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Virion felt frozen where he knelt.

And not from Thyia’s wards. Those had fallen minutes ago. He has rushed to the edge of that cliff the second he was able to break her wards, and it was only a very small part of him that wished that he hadn’t.

If he hadn’t, maybe he could pretend this wasn’t real.

As of now, all he could think of was how this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. And yet he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Thyia’s crumpled form laying a deadly distance below him.

Virion had seen death before. He had tasted it, felt it, caused it. And part of him wished he could say this was different. He wanted to be sick to his stomach, to be tearing at his hair and screaming to the skies.

But he just felt numb.

He just felt numb as he heard the rest of Thyia’s party come up behind him. He felt empty as he heard their scared and shocked voices asking him what was wrong, what had happened, where was Thyia, why was he looking down the cliff-- and then the quiet “oh”s and choked sobs as they all seemed to figure it out on their own.

He felt blank as he heard himself explain that it was Xiris, that it had all been a ritual; a trap that they had all walked right into.

That Thyia had just… done what she felt she had to in order to end the battle before it had even begun.

His body felt vacant as he vaguely registered the Dinean launching herself at him, screaming insults and accusations. Asking him why he didn’t stop her, how he could have let this happen; sobbing that it was all his fault. He didn’t react when he felt her fists make contact before the Kag’ash and dwarf were able to pull her away.

His mind felt like static; no determinable thoughts-- just a roar of nothingness, an inescapable buzz of nothing, like crashing waves drowning out anything else.

He felt nothing when a hand on his shoulder pulled him upright and away from the edge of the cliff. He barely registered who it was that led him down the steep path and back to the encampment-- Ruven? Eldrin? It didn’t matter.

Virion felt void, sitting silent and numb for Divines only know how long as the camps were torn down around him and supplies packed up; unused from a battle that never happened.

He carried the things pushed into his arms and followed the feet of soldiers returning to Rimeford castle.

He let himself be led to a room of cots, and he drank when Ruven pushed a flask into his numb hands.

Virion felt detached, numbed and paralyzed. He felt numb, that is, until that numbness was replaced by the deep, heavy, oppressive feeling of being alone.

Virion had never in his life felt so alone.

He began to feel her loss like a missing limb. There was no pain until he turned to where she should have been in a moment and saw she wasn’t there. Then he felt that pain like the stab of losing her all over again. Like someone had reached into his chest and broke his heart away from his rib cage.

He would think of that pain, and he would desperately cling to it; fingers scraping against her memory as though he could bring her back if he just felt her presence desperately enough.

He prodded that would in his chest, thinking of every second he spent with her and how it was gone now. Gone, gone, gone.

Xiris strike him down for ever taking that woman for granted. Xiris strike him down for not loving her sooner.

He would think of every second he spent not loving her and he would regret each and every one of them.

He cursed his stupid heart for ever letting Calywen get in the way of something he knew was so much more, even from the day he saw her. No matter how much he had tried to brush her aside that first time they had met, he knew now just how foolish he was to ever think that she wouldn’t become his life.

And now she was gone. She had left fighting that same battle that had raged when he first realized he loved her. A battle against beings far greater than any mortal.

And yet in the end, she had died not at the hands of a Demon or a Divine. She had died by her own.

And what a fool he had been for ever daring to not love her.

What a fool he had been to love her in the first place.

He let himself love knowing full well her power, how much stake she held in his heart. He had let her have it all, handing her that heart on a silver platter and begging her to keep it.

And now she was gone.

He was a fool for pushing away the inevitable. For daring to avoid her. For daring to love her. For daring to hope that they would survive what had been coming.

Now his only regret is that he had not died as well.

Yet life carried on. Days passed like grey blurs of wind and rain, like the heavens themselves were mourning her.

Virion kept on, surviving each passing day by doing all he could to not feel. He wandered about aimlessly, craving the escape of any task he was given. He filled his days with busywork, doing tasks he never would have stooped to even just weeks ago.

And he was managing. Until night fell, and he was forced to sit in silence and face the roaring of his mind.

It was in this juxtaposition of violent peacefulness that he first thought it. When he first dared to wonder if it was an option to just… stop. To cease all his busywork and stop all the pain. To silence his mind and stop the lurking thoughts of what he had lost.

He supposed he should have been more appalled at the thought. Of his own weakness to want it.

But it just settled itself inside his mind, nestling into the crevices of his heart like water filling cracks in parched ground.

He perhaps should have been concerned at how soothing it was to imagine, on the nights when it got bad. On the nights when he imagined her face, imagined her body next to him in his bed.

And it was on these nights, where he craved her most that he wondered what it would be like to follow her.

He wondered if he would be able to join her, if he were to end it all. Would he find her in the afterlife? Would it be a paradise? A place he could be with his love for all of eternity? Or would it a labyrinth, like the followers of Nemesis believed? Where he would chase his own shadows, lost for the rest of eternity.

He supposed it was better than always chasing hers.

There were nights he seriously considered it. He knew how easy it would be. He was a trained killer, the blood of countless people on his hands. One more would be nothing. It would almost be too easy.

Circumstances always stopped him somehow. Some nights he would fall asleep out of pure exhaustion before he could gather up the will. Other nights he would hear a knock on his door, always followed by a visitor he didn’t want to welcome but was too apathetic to push away.

Something always stopped him, and he cursed it every time.

“You think Walinad’s Court Mage would understand the need for beauty rest.” Virion found himself behind the Dinean Mage, a listless durision in his words. “Honestly, you don’t have to be a warlock to sense the darkness rolling off you.” He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here, if he was being honest. “Do you really think going down the path of the Divine who drove her to that hysteria is the right thing to do?” Virion questioned. He didn’t even know why he bothered to question her-- he didn’t care to know. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Eldrin told me. Your questions turned to practice.” Virion’s mouth carried on with no regards to the fact that his mind was lagging minutes behind.

“And you care what I do?” Virion didn't. He didn’t care.

Virion shrugged. “Not particularly. And with you being more of a frigid prig than usual, I couldn’t care less.” Perhaps he was just angry, knowing that Thyia had bothered to spare some of her love for this woman while she was still alive. Love he wished he could have hoarded all to himself, like an avaricious dragon hoarding gold.

“Then leave,” Alwenn snapped, a warning in her voice.

Virion tilted his head to the side examining his nails. “What happens if I don’t?” He felt the tickle of a thrill at the Mage’s tone.

“You’ll see just how much I learned.” Virion felt a dark pleasure stir inside him at her words, at their possibility. “I thought you would’ve learned to think your choices through by now.” Her face was dark.

A smirk rose on his face. “What would the Magistracy say,” he taunted. “Learning that their beloved Court Mage has been dabbling in dark magic?”

He could feel his heart rate pick up its pace as she whipped around to face him. “They just might thank me for killing the Warlock who caused this disaster in the first place.”

He took a step forward at her threat, a listless sneer plastered across his face. “At least I knew Calywen’s true feelings before his end. A General of all people, falling for a subpar mage like you? As if she could’ve been happy spending a life with you.” Virion had a brief second of hesitation at the idea that Thyia would have been very, very disappointed and angry at his actions. If she had been here. He pushed the thought out of his mind with a mirthless laugh and tossed out another ruthless barb. “You’re already responsible for killing one Warlock, what’s one more?” He watched, emotionless as his words sent the mage stumbling back. His mouth opened once more, pure vitriol spilling from them, his heart quietly hoping that this would be the push the Mage needed to cross that final line. “When I think about it, perhaps it wasn’t Xiris that drove her into hysteria. Has it crossed your mind that you may have been the one that pushed her to the edge of that cliff?”

A crack of thunder ripped through the sky and the trees behind the Dinean burst to splinters. She lunged towards him, letting out an anguished cry. Yes, Virion’s heart traitorously chanted.
Her raised fist lit up in burning blue flames. Yes.

She hesitated.

No, damnit.

“Getting cold feet, Court Mage? I won’t seek revenge, I promise.” Virion put as much poison into his words, desperately trying to egg her on. He tried to summon a vicious smile, but at the sight of the other elf’s eyes growing soft, he knew he had failed.

Damnit. No, please.

“I thought you enjoyed fighting me,” Virion taunted, ears drooping in desperation.

The mage pulled herself back. “I enjoy fighting someone who puts in effort, not someone dragging himself around like a corpse because they’re guilt-ridden.” Her arms fell to her sides. “Killing you would be just like killing her all over again.”

Virion could not begin to put into words the complicated disappointment he felt at her statement. He watched, unmoving, as she stalked away.

He had no idea how long it had been when he finally managed to pull himself off of the tree he leaned on and walk to wherever his feet decided to take him. Most likely the nearest bar. Perhaps a brothel, even, if he were unlucky enough to find one first.

Divines, he just wanted this to end.

