Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Caleb’s mouth tastes of ash and blood.

Though he’s tasted it a million times, the flavour proves stinging and intrusive, copper flooding his mouth and making his eyes water. Still, he keeps his teeth firmly clamped down on his tongue.

He could handle the pain. Anything to keep his silence.

He glances over to Jester’s face, scrunched up in concentration. Her lips move ever so slightly as she communes with her deity, lighting up the holy symbol clasped between her fingers. Forest green flashes across her blue skin, and Caleb has to squint just to keep his eyes open.

He feels the light pulse behind his eyes, settling somewhere in his sinuses. Jester’s magic feels like sunlight on skin, the smell of burning caramel.

Some time passes, and the spell slowly fades away, leaving just him, Jester, and the forest around them.

Jester opens one eye. “Feel any different?” she asks.

“Dizzier,” he says. The constant barrage of divine magic is making his vision swim and flare.

Jester puffs out her cheeks in frustration, dropping her hands into her lap. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried, like, all my healing spells.”

Caleb wants to offer help, offer some idea of what to do, but he can’t trust his mouth to move the way he wants it to.

She sighs. “I’m really sorry, Caleb.” (Cay-leb)

He doesn’t respond. Mercifully, the spell doesn’t force him to.

Jester pokes him on the forehead after a few moments of silence. “Do you want me to try another Dispel Magic?”

Caleb stares at the treetops above them. “If it didn’t work once, it will not work a second time.”

“Okay…but…there might be some other things I can try,” she says, leaning back. He can see the tension in her hands, the exhaustion settling into her eyes.

“Jester, do not drain yourself of spells on my behalf—”

Ignoring him, Jester grasps her holy symbol tight once more, resuming her mumbling. To an outsider, it looks like she’s having a conversation with herself, but Caleb can swear he sees a flash of green in the corner of his vision. He tries to follow it, but it seems a flash of green is all he will get.

Leaving her some semblance of privacy, he shuts his eyes. The cold of the forest floor seeps into his back, the dirt beneath his fingernails cool and grainy.

His tongue aches, his head pounds.

Caleb is not a pious man. But with every spell Jester tries, he silently prays to any and every god listening that that spell will be the one. He knows, in some darkened twisted part of his chest, muddled and cloudy, that a solution will not come so easily.

When the rest of the Mighty Nein return, they return to find Caleb and Jester in the same position they left them in—Caleb flat on his back, Jester crisscrossed next to him muttering prayer after prayer.

Caleb doesn’t need to ask them anything to know how things went on their end. The solemn mix of guilt and pity dashed across all their faces is enough to make Caleb wince.

He knew in his heart they wouldn’t find him. And they won’t find him again for a long time, Caleb is sure. Wizards of that caliber have measures to protect themselves against a simple scry. Even he has protections against divination. Being able to hold their own against him for that long was a stroke of luck. If Caleb hadn’t gone down as hard as he did, if he didn’t distract the party and give the opposing wizard the chance he needed to escape…perhaps things would have gone differently.

Or perhaps they would still be the same situation they are now.

Regardless; Fjord, Beau, Caduceus, and Nott approach with tired eyes and sore feet.

Jester looks no better. She has to be running on fumes at this point, her lips dry and cracked, and her fingers almost purple with how tightly she’s been squeezing her divine focus. It sounds far worse than it is, with the science behind how red blood beneath blue skin appears to a human eye. Caleb’s surprised the wood of her charm hasn’t splintered yet.

Caduceus is the first to reach them, placing a gentle hand on Jester’s shoulder.

“I think that’s enough for now, Jester,” he says slowly, kindly.

Jester’s hands lax slightly, her head drooping like a wilting flower. “I…I had a couple more things I could try…I mean maybe if we both cast at the same time, then maybe—”

Before she can finish, Caduceus leans down closer, muttering something in Jester’s ear that Caleb can’t quite pick up on.

Jester’s eyes flicker between the two of them, holding Caleb’s gaze for a moment before she breaks away.

“Okay,” she sighs. Her voice sounds hoarse. Guilt twists in Caleb’s stomach.

Caduceus helps her stand, meeting Caleb’s eyes as they rise. The firbolg gives him a smile and a small nod, and Caleb can’t help but feel an odd weight behind both gestures. Ever since they learned of the reality behind Caleb’s ailment, Caduceus has been oddly quiet. Oddly composed.

He tries to not let it bother him, tries not to think on it too hard. The heavier a thought weighs in his mind, the more strongly he feels the need to voice it.

They stay in that clearing for another hour or two, just long enough for those who got caught up in the brunt of the battle to heal up a bit and get their bearings in check. Nott doesn’t leave his side once, silent the whole time. Caleb is thankful for that, at least.  He wants nothing more than to feed her white lies of comfort, just enough to ease her mind, but his mouth won’t even make the shape of a lie.

She fiddles with her alchemical supplies, and while Caleb may know next to nothing about alchemy, he does know the things Nott is attempting to mix stray far from a poison or acid.

He tries to busy himself. Pretends to gather his materials for the teleportation circle, pretends to review his books and re-read his spells. Pretends he isn’t aware of every single second that passes, seconds that pass in silence and worry and fear, fear that he is stuck like this.

Caleb counts them, despite himself.

About 1,800 pass before the teleportation circle is ready to go. Before the last line is drawn, Beau calls everyone over, shouting something about ‘team meeting’. They gather in a half-circle around her, and while Caleb expects that Fjord, Caduceus, and Nott are somehow a part of this, he does not expect Jester to be so calm and collected. Her charm is still clasped between her fingers.

Beau stands with her arms crossed, her expression firm. She levels them each with a look before settling her eyes on Caleb.

“You don’t need to say anything. But I just wanted to say that I know this is shitty. And its gonna keep being shitty until it wears off or we can find a cure or whatever,” she starts, and Caleb keeps his bottom lip between his teeth just in case.

“So until we figure this thing out, I wanted to set some rules. And I wanted to set them before we get to the house.” Beau re-scans the group, as if weighing their reactions.

They all nod in some sort of understanding, re-affirming Beau’s point.

Caleb has a feeling there is a conversation he’s missed.

“Rule one—no one asks Caleb anything that isn’t common knowledge, alright? If I find out you’re trying to pull secrets from him or just teasing him to pull random shit I’ll beat your ass, got it?”

Jester raises her hand, expectedly.

Beau sighs, rolling her head back. “Yeah?”

“What if, um, like, we meant to ask a simple question, but it accidentally makes him answer something he doesn’t want to or something?” Jester asks, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

Beau hesitates for a moment. She glances over to Caleb.

“When you’re saying the truth, it doesn’t have to be heard, right? So you can just say it out loud and it’ll be over?”

Caleb pauses. “Uh. Ja, I think…I think that’s how it works. That’s how it worked earlier, at least.”

Beau nods once, turning her attention back to the rest of the group. “So there. If he’s about to answer something he doesn’t want to, cover your ears, and leave the room.”

Jester shrinks back, but nods nevertheless. The rest of the party doesn’t seem to be bothered by that condition either. Caleb hates it.

“You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells for me,” he interrupts.

Beau doesn’t even flinch. She keeps her eyes away from him, continuing to address the group. She expected this.

“Rule two. Caleb can’t control what he’s saying right now, so if he says something that hurts your feelings or something, try not to hold it against him, ‘kay? Sometimes the truth hurts.”

He hears murmurs of agreement flood around him, and its enough to make Caleb’s gut lurch.

“That is ridiculous,” he spits out.

All eyes turn to him. All except Beau.

She keeps her eyes pinned forward, her hands clenched into fists. She looks like she was the day he first met her. Harsh-features and a harsher attitude. The cracks in her façade only show how much she’s grown since then. The anger still remains, though.

“Rule three—"

“I am serious Beauregard,” he pushes.

She closes her eyes. “You don’t get a say in this.”

“You have to be joking. If I say something, I should be held accountable. I am not a child.”

When Beau’s eyes re-open they are alight with fury. “Really? You really want us to hold you accountable for the crazy shit you say now? While you’re like this?”

Fjord steps between them, arms out. “Okay, that is enough,” he says, pushing them each apart slightly.

Caleb shoves Fjord’s arm down and off his chest, and it is such an abnormal reaction from him it catches the half-orc by surprise. “What happened was my fault. I need to accept the consequences, and that is a part of it, so yes Beau.”

She is silent for a moment. Her jaw shifts, blue eyes narrow, and then her mouth opens.

“What do you think of my outfit?” she asks.

“Tacky at best,” Caleb hears himself say, but his voice sounds far, far, far away.

He slaps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. The words are out, and a smile slowly spreads across Beau’s face.

The smile says I told you so.

“Fjord’s outfit?”

Though muffled by his hand, the answer comes out all the same. “Gaudy and bland—you have made your point, that is quite enou—”

Beau’s grin turns wicked. “Essek’s outfit?”

“Attractive but pretentious—stop it” he chokes, the words coming out garbled around the meat of his hand. He bites down hard enough to draw blood, leaving teeth-shaped dents into his own flesh.

Fjord quickly presses his hands over Caleb’s ears, and while it’s enough to drown out what Beau says next, he does not miss Jester stomping forward, snatching Beau by the shirt collar. Without any effort, the deceptively strong tiefling hauls the other girl backwards into the forest and away from Caleb.

Fjord’s hands can’t block out Jester’s scolding, a colourful mix of common curse words and infernal that he is sure can’t be words of praise. Even Nott joins in, baring teeth that Beau holds no fear for anyway. He appreciates the effort.

The whole thing is very dramatic and while Caleb is tempted to step in and stop them, the heavy stone resting in the pit of his stomach does a wonderful job of blocking out any fantasies he has of normal conversation. He settles for standing idly by, Fjord’s calloused hands still pressed firmly on either side of his face (Sailor’s hands. Swordsman’s hands. Incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the heart to say so.)

A few minutes pass like this before Caduceus steps in front of him, cutting off view of the girls.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says. Or at least Caleb thinks he says. Fjord’s hands are still covering his ears and Caleb’s never been good at reading lips.

Hesitantly, Caleb nods, and Caduceus starts off walking in the opposite direction of the group. The firbolg’s steps are so sure and guided, Caleb would think he knew where he was going. But then his long ears flick at the sound of a birdcall, and suddenly he’s walking a little further north. Another birdcall. A little further east.

It unsettles Caleb more than he’d like to admit.

Fjord’s hands slip from the side of his head, one settling on his shoulder for a moment.

“Don’t stray too far,” he says. “We don’t know if that mage could still be lurking around.”

Caleb swallows, pretending like that isn’t exactly what he’s hoping for. He’s already walking away by the time the spell fuels the urge to voice the thought. Small victories.

Caduceus leads him to a dried-up pond, tree roots and fungi clambering through the soft soil. The spot is disturbingly on-brand for the cleric, who has taken up to contentedly poking at the crumbling edges of the pond with the end of his staff.

“Have you ever dug a well, Caleb?” he asks. Caleb knows this tone. He is about to learn something.

“I can’t say that I have,” he replies through gritted teeth.

As good as the intentions are, Caleb is starting to resent metaphors. Caduceus seems to have an infinite supply of these stories. Little sayings of how faith is like a green bean, of how a stone in a river is actually a very deep representation of resilience. Caleb doesn’t think its very deep. Anyone can say anything about random objects, and so long as someone wants to see something from it, they will.

Maybe Caleb is being too cynical about it all. Caduceus speaks sparingly on his family, but perhaps they were all like this. Perhaps these are the fables and folktales he was told as a child, and that’s why they seem to come in infinite supply.

Caleb grew up on very different stories.

Caleb grew up on tales of children swapped out for changelings in the night, of how if you step too close to the river the nixies will bite off your toes. He was taught to leave a saucer of milk and honey by the doorstep, and to always carry rowan berries in your pockets to ward off evil spirits.

He’s so lost in his reminiscing; Caleb barely notices Caduceus standing right in front of him. He looks expectant. There is clearly a question Caleb has missed.

“Caleb?” Caduceus asks, low and gentle. The end of his staff is stained brown with mud.

Caleb shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I got distracted. My apologies.”

Caduceus stands a little taller. “That’s alright. Do you want me to start over?”

“Not really,” Caleb’s mouth says before he can stop it. He winces, but Caduceus takes it in stride.

“That’s alright. This is exactly what I’m hoping to see from you, as blunt as it may be,” he mutters, half to himself, before returning back to his task. The pond is half-caved in already.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Caleb says, stepping a little closer to the edge of the pond. The soil squishes beneath his boots.

“Well, I didn’t really mean much by it. I know this group tends to…omit things,” Liars. Just say we are liars. “But I believe that this could be a great opportunity. Fate has given you this chance, and fate seems bent on teaching you a lesson specifically.”

Caleb’s nails dig into his palms. He should have expected this from Caduceus. Good intentions, but they make Caleb’s gut lurch so violently its almost painful. What lesson is he to learn from this? This is a nightmare. He is a burden, and all his omissions are going to bite him in the ass. Hard. If this is fate at work then Caleb is sure the universe is working against him.

Caduceus doesn’t seem to be finished. “The truth can be very useful. And while it may seem cruel to force honesty on you this way, we can use this as a learning experience.”

“I don’t want to learn anything from this. I want this to be over,” Caleb grumbles.

He toes the dirt so hard a chunk breaks off, tumbling into the pit below. Caleb’s foot goes with it, panic setting in as he lurches forward.

With barely any effort at all, Caduceus steadies Caleb with one arm. He holds it there until Caleb regains his balance. Lucky for them both, that doesn’t take very long at all because neither of them have been of the strong sort.

Unphased, Caduceus continues his ‘lesson’. “All I’m saying is, maybe this is just what we needed. A little bit of fate.”

Caleb’s face scrunches up like an apple left to rot. “And what does that mean?”

Caduceus smiles. “You shouldn’t dig for water where you already have some.”

Nonsense.

Chapter Text

Fjord and Beau announce their return by slamming the front door open, startling Caleb into tearing a hole through his papers with his pen. They are lucky the pages are blank—he hasn’t been able to scribe down a cohesive thought all day.

Unexpectedly, Beau and Fjord aren’t empty-handed, each carrying a large wooden barrel that’s almost taller than Nott.

“Sup,” Beau says. She has to tilt her head a bit to see over the barrel.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at them. “I thought you were training.”

That’s what they told him when they left the Xhorhaus a few hours ago, at least. As of late, Caleb’s been taking very close notice of everyone who leaves and enters the household. It's not as if he has anything else to do besides sit around and read.

Nott wants him to keep occupied. Take up a hobby and stop worrying.

“I have plenty of hobbies,” he told her, pushing away a set of knitting needles she picked from the market. Caleb’s never been good at crafts.

Nott pushed them back into his hands. “It would be good for you! Sew some sweaters, maybe a scarf. Yours is getting old anyway.”

Caleb’s hands went up to his neck instinctively. “I like my scarf.”

Nott made a face. “It reeks.”

It didn’t smell, Caleb knew for a fact. He’s washed it seven times in the past two weeks. Somehow laundry has become a habit, and the thought saddened him. What a pitiful life.

“I could teach you some alchemy. That could be fun,” she suggested. And without even waiting for his response, she scurried off to fetch all her notes and equipment, piling them on the table.

Caleb nudges one of the vials Nott left for him to study, watching it bob back and forth.

He really doesn’t have a knack for alchemy, either. Learning what tasks he’s horrible at has been good for his ego (or worse for his lack thereof).

Beau and Fjord stare at him like he’s a bomb waiting to go off.

“If you were doing something besides training, you do not have to hide it from me,” Caleb sighs.

Fjord sets his barrel down first, his breath heavy with the strain of labour. As the barrel thumps to the ground, liquid sloshes around from inside.

“Well, uh, this is sort of training in a way,” he says between gasps, looking to Beau.

“Right,” she starts. “Cardio. Upper arm strength. Very important stuff.”

Caleb clenches his jaw. Unclenches. “And there was no other way to achieve this besides wine shopping?”

Beau rolls her eyes. “Why does it even matter?”

“Because I’ve been stuck in this house for nearly three weeks and you won’t tell me what’s going on outside unless you’re lying about it,” he snaps. If Caleb’s hand slams on the table as he speaks, neither of the two make note of it.

She shifts in place for a moment. “Even if we told you it was dangerous, would you have tried to come?”

“Of course,” comes tumbling out from Caleb’s mouth.

“There. That’s why we won’t tell you. Because you won't listen ,” she snaps back.

Before Caleb can think of a reply, Beau drops her barrel down beside Fjord’s, nearly denting the hardwood. She doesn’t meet Caleb’s eyes, stepping past him in large strides. He tries not to wince when the kitchen door slams shut behind her.

Subtle isn’t in Beauregard’s vocabulary. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“She’s got a point, you know,” Fjord sighs. “However hostile it may seem.”

Caleb frowns. “And what point do you have for me?”

Fjord’s been oddly quiet as of late. The other members of the Mighty Nein have been practically jumping at chances to cheer him up. Alchemy lessons with Nott. Word games with Jester. Gardening with Caduceus. Even Yasha helped him shave once or twice. She’s quiet, even more so than before. But her silence is understanding. Fjord’s silence is wary, like he knows something he isn’t supposed to. Or that the truth spell could be contagious.

Beauregard is in another category altogether. They argue, but he knows she means well by it. It’s hard to resent her when she’s trying to protect him and his thoughts.

The half-orc sighs loudly. “None. Just that you should maybe...talk it out with her.”

Caleb shuffles the papers in front of him. “She’s being unreasonable. I don’t see the danger in a simple shopping trip.”

Fjord presses his lips into a thin line. If he has more to say on the matter, he doesn’t reveal it. Lucky for him there’s no truth spell forcing the words from his mouth.

“Regardless, where did the wine come from?” Caleb says in an attempt to change the subject. “I did not know Rosohna had a winery.”

Fjord seems startled for a moment before his expression smooths over. “There isn’t, not really. All this stuff is imported from vineyards around Fevergulf Lake.”

Caleb’s brow furrows. “Then how did you get a hold of some?”

He tries to pinpoint Fjord’s expression, but the half-orc is far better trained in the art of deception. “A bar nearby had a shipment.”

“I don’t believe you,” isn’t the most convenient reply, but it springs forth from Caleb’s mouth regardless. He bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

Fjord’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but whatever response he had is cut off by the kitchen door creaking open.

Yasha stands in the doorway, looking between the two. “I--um...you needed help? With the barrels?”

Fjord is tense for an entirely new reason. He takes a half-step back, and the movement does not go unnoticed.

Yasha looks to the ground. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, dishevelled hair falling in front of her face. “Beau said to bring them to the cellar.”

Fjord clears his throat, refusing to look her way. “Right. Just these two here.”

Yasha gives a hesitant nod before picking up both barrels, one under each arm. Her strength never ceases to surprise, though they’ve been on the receiving end of it far too much for Caleb’s liking. Or Fjord’s for that matter.

Yasha tries catch Fjord’s eyes, but his gaze is firmly fixed on Caleb. She looks to Caleb next, and he has to pretend like he wasn’t staring at her as well. He fiddles with the vial on the table. He’s never been sure what to say in moments like these.

“I’ll come open the door for you,” he settles on. Yasha’s shoulders sag with some sort of relief as he gets up and follows her through the door. Her timing was too perfect, but he has no need to complain.

Fjord remains in the entryway, watching the two leave.

If he’s worried about Caleb reading the shipment details printed on the barrel, he doesn’t show it.

It’s a few days later when Caleb’s finally off his self-proclaimed house arrest. Nearly four weeks and it’s clear the spell won’t go away on its own, and seeing how restless the wizard has been getting is only rising tensions higher. Nott and Jester vouched for him to get some out-door activity.

Unfortunately for him, the only one they could agree upon as safe is shopping.

Jester holds up a swatch of fabric, studded with rhinestones and colourful gems. Caleb pretends not to flinch when it reflects a beam of light straight into his cornea.

"How about this one?"

I mean, it could be worse? he thinks.

“It’s horrible,” his mouth says.

Jester hums, unfettered, turning over the fabric in her hands. “I don’t know. I could make like, a purse out of it or something.”

Caleb picks up the fabric next to it, a black square embroidered with purple leaves. It's see-through and silken, so far from the fabrics he is used to back in the Empire.

" Ja, I guess so. None of these seem like purse fabrics to me though," he mutters, scanning the room.

The shop is on the smaller side, but every bit of shelving space is packed to the brim with fabric and sewing materials. Caleb had been against entering initially, but enough pleading from Jester had managed to sway him. The tiefling had never shown an interest in sewing her own clothes before, but one off-hand mention that Caleb knew how to sew sent her into a frenzy. He tried to make clear he could only hem pants or sew patches into holes, but Jester insisted. Nevertheless, the small shop is an interesting sight. Rolls upon rolls of fabric, glittering and shimmering with varying hues. Some seem so intricately crafted he can not even fathom the price on it.

"I didn't know you were such a fashion expert, Caleb," Jester says, nudging his arm with her elbow.

Caleb smiles despite himself. "A purse that you can see the contents of kind of defeats the purpose of a purse in the first place, no?"

She snorts. “Sheesh. Tough crowd. I think Sprinkle likes it, though.”

She brings the fabric swatch up to her collar, but the battered and frankly decrepit-looking weasel residing in there only scurries in deeper. He's been getting better since Jester adjusting his diet to what Oremid Hass had suggested, but the weasel was still a long way away from recovery.

“I don’t think Sprinkle likes much these days," he notes as Sprinkle makes a chirping sound Caleb isn't sure weasels should make.

Jester shrugs. “His loss. Maybe we could have matching dresses instead.” She immediately begins posing, wrapping herself in a larger piece of the fabric, before holding it out to Caleb.

Caleb chokes back a laugh, pushing her hand down. "Not the best idea. I don't look good in dresses."

Jester hums thoughtfully. "I don't know. Maybe you just haven't worn one of my dresses. I could make pockets for all your components and even books and stuff!"

"Tempting," Caleb replies. “But I might be better off with a potato sack.”

Jester catches herself off guard with a laugh, and it's just loud enough to draw the attention of one of the shop hands.

A drow woman approaches, white hair tied back into a long braid. Her blue eyes narrow at them, and the gaze does not match her customer-service smile.

"How are you finding everything?" she asks, her voice light and tooth-rottingly sweet.

"They're all rather ugly,” Caleb says before he can cover his mouth.

He hears Jester snicker from behind him.

The woman's smile falters for a moment before she corrects herself expertly. He wonders how much it costs to compensate a woman like herself to tolerate assholes such as himself.

"I'm terribly sorry about that," she says, almost instantly. Barely a wrinkle of worry. The resentment in her eyes cannot be hidden in the same way.

Caleb takes a deep breath. "No, I am sorry. That was rude of me."

She offers a thin-lipped smile. No contradiction to his words. ”Right. Well. If you require anything please let me know--”

“Do you have clothes but like, for animals?” Jester cuts in before the woman can turn away.

The drow hesitates. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Unfortunately no.”

Jester clicks her tongue. And before she can say anything rash, Caleb hooks his arm around her shoulders and mutters a quick thank you for your patience before shoving off through the doors.

Jester swats at his arm as they step out onto the cobblestone. “Hey! I wasn’t done!”

Caleb squares her shoulders, staring into her eyes. “If you didn’t finish soon, we would have been kicked out.”

Jester snickers, and he isn’t able to suppress a smile of his own as he guides her further away from the shop.

There are many Drow out on the streets this time of day, which is a lucky turn of events for them. The easier they can get lost in the crowd, the less chance they have of being pointed out. Blue and orange don’t camouflage well in a crowd of greyish-purple, but their cloaks make up for any misgivings their appearances provide.

Jester makes a pssst sound that is far too loud to qualify as a whisper. Still, it catches his attention enough.

“ Hey . Do you really think I could make a dress? A nice one?” Jester asks.

Caleb’s face wrinkles. “Maybe. But it would take time we don’t have.”

She winces, but smiles through it. “Sheesh. Tell me how you really feel, huh?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” he replies. It was meant to be taken as light banter, but Jester’s face falls.

What replaces her cheery disposition is unmistakable guilt. “This spell…do you think it’s going to last a long time?”

She fiddles with the fringes of her hood, feigning disinterest. But even without a spell, she’s a terrible liar.

“I don’t know. I hope it doesn’t,” he responds, quietly.

Jester leans in a little closer, giving his shoulder a small bump. “You know, maybe this won’t be so bad.”

Caleb bites down on his tongue, but the words slip through anyway. “This could get me killed. Get us all killed.”

It’s silent for a moment. Then another. They reach the edges of the city, passing by the Corona District as Drow numbers dwindle and are replaced with goblinoids and orc-folk. A few minutes pass before Jester unhooks her arm from his, tugging on his wrist instead. Caleb turns to look at her.

Jester lifts her hood gently, just enough for him to see her eyes. “You’ve been thinking very large-scale, you know. Sometimes the truth is fun.”

Caleb frowns. “I disagree.”

Jester’s cheeks puff out. “I disagree with your disagree,” she says in a mock-accent that hardly sounds like any accent at all.

“ Ja ? How so?” he says through a laugh.

He can hear her tail lashing behind her. “Fuck, marry, kill. Fjord, Caduceus, Nott. Go.”

Caleb shoves his hand between his mouth, clamping down as hard as he can. The answer still comes out, but it's so muffled and garbled that Jester’s laughter drowns it out.

“See?” she wheezes between laughs. “Fun!”

Caleb smiles despite himself. Though it doesn’t last.

“I fear this could cause a lot of problems,” he says.

Jester’s hand slips into his, gripping tightly.

“Then we’ll just have to lie for you,” she says.

He gives her a sincere smile, and hopes it is enough. Jester tugs on his hand suddenly, nearly causing him to lose balance.

“That reminds me! Is there any place you wanted to visit next?” she asks as they walk. “I’ve tried nearly all the bakeries in Rosohna, but there’s one near the border that I haven’t stopped by yet.”

Caleb tilts his head. “Well, we still have some bread at the house. We should go through that first.”

Jester sticks out her tongue. “Boo. No fun.”

Caleb opens his mouth to reply, but he halts to a stop suddenly. Jester lurches forward, her hand still grasped in his.

“Caleb? What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Something is happening,” he replies, scanning the crowd around him.

The Drow and other Xhorhasians all face the opposite direction of them, eyes upwards, staring in some kind of horror. Jester and Caleb spin around to follow their gaze, hands going to holy symbols and components respectively.

But what they see has them lower their hands to their sides, useless.

Living in Rosohna has led the Mighty Nein to grow accustomed to darkness. They’ve learned to guide themselves through streets lit with lanterns, following the feeble glow of stars above. And yet, in this moment, the sky is brighter than usual.

Past the wall that divides Rosohna from the outer lands, a gargantuan beacon of red light flares and flashes. It’s only when that beacon begins to move, humanoid shapes peering through the brightness, do Caleb and Jester realize what they are looking at.

“Fire Elementals,” Jester whispers. “I thought...I thought they lived on another plane?”

The Fire Elementals begin to move, almost liquid as they crash over each other, consuming trees and igniting all in their path. They are still a long way away from reaching the wall, but the creatures move fast. They are destruction in its purest form. Caleb resists the urge to itch his forearms.

It’s only after Jester tugs on his elbow, snapping his attention back to reality, does he realize they need to move. They begin sprinting towards the house, Jester casting a quick Sending spell to Essek as they sprint across the city.

It only takes a few moments of running before soldiers begin pouring out from the Lucid Bastion, racing past the two. Many are unarmed, but bear the robes of mage warriors. Caleb resists the urge to look back, to see them in action.

He can only hope they can join the fray soon.

Chapter Text

Molly shuffled the deck in his hands, flashes of coloured ink and harsh black lines catching Caleb’s eyes when the cards separated just far enough. Molly smiled, noting Caleb’s stare.

“Are you ready?” he asked, fangs poking through his grin.

Caleb looked away, pinning his eyes to the table between them. “Is there something I need to be ready for?”

Molly tilted his head side to side, a secretive smile stretching from ear-to-ear. “You’ll see.”

The candlelight casted his shadow onto the back wall, dancing with every flicker of flame. Caleb focused on the specks of multicoloured light that filtered through the shadow, tracing each out-of-place colour to a gemstone in Molly’s jewelry. Leave it to Mollymauk Tealeaf to somehow remain technicolour and glittering in a dim, decrepit, tavern bedroom.

“I can do a simple reading, if you’d prefer,” Molly said, still sorting through his cards. “A quick glance at past, present, and future.”

Caleb tensed, nails digging into his palms. “What would that entail?”

Molly paused for a moment, humming. “Well, I’d separate the deck into three piles, and then you just need to flip up the top card for each pile. From there, I’ll help you determine what each card means and what they’re trying to tell you. Each card represents something, and each card can tell you something about your inner self.”

Caleb fought the urge to back out, to say he had changed his mind and would much rather go to sleep instead. Nott was probably wondering where he was. They had a lot to do the next morning. Shopping. Errands. People to catch up with, information to gather. He didn’t have much time to waste messing with tarot cards.

But still, he did not move.

Instead, he watched attentively as Molly stopped shuffling, placing the deck between them.

“Ready to get started?” Molly asked, tail lashing behind him.

Caleb took a deep breath. “You seem rather excited. I did not know how much technique there was to this stuff. I thought it was all for show.”

Molly smirked. “Well, I do tend to add some flair. But I’ll tone it down for you, if you’d like.”

“If this is you toned down, I am worried for your past clients.”

Molly placed a hand to his own chest, letting out an affronted gasp. A smile still danced in his eyes. “You offend me, good sir. All of my clients left completely satisfied with their experience.”

“Experience?”

Molly winked, and that was all the answer Caleb needed. He averted his gaze quickly, heat rising to his face.

Molly leaned forward then, propping both elbows onto the table. “Anyway, enough about my past clients. Before we begin, I need to know what your intentions are.”

Caleb’s mouth ran dry. “ Was ?”

Molly smirked and rolled his eyes, tapping the deck. “Focus, my dear. I just meant intentions for the reading. Anything you want to learn or know, the more specific the better.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing at the pile. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to know. He only agreed to the tarot reading so Molly would stop asking. The tiefling had been relentless as of late, constantly pleading and badgering Caleb to let him ‘work his magic’.

“How will the cards answer my question?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

Molly tilted his head. “It won’t, not on its own. That’s why you have me. I’ll look at your cards, and help you interpret what they mean. It’s up to you to figure out what they mean in your life, though. I’m not a mind reader.”

Caleb snorted. “You lead most of your clients to believe otherwise, ja ? That the cards are somehow magical?”

Molly laughed. “Well, you’re not like most clients. Far too stubborn. And too clever for your own good.”

Caleb huffed as if he wasn’t fighting off a smile. “I am not stubborn.”

Molly raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.”

“How could being stubborn be a good thing?”

“Why don’t you ask the cards?”

For no reason at all, those words sent a spike of anxiety down Caleb’s spine. He shifted in his seat.

“I am…not sure I have any questions for the cards. Or anything I want answers to. Not right now,” he said finally, wringing his hands under the table.

Caleb could see a slight droop of disappointment in Molly’s shoulders, as much as the other man tried to hide it.

Caleb instantly regretted his choice. Something about the dejection in Molly’s eyes did something painful to his chest. He tried to smother it, but the feeling only swelled.

“Ah. I see. Maybe next time then,” Molly said with a gentle smile. The smile was a dagger through his heart.

Molly began gathering the deck back up, moving to place them into his coat pocket, when Caleb spoke up once more.

“What if…” he started, pausing to clear his throat.

Molly watched him with a carefully guarded expression. Caleb could barely read his features in the dim candlelight.

Caleb cleared his throat once more. “What if instead, you could—you could show me what the cards mean? Just…by themselves. Individually.”

Molly’s hands stilled, his tail slowly swishing behind him. “You want to learn about the Arcana?”

Caleb averted his gaze. “If, um, if that is what they are called, then ja, why not.”

Molly grinned once more, scooting closer. He set the cards back down, sliding his hand across the table to spread the deck out.

Caleb watched as Molly pulled a single card from the pile, holding it up between two fingers. The card was intricately illustrated, depicting a man standing before a table. The table had multiple items across it, varying from a sword to a chalice.

 Molly peered at Caleb from over the card. His eyes sparkled.

“Let’s start with The Magician. It reminds me of you.”

A rush of light fills the space behind Caleb’s eyelids, a piercing brightness that stings enough to run tears down his cheeks. The scent of caramel overwhelms him as familiar magic courses through his veins.

When he finally opens his eyes, Jester stands over him, heat blisters bubbling on the side of her face. Firelight flares behind her, making the ash caked on her skin glow orange.

“You’re awake,” she sighs with relief, pulling her hands away from where they were resting on his shoulder.

He blinks up at her, wincing through the pain that sears across his body. “Did…did I—”

“You didn’t die, don’t worry. I actually did healing stuff for once!” she shouts. Or, at least he thinks she is shouting. Every noise is too loud and his ears are ringing like church bells.

Jester helps him up to his feet as Caleb begins taking in the sight of the battle around them.

He couldn’t remember much before getting knocked down, but from what he could recall things were not going well. The Fire Elementals had a crucial advantage that seemed to render nearly half the party useless— they were literally made of fire .

Caleb hadn’t even gotten a single spell in.

No one could get in a twenty-foot radius of the creatures without being spontaneously set alight. Caleb pulls his eyes away from the sight of Drow bodies blackened with ash, curled on the ground as the fires raged around them. The imagery is far too familiar for comfort.

“Fjord’s managed to charm one of them. It won’t last though, they’re really pissed off,” Jester shouts over the sound of chaos around them.

“Where’s Nott?” he asks, still scanning the battlefield.

He can see Yasha and Beau in the distance, carrying off unconscious mages away from the fire’s reach. The spellcasters of the party still have enough juice left in them to help, but he can’t seem to catch a single glimpse of the goblin amongst all the carnage.

“Invisible,” Jester replies, pointing to a small circle in the ash-coated battlefield, a circle that is oddly ash-free. “She tried casting Phantasmal Force on them earlier, but—”

“—the fire broke her concentration,” he cuts in with a sigh. “At this rate…we won’t be able to outrun them. Or alter their path.”

Before Jester could reply, one of the three elementals screeched out a harrowing roar. It begins moving closer to them, curling in over itself as it consumes any remnants of vegetation in its path.

Just as the searing heat becomes too much to bear, Jester lets out a feral scream and slices her arm through the air, green particles trailing from her fingertips.

A giant spectral lollipop, serrated along its edges, swings down through the smoke, sending the elemental reeling backwards. It skids across the ground, its flames licking up along the head of the divine creation.

A few of the war mages around them cheer, and Jester swells with pride.

“Take that, you flaming dick!” she shouts, which is unsurprisingly met with fewer cheers.

“I’m guessing they are immune to fire spells?” Caleb asks, already knowing the answer. He mentally crosses off half of his best spells.

When he turns to Jester for a reply, she’s already gone, rushing off towards Fjord as he pulls water from a nearby lake. The green particles flurry around her as she waves her arms through the air, a larger tide of water pulling forth as she casts her own Shape Water with him.

Caleb’s hands itch to cast a spell, but there are so few that apply to this situation. He thought this would be easier, that instead of worrying about the truth spell that still toys with his tongue, he could focus on the rush of battle. It turns out the anxieties that weigh on him do not vanish with a shiny new distraction.

He steps forward just as the water wall Fjord and Jester have created slams into the nearest elemental, creating plumes of smoke and steam that cloud the area. The flaming body of the elemental pulses with orange light, obscured by the fog.

Caleb focuses on the eyes of the beast, glowing coal-like orbs that stand out against the flames, and begins to pull a glass vial of water from his components.

He holds the vial out, watching the elemental's movements slow and the curl of flames begin to turn his way.

Caleb's fingers tighten around the vial as he closes his eyes, beginning to mutter the incantation for a Banishment spell.

As soon as the spell is finished, the hum and heady rush of magic swells inside him.

It comes to a crescendo, the flaming heat of his own power filling every aspect of his being.

And then...he opens his eyes. And nothing changes.

The elemental remains, the battle rages on, and Caleb still remains, vial in hand.

He clenches his fist around the vial, his knuckles turning stark-white.

Caleb has failed spells before. Sometimes, the enemy is too powerful, and their mental capacity to resist magical effects can usurp the strongest of incantations. Caleb knows the feeling of failure, the magic seeping from his fingers and vanishing into the air. 

That is not what happened.

Caleb felt the air snatch from his lungs when he began muttering the Banishment. He felt the burning at the tip of his fingers as magic willed itself to take form. But his tongue lies heavy, and a sense of vertigo overtakes him as the summoned power refuses to take form. Magic has never rebelled against him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he hears from beside him, and it’s so close he nearly jumps off his feet.

Nott wills herself visible, crossbow still held pointed towards the battle. Her green eyes shimmer like emeralds in the fire glow, the aquamarine tattoos around her eyes faint against the orange light. Worry lines warp them, scrunching the design as she watches him carefully.

Caleb swallows. The truth forms on his tongue, no matter how hard he tries to keep it down. “My...my magic. It’s not working.”

Caleb stands with his arms outright as Allura Vysoren circles around him, a delicate hand on her chin. Her blue gown trails on the floor behind her, and Caleb has no idea how she manages to not trip over it as she paces the room.

“Well, quite honestly, I’m stumped,” she sighs, stopping to place her hands on her hips.

Yussa sighs in some sort of non-commital agreeance, head still buried in a large leather-bound tome. Caleb can barely see him over the mountains of books that surround his deskspace. 

“It would be easier if we could discern the school of magic this curse originates from,” Yussa mutters, half to himself.

Allura hums, tilting Caleb’s head upwards with the tip of her staff. “It’s...odd, to say the least. A curse of this nature would not be so long-lasting. Nor would it resist any restoration or dispelling magic, as we have done…”

“Yeah, so, that isn’t really what we want to be hearing,” Beau grumbles from her spot on the floor. She has to lift herself off the ground slightly just to see them over the stacks of books that surround her.

“I am not saying this is a lost cause, Beauregard,” Allura refutes.

A resounding thud echoes through the room as Beau drops the book into her hands onto the ground. “So, what? We have no fuckin’ clue what this spell is, or how old it is? How are we supposed to get rid of it if we can’t even figure out what it’s doing in the first place?”

Yussa scowls at her, pinching his forefinger and thumb over the narrow bridge of his nose. “We know what it’s doing. Spellcasting is a manipulation of the Weave, the source of all magic. This curse is blocking all forms of manipulation, hence the truth aspect to the spell.”

Caleb lowers his arms to his sides. “I was able to use a teleportation spell before. That has verbal components. Will the spell continue to produce more symptoms?”

Allura fusses some more, continuing to prod at him with the green gem of her staff. “We can’t be sure. But it is a possibility.”

After the battle outside Rosohna, Caleb and the rest of the party decided that they had no choice but to seek help. An inability to lie was one thing, but a complete wipe-out of Caleb’s magic ability was something else entirely. They couldn’t afford to keep the issue amongst themselves anymore.

Beauregard accompanied him to help search for answers, being the only other member of the party with any skill for researching. After nearly all the Cobalt Soul archives proved futile, they were sure Tidepeak Tower would have answers. The complete and utter bafflement by both Allura and Yussa only further twists worry and fear into Caleb’s stomach. 

Allura waves her hand over the gem of her staff before circling Caleb once more. 

“It would be easier if we could find some sort of physical manifestation of the spell, a magical wound to focus our efforts on,” she mumbles, pointing the staff at various places along Caleb’s body.

It’s only when the staff hovers over his forearms does she pause, brow furrowing. 

He instantly recoils, pulling his arms behind his back. He knows what magical wounds she’s found there. 

Caleb sees the flicker of confusion that crosses her face, worry lines only becoming more pronounced. Allura pulls the staff back, a gentle frown on her face.

“These scars...what made them?” she asks, quietly, discreetly.

Clearly not discreetly enough, because Beau’s head turns towards them, panic lining her features. Even Yussa raises his eyes from the book he holds. The answer comes out, no matter how he wishes it wouldn’t. He has a feeling Allura would have extrapolated the true answer, even if he wasn’t forced to say it.

“Trent Ikithon. He experimented on me with crystals, a long time ago,” he says, and the words are painful, vicious things, even now. He can’t stop the bitterness that comes along with that name.

Allura’s creases soften, but not with surprise. There is pity there, in the sapphires of her eyes, and a twinge of guilt.

“I am sorry,” she breathes out. “I did not mean to bring up something you’d rather not speak of.”

Caleb turns his gaze away, giving a curt nod in acknowledgement. He wishes he could say ‘ it’s fine’ .

“I know you would rather not speak of them, but it is clear these wounds have had a lasting effect. It could pertain to our current predicament,” she adds, almost regretfully.

He can hear something odd shaking her voice. If not for the hardness of her expression, he would have never noticed it was anger. Caleb knows it is not directed towards him, but to the unspoken third party that is not here to bear the weight of Allura Vysoren’s distaste.

Caleb takes in a shaky breath. “I have been healed many times, by many members of my party. As much as I wish they were the answer, I do not think wounds such as these connect to what is happening currently.”

Allura seems unconvinced, and he can see her rolling another apology or refute in her mouth. She closes her eyes briefly, opening them with a small nod. Lets the matter go. Caleb tries to appear as grateful as he feels.

He refuses to meet Beauregard’s eyes, no matter how hard she stares at him in his peripheral vision.

Yussa startles them all when he closes the book in front of him, nearly shaking the room with its weight.  “This magic out-dates my training. Or Allura’s. We will get nowhere like this.”

Allura gives him a pointed look, but Yussa does not waver.

“I will continue my research here, but your time will be better spent elsewhere,” Yussa adds, standing from the desk.

He waves one hand through the air, the books around him floating upwards and returning to their spots on the towering shelves of the room. If he holds any guilt for the casual use of magic before someone just stripped of it, he does not show it.

Beau gets up too, dusting off her pants. “Like where? We’ve kind of read all the books we can at this point.”

“There is little resource we have at our disposal that we haven’t already exhausted,” Caleb adds.

Yussa does not meet their eyes, instead walking towards the door, a trail of floating tomes following behind him. “I have other matters to attend to, but for now, you should find the source of the spell itself.”

Caleb opens his mouth to ask another question, though before he can Yussa exits the room, door slamming shut behind him.

Beau and Caleb turn to Allura, who still stands in the center of the room, wringing her hands.

She offers them a sheepish smile. “Well… I believe what Yussa is trying to say is that...perhaps you should hunt down the man who did this. If his magic is truly of such a high caliber, one that surpasses me or Yussa, we need to track him down immediately.”

“We barely got out before, and that was when we had our strongest spellcaster still with us. You want us to take him on like this?” Beau asks, arms crossed.

Allura hesitates. “I’ll inform the council of this individual. If you find any leads, please get Miss Lavorre to contact me as soon as you are able.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries and parting words, Beau and Caleb walked towards the teleportation circle provided by Yussa, following the guide of his goblin assistant. The teleportation room itself is dimly lit, a few candles mounted on the wall and the smell of aged wood filling the space.

Wensforth leaves as soon as they make their way onto the circle, shutting the door behind him.

“Well, that was a bust,” Beau says to cut through the silence.

Caleb stares down at the lines of the circle. “We have to be more careful now. I won’t be able to teleport us without one of these.”

Beau clicks her tongue. “Right.”

She pauses as if she has more to say, but her lips keep firmly pressed together. She does not even waver when Caleb shoots her a questioning glance.

“Let’s go back. The others are probably waiting on us,” she mumbles.

Caleb hesitates, but nods, initiating the innate magic of the circle.

Their vision is squeezed into a pinpoint as the spell takes hold, teleporting them back into the white marble halls of Rosohna’s teleportation chambers.

It's during their walk home, hurrying through the streets of the perma-night that is the capital city, does Beau finally voice what was weighing on her before. She steps a little closer to Caleb, pulling back her cloak as if to get a better look at him.

“I’m gonna say something, but you can’t make fun of me for it,” she warns, voice terse.

Caleb blinks at her. “Beauregard, when have I ever made fun of you?”

She groans, rolling her head back. “I know! Just, listen, okay?”

He nods. Beau bites the inside of her cheek.

“I wanted to apologize. For before. I was acting like a dick, and I know you’re going through a lot right now. I probably could have gone about it better than I did. But you gotta know we’re here for you, man,” she says, voice hushed.

Caleb pulls his own cloak down. “Oh. Well, thank you. I know you mean well, Beauregard. I’ve been acting a bit childish as well, so. It’s not just on you. But thank you.”

She gives him a half-smile, and her social ‘training’ with Fjord is clearly working. It only looks a little pained.

Caleb is ready to end the conversation there, but Beau’s pensive expression remains as her smile fades.

“There’s, uh, one more thing. I wanted to ask you about it, but I didn’t want to force any weird shit out of you,” she says.

Caleb sighs. “It’s fine, there is little I have yet to tell you. I will let you know if I am uncomfortable.”

Beau seems torn, but nods all the same. “Right. Well. Jester said...she said that when you got knocked down the other day, she healed you back from unconsciousness.”

“As she does often…? I am not sure where this is going,” Caleb says, giving her an odd look.

Beau rubs the side of her neck. “She said...when you were unconscious, you were crying. And not like, pain-crying. Sad crying.”

A rock settles in the pit of Caleb’s stomach.

“And I was wondering if you were alright? Like I know it’s still hard to fight with fire and that junk, but you’ve never cried like that before, and I was--”

“It wasn’t about the fire,” Caleb cuts in, not of his own volition.

Beau’s eyes widen. “Oh. Then...what was it?”

Caleb tries to word his response in a way that is least damaging, but the truth spell is not a patient one. “I was thinking of Molly.”

Beau’s face immediately scrunches up in confusion. She opens her mouth once, twice, three times, clearly thrown off balance. Whatever response she had been bracing for, this is not one of them. He is not surprised by her reaction. Caleb speaks of Molly sparingly, especially compared to the other members of the party. It was for good reason, but it seems no matter how deeply he pushes down some memories, this curse is hell-bent on ripping them forward into the light.

Caleb’s face flushes red, both in embarrassment and shame, both for the fact he is still reluctant to bring up this after such a long time.

Beau stops walking, about to open her mouth once more, when Caleb speaks up before her.

“I’d like to leave this conversation alone, now,” he says before the spell can pull anything else from him.

He can already see Beau forming her own conclusions, but he turns away quickly, making a quick pace towards the house.

“Let's go. We have work to do,” he calls out without meeting her eyes.

He can hear her footfalls behind him become louder and louder, until they slow to match his pace a few feet back.

Caleb pulls up his cloak once more, if only to cover the blush that has spread to the back of his neck.

When they get back to the house, Beauregard keeps her word. She does not ask him any more questions, does not make any indication to the rest of the party that something is amiss. 

Her knowing stare is filled with pity, and somehow that is worse than any other question she could have thrown his way.

Chapter Text

Caleb wakes up to a flash of sunlight, followed by a small and particularly bony body leaping onto his side. These things should alarm him. Spur some sort of fight-or-flight response. But his head is too heavy and his mouth to cottoned with sleep for anything to startle him.

Besides, he knows that familiar scent of bergamot and copper.

“We need to talk,” Nott says in a whisper that is still far too loud. He needs to give a team-lesson on the art of inside voices.

Caleb groans, turning over just enough to jostle Nott off his back. She lets out a small oomph when she hits the bed, scrambling in the mess of blankets.

“Hey—” she starts, more than a little indignant.

“ Nein . No talking. Too early,” he grumbles into his pillow. Beams of orange-tinted sunlight filter through the open window, warming his back. He would enjoy it if his head wasn't pounding like a war drum.

Nott squabbles something to herself, still prying off layers of wool and fleece. The Lavish Chateau delivers on their promise of lavish.

“Too early,” he repeats when she stands above him, prepping to leap once more.

“We are talking! Now! I promise you can sleep later.”

