in those two days.
Caleb had theorised that the drow’s affinity for darkness would pair with an affinity for cold. However, they instead seemed distinctly bothered by it. Or, at least, Essek was.
“I am fine, Widogast,” he replied with cool courtesy - an emphasis on the cool. “Why do you ask?”
Caleb shrugged. He had not expected that question. His fingers dipped into Frumpkin’s thick fur, gripping onto him as a comforting anchor against the sudden flare of anxiety that had stoked to life in his chest. The cat seemed similarly unhappy with the current weather conditions. He had been tucked inside Caleb’s coat all day, and didn’t seem like emerging soon.
“Your movements seem a little stiffer than usual,” he mumbled, finally, staring at his fingers working through Frumpkin’s fur, “The somatic elements of your spells, for instance.”
He wished he hadn’t spoken, now. He felt a stab of regret and winced at it. Essek’s cool stare did not flicker or waver, just stared haughtily down again. Caleb felt rather as he did when they’d been pursued from above by that roc.
Caduceus was keeping an eye on them from the other side of the fire where he was clearing up after dinner, but he made no move to interfere. Hopefully he would be willing to heal the damage Essek inflicted upon him after this impertinence.
Essek was still eyeing him, too.
For unknown reasons, Caleb was still talking.
“You just seem rather...uncomfortable in general,” he said, lamely, “And you have been a little more...distant and irritable than usual these last few days.” He winced inwardly at the word choice. “I only meant that you have not seemed like yourself since you joined us,” he added, hastily, but the damage was already done.
His mother had told him once that conversation was like a harvest. Once wheat had been cut, it could not be put back. Words, once spoken, could not be retracted either. And in both cases, it only made one look more foolish to try. He was struck again by how wise she had been.
“You are very perceptive aren’t you, Widogast?” Essek said, finally, after allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably to the point that Caleb was squirming visibly.
His voice was quiet, and though he was trying to make it sound otherwise, it did not seem as though he was trying to compliment him.
“Tell me, do you watch all of your companions so closely? Or is it a special gift reserved for me? They taught you to hate and kill creatures like me before you could walk, did they not? Is the habit so difficult to break?”
Caleb flinched.
He fidgeted with Frumpkin a little more, and felt Caduceus’ eyes carefully guaging the situation. He found himself wishing the firbolg would interrupt, that he would say something in his slow, gentle voice and clear up the mess that Caleb had just made. But he did not.
Realising he was going to have to find some answer to this, Caleb took a deep breath, and made himself speak.
“You are correct,” he said, carefully, “I was trained to be perceptive, to notice things that others do not, to...to seek out weaknesses in my enemies.”
He made himself look up and meet, then hold, Essek’s pale eyes. They seemed to blaze through the darkness like burning moonlight, searing and scorching.
“But I assure you, Essek,” he hesitated a fraction of a second before using the drow’s given name, rather than his title, to try and soften the horrible atmosphere that had sprung up between them in the wake of all the bridges Caleb was burning.
Essek’s impenetrable mask flickered for a moment as he gave a small blink of surprise at the use of his first name. Then it resolved once more into the granite countenance of displeasure.
Swallowing hard, Caleb made himself go on.
“That was not my intention with you.” He let the words hang for a moment, then continued, more smoothly, “I do not consider you my enemy. Quite the opposite, in fact. You have been a great ally to us, and to be in particular. I appreciate the time that you have taken with me, to teach me your spells, which have saved us almost as much as your direct aid.”
Essek blinked, and his face softened a little, emboldening Caleb enough to say what he did next.
“Far from seeing you as an enemy, I was coming to regard you as a friend. The last thing I would want to do is offend you. I apologise, Shadowhand..”
He returned to the use of the formal title, then he rose, a little stiffly, still half-expecting to be blasted into the middle of next century, and that was if he was lucky. Then turned to walk away and give the other man his peace, hoping he had not ruined this relationship for all of them. He had not overstated how much they had come to rely on Essek. Alienating him would cost them more than he would ever be able to make up for.
Essek’s hand darted out from beneath his mantle and his long, thin fingers closed around Caleb’s wrist.
“Please,” he said, softly, “Wait a moment. I-” he broke off, genuine regret flashing across his features in a grimace.