Eventually, unfeeling nights of dreamless sleep turned into dreams of her. It was always as if his mind was trying to bring her back, if only in his dreams,

They would always end with her falling again. With him waking up screaming, his wounded heart broken afresh.

Yet he always found himself curling back to sleep and praying to Error the dream return. He would watch her fall a thousand more times if it would only gain him precious more minutes in her arms.

He began to act like it had never happened. He didn’t speak of her, and he would abruptly leave the room if the topic of her death arose. His friends (and some of hers. He didn’t know if he was allowed to call them his friends now that she was no longer connecting them) had reached out countless times to try and get him to talk about it.

“To get it off your chest,” as the Kag’ash prince had said.

What the blue man didn’t realize was that there was nothing to get off. She had been his whole chest. The entirety of his heart and his soul. He had been consumed by her, and now that she was gone he was just left with a gaping ache.

He would always brush off their attempts and retreat to his room, succumbing to sleep with the assistance of Berlin roots in an attempt to avoid the pain of sleepless nights without her.

It was working, he insisted. He was functioning, and that was all that mattered. If he never spoke of her again, maybe one day his heart could forget her and he could continue his life where he left off.

He knew that could never happen.

The Berlin roots hadn’t worked. Eventually they just reminded him more of her instead of making him forget. So he turned to liquor, at first just drinking enough to force himself to fall asleep.

But he had never been a lightweight, and soon it just seemed like too much hassle to keep all those bottles in his room when he could just find them in bars.

He began heading to the nearest tavern whenever his day was done, drinking as much as it took to feel the siren’s call of sleep, when he would then drag himself home and collapse in he bed.

Eventually though, he lost his ability to make it all the way into his bed with how much alcohol sloshed in his veins. It started out with him just collapsing on his floor, the comfort of his bed forsaken for the immediacy of the ground. But as the weeks progressed, so did his indulgence. He began to find himself waking in places most definitely not his room-- Sometimes random halls, occasionally a dark and damp alleyway, or even right outside his door if he were lucky.

It took a few weeks for people to start noticing. He wasn’t so dull that he didn’t notice the Kag’ash begin to follow him to taverns, not quite hiding, but always staying just out of sight. It was humiliating, really, when Virion began to find himself waking up in his room with consistency, knowing full well he hadn’t made it there himself. But the only other option was to stop drinking, and that meant more nightmares, more sleepless nights and cravings to end it.

In his mind, as long as the prince never spoke of it, he could survive with the knowledge that he had stooped to being tucked into bed every night by a former enemy.

It was another drinking night. Virion found himself in bars and cheap taverns most every night nowadays, trying to numb away all the thoughts in his mind every second he was free enough for them to creep back in.

That night, he had chanced upon a seedy looking inn. The sign on the door boasted cheap rooms and even cheaper drinks, and that was enough for him. Virion had been perched at the bar for a while when he felt a tall presence sidle up to him, a rough hand reaching out to lift a long strand of his white hair.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.”

On any other day, Virion might have killed the man for daring to touch him unprompted, for having the nerve to treat him like a little thing asking to be bossed around.

Tonight, however, he hesitated. He craved disruption in his listless routine.

“Depends on who’s looking.” Virion glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye but didn’t turn to face him.

“Heh. Hard to get, I like it.” The rugged man raised a muscled arm, waving down the bartender. “Get pretty boy here something nice to drink. Something sweet.”

Virion tilted his head towards him, eyebrow slowly raising. “How do you know I like sweet things?”

The man sat down on the bar stool next to him, a lascivious smirk on his face. “They say you are what you eat, and you look like you’d taste deliciously sweet.”

“Good guess. Too bad you aren’t gonna find out.” Virion took a sparkling drink from the bartender and downed it in a single long swallow. “Thanks for the drink.” His saccharine smile was a clear dismissal.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” The man’s smile was dark. “You give me a chance and I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Virion sniffed. “And how do you assume to do that?”

“You look like you need a good and proper fuck, pretty boy.” The man’s vulgarity made Virion’s eyes narrow. “You look like you got something on your mind you’d rather forget, and I would happily do the honors.”

Virion hesitated again, uncomfortable at the accuracy of the man’s remark.

“You think you know how to fuck me ‘good and proper’, soldier?” Virion hadn’t missed the Walinad insignia on the man’s leather armor.

“I’d put money on it.”

Virion’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Buy me another drink.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow at the demand but slowly raised his hand to signal the bartender. “Another drink for the pretty boy, and another beer for me.”

“Make mine a double.” Virion held the soldier’s stare, and the man shrugged.

“Whatever makes you happy, pretty boy.”

Virion frowned at the man’s compliance. “I’m not doing this sober.”

The soldier smiled a salacious smile. “I’ll buy you as many drinks as it takes to get you into my bed at the end of the night.”

Virion turned away, grabbing his new drink and taking a sip. He didn’t finish it all at once like the previous one, but he still managed to drink it faster than what was wise, if he was being honest with himself. “I hope you have a tab, because the night is still young.”

It became a habit-- hanging out in the seedier bars in a town and waiting to be approached. He spent more nights in random rooms and less in his own, waking up in the mornings hungover and lost.

It was always the same, every morning. Feeling the immediate anxiety of his unknown surroundings. Feeling that spike of adrenaline before coming to his senses and realizing what had happened the night before. That adrenaline was always replaced by a seeping disgust, but it was still more than the ever present numbness he had grown so accustomed to. That made it more bearable, just knowing that there was something worse right around the corner if he let himself stop.

The only thing that made him start to consider it was when he began to be found by Ruven rather than the silent and covert Argandea.

The first night he was found by Ruven, Virion was well and truly sloshed. It was a night no one had bothered to approach him-- a night where he bought all his own drinks, and far too many at that. And that is why Virion found himself being tossed out of a pub like a discarded puppy, vomit flecked on his shirt and more on the floor of the pub he had been thrown out of. He was swaying on his feet trying to walk home one second, crumpled and retching into the bushes the next.

“Divines… Virion?” Ruven’s voice barely roused the drunk elf from his stupor, just enough to grunt in affirmative reply.

"What are you doing out? You're a fucking mess." Ruven approached Virion's slumped form, grimacing at the sight of the vomit covered Warlock. “Divines, Viri, you couldn’t have picked something a bit more pleasant to destroy yourself with?” His lip was drawn back in disgust as he hauled the Warlock’s arm over his shoulder.

“Tried Berlin roots,” Virion slurred drunkenly. “That lasted up until I started seeing her.”

“Shit Viri…”

Even through his insensibility, Virion could feel a stab of disgust and regret at the pity that creeped into Ruven’s voice. He knew he was a wreck, and the last thing he needed was to ruin his battlemate’s perception of him as well.

Too late now, he supposed, as Ruven brought him back to his room and stripped him of his vomit stained shirt. He was being dressed by the same man he trained with as a child. He had seen countless battles with the Warlock at his side, and Virion knew without a doubt that if he had ever really earned any respect from Ruven, it would be lost by the time he woke in the morning.

The thing with rock bottom is that you can’t go much further down.

Ruven had replaced the Kag’ash’s vigil at bars. He would babysit Virion, for lack of a better term. He would watch as he got more and more sloshed and less and less coherent, taking the mess of a man home at the end of the night if he hadn’t already run off with someone else first.

Tonight, he had finally had enough. Ruven was sick of seeing his friend slowly destroy himself with no care to do otherwise.

“If you’re gonna act like a whore, Viri, at least make them pay you.” Ruven slammed a beer onto the bar next to where the Warlock sat, scowling.

“Fuck off, Ruven.” Virion didn’t look up from his glass.

Ruven was infuriated by Virion’s complete and utter apathy. All he wanted was to make the elf see what he had stooped to. “Your mother would be appalled that you’re doing all this, man. She raised you to be smart, not an idiot who throws everything away just because he’s sad.”

“You don’t even have a mom, Ruven, what would you know?” A slight slur to his words belied the drunkenness underneath his composure.

Ruven cut straight to the point. “Letting yourself get fucked senseless by ugly brutes isn’t gonna bring her back.”

In the blink of an eye, the blonde was on the floor, a bruise already forming where Virion had punched him. “I told you to shut up.” Virion growled, teeth bared.

Ruven picked himself off the ground and dusted off his shirt. “Punching me isn’t going to make what I say any less true, either.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Virion grabbed the front of Ruven’s shirt aggressively. “Maybe I just want to get fucked by ‘ugly brutes’, Ruven, did you consider that?”

“Please,” the blonde scoffed. “Even at your lowest, you always had taste. I never liked Calywen, but at least he was pretty.” He pried Virion’s fingers from his shirt.

“Fuck off, Ruven.” Virion had become to realize that without Thyia’s there to smooth over the wounds of Calywen, the man had become a lot more present in his head. He kept trying to not think about him, but when the King managed to slip into his thoughts, they swirled with confusion, guilt, and anger.

