Archive of Our Own ^beta

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transmutation
/ˌtranzmjuːˈteɪʃ(ə)n,ˌtrɑːnzmjuːˈteɪʃ(ə)n,ˌtransmjuːˈteɪʃ(ə)n,ˌtrɑːnsmjuːˈteɪʃ(ə)n/
Noun
         the action of changing or the state of being changed into another form.

potentiality
/pə(ʊ)tɛnʃɪˈalɪti/
Noun
         latent qualities or abilities that may be developed and lead to future success or usefulness.

dunamanacy
/dʌɪˈnansi/
Noun
         an ancient esoteric study of magic affecting gravity and time.

————————

It’s quiet, when he gets back. 

Different from the regular, normal quiet he hears at the end of every day as the city slumbers beyond glass walls and drawn curtains illuminated by the silver glow of candles. 

This quiet is heavy, mournful, muted. Broken only by the scuffle of a shoe across a doorstep that isn’t usually heard when one has no reason to step across it. The click of the door behind him is not the relief it normally is, nor is it a sanctuary against the plates he balances every time he steps out that same door. His shoulders press against the closed wood, slumping in a way that is so unnatural it aches, and he thinks that maybe this is the pain he deserves. The weight of it dragging him down more than his mantle ever did.

Another noise breaks through then. A gasping, heaving sound, and it takes Essek a moment to realise it’s coming from him.

He slides down the door, shoulders hunched as a hand grips his hair and the other wraps around his stomach. He collapses onto the ground, with the feeling of phantom lips pressed to his forehead and of a hand gripping his talking of kindness and redemption and he collapses inwards as he struggles to breathe. The cold of the stone ground is a relief, even as it burns against his side. It’s a reminder, that as his own reality is fracturing around him, he has to deal with the bed he made.

Still.

It’s what he deserves, really. Every choice he had made only gave him a fraction of borrowed time. It was bound to come undone eventually.

————————

He was seven, and already there were whispers about him when Mother would demand his presence by her side when she was receiving guests. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t play with the others, why his mother made him stand next to her chair in the parlour when Verin never had to. Why he had to struggle to read ancient texts and study theory that no one else his age did. He wanted to run and play and not learn and be free.

He was thirteen when he rushed to show Mother the trick he had worked out, when he jumped and didn’t land back on the ground instantly. A single eyebrow twitched on her face, followed by a curt “You are too old for games, child” that sank his excitement and twisted it into something harder. His walk back to the library was long, as he scrubbed at his eyes and decidedly did not cry as he resolved to do better.

He was fifteen when he first looked into a Beacon as he knelt next to the Umavi and felt nothing of what he had been told was his. No spark of recognition, no awe or wonder, no connection to something more than himself. He said the prayers he had been taught, bowed when expected, and all the time wondered when he could get back to his books and studies that had tangible equations and logic that made sense even as he knew the arcane was as much a mystery as the deity of the Luxon. Fifteen was when the Umavi called him before her asking if he truly had no memories other than his own. She let Essek see the disappointment when he said no. It was the start of the disinterest that would be all that he came to know from the one that birthed him.

He was twenty when he entered the Lucid Bastion not by walking but by suspending gravity and demanded access to the texts that had been previously kept from him. When he argued that a single life made him no less worthy than anyone else and think of what he might achieve with the right resources and time to apply them. When he discovered that even with a keen mind that den politics ran deep and he had to prove that he was worthy of being listened to, worthy of attention, worthy of the Thelyss name that he both loved and hated.
 
He was forty when he still had to fight to be heard, even as he took apart the known theory of dunamancy and twisted it into something new, something more and he continued to push and adapt and create in ways that had whispers of prodigy and talent following him inside the lecture halls.  Despite proving himself time and time again, he was summoned to the Umavi where hollow praise and warnings were delivered in the same tone as uttered instructions to servants and housekeepers.

He was sixty when he attracted the notice of the Dusk Captain and consequently took his first official position, practically unheard of for someone so young. He was aware of the honour and of the whispers that followed, just as he was aware he had earned this but it wasn’t enough and he still wanted more. Wanted to be left alone to pursue his own interests, to pursue knowledge and break the impossible.

He was seventy-three when he realised that those who wanted him for their own goals could be useful to his own schemes, when he realised that those who tried to curry favour could be manipulated far easier from a bed than from across a study. When he learned the true value of an exalted position and first hatched ambitions to replace the current Shadowhan d and discovered that loyalty was misplaced when all it took was a couple of careful whispers and the right falsehood planted with the right Den. When he took the opportunity to step in with the solution to the problem, he earned his first audience with Leylas Kryn and left with instructions to return. 

He was seventy-four when the consecution ritual failed and he had nothing to show except the handprint burning on his check from his Umavi and a hissed instruction that no one will know while something inside him felt both vicious pleasure and abject despair.

He was eighty-two when he first clasped the mantle of the Shadowhand and let it settle around his shoulders. As he floated out of his door and through the Firmaments into the perpetual darkness of Rosohna, he smiled. He watched heads bow and bodies step out of his way as he barely glanced at them, murmurs of Shadowhand Thelyss followed in his wake.

It would take another twenty years until he first thought of it, thought of treason and ends justifying the means, of discoveries and possibilities, and it would take twenty more until he would do something about it.

————————

He’s still there, ground pressed cold against his legs, wood solid at his back, when Jester’s voice breaks into his mind in the way he has half come to expect it. Instead of the smile and fondness he normally feels, something cracks and he can barely comprehend her words.

Hi… how are you feeling? Do you feel guilty? Or are you happy? Are you crying in your room right now? We’re thinking about you—

As usual, he gets the feeling that Jester had more words that were cut off by the word limit that she never seems to stick to. He takes a breath, sitting up slightly and leaning back against the door. His voice cracks as he starts to talk, rasping in a way it normally doesn’t.

“I… am just contemplating… w-what is to come. I appreciate what sliver of trust allowed me to leave,” he pauses, unsure of how to finish. “It’s… not forgotten.” 

He feels the magic leave him a beat later, and scrubs at his face, unsurprised to feel the wetness streaking across his cheeks. He hauls himself to his feet, hand scrabbling for purchase against the door. He staggers forward on legs that can barely support him, refusing to give in to the urge to make it all go away. Every step is agony in a way he didn’t expect. He’s gasping by the time he makes it to the top of the stairs, bypassing his study and pushing open the door of his bedroom. It’s rarely used, Essek most often opts to trance in the comfort of his library, but after tonight… he can’t face a room still strewn with paper from working with Caleb… Caleb…

He shoves the thought aside, pleading with himself to stop thinking about the feel of Caleb’s hands circling around his wrists, the warmth of his palm on his cheek. No good comes from dwelling on those thoughts. He shrugs out of his robe, not caring that the silk would be crushed by morning, and crosses the room, sitting on the bed and tugging at his boots.

It’s worse, somehow, here in his room. The knowledge that he caused this. That he lost this before he even knew that it was his to lose. The scheming, the plotting...he could justify that, could sit with that even as it made his skin crawl with who he had to work with, what he had to put up with for the few scraps thrown his way. He was too full of pride to be able to admit that he was taken advantage of, that the board was stacked against him from that first introduction.

Leave it better than you found it.

His breath hitches again. It’s an impossible task. His ledger is stained with the blood of thousands, even if he didn’t kill them himself. Beauregard is right, it’s all on his hands. 

He slumps sideways, curling up on top of the covers, still mostly clothed and closes his eyes. The darkness is not a solace. 

He chooses to sleep, succumbing to an exhausted body and welcoming the emptiness it offers.

————————

“Essek.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand from his Den mother, one he couldn’t ignore as he glided out of the inner throne room, the Bright Queen having dismissed the senior council moments ago.

He paused, turning slightly and inclining his head briefly, keeping to the bare minimum of politeness that society demanded in a public place.

“Umavi,” he murmured softly, keeping his annoyance in check. He was itching to leave, to flee to his tower. The Mighty Nein. Heroes of the Dynasty, bringers of hope. And harbingers of Essek’s doom.

The senior council had met to discuss the recent events, the appearance of this bunch of mercenaries that delivered a sacred object. Returned evidence of Essek’s treason. An act that had won an allegiance with the Bright Queen that could hardly be believed. They had since proven themselves useful and not entirely inept with the successful and amusing completion of the task set by Professor Waccoh. They were to be given a house, of all things, paid for by Den Thelyss. Why the Umavi offered, Essek had no idea. It was a waste of political maneuvering, and clearly done to irk Den Mirimm more than out of the goodness of her heart. If they were spies, they would see this coming and never speak plainly for fear of observation. If they weren’t, then tying them down seemed like a pointless exercise.

“They are to be kept under watch, Shadowhand,” she uttered.

Essek barely caught himself from rolling his eyes, anger and frustration making him more careless than normal. 

“It is standard protocol for newcomers that have unknown motivations,” he replied evenly, voice carefully neutral. “They have been observed from the moment I left them at the inn that first night.”

“See to it that the observation continues.” Another statement.

Essek bristled, drawing himself up and staring at his Den Mother. “I do not begin to tell you how to do your job, Mother, do not be so inconsiderate as to tell me how to do mine,” he snapped out, patience fraying thin.

His mother raised an eyebrow and met his gaze, unflinching. Moments passed and Essek did not dare to look away. She broke first, sniffing as she turned, disinterest on her face.

Essek let out a breath, hands clenching under his robe as he spun in the opposite direction and drifted away, ignoring those who tried to catch his attention. The distance to the office and study he kept in the Lucid Bastion was thankfully short, and if he moved quicker than normal, no one would dare mention it.

Locking the door behind him, Essek let the enchantment drop, rolling his shoulders as he sank into the chair behind his desk. Essek sighed and massaged the headache that was building at his temples, his fingers bringing relief for a brief moment until he let his hands drop and he sat straightened in his chair. Requisitioning the house keys from the Den Theylss offices resulted in the painful interaction with the lower levels of bureaucracy that made up his family and served as a reminder about why he tried his best to stay out of den politics. Keys collected, a  brief sending to one of his operatives confirmed that the Nein was back at the Dim’s Inn, and Essek figured he may as well get the entire evening over with as quickly as possible.

He recognised it was necessary to keep tabs on them. Recognised that even without the Queen appointing him to oversee their stay, that he would have had to anyway. There were questions he needed answering, questions that would have to find the answers to himself, carefully worded to not betray the reason he was asking. It was another plate he had to add to the ones that were already spinning. One that he had no way to predict how it may make the others fall. Keeping them close would make sense, would be the safest way to ensure he was not discovered. He just wasn’t keen to spend more time with them than he had to.

Making his way into the Gallimaufry district as quickly as possible, Essek located the inn that he left them at a few nights before, navigating his way through an impromptu celebration that had spilled out of one of the taverns. Most of the population recognised him, even here, and moved quickly out of his way. Essek stopped just inside the door of the Dim’s Inn, observing the bunch of mercenaries he was searching for while he went unnoticed. As always, they were louder than was strictly necessary, taking up a large table in front of the fire, a pile of paper that appeared to be filled with lists in front of them along with a few open notebooks. There didn’t appear to be a meal served, which worked for Essek. He wouldn’t have to wait for them.

“Well, word seems to be saying that you’ve done very well lately,” Essek said into a gap in the conversation, voice carrying across the mostly empty room.

Seven heads turned to look at him in various states of surprise, and Essek cataloged the firbolg looking expectant and the most aware of his presence and made a note to pass it on to those heading up the investigation into their origins. He glided forward into the room proper, coming to a rest a few paces away and nodding at them.

He continued, voice carrying the politeness of court. “You have done quite a nice thing. Well, I apologise for the intrusion, do you have a moment of your time, please?”

The half-orc nodded and indicated one of the spare chairs. “Of course. What was on your mind?”

Essek ignored the offer, instead just folding his arms beneath his mantle.

“The… court… we’ve been very happy with what you have done, both for the Bright Queen and the good professor. I hear that it fared well?” he looked around the group unnecessarily, wanting their own confirmation or denial and found it in the nods of a few of them. “Because of these deeds under the light of the Luxon, don’t think that Den Thelyss has not noticed this. We would not dare have you stay as ‘friends of the Bright Queen’ in such a…” he stopped for a moment, eyes darting sideways as he leaned in to create a conspiratorial atmosphere… “such a lowly establishment. While you were gone, we have secured an abode within the Firmaments. It’s already furnished and ready.”

The tiefling gasped, a hand flying up to cover the grin on her face.

“Really?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

“That is very generous,” the firbolg said, Essek detecting genuine surprise in his tone.

“Is it like a… a lodging house or something? Like, do we have to pay for it?” the goblin asked suspiciously, yellow eyes narrowing.

Essek shook his head, a little delighted at how surprised they were. “No, no, it is being provided.” He doesn’t miss the look shared between the two humans, one suspicious and one curious. He zeros in on the redhead wizard, wondering as to what he will do with empty shelves and space for a study and almost missed the follow up question asked by the tiefling.

“You guys are giving us a house?”

“Well, you’ve given us hope,” he said, turning back to look at her. “And helped lessen the terrible impact of what the Empire has wrought on us. It’s the very least we could do.”

There was a flurry of activity as the Nein prepared to leave and Essek hovered over to the distasteful bar at the other end of the room. The innkeeper Gaben stared at him moodily, arms crossed as he had clearly worked out his patrons would be leaving soon.

“I trust your invoice has been sent to the Bastion for payment?” Essek asked, his tone soft and deliberately dangerous. While he selected this establishment for the Nein from the list of Den Kryn’s preferred vendors, he had no liking for the owner who frequently tried to involve himself in business that wasn’t his.

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll be seeing you.”

Essek headed for the door, pausing briefly at the rain that had started while he had been occupied. It was a moment of habit to tweak the dunamantic energies surrounding him to keep the rain from touching him, cloak swaying in the wind gently around him. He waited for the Nein to join him, as they corralled animals and possessions, and apparently conducted a negotiation over items they had picked up recently. He barely contained a sigh at the delays, his training not letting any of his impatience show on his face. When he had established they were finally ready, he turned and started to make his way back to the Firmaments district. 

He rarely had reason to approach from the Gallimaufry direction, rarely got to see the towers of the Marble Tomes Conservatory loom over the lower set buildings, juxtaposed with temples and structures of worship in the centre of the district. It was striking, the gleam of silver sparkling under the dark Rosohna sky as the torches illuminated the ground on each corner. Easily one of his favourite sights of Rosohna, and part of why his own study looks out on this part of the city. He remembered the years of learning, of proving himself, of demanding respect inch by inch. Shuddering slightly, he turned away and continued to lead the Nein towards their new home. 

He came to a pause in front of a two-story stone and wood mansion, styled in the Xorhausian fashion with dark maroon wood and nearly black clay tiling. Stained windows installed in the front glimmer with dull light as the enchantment keeping the house lit detected movement and flared up. It was one of the nicer houses on the Den’s books, in a good location with quiet neighbours. It would do, for their purposes, with the added benefit of observation enchantments already built in.

Turning to the Nein behind him, Essek pulled out a set of keys from an inside pocket. 

“For as long as you have need, this home is yours under the direction of Den Thelyss. Make of it what you will and enjoy, friends of the Bright Queen,” Essek said, a slight smile on his face at the look of wonder he can see on theirs. “There will be more to be done soon enough,” he finished, voice softer.

Essek held a hand out towards the half-orc, who stepped up to take the keys from him.

“Can I ask a question?” he asked, waiting for Essek’s nod before continuing. “We ran into someone who mentioned that they have gatherings over in these areas of worship in the Firmaments, regular display of letting the sun in a bit?”

“Right, that is correct.”

“Is such a display scheduled to happen soon?”

Huh, interesting. He wouldn’t have taken the half-orc for one of a religious kind. He reconsidered and noted it away, weighing him up in new light.

