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Chapter Text

What sort of service would he have, Essek wondered, if he died of exhaustion in his laboratory? Given the sheer number and complexity of the wards protecting his home, it would require the hands of an arcanist of his caliber, at least, to even find him. While there was no shortage of mages at the bastion waiting to usurp him, he wasn’t given his position and the honor of consecution so early into his first life without justification. The addition of empire-style transmutation to the array he made some weeks prior, in particular, would make it nearly impossible for anyone who had studied exclusively within the dynasty to break through.

Of course, if the umavi did not simply level his towers, she might consider contacting Verin. If the well-meaning dolt still had the key Essek had given him a decade ago…  She would take one look at Essek’s work before lighting a match and taking his research down with him. Better to raze it all than let his heresy see the light of day.

As far as anyone in Rosohnna knew, Essek was well within the range of a beacon and would return in a short decade or two. Would he be praised as a diligent researcher, pursuing his work until the end, or a foolhardy child, unable to pace himself to his ultimate demise? Would the dens look on with hope each time a child underwent anamnesis, praying they would remember a lonely life locked in laboratories and study halls, or would every family cringe when their child showed signs of arcane promise until they realized he would not be returning?

Worrying a length of soft linen filament between his fingers, a component of the inane spell that drove him to such exhaustion, Essek forced the thought away. After his disastrous sojourn to Nicodranas, he had poured himself into the development of a spell that would allow several individuals to communicate over great distances without the possibility of unseen eyes looking in. In theory, a single caster could twine together the consciousness of up to nine individuals, allowing them to communicate telepathically. Despite the fact that he rarely worked with more than four operatives at any given time, without the word limit of sending or the natural vulnerability of dream, there was use enough in the spell for the Bright Queen to allow him a short sabbatical to perfect it in his home laboratory.

A year ago, he would have loved nothing more than to spend his time there, sprawled out on the floor, spell components scattered at his feet as he tested iteration after iteration of a spell of his own creation. Now it only left an inexplicable hollowness at the center of his chest.

Where before he saw a laboratory crafted to his exact design, streamlined over decades to accommodate solitary study, now he saw an overlarge room void of the ease and warmth that came with creating a spell alongside a brilliant human and a tenacious goblin. There wasn’t a single place in the room on which his eyes could rest without noticing a speck of clay or the glimmer of powdered gems ground into the woodgrain and sticking to the glass.

What was once a perfect arcanist’s workshop was now nothing but an expended echo of the future, his past destroyed.

Essek ached.

For days he sat, hounded by the need to create, but unable to tear his mind from the memory of that morning, the only time he had ever willingly invited another soul into the room since the day it was built.

While his mind raced, Essek’s body wanted nothing more than to collapse, to sink down to the hard stone floor and let the relentless waves of exhaustion wash over him. Every time he tried to trance, however, he found himself in the hull of a ship, divulging the details of his treason and treachery to the group of misfits he considered friends. His only friends. As the days passed and he went longer and longer without proper rest, he stooped so low as to fall prey to the throes of sleep. Like a child, unable to maintain the dignified, proper half-consciousness of trancing.

In those snatched moments of fitful unrest, he dreamt of the Nein rightfully rescinding the grace they showed him that night. Sent by the dynasty, the empire, or fueled by their own righteous anger, every time he fell victim to sleep, he awoke moments later clawing at nonexistent wounds, even more drained than before. Each time he reviled himself, anger and self-pity warring in his racing heart. He snapped the tender branch of trust cultivated by the Nein with his own insatiable hands.

Weaving the linen string through his fingers in a cat’s cradle, Essek’s mind wandered unbidden to thoughts of Caleb. Of his intellect, his charm, of the comparison he drew between the atrocity Essek had committed and his own supposed sins. No matter how often he ruminated those words, there was no reality Essek could find in which Caleb deserved the disdain he had for himself. There was no way he looked at Essek and truly felt as if he were looking into a mirror. Perhaps, in that reality, Essek could find redemption for the atrocities he had committed.

Perhaps they could…

Casting that absurd thought from his mind, Essek flicked his fingers to refresh the dancing light floating over his desk. Even the simple somatic motion was enough to send a coil of electric pain up his arm to his shoulder, singing with finality at the base of his spine. Unlike the guilt gnawing at his churning stomach, this pain was familiar, worn into his bones over decades. A harsh reminder of yet another failure.

“One more attempt, just one more,” he reasoned with his burning arms, forcing shaking fingers to flow through the motion of the experimental spell. Weaving the thread between his fingers, in his exhaustion, he barely had the strength to pull it taut. What should have been second nature to him came haltingly, his hands fumbling over themselves. As he cast, his traitorous mind pictured Caleb’s hands, scarred and shaking as he spoke, yet solid and sure as he transcribed. If Essek hadn’t been such a greedy fool, if the Nein hadn’t insisted on forcing their way into his life in the first place, he wouldn’t be stuck wondering how quickly this spell would have been completed, had the other wizard had a hand in its creation.

Forcing the sputtering sparks of his depleted magic through the final gesture, Essek held his breath, staring at the length of thread. Theoretically, it should have turned to dust and scattered upon completion. However, a minute passed, then two, leaving him with nothing but a handful of tangled string.

Anger and frustration welled up inside of him, his hands curling into fists as he tore the thread asunder, tight coils of linen cutting off the circulation in his fingers as he pulled it apart. The motion scorched his muscles up his arms to his back, down to his very marrow, but he refused to stop until it his vision went white.

“Remember that you deserve this. It is the price you pay for your avarice,” the pain screamed. As his vision gradually returned, he found himself laying on his back, staring up at the stone ceiling overhead. For a time, he sat there in silence, waiting for his self-inflicted misery to abate. His anger melted away as the pain dulled from a direct strike from a lightning bolt to a constant application of shocking grasp at every joint. He could faintly hear the arcane device on his roof whirring, the flow of the ley lines disturbed by how much he had been casting over the past several days. As the agony eased, it took with it all sensation, leaving him numb.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away to some remote island and live in a hovel until he forgot who he was. He wanted to tear apart the timeline battering him in its current like a whitewater rapid, erasing himself entirely.

Instead of acting on any such impulse, however, Essek bit his tongue, the pinch of his pointed fangs easing the urge to do something inane, like crushing his desk into wood chips in a gravity sinkhole. He was intimately familiar with how the spell could sunder, yet he knew it would bring him no peace to do so. It would be too much of a bother to have a replacement delivered. Not to mention the fact that the umavi would surely hear about it and demand an explanation, which meant he would have to spend time at den gatherings explaining himself rather than sneaking disparaging looks at Verin over his wineglass.

Activating his personal gravity field, he lifted himself into an upright position. A weak wave of his hand drew his spellbook back into his wristpocket. The rest of the mess he left scattered across the floor. That was future-Essek’s problem. Floating across the walkway to the tower which held his personal chambers, he paused to ensure that every rune, ward, and lock was in place as he passed. Once he was safely locked inside, he stripped off his outer layers and prepared himself to commit to the thankless trial of rest. The blinding pain which accompanied pulling his thick housecoat from his shoulders was enough to disrupt his hold on gravity, his feet jarring against the floor and sending twin daggers of pain to his hips. He stumbled and sat on the edge of his bed to remove his shoes, every motion deservedly miserable. Gingerly settling beneath the covers, rarely used beyond political games disguised as clandestine trysts, he forced himself to take stock.

Every joint burned ferociously. More dramatic than usual, sure, but not unheard of for a particularly bad pain day. It would likely get worse before it got better, given his reckless self-flagellation over the past several days. He considered the distance between the bed and the medicine cabinet in his en suite, determining it to be too great for an unseen servant to retrieve a potion that might make it a bit more bearable, not that he could maintain the spell for long enough through the haze of aching exhaustion weighing down on his mind.

A fine dusting of chalk and charcoal coated his hands and chest from his attempts to correct his blasted diagrams, a layer of grime and dried sweat sitting heavily beneath his clothes. He once again considered the distance between himself and the en suite, but quickly vetoed the idea of bathing. The only thing less dignified than being found dead in his laboratory would be being found drowned in his own bathtub. Luxuriating in the hot water would have to wait until he could stand on his own, at the very least.

Shifting uncomfortably, he ran shaking fingers over the bead of force hidden amongst his earrings and the nightshade capsule sewn into his shirt collar. The elven chain shirt hidden between his outer and undershirt rattled softly as he moved. Running a hand along the edge of the mattress, his fingers brushed over the leather sheath of a blade concealed within, and a second bead of force resting in the corner of his pillowcase.

Finally, assured that everything was as it should be, Essek allowed himself to relax as much as his body could in its current state, staring up at the deep maroon canopy overhead.

“The umavi would find it nearly as undignified to discover me laying dead in bed,” Essek thought bitterly, recalling his childhood room, from which his mother had removed his bed when he turned twenty-five, both to discourage him bringing any unwanted ‘visitors’ home and to stop him from sleeping as the ‘lesser races’ did. She always spat the word with such contempt. Ironically enough, the bed he laid in now was a gift from the umavi at the end of his first century, when she finally deemed him old enough to take on his least favorite form of information-gathering.

As he lay glaring a hole in the canopy, he thought of the dream spell scroll pinned flat on his desk. While he never had a reason to learn it, he wondered what would happen should he cast it on himself. To dream, as no proper drow would. What would he create, if he had the freedom to do so?

Chapter Text

“Mister Clay, what is the weather supposed to look like this evening?” Caleb asked, gathering magic between his clasped palms.

“Probably rainy, why?” Caduceus called back, a lucky shot to his side causing him to stumble, the ring of spiritual guardians surrounding him scattering into mist.

“We will have to camp once this is taken care of,” Caleb replied, thrusting his hand forward to shoot a powerful beam of sickly green energy at the largest of the creatures. Kuo-toas, the villagers called them. Vile bipedal fish people, like the merrow the Nein had fought so long ago, but far more ghastly. The one he was aiming for was particularly tough, standing on massive frog-like legs with thin digit-less forelimbs clattering across the ground to support it, its long, thick tail whipping behind it like an unruly snake. The most frightening aspect of its appearance, however, was its toothy maw which, up until an instant prior, had been powerful enough to hold a raging Yasha in its grasp.

Fortunately, Caleb’s aim was true, his disintegrate striking the foul creature in the side. A pungent acerbic scent overlaid the already overpowering smell of brine and rot soaking the creatures’ awful labyrinthine lair. As it fell two smaller, more humanoid kuo-toas sprang from the malignant pool of seawater at the far side of the cave, their bulging, unblinking eyes trained on the wizard. Seeing the destruction he had wrought on their ally, they screeched in tandem, rushing forward with their weapons drawn.

“Sleeping in the mud covered in monster viscera? It’s just like old times,” Fjord shouted, interposing between the wizard and the charging pair of monsters. Three eldritch blasts rocketed from his outstretched hand, all but one going wide as the creatures swiped at him with wicked clubs hewn of crude bone and driftwood.

“Caleb!” Veth’s shout came too late as another creature appeared at his side, its claws stabbing into his arm and back as a mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth clamped down on his shoulder. What the monsters lacked in wits they made up for in tenacity, he would later think, though their dedication did them no favors in the end as a crossbow bolt buried itself in its back, two more bolts following in quick succession. The creature released Caleb’s arm to shriek in pain, Caleb’s hand moving on instinct to send a bolt of fire down its throat, silencing it. Veth let out a trill of triumph before vanishing back behind the outcropping she had been using as cover.

Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Caleb’s eyes scanned the battlefield, the final kuo-toa defenseless against Beau, Yasha, and Fjord’s combined onslaught. Even with all of its allies defeated the creature fought on, putting up a valiant effort before a final swipe of Yasha’s blade cleaved its head cleanly from its shoulders. Its headless body tottered unsteadily forward for a step, pawing at her with the last of its strength before it collapsed in a heap on the ground.

“Hopefully that’s the last of them,” Fjord panted, holding the Star Razor forward in one hand, the other applying pressure to a wound at his side.

“Don’t jinx it,” Veth replied, stepping towards the center of the room with her crossbow trained on the pool from which most of the monsters appeared.

The high of battle faded as the Nein went about looting what they could, Caduceus sending out a prayer of healing to ease the direst of injuries.

Caleb adjusted his coat over the bite wound at his shoulder, still bleeding sluggishly, but not dire enough for him to bother the clerics further. Once we settle down for the evening, he thought, I’ll tend to it properly.

“I feel like I’ve eaten something like this before,” Yasha’s voice drew Caleb’s attention to where she and Beau were dumping the creatures’ bodies into the foul pool.

“I get that, but I really don’t think these are edible. We could always see if the fish market is open when we get back to town,” Beau countered, disgust and attraction warring for dominance in her eyes. The two continued to converse as Jester dislodged a massive boulder from the wall, which she and Yasha then jammed into the opening as a makeshift plug, hopefully preventing any stragglers from attempting to avenge their fallen comrades.

Though the kuo-toa were known to collect objects and artifacts much like the merrow, this particular group seemed to lack a discerning eye for anything of value. The countless piles of sundries scattered about the room looked to be little more than trash.

“Who’s bright idea was it to take this job, again?” Veth asked the room at large, tossing a rusted lump that may have passed for a dagger at one point over her shoulder as she dug through a pile of similarly ruined weapons.

“You try saying no to a bunch of village kids giving you puppy dog eyes,” Fjord defended, wincing as Jester pulled his shirt away from his torso where his blood stuck it to his skin in order to mend the fabric.

“Whoever’s fault it is, this cave is fucking nasty. Can we find what we came for and get out?” Beau asked, rinsing off a handful of gore-covered silver pieces in a puddle.

“I’m with Beau here. These things are just wrong,” Caduceus hummed, tapping a pile of half-eaten animal carcasses with his staff. Caleb turned his gaze away as it rapidly decomposed, his stomach rebelling at the sight atop the already pungent smell.

“Any luck finding the dog they supposedly took?” Beau asked.

“Oh right, they made it an idol or something,” Veth asked, “is that it?” she pointed to a large stone statue, about as tall and broad as Yasha, depicting a proudly posed canine figure resting on its haunches, half-buried amongst the hoard. The kuo-toas had covered it in plundered jewelry and strips of cloth, even managing to scavenge two platinum pieces which were pressed roughly into the concave of its eye sockets.

“It’s a wonder they managed to drag it all the way down here,” Fjord said, examining thick scrape marks along its base. “Caleb, do you think you could use your cat paw to get it topside?”

“Ah, no, sorry. I’m a bit tapped at the moment. If we want to make camp, I could always do it in the morning.“ Caleb replied. As he spoke Yasha stepped up to the statue, a muttered, “good doggy,” being the only warning anyone had before she hefted the statue onto her shoulder, stepping around Fjord and back to the mouth of the cave.

“Or that works, as well,” Caleb muttered, the rest of the room following after. Beau muttered something about stepping on her under her breath as they walked, which the rest of the Nein elected to ignore.

“Once we get back to my mama’s we are all taking a bath,” Jester declared as they made their way through the winding tunnels of the kuo-toa’s lair, polishing her hand axe with the corner of her skirt.

“About that,” Caleb sighed, “I spent myself during the final fight.”

“Eew!” Jester laughed as Beau complained, “Seriously, dude?”

“Not like that—“

“That’s really gross, Caleb.”

“Enough,” Fjord cut in, “so, it’s either sleep in the dome or walk back, then?”

“Correct.”

“It could be nice to spend a night outside. You can see the stars so much better here than in the empire!” Jester cheered. There was a slight waver to her voice that spoke of her disappointment, and though only Caduceus heard it, the rest knew her well enough to see the pretty lie for what it was.

Reaching the mouth of the cave, Caleb spotted their cart, noting how some of the palm leaves Jester had arranged to obscure it that afternoon were askew. He watched for a moment as the soft pattering of rain shook the fronds, unable to discern if the motion were simply that, or if something else was afoot.

“Veth?” Caleb whispered, holding a hand out to stop the others.

“Oh man, if it’s raining we won’t be able to stargaze,” Jester pouted, shutting her mouth as she noticed his signal.

“Caleb?” Veth replied, pausing at his arm, one hand curling around his wrist.

“We may have company yet. Could you take a look, carefully?” he stressed, recalling her near-miss with one of the kuo-tao’s primitive traps earlier in the day.

Crouching low, Veth made her way to the side of the cart, clambering up a nearby tree to glance into it from above. As she did so, the rest of the Nein formed a loose circle around it, watching for any sign of movement. They watched as she peered through the fronds before dropping into the cart with her crossbow in hand. Tossing the palm leaves away with a flourish, she called out an “all clear!”

The Nein relaxed, moving towards the cart, unaware of the flurry of movement from the underbrush near the cave’s entrance. Muted beneath the dull roar of rainfall on the canopy above, a soft “twang” was the only warning before a burst of pain bloomed in Caleb’s leg, a shout of surprise escaping him as he fell.

“Caleb!” Veth and Jester shouted in unison. An arrow pierced cleanly through his leg, a length of rope attached to one end snapping taught as a trio of kuo-tao sprung from the shadows, the largest of which was attempting to drag Caleb away from the Nein. The other two each had roughly-hewn short bows gripped in their webbed fingers, firing off a volley of arrows focused on the weakened wizard.

Rolling onto his back, Caleb threw up an arcane shield. However, the motion was a moment too slow. While it deflected the third, the second arrow met its mark, grazing his arm before piercing his chest. Yasha rushed past him, brandishing the stone dog as a weapon. The rest followed suit, save for Veth, who crouched protectively over him.

“Caleb! Your leg!” Veth cried, drawing her shortsword and beginning to cut the rope.

“Ach, scheiße,” Caleb swore, reaching for the arrow in his chest. It had barely sunk more than a half an inch deep, a lucky strike between his ribs. As he pawed at the wooden shaft, his vision began to blur.

The rest of the Nein fell silent at Veth’s scream.

Chapter Text

“What happened?”

“I don’t know! That stupid fish shot him, and then he just collapsed!” Veth cried, firing a crossbow bolt at a kuo-toa from her defensive position crouched over Caleb. Caduceus and Jester broke away as the rest dispatched the last of the failed ambush.

Caleb was deathly still, save for his chest rising and falling evenly as if he were asleep.

“This one barely even poked him,” Jester said, tugging down his shirt to reveal the shallow nick in his chest.

“This one, on the other hand,” Caduceus adjusted Caleb’s leg to remove the pressure on the arrow impaling it, fishing a knife from his belt to cut away his pant leg. As he did so, Caleb stirred. His eyes fluttered open, peering blearily at the dark, cloudy sky for an instant before practically popping out of his head. He made an aborted attempt to sit up, meeting resistance on all sides.

“Woah there,” Caduceus soothed, his large hands bracing his ankle and knee, holding him still as he flailed. Caleb jerked as the motion shifted the arrow before going still, continuing to flit his eyes about, his pupils blown wide.

“Cay-leb are you feeling okay? I know you’re squishy, but this is—” Jester began, cutting herself off as he turned his wild eyes on her.

“Jester?” he slurred. The rest of the party returned from surveying the surroundings for any other stragglers, forming a loose circle around the group on the ground.

“Hello,” Jester replied breezily as she finished tying a bandage over the wound on his chest. Once she was done she booped his nose, which only seemed to perplex him further. Caleb raised his hand, but paused as his fingers reached eye level.

“Oooh no,” he said, drawing the words out as he raised his other hand, inspecting his palms.

“Oh yeah,” Caduceus mimicked his tone. “Do you remember that time on that terrible island, below the snake temple?”

“When Veth and Caleb ate that weird fruit?” Beau said, leaning over Jester’s shoulder to look at Caleb’s face. He remained transfixed by his own hands, rotating his wrists and flexing each finger in turn.

“Yeah, that. It looks like they coated the arrow in a similar substance,” Caduceus rubbed his fingers together, slick with a sheen of viscous yellow liquid. A mixture of the substance and blood dripped from the end of the arrow speared through Caleb’s leg. “You’ll likely start feeling strange soon if you aren’t already,” he addressed Caleb.

“Did you get all that, Cay?” Veth asked. He continued to stare at his hands, his breathing growing labored. Curling her own around his wrists, she pressed his hands to his chest. He let her do so, his head tipping back in her lap to look her in the eye.
“I — no.”

“You know or no, you don’t know?”

“M’ not Caleb,” he slurred, furrowing his brows.

“Of course you aren’t,” Veth agreed, patting his cheek with the utmost tenderness before rounding on the clerics to hiss, “he’s high as balls, do something!”

“Shouldn’t you take the arrow out?” Fjord asked, his eyes trained on the surrounding jungle. No one was in the mood to poke fun at his squeamishness as he turned to peek at Caleb’s leg, visibly paling before whipping his head back toward the underbrush.

“I have a fourth level left, so I could either try to fix the poison, heal the arrow, or pull the cart back,” Jester said, digging through her bag for anything of use.

“As it stands he’s at a higher risk of  infection than blood loss,” Caduceus contributed, “and it would be safer to try and get him back to town if we can, rather than resorting to field surgery.”

“Polymorph it is, then. Ooh, what should I turn into? I don’t want to be a big gorilla like Caleb was on the way here…”

Essek was having the most vivid dream he had ever experienced. Perhaps it was a side-effect of apparently falling asleep, rather than trancing as was proper of a fully grown, I am not a child anymore, umavi, drow. That is, he assumed it must have been a dream. Even as a child his dreams were rarely anything more than a hazy collection of memories, and as an adult he spent most trances trapped in warped recollections of his many failures.

This… whatever it was was… Different. He was laying on his back, oddly cold tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared up at a cloudy sky — oh. Not tears, rain. His body was numb save for a few concise points of pain at his leg, shoulder, and ribs. He could sense the presence of other… somethings… around him, though any attempt to make sense of his surroundings was like trying to read lips through a pane of frosted glass.

One of the somethings jostled him, a small yellow and brown blob repositioning him until his head was resting on a soft surface, the rest of his body sinking into the moist earth.

Of the Nein, he related the most, obviously, to Caleb. He was pragmatic and intelligent; charming in a way that often felt like a ploy.

Beau reminded him too much of Verin for his taste, brash and crude to obfuscate the shocking breadth of her intellect.

Yasha was a silent sentinel standing guard over the others, though once in a great while she would say the most unnerving things.

Jester was supernaturally charismatic, so radiant it was impossible to tell if she was ever honest, and adorable to a fault.

Fjord was level-headed, though somehow even more obsessed with masks than Essek himself. It differed from Caleb’s charming deceptions. Something about the source of his arcane abilities set Essek’s teeth on edge.

Caduceus was simply too bizarre and observant for Essek to relax around him. Like Yasha, he often said the strangest things, though his odd turns of phrase often felt more like thinly veiled threats than clumsily phrased observations.

But Veth… Veth didn’t trust him. In the beginning, back when she was still Nott the Brave, she seemed curious about him, about the power he could give her ‘boy.’ Surely she appreciated the aid, however minimal, he had offered in the creation of the spell which gave her back her true form. He didn’t begrudge the Nein continuing on as soon as they removed her curse, but it would have been nice to hear of the spell’s success firsthand, rather than making the connection for the first time in a foolish disguise, burning in the oppressive Nicodranian heat.

He appreciated how protective she was of Caleb. A mind such as his didn’t deserve to be snuffed by common bandits or beasts. It made sense that she categorized Essek in the same bracket as the likes of Ikithon, who, though Essek didn’t know their history, had clearly mistreated Caleb in the past.

She had every right to despise him, all things considered.