“Close the blinds please,” he adds for good measure, just to cement the go away I am tired message a little harder.

He can hear Nott crossing her arms.

“No. Not until we talk.”

“Nott, bitte —"

Something hard and faintly metallic hits him between the shoulder blades. Hard.

“Ow, scheiße , you’ve made your point, enough.”

“Is it enough? I don’t think I’ve made myself clear yet.”

Caleb sighs loudly, absorbing one last moment of comfort before finally pushing himself up into a sitting position. If he moves more slowly and lethargically than Nott cares for, she has the patience not to comment on it. To be quite honest, he is somewhat relieved she woke him. His dreams have been swarmed with nothing but unwanted memories.

He fully takes in the sight of Nott, arms crossed as predicted, staring him down from one end of the bed. She's already dressed in her travelling clothes, minus the typical bandages she dons outside of Xhorhas. Being around Luc and Yeza means she has to disguise herself magically anyway, so the bandages would just be an unnecessary addition.

A biscuit tin lies on the mattress between them, slightly dented. Caleb is surprised the damned thing didn’t open on impact.

“You woke me up for biscuits?” he asks.

Nott uncrosses her arms only to re-cross them once more. “No. I woke you up because the sun’s nearly about to set.”

Caleb glances out the window only to find a sun nearing the horizon, the sky clouded with red, orange, and purple. 

He narrows his eyes. “If we were in Rosohna, you would not have noticed the sun. And I would have gotten to sleep. And you would not be pelting me with biscuits.”

Nott finally lets her arms drop. “You’ve been sleeping for nearly a full day, and I wanted to talk to you. We’ve barely spoken since that fight with the mage guy, and I thought giving you some space would be good. But you’ve just been shutting us out.”

Caleb’s tongue moves of its own accord. “For a reason.”

“Why?”

“I did not want to worry you.”

Nott pouts. “Bad reason. I’m always worried about you.”

“I am sorry,” he sighs.

Nott immediately whacks him on the shoulder.

He winces, rubbing at the spot with one hand. “What was that for?”

“No apologizing! Not until you have something to apologize for.”

Caleb tries to hide the way his expression darkens, but even without a truth spell, he would have a hard time masking it. But Nott didn’t ask a question, and he doesn’t dwell on the words long enough for them to be snatched from his lungs.

Nott sits cross-legged on the bed. “Now. We talk.”

“I don’t want to. I want to sleep. It’s hard enough sleeping now as it is.”

That gives Nott pause. “What? Why? You’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

Caleb presses his lips into a thin line, but nods, nevertheless. “Nightmares. Dreams. Memories. More than typical.”

“Are they…are they still about back then? With the fire?”

Caleb’s eyes squeeze shut. His lungs constrict, because no, he does not want to speak of this. He has spoken too much about it already. Caleb isn't even sure why it is such an important topic, why everyone brings it up all the time.

He tries to fight against the spell, but all it does is leave him gasping for air like a panic attack.

“Caleb?” Nott asks

“It’s n-not, the fires, no. N-no. They…Th-they’re…I keep—”

Before he can finish gasping through it, Nott places her hands over her ears. She squeezes her eyes shut, face scrunched as he finishes gasping through what the spell forces him to spill. Nott waits until he is finished, until he finds a few much-needed moments to catch his breath.

She blinks at him, watching as he unfurls his arms from where he wrapped them around himself.

“Thank you, Nott,” Caleb says once she pulls her hands away from her ears.

“We promised we would.”

“I know. But…it is sometimes easier said than done.”

Nott stares at him in place of a response, because she is not stupid enough to say what she is thinking.

“I would like to go back to bed now. With the blinds closed, preferably.”

For a moment, Caleb thinks she might actually do it. That maybe after Nott witnessed first-hand how difficult it is to bear the weight of the spell, she would relent and leave him alone. Or that maybe his desolate expression could convince her that Caleb is very tired, and not exaggerating to avoid the inevitable.

But, at her core, Nott is a mother. And a mother knows when her child is emotionally manipulating her.

With one fluid motion, Nott rips the blankets off Caleb, then firmly re-crosses her arms.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

Caleb winces at the rush of cold air and mourns the loss of comfort. Slowly, almost painfully so, he pushes himself upwards into a seated position, crossing his legs on the bed.

With Nott standing up like this, she meets him perfectly at eye level. He nearly forgets how intimidating her goblin form can be.

“Why are you here in the first place, shouldn’t you be spending time with your family? Where’s Luc and Yeza?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Nott points an accusatory finger at him. “Stop deflecting.”

Caught. “Still a valid question, though.”

Nott plops herself down, resting her head in her hands. “Beau, Fjord, and Yasha took them to the beach.”

“And you didn’t want to join?”

Nott scrunches her face up. “Ocean. Water. You get the point. And I needed to talk to you, anyway. Figured this was as good a time as any.”

Caleb fiddles with the hem of his shirt, a worn-down flannel that he usually wears under heavier layers during the winter. He wasn’t built for cold weather. He was built for small farm-towns. Fireplace hearths, wheat fields, streams that curl around big willow trees that have stood long before him or his parents or anyone he knows.

Nott watches him carefully. He wonders what he did to earn her attention.

“Nott, I am not sure what you want me to say,” Caleb sighs, and frankly he’s getting quite tired of sighing so much.

“Let’s start with why you’re avoiding Essek.”

Caleb blinks at her. “ Was ? I have not.”

 “You can’t lie to me! You’ve been super weird around him since we got back.”

Caleb smooths out his hair, trying to gain some semblance of composure. “I have been no weirder around him than I usually am.”

Nott searches his eyes for a lie she will not find.

She groans after a moment, frustrated, before flopping backwards to lie on her back. “Fine. I guess I’m imagining things.”

“Is this really all you wanted to talk about? Essek? Why would it even matter?”

Nott bites her bottom lip. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You don’t need to lie to me, Nott,” Caleb says, nudging her leg with his foot.

She sits back up, a pensive expression remaining. “Okay, fine. That isn’t all I wanted to talk about. It’s just...I want you to know you can talk to us. And that you don’t need to lock yourself up in an Inn all day. Or avoid us. You’re not a burden.”

Caleb frowns. “It’s fine. I needed space, that’s all. It won’t change how I feel. But there’s no need to exaggerate.”

Nott frowns back. “Except it’s not fine. Your magic is gone, and we can barely take you out in public, and now you’re having nightmares—”

He rolls his head back. “I should not have told you about the nightmares.”

“There! Right there! Stop shutting me out, of course you should have told me! We need to talk about it,” Nott insists, nearly jumping off the mattress.

“I don’t want to speak of it. I know everyone’s upset. Scheiße, I’m upset. But there is no need to act like I am dying.”

Nott’s hands go to the sides of her head, and for a moment Caleb wonders if she’s going to rip out all her hair.

“And what if you are?! What am I supposed to do next?!” she shouts, pointing a clawed finger in his direction.

“I don’t know, Nott!” he shouts back, because she shouted first, and that is the next logical course of action.

Her hands are trembling. His are too, but he buries them in the blankets.

Caleb can feel his chest rise and fall with every laboured breath, and he didn’t even realize he was so worked up. He is tired of talking. Every question is a landmine, and his head spins with every truth he is forced to spill like bile. They mean well. They always do, all of them, but sometimes he just needs to be alone.

But no amount of reprieve could justify the way Nott’s eyes are watering, or how his voice feels hoarse with yelling. Yelling at her .

Nott relents after a few moments of frustrated silence, the tension in her small frame melting away.

She crawls over to the side of the bed, sitting so she can dangle her legs over the side.

“I don’t know why I’m yelling,” she mumbles, staring at the floor. “I came here to comfort you. I brought snacks.”

“Yelling means you care. It is loud, but still good. Loudly caring.”

Nott turns to look at him, yellow cat-eyes glowing. She offers a half-smile. Caleb digs deep to smile back, because she deserves it. He turns over the biscuit tin in his hands.

“You did not have to buy this for me. I am not so sad that I need biscuits to cheer me up.”

Nott freezes for a moment. “Oh. Well, it’s...no big deal. I stole it anyway.”

Caleb holds back his first instinct of reprimanding. “ Danke . I appreciate it.”

She pats him once on the leg before standing up. “Well. Now that that’s settled—”

“I don’t feel like we really settled much—”

“We have a surprise for you downstairs,” she says, and her grin holds too much energy for his sleep-deprived brain to process.

Caleb drops his head back onto his pillow. “You promised if we talked, I could sleep later.”

Nott shrugs. “Don’t want to keep Jester and Caduceus waiting. Better get dressed quickly.”

Caleb gapes at her as she hops down from the bed. “Nott. You promised.”

“I promised nothing!” Nott calls out as she pads across the room, heading for the door.

“Perfect memory!” he calls back, but she’s already down the hallway and out of view.

Once the sound of her footsteps fades into silence, Caleb reaches for the biscuit tin. He turns it over in his hands a few times, tracing the imprinted design on its surface, trying to cool his nerves.

He isn’t sure what Nott wanted from that conversation. If anything, he’s surprised she wasn’t angrier with him. Or that she wasn’t spending every moment here with Luc.

Without Caleb’s magic, her chances of finding a cure for her current form are slim to none. And if she isn’t returned to a halfling soon, she has very little time left with her son and husband. It worries him more than he’d like to admit. Part of the reason he suggested visiting Yussah personally, insisting the party come as a whole and take up residence at the Chateau, was mostly so Jester and Nott could see their families.

Caleb’s fingers still for a moment, the pattern he traced absently across the tin oddly familiar. He lifts it up to the light, peering at the dark-blue of the metal. 

Odd.

Common letters. Imprinted on the surface of the tin, spelling out a phrase he’s never heard before. But just below the line of Common lies another language. If he hadn’t spent so much time staring at Essek’s notes, he never would have realized.

He can’t read the words, but the frail and delicate scrawl of Undercommon pierces his mind stronger than any meaning could

Caleb tucks the tin away, gets dressed to face what’s left of the day, and tries to ignore the burning question that is how Nott got her hands on a Xhorhasian cookie tin in the middle of Nicodranas.

“You are Caleb, yes?”

He’s standing in the doorway, struggling to lace his boots, when a voice addresses him. Caleb stumbles slightly, wobbling from his awkward position on one foot to hop around and face the speaker.

Marion Lavorre waits at the end of the hall, a shawl of shimmering black silk wrapped around her.  Her red eyes squint at him through the dim light, as saturated as the lantern she holds in one hand. Sunset flares behind her like a halo, and Caleb tries not to stare. She has to deal with a lot of staring in her line of work, and he would prefer not to add any undue attention. 

“Oh. Um. Ja, that is me. I am—yes, that is me.”

Her expression smooths over into something resembling a smile. “Jester told me about your illness. It is rather serious, yes?”

Caleb stumbles for thought, because Marion is the last person he expected to be having this conversation with. “Um. Yes. We believe so.”

She takes a good look at him, stepping forward down the hallway until she is close enough that Caleb can see the faint lines of wrinkles around her eyes, a reminder that this is a woman who has experienced much in her time.

The lantern light wobbles as she lifts it up to his face, examining details the likes of which even he does not know. Her posture reminds him of nobility, squared shoulders and stern eyes. But no matter how imposing she may seem here, Caleb has seen the way she looks at Jester. How every shred of her being melts into warmth and love, how it seems her whole heart beats in time with her daughter’s breath.

He saw the same in his own mother, in her weathered smile and needle-pin eyes, eyes that he sees each day reflected within himself. On the other side, Marion Lavorre is foreign in all that she is, a fairytale, a woman woven into song, a figure of devotion and desire.

But she is a mother. And for Caleb it almost hurts to look at her, to see the same weathered smile upon her lips that he sees in the faintest of his memories.

“This mage, he is very dangerous. And very strong. I worry for what might happen if we face him again,” Caleb says.

Marion’s expression shifts, and if she were not standing so close Caleb would have thought it to be a trick of the light.

Fangs poke through her smile, and that image hurts in a new way. He packs the hurt into a box for later.

“If you are trying to worry me, Mr. Widogast, you’ll find I do not scare so easily.”

“I don’t want the others to suffer for my mistakes.”

She laughs at that, feather-light and otter-sleek in each note. “You believe this?”

“They do not deserve to be put in danger because of me,” he tries to insist, but Marion only shakes her head.

“You believe that to be the truth?” she repeats, in a way that says she already knows the answer.

“Of course. I can not lie, not in this state.”

Her smile falls slowly, a cloud drifting across the sky. “The truth can be a tricky thing. Do not let it fool you so easily. This group you are with, I can tell they are good people. I can also tell they keep themselves guarded. My sapphire is often seen as too honest. Too open. But she is hiding something beneath all that, beneath what people call naivete. I can tell you’ve noticed. If you didn’t, you would not be warning me as you are. She is an excellent liar. But only to herself.”

Caleb wants to reply, but there is little he could offer.

“Trust in them. Let that be your truth,” Marion says, firm and resolute.

“She has poured so much into helping me. They all have. I am not sure if I’ve earned it. She is your daughter. Do you believe that she should be doing so much for someone such as myself?”

Marion reaches forward to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. Caleb fights the instinct to recoil, knowing she means no harm. There is something too familiar and too gentle in her movements. He would call it pity if he could bear to form the thought.

He has watched as men and women alike swoon at Marion Lavorre’s feet. But very few get to see this. Gentle and kind, a mother nursing the sick and wounded. It is no wonder Jester reveres her so much. There is a fierceness behind her eyes that was not present before.

“Then prove yourself worth her time.”

And with that, she turns back down the hall, melding into the shadows as the lantern in her hands fades away.  

Habitually, Caleb wonders what he did to earn her trust. 

And when the thought forms, he packs that away too.

Jester, Caduceus, and Nott wait for him in the dining room. It’s a private quarters, multitudes smaller than the Chateau’s main service area. But it serves their needs well enough. There is a round wooden table at the center, sun-worn birch-wood stained with odd streaks of colour across its legs. The curtains part just enough to bathe the room in a warm glow, staining the tiled floor with orange hues. The two clerics are each nursing a cup of tea, Nott nursing a flask that he is sure holds something else. 

As soon as Caleb takes one step through the door, the scent of cinnamon and sugar fills his nostrils. If not for the tray of bread rolls at the center of the table, he would have thought Jester had cast a spell on him.

“Breakfast!” Jester shouts, shaking her hands over the table, arms spread wide. Little ceramic bowls of berries, candied nuts, and cheeses are scattered amongst the pastries. 

Caduceus takes a long sip from his mug. “Well, it’s closer to dinner. But that's alright. Still plenty of good food.”

“ Danke, ” Caleb says as he pulls a chair up.

He takes a moment to glance at Jester, noting how the bags under her eyes have started to fade, the colour returning to her cheeks. The words of her mother ring in his mind, and the pressure is just enough for Caleb to pull his eyes away.

His eyes turn away, only to connect with Nott’s. They hold gaze long enough for Caleb to remember why he never liked making eye contact in the first place.

“So...uh. This is quite the spread,” Caleb notes, reaching for one of the rolls on the table. “Is it all local?”

Jester pops a berry into her mouth. “Well, sort of. Like, most of it? We don’t have little cheeses like these by the shore. Markets around here don’t even sell them.”

Caleb’s brow raise slightly. “Oh. I see. Where did you get a hold of them, then?”

Jester pauses mid-chew, mouth open. She looks over to Nott, the two sharing an oddly weighted glance, both wide-eyed.

There are exactly three beats of silence before Jester swallows, and drums her fingers against the table. “Well...we...picked it up along the way! It was going to be a surprise. So, uh, surprise! Cheeses!”

“Along the way?” Caleb repeats, unsure.

Jester and Nott nod fervently, but they are the only ones. The other cleric cradles his tea-cup closer, eyes pinned to the table.

Caduceus hums to himself, but it sounds discordant. A note plucked out-of-tune. Caleb opens his mouth to question it, but before he can Nott claps her hands together.

“Anyway! We didn’t wake you up just for breakfast,” she interrupts loudly, hands slamming against the table hard enough to shake the silverware.

Caleb steadies the water glass in front of him, just quick enough to prevent it from overflowing. “I see. What other surprises did you prepare?”

Jester and Caduceus share a look, but it’s far more jovial than before.

“Well,” Caduceus starts, a soft smile lining his face, “this was mostly thanks to Jester. She knew the man we’re after would be resistant to scrying, but that didn’t mean he was untraceable.”

Jester’s grin widens. “I managed to get a sample of his blood from the forest, from when Beau totally decked him across the face.”

Nott nods solemnly. “He did get decked. Pretty hard.”

“Exactly! And then I found out something pretty cool. This guy...his scry-blocker-thingy isn’t like yours at all! It’s super old and lame! It just hides his face from us, but I can still tell his location!”

Caleb blinks at them, slow to process the information he’s just been bombarded with. By this point, the bread roll in his hand is smushed to a pancake.

“So...you have found him?” Caleb asks, almost afraid to be hopeful.

Nott does a so-so gesture with her hand. “Sort of? We know the general area. Still can’t pinpoint an exact location. But he’s heading towards Uthodurn.”

Jester’s grin turns wicked. “And that means...we can catch him.”

Caleb doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Caduceus places a hand on his shoulder.

“We can fix this,” Caduceus says.

He doesn’t dare to hope.

Chapter Text

It takes another full day before anyone is ready to leave Nicodranas, and two more after that before they manage to scrounge up enough supplies to last them the journey.

It’s easier to do their shopping in Rosohna, where Nott can walk freely without the use of any magic, where they are closer to the Xhorhaus, where they have connections to people who can help make their jobs a little easier. More specifically, a very particular individual to whom they owe a great deal of favours.

And yet, Caleb hasn’t seen Essek since the night they fought the Fire Elementals. 

Even then, it was only brief. He saw the other mage casting spells amongst his fellow drow and nobility, looking oddly out-of-place amongst the crowd. Maybe it was the robes he wore, or the distance he kept from the others.

It was hard to tell through the firelight, with smoke clouding his vision. Caleb wishes he got a better sight of Essek then. There may have been something he could learn, something he could study, just by watching the other mage in battle. Not that he could act upon any new-found knowledge in his current state. Caleb couldn’t practice even if he wanted to.

Jester had briefly mentioned Essek would be teleporting them to Uthodurn, or at least to somewhere nearby the underground city. Without Caleb’s ability to teleport, they had become more and more reliant on the drow. 

A dangerous state to be in.

Even more dangerous considering how some of the others had been so opposed to seeking aid from Essek regarding Caleb’s situation.

“It isn’t his specialty, it would be pointless to even ask,” Caleb insisted when they first brought it up.

Jester pouted then, wringing her hands. “Maybe he knows someone who can help. It wouldn’t hurt to, like, maybe just mention it? Like, oh hi Essek, have you heard of this crazy-old and wrinkly magic guy who can make you tell the truth even though you really don’t want to?”

Beau had groaned, the most vocal of her suspicions out of everyone. “I don’t like it. We still aren’t sure if he’s the one fuckin’ spying on us all the time. We might as well just be inviting him to come and interrogate Caleb.”

“He wouldn’t do that. We’re friends.”

Sometimes Jester’s willingness to trust surprised even him.

Nott scrunched up her face. “I mean, are we? We’re work acquaintances at best.”

Quite honestly, Caleb was tired of being argued for. 

“We aren’t telling him, that’s the end of it. We owe the man too much,” Caleb replied, his tone a little firmer than usual. It was enough to quiet even Jester. He did have to endure the weight of her glare the rest of the night, however.

Now that he would be arriving soon to teleport them, the risk of Essek finding out about their situation was dangerously high. It’s not that Caleb doesn’t trust Essek--which he doesn't, not fully, but that’s a different issue entirely--it’s just he would much rather avoid having another person tiptoeing around him and his feelings. As if he could shatter at one wrong glance.

He tries burying his frustration in exaggerated movements, packing up his belongings with a bit more aggression than necessary.

Caleb’s just about through gathering up all of his essentials--mostly spell components, maybe a few extra ink bottles--when he notices Yasha staring at him from inside the study.

She’s in her travelling clothes already, beaten leathers of black and grey, swathing her in shades of charcoal. It is moments like these that make her large frame even more daunting, structured perfectly for the Xhorhasian wastes around them. The shadows seem to blur her hair like smoke tendrils into the background.

The rest of the party had been spending the morning packing up their things and making any last-minute arrangements needed before their travel. The limits of Jester’s scry had meant that they would need to spend a few days wandering through the area surrounding Ivory Lake, and they all were well aware of how things can change in a few days.

Caleb had been left to relative solitude for several hours, and Yasha is the first party member he’s caught sight of since they dispersed to their quarters.

“Did you need something?” he asks, trying not to seem uncomfortable. Her two mismatched eyes narrow.

“Not really,” she says. There’s a brown satchel tied around her waist, and something curled in her hand. “Can we talk?”

He hesitates, and maybe it’s because of her expression, or maybe because neither of them are the sort to make small talk. Caleb has a sinking feeling that this conversation will not be easy.

“Uh. Ja , sure. Why not, I suppose. I was not busy, anyway.”

Her expression brightens at that, and Caleb is reminded that no matter how dark and brooding the barbarian may appear, there is always more than meets the eye. He thinks to the book of flowers that is no doubt resting in that satchel.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she starts, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

He has nothing to say to that, which only further proves her point.

Instead of speaking, Caleb shoves a few more bottles into his bag before pulling the drawstrings taut.

“Well, you know. The spell doesn’t make it easy to speak without fear of spilling all my secrets.”

Yasha’s shoulders slouch forward, deep in thought. “That’s not what I mean. There’s something troubling you, isn’t there?”

Caleb stills. “There is. I don’t want to talk about it, though.”

“I see. I understand. But you know, sometimes talking is good. And even if you don’t think so, I can tell there’s something you want to talk about.”

There isn’t pity in her tone, nothing even close. He can feel the fringes of understanding, the echoes of something framing itself as helpful. Her words sting his teeth, verbal formations of brain freeze that pierce the space behind his eyes.

“You’re oddly perceptive today,” Caleb settles on. It’s a functional enough reply to satisfy her, with the added bonus of avoiding every single word she said.

Yasha takes it in stride. “I’m learning from Caduceus. Is it working?”

“More than I’d like to admit,” he says through a sigh.

Yasha tilts her head, matted waves of grey-black hair draping over her shoulder as she does. “I didn’t come here to interrogate you. But maybe that’s what I’ve ended up doing.”

Caleb takes a deep breath through gritted teeth. “If you have something to ask, ask it. Please don’t feel like you have to avoid questions around me. It’s fine. I have little else to reveal, anyway.”

Yasha’s calm demeanour thins. And yet, not thin enough to break.

She gives Caleb a nod, standing from the bed she perched on. Even at her full height, Yasha just barely rises a head above him.

She stares at him for a few moments. He counts the beats of silence.

One.

Two.

“Just because you think it’s the truth, doesn’t mean it really is. Or that it has to be.”

He falters on three. A shame. Caleb always thought good things came in threes.

Yasha's stare is oddly disarming, and he tries not to look like all his walls are crumbling around him. Even more ashes at his feet, as if Caleb didn’t have enough of those already.

Something shifts in the air, and she takes a few steps towards the door. But then she stops, just at the edge of the doorway, teetering forward before steadying. Her chin turns slightly, eyes downturned.

“Essek is here,” she says. Her eyes flick in his direction. “The others don’t know yet. Maybe you should greet him first.”

Her 'maybe' doesn’t feel like a suggestion. Before Caleb can ask anything useful, she’s already out the door and far out of his sight.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to notice the small jar of jam she left on his bedside. And oddly enough, that’s the thing that breaks him from his stupor. That’s what makes the past few weeks make sense.

A little jar of jam, tied up in a silver ribbon. Engraved with a message he can’t even read.

As promised, Essek is standing in their kitchen when Caleb comes downstairs. 

The Shadowhand is decked out in all of his typical fineries, the fringes of his cloak and mantle dragging across the floor as he hovers around the room. There’s always been an air of grace that surrounds him, a refinery and rigidity that is taught and hammered into drolls of young noble children. Caleb had a taste of that life, many years ago. It still rests somewhere in his mouth, beneath his tongue, curdled and sour.

Watching as Essek peeps into their cabinets and sifts through their cutlery helps cut down the nausea in his stomach significantly.

Essek jumps a bit when Caleb clears his throat, hands immediately whipping behind his back. 

It’s the drow’s turn to clear his throat, but his is far more awkward and far less sly. Caleb can’t remember the last time he got away with being sly. It’s oddly refreshing. Novel.

In the stretch of silence, Essek’s lips thin into a pleasant smile. It’s a con man’s smile. Look up here, while I pull the rug out from beneath you. It doesn’t suit him.

“Hello, Caleb,” he starts. His hands fidget behind his back. “Would you believe me if I said I was just curious?”

“Not really, no,” Caleb replies. He glances around the room. Nothing seems out of order, and he supposes that would be the intention. “If you were really curious about our silverware or our pantry, you would have just asked.”

“True. However, I’m not sure we’ve known each other long enough for you to deduce that. Unless you are paying more attention to me than I anticipated.”

Caleb swallows the lump in his throat, does a wonderful job of masking his discomfort when the spell pulls forward his thoughts. “Drop the pleasantries, Herr Shadowhand. You’re stalling for something. Out with it.”

The pleasant exterior Essek has been working so hard on finally cracks. It’s a hairline fracture, but it reveals plenty.  Caleb decides to find it relieving rather than concerning.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Essek says, tapping his fingers on the counter. “And I can’t fathom why.”

Not a question! He wants to shout to the spell binding him. No answer required!

Essek hasn’t stopped tapping his fingers. It’s horribly distracting. “I don’t believe I’ve offended you. Or the others would be avoiding me as well. I like to believe you are an intelligent man. You would not jeopardize our mission and the work we have to accomplish over some petty disagreement. ”

There are so many threads tangled within that statement, Caleb hardly knows where to begin unravelling them.

“Is that what they told you? That I am avoiding you over some...disagreement we never had?” 

Essek searches his face for a moment before a frustrated sigh escapes his lips.“No. They said you had the flu. Or a cold. Or a fever. The answer changed every time I asked.”

“How many times did you ask?”

Essek levels him with a glare. “Unimportant. Are you sick or not?”

“I am not sick, I am cursed,” he hears himself say. Caleb bites hard down on his tongue, as if that will do anything productive.

Essek’s glare melts into something vaguely representing concern. And then it takes a sharp right turn into curiosity. He is a scholar, after all. And somehow letting Essek’s curiosity run rampant is far more daunting a subject than the one he actually wanted to speak about, so Caleb tosses the jar Yasha gave him in Essek’s direction.

The jar soars through the air, and Essek nearly jumps at the sudden movement. Against his expectations, Essek does not cast Mage Hand or something similar to catch the jar.

He fumbles for a brief moment before his hands clasp around the object. Caleb ignores the petty part of his subconscious that wanted the damned thing to shatter on the floor

Caleb takes a step forward, drudges up some degree of intimidation.

“Why have you been giving my team appetizers?”

Essek’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His hands curl tighter around the jar, white-knuckled in contrast to the redness that is creeping up his neck. His hover falters. "I would rather discuss this curse you mentioned."

Not a question!

"The curse can wait," he replies.

Caleb stubbornly refuses to break the silence once more. The moment stretches.

Essek gives in.  

“To be fair, I would not count imported wine or artisanal soaps as appetizers.”

Caleb frowns. “I never got any artisanal soaps.”

He vaguely remembers Caduceus smelling a little less like moss and a little more like citrus at breakfast a few days back. 

Essek sighs deeply before pulling up a chair to their dining table, silently gesturing for Caleb to join him. He does. He follows along with this odd little moment of Essek pretending he is still in control of the situation. There’s a franticness to the Shadowhand’s eyes that weren’t there before, a shake to his hands. It muffles out Caleb's instincts, which have been screaming danger in every echo of his brain since they arrived back home.

Essek folds his hands neatly on the table. His smile is sardonic at best. “I fear we’ve both been played, Mr. Widogast."

Caleb doesn’t find any of this amusing, but then again, Essek’s poor excuse for a smile says the same.

“It was a few weeks ago, when I first spoke to the other members of the Mighty Nein,” Essek starts. “I sought to...cash in some of my favours. Menial labour, mostly. Beau and Fjord helped transport materials into my study. Jester attended some diplomatic functions in my stead. Yasha and Caduceus helped with some renovations in my garden.”

Caleb is too stunned to say anything useful, so he settles on “You asked Jester to represent you before nobility ?”

“Well, she was not my first choice,” Essek replies.  “But you had the flu. And a migraine. And a terrible case of seasonal allergies, even though we’re nowhere near the season for it.”

“I had no part in those lies. You know this.”

Essek presses his lips into a thin line. “I suppose.”

Caleb tries not to seem as exhausted as he really is. When he came down to speak with Essek, this is not what he anticipated. He did not expect to expose some grand scheme orchestrated by his party, a scheme to keep him away from Essek for reasons unknown.

It hurts, to know that they felt they could not speak to him about this. Caleb isn’t a child; if they wanted to avoid the risk of sending him to help out Essek, they could have told him so. Instead, they lied to him, at a time where he could not lie back. 

He can see the edges of good intentions, but it stings regardless. 

“They mean well. They meant well. And I’m sure they were only trying to protect me. You should not take it personally,” Caleb says. Half of it is nearly to convince himself.

The other mage hesitates, tapping his finger on the table. Caleb wonders if Essek does this often, if Caleb’s stumbled upon a nervous tick of his. He pretends not to stare.

“The wine and appetizers were mere formalities. A showing of good manners. I have to represent not only myself, but my Den, after all,” Essek says. His shoulders square a little straighter.

“Is this a common practice between Dens?”

Essek tilts his head slightly away, and the movement does not go unnoticed. “For most, yes.”

Caleb smiles gently. “It was kind of you, danke. The others enjoyed it very much. I think it will take more than wine to earn Nott’s favour, though.”

“You have a lot of faith in them,” Essek says suddenly, lowering the cadence of his voice.

“You do too, or else you would not waste your time with us as you are.”

Essek takes a sharp breath in. Again, Caleb pretends not to stare.

“I know, despite your attempts to hide it, you have a fondness for us. And I know many in the Mighty Nein harbour similar feelings for you. But you have to understand our positions, and where our apprehension comes from. If we could trust you freely, we would. But we do not know you as we know each other.”

Essek mulls over Caleb’s words, a clouded expression washing over him. 

When he raises his eyes, Caleb does not expect to see frustration in the drow’s features.

“The curse. What is it?”

Caleb’s hands reflex to cover his mouth, but the words slip out nonetheless. “A truth spell.”

Essek’s expression does not change. He may have deduced as much. Or he may be more skilled at deception than Caleb thought.

Caleb swallows, continuing. There is no point in hiding it now. Better to speak without being prompted, sparing himself from answering anything particularly dangerous.

“During our last mission, we ran into a mage in the woods. He wore a large cloak, obscuring most of his features. But he was no doubt a man of high power. We fought, and I was not prepared for the level of high-caliber spells he casted. I went down. It was only a few hours later when the curse kicked in. I have to speak the truth, answer any questions directed at me”

“And I assume you’ve tried to dispel it any way you can?”

Caleb nods. “We spoke to a few high-level wizards we know. One being Allura Vysoren, of the Tal’Dorei Council. They’re currently still researching. But, well, nothing’s come of it yet.” He hesitates. It’s a second too long, and Essek’s eyes narrow. “It has also stripped me of my magic ability. I can not cast any spells, and I fear more side effects will begin to surface as time progresses. We need to stop him as soon as possible.”

“So that is why you need me? You are teleporting to where you believe this man may be?”

“We have reason to believe he is heading towards Uthodurn, or at least the surrounding area. We don’t have time to waste, or to wait for back-up.  If we leave soon we should catch up with him, just so we can--”

“So you can what? Fight him again?” Essek interrupts, dangerously calm. “Is that what the Councilwoman told you to do?”

Caleb blinks at him. He has never seen the other man react in such a way. It is...unexpected, to say the least. “She did not. But what else can we do? Of course we will fight him.”

Before anything else can be said Essek stands from the table abruptly. His chair screeches in protest as it scrapes against the hardwood, the table shuddering when Essek pushes away from it.

“Essek--”

Without another word, Essek steps past Caleb. Instinctually, he reaches out, catches the drow by his wrist in a firm grasp.

“Essek, please wait--”

Essek wrenches his arm free from Caleb’s grasp. “ Don’t .”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it is just enough to stun Caleb to silence.

Essek carries on towards the door, Caleb scrambling from his chair to catch up with the other man’s brisk pace.

Caleb calls out to him just as the door opens, before he can pass the threshold. “Essek, bitte --”

He stops. Caleb stares at his back, unmoving. As if one wrong footstep will shatter them both. Essek’s eyes remain firmly pinned to the street before him, and when he speaks it is directed forward into the open air.

“I will return in the morning. Tell the others to be prepared. For now, I have business to attend to.”

As Essek slams the front door behind him, the chimes attached to the doorframe ring out in a discordant choir. 

Caleb isn’t sure how long he stands there, staring at the space where Essek stood. He knows it is long enough for the echoes of the door-chimes to peter out into silence, long enough for the adrenaline in his body to melt away. 

Nothing in that conversation went as planned. Or as expected. He isn’t quite sure what set-off Essek the way it did, or why he left in such a hurry. No matter how hard or how deeply Caleb reflects on it, he can’t pull forward an adequate reason. 

His reflection is cut short when a voice breaks through the silence.

“I’m guessing we aren’t leaving today, huh?”

When he cranes his neck to look, he is met with the sight of Beau leaning against the door-frame, arms crossed. She too is in her travelling clothes, her Expositor sash tied tightly around her waist.

“Ah. No. I...I suppose not,” Caleb replies, glancing back towards the door. “Tomorrow, instead. In the morning.”

Beau shifts in place, her shoulders rising and settling with a sigh.  “Yeah. I heard that much.”

“How much did you hear, exactly?”

He doesn’t need to look at Beau to picture her expression. “Look, man, if Essek wants to act all pissy for no reason, let him. But... I don’t think he will do anything dickish with that information or whatever.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Caleb’s stomach when he realizes the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

Beau’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. “We were worried. And none of us wanted to fuckin’ lie to you like that, 'cause it's a really shitty thing to do, but we didn’t know what else we could do.”

Caleb’s voice comes out hoarse and quiet. “ Ja. I know. But you could have talked to me.”

He feels a puff of breath on his shoulder as Beau sighs. “Maybe. Or maybe we would’ve ended up in the same situation we are now, even if you did know what was up. When it comes down to it, Essek is still a spy for the Bright Queen. And not just a spy, but like a super high-level one or some shit.”

“We have a small window of catching up to this mage. Without Essek...I fear we never will,” Caleb says, pointedly stepping past her words.

Beau’s hand tightens, teetering on the edge of painful. “We’ll figure it out. And if Essek doesn’t show up tomorrow, we’ll just find someone else to get us there.”

Beau’s grip laxes when he nods, her hand slipping away. 

“I’m gonna tell the others about the change in plans, I guess. Let me know if you need anything,” she mutters before turning to walk away.

Caleb has a bad habit of stopping people in doorways, it seems, because just before she exits the room he speaks out again.

“Do you trust him?”

He isn’t sure why he asked. He doesn’t think he wants an answer. Caleb decides to blame the spell. 

Nevertheless, Beau’s steps pause.

He knows, without looking, that her fists are clenched at her side.

“A bit. But I don’t know if it’s enough,” she says, and then carries on deeper into the house.

When he returns to the kitchen, the jam jar is sitting on the counter. The silver ribbon tied around it is slightly disheveled, creased and crumpled from Essek’s grasp on it earlier.

The jam inside is surprisingly sweet.

The next morning, Caleb is awoken to Beau flicking him on the forehead.

He blinks groggily up at her, spared from the harsh sunlight thanks to Rosohna’s perma-night. 

“Beauregard?” he asks, squinting through sleep-laden eyes.

“Yo, get up ,” she whispers harshly, crouched near the edge of the bed. She hasn’t changed out of her travelling clothes yet.

“Is something the matter? Are we in danger?” he asks, matching her volume.

Beau groans, flicking him again.

“Scheiße, I’m up, I’m up,” he protests, batting her hands away. “You and Nott need to cut this out, honestly.”

“Get your ass in gear, there’s something you gotta see.”

Caleb sits up slowly, apprehensive. “Is Essek here?”

She makes a so-so gesture with her hand that bodes well for absolutely no one, and explains absolutely nothing.

Reluctantly, he follows Beau through the study and into the living room. When they reach their destination, Caleb is not prepared to be so confused so early in the morning.

An Elven man Caleb has never seen before sits on their sofa, a teacup in hand. His skin is the colour of nutmeg, his half-styled hair stark-white. Jester and Caduceus crowd the sofa space next to him, talking amicably. He can’t help but notice Yasha, Fjord, and Nott at the back of the room, huddled into their own semi-circle.

Before he can ask what is going on, Beau taps the back of his leg with her staff, causing him to stagger forward slightly.

Immediately, the room quiets as Caleb stumbles in. Jester’s eyes light up when she catches sight of him, her hands clapping together.

“Caleb! You’re never going to guess what--”

The Elven man places a hand on her shoulder, giving Jester a silent look. She mimes zipping her mouth shut, but even from Caleb’s distance he can hear her tail thumping behind her excitedly.

It’s only when the man faces Caleb fully that the identity of this ‘stranger’ becomes apparent. 

“Essek?” Caleb breathes out, and is met by a rather loud squeal from Jester.

The colour of his skin may appear different, a far warmer russet tone than the deep purples of Drowfolk tend to come in, but his eyes and face are the same. His hair, previously immaculate, is disheveled and boyish in a way Caleb’s only seen Essek devolve into during battle.

He sets the teacup gently on the table. “While being a drow is quite nice, I don’t believe it will serve me well where we are going,” he says, with the audacity of sheepishness. “Hence the elven disguise. I believe it suits me quite well, no?"

Fjord nearly chokes on air. “Pardon? Disguise? Disguise for what?” he says over Jester’s squealing.

Essek blinks at him. “If you think a human appearance would be less inconspicuous, I could round out the ears a bit--”

“Hold the fuck up, where we are going?” Beau cuts in. “ We ?”

Essek’s smile is strained, but his eyes are lit with some sort of energy Caleb can’t fathom to muster. “Of course. I will be joining you on this mission.”

Essek turns to face Caleb, his smile warping into a smirk as the room devolves into chaos around him. If he’s trying to be charming, Caleb is too stunned to be receptive.

Essek claps his hands together once. “Now...where are we teleporting to?”

Chapter Text

The forest they walk through is humid, especially as the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. 

Caleb thought he’d be more well-adjusted to the terrain, considering it is not far off the mountains. He knows, somewhere deep in his memory, how to remain sure-footed on farmland. Somewhere deep in his bones, the instinct echoes. Step here. Tilt just so. Curl your foot around the bend of a stray boulder, as to not slip down.

But this land is far from cultivated. The grass beneath their feet is marshy, soaked through from nearby rivers and streams. Clunky, tumbling roots poke through the mud and catch on his toes with nearly every other step. There are plenty of obstacles to send him careening face-first into the ground below.

And yet, that is not why Nott has to keep catching him as he trips and stumbles.

Caleb wishes he could blame his shakiness on the environment, but his eyes have not peeled from the back of Essek’s head since they set off on their journey.

Essek walks ahead of the group, Caduceus and Jester at his side. Caduceus is the most perceptive of their team, so it only makes sense for him to lead the way through their forest excursion. Essek claims to have a similar repertoire of skills, and with enough arguing, ended up at the lead as well.

And Jester….

Well, Jester just wants to tease Essek.

The tiefling is currently finding her amusement by asking Essek oddly personal questions, gauging which ones make him blush the most. Not even a full day into their journey, and it seems Jester is barely an inch away from breaking the Shadowhand.

The rest of the team can’t claim to find similar comfort.

Beau slows her pace, just enough to fall in step with Nott and Caleb at the back of the group.

“This is fuckin’ weird right?” Beau asks in a harsh whisper. “Like, can we all agree on that? Why the fuck is he here?”

“I am not sure,” Caleb mumbles, as honest as he is forced to be. His tone is distracted, but can he really be blamed? There are much more pressing matters for his attention to focus on.

Essek gently pushes Jester’s hands away when she tries to adjust his lapel, insisting it will look ‘ soooo much cuter’ that way. As he politely smiles at her, his eyes glance briefly over his shoulder, meeting Caleb’s stare.

Beau holds Caleb’s arm as he bumps against a stray tree branch and nearly face-plants in the mud. Essek does not look away when Caleb raises his eyes back up.

“Doesn’t he have a whole other job to do? I thought he was super important to the Bright Queen or whatever. Was she just okay with him taking a vacation?” Nott adds, her tone matching Beau’s volume. Neither comment on Caleb’s brief stumble.

He’s still watching Essek when the other man’s smile melts into something softer, something just for Caleb. Before Caleb can dwell on it any further, he blinks, and the moment is gone. Essek has already turned back to Jester, continuing to fight off the tiefling’s prodding.

At this distance, if Caleb focuses just enough, he can hear the two speaking. Essek sounds increasingly distressed with every attempt the smaller cleric makes towards his outfit.

“Jester, for the third time, this is not a real shirt, it is just a disguise, I do not think any adjusting will make a difference—”

“Are you naked under there?!” Jester shouts in reply.

Essek chokes for a second, turning bright red even in his disguised form. “Of course not—”

Jester breaks into a fit of laughter as Essek fumbles for words. The other man stutters as he processes Jester’s teasing. His hands go to his chest a few times, flickers of a very purple and very Xhorhasian cloak beneath that peer through the disguised outfit of a Dwendalian carpenter’s blouse and wool-sewn trousers. 

When Jester elbows Essek in the side, he flinches, then laughs sheepishly along with her as Jester insists she was ‘ just kidding, but really we need to get you a better outfit’

He can’t remember the last time he saw Essek laugh. Or the first. It’s endearing. Caleb swallows down a smile, and it burns on the way down.

He doesn’t realize Beau and Nott have been speaking to him until Beau nudges his arm with her elbow.

“Hey man, you alright?” she asks, hesitant.

"Hardly."

Caleb can pinpoint the exact moment Beau follows his line of sight, because she immediately groans.

“Do not tell me you are falling for this shit,” she hisses.

“I think he is being genuine,” Caleb says softly. “He is trying to help us. I see no logical reason in turning that away.”

Caleb notes with mild curiosity as Essek nearly trips a few times, reaching out instinctually to his sides. Jester and Caduceus barely bat an eye as they help him find his footing, continuing to talk animatedly with the other mage. He hasn’t floated the entire trip, not since he donned the elven disguise. Floating would be much easier. Especially on earth like this.

Beau presses her palms to her forehead. “Logical? Caleb . He is totally playing you.”

Caleb opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, Beau shushes him.

“No. No. He’s baiting you. You specifically. I know it. He’s been a spy for the Bright Queen for literal decades probably, is from a wealthy and high-respected family, and he’s spending his fuckin’ time wandering through some shitty-ass forest, helping us track some motherfucker that we don’t even know the name of? Does that sound logical to you?”

"It doesn’t. But that’s what makes it believable,” Caleb replies.

The words of Marion Lavorre echo in his mind. Trust in them. Let that be your truth. Why can he not do the same for Essek? If he didn’t, it would only be hypocritical.

Nott clears her throat, calling their attention downwards.“Look, it’s nice that you want to believe in him, but if he lays a single finger on you I’ll rip his throat out.”

Caleb sighs. “That is expected.”

“And I still don’t trust him. He’s too nice.”

Beau sweeps her arm out and throws her head back. “Thank you! Someone finally gets it!”

“You do not trust him because he is nice to us? Plenty of people are nice to us," Caleb counters.

Beau levels him with a glare. “You know that's not the only reason.”

Caleb breaks his eyes away from her, trying to find a brief moment of reprieve. He is getting rather tired of the tension between him and the rest of the group. Caleb feels that, since this spell, they have gone backwards instead of forwards. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way. Caduceus thought honesty would only improve their relationships, but clearly, it is not going all according to plan. 

“I can not say I trust him fully, not yet. But I’m willing to give it a chance. A small one. Just enough for him to prove us right or wrong,” Caleb responds after a few moments.

Nott sighs. “I’m not ready to let my guard down. He could still be an asshole.”

“And if he does turn out to be an asshole, what stops him from taking advantage of us?” Beau adds. “We’re in the middle of literal fucking nowhere with our hands up our asses. He might be here to assassinate us or something. ”

“If the Dynasty wanted us assassinated, they would have done so already. They know where we live,” Caleb replies.

Beau sighs heavily. It's loud enough to call attention to the three, but for their luck, only Fjord seems to turn around. 

The half-orc meets Caleb’s eyes first, nods his head to Beau, and mouths ‘ What’s her problem?’

Caleb cups his hands around his mouth. ‘ She doesn’t trust Essek.’

Fjord wrinkles his nose. ‘ Me neither.’ He makes a little ‘x’ with his pointer fingers. ‘ Way too nice. Weird.’

“To be fair, everyone in a ten-mile radius knows where we live. We aren’t exactly subtle about it,” Nott relents, breaking Caleb’s attention away from Fjord.

Beau rubs the back of her neck. “I don’t know man. I just find it sketchy, is all. Unless he’s ready to answer a lot of questions, I’m sleeping with one eye open. You should too. We’re just trying to protect you, dude.”

“I am not so fragile as to need your protection,” Caleb responds in a knee-jerk reaction.

He instantly regrets it when Beau’s face hardens to something far past a frown. 

“Beauregard—”

“No. Don’t apologize or whatever, it’s fine. Rule two, right? You can’t control what you’re saying. Don’t apologize.”

Beau pushes past him at that, stomping through the mud to catch up to Fjord. Caleb can’t tell if there is anger in her stance, or even a trace of frustration, but the tension she holds in her shoulders is clear as day. 

Fjord tries to mumble something to Beau, but she only shrugs him off.

The silence between the group only makes the walk feel even longer, until Caleb’s calves burn with exertion and his mouth fills with cotton. A million excuses filter through his mind, a million apologies. But none sit quite right. There's a stubborn piece of his heart that doesn’t feel the need to apologize at all.

“She doesn’t think you’re fragile, “ Nott pipes up after a few moments. “She’s just worried about you.”

He knows. He knows . That is always the excuse, the reasoning. Worry can drive people mad, it can drive people to make rash decisions. It drove the entire party to hide Essek from Caleb’s sight. He is sick of worry.

Caleb stares at the backs of each party member, sees them walk with heads held high through a mud-laden forest. All for him. All to track down the man who cursed Caleb to be this way.

“I know.”

Caleb would be content to carry on the rest of the journey in relative silence, but it seems fate has other plans for him. 

The trail they were previously following finally hits a dead-end. It only took eight hours of walking, but their lucky streak had to end at some point. They managed to discover this path thanks to the divination of Jester and Caduceus combined, but there was no mention of a river in their Scrying.

Especially not a river three-miles wide.

Jester kicks some mud into the current. “Well, shit.”

“We aren’t crossing that, right?” Nott says from twenty feet back.

Even if they could cross it, there is nothing but sheer cliffside on the other end. No signs of cavern entrances or cracks to climb upwards. Just tall, greying, willow trees that grace the water’s surface with thread-bare branches.

Caleb steps up to the edge of the river, careful not to sink too deep in the marsh. “We have been walking perfectly north-west this whole time. Perhaps the man changed his course.”

The party had been using Jester’s original scry to locate the mage, following his path through the forest. A combination of excruciatingly vivid description and Caducues’s general knowledge of plant life in the region had led them on the right path for a good leg of the journey. 

The Greying Wildlands is not an ideal place to be lost in, and they were hoping to spend just a couple of days on this mission. Especially with everything else on their plate taken into consideration. Their plans seem to be going further and further awry with every obstacle.