“That is not up to me. I am not one of the priests of the Luxon,” he said, internally cringing at the thought. The days of sun were distracting and unnecessary, though he had to admit that the bonus of additional study while others were occupied was a plus. “Usually when the weather is right and it’s been time and when they decide, then yes.”

“Do they send out like a communique or a call or a horn?”

He raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’ll know because the—”

“Ah, sun.”

“—Sun will come out, which is rare in this town.”

The half-orc dipped his head, face flushed.

“Now that I’m saying it out loud, I feel kind of stupid.”

Essek smiled indulgently, manners winning out over the sarcasm. “It’s all right.” He paused, as he looked around the collective group. “Anyway, enjoy your abode.”

“Thank you,” the blue tiefling said.

“You’re welcome,” Essek replied, turning to look at her and—

She was standing there, holding her arms open expectantly, an earnest look on her face. 

He blinked.

Surely, this tiefling didn’t actually expect him to… to hug her? As thanks for a house? His mind was devoid of helpful thoughts, as his body went unnaturally still. He had not been touched in… he doesn’t want to admit how long it has been since someone voluntarily offered that sort of touch. 

He looked up at the rest of them, and there were no looks of surprise on their faces, with many of them shaking their heads in what looked to be fondness. Was this a usual habit of those from the Empire? He briefly caught the gaze of the wizard who shrugged and turned back to the house.

And slowly… against his better judgement and he could only blame this on being taken by surprise... he drifted closer into the waiting arms which immediately wrapped around him and squeezed gently. It was comical, really. Floating as he was, the tiefling’s arms just wrapped around his waist, and his arms were pinned to his sides.

He felt awkward. 

And yet… there was something that made Essek want to give in and take warmth from the gesture. But he didn’t.

He coughed, attempting to extract himself as he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

Seemingly satisfied, the tiefling stepped back, a wide smile on her face as she skipped to the front of the house, swiping the keys from the half-orc as she went.

“Anyway. I’ll take my leave,” he said, face burning as he did not wait for a response and glided away.

If his pace was more hurried than normal, Essek denied the reason why as he made his way to his own abode, a few streets away. As the door clicked shut behind him, he dropped the spell, landing on his feet and leaning back against the door.

He stayed there for a long moment, breathing deeply as his racing heart finally steadied. It was the surprise of it, he swears, that took him off guard. Nothing more. He shook his head, standing up and making his way to his personal study. The torches flared as he entered, a bright spark in his vision until they settled down into their regular dim glow.

The remainder of his evening was taken up by reports and instructions, as he recorded his interactions and observations to be distributed to the rest of the Lens on their newest residents. Creating official requests for observation followed, as he detailed the schedule his operatives would follow to be posted tomorrow. He was meticulous in his planning, in picking who would tail the Nein and who would be sent off in search of information. He was curious enough to wonder what they would discover, and while he wanted as little to do with them as possible, he knew he would have to keep on top of it. He could designate most of the mundane observations away, could limit contact where possible, but still would have to keep them close. The risk was too high, they were an unknown variable that he had to crack. He needed to set guidelines to find out how many precautions they would take to not be observed, to see if they would think to install their own protections against physical observation and scrying. The wizard might, but he was as of yet, unsure of his ability level and just what school of magic he followed.

Before long, Essek’s thoughts turned to the one report that couldn’t be ignored for much longer. A Beacon that he had been led to believe was safe under Assembly study had turned up in the Dynasty in the hands of a bunch of mercenaries. His last contact with Ludins Da’leth had been the notification of their planned raid on Felderwin to capture the scapegoat of the Empire’s research, though he still had no knowledge of what exactly the halfling man had been researching and if he was successful. The conversation where he freed him into the care of the Nein was more productive than their interrogations weeks earlier. He carefully squashed down the anger he felt at the Assembly, tempering it to a simmering disgust that he could use, that he wouldn’t forget when they offered him scraps as if they were gold.

There was a drawer at the back of his desk that was locked with a dunamantic symbol that only he knew the key to. Waving his hand in the necessary gesture, Essek pulled a single sheet of paper free, locking the drawer behind him. It was an additional step that he kept just to be safe, even though he knew that if anyone found it, the odd collection of texts and coded messages would be the least of his concern.

The message system they had developed was one of necessity, between the warding against sendings that they were both often under. There was a risk of putting it on paper. But the Assembly had insisted, and so Essek had acquiesced to their request. Had acquiesced, and developed an ink that could only be read by the one intended when used on fine spell paper and the right arcane phrase whispered. The loss of components was unfortunate, but the alternative of a message falling into the wrong hands was worth the cost.

His hand paused over the paper, green ink at risk of dripping down onto the page as he contemplated what to write. He settled on simplicity, knowing any demands or lengthy questions rarely received a response. He could call them out on not alerting him to the loss of the Beacon. He could demand knowledge of what they had discovered so far. Could reveal how desperate he was for a scrap of knowledge, for anything.

His hand was steady as he wrote eight words instead, carefully coded and spelled to be read by the intended recipient only.

What do you know of the Mighty Nein?

Dipping his fingers into his component pouch, Essek pulled out a fine white powder, sprinkling it over the parchment. His hand moved in an arcane symbol above the parchment, and with a flash, it vanished.

————————

He’s on edge, after the negotiations at sea. It’s a stiffness he carries for days afterwards. As the Dynasty soldiers and diplomats return and report, and he hears nothing. He in turn submits his own report and stands in front of the Dusk Captain, lying through his teeth as he details the movements of the Empire and the whisperings of courses that have been carefully checked for any hint of information that doesn’t play into the narrative he is crafting.

He hears nothing from them until he does.

Until there’s a knock on his front door that he isn’t expecting and he opens it to find a bowed head of red hair. Caleb Widogast glances up at him and he meets piercing blue eyes that have haunted his waking hours. His heart stutters before beating at such a rapid pace that he swears Caleb can hear it even with his human senses.

“Hallo, Thelyss,” Caleb says softly, voice breaking through the screaming void of silence in Essek’s head. “It is late and I am unannounced but…” Caleb trails off, shrugging slightly.

There’s a guarded feeling to the way the red-headed wizard is standing. Shoulders hunched slightly, eyes darting off to the side, as his hand taps against his folded arm. Caleb is wearing the same robes from that night, the red and black and silver and… and...

Gravity slams into Essek and he has to catch himself on the door frame before he tumbles into the ground completely. He barely does and Caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, and Essek glances up to see the hesitation and the devastation and…

“May I come in?”

“Of-of course, C—” he breaks off a moment, pauses, and straightens. “Please do, Master Widogast.”

He steps aside, and locks down his own feelings, his own reactions, and builds the mask of the Shadowhand up and does not think of lips or touch. He does not think of the awareness he has of the distance between them, of what he’s done, of what he has yet to do, to try to do.

Caleb moves past him, the sleeves of his robes drifting behind him and Essek tries not to stare, tries not to drink in the sight of him, as he closes the door and leads the way wordlessly to his second study, his public study. Essek tries not to notice the curious glance dance across Caleb’s face at the new environment, the new knowledge and pieces slotting into place.

The door clicks closed behind them as torches on the wall flare and give off a soft glow and it’s quiet. Essek indicates the seat on one side of the desk as he crosses the room.

“Please—”

“I’d prefer to stand.”

He pauses in the act of moving behind the desk and chooses to instead come to rest against the front of it, arms crossing lightly as he allows himself to look. Caleb doesn’t seem inclined to say anything else, as he breaks Essek’s gaze and looks to the shelves instead.

Essek waits, restless, eyes tracking Caleb’s movements, anxiety settling like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He watches, trying to read the tension in Caleb’s body, trying to piece together a narrative from the few tidbits of information he knows. He tries not to panic. As far as he knew from his network’s reports that morning, the Mighty Nein had entered Rexxentrum. He wonders if after weeks of silence they had decided that this was his end and any moment Scourgers would be bursting in—

He stops those thoughts. Takes a breath, and schools himself.

“Caleb?” He asks, so softly, the hesitation clear to his own ears.

Caleb hasn’t stopped his pacing. He’s become a blur of motion and restless energy, and Essek stands absolutely still. 

“There are things you need to know. About our… mutual friends, for want of a better phrase.” A beat. “About me.” 

Essek doesn’t dare to interrupt. Doesn’t move, even as his hands itch to reach out, to still Caleb’s fingers as they twitch against his forearms. 

“It’s a conversation we should have had, after the… ah, incident with the… prisoner. Maybe if we had, you might have realised.” Caleb’s voice is low, and someone with lesser hearing may not have caught the weight of what these words were costing him. “I operate under no illusions that it would have changed anything. You had already done what you had done. You can’t change the past.”

Caleb’s voice cracks on the last phrase. It makes something in Essek’s chest ache.

Caleb is unbuttoning his robe and shrugging out of it, white shirt crisp where it is tucked into dark trousers. He starts rolling up his sleeves, revealing an arm crisscrossed with scars, white marks stark against his freckled skin. The second joins it and Essek is entranced as each inch of skin is revealed. He’s seen Caleb’s scars before of course. He’s wondered, but has never dared ask. His neck is bare, and Essek would not have noticed except for the absence of the chain Caleb normally wears.

Caleb stills as he turns his arms over, hands running up them in what Essek knows is an instinctual movement. A nervous tick. Essek glances back up, and sees blue eyes staring at him, a face still guarded behind thick emotion.

“Trent Ikithon has a talent for finding… prodigies… from those who study at the Soltryce Academy. Finding, and making them believe they are something special, something truly unique… and encouraging natural talent.” His Zemmnian accent is thicker, stronger than it normally is, the words in Common heavy and precise. “Ikithon finds those who come from nothing, who won’t be missed, and fills them with ideals of glory and country, all while isolating and making them compete with each other for favour.”

Essek nods, not able to speak even if he had the words. He grips the edge of the desk behind him, tension holding him still at the rawness of Caleb’s words. At Caleb’s fingers still ghosting up his forearms.

“And then he experiments. Do you know of a substance called residuum?”

Essek swallows past the lump in his throat, past the hollow in his stomach and the ice cold creeping up his veins.

“Refined whitestone ore, receptive to arcane energies, can replace components in spells when required,” Essek recites, drawing it from years of study and reports filed by the Lens, though he has never managed to get his hands on it long enough to be allowed to study it. “It is… difficult to locate in Xhorhas.”

“It’s not if you’re a member of the Cerberus Assembly,” Caleb states frankly. “Especially if you’re an Archmage of the Assembly who heads up the Volstrucker training program.”

“A program that does not officially exist,” murmurs Essek.

“You and I both know that you are more than aware of its existence,” says Caleb, and Essek swears he hears a glimmer of their past... bantering slipping through and a ghost of a smile flicks across his face before it is gone.

Essek concedes with a nod. “Indeed.”

“Ikithon had a theory that when… implanted… it could amplify a user’s natural ability with the arcane arts.”

The words were uttered without fanfare, and yet, Essek feels the implication behind them. His eyes snapped up, searching Caleb’s face. He wasn’t prepared for the grim desolation he found there, as Caleb spoke in a way that was almost detached. His own pulse is pounding in his ears, and if it wasn’t for the desk biting into his hands behind him, Essek may have floated on instinct.

“There was merit to the idea from a theoretical standpoint. It would be years before he perfected the theory and found the right way to anchor it. I’ve seen the end results of his… experiments. I wasn’t so fortunate.”

Essek’s eyes flick down to the mottled scars of Caleb’s forearms. The lighter raised bumps and marks in between the thin lines the hint of something that has forced in or ripped out.

“I remember pain. Searing, burning pain,” Caleb’s voice cracks, emotion breaking through and hints of anger. There’s rage under the carefully controlled words, as Caleb’s voice drops and Essek almost has to lean forward to hear. “The bindings that wouldn’t let me leave as I was forced to cast as shards were shoved through my skin despite me begging for reprieve. As I was made to watch it be repeated on my friends. All the while being told how we were benefiting the Empire, how our sacrifice was for the greater good, how it was necessary. I was sixteen.”

“Caleb,” Essek breathes, voice faltering, unsure of what he was even saying.

“Bren Aldric Ermendrud was sixteen when he learned that no one was on his side. That was who I was born as. Bren Aldric Ermendrud, son of Leofric, a good Empire soldier.”

There is an edge to Caleb’s voice, an emotion that Essek can't place. It’s unsettling, and leaves Essek on edge.

“Over the course of the next year, Ikithon planted memories. Subtle, a change here, a false conversation there. You wouldn’t know if you weren’t looking for it. It was masterful manipulation perfected over decades of practice,” Caleb pauses, turning away from Essek and pacing forward, almost absently, to look out the window and into the Roshona night. “At seventeen, we believed anything he said. Reports of factions that needed to be dealt with. Whispers of rot at the heart of the Empire in those supposed to be most loyal. It was a test, although we didn’t know it at the time. To see how far we could be pushed before questioning. Unflinching loyalty to..to die familie as if he knew what that was.”

The words in Zemnian have a bitterness to them, and a profound sadness.

Caleb turns from the window, and Essek forgets to breathe. He’s silhouetted by the silver light from the streets, from the grey light filtering in. It echoes that moment, only a few weeks before, outside the gates when there was possibility and promise. It covers Caleb’s face in shadow and light and Essek is struck by how insanely beautiful Caleb is, raw and open and oh so human.

“He planted memories that our parents were enemies to the crown. Traitors of the worst kind. That they were the center of a plot to strike at the heart of the country. It wasn’t questioned,” Caleb’s voice hitches, raw emotion bleeding through as his accent grows thicker. Caleb’s eyes drop, as he scratches at his arms, staring at his hands. “It was poison from Astrid. A dagger from Eodwulf.”

Essek is listening to Caleb’s every word, even as a small detached part of his brain is noting down the names, unable to help his years of being Shadowhand storing every tidbit of knowledge. He knows this is a display of trust from Caleb, and it’s one that he isn’t worthy of. 

There are tears rolling down Caleb’s cheeks that he doesn’t brush away. Essek’s hand itches to reach forward but it doesn’t. He doesn’t move.

“It was fire, of course. I’ve always had a natural talent for it. One honed and refined in methods that are still questionable, all these years later. I don’t...I don’t even know if— if there was anything left, by the time it burnt out. By then, I had already broken. I couldn’t walk away as their screams broke through and I woke up. Zuhause liege im herzen.”

Caleb wraps an arm around himself and runs a hand through his hair, before drawing it down over his face as he scrubbed at his eyes.

“It shattered my mind. I couldn’t reconcile what happened… couldn’t get past the feeling of wrongness. That my parents were dead by my own hand. And Trent Ikithon was smiling as he locked me in the Vergesson Sanatorium for eleven years. Eleven years with the screaming of my parents being burned alive in a fire I created.”

Essek can hear the loathing, can hear it and recognise it to be the same loathing he has had for himself each time he gets a letter full of empty promises from Ludinus Da’leth. Hears the phantom fire roaring as the ghost of it fills the room. Feels realisation and burning shame of that same betrayal, of loathing and hurt and knowing that it changes nothing but a rare desire that he could go back and regrets—

There’s a dampness to his own eyes and he breaks Caleb’s gaze, staring upwards as he blinks rapidly and tries to control his own breathing.

“So, Essek Thelyss,” Caleb says, and it’s not the detached emotion of earlier. There’s something else, under the still present desolation tinging Caleb’s tone. “Now we know each other and you’ll understand when I say that no amount of wanting it could be different will change the path and you have to find a way to live with it.”

Essek’s eyes snap to Caleb’s, grey meeting piercing blue and Essek feels smaller than he ever had standing in his Umavi’s study. Smaller and larger, with the weight of finally being seen, of being understood.

“Caleb.”

It’s barely a word, breathed into the space between them. It’s not enough to capture the storm aching inside of him. He can only hope that Caleb, wonderful, brilliant Caleb can read him the way he has been, can feel the current charging the air. The horror at his story, the apology that he dares not utter. The regret.