That reality being as it was, as the yellow something resolved into muddy half-clarity, it was Veth’s lap his head was resting on. Her halfling face, soft, moonlike, so different from the goblin he first met, yet uncannily similar in some ways, leaned into his field of view. She looked frantic, her stubby fingers worrying his hair. The motion was motherly, careful in the way she had only ever seen her act around Caleb. For a moment he merely stared as she addressed someone above him. Her words were garbled like he was underwater, a halo of light above her head and the persistent drip of rain on his face lulling him into a hypnotic sort of trance. 

Among the preliminary research Essek put in while preparing for the creation of the spell he had been testing before he fell asleep, he found himself spending one evening browsing the contents of an interesting set of studies. It was rare to find any in the Bastion from scholars outside of the Dynasty, let alone any focusing on the science of sleep, given that the majority of the dynasty had no need for such a thing. The study concluded that, once one was aware of the fact that they were in a dream, they were often able to control it, discussing various methodologies and their rates of success.

One such method of so-called “lucid dreaming” involved taking note of incongruences between the dream and reality. Reading, timekeeping, spellcasting, one should not be able to properly perform any acts requiring precision in a dream.

Theoretically, it takes the average dreamer months of practice to even gain enough control to realize that they’re dreaming. Essek, however, could recall the entirety of the article, citations and all. He had been sitting at a study table in the Bastion as he read it, the awful wooden bench so flat and solid it was like it was designed to discourage scholars from lingering to read frivolous dissertations from foreign researchers at three in the morning.

Perhaps, he thought, my studies and physiology allow me to enter this ‘lucid’ state more easily. Attempting to test his theory, he thought, I am dreaming. I can control my reality. This is only a dream. Repeating this mantra, he tried to imagine himself in his laboratory. The largest tower in his home. The library of books stretching to the ceiling, bubbling alchemical equipment and cabinets full of potions and components, the grooves cut into the floor to allow him to quickly test out his spells… Bits of clay and gem dust ground into every surface that he couldn’t bring himself to prestidigitate away. His sanctuary, the only room in his home unsullied by the umavi’s hand. He had poured decades of work into that room, wrought his greatest successes and failures crouched on the scored stone floor. He could picture it perfectly, and yet when he thought of it his mind’s eye instead pictured flashes of unfamiliar classrooms, pressed close between young humans and halflings and dwarves, of scribbling in cramped, smudged notebooks over tiny twig campfires, of tavern tables sticky with ale, of transcribing by candlelight in the hull of a ship, the gentle rock of the waves soothing his racing mind, still rushing after the adrenaline high of combat.

The rain pattering against his face was soaking his collar, streaming along his neck to gather at his nape. Essek continued to sink into the mud where his shoulder blades pressed to the soft earth.

Trial one: Failure.

Perhaps his laboratory was too complicated for his mind to conjure in his first dream in nearly one hundred years. I am dreaming. I can control my reality. This is only a dream. Essek repeated, this time picturing somewhere warm and dry, his bedroom, perhaps. He tried to imagine the pair of chairs near the hearth, charcoal gray and plush enough to trance in. His mind’s eye conjured an image of the scandalously prominent settee in the Xhorhaus’ study, instead. He tried to picture his bed, scarcely used save for the rare fling every few years. He couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of it as anything other than a dusty cushion on which he collapsed when his exhausted body refused to trance upright. Despite his neglect, it was of excellent quality, and much preferable to the strange swamp he apparently dreamt up instead. Lavish queen spider silk sheets, deep maroon and trimmed in gold, downy pillows and comforters, heating and cooling enchantments engraved by hand into the wood of the headboard, hidden amongst the dark grain. It was the height of luxury, yet when he imagined his bed his mind instead conjured a filthy coat draped across hard, frozen ground, lumpy inn cots, a cold, white tile floor, a worn pallet in a drafty loft, a forest floor, pressed between the warm bodies of his friends.

Friends?

Essek’s mind raced through each possibility at breakneck speed while his body felt like it was struggling to swim upstream through thick molasses. The thought came and went, sand through his fingers, though it and any thought of further experimentation were washed away by the typhoon of sensation before him as his body jerked, a jolt of pain lancing through his leg before innumerable hands pressed against him, holding him in place. He wanted to fight but he was so heavy, another stab of pain, more prevalent than the first, shooting up his leg. It wasn’t the all-encompassing ache he was accustomed to, but a single point of searing pain, white-hot, yet numbed by the hazy unreality of the dream. He felt it, and yet he felt nothing at all. As two of the innumerable hands roving his body clamped down above and below the brightest point of pain at his leg, forcing him still, he noticed the utter lack of discomfort anywhere else on his body. There was the faint stinging along his forearm and chest he had initially noted, as well as a potent feeling of fatigue which might accompany a long day in the laboratory, but that was all he could feel.

How was it that his dream could conjure such a lifelike visage of Veth, who he had only ever seen for a matter of hours, yet it could not fathom the pain he had suffered for so long? He and the Nein were acquaintances for mere months, friends for the blink of an eye, compared to the misery drilled into his every joint and muscle over the course of decades. He should have been grateful, yet all he felt was guilt at its absence.

Essek was distantly aware of a conversation going on over his head, garbled beyond recognition. Maybe he was so exhausted he didn’t even have the energy to interact with the dream. Maybe the price he paid for lucidity was paralysis. Or maybe the dream itself was a punishment, trapping him in his body, unable to move nor speak. His vision swam, slowly coming into clarity as a familiar blue face leaned over him, petting along his chest at the origin of the stinging sensation. On instinct, he let out a weak, “Jester?” She flashed her pointed canines at him, speaking a language he could not comprehend.

He was trapped in a dream about the Mighty Nein. After spending three days straight trying to—

A featherlight tap on his nose derailed his train of thought, a drop of rain running down Jester’s horn and hitting him in the eye.

He lifted a hand, intent on scrubbing at his face, however, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a rough, pale pink palm. He raised his other hand, but there was still no familiar midnight purple to be seen.

“Ohhh no,” he thought. He, of course, had fantasized in his waking hours about traveling with the Nein, abandoning the leash and collar of being shadowhand, of being Denfather in the interim between the umavi’s lives, and running away. It was a new dream, however, to imagine himself taking the place of the one he wished more than anything to adventure alongside.

The voices continued above him as he stared at his — Caleb’s? Hands. He would recognize them anywhere; tiny stardust sparks of burn scars scattered across his long, spidery fingers. Endearing, ever-so-humanlike freckles creeping up his wrists. Square fingernails, caked with mud save for the thumbnail on his left hand which was chewed to the quick — a bad habit Caleb often partook in when he was deep in thought.

Turning the incorrect hands over, he noticed four half-moon scars in either palm. Curling his fingers, the blunt edges of each nail matched up perfectly with each indentation. Essek took notice of Caleb’s hands in the past, sure, but never had he studied them long enough to catalogue such a mark. Were dreams capable of extrapolating something he hadn’t even been conscious of in his waking mind?

A tiny pair of hands gripped his wrists, pushing Caleb’s scarred palms out of his field of vision, and the thread of thought from his mind. Suddenly incredibly heavy, he let his head go slack against the soft thing he was resting on, taking in the upside-down visage of Veth. She was speaking at him, though he only caught the word, “Caleb?”

“I know,” he responded oh-so-eloquently. Veth continued to speak, though it took Essek’s full attention to articulate as he continued, “I’m not Caleb.”

She patted his face, giving him another soft, maternal look. There was none of the deserved irritation or caution he was accustomed to in her expression as she combed her fingers through his hair.

He was dreaming, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

Every time he fell in battle, Veth always found herself unsettled by just how still Caleb was. In his waking hours, he was always sorting through his spell components, twirling a pearl between his fingers or worrying the corner of a page as he read. Even as he slept he snuffled and fidgeted, thumbing the long scar below his left wrist or pulling the edges of his blanket tighter around himself. Now, however, he was still and silent, his willowy body limp in Caduceus’ hold.

The firbolg’s ear flicked as the rest of the Nein shifted around him. Caleb was powerful now, perhaps more powerful than any of them, but he was still so fragile, his magic burning away at him from the inside. It was so easy to forget, so easy for Veth to forget that fact. Ever since he gave her back her body, her family, her life, she had been so focused on herself that she turned her gaze away from him. If only she had kept him closer, been quicker, been more vigilant, he wouldn’t be a rag doll in the cleric’s arms.

“We should try to get back to Nicodranas as soon as possible,” Caduceus said, shaking her from her thoughts. Caleb twitched ever so slightly as Caduceus settled his injured leg more securely in his hold. “Is there room for him in the cart?”

“Make room!” Veth demanded, pacing at Caduceus’ feet. Yasha made quick work of pushing the massive stone dog towards the front while the others had an increasingly heated conversation at the shaft.

“No Jes the horn creates drag, that’s nowhere near as aerodynamic,” Beau asserted.

“But the unicorn is magical which means it’s better than a horse. I bet I could heal Caleb, too!” Jester countered.

“Whichever it is, do it and let’s get going,” Fjord cut in, bodily pushing the two apart to gather up the pile of rope and leather serving as a makeshift harness.

“S’mthns weird— th’s’s a bad dr’m,” Caleb slurred, struggling weakly against Caduceus’ hold as the firbolg settled him at the statue's feet. Veth scrambled up Caduceus’ side to Caleb’s the instant he spoke.

“As far as I understand it you’ve been poisoned. How are you feeling?” Caduceus asked, undeterred by Caleb’s feeble attempts to push him away and Veth using him as a ladder.

“Weird.”

“Weird how? Are you cold, nauseous?” Caduceus noted how Caleb began to shiver as he wedged a bedroll beneath his knee, ensuring he wouldn’t upset what remained of the arrow still protruding from it.

“Mmmh,” Caleb moaned behind pursed lips, rolling onto his side. Whether it was confirmation or denial, Caduceus wasn’t sure, though he fished his blanket out of his pack, handing it to Veth. As she fussed over her boy, tucking the edges of the firbolg-sized quilt around his shoulders, Caduceus pressed a hand to his forehead. His skin was worryingly hot, and he craned his head to maintain the contact as Caduceus pulled away, catlike, but unlike himself. They needed to get moving.

Essek swam back to consciousness on his side. He was swaddled in something thick and warm, the scent of turned earth and wildflowers heavy on his nose. Despite the thick thing wrapped around him he was shivering, the rocking motion and the floral scent doing his rolling stomach no favors.

Easing himself onto his back, his shoulder brushed against something hard. A massive beast towered over him, its glowing platinum-piece eyes penetrating his very soul. He stared intently at the dog’s face, unsure if he was imagining the way it snarled at him, tangentially aware of the drift of the trees moving overhead. He could hear voices, wisps of syllables flitting in one ear and out the other, the act of comprehension too exhausting to even consider.

The ground jumped beneath him, the trees beginning to move at a faster clip above the dog’s head. The motion sent his stomach churning unbearably, and before he could comprehend what he was doing there was a rush of sound and movement as he was levered upright, expelling the contents of his stomach over the side of the container he was held in. Strange, considering he couldn’t recall having paused his research for anything, let alone something as trivial as food, for the past few days. Something warm supported his back, drawing wisps of oddly long hair away from his face and securing it at his nape. Once he finished small, gentle hands guided him to sit upright against the edge of what he blearily realized was a cart. Veth’s face swam into his field of view, pressing a water skin into his hands.

“This dream again…” he thought, taking a sip and spitting over the side of the cart. The world was still spinning nauseatingly, but he explained that away as the dream mocking his motion sickness. Why bother with a cart when you can arrive at your destination instantaneously, without feeling like death warmed over?

“Drink a little more first, then you can go back to dreaming,” Veth said, dabbing at his face with a bit of cloth. He wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud, or if she were simply telepathic in this reality. The soft brush of fabric against his chin felt like a thousand electric pinpricks and total bliss all at once, her easy, doting expression so foreignly maternal that his mind immediately scrambled for a memory to reference against.

Even delirious and dreaming, it took less than a minute to scan over a century of interactions with the umavi, yet he was unable to recall even a single moment of such warmth. As a matter of fact, excluding the Nein, no one had so much as hugged him since he was a child. When had anyone other than a member of the Mighty Nein or his brother touched him out of anything other than obligation? The dawning realization was so shocking that, as he was eased back against Veth’s warm chest, her arms bracketing his shoulders, he began to cry.

“Oh Caleb,” her soft, scratchy voice murmured, the kiss she pressed to the crown of his head only serving to further heighten the rush of foreign emotion. He sniffled childishly, curling his fingers in the obscenely large blanket wrapped around him, the scent of turned earth and flowers suddenly soothing.

Humiliating. This was a humiliating dream. It was penance for how he took advantage of the Nein’s kindness. Punishment for wronging them, showing him all the tenderness he had forfeited. He was sure that the dream would turn against him soon enough, their kindness morphing into the cruelty he deserved. Even so, Essek couldn’t help but take comfort in the soft words spoken above him, Veth’s cradling arms and motherly hands like a balm to his addled mind.

As he began to lose his grip on the scene before him, like water through his hands, a single thought pinned itself to the forefront of his mind:

No one had ever held him so gently.

The poison was making Caleb act… Weird. Weirder than usual. It was usually impossible to get him to accept affection unless he was dead tired or polymorphed. Now he seemed to crave it, clinging to Veth’s skirts like a child as she smoothed his furrowed brow with her fingers. After his initial outburst, he quieted his tears to near-silent whimpers, worrying his lip between his teeth with his eyes squeezed shut. That was a familiar motion, though he seemed to have far more difficulty containing himself than he usually would, letting out the occasional whimper now and again.

“Deucy?” Veth called quietly. He was sitting at her side, leaning against the stone dog with his eyes closed. He hummed in response but didn’t move otherwise. Uni-Jester could only pull so much weight, and with Caleb incapacitated, Veth refusing to leave his side, and Caduceus being the only cleric with opposable thumbs at the moment, they rode whilst the rest walked.

“How long do you think this’ll keep up?” Veth asked, brushing her perfectly stubby halfling fingers through Caleb’s hair. It was so much easier to comb without the fear of razor-sharp claws cutting his scalp or tearing out snagged strands.

“It’s hard to say. A few hours, maybe a day? I’m not too familiar with this kind of poison,” Caduceus replied, peering down at the wizard.

“That implies you’re familiar with other kinds of poison,” Fjord sidled up to the cart, a hint of trepidation in his tone.

“My grandmother used to always say that oleander honey is a good choice,” Caduceus agreed, catching Fjord’s gaze in the corner of his eye. “We never did find out what happened to grandpa…”

“They probably used it to weaken prisoners,” Beau cut in.

“Or to keep prey alive,” Yasha added, tacking on a, “what? Meat tastes better when it’s fresh,” when Veth grimaced at her.

“Would jerky made by something with the poison in it still have the effects of the poison?”

“I don’t know, but that would probably be delicious. We should have—“

“We should NOT have made jerky out of one of the nasty fish people.”

“I’m serious, you guys!” Veth snapped.

“Hey, I’m serious too. They would taste disgusting, we all saw their lair,” Beau quipped back.

“But what if he gets worse? What if he dies?! The last time he acted this weird was when he got super bad pneumonia and I had to pawn my entire collection just to keep him from freezing to death in a gutter for weeks—” Veth continued, her breath hitching more and more with every word.

“Hey, hey, he won’t die,” Fjord cut in, “we’ll be back in Nicodranas in a few hours. You won’t have to take care of him alone.”

“Okay… Okay,” she conceded.

A few moments passed in uneasy silence, save for the wet sloshing of feet and hooves through the increasingly muddy jungle floor, and the rumbling creak of the cart.

“Have any of you ever had giant spider jerky?” Yasha broke the silence. As the debate started up again the others convinced Veth to weigh in on the pros and cons of smoking or drying spider meat, cringing at the comparison of the texture to string cheese. It may have been her imagination, but Caleb seemed to settle as the banter washed over his sleeping form. Veth made sure to continue to card her fingers through his hair, nonetheless.

Essek had only ever been to the Vergessen sanatorium once, the night he broke the Nein’s trust, years before they met. Even with only that tiny point of reference, some part of him recognized the ruined tower crumbling around him. It whispered of its location, tucked in the Northeastern corner of the grounds.  Far enough away that no one could hear you scream, yet close enough to disallow escape without detection.

Snow piled on the floor from a hole in the wall; a missing stone, or a sniper’s lookout, he didn’t know. He was strapped to a chair at the center of the room, reclining slightly. He strained to turn, but thick leather straps curled over his chest, arms and legs held him in place. The room was dark save for a faint green glow originating from a series of semi-translucent stones— residuum— pierced through his forearms. Each stone was surrounded by an ink array of some kind. The penmanship and symbology were eerily reminiscent of what he had seen of Caleb’s spellbook, glowing white like starlight against his midnight skin.

“I told you once already,” a sickeningly familiar voice crooned, sending a jolt of panic down his spine, “if you can’t stay conscious and quiet for something as simple as this, how will you ever serve our great empire?” Trent Ikithon sauntered into Essek’s field of view, a small blade in one hand and a spike of residuum in the other. Essek held his breath as Ikithon twisted his fingers in an unfamiliar somatic motion, a tiny spark of arcane light glinting off of the edge of the blade.

As he did so his entire body seized, his teeth piercing his tongue to silence his scream as the crystals in his arms glowed brighter, sparking with arcane energy. He writhed against his bonds, watching in sick fascination as they buried themselves deeper in his flesh, branching out and expanding as they took root. He bit down until his tongue split, unable to keep quiet any longer.

His screams were drowned out by Ikithon’s laughter, the crystals growing and spreading down his body. Their jagged edges cut away the leather straps as if they were spider silk. The residuum grew, and with it his body swelled, splintering the chair and tearing fissures through the floor, the walls, the ceiling. He continued to expand until he filled the entire tower. It was cavernous moments before, yet now it pressed down on him, crushing him, smothering him, silencing him. He struggled and fought, choking on shards of crystal until something snapped.

Exhausted and caked in mud and fish-monster detritus, the Mighty Nein returned to Nicodranas just as the sky began to lighten into the pale gray of dawn. The rain had let up a few hours into the journey, insects buzzing noisily around their ears in its place. Caleb, still sprawled in the back of the cart, shivered incessantly but otherwise did not stir in the hours it took to trudge back to civilization.

Without the adrenaline of combat or a problem to solve Veth nodded off, her shoulder resting against the coarse base of the stone dog, her legs asleep from the weight of Caleb’s head resting in her lap. As Jester’s polymorph faded she and Yasha bore the load of the cart together. The rest of the Nein tramped alongside the cart, pushing when needed through particularly muddy patches, dead on their feet.

As they approached Nicodranas’ western gate the night watch called for them to halt. Jester and Fjord spoke with the guards while the rest of the Nein leaned against the cart, too exhausted to notice Caleb stirring. He whimpered in his sleep, the blanket wrapped around his form coiling around him like a constrictor. Veth jolted awake as he disentangled himself, hitting her with an errant fist and throwing the blanket over her head in a frantic attempt to free himself. 

“Get them out, get them OUT!” Caleb shouted as he shot upright, his unseeing eyes turned to his leg. In a single horrific motion, he clamped both hands around what remained of the arrow, tearing the shaft free with a howl. An arc of blood followed his trajectory, splattering across the face of the stone dog.

“NO!”

“CALEB!” Beau and Veth shouted at the same time, neither quick enough to stop him. Caleb took no notice of them, the arrowhead cutting into his palm as he clawed at himself with his free hand.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Beau gasped, jumping onto the cart to help Veth force his hands apart. Caleb thrashed against them, whipping Beau across the face with the blunt end of the arrow before she managed to get a hold of him. Jester and Fjord rounded the side of the cart as Caduceus lit up his staff, one large, soft hand encircling Caleb’s ankle. As he did so a single spectral beetle crawled to the edge of the amethyst atop his staff, fluttering down to land atop Caleb’s head. The instant it closed its wings it scattered into pink mist, which drifted down and over Caleb’s eyes. He blinked rapidly, going still and taking in his surroundings as if for the first time as calm emotions blessedly took hold. His gaze drifted to the faces of each of his companions before settling on Caduceus, swallowing heavily at the sight of his leg.

“Ahh- hah—“ he stifled a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh as Caduceus did what he could to slow the bleeding, any clotting that may have begun torn away by his unconscious action.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, forcing himself to relax as the rest of the Nein released him. They were too shaken by his violent awakening to notice the unusual lilt to his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

The marine layer smothering the slowly-waking streets of Nicodranas carried the pungent smell of brine and fish in its wake. The Nein tried to ignore the scent as they neared the Lavish Chateau, too similar to that of the vile cave they had spent the previous day clearing out.

Following his outburst at the city gates, Caleb once again fell deathly still and silent. He didn’t whimper as he was carried to Jester’s childhood bedroom. He didn’t turn his head bashfully away as he was relieved of his sodden clothes. He didn’t hiss as the summoned healer poured antiseptic over his wounds, mending and dressing what she could. He didn’t hum in consideration as she identified the poison: common, fleetingly hallucinogenic, and ultimately nonlethal. Though the healer assured them that he was simply exhausted from the stress, the Nein couldn’t help but be uneasy, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice should he show the first sign of waking.

“Well, now what?” Jester asked, curled at the end of her bed with her hands clasped between her knees. The Chateau was always full on Thursday nights, leaving them to spread out bedrolls and blankets in her, admittedly spacious, childhood bedroom.

“I’m ready to drop, myself. Some sleep and a bit of healing should get Caleb back into fighting shape, right?” Fjord said, elbowing Caduceus lightly. As he did the cleric teetered, slumping against his side, fast asleep. “I think we all could use a good night’s rest,” he continued, shifting to better support Caduceus’ neck.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Veth piped up, “Since I slept a bit on the way back.” Her hands wrung together every moment that they weren’t combing through Caleb’s hair, but no one had the energy to protest on her behalf.

With their wizard tucked into bed and the city around them beginning to wake, the Nein shed their filthy, blood-soaked clothes, drew the curtains, and finally found rest.

Well, most of them did.

Veth stayed vigilant, her eyes roaming the sweeping mural embellishing every inch of the room. Rudimentary scribbles near the floor evolved into intricate landscapes and figures, the most complex of which swept across the ceiling. The mural was a little less sophisticated, and simultaneously less vulgar than what she’d seen of the Jester’s sketchbook, but it was still entrancing in the soft morning light.

Sweeping her restless eyes over the room, Veth took in Yasha resting with her back against the window. The tiny embroidered flowers decorating the curtains glowed with the beginnings of morning light, framing her face in points of pale pink and yellow. Beau’s head was pillowed in her lap, one arm hooked around the barbarian’s knee. Caduceus had slumped to the floor at some point, his long torso sprawled partially across Fjord, the end of his tail curled over Beau’s ankle. Fjord, meanwhile, rested upright against Jester’s nightstand, his arm jammed at an odd angle between the mattress and bed frame to support his head. Jester’s overlarge bed held Caleb, Veth, and Jester herself. She was curled between Caleb and the floor while Veth sat at the head of the bed, bracketing the wizard in should he start to stir.

A tiny flash of movement near Fjord’s head caught Veth’s attention as she finished her assessment. The spade tip of Jester’s tail was curling and uncurling around his bicep, flicking occasionally like that of an irritated cat. Veth expected her to have fallen asleep immediately, considering she pulled the cart through the night across the dense, muddy jungle paths, yet as Veth glanced down a pair of shining violet eyes were staring up at her.

“You should get some sleep,” Veth whispered, brushing her free hand through Jester’s bangs.

“Yeah…” Jester replied softly, studying Caleb’s face.

“…Something eating you?” Veth wagered.

“I dunno,” Jester hesitated. Her tail uncurled from around Fjord’s bicep to wrap around her ankle.

“It’s just… Earlier, you said that you’d only ever seen Caleb like this once before.” Again, she paused, gathering the courage or finding the words, Veth wasn’t sure. She waited patiently for her to continue regardless. “Was it scary?”

