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Bren
Bren was such a loud child. If you had ventured to the little farming town of Blumenthal and asked the people there about a child called Bren they would all have a lot to say. They would tilt their head and crack a smile and burst into a barrage of stories. Bren was helpful, always around, whether he was carrying a stack of books for the physician (he always snuck a peek inside but the physician didn't seem to mind) or carrying a bag of shopping for Betty down the road. He was even more likely to help if you threw in a copper or two. He laughed oh so much, always smiling and roaring, he walked with a skip in his step and those who saw him could never help but smile. The librarian never seemed to notice that when little Ermendrud returned his books they often had stains on the edges or little tears, just wear and tear no need for a fine. If he wasn't helping a neighbour you would be sure to find him tottering around in the library. He took any scraps of knowledge he could get, he devoured boring history books that had collected dust for decades and insane fantasy novels alike. So often someone new to the library would throw a stony glare over their shoulder as the boy with bright red hair babbled on and on to the librarian about the last book he read. The little town of Blumenthal may have been dull and dreary but the little boy with bright red hair would always brighten everyone's day.
Sometimes nosy neighbours would crouch low and ask him sweetly, "Do you have a name on your arm?" He would always grin and reply with the same rehearsed response, "Yes but it isn't mine so I don't need it!" This earnt him chuckles about how he wouldn't think that later! But that's where the conversation ended. He had learnt early on that when people heard that name they frowned and turned away, whispering and throwing not so subtle looks at his mother. She never frowned though, she just smiled patiently and waved away his questions about it. His father wouldn't talk about, spat something about the cricks and moved on. Bren was too young to really understand.
Bren started growing up, no longer tottering from place to place but striding arm in arm with his two closest friends. They still helped out where they could, and you could still find him in the library when you needed to but they were growing up now. They had lives ahead of them, not necessarily the ones that they would choose but it was what was generously given to them. Eodwulf and Bren would join the military at sixteen, just like their fathers and their fathers before them, it was dangerous and difficult, the pay was pittance and the job was awful but they would finally get out of this godforsaken town. Maybe they would come home, together one day, and sit down and tell the children of the town stories. Astrid would be married off to someone better off, it wouldn't be all bad, she would have food and a roof over her head but it wasn't what she wanted. In fact these plans weren't what any of them wanted. The three dreamed of magic, of sparks flying from their fingertips, a way to get up and out of this town that their families had never left. They dreamed of the power that came with it and how much they could do to make the world better, how their parents wouldn't have to always look for a copper on the ground on the off chance they could afford more than one hot meal that week. They dreamt of being more . They read book after book and when Bren first clicked his fingers and a tiny globule of light meekly glowed, he knew. Magic was what he had to do.
By this time he had grown tired of the disdainful gaze that fell on him with rolled up sleeves, he had so many quick retorts for when people asked him for his soulmate's name. He would laugh and steer the conversation away to another topic. Astrid and Eodwulf were lucky enough to have each other's names on their wrists. They got to laugh and joke about it. Bren however got sad looks and disappointed mutterings of "oh poor boy", he wasn't sure if it was because of how masculine the name sounded or because it clearly wasn't Zemnian. It didn't matter anyway, he had a focus, magic. He didn't want to join the military, he didn't want to be a soldier, he wanted to be a wizard. It didn't matter that so often his mind would stray to the name scrawled in cursive on his arm, he ignored it, even if he did yearn for someone to understand him.
Bren was fourteen nearly fifteen when the scouts came. Well, they weren't scouts at first, they were just wizards, passing through, Rexxentrum was close by so it happened on occasion but it was still exciting. Bren, Astrid and Eodwulf had been practising in the square, conjuring lights and such; he had finally wrapped his head around his newest spell, with a flick of his wrist a sliver of fire hit the stacked cans in the middle of the square. He shouted out! Finally! He enveloped his friends in a tight embrace of celebration and didn't even notice the strangers strolling up to them. They had made friendly conversation for a while and talked about how they'd discovered magic. The wizards then went on their way with a promise to be back.
And for once they were.
The two wizards came back with an older man, he had a long beard and sharp features with deep-set wrinkles. He had a lot of discussions with them and after so long and so much dreaming they were off.
They were going to the Soltryce academy.