Essek ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking as a human might if they had lived nearly two hundred years. Weary, and worn, and tired. So tired.
Caleb hesitated, his head turned back to look at Essek, the rest of him still wanting to leave the uncomfortable encounter as swiftly as possible.
But he had never seen the drow look quite as he did now. He was drawn, and guant looking, with heavy shadows beneath his eyes. His face was lined, and Caleb would have sworn there was a slight shake to his hand. The mask had dropped, and without it, Essek did not seem so austere and god-like.
He seemed real. Real, and vulnerable, and Caleb found that he could not turn away from him when he looked like that.
“I should be the one apologising to you, Caleb,” he said, laying a delicate emphasis on the last word.
The use of his name was meant to gentle his previous reproaches, and was an attempt at establishing a softer, more intimate bridge between them once more. He allowed it, and turned back fully to face Essek.
“You are correct, I have been feeling…” he cast about for the right word, “Out of sorts, lately,” he settled on. “I have not been myself. Naturally one with your intellect and perception noticed such a thing, and you sought to ask after my well-being once you had done so. I...Overreacted.”
It was clear that apologising didn’t come naturally to him. Caleb doubted he had much practice at it.
He gave Caleb a small smile, and Caleb tentatively lowered himself down onto the broad bough by the fire Essek was using as a seat.
“I am not accustomed to being read so easily,” he said, his smile widening slightly, but remaining as sharp as ever, “And I am even less accustomed to people giving voice to things they might have picked up from me. My position at court tends to deflect others from making such comments about me.”
Caleb hung his head, feeling heat creep up his neck again. Well done, Widogast. All you had to do was keep your stupid mouth shut. How difficult would that have been? he thought furiously at himself.
“I am sorry,” he mumbled to his lap, just as Frumpkin obligingly leapt onto it, emerging from his coat, and allowed him to bury his fingers in his thick fur, like an anchor.
A moment later, he started in surprise, as Essek laid a gentle hand upon his forearm. He looked up and met those strange, beautiful eyes that he found fixed on his face.
“That was not a reprocah, Caleb,” he said, gently, “It is actually quite refreshing,” he went on, and Caleb looked up at him again to see a rather wry smile tugging at his lips.
“What do you mean?” Caleb asked, still feeling a little tentative, but emboldened by Essek’s gentle familiarity and evident effort to repair any damage done by his snappish comments.
Essek shrugged and reclined lazily, somehow managing to managing to make lounging against a log look elegant.
“The deference and awe that come with such an appointment were fun for perhaps the first quarter century,” he confessed easily ,seemingly oblivious to the fact that that described a time period almost as long as Caleb had lived his entire life.. “But now I just tend to find all the bowing and scraping and tip-toeing around me rather wearing.”
His smile became almost mischievous and he leaned in conspiratorially.
“Once, a servant entered my bedchamber to deliver an urgent message and found me nude and somewhat... engaged ,”
Caleb felt himself flushing, and immediately felt angry with himself. He was not a teenager.
“He passed out cold right there on the floor in front of me,” Essek said, smirking in an almost satisfied way.
“What on earth were you doing?” Caleb wondered allowed, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
Essek’s smile became near predatory as he said, archly, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Widogast?”
He let Caleb squirm for a moment, apparently enjoying flustering him.
Then he said, “It’s nice to meet someone who can speak to me like a person, and not as the Bright Queen’s Shadowhand. It is easy to get...Lost in such a position. To lose all sense and semblance of yourself to a title.” He seemed to think he had said too much and trailed away delicately.
Caleb gave him a moment to compose himself then said, too bluntly, “But you are well, ja?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re utterly relentless, Widogast?” Essek said, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and seriousness.
“It might have been mentioned,” Caleb mumbled at his knees, which still contained the reassuring and, at the moment, very necessary comforting weight of Frumpkin.
“You amaze me,” Essek teased, his tone still light. Then he sighed and said, “To answer your question, Caleb, I am well enough.”
Caleb frowned slightly at that.
Let it drop, Widogast , he thought, fiercely, curling his hand into a fist, nails biting into the palm, he has given you enough. More than he should have. Let it go. For once in your life, let it go.