“Yes,” Veth replied. “Those were some of the most terrifying and stressful days of my life,” she didn’t say.

“I mean, I know Caleb still has nightmares and stuff, but it’s just different when we’re all together and he at least trusts us most of the time, compared to when we first met. Like that time when we were at that inn during the snowstorm and he caught his blanket on fire. Remember that?”

“Fjord threw it out the window,” Veth laughed halfheartedly.

“Yeah. And, like, it’s like that now. Like I know something is wrong, but I feel like I’m…” she trailed off.

“What’s all this about?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just feel kinda useless.”

“Watcha’ mean?”

“Like, I know Caduceus is better at healing and everything, and I’d much rather use my magic to smash monsters with a lollipop, but I feel like I didn’t even help at all. Even without magic Caduceus knows all sorts of things about medicine and stuff. He knew what to do to take care of Caleb, but I just pulled the cart.” As she spoke, Jester traced the blanket’s floral pattern with her index finger, her tail continuing to worry at her ankle. Veth’s hands stilled in Caleb’s hair as she considered her response.

“If it were just Caleb and me, I wouldn’t’ve even been able to drag him back. I’d be stuck trying to keep him from sinking in the mud until he woke up on his own, or…” she didn’t want to finish that thought. “That’s why being part of a group is so much better. We can all do a little something to make it work. You and Yasha got him back, Deucy kept him stable, Fjord was arguably way more useless, but that’s nothing new—” Veth quipped, earning a small smile and an eye roll from Jester. “If you look at it that way, you did more for him than most of us.”

“I guess. Caleb’s just lucky to have a super cool mom like you looking out for him.” Jester teased.

Veth opened her mouth to reply, however, Caleb chose that moment to shift in his sleep, muttering softly. The hand that had previously been clinging to the hem of Veth’s skirt snaked across the space between himself and Jester. Unfettered by waking hesitation, he laced his fingers with hers, hooking their elbows together and pulling her arm flush against his chest. He pinned it there much in the same way he used to hold Veth, back when she was still Nott. He hummed contentedly as he pressed her cool palm against his cheek, the thumb and middle finger of his free hand worrying against each other.

Veth and Jester watched curiously as he repeated the motion several times until, with a flash of arcane light, Frumpkin appeared in the space between them. The fey cat’s back arched as he apparated, his hackles up as he darted to the top of the bed, tucking himself behind Jester’s head.

“Ooh, hi Frumpkin!” she cooed as he settled uneasily at the nape of her neck.

“He hasn’t done that in a while either…” Veth hummed. She felt like she had a puzzle spread out before her, complete save for the final piece. She was missing something so obvious that she could make out its outline, so simple she would slap herself when she realized, yet its true shape eluded her.

She continued to ponder it long after Jester finally settled. Sometime later Fjord awoke with a series of sneezes, slapping Frumpkin’s tail away from his face before offering to take his vigil. The fey disentangled himself from Jester’s hair and settled in Veth’s lap, purring softly. Her pavlovian response to the sound lulled her into a sense of safety, easing the tension in her shoulders she held since that arrow first struck her boy.

Whatever piece she was missing, she could find it in the morning.

The Nein slept soundly through the rest of the day, finally clawing their way to consciousness as the sun set. Caduceus and Jester healed what remained of Caleb’s injuries until nothing but fading scars remained. The Nein bathed, ate, scrubbed gore from skirts and darned shirts, changed out their bedding and played cards and sharpened swords and ate again. Caleb slept through the Ruby’s performance, her sultry voice carrying through the Chateau as if she were at his bedside.

The Nein waited.

Chapter Text

Essek awoke to a pressure crushing his chest and lukewarm liquid sliding down his throat. Poison. Someone managed to sneak past his defenses, catching him unaware. With as much force as he could muster he threw himself forward, simultaneously opening his eyes and moving his hands through the somatic components of teleport. 

Who stared back at him as the cup previously held to his lips shattered against the floor was not an unfeeling assassin, but a familiar cleric. As his spell fizzled, he registered the sweet, herbal taste against his tongue. Tea, not poison.

His labored breathing slowed, his hands going lax at his sides. 

“Sorry about that, Mr. Caleb,” Caduceus said, resting a hand on his knee. He dabbed Essek’s shirt with a cloth, drenched from his panicked awakening. In his periphery, Veth gathered up the shards of the cup he’d knocked away, squirreling them into a pouch at her hip.

Smacking his lips and resisting the urge to pull a face at the saccharine taste, Essek reflexively waved his hand, prestidigitating the spilled tea from his tunic. The instant he did so, he was simultaneously overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion and the sight of his pale, scarred, human hands. 

“Take it easy, no casting just yet,” Caduceus chided, easing him into a reclining position. “You’ve been asleep for a while, but it looks like the Genki family was a good choice to give you a boost.” 

“I didn’t think you knew that spell, Cay,” Veth added, her sourness at being thrown to the floor forgotten. “Caddy, how long does it take?” 

“Oh, just a few minutes, I’d think.” As Caduceus spoke, Essek’s gaze fixated on the spilled tea seeping into the floorboards, reflexively prestidigitating it away just to see if he could. It evaporated with ease, the casting not exhausting him as much as the first time.

“Lebby?” Veth said, crawling back up onto the bed to sit near his feet. Essek tracked her as she settled against the footboard. The wood was painted to resemble a meadow occupied by a grazing herd of unicorns. The slow reality of the situation pressed down on his shoulders like the familiar weight of his mantle. He made an aborted motion to pull the blanket up, as if to cover his head, before tangling his hands in the fabric pooling at his waist instead. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Veth prompted. Essek peered around the room, noticing the rest of the Nein sitting on a hodgepodge of bedrolls and blankets strewn across the floor of what appeared to be a child’s bedroom and making various poor attempts to act like they weren’t watching him. The curtains were drawn back though the window was shut, the soft patter of rain tapping against the darkened glass.

“Night… Time?” Essek wagered. Given her look of dismay, it was apparently the wrong answer. Veth scampered up to the top of the bed, pressing a tiny hand to his forehead.

“All it takes is one fucking fish to break him. He won’t be much help against your guy, huh?” Beau commented, nudging Fjord with her elbow. 

“Shut up! The lady from the lighthouse was probably wrong about the poison!” Veth snapped back.

Essek tuned them out, staring at his—at Caleb’s hands. His head felt remarkably clear; free of the clouds which plagued him over the past... Day? Thinking back, he, horrifically, could recall each and every mortifying moment of wakefulness in crystalline detail. Clinging to Veth, blubbering like a child, oh light, mutilating Caleb’s body; he could remember every instant. Tossing back the covers, Essek tugged his pant leg up, letting out a shaky breath when he found the wound scarred over, assumedly the work of the clerics. 

Wait a moment. He could never recall anything with such clarity before. Caleb, on the other hand, could rattle off statistics and equations with ease after a single glance. It was one of the more practical of his many endearing quirks. His mind was like a steel trap, his circadian rhythm and sense of direction exceptionally fine-tuned. It was no sooner than Essek had this thought that something within him clicked, recalibrating. His internal clock began to tick, his eyes flicking towards what he suddenly knew was North.

“It’s 8:29 pm,” Essek blurted, interrupting the argument the Nein were having around him, “and I think something went wrong, or… Perhaps a complication is a better word for it.” As he lifted his head, he flinched upon finding the entirety of the Nein staring at him in various shades of confusion and concern.

“Caleb, what the fuck is up with your accent!” Jester shouted, slapping her pencil down in the crease of her sketchbook.

“Ah, um, well… You see, the thing is I’m… Not Caleb?” Essek replied haltingly, his shoulders curling further inward with every word.

For a moment, the Nein stood paralyzed, staring agape at the body of their companion. Essek wanted to shut his eyes but found that he couldn’t look away, either. Before he could flinch away, they found their bearings, exploding into motion. In an instant, Veth was grappling one of his arms with her entire body, Beau grasping his opposite wrist, her free fist poised to strike. The rest of the Nein were in similar positions, save for Caduceus who serenely turned his back on the whole affair to shut the door. The click of the lock sealed his fate.

“What does that mean? What the fuck! Are you with the assembly? What the fuck!” Beau shouted, launching forward and wrenching his wrist in such a way that moving his fingers was impossible. 

“Ow, ow okay, yes, this is definitely real—it’s—I’m Essek.” While this assuaged the anger of a fraction of the Nein, his confession only served to further aggravate both Beau and Veth, who twisted his arm sharply and pulled her crossbow from some unknown pocket, respectively.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Essek! Oh my gosh you guys, I thought he was acting super weird—”

“Give me back my boy, you hot floaty bitch!”

“I have no idea what’s going on.” 

“You’re telling me.”

“If I could explain myself without being grappled on all sides, please? Whatever happened to Caleb must have interfered with what I was trying to do—” 

“And just what were you trying to do? Kidnap him? Steal his body? Ransom his soul back to us!?” Veth shook her crossbow at him.

“If you are, I will have to kill you,” Yasha reached for her swords, drawing attention to the bulging muscles of her arms.

“No, I just said—” Essek sighed, sitting up as Beau loosened her grip. Veth was quick to scramble back to the end of the bed, crossbow still poised to fire.

“First off, I would hope you wouldn’t want to harm your friend, here,” Essek gestured to himself, “seeing that, as far as I can tell, this is still his body. Secondly, this, whatever this is, was entirely unintentional. I—Essentially, I was attempting to combine—” Essek hesitated, “Fjord, could you, uh,” he waved his hand in a vague motion over his head. Fjord narrowed his eyes for an instant before nodding, summoning the Star Razor with a splash of seawater. The Nein waited with bated breath as his eyes took on a seafoam sheen, scanning the room for any unwelcome gaze.

“We’re clear.” 

“Thank you. I was attempting to create a spell that would function similarly to your favored sending,” he nodded to Jester. “My research involved trying to create a psychic link between a number of individuals, through which they could communicate without having to worry about prying eyes and ears,” Essek looked pointedly to Fjord, whose gaze was still fixed on the ceiling, underlit ominously by the sea-green glow of his sword. 

“And in doing so, you stole Caleb’s soul!” Veth said in what Essek assumed was an intentionally provocative tone. Yasha looked like she either wanted to be sick or cut his head off. Maybe both. Probably both.

“How long have you been,” Fjord made a broad gesture towards him, “inhabiting Caleb?” 

“Ah, maybe…” Essek paused to consider. Caleb’s internal clock told him over a day had passed since Essek first found himself with the Nein. “It’s… Admittedly, I didn’t realize this was real until just now. I recall testing the spell and failing several times. I must have fallen asleep after that, then I woke up in the jungle with you all.”

“What do you mean by not realizing this was real?”

“Ah—I only mean, it was just very foreign. Um. The way you behaved towards—I couldn’t—Perhaps it was an effect of the spell, but I had some strange… Visions.” Essek fumbled to hedge around the battery of memories assaulting him. 

“Of?”

Veth combing back his hair, being cradled in Caduceus’ arms, the looks of concern and affection constantly turned in his direction as the Nein cared for him. Of being loved. Of being wanted. Of being accepted by those he had only just begun to consider his friends before they met his true self and rightfully abandoned him.

“Crystals, mostly,” Essek scratched at his wrist, forcing his hands to rest in his lap as the Nein went eerily still.

“That was probably the poison,” Caduceus hummed. Essek was grateful for the momentary distraction, yet a question surfaced in his mind.

“Poison?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, we were fighting these nasty fish people, then one of them shot you in the leg and you got super fucked up,” Jester elaborated.

“I would assume that’s why none of you realized something was amiss until now?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I think we all realized you were acting strange from the beginning, but there was nothing to be done about it, at the time.” Caduceus replied, taking in the other’s reactions before adding a softer, “oh, was that just me?”

“I was too busy making sure my boy’s body didn’t die from you tearing open his injuries,” Veth snarled, every bit of the vitriolic figure Essek remembered.

“The poison—”

“Wait a minute. If you’re here, does that mean Caleb’s in your body?” Beau’s simple question was like a splash of icy water down Essek’s spine.

“Oh light,” he floundered, “I don’t know. None of this,” he gestured broadly to himself, “was part of the spell. If we did somehow swap bodies, though,” he cringed at the thought, “he’s probably safe.”

“PROBABLY?”

“The last thing I can remember, I was in my tower. Short of manually dispelling the wards, no one should be able to get in.”

Nor will he be able to leave, Essek didn’t say.

“So he’s either trapped in your house or trapped in his own body with you holding the reins,” Beau reiterated. Yasha abruptly turned and stormed out of the room. 

As the door slammed behind her, punctuated by the roar of thunder, the Nein lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Even Caduceus had his hands clasped, the rough pads of his thumbs scraping audibly against each other.

“Do any of you have Dispel Magic prepared? I’m sure no one wants me inhabiting your wizard any longer than I have to, and the court will start to get suspicious if I go too long without checking in.” Essek forced himself to break the silence, irritation edging in to hide the fear brewing in his gut. 

“Oh, I do!” Jester said, smiling thinly. She stepped up to the side of the bed without hesitation, clutching her peculiar holy symbol in both hands. There was a slight tickle of magic in his chest before Essek was suddenly laid flat beneath a mound of loose paper and sundries, the rest of the Nein shouting in surprise along with him. 

“Oops,” Jester laughed, “I forgot about Caleb’s little amber thingie.” 

“Amber thingie?” Essek asked, shoving an armful of paper to the floor to give himself enough room to sit upright.

“Yeah, Caleb stores stuff in there,” Jester pulled on one of two chains hanging around his neck, tapping the chunk of amber dangling from it. For someone who didn’t remember it was there, she seemed oddly certain about where it was kept.

A moment of pouring paper into Fjord’s bag eased the tension slightly, though as soon as it was cleared away, everyone but the clerics returned to giving him a wide berth. 

As if they couldn’t end me if I so much as breathe out of turn, Essek’s mind unhelpfully supplied.

“Well, that didn’t work,” Essek said, carefully crossing his freshly healed leg over the other and grasping at his chin. “It would be so much easier if I could get to my tower. At least that way we would know if my body is intact.” The thought of having somehow possessed Caleb, dooming himself to live the final fleeting decades of his human lifespan as an intruder, was terrifying. The thought of condemning Caleb to endless centuries as a lone fugitive was unfathomably crueler.

“Can you teleport like this?” Beau asked.

“If I can access my spellbook, I would think so,” Essek turned his hand over in the somatic motion for his wristpocket, but nothing happened. He crossed his arms, cupping his elbows to ease his dread and trying his best to look frustrated rather than terrified. “Though, given the circumstances, that may not be the safest option.” Caleb hadn’t been able to teleport the last time they met. Who was to say his arcane ability wasn’t tied to his body? The strain of such a high-level spell could be too much for his untempered human form, even if Essek knew the theory like the back of his hand.

“What about Yussa?” Caduceus proposed, resting a gentle hand on Essek’s shoulder. “I’m sure if we explained the situation he would help.”

“I mean, he does owe us for the whole Happy Fun Ball thing,” Veth said.

“Does he even know how to get to Xhorhas?” Beau asked.

“He may not, but Allura does. Maybe he could send us to her and she could send us to… the… bastion?” Fjord trailed off at Veth and Beau’s dubious looks. “But that would probably be stretching our favor a bit far, huh?” Just as Essek began to ponder the likelihood of surviving a months-long journey across the empire with the Nein, Jester perked up, turning her head toward the group as if she had been conversing with someone unseen. The slightest shimmer of green fabric fluttered in his periphery as she did so, vanishing between one blink and the next.

“Ohmigosh guys I can totally get us to the Xhorhaus. I have a place for Artie to hang out there and he said he wouldn’t mind giving us a ride.”

“Do I even want to know?” Essek asked, catching Fjord’s eye. 

“Oh, right! We never got to tell you about him! So basically the Traveler is a god, but not, like, a God god, but he’s still really cool and stuff! So you could still—well, actually, he doesn’t really want people to worship him anymore, but he’s still my best friend and—”

“No, you don’t,” Veth cut in, covering Jester’s mouth.

“Very well, then… Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Landing flat on his back, all of the air rushed from Essek’s lungs with a resounding, “oof.”  As he inhaled a breath of moonblooms and vermaloc wood, he was overwhelmed by the scent of home. It was far more potent than he was accustomed to, and when paired with the foreign aroma of chlorophyll-green herbs and flowers, it was enough to send his head spinning.

That was before he opened his eyes and took in the canopy looming overhead. 

Essek, along with ninety percent of the population of Rosohna, was blinded by the iconic tree every time he stepped foot outside. It shined as a beacon of his transgressions, and a constant reminder of the grace by which he continued to live. Before his sins were revealed, every time he was invited to take a closer look he declined. He grew to regret that decision in the weeks following the peace talks, resigning himself to wonder over it in his peripheral vision until the last of the Nein perished, and the queen finally tore the eyesore down. He never imagined he would have another opportunity to see it at such close proximity, nor did he imagine he would find it so breathtaking.

Staring up into its branches through eyes that didn’t burn and water at its glow, something in his chest broke at the beauty he had forfeited. Hundreds of flasks of light swayed in the breeze, allowing a bountiful garden of alien curiosities to flourish in the otherwise lightless city. Delicate green leaves and woody stems weighed down with ripe fruit wound around improvised trellises, craning upward in the hope of embracing the beguiling motes of light overhead.

“Oh,” Essek breathed, unable to tear his gaze away. He suddenly understood the urge the orcs and bugbears of the city had to pause as they passed, standing with their heads inclined and eyes wide as if the Luxon itself were gazing upon them. He would have been perfectly content to stay there, stretching towards that unattainable allure as they did, if not for the sudden pulse of aching pain which shot through his form. It was an echo of the bone-deep misery which so often plagued him, yet he still gasped involuntarily as it struck. Dulled as it may be, Caleb’s body was unaccustomed to such pain and made sure its protests were heard.

“Oh no Essek, did you hit your head? Sorry it was kind of a rough landing, I didn’t think about the fact that you were still lying down,” Jester knelt next to him in a flurry of skirts, dragging him into an upright position and parting his hair to check for any injury. Shifting away from her touch, newly cautious of the phantom pains curling along his limbs, he wished again that he had access to his magic. 

“No, I’m alright. It’s just… I think my mind and body are starting to reconnect,” Essek winced as he spoke, the lights seeming to brighten uncomfortably before dimming down to their original soft glow.

“Caleb’s probably trying to kick you out. Forward march, Hotboi!” Veth prodded him in the leg as he stood, urging him towards the stairs.

“Of course, let’s carry on,” Essek sighed, taking one last look at the tree before following the others into the eternal evening of Rosohna.

As they passed through the firmaments Essek’s body recalibrated until he was uncannily certain it was 5:27am. Early enough that most of the citizenry were still at rest, but not so early that one would be inclined to debate whether or not it should be considered “early” or “late.”  Though there was no sun to wash the city in the cool grays of predawn, a thick autumnal fog weighed heavy in the air.

The fog concealed the frighteningly efficient work of Veth’s lock picks on his estate’s exterior gates. Upon reaching his front door, however, Essek realized there was a far more troublesome roadblock keeping him from finding what was potentially his corpse.

“Ah,” he intoned, curling Caleb’s scarred, pale hand around the doorknob.

“What is it?” Fjord prompted.

“I… The enchantment sealing the exterior was crafted to only respond to my arcane signature.”

“Isn’t that a safety hazard?” Beau said.

“No, when would I ever be in a situation that—“ Essek stopped as Jester spun him around, grasping him by the forearms.

“What if you were stuck in a super powerful magical ball that breaks time made especially to trap wizards and you needed our help to come in and rescue you from a gross dusty robot prison but you didn’t send us a message and we didn’t even know until we randomly showed up to ask you about something else? How would we get in to get you out if we couldn’t even get in to see if you needed us to help you get out?!” she shook him for emphasis as she spoke.

“How about we try sending a message to Caleb? If he’s inside, maybe he could do something,” Caduceus addressed Jester, looking briefly to Essek for any input. 

“That… Might work,” Essek didn’t mention the theory haunting his mind of his body having somehow been destroyed, leaving him and Caleb to share one corporeal form for the rest of their fleeting human existence. Jester needed no further prompting, clutching her holy symbol. Fjord was quick to throw up his hands, preparing to count. 

“Heeyyy Caleb are you in Essek’s body? Like not in the fun way, or are you stuck in your body with him? It would be—“ as Jester spoke her voice suddenly began to echo in Essek’s ears at a slight delay. 

“The message—“ Essek began, stopping when Jester flinched, coming to the same realization. 

“Does that mean that it went to Caleb’s body, or is Caleb in there with you?” Beau asked, her previously impassive face darkening. 

“Oh MOVE IT,” Veth shouted, pushing Essek aside. In an instant, she had her thieve’s tools in hand, and began the meticulous process of picking the lock.

“No, wait!” Essek shouted, pushing the others back as one of the glyphs surrounding the lock activated. Veth’s arms clapped to her sides, her tools clattering to the ground as the faint glow of hold person pulsed around her suddenly rigid form.

“Thks fr th wrning,” she ground out through clenched teeth, struggling against the spell.

“Don’t you have, oh I don’t know, a spare key? A hidden entrance? Secret tunnel?”Fjord asked, stooping slightly to rest his elbow against the top of Veth’s head and ticking off the options with his fingers.
“A spare key to his obsessively fortified wizard tower? Really? I don’t think he would be so—“ 

“Ah, actually… Jester, would you mind sending for someone?” Essek cut Beau off, fighting a smile at her horrified expression.

Nearly an hour of loitering in his own yard later, the whistle of chitinous armor harkened the arrival of a familiar dunce jogging through the fog from the direction of the bastion.

“Good morning!” Verin stopped short, slightly breathless as he took in the group at large, “You are the Mighty Nein, I presume?” 

The Nein stared at him in various states of shock and confusion before Jester pushed to the front of the group.

“Ohmygosh we’re sooo glad you’re here! Essek locked himself in his house and he totally was supposed to hang out with us today, you’re super hot, Essek, he’s definitely your brother, he’s super hot!” Jester spun over her shoulder. Though she shouted it in the direction of the towers, in his panic Essek found himself pushing to the front as well.

“Light sear me, Jester please be quiet,” he hissed. Verin looked oddly between the two before he spoke.

“I— yeah. Sorry it took me so long, I uh, I’ve never met a human with a Theyless dialect before,” Verin said, speaking the latter half in undercommon. 

“Open the door, then I’ll explain,” Essek replied in undercommon. Verin’s posture shifted at that, looking warily between the group before making his way to the door. He fumbled to pull a long leather cord from beneath his shirt, at the end of which a familiar black skeleton key hung. He nearly choked himself in his rush to pull the cord over his head, apparently flustered as he muttered to himself, ignoring the front door entirely to circle around the side of the first of Essek’s towers. 

Essek and the Nein watched as he counted quietly to himself, stopping halfway between the front door and the walkway leading to the second tower before he pressed the key into a tiny imperfection in one of the stones— the only tell in the otherwise flawless illusion disguising his defensive failsafe. One that he would have to move, now that so many potential enemies had seen it. 

The entire group winced in unison as the mass of magic was deactivated with an uncomfortable ‘pop,’ like a sudden change in air pressure. Verin rejoined the group to insert the key into the front door, unlocking the mundane lock as well.

“Here we are,” he said, standing aside and letting the group enter. The room was dimly lit, the arcane sconces along the walls set for drow comfort. His human eyes, however, were practically useless, only able to make out the faintest of shapes as he followed the Nein inside. Hopefully, it was too dark for them to notice his seating area was left exactly as it had been when they came by for breakfast, months ago.