It’s ash on his tongue. Caduceus was right. Hearing it out loud, what he suspected. What he is complicit in, even without knowing. The knowledge he gave…

“I—” he starts, but Caleb interrupts before he can finish.

“Don’t. Don’t offer any words that you are not sure about, Essek. Even now. What I said on the ship is real. I do not trust you,” Caleb pauses, and Essek does not dare look away, not as Caleb looks up again and pins him with the intensity he is used to seeing aimed at a spell book, that he once wanted aimed at him but this… he does not know how this will end. “But I do hope for you.” Another pause, and Essek sees something flick across Caleb’s face as he takes a deep breath in. “I… care for you, Thelyss.”

Essek blinks.

I care for you.

His world narrows into those four words. 

I care for you.

His mouth is dry and he realises after a moment it’s hanging open slightly in shock. 

I care for you.

“I… value… what we shared and… uh,” Caleb says, broken and hesitant in a way that is different to what he has been all evening. “What we were building. Are, building. I hope that, I-uh...wasn’t alone in feeling…”

I care for you.

“You weren’t alone.”

The words are out before Essek even thinks about saying them, solid and sure in the half-light of the study and the quiet of the evening. They are out before Essek can stop himself, stop the moment of weakness, of vulnerability that he should not have shown but feels right and sure. He continues, before he gives himself time to think better of it.

“In the caring. You… weren’t part of the plan. Caring for you, wanting…” his voice cracks as he shrugs weakly, hands twitching as he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Caleb stills as his head snaps to stare at Essek, and Essek finds himself as the subject of that intensely focused look. Essek stares back, feeling bare in a way that he knew they approached before but he thought he had lost. It’s terrifying.

It’s freeing.

He cares for me.

He’s taking a step before he realises he is, and he pauses, unsure for a moment before taking another. 

————————

He wanted to dislike them. He wanted to have as little interaction as possible, tasking Lens operatives with surveillance and tracking while he worked out what he was meant to do now that his plans were thrown into chaos. What was their motive? Infiltrating - poorly - the Dynasty when their surface allegiance screamed Empire was a spectacularly stupid move when the only thing they asked for was the release of a prisoner Essek actually forgot they were holding. 

Stupid, or incredibly clever, and Essek didn’t know which.

The tiefling and goblin were dismissed immediately. Not a threat, and definitely not the masterminds of the group. Despite them taking the lead in the throne room, Essek’s gut instinct had him focusing on others. The two humans had potential. They had the most stakes to lose out of all of them, the most suspicion held in their gaze. The red haired wizard was curious, his questions hinted at someone who had been trained, but ultimately, was not worth his time. He had not met a firbolg before, and he honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. He had been told he was the one responsible for the… modifications that were made to the gifted house. Modifications that ended with fifteen different complaints on his desk that morning about restructure of culture that he was mildly curious to see the end result for himself. The half-orc had an interesting presence that conveyed a mind used to strategy and tactics. He would have to be watched more closely than the others.

When he ordered the Lens to investigate and give him all known facts on this Mighty Nein, they had been woefully devoid of useful information. The Assembly too gave few details beyond their initial formation in Zadash. The only one who had a profile was the other scowling human - Beauregard Lionett. A monk of the Cobalt Soul, a runaway prodigy of questionable skills and a family name. She would have to be watched, for more than one reason. The rest of them - with the brief note of the blue one being the supposed daughter of a notable figure in Nicodranas - seemed to have sprung up overnight with few clues about where they came from.

Dangerous.

Unknown people with unknown motivations have a habit of behaving in unpredictable ways. When you were a master of predictability, it added an unbalanced weight to the scales that made him feel… off.

He wanted to dislike them on principle.

He just didn’t count on them being so open and friendly.

The house, when he visited later that evening, stood out miles away. He paused a moment at the top of the street, taking it all in, before he continued, coming to a rest outside the gates. He looked up, and could see Jester and Caduceus in the upper branches hanging what looked to be globules of sunlight. The tree was a sight to behold. It took him aback for a moment at the sheer size of the tree. How— 

He shook his head. Some things were better not to know. He could see, though, why they had received so many complaints. Still, it wouldn’t hurt Lord Bilan to have to put up with a bit of discomfort for a change. 

The rest of the Nein appeared a moment later, their footsteps and general noise as they made their way up the street betraying their approach. He waited for them to draw closer, before commenting.

“You’ve certainly made it comfortable quite quickly.”

“We’re making ourselves at home,” the human wizard replied, stepping up beside him, arms crossing and looking up as well.

“I can see that. Made a… made a splash.”

The other human, Beauregard, turned from where she was almost inside the front gate, an almost glower on her face. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Caduceus is probably whipping up something delicious and vegan.”

How quaint. He really, really did not want to spend a minute longer here than he had to. But, he was the Shadowhand and of Den Thelyss, and politeness won out.

“No, I’m quite alright, I have some research to do,” he said quickly, arms folding underneath his mantle. “But I appreciate the offer.”

He tuned out the half-orc’s reprimand of the human’s offer, something about manners and trying again as he felt the wizard’s attention shift and focus on him.

“What is the nature of your research?” came the quiet question, accent soft around the common words.

Essek turned, and took him in up close for the first time. There was something inquisitive behind the carefully guarded and professional expression, something betraying the eagerness for knowledge that was a hallmark of all those who chose to make a lifelong study of the arcane arts. Piercing blue eyes that held a lifetime of sadness. Essek blinked, and wondered what could have happened to have that in one so young.

He considered his answer for a moment. For some reason, he decided on honesty. Well. A form of honesty.

“My specialities,” he started, before he was interrupted by Beauregard.

He half paid attention to the rest of the conversation, answering Fjord’s questions about the neighbours, eyes watching the wizard from the corner of his peripheral vision. It’s a question about the neighbourhood that focuses his attention back on the conversation, and he can work out the response required.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t live in this area, so.”

Of course he knows. It is part of his position as Shadowhand to know what happens in every area of the city. But this group of mercenaries does not need to know that piece of information.

The tall, dark one piped up, and Essek took in her quiet voice, a direct dichotomy to the imposing figure she made.

“Where do you live?”

“Why do you ask?” he queried, an eyebrow raised and tone sharper than it had been.

She floundered slightly as she responded.

“I was just… I want to know more about you. And get to know the… the place that we are living in at the moment. What neighborhood?” she replied, and Essek detected no undercurrent of deception, no reason for him not to take her at face value. “I’m being very forward, I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me, nevermind.”

Essek dipped his head at her apology, taking it and deciding to humour them. “Most of my den live within the Lucid Bastion, but I spend a lot of my time either researching dunamantic pursuits within the Bastion, or within the Conservatory.”

Caleb shifted, a hand tightening on one arm from where he had them crossed against his chest.

Ah.

“Are those the main avenues for learning such?” Caleb asked.

Essek met his gaze, a slight smile on his face of recognising something similar to himself in the curious enquiry.

“They are the only avenues,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m a big learner. I’m curious.” Caleb shifted, head dipping slightly before looking back up at Essek. “I know that we are new here, but I am very interested in tutelage in this field, and you have been privy to our conversations with your queen, and--”

Essek didn’t expect him to come forward with the query so quickly. He wondered just what this Empire wizard may know. He interrupted the end of Caleb’s sentence, challenge thick in his tone.

“Show me.” A flicker of something appeared in Caleb’s eyes. “Show me something impressive. Show me something at the height of your power. You are an arcanist, yes?” he asked, not needing the confirmation but curious to see what the response would be.

He ignored Beauregard who quipped something off to the side and kept his eyes fixed on Caleb. He wasn’t sure why he was issuing this challenge, in public, in full view of anyone who wanted to look in. But something about the questions, about the keen curiosity he saw in Caleb’s eyes captured him. He wanted to be surprised, wanted his hunch to be proved correct.

“I think if you are, if you are trained enough to be pursuing such things, that you would know the limits and safety of your capabilities, so.” He gestured, hand slipping out from the confines of his cloak. “Show me.”

The human wizard took a moment, and Essek could see him contemplating. Caleb’s hand flicked up and with a muttered incantation, a translucent cat floated in front of his vision. Curious, Essek turned his head, and before he could focus again there was an explosion of arcane energy and a gigantic claw flexed from the cat between Essek and the wizard, stretching out into the space with surprising dexterity for something so large.

There was amusement inside Essek, at what was essentially Bigby's Hand reskinned into the cat he had seen following Caleb around, at the choice to show control through subtlety rather than throwing up lightning or a fireball, and interestingly, at the fact that the wizard didn’t give away his highest level of power. He was intrigued at what else the wizard might be good at.

“Interesting,” he murmured, turning back to focus on Caleb. “And, if I might ask, what is it that you’re seeking? What is your ultimate goal?” It’s more outright that he intended to be, but Caleb's own honesty and forthcomingness inspired some of his own. “Anyone who pursues such magics, to an extent, has something that they wish to do.”

“I am of middling experience in the traditional sense. What I’m very curious about is the arcane here, in your country.”

A slight hint of guardedness entered Caleb’s tone. Essek could understand that. It’s a new city, new people. It was not wise to put all your cards on the table immediately, so to speak. He considered what he knew of this Empire wizard. He was resourceful, quick to take opportunities that presented themselves, interested in knowledge. He had some level of power that spoke to proper training, the years of study needed to master the arcane arts. How far he would go to gain that knowledge, and just who he might pass it on to?

“Yes. You and many. Many, many.”

Caleb nodded, eyes darting away before coming back to Essek’s face, a determined edge to his words.

“Yes. But, as you know, my people are perverting your magic, and we wish to work with you to prevent that, as we have exhibited, and I wish to understand better, so that I can better help.”

An interesting ploy. Not the angle Essek predicted he would go, but a convincing one nonetheless. He seemed to know less about their magic than the Cerberus Assembly members he’s had contact with. He considered a moment, this unknown Empire wizard with the markings of a true scholar. Wondered, for a moment, what he might be able to do when he took a simple cantrip and turned it into something fun. He clearly had a joy for creating, of exploring, and Essek wondered…

He glanced over the rest of the Nein for a moment, mentally checking his schedule and how much time he had. He looked back at Caleb, making sure to keep his face carefully neutral. Bored, almost, although he was anything but.

“Are you busy right now?” 

He heard the gasps from everyone else, saw Caleb blink as he processed the words and took delight in being able to surprise him. 

“May I enter?” he asked Caleb, with a gesture to their house.

Beauregard scoffed loudly and threw her hands up. “I invited you twice, but yeah, go ahead, enter, yeah…”

“I wasn’t asking you,” he said, eyes still fixed on Caleb.

Caleb flushed slightly, a delicious red creeping up the back of his neck and ears. He blinked, shaking himself slightly as he glanced away from Essek and took a step forward. The cats claw before them turned sideways, and one claw hooked into the door and pulled it open. The faint sound of… chimes could be heard and Essek filed the piece of information away, noting it to inform the Lens operatives so they were aware.

It was an impressive display of control by the wizard. Interesting. How very interesting.

He floated forward into the open doorway, coming to a stop in the entryway. Caleb filed in beside him, as did the rest of the Nine. Taking a quick look around, Essek decided that the empty room off to the left seemed to be the best available option for a space to work. He raised a hand and traced a glyph in the air, feeling all eyes on him. He held his hand out, as the glow extended and a tome appeared in his hand. There were impressed whistles behind him, and he turned to see he still had an audience of more than just Caleb. He pulled out his other hand, turning back to his spellbook as he flipped through it.

“Do you have means of copying?” he waited for Caleb’s affirmative nod, before turning to the desk and setting down his book. “Let me teach you a few things.”

Caleb came to a rest beside Essek, and a quick glance up at his face showed raw hunger, his eyes scanning every page that Esske flipped through. He smothered a smug smile. He was right, about what would entice this one. How to draw him in. He wondered what else would motivate him. How far he would go for knowledge. Questions for another time.

“So this could be three utility, meager spells of dunamancy, you have a few things at your disposal,” he said quietly, knowing Caleb would be hanging on his every word. It reminded him of the few lectures he had given at the Marble Tomes in those days before he became Shadowhand. It was easy, to slip back into that teaching mode, like no time had passed. “There is also a few with a... ah, slight more kick. And… or one, it is a little more of a influence, if you will.” 

There was something satisfying about getting to perform for a new and unknown audience. To have someone hang on to his every word and look at him with the potential of what might be unlocked.

“What is your interest?” he continued, glancing up at Caleb again. “Are you interested in things such as density, things that manipulate the relationship between objects? Are you more interested in the bending of fate, of destiny?” If he wasn’t watching Caleb so closely, he would have missed the twitch of his hands and the spark behind his eyes at Essek’s words. Ah, so here is the start of the mystery. “Or, do you wish to find ways to sap and scatter the potentiality of your enemy?”

“Let’s go back one.”

He flipped back through his book, coming to rest on the first of two spells he would teach Caleb that afternoon. He would wonder, after, what actually motivated him to share Dynasty secrets with one as unknown as Caleb was. It was another thing he would have to keep quiet, that he had shared secrets of their arcane arts with no guarantee that they wouldn’t be going straight to the Empire. He would wonder at what had caught him so, knowing that the Queen would be displeased. Not that guarding secrets was something he could take the moral high ground on. 

There was something curious about the human wizard. About Caleb Widogast with his sad eyes and unassuming posture. About how it took spells and knowledge to open his closed off face. How the hour spent sharing magic was the lightest Essek had felt in months. He stayed for longer than he had planned when he’d set out. He’d even partaken in a drink that was surprisingly refreshing, even with the unfortunate naming of it. 

He wanted to dislike them.

And yet… he was curious.

“I’m interested to see what you do with these.”

“I need a little bit of time.”

“Rudimentary, but they are the beginning building blocks,” Essek said, tucking his spellbook back into its pocket dimension. “Remember it, there may be a time where I need to call a favour back in.”

“Done.”

There was something akin to excitement at the thrill that single phrase sent through him. Something it unlocked that he wouldn’t come to understand for months. And as he set an adjusted rotating observation schedule on the house with lower level operatives, as he sat back in the comfortable chair in his study and twirled a pearl between his fingers… he wondered.

————————

He’s taking a step before he realises he is, and he pauses, unsure for a moment before taking another. 

Essek is reaching, hand outstretched as he makes contact with Caleb’s arm and he feels Caleb flinch for a moment under his hand. Feels the rough skin burning under his palm.

He looks up, and it is up from this angle, and his heart is hammering in his chest. Caleb looks torn, and for a moment Essek thinks he will pull away, put physical distance between them, create those barriers between them, but he doesn’t. Instead, Caleb turns his arm under Essek’s palm and slides until his hand is cradling Essek’s, until he can feel fingers wrap around his.

“Essek—” Caleb starts before breaking off and taking a breath, hand tightening on Essek’s briefly. “This… this is complicated. It was before, it stills is—”

“I know,” Essek cuts in, looking away and down, knowing what’s coming, knowing that it’s too much to hope for. As he prepares to build the walls back up, prepares to pretend that the past weeks have been manageable, that he hasn’t missed them, hasn’t been consumed by how they left things. “I have no right to time or hope or trust, no right to ask you to complicate an already complex path. How could I?” He laughs hollowly. “You’re in Rexxentrum, probably making more progress with the Assembly than I ever could, uncovering Luxon knows what. You have bigger problems—”

“Thelyss. Look at me.”

The command from Caleb cuts through Essek’s babbling thoughts and he responds without thinking.

There’s a fond smile on Caleb’s face, and he feels the hand not clutched in his own cup the side of his face. It takes all of his willpower to not close his eyes and lean into the warmth. It’s the same, his brain helpfully supplies, as before. The same hand on the same cheek… except this time a thumb moves gently against his cheek, brushing it, as he’s pulled in by their grasped hands.

“I want to explore the possibility of what this might become,” Caleb murmurs, voice gentle in the quiet, eyes searching Essek’s. “I want a great many things. I want to study magic with you. I want to see my homeland freed from the corruption gripping it. I want true peace. I want to see us both through this, leaving it better. Making a difference. We could achieve that.”