“That is not really an answer at all,” he said, cursing himself even as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
The dull flush of heat and colour that had been creeping up his neck flooded into his cheeks as Essek raised his head and blinked slowly at him. He clenched his fingers in Frumpkin’s thick fur. The cat licked his hand gently, the rough, warm rasp of his tongue oddly comforting.
“I am sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes again.
He wanted to tell Essek that he was only pushing because he knew what it felt like to be not okay, to be as not okay as it was possible to be, and the longing to be asked, to be pushed, to be made to confess to such in the vague hope that someone might help him.
But his body was no longer cooperating with him and was refusing to let him speak anymore.
Why couldn’t you have done that earlier before I started this mess? He thought bitterly.
“You care, Caleb,” Essek said, softly, and the renewed use of his given name, his chosen name, marked the sincerity of the words, “You should never feel the need to apologise for that.”
“I am being impertinent,” he argued, shaking his head.
Essek smirked at that, “I thought I told you I liked your impertinence?”
Then he sighed deeply and dragged a hand through his short, white hair, growing more serious.
“It is not a cause for concern,” he said. Then he paused, frowning slightly, as though his next words had only truly struck him now, “It is not really a cause for such secrecy, either. I am not ashamed of my condition, but..” he trailed off with a vague grimace.
“But perception is important in certain circles,” Caleb supplied, “Especially when politics are involved.”
Essek studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
Caleb had not spent time at court. He had barely spent time at the academy after Trent had taken an... interest in him. But he had been trained for it. And that training had given him a unique insight into how some people at these courts worked.
“The body is not important in our culture,” Essek said now, bringing Caleb back to himself, pulling him away from his darkening thoughts about Trent and his tuition. “You cannot choose the shape you wear to walk the world, or the challenges that come with it. The body is but a tool of the mind, the soul , it should not matter to our people.”
Caleb blinked at that. He felt something similar with regards to his own body. Flesh, like clay, or metal, or stone, could be changed. It could be shaped and altered to suit one’s needs. But he had never heard it laid out so clearly. He nodded.
“It should matter least of all at court, in the presence of our Queen,” Essek added darkly.
“But it does,” Caleb guessed.
“To some,” Essek agreed, lip curling to show what he thought of them. “I am young,” he said, then, as though he sensed the vague incredulity that stirred within Caleb at that, he amended, “By the standards of my people. Were I human I would surely be an ancient, hideous wretch by now.”
“You are certainly not that,” Caleb muttered before he could stop himself.
“I should think not,” Essek quipped, a little levity briefly lifting his tone. He sobered again as he went on, “But I was considered very young indeed - an inexperienced upstart - when I was appointed to such a prestigious position within the court.”
Caleb smiled a little at the thought of Essek being considered an upstart.
“I have had to prove myself every day since my selection. I have had to be twice as quick, and cunning, and brilliant than a more traditional candidate just to stand up to their scrutiny. It has been...Difficult, sometimes.”
“I understand,” Caleb said quietly. Essek glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and he expanded. “It was not on the same level as this, of course, but...The academy I was trained at-” He faltered.
His fingers flexed into Frumpkin’s thick, soft form. The cat began purring loudly, head butting against his hand.
He swallowed and went on, “It was very prestigious, very important. The best in the Empire. Students there were typically from noble families, with more land and wealth than my entire town combined.”
He made a vague noise of disgust in the back of his throat and dug his hand into the soft earth beside them, scooping up a handful and holding it out to Essek.
“I came from this. From dirt. From nothing. There was a lot of feeling at the school that I did not belong there. So I had to work harder, and be better, to prove that I did, that I deserved the knowledge I was given, the power I was gathering.”
He had not, after all, deserved any of it. Not after what he had done with it. But that had nothing to do with his class or where he had been born. It was just something inside him that had gone wrong.
Essek was eyeing the lump of earth in his hand with a curious expression, his head tilted to one side. After a moment he reached out, fingers gently brushing Caleb’s, and lifted it into his own hand. Caleb was so shocked by this he couldn’t even begin to protest, even if he’d wanted to.