“Now then, would you mind telling me what really happened to my brother?” Verin asked. His broad form filled the doorway, long white hair framing his face and shoulders. His armor was freshly polished, a slight reddish hue barely visible against the black chitin in the low light. To anyone else he may have cut an intimidating figure, but Essek could see the nervous upward tilt of his ears and the telltale tightening of his jaw. He looked half prepared to bolt, apparently making the correct assumption that he wouldn’t stand a chance if the Nein decided to attack. He let one hand settle on the hilt of his sword nonetheless, though he made no move to draw it. 

“He locked himself in his room, I told you!” Jester singsonged, already halfway up the stairs. 

“That’s technically true,” Yasha agreed, adding an unhelpful layer of confusion to Verin’s expression. His grip on his sword tightened.

“This is ridiculous,” Essek groused, “I’m Essek. Get in here, shut the damned door, we don’t need every den in Rosohna hearing about this,” Essek stepped forward, intending to grab Verin by the arm, but his brother took an equal step back, now on the path leading up to the house. His expression was difficult to discern without darkvision, but Essek thought he narrowed his eyes.

“Prove it. What did I call you as a child, how old was I when I stopped, and why did I stop calling you that?” Verin asked, staring Essek down. Essek resisted the urge to sigh, his shoulders drawing together.

“You called me ‘Essie’ until you were sixteen because you couldn’t pronounce my name correctly, then you just thought it was funny to see me angry about it. You stopped calling me that in public before the end of your fourth decade after mother scolded you about it at the den gathering for my consecution, but you still call me that in private,” Essek hissed in undercommon, pointedly ignoring Beau’s snort of laughter a few paces away. Damn that monk’s proclivity for linguistics… 

Jester and Veth immediately began to prod her, though she only managed to squeak out a weak, “Essie,” before she doubled over with laughter again.

“Hmm,” Verin said, trying and failing to give Essek a considering look, one hand resting on his chin to cover his poorly concealed smile, supported by his opposite arm, “I’m not sure. Anyone could have guessed that. What about—” 

“Oh light sear me, Verin,” Essek spat, cutting him off, “give me the key and go home if you’re going to be a nuisance.” He swiped for the key but Verin was faster, holding it over his head. Whereas it would usually take him wasting a spell slot to increase his brother’s gravity, Caleb’s frame sat at least six inches taller than Essek’s own and as such he was able to swing one long human arm over his head to snatch it from his brother’s grasp.

“Damn it,” Verin groused, though he made no attempt to take the key back.

“Thank you for coming all this way, brother,” Essek bent forward in as sarcastic of a bow as he could manage before making his way to the stairs.

Essek had enchanted the key to not only disrupt his defensive wards but to serve as a master key for most of the locks in his home. There were a number of illusory stones, table legs, and tomes in each room that had to be interacted with in order to achieve this, however. Simply placing the key in the door would activate one of any number of traps still left armed, even with his outer wall of defenses removed.

“Paranoid much?” Veth jabbed. Essek paid her no mind, shoving aside a half-dozen empty bottles to reach another lock hidden at the back of his components case. 

“Oh, he certainly is,” Verin agreed, apparently intent on making the entire ordeal as miserable as possible. Even facing away Essek could hear the smile in his brother’s voice as he leaned into the halfling’s space, all pretense of hostility vanishing. 

“It’s kind of like how Caleb was when we first met,” Jester tilted her head to one side, pressing her palms to her cheeks, “when he would spend an hour putting up his thread and checking the room in every inn we stayed at.” 

There was something almost mournful in her tone. Essek didn’t have time to dwell on it. With every lock and ward he deactivated, his dread only increased. If his body was destroyed, what then? Would they find some way to remove him? Would they cut their losses and kill one of their own in the process? What about Verin? He would be a witness. Had he doomed him in bringing him here?

The key turned in the final lock. As he turned the handle, Essek wondered if the Luxon would humor him in sating his curiosity before he passed beyond the divine gate. There was still so much he wanted to learn.

He opened the door.

Chapter Text

Caleb awoke with a jerk as something thumped against his chest. He was alert in an instant, the spasming of his muscles sending coils of fire like a shockwave from the point of impact as he jolted upright. His vision whited out at the motion, all the air leaving his lungs in a strangled gasp.

For what felt like hours he sat paralyzed, forcing himself to breathe until he could finally open his eyes once again. He was in a bedroom more lavish than anything he had ever seen. Though he could find no source of light he could make out the colorless space as clear as day, as if he were wearing Beauregard’s goggles. Lifting his arm to explore at his face in search of them elicited another torrent of pain, his entire body protesting even that simple movement.

Wary of so much as twitching incorrectly, Caleb took a moment to ease himself into an upright position, leaning heavily against the plush pillows at his back. Breathing through the pain, he took a moment to assess himself. His hair appeared to have been shorn, brushing against his neck and cheeks as he moved. Had he been captured? Why would they cut his hair, yet leave him unbound? The fortifying weight of chainmail at his chest only served to further confound him as he tossed his legs over the side of the bed, sitting perched on the edge of a criminally comfortable mattress. The pain was focused on his joints, likely some sort of poison meant to immobilize him and discourage further attempts to move. A moment of experimentation showed that if he eased himself into motion, it was more a niggling ache, like cold water over a sensitive tooth, than the hellfire agony of shattered bones grinding against one another.

“Not Ikithon, then. He would have taken my training into account and done something more permanent, like breaking my hands,” his mind unhelpfully provided. Something clattered to the ground as he stood, the object that startled him awake in the first place. Bending gingerly to retrieve it, his blood turned to ice as he realized it was a spellbook, Essek’s spellbook. Whoever took him must have captured Essek, or worse. Was the spellbook a threat? A warning? A trap? Why would they leave it with him? Or was it actually Ikithon, planning to force him to reverse engineer his teacher’s dunamancy?

Caleb’s eyes flitted about the room, the only motion that didn’t leave him reeling. The dark stone of the wall felt familiar. He tried to recall the architecture he’d seen in Rosohnna. He knew Xhorhasian stonecraft was different from that found in the empire. Rather than arranging stones or bricks and binding them with mortar, they would cut the stones to a specific shape, interlocking without a binding agent… Or did they lay the stones then coat them with plaster? Caleb remembered bringing up the topic with a shopkeep in Nicodranas while Jester defaced one of his displays before they left to deal with the kuo-toas. As he tried to replay the conversation, however, his memory was oddly fuzzy. He knew he spoke with someone about the subject, though he didn’t know if he was human or half-elven, nor what his opinion was on the matter. Concerning considering that conversation had been, as far as Caleb could tell, a matter of hours ago. Had they somehow managed to keep him unconscious for an entire month? He had been asleep, though it was oddly dreamless. If a month had passed and no one came for him… He pushed the thought away.

Adding a potent tranquilizer to the list of things he had been dosed with, Caleb scoured the room for something else to focus on. The room was utterly silent, no rattling window or ticking clock to be heard. Time, time…

Focusing on the time, his heart thudded noisily in his ears as he realized he didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know if the nightstand to his right was resting against the North wall or the East wall. Even after weeks underground, he was certain of these things. Every morning, even if he was battered into unconsciousness the night before, he could orient himself as naturally as breathing. Yet he didn’t know. He couldn’t remember anything beyond escaping the cave and asking Veth to check the cart. Was there an ambush? How long ago had that been? Hours, days, weeks? There was no way to know, he couldn’t remember how he knew, he never had to think about it before. Even in the maddening depths of insanity it was never something that could be taken from him.

Shaking his head and immediately regretting it as the motion sent it pounding with a new ferocity, he forced himself to creep across the room. His legs trembled as if he had been running for hours after mere steps. In the end, he was left to clamber about with his hands grasping any surface he could, determined to explore or, if possible, escape before his captors returned.

His prison was a peculiar shape, the bed positioned at the center of what he decided was the ‘North’ wall, bracketed in on one side by a writing desk and a large, well-stocked bookshelf built into the stone. The ‘West’ wall bowed out  hemispherically, occupied by a wardrobe and a floor-length mirror, its glass obscured by an ornately embroidered cloak. A fireplace bracketed by two large upholstered chairs rested in the curve of the ‘East’ wall, with a single door in its leftmost corner. To the ‘South’ two more doors were evenly spaced from one another, the Westernmost of the two sitting partially ajar.

His wandering hands found a sheathed dagger tucked between the mattress and headboard, as well as an unlabeled bottle of dark-colored capsules, a pouch containing a substantial number of platinum pieces, and a sealed letter in undercommon tucked in the bedside drawer.

Clutching the dagger, he made his way to the partially ajar door, pushing it open with the side of the blade. The door yielded to reveal a lavish washroom in dark quartz. There was a crystal glass sitting on the edge of the sink, directly inside the door. It was far too ornate for it to be intentionally kept in a washroom, likely part of a larger set. Someone must have been there recently, then. Staring at the glass, the ache eased for just long enough for him to realize how unquenchably thirsty he was, his parched lips smacking reflexively. Inspecting it, it seemed clean enough, and drinking from a possibly unwashed glass was preferable to fainting from pain stooping to drink directly from the tap. He ignored Astrid’s voice in his head warning him about the dangers of drinking magically conjured water as he drained the glass once, twice, thrice. His thirst finally subsided after the fifth glass, though the water did nothing for the chills, nor the lightning frying his every joint whenever he dared to move at anything faster than a snail’s pace.

“This is quite elaborate for a prison cell,” Caleb muttered, trying to stymie the fear clawing its way up his throat. The instant he spoke, however, his stomach turned.

That wasn’t his voice.

Higher, smoother, familiar. Even if his memory was taken away, he knew whose voice that was.

Whipping his head up to peer into the mirror affixed above the sink, he watched Essek’s face wince as he dropped the cup, shards of crystal pelting his bare feet.

“Okay, okay, I look like Essek, but that doesn’t mean I am Essek. Maybe some sort of illusion?” Caleb rambled, experimentally pinching his cheeks and combing his hands through his hair. As he did, his silken shirtsleeves shifted down his arms, a spot of discoloration catching his eye. Instead of an expanse of vicious yet precise surgical scars, a single starburst, centered and shaped with intention on the inside of his left wrist.

A brand? While he had never seen it before, he didn’t know if he ever knew if Essek had it. It seemed to hold some significance, though if he had displayed it prominently in the past, Caleb would have remembered seeing it.

Right?

Clenching his hands into tight fists, he used the pain to distract himself as he hobbled to the next door. It yielded to him as easily as the first, revealing an extensive closet filled with court finery and long, trailing robes. None of it seemed particularly useful nor malicious.

Returning to the central chamber, he tried the final door, adjacent to the closet. The handle refused to so much as turn beneath his grasp, a jolt of white-hot pain arcing up his wrist to his shoulder as he tried to force it open. No dice. Whatever they were using to keep him weak, he would have to bide his time and find a way to get rid of it before he could escape.

With a whine of frustration and pain, Caleb leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, kitten-weak and miserable. Surveying the room, his eyes landed on the hearth. Several logs and a nest of kindling were stacked neatly, if somewhat ineffectively, on the rack at its center. Though the fireplace was swept clean of ashes, a layer of dust clung to the wood. A perfunctory glance up into the chimney revealed a cobweb-filled shaft that narrowed down to scarcely more than a hand’s width after the first few feet.

A perfunctory sweep of the shelf above the hearth produced a pristine box of matches. Clutching a match between his fingers, Caleb crouched slowly, painfully in front of the hearth. A pop of pressure, like the sensation of suddenly gaining altitude, crackled uncomfortably in his ears as he collapsed to the floor.

Wincing as his knees and tailbone fiercely protested the change in position, Caleb swiped the match along the side of the fireplace, a strip of sulfurous residue marring the otherwise spotless stone. As the logs began to burn so too did his eyes, the ember light blinding him as if he were looking directly at the sun.

Turning away from the fire, he watched his shadow dance across the room, his eyes catching on something sitting on one of the armchairs near the fire. A book, and a familiar one at that.

“Scheiße,” he groaned, the word foreign on Essek’s tongue as he picked up the familiar copy of Treatises on Arcane Geometry in the Dwendalian Empire he had loaned to the other months ago. It was as dog-eared and worn as he remembered, down to the smear of molasses holding the spine and inlay together. A piece of spell paper was hastily affixed to the inner cover in order to obscure the notes he’d scrawled there, his own penmanship bringing him a modicum of comfort.

“I hope to continue our discussion at a later date. In the meantime, perhaps this can illustrate the difference between the Empire and Dynasty styles better than I. Elric’s piece about the soul as a non-renewable energy source may be of particular interest to you.”

The book was a collection of studies by empire mages; a lucky ‘find’ on Nott’s part. Flipping through the book, a folded slip of parchment fell out of one of the inner pages, scribbled notes and questions and clarifications penned in Essek’s hand covering every inch of available space.  He hoped to discuss it further. He wanted to talk to Caleb, to teach, and learn in turn.

If that is the case, Caleb’s traitorous mind demanded, then where is he? What game is he playing, or is there something else afoot?

Staring at Essek’s notes, Caleb froze as something clicked in his mind.

Essek. Notes. A seemingly perfect polymorph.

One might even call it a transmogrification.

Caleb looked to the bed. To Essek’s spellbook.

He couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have…

His heart slammed deafeningly in his ears as he tried to recollect that frenzied morning in Essek’s laboratory. He remembered Halas’ notes and his mad scrawl spread across every surface. Essek scribbling equations on scraps of parchment when they ran out of room. Abandoning him as soon as it failed, only to catch him in a lie and offer him redemption, then vanish without a word…

Essek had been practicing the arcane longer than Caleb had been alive. Extrapolating the spell from his notes would have been child’s play. The Nein painted him into a corner; it would only be logical for him to lash out.

Caleb was weakened in the fight. Essek admitted to scrying on them in the past. Kidnapping him was simple, leaving the rest of the Nein stranded halfway across Wildemount with no way to reach him. Maybe Essek was coerced. Coached. Perhaps the Bright Queen discovered him and offered a trade. Caleb’s life for his. He did have connections to the Cerberus Assembly, after all. An empire human, an empire wizard, appearing out of the blue to retrieve an alchemist known to have researched the beacons, only to offer up a beacon when captured, as if it were nothing but a pawn. Nosing around, asking too many questions, seducing the Shadowhand into teaching him dunamancy, speaking with a scourger as if he was familiar… If the queen played up Essek’s naiveté as a prodigy, an inexperienced new soul bewitched by a wicked empire spy, it was possible he would go along with the narrative to save his own skin. Maybe they thought the Nein were part of it. Maybe Caleb was bait. Maybe he disguised himself and abducted Caleb. If the Nein called on him for aid as they had often had, they would go with him without a fight. There was no way the rest of the Nein would believe him if he tried to masquerade as Caleb, but if they thought the dynasty abducted him… None of it explained the transmogrification, nor the spellbook.

Unless…

Caleb’s vision swam, narrowing to a pinprick.

He wasn’t being framed as a spy, Essek was turning himself in. Stealing the spell, scrying on the Nein to hit them at their weakest, kidnapping Caleb, all actions of a spymaster. Had he ever even cared about them? Was his every move a game of chess, a way to get closer so he could enact his plan to lead the Bright Queen to the traitorous Shadowhand, helpless and injured, trapped in his own home? Caleb would die a scapegoat, and Essek would live on. After Caleb had offered him a second chance, after…

After the Nein abandoned him. Called him their friend, spilled pointless platitudes to ease his fears, then disappeared without a word, knowing the danger he was in. Of course he was afraid. Caleb knew all too well what fear could drive a man to do.

Really, it was what Caleb deserved.

His ear twitched at the sound of multiple footsteps clattering against stone nearby. Someone was coming. Shaking with effort and pain, he forced himself to prepare for his final stand. He grasped his pilfered dagger in a white-knuckle grip, creeping closer to the door. Essek’s slight frame and Caleb’s inexperience in hand-to-hand combat meant it would be nothing more than a token effort, but it was better than dying curled on the floor like a dog. At least he was able to give Veth her body back. It wasn’t atonement, but it was one less weight on his shoulders.

With a “click,” the door swung open.

Chapter Text

As Essek finally reached his bedchamber door, the Nein crowding behind him on the narrow walkway between his towers, he paused and drew in one final breath. Whatever lay beyond would seal his fate. With a final click, the lock disengaged and the door swung open. The room was pitch dark, his human eyes straining to make out any shape or movement. There was a shuffle behind him before the faint pink light of Caduceus’ staff cast his shadow into the recesses of the chamber, illuminating what lie within.

There, standing in the middle of the room with a dagger held low at his side, his face pinched and his long ears pressed flat against his head in a telltale show of distress, was Essek…’s body. A rush of giddy relief washed over him despite himself.

“Caleb?” Essek called, letting his accent flow heavily over his human tongue. His body stared back at him for a heartbeat before his eyes flitted over Essek’s shoulder. He didn’t relax even as Veth pushed her way into the room, followed closely by the rest of the Nein.

Veth stepped forward, her hands outstretched, only to freeze as Essek’s body shambled back, pointing the dagger at her. Locked in a stalemate, Essek’s eyes darted between the Nein and… Himself. Caleb. He was trembling. If his body were in any state similar to what he left it in, it was taking everything Caleb had to remain standing.

“Ach so, it appears I’ve gone mad again,” Caleb hummed, his voice wobbling.

“Caleb!” Veth took an unconscious step closer, jumping back as he swiped the dagger in her direction.

“Caleb, it’s us! Essek accidentally did some weird magicky stuff and switched you guys around!” Jester called, resting her hand on Veth’s shoulder but keeping her posture open otherwise.

“Prove it,” Caleb spat.

“Oh! Your favorite chapter of Tusk Love is the one where Oskar has to fight the pirate king to rescue Genevieve because you said it is the only one with ‘any literary merit at all,’ which is totally not true, because—“

“The second time I ever ate Frumpkin, afterward you wouldn’t talk to me for a week until I traded my favorite bloodstone pendant for enough incense to bring him back. That was the first time you brought him back as a monkey, so he could punch me if I tried to eat him again.”

As Jester and Veth talked over each other, Caleb’s posture relaxed in increments, his entire body breaking out in wracking tremors. Seeing pain and hope flitting so openly across his own face was disquieting, but Essek managed to snap out of it just in time to rush forward, catching himself—catching Caleb—around the waist as his legs gave out.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Essek huffed, gathering himself up in arms that barely trembled at the weight. If the rest of the Nein weren’t buzzing around him like particularly irritated bees, he would have marveled at the novel feeling of holding someone with his own strength.

“No, you’re just lighter than you should be,” Caleb winced as Essek sat him on the edge of the bed. His foot brushed against something, which he kicked under the bed in his haste. Caleb was still wearing the soft silk garments Essek had left his body in, his chain shirt shifting between the layers as Essek settled him on his back. Running a thumb over the hem of his shirt, he plucked the nightshade tablet from its secret pocket, dropping it into the nightstand drawer. Next, he unhooked the bead of force from his ear and dug the second bead out of his pillowcase, slipping them into one of the many pockets lining Caleb’s coat.

“I thought at first that perhaps I had been abducted and dosed with some sort of pain poison, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Is this backlash from an experiment?” Caleb gasped, his hand clasping and unclasping futilely at his sides. The rest of the Nein and Verin filed into the room after them, Caduceus’ staff shedding the same pinkish light throughout the chamber. Caleb hissed and covered his eyes with his arm as the light swept over him, startling the Nein. Essek waved a hand over his shoulder and the light dimmed, though he made no move to acknowledge it, focusing on Caleb.

“What are you feeling?”

“Stabbing pain when I move and a dull roar when I don’t.”

“Just your legs, or your arms as well?”

“Both. Legs are worse, though. Spine. Neck. Hips. Head. Light hurts.”

“Okay, what about your skin? Any sensitivity, pins and needles? Are you nauseous?” Essek continued, running a mental inventory of the medicine cabinet in his en suite.

“Nngh, no, nothing else,” Caleb swallowed down a keening whine. It had to have taken everything he had to stand, facing down his friends.

Unwilling to move from Caleb’s side just yet, Essek made a snap decision, speaking without turning away.

“Ah, Beauregard? In the bathroom there’s a cabinet over the sink. Can you bring me one of the glass vials with a green stopper?” As the only party member who could read undercommon, perhaps allowing her to snoop through his medicine cabinet would bring a modicum of trust, given her ‘exploration’ during the Nein’s previous visit. A moment later, she returned with the vial in question, muttering something about broken glass, before handing it over with a look of apprehension.

“Here, drink this,” after confirming it was the correct vial, Essek tore the seal and passed it to Caleb. Caleb took it without question, downing its contents like a shot before immediately pulling a face.

“I know it’s terrible, but it will start to help in a few minutes. I assume you haven’t been laying still this whole time?”

“I was sitting by the fire for a while, warm…” Caleb trailed off. Essek turned towards the hearth at the far side of the room, noticing the flickering flames for the first time. He never had reason to light the hearth before. Even a candle’s flame was blinding, once one’s eyes acclimated to the dark. Turning his attention from the fire, he flinched as he noticed the rest of the room staring at him.

“This your doing, Theyless?” Fjord asked, gesturing to Caleb, whose breathing had begun to even out. If he thought the group was on edge before, they were ten times warier now. Even Jester was quiet. Essek turned back and pulled Caleb’s arm down to his side. He was all too aware of the ache he would have in his shoulder when he was returned to his body if he slept with it over his head.

“Oh, no. From what he described, this is fairly normal,” Essek tucked the covers around his shoulders. Returning the nightshade to the bottle in his nightstand drawer and the dagger to its place beneath the mattress only served as a moment’s distraction. When he raised his eyes to address the Nein, however, most of them seemed sheepish. Veth continued to glare daggers at him. Verin simply looked resigned.

“What?” he snapped, returning his attention to Caleb and ignoring how unnerving it was to see his own body so pliant, let alone seeing his body at all.

“Hurting like that is normal for you?” Jester warbled.

“…It is none of your concern,” He avoided her gaze, busying himself with activating the heating enchantment in the headboard.

“How long..?” She pushed

“Seventy-five years, give or take.”

“And there’s nothing to be done about it?” Fjord continued.

“Not unless I want to become addicted to morphine, or worse yet, immune to it.”

“What’d you give him just now?” Beau cut in.

“Something to let him rest. If I recall correctly, I was rather exhausted when I attempted the spell, so those together should be enough to keep him comfortable until I’m able to reverse it. You can be on your way as soon as I do.”

“And if you can’t fix it?” Caduceus pried.

“If I need a little more time to work through the spell,” Essek stressed, “then he can take one of the stronger potions, though he’ll need to eat first. That is, unless you want him to deal with stomach ulcers as well.”

Making a snap decision, Essek handed the skeleton key to Caduceus.

“I don’t know how long it has been since my pantry was restocked, but you could take a look if you feel so inclined.”

“We’ll come with,” Beau cut in, curling her hand around Yasha’s bicep.

“Oh oh me too!” Jester bounced on the balls of her feet, looking pointedly at Fjord.

“Why don’t we all give Caleb a minute of quiet, and let Essek see if he can make heads or tails of his research in peace,” Fjord said, stooping to make direct eye contact with Veth.

“I’ll keep an eye on Caleb,” Veth stayed rooted in place as he herded the rest of the Nein back through the door. Once the rest were gone, she settled in one of the armchairs, staring into the fire.