He doesn’t deserve this.

There’s a tightness in his chest, pressure constricting and Essek can’t breathe.

I care for you.

How is there any way this can end well? End in a way where his future aligns with Caleb’s, where it doesn’t end with a sword to his throat as he’s made to pay for his crimes? The last time he saw the rest of the Nein he didn’t feel that he was welcomed, even with their earlier words. They are Caleb’s family. Rosohna isn’t home to them. How can he begin to be… worthy of what they expect from him? 

He’s grasping Caleb’s arm as his own hands begin to shake, as the weight of the last few weeks crashes into him. A sound reaches him and it takes a moment to realise that he’s the one making it, this gasping noise that isn’t quite crying and there’s hands gripping his shoulders and a concerned face filling his vision that’s starting to blur… and… and… 

Arms wrap around him and he’s pulled forward, head colliding with Caleb’s chest. A hand cradles the back of his head as he’s held more gently than he has been held in a century and something comes undone. He puts aside the expectations, puts aside how he should behave and just lets himself feel. 

His body sags against Caleb’s, and he feels Caleb shift an arm around him until he’s guided down and they’re sitting on the floor, somewhat awkwardly, but Caleb is still not letting go. A hand is rubbing soothing circles into Essek’s back as there is indistinct murmuring. Essek cries, hand clinging to Caleb’s shirt, as years of wearing a mask, of being perfect, of never putting a foot wrong, wash over him.

He knows that it is cathartic to cry. That there’s nothing wrong with taking comfort in someone you trust. It’s just that Essek has never allowed someone to be close enough, to see behind the mantle and title and the name, never allowed someone to know him. He’s not yet ready to examine the feeling behind why Caleb, why this human wizard from the Empire, is the one he’s letting in. He knows it’s tied into those four words and what is underneath them.

I care for you.

It undoes him. This caring without an ulterior motive or desire to get something out of it. He’s so used to everything around him being a manipulation, that genuine kindness still catches him off-guard. It achingly reminds him of Verin and when they were young, before politics and family got in the way. It reminds him of the kindness he has seen the Nein share with each other. The kindness they had shown him, that he was aching for more of.

Time passes, and Essek stills, eyes drying as the occasional breath hitches and he feels his heartbeat slow. As he becomes aware of himself, Essek realises Caleb has been speaking in Zemnian, soft words as he rocks them ever so slightly and a hand rubs gentle circles into his back.

There’s a hint of embarrassment that makes itself known, a discomfort at having let the cracks show, and as he goes to pull back, he’s stopped by a hand that holds him close.

“Essek?”

“I’m… I’m okay…” he croaks, and his voice is weak to his own ears and he prays that Caleb doesn’t call him out on it. Doesn’t make this harder than it is. “I just…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Caleb whispers, voice just as soft. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How… There’s not… Caleb…” He shakes his head, sitting back slightly but not moving far. “You can’t promise that. No one can promise that… Please…”

Caleb chuckles next to him.

“Essek, if I just survived a dinner with Ikithon and walked away… then it might be.”

He sits up at that, surprise showing on his face. “You did what?”

“We were invited to dinner with Ikithon and my old classmates,” he says with a slight shrug and he won’t quite meet Esek’s gaze, eyes flicking then darting away. “He… it went fine. I’m fine—”

“Caleb,” Essek starts and this time he is the one reaching, brushing Caleb’s hair back from his face, eyes searching and he sees a flicker of pain before Caleb buries it down. “You are not fine, that… why would you put yourself—”

“I had to know,” Caleb interrupts, voice weak, “I had to know, to see… if there was a hope from them… for Astrid and Eodwulf…” he looks away, unable to meet Essek’s eyes. “If I had really changed and wouldn’t break at the first moment of seeing them again.”

He watches Caleb for a long while. Watches and recognises the need to know, even if there’s a risk to himself that may outweigh the reward that could come. He recognises it and it hurts, the crashing realisation that Caleb needed to know if they could be saved, if there was hope for them, hears it in memory of it was learned and knows that it’s the same hope Caleb carries for him. The knowledge that he can make others feel this… he recognises it and regrets.

“Caleb,” Essek repeats, an echo of earlier laced this time with anger at those who hurt him, with devastation and recognition. 

He finally meets Essek’s gaze and he can see what this dinner cost him. What he had shoved aside when he made his way to Essek’s door. How had the Nein let him leave in this state? How had they not seen?

“Where are they now? The Nein?” he asks, cursing himself for not preparing sending today as he mentally flicks through the spells he does have prepared—

“They are safe. Probably sleeping. Maybe,” Caleb whispers.

That’s not what he was asking.

“Did none of them see? Caduceus or Beauregard surely—”

Caleb shakes his head. “Do not be angry at them. They care, Essek. They cared enough to know I had to go, and they supported me every step of the way. They were there, and they didn’t let Ikithon get what he wanted. Six months ago, without them. I might not have had the same ability to walk away knowing I was better for it.”

He stands, pacing away from Caleb, anger still coursing through his veins. He knows they are clever and more than capable of looking after themselves, but it was still dangerous. Ikithon is an archmage and that isn’t to be taken lightly, even by them. Especially not by them, whey they are aware of the history between Essek and the Assembly and what he had done. When they have spent months calling the Dynasty home, when the Empire has thrown people into prison for less questioning of their loyalties. It screams of manipulation, of baiting, and Essek doesn’t know enough to draw a conclusion, to know where it might end and it’s infuriating.

“You came here alone after dinner with… with him, after meeting with DeRogna which you didn’t even attempt to hide, walking through Rosohna at night unescorted after spending—”

“How do you know that?” Caleb asks sharply.

Essek turns back to Caleb, who is still sitting on the floor, and barks a laugh.

“I am the Shadowhand, Caleb,” he gestures to the study around him, to the window at his back. “It is my duty to know everything that happens that might be relevant to Dynasty interests.”

“Oh,” breathes Caleb, and there’s a look of dawning realisation on his face. “And the official role of the Shadowhand…”

“I run the intelligence network for the Dynasty,” he says simply. “I assumed you knew. Or at least suspected.”

“That… makes a lot of things make sense,” he says weakly, his face flushed,he looks a million miles away. “But… you transported us everywhere… taught me magic… you…”

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Why?”

————————

Their request from earlier was echoing around his head as he sat in his study, staring at an open book in front of him in a pretense of working. Dinner. They had invited him to dinner in the most casual way and didn’t realise how unique that was. There was no formal request that was planned for weeks, which he would then try and come up with a believable excuse for not attending. They wanted his company.

Comments from the previous weeks flashed through his thoughts, moments that read differently, questions asked of him. They wanted to get to know him. And it wasn’t just Caleb, it was all of them.

What was more surprising, was that he wanted to know them as well.

Wanted to know them, wanted to hear about their stories from them, not from rumours dug out by operatives that barely scratched the surface of who they actually were.

Something had shifted, during their audience with the Bright Queen. Something had eased slightly, at the knowledge that the Empire wanted peace and were willing to entertain talks, though he wouldn’t relax entirely until he understood exactly what the Assembly intended with the Beacon. He knew that they intended to return it. Had known prior to the Nein’s announcement. What he couldn’t puzzle out was why, when they appeared to have no intention to slow down their research.

He shook his head as he sat back at his desk and contemplated the stack of files in front of him. The profiles of the Nein started months ago were on one side, and the longer he stared at them the longer he contemplated actually going. They had asked before and he had always said no. Always had something that would take priority. He thought of them, clear and concise in the throne room, holding their own against the Queen. It was impressive, and spoke of ease in knowing themselves.

He spent an hour debating internally, before he huffed and floated up, and left before he could consider it further.

Essek knocked on the door before he could turn away, nervous in a way he hadn’t been for years. The bottle of wine was clammy in his hand, his grip on it tight underneath the mantle. Two faces peered out at him from behind the front window - Caduceus and Nott - as the door was suddenly pulled open, the sound of chimes accompanying it.

Beauregard’s voice reached Essek, though she was not anywhere in the entrance hall. “Is this a noise complaint?”

He chuckled at the absurdity of yelling a question about a noise complaint before he answered. “No, it is not a noise complaint. I just… ah… if you would, have a guest for dinner, perhaps?”

His voice was weak to his own ears, the nerves he had tried to keep hidden slipping through and he cursed himself internally that it wasn’t his normal level of confidence.

Jester’s head darted around the corner, a look of surprised delight on her face. “Come on in, Essek, we invited you before!” She hurried forward, wiping her hands down her skirt before holding them out to Essek. “Come, come, come!”

“I thought about it. I uh, hadn’t really… you know, done something like this in a while and perhaps it is… something I should do,” he finished, shrugging as he did while furiously blushing, glad for his dark skin that didn’t show heat as easily as Caleb’s.

He noticed the suspicious glance directed his way by Beauregard as he floated into the room, and tried to school his face into something more open than they normally see. Hishand holding the bottle of wine shot forwards from under the cloak, holding it out like a peace offering.

“This is Solvia Groves Diamond Plum Wine.”

Nott, of all people, hurried up and took the bottle from Essek, examining it thoroughly. “Ohh! I’ll decant it right away.”

He hovered awkwardly for a moment, before taking a breath and deciding that if he had come this far, and if the evening went the way he was hoping, then he didn’t need to pretend with these people. Didn’t need to keep up the mask the way he has been.

“My apologies,” he murmured and as he cleared his throat, Essek let the dunamantic energies keeping him in the air drop. His feet landed gently on the ground with a practiced step, and before he could think better of it, he moved his hands to unfasten his mantle. Spying a chair in the foyer, he took a step and set it down on the empty space.

Feeling oddly naked, Essek swept a hand over his clothes, making sure they were all in place. It was one of his nicer tunics, the deep purple that shimmered blue in the right light criss-crossed with delicate stitching that faded into a rich midnight blue, and he knew he looked good in it. The sleeves came to delicate points on the back of his hands, black form-fitting trousers tucked into soft knee-high boots.

He turned back to the room and caught Jester’s appreciative gaze and decidedly made sure to not look in Caleb’s direction. The room off to the right was a combination receiving and dining room, and Essek took a step in that direction. It opened up to reveal a large, rustic dining table, place settings roughly laid with mismatched silverware and cups, and a collection of couches and ottomans of various sizes at the other end around an unlit hearth. It reminded him of the homely descriptions that Essek had read about in Empire books, the room oozing warmth and a lived in feeling that his own towers lacked. In a few short months, the Nein had really turned this into a home.

“Do you float all the time?” Fjord asked from the couches, leaning back on his chair before realising how that sounded and sitting up. “I’m sorry, I called it float. It just… seems you’re always gliding.”

Essek braced himself slightly at the immediacy of the personal questions. He had suspected they would come, but didn’t anticipate them to be quite so sudden. He immediately wanted to lie, to distract, but he had come here with the intention to be honest. As much as he could be, considering… well. He didn’t want to think about that tonight.

“Not all the time. For me, it’s more of a... “ he replied with a sigh, not sure quite how to word it. “I don’t know. It’s an expectation, I guess.”

“People expect it of you?”

“When you’re young and impetuous… you tend to do things to try and impress people and then once you’ve set a sort of expectation for a presentation, you have to maintain it.”

You are too old for games, child.

The memory of the Umavi’s voice still rang in his ears, crystal clear even over a century later. It set his teeth on edge, how much he had tried and it had been for nothing. He took a deep breath, pushing it out and refusing to think of it.

“It’s your gimmick!” Nott exclaimed, re-entering the room from the kitchen off on one side.

“More or less.”

That was a much plainer way of putting it, if a little simplistic.

Yasha piped up from the end of the table where she was leaning. “So people just expect you to float everywhere?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make you tired?” Fjord asked, voice still curious.

“Not particularly.”

He was aware that he was giving short answers, and he knew it was because he felt distinctly out of practice. He wasn’t used to… small talk and had little idea of how to continue the conversation. He hesitated a few paces into the room, unsure of where he would be welcomed. He eyed the empty spot next to Caleb for a moment, itching to head over there, before he stopped. Manners dictated that he not take a seat unless invited, and even if he thought there were few things the Mighty Nein obeyed, his years of strict dinner party expectations couldn’t be overridden.

Caduceus leaned across the kitchen bench, sticking his head into the room. There was something calming in the firblog’s presence and in the gentle cadence of his voice that immediately set Essek at ease. “I mean, walking makes you tired, if you think about it.”

“Yeah,” Yasha agreed, turning back to Essek. “Can you make anyone float? Or it’s just yourself?”

Theoretical arcane questions Essek could answer. He felt mildly more comfortable as he gave his answer.

“I mean, via certain incantations, of course, but this is more of just a developed for myself type trick. Gimmick, if you will.”

Jester popped out of the kitchen, open wine bottle in hand and more glasses than Essek thought she should be able to carry. Placing both on the table, she moved around it and poured Essek a glass.

“I’m going to get everything going in here,” Caduceus continued, turning back to the stove behind him. “I’ll have everything up and running real quick.”

“You’re in for a treat,” Caleb stated, joining the conversation, his accented voice cutting through to Essek. “Caduceus is quite a cook.”

“I’m very excited. Thank you very much.”

Jester darted up at that moment, handing the glass to Essek.

“So are you single? Do you have kids? What’s your last name?” Jester asked at a rapid fire pace.

Essek blinked, unsure of how serious she was and if every question needed a response. Thankfully, Nott interrupted before he had to.

“Let’s sit down and do some small talk first,” the small goblin said, waving a hand towards the empty couches.

“Oh, yeah, sit down,” Fjord echoed.

Yasha stood from the table, heading across to the hearth. “I’ll build a fire.”

“Oh!” Nott exclaimed, and Essek looked over in her direction. “I’ll start heating up the hot tub, just in case, It takes like an hour or two to—”

Hot tub? Essek wasn’t sure if he had heard the goblin correctly, starting at the others who were decidedly not reacting which made him think that this… may be a regular occurrence? He decided to ignore that question for the time being and instead head towards the couches. As he walked closer, Beauregard dropped into one of the couches and fixed him with an intense look.

“Where you from?” she barked, and he had the distinct impression that she had been storing up questions to ask him.

He would have laughed, if he had been more sure as to how that would have gone down. An interrogation he could live with, and to be honest, he is surprised that it had taken this evening for the questions to come out.

“Here,” he replied unfazed, waving a hand to take in the entire city of Rosohna.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

An odd question, but it wasn’t like that was any real secret.

“Well, my mother’s name is Deirta Theylss, she is the Umavi of my den.”

Fjord let out a low whistle and Jester mouthed ‘wow’. For an outsider, Essek could understand why that would get the response it did. He straightened instinctually, the way he did any time the Den was mentioned. 

He paused before one of the chairs near Caleb, noticing what looked to be a harp resting next to one of them and a flute abandoned on the low table. That would explain the noise he had heard on approach. 

“I’m not imposing, am I?”

“No!” Jester said quickly, waving him to sit down. “We were just playing a concert for—”

“Ah, I was wondering what that sound was.” It had been an odd sound, discordant, but kind of charming.

“That was us,” Yasha said from next to the fire, face slightly pink.

“It carries quite a distance.”

Yasha perked up at that, for an odd reason.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good.”

“It’s how we focus,” Fjord added. “After a huge meeting, we play and join our thoughts as one.”

Essek got the distinct impression he was being messed with.

“An unfamiliar custom, but—”

“It grows on you.”

It was something Verin would have said, and he wondered, if they would appreciate the same teasing he would have. Keeping his face blank with polite interest, he let a hint of humour creep into his voice.

“It is not unlike some things I’ve seen in Asarius.”

“Mh-hmm.”

As he settled into the chair, something jumped up onto his lap and he flinched slightly at the unexpected motion. Caleb’s cat stretched on his lap before settling, curling up in a tight knot that shouldn’t be possible. It was an odd sensation, he didn’t have a lot of experience with animals, let alone cats that he suspects are more than they seem.