The first year was good, so many of the kids were well-versed already, rich and privileged but nothing could match the hard work of the Blumenthal Drei. They quickly caught up and worked harder than anyone else. They earned their places, they were going to keep them. They laughed and chattered and they stuck together. Then they were rewarded, the three top students were selected to attend an elite program. Master Ikithon only taught the best of the best, he was strict and demanding but his students always got where they needed to go.
Bren never remembered his sweet sixteenth. He wasn't sure he had one. He didn't remember a lot from that time. He remembered a house, too big and silent but so small and loud. He flinched at the memory of a chair in the basement, the floor around it stained a dark colour. He stared at the scars woven over his skin and the burn mark that had disfigured the skin where a name used to be. He remembered stolen moments in the night, wrapped in his friend's arms, the only safe thing left. Even that memory, one of few he had remembered, one of fewer he was glad to, was full of fear.
If you asked the people in Blumenthal about Bren Aldric Ermendrud they would tell you he was a loud happy child. But they would also whisper in hushed tones about what that school did to him, the boy who came back wasn't Bren. There was no life in his bright blue eyes. Because when Bren came back he was a quiet boy, only speaking when spoken to, terror staining the heavy bags beneath his eyes. They would talk of how heavy the few words he spoke were and the cold glare that accompanied them.
If you asked the people in Blumenthal about a boy called Bren they would tell you he died in a fire years ago and they would not allow you to press past that. In a way he did.
But Bren also spent eleven years after his 'death' with his knees tucked to his chest in a place called the Vergesson Sanatorium. Not a happy place but Bren didn't remember much from there either. The screaming always stood out to him, that and the omnipresent smell of burning flesh and charred bodies that people always told him wasn't real.
Bren got out, eventually, but this wasn't Bren anymore. He used a lot of names, changing them to fit the situation, a mask to others and himself, one of them stuck. This was Caleb, Caleb Widogast. Caleb spent some time in prison cells and on the streets, several times he sat with his legs hanging over the edge of a bridge, ready to throw himself into the rushing water below - he didn't.
In prison he met a goblin, her name was Nott and she didn't deserve to die, he had to help her. He carried on surviving. He helped her, he knew one day she'd leave but-
Then he met the Mighty Nein.
And finally he wanted to live again.
Essek
In Rosahna, the umavi of den Theylss cradled a squalling purple baby, she held him for the first time and smiled softly. He cried and squirmed but she held him close and rocked him and he stopped, seeming to smile back at her, he calmed slightly and the umavi knew he would have potential, he might be one of the greats. Perhaps when he was older she would reunite with one of her old friends, raising a friend was not an unusual occurrence but strange nonetheless. She set the baby down in a cot she'd had prepared and said softly "Welcome to Den Theylss, Essek,".
Drow children grow up slowly, most of the time anyway. Essek grew up fast, children do when they have to. He grew up surrounded by a thousand eyes and drowning in whispers. He didn't have peers, or friends , the children his age were so far behind him, lounging in the comfort that the memories bought them early on in their second decade. They laughed and played and Essek… didn't. He couldn't, the pressure that his status bought with it lay, a heavy burden, on his shoulders. Essek didn't have that comfort of being someone , each morning he would wake up hoping that the night would bring memories of his life, his past. They never came. So many eyes stared down at him, his mother, he could call her that then, would ask him all these questions, none of which he could ever answer. The other children ran down the street, twirling and jumping, while Essek lay staring at the ceiling trying to make the memories come.
When it was obvious Essek was just that, Essek, his mother withdrew. She gave him tutors and her house was still his of course, she was still his Denmother, but she was not his mother anymore. She was the Umavi, she was Deirta, she was Lady Theylss, never mother anymore. The warmth that had so occasionally softened her gaze when she looked at him was gone and replaced with a regretful disappointment. He didn't even have a powerful soulmate going for him. The name wasn't a Dynasty name, definitely no one powerful, so that was another disappointment. Sometimes he daydreamed about what his soulmate might be like, he wonders if they are on their first lifetime too, they must be he reckons. Essek imagined what it would have been like without that mark, there might have been some kind of hope, maybe if he'd have a shape and not a name he could have held onto the pretense that he was destined for something. Essek wasn't presented with a life by fate or the Luxon so Essek worked. He worked harder than everyone, than anyone. If he was no one then he would be someone .