Essek opened his mouth to speak but found he had no platitude to offer her. Instead, he turned to Verin, still standing awkwardly in the threshold. The look of pity on his brother’s face stirred up the irritation simmering in his gut. Essek stormed back into his laboratory, ignoring him. Without his spellbook he would have to work from the mad scrawl of his diagrams still left scattered about the room. His lab was in complete disarray, jars of components and lengths of thread strewn across the floor, dirtied phials and beakers lining the desk, and a veritable menagerie of diagrams in various stages of completion sprawled across every remaining space. Some of them had been tread upon in their collective haste to reach Caleb, smearing the charcoal beyond recognition.

“It’s really you, Essie,” Verin said in undercommon, standing as an interceding wall between Essek and the stairs leading to the rest of the Nein.

“Yes,” Essek choked.

Verin crossed his arms, watching Essek work for a moment before shutting both doors.

“How did this happen?” he began lowly.

“I made a selfish choice, which led to a careless miscalculation, which then led to a series of increasingly humiliating mistakes,” Essek bit out, sorting his notes in what he hoped was chronological order.

“Does this have to do with the wizard you’re inhabiting?” Verin said with a hint of a smirk.

“Verin—“

“Because you seemed very fond of him when last we spoke. I wouldn’t judge you if you said you were trying to inhabit him in a different way—“

“Verin! I may have permanently trapped him in a form that will cause him nothing but agony for hundreds of years beyond the lifespan he expected to live,” not to mention the form of a war criminal whose head the dynasty would be happy to lob off should they discover his crimes, “now is not the time for this!”

“And what of that?”

“What?”

“You said that was ‘normal,’ but I know you. You have good days and bad days, but that seemed on par with some of the worst you had when you were still recovering.”

“As much as one can—”

“Yes, and he could not have gotten himself to that point without a great amount of strain. Not to mention that you seemed to expect it, as if you were already at that point before whatever this is happened,” Verin gestured vaguely to the room at large.

“I don’t need you to lecture me—“

“Obviously you do,” Verin sniped back. “You don’t look that gaunt from a few days of working late and skipping dinner.”

“It is none of your concern.”

“It is my concern, light sear it, look at yourself! Not the body you inhabit, but the one which rightfully belongs to you! Whatever is eating at you, even if you refuse to tell me, you must tell someone. I can’t stand to see you destroy yourself like this again!” Verin was shouting, his armor clattering with how heavily he was breathing. All the fight left Essek as he took in the unguarded fear filling his brother’s eyes.

“I — Verin, there are things I have not told you, things you cannot know. The Nein—“

“—Seem like good people, who would listen to what you have to say. Up until recently, all you ever wanted to talk about was your prodigious little turncoat student and his band of misfits. What changed?” Verin interrupted.

Essek sighed heavily.

“I made a mistake like I always do. I underestimated them, and I paid for it.”

“Are you in danger..?” Verin’s hand rested on his sword, “we could leave, figure this out without them. Even if you can’t fight, three echoes and I should be enough to take care of the halfling. You could sneak out while I cause a distraction.”

“Now who’s being self-sacrificing?” Essek groused, piling the last of his research atop his desk. “Really, brother, I’m okay. I promise.” As he spoke, he let a calloused hand rest on Verin’s shoulder. Verin stared at him, his tense expression relaxing into a faint smile.

“You know, this is probably one of the weirdest arguments we’ve ever had. You’re a big handsome human right now. Your ears haven’t moved at all.”

“Verin…”

“It’s creepy! How do you know if a human is lying if their little seashell ears are just—“ Verin tweaked Essek’s ear, earning himself a yank on the braid resting over his shoulder. Verin squished Essek’s cheeks between his palms, a sibling-fight nearly breaking out before raised voices from the lower level caught their attention.

“It’s only soup!”

“What do you mean it’s only soup?”

“I mean it’s just soup!”

“Go to the next shelf!”

“It’s just more soup!”

“I said to look at the next shelf!”

“I told you, it’s just more soup!”

“Fuck you!’

“What did I do?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Why are we yelling?!”

Feeling his face grow hot, Essek pulled away to open the door leading downstairs, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“Would you mind seeing what they’re up to while I… Try to get started on this?” he peered helplessly at the collection of notes in his arms. Verin nodded with a grimace.

“You owe me dinner at Pletanki’s.” A crash rang out, followed by several shouted expletives. “Pletanki’s, and four jars of tempest plum preserves from Rosenmoor to buy my lieutenant’s silence as to why I disappeared in the middle of morning drills and spent one of her spell slots to get here.”

“Fine, just please don’t let them destroy my kitchen, no matter,” another crash rang out, “how infrequently I use it.”

“Will do, Master Shadowhand,” Verin saluted with one hand, ruffling Essek’s hair with the other before he disappeared down the stairs.

Staring at the disaster that was his laboratory, Essek sighed. His strange new internal clock informed him it was only 7:36 am. It was shaping up to be a long day.

Chapter Text

Moments earlier…

“Hey Caddy, give me the key,” Beau held her hand out over her shoulder, not looking up from where she was crouched with her ear pressed to one of the doors on the lower level of Essek’s main tower.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Fjord commented, pretending to skim the books on a nearby shelf as he watched her exploits out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, come on! He gave it to us, he knew we were going to snoop.”

“Actually, he gave it to me—“

“—And he knows you snooped around last time we were here,” Beau countered.

“Only to try and find the kitchen,” Caduceus sniffed.

“And we don’t know which door leads to the kitchen,” Beau continued.

“It’s this one right here,” he gestured to the open door at his back.

“Yeah, I know, but we didn’t know that when we started, so we could open up the other ones and say we were just looking.”

“How about this: I keep the key, we open the other door in the kitchen that I’m hoping leads to a well-stocked pantry, and we don’t make this any more stressful for Essek than it already has been.”

“It’s going to stress me out if we don’t look around while we have the chance,” Beau grumbled, sidling begrudgingly up alongside Caduceus. Essek’s kitchen was, rather predictably, obscenely lavish. Pristine pots and pans hung from a decorative rack over the central island, not a single scuff or burn to be seen. A massive glass-doored china cabinet was pressed into one corner displaying a crystalline tea set and enough tableware to furnish a banquet. A small kettle resting atop the spotless arcane stove and a tower of teacups in the sink were the only signs that anyone had ever even been in the room in the first place.

Jester was busy opening the cabinets, most of which were as barren as expected. She stopped when she found what she was looking for: a single cabinet to the left of the stove filled with neat rows of pots of spices and dried herbs. The rest of the room watched in familiar resignation as Jester began to rearrange the contents of the cabinet, standing on the tips of her toes to reach the highest shelf. As if they were communicating telepathically, Yasha stooped down at Jester’s side, the trickster climbing up and onto her shoulders without looking away from her work. Now several feet taller, Jester began the painstaking process of removing and rearranging the paper labels affixed to the pots of spices. Meanwhile, Yasha began to open and smell each pot, sliding a select few to the far side of the highest shelf.

As Caduceus had indicated, there was another door in the corner of the room, though by Beau’s calculations, there wasn’t space for anything beyond it, unless the circular shape of the tower itself was some sort of illusion. With a resounding click, the door swung open, revealing a lightless spiral staircase. Caduceus knocked the amethyst atop his staff against the doorframe, the faint pink glow illuminating the sharp turn of the steps, descending down and out of sight.

“Ladies first,” he rumbled, pivoting to let Beau pass.

“I bet there’s a torture chamber down here,” she scoffed.

“Please no,” Fjord craned his neck to peer down the stairs but followed her nonetheless. Caduceus took up the rear, holding his staff over his head to illuminate the stairs as he went.

“What is that?”

Now…

Verin considered himself to be an adaptable man. Growing up surrounded by politicians and arcanists when you yourself have little knowledge of either field often leads to one finding themselves in any number of bizarre situations. That being as it was, as he descended from Essek’s laboratory and entered the kitchen he immediately understood his brother’s willingness to acquiesce to his demands, and his reluctance to handle the matter himself.

Screaming and the crash of metal on stone rang out as the tiefling girl, Jester, astride the shoulders of the intimidatingly tall moon-pale woman, struggled to untangle a piece of her horn jewelry from one of the hooks of the pot rack. Several pans rained down as she flinched, some sort of blood-red rodent clamping down on her ear and shaking its tiny body like a rabid dog. The pale woman did her best to hold still as her passenger worked to free herself, clutching a cast iron dutch oven to her chest with one hand, and supporting the cleric’s leg with the other.

The half-orc and the… What did he call them… Firbolg? stood in the doorway of the cellar, the former pressing back against the latter nervously, while the latter seemed to be more interested inspecting a bit of fungus growing near the threshold.

“Did you kill it?!” a shrill voice called from the ceiling. In an impressive display of strength, the monk woman braced herself against the wall, her arms and legs akimbo to support her weight.

“Kill what?” the firbolg asked, locking his gaze with Verin as he spoke.

“The giant spider!” the monk shouted back.

“Oh no, not yet,” the pale woman patted the dutch oven, the tiefling finally freeing herself from the pot rack and dropping to the floor, “they don’t stay fresh very long, and they taste best boiled.”

“Excuse me?” Verin called to the room at large, holding up his hands in a placating manner as several members of the group startled at his entrance. Were these really the famous heroes of the dynasty?

“Oh, Verin, right? Something wrong?” the monk asked, dropping to the ground like she hadn’t just been screaming like a balgura was after her.

“I was hoping to ask you that, uh..?”

“Beau,” she held out her hand for him to shake. The others joined in thereafter, Jester introducing herself for the second time that morning.

“We found a very big spider in here. It’s too small for everyone to have some, but it would make a nice snack,” the tall one, Yasha, extended the dutch oven out towards Verin.

“Ah, well actually she’s not food,” Verin opened the lid and reached inside before anyone could get a word in edgewise. “This is Minerva. She’s the resident rat catcher,” he cradled the spider in both of his hands, only for her to immediately spin and crawl up his arm in an attempt to distance herself from the group. The Nein collectively shuddered as she burrowed under the hooked edge of his pauldron, her forelegs shifting uneasily.

“Are there not any cats in the dynasty?”

“A few noble houses keep the hairless variety as pets, but they’re no match for most of the pests here.”

“What kind of pests?”

“Oh, poisonous frogs, brainworms, cranium rats, myconoid spores… The usual,” Verin shrugged. 

“They’re all very tasty,” Yasha hummed, ignoring the looks of horror on her companions’ faces.

“Uh, anyways, all Essek has is soup. Like, the entire cellar is just preserved soups and weird fungus—” Beau began.

“I really do think I could make something interesting with those,” Caduceus interrupted.

“As to be expected. For all his charms my dear brother has… Shall we say… Simple tastes. Why don’t we get some breakfast and reconvene at your abode?” Verin cut in.

“Oh, oh! Are there any bakeries nearby? The last time Essek got us pastries, they weren’t sweet at all, and if there isn’t anything sweet in Xhorhas, we ma~ay just have to open one,” Jester tugged on Verin’s sleeve as she spoke, bouncing on her heels. Her level of enthusiasm was infectious, Fjord muttering “slayers cake” under his breath as if possessed.

“I know just the place. Have you ever had zapekanka?”

Leaning away from the doorframe, Essek felt himself relax. His brother made socializing look so easy. Turning back towards his desk where the pile of notes remained, he jumped at the sight of Veth standing on his chair, one hand resting on the dagger at her hip, the other pawing through the contents of the desk. She looked up as he turned, her eyes practically glowing even without catlike goblin eyes. The shimmering tattoo painted over her cheeks somehow made her look even more menacing in the candlelight.

“I believe the others are going to go with my brother to collect a few things before we meet back up at your home,” Essek tried, indicating with one arm towards the stairs. Her knifelike gaze only sharpened as he spoke.

“Don’t think for a minute I’m going to leave you alone with him, Hot Boi.”

Essek swallowed thickly. It was shaping up to be a very, very long day.

Chapter Text

“Humans must spend a small fortune on wax,” Essek thought as he lit yet another candle, three more burning to stumps in their holders. Less than an hour of reviewing his notes was enough to spark a migraine behind his eyes from straining against the ever-present darkness of his chambers.

Without looking up, he could sense Veth sitting in one of the armchairs near the fire, Frumpkin resting in her lap. There was a slight clattering noise from her direction, though he dared not turn to see what she was doing.

“Xali iilsen,” Essek cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his chair away from his desk as the darkness continued to strain his human eyes.

“What’s the matter?” Veth piped up, her hands stilling in their endeavor to spread her button collection across Frumpkin’s back as he slept unperturbed in her lap.

“Nothing,” he snapped, regretting it immediately as her hand darted towards the dagger resting at her hip. “The darkness is harder on my eyes than I am accustomed to,” he amended. 

As he dropped into the armchair opposite, Essek took a moment to marvel at the ease with which his body moved. There was no warning stiffness in his fingers as he wrapped a hand around the arm of the chair, no stabbing pain in his knees as he crossed his ankles, tucking them beneath his seat. The headache faded as he turned his gaze to the fire, the bright light and warmth bringing comfort instead of pain.

“Oh,” Veth replied. “I get that.”

Essek turned his head to look at her. “How do you mean?” 

“Goblins can see in the dark far better than halflings. It took me a while to re-acclimate after Caleb… Fixed me,” she trailed off, staring intently at a small golden button pinched between her fingers.  

“Right…” 

“That, and he always makes himself sick when he tries to read by candlelight.” 

Essek didn’t respond, hoping Veth would elaborate. Her eyes roamed over him for a moment before she turned away, digging through the pouches at her sides. 

“How much longer until we can try and get him out of here?” she finally said.

“He should wake up soon. Once he does we can make our way to your abode.” Essek watched her for another moment before turning his gaze back to the hearth. Watching the flickering dance of the fire, he felt as if he were falling into a trance. Without intending to, he relaxed against the plush cushion at his back, his eyes slipping shut. The scent of smoke and the quiet clinking of Veth’s movements held an odd nostalgia for a life he hadn’t lived.

A memory itched at the corner of his mind, of curling over himself, his hands clawing at his burning arms before being forced apart. Of crushing a far smaller body to his chest. Of waking up screaming without knowing what demon shook him from his sleep in the first place. He stared into the fire then, too. He itched to plunge his arms into the flames, only to still at the pinprick of tiny claws clutching the front of his tunic, bringing him back to a reality where every waking moment didn’t ache like an open wound.

Essek jolted back to awareness as something slapped against his chest, the flash of fear dissipating when his eyes met Veth’s. He didn’t have time to process the barest tinge of worry in her gaze before it was wiped away, replaced with snide amusement.

“Try those on. I stole them from Beau earlier.” Essek picked up the scuffed pair of goggles she had thrown at him. They lacked the glimmering aura of enchantment, but he could feel the faintest hum of energy in his fingertips as he turned them over in his hands. 

Resisting the urge to identify them, he rubbed the circular lenses clean with the corner of his shirt before sliding them over his head. As he opened his eyes something swelled in his chest, not quite longing but not quite nostalgia either. The room was as he always saw it, painted in familiar greyscale save for the desk. The veritable summoning circle of candles covering its surface seared him like the sun. Wincing, he pulled the goggles up and scrubbed at his watering eyes.

“Thank you, Veth.” 

Her expression softened, a glimpse of the maternal persona she so often pointed towards Caleb passing over her features before she shook herself, turning pointedly away.

“Yeah, whatever. You couldn’t be more helpless if you tried,” she sniped, though it lacked bite. 

~~~~

Essek returned to his place at his desk, extinguishing the candles and focusing on organizing his research. With the goggles, it was far easier to read, and he made a fair amount of progress before a stifled groan and the shifting of fabric drew his attention. With the novel agility Caleb’s body allowed him, Essek hurried to his bedside, helping the other to sit up, Veth close behind.

“How are you feeling?” Essek asked. The pained press of his long ears against his head told him everything he needed to know, but it still felt courteous to inquire.

“Wie scheiße… Terrible, but not as bad as before, I think,” Caleb flinched as he opened his eyes, his gaze flicking between Essek and Veth’s faces. 

“What’s wrong?” Veth asked, gingerly cradling one of his hands in her own.

“Ah, no, nothing. I had forgotten about our predicament for a moment, is all.”

“The rest of the Nein went back to your home. If you are feeling well enough, it would be wise to join them before they get too restless.”

“A reasonable conclusion,” Caleb sighed. 

“Veth, would you mind locking up, starting from the front door? I highly doubt anyone would go to the trouble of making a house call, but better safe than sorry,” Essek handed her Verin’s key. She peered warily between them for a moment before relenting. He waited until he heard the laboratory door open and shut before turning to face his borrowed body. Dressing himself was an awkward but necessary step, though one which they made it through without much trouble. He tried not to find the way Caleb kept his eyes turned towards the ceiling as Essek manhandled him endearing. His hands stilled as he finished fastening Caleb’s shirt, worrying his thumbs over the gleaming silver buttons. 

“What is the matter, mein freund?” Caleb asked, apparently equally adept at reading his body’s expressions as Essek was. His heart squirmed painfully at the familiar moniker.

“Nothing. I am simply trying to determine the best course of action,” Essek fumbled through the dark to find a comb. As he worked it carefully through his sleep-mussed hair, Caleb’s eyes fell shut, arching his head towards him like a cat.

“What are our options?” Caleb asked, his voice oddly airy.

“Ideally, you float using the gravitational spell I typically utilize and we teleport to your home.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Let’s exhaust this option first.”

~~~~

“It is odd. I feel as if I know the spell, yet when I try to cast it my mind goes blank…” Caleb huffed, shifting his hand through the somatic gesture perfectly, yet not even a spark of magic shifted in the air.

“I wonder if I tried to..?” Struck with a sudden thought, Essek moved his hands through the motions, the slightest hum of energy dancing across his fingertips as the spell took hold. Instead of the expected sensation of weightlessness, Caleb’s body hovered an inch or so above the bed, his expression pinched.

“Ha!”

“Ah, uh,” Caleb strained to speak, “I can’t— hngh—“ his eyes darted about the room, his body remaining otherwise motionless. Essek’s briefly raised spirits plummeted as he lowered him back onto the bed before releasing the spell. 

“Okay, okay…” Essek took a deep breath, straightening his spine and moving to the wardrobe opposite the bed. “I was hoping my hypothesis was incorrect, but it seems the luxon has it out for me…”

“What is your theory?” Caleb asked, wincing as his back twinged in protest of him turning to watch Essek cross the room. 

“Well, firstly, did you consciously summon Frumpkin, or have you been known to do so subconsciously?”

“I don’t remember summoning Frumpkin, but I have been known to do so in my sleep, according to Veth, when I ah… Am seeking comfort,” he said the last part shyly, twisting his hands in the comforter.

“This is certainly a situation which warrants seeking out the familiar,” Essek agreed, returning to the bed and dropping an armful of metal and leather at Caleb’s side. “When I attempted to access my spellbook from my wristpocket upon first waking I couldn’t do so, but I was able to prestidigitate some spilled tea from my clothes. If you were trying to summon him to your side, while I was more focused on my clothes…”

“Oh!” Caleb straightened up, flinching, “Since wristpocket focuses on the self, it manifested with your physical body instead! I woke up because it hit me on the chest,” he cast his eyes about the room, sobering, “I may have brushed it under the bed in my confusion, I apologize.”

“That is a point towards the theory of spells which focus on the ‘self’ relying on the corporeal form,” Essek hummed, stooping painlessly to look under the bed. Just as Caleb had said there it sat perfectly intact, if a little dusty.

  “The question is, do we subconsciously link our spells to our bodies, or have we somehow switched consciousnesses while still remaining in our own bodies? What about our magic thresholds? Could you cast something that requires more energy than what you could attain in your own body in mine? And what of our range? If I was able to cast a cantrip that affected my body hundreds of miles away, imagine what could be done with something more potent! With a little tinkering, could cast spells focused on each other over an even greater distance—?!”

“Perhaps we should save the theorizing for the Xhorhaus,” Caleb interrupted, though his fingers flexed like he was itching to take notes.

“You are right, of course,” Essek agreed with a sigh, kneeling on the floor before Caleb. Relishing in the ease with which he moved, he took Caleb’s ankle in hand, gently straightening his leg.

“Ah, I was distracted by the discussion, but, uh, what might this be—?” 

“This is the option I was hoping to avoid.” 

Without further discussion, Essek went through the motions of strapping a series of braces and supports to Caleb’s legs and waist. He politely ignored the telltale way Caleb’s ears twisted as Essek lifted his shirt to secure a band of leather around his waist, certain the heat flaring across his cheeks meant his face was flushed in the way humans’ often were when they were nervous. With the tightening of the final strap, he smoothed out his clothing and pressed a pair of panels at the inside of Caleb’s knees. The panels clicked open, two metal vials each no larger than a thumbnail dropping into Essek’s waiting hands.

“Are you in any pain? Anything pinching? I don’t believe I have grown much in the past few decades, but you can never be sure.”

“Uh, no, yes I’m well,” Caleb stammered.

“Good. Good, right,” Essek huffed a breath, gathering himself, “hold out your left hand, palm up.” Caleb did so. Essek moved his fingers in a brief somatic motion before flicking his wrist, his posture mirroring Caleb’s. Essek felt the fainted tremor of vibration in the air as a tiny object fell squarely in the center of Caleb’s palm.

“Oh!” Caleb’s eyes widened as he closed his fingers around it. It was a glass jar filled halfway with a fine, glimmering blue powder.

“Material component, I presume?” he offered the jar to Essek.

“Yes, brumstone is obscenely costly to come by. It’s one of the many reasons I abandoned this design years ago.”

He watched with rapt attention as Essek carefully measured out a tiny amount of powder into each vial before capping the jar and placing it back in Caleb’s hand. Another wave of his own sent it back to its pocket dimension.

“If it is costly, I understand why you wanted to avoid this option. I can compensate you, if—“

“No, that won’t be necessary. I am the one who got us into this in the first place, and the cost of components doesn’t mean much in my current position. I simply prefer not to place a tangible price on my mistakes, when I can help it.” After a final check of the entire assembly, Essek inserted the vials, the panels shutting with a pair of soft clicks. 

“There we are,” Essek nodded to himself. “Now, try to channel some energy into the side here,” Essek guided Caleb’s hand to his outer thigh, pressing his fingers to a series of runes carved into the brace’s metal surface, “a second-level should be enough.” 

Caleb did as he was asked, the well of magic within him still brimming as if he had cast a mere cantrip. A series of clicks followed by a soft hum confirmed the assembly was active.

“Try standing?” Essek held out both hands to the other. Caleb accepted them hesitantly, pulling himself to his feet. His face contorted in pain the instant his feet touched the ground. After a few steadying breaths, the arcane exoskeleton began to do its job, lowering the force of gravity to a more bearable level and raising his body a few centimeters off of the ground.

“Ah, that is better,” Caleb sighed, wincing away from the light of the fireplace. Veth re-entered the room as Essek collected the last of his things, forsaking his signature mantle and instead procuring a simpler cloak for Caleb. The cloak’s lining, embroidered with a subtle design of glowing constellations, seemed dimmer than usual. It was the only consecution gift he had kept, and only because Verin would have pouted if he learned Essek discarded it.

“This is so weird,” Veth commented as Essek wrapped the cloak over Caleb’s shoulders.

“It is for the best that we keep up appearances,” Caleb soothed.

“Speaking of which…” Essek hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind terribly not mentioning this to the others? I would prefer to keep the circumstances of how this came about on a need-to-know basis.” 

“Of course. I understand we are not the most subtle group, and there are plenty of eyes on us in the dynasty. We will do our best to keep it quiet.”

“Us, sure, but the rest of those chucklekfucks went to get food on their way home with your hot brother, I’m sure Jester alone has told half of the city about the whole body-switcheroo deal already.”

Essek paled, scrambling to find the page for teleport in his spellbook. 

“Ah— Then, might we be off, please?”