It made him uncomfortable.

Thyia had distracted him from the worst of it, but now with both of them gone, Virion found himself mourning them both at once, albeit in different ways. He hated it. Their memories had become so intertwined that Virion couldn’t remember love without the stabbing claws of pain wrenching into his heart.

So he distracted himself in other ways.
“Do you want to fight, Ru?” Virion sneered. “I know you hate babysitting my pathetic ass-- I’m sure you’d take a lot of enjoyment from beating me senseless.”

“Maybe I would!” Ruven threw his hands up in the air. “You’ve become an even bigger pain in my ass this past month, and that’s saying a lot. I always thought your stupid fake accent and pompous attitiude was the worst thing about you, but I just never realized I was friends with a coward who drunk himself half to death every night instead of growing up and moving on like any other grown adult.”

“What is there to move on from?” Virion hated how his voice cracked. “She has been the reason I fought since before I even fought my first battle.”

“So you had a crush.” Ruven sneered. “That doesn’t mean that she’s your entire reason for living! You’re a Warlock, for Divine’s sakes. You’re supposed to live for the fight! For your next battle, your next mission! Not for a stupid girl.”

Virion swung again, missing when Ruven stepped back. “She was never just a girl,” he hissed, eyes wild with drunken abandon. “You never felt her magic, You never felt her breathtaking madness, like she was Xiris herself. How was I not meant to worship her, when she was closer to our Divine than I had ever gotten?”

“Oh please, don’t be pathetic.” Ruven just wanted him to move on already, and he knew his friend was far too devoted to ever break down the pedestal he had placed that woman on by himself. “She was just your first taste of actual love. Calywen fucked your perceptions of what love was so bad that the second you got a taste you turned her into a god. Hate to break it to you, but she was just a human, and a rather insufferable one at that.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Virion lunged forward again, his drunkenness ruining his balance and toppling them both to the floor. He didn’t want to talk anymore, at this point, he just wanted to feel the thrill of a fight, to knock the repulsed sneer off Ruven’s face. “She was everything to me, more than you or anyone in our battalion could ever be!”

Ruven finally struck back, and Virion couldn’t help but feel a sick satisfaction when the fist collided with his cheek with a nauseating thud.

The Warlock went home roughed up and bruised, but the pain of his physical wounds drowned out the immaterial, and he slept soundly that night.

Ruven didn’t stop his chaperoning. Virion didn’t know if he should be thankful or insulted, so he settled for a confusing mix of both.

He had gotten annoyingly good at cutting Virion off before he could lose all his senses, but there was still the occasional night he would manage to lose his trail and get a good head start on his indulgence.

On those nights, Ruven was still loyal enough to carry him home and put him to sleep, and Virion always felt guilty in the morning.

It didn’t stop him though. That night, Virion had managed to sneak away while Faylen was lecturing Ruven about something. He made his way to a rather conspicuous tavern that was definitely not his taste, but he knew Ruven wouldn’t think to look for him there, so that made it perfect.

He had drunk and drunk and drunk until he felt like his brain and body were separate beings. His brain was a molasses-like sludge, thoughts dripping slow and syrupy. His body was unsteady and heavy, and he was slumped over in his chair because holding himself up just felt like too much effort.

That was how Ruven found him, beer in hand and head on top of that. He dragged him off of the bar with a sigh, and some whispered remark of his gratitude that Virion hadn’t traipsed off with an ugly lout.

As they made their way out of the pub, Virion stumbled and sent them knocking into a woman walking in. He looked up with mumbled apologies, but stopped short when he saw her face.

“...Thyia?” His voice was choked.

Shit. Ruven cursed internally. The woman looked inconveniently similar to the former Warlock.

“Pardon?” The woman tilted her head, even her accent similar.

“Ignore him, he’s drunk.” Ruven swooped in and started dragging Virion away before he managed to have a full breakdown in front of a stranger.

“Haha, I hope you manage to get him home alright! He seems like he’s had a hell of a night!” The woman walked past them into the pub, unaware of the floodgates she had knocked open.

“Wow, you really are a mess Viri,” Ruven’s voice was forcibly cheery, trying to postpone the breakdown he knew was coming. “ Let’s get you home, you big oaf. Can’t even keep your balance, how drunk are you?”

“She… she looked just like her.” Virion let himself be limply dragged along towards their lodgings. “For a second I--” He looked desperately up at Ruven, “I thought she was still alive, and that this was all just some sort of bad dream.” His voice was pained and pleading, like Ruven somehow held the power to make it true if Virion begged him enough.

“It wasn’t her.” Ruven stared ahead and pushed them forward.

“I just want her back, Ru, I’d do anything.”

Ruven’s heart clenched at the old nickname. “I know, buddy. But she’s gone, and she did it for a good reason, even though I know it hurts.”

“Divines, it hurts so bad.” Virion choked back a sob, and Ruven did his best to ignore the stares of the people they passed.

“Warlocks live for a good fight, Viri.” Ruven tried his best to comfort. “Be happy that she died doing what she loved. She defeated a Divine, Virion. She killed a son of Xiris and then killed her vessel. That’s an honorable thing to die for.”

“I wouldn’t care if Xiris was inside her, I just want her back.” Virion’s voice was petulant.

“Don’t say that.” Ruven’s tone was sharp, all traces of comfort gone. “You don’t know how dangerous that would be. You don’t know what you’re saying.” He took a deep breath, calming himself. “You need to forget her.”

At his words, Virion slumped fully, becoming a dead weight along Ruven’s side. Great. Knowing full well that he couldn’t push it off any further, Ruven dragged Virion into a secluded alley to have his breakdown in a semi private area at the least.

“Divines, Ru, I want to forget it all. I wish I could forget it all.” Virion’s voice was slurred and desperate. “I want to just take away every memory I have with her and start from scratch. But I genuinely can’t think back far enough to remember life without her. From the very beginning when I joined the Warlock Army she was my only worthwhile opponent. She was that first spark of excitement that made me crave my assignments.” His eloquence remained even though his mouth lagged behind, making his words garbled and messy.

“She was a worthy opponent.” Ruven crouched down next to where Virion was slumped. “But she is not your only one. There will always be another battle to fight, Virion. You will always have your brothers and sisters in arms to fight with. We are Warlocks. We are followers of Xiris’ wrath and conduits for her judgement. The world does not begin and end at a single woman.”

“It feels like it does though.”

It scared Ruven how fragile and broken Virion sounded. He has dealt with the mourning of friends before, but never anything like this. He didn’t know how to handle this. He was used to mourning as a warrior, honoring the memory of his fallen friends by fighting onward. But Virion had always had a delicate heart. He had always taken each loss particularly hard, no matter how little he had known the Warlock.

“It feels like she was the beginning of everything I fought for. Even more so than Xiris herself.”

This was far worse than anything he had dealt with before.

“That’s… Heavy, Viri.” Ruven was scrambling with what to say. “I… Can you really not think of anything before her? What about when you still lived with your mom?” Ruven didn’t know everything about Virion’s childhood, but he knew more than most. He knew that though it hadn’t been the easiest, Virion’s mother had been a shining light at the center of it all. He had met her a few times. She really was an angel.

If anyone would know how to kick Virion out of this funk, it would be her. Too bad they were traitors to the crown, and she resided quite resolutely in the center of all of Aldwen.

“Oh Divines, I miss her too.” Grief laced Virion’s voice and Ruven realized he may have made an error bringing her up. “She would know how to make this stop hurting.”

“Yeah, she would…” Ruven sighed. He really didn’t know how to comfort Virion, and he hated seeing the man so broken like this. “She’s pretty great.”

“She is.” Virion slumped even further into himself. “I just want my mother, Ru, I just want to see my mom.” His voice broke on the last word and tears finally dropped freely from his eyes. “I miss my mom so much. Divines, I miss her. She always knew how to make me feel better, no matter how old I got.” He was truly a mess at this point, voice coming out as choked sobs. “I miss her so much.”

“I know buddy. Your mom is amazing. But she’s in Aldwen, and we would get hunted down the second we stepped foot back there. It’s not safe.” Ruven patted his friend’s shaking back awkwardly.

Virion’s sobs began anew. “I know!” He coughed on his own tears. “I know we can’t, which is the only reason I didn’t go running to her the second all this happened.” Virion buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t even visit her this year, Ruven.” His voice was laced with regret. “I was too busy running errands for stupid Calywen that I didn’t visit her. I haven't seen her in over a year and now I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to see her again.”

Ruven winced. “Maybe we can work something out… You never know.” He wasn't used to being so optimistic, but he could tell Virion needed it in the moment.

“Fuck, Ru, it all just hurts so bad.” Virion clutched at his chest, sobs wracking his frame. “I finally realized Calywen didn’t love me anymore-- I let myself admit it because I had found Thyia. And then I lost her too, all at once. And now the only person I know who could just hold me to make me feel better is thousands of leagues away from me and I’m not allowed to see her. It’s like Xiris herself is punishing me for daring to love someone more than her.”