“Oh! Hello!”

Essek wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, and after a moment of deliberating, he settled on stroking the fur slightly.

He glanced up towards Caleb, and caught the end of a satisfied smile as it settled into something more pensive. He wondered, if he had directed the cat… but no. Just a coincidence.

“So, what is the mood here in the Dynasty?” asked Caleb once they had both settled.

He took a deep breath before he answered, piecing together what he could and could not say. As much as he was here of his own accord, and they were friends who he liked and trusted, they were still not of the Dynasty and some things always had to be treated with caution.

“Right now, it is tension. A little bit of frustration in the halting of what was to be a very successful raid on Rexxentrum.” He paused, considering how best to convey the conversations that had erupted in the wake of their departure. “Tense. That’s primarily it. This is… so far removed from the front lines, it’s mostly just information disseminated via word of mouth and the occasional street speaker, but warfare makes for… not entirely pleasant opinions of the opposing side.”

Caleb sat back, rubbing at his back of his neck. He took a moment before he responded.

“The tension in the throne room was fairly easy to read. My wonder was more, what the dens, the various dens, think… the people here?” 

Essek nodded, settling into the chair as he patted Frumpkin absently. This, this conversation he could do. Could trade ideas with Caleb for hours and not feel out of place. 

“That varies from den to den. There are numerous, and it depends on which opinion you want.”

“How about Den Thelyss?”

“Den Thelyss, hmm, they would like very much to see our nation established and respected in the broader sense of the world.” It is an understatement, but it is hard to convey centuries of den plotting and planning and how convoluted it had become. “Unfortunately, our most neighbouring nation tends to consider most everything to the east savage landscapes and dangerous cutthroats and drow killers and everything else, so.”

“And that is foolish,” Caleb responded, leaning forwards onto his elbows. Essek unconsciously mirrored him, leaning forward slightly as well. “That has not been our experience here.”

“But, there are people on our end… and many folks who assume that the Empire is nothing but a bunch of... ” he paused, not sure how to say it delicately before deciding that the Nein would know that this is surely not his opinion. “...of money-crazed, murderous villagers ready to kill each other for a scrap of meat.”

“That is very true. That’s how everyone is there.”

Jester broke in, plonking herself down onto the ground between them and Essek blinked, realising how close he had leaned. He sat back, turning his attention to her.

“Really?” Essek replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Jester, that’s not, that’s—” Fjord started.

Jester pouted up at Essek before rolling her eyes and grinning. “Not true!”

“I care little for politics, to be honest,” Essek admitted, surprising himself at how nice it felt to admit that, and not be immediately looked down upon for it. He let out a breath, feeling something click and unlock inside himself. “But, it seems you did as well. Circumstances thrust us into spaces where we least expect.”

He settled back, Frumpkin now purring under his hands, as the rest of the Nein sat on chairs around him.

“What do you care for?” Yasha asked, voice gentle as always. Essek turned to her, taken aback by the question. It has been a long while since anyone has asked him something so personal. Yasha continued hurriedly, clarifying. “What are, you know, your hobbies and things that you like to do?”

He swallowed thickly, honestly unsure how to answer. He had few interests beyond dunamis and research, and he could hardly admit to his other pursuits… not yet. Not until he was sure of how they… how they might react.

“Pet peeves?” Nott added.

“Allergies?” asked Fjord?

He was saved from answering all of them as Caduceus entered the room.

“Hopefully none of this.” He sat down on one of the low tables what looked to be a platter of cheese and vegetables.

There was easy banter between the Nein as Caduceus returned to the kitchen, evidence of a practiced routine usually done over campfire transitioning to the more formal environment.

He let the sound wash over him, as they settled again, and he felt expectant eyes turn back to him.

“You’ve asked me quite a few questions and I’m willing to converse,” he started, looking around at them. He caught Caleb’s gaze, and held it for a moment before breaking away, heat brushing his cheeks again. This human wizard… “But I’m curious… ah I’m curious to get to know you as well. What is it you want to achieve? What are your goals? What are the things you are looking to do?” He paused, glancing at them all before continuing. This was something he was genuinely curious about for many reasons. “I assume you weren't intending to bring a Beacon here and throw yourself into the midst of this chaos, so... what else is it that pushes you forward?"

Fjord leans forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of his knees.

“Would it surprise you to know that perhaps a year ago, we didn't even know of a beacon or of the Dynasty or of any of this?”

“We knew of bacon,” interjected Beauregard, “just not of a Beacon.”

“An important distinction,” Essek conceded with a smile.

Nott shifted on her chair, drawing Essek’s gaze. The goblin was one that he still wasn’t certain of. She had every right to never want to speak to him again, after all, he was the one responsible for her husband’s imprisonment. It wasn’t personal, it’s war, afterall, but he could understand the resentment. It always left him a little unsettled having her full attention. 

“We all have individual goals and issues that we’re working on, but—”

“What about you?” Essek asked, voice deliberately open and welcoming.

“Oh, me?” Nott blinked, seemingly surprised by the question.

“Yes.”

Nott glanced at those around her, and Essek got the sense that this was a big admission for the goblin girl. There was something here, and Essek was doing his best to separate his professional thirst for knowledge from being genuinely curious as a… friend, as unpracticed as he was.

“Um…” Nott trailed off, hesitant.

Jester leaned forward, resting a hand on Nott’s knee encouragingly. “Tell him. Maybe he can do it.”

Nott took a big sip of wine, swallowing for a long moment before she looked up at Essek. “I— I’ve just had some, I’m not myself and haven’t been for a while and was…” she sighed, her voice taking on an emotional tone Essek had never heard from her before. “Like many of us, we’re all searching for… well, many of us are searching for who we are, but mine is much more odd because I know I’m not, I’m not supposed to be like this and I’m trying… to change myself, physically.”

Her voice got smaller as she finished the sentence. Pieces of a missing puzzle piece clicked into place for Essek. The halfling husband, the alchemy skills, the protectiveness of the rest of the Nein, the mothering tone. He could guess at some of what had happened, and something prickled inside of him that he refused to acknowledge.

“Hmm,” he said instead, sitting back and matching Nott’s gentle tone. “This is not your original form?”

And he assumed, not her original name.

“No,” Nott confirmed. “And actually, being in the throne room of your Queen… it actually gave me a lot of hope. I mean, seeing that people among you and her and some of the den leaders… I suppose, have changed from and shape many times over and put their spirits into other bodies…”

“This is true,” Essek murmured softly, not interrupting, but encouraging Nott to continue speaking.

“...it’s actually given me a lot of hope. They said that… w-when we were in there, that you had to be, what was the term again?”

They were smart, these bunch of mercenaries. His original assessment that dismissed most of the group was grossly incorrect. They remembered what they heard and drew accurate connections. It was impressive, and he felt an inkling of shame for casting their intelligence aside so quickly.

“Consecuted,” Essek supplied.

“Consecuted,” said Nott, nodding around the unfamiliar term.

“That is a process,” he continued, musing through how much to say. It was… something he was intimately familiar with and a hint of anxiety settled in him. “Though I would say it is one that requires a lot of patience. It is a bit convoluted.”

“Does it take a long time?” Jester asked, curiosity in her voice.

Only a lifetime of disappointment.

“The ritual itself takes about a day,” he said instead, shifting slightly as the memories of his own failed attempt surfaced. He hasn’t thought about that day in decades. He wonders, if they will ask and what his answer might be.

“It is painful?” Yasha asked.

“The consecution is not. The process of having to die to be consecuted or returned to a new form, depending, can be painful, I’m sure.”

“How do they do it?” came Nott’s question, and there’s a hint of horror and Essek realised how his answer could have been taken.

“Well, they don’t ah… kill them once they’re consecuted, but when life comes to an end and they are within a radial region of a beacon,” he shrugged. It was such a common practice to him, that being surrounded by those who saw this as an almost magical thing was strange. “Then the soul is taken by the beacon and then implanted within a new life.”

Caleb’s voice cut through the questions, drawing Essek’s attention.

“Have there ever been any instances of outsiders having this done?”

“No one who has not been… bound to the Beacons via consecution has fallen into its net. It is a requirement for the process.”

“Are you consecuted?”

The question from Jester, while he was half expecting them to ask about this more, still took him by surprise. He had lied to them once before, of course, but this time? He knew them more. It felt more real. The cold creeped across his upper chest as he looked away from Caleb and to Jester. She must have forgotten what he said in that first meeting on the walk to the Dungeons of Penance. It’s easier to lie, not looking at Caleb’s piercing blue eyes. He’s tempted to tell the truth, but he can still feel the imprint of his mother’s hand, can still feel the venom hissed in his direction and it’s one truth he cannot bring himself to tell.

“I am.”

Jester looked puzzled, head tilting to one side. “You’re not excited about it?”

“I mean, prolonging life is divine. But I think religion is a…” he paused, clicking his tongue a moment, and maybe the lie from before drove his honesty now. Or maybe he just liked the feeling of people who seemed to enjoy his company, and had no motives other than friendship. “I would say religion is a crutch to some space. I mean, the Dynasty is so focused on this Luxon, this religion, and the possibility of what it means… but it’s distracting them from what other good things they could do with the time and focus, maybe.”

If he turned his head, he would see Caleb’s eyes on him. Would see the expression of contemplation that Caleb is giving him. He felt the weight of that gaze, felt a crackle of something that has been present the last few times they have shared spellwork, that was present when he closed a fist and ended the life of the Scourger that dared raise a hand to Caleb—

He stopped the thought.

“And it’s selective, right?” asked Fjord, and Essek was sure that he was talking with a new accent. He suspected it earlier, but here, it was stronger. It fit, somehow. “Not everyone in the Dynasty is consecuted, so there are some that expire in this life and that’s the end of them.”

“There is a… an expectation of advancement within the faith to be consecuted,” Essek replied. “I really do not care for the specific theology behind it, but I was lucky enough and privileged enough to be born within a den to where it was not questioned, but—”

Beauregard cut in, a look of distaste on her face. “So, it’s reserved for people within certain families.”

“Well, it’s expended into those that aren’t part of the dens, but they don’t just… consecute anyone who steps into the Dynasty and requests it.”

That would be absurd. There are years of teachings and preparations required before the ritual would be attempted. To think that it would be given to one who had no respect or understanding. Unheard of.

“And you are, forgive me,” Caleb started, and Essek’s eyes snapped to meet his. “On your first life?”

“Yes,” Essek replied, and he swears the tension increases slightly between them at his response. No thought of lying crossed his mind, caught as he was in the curiosity of Caleb’s question. “I’m nearly the youngest of my den.” If there was a little bit of pride in his voice, no one could really blame him.

“Forgive me if this is presumptuous. How old are you?” continued Caleb, not looking phased at all by Essek’s previous response.

“I would be close to… one hundred and twenty years.”

There were impressed whistles and a comment he missed from Fjord while he stared at Caleb. There was… something he couldn’t read on Caleb’s face. An emotion that he couldn’t decode. It was, unsettling, to not be able to work it out. He wasn’t sure why he cared what Caleb’s opinion of him was. Why his opinion mattered more than the others.

He answered Jester’s follow up question half distracted by his thoughts, and it takes a moment to catch the thread of conversation. He turned from Caleb, needing to focus on someone else.

“You see, that is why the Beacons are so important. They allow the expansion of our civilization.” Whatever reservation he has about the theology of the Luxon, he was a scientist and can understand the need for their presence in society. “If a city does not exist within some radius of a Beacon, everyone within that city is unable to return.”

“And just to follow our thought experiment with our friend Nott here, if she were to be consecuted, she would need to remain here.” Caleb said, and while it was phrased like a question, there was a surety in the phrase that made Essek feel like he was more seeking confirmation.

“Well, you would have to ensure that if you were to pass away, it was within the radius of a Beacon, yes,” he said, eyes flicking back to Caleb’s briefly.

“But again, you would… she would be transferred to a new body and a new, young life, not a current one,” Fjord said, voice contemplative as he turned to Nott.

“Correct, and you would—”

“Like a baby?” Veth asked in the middle of Essek’s sentence.

“Yes, and you would grow and age,” he finished, nodding.

Jester’s eyes were wide as she worked through what that would be like. “How old are you before you realise you’re the same person you were before?”

“A little bit into adolescence,” Essek replied, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip before placing it back down. “You begin to have dreams and visions of memories of your previous life or lives, and you… begin to seek out members of the Dynasty to then bring you through this anamnesis process in which you are to combine your current life’s memories with the personality’s memories of your previous lives to become one.”

A range of expressions met his response from puzzlement on Jester to curiosity on Caleb’s. Fjord screwed his face up, trying to work through what that meant.

“Yeah, that’s…” Fjord started before trailing off and turning to look at Nott.

“Sounds very confusing,” Nott concluded.

“I’m sure,” Essek allowed, nodding. “I’ve not done it myself.”

And he never would. He had long made his peace with that, but there is still something about it that hurts. It picked at wounds that would always say he wasn’t enough. That academic curiosity to experience and learn would never be sated with first hand experience, that his accomplishments would be dismissed due to his first life, that they would be forgotten when his soul passed with no one to repeat and build on them.

Jester interrupted his thoughts, her bright voice cutting into his spiralling frustration. “But, like, what’s to keep somebody from coming and saying ‘Oh, I’m the Queen! I’m the Bright Queen’s soul?”

“Well, those who would receive her would then ask many questions that only the Bright Queen would know the answer to,” Essek replied.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Do you remember your previous life fully?” asked Yasha curiously.

“I don’t know,” Essek admitted. Each individual who went through the process had a different experience, and few talked openly about it outside their own partnerships. “I have not undergone this process myself.”

Beauregard looked up from her notebook, piercing him with her intelligent gaze. “Has anyone, like, an adult been… have you used an adult body before instead of an infant?”

Caleb spoke up before Essek could. “I think what he’s saying is that a new life is born and the soul is within it—”

“It is not of our choosing; it is the choosing of the Beacon,” he confirmed.

“Wow,” said Jester, eyes wide.

“And,” Essek continued, feeling comfort in sharing knowledge and relishing an audience who was eager to hear it, “We’ve had issues in the past where Beacons and our soldiers were killed on foreign soil and then the souls were born in elements of the Empire.” It was a problem that the Lens was constantly monitoring for. Monitoring cities near past battlefields for any whispers of children speaking Undercommon, of arcane talents tending towards dunamancy, memories that didn’t make sense. “We had one conflict about thirteen… fourteen years ago on the northern side of the Empire in which many soldiers on both sides were killed. And recently, some of those spirits began to undergo anamnesis there, around Nogvurot and such, we helped the children return to the Dynasty—”

“Holy moly!” Jester sounded awed by the thought.

“—and as such, have now been reintroduced into our society.”

“So, Empire kids might turn fifteen and be like, ‘oh, shit, I’m a Kryn. I have to go back’?” Nott asked.

Essek clarified quickly, not wanting them to get the wrong idea that this could happen to any child in the Empire. “Under the rare conditions in which a spirit that has been consecuted were to die near a Beacon, away from the Dynasty, yes.”

Jester leapt up from the floor, excitement on her face that Essek recognised as having successfully connected the dots of two previously unrelated points. He looked at her curiously as she turned to Beauregard and Fjord, arms waving.

“That’s why, do you remember, the criers were going, ‘Children are being stolen from Nogvurot’?” Jester said, drawing herself up to imitate someone making an announcement.

He considered the new information, slotting it into what he knows from reports from six months earlier that the Lens filed. Stolen is a bit of a stretch, but, he conceded that if you weren’t aware of what was happening how it would appear that way.

“Mm, that would make sense,” he said, considering. “A unique spin to the tale.”

Nott’s eyes widened as she made the same connection. The next few phrases were rapid fire from the rest of them, Essek just managing to track who was speaking.

“Stolen from Nogvurot?”

“Fuck.”

“So they may have just awakened and left.”

“Woah, shit.”