Chapter Text

Traveling the city with the Nein was a… Unique experience. While he was certainly accustomed to a certain level of attention, given his position as a son of one of the most influential umavis in the dynasty, their presentation was… Something else entirely. Usually, the most mind anyone ever paid him was to nod in appreciation or sneer in disapproval at his armor and the position it advertised. It was as if old souls could sense his youth just by looking at him. Perhaps they could, given how his platinum hair, braided in the customary Theyless style, barely brushed his shoulders at its longest. He needn’t worry about that this morning, however. As he led them to their destination, he was pleasantly invisible. Everyone they passed was more focused on openly gawking at the willowy pink firbolg, the mischievous tiefling, and the leery Empire human to pay the perfectly normal drow unfortunate enough to be tailed by them any mind. 

In a way, he felt bad for them. Yasha, at least, seemed to demure as the morning crowds grew denser around them, gravitating to the back of the group and keeping a careful eye over her companions. He slowed his pace, hoping to offer her some reassurance, only to find Nein were no longer behind him.

Turning fully around, he spotted them gathered around a street-side stall, several of them chatting noisily with the goblin salesman like tourists. They made four more such stops over as many blocks, overjoyed at every bauble or trinket. By the time they finally reached their first destination, he understood the begrudgingly fond exhaustion that so often tinted his brother’s words whenever he spoke of them. 

Per Jester’s request, he herded them into a bakery known for its selection of sweets. Though most of what the dragonborn proprietor offered was considered ‘unrefined’ by the upper dens, it was a popular request from his subordinates whenever he made the trip to Rosohnna. Jester gasped as they entered, slapping her hands first against the little half-orc—Fjord’s—shoulder, then against the counter as she took in the selection, practically frothing at the mouth.

“VERIN! Ohmigosh, you are officially my favorite person in Xhorhas. Why didn’t Essek ask you for advice when he got us pastries last time?!” she exclaimed, proceeding to clear out nearly half of the display case in one fell swoop. The shopkeeper gaped as Fjord pressed several gold pieces into her hand.

“I wasn’t aware there was a last time,” Verin replied, keeping his expression carefully neutral as Jester accepted five whole boxed zapekankas, handing one off to Yasha before stuffing the rest into her bag. “Though I’m sure whatever bland, dainty thing he offered you was the result of our den’s meddling. He rarely handles those sorts of things himself.”

“Well, you should meddle instead the next time, because this is pretty great.” Jester replied, stuffing a cream puff into her mouth as the proprietor hastily bagged the rest on display.

“Of course, though maybe we should get an actual meal as well? There is a restaurant nearby that has a variety of fare. Maybe we stop off there, then make our way to your abode?”

“Oh, but pastries can totally be a meal—“

“Great idea,” Beau interrupted her, placing a hand on Verin’s shoulder and guiding him toward the exit. He led them on without further preamble, giving into the chaos. 

It was just his luck that the Guiding Moon was packed, meaning that, Bright Queen’s favored or not, they had to wait for their food to be prepared. Most of the Nein took this as an opportunity to do some shopping. Before he knew it, he and Fjord were the only ones left. Verin listened with idle amusement as he bemoaned how often the group got sidetracked whenever shopping was involved. He, in turn, gave Fjord a summary of the most recent barracks gossip, eventually transitioning into telling stories of the moorbounders the Nein had unwittingly donated to his outpost.

“Keep that information to yourself, unless you want Jester to remember they exist and stage a ‘rescue operation,’” Fjord warned as the others trickled back. At least they seemed to have the sense to travel in pairs, belying their familiarity with the city as they returned weighed down with all manner of bizarre odds and ends. He tried not to think about what use they could possibly have for that much rope, ball bearings and nitre.

By the time they arrived at the infamous ‘Xhorhaus,’ it was nearing midday. Jester gave him a whirlwind tour of the property, foregoing the rooftop garden for the sake of his eyes and ending in the hot tub room. Returning to the dining room, he accepted a cup of tea from Caduceus and settled down between Yasha and Fjord. Though by his family’s standards, the meal that followed was immensely chaotic, the uneasy glances the Nein kept sending towards the laboratory told him they were less at ease than outward appearances might suggest. When his brother and his student failed to return as they cleared the table, Beau pushed her chair back with purpose, rolling her shoulders as she stood.

“Fuck this. Hot Boy Number 2, you up for something a little more interesting?” 

~~~~

The laboratory of the Xhorhaus was just as Essek remembered it. A writing desk sat angled just so to catch the hearth light, a soiled blotting cloth and a small stack of blank spell paper to one side the only sign it had ever been used. The wall of bookshelves opposite was barren save for a single shelf occupied by a handful of travel-worn books, spell components, and random tchotchkes. He absently kicked aside a stub of chalk as he and Veth guided Caleb to the scandalously deep chaise lounge tucked beneath the shelves, settling him on his back. Caleb made no protest beyond wincing at the light of the fire, covering his eyes with his arm. 

“I’ll go see if the rest of the gang is back yet,” Veth dismissed herself, gesturing with two fingers between her eyes and Essek’s in the universal sign for ‘I’m watching you.’ He bit back an annoyed sigh as she propped the door open on her way out, as if they were unruly adolescents in need of supervision. For a moment he stood staring after her, trying and failing to organize his thoughts. Despite having spent more time here than anywhere else in the home, he felt ill at ease, dropping the bag of notes and necessities he thought to grab in the desk chair. 

He turned to the opposite side of the room, what he knew would already be a poor attempt at a joke on his tongue, but his voice died in his throat. Caleb was laying with his familiar draped across his neck, completely obscuring his face. Frumpkin purred in time with the rise and fall of his chest, the picture of feline ease.

Essek watched them for a moment, glad at least that he felt safe enough to rest. He worried his hands against one another, mapping the planes of rough callouses and long-healed scars. A memory came to his mind, unbidden, of Caleb and him crowded around the small desk. The hour was late; a brief stop turned into an impromptu lesson as he explained the machinations of yet another spell. Caleb, ever the perfect student, grasped the theory and put it into practice in one fluid motion. His eyes reflected the amber of his dancing lights, bright and inquisitive. Though he was always quick to experiment when it came to transcribing something shifted in him. He would square his shoulders, his expression stony. The light in his eyes would dim, and he would hardly respond with more than a hum until he finished. Every stroke of his pen was made with absolute precision, not a drop of ink wasted.

Though he was accustomed to prolonged periods of stillness, on that particular day a storm hung in the air that refused to fall, the pressure change wreaking havoc on him, though he hid any outward sign of it. His shaking hands were folded in his cloak, his levitation keeping all but the most necessary of strain at a distance. He was grateful Caleb offered him the seat nearest to the fire, the warmth offering the slightest respite from the needling pain gnawing at him. In spite of his every precaution, if he were to transcribe anything that day, it would surely be a mess of quivering lines and stray drops of ink.

Fidgeting in his seat, Essek was just about to beg off for the night under the pretense of exhaustion when, without faltering in his scribing, Caleb snapped his fingers. Frumpkin’s soft, warm weight appeared in his lap. The lack of cats in the dynasty paired with his general unfamiliarity with animals left him frozen. The fae stared at him for a moment, cocking his ear in Caleb’s direction before tucking his feet beneath his body and ramming his furry head against Essek’s palm. Essek tentatively scratched him behind the ears, earning a soft noise of pleasure before he began to purr. The rolling vibrations resonated through his body, easing a tension he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. Experimentally, he stroked down the familiar’s spine once, twice, three times, only for Frumpkin to turn and nip his hand, soothing the sting with a few passes of his rough tongue. 

The texture was uncannily similar to the deep ridges and whorls of Caleb’s fingers as he worried them against one another. A comfort given, and one taken without Caleb’s consent. Shaking his head, he looked up to find Frumpkin staring at him, his blue eyes glowing in the darkness. 

The tension broke as Frumpkin clambered into Caleb’s lap, the blue glow vanishing from his eyes as his master abruptly sat up. Caleb had a faraway look in his eyes, his ears swiveling as if listening for something. 

“I am well enough, yes,” he said after a moment, doing a rather poor imitation of disguising his accent. “I am afraid an experiment went mildly awry. The Mighty Nein arrived to assist me. There is no call for alarm.”

“Who sent for me?” Essek demanded, one million worst-case scenarios passing through his mind with exceptional clarity. Caleb turned his attention to Essek, gathering himself before pausing once more.

“No, this does not, but please put the request through, regardless. That will be all.” For another moment he sat in silence, waiting for the connection to sever completely, before returning his attention to Essek.

“I believe that was someone under your employ. They heard about Verin utilizing the circle at the Bastion and rendezvousing with our friends outside of your home. Apparently, you were supposed to attend a conference today, but they offered to sit in for you. I apologize if I overstepped by accepting on your behalf.”

“Oh… Well… That is fine, I suppose. It’s not as if I could attend in this form.”

“No, I suppose not…” Caleb trailed off, staring at his hands buried in Frumpkin’s fur. His eyes widened minutely.

“What is it?”

“I wonder, if our minds have switched places, but our bodies are recognized as the target by other casters… Oh dear.” Caleb’s ears pressed flat against his head. He made a motion as if to stand, stopping with a hiss of pain. Essek pushed him back into the settee, failing to banish the thought of how many romance novels employed the same motion to an entirely inappropriate effect.

“What do you need?” He asked. The disquieting experience of looking himself in the eye chased the irrelevant thought away.

“Jester and Fjord, at least, though it would be best to gather everyone.” 

“Alright, stay here,” Essek commanded, giving a pointed look to Frumpkin, who planted himself on Caleb’s lap, purring loudly. He rose from his crouch, prestidigitating chalk dust from his pant legs. 

 Taking full advantage of Caleb’s height, he squared his shoulders, holding his head high in a facsimile of his usual posture, lending a regality that sat at odds with his host’s otherwise bedraggled appearance. 

The dining room was empty, as was the kitchen, save for a mess of crockery and half-eaten pastries. He cursed his weak human hearing, straining to discern any sign of life. Finally, he heard a faint thud and a grunt of exertion coming from the basement stairs.

He pressed his hand to his spellbook, nestled securely in the bizarre yet eminently practical book holsters hidden beneath his coat. His heart leapt in his throat. Did someone become suspicious and attempt to infiltrate the house? Were the Nein torturing them for information? Had Verin done something to provoke them, or them him? He recalled the first time he laid eyes on them, ragged and filthy from travel, daring to bring their moorbounders onto the palace grounds like house pets. How they tried to deceive the Bright Queen in her own chambers before presenting the beacon, almost as an afterthought. Like they thought they could simply collect their halfling and leave the dynasty none the wiser to the fragment of a god they carried in a jewelry box.

The same group who saw through his disguise when so many others were blind. Who poisoned and captured him in plain view of dozens of witnesses. Who discovered his sins and let him live, only for him to hurt one of their own. What better opportunity to enact justice than telling the only person loyal to him?

Verin would never believe them, of course. Sure, they had their bad decades, but they were two new souls, bound by blood as much as the understanding that no one saw things quite as they did. If he lashed out, would they show him mercy, with nothing but a half-day’s rapport?

He suddenly felt very foolish for leaving his brother alone with them.

Chapter Text

Essek stumbled down the steps of the lightless staircase, barrelling into the cellar below. He recalled the Nein mentioning converting it into a training room. There was a motley collection of stained grass mats spread across the floor, the wine stain left exposed for some strange reason. The far wall was decorated with a handful of roughshod wooden targets, each with faces and profane symbols painted onto them in Jester’s hand. The target painted to resemble the jaundiced face of Trent Ikithon was scorched in places, a throwing dart protruding from his forehead. Caduceus, Veth, and Fjord were sitting beneath the targets, the latter looking significantly more battered than when they parted at Essek’s abode. Caduceus held his staff loosely in one hand, casting the room in an eerie pink light. Most concerning was the sight of Yasha, Jester, Beauregard, and Verin squaring off at the center of the room. With his back to the stairs, Verin’s resonant echoes flanked him on either side, one for both Jester and Beau, while he dodged a strike from an advancing Yasha.

“What is going on here?!” Essek exclaimed, louder than intended. Fjord startled at his entry, Verin flinched in his direction only for Yasha’s fist to connect harshly with his nose. He doubled over, cursing a blue streak. Yasha put her hands up, taking a step back.

“Oops,” she intoned, steadying him as he brought his hand away from his face, blood dripping down his palm to further stain the mat below.

“Oh geez, Verin, are you okay? Caduceus, can you—oh hey Cay—uh—Essek!” Jester’s attention bounced between him and his brother, her dunamantic sparring partner dissolving into Verin’s shadow.

“Hello, Jester. Should I assume he did something justifiably annoying enough to deserve this?” Essek tried to joke, though he felt the hair on his neck standing on end; something he thought was reserved for only the most preposterous of human-centric smut.

“Nah, we just thought we would see how good the dynasty’s training is,” Beau replied, smiling with bloodied teeth. “Turns out your little bro isn’t half bad.”

“It is not every day one has a chance to test their mettle against the heroes of the dynasty,” Verin laughed, raising one hand to point his middle finger in Beau’s direction. “Did you know about this one, brother? Very convenient. I’m sure it will catch on at the barracks.”

“And just when will you be returning to educate them?”

“Verin has to stay for dinner. He lost our match, and that was the de~al!” Jester singsonged, dabbing the sweat from her forehead with the corner of her skirt.

“Surely you cannot be away from your post so long—”

“Actually, I took the day off. It is so rarely that my brother needs me, after all,” Verin crooned, any further childish antics cut off by Caduceus herding him upstairs to examine his nose in better light. Essek hesitated in the center of the room as the rest of the Nein filed up after them, Jester bouncing over and pulling him by the coat sleeve when he made no move to follow.

“You really should have asked Verin for help when we came over last time. He took us to this super awesome bakery that sells cakes you can eat as like a whole meal with fruit and nuts and stuff in them, so we got a bunch of those, and we got these fluffy things that are filled with plums and cream, or chocolate and these really weird little mushroom thingies. Caduceus and Yasha thought those were pre~tty great. Oh, and then we got your favorite food for lunch from this restaurant that was all fancy and there were these big purple bats carved into the doors. Caduceus put it on the stove to keep warm. C’mon!”

“Of course,” Essek nodded along, the adrenaline slowly dissipating, “but ah, first, could you come to the laboratory with me for a moment?”

“Oh, okay!” Jester steered away from the dining room, instead towing him back to Caleb’s side. He was in the same position as he was when they left, Frumpkin draped over his chest, purring noisily.

“Hi, Cay-leb!” Jester called as she entered the room, startling him out of his doze.

“Oh, hello Jester,” he replied weakly, hiding his face in Frumpkin’s fur as the light from the hallway spilled into the room.

“I think it would be for the best if he took another potion, but he needs to eat something first. You had a few theories you wanted to test, correct?” Essek addressed Caleb, who only grumbled in response. When he made no further effort to contribute, Essek continued, “that being as it is, it is, ah, a bit difficult for him to walk at the moment.”

“Oooh, and you’re too wimpy, so you need someone big and strong to get him into the dining room,” Jester puffed out her chest, flexing.

“I would rather sleep. I admit I do not have much of an appetite,” Caleb said with the whining undertone of a fussy child, his words muffled by his familiar’s soft body. Essek opened his mouth to counter, but Jester beat him to it.

“How about I carry you to the table and you eat just three bites of food and drink some super yummy tea from Caduceus, then we can talk about your theories or whatever? After that the potion will help you feel much better, and Essek will cuddle you until you fall asleep since he knows how to take care of himself best. Okay?” she cooed, combing Caleb’s hair back from his face with her fingers. Caleb turned his head arduously to face her, laboring to squint his eyes open before giving a nearly imperceptible nod of assent.

“Alright, I’ll be super gentle, I promise.” Jester pulled the quilt from the back of the settee and bundled Caleb in it. She jostled him slightly as she picked him up but otherwise held him with the utmost care. Essek made haste to walk in front of them, unnerved by how small his body looked, wrapped in a knit blanket and cradled in her arms. How had he made it off of that ship alive, when the Nein could have eliminated him so easily? His mind circled the thought as he sat down at the table beside Caleb. He immediately leaned against Essek’s side, practically purring as he soaked up his obscenely radiant human body heat.

Caduceus placed a bowl of rich hionquinpa, his favored black spider stew, in front of him, and a peculiar red soup served inside a small loaf of bread before Caleb. The rest of the Nein settled in with mugs of tea and plates of pastries, Verin settling with them, before turning their attention to the pair.

“I need someone to scry on me,” Caleb asserted, “and Essek, as well. We have reason to believe his people might check in on him, and I want to make sure my people can’t check in on me.”

When the Nein made no move beyond casting puzzled looks at them, Essek elaborated, “As you know, Jester’s sending went to me this morning, and another sending intended for me went to Caleb a few moments ago. We are concerned that the switch may have other unforeseen side effects.” He stared pointedly at Jester, who was preoccupied with feeding bits of pastry to her weasel.

“Jessie?” Beau prompted, following Essek’s gaze.

“Oh, okay, sheesh, I’ll go talk to Artie,” she brushed the crumbs from her skirt before disappearing into the kitchen. Essek had no idea who “Artie” was, or what he had to do with her ability to scry, but the rest of the Nein didn’t question it, so he let it be. Instead, he swirled the spoon around his bowl, the tangy scent oddly pungent. Risking bringing a spoonful to his mouth, it was only a lifetime of courtly manners that kept him from spitting it out immediately, his mouth immediately alight with an overpowering stinging burn. He downed his entire cup of tea, though it did nothing but agitate his rolling stomach. He dared a glance at Caleb, who was masking his distaste far less subtly, his ears flicking in discontent as he drained his own cup.

“Are you alright? You’re looking a little green.” Caduceus asked, the slightest hint of mischief sparkling in his doe eyes. Verin took one look at Caleb’s expression of abject disgust before bursting out laughing, snorting his tea up his nose.

“I phink our food pwefewences remained wiff our bodies,” the stinging was rapidly replaced with numbness, leaving Essek’s tongue clumsy in his mouth.

“I apologize for disregarding your hatred of sauerkraut, Fjord,” Caleb added, pushing his bowl towards Essek, who placed his own in front of him.

“Wait, what does hionquinpa taste like to humans?” Verin asked.

“Poison,” Essek complained, tearing a chunk of bread from the edge of his new meal. It was rich and comforting, like settling into his lab after a long day at the Bastion.

“Well, there is a little bit of venom in there, to give it some zest,” Yasha said, patting her stomach. “It’s really good for when you have a sore throat, very soothing.”

“Okay, yeah, let me just,” Caduceus reached across the table, pressing his fingers to Essek’s arm. The cool, earthy scent of his magic instantly flushed away the numbness and the queasiness in his stomach.

“Woah, this is really weird,” Jester called from the kitchen. “It’s like I can kinda see you, but you’re all smudged and stuff. You just look like a big brown-blue blob.”

“Maybe move away from each other, since Caleb has his, y’know?” Fjord made a vague gesture towards Essek’s chest, his eyes darting to Verin for a moment.

“Of course,” Essek moved to the opposite side of the room, leaning stiffly against the wall.

“Okay now I can see Ess— I can see Caleb fine.”

“Caleb as in Essek or Caleb as in Caleb?” Beau asked.

“Caleb as in Caleb in Essek’s body. Geez, we need to think of a better way to talk about you guys.”

“Who were you focusing on when you cast?” Essek added.

“Caleb, but I was kinda picturing you, so maybe you, Essek?”

“Well, that doesn’t really answer the question then, does it?” Fjord sighed.

“At least we know that if we are near each other, it will be difficult to discern,” Caleb hummed, cradling the bowl of hionquinpa to his chest. His head drooped so near to the table that he was at risk of dyeing his hair in the dark broth.

“So you guys have to cuddle aaaallll the time now!” Jester giggled as she re-entered the room, Sprinkle perched atop her head. The weasel seemed oddly serene for an instant, before blinking to itself and skittering back into the safety of her hood.

“So I guess that means we’re stuck here,” Beau huffed.

“I would love nothing more than to work this out in the safety of my laboratory, but without my magic I cannot maintain or monitor my defenses. I imagine Caleb would not appreciate me returning his body with stab wounds,” Essek snapped back.

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“There is a reason most members of the upper dens choose to live within the confines of the Bastion,” Verin added breezily, his eyes contrastingly sharp. Essek tried to maintain the same distant affectation he had when they were merely his wards. The effect was foiled by the way his face flushed when the Nein gaped at him in various states of shock and concern.

“This has been very enlightening, but I would like to sleep now,” Caleb hummed, his forehead resting on the table in a way that made Essek ache just to look at.

“We can try and figure out more once you’ve rested,” Caduceus placed a hand on Essek’s shoulder, silencing the protest on his lips.

“Good idea, Caduceus. C’mon Caleb, let’s get you comfy.” Jester made quick work of gathering him up like a doll in her arms. Essek pinched the bridge of his nose, his migraine from the morning rearing its head once more at the Nein’s muffled snickers. He forced himself to finish his food as they wandered off to their own evenings. Verin didn’t hesitate to finish the nearly full bowl of stew abandoned in Caleb’s absence. Loudly slurping up the last of the broth, he balanced his chair on its hind legs, rocking back and forth.

“I like them.” He toppled forward until the front legs clattered against the floor, smiling wryly in Essek’s direction.

“Jester informed me I should consult you the next time I give them baked goods.”

“You actually went to a bakery for them? Willingly? Now, that’s more investment than you’ve ever shown anyone. You even sent a servant when we were children for my—”

“I will contact you once this entire ordeal is behind me. Please continue to watch over this.” Essek cut Verin off, shoving the key to his wards into Verin’s hands. He hated how much he sounded like his mother, disguising his gratitude with a veneer of irritation. 

“It’s good to see you, too, brother,” Verin shoved him in the direction of the hallway, his voice tinged with laughter.

~~~~

One had to pass through the laboratory to reach Caleb’s bedroom, a layer of seclusion not unlike the path to Essek’s own chambers. By the time he stepped through the door with a potion in hand, Jester was tucking Caleb into bed, the quilt from the chaise still wrapped around his shoulders. He had the rest of the blankets pulled up to his nose, Frumpkin curled on top of his head like a novel hat.

“Here,” Essek handed the bottle to Jester. She offered him a gentle smile before helping Caleb take it. He spluttered and whined at the taste, accepting the piece of pastry she handed him after, though his expression soured even further at the sweetness.

“Okay, now you lay down over here,” she patted the empty side of the bed beside Caleb.

“You aren’t serious,” Essek hissed. Jester patted the spot again. Reluctantly, he removed his shoes and coat, fumbling for a moment for the buckle of the book harness. She huffed as he laid the covers down, keeping several layers of fabric between Caleb and himself.

“Okay, well, if you need anything else, you can go get Caduceus or something. Goodnight!” Jester brushed Caleb’s hair back once more before pulling the door closed behind her.

A moment passed. Essek lay on his back, staring into the oblivion of the darkened room. Slowly, incrementally, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, until he could just barely make out the outline of the room, the shape of his own body beside him.

“You are troubled,” Caleb broke the silence. Essek glanced down at him, intending to pin him with a look of utter incredulity, but Caleb’s eyes were closed.

“Of course I am,” he injected as much irritation into the phrase as he could. “I haven’t the slightest idea where to even start with untangling the web in which I unwittingly bound you.”

“You sound more and more like me every day.”

“What?”

“True, it was your mistake that brought us here, but it is only that. An accident. A miscalculation, one we will discover together, and one that is hurting you as much as I.”

“An understatement if I ever heard one. You are so crippled by the pain that—”

“A pain which you have endured silently all along,” Caleb spoke softly, yet he stole Essek’s breath all the same.