Ruven smiled crookedly. “Hey, I know it’s really not the same, but you have me, buddy. I’ve got your back. I might not be your mom, but if you asked nicely, I’d let you lay delicately on my bosoms and brush your hair until you felt better.”

Virion let out a weak laugh. “Would you really?”

“Yeah, I would.” Ruven slapped Virion’s back gently. “If it gets us out of this alleyway any sooner, I promise to do it tonight and even let you crash in my room. It looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

Virion took a deep breath, wiping surreptitiously at his eyes. “Okay, yeah. We should get out of here. It stinks.”

“‘Fraid that might be you, Viri. You smell like someone bottled a seedy tavern and sold it as cologne.”

Virion snorted softly, pulling himself to his feet. “Fuck off, Ru. I may smell like a tavern but I still look prettier than you.”

“Ha! Hardly.” Ruven threw his arm around Virion’s shoulders, half in camaraderie half to make sure he was balanced. “You’re lying to yourself. You know I’m the pretty one.”

Their banter continued as they slowly walked home, the rain catching them just minutes before they reached the warm safety of Ruven’s room. But Virion didn’t mind. He let it wash away the smell of his sadness with no complaint.

And he didn’t even have to worry about tangles-- Ruven carried through with his promise to brush his hair.

Virion fell asleep relatively sober and happy for the first time in months.

The fact that they had pulled it off in the first place was a miracle. Ruven had conspired with Eldrin and Faylen for weeks before finally telling Virion of their plan. It was simple, really. They still had enough allies in Aldwen to sneak Virion through certain parts as long as he was quick and didn’t stir up any trouble. All they needed was a simple disguise and a little bit of luck.

Luck being disguising wards and distraction spells, but as they say, potayto potahto.

It could only be for a week, Faylen had warned Virion when they sent him off. Any longer and it could attract unwanted attention to his mother. The fact that his mother lived on a relatively secluded piece of land was the only thing that had made their plan possible in the first place.

So Virion had packed his bags and taken a scissors to hair, ridding himself of his most recognizable trait. And then he had stashed himself away on the Savage Princess with all but a short goodbye to his friends and a fierce ‘thank you’ on his lips.

He was off to see his mother.

Virion could practically feel the serenity seeping into his bones with every step through the sunny countryside. He had nothing but lovely memories of his mother’s house, and the fact that he was going to be held by her once again soon put a barely recognizable spark of hope in his chest.

With magic casting his hair darker and skin lighter, Virion walked on the open road leading up to his mother’s cottage, heart clenching with happiness as he saw her pig gently grazing in the front yard. Biting his lip to keep a smile off his face (and tears from sprouting in his eyes), Virion stepped up to the little purple door and knocked a gentle rhythm into the wood. It was a secret knock his mother had taught him as a child, and years after its usefulness had faded, they still always used it when Virion came to visit. After a second, Virion could hear excited steps rushing up to the door before it swung open rapidly.

“Viri...on?” The excitement on his mother’s face faded into a skeptical confusion as she stared at a man who looked nothing like her son standing on her doorstep. A few strands of her long white hair had fallen in front of her face, no doubt in her excited rush to the door, and Virion wanted to do nothing more than brush them behind her pointed ear.

“Can I come in?” A silent plea lay in his words, and he hoped beyond hope that his mother didn’t question him. Her eyes narrowed, not in menace, but in calculation; as if something was tickling the back of her brain but she just couldn’t grasp it.

Divines, he loved his mother.

After a moment, she stepped aside and let Virion enter, closing the door behind him. “Alright, now that you’re inside, will you tell me who you are and how--” His mother cut herself off with a gasp as Virion let his illusion drop, features returning to his own. “It is you.” Her voice filled with such an overwhelming warmth that Virion had to fight the tears from welling in his eyes.

“Hi, mom.” His head was dipped down almost bashfully, and a broken smile on his face.

“What happened to your hair?” She reached out to touch the lone braid that was left of his once long locks, but stopped herself when she saw the brokenness in his eyes. “Nevermind all that, just--” She opened her arms wide. “Come here.”

It was all the encouragement Virion needed to collapse into his mother’s arms, unable to choke back a quiet sob as he finally felt the comfort of her arms around him and gentle hands in his hair.

“Oh baby,” His mother shushed him gently, arms wrapping tighter around him as he began to cry in full. “It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. No matter what’s happened, I’ve got you now. Momma’s here. I got you.” She gently let them sink to the ground and gathered the Warlock’s much larger form into her lap. Virion felt her tuck his head into the crook of her neck and her fingers began to soothingly comb through his hair. She tenderly rocked him back and forth as if he was naught but a babe once again, occasionally murmuring soothing words as he cried. It felt like it could have either minutes or hours before he finally ran out of tears, but Merih has held him through it all, hands never stopping the soothing circles on his back and gentle scratches through his short hair. Eventually, Virion found the strength to lift his head from the comfort of her shoulder and look at her.

“I missed you.” Virion’s voice was scratchy from his sobs.

A compassionate sparkle of a laugh left his mother’s lips. “I can tell.”

Virion wordlessly motioned to his hair. “I had to cut it off to come visit you. I’d be too recognizable with it long. I’m sure I’ve made life hell for all tall warlocks with white hair recently. Probably getting hunted down left and right, in accounts to me being a traitor to the crown and all.”

Merih shook her head in disbelief. “I… had heard all that, but I didn’t know what to believe. What happened, son?”
Virion shrugged face falling. “It’s a long story. Why don’t we sit somewhere more comfortable before I tell you. I’m crushing you.”

Merih laughed. “You will never be too old or too big to sit in your momma’s lap, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“You’re like half my size.” Virion raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me that was comfortable for you.”

“I’m always happy when I get to hold my son.” She tilted her head back as Virion stood, holding her hand out for him to help her up. “I’ll make some tea. Why don’t you go set your bag in the guest room and get settled in? The tea should be ready in about ten minutes.”

Virion nodded silently, taking his bag and carrying it into the lavender coloured room down the hall. Purple had always been his mother’s favorite color, and Virion’s as well. It soothed him. He gently ran his hand across the purple quilted bedspread, marvelling at the details of the wording stitched around the perimeter. His heart caught in his throat when he realized they were prayers to Xiris for safety and health, written in curling Aldwenian script. His mother had obviously sewn this with him in mind, and it brought such a vicious longing into his chest that he had to blink back tears once again. Thank the Divines he was here now. He didn’t have to miss her anymore.

Making his way back to the kitchen, Virion let himself be surrounded by the comfort of his mother. Everything about this house just oozed her personality and loving touch, and Virion’s heart selfishly tried to soak it all in to soothe his ache. Walking up to where she was pouring steaming cups of spiced tea, Virion habitually handed her the jar of sugar and pitcher of cream and she filled each cup with a generous portion of both. He had definitely gotten his sweet tooth from his mother. Wordlessly, they each picked up their mugs and took a seat at the lovingly worn kitchen table.

“So, baby, what all has happened? The last time I heard from you, you were telling me that Calywen had sent you on an important trip and you weren’t going to be able to visit as usual. It seems like so much has happened since then, and I’ve heard rumors, but I can’t even begin to imagine what is true and what is just crazy gossip.”

Virion closed his eyes as a pang of guilt and pain rushed through his chest. He didn’t want to talk about everything that had happened, but this was his mother. She deserved to know. He needed her to know, so that she could work her magic and begin to stitch him back together again.

“To be honest, I don’t even know where to start.” He huffed quietly. “And honestly, the rumors can’t be crazier than what actually happened. What have you been hearing? Lets start there.”

“Well, the one I’ve heard the most is probably the one I hope most is not true, for your sake.” His mother winced, compassion bleeding in her eyes. “I heard that… Calywen was killed. That some Warlocks attempted a coup and murdered him.” His mother looked so scared for him, and Virion remembered that the last time they had talked, he had still been madly in love with the King.

Oh how things had changed.

Virion shook his head. “He died, but not at the hands of Aldwen Warlocks.”

“Oh baby… Are you alright? He was everything to you.” She reached across the table and took his hand into her own.

“Divines… so much has changed.” Virion offered his mother a broken smile. “I’m not actually upset about that. I guess a sick part of me is even a bit thankful.”

A cold fear creeped into his mother’s expression. “Baby… what did he do to you?”

“It wasn’t--” Virion cut himself off. “Well, I was going to say that it wasn’t really him, that he was being influenced. And he was. But I don’t even know how much of it was the influence and how much of it was actually him anymore. I don’t think I knew him as well as I thought I did.” His mother remained silent, letting him continue.