Essek had a knack for magic, it made sense to him, magic had rules. There were no if's and but's about magic, it had its rules and if you didn't follow them? There were consequences. Essek liked having a structure, a method. But the best thing about magic was that it was malleable. With a snap of his fingers he could change reality, he could shift the world to the left and turn it upside down, sometimes literally. Essek specialised in gravity, that and time. He liked control and magic gave him that - dunamancy gave him that. Essek could never know enough, there was always more, another book, another spell, always more to know. Knowledge filled the empty spaces and threatened to overtake him. There was a sort of thrill in changing the world, in taking control of the unknown and making it known. Essek never really believed in the Luxon, after all if the world could be so easily manipulated by him how was there need for a god. It never spoke to anyone, never made any difference. Maybe the beacons weren't Gods, maybe they were just sources of power, how was he to know? He wanted to though.
Essek's father never came back that day, leaving another empty void in his chest. He didn't miss him. He wasn't a good person, or a nice man, he didn't go anywhere and didn't become anything. He was bad tempered and took it out on a young drow boy who would never become anything.
One day Essek developed a spell, nothing complicated (at least not for him), a localised shift in the pull of gravity, it allowed him to float, just an inch or so above the ground, a good parlour trick. That caught his mother's the Umavi's eye and even made her crack a smile. He started floating intermittently, whenever there was a visitor he felt the need to impress or if he wanted to project an image. Then he began doing it more, almost everywhere he went. Then he noticed himself gliding up the stairs in his own home, out of habit, or maybe some deep-rooted insecurity that he
hadn't noticed growing quietly within himself.
Essek remembered the day he became the Shadowhand, vividly, it was his proudest moment. He smiled, really genuinely smiled, for the first time in decades and thought of all the people who had told him he would never get anywhere. He remembered standing before the Bright Queen, feet planted on cold marble and smiling, truly smiling. He proved them wrong. He became someone.
His tower was lonely.
Essek wasn't lonely though. He was fine. His feet barely touched the floor anymore. But it didn't matter. The silence and the solitude was preferable. He could work like this. He could work more. Knowledge and work consumed him. Knowledge filled in the emptiness in his chest and yet the emptiness grew and grew, no matter how much he poured into it.
War wasn't his intent. He looked at the name on his wrist, the one he covered with his mantle and layers of shirts and jackets. "Sorry Soulmate," he said, "I guess you'll never find me, you wouldn't want this anyway, maybe in the next life." He didn't want war. But his thirst for knowledge grew more desperate. It had become an addiction, unhealthy and all-encompassing but he had to fill the empty spaces in his chest or else they would consume him.
His tower was so quiet.
The Mighty Nein turned his life upside down, turning up to the throne room with a bloody beacon. His beacon, the one he'd traded away. A sinking feeling rose in his throat. What was to become of him now he did not know. He would have to keep an eye on them.
Caleb
Caleb stood tall, his head held high in the hall of The Bright Queen. He was covered in mud and dirt, his fiery red hair was barely pulled into a ponytail behind his head. He felt filthy, and that was saying something. He was wearing a leather harness, the mark of a slave and although he knew it was only a ruse to protect himself in this area of the world he did not like being degraded like this. This humiliation was far too reminiscent of the past and the leather harness was far too revealing but he bore it. His feet were bare against cold marble and he could taste harsh iron in his mouth.
Caleb's voice was shaky but he spat out, "I am of the Empire, but I am no friend to the Empire." And he held his arms as steady as he could, cradling the Dynasty's lost beacon. The surrounding crowd simultaneously dropped to the ground and Caleb Widogast knew that maybe he wasn't a good person but he had done a good thing, despite what he had been trained to do.
The Bright Queen addressed the drow beside her and Caleb fleetingly thought 'he's handsome'. He ignored it. Focusing on the task at hand, you know negotiating with the nation he had been raised to hate and giving them back the very reason for the war between him and his home?
The time in the throne room was surreal, they were finally doing what they needed to and Nott was almost to be reunited with her husband. Shadowhand Essek was to guide them to the dungeons of penance and there Nott would be reunited with Yeza. Why did Essek sound so familiar? In the moment he couldn't place where he had heard that name. It was strange, he shouldn't have heard it before and yet the name rolled off his tongue as if he had said it many times before.