Jester crosses her arms. “I saw him just yesterday, though. He was heading towards Uthodurn, I’m sure of it.”

Caduceus walks over to place a hand on Jester’s shoulder. “Maybe the forest doesn’t want this man found just yet. This river is a lot further south than we were walking. It could have guided us somewhere new for a reason.”

Beau chucks a fist-sized stone into the water. It’s flowing rapidly enough to barely make a sound. “The forest can do that? Just, like, fuck with people for fun?”

Caleb shrugs. “Some can. Old ones. The Savalierwood is the oldest that I know of, and one of the most dangerous.”

Essek steps into view, head cocked to the side. “Old ones?” 

Caleb knows that look, that curiosity. He sees it in himself. Essek is decent enough to leave the question vague. Beau is staring at him, the whole party is, but Caleb pretends not to notice. He looks out over the river, watching the evening sun glisten across the water. 

“They say old forests like these can keep people. Lock them in. Sometimes it is to teach them a lesson, to test their wit and respect for the beings that live within. Sometimes the forest is just hungry, and it keeps people inside so they may rot and the forest can feast on their remains.”

Jester wrinkles her nose. “Gross. But cool. But gross.”

Everyone shares a similar expression of disgust, fear, and vague interest. All except Fjord. The half-orc seems ready to leave the forest at a moment’s notice. He already has his sword summoned by his side, and he’s taking careful steps back from the dangling branches between them as if they could reach out at any second.

“It is fascinating,” Essek mumbles, nearly to himself.  “It may not be to our favour, but fascinating nonetheless.”

He brushes a hand along the trunk of a tree, skimming its surface. As if with any further pressure he will be swallowed whole.

Beau meets Caleb’s eyes over Essek’s shoulder.

‘Sketchy .’ she mouths. Caleb looks away before she finishes the word. Plausible deniability.

A few minutes of deliberation leads to a decision: take a short rest, long enough for Jester to try re-Scrying on the mage, and then carry on from there.

Yasha and Fjord help Jester make a small clearing within the marsh, just enough for the cleric to begin her ritual. It’s a difficult task with the ankle-deep mud that surrounds them, but with enough Mold Earth cantrips and a healthy dose of brute force they manage to establish a solid base for Jester to concentrate upon.

As Jester begins the ten-minute process required for the spell, clutching her holy symbol between her fingers, the rest of the party spreads out around the river bed. Though stress runs high, they each manage to find a moment of serenity for the first time in hours.

Caleb sits against the base of a willow tree while he waits, watching as Beau and Nott fight over who can balance the longest on one foot. They each stand on top nearby boulders, wobbling as the stones sink further into the mud with their weight.

The relatively tame activity devolves into its usual brand of chaos when Nott gets a handful of mud to chuck in Beau’s direction.

Just as Beau manages to hit Nott square in the chest, sending her careening backwards, Essek wanders over in Caleb's direction. He doesn’t sit, not yet, instead choosing to stand close by with hands clasped behind his back. 

“Is this typical for them?” Essek asks, nodding to the two as Yasha struggles to intervene.

“Very. Once, Nott shot Beau in the ass with a gun, all over a race up a tree” Caleb replies, wincing at the memory.

Essek coughs into his hand. “Ah. I see. Very...eccentric.”

Caleb looks over at the brief pause of silence, not expecting the expression of deep thought he finds on the other man’s face.

After a few moments, Essek clears his throat. “You know, I did not expect you to be so knowledgeable about forests and their mythology, it’s actually quite interesting—”

“What are you doing here, Essek?” Caleb interrupts, and does not mean for his voice to come out so deadpan.

Essek’s eyes widen briefly. He turns away, glancing at the others with a resolute expression. Caleb can’t tell if it's merely the disguised form that helps him pull it off so well, or if he truly appears as such.

“I am not bound to the truth as you are. Anything I say may be lies. I can still answer, if you’d like to take the risk,” Essek offers.

It isn’t a question, it does not trigger the spell in a way Caleb suspects was intentional. It should be expected, that someone of Essek’s social training would be able to dance around the spell in ways that the others can not.

“I would,” Caleb says.

Essek hesitates. Waits for a few beats. 

“You do not have to answer if you do not want to,” Caleb relents, watching with mild amusement as Beau emerges from a puddle of waste-deep muck, only to pull Fjord down with her.

Essek adjusts his cloak through the disguise. “No. It is only fair. You’ve been on the end of many questions as of late, I suppose I owe you some answers.”

Caleb wants to thank him, but does not feel like the moment is right. 

Essek clears his throat once more. “Well. As the Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, I often find myself travelling a lot. Undercover missions, intelligence gathering, so on and so forth. But it is never my own will that leads me to these places. I am constrained by duty, in ways that you and the Mighty Nein are not. I am just over a century old, and have seen nothing of the world. Not through eyes of my own.”

“You are...envious of us?” Caleb asks. Quietly. Softly. On a razor's edge.

A smile plays across Essek’s lips. It’s just as sharp. “A bold statement. But perhaps.”

Caleb’s brow furrows. “And the Bright Queen...she was okay with you departing at the drop of a hat like this?”

The smile, as short-lived as it was, fades into nothing. “She was not thrilled, to be fair. But Dusk Captain Quana vouched for me. She warned me not to get attached. But it was a pointless warning. I believe you know my sentiments already.”

The assumption is incorrect, but Caleb does not have the heart to say otherwise.

The spell does not force him, either.

The forest lives up to its reputation closer to dusk, when creatures of all shapes and sizes emerge and call out at them through the underbrush. The sun begins to fall on the horizon, casting orange-tinted shadows through the mud. The air around them begins to cool significantly, and Caleb is relieved to see the mud slowly lessening as they get further and further to the mountain range.

What he is not relieved to see, however, is a distant rustling in the treeline.

Just as they reach the edge of a clearing, perfect for setting up the dome, five large creatures emerge from the shadows, encircling the party.

Among all the fey beasts Caleb has witnessed in his time, he has never seen ones quite so distorted and hideous. 

Nearly the size of horses, the monstrosities appear bug-like and humanoid all at once. They click centipede-like pincers at them, spittle and a green-tinted liquid dripping onto the ground from the edges of their needle-point teeth. Their claws are immediately the most terrifying aspect about them, sickly yellow and covered in pus-filled cysts.

The creatures, which Caleb vaguely identifies as some variation of a Meenlock, screech and scream at them, hunched forms prickling as insectoid eyes take in the sight of each party member.

Caleb slips to the back of the group, away from immediate danger, as the others strike forward with everything they have. 

Familiar sights of frost-tipped swords, necrotic wings, and spectral beetles dance through the air as the battle rages on. 

Each member plays to their strengths, working in tandem to knock down one, then two, then three of the beasts.

Essek, however, does not join them.

Essek remains at Caleb’s side, throwing out support spells and Fortune’s Favour towards the other Nein. For a while, Caleb believes Essek’s help is not needed. But he is immediately punished for his hubris.

Caleb’s confidence is smothered when more beasts pop into view, crawling out from burrows beneath the ground. His fingers itch to cast a spell, but no magic will come forth to him. Not even a basic cantrip.

The battle quickly devolves into a test of stamina, and he can already see the sluggish steps of each member as Meenlock begin to land more and more hits upon the party. One gets particularly close to Caleb and Essek, but thanks to the Glove of Blasting and a few well-timed crossbow shots from Nott, the insect crumples into the semi-hardened mud.

“Essek, maybe cast something fuckin’ useful please!” Beau shouts their way as she parries a claw attack.

Essek grits his teeth, face lit up by the beams of arcane fire Caleb artificially directs near him. But he does not respond. He only clenches his fists tighter, pulling Caleb backwards into the brush behind them.

It remains like that for what feels like an hour, simply dodging and deflecting blows. But then one of the Meenlock manages to get a hold of Jester, grappling her in their gargantuan pincers. And another grapples Beau.

Yasha beats uselessly with Magician’s Judge against their shell-like armour, skidding against nightmarish-looking sores, but the Meenlock remain unphased. Beau and Jester squirm within their grasp, Jester shouting obscenities in Infernal as attempts of Inflict Wounds and Hellish Rebuke take no effect.

Caleb aims the glove towards them, but no blast could be fired without severely injuring the two.

Fjord catches his eye, follows his aim, and gives him a desolate nod. He knows it too. It is either these creatures marr Beau and Jester beyond repair, or they return them to Caduceus in one piece.

Just as Caleb prepares to take the risk, Essek’s hand holds firm on his wrist.

“ Wait ,” he hisses.

Caleb tears his arm free. “Wait? Scheiße, Essek, I have no choice. Let me—”

“No, just,” Essek takes in a deep breath, pinching his eyes closed. “I have an idea. I may go down, and I need you to get Jester or Caduceus over to me. Can you do that?”

“I can,” Caleb replies, searching the drow's face for a clue. “But I do not understand.”

“Trust me,” Essek replies, and then he pushes himself away from Caleb’s grasp and into the fray.

Two Meenlock, previously peering around for Nott’s hidden form in the treeline, stop and turn at the sight of fresh meat entering their range.

Caleb wishes to run forth, but he doesn’t know what to do. He feels helpless, stunned and silent in the face of a crossroads.

But then Essek pulls a silver dagger from his cloak, beginning to mutter an arcane phrase that Caleb can not recognize. His eyes begin to glow a brilliant white, as Essek drags the blade across his palm, allowing a steady stream of crimson to stain the earth.

As soon as the blood touches the ground, each of the now eight Meenlock in view begin to be outlined in that same brilliant white.

A circle of spinning runes glow and expand beneath each of the creature's feet, and Essek’s voice shouts louder and louder through the chaos. 

The circles begin picking up speed, whipping up dirt and foliage into a miniature cyclone around each creature. The two previously holding firm grips on Jester and Beau slowly release the girls from their grip, allowing Yasha and Caduceus to pull them to safety.

One final shout and the rings of runes cinch inwards, compressing the bodies of each Meenlock until their bug-eyes pop from their heads in a gruesome display.

It goes one step further when the entire body of each creature tightens and tightens further, until the corpses of the insect-like fey are nothing but obscure discs of flesh and bone.

Essek immediately falls to his knees, palms planted in the mud, shaking with the strain of holding him upright.

“Holy. Fuck,” Nott mutters into the open air.

Essek slowly raises his head, eyes half-lidded and body trembling.

“Was that. Useful?” he asks through heaving breaths, shaky and pained. 

Beau brushes blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, silent and dumbstruck.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was, Essek,” she says. It is just as breathless.

Essek only nods in reply, but that small movement seems too much for the mage.

A grin graces his lips, even as he collapses from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

Later, when Jester and Caduceus make their rounds to heal everyone before bed, Essek finally drops his disguised form. The sight is enough to make Caleb’s stomach turn.

Every inch of Essek’s true clothing is stained with blood and mud, evidence of how the journey has truly affected him. As Jester slowly helps remove his cloak, allowing better access to where he claims the true injury to be, there is no warning sufficient enough that could prepare Caleb for what he sees.

On his back, carved into a beautifully disturbing display, is a bleeding imitation of the same runic circles that compressed the Meenlock into nothingness.

“Essek...what is this?” Jester gasps, already fumbling for her divine focus.

Essek winces and rolls his shoulders as gingerly as possible. The cuts stretch and bleed with the movement. “The spell I performed. It has some...side effects. The runes take form on your body, as you cast. It supposedly helps strengthen them. They usually heal on their own, but...I have never done it on so many creatures at once. But it worked. So I am relieved.”

As she heals him, Jester scolds him for being so reckless. Essek doesn’t seem to care. He barely seems to notice.

The cuts end up scabbing over, leaving a red-lined the pattern along Essek’s back. No matter how many spells the two clerics cast on Essek, Caduceus warns that the wounds will scar.

Countless spells later, the scars do remain. And so does Essek’s grin.

The bar was loud and filled with music, the dim glow of candlelight illuminating the many drunk faces amongst the crowd. Caleb’s eyes could only bear to follow one, and lucky for him, Mollymauk did not make it difficult.

He was easily wearing the brightest smile in the room, guiding the tavern through an impromptu folk dance that everyone seemed to know. The sheer amount of people and noise would make even a brave man shy back, and Caleb blamed the claustrophobic scene as a reason for his cowardice.

It seemed that he was the only one missing out, however.

Jester held Nott’s hands as she stood on a stool, dancing with the goblin and occasionally shuffling the stool to break up various couples along the way, the two snickering all the while.

Even Fjord, Beau, and Yasha seemed to be loosening up, taking large swigs of ale from their glasses and clapping along to the beat of the band.

Molly spun and wove through the crowd, darting from partner to partner. He was singing loudly to the song that played, though Caleb was sure that piece was meant to be instrumental. 

It only took a few moments for Molly to notice Caleb’s eyes on him, a wicked grin spreading across the tiefling’s face once their eyes met.

In a few moments, Molly had found his way to Caleb’s side of the bar, to where Caleb was prior sitting content and alone, nursing his own tankard of ale.

“I didn’t pin you for such a wallflower, Caleb,” Mollymauk said, clicking his teeth together at Caleb’s hunched-over form.  “I thought you knew how to have a little fun.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. If it appeared fond, he blamed it on the ale. “ Ja, well, crowds are not for me.”

“I can guide you through,” Molly offered, lowering Caleb’s mug from where he was attempting to hide his face.

Caleb relented, allowing Molly to guide his hand in setting the mug down. He sighed, exasperated. “I have a feeling you will not leave me alone until I give in.”

Molly’s grin turned wicked. “You would be correct.”

Caleb tried to frown, but the expression simply wouldn’t form.

At Caleb’s silence, Molly bent forward, extending his hand outward in a very loose approximation of a bow.

“Mr. Widogast, will you do me the honour of joining me for a dance? You’ll be surprised to find I am an excellent lead.”

Caleb eyed Molly’s hand suspiciously, tentatively reaching forward but not quite making contact. “Very bold to assume you will be the lead, Mr.Tealeaf.”

Molly raised his eyes up then, red and glinting like fresh-cut ruby. “Then feel free to prove me wrong, my good sir.”

Caleb smothered a laugh behind his hand, allowing Molly to pull him off his feet and into the crowd.

On a good day, Caleb was sure-footed and clever on the dancefloor. He knew how to hold his own, how to guide a partner through the intricacies of a waltz. But the alcohol in his system made him clumsy, and the very purple and very ostentatious man holding his arms aloft took away any fighting chance Caleb had of keeping his focus.

Just as Caleb seemed to get the hang of it, lost in the care-free and nearly weightless feeling of Mollymauk spinning him around the room, the music shifted.

And Molly’s arms left his, finding a new partner.

A stranger fell into Caleb’s grasp, assuming the position Molly once held. But Caleb’s eyes couldn’t tear away from the tiefling, watching as the other man dipped and darted, shining that same smile and dazzling the room mere meters away.

Caleb didn’t quite feel like dancing anymore.

Caleb jolts awake, air filling his lungs in a rushing wave of sharp, bitter, cold. 

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, a raging chorus that muddles out any sensibility. He can still hear the echoes of the song that played that night, feel the heady thrumming of alcohol in his system, no matter how regretfully sober he is.

And, yet again, tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. Caleb fitfully wipes them away, taking a few moments to steady his heart and breathing. After nearly a month of these memory-dreams, Caleb had a system for calming himself in the aftermath.

He isn’t sure why these memories of Mollymauk haunt him, especially now of all times, but Caleb refuses to address the issue too deeply. He is afraid of what he will find there.

When he scans the rest of the party, most are clumped together on the ground near him, resting safe and sound within the dome Essek managed to dredge up for them.

And yet, one member remains awake.

Essek sits at the edge of the dome, tracing absent circles in the mud with a twig. He no longer wears his mantle or dress-shirt, simply donning fresh bandages that wrap around his torso to cover the still-healing mess that is his back.

Caleb thinks of calling out to him over the sound-sleeping bodies of his friends.

But his eyes are red and puffy from tears, his breathing still erratic.

A different time, perhaps.

He promises himself.

Chapter Text

Despite his best efforts, Caleb barely sleeps for another hour before his eyes pry open once more. A grueling headache greets him instead of the morning sun, spreading sharp pain that settles between his ears.

When his eyes finally adjust to the dim light, Caleb finds with gentle relief that the rest of the party is still sleeping soundly around him, protected beneath the arcane aura of Essek’s dome.

It was a tough battle for everyone, and Caleb knows there will be more to come. Many more. An exhausting amount, when he thinks about it.

There is plenty of time before the sun will rise, judging by the moon-lit shadows that scatter the muddy earth. Plenty of time before the dome will fall and they will be bare to the elements. Caleb is grateful. They all need the rest, especially after yesterday. Perhaps he underestimated just how serious the danger would be, and he can only hope they do not make the same mistakes when they run into the mage.

But for now, they sleep.

And yet, the one person that could use the most sleep is wide-awake with little complaints.

Essek is sitting in the same spot he was in when Caleb woke earlier, this time with legs crisscrossed beneath him. There’s some sort of journal in his hands, bound with tanned leather and bronze clasps. He flips through it absently, head propped up with one hand. Caleb tries to catch a glance at how his scars are doing, though Essek is fully dressed once more, a high-collared black tunic blocking any view he could get from this far across the dome.

Images of purple skin, carved with dozens of scars and stained colourful with vibrant tattoos, flashes briefly in his periphery. He shakes his head to dissipate the thought.

Time for that later .

Caleb remembers his promise from earlier that night. He swallows his pride.

“Good morning, Essek.”

The drow glances up briefly, giving Caleb a once-over before returning his attention back to his reading. Locks of white hair matt his forehead, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Essek turns a page of his book. “You should be sleeping. It's still dusk”

“I am accustomed to very little sleep,” Caleb replies, continuing to stare despite the lack of eye contact.

Essek’s face contorts to something akin to a dam holding back water. “I see.”

He has more to say. Caleb knows this. If the tables were turned, Caleb can’t deny he would cheat and use the spell to his benefit. Innocent questions can lead to very serious and interesting answers if you know what to ask.

“Do you ever find it difficult to sleep?”

Essek looks up with furrowed brows, blinking in some sort of absurd confusion. As if Caleb had just grown a third head. “What?”

“I know that elvenkind do not sleep as we do, and I know falling into a...I believe the term you use is trance , takes many years of practice. Is it difficult?”

Essek’s expression relaxes, though a guarded edge remains. “Oh. Well. It is not difficult, especially for someone like me. But I never trance for long. Meditation is not my forte.”

Caleb fights the urge to bite his tongue. “Do you ever dream in that state?”

Essek hums. “Sometimes. Few and far between. They are usually an unpleasant experience, especially for a species not accustomed to it, so we drow and elves avoid dreams when we can.”

Caleb stares at the ground.

“I’m sure there are many sources of research on the topic if you are interested. I should warn you a trance is not easy to achieve for other species. It would take a lot of investment and effort to see any effects.”

The statement is vague enough not to register as a question. Caleb suspects this is on purpose. Nevertheless, Caleb can hear the underlying message. Why are you so interested? He can see the glint in Essek’s eyes that calls for a response. 

The spell decides to stop being picky and forces an answer from him anyway, the words stinging like bile as they claw out of his throat.

“I don’t want to dream anymore,” Caleb wheezes, clutching at his chest.

It lingers for a moment too long, and Essek’s expression falls into pity. The sickening twist in Caleb’s gut only worsens.

“Caleb—”

Caleb winces at the tone of voice. “Don’t.”

Essek presses his lips together in a firm line, eyes wide and brimming with concern. Caleb hates it.

“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” Essek says. He pauses, waits for a reply. When it doesn’t come, he carries on. “But truly, I would not be opposed to giving it a try. I could teach you. But it would not be easy.”

In place of a response, Caleb gives Essek a curt nod. The other man waits for something more, a word, a movement, an expression. But Caleb’s mind runs empty, and a cold chill fills its place. 

Essek doesn’t stop staring, the book in his hand long forgotten.

“We can still try,” he says.

Caleb doesn’t look up. He pulls out books of his own, flips through pages of spells he can no longer conjure, and pointedly ignores the distance growing between them.

Essek does not know when to quit, apparently.

“We can try,” he repeats. “I’m sure there is a way. Somehow. There are spells that can alter the dreams themselves, I have heard of them.”

Caleb grits his teeth, gripping the book in his hands tighter. “Please forget I asked.”

The chill grows stronger, and it does not leave them for a long time. Essek stares at him openly, intense enough to make him self-conscious. After a few moments of gruelling focus, Essek returns to his book.

The hours between the silence they sit in and when the rest of the party begins to wake up stretch far too long, but neither mage has the heart or courage to break it. 

Enough is broken already.

As they get closer and closer to the cliff sides of the Flotket Alps, the air only becomes thinner and thinner. Long gone is the humidity and marsh-like terrain that they had traversed through for nearly two days worth of travel, now their journey is far more temperate. Caleb wraps his scarf snuggly around his neck, missing the warmth of his cat.

Frumpkin still pops into the material plane to visit, his loyalty unfettered by their severed magical link. Caleb can't deny he misses the cat's constant presence, formerly a finger snap away. He settles on being grateful the cat likes him enough to say hello, as short-lived as it may be.

Besides, Frumpkin hates travelling. He was always more of a housecat.

Even without Frumpkin, Caleb’s side is never empty. Though it goes unsaid, they Nein must realize the burden that Caleb’s presence brings. If not for the Glove of Blasting, he would be utterly defenseless. And so, a member of the Nein never strays too far from him. More often than not, it ends up being Yasha. At least her company is silent.

But for this leg of the journey, Yasha has taken it upon herself to hold the rear and keep an eye out for any more threats. The sun is already starting to set on their fourth day of travel, and they do not want to risk being caught by surprise out in the open. Plus, there are plenty of other party members to take her place.

And as for silent company...

He can’t say the same about Jester.

“Favourite season?” 

“Autumn.”

“That makes sense,” Jester hums, one hand to her chin in thought. Caleb is too afraid to ask why. “Favourite flower?”

“ Edelwicke . I do not know the common word, but we called them edelwicke in Zemnian.”

Playing along with Jester’s game is far easier than expected. The responses are nearly instinctual, and he hardly has to think at all. The spell does all the work for him. That said, they have been at it for nearly an hour and Caleb’s jaw is starting to ache from all the talking.

Jester smiles. “Aw, that sounds pretty. You’ll have to try drawing it for me or something, maybe we can find some for Yasha’s journal thingy.”

“I could try. It will not turn out as nice as your drawings, though,” Caleb replies, knowing full well any attempt he makes at drawing the flower would end up as a disappointment to both of them.

“How about...favourite fruit?”

“Corn.”

Jester’s face scrunches in abject horror. “What? No. That's not a fruit.”

“ Ja , it is,” Caleb says, a little defensive. “It's not like I can lie about it, regardless.”

“You can’t lie if you don’t know you’re wrong,” she counters with a pointed finger, purple-tinted eyes narrowing.

Caleb shrugs. “You asked, and my answer is corn.”

Jester searches his face for a moment before burying her own in her hands. “But that's so lame , Caleb.” Her voice is muffled, but the distress comes through clear enough. “If it can’t be put in a pie, it’s not a fruit.”

“That is not fair. I have never seen a mango pie, but a mango is definitely a fruit.”

Jester lowers her hands. “Did you even have mangoes where you were from? I thought you, y’know, lived in a farming village, like Nott’s village. Like Felderwin. I mean, unless you had some magic trees or something. That would be pretty cool.”

Caleb tenses, knowing this line of questioning could turn dangerous if he lets it stray any farther. “Nothing so fancy. I’ve never had a mango, but I have seen drawings in books. Sometimes travelling merchants brought mango preserved in jars, but that itself was rare to see.”

Jester tilts her head to the side, jewelry chiming in delicate clinks as she does. “That's still pretty cool, I guess. Mama got fresh ones as gifts a lot, so I got to eat them all the time.”

“Well, we may not have had fancy men delivering fruits to our house, but we had corn. Fields of it.”

The memory is fond, as much as Caleb would rather bury it. Talk stalks of green, arranged in neat rows that went on for miles. Foggy images of running through those fields with the other village children flicker through his mind, muddy hands and itchy woolen coats. The memories dissolve like paper in water when he tries to reach for them.

Jester hums thoughtfully, snapping him back to the present.

“I don’t think Mama would want corn as a gift.”

Caleb catches himself just before a laugh escapes him. The image of a dozen suitors, all lined up with bundles of corn in their arms, is one he had never considered before. “I would hope not. That is hardly a way to buy someone's affections.”

Jester snickers. “You think so? What would buy your affections, then?”

And there it is. The dark cloud looming, the moment the questions turn from innocent and surface-level to something much more dangerous and revealing. Jester’s eyes shine with mischief, tail swishing behind her.

Caleb winces, braces himself for the answer that slips out.

“Books, probably,” he says with a deep breath.

Jester rolls her eyes, muttering her disappointments.

Caleb tries not to let his relief show. He was worried some sort of deep-seated subconscious thing would slip out and make him appear disturbed. Well, he is disturbed. But he’d rather keep that much to himself.

He takes a moment to clear his throat, collecting himself. “And what would buy your affections?”

Jester hums, choosing to ignore the obvious deflection. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t want any jewelry or something like that. Maybe some fancy pastries. Or candy. But definitely not corn.”

Caleb nods in solemn agreement. “That, at least, we can agree upon.”

Before Jester can continue the game, throwing more and more random questions his way, Caleb notices something odd out of his peripheral vision. 

Essek walks ahead of them, positioned next to Fjord and Caduceus. Though the other two men talk casually, Essek’s expression is swallowed in intense focus, carefully blank and observant.

And he is staring straight at Caleb. 

When their eyes meet, Essek quickly turns his head forward, rejoining Fjord and Caduceus in conversation as if his attention never strayed.

Was he listening to his and Jester’s conversation? What could be so interesting about simple banter for him to stare and watch? Essek is usually the silent and subtle type, and Caleb racks his brain for an explanation.

“Caleb?” Jester asks, poking his arm. “Favourite dessert?”

Caleb stares at Essek’s back a few moments longer, expression curled into thoughtful confusion. 

“I would say...jam.”

The next symptom of the curse presents itself suddenly, with far more force and vitriol than its predecessors.

They were setting up for dinner, finding a clearing not too far off their path to buckle down for the night. The day itself presented little danger, with the Nein making quick work of a few Dire Wolves and a rather disgruntled group of Cockatrice. 

Caduceus began to prepare a meal for everyone, the rest of the group knowing full well not to disturb the firbolg while he worked. 

Instead, they set off to complete their own tasks, from Beau, Yasha, and Jester working on clearing the area of rocks and making it comfortable, to Fjord and Essek keeping a perimeter watch, and finally, Nott and Caleb collecting enough firewood for a proper fire.

The relative peace did not last long, shattering just as Caleb returns back to the group, Nott a few paces back.

A sudden wave of vertigo hits him, nearly toppling Caleb over as he clutches the side of his head. The bundle of firewood in his arms scatters across the forest floor, and soon enough his knees give out and he falls with it.

Barely a second passes before Nott is by his side, patting down his arms and sides as if she is searching for an entry wound.

“Caleb? Caleb, what's wrong?”

Pain .

Intense, burning, pain swallows his entire being, pulsing in disorienting waves. 

It is the worst kind of nausea, the kind that flips the world on its end and bathes it in fire. He pulls at his own hair, as if he could rip out the pain at its roots, but Nott’s hands scramble and guide his fingers away.

Caleb fights against her hold, desperately clawing to do something, anything for the pure agony and torment to subside.

More hands join Nott’s, until he is surrounded by the bodies of his friends as they try and contain him. He can barely see them, the world around Caleb bathed in a void of black and white, too bright and too dark all at once. 

They’re all shouting over each other, worried faces spinning in a cyclone in every inch of his remaining sight. 

Caleb only realizes he is screaming when his throat begins to ache and burn just as his head does, bitter and scraping and all-encompassing.

He wants it to stop . Caleb would beg, if he could form words through it.

Through the heat of his agony, he feels cool hands press against either side of his face, steadying him. Caleb tries to blink through the darkness and dizziness to see who it is, though he can barely keep his eyes open.

 The hands cradle his head in a gentle hold, and from them a wave of magic filters through.

The magic flows like molasses through his veins, cooling every inch that it spreads across. He feels his body become heavier, swallowing in the scent of clove and something vaguely mulled until he begins slumping forward. The tension bleeds from his body, every inch of what was once pure torment lulling into a carefully crafted comfort.

“ Rest ,” a voice says. 

And he does.

And for once, it is dreamless.

When Caleb wakes hours later, he is back within Essek’s dome, moonlight casting shadows onto his resting form. His head lies on a warm lap, and when he glances up he finds Beauregard looming above him. Dark patches settle beneath her eyes like bruises, though her blue eyes shine through as they catch sight of his awakened face.

“Hey,” she says. It is far too gentle to be coming from her mouth. “You really had us worried, man.”

Caleb winces, pressing a hand to his temple. The pain is but a mere echo of what it once was, but some soreness remains. “Hello,” he croaks out. His voice is still hoarse.

“Feeling any better?”

“Much better,” he replies. Caleb moves to sit up, but Beau holds him down by the shoulder. Unsurprisingly, it takes barely any effort at all. “Beauregard—”

“Take it easy. Essek cast a sleep spell on you, just to get you through the pain or whatever. You’ve been out for a few hours, which is good. Especially considering you’ve been dodging sleep like a motherfucker.”

Caleb winces for an entirely new reason. “He told you?”

Beau rolls her eyes. “You’re not exactly subtle about it. Especially with the nightmares and stuff.”

“Right,” he says, more than ready to move on from the topic. “Anything else happen while I was out?”

Beau chews on her bottom lip.

“Beauregard.”

“I may have punched Essek in the face. Hard.”

Caleb sighs. Deeply.

“Look, we were all stressed , okay?” she starts before he can even begin to ask. “And him suddenly knocking you the fuck out with magic didn’t exactly register as helpful. Like, what if you were in just as much pain when you woke up? It was a shitty risk to take. We got to arguing, and one thing kinda led to another and I—”

“You punched him,” Caleb deadpans.

Beau shrugs. “I mean, yeah. He’s fuckin’ lucky it worked out the way it did. Jester and Cad cast a bunch of healing on you while you were asleep, so thankfully that did something. I half expected you to wake up screaming your head off.”

Caleb rubs his hands across his face. “I can only hope we did not waste too much time with me resting.”

Beau flicks him on the forehead.

“Scheiße , Beau, what —”

“Don’t say shit like that. We thought you were going to fuckin’ die or something. Don’t act like this was optional.”

Caleb glares at her, rubbing the spot she hit him.

Beau’s eyes narrow in a no-nonsense kind of way, the kind that says don’t fuck with me about this .

Wisely, he chooses to listen.

“Fine. Understood. Did the others find sleep okay?” he asks, trying to glance around from where Beau still has him held.

She nods. “Yeah. Essek’s doing his trance-thingy right now, and the others decided to go to sleep too. We wanted to keep someone up just in case you got any worse. So. Yeah. Here I am.”

He tries to smile up at her. “Danke .”

Beau wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go soft on me. You can make up for my lost hours of sleep by taking my turn on perimeter watch tomorrow. We have a long way north to go.”

Caleb opens his mouth to reply, but the words get caught in his throat.

Because it’s at that moment he realizes what is truly wrong.

He sits up, startling Beauregard enough that she can’t hold her grip to keep him down. His head spins as he looks around in frantic confusion, a creeping chill crawling across his back.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking around with him.

From their position beneath the treetops, Caleb can not catch sight of the moon. He can barely make out the length of the shadows that cast themselves across the floor, or the direction the wind gently sways nearby branches and foliage. But he has never had to pay attention to those things before, he has never relied on nature for guidance in their travels. He just knows. Except now, he doesn’t.

“I don’t know which direction we are facing,” he breathes out in a shaky breath.

Beau frowns. “What? What do you mean?”

Caleb spins his head around, back and forth, enough to dizzy him. “I-I don’t...I can’t tell—”

“Hey, man, breathe. Calm down, it's okay.”

Caleb shakes his head, desperately trying to orient himself but to no avail. “No, no, it is not okay, because...if this is gone, then I am only getting worse.”

Beau’s expression falls, turning into something pained.

“I can not, I do not, I don’t—” Caleb continues, muttering as if that will help regain his senses. 

“Breathe. Caleb, c’mon, you gotta calm down. Panicking isn’t gonna help anything,” she says, taking hold of his shoulders so he can face her.

Caleb clenches his jaw, closes his eyes. “What do we do now?”

Beau takes in a deep steadying breath. “We’re going to go back to sleep. And in the morning, we’re going to find that guy. And when we do, I’m going to pummel him into the dirt until he fixes whatever the fuck he did to you. Got it?”

Despite Beau’s convictions, it takes them both far longer than anticipated for sleep to find them once more.

Unlike the magically induced sleep he experienced earlier that night, Caleb’s rest comes with images of its own, vague and painted memories that flicker like sparks.

And through it all, he hears that same voice call out to him.

Rest .

And despite it all, he does.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Caleb can’t help but notice a swollen spot around Essek’s eye that is a darker shade of purple than the rest of his skin. A large spot. And, relatedly, he can’t help but notice a certain monk’s smug expression as she watches Essek fuss over the bruised area miserably.

Caleb steps up beside her, gently nudging her leg with his foot. “You did not have to hit him so hard.”

“He’s being dramatic,” Beau says, not moving from her spot on the ground.

“He’s practically blind in one eye.”

“ Dramatic. I didn’t even hit him that hard.”

“ Ja , but your hands are registered weapons,” Caleb counters, holding up his fists for emphasis. “You could knock on a door and reduce it to splinters.”

A grin finds itself on her face. She mirrors his gesture. “Fuck yeah I could. Now Essek will never forget it.”

From across the clearing, Essek conjures a chunk of ice into his palm, tenderly pressing it against his eye. Water drips between the cracks in his hand, running down his fingers. Essek doesn’t even bother to shake it off, simply resigning himself to watch the others pack up their travel gear and brood.

Caleb didn’t think he would be the brooding type. 

“But... you should go thank him or whatever,” Beau grumbles, dropping her hands back to her side. 

He does the same. “ Was ?”

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, his spell did work. I guess. Sort of. It was probably just Cad and Jester’s magic that healed you, but maybe his shit added to it. Calmed you down. I don’t know. I just thought it was a good idea to say thanks or whatever.”

Caleb decides to put an end to her defensive rambling. “It’s fine, I was planning on thanking him regardless. I am just surprised you would suggest something so...polite.”

“Fuck you, I can be polite,” she says, taking a swing towards his leg.

He doesn’t step back in time, rewarded with a semi-solid punch to the shin. Caleb buckles for a moment, but stands his ground. He tries to hide his pride at the small victory.

“You know, most people would argue that punching isn’t very polite,” Caleb points out gingerly.

“You know, most people can’t argue when I knock their teeth in. Unless you want to test that theory?”

Caleb learns his lesson this time, taking a few steps out of the way before she can even pull back to swing. Beau sticks out her tongue at him as Caleb hurries away, heading towards Essek before the monk can take another jab.

Essek doesn’t notice when Caleb approaches, and Caleb isn’t sure if it’s because he wasn’t paying attention, or if his eye is really that swollen.

“How are you feeling?” he begins.

Essek startles for a moment, lowering the ice from his eye. It's far worse up close. “I should be asking you the same thing. Does my eye really look that bad?”

Essek leans a little closer, just enough for Caleb to get a better look at the wound. The dark skin is blotchy and reddish in some places, fading to blue in others. Frustratingly, despite the garish nature of the bruise, the rest of Essek’s complexion remains untarnished. Of course Essek would remain aesthetically pleasing while his eyelid is swollen to the size of a walnut.

“It looks terrible,” Caleb replies. “I would be less harsh if the spell allowed it.”

Essek presses the ice back to his face. His brooding expression starts to fade, replaced with resigned annoyance. 

“It’s fine,” Essek sighs. “My own fault for forcing an answer out of you. Thankfully there are no children around, I might give them nightmares with my appearance.” 

Beau’s words echo in his head. Dramatic. Caleb finally understands. It's really not that bad.

“Speaking of nightmares. Forgive me for asking, but have you considered my offer any further?” Essek says tentatively.

Caleb tenses, the words slipping from his lips whether he wants them to or not. “I have not.”

Essek weighs the ice in his hand. It drips steadily into the mud below. “A pity.”

Caleb discreetly glances around to see if any of the others are watching them, as if this conversation was something he needed to hide. Maybe it is. He positions himself so his back is to Beauregard just in case.

Essek stares at his pitiful display with mild fascination.

“They don’t know?”

Caleb clenches his jaw. “I haven’t told them. Except Nott and Beau.”

Essek scoffs, cocks an eyebrow. “I am guessing those instances were by force?”

“They were. And I would rather not make it public. I’ve given them enough to worry about.”

“They care about you,” Essek snaps. “The burden of friendship. Don’t you ever take your own advice?”

“Rarely,” Caleb sighs back.

The ice in Essek’s hand reduces to nothing but a puddle. 

“This is besides the problem. I told you to forget I asked about it,” Caleb says, cold and quiet.

Essek’s lips thin into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He shakes the water off his hand, wipes the rest on his trousers.

“Consider it forgotten, then,” he replies, voice like broken glass.

Caleb watches silently as Essek rises off the ground, feet touching the floor for only a few moments before his levitation kicks in. Like this, he floats just a few bare inches above Caleb’s head. Caleb has a sinking feeling Essek would stare down at him at any height, regardless.

“You should ask Jester to heal you,” Caleb blurts, if only to fill the silence. “Or Caduceus.”

Essek’s smile only thins further. “I asked. She refused. They both have. And I do not feel like wasting a healing potion on such a minor wound.”

Caleb frowns. “Why aren’t they healing you?”

“Jester thinks it is funny, Caduceus thinks it is a learning opportunity, and the rest think it was well deserved,” Essek says, counting them off with his fingers.

“And what do you think?”

Essek sighs and presses a hand to his temple. “I think I have a minor concussion.”

A laugh finds its way into Caleb’s throat, and he buries the sound in his closed fist.

Essek narrows his eyes—well, his one eye. The other seems to be swollen and narrowed whether Essek likes it or not. “You find this amusing?”

The answer is distorted through the flesh of Caleb’s hand as he promptly shoves it into his mouth.

Essek rolls his eyes. “You’re going to damage your hand that way. Luckily we’ll be reaching the mage soon. Caduceus says we are closing in, and rather quickly if the foliage is anything to go by.”

The laughter drains from Caleb in an instant, and Essek’s expression softens. He sees his hand reach out, for just a moment, before Essek thinks better of it.

“Will you be alright?”

“ Ja , I...I will be fine. It is hard to adjust, with my direction taken away. But I will adjust.”

Essek bites the inside of his cheek. 

Before anything can be said, Nott’s voice rings out through the clearing.

“Time to move! Get your asses up!”

The Nein spur into movement, gathering their things and following Jester as she heads further down the river and into the trees.

Essek floats alongside Caleb as they follow behind the group. With a flick of his wrist, Essek’s disguised form shimmers into view, his skin warming into a russet tint. The bruised eye vanishes, skin healing in appearance alone. The dark plum-grey of his mantle fades as well, melding into hues of silver and teal. It's different this time. Instead of the Dwendalian style of his prior outfit, this one is far more coastal. 

Caleb nods to the new outfit. “You weren’t wearing that before. Did Jester finally convince you to change?”

Essek furrows his brow, looking down at his cloak. His eyes widen for a moment before he corrects himself, offering a sheepish smile. The outfit melds into the one he wore the day before, trousers and wool-sewn shirt resurfaced.

“Ah. I suppose I wasn’t focusing on the incantation as much as I should have,” Essek replies curtly.

Caleb stares at him. Essek clears his throat awkwardly.

“Well, anyway. How did your directional sense work before? You said you knew where you were facing, no matter your surroundings,” Essek diverts.

The diversion unsettles his stomach, but despite Caleb’s curiosities, the spell calls forth a response to his question.

“I could always tell which way was North, but that is gone now. I fear my memory is next. Or my sense of time,” Caleb sighs.

Essek blinks once. “Memory?”

“ Ja , I have a perfect memory. Anything I have seen or heard, I can recall accurately. Not forever, but long enough,” Caleb explains. 

Essek smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “That is quite the skill.”

“It has proved useful. Especially in our field of work,” Caleb adds.

“I...can see how it would be.”

Essek remains silent for the rest of their journey, a pensive expression taking hold of his features.

Caleb swallows all the bad feelings that fester in his stomach, quiets down his common sense just enough to enjoy the walk. 

He never even thanked him.

“ We aren’t calling her!” Nott shouts from Caleb’s clutches, the claws of his giant eagle form wrapped tight around her waist in a death grip. Her little goblin feet dangle over the treetops as he zips across it, careful to raise up when she gets too close to a stray branch.

Stop squirming , he wants to say, but his eagle-beak won’t form the words.

Jester screeches as she soars by, slowing down her flight to fall in line beside Caleb. Essek hangs onto her back, white hair whipping in the wind as he digs his hands into her blue-feathered form.

“Will someone please just contact the damned councilwoman! We can’t keep up like this!” Essek shouts back, voice barely audible over the rush of air between them.

Caleb screeches, clacking his beak in what he hopes Essek can read as displeasure. Jester screeches back, avian and high-pitched, and Caleb really wishes he could understand her while they are both like this.

Nott thrashes in his grasp. “We are not calling her! Do you know how pissed Allura will be? She told us to report when we found any leads! And look where we are now! NEARLY FIFTY FEET AWAY FROM THE MAN HIMSELF!” 

“You didn’t report to her?! Why haven’t you been reporting to her?!” Essek shouts back, accent growing thicker in his frustrating efforts to be heard.

Before Nott can reply, Caleb folds his wings inward, diving down into the foliage. His polymorphed brain is more impatient than his human brain, and he’s tired of arguing.

Beneath the canopy, Caduceus, Fjord, Yasha, and Beau barrel after the mage, his cloaked form flickering in and out of view as he dips and darts around dangling vines. Some sort of levitation magic keeps him elevated, and he spirals through the air at a pace the Nein can barely match.

At this speed, the branches simply bow and snap as Caleb crashes through them. It’s infuriating. He lets out another feral screech, and the mage’s head cranes to look back in his direction. Caleb swears a knowing grin can be seen on the man’s face.

They didn’t expect to catch up to him so soon. Or at all. They stumbled across his campsite only a few hours into the day’s journey, watching as he tended to a small fire at the mouth of a nearby cave. It took only a few minutes for them to set up a surprise plan, and shorter than that for the mage to realize their presence and lead them on an all-out chase through the Savalierwood.

This part of the forest is darker, much thicker than the areas preceding it. Vines coated in thorns drape across the claw-like branches, and it takes every bit of Caleb’s will to ignore the stinging pain as they scrape tawny feathers off his wings.

Now that they have gotten a better look at the mage, it is clear he is human. Or humanoid, at least. The books strapped to his side, leather-bound and marred with age, speak to the limits of his capabilities. 

This man is mortal, his magic learnt. 

He is reachable.

Or, at least, he would be if he could drop his levitation for a moment and actually fight them, rather than run away.

Jester crashes through the foliage after a few moments, squawking the entire time. Bits of leaves and vine string themselves in her feathers and Essek’s hair, only highlighting his fury.

Caleb has a feeling he’d be hearing a few very choice words if Essek wasn’t already so concentrated on maintaining Caleb’s polymorphed form.

Nott notches a bolt into her crossbow, tapping Caleb’s bird legs.

“Fly straight! I’m gonna take a shot at him!” she calls out.

He steadies his flight as much as he can, allowing Nott the opportunity to fire towards the man.

The man’s eyes are still centered on Caleb’s form, eyes glowing beneath the shadow his cloak casts. The fabric billows around him, flowing like a stream as the ripples catch the wind. Some sort of illusion magic makes his form stretch and shift, and just as Nott’s bolt soars true to its target, the mage’s form vanishes completely.

Only to reappear mere inches away, a razor-thin smile visible on the mage’s face as the bolt harmlessly sticks itself into a tree trunk.

Before Nott can reload to fire once more, the mage spins back around, allowing himself to free-fall backwards as he focuses his attention solely on the two of them. A beam of arcane energy fires towards Nott, and Caleb readies to drop and fly beneath it.

Caleb stretches his wings, prepares to dip down, and—

“ Curious. For someone so broken, you don’t quite give up, do you, cursed one? ”

Caleb’s flight falters just long enough for the beam of energy to pierce through his chest. Strangely enough, the beam is harmless, instead filling Caleb’s veins with a quiet hum of energy.

Belatedly, he realizes perhaps Nott wasn’t the intended target of the beam after all.

His eagle form poofs out of existence as the dispelling beam takes hold, and Caleb wraps his very human and very fragile arms around Nott as they plummet full-speed towards the ground.

The others barely notice, focused on their own attempts to catch up. Nott scrambles for her components, clawed hands closing around a feather just in time to save them from death by blunt-force trauma.

As the Feather Fall takes effect, time seemingly slows as Caleb and Nott gently spin and tumble through the air, descending towards the ground at a survivable pace. When their feet finally connect with the earth below, Caleb takes a moment to catch his breath, watching helplessly as the others move further and further out of view.

Distant crashes of thunder echo quieter and quieter with every Thunderstep Fjord takes, and Jester’s eagle form quickly fades into a tiny blue speck.

“ Fuck,” Nott grumbles, kicking up dirt in frustration.

Caleb can barely hear her. He keeps replaying the voice in his head, the voice of the mage man, familiar in ways he can not place. Dangerous ways. He racks his brain for an answer, dissects the tone and diction for a clue, but something in his periphery pulls his attention away.

Something blurry and green-hued darts past them, dashing through the brush.

Then another.

And another.

And then a figure slows just enough for Caleb to catch sight of a spear in their hands, and a shield in another’s.

A rock settles in the pit of his stomach. 

Though the rest of the party is far out of view, even more figures, moving too quickly to be seen clearly, dart after them. Caleb would think it a trick of the light, if their forms weren’t so solid and distinctive against the forest background.

Nott opens her mouth to swear again, though Caleb quickly muffles her voice with a hand.

She squabbles in protest, wriggling against his hold, until her eyes follow his and settle on a blurred figure that is no longer so blurry.

In fact, it is stepping closer and closer.

And more follow.

It’s nearly half an hour later when the others return to find him, tracing their path of destruction from one end of the forest to the other. Frustration is evident on each of the Nein’s faces, dejected expressions detailing how their side of the assault went.

Nott and Caleb sit in the center of the path, bodies locked and tense. 

Stop. Go back, Caleb wants to say. But he can’t. Instead, he watches, helpless, motionless. Nott watches the same, and he can hear her hissing uselessly under her breath. 

Blissfully unaware, the group trudges forward, picking bits of foliage from their hair and clothes as they talk amongst themselves. 

“Well that fuckin’ blowed,” Beau mumbles as she approaches, staff in hand. 

“It could have gone better,” Essek adds, re-disguised in his elven form. 

Turn back, take your weapons out , Caleb wants to say. Wants to scream. But the spell binding him and Nott holds true, and their captor watches with cat-like eyes from the canopy around them. 

A dozen more eyes inch closer, focused and narrowed. 

Caleb raises his eyes in a silent plea, darting to each and every face he can make contact with.

It is Caduceus who stops, who’s steps falter for just a moment, who’s eyes lock onto Caleb’s unspoken distress and spur him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Not good.”

It is Caduceus who’s hands fly out, magic surging through the air at his direction. At his call, hundreds of spectral beetles fill the air, clustering in a vibrant cyclone around them, over their heads, crawling into each and every crevice of the forest.

The beetles buzz and click in a cacophony that to Caleb’s ears can only sound like sweet relief.