“It is rarely this bothersome. After a few decades, it is usually nothing but unpleasant background noise.”

“Could I ask what happened?”

Caleb opened his eyes, peering at him like two shining pearls amongst a sea of nightfall. His eyelids drooped and fluttered, fighting a losing battle against the potion’s influence.

“It has been a long day, get some rest. I will explain the theory in more detail tomorrow.”

A long moment of silence lapsed between them again.

“Essek?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think will happen, if we are discovered? Would anyone in the dynasty seek to use that against you?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“We should tread carefully. If the Nein knows, surely they will…” his voice slurred, trailing off as the potion finally overtook him. His head slumped down onto Essek’s shoulder, a solid weight anchoring him to the spot.

Essek lay frozen, scarcely daring to so much as twitch until his maddening sense of time informed him that Caleb had been asleep for one hour and fifty-nine minutes, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine seconds… Two hours. He took another two minutes and thirty-six seconds to extricate himself from the bed as carefully as possible, tucking the covers snugly around Caleb and propping his head in a more comfortable position. Despite his near-blindness, he could recall the exact number of steps between the bed and the door, allowing him to make his exit with relative ease.

Back in the main room, he found himself faced with a repeat of the morning, signs of the Nein’s presence spread across the room in the form of discarded coats and half-empty teacups, but no sign of the Nein themselves. A quick glance at the entryway revealed an unlocked door and his brother’s boots, still piled in the entryway alongside the others’ belongings.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Essek turned and made his way further into the house.

As he neared the tower, the sounds of his brother’s laughter and splashing water confirmed his suspicion. Oh, how the umavi would cringe at the sight of her youngest son, bare as the day the light first shone upon him, crowded in a steaming pool alongside the heroes of the dynasty. Beauregard glanced up at him briefly but made no move to stop the story she was telling of humiliating Foreman Bodo Icozrin, their first formal mission as heroes of the dynasty.

“He really passed out?” Verin exclaimed, slapping his leg and sending water sloshing over the side. The floor was covered in water from many such reactions. Essek averted his gaze, all too aware of how easily Caleb’s complexion flushed, only to notice Veth sitting on a chair a safe distance from the water, watching the proceedings with a distant sort of smile. As the only fully clothed person in the room, he pivoted to focus on her. Her expression relaxed, then flashed to anger as she noticed him.

“What’s wrong? Is Caleb okay?” she barked, springing to her feet and grimacing as she stepped into a puddle.

“He’s fine, he’s resting. I just wanted to make sure my brother was not overstaying his welcome.” Essek glared pointedly at Verin.

“Oh, don’t fret on my account. Elerra will send for me once she is ready to collect me. You are clearly in no state to be presentable, and it would be impolite not to attend to the needs of the heroes of the dynasty when my foolish older brother made them—”

“Any of the mages at the bastion could—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Yet here you are—”

“He isn’t imposing!” Fjord crowed, sloughing more water and half of his cup of wine onto the floor.

“Fine, but I still don’t see how this is appropriate,” Essek tried, though he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Why don’t you join us, brother? Surely, this entire situation has been very stressful for you. Come relax!” Verin moved aside to make room, inadvertently crowding under Caduceus’ arm, stretched along the side of the pool. The firbolg splayed out his fingers over Verin’s bare shoulder to steady him. The Umavi would have fainted. Essek himself felt uncomfortably flushed.

“I would not betray Caleb’s trust like that,” Essek crossed his arms over his chest, subconsciously pulling his sleeves down over his hands.

“Don’t be a prude! We’ve all seen Caleb naked a million times before. It’s fine!” Beau laughed.

“You weren’t planning on doing something weird, were you?” Yasha asked in that blunt way of hers that had him questioning whether she was serious.

“Of course not! I just wanted to speak with my brother—”

“Then come on in! We were just discussing what it would take to set something like this up in the barracks. Hot water is good for camaraderie and I think at least Demahan and Karta have the ability to shape stone—”

“Just… Come find me when you’re decent, please.” Essek massaged his temples as he made a break for the door.

For a moment, he feared his brother would ignore him, but seven minutes and forty-two seconds later, Verin joined him on one of the many couches lining the walls of the dining room. His sodden hair hung heavily over his shoulder, rivulets of water running down his back as he dropped his armor in a pile on the cushion beside him.

“I’m staying.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Essek, if I leave, you’ll be defenseless.”

“If you stay, the entire den will know something is wrong by daybreak. The umavi would become suspicious. How would she react to knowing what I have done? The consequences could be catastrophic. You have to return to Bazzoxan tonight. Just say there was a misfire with one of my wards and I needed you to bring the manual override key. Nothing more.”

Verin sat with his head bowed, staring at his clasped hands. His hair slipped over his shoulder to hang like a curtain between them.

“Give me your comb. It would do us no good for you to return to the bastion disheveled like you just—” Essek stopped himself, forcing the thought away. Verin smirked halfheartedly as he fished a simple bone comb from his bag. Mercifully, he didn’t finish Essek’s thought.

Essek prestidigitated the water from his hair where he could, combing and braiding it with practiced motions. Verin slowly donned his armor, thoroughly inspecting each clasp and buckle and set of laces. One final swipe of magic dried his shirt where his hair had rested over his shoulder before Verin fastened his pauldrons in place.

“Fine... I’ll go,” he relented, replacing the comb in its proper place as he stood. “but I expect you to send for me the moment you undo this. Do you still have your stone?”

“It is in my wrist pocket.” Essek rested his hands on Verin’s arms before tentatively drawing him into a hug. Verin froze, the hard edges of his armor unusually warm from its previous proximity to the hot tub. Essek nearly released him before he seemed to remember himself, hugging back.

“We shall never speak of this again,” Essek felt his face grow hot, turning to reach for the door.

“No, wait!” Verin snatched his hand. “I’ll go, but it is truly good to see you like this, brother.”

“What, brought low?”

“Happy,” Verin shook his head, leaning in to whisper, “I don’t care what the umavi would say. If you have a chance to court him, take it.”

“Goodnight, Verin.”

“Your new in-laws would certainly liven up the den gatherings!”

“Tuhm tekatain,” Essek hissed in exaggerated undercommon.

“A human husband would make you the talk of the court, married before your second century is out! Imagine the scandal!”

“Get out!” Essek opened the door, bodily shoving Verin to the curb.

“Good day, heroes of the dynasty!” Verin called cheekily, dodging the halfling-sized shoe thrown at his head. Essek stood in the doorway until the whistle of his armor faded into the distance.

It was barely seven o’clock, but Essek was more than ready to call it a night. He took a deep breath, combed his fingers through his hair, and made his way back to the laboratory.

Chapter Text

A gasp tore from Caleb’s throat as he startled awake, his entire body alight with agony. His face stung as he tore it away from a gritty puddle of dried blood, his hands and chest glued to the hard, uneven ground. Without reaching for it, he knew the enchanted diamond earring he wore had shattered, rescuing him from the clutches of death, if only just. He had a stock of healing potions in his wristpocket, if he could just roll over and complete the somatic component…

His body ignored his plea, his neck losing the battle against gravity. The chill of his own spilt blood against his forehead sent an agonizing shiver up his spine. He had felt pain like this before, but only ever at the moment a spell misfired or a strike connected. This was different; an unending tsunami starting at his feet and crashing over his entire body. Every time he thought the pain would recede, another wave stole the breath from his lungs. He could feel his throat working, high, keening whines following the ragged rhythm. In spite of the sun bearing down on him and burning the exposed skin of his neck, his legs were numb. 

That realization terrified him more than the pain.

“Brother?”

Caleb jumped at the child’s voice. The lightning in his veins vanished, replaced with a dull soreness in his throat. He pried his tacky eyes open, staring into the darkness of his bedchamber. He held still instinctively, childishly, as if he could disappear if he were only quiet enough. The urge to cough niggled at his senses like a crawling thing. Soft footsteps on the plush floor drew nearer, until a weight pressed down on the mattress near his hip, a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Essie, are you awake?”

“No,” he croaked, trying to tug the blanket over his head. His brother’s weight at his back held them in place.

“Do you want Melite?”

“No.”

“Do you want mutti?”

“Mutti?”

“Bren, what are you doing up?” Mutti whispered. Essek gasped, the tiny ember warming his palms spluttering out with a shower of tiny, smarting sparks. The wintry wind rushed over his bent knees, the front door beating against its frame once, twice. Mutti crouched down next to him, laying her worn shawl over his shoulders and carefully closing his tiny spellbook, hiding the carefully scrawled firebolt diagram he crept from his bed to study.

“It was cold, so I wanted to practice,” he replied. “Look!” Essek wove his hand carefully through the motion. A tiny wisp of flame crackled to life at the center of his palm, warming his numb fingers for a moment before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

“That is very good, Zauberkätzchen, but magic takes energy. You won’t grow up big and strong like your vatti if you read instead of resting,” she brushed the ash from his fingers, soothing the slight red mark with a press of her lips. He relaxed against her shoulder, easily bundled up in her warm arms. The bouquet of lilies and fresh bread soothed and sickened him.

Essek lay curled between her and his vatti for some time, counting her heartbeats until they slowed in the saccharine rhythm of sleep. Only once he was sure she wouldn’t notice his departure did he wriggle free from the bed once more.

The shawl fell from his shoulders as he stooped to retrieve his spellbook, pristine red leather clasped with iron, a present from his master for completing a particularly challenging test. He was the only one Essek could trust. The only one who acknowledged him, who saw his potential for what it truly was. 

He opened the door, eyeing the hay cart sidled up against the front of the house, shielding them from the moaning wintry wind.

The door beat against the crooked frame behind him, once, twice… The wind slammed it shut behind him.

Caleb checked his calculations one final time; everything was perfect. He cradled his spellbook in one hand, the other poised to create his legacy. 

“Just a simple test, to start,” he muttered to himself. Dark tendrils of magic trailed after his fingers as he traced the sigil in the air, a black marble pinched between his ring finger and his palm. He focused on his target—a pile of stones some fifty feet before him—and pulled the fabric of reality taut. Just as expected, the gravity sinkhole tore open exactly twenty feet above, a spot of pure black against the midnight sky. The thick weave of his mourning braids danced at the edges of his vision, tiny white and maroon beads clattering against one another. He watched as the stones shuddered and rose towards the point of blackness, shattering on impact, only to be sucked back into the center with a terrible clatter. Luckily, this far out in the barbed fields, no one would notice the noise.

A laugh burst unbidden from his chest, years of tireless research all culminating in a single moment. This would prove his value to his den; to his umavi. No one would question his worth if he handed over a weapon such as this, something no one had ever seen before, something no one beyond the dynasty had even dared to dream of. 

The grinding of stone grew louder.

He shuddered, stumbling as the point of blackness expanded. His spellbook flew out of his hand, swallowed by the ever-growing darkness.

No, it wasn’t growing larger.

It was getting closer.

Something slammed him from behind, knocking him off his feet and towards the gaping maw of his creation. He scrambled back, trying in vain to find purchase on the ground below, to dispel the sinkhole before it swallowed him.

Caleb screamed.

It was all he knew how to do, some days. Words and memories and faces blended together, a senseless cacophony of sound. It was worse than no sound at all. It was better than silence. It was… Some days Essek squirreled things away in his clothes, clutching tattered sheaves of parchment to his chest below the gaze of his keepers. He didn’t know what they were, but he knew he needed them. More than the gruel they forced down his throat or sleep stolen by screams and burning light behind his eyelids. He needed them, but he did not know them. Not anymore. He knew, he knew, he knew them before, black marks on white, holding worlds beyond the stone walls. He longed to know them again. 

They found his hoard of black-marked white, tore it to pieces, struck him, and laughed as he scrabbled to gather what was left. He pressed fists full of tattered parchment to his face, but he did not know them.

There was a woman crouched before him. 

They took away the marks, the worlds within. She knew they took them. She knew how to find them.

Her hands, knobbly and thin like gnarled roots, pressed to the sides of his face. He felt the scrape of her calloused hands as she soothed them over his cheek. 

She took the clouds away.

A guard burst between them, kicking her in the chest. She hit the tile floor with a sickening crunch.

She didn’t get up.

He was so tired of running. Days and weeks and months ran maddeningly on, though he never lost count of them, ticking in heartbeats against the pendant around his neck. A man tried to steal it from him, thirty-seven days after he escaped. He burned him, lighting the trailing end of his scarf like a candle wick. He ran. Essek didn’t look back to see whether or not he survived. He held a scrap of the man’s scarf in his quivering fist, charred beyond recognition. It did little for the cold gnawing at his bones as he wound it around his neck, the scent of char and sweat thick on his nose.

“I thought we were past this.” The umavi sighed, standing at his bedside with her hands folded behind her back. Caleb could only stare at her through the haze of opium holding the pain at bay; a distant roar instead of a lightning strike.

“The denfather would be disappointed. Your flagrant disregard for your duties is humiliating enough, and now this?” she lifted Caleb’s wrist, forcing it into his field of vision. Spikes of green crystal residuum jutted from between swathes of bandages, casting her scowling face in sickly emerald light. “Perhaps this utter failure will teach you the lesson you refused to learn.”

“You are a bright young man. I thought you were strong enough for this, but if I misjudged you, well… There are always other candidates. Ms. Beck, perhaps?”

“Essie, are you awake? I made you some hionquinpa so you would feel better. Well, Melite made it, but I helped!”

“The harvest has been good, so your father has something very special for you. A spellbook, all your own! You will have to be wise with how you use the paper, but it is a start, ja? Alles Leibe, Bren.”

“The denfather was killed. The luxon’s light may never shine on him again. Perhaps it is just that the same can be said of you.”

Essek could see Nott through the trees, huddled near the fire at the center of their camp. It was nothing more than a pile of scrap cloth to sleep on and a pile of twigs ringed in stone, but it was theirs. For the night, at least. He dug his fingers into the stolen loaves in his pockets to ward off the chill. Life wasn’t easier with her. In many ways, it was far harder, but he loved her. It was easier to believe he was real with her tiny body curled in his arms.

She was holding a crossbow bolt over the fire, turning a bit of something over the flames. The wind shifted, and the scent of blood and burned flesh hit his nose. He tore his hands from his pockets, the sting of splinters barely registering over the sound of screams. He tried to pry the hay cart away from the door, but it was too late. He clutched the beacon to his chest, his eyes burning at its light. It didn’t feel divine. No otherworldly voice ordered him to return it to its dais. The light grew brighter as he teleported, already drunk on the very notion of knowledge, of power, of discovering something yet unfathomable.

I could take it back,

Think of what we could achieve with this power. They will see, soon enough, your reasoning. They will thank you. People can be so blinded by tradition, but you see it for what it truly is.

I could bring them back,

I’m only hurting you because I know you can be stronger. You are doing the empire a great service. Take solace in that, if you cannot yet take pride in it.

Keep them from ever learning of my sins.

He deserved to burn. Nothing he could ever do would be enough to atone for his sins, for enraging his father, for disappointing his mother, for believing a lie, for being a new soul, for being a failure, an unsuccessful experiment, for killing them both, for letting them live, for giving away everything in the avaricious hunt for knowledge, for lying and running and running and running while… 

Rewrite my history.

He was a prodigy. Trent saw it. The Bright Queen saw it, but he failed at every turn. Threw away everything in the pursuit of knowledge. He was given everything, and he would give them everything in return. There was nothing left for him to give. He was too weak to resist temptation, to do what needed to be done. He doomed them, his parents, his people, so many people, inciting a war with the empire, failing to serve the empire, breaking and faltering, and running away from the consequences.

I want to bend reality to my will.

He caused it, a cancer that must be cut out, can never be cut out. One day, soon, it will claim him. 

You weren’t born with venom in your veins. You learned it. 

You learned it.

Just a bit longer, then those who called Essek friends—that Caleb was afraid to admit were his first friends—will use him, dispose of him, there is nothing Caleb can do to stop it, Essek deserves it, there is venom in our veins and it’s poisoning us. We are tainted, there is no salvation, no matter what they say. No matter what he says. No matter how we try to convince ourselves.

You learned it you learned it you learned it you learned it YOU LEARNED IT Y̶̧̧̩̩͚̱͚͇̩̞̮̩͎̻̺̞̙̹͂̓͂͐͌͐̈́͆̈͋͑͆͝͝ͅͅO̵̢̡͙̞͙̤̯͚͙͍̟͚͍͙̞̟̍̊͊̒̈́̃͛͌̌̿̾̅͠ͅŲ̸̢̫̝̺̺͓̱̥͙͉͖͝ ̴̻̮̯̟̲͚̤̠̫̥̤̀͜ͅL̵̛̬̘̙͍͓̫̻̃̿́̾̈́̽̊̚͜͠É̸̺̑͛̓̆̀͗̀̈́̾͛̇͂̓̈̚͘Ḁ̵̂̑͌͂̆̕͝R̴̢̨̢̡͈̪̞̹̜̪̪̘̱̫͇͐̿̍͆̄̒̌̈́̀̋̾͛̈́̉͒̔̊̂͆͘͠Ṉ̷̢̧̡̻̟̪̖̩̩͖͓̪̠̩͓̣̜̒̋͋̃̊̊͊̂͛̋͛̚̚͜͝͝͠͝͝͝E̷̪͚̠̥̹̠̪̖̮̦̔̓̾́̄̌͐́̀̎̚ͅD̷̻͕̗͍͈̮͈͍̉ ̶̼̹͖̗̝͔̠̖̲͕̼͖̺̪̪̯̩̹̏̂Į̵̛̺͕̬̗͍̘͉̝̺̙̜̝̠̺̲͙̰̩̖̔̅̃̈̿͛́ͅT̷̨̧̹͉̮̹̖͖̜̞͚͖̮̺͈̟̯́̄̈̿̓̈́͊̓͘ͅ

The difference between you and I is thinner than a razor.

Chapter Text

Caleb awoke with a start, his limbs pinned in place. He immediately rolled to the side in a desperate attempt to free himself, only to hit the ground with a thud. Wrenching one arm free from his binds, he flicked his fingers, four dancing lights blinking into existence over his palm. Wobbling globules of magic painted the room in purple light. The Xhorhaus laboratory. He had fallen asleep on the chaise.

Taking a moment to breathe, he disentangled himself from his coat—it must have twisted around him as he slept. He prestidigitated the dust from his shirt as he stood, pulling his coat over his shoulders and gliding to the door. The sconces in the hallway were lit as he exited the laboratory, meaning it must have been morning. Following the sounds and scents of a meal being prepared, he wandered toward the dining room. As he entered, he noticed Veth, Yasha and Fjord sitting at the table. Veth glanced up at him, returning her attention to the pastry in her hand for an instant before doing a double-take.

“Is Caleb awake?” she asked. Caleb turned to glance behind himself, wondering for an instant if he had somehow turned invisible. Caduceus and Jester entered from the kitchen, cradling several dishes of breakfast between them.

“I am not sleepwalking?” he replied.

The room fell silent.

“I do not understand the joke,” he hedged.

“Caleb?” Fjord asked.

“Ja? What is the matter?”

“You’re floating.”

Caleb glanced down at his feet, hovering some three inches off the ground.

“Ah, so I am,” he hummed. Something in his magic shifted. Without his conscious control, he dropped to the ground, jarring his knees with the awkward landing. Everyone eyed him warily as Yasha reached out to steady him.

“Did Essek fix the spell?”

“Did Essek..?”

Snatches of images flashed through his mind; darkened bedchambers and the distant spurs of the barbed fields, white tile walls, and a wooden door beating against its frame. His skin went cold, then hot, nausea striking him so suddenly that he had to clap his hand over his mouth. A bolt of pain ratcheted down from his shoulder to his wrist, protesting the motion. His vision swam, before going black.

He could hear the commotion of the Nein calling for him, though the sound was oddly muffled. There was something warm pressing down on his chest. More startled by suddenly being prone than the pressure, he flailed to dislodge it. Frumpkin yowled as he was jolted awake, Caleb joining him as electric pain shot through his body. He listed to the side, stumbling back on his feet, upright once again, in the hallway outside of the laboratory held between Yasha and Jester as his legs refused to support his weight.

“Caleb!” Veth shouted as if she had called for him once already.

“Huh?” he slurred, barely managing to turn his head in her direction before his vision went dark once more. He forced himself to be still, easing himself  into an upright position. As he did so, the Nein burst into the room, guiding his dazed body along with them.

“Caleb, are you in there!?” Veth shouted, clambering up onto the bed and stooping to look into his eyes. “What’s happening?!”

“The spell is starting to collapse,” his body—no, Essek—said.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Beau asked.

“Yeah, like, can we just wait for it to run out and you’ll go back to normal?” Jester implored, easing Essek down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Perhaps, though we risk being stuck like this permanently.” As the words left his lips, Essek bolted upright, all measures of exhaustion vanishing from his posture. Blanched white, he stumbled to his feet with the stability of a newborn foal. Jester reached out to steady him.

“The laboratory, my notes. We need to hurry.”