They headed back to an inn and celebrated, Yeza was back with Nott and he didn't mind her new goblin form! They had a lovely meal, on the house after a little bargaining but Caleb couldn't get Essek out of his head. Later that night, when Fjord was fast asleep and snoring Caleb was thinking, he smiled, they were really leaving places better than they found them, even if they weren't trying to, but then he put his head in his hands, realising why Essek's name ghosted his lips with such familiarity.
Of course he recognised Essek's name.
He was his soulmate.
Essek gave them a house.
Essek gave them a house.
He told them it was a gift from Den Theylss but they had barely spoken to the rest of his den which left Caleb to deduce that the house was in fact a gift from Essek, but why? Caleb couldn't get it out of his head, so often a thought would replay in his head but today it was better than most because Essek gave them a house . He was so distracting, they had followed him to the newly-dubbed Xhorhaus and the entire walk Caleb couldn't help but get distracted by the way he'd parted his snow white hair, not a single strand out of place, was it magic or just precision? Speaking of magic the way Essek glided along was simply entrancing, Caleb could not think how he had done it and his brain started whizzing. It was better that, than thinking about the way Essek's cheekbones were sharp enough to cut him and- No. He was thinking about magic. That was it. Magic.
Essek came to visit them in the house he gave them but more importantly he came to visit him, Caleb. Beau tried a few times to coax him inside, asking him to join them for drinks or a meal but she couldn't convince him, she was working on her people skills… slowly. Then Caleb got him talking about magic. On the one hand Caleb did have a genuine fascination with knowledge, he did want to learn dunamancy and the way Essek practiced it seemed so incredible but on the other hand Caleb was just happy to keep Essek talking to him on the doorstep for another few minutes.
"Show me something, show me something impressive." He said, his eyes almost glowing, fixed entirely on Caleb. He almost shrank away from the gaze, almost withdrew into nothingness but instead he stood straight backed and muttered a few arcane words, twisting his hands until a giant cats paw erupted from the ground, flexing in the air, he cast Cat's Ire. It wasn't his most powerful spell but it did show himself, he didn't make it from scratch but editing a spell showed prowess many did not possess.
"May I enter?" Caleb's heart almost stopped. Wait. No. He calmed his racing heart, this was just a business meeting, maybe one day he would become a friend, maybe. That's if Shadowhand Essek Theylss wanted to be friends with a measly Empire wizard covered in dirt like himself.
Beau huffed and said incredulously, "I invited you twice, but yeah, yeah, go ahead, enter, yeah-"
Essek cut her off, staring straight at Caleb, "I wasn't asking you," Caleb could have sworn the faint shadow of a smirk passed over his face. He felt seen in a way he hadn't for so long, it was strange, not exactly unpleasant but uncomfortable perhaps. Caleb smiled, using the cat's paw to open their new front door, inviting Essek into the house that he had given them.
Essek taught him two spells, two dunamantic spells. Caleb felt like he was fifteen again, begging for any scraps of magic he could get his hands on, but then there was Essek, and he wanted him too. Just him being there set Caleb at ease and he knew logically that it was simply the bloody soulmate bond but it was difficult to ignore, especially with Essek leaning so close.
"I'm interested to see what you do with these," Caleb's heart should not have leapt at that and yet this implied so much, and confirmed that Essek would be back to see them again. Essek left but Caleb could still faintly feel fingers faintly tracing his shoulder blade, he ran his hand over the geometric scar weaving over his wrist. Caleb wasn't in the right space for this, but then again, this was likely the best space he'd ever been in.
In the following weeks they formed an alliance with Essek, he would help them with his fantastic ability to teleport and continued to help Caleb with all matters dunamantic and yet turned down every step they tried to take to get to know him. Until he arrived at the door of the Xhorhaus, sheepishly holding a bottle of wine, his usual arrogant facade forgotten at the door along with his mantle that he hung beside it. The Nein eagerly invited him in, their new friend was finally joining them for dinner! They sat in the living room and Caleb was not sure what possessed him to do so but he snapped his fingers and Frumpkin leapt onto Essek's lap, purring and flicking his tail to and fro, Essek absentmindedly began to run his hand through Frumpkin's fur and Caleb found it difficult to believe that Essek was unaware of his familiar. Caleb stayed fairly quiet, listening, lingering on every word Essek said. His view on religion was particularly interesting, not dissimilar to his own, but perhaps more extreme, at least as he was now.