“He--” Virion started but cut himself off again with a shake of his head. “I told him about Thera’kith, ages ago. I told him of his power and destruction, not thinking anything of it. But he was getting paranoid of his cousin, I think. I think he was worried about people trying to take the throne, and he… he decided to try and harness Thera’kith.”

“He didn’t…” His mother’s voice was a terrified whisper.

“He failed obviously. Thera’kith was bound in the battle at Westerford, so he can’t be freed by anyone unless they break the pillars. But he managed to summon his presence, I think, and Thera’kith began to influence him.” Virion ran a hand through his hair, the short strands feeling incredibly forign to him. “I don’t even know when it all started,” he continued. “All I know is that one day he was just a boy scared of being killed, coming to me for comfort, and me just doing all I could to protect him. And then I blinked, and suddenly there was no love for me in his eyes anymore. Just fear, and anger, and hatred. Thera’kith poisoned his mind and made him suspect of everyone around him. He was using me as a personal mercenary, sending me to take care of whatever person he felt threatened by in the moment.”

“Oh baby…” his mother’s coo washed over him like a balm, giving him the strength to carry on.

“He grew distant, at first. He was sending me off the second I returned, and he never had time to just be with me when I was in the castle. But then he started getting angry, if things didn't go his way. I thought he was just venting to me at first, confiding his frustrations to me in the form of hissed insults and roared curses. I was so sure that none of it was directed at me. But then I came back from a mission he sent me on with less than positive news. The man he had ordered me to kill had escaped before I could even reach where Calywen told me I would find him, and all the people who knew where he went had been killed. He had known that paying them off wouldn’t keep mouths shut, so he made sure to leave absolutely no leads. There was no way I could have been able to find him, not even if I had traipsed across all of Aradove. I told him as such, knowing he would be upset, but I never thought it would be at me.” Virion stared into his milky teacup, gently swirling the still warm liquid. “He was furious, mom. He was enraged that I had let him get away, and he swore that I needed to learn my lesson, and that I couldn’t be let off the hook just because I was his lover. He kept saying that he didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to hurt me. But I had forced his hand. He didn’t want to hurt me, but he said I had to be… punished. For my mistakes.”

Merih was deadly still in her seat. “What did he do to you?” Her voice held an ominous anger lurking just beneath the surface.

“It… wasn’t that bad.” Virion lied through his teeth.

“What did he do?” His mother’s voice held no room for avoidance. He knew she wouldn’t stop until she was sure she had the full truth out of him.

“He would… whip me, mostly.” Virion couldn’t look at his mother’s face, eyes resolutely staring at the delicate kettle on the other side of the room. “Sometime he would just backhand me, if I was lucky. If the mistake was small enough.”

“How often?” He could hear the rage bubbling in his mother’s voice.

“Just whenever I failed one of his missions.” Virion carried on before she had a chance to speak. “The fact that I’m alive now proves that he did love me, even in his own twisted way. If I had been anyone else, I would have been killed ten times over for all my mistakes.”

“And that’s why he never should have touched you at all!” His mother’s voice was sharp. “What type of man raises his hand against a loved one? I don’t care if he is a King, I wouldn’t even care if he was a Divine! There is never any excuse to hurt someone you love like that. Never. I would kill him myself if he wasn’t already dead.” She spat.

Shaking her head as if to shake off her rage, tenderness slowly the vitriol in her eyes as she took a steadying breath. “You didn’t deserve that baby. Never did you do anything to deserve that. Tell me you know that?” Her gentle plea pulled at the ragged strings holding together Virion’s heart.

“I… I think I understand that, now. It took me finding someone else who showed me what love was really like, but... I understand that now.”

“Someone else?” A spark of curiosity glinted in Merih’s spritely eyes.

“Yeah.” Virion could feel his heart break anew. “She was amazing.”

“Was…?” he didn’t need to look up to know his mother’s face was one of shared grief and compassion.

“She died, fixing Calywen’s mistake. Fixing mine.”

“Oh baby… I wish I could have been there for you.” His mother stood from her seat and settled herself in the chair next to him instead, gentle arm wrapping around his shoulders. Virion could feel the comfort seep into his bones from every point where her body touched his. He basked in it for a moment, before carrying on.

“It’s still so painful to think about mom. I only really had her for a scarce few months before the Divines ripped her away from me. I had never loved like her before. She inhabited my entire heart, my entire being. Everything I had ever felt for Calywen was like a whisper of what I felt for her. The decades I spent with our King felt like a second compared to the days I got to spend with her.”

“She sounds amazing, my sweet Viri. She sounds like she gave you the love you have deserved for a long long time.” Merih pulled him closer, resting her head on his shoulder as his breath shuddered. “I’m glad you found her, baby. Even if it was far too short, I’m glad you got to feel a love like that. It’s truly special.”

“It hurts so much, now that she’s gone. I don’t even know if I could talk about it without my heart just… giving out on me.” Virion leaned defeatedly into the comfort of his mother’s embrace, staving off tears with her consoling touch.

“Try for me, Viri baby.” She pulled his head to her chest, running her fingers across his scalp. “Tell me about how you two met-- tell me all of the good things you remember. You don’t have to talk about the sad things, if you don’t think you can. But your heart is heavy, baby. You’re carrying too much to burden alone. You need to get it off your chest, or you won’t survive it.” Her voice belied personal experience and Virion could feel himself crave that understanding.

“You have a delicate heart, son of mine, and you aren’t designed to carry this all alone. Let me carry it with you.”

So Virion spoke. He spoke of how they had met, all those years ago, and how he had been enraptured by her madness and passion. He spoke of her sacrifice, and how after all the years he found himself her enemy again when she was tasked to be the court mage. He spoke of how they formed a tentative alliance to stop Calywen, and how she had kicked down the walls to his heart with a ferocity only possessed by a woman as powerful as her. He talked, and he cried, about how much love he had felt for her, and how much she had shown him back. How he missed her, and how he felt nothing but guilt for what had happened. How it had been his own cowardice to face Calywen himself that had caused it. How she had sacrificed herself to stop Xiris. How he had watched her die. How he had held her broken body in his arms and how he had buried it so finally in the cold dirt. How nothing felt like it was worth fighting for anymore. He spoke of everything he felt for her. Every ounce of love for her and every ounce of hate for how everything had happened.

Virion spoke and Virion cried, and his mother held him through it all.

And after all the words poured out of his mouth, Virion felt just a tiny bit lighter.

After Virion had caught her up on everything that had happened, his mother had tasked him with going out to the garden to pick herbs and vegetables for dinner. It had long since fallen dark, but Virion lit a tiny fire in his hands as he walked through his mother’s luscious garden, snipping springs of fresh rosemary and sweet basil and gathering crisp pods of sweetpeas. It really was peaceful, being surrounded by life and love, each plant growing happy and tall with the attention and care his mother obviously poured into them. Virion found himself imagining himself as a plant, wilted and weathered by the callousness of the world. He imagined his leaves as torn and crumpled, and his branches scratched and bent. He imagined his mother’s gentle hands finding the broken and dying Virion plant and whisking it away to her garden to nurse him back to health. He looked around him at the bright life of the tall green plants surrounding him, and he found himself envious of how much they thrived. He found himself hopeful as well, a tiny part of him hoping against all hope that a week in this garden would be enough to heal the tears in his leaves and mend the breaks in his branches. He hoped, for his own sake, that his mother’s nurturing love would be enough to convince his heart that it could continue to beat for just another day.

“Vi baby,” He heard his mother’s lilting voice call from the warm and welcoming entrance of the cottage. “I’m sure you have enough for dinner, come and give me what you have.”

Virion nodded and met her at the door, handing her the small woven basket filled with his harvest. With a smile, she handed him a pair of garden shears and pushed him back towards the garden again.

“Now go pick me some flowers baby, we need something to spruce up that old kitchen table of mine. I have a vase waiting inside.”

Ever the dutiful son, Virion wordlessly wandered back to the lush garden boxes, this time finding himself gravitating towards the tall, arching, magnificent rose bushes that spanned the entire back wall of her garden. Lightsource floating gently by his head, Virion bushed his hands gently across the bushes, their thorns sharp, but not sharp enough to break his calloused skin. He found a patch of beautiful creamsicle colored buds and gently pruned a few of the prettier stems. He carried on down the perimeter of the garden, stopping every few steps to snip a blooming bud. After a few moments, he held a full bouquet of sturdy roses, their pastel colors contrasting the deep green of their leaves. It was perfect.

Walking back to the cottage, Virion watched peacefully as his mother trimmed the thorns off the rose stems and artfully arranged them in a hand sculpted vase. She gently pushed the vase into Virion’s hands with a smile and turned back to finish up the final preparations for dinner.

Virion gently placed the vase in the center of the dining table, moving to grab plates, bowls, and cutlery from the cabinets behind him and setting the table as his mother worked. As Virion placed the final fork on his mother’s napkin, his mother placed a steaming pot of soup on the table, carrying various bowls of fresh vegetables to the table as well.