“I wonder how old those children were?”

They were interrupted by Caduceus placing a platter of delicious food down onto the low table between them all.

“There’s food.”

Jester’s attention was immediately diverted as she made a beeline for the food. A stack of small plates were set down next to it, a folded napkin on top of each one. There were no serving utensils, and looking to the rest of the Nein for direction, it seemed to Essek like it was a free for all on the food. A… unique way to partake in a meal, and one that Essek had never had. It spoke of family, and he was quietly pleased at having the invitation extended to him.

After everyone had a plate, Essek continued, speaking to Nott while the rest of them were occupied.

“So, to your point, it is possibly a way, though there is no guarantee which body will find you.” He gestured to her small, green form. “It could very well be another goblin, it could be one of our fine drow, which is not so bad. It could be all manner of creature. If what you are seeking is some sort of a… transference to a new body,” he shrugged slightly, apologetic. “I don’t think that’s within my purview.”

“Can you just turn this body into a different body?” Jester asked around a mouthful of food.

If only the Umavi could see him now, surrounded by a group of ragtag mercenaries, eating from a shared platter without cutlery, and half of them sitting on the floor, the rest draped over chairs. He took pleasure in the thought of how it would make her skin crawl, and hurriedly helped himself to a plate, making sure to sample everything.

“I do not know of such magic myself, unfortunately,” he replied, after swallowing his own mouthful of food. It’s surprisingly delicious, and he will have to remember to thank Caduceus later. “There are rumors of extremely powerful polymorph spells and incantations, but… even those have limitations that can be temporary or dispelled.”

Caleb cleared his throat quietly, and Essek looked in his direction, one eyebrow slightly raised. He waited for a moment, and then continued when it was clear that he wasn’t about to say anything. “But, if I hear anything, I will let you know.”

“If we hear of something, could we ask your aid?” Nott asked, a weird mix of hesitation and hope in her tone.

“If I can,” replied Essek.

He would help, if he could, and time allowed. He was being honest in stating that if the magic existed, it wasn’t something he had knowledge of. Or even heard of. It would be an interesting theoretical study that had a chance to be applied in reality. A rare chance.

“In deciphering it?” Nott continued.

Essek paused at that. It was an odd choice of phrase, and mixed with her hesitance, Essek suspected that they may have already found something, and this was more an exercise in seeing what he may know, and if they should share it. He wondered, what would convince them.

“If I can,” he repeated, keeping his thoughts to himself.

There was a lull in conversation, as they each went back for more food. It wasn’t an awkward lull, in fact, it was the opposite and something Essek wasn’t used to. How comfortable these people were in each other’s company. That meals could be a time to enjoy, and not just a means to an end.

“So, you live alone, huh?” Jester asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“I do.”

“You mentioned that you felt like the Dynasty could utilise its time for much better purposes,” said Beauregard, arms crossed, and while she wasn’t as hostile as she was earlier in the evening, Essek got the distinct impression he was still being examined. “What would you see the Dynasty do?”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, taking a moment before answering. There was no hesitation in telling the truth in this. The fact that he was here was admission enough that he had decided to be open with these people he had learned to call friends.

“I would not focus so much on pressing these religious beliefs that are based on myth and interpretation,” he started slowly, carefully weighing each word before he said them. “I know gods exist because we have proof and there are those who speak to them, there are visions and miracles that happen,” he said, nodding towards the two clerics in the room, “But the Luxons do not speak to anyone. It’s a lot of a religion based on assumption, on existing scripture written by individuals hundreds and hundreds of years ago.” His tone took on an eagerness that he didn’t temper. “There is power in the Beacons and dunamancy in itself is something unique. That, I think, is worth pursuing. The rest of this is a distraction,” he finished with a wave of his hand.

“Is that pursuit frowned upon or largely ignored?” asked Fjord, placing his empty plate down on the table and picking up his own glass. “Like a standard is kept and additional knowledge not sought out?”

“It’s not so much ignored more than not as much of a priority.”

“It’s like not knowing how deep the ocean is.”

“Indeed.”

Beauregard leaned over to Fjord with a shit-eating grin. “Do you know how deep the ocean is?” 

“It’s pretty fucking deep,” Fjord fired back.

Essek continued before Beauregard could, not wanting to get off track as he had a feeling they might do. He was again, oddly reminded of Verin. He had a suspicion that he would get on with his friends.

“And that is what I spend my time toiling away, is to find those depths.” What little free time he had was dedicated to his own research, his own projects. And hunger. The hunger to hear something on the Beacons that might help him connect theory to application. “And there is so much, so much untapped possibility in the utilisation of dunamis. I, to answer your question of what it is I want to do.” He turned to Caleb, waiting a moment for Caleb to return his gaze. “And I believe you, you can understand this, and I can see a similar spark in you, Caleb.” Staring into blue eyes, Essek hoped that he wasn’t wrong, was confident that he wasn’t, that the spark of the connection between them was real and as tangible to Caleb as it was to him. “I want to dive as deep as I can into that ocean of the unknown and see what is possible.”

Caleb’s cheeks flushed slightly, and yet, he still didn’t break Essek’s gaze.

“Are you…” Jester started, voice puzzled. “Are you saying you want to date Fjord?”

Essek’s own cheeks burned and he blinked, turning to look at the tiefling and again thanking his dark skin.

“I don’t think that’s what he’s saying,” Nott said, barely containing laughter.

“That isn’t what I was saying,” Essek choked out.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted by— there’s cookies,” said Jester, shrugging and indicating another plate that Caduceus had just set down on the table.

“Yeah, and also the ocean talk,” said Nott, nudging Jester to toss her a cookie.

“Yeah, the ocean, dive deep into the ocean…”

Fjord sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s a metaphor.”

Essek turned back to Caleb, deliberately ignoring that… conjecture. “To pursue beyond the limits of what you’re told is capable, to seek the impossible, to do what every archmage before us has failed to do.”

“Nothing is impossible,” replied Caleb, and while his voice was softer, there were hints of the same thirst for knowledge that Essek has. “You just have to look long enough and hard enough.”

“Indeed,” he murmured.

He missed Caduceus’ response, too focused on trying to read the expression on Caleb’s face. Caleb shifted, breaking his gaze for a moment before looking up, assessing.

“You don’t strike me as having much of an appetite for war.”

Another statement that wasn’t quite a question.

“No,” he replied with a slight shake of his head. “I have an appetite for knowledge.”

Knowledge that always, always came with a cost. He was keenly aware that he was flirting into dangerous territory. That while he might not have an appetite for it, he ultimately gave the nudge that created it.

“Going back to the ocean metaphor, because it’s kind of working,” said Beauregard, drawing Essek’s gaze away from Caleb’s. “You could also get crushed into oblivion by several tons of weight at the bottom of the ocean, or you know, consumed by some other scary being, like —”

And, so flawlessly that Essek thought they must have planned it, Jester echoed Beauregard’s next word in a whisper.

“—Uk’otoa—”

A word that wasn’t familiar to him, that he filed away for investigation at a later date.

“Are you not remotely humbled or afraid of some of the unknowns you might find?” Beauregard finished.

“I am as afraid as anybody is facing into the unknown, but… that’s what makes it worthwhile, is it not?” he challenged, a daring edge in his tone.

“High risk, high reward,” Caleb murmured.

“Indeed,” he said in acknowledgement. “But you can mitigate the risk.”

“How?” Beauregard asked, leaning back and crossing her arms, eyes narrowed.

“Investigating your Luxon and the Beacons, has anyone, ever, I don’t know, died researching it or perhaps gazed in it too deeply… I don’t know,” Fjord asked, curious in his own way.

It was a intriguing question, and one that Essek had researched hungrily. Knowledge of the Luxon, of the Beacons, was so often used to scare, to shape, that finding real research, real progress was slim. Those who had tried did so without the true skill and capabilities necessary to succeed.

“There have been those who have not understood what they’re capable of and reached beyond their means too soon. Their research was incomplete.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his tone. “They attempted to bend the core elements of existence before they were ready to do so. And that… is a lesson we all must learn from.”

Beauregard scoffed slightly, leaning forward. “Maybe the lesson is that it’s way too much power for any one person to be fucking with.”

He smiled thinly. “This is possible. But, that’s why you take care, and that’s why you work alone.”

Conversation flowed, from talk of failed experiments in pushing the theories of chronurgy to a mildly concerning discussion aroun something called the Happy Fun Ball that Essek was relieved to eventually learn the Nein did not currently have possession of. This ragtag band of adventures had travelled wide it seemed, and Essek felt… not small, but somewhat awed at their experience. Something he wouldn’t have expected before getting to know them. He has spent the entire time of his nearly 120 years inside Roshona, with few reasons to leave the borders. Every story he learned was a reassessment, a readjustment of assumptions he had made.

He could trick himself into believing that he belonged here, that these people he could call friends liked him, that they enjoyed his company. He could get used to this, and he wanted to. He so very much wanted to.

“Hey Essek?” Jester asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“How come all of a sudden you wanted to talk to us like we’re friends?” she asked around a mouthful of cookie. “Not that I mind because I’m really happy that you’re here, but did we do something cool or something that you like us all the sudden?”

There was a lump in his throat, and it took a moment to clear his throat. He immediately took a big sip of his wine, scrambling to catch up with the change in topic. His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety making itself known, but also a desire to be seen. To trust these people with the truth of himself.

“The Dynasty…” he started, before pausing and trying again. “I’ve lived here my entire life, and while there are benefits and there are other places that are much more challenging to live in… I find it frustrating at times.” The words were hard to find, and yet, he found as he kept going they got easier. “I find that the obsession with this Luxon entity belies what the truth may be… that these artifacts, I theorise, have nothing to do with a divine being but are just perhaps artifacts designed in the Age of Arcanum that have been misread. In which case, it is being misused or at least only the surface has been scratched of what’s possible.” It was freeing, to finally say that out loud. To say it, and not be immediately looked down upon as if he was lesser. “So. My interests leave me… not trusting anyone. Not feeling like I, in some ways, belong. And as such… I spend a lot of my time in solitude,” he admitted. 

He felt vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. As if over the evening a layer of his protection had been peeled off. It wasn’t a bad feeling, it wasn’t one that he felt he had to run from, and that in itself was surprising. He took a deep breath, letting out tension that he had been holding in his shoulders.

It was Caleb who asked the next question. Caleb, who he suspected saw beneath the cloak long before Essek decided to take it off.

“Why trust us with your interest?”

Why indeed. Why trust those who had no reason to keep his confidence? Who could further their own agenda and ruin his with the knowledge they now had? Why trust the one who returned a Beacon that he stole, walking a line as thin as a razor? Why share dunamancy secrets with one who impressed him by his creativity, his daring, his open hunger to learn more?

“Because I’m thankful to have met you.” It was the most honest he had been in years, stripped bare from the mantle of Shadowhand, from the weight of his Den and the court. “I don’t have much in the way of friends, due to the expectations placed upon me, and you are driven, you are adaptable, you’re clever, and not shackled by blind devotion to one flawed society or another.” The envy in his voice was clear to him, and he knew that Caleb would hear it too. Hoped that he would understand what he meant. “I think you all have what it takes to survive in this cold, cruel world, as it’s something I pride myself on. And… I don’t know, I haven’t felt a… kinship with… anyone in a long time.”

He didn’t meet any of their gazes. Didn’t want to see any look of pity they might send his way. Couldn’t bear to be rejected now, after all this, even as he was keenly aware of the secrets he still held from them.

“Is this friendship safe for you here?” asked Caleb carefully.

He laughed bitterly. “Nothing I do is safe.”

“Fuck. Fuck, I like him,” Beauregard said suddenly, turning again to look at Fjord.

And Essek felt like he had passed some unknown test. That being vulnerable and honest had won him points rather than taking them away. It was an… odd sensation. 

Beauregard spoke to Essek next, sitting back with her arms crossed. “I'll trade you a secret if it crosses off one of those favors.”

Passed a test that now granted him secrets, apparently. Secrets, in payment of favours that he had stopped keeping tracking of somewhere between the last study session and teleportation.

“It better be one heck of a secret,” replied Essek to Beauregard’s query.

A blur of movement passed in front of Essek’s vision as he ducked backwards out of the path of a… flung cookie? He turned, watching Caleb pluck it out of the air with a surprising amount of dexterity. Chuckling slightly, Essek turned back to Beauregard.

“The Empire found another one. They uncovered it in the archaeological dig site of Pride’s Call, where they found a lot of arcane weapons from the pre-Calamity stuff.”

The smile dropped from Essek’s face as he went cold. His brain scrambled to fill in the gaps he had missed, and he realised there was only one thing they could be talking about. The Empire found another one. A Beacon. The Empire had found another Beacon.

Sound dropped away as a piercing ringing made itself known. He could tell the others were still talking, could see their mouths moving, but he heard nothing. The Empire found another one. And the Assembly had not told him. Had not breathed a word about it in the three years they had been conversing. In a funny way it made sense now, their willingness to give back the second one. They had no reason to keep it, and publicly ending a war had benefits for both sides.

“I ask you this, what are your opinions on war, on this conflict?” Essek asked, cutting into the conversation, desperately needing to confirm their answers lined up with his assumptions.

“What is it good for?” Fjord replied, shrugging to the others.

“Nothing,” said Nott.

“If you truly intend on maintaining this peace, of seeing this negotiation through and find that this conflict gives no benefit to you and your interests, it would do well to not let that information find its way to the Bright Queen.”

Treason. What he said was treason.

But he had committed it once, what was another time in a way that was actually beneficial? This moment had many more reasons to be committed than the first had. 

His mind was whirling, assessing, planning. Factoring this new information into his circumstances and drawing conclusions and scrapping them and drawing new ones. He had been lied to, that was clear. He knew he had been lied to, expected it from the beginning, and yet, it still hurt. That… supposed colleagues… had not been forthcoming with all the information. That his sharing had barely been reciprocated. 

“Don’t tell her about that?” asked Beauregard, a little incredulously. “You don’t want to tell her about that?”

“Why?” asked Nott at the same time.

“I think… it might tip the scales,” said Fjord slowly, and in amongst his panic, his frantic thoughts, Essek took pleasure that at least his first opinion of the half-orc was correct.

“Because then there would be no reason to stop the conflict if they’re not giving all the Beacons back,” Essek said with finality. “It is largely considered within the Dynasty that these are the religious right of those that follow the Luxon to find and maintain the Beacons.”

“And you care more about stopping this war than serving your Queen?” asked Nott.

“The Dynasty is where I live. The Dynasty has many great things it does and provides. I don’t necessarily believe with this theological focus to the point where it continues the cycle of warfare and bloodshed.”

He was the Shadowhand, and his duty was to the Dynasty first and the Queen second. 

Liar.

His duty was to himself, always.

“War is a cycle and an addiction,” said Caleb quietly.

“Of course. I’ve seen it happen many times and it will continue to happen.”

“Little to do with its people.”

Fjord sits up suddenly, eyes wide. “We’re not being watched, right? We don’t have a little floating ball—” he cut off, and with a flash a sword appeared in his right hand.

If they were being watched, it wasn’t by the Dynasty. Essek had cleared the observation schedule, though it had reduced significantly from what it was when they first arrived. There had been nothing to gain from it, and his resources were best directed elsewhere. He shifted in his chair slightly, apparently drawing Beauregard’s attention.

“Does the Dynasty have us bugged in this house?”

“It would not surprise me if they, at times, chimed in. You have been under watch, here and there, since you’ve arrived as you were a, a challenging addition to the proximity,” he admitted.

Jester’s eyes widened at that and a look of mischief crossed her face. Not the reaction he was expecting.

“Were you one of the ones watching us? Did you ever watch us?” she asked, with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Essek pointedly ignored the implication and instead chose to answer Fjord’s question. “At times it was.”

Jester gasped, a look of mock horror on her face. “Oh my gosh. Did you see us when we were changing clothes? Were you watching us when we were na-ked?”