The other Nein shout in surprise, throwing out a few curses, but they do not hesitate to pull out weapons of their own, especially as the beetles spread further, vanishing behind the foliage and ripping screams from those who find shelter there.

Now knowing where the danger stems from, the party does not hesitate to take position, forming a protective circle around Nott and Caleb.

Jester slips through the human shield, begins fussing over the two of them. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

Like this, not even his truth spell can force an answer from his lips.

And besides, Caleb can barely hear her over the sound of chaos.

“Drop the spell!” one of their attackers shouts, a woman’s voice, one bold enough to open her mouth even as the beetles swell in number and cloud the air. “We mean no harm!”

“Drop your spell!” Caduceus shouts back over the buzzing that swarms around them, a spectral hurricane of jade-green. 

There's a moment of pause, of distant squabbling and yelping as the beetles continue their relentless attack.

A flash of white washes over Nott and Caleb, and Jester barely catches Caleb as he bows forward, regaining his breath as the spell releases him.

“Hey hey, easy now—” she mutters, brushing the hair from his face.

Caleb curls in on himself, flexing his hands as his nerves regain feeling. “I’m ok. We’re ok.”

With another hand motion, Caduceus allows for his beetles to dwindle and fade. Even as the buzzing fades, the Nein hold their position.

“I suppose we can settle this like civil beings, can we not?” the same woman calls out, and their attackers finally emerge from their hiding spots.

Now that Caleb can get a steady look at them, it is clear they are a druidic tribe of some sort. Painted masks rest upon each of their faces, carved from birchwood and tinted in green. Bits of bark and birchwood are strapped to their bodies, a strange amalgamation of armour that does little to protect but serves as excellent camouflage.  

Though weapons are strapped to their sides, spears and bows and shields, their hands are barren and held aloft in a show of peace.

At Caduceus’s insistence, the Nein drop their weapons as well, though Caleb can catch a glimpse of Jester’s holy symbol still clasped in hand, and Essek’s palms remain mere inches away from his component pouch.

“Much better,” the voice speaks once more, before finally revealing herself.

A gnomish woman steps out of the bushes, branches bending out of the way before she can even make contact with them. There is grace in her movements, each step barely making an imprint into the ground below her. Though small in stature, the birchwood mask strapped to her face intimidates more than size could ever manage. 

One of her dark-skinned hands pushes the mask up and off her face, settling it to rest in her hair. Her hair itself is impressive in its own right, dozens of pale white braids pulled back into one long ponytail. Wooden charms and beads are woven in, glints of semi-precious stones catching light as she steps forward.

“The forest has spoken much about you. It says you have been kind,” she announces, giving a gentle nod at Caduceus.

A lanky half-elf stands beside her, streaks of grey shot through her tawny hair. She carries no weapon, though Caleb knows well by now that the spellcaster’s strength lies elsewhere.

“As kind as you may seem, there are still questions to be asked. How do you know that man? The one you were following?” the half-elf asks, voice guarded.

“With all due respect, there are a few questions we would like to ask you first,” Fjord begins, taking a step towards her—

—and whatever stance Fjord was trying to make crumbles the moment Caleb’s resistance of the spell breaks.

Caleb breathes in, sharp and quick, and blurts out, “We battled him before. He cursed me, and we are trying to undo it.”

Fjord throws up his hands. Caleb ducks his reddened face and mouths a quick Sorry .

The gnome turns her chin up at Fjord, a satisfied smile on her face. “Now, there is no need for hostility. It is clear this man is no friend of yours, correct? If he is your enemy, then we are on good terms.”

Jester nods intently. “Yeah, no, he’s a dick .”

The half-elf coughs a laugh into her fist, and the gnome’s grin only widens. A chorus of half-smothered chuckles fills the air around them, and the Nein can only watch in bewilderment.

“Strong words, my dear. But fitting,” the gnome relents.

“I’m guessing you’re not friends with him either, then?” Yasha adds, keeping cautious eyes on the druids that surround them.

The gnome turns to her associate, sharing a glance, before she takes another step forward. Her eyes settle on Yasha with a gentle smile.

“I suppose we have much to speak of,” the woman sighs.

The gnome, as it turns out, is named Akua. She is the elder of their tribe, the Ki’Nau—a group of druidic disciples dedicated to protecting this region of the Savalierwood. When there aren't weapons pointed in their direction, the Ki’Nau are actually quite friendly.

They had been tracking the mage, just as they were, for months now. Unsurprisingly, their attempts have yet to produce anything useful. 

As they walk towards their settlement, Akua explains that the mysterious mage has shown stark similarity to a tribe member they had exiled centuries before, one that toyed with the darker limits to magic and tended to push boundaries he had no right pushing.

But, as Akua explains, this man was human. He should not be alive, not after the centuries that have passed.

“Has he ever dealt with time magic?” Caleb cuts in, earning a curious glance from Essek.

Akua nods solemnly. “We’ve suspected he used his abilities to return, and is now here to seek revenge. So much time has passed, however. Those he felt wronged by are long dead. ”

Akua’s half-elven partner, Nadia, continues to explain that they only began hunting the man because of the forest’s warnings.  He’s been casting dangerous and toxic magic on large sectors of the forest, sapping the life force and terrorizing the creatures that reside within. Of course, they could not continue to ignore his actions.

Which leads them to where they are now.

A few hours of travel lead them to a large willow tree, standing out against the dark oak that surrounds.

Nadia steps forward, hands swaying with an unseen breeze. A faint glow fills the space around them, and as it does, the willow’s trunk begins to shift with her movements. The trunk unfurls to form an archway, branches bending and stretching into an intricate pattern.

Once her incantation is finished, she stands, satisfied with her work. Akua steps up to take her hand, and as she does, the two head forward into the newly-crafted archway.

The space within the willow is dark, though the rest of the Ki’Nau step forward with little hesitation.

Once the last of them has stepped through, the Nein hang back and share a moment of hesitation.

“They seem nice,” Jester announces, pointedly ignoring the sheer absurdity of what they just witnessed.

Beau pinches the bridge of her nose with one hand. “Are we really doing this? Are following a bunch of fuckin’ forest hippies through a magic tree because they seem nice ?”

Yasha shrugs. “I mean, they do seem nice.”

Caduceus nods in agreement.  “I think they’re genuine. Who are we to turn away shelter?”

And with that, Jester, Yasha, and Caduceus barrel forward through the archway, melding into the shadows of the tree.

Beau rolls her eyes, mumbles a quick for fuck’s sake and charges in after them. 

Essek looks over to Caleb, holding his attention as Fjord and Nott pass by, joining the others through the tree.

“Are they always this reckless?” he asks, a slight grimace to his expression.

“We once floated into the mouth of an Astral Dreadnought. So yes, I would say we are,” Caleb replies, a smirk tugging at his lips.

And before Essek can ask any further questions, Caleb grabs his wrist and leads him into the tree, genuine excitement thrumming through his veins for the first time in days.

Chapter Text

Nott slams the shot glass on the ground between them. Without hesitation, Fjord reaches for it, and knocks it back.

“Another,” he chokes out through a wince, the now-empty glass nearly shattering as he cracks it back down on the stone.

The crowd around them whoops and cheers, expressions of mirth illuminated by the bonfire around them.

Caleb severely regrets what he has walked into.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Nott replies as she dutifully refills the glass, pouring a strange purple-tinted liquid from one of many jugs littered around them.

The chorus of shouts rises once more as Fjord downs his seventh shot of the night--soon to be his last judging how the half-orc’s body is swaying. The Ki’Nau people seem far more accustomed to the effects of this alcohol, showing nearly no reaction to the large casks of booze they are downing as they mingle around the village square. The sun is set, children have been tucked into bed, and nocturnal animals creep around the village’s edge. And yet, the Ki’Nau show no signs of slowing their festivities. If anything, Caleb has a growing fear the night’s events have only just begun.

Eager to leave the exhausting mayhem of the celebration, Caleb squeezes his way through the crowd until he sees a familiar set of curled horns. 

“Caleb!” Jester shouts as he approaches, barely audible over the music and chatter.

Much to his dismay, Essek and Beau follow close behind Jester as she meets Caleb halfway through the crowd.

“Hey, man. We were wondering when you’d turn up,” Beau says as she steps up, gesturing to him with the glass in her hand.

Judging by the flush of her face, Caleb can only assume that glass isn’t her first. 

Essek is--well, Essek looks miserable, even as he takes long sips from the glass in his hand. “I thought you were staying at our lodgings. Change your mind?”

Judging by the slur in Essek’s voice, that glass is definitely not his first.

Caleb ducks his head, tries to appear inconspicuous. “Ah, no I will be going back inside. It’s just...Jester, I--can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?”

Jester tilts her head. “Alone? Is something wrong?”

The others look expectantly towards him, and Caleb resists the urge to wince under the weight of their attention. He quickly pulls Jester away, tugging her out of the crowd until they are out of earshot from where Essek and Beau stand.

He can feel the two giving him odd looks, but Caleb turns his back to them, just enough to hold only Jester’s attention.

“Yes, there is something wrong, sort of, I…” Caleb takes a steadying breath. “I would rather not have this conversation here.”

Whatever good mood Jester had before fades away, replaced with cautious concern.

She places a hand on Caleb’s arm. “Hey, it's okay, we can go back to the cabin maybe? Would that be better?”

He gives her a small nod, and it seems a small nod is all Jester needed to get moving. She links her arm through his and begins marching them towards their lodging, chattering about how friendly the Ki’Nau are.

When Caleb glances over his shoulder back at the others, Essek and Beau are standing in quiet conversation, serious expressions lining both of their faces.

It only takes a moment for Essek’s eyes to find Caleb’s, and even quicker than that for Essek to break away and excuse himself from the crowd, turning in the opposite direction of where Jester and Caleb are heading.

And for a moment, dissecting the strange cloudiness in Essek’s eyes as he watched them leave almost seems worth it.

The Ki’Nau’s homes are far more developed than Caleb would have guessed. The buildings themselves aren’t ostentatious by any means, but they’re functional enough as living quarters. Simple cabins, crafted from limestone and birch planks, are scattered into disorderly neatness all across the village. In exchange for their help in tracking down the mage that has been terrorizing the forest, the Ki’Nau provided the Nein two of these cabins--decently sized, with enough rooms that they wouldn’t be forced to share beds.

Even with all the pleasantries exchanged, the Nein aren’t foolish enough to trust the Ki’Nau blindly. They all keep cooped up together, sharing the single cabin, while the second is only used during the day time when Essek needs a private moment to speak to his superiors.

Essek enchanted it so the building would be completely soundproof, and while the strangeness of the charm did not go unnoticed, Caleb is immensely grateful for the added protection as he and Jester sit in the dining room.

“Caleb, you’re kind of scaring me a bit right now,” she mutters, fiddling with her holy symbol.

Caleb folds his hands on the table, tries to appear composed, even as his foot thumps like a war drum on the floor.

“Hello? Earth-to-Caleb?”

He takes a deep breath in. “Apologies. I...this is a little difficult. I just--are you able to scry today?” 

Jester searches his face for a moment before nodding, slowly pulling out her components. “I have it prepared today...did you need me to scry on someone? Cause if its the mage guy, we haven’t been able to get sight of him since we got here--”

“No, no, well, maybe...this is...I need to test a theory,” Caleb cuts in. “If I ask you to scry on someone for me, can you promise not to ask too many questions?”

Jester’s worry only grows. “O-kay...you’re really freaking me out though, like I’m getting some bad vibes over here and I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

Caleb tries to give her a reassuring smile, though it's far too pained. “I know. I’ll explain after, I just need to be sure of something first.”

Jester sighs. “Alright. I trust you, so...who did you want to scry on?”

It takes Caleb longer than he’d like to admit to get all the details right, though having his eidetic memory intact helps overcome the challenge significantly. He painstakingly describes every feature he can remember, dark auburn hair and worry lines, broad shoulders and calloused hands, a smile that never quite sat properly with hardened eyes to match.

Jester is silent as she sketches with his description, each stroke of her brush precise as Caleb guides her hands until the image hurts to look at.

It’s perfect, far too realistic, and the whole ordeal turns Caleb’s stomach into knots.

“Um...the spell is easier the more I know about the person...could I at least get their name?” Jester asks hesitantly, tracing her fingers along the graphite of the drawing.

Caleb tenses, hesitates, because surely, surely, Jester has figured it out by now.

She knows and he can see it in her face.

He goes along with the little charade, drags up what’s left of his pride, and manages to cough out the name.

“Leofric Ermendrud.”

The moments leading up to the scry are too fast and too slow all at once. 

Caleb counts every second that passes, digging fingers into his palms until it hurts. 

Once Jester is set up, she takes a seat on the floor, dress fanned out around her as she crosses her legs beneath the fabric. He joins her, keeping a respectful distance.

“Okay, so, I’ll describe what I’m seeing and you let me know when you want me to stop, okay?” she says, holding his eyes for a serious moment. “I’m not really sure what you’re looking for, so just say stop when you want me to cut it.”

" Danke, Jester," he replies.

Jester doesn’t respond, just keeps searching his face for something that he is too practiced at hiding.

She pulls out her holy symbol, holding it with clasped hands before her as she begins the ritual of the spell. Her lips move in silent conversation as she communes with the Traveler, and Caleb braces for the quick flash of green or verdant-tinted shimmer that usually accompanies her spells. Instead, something far more physical takes form.

A green-cloaked figure manifests, hovering over Jester’s shoulders. Hints of orange hair poke through at the cloak’s fringes, lining angular features and an even sharper jawline.

For a moment, Caleb worries the spell has failed. For a moment, he feels almost relieved. But then the spell initiates.

Jester’s eyes turn bright-white as the scry takes hold, the scent of sweet caramel and something distinctly floral filling the air as her power swells. As the scent dances in the air around them, the Traveler remains, both hands placed on Jester’s shoulders.

His eyes hold Caleb’s for a moment, face hardened into something odd and near threatening. 

“Is it working?” Caleb whispers, hesitant to look away from the shimmering form of the Traveler.

His hands tighten on Jester’s shoulder, and it takes Caleb a few moments to register the gesture as protective.

Caleb wonders just what line divides a god’s patience to their anger. He’s pretty sure one more step and he’ll cross it.

Before he can worry about it further, the Traveler vanishes, leaving Caleb to the terrible realization that the spell is working, and that Jester is bearing witness to the very thing he had always wished to keep a secret at that very moment .

“I’m...I’m in a field?” Jester narrates, eyes pinned in a direction he cannot follow.

“What do you see? Who do you see?” Caleb asks, nearly tumbling over his own words.

Jester frowns, hands curling in the fabric of her cloak. “I...I don’t see anyone. I can’t see very far, but the ground is weirdly patchy. Mostly dirt. There’s lots of stones stacked around, and a few chunks of rocks and stuff. I mean...usually a scry centers on a person. But I can’t move, and there’s no one around. There’s a lot of tall grass. It's still, though. Really quiet, too.”

He remembers. It was always quiet, especially at this time of year. The farmhands never went out to harvest this late at night, especially as dire wolves and other nocturnal creatures began to hunt. No one dared to leave the homestead without a lantern or two. You had to be careful. He remembers. He remembers cupping his hand around the lantern, careful and cautious, because the stalks were so dry. If they got to close, everything would light up and catch--

“Oh! I can kind of see the stones a little closer. They're carved, maybe they were bricks? But it’s all crumbly, and...and blackened, almost like they caught--”

Fire .

“ Stop ,” Caleb chokes out, and it is too late.

Jester drops the spell instantly, shuddering as the magic dissipates. She blinks rapidly, eyes regaining their colour. Caleb doesn’t stick around long enough to see what hue they settle on. Before she can even get a word out, he’s already pushing himself up and off the floor.

“Caleb? Where are you going?” she asks, moving to follow him. Her feet catch on the edge of her dress, leaving her scrambling before she can regain footing.

“Away,” he is forced to reply, even as he slams open the front door.

He only makes it a few steps onto the porch before Jester reaches him, yanking him by the arm with enough force to dislocate.

“Scheiße, Jester, let it go--” he snaps, failing miserably to wrench himself out of her hold.

“He’s dead,” she says, and it feels like a hammer to the skull.

Caleb stops pulling at her grasp.

“You knew he was dead,” she adds, and this one feels more like an accusation than a question.

“I had to be sure,” Caleb breathes out. He tries to sound apologetic rather than guilty, but he can feel the phantom weight of a noose around his neck.

Jester’s face twists into something painful, the glisten of tears at the corner of her eyes. “Oh, Caleb. I’m so sorry.”

That stupid drawing is still in her hand, the one she isn’t holding Caleb with. Caleb fantasizes every way he would tear it up if he still could cast mage-hand.

“Caleb, why wouldn’t you be sure?” she asks, gentle and soft in ways he doesn’t deserve to hear right now.

“I heard his voice.”

Jester’s grip tightens. Caleb pretends not to wince.

“When...when we were battling, the other day, I heard the mage’s voice. He spoke to me, and it was the voice of my father. I thought, just for a moment, because it--it was just so precise . It was too close."

“Caleb…”

He takes another breath, runs a hand through his hair. “He is dead, so….so that can not be. Your scry proved it. I must have been mistaken, then. I am sorry for wasting your time.”

Jester pulls at his sleeve until the fabric runs taut. “That...the man you described, he was your father? Wasn't he?"

Caleb swallows. " Ja. He was."

When Jester finally releases her grip, Caleb pulls himself free. When he takes slow and trudging steps to the edge of the porch, lowering himself down to sit on the steps, she leaves him alone.

Caleb wonders, briefly, what it must feel like to scry on the dead.

And when the thought comes up painful, the knife in his stomach only twists.

Caleb isn’t sure how long he remained out on the porch. It’s long enough for Jester to cast a sending spell, at least. Either that, or the party coincidentally decided to return from the celebration at the exact moment he began twisting a hand into his hair, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make him stop thinking.

He doesn’t look up, not even when he hears the Nein stop to stand before his hunched form.

They’re saying something to each other, huddled in a circle and keeping their tones down to a low whisper. Caleb can’t hear them. He doesn’t feel like reading their lips, either.

Their conversation shifts indoors, and Caleb very much feels like the problem child that his parents have no idea what to do with. It’s a strange feeling. 

In a normal scenario, most people would promise to do better. So sorry, won’t happen again , yes ma'am I’ve learned from my mistakes. What a cruel joke he’s found himself in. Thank the gods none of them even bother to try and pull apologies from him. Caleb is pretty sure that would be the last straw.

It’s a few hours later when someone finally steps out onto the porch, moving to stand beside Caleb. He doesn’t turn around to check, but Caleb has a few guesses of who it could be.

“You mope a lot more than I would have expected,” Essek says.

Essek was low on his list, but not completely erased. He has been prying quite a bit lately. Caleb should have figured a spy would be nosy.

Essek takes a few steps down the stairs, just enough to force himself into Caleb’s line of sight.

He resists the urge to throw something at him.

“I don’t want to talk,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “I’ve talked enough.”

“Perfect. I don’t want to talk either,” Essek counters, a sharp edge to his voice.

Caleb expects him to leave, then. And yet, he doesn’t move. Essek just stands there, hands in his pockets. Which, incidentally, is a very difficult illusion to achieve unless the garments are as they appear to be. If Caleb were in a better mood, he’d ask where Essek managed to find a pair of trousers and a jumper in a druidic village. But that question is better saved for another time. Preferably, when Caleb isn’t glancing around the porch for something that could be tossed without causing too much damage. A skipping stone, perhaps. He’d settle for a pinecone at this point.

“I thought you could use a distraction,” Essek says, calling back Caleb’s attention.

“This feels very much like talking.”

Essek’s expression twitches into something near annoyance before he smooths it over. Instead of snapping back, he pulls something from his newly-found pockets and holds it out before him.

Caleb squints through the darkness. “Keys?”

“I spoke to a few of the elders. I explained that we needed access to records, anything they have that could be useful.” Essek tosses the keys in Caleb's direction, and he catches them just before they can hit the ground.

“How did you convince them?” Caleb asks, turning over the object in his hand. There are only two keys on the ring, both moulded from worn brass.

“It is my job to be charming and persuasive. Give me a little credit,” he says with a sly smile. “We have access to their library, anytime we wish. Let’s go.”

Caleb eyes him warily.

Essek sighs. “I assume anytime includes now .”

Caleb has a million arguments as to why running off with Essek to a strange library in the middle of the night would be a bad idea, but Caleb’s garnered quite the streak of bad ideas and it would just be a shame to let it waste away now. Besides, the promise of knowledge and something to keep his trembling hands busy is enticing.

He lets Essek guide him through the village, narrowly avoiding the lingering partygoers, and keeps any disputes he may think of to himself.

At least this time the idea wasn’t his own. 

The library is small, far smaller than Caleb is used too. They can barely take a step without bumping into one another, and it severely cuts down on their productivity. Caleb has a sneaking suspicion that Essek is still somewhat buzzed from the alcohol he consumed earlier. He’s different. A little jumpier, a little more on edge. Even as he flips through various books, his eyes keep snapping up to Caleb, as if to make sure he won’t vanish into thin air. 

After a few minutes of silence, Caleb swallows the lump in his throat and speaks.

“Thank you,” he says.

Essek’s eyes snap up once more. “Pardon?”

Caleb grips the book in his hand tighter. “I never thanked you. For before, with the sleep spell and everything. I...It’s...Beau suggested it.”

Essek stares at him. “Ah. Well, I would say you didn’t need to thank me, but I did take a punch for you.”

Caleb coughs out a laugh. “Well, I wasn’t the one who threw the punch. You’ll learn to expect those from Beauregard.”

Essek winces at the memory. “I’ll be sure to look forward to it.”

They fall back into a steady rhythm, passing books back and forth, Essek directing anything in Common or Zemnian Caleb’s way. For books in any other language, Caleb passes them to Essek for a quick comprehend languages spell. 

As much as Caleb wanted to avoid conversation, the silence begins to turn maddening and the urge to fill it becomes very urgent and very necessary.

Essek must feel it too, because his eyes always linger in a way that hints at words waiting to be said.

“I hate to repeat this so often, but have you had any dreams lately?” Essek asks, feigning casual. 

Caleb suddenly remembers why he preferred the quiet.

“ Ja , I have. Last night.”

He dreamt of that one time, when they were staying in Hupperdook. There were fireworks and flower chains, and it felt good to help someone just for the sake of helping someone. He remembered Beau tossing firecrackers in the air, launching them just high enough for Caleb to set them alight with a quick firebolt. It was a good night, and a pleasant dream.

Essek sees something on Caleb’s face that must seem relieving, because his shoulders relax.

Knowing the conversation dances on the edge of danger, Caleb skims a little faster through the book in his hand. He recognizes the language this time, remembering the feather-light strokes as familiar.

He furrows his brow, tracing a few words. “This is Undercommon, isn’t it?”

Essek steps closer, peering at the book over his shoulder. “It is indeed. I didn’t expect to see such a book here. The writing is very similar to Common, but the spoken language is incomparable.”

Caleb’s finger traces over one word in particular, bolded in a way that denotes a title. It’s scrawled above a rough-sketch, one depicting a large yellow-petaled flower.

Essek mutters something under his breath, and the sound is so foreign Caleb nearly startles.

“ Was?” 

Essek huffs out a laugh, and Caleb feels the puff of air warm the nape of his neck. “That’s how you say sunflower in Undercommon. Very different from what you’d say, isn’t it?”

Caleb nods slowly, stilling over the drawing itself. “In the Zemni Fields, we called it Sonnenblume .”

“That’s lovely.”

He turns to face Essek then, realizing Essek is barely a step away. Neither make any motion to distance themselves, as the room is small enough on its own anyway.

“How did you say it again?” Caleb asks, trying to repeat how Essek pronounced his word for it.

Essek laughs lightly once more. “Close. You’re making the consonants too soft. It’s a very harsh language.”

Caleb tries again, and Essek nods thoughtfully, though Caleb isn’t sure he’s listening anymore. There’s a cloudiness in Essek’s eyes, something warm rising in his cheeks. This close, Caleb can smell the plum scent of alcohol faintly lingering on Essek’s breath.

Caleb should take a step back. But Essek isn’t moving away, if anything he’s leaning a little closer. Caleb never noticed the shape of his eyes; not quite rounded like most people’s, but more slanted in a delicate manner that made him appear sharp yet fragile. Less like a weapon, and more like a shard of glass. Still dangerous in its own right.

“Essek?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s staring at Caleb’s lips, and for a moment, Caleb is sure he’s going to close the distance between them and--

Essek steps back, shaking his head and shattering the moment.

“Ah. My apologies. I...we should head back,” Essek says, voice miles away.

Caleb can only stand, dumbfounded. What just happened? What just happened ? 

Essek forces a smile, but it won’t stretch far enough. “I suppose we shouldn’t have expected much from these records...it is only botanical papers. We can resume our search in the morning.”

Before he can leave, Caleb steps into the space between Essek and the door. He pretends to ignore how violently Essek flinches back.

“What was that, Essek?” Caleb asks, but the drow won’t even look at him.

“A mistake,” Essek replies, as if that would be a sufficient explanation. 

When they return to the cabin, Essek takes the role of penitent as Nott chews him out for leaving without letting the group know. He sits silent with a sheepish smile as she shouts and berates in the way only mothers can.

He does not, however, make any sign that he knew exactly what happened in that moment between them. Caleb searches for any clue he can, but no matter how hard he mulls it over, he comes up empty. At least the thought doesn’t hurt as much as the ones he was forced to think on before.

They’re in the tavern again.

Caleb remembers this night in particular, but the details were still hazy. He remembers a battle, not a large one, but enough to make the team drowsy and seeking the comfort of good alcohol and good company. The sting and burn of cheap whiskey did something to make talking easier, and Caleb remembers downing plenty of it that night.

Caleb sat on a barstool, his friends gathered around in pleasant conversation. 

Jester and Fjord sit at a table not too far away, laughing softly as Jester guides Fjord through a card game Caleb is sure she is making up on the spot.

“They would be cute together,” Molly smirks, gesturing to the two.

Caleb nods, taking a long sip from his mug. “ Ja. I suppose.”

The room is far emptier than Caleb expected. Or remembered. He keeps trying to stare at the edges of the room, pinpointing where Nott and Beau and Yasha are, but he can’t seem to find them anywhere. 

Molly elbows him lightly. “Oh, come on now. You could at least act excited for them.”

Caleb scrunches up his face. “It’s a waste of time.”

Jester giggles at something Fjord said, sending cards sprawling across the table. This, Caleb remembers. He even remembers the discomfort that rose in his chest at the sight.

Molly’s staring at him, red eyes burning holes into the back of his skull.

Caleb gives him an odd look. 

“Don’t be like that. Adventure is built for romance, don’t you think so?” Molly asks, and there’s something wrong about him. Off. Every movement is a little looser, a little unhinged.

Caleb crosses his arms over his chest, ignores the chill that's filling the room. “I...I think romance is a distraction. There are much more important things to achieve.”

Molly narrows his eyes, a grin stretched taut across his face. “Oh, come on. Nothing wrong with a little fun thrown in the mix. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Caleb blinks at him. “What?”

Molly chuckles lightly, leaning in closer. Caleb fights the urge to lean away.

“Molly, what--”

“Loosen up Caleb. I thought you missed me. Indulge a little,” Molly says, but his voice is different. It echoes, stretches, and shifts in ways Molly’s voice never could.

Caleb’s head spins, black spots curling at the corner of his vision as not-Molly traces a clawed finger down his cheek and over his lips.

He’s too disoriented to move away when not-Molly closes the distance between them, draping his arms across Caleb’s shoulders as his mouth burns sour in Caleb’s own.

“Stop this,” Caleb hisses, shoving him back, but not-Molly only laughs. 

“Come now, Caleb. Isn’t this what you wanted?” he says as he presses himself back into the crook of Caleb’s neck, fangs grazing against the skin there.

Caleb finally regains the strength to stand up, staggering backwards as not-Molly hangs off his shoulders. The movement is too sudden, the room too warped, and Caleb is barely on his feet for a moment before he crashes to the ground.

Not-Molly follows him down, pushing himself up and off the floor until he has Caleb pinned down. He stares down at him, held up on all fours.

Caleb’s pulse hammers with fear, panic setting into his veins. Not-Molly’s form begins to warp as the room around them fades away, his face turning cold with a vacancy the real Molly never had.

“Caleb Widogast,” Not-Molly says, as if trying the name out on his lips for the first time. “Bren Alderic Ermendrud.”

Caleb thrashes beneath him, kicking and pushing, but no movement makes a difference.

“You’re not an easy man to break, but I’m sure I’m getting close,” he says, and now the voice doesn’t share even the smallest of similarities to Molly’s. “First your father, then your pathetic little crush. I wonder who is left to torment you?”

The grin that stretches across his face is horrible and distorted. Sharp, jagged teeth poke through like skeletal claws, a black tar-like substance pouring through the cracks. It drips onto Caleb’s cheeks, mixing with the tears that run down.

“ Bitte, ” Caleb pleads, but the grin keeps growing. “Enough.”

“Why don’t you tell me.

Mr.Widogast. 

Mr.Ermendrud. 

What do you have left to break?”

Caleb wakes up gasping, the air filling his lungs sharp and bitter. Dark spots still crawl along the edges of his eyes, but eventually the scenery comes to him and he recognizes the birch walls of their shared cabin.

He’s on a sofa, tangled in some sort of quilt, and it only takes a few moments of pathetic scrambling and thrashing for someone to rush over and calm him.

Somewhere beneath all the panic, he recognizes Nott’s face, shushing him and pushing back hair from his eyes, all while Beau holds down his limbs from where he was swinging them.

“Caleb, Caleb, it's okay, you’re safe, we’re here,” she soothes, and Caleb has a brief flash of memory to when Nott would do the same all those months before.

Caleb shakes his head violently, pinching his eyes shut. “N-no… scheiße , I-I thought it would...I thought I was okay…”

When he opens his eyes, Jester, Fjord, and Essek have filled his line of sight, but Fjord forces himself to the center.

“Caleb, it was just a dream, you need to breathe--”

He slaps Fjord’s hand away when he reaches for him, and the motion startles everyone into silence.

“It’s...the mage, that man. He’s in my head. He’s seen my memories a-and...he’s toying with me,” Caleb wheezes out, trying to quiet the nausea bubbling in his stomach. “He knows what I know.”

His hands are shaking, his breathing heavy. Each inhale feels like dragging an impossible weight, and he can feel the fear thrumming through the room like it was his own pulse.

Before anyone else can step forward, Caleb pushes himself off the couch and through the door. He can’t manage, not with that many eyes and bodies pressed around him. He can’t. It’s all too much, his head is spinning, his hands won’t stop shaking . 

It takes nearly thirty minutes for the others to collect their thoughts. Caleb watches through the window, sees the card game they were all in the middle of abandoned and forgotten in the middle of the coffee table. The sprawling of cards across the floor only adds to the chaos, and Caleb counts him to fill the moments between.

Essek is standing with Beau in the hallway, shouting loudly at each other. Thanks to Essek’s silence spell, he still can’t make out a word either of them say. It seems heated, and Caleb braces for another punch to be thrown. Caleb just catches Beau’s mouth form the words ‘fuck off’ before she marches further into the house.

Before anyone else can get a word in, Essek exits the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Essek presses himself back against the door, covers his face with one hand. Once he collects himself, he removes his hand to face Caleb properly.

“We should go see the healers,” Essek says, and his voice nearly cracks.

Caleb swallows. Nods. Allows himself to be guided once more.

What else could he do?

The Ki’Nau healer is an old changeling woman, pale white skin with black-rimmed eyes to match. She explains that Caleb’s mind shows evidence of tampering, scars old and traumatic that line each edge of Caleb’s memory. He remembers the words of Allura Vysoren, how she proposed that Caleb’s past could have connected to the situation now. Of course it does. He was foolish to assume otherwise. 

Whatever happened in the past made him weaker, susceptible. The healer explains that truly anyone in their group could have been targeted. It was simply chance. No one with that level of power could have gotten through, not without some wounds already being present.

Caleb listens to the woman drone on and on, nods politely at random intervals, and feels the phantom pain of jagged teeth tearing through his flesh.

The dream wasn’t real.

But the memory...that is something he will have to carry forever.

What does he have left to break?

Evidently, so much more.

Chapter Text

“Break my concentration one more time, and I will hold person you,” Essek threatens, though it lacks any real bite to it.

Nott bares her teeth, and those Caleb has no doubts will actually bite given the chance.

They’re gathered on the floor of a cabin room; Jester, Yasha, and Nott playing babysitter as Essek tests out some of his magic. Since the nightmare, Caleb has had a splitting headache that hasn’t quelled for days. It’s exhausting. Combine the pain with everything else going on inside Caleb’s mind, suffice to say he’d be more than willing to be Essek’s test subject for a few hours.

“What are you casting now? I want to know before you cast,” Nott demands, trying to climb over Essek’s shoulder.

Dutifully, Essek stretches the spellbook in his hands out of her reach. “Can someone please get her off of me? I’d rather not waste a spell restraining her.”

Yasha sighs from her spot on the other side of the room. “Nott, let the man work.”

“What if he turns Caleb orange again?”

Essek flushes with what Caleb can only assume is embarrassment, despite Essek’s best attempts to cover it up. “Healing magic is not my forte. It was a simple oversight. Trust me when I say it won’t happen again.”

Jester snickers, and Essek shoots her a dirty look.

Caleb would be more than happy to sit through this and allow a little levity, but the waves of aching pain that keep washing over his consciousness do quite a number on his good mood. After visiting the healer, the Nein had questions—lots and lots of questions. There was only so much he could keep suppressed, especially with the spell working against him.

Even with the party walking on eggshells and watching each and every syllable like Caleb could re-shatter at any moment, the truth managed to claw itself out.

He can handle the concern. With a little patience, he can even tolerate the overflow of pity thrown his way.

What he can’t handle is the knowing looks and lingering stares that revolve around why Mollymauk was revealed to be the center of his nightmares.

“ Herr Theylss, do you have something else you could try?” Caleb asks, allowing the exhaustion to bleed into his voice enough to garner attention.

Essek takes a deep breath. “Something. Perhaps. What’s your most pressing problem?”

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Ah, well...there are dark spots? In the corner of my vision. It, ah, makes it hard to focus.”

Essek thinks for a moment, turning to his spellbook. They aren’t close enough that Caleb can read off the page, and he is sure that is purposeful.

“Give me a few moments,” Essek says before closing his eyes, raising his hand, and muttering a few arcane words beneath his breath.

The feeling of another person’s magic is always a foreign experience. It took time to get used to the Nein’s magic, with some being a far easier process than others. Jester’s magic is by far the most pleasant to bear, bringing along the feeling of summer and the fresh scent of something sweet and bubbly. Burning caramel. A crisp breeze. Nott’s magic is always a little rancid, prickling over the skin and making his hair stand on end.

Caleb has been told his own magic feels like a grease burn, and he suspects it has to do with what he was taught magic’s purpose to be—power and pain. The effects of such lessons still linger, and it is always a regretful thing to know.

On the other hand, Caleb finds himself taking quite the liking to Essek’s magic. In contrast to the sensory overload that typically comes along with his friend’s spellcasting, Essek’s magic manifests as the heady scent of clove and the feeling of cotton-mouth, dizzying and numbing all at once. 

As the spell washes over him, Caleb tries to focus on that feeling, pushing away everything else until the only thing he can feel is the slow pull of an arcane thrum through his veins.

“That should do it,” Essek says after a few moments.

When Caleb opens his eyes, his vision is still spotty, but significantly less. The pressure that was previously pinning down his sinuses has also leavend drastically, and he can finally take a deep breath without wincing.

“ Danke,” Caleb replies. “My vision is clearing up. So, ah, that is a good step.”

Essek seems unconvinced, but the reassurance that the truth spell provinces does a wonderful job of keeping his worries silent. 

“Maybe you should hold hands or something,” Jester says from her spot on the bed, head hanging over the edge to look at them upside-down. “I read somewhere that it makes spells stronger.”

Essek doesn’t bother to look at her, simply turning to flip through his spellbook. “Arcane magic does not amplify through contact.”

Caleb throws her a tired smile. “Essek is right, Jester. As much as I wish a solution could come so easily.”

“I don’t know...might be worth a shot,” Jester counters with a cheeky grin. “Aren’t you two into finding the outermost limits of magic or whatever? And you two have been getting preeeetty close lately. Maybe holding hands is the secret to unlocking great power! Or maybe even smooching—”

Essek snaps shut the spellbook in his hand with enough force to echo. “That will not be necessary.”

Jester sticks her tongue out. “Aw, no fun. Lighten up, Essek.”

As if Caleb did not have enough to deal with already, Essek has been acting strangely closed-off with the entire party. Even now, as he and Caleb sit on the floor in a very cramped room, he makes a show of keeping a distance.

It was as if a switch flipped that night, in the library, and everything between them changed.

They’ve gone back to the library a few times since then, continuing their research with little to come out of their efforts. But nothing like what happened that night has repeated. Instead, they remain in silence, searching through books and boxes at complete opposite sides of the room. Essek will barely look at him now.

A mistake, he had said.

For the life of him, Caleb can not figure out if it is for worse or for better.

Regardless, Essek keeps his head ducked down, flipping through his spellbooks with near laser-focus. Jester continues to make kissy faces over his shoulder, with enough motion to garner some kind of response. Yet, Essek does not budge. Something sour burns at the pit of his expression, something angry and bottled, and Caleb wishes he couldn’t see it. 

Before Caleb can even pretend he wasn’t staring, Essek’s eyes dart up and chain to Caleb’s gaze.

There’s something different glazed over them, caught in a terrible glint at the corner of Essek’s eyes. Just a few degrees too sharp.

“Did you have something to add?” Essek asks, tone innocuous and unassuming. The words themselves prickle like barbed wire.

“You seem more irritated than usual,” Caleb spits out, as the spell demands.

The casual atmosphere around them instantly darkens, and he catches Jester, Nott, and Yasha nearly wincing at the sudden change. Essek, however, remains stock-still. His eyes narrow, almost in challenge.

“I hardly noticed," he says, flipping another page. “Is that what you really think?”

“I think you are upset with me,” Caleb sputters, struggling to combat the spell’s effects.

Through it all, Essek's expression remains carefully guarded.

“Is that so? Do you think you’ve done something to offend me? Or to anger me?” Essek fires off, voice rising with each word. “Do you think I’m behaving this way unjustified ?”

Each question he poses cracks like a whip, and Caleb flusters as the words spill forth from his mouth.

“I-I’m not sure. I do not recall anything I would have done to upset you. I can not speak for the others,” Caleb manages to say. "I can't tell if you're justified or not."

Essek opens his mouth, lip curled back and ready to spit more venom, but he suddenly stops. He blinks, once, twice, caught off guard, and physically deflates as his anger simmers out.

“I see,” he says, breaking away his gaze, brow furrowed in confusion.

Caleb studies his face for a moment, taken aback by the sudden change in disposition. Even Jester, Nott, and Yasha are unable to react, watching the whole thing unravel in wide-eyed silence. Essek doesn’t look up, clenching his hands tighter around the book in his hands.

Caleb swallows past the lump in his throat. “Essek, if there is something I have done—”

"It's fine,” he cuts in, dismissing the words with a wave of his hand. “I have a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

Jester rolls over so she can lie on her stomach, forcing herself into Essek’s view. “Oh, Essek, is it because I was teasing you? Because I was only joking, and if you don’t want me to that's totally ok, like, I get it. You don’t have to be upset!”

“It’s fine, really Jester,” Essek insists, sighing tiredly.

For someone a little less educated in the art of manipulation, it would appear Essek is being genuine. But Caleb knows him. Caleb has spent far too long spinning lies and carving out a facade to not see the same done in other people. Throughout all the time Essek has spent travelling with the Nein, the other man has shown clear and careful concern when speaking to Caleb. He managed to avoid the spell’s pull on him, doing so by avoiding any unnecessary questions thrown Caleb’s way.

But that? Just now? That was a point-blank shot, and Essek knew it.

Each question was aimed clearly and ruthlessly for an artery, as if Caleb could bleed out through words alone.

Caleb would be angrier if it didn’t look like Essek was bracing for the floor to give out from underneath him at any second.

It’s barely an hour later when a knock at the door calls their attention, confusing the entire group into silence.

“Who is it?” Nott croaks, sharing a panicked gaze with Caleb. He can only shrug in response. He would assume it to be the other Nein, but none of them are the knocking sort.

There’s a pause, and then a muffled, “Ah, hello? It’s Allura Vysoren, from the council, may I come in?”

All eyes turn to Jester, all threaded with the same clear accusation.

“It was an emergency!” she hisses through a whisper, wringing her hands.

Nott claws at her own hair, and looks on the verge of snapping. “Are you insane ?! And you didn’t think to give us a heads-up? She’s gonna be so pissed!”

“She loves us!” Jester shout-whispers back.

Yasha’s the only one able to keep her voice at an actual whisper. “Well, I think love may be a strong word—”

Essek sighs loudly, re-assuming his disguised form with a flick of his wrist. “For the love of—the woman is waiting right outside .”

Another flick of his wrist and the door slowly creaks open, allowing for a very distressed Allura Vysoren to peek through and take in the sight of a few Mighty Nein members gathered in a cabin room like they are having a sleepover.

Luckily for them, it appears Allura is in no position to cast judgement about their state of being as hers is in clear disarray. She’s wearing the same blue gown they saw her in last, this time draped over with a heavy dark cloak. 

On top are several layers of flower crowns and necklaces, woven together with bits of foliage and charms.

Jester scrambles to sit up, face brightening instantly. “Allura! You’re here!”

The councilwoman gives her a gentle smile before her eyes sweep through the rest of the room, lingering over Essek for just a moment too long.

“Hello everyone, it has been a while,” she says, now pausing to look at Caleb. “We always seem to meet under such...stressful circumstances.”

Caleb clears his throat. “ Ja, quite the shame. Though I hope the Ki’Nau made your entrance a pleasant one.”

Allura seems taken aback for a moment, before she looks down at the various flower chains that have been draped around her neck.

“Ah, yes it...it has been a while since I’ve been so enthusiastically greeted. Very...excitable people. Not unwelcome though,” she says sheepishly, untangling a blonde lock of hair from one of the many necklaces.

As Allura busies herself, Caleb watches as Essek’s spellbook slowly and carefully drags itself across the floor. Silently it moves to tuck itself beneath the bed all while Essek himself sits calm and composed.

“It must have been a very far way to travel. Did you come alone?” Yasha asks, a welcome distraction.

Allura sighs tiredly. “Well, with teleportation the travel is always much easier...but I wish to extend my apologies for the delay. You see, I did not want to risk running into this mage without reinforcements. It took some time to gather the right people, and they are doing a sweep of the forest as we speak. Magic of his caliber can not be ignored, as you are well aware of—”

Allura pauses suddenly, eyes locking on the now-disguised drow, and Caleb curses under his breath. 

“Is this a new member of your party?” she asks, nodding towards Essek. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Essek gives her a polite nod, stepping into the role of cordial and well-mannered smoothly. “You may call me Essek. A pleasure to meet you, Councilwoman Vysoren. I’ve heard great things.”

Allura cards over her expression, staring down at Essek with careful consideration. “Thank you, Essek. How long have you been travelling with this group? They’ve never mentioned you before.”

Essek laughs shyly, and there could not be a more artificial sound. “Not long, I’m afraid. Perhaps a month or two, though it feels much longer. I’m sure you could relate to how a moment spent in their company stretches to an eternity.”

Allura smiles thinly. “Ah, certainly.”

Nott looks ready to argue, but before she can, Caleb speaks up. “Essek has been a great help on this mission. He’s very talented.”

Jester nods fervently. “Yeah, super talented! Super good at magic and stuff!”

Allura hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. “Right. Well, keep adding members, you may just reach the Nine in your namesake.”

Caleb has half a mind to correct her about the intricacy of the Zemnian pun, though the tension in the room is more than enough to keep him quiet.

Allura carries on in spite of the silence. “To return to more pressing matters. I was hoping to speak with Caleb alone, if possible? There are some details of your ailment I wished to discuss.”

Caleb glances to the others nervously. “Alone?”

Allura’s expression firms. “Yes, you see...there are some pieces of information that may be best kept private. I would rather disclose them one-on-one, and if you felt best suited, you may share them with the others afterwards.”

Essek shifts uncomfortably, the councilwoman’s words clearly aimed for him. He gives Caleb a minute nod, and it’s enough to spur him into replying to Allura properly.

“Of course,” Caleb swallows. “I will meet you outside.”

"Excellent, thank you."

Allura’s gaze lingers for a moment, narrowing eyes at Essek, before she turns to leave the room, door closing on her way out.

They sit in silence for a few moments, waiting until Allura's footsteps peter out into the distance.

Once they are sure she's left the building, everyone turns their eyes to Essek.

"That was not ideal, but I suppose we'll make do," he says, perfectly calm lest for the slight twinge in his tone.

“Essek—” Caleb starts, but he is cut off nearly immediately.

“I should go report to the Bright Queen,” Essek says curtly. “If the Tal'dorei council is involved in this, she will need to be notified. She should also know that my identity is no secret to the council.”

Jester buries her face in her hands with a loud groan. “Oh man oh man. This is my fault, right? I should have waited before sending to her...I didn’t think she’d get here so soon, or that she’d ask for your name or—why didn’t you give her a fake name? Isn’t it worse that she knows who you are now?”

Essek presses his lips together in a firm line, glancing at Caleb. “A larger risk would be me providing a fake name, and the truth spell forcing my real one out and proving me as a liar in front of one of the most powerful mages in Exandria.”

“Oh,” Jester breathes out, then resigns herself to pouting silence.

“I do not blame you, Jester,” Essek says as he stands up, brushing dust off his trousers.

Caleb stares. “But you blame someone?”

Essek keeps his eyes on Caleb and the look says nothing besides a clear warning of drop it . Against his better judgement, Caleb chooses to listen.

The spellbook slides out and floats magically into Essek’s hand, and without any further warning, the drow is already leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Caleb just wishes he left the room before the stares shifted to him instead.

The conversation with Allura goes well, all things considered. She doesn’t pry too much—an added perk of speaking to someone with an actual moral compass and even a droplet of empathy. He hates that such consideration is wasted on someone like him.

She even makes attempts to comfort him, which is appreciated. No matter how awkward and stilted the attempts may be. A pause here and there, chances for him to catch his breath, an offer to step away if she steps out of line with one of her questions.

Caleb really can’t complain. There are worse interrogators, after all.

Still, the whole ordeal leaves him drained and ultimately more nervous than ever before. He notes down each bit of advice Allura provides, rolls them in his mouth carefully and manages to reply without letting his nausea betray him. Or without emptying his stomach onto the forest floor. Both considered a win.

As Caleb walks back to the cabin, darting through the swarm of Tal’Dorei mages and Ki’Nau people that now circle the village, he’s only a few more deep breaths away from regaining composure.

It all kilters off-balance when he sees Yasha at the door waiting for him, her tall form completely shadowing the entryway.

“How’d it go?” she asks when he’s a little closer, taking slow steps up onto the porch.

Caleb tries to peer around her and into the cabin, but Yasha stands firm. “Not terrible. Have you seen the others? I was hoping to--”

“I need to talk with you,” Yasha interrupts, soft in an almost unnatural way. It reminds him of something and he can’t put his finger on it.

Caleb presses a hand to his temple. “I was hoping to retire for the night, if this could wait--”

“I spoke with Beau.”

Caleb finally recognizes the familiarity of her tone--it carries all the gentleness of a slit throat upon a wounded animal. Cruel mercy.

The nausea from before rises back, filling Caleb’s mouth with the sour taste of bile.

“Then you already know everything you need to,” he manages to get out.