They ate contentedly, his mother filling the silence with stories of how her life had been in the past year he had been gone. It was more soothing than anything Virion could have hoped for, filling himself with her warm, delicious food and listening to her balmy voice. The house was serene, a slice of paradise amongst the chaos of the rest of the world.

Virion wished he could stay forever.

Exhausted from his earlier outpouring of emotions, Virion felt himself blinking heavily as he finished the last bites of his dinner. His mother’s voice had long since turned into a soothing drone of words his brain didn’t bother to decipher. He assumed she must have noticed his exhaustion, because he heard her chair scrape back and her footsteps gently tread to where he stood. He felt her gentle hand run through his hair before tipping his chin up to see his face.

“Why don’t you go use the bath to wash up baby, I have to go grab you some more blankets from the linen closet before you sleep. It’s been getting cold at night.”

Virion nodded wordlessly and made his way to the quaint washroom at the end of the hall. He relished in the warm comfort of a bath and felt all the tension slowly seep out of his bones as the lavender scent of his mother’s soap filled the room.

After a leisurely bath, Virion dried his hair. It was odd, not having to spend minutes brushing out all the tangles. He just ran his fingers through the short strands and deftly redid the single braid he had left by his face.

Part of him desperately missed the beauty of his long locks, but another part of him felt a deep seated relief as he stared into the mirror.

He looked like a new man. He didn’t have to stare into the mirror anymore and remember who he had been for the past year, and who he had lost. Looking at his reflection no longer so painfully reminded him of Calywen and Thyia. Instead, his scarred face and short hair looked so forign to him that he could almost pretend that he was a different man altogether. He could pretend that he hadn’t lived the pain of the past year, and he didn’t currently feel like a fractured wisp of a soul.

He could stare at himself in the mirror and just see an arbitrary man. An aging boy, the deep exhaustion in his eyes merely caused by a long journey, not the pain of a thousand lifetimes.

It was at that moment that Virion decided he quite liked his short hair.

Wrapping himself in the warm robe his mother had placed on the counter for him, Virion made his way back to the guest room, tossing his dirty clothes on top of his bag mindlessly, stopping short when his eyes passed over the bed.

Sitting atop one of the plush pillows was a little white teddy bear, it’s fluffy fur gently matted down with years of love. A brand new lavender ribbon was tied around its neck, the shiny silk of the fabric glinting in the moonlight

Movements stilted, Virion walked over to the bed, a shaking hand reaching out to pick up the bear. He hadn’t seen this bear since the days he and his mother had still lived in that brothel. Since before anything Calywen or Warlock or Thyia. Before he had grown taller than his mother. Before he had grown out of her lullabies.

“I thought you could use a friend.”

Virion whirled around to see his mother leaning in the doorway, her face soft.

“Where do you find her?”

“I had been going through some old boxes before you showed up today, and she was just sitting in the bottom of one. I guess she knew you’d be coming home. That you might need her again.”

Virion cried for the third time that night.

Virion’s week of reprieve was spent mostly in his mother’s garden, tending to plants with her. She sent him about pruning the branches too tall for her to reach, and making him pick the fruit too far for her to grasp. Every second, she kept his hands busy. If they weren’t in the garden, Virion found himself inside the cozy house, fixing up things left and right. It kept his mind free and heart light, and his mother’s laughter and song was gently yet steadily bouying his sunken heart. In the afternoons, his mother would always make tea and they would rest in the garden. The second day, she had braided tiny little daisies into his braid, and for every day after that, they would take turns braiding flowers and leaves into each others’ hair as they sipped their tea.

Virion was at peace.

At night, he hugged his bear, and burying his face in her fur helped him force away all the dark thoughts still desperately choking in his heart. The one thought he was never able to stop, however, was how much he wished that Thyia could have met his mother. That thought had hurt like a fresh wound that first night, but as the week wore on, it became less and less painful and more and more bittersweet.

That week, Merih never scolded him when he cried. She would just silently stop what she was doing and hold him, voice murmuring soft comforts into his ear as her hands played gently with his hair. She would hold him until his tears stopped, and then she would hand him something to keep his hands busy, something to take his mind away from all the heartache.

But like all good things, Virion found the week coming to an end. He was meant to meet with a rogue Aldwen mercenary that night, in the forest near his mother’s house. He was to travel with him to a small bay mostly ignored by the Aldwen nobility, where he would then be smuggled onto a trading ship making its way to Walinad.

He didn’t want to go.

But Virion knew that staying any longer could result in raised suspicions and potential danger for his mother. That wasn’t something he wanted to test. So he packed his bags that final afternoon while his mother made their tea. Making his way to the kitchen once he was done, Virion tried not to think of the loneliness looming on his horizons. He accepted the piping hot mug of tea from his mother’s hands and made his way out to the garden with her. She sat herself down on an old wooden bench nestled in the densest part of the garden and patted the spot next to her in invitation.

“So it seems our week has come to a close.” His mother spoke as he settled next to her, gently leaning into her slender form.

“So it seems.” Virion’s heart felt heavy, and he couldn’t keep that heaviness out of his voice.

“I know that sometimes, the most painful part of losing someone is the heaviness of all the things you never said to them.” His mother set down her cup of tea, procuring a small notebook from her pockets. “So I got you this. It’s a place for you to write all the things you wish you could have said to her. A journal to fill with your thoughts when they just seem too heavy to burden alone. Paper can never be a complete replacement for a gentle heart and a listening ear, but if you ever find yourself lacking those, this notebook can hold your thoughts for you until you come across them again.” She gently pushed the book into his hands, curling his fingers around the leather binding. “Please use it, my son. I wish I could be there to listen to you every second that you need, but it seems the Divines have other plans. So please use this in my stead.”

Virion nodded, chest tight and voice choked. “I will.”

Divines, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to bottle up every single bit of his mother and her little slice of paradise and keep it on him everywhere he went. He wanted to strap this feeling of peace to his heart and never feel anything else. But not even Warlock magic could accomplish that.

The rest of their afternoon was spent in relative silence. Virion was afraid to open his mouth lest tears were to come out instead. He had cried so much this week. More tears than he had cried in the past decade combined, he was sure. And he was tired. If he knew he could stay in his mother’s arms until his tears subsided, he might let them fall. But the idea of tears without the warm comfort of her arms to hold him together? He didn’t start because he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop without her.

Their dinner was simple and comforting, his mother wrapping leftovers along with countless other goodies for Virion to take with him, ignoring his soft protests. She followed him to his room to grab his bags, wordlessly stopping him before he could bring them out. Opening his bag, she picked up the white bear from where she sat gently on the bed and pressed her inside.

“You need her with you more than I need her here. And tell Ruven that if he dares to say anything about it, I’m not letting him have my raisin bread next time he comes to visit.”

Virion laughed, a fierce love beating in his chest.

“And wait here, I also have some lavender sachets for your bag. I’ve heard how smelly those ships can get, especially when you’ve been stuck on them for more than a week. At least this way your clothes will always smell nice and fresh and remind you of home.” With that, she disappeared around the corner to her room, emerging moments later with an overflowing handful of sachets.

“Mother, if you put all of those in my bag, I’m going to smell like a whole field of lavender. You’ll make the whole hold of the ship smell like lavender.”

She waved a hand dismissively, placing the sachets in every empty nook in his bag. “Nonsense, it’s not that many. And this way you can fill your room in Walinad with them as well. And if you still have too many, you can share them with the rest of all your friends, as a thank you from me for taking care of my son.” With that, she snapped the latches shut and handed Virion the bag, now burgeoning with mementos and gifts.

“I’m going to miss you, mom.”

She smiled sadly, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “And I, you, my baby. But you are needed elsewhere, and I am quite happily stuck here until our kingdom sorts itself out. You will visit me again soon.”

With that reassurance, they walked slowly out to the front room, Virion setting his bag down to hug her tightly. She squeezed him with the strength of a hundred men and flashed him a smile with the light of a thousand suns when she finally let go.

He reached into his pocket as they separated.“I want to hope that we were discreet enough in my visit, but at the same time, I am not fool enough to rely only on hope.” Virion handed her a slip of paper covered in intricate sigils and wards. “If anything is to happen that makes you feel like you’re unsafe, draw this on your door with chalk. After you’ve done that, burn this paper. That will alert me, and I will drop whatever I am doing to come get you. Do not break the ward and do not open your door for anything or anyone, unless they use our knock. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Merih smiled. “Hopefully I won’t have to use it.”

“I pray you never will.” Virion gave a resolute nod, forcing back tears as he reached out to embrace her one last time.

“Write to me, if you can.” His mother’s voice was muffled from being pressed tightly to his chest.

“I will,” he nodded into her hair. “I will write you whenever I get the chance, and I will send them whenever it is safe enough for me to do so.” With an oh so final squeeze, Virion released her and stepped back, desperately trying to build back up his walls before the pain and loneliness could creep back in.