“No, but it was part of my assignment when you first came under my wing to ensure that there wasn’t any chances of… undue Empire business finding its way within the proximity of the Bastion,” he explained. It was mostly true, at any rate. 

This opened up a line of questioning that he also chose to ignore. “This additional beacon, where is it now?”

Caduceus looked puzzled at that. “Yeah, we don’t, we don’t know where it is. We’ve just—”

Nott cut in. “Well, we know where it came from.”

Essek turned to Beauregard with a raised eyebrow. If anyone would have the answer, he figured it would be her. It seemed, not much passed the notice of the Cobalt Soul expositor.

“I can tell you it’s the one they plan to give back, which, I find deeply problematic and have since they poised that plan because I’m assuming as soon as the Bright Queen takes one look at it—”

“Yeah,” Nott agreed. “It’s not like a dead goldfish where you can just, like, swap out another one and be like, ‘here’s your goldfish’. Like, she’ll know that it’s not the same goldfish.”

“Well, it depends. If they’re handing over this new one they’ve found or if they’re returning the one that was taken,” and Essek was proud and a little ashamed of the way he was able to say that without flinching, “and then planned to keep this new one for themselves.”

“What you’re saying, though,” Caleb started, and Essek turned to him, used to the way Caleb would need to talk through understanding elements of a spell and familiar with his current tone, “is any one of them, even this one that has been found, dug up within the Empire’s reaches, would be considered property of the Dynasty.”

He inclined his head. “By their divine right to own these artifacts that extend their ability to maintain the cycle of life… yes.”

“What if these things are all over the world, though?” asked Jester in wonder.

“I believe they are. That is the assumption.”

“And you’re telling us you would prefer to keep this a secret in this room?” asked Caleb, seeking confirmation.

“I am advising, based on your proclivity to not continue this conflict and the lengths at which you’ve gone to prevent this war from spreading further and further, putting yourselves in harm’s way to do so,” countered Essek gently, “that if this is what you continually wish to do, to not notify the Bright Queen or any other members of the council around her of this.”

He listened to them debate a little while longer, before he broke in to clarify a point. He assumed, but he wanted to be sure.

“Well, is it in the hands of the Empire—”

“Cerberus Assembly,” Nott responded.

“Yes,” Caleb agreed.

Ah. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to drop his head into his palms. But he couldn’t. He… had to do what he could to steer them away. Not just for his sake, but for theirs. Mitigate the risks. For both him and them.

“That’s what I thought,” said Caduceus, sounding chuffed.

“Plus,” added Beauregard, “If we take it from them, they’re just going to blame it on the Kryn.”

“Start the war more.”

Caleb turned to him, and pinned him with a curious look. “You know about these things. What could they do with it to abuse its powers?”

He floundered for a moment, brain scrambling to come up with a satisfying answer that… bended the truth enough without sounding false. “Well, they have some powerful minds in the Assembly.” He had only met a handful of them, conferred in writing with a few others. They were some of the most dangerous people he knew. He felt his hand start to shake, ever so slightly, and reached forward to pick up his wine glass, hoping that holding it would steady it somehow. “Or if they are somewhat dubious, so does anyone of true intelligence and capability.” He chuckled, hoping it didn’t sound nervous. “If your necessary choices are moral choices and in my experience, I'd trust they would have similar interests of seeing what it’s capable of. Perhaps they can be reasoned with and perhaps…” he trailed off, realising he was coming close to dangerous territory in speaking without caution.  “I will think on this.”

“I don’t know if… I’m not sure if the Empire even knows that they’re giving the wrong one,” said Caduceus. Essek would bet that they knew, but, he listened intently, giving nothing away. “I don’t think they talk to each other enough. I think there may be secrets within secrets.”

Ah, that’s what he meant. That Dwendal may not know. Now that, that Essek would agree with. The way they all continued, speaking casually about the Assembly, left Essek wondering just how much they knew about the inner workings of the Empire. If maybe they had more connections than first appearances suggested.

“Do you have—” he started, accidentally speaking over Beauregard. He paused a moment, before continuing, “—a relationship with the Assembly?”

He looked straight at Caleb, not missing the way the others glanced at him as well.

“Somewhat,” came the answer and it was frustratingly vague. He suspected, had his own theory, but he wanted Caleb to trust him enough to tell him. “Our sense is… and I’m sure that you all have guessed this yourselves, but the Assembly has its plans separate from the King.”

“I would assume. Hm. Well, if they have it, at this moment, I cannot see a path to its retrieval nor any true benefit in attempting to blow things up, if you will.” It was the truth. One that he was determined to find answers about as soon as he could.

His heart hasn’t stopped racing since Beauregard’s reveal. Since the conversation entered into dangerous territory. He was aware of every noise, of every scrape of chairs against the floors. Where everyone was looking or not looking. He realised that they had continued talking, and he had lost track of the conversation. He tuned back in, right as Caleb was speaking.

“—so forthright with you already, we are very skeptical of the intentions of the Assembly in this meeting. We are expecting fuckery.”

A wise move.

“As you should.”

“We would like to pull the rug out from under them,” Caleb admitted. “Not to topple the Empire but maybe to clear the rot a bit from our nation.”

He blinked at that. No hint of deception could be detected and he believed Caleb was telling the truth. Revealing some of his intent.

“And you believe that the individuals that make the laws and employ them across your empire are more capable than these mages? Do you not think there is perhaps a necessary balance between the two that maintains the order?”

“No,” Caleb stated simply.

“It’s the dance the Cobalt Soul and the Cerberus Assembly have been in for hundreds of years now at this point,” added Beauregard.

“Understand, the Assembly, and individuals of which… I have no sum of, seem to be dangerous and calculating,” he said, speaking directly to Caleb now, knowing that he of all of them would hopefully understand. “But anyone of such extended study and pursuits, I can understand far better and see eye to eye with than I can a power hungry monarch who came into their seat through bloodline.”

“I get the sense that they feel they have found the upper hand somehow.”

“Well.”

If only Caleb knew the half of it.

“I want to see the conflict end and I do not get that sense from them.”

Essek sat back, looking at Caleb for a long moment and considering. He wondered, what they might answer, if he gave them some idea of… what he had done. Not all of it, just, some of it.

He took a breath, willing his pounding heart to steady, to be able to ask the question without letting them know how much the answer would mean. “What is the biggest danger to secret research?”

“People finding out what you’re researching,” Fjord answered immediately. “Or what you’re—”

“Discovery,” Caduceus finished.

“Discovery,” he confirmed. And he took another risk. “What better way to avoid discovery than to find a way to stop a conflict that pries into what you’re doing?”

Caleb was watching him carefully, an intent look on his face.

“You are suggesting that they want to keep their extra.”

“It could be,” he admitted. It was his leading current theory. “Or they intend to trap whatever it is they’re delivering and gain an upper hand. Or something else. I’m but one mind, they are many.”

It irked him, how much he had to rely on them to decide what to share. That even now, he knew less than those who had stumbled their way into it.

“We know they can extract things from the Beacons,” said Nott. “Like energy or liquid or something.”

Essek’s surprise was genuine and he didn’t bother trying to conceal it. He had heard nothing of this. 

“Really. And where did you see this?”

He did try to keep the anger out of his tone, tried to relax the hand he had clenched around his wine glass. Based on the look Caleb gave him, he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“When we found the… when we were in the Empire, we saw it,” said Jester, and Essek knew she had omitted something but couldn’t find it in himself to care. “We found a place that they had been doing some of their research and there was, like, potions there.”

“Well. If you have any means of… discovering more of such experiments that they’re doing in their private chambers, that would be of definite interest to me,” he murmured, mind still whirling. Potions. They had extracted from the Beacon and created a potion. It was more than he had ever achieved, had ever contemplated.

Beauregard leaned forward. “What if they’re willing to give it back because it’s not the one that they found that was empty? Because Nott looked at it and she got a signal. What if they drained the other one that they stole?”

“That would be an astronomical feat based on the sheer volume of power within each of these Beacons,” he stated. It is a possibility, but one he doubted. 

“The potential lives in a beacon,” asked Fjord, “Thousands, hundreds, millions?”

“It would have to depend on who was consecuted and passed in its presence. I have no idea.”

“What does the ritual entail?” asked Jester. She had moved somewhere in the last few minutes of conversation and was now lying on her back on the floor, Frumpkin on her stomach as she was scratching behind his ears.

It involved hours of study, of memorisation. Meditation and trancing, in pale purple robes that itched, and hours of standing. Faces staring back at him in expectation. Light surrounding him, and then falling away. Rage in the Umavi’s eyes as she smiled and fingernails dug into his arm as he was guided away. A hand connecting with a cheek… 

“You are guided by an Umavi through a soul binding process. It is… extensive. It entails a bunch of spoken rites. It is usually observed by many individuals of various dens, especially if you belong to one. And often when you are consecuted, you are given a path to a den.”

“Hypothetically, if we had one of these potions that they had derived from the Beacon,” Nott asked hesitantly, glancing towards Caleb before she looked back at Essek. “What would you do with it?”

“I would study it, top to bottom,” he answered instantly. What a gift that would be.

“What could it tell you?”

“I have no idea. That would be the purpose of researching it.” He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to read what was behind the enquiry. “Why, do you have one such thing?”

“I mean—”

“Let’s call this one favour—” Caleb started and Essek snapped his eyes to him. He reached inside the component pouch hanging from his belt and pulled free what looked to be a small palm-sized vial. He held it up towards Essek. “—taken care of.”

Essek blinked. The silvery light that emitted from the liquid was familiar. It was so familiar. He stared back at Caleb, hardly daring to move. Leaning forward, he reached for the vial, hesitating a moment before wrapping his fingers around it.

“That would be a favour accepted.”

There was a moment where their eyes locked, and Essek swore he saw a hint of a smile on Caleb’s face before he let go of the vial, fingers brushing Essek’s ever so slightly as he sat back. They tingled at the loss of contact, brief as it was. He wrapped his hand around the vial, feeling an echo of a familiar pulsing, rhythm.

As tempting as it was, he pushed aside the urge to teleport to his study immediately and instead set the vial gently down on the table.

His heart was pounding in a different way now. These people, they were too much. He did not deserve them. He was not the same as them. He was worse, had been worse long before he knew them. Long before it was even a possibility of them crossing paths. His life was set in motion by decisions made years ago. By a life of isolation and solitude… he had signed it away long before. He didn’t dare think about what might have been, if they had crossed paths earlier. If Caleb… 

He missed Nott and Beauregard’s comment, but caught the end of Jester’s.

“...don’t have enough people being nice to us,” finished Jester sadly.

He looked up at them all, eyes shining. “I can commiserate with that. Honestly, part of the reason I accepted your invitation was after thinking… and realising that perhaps… It's been a while since somebody’s extended such niceties to myself. There are…” he sighed, looking down at the vial again for a moment. “...elements to a solitary life that sometimes can be more challenging once you have a basis of comparison.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of… what he suspected was happy contentment. Or the closest he has felt to it around other people in a long while. It turns out that they did indeed have a hot tub under the tower that the tree was growing out of. By some arcane trick they managed to heat it, and a quick control water by Fjord had bubbles growing. And if he stared slightly longer than he should as Caleb undressed, he would deny it until he left this world. He was persuaded by Jester to at least dip his toes in, and after a moment, he relented. 

The water, when he sat down on the side with his pants rolled up to his knees, was pleasantly warm. He tipped his head back looking up into the burrow of the tree above him. If only his Mother could see him now. He smiled at the thought, at how aghast she would be to see him here, sitting with no sense of propriety with a bunch of Empire mercenaries. It’s the most fun he has had in years, and as much as he doesn’t want the evening to end, he is increasingly aware of the workload that he spurned in favour of this evening.

“Anyway,” he spoke up softly, not wanting to disturb the comforting quiet they had built. “The evening draws late. I should probably return to my home. Thank you—”

“You could spend the night here!” exclaimed Jester excitedly.

And as tempting as that offer was and how much he wanted to accept… he couldn’t. He had spent far longer here than planned and needed space to digest through everything he had learned.

“I live not far from here,” he replied.

“How come we’ve never seen your house?”

“Well, perhaps—” he started, before being interrupted by Nott.

“Next time?”

“Perhaps…” he glanced towards Caleb, eyes taking in his damp hair and flushed face and had to look away again unless anyone caught him staring. “If you wanted to discuss this equation you’re working on—”

Nott nodded eagerly. “Yes, what’s your address?”

“I’ll show it to you. Easier to show than to describe really,” he replied, and it wasn’t that far away, just a few streets but there was something in him that wanted them to experience seeing it with him. “Let me know when and I’ll come show you to my place.”

He pulled his legs out of the water and stood up, only to have Nott seemingly out of nowhere brush up against one of his legs.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” the goblin said quickly, stepping back.

Merely raising an eyebrow, Essek leaned down and rolled his pant legs back down before pulling on his boots.

“Sorry! I thought… that was a piece of soap. I was picking it up and didn’t want ya to slip on it.”

“I feel like you’re over apologising.”

Beauregard snorted from behind him, and the others joined her in laughter. He smiled, pleased that he could make these friends laugh.

Moving through the open doorway, he picked up his mantle and swung it back around his shoulders. The weight was different, somehow. It’s always been slightly heavy, but there was a feeling of being stifled that wasn’t there before. For a moment, it was a weight he didn’t want to wear.

He paused by the front door, turning back to them all. “This was nice. Thank you.” There was a weight to his words that he hoped they would hear. He meant it, more than he had meant something in a long while.

“Thank you!” called Jester, waving from the hot tub. “That was really fun.”

Caleb stood behind her, climbing out of the tub with a look of intent.

“Could you, could we walk…” he moved closer, pausing inside the door to pick up a towel and wrapped it around himself. Essek… he tried not to stare and willed himself to keep his eyes firmly fixed on Caleb’s face. “Could you show me where you live so we know where to go?”

It took a moment for him to process, for words to make it past the static that filled his head.

“Sure,” he got out, and his heart was racing again, the pulse jumping erratically. “Come with.”

There was a soft smile on Caleb’s face. “Ja.”

“I’m coming too!” Beauregard yelled, dragging herself out of the hot tub, face appearing over Caleb’s shoulders.

His heart slowed slightly at that. It was… probably for the best, actually.

“Alright,” he murmured in response.

He turned away, leaving them both to shrug hurriedly into clothes and boots, wrapping in coats to protect against the cool Rosohna evening. Once they were ready, he pushed open the door, chimes ringing at the motion. He gestured under his cloak, and the familiar dunamantic energy surrounded him and lifted him from his feet.

He was taller than Caleb, like this. Just a few inches, but it made him feel something… giddy in his chest at the thought. They walked in silence, Caleb between himself and Beauregard, and Essek was aware of every inch separating them. It wasn’t an awkward silence, it echoed the comfort of earlier.

The path followed the one they were familiar with, until it veered left and they reached the boundary of his neighbourhood. The guards on duty nodded to him, calling out brief greetings which he returned. A few more minutes passed before they came up to his estate. 

It was an elaborate structure of three interconnected towers, glass walkways spanning between them, light shining from a few of the outside windows. He was fond of the structure, of the fact that he had purchased it without consulting the Den. He had moved into it the day he took up the title he’d earned with disapproval from his mother. It had been his solace ever since. His retreat and a place where he could just… be. Few were allowed to enter, and fewer still ever come to visit. He had wondered though, what it might be like filled with the chaos of the Nein and now, he felt it may be similar to what this evening was. Full of comforting warmth and closeness.

“This is where you can find me most of the time—” he started, before realising that Caleb had stopped a few paces back. He was standing still, staring up at the top of the tallest tower, hand cupped on the side of his neck and a look of wonder on his face.

“This is—”

“—ever,” he finished, unsure if that was even what the end of the sentence should be. He started at Caleb, the silvery light from the torches on the gate bathing him in an ethereal glow, his expression open and unguarded. Essek’s heart did something funny in his chest, and there was a glimmer of a feeling that he was ignoring because Beauregard was standing next to Caleb and was watching him closely.