It was a slip of the tongue. One wrong word, and suddenly Beauregard had pinned down the truth. A part of Caleb knew she’d figure it out. Instead of allowing their little dance to carry on with the tact and kindness of pulling teeth, he broke down in front of Beau. It was a weakness.

He should have been more careful. But how could he lie? He can’t. And Beau wouldn’t tease him for it, not if it truly hurt him the way it was. Mollymauk was a sore spot, and the more he kept silent the longer that spot festered like a bruise. So, he told her. He told her everything. Exactly what that mage said, exactly where he sat in regards to his thoughts and feelings. 

He gave Beau permission to share with the others, if they asked. If she felt it necessary. Caleb just hoped it wouldn't happen so soon.

It was foolish to hope. He curses his friends for being so observant. And for meddling so much. 

“There’s nothing I need to know. But I wanted to hear it. I owe you that much,” Yasha sighs, leaning a little heavier against the door.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You have more to say, don’t you?”

“ Ja, ” he hisses, and bites his tongue. “There’s more.”

Yasha smiles sadly, and he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t . Caleb digs his fingers into his palms and repeats the words like a mantra.

“Sit with me,” she says, motioning for him to follow.

He does.

He steps forward, even though he can’t feel the floor beneath him.

The porch is strangely cool, and their corner of the forest strangely quiet. Caleb glances at the shadows around them, half-hoping something will drag him away in its jaws.

“So. Mollymauk Tealeaf,” she says, and the name still sounds grand in her gentle tone.

He tries not to wince.

“I won’t ask anything. Not if you don’t want me to. But you can speak about it, if you want. I might be the only person around who knows what you’re going through,” Yasha starts, fiddling with a weed growing through the floorboards.

Caleb grits his teeth, tense enough to hurt. “Our experiences are hardly comparable. You...you were in love.”

Yasha tilts her head, eyebrows knitted together. “Did you love Molly?”

“I don’t think so,” Caleb replies, and hates the relief that comes with the words

“Sorry about the question,” she quickly responds before a dirty look can be thrown her way. There’s a hint of a smirk gracing her lips. “Just one. I needed that one.”

A mischievous smile pops up into his memory, one with pointed fangs nipping at the edges and blood-red eyes to match. A smile that sat on a face too genuine to hurt anyone, a smile that curled around a mouth that only served to speak kindness and promises of better things to come. A face that looked forward, and a hand reached out to take them along for the ride.

Hands that were gentle and soft, cupping Caleb’s face as a kiss pressed against his forehead.

The spot burns, even now.

Caleb takes in a steadying breath, trying to cool the heat rising to his face. “I hardly knew the man. How could I love him?”

Yasha frowns. “You hardly knew any of us.”

“I didn’t love any of you, then.”

“But you stayed. With us. With him,” she points out, and the words are enough to bring a shake to his hands. “You mourned him as much as the rest of us, and you continue to mourn him now.”

Caleb swallows a laugh. “That is different.”

“Maybe,” she replies, and there is no humour in her stare.

There’s a bonfire, burning in the distance. It casts the trees around them in strange shadows, dancing in an ember glow. They sit too far away to see any speckles of ash or feel any remnants of the warmth. But he can smell the smoke.

“It is more…,” Caleb starts, realizing he has no idea where to end. “Love does not grow so quickly. Not for me. It cannot. Even if it could, I would not have given it the chance to grow any quicker.”

Yasha does laugh, then. A gentle huff of a sound. “Molly was the same. Being that open...it makes you vulnerable. He knew it. You know it.”

Caleb resists the urge to hide his face. “I suppose I do. Scheiße. I did not think this would be so difficult.”

“If you had more time?” she says, side-glancing at him.

Caleb frowns, considers the words. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I knew I had that possibility. That one day, maybe I could...maybe we could find better people in each other. I mourn for what we could have been. For that possibility of something better.”

Yasha stares ahead, eyes fixed onto a point he can’t follow. “I know it doesn't amount to much now, but I think it would have worked out well between you two.”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek. “We can not live our lives on would have’s.” 

When Yasha hugs him then, it feels like an apology. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Regardless, by the time the two managed to head back inside, dawn had begun to rise over the treeline.

The smoke from last night has also cleared, allowing for the scenery around him to be viewed unobstructed. 

Lucky.

The morning greets them all with a lovely shade of lavender.

Chapter Text

Despite his talents, Caleb has always managed to blend in with his surroundings. 

Before joining the Mighty Nein, he and Nott specialized in remaining undetected, managing to get by and keep below the radar of any unsavoury people that may have crossed their path.

And, perhaps, some of their success could be attributed to a few clever uses of spell casting. A disguise self here and there, even a friends cantrip if the situation was dire.

Even now, without access to his magical ability, Caleb likes to think he’s hung onto some of those skills, if not most of them. He is a quick learner, and quicker to master. The things he has learned brand themselves into his brain and code themselves into muscle-memory.

He is a talented man. Of this, he knows.

And yet, his confidence in such talents is becoming thinner and thinner with each time Allura Vysoren manages to weed out his hiding spot.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Widogast,” she says for the fourth time that day, with a smile not bright enough for the reproach in her eyes to hide beneath.

Caleb nearly startles off the rooftop, quickly digging his heels into the shingles to avoid sliding down a hefty eight-foot drop. “Scheiße , I--”

“My apologies if I startled you,” she says, leaning a little further out the window. She glances across the wooden frame as if it could collapse at any moment, and from the looks of the moss-eaten rooftop, it just might.

Caleb sighs and drags a hand over his face. “I have been...far jumpier than usual. It is not entirely your fault.”

“I see,” Allura responds, shifting in place. “Do you mind if we speak inside? It is a little difficult to discuss personal matters at this distance.”

“Precisely what I was trying to achieve, Councilwoman Vysoren,” Caleb says, and then immediately clamps down on his tongue.

Allura smiles in a manner that says this is hurting me far more than it is hurting you .

He looks away, staring out over the treetops. It's quiet, as it has been for days. 

Tranquil. 

“This will not take long,” she says when he makes no move to come inside.

Caleb severely doubts that.

Since the Tal’Dorei mages have made their arrival, the Mighty Nein have been under strict advisement to remain in and around their assigned cabins at all times. Barely two days have passed and Caleb’s patience is already running thin. He wishes to join the fray, to aid the mages in their hunt for his attacker. However, Allura refuses to be swayed. They are to stay within the cabin, at least until they can pinpoint exactly where the mage is and where he is heading.

It is easier now that him and the other Mighty Nein are on better terms. He has nothing to hide from them, and in Essek’s words, he is finally taking his own advice. It is nice to have them, to be able to join in conversation and speak without fear. However, having a place to vent and avoid bottling up his emotions is one thing. There are still clear boundaries Caleb wishes to establish, especially in regards to any prying regarding his past and feelings, and he is eternally grateful for Yasha and her discreetness.

He can not say the same for Essek, but that is another issue entirely.

Before the councilwoman can become completely cross with him, Caleb pushes himself up and off the rooftop, careful to not slip on the decaying surface as he climbs back in through the window.

It's then, as he ducks his head beneath the window frame,  that Caleb notices something that gives him pause.

“You are in your travelling cloak,” Caleb says, looking at the tapered brown cloth that Allura pulls tighter around her shoulders. The woman simply thins her lips, breaking eye contact. “Have you caught a lead?” 

Allura shakes her head solemnly. “Unfortunately, no. You see...we believe it may be best that you and your party depart from the Ki’Nau. That all of us do, and return to our home bases for the time being.”

Caleb resists the urge to laugh, because surely she is joking. But the steel-eyed gaze she holds says otherwise, and it sends a tremble to Caleb’s hands.

Allura clears her throat, placing a placid smile upon her face. “I have heard from Jester that you own land in Rosohna? She was telling me and my wife all about how lovely it is there, and well-protected to boot. I’m sure that returning there would be an excellent option--”

“I’m afraid I do not understand,” Caleb cuts in, not ready to swallow what Allura is trying to lead on. “Why should we depart if the mage has not been found?”

Allura takes a deep breath. “Mr. Widogast...this mage, the one we search for, we have discovered that he is far more dangerous than anticipated. We can not afford to keep you and your friends here any longer.”

Caleb searches his face for any hint that good news is to come, but there is only rigidity in her stare. She speaks as if reading off a manuscript, and the tone does not bode well.

“He is not human, or mortal, for that matter,” she begins. “We have traced his origins to a demi-plane, just branched off of our own. This..man, this creature , his abilities are on par with that of a demi-god.”

Caleb pales, taking in each tidbit of information with bated breath. “But the Ki’Nau, they said that they recognized him. That he showed similarity to a former tribe member, a human one. We have fought him. We nearly won . We have scryed upon him, how could this be accomplished if he is as you say he exists?”

Allura shifts her weight, crossing her arms as if a chill came over her. “The man they knew in the past--that was simply a host body. This creature overtook him, and when the body inevitably withered, this creature returned back to his plane. Without a vessel, he can not remain here. And without a vessel strong enough to channel magic, he would hardly be a threat. We have good reason to believe he is searching for a new vessel right now. Preferably with someone who has an affinity for the arcane.”

Caleb does not realize he has sat down upon the windowsill until his hands grip the frame with enough force to splinter. “He wishes for me to be his next vessel.”

“Precisely,” Allura says, vague pity mixed with something else caught in her stare. Something protective, something weathered and worn but burning fierce despite it all. “Which is why we believe getting you as far away from him, in any attempts to sever the connection he is attempting to establish, would be ideal.”

“You wish us to run,” Caleb counters.

Allura purses her lips. “There is a reason we could not dispel this creature’s magic as we have done with other curses. Your ailment is no curse. They are symptoms. Symptoms of a withering mind, a physical form deteriorating under the toll of his magic. You are suffering, Caleb. The longer we allow it to fester, the easier this creature slips through and decimates you in the process. So yes, running would be ideal. Maintaining a distance. Keeping you safe. Keeping this creature as weak as we can, and preventing him from establishing a full connection.”

Caleb clenches his fists tighter and tighter, until all he can feel is the wood crumbling beneath his hands, pinching and poking beneath his fingernails.

“You are a good man. I would hate to see such a bright young mind destroyed so easily,” she insists.

Caleb swallows. The spell shows him no pity, even now. “I am not a good man.”

Allura’s expression betrays knowing. “I’ve met worse. As have you. And I have seen good minds lost far too young. Far too often.”

Her voice echoes, and each note stings with regrets.

Caleb can only sit and process, rolling over the truth behind his condition over and over until he’s caught in a cyclone of his own thoughts.

It makes sense. All of it. Why this man continues to torment him, why the nightmares are so personal and targeted.

Every move, every step this creature has taken against the Nein--it has all been an attempt to break Caleb. To shatter every defense he has, until it would be mere child's play to step in and overtake him.

It is torture.

Caleb can’t help but smile.

After all, as Allura knows, he has dealt with far crueler jailers. 

By the time they reach the border to Rosohna, the sun has already begun bathing the sky in warm orange hues, feeble pinpricks of stars just barely flickering beneath the surface. Of course, such a beautiful sight only lasts so long. As they cross into the main walls, the sky instantly becomes swallowed within the dome of night that marks the city’s interior. Caleb stares in awe at the raw power of this arcane feat. It is always a jarring thing to witness.

Still, the sight is nearly comforting.

The Xhorhaus looks roughly the same as they left it. The familiar sight churns something inside of Caleb’s chest. Not quite fond enough for nostalgia, but still a twinge of relief.

It is bittersweet, however. As much as he missed having his own space again, somewhere safe and surrounded by his friends, Caleb knows that he is coming home without a solution. It feels like a failure. He feels like a failure. How could he not? As much as Caleb would like to grieve the loss, he insists on remembering they never truly knew what they were dealing with.

The first time they fought that creature, the mage , they lost--and he was already in a dying vessel. 

If they fought him in his true form, at full strength, Caleb loathes to think of what may have happened. Who could have suffered, beyond his own meager troubles.

Still. It is hard to dwell when the others are so excited to be back in the Xhorhaus.

Jester, Nott, and Beau clamber over each other to get inside, screeching at who gets to use the hot tub first. Yasha, Caduceus, and Fjord enter their home far more casually, but the relief at the sight of their home kept in one piece is unmistakable.

With enough arguing, Essek eventually relents and agrees to stay for dinner. Caleb ignores the petty corner of his mind that wished for Essek to head straight home, to stay away long enough for Caleb to sort out whatever he’s been dealing with internally. 

Even now, as they gather in a guest bedroom, chatting over a glass of wine, Caleb feels guilty, and he hates it. He hates that Essek sits in contemplative silence, as if he were being ignored even though the others battled for his willingness to stay for nearly a half hour. He hates that Essek is playing the victim when clearly they’ve both been perpetrators of this strange tension that has been surrounding both of them. Surrounding the entire party.

In the beginning, it was clear Essek cared for them. Cared for him, and the rest of the Nein as well. He put himself in danger to save their lives, travelled great distances at their side. They called him their friend . They trusted him, despite everything that pointed otherwise.

Beyond that, he and Caleb...well, Caleb isn’t even sure. A mistake . What was he mistaking? Deep down Caleb knows, but he refuses to understand it fully.

A burning coal sits at the pit of his stomach, and it screams for understanding. Caleb wants to know more. He wants to learn.

He wants to understand

Just as Caleb’s mind gets ahead of him, Essek’s already moving to stand, stretching his arms over his head. 

“I should be heading back,” Essek says through a sigh. “I’d hate to impose for long.”

“You’re not imposing, Essek. Don’t be stupid.” Beau rolls her eyes and makes a swipe for his leg, but it only makes him drift a little bit forward.

Essek looks smug as the levitation settles down. “Nice try.”

Caduceus tilts his head thoughtfully as Beau continues to make swipes for Essek’s ankles. “Well, this is a guest room. It hasn’t been used in a while, but I’m sure you’d find it comfortable. Why not stay the night?”

Jester claps her hands together, her squeal of delight so high-pitched it could shatter glass. “A sleepover!”

Essek winces at the sound, pushing through a sheepish smile. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I don’t think I’m quite ready to face the mountain of paperwork I’ve missed since my departure--”

“We should have cakes! And snacks!” Jester gasps, scrambling to stand up. 

“And booze,” Beau suggests, earning a thoughtful nod from the others, spare Caduceus.

“I’m afraid I’ve run out of biscuits for tea. It wouldn’t hurt to make a quick run to the store,” the firbolg adds.

The room diverts into chaos as the Nein all add various things to a collective shopping list, using Essek as a directory to which shops would have which items, and which would be open this late into the night.

Caleb can only stare through it all, lost in the momentum of the moment.

It’s not like he would rather avoid Essek completely--quite the opposite. He just wishes they could have a chance to speak, and that Essek would stop behaving so...strangely. Even now, he seems gentle and kind one moment but sharp and off-putting the next. As if he can’t decide who he’s meant to be. Still, compared to the past few days, Essek’s mood has made remarkable improvement.

The others begin to gather their cloaks and things, preparing to set out on their impromptu shopping trip. Just as Caleb rises to do the same, Yasha brings a valid point.

“Ah, it may be best if Caleb stays home, would it not? I mean, even Allura advised it,” she says, and Caleb just catches the edge of a strange look in the corner of her eyes.

He narrows at her, but Yasha only looks away.

Jester pouts. “Aw. That’s true, I guess. But I don’t want to leave Caleb here all alone! Especially while we’re out shopping.”

“It is fine, Jester. I understand the need,” Caleb sighs. “I do not need a babysitter, however. I would be happy to remain by myself--”

“Essek.”

All eyes turn to Beau. She straightens in her seat a bit, crossing her arms as if in challenge.

“Essek should stay,” Beau continues. “He can teleport, right? That’s probably our best chance if any danger comes for Caleb.”

Nott wrings her hands. “I’m not sure...maybe more than one of us should stay?”

Essek is sitting with fists clenched by his side, the wine glass before him all but forgotten. If it were still in his grasp, Caleb wouldn’t find it hard to believe the damned thing would shatter beneath his fingers.

“Beauregard,” he starts, but goes largely ignored. 

Beau shrugs. “Nah, it’ll be ok. Trust me. Essek’s got this under control.”

Essek’s jaw shifts, and the movement does not go unnoticed. “Beauregard.”

Beau raises an eyebrow, finally acknowledging him. “I’ll even ask him. Hey, Essek. Do you have a problem with staying here?”

Essek sighs, exasperated. “That is not the issue--”

“Well, now that’s settled, let’s go everyone! Get your asses movin’ before the shops close!”  Beau shouts, effectively smothering Essek’s protests.

“ Beauregard ,” Essek snaps a little louder, but everyone’s already gathered and pushing towards the door.

Beau doesn’t acknowledge his protests, doesn’t even throw a glance to the drow as he becomes strangely flustered. The others share a glance, almost in pity.

 If Essek expects anyone to take his side over Beau’s he is sorely mistaken. 

And then, even stranger, as the others filter through, shouting be safe and message if you need anything , Beau pokes her hand through the door for one last crude gesture before slamming it behind her.

Caleb stares for a few moments in silence as Essek composes himself, watching as the other man filters out his frustrations in muttered words and clenched fists.

“She is...rather blunt,” Essek mumbles, and Caleb only registers it is directed to him when the silence calls for a response.

Caleb glances to the wine glass in his hand. Almost empty. “I suppose. Some would argue it to be a positive trait, however.”

Essek turns back to his own wine glass, doesn’t even register that it’s empty until he’s already trying to sip from it. “I suppose.”

How could Beauregard get him so flustered so easily? Caleb hasn’t seen him this shaken since he caught Essek rifling through their silverware. Or that night in the library. Caleb pushes the thought aside. Ignores the small part of him that wants to take notes from Beauregard, in an effort to repeat that sight.

Essek catches him staring at the corner of his eye, throwing Caleb an odd glance. “What?”

“You and Beau are...unexpectedly close,” Caleb says with a slight shrug. “It is good to see. Unexpected, nonetheless.”

Essek scrunches up his face and stands, moving to the desk to pour himself another glass of wine. He extends his hand out in a silent gesture, and it only takes Caleb a moment to register the motion as an offer.

Caleb stands with him, holds out his wine glass, and Essek fills it near the brim.

“Beau and I,” Essek starts suddenly, Caleb has to focus very hard not to jolt and move his cup away.  “I am not sure that close is the right word. Mutual blackmail would be better.”

Caleb frowns. “Blackmail? Was it something she said at the celebration?”

Essek stiffens. “Yes. Did she tell you anything?”

Caleb furrows his brow, takes a slow sip from his glass “ Nein . Should she?”

“No,” Essek is quick to reply, turning back to the wine bottles as if that were the most pressing matter to address in the room. As if Caleb were not standing mere meters away.

Did Beauregard threaten him? Caleb wouldn’t be surprised--Beau is good with keeping secrets, and twice as good digging them up. If there was dirt that she wanted over Essek, Caleb is sure she would have figured it out already.

But he said mutual . Meaning Essek holds something over Beau as well. 

It would explain the strange behaviour between the two, the odd tension while still making attempts to remain amiable. Resentment is inevitable in blackmail scenarios, but even more common is the need to remain on the opposing party’s good side.

Too sharp and too soft, and it seems Essek is having a hard time keeping a balance.

“Whatever situation you’ve found yourself in, I’d be willing to help,” Caleb begins, despite every signal to remain quiet. “Beauregard may not seem like it, but she is a reasonable woman--”

“Enough of this,” Essek snaps. Too sharp. It nearly gives Caleb whiplash, how quickly his demeanor shifts.

“Enough?”

Essek still hasn’t turned around, keeping his back to Caleb. “For someone so intelligent, you really...I’ve been nothing but cruel to you these past weeks. I have hurt you. Purposefully.”

“You admit it was purposeful, then?” Caleb counters.

Essek seems moments away from slamming his fist on the desk. “Of course! It was...I just…Everything is too much. And I’ve had far too many lapses in judgement, reaching a point where I can not deny they are because of you.”

He turns to look at Caleb then, and nothing could have prepared him for the vulnerability in Essek’s eyes. There’s something folding over in them, like tides crashing over jagged peaks of rock.

“I should go,” he says.

He should. Caleb should let him go. 

It would be better, this way. If Essek were to leave, and he could put aside this confusion. But frustration and want bubbles inside him and the stubborn little voice in Caleb’s head won’t stop shouting.

Essek moves towards the door, but before he can reach for the handle, Caleb finally dredges up that little voice.

“There is something I need to ask of you. Before you leave.”

It’s a risky bet. But Essek stops, and Caleb feels his question is answered before he can even say the words. No matter how confusing the drow may be, he is predictable in this way. 

Caleb isn’t finished, however. “If you answer, I need it to be honest. Do not waste either of our time. I think you owe me that much.”

Essek makes a sound, just a few degrees off of an actual laugh. “I thought you were the ones who owed me favours.”

“ Bitte , Essek.”

There's a moment of hesitation but it doesn’t linger. Caleb wonders if Essek knows how damning the evidence is becoming. Essek walks back to the desk, picking his wine glass up on the way. The way he sits on the chair, backwards with legs stretched to either side, is neither proper nor befitting of someone of his status. Caleb has a feeling it is purposeful.

Essek takes a long swig from his cup. “I’ve resigned myself to my fate. Speak, then. If you’re so keen on not wasting time.”

Caleb takes a moment to compose himself, not used to this side of the drow. It feels like unravelling. And Essek is on the end of his rope.

“That night,” Caleb begins, and the words feel very much like tying a noose around his own neck. “In the library. Why was it a mistake?”

Essek doesn’t flinch. He expected this. 

“Why did you call it a mistake, Essek? Was I wrong to believe that you--”

“That I wanted to kiss you?” Essek quickly counters. “Because yes, I did. And that in of itself was a mistake. A fool's whim.”

Caleb can’t deny he wasn’t expecting this. It is still strange to hear, regardless. There are too many undercurrents pulling at every word they say. It’s getting hard to keep track.

“Why did you stop?” Caleb asks.

“Would you have let me, if I continued?” Essek responds.

“Yes.”

Heat rises to Caleb’s face. He can’t tell if he’s winning this conversation. Caleb isn’t sure why it’s something he wants to win in the first place. In a last-ditch effort to retain his pride, Caleb carries on.

“I do not understand you,” Caleb confesses. “But I want to.”

Essek does flinch then, a terrible grimace overtaking him, and it looks more pained than anything he’s ever seen on the other man. 

“This is exactly why I wanted to avoid this. This is the mistake,” Essek replies, gesturing between the two of them.

“I disagree,” Caleb insists.

Essek swirls the wine in his glass, watching with a peculiar intensity as the liquid splashes and curls up the edge. Just shy of spilling over and staining his fingertips.

Caleb pauses, waits for a response, and when no such response comes forth, he carries on. A terrible decision, really.

“This is not something I want to avoid. No matter how big of a mistake it may be. You are...interesting. And attractive. And intelligent. I enjoy speaking with you, and spending time with you--”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Widogast,” Essek cuts in. Sharp, but expected.

“Bold of you to assume I was trying to get anywhere, Herr Theylss.”

Essek’s shoulders slump, mountains of protests lost behind the curtain of his mouth.

Caleb can’t help the frustration that slips into his tone. “You are behaving as a coward, Essek. You run and hide whenever the conversation gets too serious. And despite the effort I have put in to show you that I care for you, and that the others care for you--”

“This isn’t about them,” Essek snaps.

“Prove it, then,” Caleb challenges.

There’s a chilled moment of silence before Essek relents. “Fine.”

Essek sets down his glass on the table, rises from the chair, and takes a few steps in Caleb’s direction.

He’s close enough that Caleb is forced to lean away, backing up until the back of his legs are pressed up against the mattress. There’s a shadow overtaking Essek’s expression, something measured but still careless. 

“Is this what you wanted? Because I am not sure what you expect from me, Caleb,” Essek starts, and the smell of plum and something faintly herbal fills the air between them. “I do not mean to be so bold, but I believe you know my affections already. But tell me, despite the fact that neither of us deserve it, is this something that you’d want?”

Caleb swallows. “It is. And you?”

Though they stand at equal height, Caleb can’t silence the feeling that Essek is staring down at him. “Don’t play the fool, Caleb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Then you admit it,” Caleb replies.

Essek’s expression turns pained beyond comprehension. “Is that what you want to hear? If that will satisfy you, then yes. In a perfect world, I would not have to worry about power and politics and I could simply take a human wizard from a warring nation as my lover and resign myself to a life of peace. But we do not live in that world. And there are factors at play beyond both our comprehensions. Factors I can not afford to brush aside.”

Caleb flusters despite himself. “It does not have to be so serious. We could both use a distraction. Regardless, I am tired of living my life on would have’s . I know you are as well.”

“And I know that I am more interested in you than you are in me,” Essek counters. 

“You can’t possibly know that,” Caleb seethes, and he isn’t sure why he feels the need to be defensive.

Essek hums. He reaches out then, taking a light hold of Caleb’s lapels. “A distraction. Is that what you called it? What I feel stretches beyond a distraction. And I am not sure what else I can do to show you that these feelings are dangerous. I tried to pull away when I saw I was far too close. But you seem insistent in dropping me over the deep end. And loathe as I am to admit it, the option is rather tempting.”

Caleb resists the urge to back away. Just barely. Essek’s hands begin to wander upwards, and Caleb wonders if he can feel Caleb’s heartbeat pounding beneath his fingertips.  

“You want the truth, don’t you?” Essek asks, and there’s something akin to wonder in his tone. “I was jealous. That night at the celebration. I saw Jester, and how you turned to her, and how she took your hands in hers, and I was jealous. I wish that were me , I thought. How pathetic. I took you to the library, and I was far too drunk for good decisions, and thought that it could be me. I could be the one you turned to first. So, I tried to kiss you. And then my senses returned to me and I remembered that you were undoubtedly in love with that man from your dreams.”

“I am not,” Caleb manages to say through a shaky breath. “I do not love him.”

Essek hums once more, fingers settling on the nape of Caleb’s neck. “But you do not love me. Not yet. And I do not believe we’ve earned that luxury.”

“What would make this work?” Caleb breathes out. “What could make you believe that we have earned this?”

Essek leans in a little closer, the tartness of wine on his breath. Caleb can taste it in the air as the drow trails his fingers across Caleb’s jaw.

“Something needs to change,” he says. His fingers slow, before he drops his hands to Caleb’s collarbone, resting them there. “And if that something is me, then so be it.”

He seems vulnerable in an unexpected way. Distantly, Caleb wonders if he appears the same. He slides his hands along Essek’s shoulders and down his sides, coming to a hesitant rest on the edges of his hip bone.  It's cathartic. Severing decayed branches so healthy ones can start anew.

“And if that change is something you are not ready for?” Caleb whispers.

Essek’s hands slide up to curl in Caleb’s hair. The grip he holds is gentle, but it's present enough for Caleb to tilt his head back into the touch. “So be it.”

When their lips meet, it’s chaste and sickeningly sweet. Essek tastes like burnt sugar and mulled wine, like something good gone sour. Caleb can’t find it in himself to care. Because when Essek melts against him, carding soft hands through his hair, he feels the whole world slip away. He feels the gentle graze of teeth against his bottom lip, returning the touch by digging fingers deeper into Essek’s hip. Holding him in place. As if they both could drift away at any moment.

It has been a while since Caleb’s done something like this. It's nice, of course. But he can’t help but feel out of practice. Essek clearly is as well, based on how clumsy and rushed his movements are. Caleb decides to find it endearing, and blame any mistakes on the wine. They both keep two steps away from making any further moves, and Caleb is grateful. He’s sure he’d short-circuit if anything other kissing were to occur. 

An eternity later, when he breaks away, Essek stares at him like all the stars in the sky rest within his eyes. It's intoxicating in a brand-new way.

He can feel the heat radiating off both their faces as if it were an open flame. Despite the darkness of Essek’s skin, there’s a faint red tint that creeps up his neck and smatters across his cheeks. Caleb hardly gets a chance to stare before Essek pulls him into an embrace, his lips brushing against his neck as he does.

Just as Essek rests his weight a little further against Caleb, Caleb’s knees give out, sending them both toppling backwards onto the bed. It would all be very romantic and very tempting if not for the fact that Caleb’s forehead knocked against Essek’s during the fall with enough force to dizzy.

“ Scheiße, ” Caleb mutters through a laugh, rubbing at the sore spot.

Essek grumbles in discontent, mirroring the movement. “That will be a very strange mark to explain away…”

Essek pushes himself up and Caleb rises with him, maneuvering themselves until Essek is in a very precocious position, quite nearly straddling Caleb with legs on either side of his lap. Again: very tempting if not for the absurdity of it all. In place of anything exciting, they both break into peals of laughter, Essek leaning in closer and Caleb wrapping his arms around the other man as they live down the moment.

“Still convinced this is not a mistake?” Essek mutters, warm hands running along Caleb’s back.

Caleb stares up at the ceiling in place of anywhere productive. “I didn’t know how much I wanted this. It is almost embarrassing.”

Essek laughs against his jugular. “We do make quite the sight.”

“We should go to bed,” Caleb says, and then, when Essek smirks against his skin, “Our own beds. Separate. The others will be back home soon.”

“Since we’re already off the deep-end, I can keep a secret,” Essek murmurs into the crook of his neck. “That would not be so bad, I think. Being your secret.”

“It is not you I am worried about, mein liebling . I can not lie. And my dear friends ask a lot of questions.”

Essek takes a deep breath, hands curling tighter in the fabric of Caleb’s shirt. “Let them.”

Essek tries to lean up then, brushing his lips against the edge of Caleb’s smile, but he overshoots it and ends up planting a gentle kiss on his cheek instead.

Caleb chuckles lightly, pulling back from Essek’s embrace. “You are very persuasive, Herr Theylss. But I fear the wine is talking more than either you or I.”

Essek sighs deeply, mourning the loss of warmth. “You argue so hard for this, then turn me away? What a cruel man you are, Mr. Widogast.”

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Caleb promises, slowly managing to pry Essek’s arms off him as he moves to stand up.

Before he can step away from the bed, Essek’s hand wraps around his wrist, holding him in place. 

“Essek—”

“What now? What are we?”

Essek’s eyes are intense, the gentle sway his body held before all but vanished. There is a harsh line to his frame now, shoulders bowing inwards like chill-touched branches. For a man so confident in his position and power, there is something about the two of them together that corrodes foundations. 

“What are we?” Essek asks once more, as if trapped in a loop.

Caleb would be more confused if he didn’t feel everything Essek felt, amplified to the heavens.

He feels it in every fleeting touch he and Essek share, feels it in the way his hands shake and his heart flutters and his mind jumps from idea to idea, as if he could not possibly keep up with the tide of his emotions otherwise. He wants to build himself into something new, to mend the shatters at his feet into something Essek can hold. But there is so little to piece together. And the distance between them grows with every moment of Caleb’s silence. 

Caleb can feel it churning in the pits of his soul, the curse that binds him, hungry and desperate. It demands answers, demands for him to speak. He holds down the words as long as he is able, until his chest burns. Until the curse realizes there is nothing to consume.

Caleb decides to stop thinking. Just for a moment. Essek’s grip is loose enough that Caleb can slip through, sliding his own hand across a trail past Essek’s wrist, up towards his palms, settling to interlock their fingers together. 

Essek’s hands are cold, and Caleb’s feel like they are on fire.

“I don’t want a distraction,” Caleb replies, honestly. (Always honest, of course, of course.) “But I am not sure what I want. You deserve a better answer than the one I can give right now.”

Caleb can feel it when Essek’s fingers tighten within his grasp. It would be electrifying if every touch between them wasn’t already so electric. Caleb blames the wine.

“In the morning, then?” Essek asks. Light and feather-tipped.

Caleb raises Essek’s hands to his lips, gently pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “In the morning.”

Essek nods, pauses, and looks as if he has more to say. Before he can, Caleb tilts forward slowly, pulling Essek so that he can press another gentle kiss against his lips.

Gone is the hunger, the urgency, the nervousness. This kiss is a goodbye and a promise, and it warms him like sunlight on sand.

Essek smiles when they part. Slowly, regretfully, he releases Caleb’s hands and lets them fall.

Before any more excuses can be made, Caleb turns towards the door. He promises himself he will not look back, scolds himself to not be so dramatic. They will be sleeping nearly a floor apart. In the same building, no less. But the butterflies in his stomach have not settled, and Caleb doesn’t have the heart to smother them quite yet.

As Caleb shuts the door, he peers through for one last glance.

Essek sits on the ledge of his bed, a soft smile on his lips, tracing one finger gently along where Caleb had kissed him last.

Embarrassingly, Caleb finds himself doing the same.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Caleb finds himself awakening to the sound of distant commotion, his friends down the hall no doubt caught in the throes of breakfast preparation. Caleb allows himself a few moments of reprieve, staring at the ceiling, feeling a roiling turn of unsettlement churning in his chest.

Last night was...something. 

He can’t decide if it was for the worse or better, but he can still feel the headiness of alcohol and exhaustion pittering somewhere behind his eyelids.

He staggers out of bed, prepares to face the morning—only to empty his stomach onto the floor three steps later. 

It’s nothing a quick prestidigitation can’t solve. It’s a simple cantrip. Taught to children and used as a cheap party trick. Of course, cleaning vomit off the floor is by far one of its less glamorous uses. Caleb groggily waves his hands over the mess, willing for the sight to vanish into thin air. As a nauseating headache overcomes him and the mess remains the same, Caleb remembers two very distinct facts.

Firstly, his spellcasting ability is still gone. No magic comes forth when he waves his hand, no arcane energy so much as tremors at his call. The curse racking his mind and body has not diminished. 

Secondly, he is so hungover Caleb completely forgets he never learned prestidigitation to begin with.

He sighs, stares down at the mess he has to inevitably clean up, expression curdling as sour as the taste of bile on his tongue. Caleb swears to never have another glass of wine in his life. Or any alcohol, for that matter. He didn’t think himself to be such a lightweight but the evidence is irrefutable.

As he cleans up the mess, the night's events trickle back into his mind, each memory slotting together like puzzle pieces until a full picture comes into view.

A picture stained with hasty decisions, emotional responses, and promises left to face.

Caleb’s stomach turns all over again, and it is only by sheer force of will and the fact he doesn’t have another cleaning rag handy that he manages to keep what’s left in his stomach where it belongs.

There is much to address.

Caleb knows this. Dreads this. There is a serious conversation that needs to be had, boundaries that need to be set, and factors between him and Essek that need to be carefully examined. They both spoke words that were possibly harmful. Toxic, if left to corrode on their own.

There is also something beautiful at its border, fragile and deep-rooted and reaching out to stretch between them.

A small part of him, flickering and consuming, finds it exciting. Suddenly everything is brand-new and he is a love-struck teenager again, and there is a hastiness that desperately needs to be reeled in.

Above everything, he needs to speak with Essek. 

Preferably alone, though perhaps being in the company of others would keep Caleb on track. As the night proved, Essek is very talented at stealing away Caleb’s focus. Caleb isn’t sure he has the willpower to deny the other mage just yet. That is very dangerous indeed.

Even more dangerous is the reactions Caleb can only imagine the Nein will have when they learn Caleb spent the night in the company of a man they have little-to-no trust for, kissing until they were both dizzy.

He buries his face in his hands. Perhaps he should keep last night's events to himself for a while. Just long enough to figure out what they actually are before any assumptions can be made.

That would not be so bad, I think. Being your secret .

Caleb flushes scarlet at the memory, and twice as red when the echo of Essek’s voice that night rings through his mind.

Before Caleb can step out of the room and into the hall, he pauses. Thinks twice. And then spends the next fifteen minutes staring at himself in the mirror, double-checking for any incriminating marks or spots that would arouse suspicion. 

He only finds a small bruise, barely a thumbprint large, near his hairline.  A part of Caleb is relieved. It proves the night's events were real. 

If he leaves the room with a small smile on his face, at least there is no one there to embarrass him for it.

Breakfast with the Nein goes well, all things considered. The others are far too focused on their meals to ask any questions, and Caleb remains quiet and calm to avoid garnering their attention. He doesn’t even inquire about Essek’s absence from the table, even though on the inside it is slowly killing him.

Caleb is a patient man, but there is something near electric about the thought of finally seeing Essek again after last night that brings a smile to his face. 

He hasn’t had a secret in a long time—especially one hidden from the Nein. Caleb forces his mind to wander away from thoughts of Essek, lest the spell compels him to confess to the group about what happened. An odd mixture of guilt and excitement hums through his veins, and as passable of an actor as Caleb thinks he can be, he can’t help but notice Beau staring at him with an odd sort of intensity from across the table.

She wants to ask him something. He can tell. Beau’s jaw shifts, and right as her mouth sucks in a breath, Caleb politely breaks his eyes away, and devotes his attention wholly to his breakfast.

Beau’s stare doesn’t shift or stray. If anything it only focuses harder. 

He doesn’t dare meet her eyes, keeps a firm clamp down on his tongue. His toast is slightly burnt, but Caleb pretends it is the most fascinating meal he’s ever consumed. 

After a while, the conversation shifts to the day ahead. They are to meet with the Bright Queen, and discuss the events of their journey. It unsettles Caleb, of course. The Nein have been careful to keep Caleb away from any audiences with the Queen, but it has reached a point where Caleb's absence from a meeting would do more harm than good. The last thing the Queen needs to think is that the Mighty Nein are lying to her, or that there is reason to place distrust in them and pursue the matter further. 

At this point, just one question with an answer that isn't perfectly neutral could call forth the wrath of Leylas Kryn. They are still in the midst of a war, after all. And Essek's favour can only get them so far.

After the details of how the day will go are sorted, the Nein thinking hard on a way to keep Caleb quiet while still allowing for his attendance to the event, the party splits up to run last-minute errands before they are called to the Lucid Bastion.

Caleb lingers behind, left clearing the table with Jester.

They both fill their arms with dishes and cutlery, the tiefling even picking up a napkin with her tail, nearly making a game of it.

“It's nice to see you in a good mood, Caleb,” Jester says after a while, nearly skipping to the kitchen before returning for another handful of dishes.

Scheiße. 

He jolts for a moment, nearly dropping the plate in his hand. "I-I could say the same of you. How did the sleepover go?" Caleb counters in an attempt to steer the conversation down a safer path.

Jester grins at him over the stack of plates in her hand. "It was so much fun! Too bad you and Essek were already asleep when we got back, though."

Back down the dangerous path, he supposes. Caleb swallows, nearly forgetting that he and Essek managed to avoid the night's events and retired to their chambers after their...whatever it was. In the moment, Caleb didn't even remember how the rest of the night went, or if the Nein came to check up on him at all. Past his moment with Essek, the rest is a blur.

"Ah, my apologies. Did I miss out on anything particularly interesting?” he asks, before re-assuming a painful clench on his own tongue.

Jester hums to herself, staring up at the ceiling. “Well. Not much. All the taverns Essek told us about close like, super early, so there was no booze or whatever. Beau was pretty pissed, which was kind of funny. But this nice half-orc lady was just closing up her shop when we passed by, and gave us tons of sweets and candied fruits and things—”

Jester rambles on for what feels like hours, but Caleb knows with certainty it could not have been more than a few minutes. He takes a moment to steady himself, sheepishly smiling as Jester finishes her recollection of the slumber party he conveniently missed for purely innocent reasons. 

Jester’s got the last stack of dishes in her arms, towering high enough to warrant caution. “How about you?”

Caleb blinks at her. “Me?”

“Well, yeah. You and Essek were alone for a while, Nott could barely enjoy the shopping trip ‘cause she was too busy worrying,” Jester replies, smiling through an odd look. “How did your night go?”

Caleb’s fists tighten around the plate in his hand, nails screeching against the porcelain as he struggles to reign himself back into control. “It went w-well. It was, ah, unexpected, to say the least.”

Jester frowns. “Unexpected?”

It’s not enough. Caleb winces as the words bubble in his throat, barely able to suppress them.

Not enough.

He can hear the mocking voice of Not-Molly, singing in his ear. 

Liar . Coward. What are you so afraid of?

“Look, Caleb, if you don’t want to talk about it that's totally okay, I totally get it,” Jester says as she begins heading through the doorway, ushering the last of the dishes into the wash bin. He hears them clunk against the sides, splashing water to the floor as they sink to the bottom. “But just remember I’m your friend, okay? You can talk to me if you want.”

It really isn't up to him, is it? 

The spell burns at his throat, as if he were swallowing lit coals rather than the details of his romantic exploits. He really shouldn’t be afraid. He shouldn't. It's nothing to be ashamed of, after all. What he and Essek do in their free time is no one's business except their own. If anything, recent developments are good news. Caleb knows his friends would be happy for him. They all seem to like Essek well enough, past their distrust in him.

Even so. 

Caleb still doesn’t know what he and Essek are. How could he tell them, how could he explain, when even he doesn’t understand? Everything is still so new and delicate. Making assumptions now would just be foolish. They were half-drunk, half-exhausted, and emotional. 

Maybe it would be better to spill everything out-right. No secrets, no dancing around a topic he’d rather avoid. All this undue stress can’t be good for him, especially after what they had just learned about Caleb’s condition. 

Tell her , the voice in his head sings. Out of everyone, she’d understand. Stop being a coward.

Caleb bites harder on his tongue, and lets the metallic taste of blood pool in his mouth.

“So. I’ve been meaning to ask," Jester calls out from the kitchen, her voice echoing off the wall. "Did you two, like, sleep together or what?”

“ No, ” Caleb wheezes out as a glass mug slips from his grasp, shattering on the floor.

Jester pokes her head back into the dining room, staring with wide-eyes at the mess on the floor.

Caleb stands frozen, heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Jester, why would you—"

Jester winces. "Oh, shoot, sorry,” she says before crouching down to pick up the pieces. "Didn't mean to surprise you."

Shakily, Caleb leans down to join her. He reaches for a piece of porcelain, stained brown with coffee on its edges, before noting the shaking of his hands. He relents and allows for Jester to clean it up, preferring to avoid slicing open his hand in his panic.

Caleb readjusts, taking a deep breath in. It chokes halfway. “Jester, why would you think that?”

Jester wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, still scooping fragments into her open palm.“Well….I mean, you are in a super happy mood. And Essek’s been on like, cloud nine, since he woke up. He’s in the garden right now. I think he's singing.”

Caleb nearly chokes on air. “Essek is singing?”

Jester tilts her head to the side. “Okay okay, not like, actual singing. It's very cute. I wish I knew the song, though. He seems...happy.”

She stills for a moment, combing over Caleb’s expression. The teasing playfulness in her face dims, replaced with something Caleb can only interpret as vague pity.

Caleb’s jaw clenches. He takes a careful breath in, and holds it.

Liar. Tell her. Coward.

“We kissed.”

Jester’s eyes shine so bright it could rival the sun.

In an instant, the porcelain in her hands is tossed back onto the floor, and she is squealing with delight, loud enough to wake the dead. Caleb instantly regrets his decision. On the positive side, at least the spell has quieted down. He can barely keep his eyes up as Jester’s grin spreads ear-to-ear, and she bursts into a ramble of what what what? Oh my gosh! How? What?

Caleb’s face reddens dark enough to match his hair as the spell compels him to spill more and more details. It would have been more painful if Jester didn’t greet each word with unbridled enthusiasm.

She places a hand on his shoulder, shaking him hard enough to nearly lose his balance. 

“Caleb! This is so great!” she nearly shouts, but then pauses mid-squeal.

Caleb tries to not appear as dizzy as he feels. “I-I suppose. Why did you assume we slept together?”

His voice trails into a shaky whisper near the end of his sentence, and Jester snorts. 

He is a grown adult . He should not feel so shy to speak of this. But something about Jester’s energy makes Caleb feel like he is sharing gossip and her giddiness is contagious.

“Well. I mean. Come on . You two are always flirting or whatever, and Essek’s totally had the hots for you for, like, months. I was wondering when he’d finally make a move. ”

Caleb pales, his breath choking once more. “ Months?”

Jester nods solemnly. “Poor guy. Also you guys had a ton of wine last night while we were out. And it wasn't shitty wine either, you guys went for the good stuff.”

Caleb covers his face. “Jester, bitte , I can only bear so much—”

“No, I support it! Y'know, if he had shitty wine I don’t think it would have been as effective, y’know? My mama says that drunk people are the worst kissers, so you can only imagine what it will be like if you actually had slept together, I mean oh man—”

“ Jester, ” he hisses, and the seriousness of his tone is cut down severely by the blush he can’t suppress. “It is still...very new. There is much for Essek and I to discuss, and I would appreciate your silence. Can you do that?”

Jester mimes zipping her lips shut, and Caleb can’t help but feel he’s in more danger than he bargained for.

Her expression does darken then, a trepidation previously unseen on the cleric.

“Just...promise you’ll be careful, okay?” she asks, pushing forward a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Caleb frowns. “Careful?”

Jester turns her attention back to the shards on the floor, begins nervously mending the pieces back together. “Oh, nothing serious...it’s just, well, a few of us were, like, talking and stuff. And even Caduceus agreed with me that Essek can be kind of...self-destructive at times? Like, remember with that spell he did a while ago?”

Caleb can’t help the way he shudders at the memory. “Of course I remember, but actions in battle are very different than...romantic endeavours.”

Jester’s expression does not waver. “I know, I know, just—he’s always kind of been that way, right? It’s like in serious scenarios and stuff, he’s never putting himself first. It's not like he doesn’t care about himself, it's more like...he’s not watching out for everything around him? I can’t tell if he’s too selfless or just selfish. And like, it’s not terrible, but I don’t want him to hurt you or anything, y’know?”

Caleb’s shoulders slump. “I appreciate the concern. But Essek would never do such a thing.”

Jester nods slowly. “Yeah. I know. He’s our friend, but...you’re our friend first.”

Caleb’s stomach flips once more, the nausea returning tenfold. A deep, thorny fear keeps it at bay.

Self-destructive.

It's only by sheer willpower that Caleb doesn’t glance over to his own hands, or to the mug still in hopeless shatters before them.

When Caleb climbs the steps to the rooftop, following the twisting spiral up to their make-shift garden, he is greeted by a sound he didn’t think he’d ever hear.

Essek, singing softly in the open air.

To be fair, it is unlike any singing Caleb has ever heard before. Essek’s voice rings out smooth and tentative through the clearing, so strange it could be mistaken for the other man simply mumbling under his breath. But the longer Caleb stands and listens, the more he can piece out the musical quality to it. It's elegant. Nostalgic, somehow. The syllables he speaks are all mismatched, forming a melody completely foreign in nature and yet beautiful despite that fact.

Essek himself is staring at the treetop above him, large expanses of green leaves dotted with glowing glass jars. The light that casts down illuminates his white hair, making it near transparent. The gentle glow of the lights reflects off his metallic finery as well, mixing in with reflections of his own expression. Caleb can see wonder there. A hint of amusement. No doubt the tree is still a novel sight for a man raised in a city with little-to-no flora or fauna.

Caleb clears his throat lightly, cutting off Essek’s singing abruptly as the drow turns to address him.

There’s a rigidity to his posture as recognition floods Essek’s face, but also something guarded that dances beneath. He remains in place as Caleb steps closer to him, until they are only a few feet apart.

“Good morning, Caleb,” Essek says with a nod of his head. His hands are folded neatly in front of him, the familiar air of nobility and properness keeping Caleb at bay.

Caleb blinks at him, caught off-guard by the formal tone his voice holds. “G-good morning, Essek. You did not join us for breakfast so I was wondering—”

“Are the others with you?” Essek cuts in abruptly, the pleasant smile still gracing his lips as if it were plastered on. There's impatience in his eyes.

... Impatience?

Caleb clears his throat once more. “Ah, no, they’ve all left to run errands so—”

Before Caleb can speak another word, Essek is already taking a long stride to close the distance between them, his hands snaking down Caleb’s side and coming to a rest on his hip. He can feel Essek’s breath sharp and quick against his neck, but nothing makes contact. Caleb’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, body tensing in surprise at the bold move.