"Do you know how deep the ocean is?" Beau said, seemingly in jest,
"It's pretty fucking deep." Fjord replied with a chuckle
"And that is what I spend my time toiling away, is to find those depths." Essek said in a voice filled with passionate wonder, "And there is so much, so much untapped possibility In the utilization of dunamis. I, to answer your question of what it is I want to do. And I believe you, you can understand this, and I can see a similar spark in you, Caleb. I want to unlock these mysteries. I want to dive as deep as I can into that ocean of the unknown and see what is possible." Essek and Caleb's eyes met across the room and a spark of something , neither of them were sure of what, passed between them.
Jester pouted, "Are you saying, are you saying you want to date Fjord?"
Essek furrowed his brow, taken aback for a second, then with a barely masked smile he looked at Caleb and said, "That is not what I was saying." Caleb spluttered into his cup. How was he supposed to cope when he was doing that .
Jester grinned playfully, "So who do you want to date?"
"Well," Essek said, "I do not habitually date around, after all I have a soulmate," then he followed with a whisper of "somewhere…"
"You do!" Jester exclaimed, "What mark do you have!"
"I am lucky enough to have a name," he held up his wrist, "Well, lucky or cursed."
Caleb leant back on his chair, "How so?"
Essek's gaze was piercing, "Do you have a mark Mr. Widogast?"
"I did." He said, hushed,
"Well then you know the way it can be a curse and a blessing."
"There is no pretending with a name,"
"No pretending, and Bren is not exactly a common Xhorhasian name." Essek stated offhandedly.
Sheiße. The entire table turned to look at Caleb, not exactly subtly as he resisted the urge to swear extremely loudly or maybe turn invisible and sneak out of there.
Essek chuckled, "I don't suppose you happen to know a Bren then?"
Nott began to speak but Caleb cut her off, "Hm, no, not that I can specifically recall, it's a very common Zemnian name," He hoped his glare said 'don't you dare tell him or you will find bat droppings in your pillows for weeks'.
"So what mark do you have Mr. Widogast?" Essek seemed genuinely curious, he wondered how far he could avoid it.
"I uh, had a name," Idiot. He could have just lied and said a bloody circle! Why did he say a name-
"Why the past tense?"
Caleb pushed his sleeve up, revealing an ugly burn that had never quite scarred right, leaving an ugly tangle of pale skin and a lack of pigment. "Burnt away, Trent Ikithon didn't believe in love, thought it was a distraction," It had always left a sour taste in his mouth that Astrid and Eodwulf got to keep theirs.
Essek sat open-mouthed for a second, "Luxon that's- awful, I'm sorry,"
Caleb shrugged, "Nothing really,"
From the aghast faces of his friends he thought maybe it wasn't nothing at all.
"It's fine, really, its-"
"How can you sit there and say that's okay Caleb," Beau said, exasperated,
"It's nothing, besides I don't even remember that much of it," he shrugged, his tone non-committal, trying to keep the conversation away from that topic,
"Caleb we-"
"So Beau," he interjected, "What about you? You have a soulmate mark?"
He'd leave the difficult conversations for another day.
Essek left after a full evening of laughing and conversing. Almost as soon as he did Caleb excused himself and retreated to his room. Unfortunately he did not get away with it that easily; Beau cornered him there. He'd done so well to avoid it too.
"How can I help you Beau?" He asked innocuously
"It's Essek right?" She blurted, "Your soulmate. It's him,"
Caleb sighed and pulled his hair back with his left hand, "Beau I-"
"Knew it! I mean could be worse right? At least he's hot."
Caleb resigned himself to his fate, "There is that, yes," he sighed.
"So it is Essek! Why haven't you told him then?"
"Because that would require a long explanation that I do not believe he would respond too well to, do you?"
"I mean you don't know that-"
"When are you telling Jester again?" He teased in return.
"Shove off bro I'll do it! Eventually…"
"But you understand, correct?"
Beau narrowed her eyes, "I understand it but that doesn't mean I get it." Her eyes lit up in a way that Caleb did not like, "I have an idea! If I tell Jes' you have to tell Hot Boi."
"This deal seems to be very one sided."
"Fine! If you get the guts first, unlikely but whatever, then I have to do it. Deal?"