“Oh, one last thing.” Dashing into the kitchen, his mother returned a second later with something in hand. She gently handed him the bouquet she had made him pick the first day, roses now dried and perfectly preserved. “Put those on her grave for me. I’m sorry I never had the chance to meet her, but if you loved her, I know she must have been an amazing woman.”

Virion felt a stabbing ache in his chest at the mention of Thyia, but he restrained succumbing to his dark thoughts. A week earlier he would have told his mother to save them for his own grave. A week earlier he felt like there was no surviving. But now he wasn’t so sure. Her nurturing love had managed to sew a glimmer of hope into his heart, and he could feel it working its magic even then.

“I will, mom. Thank you.”

And with that, Virion stepped back out into the callous world, the safety of his mother’s arms gone once again.

But this time, he knew he was going to be okay. Someday.

At first, the words didn’t come easily-- Virion’s pen scratching stiltedly over the pages, ink blots pooling where he stopped for too long. Writing the things he had only recently been trying to bury away forever felt counterproductive, the pain of thinking them wrenching his heart desperately. But on the third day of sitting with his journal in the hold of the cargo ship, Virion suddenly found himself unable to stop the words that poured from his pen. He wrote and wrote and wrote, only stopping to refill the ink in his pen. He found it made the time pass extraordinarily fast, and he found himself on the docks of Walinad what felt like days ahead of schedule.

He was greeted by his Warlock companions, Ruven slapping him on his back and elbowing him in his side, Faylen and Eldrin giving his quick yet tight embraces. They all could notice the returning spark of life in Virion’s eyes, but they remained silent, just happy that the trip had seemed to right something deep inside him.

Virion stayed in his room that night, forgoing the pubs and taverns and instead filling his little notebook with page after page of heartfelt words.

His return to Walinad felt like it was the start of a much needed peacefulness. Virion’s attempts to rebuild his life started in small ways, like a deep and thorough cleaning of his quarters. He found himself opening the windows during the day, eating more consistently, and going back to taking care of himself. He was relearning his routines, and it felt like the first scrap of normalcy in forever.

It didn’t last long though.

It was deep into the night and Virion was sitting at his small desk, a lantern illuminating the pages of his journal when he felt a panicked tug on his surge.

His wards.

Shit. Virion had hoped against all hope that his mother would never have to use the paper he had left her with, but never did he think she would have use them so soon.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his messy hair and shoved all the things on his desk to the side, gently tearing a blank piece of paper from his journal and grabbing his pen. It was too late in the night for any ships to be leaving the port, and he knew that it would take more than a few hours of planning with Faylen, Eldrin, and Ruven before they could figure out a way back to his mother.

But he needed to know she was okay.

Drawing steady lines onto his page, Virion forged a strong scrying ward, using the physicality of the paper to stretch his powers far enough to reach his mother. An image rippled into place atop his sigils, blurry and unfocused. But it was enough for now.

“Mother,” He hissed, wanting to scream out for her, but not wanting to put his mother in danger if she was not alone. “Mother, please let me know you are okay.”

Suddenly the image snapped into focus, his mother’s surprised face coming into view.

“Oh thank the divines,” Virion let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “What is happening? There was no way I could get on a ship until sometime this morning, but I needed to know you were okay.”

“Good.” His mother’s voice was relieved. “Don’t come, I’m safe.”

Virion’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re safe? Why did you use the wards I gave you?”

“I was hoping that exactly this would happen.” His mother looked tired, forehead wrinkled with worry, suddenly looking more like her age than Virion had ever seen before. “I was hoping you would try and reach out to me before leaving. I know how long it takes to get to Aldwen from there, but I know you couldn’t have gone that long without knowing I was safe.”

“What’s going on?” Virion felt on edge, almost more so with the odd circumstances than he had felt with the threat of outright danger.

“I needed to speak with you. Immediately and secretly. I couldn’t risk sending you a letter, Virion, but you and your friends need to know what is happening here in Aldwen.”

“What is happening? Are you sure you’re safe?” Virion felt himself leaning closer to the page, as if he could see what was making his mother so concerned if he just looked close enough.

“Calywen’s cousin has taken over the throne. I know we all assumed it would happen, but it’s official now. Maeryn is Empress now, and Virion, it’s not good.” His mother’s voice was rigid and serious. “She’s working with a group called the Ascendancy-- you may have encountered them before. They’ve been a fringe religious group who claim their purpose is to purge the world of all warlocks, but they’re growing now, by the day. The Empress sponsored them.”

“Sponsored the Ascendency?” Virion had encountered them a few times before, and they had been annoying, but not a danger. It wasn’t unheard of for some people to hate Warlocks. Xiris herself was not well loved, so her disciples were often disliked as well. “But why would she sponsor them? Aldwen’s entire army is made up of Warlocks.”

His mother shook her head, a desperate anguish flashing across her features. “She’s killing them, Virion. It’s a genocide.”

Virion gaped, his breath punched out of his lungs. “What? But-- They are--” He shook his head. “The Warlock Army is Aldwen’s greatest asset. She is powerless without them! She’s sabotaging herself.”

“The Ascendancy is her new army.” His mother dropped her head into her hands. “They’re so much stronger now. And the Warlocks--” She let out a shuddering breath. “So many have died, baby. No one was expecting this. It was an ambush, no one was prepared. The Ascendancy is full of Champions-- strong ones-- and with the element of surprise on their hands, the Warlocks stood no chance. They wiped out all the Warlocks staying in the barracks in one night. No one escaped. Maeryn can’t keep this quiet forever, but with no survivors, she might be able to keep it under wraps for a while.”

Virion was at a loss. He had fought in Aldwen’s army for decades, and he had grown to love his fellow Warlocks like family. They had been brothers and sisters in arms, and now he didn’t know how many of them were still alive. But he didn’t have time to grieve.

“And the people of Aldwen… they are okay with this?”

His mother’s form wavered in the wake of his raging emotions. “Empress Maeryn has spun a sick tale of how Calywen’s death was just the beginning. She’s made it out to seem that Xiris has grown even more unstable, and that it’s driving her followers mad. The people aren’t happy, but they aren’t fighting it either. The Ascendency has more supporters than what’s left of the Warlocks.”

Virion’s fingers were buried in his hair, tugging at the short strands and holding his head up. “Divines have mercy… Are you sure there aren’t any survivors? And do you know what Maeryn’s aim is with all this madness? She has to have a bigger plan.”

Merih shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry baby… I don’t know what her aim could possibly be. She is currently hunting down any other Warlocks in Aldwen, even if they weren’t part of the army. She’s declared them all traitors of the crown. She’s put a price on their heads. It’s not safe for anyone with corrupt Surge here in Aldwen anymore.”

“But… there are children with corrupt Surge in Aldwen! The people are really just standing aside and letting this happen?” Virion was a jumbled mess of emotions, grief and fury blazing above the rest.

His mother shrugged helplessly. “She’s preaching that if children have worked with Xiris’s magic long enough to corrupt their Surge, then they are just as much of a danger as full blooded Warlocks. She’s proposed a rehabilitation program of sorts… Saying that if Warlocks or their families surrender them without fight, she will have the Ascendency attempt to purge the corruption of their Surges. She said they would be returned once they were deemed safe for society.”

“Purging their corruption?” Virion’s blood was boiling. “That’s not possible!”

Merih clenched and unclenched her fists. “I know, I don’t trust it. I think it’s just a ploy to stop people from running. She’s set up Ascendency guards at all the ports in an attempt to stop any Warlocks they may have missed from fleeing.”

“Wait--” Virion’s head shot up. “Are the families of Warlocks safe? Are you really sure? I don’t want you to be in danger mother.”

“As long as they aren’t harboring any Warlocks. She said people who hide Warlocks from her and the Ascendency will be charged accordingly, and aiding traitors to the crown is not a light sentence. But I promise I’ll be safe.” There was something in her eye that made Virion uneasy.

“Mother… Don’t try and help. Don’t get involved, and don’t put yourself in danger. It’s not worth it. I can’t lose you too.” Virion pleaded.

“I--” She looked away. “I’ll be safe, son. Don’t worry about me.”

“No--” Virion felt ice fill his veins at her half answer. “Mother, please. Don’t get involved in this, it’s not safe. I can’t come to your aid if it really is as bad as you say.”

“I promise I won’t do anything else. The last thing I want to do is worry you.”

“Anything else?” Virion felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. “...What have you done?”

“Nothing baby, nothing that would draw attention to me.” She put on a gentle smile, trying to comfort Virion’s anxiety. “I just had visitors the night everything happened at the barracks, and, well.. They aren’t safe to leave.” She shrugged.

“Visitors? Who…?” Virion wracked his brain for any Warlocks his mother knew well enough to visit with.