“Essek—”

Essek’s face twists to look into his eyes, leaning close. Before he closes the distance between them, the man pauses, thinks better of it. 

And with a gentle smile on his face that plays an innocent image his behaviour can not possibly reflect, he mutters the words, “may I kiss you?”

Caleb, a little breathless, replies with a soft, “ Yes .”

And then he does. And it is every bit as exciting and pleasant as Caleb remembers from last night. And every bit as terrifying.

Essek is far bolder today, kissing Caleb deeply and with little restraint. He can feel Essek smiling through it, can feel him humming and the echoes of it catching in his throat. Compared to last night, this kiss is hardly chaste. His face reddens at the thought, cares melting away as that same semi-sour taste of plum floods his senses.

He sees Jester’s point about the whole ‘kissing while drunk’ thing.

They carry on like this for a few moments, before Caleb’s brain finally catches up with the rest of his existence. 

This was not what he came up here to do.

It takes more than a little effort to pull away, Essek continuing to lean forward even as Caleb makes a motion to distance himself. Essek's pupils are blown-out and his face darkened with blush when Caleb finally gets a clearer look at him, and Caleb can only imagine a similar expression is reflected in himself.

“I have been waiting to do that for hours ,” Essek smiles, and Caleb has to break his eyes away just to avoid giving in to temptation.

"We need to talk," Caleb says, and tries not to sound as conflicted as he feels.

Essek sighs, pulling Caleb closer so that he can wrap his arms fully around his waist in a loose grip. "I suppose we do."

Caleb sighs too, deep and slow. Mentally he curses himself for coming unprepared. But each moment he spends looking into Essek’s eyes feels like a shot through the heart, and all thoughts come to a halt. Or, rather, too many thoughts jump forth, clambering for attention. It's rather dizzying, perhaps even scary to know the full depth of his emotion. But it is something he’d like to explore. And what better way to learn than with a fellow scholar?

“I regret to admit I have not settled on an answer just yet,” Caleb begins. “You asked what we are. What next. And I do not know much, but I know that I want to be with you. Like this. I am not sure what to call it, but it is something I would like to cultivate further. And I am willing to take any steps necessary to achieve that goal.”

A flicker of a smile flashes across Essek’s face. “How romantic.”

“I read a lot of books, mein schatz. I have many romantic things to say,” Caleb replies, his own hands moving in slow circles against Essek’s arm.

Something resembling a laugh escapes from Essek’s lips. “I won’t hesitate to hold you to that.”

Caleb steadies for a moment, remembering not to get too far ahead of himself. The humour drains from him, and Essek’s follows suit. “There is much still to discuss. I know that you mentioned it a bit earlier. Factors beyond our control, ja ?”

Essek watches Caleb carefully, his expression schooled into something calm yet all-consuming. 

“Those factors...I would not worry about them too much,” Essek dismisses.

Caleb frowns. “But—”

“There is one thing,” Essek cuts in quickly. “Last night, you mentioned us, together, as a distraction. And then, later in the conversation, you insisted you did not want a distraction. Forgive me if I am struggling to follow this train of thought, however it does seem rather contradictory.”

Caleb swallows. Struggles to translate what he needs to say into words, a pit in his stomach forming deep and confining. “It is...difficult. To settle on a truth, when I have failed to process these thoughts for so long.”

Essek tenses. There’s wariness in his eyes, and Caleb hates that he put it there. “So you remain undecided?”

“Not undecided. I most certainly wish to be your...erm, your—”

“Lover?” Essek answers for him, and Caleb nearly jolts.

“Ah, that is, it is a rather bold term, don’t you think—?”

Essek hides a laugh behind his smile. “I did not think you were the type to get embarrassed so easily. Do you respond this well when your friends tease you?”

Caleb counts his breaths in a futile attempt to steady the rampant beating of his own heart. “Not quite. Well. It is...Jester already knows about our exploits, and she has done no such teasing. Forgive me for being unprepared.”

Essek blinks at him. “Ah. Another thing to discuss, I very nearly forgot. Did you want to inform the Nein about our...change in status?”

Caleb thinks for a moment. He did enjoy having Essek as his own little secret, even though it lasted for less than a day. 

The truth worms itself out of him, whether he likes it or not.

“The Nein are my family. They deserve to know. And I can trust they will meet the news with a positive outlook,” Caleb explains.

Essek nods. “That is fair. Expected, to be honest.”

“And what of you? Anything I should be aware of?”

Essek thinks for a moment, humming softly. “The Nein may know, but I would prefer to keep things about us quiet, just for now. Especially in Rosohna. Den politics are...complicated, and a dangerous thing to maneuver.”

“I’m willing to learn,” Caleb offers. If it comes out a little coy, Essek receives it rather well.

“I’m sure you are. I can be an excellent motivator. Rest assured, once things are a bit steadier I will be informing everyone and anyone about the man I get to call my lover.”

Caleb laughs despite himself. “Careful, Shadowhand. We wouldn’t want a scandal on our hands.”

“No, I suppose we wouldn’t,” Essek says, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “But what a scandal it would be.”

The Cathedral of the Bright Queen is every bit as vast and imposing as Caleb remembers. Large pillars of marble, illuminated by a sphere of pure moonlight, suspended by brilliant white chains.

Caleb watches in awe, staring down from the magical feat to where the light casts directly upon. As if pulled magnetically, the moonlight drapes over a raised platform before them. In the center of this dais, framed by a white crystalline throne, the Bright Queen appears in her full glory, bathed in silver and white.

Her lips move, eyes raking across the Mighty Nein, though Caleb hears none of it. Per design, of course. 

The Nein figured the only way to keep Caleb truly safe from any mishaps regarding his truth spell was to ensure he could not hear the conversation at all. Hence the deafness spell that Jester managed to cast upon him. As extra security, a sphere of silence, courtesy of Caduceus, ensures a back-up plan if anything were to go awry.

While the others remain wholly focused, ensuring their posture and tone cultivates their journey in the right light and baring it for the Queen’s judgement, Caleb is tasked with standing idly by, watching like a ghost beyond the veil. Simply an observer.

Nearly out of pity, Nott tries to keep him informed about what is going on. Through a few carefully hidden message cantrips, the goblin manages to relay everything the Queen and her court discuss. And as the meeting progresses, Nott continues to be his translator, providing Caleb with a filter through which he can safely listen to the conversation without risk of spilling any sensitive information.

Jester’s telling her about how the mage guy can shape-shift. And that he can get into people's heads, making him twice as dangerous, Nott says, and it feels like a whisper even in his own head.

The Bright Queen glances over to Essek, her face the perfect image of a still lake. Her chin tilts upward as she speaks.

She’s asking if what Jester is saying is true, Nott explains. She’s asking if the mage is as dangerous as we claim.

He sees Essek nod, a solemn expression taking hold as he glances to Caleb for the briefest of moments.

He says yes. Extremely dangerous.

The Queen nods, satisfied with the response. What comes next from her lips is so unexpected, he watches Nott’s expression run blank before a tentative smile rises to her expression.

She...she says he is to be executed. Oh gods, Caleb, this is—she thinks he is a menace. She has no use for him, beyond death. She does not need someone so volatile in their presence any longer than he has already been. She says that some threats are not worth it. And she’s willing to provide men of her own to help track him down! Caleb! This is great!

Caleb can barely hear Nott, though her voice slides straight into his mind. The only thing he can focus on is the paling of Essek’s expression, the slack-jawed look that seems so out of place for the news they have just received.

An incredulous look takes over Essek’s face. He turns to the Queen, unaddressed, and speaks.

He’s asking if the Queen would rather have the mage apprehended for questioning first, Nott relays. What is he—?

The Bright Queen’s eyes narrow. Each of the Nein freeze in place, watching the Queen sit a little straighter on her throne, something sharp taking form in her expression.

She’s asking if he wishes to challenge her judgement.

Caleb can feel every inch of his body run stock-still, taking in the countless eyes locking onto Essek as the Shadowhand’s chin tilts upwards, face schooled into neutrality.

He said...he thinks she’s being rash. There is information to gain from him.

Every pair of eyes in the room goes wide. There is a slight twitch to the Queen’s expression, though it is quickly masked by something far darker.

She...she says careful, Shadowhand. Know your place, Nott repeats with a slight shake to her voice, one Caleb knows full well the Queen reflects none of.

Essek turns his head as if he were struck, pinning his eyes to the floor.

The Bright Queen says that we are free to continue our search, and that we have the Dynasty’s full support. She is willing to divert a small amount of men to aid us, if we so choose. We also have the undevoted aid of Shadowhand Essek. He is to be suspended from normal duties, and assigned fully to the task of apprehending the creature.

Essek flinches with each word the Queen speaks. It looks nearly painful.

The Queen begins to rise from her throne, the Dusk Captain following her as she takes a few steps to the edge of the dais, staring down at each of the Nein. She gives them a slight nod, nearly bowing.

Caduceus swiftly snaps his fingers, dropping the spell as the court meeting comes to a close.

Caleb feels a sharp intake of breath fill his lungs as the spell drops, waves of sound flooding his ears as if he were resurfacing from a deep ocean. It takes a moment for the dizziness to subside, but he is just able to catch the Queen’s final words as the meeting comes to a close.

“The Luxon’s light upon you, Mighty Nein,” she says with a small wave, bidding them to be dismissed.

A few guards step from the wall, spurred to action as the Nein are escorted from the room. The others follow suit, taking in quiet sighs of relief at surviving yet another council with the Bright Queen.

Caleb stills in the doorway, casting a look back to the Queen’s throne and to where Essek stands, only a few feet away. His fists are clenched by his side, jaw squared and set as if carved from stone. As the Queen rises from her throne, flanked by the Dusk Captain, he sees her turn to address Essek, something akin to anger roiling in her expression.

Essek mirrors it, but his expression is far more subdued, settling to simmer in quiet rage and forcing him to nod along quietly to whatever the Queen berates him for.

That familiar nausea resurfaces in Caleb’s stomach, and Jester’s words echo. 

They feel just as sharp as the porcelain shattered on the floor.

There’s a chair, placed in the center of an empty room.

Caleb can’t make out a single detail, not of the room itself, nor the chair. Quiet and unassuming. Hardly noticeable, especially when staring brings such a painful sting to each corner of his mind.

Caleb stares at his own hands, feels the strange static-quality of his own skin, realizing with horrifying certainty where he is. What is happening.

This is a dream.

A figure takes shape on the chair, lashing a spade-tipped tail and grinning from behind a mop of lavender-tinted curls.

“Hello, Mr. Widogast,” Not-Molly says.

Caleb resists the urge to step back, to distance himself. It would be pointless, anyway. The room is simply a black, endless void—there is nowhere to escape to.

“You do not scare me. I know what you are,” Caleb says. He feels a lot braver than he should. “You are weak. You need me. That is why this dream is not quite as realistic, isn’t it? You are weaker now.”

Not-Molly laughs, and it comes from every direction, spare his own mouth. “Intelligent. How nice, to have that in a vessel. Too bad all those things will be wiped clean once I replace your mind.”

“We will find you. And you will be stopped. They won’t let you get away with this,” Caleb warns. He finds himself more sure-footed here, and he can’t exactly place why. 

“Is that so?” the creature replies. “You seem to misunderstand the position you’re in.”

He rises from the chair then, and it disappears so quickly Caleb can’t be sure there was ever a chair at all. The creature takes slow, steady steps towards him, though nothing seems to close the distance.

“You see, that woman, the arcanist, she told you to run. She told you to get yourself as far away from me as possible, didn’t she? What she failed to understand is that the further you are, the harder I need to pull to establish my connection,” the creature snaps, and suddenly his form shifts into that of Allura Vysoren.

“Each moment I spend in your mind takes an excruciating effort,” Not-Allura grins, before shifting back into the visage of Mollymauk.

“And, of course, The harder I need to pull, the more you suffer. Don’t you see, Caleb? Don’t you understand, Bren? The further you run, the more you will deteriorate. Your physical body and mind are already being torn to shreds by my magic.”

Caleb’s hands shake, and the world shakes with it. “You have no magic. That is why you need my body. As you are, without that previous body, you can do no magic. You are lying.”

Not-Molly grins wider. “Ah. Caught in my own lie. I suppose I made you the expert on that, didn’t I?”

Caleb grits his teeth in response, feels the floor beneath him lock into place. 

Not-Molly laughs once more. “I may not have magic, but that does not mean I can’t break you down, piece by piece. Just wait until I snap that last mental strand. That’ll do it. And then, it’ll just be me, you, and eternity.”

“They won’t let you,” Caleb snaps. “You are the true coward.”

Not-Molly’s grin falls, and something dark covers his eyes. He says something else, as the room sucks backwards into inky darkness, but Caleb can’t remember.

He feels it is on purpose.

When Caleb wakes, he is cold and alone. The room around him feels as if it is stretching and expanding, an endless void from which he has no escape. The shadows stretch too, but they move with far more cruelty. He swears he can see the yellow flicker of the creature’s eyes hidden somewhere there, but he’s already pushing himself up and off the bed before he can look any closer.

He throws on a coat, feet carrying him through the door and out of the Xhorhaus while his mind remains elsewhere.

He doesn’t need his mind. His feet know exactly where to take him.

Den Theylss marrs an imposing figure upon the horizon, though it is only a quick conversation away before Essek is at the front gates, hair mussed from sleep. His eyes brighten at the sight of Caleb, though somewhat dampened with exhaustion. 

“You know, when a servant woke me informing me that a human had come to visit in the middle of the night," Essek says with a small grin, “I half expected it to be Beauregard coming to beat me for drinking all of her wine. Do your friends know you are here?”

Caleb swallows and looks at the ground.  “Ah, no, they do not., it’s just—may I stay with you tonight? It is...I just...I do not feel safe at the moment.”

He feels Essek staring at him, the playfulness in his expression disintegrating as he takes in the sight of Caleb’s crossed arms, the shake in his hands, and the darkening of his eyes.

Without another word, Essek opens the gate, and Caleb follows close at his heels.

It is no easy task sneaking Caleb through the vast and winding halls of Den Theylss unseen, but a few clever uses of spellcasting mean they reach Essek’s room undisturbed.

The room itself is far more ornate than Caleb would have expected. There are towering bookshelves, filled to the brim and overflowing to piles scattered across the floor. There is little light cast into the room itself, instead illuminated gently by light fixtures crafted from orange-tinted glass and silver trimmings. 

The most lived-in aspect of the room—aside from Essek’s bed, of course—is his desk, cluttered with countless scrolls and half-empty ink bottles.

Essek moves to the bed, climbing towards the center, and waves Caleb to join him.

He does. It is awkward, to say the least. Seeing Essek in his sleep-clothes and knowing he himself is only in a few layers of worn-down flannel helps cut down some of that 

“How would you like to proceed?” Essek asks once Caleb is nearby, sitting uncomfortably on the center of the bed. He feels out of place. “Forgive me for my lack of experience. I normally trance between studying, so sharing sleep with another is a bit foreign to me.”

Caleb hesitates. Glances around the room, before settling to stare down at his own hands. “Would you...would you allow me to hold you?”

Essek’s face scrunches, and it takes Caleb a moment to recognize the expression as shyness. “You want to...hold me?”

Caleb breaks his eyes away, his own face flushing red. “It is...ah, I just...I’d rather not sleep alone tonight. It seemed the most logical approach. If that is alright with you, of course.”

Essek’s expression melts, and with a look completely muddled behind the softness in his eyes, he moves closer until he is lying on his back, resting his head against Caleb’s chest. Each movement is careful, deliberate. As if they were walking on ice. After Caleb is sure Essek is comfortable, he reaches out to wrap his arms around the other man, Essek slowly snaking his hands upward to intertwine their fingers together.

It is gentle, loving, and disgustingly domestic. Caleb blinks back the welling of tears. He never thought he’d earn this kind of vulnerability, this kind of trust, from anyone.

“You don’t have to be afraid of this, you know. This is far away from any lines I would refuse you to cross,” Essek says, hands tightening in Caleb’s grip.

Caleb is grateful that in their position Essek can’t look into his eyes. “This is...okay? If you are uncomfortable, with the position or my presence, you only need to let me know—”

Before he can continue, Essek pulls Caleb’s hand upward, placing a gentle kiss against his knuckles. “This is perfectly fine. There is little I can deny you, after all.”

Caleb falls into silence then, hands still tense and shaking within Essek’s steady ones.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about? To distract you, perhaps?” Essek asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Caleb thinks for a soft and silent moment, taking in the warmth of Essek’s body against his, the gentle rise and fall of Essek’s chest as their breathing falls in sync. 

“Yes, actually. That song, the one you were humming earlier. Where did it come from?”

Essek traces circles on the back of his hand. He hums, and Caleb feels it reverberate against his own chest. “An old folk song. There are lyrics, but it is… a little hard to translate. The first part speaks of a river beneath snow, something something hands around the water? I don’t remember fully. It is a very old form of Undercommon.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Caleb replies, as soft as he can manage. Essek curls in closer.

“I suppose it does.”

Chapter Text

As it turns out, Essek’s presence is not enough to ward away the mage.

If anything, it seems to only encourage it. Make it bolder. Crueler. Meaner.

Caleb isn’t even sure he should be calling the creature a mage anymore. With each passing night, the creature’s form becomes more and more inhuman, not bothering to keep up the illusion of a mortal form now that Caleb’s admitted to knowing its true nature. 

At least in recent dreams the creature has been decent enough to drop its Mollymauk disguise. Small mercies. Caleb would be grateful, except for the fact this creature is every single terrible thing that can haunt him, all rolled into one.

“Is this supposed to threaten me?” the creature had said one night, rows of jagged teeth peering through a gaping maw. 

Through a thousand layers of sleep and muddled nerves, Caleb could feel the creature’s eyes searching. It seemed to find what it was looking for, and with a faint prickling at the back of his neck, Caleb could feel the creature’s eyes settle onto the sleeping form of Essek. 

Essek, who, in the real world, was currently wrapped safely and warmly in Caleb’s arms. He held onto the man like a shield.

“Is the presence of one drow man meant to shy me away from that which I have worked so hard to claim?” 

As it laughed, the creature’s teeth crackled against each other, the sound grating like splintered wood.

“Would you like me to cower? At the little power you hold, the power I sap away with each passing moment? Forgive me for not shrinking away at the drow man’s measly talents. I warned you, didn’t I? I warned you, Mr. Widogast. You are no match for me.”

For many nights it has been like this. Constant torment, sharp words and sharper claws. And each time, Caleb argued back. He spit out counters, words of warning. He insisted there is still fight left within him. Deep within.

But time goes on. And the torment has not relented. What could he say, what could he do, to argue with this creature? With this monster? This time, the only counter that came to mind was silence. Caleb curled in tighter, feeling the echoes of Essek’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips. The sound was already so ingrained into his mind, Caleb hardly had any trouble at all bringing it to echo around them

The creature glanced around, feeling remnants of those same echoes. He smiled wider. “Defiance. Is that how it shall be? Go on, then. Enjoy your time with him while you can. You’ll regret your closeness when I tear him apart with your own two hands.”

And then, like every other night, Caleb woke up. And he got ready for the day, and so on and so forth. It repeats. And it shall repeat. Of this, Caleb has no doubts.

He just hopes tonight the creature will not make good on it’s threats.

As Caleb continues to lose himself in his thoughts, he finds his vision starting to blur, blacking out. He just catches his own head before it can slip and slam into the wooden desk they’ve been sitting at.

When he raises his eyes back up, Essek is watching him with clear concern. 

“Caleb? Are you alright?”

The image of the creature swims and flares, burned somewhere in the back of his eyes. It imposes itself over Essek’s form, dark and shadowed, swallowing the light around him. He can still hear it laughing, hear its terrible teeth and terrible claws dragging across the floor, reaching out with god-like strength to grab him and—

No, he isn’t here. Caleb is in the library, with Essek. In the real world. 

There are no monsters here. 

Except there are, a little voice sings.

Caleb blinks for a few moments, refocusing his vision. “I think so,” he slurs. “I feel faint.”

Essek’s frown worsens. Caleb wishes he could lie and comfort him further, but no such words form. He can barely keep himself from wincing against the pounding pain in his head.

With the pain this strong, Caleb can hardly focus on the book nearly one foot in front of him. He squints at the pages, the words seeming to dance across the page, strokes of ink darkening and bleeding into one another.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” Essek whispers. The words swim more until they are nothing but a garbled mess.

“Nein. I...I wish to keep working. We have found plenty of useful information, and with these books from Yussah I’m sure we will find some sort of weakness soon—”

“My love, the books can wait,” Essek urges. 

Caleb covers the pages with his hands. He can still see the ink beneath his fingers, slithering across the parchment like soot-stained vipers.

“Caleb?”

He clenches his fist on the page, the parchment crinkling beneath his grip. “I do not have time to waste. We do not have time to waste. I can not sit idly by, even for a moment, if it means we allow this creature the upper hand. Even if I could, the Queen demands results from us.”

Essek’s expression sours at the mention of her. He’s taken to his re-assignment rather bitterly. “Listen, Caleb, my dear, I understand your hurry. I understand your frustrations. I want this creature out of our sights as soon as possible, but it will be all for naught if you are exhausted and broken by the end of it.”

Caleb relaxes his grip just before the page can tear from the book itself. “And the Queen—”

“The Queen can wait,” Essek snaps. “We’ve been at this for days now. If she wants results that badly, she can sift through the fables and folklore herself.”

From across the room, Caleb can see Beau and Jester glancing over, eyes wide at Essek’s outburst. They’ve been helping out with research for the past few weeks, and while Caleb is infinitely grateful for the help, a small part of him wishes they could be alone for moments like these. 

However, what they don't know—and what Caleb intends to keep to himself—is that Essek has been ranting on these same sentiments for days now. 

Little comments, nothing treasonous, but still increasingly critical on the Queen’s decision and on his own demotion.

Careful, Shadowhand. The queen had warned. Know your place.

Caleb asked him about it, later that night. After all, the Nein were worried—they didn’t like Essek’s tone, they didn’t like the way anger rolled off of him in waves. Didn’t like how Caleb was so quick to defend him, or how quickly Caleb was willing to forgive and overlook the incident.

It ate away at him, just a bit. Enough for Caleb to speak to Essek about it, to clear the air.

She was just saving face, Essek had explained. I spoke out against her, publicly, and while she encourages such counsel in private, it was simply the wrong place for me to do so. Nothing more. She needn’t take it that far.

It did nothing to calm his worries.

Those worries only grow with each passing day. To be honest, they really should speak on it more. 

But how can they?

Now that Essek is reassigned to the apprehension of this creature, they spend almost every hour of the day together, holed up in Essek’s library and researching. There isn’t much room for wariness when the subject of your concern is sitting three feet away, and is also perhaps holding your hand beneath the table. Horribly impractical. Caleb finds himself enjoying it far more than he logically should.

Essek leans a little closer, pushing the book out of Caleb’s reach. “You seem distracted. A break might do us both well. Beauregard and Jester can manage on their own for a while.”

Caleb runs a hand through his hair. “We are getting close to a solution—”

“And that solution will still be found if you take just a few moments of rest.”

Caleb gives Essek a look, one the other man returns with an urging smile. 

They have been making good progress, that much is true. They’ve found countless books and sketches detailing the same creature, or at least one similar enough to the foe currently battling within Caleb’s mind. Much of the details they have found line up with Allura’s own research—a trickster, originating from a demi-plane, one that requires a vessel to maintain its presence. 

And yet, despite their endless searching, no word on a weakness.

Essek’s hand drifts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Caleb’s ear. “Besides. Perhaps I’d like you to stare a little more at me and a little less at these books. You’ve been working too much lately,” he says with a languid smile.

Caleb can’t help himself from bristling away from the touch, glancing to the others from across the room. Beau and Jester haven’t seemed to notice their exchange. They aimlessly pass books down from the towering library shelves without so much as a glance their way. Caleb has no reason to worry. No reason to be so paranoid.

Essek’s hand falls. He follows Caleb’s gaze. “You still haven’t told them?”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek. “As I said before, Jester knows. I just...I haven’t gotten around to speaking with the others yet—”

“Even Beauregard? It's been weeks. I thought you said you wanted them to know,” Essek counters. It doesn’t sound hurt, or upset, just a little tempered. Tired.

“I do. And they will know. I am just unsure how they will react,” Caleb says, nearly sweating at the thought. 

He shouldn’t feel so nervous. After all, Jester is already more than familiar about his relationship with Essek. She’s been harping him for every detail of gossip she can, going on tangents laced with completely unrequested and rather licentious advice.

Caleb said so himself—they are his family, the others deserve to know.

But that was before. This is now. Things are different, there are far more reasons to be wary, and Caleb can’t help the guilt that churns inside him despite his wishes to enjoy these moments with Essek. 

When he looks back, Essek is still staring, a slight frown upon his face.

“We...We should continue our research,” Caleb says, pulling a book closer into his lap. “I can push through.”

Essek sighs, furrowing his brow. “I suppose...but really, do not push yourself too much, If you need anything—”

“I will let you know. I promise.”

Essek seems unconvinced. Caleb swallows the hesitancy in his throat, reaching over to grab Essek’s hand in his, giving a light squeeze. Over the table.

“I promise,” he repeats.

It's hours later when they wrap up their research for the day, gathering loose papers into various bindings and collecting the scattered tomes that lay upon the floor.

Jester keeps one book with her, a cloth-bound journal stained rouge with powders. She grins at Caleb when he asks her about it. 

“Oh, this? It’s just sketches and stuff. I was gonna use it as reference for some of my drawings to the Traveler, to see if maybe he would know the creature if I drew it for him. The captions are even written in infernal, so I could totally translate it or whatever,” she says cheerily.

Essek’s brow furrows, listening in on their conversation, and Caleb sees his hand still in the air. The books he was using mage hand to place back upon the shelves stop to hover just above their heads.

“Infernal?” he echoes.

Jester tilts her head, looking down at the book. “I mean, technically all tieflings know infernal, it's not that special—”

Essek’s brow furrows further, the books in the air continuing to float back into their places, tucking themselves neatly into the empty shelf-slots. “It is...quite rare, to see a folklore book written in infernal. It is not a culture with deep community roots.”

Caleb nods. “That is true. It is a very unique find, to say the least. There may be something in there we overlooked.”

Beau elbows Jester lightly. “Nice work, Jes.”

Jester giggles, doing a little salute with her free hand. “Wow, okay. I guess I’ll be reporting back to you wizard-y guys if I find something. At least this book has pictures, so I can probably read it, like, super fast.”

Essek gives her a slight smile. “No need to rush. We have all done plenty of research for today, no? We could use a little break.”

Caleb eyes Essek out of the corner of his eye, but the other man just smiles innocently, as if this turn of events hasn’t fallen perfectly into his plans. Beau is also staring, but Caleb can’t quite pick up on why.

“Maybe we should keep at it. Get through that book as quickly as possible, find out what we can. It feels weird leaving things the way they are,” Beau says, crossing her arms.

Jester nods happily. “We could pick this up later, after dinner? Essek could stay the night again.”

Essek dips his head. “That sounds lovely, Jester. I’ll take you up on that. ”

Caleb nods as well. “I feel the same, Beau. It is...difficult, the very least, to feel safe while things remain the way they are.”

Essek nods. “I don’t believe you will be truly safe until this is all over. Until that creature is captured and taken far, far away from here. Away from you. And I will make sure of that personally.”

They share a smile, but the moment only lasts for a mere moment before Beau’s voice shatters through.

“You mean killed, right?” she says, staring with an odd sort of intensity at Essek.

Caleb nearly forgot she was there. But her gaze holds steady, frame tense, as she watches Essek with careful anticipation. As if she were bracing herself. For what?

Essek sighs, gestures vaguely. “Yes, Beauregard. That is what I meant. Are the semantics really necessary?”

Beau stares, something thoughtful taking over her expression. Against all expectations, she doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t argue, just remains silent and steady. It's incredibly off putting, especially coming from her. Caleb can’t even begin to decipher it.

Jester puts forth a nervous smile. “Sheesh, I guess all this reading is really making us stressed out, yeah? Maybe we should head back already—”

Beau doesn’t even look her way. “Not now, Jes.”

Jester shrinks back, wringing her hands.

What is happening?

And then, just when he thought it couldn’t get any stranger, Beau’s stare shifts. And her gaze lands right on Caleb. It’s unreadable, spare for one detail within her eyes—expectancy. She’s waiting for an answer. From him .

It takes a few moments for Caleb’s brain to catch up, and a few moments longer for the splitting migraine in his head to subside long enough for any useful thoughts to surface.

Caleb’s mouth settles into a frown. “It is fine, ja? You know what he meant.”

Beau’s expression splinters, body tensing even tighter. “Right, I know, I just—can I speak to you for a sec? Alone?”

She’s glancing back and forth between the two, each pendulum swing of her gaze sending waves of nausea straight to Caleb’s stomach. Beau seems...worried. More than that, she seems afraid. And Caleb doesn’t like what that expression holds. Not for him, nor for Essek.

The gaze doesn’t waver the longer he waits. If anything, it tightens focus. Caleb glances over to Essek, only to find the other man sighing lightly.

“I can take a hint, don’t worry,” Essek says, resignation in his tone. He gathers up the books in his hands. “I’ll head off with Jester.”

The tiefling nods hesitantly. “Yeah. We’ll meet you back at the house.”

Beau gives them a terse nod. “Right. Thanks. We won’t be long.”

Essek holds her gaze for a moment, eyes narrowing. But the moment passes as all others do, and he begins heading off for the door with Jester at his heels. 

The two wait patiently for Essek and Jester to make their way across the library, watching the cleric give them a little thumbs-up from the doorway before she shuts it behind her. And then that leaves just Beau, Caleb, and the thousands of towering bookshelves around them.

Once Beau is sure the two are truly out of earshot, she forcibly spins Caleb around, gripping his shoulders with both hands.

“Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage. Or if he’s brainwashed you. Fuck, are you brainwashed?” she asks, and the seriousness of her tone is flustering enough on its own.

Caleb doesn’t want to think about how red his face is. “Wh- Scheiße, no, of course not, why would—”

“Do you want me to get Jester to do a greater restoration, just to be safe?”

“Beauregard. ”

She makes a distressed sort of sound, like a wounded animal. “Then please explain what the fuck that was. Like, what the fuck, Caleb?”

Caleb frowns. “I am...unclear of what you are asking me.”

Beau only groans in response, looking ready to bury her head in the ground. “Please, for the love of the gods, tell me you see something wrong here?”

Caleb looks hesitantly to the door. He isn’t sure what he expected to see, but an answer doesn’t spell itself out for him there. “Really, I’m not quite sure I follow—”

“Essek. The whole captured and killed slip-up,” she says, drawing out the words like Caleb only has one working ear. It's infuriating.

“What of it? He misspoke. I see no reason to make such a big deal about it,” Caleb snaps back.

“Yea, see, maybe I’d be more inclined to believe him if he didn’t pull that exact same shit in court the other day. I mean, that's what got him demoted in the first place, right? He wants the creature captured, even though the literal fucking Queen and nearly everyone else on the fucking planet says we should just kill the damned thing. No one can make a mistake twice, not when its that fucking convenient. Even after he’s been punished for thinking otherwise, he still is geared toward the same goal he always has. And are you really going to stand here and tell me you don’t see a problem with that?”

Caleb swallows. Ignores how every word feels like a kick in the ribs. “I mean, I am worried. It would be a lie to say I don’t feel the least bit unsettled. But I trust Essek. And I know he has my best interest at heart, and would not do anything to jeopardize my life. Whatever reasons he has, I’m sure he can justify them.”

“I’m sure ? What the fuck does that mean, I’m sure ?  We hardly know him, how can you be sure?” she asks. It feels like a test. 

Quite frankly, Caleb is tired of being interrogated.

He rolls his next words carefully, and somehow they come out coated in venom and far harsher than anything he could have prepared beforehand.

“You hardly know him. I can be sure because unlike you all, he actually trusts me to make the right choices. And I trust him to do the same.”

Beau takes a step back then, recoiling. He can see the words slowly filtering through her mind, drop by drop, like rancid water soaking through cloth. He can see her sifting through the bullshit for some logic. She hardly seems to find a droplet of sense amongst all of his madness.

“Oh. Oh no. You’re shitting me, right? Are you two sleeping together?”

She’s wearing the smile of someone going through all of the five stages of grief at once. It's a bit manic, a bit dangerous. If Caleb weren’t so worn-out from the creature’s torment, he’s sure his body would be in fight-or-flight mode.

Caleb stares down at the carpet. “Yes. Well, I mean. Not in the way you speak of. We are not sleeping together . He is...courting me, I suppose? Point being, he cares about me. Deeply. And if you truly cared for me as he does, you would not be treating me like I am a child and questioning my every move. Sometimes I feel like you are only so critical of Essek because you don’t trust me .”

Beau steps forward, re-assuming her grip on his shoulders. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You don’t need me to tell you this is a bad idea, right? Like, do I need to give the whole he’s bad news talk like we’re fucking teenagers and this is your first boyfriend?”

The word boyfriend sends a little panicked thrill to Caleb’s stomach that he smothers near instantly. Not the time. He takes a step back, pulling himself out of her reach. “What goes on between Essek and I is no one's business but our own.”

She rolls her eyes then, baring her teeth as she prepares another counter. “For fuck’s sake, this isn’t just about you two anymore, I—”

“I’m done arguing,” he announces, probably uselessly, considering how Beau seems ready to drive her fist through the wall.

Regardless, she lets him go. Beau doesn’t call out when he pushes past her, doesn’t say a word as he makes a break for the door, leaving a trail of scattered papers in his wake.

She even lets him slam the door behind him, and doesn’t comment on how that's probably the most childish thing Caleb has done all day.

There’s a woman at the door.

It shouldn’t startle Caleb so much; they’re well-known in Rosohna and it isn’t unusual to see a drow family gathered on their lawn once in a while, glancing up in awe at their divine tree. Or even a handful of local nobles, coming to pay their courtesies to the guests of the Bright Queen and Den Theylss.

But this visitor is far unlike any others they've received.

Caleb opens the door to find a drow woman, hair thin as spider-silk, standing head-to-toe in gilded armour. She must be a soldier of some kind, perhaps a guard, judging by the intricacy of the silver she dons. Even more imposing is the massive great-axe she wields, strapped to her back by fine leather chords.

Caleb blinks at her. She’s more than a few feet shorter, and he nearly has to lean down to meet her eyes properly. “Hallo . Can I help you?”

“Hello,” she says, far more cheerful than any soldiers Caleb has met in his life. “Perhaps you can. I am looking to speak with the Mighty Nein.”

Caleb belatedly realizes he is the worst among them to be attending to very official-looking strangers at their door. 

Lucky for him, the other’s aren’t too far off. It's a few hours before their dinner with Essek, and Beau and Fjord are left around the house while the others do some last-minute shopping. Caleb could not be more grateful. Sensing his discomfort, Beau and Fjord step into the doorframe as well, crowding in around Caleb until they block the entrance fully.

The woman glances across the three. “Ah. Well, I assumed by the tree, but I’m guessing I’ve found the right address considering how colourful you are. Your reputation proceeds you, Mighty Nein.”

She says it with a smile. Whatever levity her statement aimed to provide only digs a deeper pit of worry in Caleb’s stomach. 

“Yeah, hi, that’s us, what do you want?” Beau asks, and the smaller woman goes blank-faced at the monk’s bluntness.

As she straightens back up, pulling together some semblance of officiality, Caleb catches a proper glimpse at the emblem emblazoned across her breastplate. A Luxon beacon.

“My name is Khaya. I am a Lieutenant, operating on the orders of Dusk Captain Quana. I only wish to ask a few questions to the Mighty Nein. May I come in?"

The name sends alarm bells screeching through Caleb’s mind. “Captain Quana? The Bright Queen’s partner?”

The woman, Khaya, strains to keep up her smile. There’s something else to her attitude, something guarded and oddly familiar. “The very same. You see, It has been noted that the Shadowhand spends an awful lot of time at your abode.”

The pit in Caleb’s stomach sinks further.

Unaware, the soldier carries on. “I’ve been tasked to simply keep an eye. Check in every few days, inquire on the progress of your research. Nothing too serious, though the task is still necessary for posterity's sake, of course.”

“You're here...to spy on Essek?" Beau asks, narrowing her eyes. She casts a sideways glance to Caleb, one he dutifully ignores.

Khaya frowns. “I'm not sure spy is the appropriate term. That is more Essek's specialty than mine, no?"

She gives a polite little laugh at the joke, a laugh that is only greeted with silence.

The soldier clears her throat. "Right, well, I'll just be coming every few days to make a report. Really just surface-level questions, shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes. I understand you are very busy people.”

The three share a look, one that conveys the exact same message: this is bad news .

Caleb’s father was a soldier, and his father before him. He knows what it is like, to be in that life. To live within that headspace. And thus, Caleb can say with certainty that this woman will be relentless in obtaining what her superiors are after. No matter what danger that may pose for Essek.

Khaya’s eyes scan across their faces, catching sight of their trepidation. Her expression strains. “I really just needed to ask a couple questions, it shouldn’t take long at all, is there any way I could—”

“Will you excuse us a moment?” Caleb cuts in, offering a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

He doesn’t wait for a response before slamming the door shut. When Caleb spins around, pressing his back against the door’s wooden frame, he finds Beau and Fjord with the same panic laced through their expressions.

To be fair, Beau’s look leans a little more towards I told you so , but Caleb looks away too quickly for him to feel the full weight of it.

“We can’t just leave her out there, right?” Fjord says, glancing over Caleb’s shoulder as if the door wasn’t shut behind him.

Beau huffs. “What the fuck is she even doing here? I know the Queen wanted to send us reinforcements, but I’m not gonna be acting all buddy-buddy with her little half-spy-half-bodyguards.”

Caleb takes a deep breath in. Prays the door isn’t as thin as he worries it is. “We have to give her some kind of answer. If we don’t, that just makes the Dusk Captain more suspicious of Essek and the rest of us.”

“So, what should we do,” Fjord begins, throwing his hands up, “tell her Oh, now's not a good time, because apparently we are important enough to decide when the Queen—who’s country we live in, if you’ve forgotten—needs to gather information from us?”

Caleb frowns at the sarcasm. “Technically, it is the Dusk Captain, not the Queen.”

Beau gives him another look. Caleb turns his chin away. Pretends he doesn’t feel her stare burning a hole in the side of his head.

She sighs. It carries the weight of the world with it. “We’re gonna get nowhere like this. Leave it to me.”

Before Fjord or Caleb can argue, she’s already shoving Caleb out of the way, prying the door open.

The woman still stands, locked into the same stiff position she stood in before.

Beau pushes herself to the forefront, one hand gripping tightly to the doorknob and the other closing the gap between herself and the doorframe. Taking up as much space as possible.

“Yeah, so, hate to bring bad news,” she starts, and the soldier is already staring in slight panic, “but we only make reports directly to the Bright Queen and Essek, so if your captain or whatever had any questions, she can talk it out with her.”

Khaya’s expression falters, twitching into impatience. “I am trying to make this as painless for you all as I can, but I really just have to gather the information I need and depart. If you’re worried about your friend, please know I hold no ill will towards—”

Beauregard doesn’t let her finish, sighing deeply. “Look, I really feel for you here, but you can just tell Quana to send us a message or whatever, we have someone capable of sending back—”

Khaya’s expression only hardens. “There is no need to be difficult. If it helps, Verin will be overseeing my dispatch personally, so you can be sure there will be nothing terribly negative brought upon his den—”

Beau freezes for a moment, scrunching up her face in confusion. “Hold on, Verin?”

The woman, Khaya, takes a few moments to steady herself. She sighs, and it oddly sounds like relief. “Yes, Verin. Captain Theylss is my commander.”

Beau opens the door wider, allowing Caleb and Fjord to peer back through. “Captain Theylss? Captain Verin Theylss? I thought you said the Dusk Captain is the commander?”

“Of the whole army , yes. For light’s sake, Verin is the Taskhand of my squadron. Out in Bazzoxan,” Khaya says, as if they are the ones speaking nonsense and not her. "So you see, I have no ill will to hold against his kin. Verin has spoken very highly of the Shadowhand.”

Caleb steps forward cautiously, Beau moving aside to allow him to fully face the soldier. “I...I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. We are not familiar with a Verin Theylss.”

Khaya didn’t seem to expect that. There’s a frown on her face, but it is rapidly melting from annoyed back into cautious confusement.  

“I was told you are well-acquainted with Shadowhand Essek. Have you not been introduced to his brother yet?”

Suddenly the room has gotten very, very cold, and despite the heavy Xhorhasian coat Caleb wears, a chill creeps itself across his neck, prickling at his skin.

“Nein. We did not know Essek had a brother,” Caleb replies, and his voice sounds hollow even to him.

Essek has a brother. 

In Bazzoxan. 

He never mentioned him. Not once.

There’s probably a logical reason, Caleb tells himself. There’s an explanation. After all, Caleb hasn’t mentioned any details of his family history to Essek just yet. The other man only knows Caleb’s mother’s name, Una , because it is part of a spell. He only knows his father’s name because Caleb scryed upon him. There is a perfectly logical reason for Verin Theylss to not be brought to his attention. Perhaps they are not close. Perhaps they aren’t on speaking terms.

But then again, Caleb’s family and what's left of it is thousands of miles away.

And they are hardly a few cities from an entire squadron run by Essek’s direct relative. They’ve been to Bazzoxan. Multiple times.

Khaya opens her mouth once more, staring with hesitance at the confused look currently cycling through Caleb’s expression. Before she can get a word out, Fjord pushes himself to the forefront. 

“You know, now really isn’t the best time for questions. Could you come back in maybe a day or two? As you mentioned, we are busy people,” he says hurriedly, accent smoothing out his words far better than Caleb’s could.

Beau’s eyeing Caleb with a clouded expression, and he can swear a twinge of sympathy rests within it. He hates it. Caleb would much rather face her anger than whatever this paltry expression aims to show for him.

“We are a bit busy today, but I would be happy to assist you another time” Caleb begins, ignoring the looks of confusion thrown his way. “May I ask, is this meant to be kept a secret from the Shadowhand?”

Khaya tenses, and that is all the answer Caleb needs.

He gives the woman a small nod. “I...I understand. We will be discreet, in that case. No reason to stir up needless trouble, after all.” 

Caleb catches a glimpse of Beau and Fjord in the corner of his eye, despite his efforts to avoid looking at them entirely. He sees Beau mouthing What the fuck. Caleb doesn’t have an answer for her.

The soldier, of course, looks pleased by this turn of events. After all, she gets to run back to her superiors with good news. She gives him a slight bow, silver armour nearly blinding as the lantern light reflects upon it.

“I look forward to working with you, Mighty Nein,” she says.

It seems Caleb can still lie with his expressions, as a polite smile surfaces without issue.

Dinner goes about as well as can be expected. The meal hasn’t even had time to cool before Beau speaks up, shouting across the table at Essek.

“So. What’s the deal with you and Captain Verin ?”

Essek nearly spits out his water, scrambling to regain composure. 

Caleb can only stare in abject horror as a smug look takes over Beau’s expression, as if the mere sight of Essek startled is enough to prove her point. Caleb has a sinking feeling she’s already come to her own conclusions, if their exchange in the library is anything to go off of. 

He needs to end this now , before it can get out of hand.

Caleb takes in a slow breath, holding tight on the glass of water before him. “Perhaps this is a bad time to speak of such topics. We are having dinner.”

Beau shoots him a glare, sharp and thin. “Then, tell me Caleb, when would be a good time? I don’t see why he can’t answer the question now.”

The entire room seems to be on edge all of a sudden, every pair of eyes trained on Essek’s darkened expression, on the way he nearly shrinks at the mention of this mysterious name. Fjord coughs into his hand awkwardly, the only signal he’s willing to provide to this uncomfortable exchange.

Essek’s seemed to regain his breath by now, placing a hand on Caleb’s arm. “It's fine, I was just...surprised. I did not know you’ve heard of Verin. Tell me, how did you learn of that name?”

Beau is quick to respond. Her glare harshens. “Not important. Why didn’t you mention you have a brother?”

Nott’s eyes go wide. “You have a brother ?”

The rest of the table devolves into similar shades of chaos at that announcement, Essek maintaining the same neutral expression he always keeps in times of turmoil. Caleb hates that, for Essek, this is a time of turmoil.

The drow smooths out his grimace. “We aren’t on speaking terms. I did not think it necessary to mention—”

“You didn’t even tell Caleb . Your own fucking boyfriend.”

Jester inhales sharply from across the table. “ Beau.”

Beau rolls her eyes in response. “Oh, please, as if they were really trying to hide it.”

The rest of the room quiets near instantly, and sudden;y it is no longer Essek they are looking at, but instead they all stare with mixed reception at the increasing redness overtaking Caleb’s expression.

“You two are...dating?” Yasha asks, softly. It sounds...almost happy. She gives them both a light smile, one that Beau contrasts deeply by her deep-set frown.

“Yes. I...I suppose we are,” Caleb replies, as quiet as he can manage.

Beau’s jaw shifts. “Yeah. It’s just great .”

Essek sits up a little straighter at that, tensing at Beau’s rough tone. He reaches down to take Caleb’s hand in his, squeezing till it feels nearly painful. He can tell an argument is incoming, and it takes every muscle in Caleb’s body not to slip out of his chair and leave the room immediately.

“Is that going to be a problem, Beauregard? Because, please, if you’d like to explain what makes you think that you have authority over Caleb and I’s relationship, I’d love to hear it,” Essek challenges. 

The monk leans back further in her chair, a wicked grin surfacing. “Oh, I don’t think that at all. I’m just here to call you out on your bullshit , which is something I should have done the moment we left that fucking court room—”

Caduceus stands then, clearing his throat. “Maybe we should all take a second to breathe, there’s a lot going on here and I don’t think any of it’s gonna be all that useful—”

Ignoring the firbolg’s gentle warning, Essek stands, staring down at Beauregard. “ Calling me on my bullshit ? Really? Is that the term you’d like to use? Because honestly, I feel like whining would be a more suitable term. Or perhaps bitching , as you’d so eloquently put it.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, trying to use his grip on Essek’s hand to pull him back down. “Essek, please—”

The other man merely pulls his hand away, keeping his gaze locked on Beau. She sits up straighter then, a fire burning behind her expression.

“Oh. I see how it is. So now we’re getting into the semantics, huh?” Beau asks, tone discordant. “You’re a scholar, right? You tell me. I guess we know that whining and bitching are different, but tell me Essek, are captured and killed the same word? Unless they’ve published a new thesaurus, I didn’t think so.”

Essek frowns at her, furrowing his brow. “What are you even talking about—”

Beau stands as well, fists clenched by her side. “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.”

Caleb stands too, because at this point nearly half the table is standing and he feels like the shadows in the room are ready to swallow him at any given moment.

“That is quite enough, Beauregard,” Caleb snaps, trying his best to keep his voice steady. And yet, she ignores him.

“No no, let’s hear an answer. Are they the same word? Because you know what, you sure as hell seemed to know the difference when the Bright Queen said execute rather than capture , and it still seems like you haven’t gotten it through your thick, fuckin’ skull that—”

Caleb slams his hands on the table, hard enough to shake the cutlery.

“Beauregard . In the hall. Please,” he snaps, nearly shouts, finding far too late the room has shifted into total silence.

He can feel it as the heat in the room simmers down, feels the cold chill of regret already overcoming Essek. The other wizard sits back in his chair, taking a sip of water without so much as another glance Beau’s way.

What Caleb sees there, he does not like.

Her jaw shifts, the fire in her eyes more than a threat. Still, she nods, steps away, and follows.