He took a second to weigh up his options, but he eventually shrugged, "Sure,"
Essek
He hadn't accounted for this.
Essek was so good at being detached. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel, it had been so long since he had wanted to feel. The Mighty Nein had caught him off guard but he wasn't about to let them interfere with the plans he had worked so hard for - until they did. Essek had to put a stop to it. Everytime he communicated with the Assembly he saw Jester and Beau and Caduceus's disappointment, he saw Fjord and Yasha's knowing frowns and Nott's righteous anger, then he saw Caleb's… he saw Caleb. His expression changed each time, sometimes regretful, sometimes angry, sometimes blank. Caleb had a tendency to forgo any expression when something really hurt him and somehow that was the worst. Essek had to stop this… but he couldn't. The need for knowledge was like an addiction, if he stopped then the void would devour him again. He was in too deep, there was no getting out of it now. He just had to carry on, deals with the devil. He was no longer sure that the devil was the Assembly, at this point it might be himself.
He carried on. There were too many lies and too many dangerous people that he'd lied to at his back. He was drowning in circumstances he'd created when he was too naive and proud to realise their consequences. One night, sitting cross-legged on a bed in Nicodranus he stared at his bloody, bloody hands. He turned them over and knew despite their pristine appearance they were stained with so many lives. He took a shaky breath and sighed. Too many lives. Mere children lay bloodied on foreign soil and he had done this. He was still doing it. For what? People lay dead in ditches because he had hungered for knowledge. He had received scraps and the worst part was some part of himself thought it worth it. But the lies were too numerous to simply dismiss in an afternoon. His web of deceit was too tangled so he carried on. He carried on and when he did Caleb's face stared back at him, his brow creased in frustration and betrayal. Why was he thinking of Caleb so much? He wasn't some schoolboy. He was Essek, detached, intelligent Essek. Besides it was pointless pursuing anything with anyone but your soulmate, it wouldn't last - not that he wanted to.
They were never meant to find out.
He was never meant to find out.
Essek had sunk to the wooden floor of their ship. He looked up at them, chained and chased and his eyes were full of emotion, real feeling, something he could not remember showing. He shook and all of those expressions he had envisaged so many times glared down at him. Along with something undeserved. Kindness. He didn't deserve it but they were the Mighty Nein and they handed out kindness like candy.
He sighed, regret ringing his voice, "You weren't part of the plan." They looked back at him and their expressions were so soft. His but twisted, their kindness was wasted here. Someone else needs this. Someone else can't have this because of him.
So much caught him off guard that night and Caleb was one of those. Caleb Widogast sank to his knees and leant so close to him that he could feel his breath on his cheeks, he turned his face to him. His voice was quiet, somehow both harsh and soft, "The difference between you and I is thinner than a razor." How wrong he was, Essek thought pitifully but Caleb continued. "I know what it means to have other people complicate your desires and wishes. And I was like you. Was. I know what a fool I have been for years, and I'm looking at him as if I am looking in a mirror." Essek shuddered, chills running down his spine, there was no malice in his voice, just gentle disappointment. So much less than he deserved. "You didn't account for us. Good. That is life. Shit hits you sideways in life and no one is prepared. No one is ready. These people changed me. These people can change you." Caleb stared him down the echo of melancholy in his eyes taking Essek by surprise but he couldn't be changed, he was too far gone. His voice shook just as much as Essek's did in that moment but Caleb still continued, "You were not born with venom in your veins. You learned it. You learned it." He repeated that as if to drill it into his brain. Essek was a quick learner, apparently he exceeded in learning cruelty too. "You have a rare opportunity here, Theylss. One chance to save yourself, and we are offering it." His voice broke on a wave of emotion and Essek noted his use of Theylss. That was fine, he had done too much to keep their trust, to keep his trust. Essek visibly flinched at the placement of a hand on his shoulder and his eyes met Caleb's deep blue eyes - as full of raw power as the ocean outside. "And I am pleading with you to find your better self. He is still there."
Essek just shook his head, he wasn't sure if he'd ever had a better self, he certainly didn't remember one, their trust was misplaced. "There is no path to redemption for me. If what has been done comes to light, if what you are seemingly looking to correct is known, then I am a dead man." ' And I deserve it' he added silently in his head.