“I may have befriended the Warlocks who helped you visit me, baby. I was hoping that down the line they could be a way for me to get letters to you… and well, that doesn’t seem like it’s happening anymore. But don’t worry,” his mother barreled on before he could protest. “No one knew they were visiting. In fact, it would probably be more dangerous for me if they were to leave now and catch someone’s eye. So they’re staying in the cellar, Viri, and I pulled the rug over the entrance as an extra precaution. No one will know to look for them, and especially not here. We’ll be safe.”

Virion was frustrated. He knew his mother was right-- having the Warlocks leave now would only put them all in more danger. But he hated feeling so helpless, knowing that she was in danger, albeit only a little. He trusted her subtlety, but the stakes were life-threateningly high.

Running a hand through his hair again, Virion spoke. “Just be careful. Please. Do you know if anyone has plans to try and get Warlocks out of the country?”

“Not yet.” His mother shook her head. “From what we’ve been hearing, security and suspicions are just too high right now. We’re hoping that maybe in a few months things will die down enough for us to be able to start getting people out.” She paused. “But I didn’t just call you to warn you that Aldwen was no longer safe. There are rumors that Empress Maeryn is sending Ascendancy Champions out to Aldwen’s allies in an attempt to start raising unrest and pitting people against Warlocks. I fear that eventually, nowhere will be safe for Warlocks. Even if it never gets that bad, we have to plan for the worst. I couldn’t let you get caught off guard by this.”

Virion nodded in agreement. “It’s not good. But you’re most likely right. Maeryn doesn’t seem the type to just stop in Aldwen. The Aldwenian nobles never were the type to keep their noses out of other countries' business.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “I would know.”

He saw a flash of pity cross his mother’s eyes. “Calywen wasn’t your fault, baby. He was a mad king.” Somehow she always knew exactly what he was thinking.

Virion shook his head. “He went mad at the end, I know. Still, I carried out so many atrocities under his command, mad or not. I was so desperate to find the best in him that I trusted him with information that led to his downfall. It led to mine too. All of this. All of this madness is happening because of my bind trust and weak heart.”

“Trusting those you love is never a weakness, my Virion. Calywenn betrayed you far more than you ever did by leaving him to stop Thera’kith. He is the guilty one.” Her voice was soft yet stern and begged no room for argument.

“I-- I guess.” Virion didn’t have the energy to protest, even though guilt still weighed heavy in his heart. “I should alert Faylen, Eldrin, and Ruven to all of this. We need to start figuring out a plan for all this.”

His mother nodded sadly. “And I should let you go. I know you need to rest.”

Rest was unlikely at this point, but Virion didn’t say that. “I love you, Mom. May Xiris keep you safe.” With a sad smile and a small wave, Virion broke the connection and the sigils on his page burned out.

He knew his companions would be fast asleep right now, and chances were they wouldn’t take kindly to being woken at this hour. What his mother had told him was important, yes, but it wasn’t urgent. Not yet. He knew they all needed their rest, and Virion knew he should at least try to sleep, even if he doubted it would come easily. So he wrote up notes telling his companions to meet him in the forest outside Rimeford castle first thing the next morning, quietly sneaking out of his room and slipping the notes under their doors. With that done, he returned to his room and crawled into bed, praying to Xiris that sleep would come easily.

The next day was overcast, the sky just as dower as Virion’s mood. He stood waiting in the clearing by the river, mind wandering as he waited for his companions.

“What’s with the ominous notes, Virion?” Ruven’s strong voice knocked Virion from his thoughts and he turned around to face them. Faylen and Eldrin stood with him, Faylen looking stern and Eldrin merely curious.

“My mother contacted me last night.” They all straightened up at Virion’s words, Ruven’s snarky grin dropping from his face.

“Shit, is she--?”

“She is safe.” Virion held up a hand as he cut Ruven off. “But Aldwen is not. Maeryn has officially been appointed Empress, and she has sponsored the Ascendency.”

Cold calculation rose on all three of their faces, but it was Eldrin who spoke first. “The Ascendency? But aren’t they anti-Warlock?”

“Yes.” Virion tried to keep the grief off his face as he met their searching eyes. “Maeryn has declared all Warlocks crown traitors. She has put a price on the heads of anyone with a corrupted surge. She…” Virion took a steadying breath. “The Ascendency is functioning as her army now, and they have killed all the Warlocks in the Aldwen barracks.”

“What?!” Ruven’s shout drowned out Faylen and Eldrin’s gasps. “But that’s-- that’s hundreds of warlocks!”

Virion grimaced. “It was an ambush. The Ascendency has grown dramatically with Maeryn’s sponsorship, and it is full of Champions-- powerful ones. There was no battle. It was butchery. Genocide. And it seems like Maeryn is trying to sway the people’s opinions of Warlocks. She’s told the people that Xiris has grown unstable, and that Warlocks are no longer in their right minds. That Calywen’s death was evidence of that. And she is sending champions out to other countries, most likely to share that belief and expand the reach of her power.”

“Fuck.” Ruven clenched his fists. “This is a fucking mess.”

“Agreed.” Virion sighed. “Anyone who helps Warlocks escape Aldwen will be tried with aiding a traitor. The penalty will most likely be death.”

Ruven growled. “Well shit, Aldwen is even less safe for us now, huh? What the hell are we supposed to do? We can’t just go charging in and demand she hand over the remaining Warlocks.”

“No, but we can’t just sit here and do nothing just because the danger hasn’t reached us yet.” Virion felt his frustration bubble.

Faylen spoke up. “Nor can we stupidly throw ourselves into a nobally sanctioned massacre.”

“I think we all know that this isn’t going to just stay in Aldwen.” Virion glared. “We have to do something.”

“Hey, I think we all agree with that, Virion.” Eldwin held up a pacifying hand. “But we need a better plan than just running right into a trap. Ruven is right in saying that Aldwen is definitely not safe for us.”

Virion sighed, letting his defensiveness go. “You’re right.” He shook his head. “I just feel… responsible for all of this. I don’t feel right staying out of it for any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Faylen nodded. “I think we all can understand that. But Aldwen might be a lost cause for now. We need to start somewhere else.”

So they laid out their plans. Walinad was safe for now, and a good place to harbor fleeing Warlocks for a time. But Virion felt too much guilt to just stand aside without at least trying to help his fellow followers of Xiris. He knew Ruven, Faylen, and Eldrin understood this. And they were Warlocks-- they didn’t back down from a fight if they could help it.

They set out to warn the King of Walinad of this development. His companions had been unsure, but Virion had spent enough time with the King to know that he was a good man. For a king at least. Having him in the know meant that he would do whatever he could to subtly support the Warlocks. They kept their eyes and ears open for any intel they could gather, and when his mother informed him of a fleet of Champions making their way to Colmer, he knew that was where they had to go next.

Virion wouldn’t stand idly by and let even more people suffer his mistakes. Thyia had been enough.

And maybe a small part of him hoped he could do her memory justice by solely and steadfastly fighting on the side of good. No more serving kings. Thyia had died fighting for the people she loved, and it was the least Virion could do to do the same.

For Thyia.

Virion was trying. Tensions between warlocks and the rest of the world had been rising rapidly, and it was all he could do to stay focused on staying afloat. He had spent too long desperately hoping that the past few years had been naught but a bad dream, and he was desperately trying to focus on the present. Yet it felt as though letting himself finally think of Thyia had opened the floodgates. She clung tight, memories wrapped around his heart like razor wire.

But there was no more time left for him to mourn. It had been three years, and life had continued on without him. Things had gotten better once his mother had helped him start healing, and his friends forced him to start living again. He had struggled, every day of it. But it had helped, finally having something to focus on that wasn’t her.

He owed it to her. Cleaning up the mess he had left. He knew the best thing he could do to honour her memory was to keep moving-- keep on fighting even after losing so much, just like she had done. Every day Virion tried to simultaneously forget her and fill the hole of her memories by doing what he thought would make her proud. The juxtaposition of trying to rid his life of every trace of her, while also living up to her legacy. It was arduous, perhaps even contrary to reason, the complete futility of his task.

But he had to try.

So he kept on, moving forward. Mission after mission he drove himself mercilessly, head trying to make his heart forget.

As he reached the heart of the heretic village, he was met with a woman, telling him tales of a Warlock who had saved the injured in their village. He found he didn’t much care, mind only focused on carrying out his task and continuing on with another.

It wasn’t until he mentioned that the woman had travelled with her daughter, a spritely young thing with stark white hair and a pension for cookies. His heart clenched at the thought. It was something he almost could never have.

“A Warlock with a child?” Virion scoffed. “That sounds unlikely.”

Divines, everything reminded him of her.

But he was trying. To forget. Soon she would be nothing but a whisper of a brighter past. She wouldn’t control his thoughts like this. She would finally leave him in peace. He was so close to forgetting. And he was trying.

Little did he know.