Once they’re through the door, Caleb realizes he really doesn’t have a plan for what comes next. He feels another argument incoming, though its contents elude him. He thought everything was pretty much covered in the library. He guides Beauregard into his study, closes the door behind him for good measure.

Their footsteps have barely echoed out before Beau opens her mouth.

“What the fuck, Caleb,” she hisses.

Caleb winces, glancing back at the door to be sure it's closed. “I know, I know—”

“Do you? Because at this point, I have no fucking clue what’s running through your mind,” she says, taking a step forward. “I warned you. I told you he was bad news, and even after we find out he's been lying to our faces for months you're still ready to stick your neck out for him.”

Caleb presses a palm to his temple, already feeling the oncoming migraine. “Beauregard, I know that he’s been acting strange but this isn’t like him. You went too far there. As did he. I’m sure if we spoke to him calmly, rationally, then he’d—”

“No, fuck that,” Beau jumps in quickly. “I’m done talking to him. Not until we put a zone of truth on his ass, cause at this point? I can’t trust a single fucking word he says.”

The moment freezes, sending a chill down his spine. “A truth spell? You want to put a truth spell on him?”

Beau rolls her eyes. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Is that the only reason you trust me? Because I can not lie to you? Because I am physically incapable of doing so?” Caleb says, each question raising his voice higher and higher.

“For fuck’s sake, I didn’t—”

“I am not sure what else I have to prove to you, Beauregard. I don’t believe I’ll ever reach a point where you trust me not to be a total fuck-up, or to make the wrong decision. Despite my insistence, you have not trusted Essek since day one. And I can no longer tell whether it is due to Essek's behaviour, or the fact you just can't trust me not to make a complete ass of myself.”

She flinches back at that, staring at him with hurt in her eyes and a square-set to her jaw. “I don’t want you to get hurt , asshole. I trust you, but—"

"But what ?" Caleb shouts.

"But he's manipulating you! All of us, maybe! Even if there’s good intentions, he’s still hiding things!”

Caleb stares at her incredulously, taking in a breath and holding it. “We are all hiding things. You did not have to argue on my behalf, not for something like this.”

Beau searches his face for a long minute, before releasing into a heavy sigh. “Look, man, I didn’t mean to jump you like this. I didn’t mean to go off on Essek either, I just..I’m just worried.”

Caleb presses against the wall, slowly sliding downwards until he reaches the floor.

“I am too,” he says, and feels the weight that lies behind each word.

Beau takes a few steps forward, stopping to stand at the foot of Caleb’s pathetic display.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Beau says.. Caleb wishes he could disagree.

Instead, he leans his head back against the wall, hitting the plaster with a dull thud . “I don’t know what else to do, Beauregard. It is hard to force myself to think of such things when...well, you know.”

Beau rubs the back of her neck. “I get it. But look, there’s still time. Take a breather and...reevaluate, I guess. I mean, you haven’t made any bad decisions yet, right?”

The answer comes easy. “None that I regret.”

Beau frowns. “Bad decisions are still bad. Even if you don’t regret them now, you might later.”

“Time will tell,” Caleb says, distractedly reaching for Frumpkin as the cat strolls by. “For now I am happy. He makes me happy.”

Frumpkin pads back and forth across the carpet before him, purring loud enough to drown out the buzzing in Caleb’s ears. If their connection were still upheld, he’d be sure the cat was mocking him. Teasing him for how soft he’s become. Lucky for him, no magic, no telepathic bond, no know-it-all fey-cat to make fun of his romantic exploits.

Beau shifts, crossing her arms tighter. “Look, man, I’m really trying to be optimistic and shit here. But I’m not a fan of ignoring warning signs. First he’s acting all sketchy, next he’s arguing with the Bright Queen or whatever, and now he’s keeping secrets from us—”

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “If this about Verin—”

“I don't give a shit about that. My concern revolves around right here. Right now. He’s lying to us, very clearly has another angle to this whole situation, and it's bad news. For a while, back in that druid village, I thought we might’ve been friends. You’re definitely my friend. But something isn’t right. I know you’re not stupid Caleb, so think here.”

“I understand. I truly do,” Caleb says. His nails dig deep into his own arm. “But how can I accuse him of such horrible things when he has been nothing but kind, and warm, and gentle to me?”

Beau doesn’t say anything to that, instead watching him with a clouded expression. 

“Are you in love with him?” she asks, and the words pierce like a javelin.

“I don’t know yet,” Caleb replies. “I could be. I might be. I haven’t given myself enough time to think on it.”

A beat of silence.

And then another. 

“Is he in love with you?”

Caleb buries his face in his hands. “Probably. Gods , I am not sure. I hope so. Is it bad to say I hope so? Things would be so much easier if I could be sure we were both helplessly in love. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to worry so much.”

Beau shifts in place. "Look, I...maybe you're right, and I have been a bit harsh on you. On Essek too. I'm just worried. But...if he really makes you happy, then I don't wanna get in the way of that.”

Caleb forces himself to pull his face free. He gives her a weak smile. “Thank you, Beauregard.”

She grumbles something under her breath, kicking lightly at his shin. “Yeah yeah. Man, I told you not to go soft on me. Look, how about we go back to the others for now. Besides, they're gonna start worrying if we stay away any longer."

Before he can respond, Frumpkin scuttles away, with an urgency previously unseen from the fey cat. Caleb frowns, tries to follow the cat’s movements with his eyes, but all he catches is a glimpse of tail darting down the hallway, towards the kitchen.

“Caleb?” Beau asks, nudging him with her boot.

“Wohin gehst du?” Caleb mutters after Frumpkin, but all he feels in response is a creeping cold inching down his neck.

He tries reaching for the space before him, past his vision, but his arms can’t quite stretch out that far. He tries to snap, to call Frumpkin’s attention back, but his fingers just slip and make no sound at all.

“Caleb .”

He stammers for a few moments, the room spinning so much Caleb can’t keep his eyes focused. “Frumpkin...he just—”

“He ran down the hall, yeah, are you okay?” Beau cuts in, crouching down to his side. “You seem exhausted as fuck. How much did you sleep last night?”

“Not at all,” Caleb blurts out, as per the spell’s demands. And then, to make matters worse,  “I spent the night with Essek.”

Beau’s eyes widen slightly. She lets out a low whistle. “Oh wow. That is...wow, you guys are a lot farther along than I expected. I know I was making jabs about it, but is that, like, an official thing now? You two?”

“I don’t know yet. I try not to think about it,” Caleb replies absently, still squinting at the door. “He is a very good kisser.”

“Too much info,” Beau grumbles, fake gagging.

Caleb furrows his brow, places a palm to his temple. He can't get his eyes to focus properly. “Right, ja , sorry. I blame the spell.”

She still looks sort of grossed out. “Nah. Don’t apologize. You deserve to be happy, or whatever. And if Essek makes you happy, then I don’t want to get in the way of that. As long as it doesn’t put us or you in danger, then you guys can do whatever you want.”

Caleb nods, relieved. “Thank you, again. It means a lot, coming from you.”

Beau cocks a grin. “I’ll still break his fingers if he hurts you, though.”

“He has very nice fingers. Very deft, actually—”

“O-kay , that's enough of that, time to head back to the others, lets go .”

Beau reaches out for his hand, but Caleb is still glancing around for any cat-feet that might be poking out from beneath the table. The dark spaces beneath the furniture only seem to darken further and further the longer he stares.

“I think...I think I need to sleep,” Caleb slurs, turning to reach for Beau’s arm.

He misses her hand a few times, closing his fist around air, before her fingers eventually find his. Beau hauls him up and off the carpet, pulling enough weight to counter the uselessness of Caleb’s limbs. His legs are wobbly when he rises, and Beau stands a little straighter so he can rest his weight against her side. When Caleb tries to take a step on his own, he nearly tumbles back to the ground. 

Beau just manages to catch him before he can smash his head into the coffee table.

“Shit, dude, you’re wasted ,” she says, struggling to hold him upright. "How much were you drinking?"

“I...I did not drink anything,” Caleb mutters, the air in his lungs seeming to tighten with each breath.

Once he manages to right himself, still swaying as if he were on a boat out at sea, Beau places both hands on his shoulders. He’s just conscious enough to watch the colour drain from her face.

“Caleb, fuck, are you okay?”

He tries to respond, but the words get caught in his throat. His legs give out from beneath him, tipping him forward completely into Beau’s arms. She sinks with him, mumbling something in a panicked tone. 

Caleb can’t hear the words. 

He can’t hear anything outside the pounding of his own heartbeat.

She’s shouting now, yelling towards the door, but Caleb’s vision won’t stretch far enough to see who stands beyond the threshold. Beau’s hands grasp at his face, pushing back the hair from his eyes with trembling fingers.

Belatedly does he see the crimson on her fingertips, does he realize she is trying to get his attention as tears drip down her cheeks. Does he realize that it is his blood staining her fingers.

When did he start bleeding? He just feels the same pain in his temple, the same migraines, the same piercing pain he’s felt for days. For weeks.

No.

Wait.

There’s no pain. Not right now, not when there should be. Not when there always has been.

Caleb tries to form words, cries for help, anything , but his tongue sits heavy and leaden within his mouth. He feels no pain. He feels nothing . 

He rests in that in-between of consciousness and unconsciousness for what feels like an eternity, Beau fretting at his side all the while. Caleb wonders why the other’s haven’t come out yet. He tries to look, but every muscle in his body seems to tighten and go stiff, as if the cold clasp of death has already reached him. Beau presses a healing potion to his lips, but he is hardly receptive to it. Caleb chokes on the liquid despite himself, lolling his head to the side.

When he turns, his vision centers on the hallway Frumpkin darted down. He must stay like that for a while, because it's enough for Frumpkin to return. 

The orange fey-cat darts across the hardwood, hopping up to push his head insistently against Caleb’s cheek. Streaks of red marr his fur when the cat pulls backwards.

A humanoid follows quickly after Frumpkin, and even in Caleb’s state he can identify the familiar lithe frame and tousled white hair of Essek.

Beau’s arms tighten around him when Essek nears, and Caleb tries to reach for him against her grip. 

Something is very clearly off, and even in Caleb’s state he can feel the sting of smoke reaching his eyes, see the faint colours of magic casting frantically beyond the doorway. Something is wrong. They are under attack, and Caleb can do nothing but fight for breath. Fight to keep his eyes open for just one moment longer.

He holds onto consciousness just long enough to feel Essek cradle his hand against his chest, using one hand to card gentle fingers through Caleb’s hair. He’s mumbling something. Everyone seems to be mumbling something, now. Essek's face is soot-stained and covered in sweat, and smoke is pouring in from the hallway behind them. What is happening? He can’t tell. He can’t think. Caleb wants to close his eyes so very much, wants to let his body drift into the cold that begs for him.

The colour has drained from Essek’s face, and panic runs rampant in its place.

Caleb tries to tell him it will be okay, but he doesn’t have enough time. The room is fading away, the cold growing colder, his lips struggling to form the words.

It will be okay. Do not worry, lover. I will be okay. 

It doesn’t work, of course.

He still can’t lie.

Chapter Text

The first thing Caleb notices when he wakes up, is that the sheets are different.

It’s an odd thing to focus on, but he can’t help it. They’re warm. And woolen. Frayed at the edges in a nostalgic kind of way. Caleb bunches his hands in them, feeling the scratch of fabric burn against his skin. He’s so used to the sheets in Essek’s bed chambers, those feather-thin silks that he’s spent nearly every night tangled in for the past few weeks.

But these are not Essek’s sheets. Caleb begins to glance up in a panic, coming to the terror-stricken realization that this isn’t even Essek’s room —

“Ah. You’re finally awake,” a voice says, muted in whisper.

His thoughts pause. Freeze. Shift and stir in a smoke-coloured haze, until they settle back on that voice like a tether. And for the first time since his eyes have opened, Caleb becomes aware of the drow man lying in quiet comfort against his chest.

Essek’s arms are neatly crossed, chin resting upon them, just above where Caleb’s heart lies. He can feel, somewhere against his torso, Essek’s heart beating as well. Slow and rhythmic, like the flickers of a dwindling flame. It’s lovely. Peaceful. Why was he so panicked? Caleb can’t remember. He can’t help but reach up to card his fingers through Essek’s hair, strands of white tousled and soft in ways that Caleb finds hard to describe. 

“For a while, I was worried you’d sleep the whole day away,” Essek murmurs, tracing slow circles on Caleb’s chest.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, mein schatz ,” Caleb whispers back. 

Essek smiles, and even through the haze of sleep and smoke he’s as handsome as ever. “That’s fine. As comfy as our bed may be, I’d prefer not to spend all my time within it.”

Caleb laughs lightly. “Did you wait terribly long? It must have been a boring sight, with nothing to look at besides me sleeping.”

Essek hums, and Caleb feels it echo in his chest. “Quite the contrary. How could I complain, when I have such a lovely view to keep me occupied? That way, I could spend each moment thinking about how once you woke, I'd get to do this .”

Essek pushes himself up then, moving forward to press a kiss to Caleb’s lips, smiling all the while. It only takes a moment for Essek to deepen the kiss, Caleb pressing back, feeling Essek’s hands gently cup his face. Warmth fills them both, slow and sweet like honey as they share this moment in the early hours of morning.

It—it is morning, right? 

Caleb breaks from the kiss, his brow furrowing. Usually he’s so keen on matters of time, not a second slipping by that can escape his purview. 

“Caleb?” Essek asks. “What’s wrong?”

Why can’t he find an answer? The thought burns a hole in his mind the longer he lets it sit there. He lost his sense of direction quite some time ago, but Caleb’s sense of time had always stuck with him. Why now? Come to think of it, when did he lose his sense of direction? Even as he sits within this room, he can feel elements of that sense around him. Why would he have lost it in the first place?

When he focuses back in on Essek, the other man is watching him with anxious curiosity. Caleb didn’t mean to worry him. That is the last thing he wants. Perhaps Caleb should just keep these unimportant thoughts for later, his concerns can wait. After all, Essek is here now, and they are together—

Caleb blinks, struggling to keep his eyes focused. Concerns? What were his concerns?

Black spots swirl his vision, churning something nauseous in his stomach. There was something, wasn’t there? He looks down and around him, at Essek, at the bed they lie in, at the sheets that wrap both their bodies—

Ah, yes. The sheets.

They shouldn’t be so comfortable, but Caleb can’t help finding them so. His mind tells them they were a gift. From someone, a relative perhaps, on a birthday long past. They’re warmer than anything Caleb’s been in for months, and in the sunlight they shine a vibrant shade of—

Sunlight.

Sunlight?

That same terror refills his lungs, lurches in Caleb’s chest, and he fights to push himself up. He feels the haze of smoke shatter like glass. There is no sun in Rosohna . And if they are not in Rosohna, then where are they? Why can’t he remember?

Essek nearly falls over at the sudden movement, thrown askew as Caleb scrambles upwards until he is pressed back against the headboard. He stares at the beams of sunlight as if it could burn him on contact.

“Caleb? Caleb, what is it?” Essek asks, trying to push himself back into Caleb’s field of view.

“The sun,” Caleb hisses, staring pointedly at the window across the room. “Something is—something is very wrong. I feel so odd, and there’s—Essek, what happened to the night spell? This is our bed, this is our home, there should not be...there’s sunlight, how is there—”

Essek pinches his eyes shut, taking in a slow breath. “I need you to remain calm. Is it the sunlight? Is that what is making you so worried? I thought you’d prefer the curtains open. I can close them, if you’d like. Would that be better?”

“ Was?” Caleb sputters, head still spinning, still feeling the need to whisper. “That is—that is not the main issue here, why are you—?”

The confusion hits his brain hard enough to cause whiplash, knocking the breath from his lungs. It’s too much to process, and so much at once. There is no sun in Rosohna. Countless drow mages of the Dynasty keep sure of that. And yet, with a gentle yellow-hued cadence, beams of it cast through the window and illuminate the room before him. 

A room that with every passing second becomes clearer and more in-focus. 

This is...this is not Essek’s room. Nor is it Caleb’s room, back in the Xhorhaus. It’s not a room Caleb recognizes at all, muted colours of beige paint and wicker furniture filling the space to the brim with unease. Everything seems to glimmer with an unnatural shine, and it stings Caleb’s eyes just to look at.

He turns back to Essek. Slowly.

“Where...are we?” Caleb asks. 

Essek swallows, eyes darting across Caleb’s face with something like desperation. He lifts his hand then, towards the window, and with barely a muttered word, the ethereal form of Essek’s mage hand draws the curtains shut.

Caleb stares with wide eyes at the other man, at the odd behaviour unravelling before him. He seems... panicked .

“Essek?”

Essek turns back to him with a forced smile. He reaches forward, taking Caleb’s face in his hands, gently pulling his attention back. “It’s gone now, see? You do not need to worry.”

Caleb fights against his grip, chin still resting in Essek’s hand. “I do not understand—”

“Focus on me, my love. That’s better, yes?” Essek repeats urgently. “No need to worry.”

Caleb blinks at him. The fog swirls in his mind, rancidly sweet. But the sun no longer lights up the room, and Caleb wonders why he even felt bothered by it in the first place. What was he so worried about anyway? It doesn’t matter, not now. Essek is here, after all. What else is there to worry about? He can be so paranoid sometimes.

“Yes, that is...that is better,” Caleb mutters, half-distracted. 

“It is a lot to take in, I understand,” Essek soothes, tucking a strand of hair behind Caleb’s ear. “Take a deep breath my love. I love you so much. Won’t you stay with me?”

The more Caleb stares at him, the more he wants to stay. Essek is so warm, and the room is so cold. He—

Cold. 

Caleb remembers cold. 

He remembers, a tension in his hands, his arms, his entire body . He remembers shouting, arguing. He remembers the smell of smoke and loud voices, a pain in his temple unlike any other, something locking his muscles in place and—

An urgency tugs on his thoughts, pulling his strings like a marionette. 

Stop this, it tells him. Open your eyes. 

And he does.

With a rush, he remembers. Months of torment. A creature crafted from shadow, haunting his every word. His every breath. He remembers Essek, and his friends, and his family. He remembers them, under attack. He remembers being helpless. Hopeless. Beauregard, cradling him within her arms. Lying unmoving with blood dripping down his face, consciousness slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

He remembers, and he understands.

“This is another nightmare,” Caleb says with a haunted certainty. He begins to pull back, pulling his arms to his chest. “You are not Essek.”

The smile drifts from Essek’s face. It melts away, trailing down like candle wax as the drow’s expression forms into something much more distant, much more foreign. His eyes are glassy, and Caleb can nearly see his own reflection within them.

“I am Essek,” he insists, with a twinge of sadness. “I’m your Essek. Only yours.”

He feels the smoke creeping back, that multi-coloured haze swelling in the air—

Caleb breaks his eyes away. The smoke dissipates near instantly, and his mind clears. Focuses. He doesn't dare look back, as much as Caleb wants to. There’s clearly something magical going on here, some spellwork affecting his memory—the more he stares at this Essek the more he forgets. He can’t risk it. He keeps his eyes firmly pinned to the wall, his back pressed harsh against the bed frame. 

Caleb takes in a shuddering breath. “What are you doing to me? Where are we?”

Essek sighs deeply. “There is no need to overreact, it was just to keep you calm. It will take some getting used to, but I promise this is for the best. This place will make you happy. I will make you happy. You just need to trust me—”

“You still have not answered me,” Caleb cuts in. He isn’t used to Essek rambling so much. “Where are we?”

Essek hesitates. “It is...difficult to explain.”

Caleb refuses to so much as glance at him. He clenches his jaw. “Try me.”

In the corner of his vision, he watches as Essek shifts, moving to sit with his legs tucked beneath him. He has his hands on his knees, shoulders bowed inwards. As if he were kneeling, begging, for some kind of mercy. The expression on his face is one of pleading, one of desperation. 

“This place...it exists outside of reality. It is within your mind, a corner that has been crafted just for you. I know you’re afraid. I know this is all very confusing,” Essek begins. “But please keep in mind, I would never do anything to put you in danger. Ever. I am not that creature. I promise, this is for the best. You’ll see that eventually.”

Caleb’s eyes stray, moving from the wall to the window. He can still see splinters of sunlight shining through, illuminating the curtain from behind.

Essek reaches forward, towards Caleb’s hands. “Please look at me, my love. I promise I won’t do that trick again.”

Caleb yanks his hands back before Essek can near them. The other man gives up rather quickly, dropping his hands in his lap with a huff.

“Caleb, please—”

Caleb swallows hard. “Don't. Do not touch me. I can not trust you. You admit, there is a trick. Something you are doing to—to manipulate me. Scheiße, I don’t understand what you are, even if what you say is the truth. But I do know this place is unlike one I have ever seen, and yet I can’t seem to remember how I’ve been brought here. Is that your doing as well? Is that your little trick ?”

Essek sighs, rolling his eyes as if Caleb is merely being dramatic instead of seconds away from hyperventilation. “Not quite. I was...well, I was simply trying to calm you. This place, this room, even me . It is all for you. All yours. I was hoping you’d come to accept that. To give in. But perhaps it may be better for you to see it for yourself.”

Caleb turns then, just enough to catch the sight of Essek in his periphery. “See for myself?”

Essek lets his arms slip back, pushing himself away to give enough room that Caleb can climb off the bed if he wants to. He watches as Essek extends his arm out in a half-sweeping motion, gesturing towards the window in a way that reads Go on, then .

It takes a few moments of hesitation, of slow movements to test the waters and to see what this Essek may do, but once Caleb feels steady enough he gets up from the bed. He keeps his back to Essek despite every instinct shouting otherwise, knowing how much more painful looking can be.

He steps up to the window, reaching for the navy-blue curtains that fall to puddles of fabric on the floor. With a shake to his hands, Caleb draws them apart, wincing as a harsh flash of sunlight fills his vision.

It takes a moment to adjust, for his eyes to grow accustomed to that bright light before he can truly take in what lies beyond the window.

The view he finds is unexpected. And beautiful. And terrifying.

A townscape, resting at the precipice of a beautiful ocean view. The water seems to stretch on for miles, touching the sky at an endless horizon. There’s ships upon the water too, far away and drifting slowly through that deep blue. Caleb leans forward to peer at what lies below the window sill, and what he finds is a quiet and quaint city street, littered with wooden docks that stretch out into the water. The waves crash, licking up the side of the rock and sending sea-spray splattering across the stonework. Even separated by a pane of glass, Caleb can smell traces of the salt-water through the window, can spot speckles of morning dew lining the sill.

This has to be a dream. There is no other explanation.

However, Caleb has not dreamt for months. At least, he hasn’t dreamt anything new. It's all been repeats of his memories, twisted into the same twisting horror each night. This isn’t exactly what he’d call a horror. If the fake Essek can be believed, the creature isn’t even here to torment him, not yet.

He feels Essek step up behind him, feels the other man’s presence mere inches away. He makes no attempt to close the distance between them, something Caleb is immensely grateful for. He’s too stunned to move, too stunned to react to both the window and this dream-Essek at the same time.

The drow leans in, his head just above Caleb’s shoulder, joining him to gaze out at the picturesque view.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, with all the warmth the sunlight seems to lack. “It was made for you, after all. You love the ocean, despite the fire burning within you. I think it’s rather poetic. You first saw it when you were with the Nein, when you first reached Nicodranas. It was barely two months since Molly had passed. Since Caduceus had joined your ranks. It was the first time you’d ever seen the ocean.”

“I never told you that. About any of that,” Caleb replies, voice hollow.

“You didn’t have to,” Essek explains simply, as if he were discussing the weather. “In here, in this place, I know you, Caleb Widogast. As well as you know yourself. I know these things because I love you, Caleb.”

Caleb steps from Essek’s grasp, spinning around to face him. He presses his back hard enough against the window sill to feel splinters, tiny pinpricks threatening to pierce through skin. His eyes are wide, his chest heavy. 

“Stop,” Caleb chokes out. “You—you are not Essek. You can’t just say these things, mocking me. Messing with my mind. You are just some illusion. A fake.”

Essek looks at him like he is a frightened animal, stepping closer with one hand out. He frowns, like Caleb is the one being foolish. Unreasonable.

“Please calm down, I told you I would not do that trick again, I swear to you—”

“ Get away from me ,” Caleb snaps, swinging his arm out, though the motion misses Essek by more than a few inches.

As Caleb lashes out, Essek’s expression falls, shoulders bowing in like a heavy weight was just set upon him. He swallows once, retracting his arm.

There's a heavy moment of silence. Caleb watches with a shake to his frame as the fake-Essek takes in a deep, measured breath. He watches as Essek straightens his spine, composing himself. Caleb isn’t sure what he’s preparing for. But each moment of careful observation leaves him with more questions than answers.

“You wanted to know about this place, yes?” Essek asks, voice measured. Cold. “About what I am, about where you are?”

Caleb clenches his jaw. He doesn’t give any word of confirmation, or even acknowledgement. He just stares.

Essek shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. It feels defensive. Shielding—protective, but Caleb can’t tell of whom.

“When I told you I loved you, that was not a lie,” Essek says, and Caleb has to physically restrain himself from flinching. “I know it is hard to believe. But it is by design. I can not lie to you. I would never.”

Caleb hesitates for a moment. “By design?”

Essek nods slowly, a soft smiling surfacing. “Thanks to the power of that creature, that horrible creature, he’s given us an opportunity to truly find happiness. That’s the true beauty of this place. Here, everything is meant for you. Built for you. Designed to fit any wish or whim you may carry. Including my love.”

A rock settles itself into Caleb’s throat, and sits there, burning. Painful. Wanting. Love .

Essek takes a step forward, extending his arms out to the room around them. “Just look. Do you see, how perfect it all is? Everything, from the books on the shelf to the bedsheets, it is all designed to make you happy. In this place, this neat little corner of your own mind, the creature has given us an eternity to spend in pure bliss. Why wouldn’t you want to stay?”

Caleb isn’t sure when he began shaking his head, but the movement has become violent, hair whipping back and forth and leaving a strain to his neck. “No. No no no no. It is a trap. Just like all the other traps before. Weakening me, taking away my magic, my words, my—”

“The truth spell is gone,” Essek says sharply. “Though it was never a spell to begin with, as you had learned. It was a sickness. And that creature has decided to cure you. I know the adjustment has done quite a toll on your mind, but surely you've noticed the compulsion for truth no longer presides over you?”

Caleb freezes. The cold returns, but it does not feel like danger. It feels like awakening. He feels it wash over him, briney and fickle, clinging to his skin as the cold seeps deeper and deeper through his flesh, soaking until it hits bone.

He barely noticed the spell. Hardly remembered it. But yes, he no longer feels the chains of it around his throat. He no longer feels the scratch of words unsaid deep within his chest. For the first time in many weeks, many months, Caleb’s words are once again his own. 

He swallows. Looks up at Essek. “And my magic?”

The other man merely smiles. And there’s that gesture again, the showman’s signal. Essek watches with a knowing smile.

Still keeping his eyes half on Essek, Caleb lifts his hands, holding them cupped in front of him. As if he were cradling something precious, something small and fragile.

Caleb brings his open palms to his lips, and mutters a few words into them. The words are foreign on his tongue, and even more so in the air. He feels the warm shift of his breath against his skin, and then, even warmer, as his words whisper beyond comprehension. They call to the weave itself, pulling forth magic.

He’s out of practice, words a little off-kilter. Even so. When he pulls his cupped hands away, a fire blooms within them.

Caleb glances at Essek through the fire’s light, still holding it within his palm. 

Essek smiles wider, somehow softer. “See? There is no reason to be so worried. You have your magic here, you have your lies, and to top it all off you have everything you’ve ever wanted. Stay with me, Caleb.”

Caleb swallows hard. “You said this is all in my head. Yet you want me to stay here, with you. With what that creature made for me.”

Essek frowns. “Of course. Isn’t this what you wanted? Anything you dream could be reality. Your parents, your friends, all your aspirations. We could make them come true.”

“It isn’t real,” Caleb insists.

“It’s easier,” Essek counters.

Caleb looks at him, really looks at him, and feels that cold once more return upon his skin. Because he’s right. It would be easier, to live in this world. Where each sight is picturesque and the only thing that limits his happiness is his own imagination.

Except this is not a world of his own creation.

For months, he has suffered beneath this creature. Caleb has endured endless nights of torture, of feeling this creature threaten him and his family, threaten everything he holds dear. He has fought back. Studied and researched, all to put an end to this torment.

And for what, to give up at the prospect of an Essek so pliant and weak-willed that he stammers to gain Caleb’s trust and affection? It’s sickening. Stomach-churning.

He must not have answered for quite some time, because the illusory Essek is watching him with bated breath.

“Caleb? Is everything alright?” he asks, the quiet and concerned murmur sending a ring to his ears.

Is everything alright?

It is not alright. The world is spinning, the world is on fire, the world is wrong . This place is wrong . This damned room, those damned bedsheets, even the damned ocean view that sings to him like a siren. It’s all so beautiful, in a sickening rotten sort of way, a way that pulls at Caleb’s insides and twists hard enough to wring out bile. He wants to crawl within himself, to hide and shut his eyes and scream until he is back where he should be. But what a lovely nightmare this is. What a shame it would be to shatter it all. 

And perhaps that's the true horror. How lovely it all is, how alluring, how easy it felt to stare out at that view forever and feel those arms around him and feel that heartbeat against his skin.

A sour taste fills his mouth. Easier.

“This is just another prison. And no matter how beautiful, a cage is still a cage,” Caleb responds.

Essek looks down at Caleb’s hands. He’s still holding the flame within his palm, the fire licking up his skin harmlessly. “I was hoping you’d be more...understanding. It is unconventional, yes, but this place—”

“Is a prison,” Caleb snaps. “While I waste my time here, my friends are fighting.That is how I left them. They are in danger, correct? Suffering. All to protect me. Each moment I waste here with you, with this illusion , my true reality crumbles. Why would I ever choose you over them? ”

Essek blinks at him, momentarily thrown off guard. As if he expected the answer to come easy. He takes a step forward, closer to Caleb, and he can’t help but hold the fire out in defense. As if a mere flame could do any real damage.

Despite the flame, Essek reaches for his hand, and once he grasps it, Caleb feels the flame snuff out instantly. The arcane hum flowing through his veins smothers, and Caleb feels a wave of pain rush to his temple.

His calls out in anguish, knees giving out from beneath him as Essek’s grip tightens, draining more and more, until Caleb’s brow drenches with sweat and he is left panting.

“Choose?” Essek echoes, emotionless. He twists Caleb’s wrist harder. “That is the thing, my love. I never said you had a choice here.”

Caleb fights against his grip. “ Verdammt. You said you loved me, ja ? Let me go. Let me leave, to be with the real you.”

Essek shifts, using his advantage to push Caleb back against the wall, pinning him with one leg as he remains crouched on the ground. Pain shoots up his spine as he collides with the window ledge, sharp and biting.

Caleb winces. “Scheiße—”

“I am the real Essek. I am everything you know about him, every piece of him you love and cherish,” Essek shouts over him. “Only I would never lie to you, never hurt you. You want to return to the real world so badly? What waits for you there? Lies, betrayal, secrets. A war and a world on fire. Your so-called friends didn’t even trust you to begin with. Essek never trusted you. They all lied, and always will. Why would you choose something so flawed over me?”

Caleb can barely move as the energy saps from his system. Still, he finds enough in him to spit at Essek’s feet, baring his teeth. “Because it is real . Because they have forgiven me for my sins, and I will forgive them for theirs. What they feel for me and what I feel for them goes beyond trust. And you—you are just another monster.”

Essek’s jaw shifts. And then it opens. His lips move with subtlety, muttering a few words into the air. By the time Caleb recognizes the words as magic in nature, it is already too late.

A swirling ball of arcane fire, purple and radiant, swirls just above Essek’s palm.

“A monster, hm?” Essek asks, taunting. “Then I suppose we truly do deserve each other.”

Caleb watches as the fire burns brighter, harsher, the purple light swelling in the air until the heat is near blistering. It fills his eyes, his nose, his ears, the swirling fire, and just as it reels back to finally make contact, reducing him to mere ashes upon the floor—

It stops.

It all does. Within mere moments, the light is gone, and as it fades, so does everything else. Vanishing.

Caleb’s chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, taking in air no longer heated by magic. His arms fall limply by his side, no longer held in the painful grip of an illusory Essek. When he looks up, Essek is gone. As is the room, as if it never existed to begin with.

Instead, in its place, stands a shadowed figure.

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Widogast. I did not expect him to become so...overzealous.”

Caleb keeps his body very still as the creature approaches, watching its form bleed and blend with the shadows around them.

It’s true form is tall, far taller than expected. Even though Caleb lies hunched upon the floor, he is sure this creature would surpass him at any level. Its body is thin and nearly incorporeal, as if it were crafted from shadow itself. Waves of darkness, like lashing tongues, seem to roil off as it shifts in place, like a simmering smoke. Caleb tries to stare at him, to understand fully how it moves and exists, though the only part of its body that can be viewed as solid are it’s eyes. Pearl-like and set deep into the skull, they seem to glow a ghostly white, shining with an abalone incandescent, shifting in the light. Everything about this creature seems to be in constant motion, right down to it’s limbs. All the proportions of its body are skewed, unsettlingly so. Stretched-out, with arms that fall nearly to the floor, and fingers that curl inwards like shrivelling reeds. 

It comes to a halt in front of Caleb, closing the distance with long strides. Despite its lack of facial features, Caleb feels as if it is grinning at him with malice. It raises one arm, and Caleb flinches back near instantly.

The creature lets out a low chuckle, the sound of it reverberating around the room.

“I am not here to attack you,” it says. “I will not harm you. I was hoping to...have a conversation.”

Caleb can feel the hum of arcane energy through his veins, low and pulsing, and he can only pray that it can not be so easily sapped away as the illusory Essek had done. He does not have his spellbooks, and he is severely out of practice. A handful of cantrips is all he has, and Caleb can only pray it will be enough.

The creature keeps his hand out, an offer. Caleb does not take it.

“There is no need for hostility,” The creature says, dropping his hand. 

“You tricked me. And tortured me,” Caleb hisses in reply. 

“I was not masquerading as that drow man, if that makes you feel better. He was just an illusion. Again, apologies for his behaviour, though it was really your control in the matter that—”

“What have you done to my friends?” Caleb asks, remembering the smoke and the fighting. “The last I saw them, they were under attack. Was that your doing?”

He hears the creature breathe, even though its chest does not rise or fall in the slightest. “Not entirely. I have been tracking you for many weeks now. Fortunately for me, you are an easy man to find. But I was followed. Those pesky mages, never knowing when to mind their own business—”

Allura and her council? Caleb wonders. Or perhaps the Dynasty mages, the ones dispatched by the Bright Queen. Caleb was not aware they had actively begun trailing the creature, or that it had been found to begin with. The Nein were never informed of such a development.

“But that is besides the point,” the creature continues. “Your friends can hold their own. Those mages are fools. Hunting me down ever since I’ve escaped from my realm, an escape they allowed. In this place, you needn’t worry about them. Our connection is almost fulfilled, and the quicker you give in to this place, the quicker you can find peace.”

It is a lot to unpack. Caleb takes it slow. “Peace? You call that mockery of Essek peace ? You were behind that, weren’t you?”

There’s a brief pause. The creature reaches out, and with a flick of its wrist, some of the smoke simmering off its body swirls and drifts. It begins to sink to the ground before swelling and rising once more, taking solid form. A motionless Essek stands in place, where the shadow once was. 

His eyes are vacant, glassy. Like a puppet.

“You are not wrong,” the creature continues. He drags one of his long-fingered hands down Essek’s cheek. “I did help craft him, in a way I thought you might enjoy. But it was your own mind that shaped him. He is built out of your wants, after all. You wanted him to be devoted. Loving. Caring. And then, upon realizing your shame, your wants changed. You wanted him to hate you, just to make sure he could. Did it make you feel better, making him fight you? Did that do anything to salve your pride?”

Caleb pinches his eyes shut, nearly out of instinct. “Stop. You are lying. Why would I want him to try and kill me—”

“You didn’t want death. You are many things, but suicidal is not one of them. But I do not lie. You realized how disgusting it was to live in a world with someone so spineless, and that shaped him accordingly. It could have lasted very peacefully if you had not fought so hard against that world. I was trying to do you a favour.”

Slowly, Caleb re-opens his eyes. When he looks, the fake-Essek has vanished once more. “A favour? Why would you ever want to help me?”

The creature crouches, peering closer at Caleb’s face. He can feel its unnaturally cold breath fan out across his face. “Do not misunderstand. I have no interest in helping you. I simply realized that my nightmares were losing their impact upon you. And I was so close, too. No matter. I feel that this strategy will prove far more fruitful. After all, you can not lie that this world is tempting. And it will be far easier to claim you with your cooperation.”

Caleb takes a few moments to mull over the words, comprehension washing over him. “You want me...to agree to be your vessel? Willingly?” he asks, incredulous.

“Precisely,” the creature grins. “I could give you a world you’d want, and you could give me reign over the one you’d abandon. My original intention was to rid you of your mind entirely, erasing you from this realm, though I am generous enough to offer a pleasant alternative. I even cured you, releasing you from that so-called truth spell.”

“Generous? That alternative would inevitably vanish when my friends slaughter you.”

The creature tuts at him. “That is where you are wrong, Mr. Widogast.”

Slowly, the creature rises back to its full height. As he does, the room around them suddenly shifts.

Instead of the pitch-black shadow-realm he had been thrust into, Caleb is once more returned to that dream room. Littered with wicker furniture, with birch-wood shelves lined with tiny porcelain cats. And, of course, the ever-so-charming ocean view.

Caleb stands then, taking a careful look around the room. As he finds his footing, for the first time since entering this room Caleb realises there is no door. 

When Caleb looks back, the creature’s form shifts, and he is once again greeted with the sight of Essek. No illusion this time. The creature wears his lover like a costume, identical in complexion yet so different in the way he carries himself.

Essek’s mouth grins. “I could give you this forever. Seconds would pass like hours, days like years. Just imagine it. An eternity with the man you love. Well, minus all the drama and secrets of course.”

Caleb stares at the ground in place of the painful sight before him. “I would never agree to this. He means far more to me than what you could cheaply imitate.”

“I admit, I am quite shocked. Where has this devotion come from? This man has been the source of much stress for you, has he not?” the creature asks through Essek’s mouth, with Essek’s voice.

Caleb grits his teeth. “He is not as you say—”

“He is a liar. Perhaps that is why you are not willing to give in. Perhaps, in my goal to make you a perfect world, I had chosen the wrong person for you to spend your time with, hm?” the creature muses.

There's a moment of silence, a moment where Caleb watches as dark smoke swirls around the creature’s feet, rising and fading until he no longer wears Essek’s shoes. A new form has taken its place here.

The creature steps closer, and Caleb catches the sight of a spade-tipped tail lashing a few inches above the hardwood floor.

“How about him? Would you stay for him?” Mollymauk’s voice says, soft and sweet.

Caleb’s blood runs cold. “Stop this. Bitte . Take me back, back to my world.”

The creature continues to move until he is close enough to reach for Caleb’s lapels, taking them loosely in either hand.

“Look at me, my dear,” Mollymauk says. “What would you give, for more time with me? Live a life far simpler, with someone you barely got a chance to know. How lovely a world we could make.”

In place of a response, Caleb does something he should have done long ago. Something he should have done the moment he saw that creature, masquerading as a friend he cared for very deeply.

Caleb reels back, and punches Mollymauk straight across the jaw.

The creature staggers back upon contact, instantly clutching at its face. Shadow sprouts from where he makes contact, the illusion flickering and fading. When the creature glances up, his eyes are red and angry. So are Caleb’s knuckles. They burn from the contact, and he feels that same heat burning in his chest as well.

A trail of blood drips from the creature’s fanged lips, a trail it wipes away with the back of its hand.

“You know, they say you wizard-types are quite...weak, physically, but you’ve certainly got some energy in you.”

Caleb should be afraid. He should feel foolish for lashing out instead of using the magic readily at his disposal. But the only thing he can focus on is this creature can bleed. 

He can make it bleed.

“Take me back,” Caleb repeats, insistent. He tries to sound intimidating, though the creature barely bats an eye at his display of confidence.

A snarl spreads across its crimson-stained lips, blood smeared across it’s cheek. The creature’s arms spread out.

“Does this mean nothing to you?” The creature demands. “Does the past mean so little?”

Caleb barely has a chance to react before the creature’s form shifts once more. This form is far shorter, the shadows pooling at its feet as deep purple curls are replaced by dirty-blonde, a feminine form taking shape. Caleb can only feel the dread growing and growing as he sees Mollymauk’s tattoos and lavender skin fade away, replaced by maze-like scars and tanned alabaster.

Astrid stands before him, a wild look in her eyes. Her lip pulls back in just the way he remembers, feral and beautiful and so angry . But someone else is beneath that skin, someone else pulling those muscles into place. 

“What about her?” she asks, taking a step back. “Far in the past, I know, but surely your heart must hold some sentiment for the wizard girl?”

“You are not her,” Caleb replies quickly. Quietly, despite himself. “You are not any of them.”

“Does that matter?” Astrid’s voice snaps. “The real her would never dare to be with you like this. Sure, Essek waits for you in reality, and that tiefling man can exist in your memories and thoughts of what could have been, but she truly lies outside your reach. Corrupted beyond repair.”

The blood on her lips drip to the floor, soaking into the wood below.

Caleb stares at that red for a tense moment, and in that moment, he finally finds it in himself to call upon his magic.

He reels back, the cantrip rolling off his tongue as easy as breathing. The power swells around him, a power he missed dearly. Ash rests upon his tongue as the words take form. At his direction, flame licks up his skin, curling in his palms.

With a yell, he lobs the firebolt from his hand towards Astrid, the creature just dodging in time as it strikes the wall behind him instead. Wood shatters and sends shrapnel scattering across the floor, but Caleb’s eyes keep to the creature’s form as it cloaks itself in shadow, skidding across the floor and coming to a crouch.

It grins, rising as the shadows fall back once more. Astrid’s form melts away, as if heated by the fire, and in its place blue skin and curled ram-horns take shape. Jester’s freckled face peers at him through the smoke.

“A bit out of your league, I know,” Jester’s voice calls out. Her accent is far more subdued that usual, and somehow that makes things far easier. “But it may be worth a shot. What do you think?”

This is not real , he tells himself. These are all illusions . Magic rips itself from Caleb’s throat, harsh and angry, the fire in his palms swirling brighter. “I think you are running out of options.”

He sends the next firebolt directly ahead of him, low enough to char the floor and leave a soot-stained trail in its wake. This one, Caleb tells, is quick enough to make an impact. As it collides with the illusory Jester’s form, smoke plumes out and swells in the room. The room itself seems to fade and flicker, shaking as if an earthquake had just struck beneath them.

From behind the wall of smoke, he hears the creature laugh. In a voice he recognizes, one deep and gravelled from age.

“Perhaps romance wasn’t the right route.”

The form of Caleb’s father steps through, a manic smile upon his face. Nothing like the stoic calmness his true father used to bear. No, this one is just a cheap mockery. He’s heard the creature mock him with this voice before, back in the forest. But Caleb can’t deny the way his lungs constrict, air thinning as he comes face-to-face with a father he had not seen in over a decade.

His father steps closer, until he is only a few feet away. “What would you give for a few hours with him? A few more days, weeks, years. You stole that time from them, after all. Don’t you think you are obligated to even try to pay some of it back?”

Caleb tackles him then, toppling the two to the ground. He puts his full weight upon his father, pinning his neck to the ground with one hand, the other hand conjuring a firebolt inches away from his face.

“I could kill you. I could kill you right now,” Caleb snaps, breath coming out in painful wheezes.

He watches his father’s eyes search for a moment, expression carefully blank. The blue of his eyes, a blue Caleb reflects in his own complexion, reflect the flame’s light back at him. Something painful and guttural twists in Caleb’s chest at that sight.

There’s a moment of pause, before the creature’s form melts into something smaller, a tinier frame. Caleb shifts to keep his balance, still holding that fire close enough to be a real threat. 

But when he looks back down, Caleb’s thoughts stutter. His hands shake. Because he stares into eyes he did not think he’d see again, did not prepare himself to see again.

His mother.

“Bren,” she whispers. “ Mäuschen , would you truly hurt me?”

Her expression is neutral, calm. She nearly smiles at him, the same weathered smile he knows from his memories. Her hand reaches up, running softly down Caleb’s cheek.

“You’ve burned them once. Do you really think you could do it again?” her voice asks.

Caleb doesn’t have an answer. He can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe. He grits his teeth, because he wants to do it. He wants to kill this creature, reduce it to nothing but a bad dream and a stain upon the floor. But not like this. He can’t. He sees his mother, and he can’t.

The flames die down, and Caleb clenches his palm as the spell peters out. The magic on his tongue shrivels up, leaving a sour taste in its wake.

“I...I can not,” he says shakily. Tears drip down from his eyes. He can’t tell when he’d started crying.

His mother smiles, knowingly. Pleased. It only lasts for a moment before that visage fades into something far more monstrous. 

In an instant, Caleb feels himself being shoved back, the creature’s form stretching and expanding until those branch-like limbs are pinning him to the ground. Caleb can’t move, can’t think. All he feels is numb. The smile of his mother brands itself behind his eyelids.

“So that was truly all it took? I should have done that ages ago,” the creature muses. “I must say, I am a bit offended. You fought me, with the magic I returned to you myself. How ungrateful.” 

It’s jaw expands, revealing rows upon rows of jagged teeth. 

“They say stress does awful things to the heart, but they never discuss what it may do to the mind. You should have given in while it was still in your favour,” The creature taunts. “Now, you are too far gone for saving. And I am done trying to please you.”

It rears back, that jaw opening wider and wider until Caleb is staring at nothing but the endless expanse of this creature’s maw. Caleb can only close his eyes, bracing for what is to come. The inevitable. He begins to feel the scrape of those teeth as they close in on his skin, and Caleb can only think how much he wishes he was back home. 

But then it stops. The jaw retracts, and when Caleb’s eyes open, the creature is staring out at a point fixed far beyond Caleb’s view. Glazed and unfocused. He sees something akin to panic settle upon that monstrous face.

“No. That is—this is—” the creature starts, but before it can, the room around them vanishes.

That inky void surfaces, and a few moments later, ethereal chains sprout from the ground. They zip through the open air, slithering like vipers, coming to wrap themselves around the creature’s wrists.

The creature calls out, a truly beast-like cry, as it falls back, pulled by those chains. He shouts words of impossible, and Caleb can only watch on in blank-faced shock as it writhes and lashes against that hold.

With the creature off his chest, it gives enough room for Caleb to scramble back, out of reach.

He only gets a few feet back before he collides with something solid, warm, and encompassing. Arms wrap around him, and Caleb starts the incantation for another cantrip before he recognizes that plum-hued skin and those ink-stained hands.

“I am here, my love,” Essek whispers, holding Caleb tighter. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry.”

Caleb’s head is spinning, tears still flowing freely down his face. Before him, more figures rise from the shadows. These figures wear heavy cloaks of deep red, hooded, arms outstretched to the creature as it fights fruitlessly against the arcane chains that bind him.

Caleb wrenches himself free from Essek’s grasp, spinning around to get a better look at him.

His face is soot-stained, hair tousled and disheveled and falling into his eyes, sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Imperfect. It swells with relief in Caleb’s chest.

“Is that really you?” Caleb asks, barely a whisper.

Essek nods, extending his hand out. “It’s time to go, Caleb. You must leave here. There is much to explain, and I—I...I am so sorry, Caleb. We have to go.”

There’s still a lurch of hesitation that holds back Caleb’s happiness, holding his joy prisoner.

But when he glances back, the room holds no illusions for him. Only these mages, muttering incantations of binding and banishing, swirling a thick blanket of arcane abjuration across the creature’s quickly diminishing form.