Caleb surprised him again, leaning in and pressing his lips to Essek's forehead, causing his heart to race. "Maybe you and I are both damned, but we can choose to do something, and leave this place better than it was before.”
Essek didn't deserve this second chance. After all he was a dead man walking and he wasn't sure he could remember truly living. Can you teach a corpse's heart to beat? He didn't know, he doubted it.
Caleb
Sleep didn't come easily to Caleb at the best of times but that night, wounds that had never really healed gaped in his chest, leaving blood on his nightshirt and tears in his eyes. He didn't remember a lot from his adolescence but what he did remember was enough, blurry images of a man digging a knife into his skin. Memories veiled with tears and a haze of panic. Essek was working with that man. He was working with him. Caleb covered his eyes with his palms and sighed, an ache in his chest that he wasn't sure how to deal with. Essek was just like him. Something that tore Caleb apart. Caleb had always expected his soulmate to be similar to him but not like this. Looking at Essek was like looking at a mirror, broken shards of glass reflecting the worst parts of himself back at him. Caleb knew what it was like to crave knowledge that badly, he knew all too well. He knew how it felt to regret it. He stared at his hands and sighed. There was blood there, old and dried staining the creases in his palms, but knowing it wasn't just his palms that were stained was somehow worse. The other's reactions drove the dagger even deeper into his shoulder blades. They were the same and looking at what they thought of Essek reaffirmed what they must think of him. He had done things that had been just as cruel, just as selfish and naive. They thought Essek deserved punishment? Well then he should also be punished. It stung watching his friends talk in hushed tones about his reflection, his mirror image. Then there was Essek himself, he said he didn't regret it but regretted the ripples it had caused. Caleb didn't believe that. He knew what it felt like to tell himself he wouldn't change anything and to try and force the guilt from his brain, wielding apathy as his weapon of choice. It was difficult not to slip back into that sometimes, after all that's how he'd learnt to cope. If something got too much he'd drift away. The awful things didn't happen to him, or they did but it didn't matter because the blood sinking into the wooden chair wasn't his, it was just some person's. He wasn't holding a flame to someone's skin, that was someone else, he was just nearby, that's why the memory of burning flesh was quite so prominent. He knew that the memories were his own but he tried to lock them away as Bren's memories instead. He knew that they were his but somehow they didn't fit. His memory was perfect, completely flawless, except for the blank spaces during his teenage years. He remembered some of it, mainly the quiet moments. He remembered sitting on the roof, legs hanging over the edge, Astrid and Eodwulf beside him. They just sat, not speaking, taking refuge in the quiet company and the night sky, missing any stars that night. He doesn't remember that day but that memory was attached to a cold feeling of dread in his gut so it can't have been good. Caleb stared at the ceiling trying to realise what had gone wrong. It was almost funny how his story paralleled Essek's. So different and yet the same. Both broken and damned, bound to fall together again and again, yet he might never find out. Caleb had to tell him eventually. But it was so difficult to pin down the words. He couldn't define his feelings for him, there were so many words and yet none of them seemed to fit. Common felt too inelegant and Zemnian didn't seem to fit either. Caleb felt like a child again, a pain in his chest, caused once more by the realisation that people are never what they seem. Letting his guard down never seemed to end well. Maybe one day he'd be scarred enough to finally learn or maybe he'd continue like this until he's finally killed by it.
Caleb leant against the rails of The Balleater, the sea was peaceful, for now. On the horizon a storm was brewing, looming grey clouds swirled around each other in some twisted threat of a dance. But for now the sun reflected back at him from the waves that lapped at the boat. He heard a voice behind him and he turned to face her.
"Beauregard, how are you?" He said, head tilted slightly,
"M'alright, ships in order, peace talks are gonna be crazy, still can't believe this is happening." She leant on the rail next to him as they both looked out over the ocean,
"Ja, it is surreal, we have got so far,"
"We have, at what cost though?"
He furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"
"Well, y'know, a lot of us here are sort of fucked up, and the war fucked so many people over, you of all people know," he winced at her phrasing, she was right of course but seemed to forget that he had also had a hand in others harm in this war, "I just worry what's going to happen when the Dynasty find out about the second beacon."
"If," Caleb whispered,
"When." Beau replied pointedly, "We got this far but who knows how much further we can get, neither side are gonna be honest with the other, I'm not sure we can rectify this."