“Would it surprise you to know that I also came from this?” he asked, squeezing the earth slightly, pressing the vague shapes of his fingers into it. He huffed out a soft laugh, “Almost literally. My family were farmers of very little renown. We cared for the land, and it cared for us in return. But my mother...Saw something within me. She persuaded my father to save their money to send me to a nearby city for an education and…” He allowed himself a small smile, and looked up, meeting Caleb’s eyes again as he said, “And now here we are.”
“Here we are,” Caleb agreed, feeling a little punch drunk at this sudden flood of information he had never expected from the reserved drow.
Essek had always been cordial with them, of course, always polite, and amenable to their ever more irksome requests. But this was different…
He was not the Bright Queen’s appointed assistant now, not the cool, cunning court emissary, the powerful, inimitable shadowhand, nor even the patient, impassioned teacher of dunamancy.
He was...Softer, warmer, far more genuine, and real . There was a strange vulnerability to him in this moment, and Caleb felt himself being drawn irresistibly to him. As though Essek had somehow made himself Caleb’s anchor point, the spot which gravity bound and pulled him to.
The fingers on Essek’s other hand sketched through the air, tracing invisible lines. Somatic components for a spell, obviously. Caleb’s analytical mind coaxed him into memorising their shapes. But he quickly became distracted, watching as the little lump of earth in Essek’s hand began to transform, responding to his prompting motions.
“This is the foundation of our world, Widogast,” he said, his eyes fixed on the earth as well, “Everything we have ever made, everything we ever will, every empire we will build, every invention we ever create, every figure in history, great or terrible, has stood upon this earth, and will do so in the future.”
Caleb watched, transfixed, as the earth rose up in a small, vertical line, and began shaping itself as Essek went on.
“Great things grow from what you and I come from, Widogast,” he completed the spell, and handed the earth back to Caleb. It was now shaped into a tiny, perfect model of a cat. Caleb held it between his thumb and index finger, and only managed to tear his eyes away when Essek spoke again, “You and I are proof of that.”
Tension swelled between them, and the moment hung, pregnant with expectation and anticipation.
Then Essek looked away, breaking the spell, and shifted in place, casually readjusting his mantle as he did so.
“Of course, my background made my appointment even more controversial,” he continued.
His voice was no longer that low, rumbling thrum, containing power and promise, like a storm sweeping over a damned plain.
“And my consecution, even more so,” he gave his head a small shake. “It is...Very unusual to be chosen for immortality so young. Even more so for someone of my...Status,” he laid a delicate emphasis on the word. “The dens like to pretend otherwise, but there’s old blood, old wealth and power, seeded within them. Often that speaks more than true talent or virtue when it comes to determining one’s place within a den.”
Caleb nodded. He had seen that feeling of the importance of old, noble families, very well in the empire. Some things remained the same between them, regardless of their differences.
“There are some people - at court, and within my den, who would take any and all opportunity to tear me down, to find excuses as to why I do not deserve the honours I have earned through study, and loyalty, and devotion to our queen and our cause,” his voice hardened, and a note of uncharacteristic anger laced the words. “If they knew of my condition, they would find a way to use it against me, I have no doubt. It is not even very unusual, and it is relatively manageable, but I-”
He suddenly broke off, fixing Caleb with a strange, piercing gaze that he couldn’t quite read.
“What?” he blurted out, feeling suddenly defensive, clinging to Frumpkin as he did so, hunching in on himself instinctively.
“You have...A very strange gravity about you, Caleb Widogast,” Essek said, finally.
The words made him shiver, for reasons he could not explain.
“I have not spoken to another soul about any of this in..In years .” He blinked slightly, as though only just fully realising this himself, “And here I am, in the middle of a desolate forest, in the dead of winter, spilling all of my innermost secrets to you without a thought.” He shook his head, huffing out a small laugh as he did so.
“You do not have to tell me anything,” Caleb said, slowly, not entirely sure what Essek wanted to hear. “I do not want you to- If you are not comfortable, I would rather-”
“But I am, Essek interrupted him, smoothly.
He was holding his gaze now, the scorching moonlight of his eyes like a beacon in the twilight of the silent forest.
“I trust you, Caleb Widogast,” he breathed, softly, “I feel like a fool, but I do. You are a human. A human from the Empire. You have admitted to training with the worst of your kind, training to kill me, and mine, and to destroy everything I have ever cared for…”
For once, that thought didn’t cripple him. The way Essek was staring at him, as though he was powerful, and dangerous, and everything he feared that he was...But good. Good, and wanted, and trusted .