He looks back at Essek, so confused but so willing to leave. He puts his hand in Essek’s.

“Okay,” he says.

And he wakes.

Chapter Text

“You’re shivering, dear.” 

Caleb glanced up, startled by the voice—even more so by the person behind it. Molly stood at his feet, framed by firelight and dishevelled in a way that spoke of worries beyond sleep. He looked exhausted. And yet, there was still a hint of a smile on his face. How long had he been standing there?

Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat. “Ah. I...did not realize you were still awake. You should—”

“As big as that coat of yours is, it doesn’t seem to be keeping the chill away,” Molly interrupted, jerking his chin towards the campfire. “There’s plenty of room near the others, you know.”

When Caleb followed his gaze, he could see the silhouetted forms of the party scattered across the clearing. Shak ä ste was no longer around, slipping out during the aftermath, but a wash of calm exhaustion still fell over the group due to his effort and aid. If Caleb squinted, he could just catch sight of Jester huddled between Nott and Beau, the three girls draped with a dusty linen blanket. Fjord was a bit ways off, also covered in cloth himself. They seemed deep in sleep, chests rising and falling with soft breath. Between them all, an empty bedspread lay.

Caleb turned back to Molly. “I am fine. You should go back and rest. Your turn on watch doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Can’t sleep anyway,” Molly said, and it was at that moment Caleb noticed the bottle in his hand. “And besides, I thought you could use some company to help pass the time.”

Without waiting for a response, Molly sat down in the dirt beside him. He held out the bottle, the liquid inside sloshing from the movement. Caleb couldn’t tell if Molly’s strangeness was due to the drink inside, or factors beyond his current knowledge. After all, it had only been a month that they knew each other.

Molly must have noted Caleb’s staring, because he held the bottle out towards him.

“It’s just whisky,” he explained. In the dim light, the bottle shone a copper hue. “Pretty shit, according to Beau.”

Caleb made no move towards the bottle, instead choosing to stare at Molly’s clothes, soot-stained and coated in grime. The exhaustion on his face was well-earned, especially after the battle they’ve had.

Molly continued, despite Caleb’s wandering. “She seems like she’s been raised on that hundred-year-old stuff, so I’m not sure I trust her judgement quite yet. Bit pretentious, in my opinion. Whisky is whisky.”

Caleb dutifully kept his eyes off the bloodstains splattered across the other man’s tunic. “I am not a whisky person, myself.”

“It really isn’t all that bad.”

In some places, the bloodstains were already ageing brown. “I’ve never been one for drinking.”

A lie, and a rotten one at that. Caleb just wasn't sure how to explain that no matter how much he drank right now, nothing would still the shaking of his hands.

Or pull his eyes away from those damned stains.

The blood was mostly Gnoll, but Caleb knew traces of Molly’s own mixed in. If Caleb leaned back, he may even catch sight of the fresh scars along the nape of Molly’s neck. But he didn’t. Instead, he stared at the soot stains, remembering all too well where those ashes had come from. What fueled that fire. Who started it.

“I overheard Beau and Nott talking about something, how the really strong liquors can fight off a chill. Yasha and I haven’t travelled anywhere all that cold, so I wouldn’t really know. Maybe you should have a few sips, it might even warm you up—”

“What are you doing here, Mollymauk?” Caleb snapped, looking up to Molly’s eyes.

The other man let out a deep sigh. He placed the bottle down. “Checking in, I guess.”

“Checking in?”

“You’ve hardly spoken since we got back,” he accused. Caleb broke his gaze away. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you keeping your distance.”

“Your worry is wasted on me. It’s nothing,” Caleb insisted. Molly gave him a dubious look. “Truly. I am grateful you are so concerned, both then and now, but it was simply a slip-up. I suppose I got a bit ahead of myself; I didn't realize how much power I put into the spell. Turned out a bit more gruesome than I anticipated.”

Gruesome was an understatement. 

The priest was a mistake. Yes, the creature was a menace. He was doing bad things, harming good people, harming this group, and so he deserved punishment. Caleb hadn’t known mercy for many years. And seeing that man, that creature, the instinct took over—and, well, there’s the problem.

The whole fight was a disaster, if he was being honest. From the manticore to its child, they all crossed a few lines. But that is no excuse. He was over-eager, overzealous; the taste of magic intoxicating on his tongue, the feeling of that power veiling like the smoke it brought. Old habits die hard. He was hungry. Blinded by that power. Sent back for just a moment, a moment too long.

And oh, how easy that man crumbled. Ashes at his feet. But, ashes all the same.

Burning harsher than that fire somehow, was the spot on the center of his forehead.

Molly took a moment to appraise him, glancing up and down. Caleb ducked his head out of habit, though Molly didn’t stare long. A thick line traced through the mud as his tail dragged through, settling to curl its spade-tip around Molly’s feet.

“If you say so,” Molly grumbled, resting his chin on his knees. “But I can tell there’s more to the story.”

Caleb let out a huff. “There isn’t much of a story to tell. I simply got ahead of myself. I am not as interesting as you make me out to be.”

Molly cocked an eyebrow at him, smirk coming back full-form. “Funny, I have heard that from a lot of people and every single one of them turned out to be fascinating.”

“Have you paused to think that perhaps you’re simply easy to amuse?”

Molly let out a soft huff of a laugh, elbowing the other man lightly. “Would you look at that, the wizard’s got some snark to him. I knew you had life in you. You did good tonight, you know.”

Caleb allowed himself the smallest of smiles. It was only a moment before it fell once more. “Honestly, Mollymauk. There is no need to check-in. I appreciate the concern, but I will be just fine. I do quite well on my own.”

Odd enough, Molly’s smile began to fade then. His expression turned clouded and thoughtful, a hint of ache crossing his eyes.

That ache seemed to grow, until Molly brought up a new smile, one that couldn’t quite reach his eyes. It settled to die upon his lips, rotting away.

“Caleb Widogast, has anyone ever told you what a terrible liar you are?”

The air fills his lungs, sharp and quick.

It isn’t pleasant, prying his eyes open after such a deep sleep, but Caleb finds the strength. He finds it somewhere in his chest, dusted over with sorrow and ache.

It isn’t pleasant, but it is necessary. 

So he does, he opens his eyes, and for what feels like the fiftieth time he wakes up in a bed unfamiliar to him, struggling to take in new surroundings. The room is simple, if a tad gaudy. Paisley-printed walls, framed with heavy curtains that drape down like cobwebs. Dust motes float and scatter as he takes in a deep breath, and Caleb is quick to find that dust motes aren’t the only thing spurred by his movement.

At the edge of the bed upon which he lies, Beauregard breathes too. She’s got her head propped up on the mattress, the rest of her seated in a small stool just off the side of the bed.

When she notices him stirring, her eyes pry open as well, but with far more urgency.

“Wh—Caleb?” she starts, shooting straight up in her seat.

He stares at her for a good long second, but can’t quite decipher if she’s another hallucination or not. He rubs at his eyes, finding them crusted over with sleep. “Beauregard, where—”

Before he can get another word out, Beau lunges across the bed, throwing her arms over his shoulders in a rather rough grip.

Hesitantly he returns the hug, hands hovering just above her skin. 

She's muttering words of relief, rambling to herself with a tone tight and fraying. Like a creaky shelf on the verge of collapse.

The last he can recall, she was furious at him. Worried for his safety, as he withered in her arms. The last he can recall, he was trapped in his own mind. Surrounded by hallucinations.

Who is to say that this isn't another one? Another fabrication, sent to lure him into an endless, chained eternity by giving him exactly what he wants? Honey to sweeten the trap; a friendly face upon awakening.

But Beau grips just a bit too tight, and when Caleb finally sets his arm across her back, his friend feels very real and very present. 

"I'm glad you're back." Her voice cracks as she says it.

Caleb's breath hitches for a moment. "Me too."

He pulls back, taking in a shaky breath as he tries to simply process the flood of emotions that are currently wracking through him. It is a lot to process, and so soon after awakening, but he finds he can’t quite salve his curiosity without testing a theory.

“Beau, may I say something?” he says, voice still a little rough from sleep.

She blinks at him, still a little in shock herself. “Uh, yeah of course.”

Caleb pauses for one, two, three moments. “My name is Beauregard Lionett. I am an Expositor for the Cobalt Soul.”

She squints at him, clearly taken off-guard by the odd statement. Caleb watches her expression melt and shift, and can’t help the small smile that surfaces on his own face when the realization sets in.

“You can lie again,” she starts, slow and hollow. And then, with far more enthusiasm: “ Holy shit, you can lie again!”

He can barely get a reply out before Beau’s crashing into him again, this time with a hug that is damn near squeezing the breath right out of him.

"Your magic too?" she asks, nearly wheezing out the words.

"Yes, but Beau—" he tries to get out, but ends up with an even tighter hug.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, I just—holy fuck Caleb, I—”

“I know, Beauregard,” he whispers into her shoulder as her words break off. “You are going to suffocate me at this rate, though.”

“I can’t help it, man,” she says into his shoulder, not lightening her grip at all. “The others are going to lose their fucking minds !”

“Is everyone ok? Can I see them?” Caleb asks, suddenly remembering the battle he had left them all in. “The last person I remember seeing was Essek, and it’s all a bit blurry beyond that—”

Beau suddenly tenses up in his arms. She tears herself from the hug, though it doesn’t take much effort on her part to break free.

“Right. You should—we should—I-I’m gonna go get the others,” Beau mutters when she pulls back. She darts away a little too quickly, but Caleb catches a glance of the glistening tears in the corner of her eyes and understands why. 

If this is a hallucination, it must be a terrible one. Caleb isn’t sure he’d ever wish for Beau to shed tears on his behalf. 

When the others finally filter in, Caleb is swarmed with far more attention than he’d prefer. 

He finds out it has been three weeks since he’s woken from his hallucination, and a rather busy three weeks at that. 

Since the Xhorhaus was damaged in the creature's attack—the details of which are still lost to him, and the others avoid his questions when he probes—the whole group has taken up residence in a tower of Den Theylss. Essek has been seeing to their care personally, and it seems the tension between him and the rest of the Nein has eased significantly in the time Caleb has missed. Or, at least it appears as such on the surface.

At the first mention of Essek, Caleb can't help but drift his eyes to Beau. She stiffens near-instantly, face twisting into an expression he can't quite place, holding that same discomfort he picked up on towards the end of their exchange earlier. 

"It could be worse, I guess," Beau says, words strangely hollow. “This place is kind of bougie.”

“We all have our own rooms, and they're, like, super fancy,” Jester explains, such a vast opposite to Beau, clearly elated by the change of pace. 

Nott takes his hand, pulling Caleb's attention to her. "We've been in good hands. Essek cares for us well, even if we hardly see the man."

Caleb frowns. "What do you mean?"

An odd look is shared between the group. Caleb suddenly becomes aware of the guards posted at his door, wearing similar armour to that of the Luxon soldier he had met before.

Fjord clears his throat, casting a glance the guards' way. "Ah, nothing really. The Shadowhand's been quite busy lately, and every free moment he has he spends alone by your bedside. So we don't see much of him. He's doing well, though.”

Nott’s grip on his hands tightens. “He’s been busy. Very busy.”

When she speaks, there is an odd lilt to her tone. If Caleb had not spent so much time with the woman, he may have missed it. But Nott holds his gaze with a seriousness that puts a shake to Caleb’s hands.

“I see,” Caleb says in response. It's an ordeal to even mutter those words. “Where is Essek now?”

Another look is shared between the room, and Caleb feels a pit of dread worm its way into the deepest part of his stomach. A flash of Essek fills his mind, tears down his face, apologies spilling from his mouth like a sinner in confession. The dread twists tighter.

“Where is he?” Caleb repeats, and can’t help the desperation in his tone.

Jester moves to sit at his bedside, placing a cool hand on his forearm. “Oh Caleb, we didn’t mean to worry you. He’s out now, taking care of some things. Boring politics stuff. I'm sure he'll be home in a few hours. He’s safe. Just...busy.”

Nott forces a smile, but it's too wide. It bares her sharp teeth in all the wrong ways. “He’ll be home for dinner, without a doubt! No need to worry.”

Caleb hates the way they all look at him, lips pressed together and gazes wavering. The expressions of liars, silver-lined with good intentions. 

And yet, he does not push them.

Now, more than ever, Caleb understands how valuable a lie can be.

It takes some convincing, but after pleasantries and a few more parses of tense, awkward conversation are exchanged, Jester urges everyone out of the room so she may continue her daily healing. It is a task Caleb didn’t realize they had taken upon themselves, though it explains why he’s made such a quick recovery so soon after waking up.

Mentally, he makes a note to present his never-ending gratitude for both Jester and Caduceus. Another tally on the board of ‘things he will never make up for in his lifetime’. 

As she begins her healing, Jester takes a seat in the same spot he woke up to find Beau in. The chair itself hardly looks comfortable for someone her size, it’s hard to picture Caduceus perched on it as well. There’s another seat to the side of the room, facing his bed. It’s far more comfortable looking, but it seems out-of-place in the small room. Almost like it was dragged from somewhere else and brought here in the interim.

“Where did that chair come from?” Caleb asks. Jester jumps a little, as if surprised by simply hearing his voice. She might very well be.

“Oh. Ummm...that’s Essek’s chair. It's not like, we’re not allowed to sit in it or anything like that, it’s just that he usually sat there while waiting for you to wake up,” Jester explains.

Caleb couldn't help but stare at it for a few moments, conjuring a very disheartening image of Essek wondering if he'd ever wake up.

Jester bumps his arm a little, snapping his attention away. "Hey. No moping. You're here now, with us, right? We'll be okay."

“Right. I...It is a relief to see you all in one piece." Caleb says as Jester starts the ritual of her spell, hands clasped over his.

Jester nods, squeezing his hands a little tighter. “We’re tougher than we look. We missed our wizard a whole lot, though. I understand why Essek took it so rough. It was...scary, seeing you like that.”

Caleb can't imagine how they felt. He tries to picture one of the others in his place, having to see one of his friends unconscious for weeks without knowing if they'll ever truly wake up. It feels painful. 

For him, however, those three weeks passed in the blink of an eye. One bad dream, and he's been shunted forward past all that heartache and uncertainty.

Now, he's left with the increasingly difficult task of figuring out just what he's missed.

Jester shifts in her seat, the potency of the spell wavering as her focus wanes. "You were out for a really long time. Caduceus said you were responding to the healing well, and that you didn’t have any lasting scars...but we were never sure. Even Yasha pitched in with the healing she could do, but it never felt like enough.”

Caleb adds Yasha to his mental list of thank-you’s and pushes forth a small smile. “I’m alright now. Thanks to you all. My memory is still quite fuzzy, but that’s nothing time won’t fix.”

Jester nods slowly. “Do you remember anything from when you were unconscious? Nott swore up and down she could see you mumbling in your sleep, but I thought you were just snoring.”

Caleb waits a few seconds, used to answers spilling forth from his mouth whether he likes it or not. But that doesn’t happen. The truth spell is gone. Whatever he wishes to respond, it is now up to him to find those words on his own.

Somehow, that thought is both relieving and a bit daunting.

He swallows. “I do, ja . I remember most of it. I...It is still quite foggy. Some parts more than others.”

A lie. Using his newly regained ability to its fullest, right off the bat. Honestly, he remembers all of it, in painful detail. Caleb can practically feel the cold breath of the creature prickling against his skin as the memory floods back. How it towered above him, how despite his ability to fight back, his meagre attempts at magic to combat it, Caleb ultimately couldn’t muster the courage to deal the final blow.

How he stared into the eyes of his mother, blue as his own, and the sadness that lay within them.

Jester begins combing her hand over his, as if she were petting a frightened animal into complacency. He appreciates the gesture, but somehow that makes what he is about to detail all the more difficult.

“It was similar to a hallucination,” he begins. “Just like the dreams before it, except much more real. I have a feeling it has to do with how close the creature got, perhaps enhancing its power. It created an illusion of what it thought I would see as a perfect life. It was terrifying, how beautiful it was. How easy it would have been. But...I couldn’t. Not when you were all out there, still. I had to fight against it, once it saw I would not cooperate. It wanted me to choose that fake reality, and abandon you all.”

Jester’s hands still. “Oh. That sounds...really scary, Caleb.” The grip she holds him in turns shaky. “But...was it nice? The dream?”

Caleb huffs. “Does it matter? It wasn’t real.”

Jester nods slowly. “I guess you’re right. But...it must have meant a lot, to make you even think about staying. It must have been nice.”

It was nice, and that's the terrible part.

He doesn’t want to tell her about the fake Essek. It feels immoral, in some way. When he pictures that fake creature, that illusion ready to do anything he wished, it fills him with shame. That figment, nothing but a puppet, threaded with undying devotion and his twisted desires. How could he, even for a minute, fall into that trap?

Caleb smothers that thought, blocking it out before the guilt can even begin to resurface and make him nauseous all over again. 

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I got out. That I am here now,” he replies firmly.

“Yeah. Yeah...you’re right, I guess,” Jester says softly in reply. He can tell she’s holding back. Hiding that she knows he’s full of shit, and that Caleb is leaving things out. He would be too, if the roles were reversed.

Caleb clears his throat. “Regardless, it wouldn't have lasted. Not long after the hallucination shattered, I was freed.”

“How did you get out?” she asks. “We asked Allura, but even she had no idea.”

“It was not of my own strength that I made it out alive,” Caleb explains. “There were mages in the hallucinatory space the creature had trapped me in. They chained him, and were casting spells to banish him, I believe. And then—”

“Mages?” Jester asks, tilting her head.

Caleb frowns. “Yes, mages. That's what the creature had told me. It was chased to the Xhorhaus, by the very same mages that had something to do with its release. I had assumed Allura joined you during the fight? Or even the Bright Queen’s armies?”

Jester shakes her head slowly. “Everything happened, like super fast. Allura showed up waaaaaay after the battle was already over, and we didn’t have time to call the Bright Queen. Before we could do any real damage, it ran away, and then we found what was left of it in the middle of the road. Just a big ol’ smear on the pavement. We met up with Essek after that, and by then you were already stable. We thought you killed it.”

It doesn’t make sense. Caleb didn’t do enough harm to it for the creature to die on its own, and he very clearly remembers there being other magic users present. The only other person he recognized there was Essek, but even he wasn’t combatting the creature, just there to pull Caleb free.

“Did you do any crazy-magic stuff in your head? Maybe you really did kill it, and you just thought up those mages, like they were really just your subconscious or something?” Jester says, gesturing wildly as she parses through her theory.

“Possibly,” he mutters back.

As plausible as it seems, Caleb is hesitant to fully agree to it. There’s something deep in his chest that doesn’t sit quite right with all of it. Those mages were so out-of-place, so familiar yet unexpected, he’d be hard-pressed to accept he simply thought them up.

And if he didn’t think them up, it brings much more worrisome questions.

Why is this the first Jester has heard of other mages at the battle, even if Essek was in his mind space at the same time they were banishing the creature? They’ve been living with Essek for three weeks, have they not discussed the night's events?

Why was Essek so distraught after seeing him, crying in a manner Caleb had never seen from the other man?

Or, was it never really Essek to begin with?

A chill runs down Caleb’s spine. “You said you met up with Essek later on, yes? How did he get separated? I remember him starting in the same room with Beau as I passed out.”

Jester nods. “You’re right. The creature came and totally ruined our whole kitchen, which was a dick move, by the way. I think he did it just to piss us off. And it looked like it wanted to get closer to you, so Beau came to fight with us and she passed you off to Essek so he could take you somewhere safe since he could teleport. He didn’t go far, but I guess it was far enough since the creature died before even getting to you.”

“Did he not say where he took me? Or what happened in that time?”

“Mmm, no. I don’t think so? We haven’t talked about it much, the only time I see him is when I come to do my healing and he’s in the room. Essek’s always too stressed out and sad to actually have a conversation anyway.”

He pictures Essek, sitting in that armchair, night after night. Caleb wonders what he would have done, if it were Essek in danger. If any of the Nein had taken his place. 

The thoughts he finds down that trail turn dark and dangerous, and he can feel his pulse quicken. 

Suddenly the room feels too small, and the breath filling his lungs swirls with traces of smoke and ash and he can hardly breathe —

“ Caleb ,” Jester’s voice cuts through, insistent.

When he looks back at Jester, her expression is laced with fear and worry. She’s got her hand pressed over his even tighter, now standing up from the chair as if ready to run.

“Are you alright? You got really quiet for a second,” she says softly, as if any louder could lose him again.

Caleb swallows, but his throat feels too tight. “I am fine. Just...tired. I apologize.”

Slowly, she sits back down. “It's been a long morning, huh?”

Caleb lets out a small huff of a laugh. It’s forced, but he isn’t sure Jester noticed. “You could say that. I’m just worried for Essek.”

Jester instantly perks up at that. “I can message him, if you’d like. I’m sure he’d come over right away. Oh, Caleb, it would be so very romantic—”

“That is alright.” Caleb smiles tersely. “I'm sure he is busy, I wouldn't want to disturb him. He's coming home this evening, yes? I could still use a few hours of rest.”

Jester chews at her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

Caleb couldn't be more grateful that finally, after all those months, he can lie again.

The halls of Den Theylss are far more vast and winding than he remembers. Caleb only traversed them briefly, led by Essek in the dead of stressful nights. But now that he is left to his own devices, the rest of the party out dealing with business regarding the now-rubble of their home, he finds himself with time to spare.

Dark painted hallways twist and curve into each other, branching off into smaller chambers. As much as Caleb would love to snoop around Essek's research compendium, most of the rooms are locked shut. The odd maid or servant drifts by, casting him odd glances. But he continues his wandering, content to roam freely and untangle his nerves.

Now that he's adjusted to his sudden awakening, Caleb has found sitting still nearly unbearable. Moving helps. Pacing, like a madman. He will accept the strange looks from the house staff if it means he can distract himself for even a second longer.

He can’t help how his thoughts trail back to the uncertainties still laying between him and Essek. Like water running through familiar grooves in stone, the path those thoughts walk him down is easy. The distrust is familiar.

Caleb fights against it as much as he can. But even so, it keeps working its way back into his head. He wants nothing more than to live in a perfect world where Essek would never lie to him. But that simply isn’t reality. In fact, it is the exact thing the creature leveraged against him. It picked on Caleb’s desire for an easy life. But that simply isn't realistic. If anything, it’s dangerous to entertain those thoughts for even a second. The only way he can truly pull through in one piece is to talk to Essek. Making assumptions won’t help. And it isn't fair to assume such things without hearing them firsthand from the source. 

And if his fears are confirmed...well, what then?

How much strength will he need to muster to accept that lies are part of the deal? Caleb is the one who chose a spy as a lover. What else did he expect?

After nearly an hour of his wandering, Caleb finds himself in a library, the only one not blocked off like the others. The walls are filled end-to-end with shelving, stuffed full with tomes of varying thickness and age. Caleb could spend a lifetime in this room alone, parsing through its contents. He wishes he had such time to waste.

Caleb slowly drags a finger across one of the book’s spines, feeling the texture beneath crinkle against his touch. Many of these tomes are older than they appear, weathered down by use rather than the passage of time.

The picture of Essek in his mind, pouring over the books in the dead of sleepless nights, brings a tender smile to his face.

The smile vanishes in a near-instant when the sound of a door creaking permeates the room.

“Caleb?” 

Caleb spins to the source of the sound with a snap of his neck, finding instant familiarity with the tone of that voice. A bit shakier and battered than he's used to, sure. But still. He knows that voice. 

Essek stands in the doorway, slender as a willow and hunched with unseen weight. It is hard to make out with the dimness of the room, but even from this distance, Caleb can see he is beautiful as ever. The moment his eyes catch Caleb’s the weight that rests upon him melts away, allowing Essek to raise to his full height before re-freezing there.

For a moment, Essek seems like he’s afraid. Startled beyond words. He steps forward once, twice, yet barely seems to move at all.

“Essek…” Caleb whispers. “I’ve missed you, liebling. ”

That seems to be enough to shake off his fears, because Essek breaks into a near sprint to Caleb’s side.

The other man crashes into him, swathing him in an embrace that nearly topples his balance. He reaches upwards, cradling Caleb’s face between his hands as if something precious and delicate lay in his palms.

“Thank the light you're awake,” he says with a shake of breath.

Caleb rests his forehead against Essek's. "I am here now, schatz . I am okay."

Essek's mouth finds his, and it is every bit as warm and relieving as his embrace. It feels like both the first time and the last, and Caleb catches himself running through his memories for how to proceed, scrambling for some sort of instinct to take over. The feeling of picking up a book you are only halfway finished, the details filling themselves in with gentle flow as you carry on. A clumsy sort of nostalgia. He could get drunk on that feeling alone.

When they break apart, Essek’s eyes are glossy with tears, a hysterical laugh bubbling from his lips.

"You know, every minute you were asleep I imagined this moment. Over and over. A million different ways I would kiss you and never let go.”

Caleb brushes a thumb against Essek’s cheek, catching the tear that rolls down. Another falls down to replace it.

“You’re here,” Essek whispers, leaning into Caleb’s touch. It almost sounds like he’s saying it for himself more than Caleb. “I almost can’t believe it.”

Caleb kisses away the tears on his cheek. “Well. I couldn’t leave you waiting much longer, now could I?”

Essek rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, well. There are many people who have been awaiting you. I hear even the Queen has issued a summons.”

Caleb’s brow raises. “A summons? From the Bright Queen?”

“It sounds much more formal than it is. The Nein had one as well, to recount that night’s events,” he finishes with a sigh and a dismissing wave of his hand. “But that can wait. For now, you are mine.”

Essek leans back in, capturing Caleb in another embrace.

“I am always yours,” Caleb replies easily, tenderly reaching to brush Essek’s hair from his face.

The expression he finds beneath those matted locks of white is unexpected. There’s fear in there somewhere. Worry. Essek’s eyes jump across Caleb’s face, roaming over each line and feature as if he could vanish at any second. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers, and it sounds like breaking. “In my arms again.”

“I’m here,” he replies. Caleb waits a beat of soft silence before continuing. “Thanks in part to you. You pulled me out, didn’t you?”

Essek’s body turns rigid, as Caleb feared. No—as he expected .

There is no reply.

Caleb carries on, desperate to fill the silence. It comes out far too clumsy, shattering whatever peace and relief they had a few seconds earlier. 

“I saw you. You saved me, didn’t you? I still don’t understand how I got out. But I know you were there. You held me in your arms, and told me we had to leave.”

The silence stretches long after Caleb finishes his sentence. Essek’s chin is downturn, eyes swathed in the shadow of the room. 

“You apologized to me,” Caleb cuts in once more. “Why did you apologize, Essek?”

Essek flinches, and that bit of movement is worse than any reply Caleb could have imagined in his paranoic frenzy.

He can feel it when Essek pulls away. Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally. His arms slide down from Caleb’s shoulders, trailing down and down until then wrap a loose hold around both of Caleb’s wrists. When Essek’s eyes raise back up, they are paired with an artificial smile.

"We have lots to catch up on, my love," he says, far too formally. Essek tilts up, pressing a gentle kiss along the edge of Caleb’s jaw. “There is much business to attend to tomorrow, but perhaps we get some rest now, hm?”

Essek starts to lead him out of the library and towards his chambers, but Caleb plants his feet. He won’t follow. Not yet. The other man’s grip loosens until it lets go, leaving Essek standing alone in the doorway a few steps away. Caleb watches the shadowed outline of his frame shudder.

“Caleb,” Essek says, voice taut. “My love. Please come to bed.”

Caleb shakes his head even though Essek still refuses to face him. “I won’t. Not until you tell me what is so awful that it must wait until morning. What would you have to apologize for? You are worrying me.” 

Essek’s hands curl into the fabric of his cloak, shoulders hunched up to his ears. “I...I-It is not something so simple as you are making it out to be.”

“All the more reason for me to hear about it.”

The other man lets out a frustrated breath. “It has been a very long day and—”

“Essek, I need to know the truth. Surely I am owed that much.”

Essek’s head snaps to face him. The dim light of the library didn’t show it, but now that he is framed by the lamplight filtering in from the hall, Caleb can make out just how puffy Essek’s eyes are, despite the sallow bags that lie beneath them. His face is splotchy, breath ragged. He looks like a mess. Still beautiful, but in a shattering sort of way. A heartbreaking sort of way.

“Tomorrow,” Essek says, teetering on the edge of something rather hysteric. “I will tell you tomorrow. Please. I am not asking, I am begging. Let me have one night.”

Caleb is too stunned to say no. To say anything really. Instead, he steps up behind Essek, wrapping slow and careful arms around him, muttering a sound that resembles Okay into the other man’s shoulder. And they retire to Essek’s chamber without another word.

He hardly sleeps at all, that night.

He isn’t sure Essek does, either.

Caleb isn't used to seeing the Bright Queen anywhere but the Throne Room, so the location of his summons comes rather unexpected.

A pair of guards come to escort him to the established meeting place: one of the Queen's many sitting rooms, barred from public view. 

He wishes Essek could have come with him. It would have made him more assured, less out-of-place. But then again, with all the uncertainty still weighing on his heart, perhaps it is better that the other man found reason to not come along.

The hall he is led down feels much more homely than the vast expanse of the Lucid Bastion. Portraits of various drow, all dressed in similar regalia, line its walls. Silver plaques engraved with Undercommon lie beneath each portrait, though with his nerves, Caleb can hardly focus enough to make out what they say.

The guards lead him to their destination, opening the door wide enough so he can see through. At the far end of the room, he spots the Bright Queen, donning less formal attire than her usual wear.

She rises when he enters, which feels somehow inappropriate.

"Caleb Widogast," she greets as he steps inside. Oddly enough, the guards do not follow.

He bows deeply, trying desperately to not seem as nervous as he appears. "Your Majesty."

The guards shut the doors behind them, and it takes every bit of Caleb’s restraint not to flinch as they fasten the lock.

Caleb glances back to the Bright Queen just in time to see her hands fold neatly before her, the perfect picture of grace and elegance. But the expression she holds is nothing short of clinical.

“Please, have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the sofa across from her, sitting at the same time. 

He does, and tries with every ounce of his being to conjure up the self-assured and confident young man he once was. “I’m honoured you wish to speak to me one-on-one. Though I must admit, I am confused as to why you wished to speak to me alone.”

The Queen narrows her eyes. “Confused. I see. Perhaps I should re-frame this interaction for you if that will clear up your... confusion .”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, judging by the contempt in her voice. The Queen’s back straightens, and despite them both sitting at equal height, he feels she towers over him.

“My summons comes with a purpose. It is not an honour to be brought before the Queen in such a manner, nor should you see it as something I wished to do. See this as simply a necessity. Crossing a task off a very long and tiresome list. I do not enjoy having to balance a war, conflicts within my own nation, and the meddling of the Taldorei Council all at once. I would like very much to clear up how, somehow yet again, you have ended up at the center of it all.”

“My apologies, I did not mean—”

She holds up a hand to stop him. Smartly, he heeds the warning. “I have lived many very long lives Mr.Widogast, and I trust you not to make this conversation any longer than it needs to be. I suggest we cut the pleasantries and get on with it.”

He swallows. “Yes, your Majesty.”

She nods once, but it feels far less like an affirmation and more punctual. The period at the end of a very curt sentence.

Without any further preamble, Caleb goes on to detail the events of that night and as much context required to explain exactly what led them into such a mess. He can’t quite tell if a truth spell or charm has been placed upon him, and Caleb worries that glancing around the room to catch sight of any runes or magical effects would frustrate the Queen further. So he simply talks, carefully leaving out the more... personal , details of the last few months. Particularly regarding Essek and their interactions, only invoking his name where necessary. Caleb only prays the Nein did not say more than needed.

At the end of it all, the Queen wears an unexpected smile. It shoots a bolt of nerves through Caleb like no other.

“Ah, your Majesty? Is something the matter?” he asks hesitantly when she does not immediately respond.

The Queen lets out a sigh that comes off rather...resigned. “After the many recounts I have had to sit through for the past few weeks, yours is certainly the most detailed, Mr.Widogast. Yet somehow, against the odds, it manages to line up with everything your friends say. It is a pleasant surprise.”

Caleb replies with a hesitant nod. He can’t quite tell what angle she is coming from. “It is all the truth, Your Majesty.

Her lips purse at that. “The truth. Yes, well, I should certainly hope so. One would consider you an expert on all that after this whole ordeal.”

Caleb clenches his fists. “Yes. Of course.”

If he wasn’t staring at her expression with such intensity, Caleb may have missed the moment the Queen’s face shifted into something far darker.

He regrets immensely coming alone to this place.

“Despite the many years I have endured, I am not a patient woman, Mr. Widogast,” she begins. “I am, however, wise enough to know when it is more beneficial to wait than rush into things unprepared. There is one topic I have refrained from speaking to your friends on, as I have wished to hear it straight from you, specifically, Caleb Widogast. ”

The way she says his name does not bode well.

Her tone was unlike anything Caleb had heard from her before. It was not the regal voice of a Queen, graceful and sharp as a whip-crack. No, her tone now was dark as an axe-head, heavy and unrelenting, leaving rubble behind with every blow.

“I have heard many details about what transpired within your homestead, and how it came to be that a group of Tal'dorei mages thought it wise to meddle in the Dynasty's matters. Endlessly, I have heard about the councilwoman and that infernal creature that plagued you and your party. About your illness, about my Shadowhand’s... attachment , to you—"

Caleb bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to interrupt.

“—even about the druidic village that offered their aid. And yet, there is one answer I have yet to receive.”

Caleb takes a deep breath, preparing for the worst, preparing for a question he has no way to lie around. Words spin through his mind like spools of unwinding thread, tangling and zipping past with such intensity they burn his fingers when he reaches for them. He needs something, anything , any way he can come out of this while sparing Essek, his friends, his family from—

“Why were there Empire mages in Rosohna that night?”

Caleb’s thoughts come to a crashing halt.

“Pardon?” he asks, dumbstruck enough to forget his prior reservations for speaking. “I-I am unsure of what you mean, I know of Allura Vysoren’s presence but nothing stretching into the Empire—”

The Queen’s jaw shifts and clenches, brow furrowed in anger. “There is no point in denying your past involvement. The time you have spent unconscious I have issued countless of my own agents to look into your history. I know you worked under a member of the Cerberus Assembly in the past. While they have found no point of contact between you and them now, it is all rather convenient. Your presentation of the Luxon beacon back to us restrained me from searching into your history too deeply. But this level of treason is something I can not overlook. Speak the truth, or I will be forced to pry it from you.”

Caleb can hardly stop his jaw from dropping. She thinks...he’s been working with the Assembly? 

“Your Majesty, I swear to you I have no connection with them. I may still harbour loyalties to the people of the Empire, but I see the Cerberus Assembly as a plague upon the nation. I would never work with them—” 

“ Enough of your falsehoods ,” she seethes, holding an outstretched hand. Magic swirls within her palm, shooting from her fingertips in a burst of pale moonlight that strikes against him with a sensation he instantly recognizes as a truth compulsion spell.

Caleb’s first instinct is to fight against it, clenching his eyes shut and bowing his shoulders in, shouldering the weight of her magic as it wraps its leaden grasp upon him. But then, he realizes he has nothing to hide. At least, nothing pertaining to this particular concern.

When Caleb’s eyes reopen, he witnesses the Queen’s confused expression as her spell takes hold with no resistance. She straightens herself, hand still outstretched, regaining her composure.

“How did the Empire mages enter Rosohna?” she snaps at him.

“I do not know,” he answers honestly.

“Who allowed their escape?”

“I do not know.”

“How did they kill the creature?”

“I do not know,” he says, hiding his surprise at that piece of information. “Your Majesty. I was not aware that Empire mages had been there that night to begin with. Whatever they did, it is not something I am aware of. I wish there was more I could do. I wish I knew what they had done.”

The Queen opens her mouth to ask another question, but she falters. Her hand slowly lowers, falling harmlessly at her side. Caleb releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You truly have nothing to do with them...do you?” she asks, her voice taking on the softest tone she’s had all day.

Caleb nods solemnly. “I apologize, your Majesty. If you wish us to look into it further, the Nein and myself can certainly—”

“That much will not be necessary,” she interrupts curtly. The Queen presses a hand to her lips in thought. “I will simply have to search further for the culprit with a little more fervour than expected.”

She turns away then, crossing her arms over her chest as a pensive expression overtakes her. 

“You are dismissed, Mr.Widogast. I appreciate your candour,” she says distractedly. 

He stands there for a long moment, unsure if it would be impolite to step away while she starts parsing through the information he has given her. Caleb has never seen the Queen so stripped down like this, exposing at the core a leader who is simply concerned for the wellbeing of her nation. Confused and struggling to put the pieces together as they all are. He hesitantly takes a step back, before walking towards the exit at a quick yet cautious pace.

Before Caleb can reach the door, she calls out to him once more.

“One more thing, Mr.Widogast,” she says to his back. Caleb feels the gentle tug of her truth spell, still wavering over him, pull taut as he comes to a stop.

He casts a glance over his shoulder, ignoring the pit of worry that works its way through his stomach, chest, heart.

The Queen’s stare is clinical once more. "Note I would not ask you this if I weren’t familiar with your...situation. As I hear you are currently occupying his homestead, please tell Shadowhand Essek to pay me a visit. Though your answers were quite...illuminating, I have yet to hear his side of the story. You wished to help, yes? Inform him I require his presence immediately.”

Caleb fights to hide the frown that twists on his lips. Had he not been summoned the same as the Nein already?  Surely the Queen has channels of communication for summoning Essek herself, why would she require Caleb’s intervention? 

Caleb nods. “Of course, your Majesty. I will tell him as soon as possible.”

The Queen’s expression puckers as if a sour taste had filled her mouth. 

And when she speaks, all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“Good. I do not like being ignored.”

When Caleb returns to Den Theylss, he restrains himself from sprinting through the halls in search of Essek. Thankfully, he does not have to hold himself back for long—he finds Essek on the first floor, guided by the sound of idle chatter coming from the kitchen.

Caleb comes to a screeching halt at the door—perhaps he was sprinting after all—and is struck momentarily dumbfounded by the scene he finds within.

Jester and Essek stand behind a white marble counter, both leaning forward over it as they knead dough over its flour-dusted surface. Mixing bowls of all shapes and sizes scatter across the table, and Caleb spots Nott dipping her fingers into one of them as the goblin watches the two at work from her spot on a barstool.

They are caught in gentle conversation, chattering lightly as they work the dough. Essek’s usual formal wear is discarded, replaced by a simple dress shirt and slacks, mostly covered by the black apron tied around his waist. He seems...relaxed. Such a stark contrast to the interaction Caleb had just returned from. Frustration gives him enough courage to shatter the idyllic scene.

The three look his way as he steps further into the room, taking on expressions so starkly contrasted Caleb can barely catch the intricacies of them all.

Jester brightens upon seeing him, brushing off a bit of flour from her cheek. “Oh Caleb, you’re back! And just in time—we’re making pastries! They were kind of supposed to be a surprise for you since you’re awake now, but whatever. We haven’t really decided what kind of shapes we’re doing yet, so you can still suggest something and we could totally—”

Nott cuts Jester off before she can ramble any further. “Caleb, are you alright?”

He isn’t, not even a little bit. But there is no longer a truth spell pulling words from his mouth, so that bit of thought rests with him and him alone. 

Caleb swallows the lump in his throat. “I am fine,” he says, shifting his gaze away from the perceptive eyes of his goblin friend. “Essek, can I speak to you? In private?”

Essek freezes for a moment, stopping his movements mid-knead. The other man lets out a light huff of a laugh, one so artificial even Jester and Nott cast an odd gaze his way.

“Essek—”

“No need to be in such a rush. We should be done with the pastries in an hour or so, and I know your meeting with the Queen must have been stressful,” he begins, far too casual. “Why not rest for a bit? We can speak then—”

Caleb, quite frankly, is tired of playing this game. He stops holding back. “Why are you ignoring the Bright Queen?” 

Essek forgets about the dough altogether, hands falling away and limply to his side as he stands in sudden shock. Jester and Nott’s eyes widen the size of saucers, heads slowly pivoting in Essek’s direction.

The calm smile upon the drow’s face leaves without a trace, settling into careful blankness as he brushes his hands on the apron. There’s a stretch of silence, one laced with far too much tension for Caleb’s liking. Essek addresses the two girls without even looking their way.

“My apologies Jester. You may have to finish on your own here. Nott, could you perhaps take over for me?” he says, jerking his chin towards the dough as he sets to unwrapping the apron from around his waist.

Nott nods back hesitantly, hopping down from her stool and dragging it over. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Jester’s lips curl into a pout. “Oh. Well. Um—did you want us to wait for you? Or did you want to talk with us as well? I could go get the others and—”

Essek doesn’t respond, simply stepping around the counter and towards Caleb, dropping the apron on the counter as he passes. He ushers Caleb out of the kitchen and away from the two girls, holding his arm in a shaky grip the whole way. Jester doesn’t call out after them, instead catching Caleb’s eyes as he is dragged out of the kitchen. He tries to offer some reassurance, but a second of contact is all he gets before the door shuts behind them.

Essek doesn’t stop once they are simply out of the kitchen, pulling Caleb along with him all the way up the spiralling stairs until they reach Essek’s chambers. His grip is loose enough that Caleb could pull free at any opportunity, though he relents and allows Essek to guide him.

Once they are finally behind closed doors, Caleb picks up on one particularly worrying detail.

“Your bags are packed,” Caleb says, noting the several satchels laid in a pile by Essek’s bed.

Essek brushes a shaky hand through his hair, taking a couple of steps away from Caleb. “I didn’t want to have this conversation now. I was going to wait until later on, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

His movements are frantic, erratic. It scares Caleb more than he’d like to admit. He isn’t used to seeing the other man so...unprepared.

When Essek turns to face him, his eyes are deeply serious. “How much do you know?”

The words do not come forth easily. Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. Less in a frustrated manner, and more protective. If Essek picks up on it he doesn’t comment on it. 

“Caleb, if you do not tell me what you know I will not know where to start.”

Caleb clenches his jaw. “You have been working with the Empire. That much I know.”

Essek doesn’t seem surprised. He simply nods, urging Caleb to continue.

He does, and it’s painful. “I-I do not know how your correspondence began, though I figure it has been for a while. Possibly longer than you’ve known us. You are the one who let them into Rosohna. And you are the one who told them where the creature would be. Where I would be.”

Caleb can’t help the hurt that finds its way into his voice. Essek takes a step towards him. Caleb takes one back in response.

“Caleb,” he says, exasperated. “It isn’t all like you think—”

Caleb shakes his head fervently. “No. You betrayed us. You know my history with them. Did you not stop for a second to consider what they could have done to me? What they could have done to you, if they found your involvement not worth the trouble?”

Essek’s jaw sets. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. But there...I couldn’t protect you. Caleb, you have to understand, I could not stand idly by and watch that creature tear you away—”

“They could have killed you!” Caleb cuts in with a shout, the anger in his chest finally bubbling up to the surface. “They could have killed all of us!”

He can see the way Essek struggles to reign himself in. How his fingers dig into his own palms with enough force to bruise. “And that creature almost killed you! If I could have done it on my own, I would have. But I was not strong enough to save you. To kill that creature as they managed to. And I was desperate.”

Caleb simply stares on, a wave of cold smothering the heat from his voice. “That does not excuse your actions. You’ve been working with them regarding this creature from the start, haven’t you? That’s why you went with us. That’s why you stuck close to me. That’s why you argued to capture it rather than kill it—all so you could pass it off to the Assembly. Beau knew it, and I should have listened.”

Essek’s hands unfurl. “I am not sure what you expect from me. If all you seek is confirmation, then yes. You were right. Beau was right. The Assembly wanted that creature to study, and offered me a share of the research should I aid them in getting their hands on it. But that is the extent of my dealings. And once we became...once we were together...well, I cut them off. As much as I could while holding my end of the bargain. I told them nothing of you, or us, or the Nein. I would never have jeopardized that.”

Caleb stares at him for a long, unbreaking moment. He hopes Essek can see the hurt in his eyes. “You should have told me. Told any of us.”

Essek shakes his head solemnly. “And what, have this argument a few months in advance? We’ve worked on different sides from the start. This was inevitable. It was simply a matter of postponing as long as I could.”

Caleb steps closer until he is sure Essek can feel the heat of his breath upon his face. “You are wrong. I do not work for the Dynasty. I do not work for the Empire. I work for myself . For my family . And, as of late, for you.”

Essek flinches, turning his stare to the ground. “Caleb—”

Caleb doesn't let him get more than a word in. He brings a hand to Essek’s cheek, carrying on despite the second flinch he sees, this time feeling it beneath his fingertips.

“Caleb…” Essek breathes, softer this time. 

“I am upset,” Caleb begins, keeping his tone as level as possible. “I am angry. But that does not take away from my love for you. More than anything, I am hurt that you could not trust me with something so monumental. Especially when you knew my ties with it. Especially as you do not regret it now.”

Essek takes in a shuddering breath. “I...It would be a lie, to say I regret everything. I thought about it. What I would do, if I could go back and erase these past few months from existence. Despite what I have done, if it meant I could still have you at the end of it, I would have done it all over again.”

If he were any other man, Caleb would have every right to walk out right then and there. But Caleb sees a mirror within Essek’s eyes. Like him, Caleb knows what it is like to live a lie. To become so tangled within that web it seems hopeless to begin unravelling the threads. 

And to somehow find yourself at the end of that lie with a life you could have never predicted. One you would never trade away, even if it meant sparing yourself the pain and heartache.

Caleb takes in an uncertain breath. “I...understand where you are coming from. It will take time for me to accept, and the others may not be so willing as I am, but...I do not want to lose you over this.”

Essek’s eyes search his, looking for something Caleb can’t even decide upon. ”Do you truly mean that?”

Caleb nods. “Yes. That is what I am here for. To accept your shortcomings as you accept mine And for everything in between, we will face that together.”

Essek embraces him then, pulling Caleb close and tight against his chest. Arms wrap around him with such a sudden intensity Caleb nearly finds himself out of breath.

“Essek?” he whispers.

Caleb can feel a soft hitch of breath against his shoulder. “I am sorry. For everything.”

Caleb reaches up, carding gentle fingers through Esseks hair. “I know.”

They stay like that for what feels like hours, though surely can only be a few minutes. At the end of it, he feels Essek pull in closer once more, taking in slow, laboured breaths before he starts speaking.

“I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve you,” Essek says with a shudder, clutching Caleb’s shirt tighter, enough to wrinkle the fabric.

“So many things," Caleb whispers back. "But none of them ever really mattered, because I would have loved you all the same.”

Caleb reaches forward, brushing the hair from Essek’s eyes, pushing back those white strands matted with tears.

He tries to be gentle. As gentle as he can, anyway. All softness and ease to contrast the harsh lines of Esseks sorrow.

Essek’s questions are never-ending. It feels as if he’s planned so much of his time, all spiralling down into this single moment. Convergent paths crashing into each other, settling to a single point in time. But time does not still so easy. You carry on, as you must, and you keep moving. To pretend as if it simply ends with you is a fool’s wish. The truth is, it carries on without you. In spite of you. Caleb didn’t understand that, not until recently, and Essek won’t for a long time. He is content with that knowledge, somehow. 

There is still the matter of Essek’s treason. Of the crimes he will have to face. As much as Caleb wishes he could shield him and give the other man time to work through this pain, the rest of the world is not so patient. But despite Caleb’s fears, he holds on. He would hold on forever if he had to.

For each choice they make going forward, there are hundreds of outcomes. Some worse than others, and some they will never know. And yet, there is but one path they can take.

And for each question Essek asks, Caleb has but one answer:

“We will face that together, won’t we?”