"We can hope." Caleb murmured
"But what about you? How's the whole Essek turmoil goin' on in your brain?"
He groaned, "It's… nicht gut. I am struggling with finding where he fits right now."
"Where he fits?"
"In my life, in my head, what he really stands for and whether I agree with his position."
"I dunno man, I'm not super helpful here, all I'd say is be careful, I don't want to watch your heart get broken."
'Too late.' He thought.
Seeing Fjord bloodied, on the ground, evoking imagery he'd seen too many times before, it hurt, more than he wanted to admit. He was so attached to this rag tag group of heroes and when Fjord was on the ground all he could see was purple skin and an eclectic colourful coat. He couldn't lose another friend. Not again. Not now. Caleb refused to break now and in that moment he realised that life really was short.
Essek sat in front of him, just the two of them, away from the others. Essek didn't meet his eyes.
"I know what I did is unforgivable-" Essek stuttered out,
"Maybe so." Caleb said, "I can't forgive you." Essek's face dropped, "Only you can do that." Caleb finished.
"It's funny, I spent so long looking for approval, I guess I'll never find that," Essek laughed,
"Sometimes what you want is more complicated than you expect."
"I have been learning that," he paused, staring straight at Caleb "I always thought I wanted to know my soulmate but I'm glad I don't, Bren's better off not knowing." Essek smiled sadly,
Caleb bit his lip then whispered, "Bren's dead."
"I beg your pardon?" Essek said, taken aback.
"I said, Bren's dead."
"No he's not, that must be a different Bren, the mark would've-"
"Your Bren is dead." Caleb repeated.
"I don't understand, I thought you said-"
"Essek. Bren died a long time ago."
"But- How do you know?" Essek asked, growing more confused by the second.
"Bren died a long time ago, he died in an empty padded cell, his arms tied behind his back and his mind no longer his own."
"Caleb what are you-"
"Just listen." Caleb said, warning in his voice, enough that Essek silenced himself, "Bren grew up in a little Zemnian town, he had a few friends and that was that. People don't look too kindly on little Zemnian boys who grow up with a foreign name on their arm but he didn't take much notice." Essek opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it, "Bren learnt magic and went to a school called the Soltryce academy. Soltryce was big and scary but he felt at home there with his spells, he his his soulmate's name at that point but always meticulously checked the class lists for him, just in case."
"Caleb what-"
He continued without even noting Essek's interruption, "Then Bren came under the tutelage of Master Ikithon. Bren got hurt. Badly. Bren was barely even there for most of his training as a Vollstrecker." Caleb's tone stayed exactly even, no hint of emotion, "Then Bren broke, there was a fire, he set it. Bren died in the Vergesson Sanatorium."
"Caleb what do you-"
"Essek." Caleb said, "I know Bren died because I killed him."
Essek's eyes widened, "But it can't be the same-"
"Essek. Bren is dead."
"But he can't be because the mark is still-"
"You know how hard it is to grow up with a foreign name. So do I Essek. I know how awful it is to grow up like that. Bren did."
"I don't understand-"
"When I was sixteen, maybe younger? I can't remember, I've got a few gaps there, my teacher, Trent Ikithon gripped his hand around my arm for a solid three minutes, it was agony. Just because the mark is gone doesn't mean I don't remember it. I used to draw it on sometimes, at the start."
Caleb could see Essek start to piece things together, "So do you mean-"
"My name was Bren Aldric Ermendrud. But sometimes in order to grow you have to kill that version of you."
"So we-"
"You got saddled with me!" Caleb joked,
"No, no, Caleb, wait, Bren?"
"Caleb. Like I said, Bren died in the Vergesson Sanatorium."
"Caleb, you deserve better than me."
"No I don't Essek. I am a broken man who has killed and tortured and maimed. I have patched myself together with ink and parchment and you have tried to do the same. We are both broken and damned. But I am trying to be better, will you join me in this? Will you come with me on the journey to make the world a better place than we found it?"
"Caleb, I would like nothing more." Essek took Caleb's hands, "I don't know if I can be fixed,"
"Everyone can be fixed." Caleb said, "And if they can't then they can be patched together, a good group of friends and a world in danger usually does the trick, at least it is working for me,"
"I suppose I have a lot to learn," Essek laughed, Caleb gripped his hand tighter.