He did not shrink away from it. He did not flinch from the burning gaze of the man before him, and the connection it forged between them. He held that stare, and drank in Essek’s words, and he leaned into whatever it was that was growing between them in this moment. It was strange, and alien, and frightening...But he wanted it.
“Everything you have told me, everything I know of you, and all that I have guessed, tells me I should not trust you but...I do. I cannot help myself.”A thin smile, warmer than the usual cutting smirks, tugged at his lips then. “There is something very... Honest about you, Caleb. It’s rather intoxicating, if you want the truth.”
Caleb kissed him.
He hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t sat and agonised over the consequences of doing it. He hadn’t even really considered it at all. Not properly. Not beyond stolen moments lying awake at night with no-one but the stars watching. He had never thought about what it might mean, what it could do to the group, what it could do to him. He hadn’t thought at all.
He had just acted. He had trusted his instincts and let them guide him for what felt like the first time since that fateful night.
That should have been terrifying. It should have made him withdraw so far into himself he might never emerge again.
But it didn’t.
In the moment, all he felt was exhilaration. Adrenaline pulsed through him as he surged forwards, pressing himself into Essek’s shocked arms.
Dimly, he was aware of Frumpkin leaping away from them, puffed up in alarm. But his flash of regret was swallowed almost at once by the flood of emotion that rushed through him as he finally gave in to this thing that had been growing between them for too long.
He was tired of loneliness. He was tired of isolation, and self-loathing, and stewing in bitter memories. He was tired of dragging himself through each day because survival was too strong an instinct to fight.
He wanted to feel again. He wanted to live again. And in the moment he didn’t care if he deserved it. He didn’t care that he was broken, and rotten, and the worst dregs that humanity had ever spat up onto this plane. He didn’t care. There was an opportunity in front of him. An opportunity to have something more . And he was seizing it. And fuck the consequences.
Caleb drew away for a second, shaking. He half expected Essek to pull away from him, disgusted, or even offended. But the drow was just giving him another one of those burning looks.
“Well,” he murmured, at last, tugging his mantle straight again, “You are full of surprises today, aren’t you Widogast?”
Caleb opened his mouth, regret was flooding him, tearing away his blinding moment of revelation and replacing it with all his old doubts and insecurities. “I-” he began.
Essek pressed a finger against his mouth and said, “If you attempt to apologise to me for this, I will dump that entire cauldron of stew Caduceus is working on over your head, Widogast, I swear to the Luxon.”
“That sounds like a waste of good stew,” Caleb mumbled.
He was talking about stew . He had a powerful, cunning, incredible, beautiful man in his lap and he was talking about stew .
Essek dragged this tips of his fingers through Caleb’s hair, anchoring his hands there, his thumbs resting tenderly against his cheeks, framing his face.
“Now,” he said, a distinct low purr in his usually smooth voice, “Where were we?”
Essek kissed him. Kissed him like the taste of his tongue was a tonic for every pain he’d ever endured. He gripped the lapels of Caleb’s coat and pulled him in with that lithe strength that elves were famed for. Caleb did not resist, not the pull of his hands, or the pull of his hunger that pushed them closer, still.
Caleb couldn’t help the groan that escaped him at the feel of Essek’s tongue pressing into the seam between his lips. He felt heat flood into his cheeks, embarrassed at how needy he must sound to Essek. But Essek only pulled him closer in answer.
He dragged his fingers through Caleb’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp, making him groan again, his body arching instinctively into the touch. He felt Essek’s smirk of satisfaction against his lips and pulled him closer, giving him a taste of his tongue, and of his own medicine. He felt Essek shiver in response.
Why hadn’t they done this before? Why hadn’t they spent every moment of those study sessions lost in each other? They had spent so much time buried in books, separated by scratchy, crumbling sheets of parchment, and walls of books, when they could have had this .
Caleb drew Essek’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, gently. He felt Essek stiffen, then melt into his embrace, surrendering to him, letting him lead this little dance of theirs.
A heady sense of power trickled through him. He hadn’t felt in control of anything, not his surroundings, or his circumstances, or even himself, in so long .