“—fascinating. Is this to do with the turning of the heavens or—”

Essek glanced up at the rotating rings on the top of the tallest tower, at what had captured Caleb’s attention.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, turning back to Caleb.

“This has to do more with the adjusting of the… how do I put it?” he paused, wrangling with translating the technical Undercommon and the words he wasn’t sure would line up. “There are almost… ley lines of energy that themselves span like a net across all of Exandria and these ley lines sometimes shift and swell and expand and reduce based on the seasons, based on the time of year, based on celestial gatherings and alignments. This is part of a device that just keeps track of it.”

It was part of the attraction to taking these towers as his residence. Not just for the majestic visage it gave, but the practical application of not needing to do the calculations for complex spell work himself.
   
“Mirrors it,” said Caleb softly, almost to himself. Caleb took a deep breath before tearing his eyes away and looking back towards Essek. “Well, now we know where you live. I would like to take you up on your offer to examine that thing that Nott and I are working on.” There was an energy and excitement to Caleb that came with all talk of spellwork, an energy and excitement that was infectious. “I have a number of things, including some souvenirs from inside the Happy Fun Ball we told you about.”

“I am very curious about that,” replied Essek, fingers itching to get started.

Caleb looked at him for a long moment, before he took a step closer, hands tucked inside his coat pockets and cheeks slightly pink.

“So am I and I think you… you and I share interests,” he said, voice turning thick with emotion. “I understand the pressure being young and the expectation. I am not 120 years old, but… I feel like I understand a little bit.”

Essek let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, inching ever so slightly closer. Heart beating in his chest, he forgot that they were on a public street, that they weren’t alone, that this was very much something he shouldn’t be leaning in to.

He dropped his voice, pitching it for Caleb’s ears alone, and if he let a charged edge into it, he wasn’t above playing dirty. “I have seen those far older than you that have experienced maybe half the pain I see in your eyes. Age isn’t everything,” he paused, eyes flicking downwards briefly before meeting blue again, and he hoped Caleb was feeling the connection he was. That he wasn’t wrong in this. “Experience is what hardens you, prepares you for the worst. I think you’re prepared for more than you give yourself credit for, Caleb.”

There was a long and heavy pause as Caleb processed.

“Well, we’ll come back later and compare notes.”

“I’ll be here. Perhaps I can provide breakfast? As a thank you?”

He could clear his schedule for one more morning.

“Dope,” said Beauregard, and Essek blinked, reality streaming back in as he hurriedly put a few more paces between them, cheeks flaming.

“Well, good night,” he said, flustered and trying to recover.

Beauregard had already turned and was walking away. “Glad you got home safe.”

“Thank you for the escort,” he said pointedly. He was aware of what she was doing.

He turned, not waiting to see what Caleb would do, though he was aware of the heat of his gaze on his back. With a wave of his hand, the gate creaked open and he hurried through, letting it slam behind him.

The study was dark when he returned to it, and he didn’t bother with activating any of the lights affixed around the room. Moving to his desk he stared down at the abandoned work for a long moment, hand curling around the vial of potion gifted by Caleb inside his pocket. It could wait, he decided, until the morning. But, there was one thing he needed to take care of.

Releasing the potion, Essek made a gesture with his hand, a piece of spell paper floating out of the compartment in his desk. He picked up his quill, dipping it in the open inkwell on his desk before he paused, hesitating over the words.

After a long moment, he leaned forward.

The Beacon you found must not be the one returned. The Bright Queen will know the difference.

With a flash of energy, it vanished from his desk. Essek hesitated for a moment before he exited the room, feet making no sound across the cold stone floor as he headed up, climbing the stairs he rarely climbed. The air was cooler on the roof, and as Essek leaned against the stone railing of his rooftop, in a moment of indulgence, he took in the sight of the tree on top of the Xhorhaus in the distance and he smiled.

————————

“That… makes a lot of things make sense,” he says weakly, his face flushed,he looks a million miles away. “But… you transported us everywhere… taught me magic… you…”

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Essek whispers, eyes fixed on Caleb and his heart in his throat. “I don’t know why you, why all of you, got to me. But you did, and—” his voice cracks, and it takes him a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat, takes a moment to blink back further tears as his hand starts shaking, as he drops to his knees in front of Caleb again. 

“I had never known friends… had never had people who… who cared. People don’t care about me. People… see what they want to see. They see the Shadowhand, the son of the Umavi, and they… they…” His ears twitch back as he feels the tears spill over from exhausted eyes. The words flow from him and he can barely keep them back. “They see what they want and they don’t care to know who I am behind them. But you… you don’t care that I’m the Shadowhand. You didn’t even know what that meant and even when you suspected you kept messaging and kept asking, and… you saw me.”

Essek feels bare. Completely and utterly bare in a way he hasn’t in his life before.

“I am so tired, Caleb. I am barely a century into my life - my only life - and I am so, so tired.” There’s a beat as he realises what he said. He looks away from Caleb, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “I… I’m not consecuted. You should probably know that as well.”

“You’re not… what?” 

“I’m not consecuted, my mother refuses to acknowledge that the ritual failed and I’m not allowed to tell a soul. May as well add that to my list of faults,” he says with a hollow laugh, eyes downcast.

“Essek,” Caleb breathes, and there’s a hand on his knee and Essek wants to look. Wants to, but doesn’t, afraid of what he may see there.

“Essek,” he repeats, and the emotion Caleb manages to pack into that single word forces Essek to look up. Caleb’s piercing blue eyes are a storm of intensity, starting at Essek with a focus he’s seen a few times before.

“You said… back at that dinner, that this friendship is dangerous for you. That you work alone because it’s dangerous.”

The laugh that barks out of him is weak, even to his own ears.

“Everything I do is dangerous,” he echoes Caleb’s words from earlier. “Everything is one wrong step from crashing down around me. It’s safer for everyone… and there’s no one who would want to be around. It’s—”

The hand on his knee shifts upwards and Essek is suddenly hyper aware of it, the trail of fingers over his leg burning even through fabric. He turns his face away again, unable to bear if this is the moment Caleb pulls away. If after everything, Caleb decides that this is too much and he can’t care anymore.

It would break him.

He can admit that now. Can admit, that now with no secrets, that he feels more than he should, that he hopes. That he wants and losing that after coming so close… 

Caleb’s words cut through, and he can’t help but look at him.

“Isolation doesn’t make you stronger. Relying on yourself and not letting anyone in, that isn’t the basis for where someone gets their strength,” says Caleb, voice thick with conviction. “It’s through friendship, genuine true friendship… and relationships… That's where true strength lies. In bonds that you choose because you want to be with them, not because you’re bound to by duty and ceremony.”

He wants to believe him. He wants to let go and step forward. But he doesn’t know how. How could he, when there has been no one to show him the way.

“I have been an outcast my entire life. My entire life, Caleb.” He sees Caleb start to shake his head and continues before he can be stopped. “It may not look like it from the outside - how can it when you’re of Den Thelyss - but my entire life has been spent crafting that image of what they want to see. Being Shadowhand has been the escape… the reason I can vanish for days, or not take audiences… and the demands of the Den… I have to be so careful. No one is on my side—”

“I am on your side.”

And then rough hands are gripping his face and he falls quiet in shock as Caleb kisses him.

It takes a moment for his brain to process and he freezes instinctually, thoughts scrambling to catch up. Caleb is kissing him. Warmth is spreading from that point of contact and he feels alive. He feels something shift, like an answer to a question he didn’t know he had been asking. He feels Caleb pull away and no—

Essek kisses him back, hand reaching up to anchor into Caleb’s shirt and he kisses him back. He pours everything he can into the kiss, pours his desire and want and hope into and doesn’t let go.

Time slows and Essek’s focus narrows to the feel of Caleb. Of Caleb’s hands as one moves to wrap around his body and pulls him in close. As the other slides up and into his hair, he can’t help the moan as rough fingers brush along his ear sending a wave of pleasure down his spine and he’s pressing closer. His own arm wraps around Caleb as he splays a hand across Caleb’s lower back, shirt shifting and he’s rewarded by Caleb’s own hiss of pleasure. 

If you asked him later, Essek would be hard pressed to tell you just how much time had passed. He would be hard pressed to tell you much at all beyond the feel of Caleb’s lips beneath his, of the swipe of tongue and an open mouth, of heat and warmth and hope coursing through his veins.

They separate, Caleb’s forehead resting against Essek’s shoulder and he shivers at the brush of air against his neck, ear twitching slightly with the sensation. He feels, more than he hears, Caleb’s chuckle and isn’t that a delightful sensation.

“Sensitive,” Caleb murmurs softly and Essek huffs a laugh.

Essek rolls his eyes, raising a hand to run through Caleb’s hair. It snags slightly as he does, and he pulls loose from its tie, enjoying the sensation of stroking and touching and feeling. Caleb hums, his eyes slipping closed at the sensation.

He’s not sure how long it has been as they stay there in the quiet, but he becomes aware of the strain in his back and legs from the awkward angle that they are both sitting in. It’s a dull pain that gets worse, and as much as he wants to stay here in Caleb’s embrace, he really needs to get off the floor.

He extracts a hand from around Caleb, who protests at the withdrawal of touch.

“Ah… just, a moment…” he says, before flicking his wrist and drawing an arcane symbol in the air. 

A familiar, if slightly heavier than normal, dunamantic sensation surrounds him as both Caleb and Essek levitate off the ground, gravity shifting. Caleb’s eyes go wide as he sits up slightly, hand scrabbling to clutch at Essek’s side. Through years of practice, Essek wills them slightly higher, and sideways, letting the spell drop once they are over the low couch. He settles back against the couch, and Caleb takes a moment to reposition himself, hesitating slightly before half shrugging and settling against Essek’s side.

“Better?” Essek asks Caleb, turning to look at him.

“Ja… yes… I didn’t know you could— I thought you couldn’t levitate someone else with that trick.”

“I can uh, briefly. It’s more difficult to maintain the required concentration, when balancing two, but not impossible for short spaces of time.”

“You’ll have to teach it to me, sometime,” Caleb responds, eyes dancing with a small, almost secretive smile.

Essek smiles in return, heart lighter than it has been in weeks. “Mmm still after the ah, secrets of dunamis. Here I was thinking it was my…” he flounders slightly, but carries on, “looks and charm… ” 

He trails off, blushing profusely.

Caleb chuckles, indulging Essek, and it’s a nice sensation against his chest. “Not just the dunamancy.”

They sit there, quiet, Caleb resting against Essek, a hand clasped between them, fingers caressing gently. He could sit like this for hours. Would like to sit like this for hours. But Essek knows this is borrowed time. Knows that Caleb will return to his family, knows that it is his place and that is where he should be. That this is a shared moment and is a precious gift, and if this is all that he has, he will savour it. 

Something must have changed in his posture, as Caleb sits up and turns to look at him, eyes searching. He’s not sure what he sees, but they both move at the same time. Shift away slightly, Caleb rolling his shoulders as he stands.

“You have to go,” says Essek, and it’s not sad or even disappointed. It just is.

Caleb nods. “The Nein… they should be occupied for the evening but ah, they don’t know I’m here…”

Essek swallows past the lump in his throat. “I assume… they still are not feeling particularly… warm… to me.”

“Ah, no. Not all of them, not particularly. Jester? She forgives easily. Yasha… and Caduceus. They want you to have the chance to change, they see potential and what being alone can do,” Caleb replies, turning back to him as he picks up his robes and shrugs into them. “It.. might take longer with the other three.”

It is, mostly, what he was expecting. It doesn’t sting as it once would have. It’s dulled with the memory of Caleb’s lips pressed against his, of his arm wrapped around his body pulling close. Of the knowledge that there’s hope.

He knows as well, that this still doesn’t change things. He still did what he did. He still has to earn back their trust. Caleb’s more than anyone’s. But it doesn’t feel as hopeless as it once did. There is a potential in the path he could take.

Caleb clears his throat, robes once again buttoned up, shirt back in place.

“Do you need… uh, transportation? Back to… wherever you need?” asks Essek, voice soft and if there’s a little bit of hope that he prolong their time together some more, well. He’s not above it.

“Nein… ah, no. No there’s no need,” replies Caleb with a small smile. “I’ve uh, still got a circle that I can use. It will get me close.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, joining Caleb in standing. His hand twitches for a moment, before he tucks them behind himself, holding them at the small of his back. “You don’t need to go back to the Bastion, you can draw it here? If you’d like?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Essek steps back as Caleb’s hand goes to his component pouch and he pulls out chalk. Crouching, Caleb starts to draw, the familiar arcane symbols pouring from Caleb’s hand. He moves quickly, precisely, and Essek just watches. Caleb is sure of himself as he crafts, a spell he’s utilized many times before, the flickers of amber as the glyphs come together are beautiful. It reminds him of weeks before, working in his study above, before it all changed. How he itches to return there with Caleb, and create.

Caleb stands, the last glyph waiting to be completed, and steps towards Essek. There’s a beat as their eyes meet again. There’s a sense of knowing, of seeing, that wasn’t there before. He opens his mouth to speak.

“I—” 

“Well—”

They both pause, Caleb chuckling softly as Essek’s ears twitch slightly. He gestures for Caleb to go first.

“I’m going to be away for a while. I don’t know how long. We have… some things to take care of, in the Empire,” says Caleb, scratching idly at the back of his neck before he runs his hand over his chin. “I don’t think we’ll be in touch until it’s done.”

“I understand.”

“I would… uh, like to speak again when we get back.” There’s a soft smile on Caleb’s face for a moment before it fades and it’s replaced with something more serious. “I think the others might as well. It may be enough time for them.”

“I would like that too,” he confirms with a nod, looking down for a moment as he takes a deep breath before looking up again. 

Caleb’s eyes are on him, and he has one hand crossed over his chest holding on to his other arm, chalk leaving a light brush of dust on the dark fabric. There’s something in Caleb’s eyes, and Essek can’t help but stare back, even now heart beating faster than normal. He wants to do right, this time. Has something to guide him in a way he didn’t before, and it settles low in his chest, a warmth that gives energy.

Caleb takes a step forward, hand reaching out to touch his cheek and he can’t help but lean into it slightly.

“And Essek?” says Caleb softly, voice gently. “You need to continue feeling. To give yourself permission to feel and not shut down when it happens. Feelings are not a bad thing. Relying on others, especially those who have proven themselves, is not a weakness. There is something to be said for friends.”

He knows Caleb speaks the truth. Knows it as he feels the moisture build up at his eyes and he reaches a hand up to hold against Caleb’s face. Caleb speaks from experience and his own truth, and Essek understands what it has cost him and what he has gained. The words he wants to say get stuck in his throat, and his eyes close briefly before he opens them again, nodding.

And Caleb leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead as he did weeks ago, and this time, there’s more weight behind it. There’s the knowledge of what might be, of what hope they both hold, and a promise that the door isn’t closed.

Caleb steps back and crouches down again, drawing the last glyph and the circle lights up with a flare of amber light before settling into the gentle pulse of arcane energy. He stands and turns back to Essek briefly, and then steps forward, symbols flaring before they fade, chalk burning up and vanishing from Essek’s floor.

The quiet in the wake of Caleb’s departure is the same, but this time it’s not uncomfortable. 

Essek takes a step backwards and another, until the back of his knees hit the couch from earlier and he sits, taking a moment to draw his knees up and rest against the cushions at the back. His hand comes up to his own lips and he stays there for a long moment, unmoving, before he tips his head back and laughs.

“Friends,” he whispers into the quiet after.

It wouldn’t be easy, but, it may just be the most rewarding path he’s stepped on. In nearly one hundred and twenty years of life, Essek had only truly been excited by research, by possibility, by potential. He thinks he may have calculated wrong, and… well. What an exciting potential possibility that will be to discover.