And Essek was giving that to him. Giving him this soft, pilable vulnerability for Caleb to drag out every bit of plesaure and feeling that he could. He was the Shadowhand to the Krynn dynasty, a consecrated chosen of the Luxon. His very skin thrummed with magic. He was so powerful he could have snapped every body in Caleb’s body with a thought. But he was giving himself over to him.
Caleb shivered, and pulled him in closer, giving him everything he seemed ready to take from him.
When they broke apart, both panting slightly, it was to find that Caduceus was hovering awkwardly alongside them.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said in his deep, slow voice, “But I figured you’d want to know dinner was ready. You’ll probably need it if you plan to carry on with that.”
He nodded and walked away, leaving Caleb’s face glowing as though he had bad sun burn. He turned back to Essek who had his lips pressed firmly together, maintaining his composure, though his eyes were dancing with amusement.
“Wait here,” Caleb said, extracating himself from the drow’s lap, “I will bring yours, too.”
“I’m not an invalid,” Essek snapped sharply, a bite of impatience in his voice.
“I know that,” Caleb said calmly, momentarily taken aback by the sudden venom.
“Then you should know why you don’t have to bring things to me. I’m capable of getting them myself.”
Caleb raised his eyebrows, “Does this mean I am not allowed to do anything nice for you, Shadowhand?” he asked, the words layered with a hint of suggestion he knew would tug on Essek’s interest.
Essek stared him down for a long moment, apparently weighing his options.
“Here,” Caleb said, snapping his fingers, “Hold Frumpkin for me,” the cat appeared on Essek’s lap and immediately began purring loudly and head-butting Essek’s hand as enthusiastically as possible, trying to get his ears scratched. “I will be back in a moment.”
Essek was clearly still trying to look indignant and irritated, but couldn’t stop the small smile flickering across his face.
Caleb left him irritably tickling Frumpkin’s chin and went to collect two bowls of stew from Caduceus.
The firbolg handed them over without comment, which Caleb was grateful for. Partly because he did not much feel like being interrogated at the moment, and partly because he was reasonably certain that if Caduceus thought this was a terrible idea, he would have gently tried to dissuade him. The silence was approval, and that was good enough for Caleb.
Caleb padded back to Essek, and Frumpkin, and handed him his bowl and some cutlery. Frumpkin gave a soft meow of interest and promptly shoved his head into Essek’s bowl.
“Frumpkin, that is not polite-” Caleb began, but Essek was already feeding him a little scrap of meat from his bowl. “You should not encourage him,” Caleb said, frowning at the cat as he licked Essek’s fingers, “He is greedy.”
Frumpkin gave him an indignant look.
Essek smiled, “Then you shouldn’t have left him with me. You know I’ve got a soft-spot for red-heads.”
Caleb flushed a little as he sat back down on the log beside Essek. “Would you allow me to try something?” he blurted out as Essek raised his fork to his lips.
Essek glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and Caleb felt his flush darkening. Which was ridiculous, but telling himself that made no difference.
“What, precisely, do you want to try, Caleb?” he said, lips quirking into a small smile, “And is it something that can appropriately be performed in front of an audience?” he nodded significantly towards the rest of the nein who had flocked to Caduceus’ stew like a plague of rabid locusts.
His flush deepening he mumbled, “It is easier to show you.” At the arch of Essek’s eyebrows he said, “And it is nothing, nothing inappropriate .” (Yet). Then he added with a small smile, “You did say that you trusted me.”
“I did,” Essek agreed, then, more seriously, “And I do.” He gestured for Caleb to proceed.
Carefully, Caleb channelled some of the fire magic into his palms, not enough to ignite the air, but enough to cause heat to stream from him. He reached out and closed his fingers gently around Essek’s wrist. Then he carefully, so carefully, he pushed the heat, extending it further and further into Essek’s body, following the pathway of his blood, warming him from the inside.
Essek’s whole body shuddered, and for a terrible moment, Caleb thought he had gone too far and hurt him. Then he gripped his hand and said, a little hoarsely, “Thank you, Caleb.”
Caleb let himself smile tentatively, as this power that had done nothing but hurt and destroy everyone he had ever cared for...Found a way to heal some of the deep wounds it had inflicted upon his soul.
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