That was all it took to spur the Nein into action, bustling Essek and Caleb into the lab. Caleb fumbled to sort his components as his perspective bent and stretched away from him. Essek’s vision swam as he tried to puzzle out the error in his notes. With each passing moment, they could feel the veil between them thinning. With little else to do, the rest of the Nein gathered up their breakfast, spreading blankets across the floor and turning the meal into an impromptu picnic. The morning passed in relative quiet, though the Nein refused to leave them for fear of… Well, they weren’t quite sure what, but they had a feeling leaving them alone would be unwise.

~~~~

“You are hurting, perhaps it is time for a break,” Caleb commented, leaning against the back of the setee and stretching his arms over his head. They had spent the latter part of the day bent together, closer than they had ever been, trying and failing to see what Essek had not when he cast the spell.

Essek pinched the bridge of his nose and said nothing.

“Essek?” Caleb prompted. Essek straightened up as if to lash out, but deflated at the look of genuine concern in Caleb’s sky-blue eyes.

“I have been dealing with this for decades. A few hours, I can manage.”

“I know. I… I saw, I think. Pieces of it, at least. And I have felt much of it, these past few days. Overexerting yourself—”

“I know!” Essek snapped, tossing the pile of notes in his hand to the floor. “Being bound to me is—”

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, that's it!” Caleb flapped a hand in front of Essek’s face, cutting him off as he scanned the mess of diagrams and calculations spread out before them. With a flash of motion, he snatched up one of the diagrams, presenting it to Essek. “Binding! What did you use to bind the spell?”

“I—” Essek thought back to the moment, what felt so long ago. His face fell at the realization. “Linen thread.”

“Thread? To bind nine targets?”

“I tried copper wire before that, though it failed. I—I didn’t even think about it.” All he had been thinking of at the moment was Caleb controlling flame with a cat’s cradle. Using such a miserly component to such powerful means. Of how he had failed to recreate the effect in private, even with—

“You are brilliant, Caleb Widogast!” Essek peered down at his hands, confirming their midnight hue before summoning a spool of platinum thread from his wristpocket. His body shifted, and he reached out with calloused human hands to snatch the component.

“Will this be enough?”

“Perhaps. It may at least give us enough time to,”

“Untangle it before we are too knotted together to be separated.”

Essek opened his spellbook, turning to a page he wouldn’t have dared to show Caleb before. Now, though, he felt solutions he never would have thought of surfacing in his mind. Components and equations, unfamiliar yet so simple. An amendment here, an added line there… His notes for tether essence, his most exceptional accomplishment to date, lay bare between them. Without words, they worked in perfect tandem. Scattered parchment was gathered and stacked at the side, the platinum cord rolled out between them and knotted in intervals. In an insensate instant they looked up at each other over a collage of platinum and chalk, the spell perfected.

Caleb huffed a laugh, the sound traveling as he flashed between looking into Essek’s eyes and his own, the perspective nauseating yet somehow perfect.

“I feel like we can do anything like this…” he thought.

“The possibilities are endless,” Essek replied, though no words were spoken.

Images and ideas flashed through Their mind. Spellwork unimaginable to either on his own made effortless. Alone they were incomplete, one half of a whole, so empty, how had they survived apart like that for months, years, decades… Finally together, finally whole, they could do anything, create anything, turn back the hands of time and finally, finally make it right—

“Hello?! Are you in there? Stop mind-fucking in front of us!”

Like blinking awake from a surreal dream, They realized their surroundings, how close They were, clutching each other with the platinum web draped over their joined hands. A flash of embarrassment came and went in an instant. The thought of letting go, of facing the yawning chasm of emptiness between Them, was far more frightening.

“I’m alright,” they said.

“Do… You have what you need to reverse the spell?” Fjord asked, flinching as all four of Their eyes turned to stare at him.

“Oh. Well, yes, of course. It’s quite simple, really, but there are a few ideas I’d like to jot down first,” as They spoke they scuffed a foot through the chalk diagram on the floor, dusting the edge of their cloak over another section as they wandered towards the desk in search of fresh parchment. Frumpkin, who had been lingering near Their feet, hissed and darted away as they passed, skittering up and onto Yasha’s shoulder to hide in her hair.

The Nein peered at each other as They settled at the desk, muttering to themselves in a jumble of Zemnian and Undercommon as they fished a fresh sheet of parchment from the drawer.

“How about we get started on lunch while they finish up here, hm?” Caduceus asked, ushering the others out of the room. The rest of the Nein followed him one by one, until only Jester remained.

“Do you guys want us to bring you some snacks?” she asked, too unnerved by the way they moved in perfect sync to find their arms, locked together at the elbow, endearing. They hummed noncommittally, the tone and inflection identical, but didn’t look up from their work.

“Oo~kay, well, I’m gonna go now…” she eased the door shut, hurrying to the kitchen where the rest of the Nein gathered in uneasy silence.

Chapter Text

“We all saw the same shit, right?” Veth said, flinching as Jester’s fretful tail coiled around her wrist.

“They’re like those twins from that horror novel,” Beau hissed.

“The ones that haunt the inn in the mountains with the little boy who gets possessed by the—” Jester began.

“Yeah, I’m going to cut you off, there,” Fjord rested a hand on Jester’s shoulder, “the question we should be asking is, what do we do about it?”

“Should we take them to Professor Waccoh?”

“I think she would rather experiment on them than help us get them back to normal…”

“And if Essek and Caleb’s brains melt together, the Bright Queen may kill them for knowing all their top-secret-state-secrets,” Yasha added.

“I’ll kill her if she lays a finger on Caleb!”

“What about Pumat? Do you think he could make like… A brain-separating axe or something?”

“An axe? Really?”

“What!? They’re handy, alright!”

“I chopped a guy’s head open with an axe one time. It was pre~tty crazy.”

The others turned to look at Jester.

“Okay, yeah, it was actually really gross. Never mind.”

“Maybe we should just let them do their thing. Once they get sick of nerding out or whatever, they’ll undo it. Probably.”

“Caleb does like his alone time…”

“It’s possible, but let’s think of alternatives in the meantime.”

“I’ll go ask Artie if he has any ideas!’ Jester clattered up the stairs, the door to her and Beau’s shared bedroom slamming shut a moment later.

“I think this is a bit out of the wildmother’s domain, but it never hurts to ask…” Caduceus hedged, setting out the last of the dishes for lunch. Once everything was arranged to his liking, he took his bowl and ambled toward the tower.

Fjord, Veth, Beau and Yasha watched the clerics disappear before returning to their huddle.

“I still think we should ask someone with magical know-how for help…” Fjord said.

“Yeah, but if we asked anyone in the dynasty, word would go right to the Bright Queen. Not that we know any wizards other than Essek here.” Beau replied.

“And if anyone in the Empire finds out, they might go to the Assembly…” Veth added.

“Do you think Yussa would help?” Yasha asked.

“Maybe… What time is it in Nicodranas right now? Once Jester gets back, we can have her send him a message.”

“Great, so all we have to do is make sure they stay safe and no one sees them for a little bit, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll take them some lunch, then we can see what can be done.” Veth dusted off her skirt. making up a pair of plates from the selection on the table and disappearing down the corridor.

“I still feel like we’re missing something here,” Beau picked furtively at her nails as she spoke.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. Something just seems…”

“UH, GUYS?” Veth slid back into the room. At the same time, Jester came bounding down the stairs, Caduceus not far behind.

“OHMIGOSH YOU GUYS YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE IT!”

“We may want to—”

“MY BOY HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!”

“Artie said that they totally are mind-boning right now!”

“Wait, what?!”

“Well where are they!?”

“The Bright Queen abducted them! We have to storm the castle to save them!”

“Maybe they polymorphed into moths and burnt up in the fireplace.”

“Everyone!” Fjord shouted over the cacophony, the quaver in his voice betraying his nerves. “Calm down, let’s look around and see if we can’t find them. They can’t’ve gotten far.”

“You do realize they can both teleport, right?”

“Or turn invisible.”

“Or turn into a moth and—”

“They didn’t do any of that.” Caduceus hummed, craning his head out of the open front door.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I came downstairs to tell you that I saw them walking down the street from the garden. They’re probably a few blocks away by now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything!?”

“It would have been rude to interrupt—”

“Less talking, more catching the wizards before they cause a scene!”

“I don’t think it’s them we need to worry about causing a scene…”

~~~~

“This is incredible! I don’t know how I forgot about the Ad Astra paradox! If I apply that to the gravitational matrix just so, I should be able to scale up the output in perpetuity, so long as I have a sufficient power source. Maybe residuum would do…”

“Now, if only I had my runic circle, I could test this out…” They looked around the laboratory, taking mental stock of the components strung across their coat, bag of holding, and wristpocket, finding themselves lacking.

“I’m sure the others won’t mind if I postpone whatever it was they called me for before this… They wanted me to teleport them somewhere, right? Or was I supposed to make the dome… No, we’re at home, there’s no need, and we don’t have any pressing jobs at the moment. I will have to get back to work at the court soon, though.”

“I’m sure no one will mind if I just pop out for just a few hours…” A bit of magic over their form kept their friends’ eyes away and the wind chimes silent as they passed onto the street.

They closed the door behind them, one set of feet tripping clumsily over the stones, the other gliding confidently in the direction of their laboratory. Their eyes had trouble focusing, fighting against the grayscale-green-darkness of their darkvision and the blackness of their lack thereof, until they remembered the pair of night vision goggles stowed in their pocket.

With the incongruity in their sight resolved, they made good time through the winding streets towards their preferred component shop. As they passed, the lingering stares of passersby sent a shiver up their spines. They were used to being gawked at—someone of their status, of their kind, in a place like this… Yet there was something about these gazes that left them uneasy.

“CALEB GET BACK HERE OR SO HELP ME!” A gruff voice suddenly shouted from behind them. Scolding a child in public? How indecent. Best to ignore them. Though, Caleb? Something about that word was familiar. They slowed their pace as they pondered what it could mean. As they did, they were suddenly bracketed in by Yasha and Beau loping up alongside them, the rest of the Nein lagging some sixty feet behind.

“Where are you going?” Yasha asked Them, slowing her pace to match theirs as she reached their side.

“I need some components.” They replied, leaning away from her. She responded in kind, giving them space even as Beau crowded them from their opposite side.

“We were just about to have lunch, though!” Jester led the rest of the Nein to encircle Them, cutting off their path forward.

“I’m not hungry.” They tried, though they knew arguing with Jester was futile.

“Well, you hardly had any breakfast. I bet you just don’t realize how hungry you are. I know my mama sometimes forgets to eat when she’s rehearsing. This one time when she was preparing for a private concert for this margrave from Port Zoon she wouldn’t have anything but hot water with lemon all day, and then right before the performance she got all woozy and she fainted on the stairs! The margrave caught her and it was so price charming of him, but anyways! Let’s all go back to the house and have at least a little something, then we can figure out your experimenty stuff.” As she spoke Jester tried to push Them apart, pausing as they resisted and instead holding onto their clasped hands, towing them back to the Xhorhaus.

~~~~

Lunch was an awkward affair. The Nein oscillated between trying to focus on a rambling conversation to fill the silence and watching Caleb and Essek pick at their servings in perfect sync, pressed together from ankle to shoulder as if having even an inch of space between them pained them.

“Can we take care of whatever it is you need me to do quickly so I can get back to my research?” They asked, their feet tapping impatiently as the table was cleared.

“Of course. It’d be a big help if we could make our way to Nicodranas. I’m concerned for the villagers who were affected by that kuo-toa nest we cleaned up. I’d rest easier knowing they’re alright.” Fjord said.

“I am not sure—”

“I was hoping to see Luc and Yeza, since we had to rush out without saying goodbye.”

“And I wanted to spend a little more time with my mama,” Jester clasped her hands in front of her chest, batting her eyelashes at Them.

“I was looking forward to going to the fish market.”

The others glanced at Yasha, save Fjord who flushed and turned his attention to inspecting the arcane baubles illuminating the ceiling.

“What? Those fish tacos were delicious.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…” They hedged. Essek’s free hand reached up to cup his opposite elbow while Caleb rubbed his thumb over the back of their clasped hands. “As long as we depart promptly.”

A mad scramble followed, with the Nein gathering back in the kitchen, their belongings hastily slung over shoulders and crammed into packs.

Veth stood at the center of the group, her hands on her hips. “Alright, everybody have everything? We won’t turn this teleport around. Fjord, do you have your gold?”

“…Yes?”

“Are you sure?” Jester leaned into his space, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Yes I’m—eugh, what is this?” he removed a molded bit of tart from his coin purse, which he chucked at Veth’s head. She didn’t bother to duck as it soared over her shoulder, exploding into a cloud of dust as it hit the floor.

“Alright, everyone gather up,” Essek-Caleb said as they finished the final line of the circle.

With a flash of light they vanished, apparating a foot to the left of their destination. A collective scream ripped through the group as they landed in a heap, the soft glow of the teleportation circle below them illuminating their wincing expressions as the aftershock of the misfire wracked through them.

“Uh, guys? We forgot to message Yussa.”

Chapter Text

“How do we keep doing this?!”

“OW! Yasha, why is Skingorger just tied to your back? We need to get you a scabbard.” Beau rolled off of Yasha’s back, catching the back of Veth’s dress on the edge of her bracer. With a barely audible, “plink,” Veth’s necklace snapped, scattering a hail of buttons and decorative spoons down on the dogpile below her. Everyone threw themselves out of the way as a gleam of the goblin in her surfaced, swearing a blue streak as she scrambled to recapture her collection. 

A knobbly green hand offered a brass button to her, which she snatched back with a snarl. With his nightcap askew and a tiny arcane light bobbing above his other hand, Wensforth peered down at her with an expression of exhaustion the likes of which only the most overworked of servants could muster.

“I suppose you should make yourselves comfortable in the lounge while I wake the master,” he sighed, turning away and disappearing up the stairs.

“We should get him a fruit basket or something.”

“Eh, he loves us.”

A few moments after the Nein gathered themselves and descended the stairs, Yussa made his appearance. Dressed in a fine robe that glimmered as if woven from pure gold, his hair perfectly styled and his eyes rimmed by the faintest sheen of gold to match his garments, one would never have known they interrupted his trance in the young hours of predawn if not for the twitch of his eye as he entered.

“The Mighty Nein, how unexpected it is to see you here unannounced, and so early,” he stopped short as his gaze fell upon Essek, “who might this be?” 

“This is Essek! He’s our super good friend and a wizard, too…” Jester began, trailing off. The Nein looked between each other. No one could find the words to broach the subject. Surprisingly, They spoke up, Essek’s free hand moving in the familiar gesture of his floating cantrip, setting himself an inch or so taller than Yussa.

“I apologize, Master Yussa. I was just escorting my friends to some business we have in the city. We did not mean to impose.”

Yussa’s expression bounced between the two wizards as They spoke in unison, taking in their clasped hands, the synchronization of their body language, and the air of malaise hanging over the rest of the group. He caught Fjord’s eye as They finished. Fjord responded to his silent question with a nod, his gaze flicking towards the stairs.

“It is little trouble. To keep things mutually beneficial, however, I do have a small matter that could use the eyes of someone of your particular specialty in my laboratory. That is, if you have a moment to spare?”

“Ah, well, I—” They leaned away, their posture curling in on themselves.

“Though if you would prefer to interrupt my rest and depart, leaving me empty-handed…”

They paled, wringing their hands together, “Of course, if it is just a small matter, as you say.”

“Excellent. Follow me, then,” Yussa caught Fjord’s gaze again, earning another nod as he turned and retreated up the stairs. The group ascended to the laboratory, past the point of goggling at how the room widened as they entered, leaving enough space for the entire group to fit comfortably inside.

The Folding Halls of Halas sat like an overlarge paperweight atop a spread of diagrams and notes at the center of the room. They stepped away from the group to peer at the notes, taking to the bait like a mouse to cheese, while the rest of the Nein spread out along the perimeter of the room.

“I have been preparing for another excursion into the Halls, but before I do so, there are a number of challenges I need to address.” As he spoke, Yussa conjured a pair of mage hands , sending one to rattle a cart from the side of the room and go about preparing tea while the other carefully opened a cabinet built into the far wall. Keeping his eyes on Them, he gestured towards the door, the threshold shrinking until only smooth stone remained. Yasha and Caduceus surreptitiously moved to stand where the door once was, obscuring its disappearance. 

“Firstly, I need to find a more effective way to map my findings. When I face horrors unseen in every new chamber, taking legible notes often falls to the wayside. One solution I have been exploring is sending some sort of proxy into the halls, one less likely to draw the ire of the many creatures within, or perhaps even separating myself to explore unimpeded by the restraints of a physical body, though, of course, this comes with its own issues, namely the inability to physically record any data, leaving me to rely on the fallibility of my own memory.” Yussa slowly circled Them, studying them. “Your thoughts?” Yussa’s mage hand once again bumped the tea cart, doling out cups to the Nein. Instead of a teacup, the second mage hand pressed a small glass bead each into Yasha and Beau’s palms.

“Would you be able to cast spells without your body? You could perform semantics, but verbal and material components… What about conjuring a simulacrum and sending a familiar along with it? That way you could view the proceedings remotely, without risking your safety.” They suggested, still pouring over the notes on the table. 

“Ah, yes, but then there is the trouble of the time distortion. If I somehow managed to keep in contact with the familiar across the planes, I fear the experience would be… Uncomfortable, to say the least.”

“Then you could enter with them and travel together until you find somewhere safe. Meager as it may seem, I know of a spell that allows you to conjure a small bubble of security for just such a purpose. Inside, you are still vulnerable to some mundane attacks, though.”

“Leomund did so adore thinking himself better than every other arcanist, forgetting entirely the dangers of a stone.” They huffed a laugh. Yussa paused his circling, a flash of arcana reflecting in his eyes.

“All excellent ideas. Your companions are lucky to have your mind in hand so readily.”

“Perhaps, though I have a matter I was hoping to attend to soon. If that is all..?” They edged in the direction of the door, not yet noticing its nonexistence.

“Of course, forgive me for taking up so much of your time. There is one final problem I was hoping to hear your thoughts on, however.” Yussa lured them back to the table, unrolling a scroll across its surface. “I know little of dunamancy, but I thought, perhaps, if I could manipulate the time within the Halls from the outside, or even slow it, I could focus on exploration unimpeded. I could even enlist professional assistance without having to pay them three weeks of wages for three days of work.” Their attention was piqued by the mention of dunamancy, greedily absorbing the spellwork spread out before them.

“You surely understand that most scholars would have little interest in venturing into a place filled with so many dangerous creatures. To that end, I have been developing a way to disable them,” Yussa looked to Beau and Yasha. “So, while I don’t fully understand the breadth of your circumstances, I appreciate your willingness to test these prototypes.”

They turned to look over Their shoulder a moment too late, the magic sparking at Their fingertips snuffed with a gesture of Yussa’s hand as Beau and Yasha each lobbed a bead at Them. With a crackle of arcane energy They were thrust apart, each encased in a glowing sphere of force.

The effect of their separation was immediate. Fire flashed across the barrier’s surface from Their palms, their forms flickering only to jolt against the sphere as their attempt to teleport misfired.

Yussa circled the orbs, ignoring their muffled curses and escape attempts in favor of examining the containers themselves. Satisfied with his findings, he turned his back on the pair, interposing between them and the rest of the Nein.

“Will one of you illuminate me as to why Caleb and this man chose to meld themselves so completely they share a single arcane reserve? Preferably before the spell gives out.”

“Well,” Veth began, “apparently Essek was trying to make a sort of spell that would work like sending… ”

“But without the word limit,” Jester continued.

“And with some kind of visual component?” Fjord added.

“Something went wrong, I presume?”

“You could say that.” As the Nein regaled Yussa with a rambling retelling of the past days, he took on a horrified, and equally enthralled countenance. After a moment studying the notes the pair made of the spell, his expression morphed into poorly-concealed mania.

“Frankly, the theory behind this is incredible. Using dream as a base is ingenious, and though I’ve had little opportunity to study advanced dunamancy, the time compression would eliminate most any risk of danger while you’re in that state. You could communicate over great distances for hours at a time, while in reality only minutes have passed. If I could apply this to the Archmage’s Bane–”

“Yeah, but can you reverse it, though?”

Yussa stared at the spell diagram, one hand grasping his chin while the other waved in idle arcane gestures.

“Given what you said, the spell backfired immediately upon casting, then slowly collapsed over the following days. In theory, if the spell was cast properly, we could possibly find a back door of sorts into their shared mind.”

“In theory?”

“Yes, this is all, of course, hypothetical. It could also cement them as a singular entity, or fuse everyone affected by the spell together. The only way to find out is to try.”

“Potentially traumatizing adventure that could end in our demise?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty on-brand.”

If Essek and Caleb’s arcane experiments were puzzling, the way Yussa worked was downright otherworldly. Mage hands and unseen servants moved around him like extensions of his own body, rolling up the rug at the center of the room to reveal an arcane circle carved into the floor. It was larger and more elaborate than the lavish circle in Essek’s laboratory, some ten feet in diameter, the grooves filled in with solid, unblemished gold. As if of their own volition two mage hands uncoiled a length of platinum cord around the perimeter of the circle, looping it in measured increments. Many more gathered the rest of the needed components. Even Essek, as prim and proper as he was, would have stooped to draw the lines of the circle himself, but Yussa merely stood at one end, tracing the patterns with a mage hand with only the barest twitch of his fingers.

Meanwhile, several unseen servants rolled the orbs containing Essek and Caleb to opposite ends of the circle. Though Caleb would have followed the arcanist’s movements like a student anew and Essek would have showed at least the slightest measure of coy interest in his work, They were only concerned with trying to close the distance between them, fighting the unseen servants for every inch they were forced apart.

Unbothered, Yussa took his time until he was satisfied with his preparations. Brushing the nonexistent chalk dust from his lapel, he shook out his hands. Everyone winced as their ears popped, the pressure in the room suddenly far greater.

“They won’t be able to teleport away, but once the spell breaks it will be up to you to restrain them and connect them to the conduit circuit.” He slipped a hand through one of the loops in the cord, held aloft by his mage hands . “As soon as everyone is secured, I will activate the spell.”

“And you know this’ll work?” Fjord asked, gingerly slipping his wrist into a loop.

“Oh, absolutely not, but the outcome will be informative, at the very least.” With a sudden creaking sound, fractures spidered across the surface of the arcane spheres.

“Brace yourselves,” Yussa warned. The Nein hurriedly wrapped the platinum cord around their wrists, the strongest of them positioned closest to their struggling friends.

With another crackle like so much glass breaking, the spheres shattered. They jolted towards each other, only to be snatched away, betrayed by their own companions. The platinum cord pulled taut around their wrists were their manacles, the arms around their waist their chains.

“No, please!” They cried. Tears sprung unbidden from their eyes, their arms reaching for themselves, but no one heeded them.

The circle below their feet erupted with light. As it faded, the laboratory fell silent, and empty.

Chapter Text

Yussa awoke on a cold stone floor, the strain of maintaining the spell sharp in his fingers. The space before him was suffused with a thick glittering fog of amber and violet. With each inhale he could taste the ozone-tang of potent magic. The fog was a tangible thing, stretching and weaving itself into a thin thread at his coaxing, though there was always more fog ready to flow in and fill the space left open.

Easing himself upright, he paced fifteen careful feet forward. Finding nothing, he retraced his steps, then tried again forty-five degrees to the left. It was not until he repeated this process a third time that he found, or rather, stumbled over Yasha. Masking his blunder, he stooped down and placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She rolled over with a groan, pausing for an instant before bolting upright. Pawing at the hilt of her sword, she drew it partway before she registered who woke her.

“Did it work?” she asked, rubbing a hand over her temples. Yussa had a similar migraine settling behind his eyes, though he kept his posture prim as he tugged experimentally at the strings of the spell weaving around them.

“I believe so,” Yussa replied. “The environment does not yield to me as the caster, which I am hopeful means we are within the original spell.” He didn’t mention the very frightening possibility of no one controlling the dream, trapping them within in perpetuity. Allura would not take kindly to another distress call so soon after the previous.

A shrill scream dislodged that thought, ringing out somewhere in the fog. Yussa skittered back, but Yasha didn’t hesitate to unsheathe her sword and bolt toward the sound.

With no choice but to follow, he pursued, crashing into Fjord’s side as he appeared from the perpendicular direction. Beau and Caduceus were close behind. They collapsed in a heap, the fog parting as they fell. A dome of amber energy, some ten feet in diameter, held the fog at bay. Numerous lines and symbols were carved into the stone beneath the dome. While some notations were unfamiliar to him, he recognized the general shape as an arcane template for experimental spellcasting. Yussa traced the channels filled in with chalk, forming the general pattern of the spell he cast moments before.

At the center of the circle, Veth and Jester were kneeling on either side of a prone figure, their stone-still body composed of a swirling maelstrom of amber and purple light. Caleb’s familiar sat at the figure’s head, its eyes closed as if in benediction. Its paws pressed a veil of arcana over their face like a funeral shroud, through which wisps of amber and violet fog drifted up and out of the dome, suffusing the space beyond.

 The body was covered in a spiderweb of hairline fractures. He watched as a large crack over their left breast parted, a puff of crystalline dust like powdered gems bursting from the wound, rising to follow the flow of magic away from the body.

Jester gasped as the cracks grew, bowing her head and pleading with her god. Veth reached out as if to place a hand on Them, flinching back as another fissure nearly severed their arm from their shoulder.

“What do we do?” Beau broke the silence, looking first to Caduceus, then to Yussa.

Yussa stepped closer, examining the fissures more closely. Each break marked a division between warm amber and cool violet, swirling along the barrier but not mixing as they did across the rest of the body.

An attempt to separate themselves, or the end of them both?

Only one way to find out…

“Have you ever had to reset a broken bone, after it began to heal incorrectly?” Yussa turned to Caduceus.

The cleric stared at him. Another fissure audibly cracked open.

“I think this goes beyond a fracture,” Caduceus replied, placing a gentle hand on Jester’s shoulder to guide her away from the body.

“If one of you could move his familiar,” Yussa continued, 

“Frumpkin, c’mere,” Veth reached out, only to lurch back as the cat’s eyes opened, dim gray light shining where there should have been blue. Frumpkin opened his mouth and let out a growl far deeper and more resonant than a creature of that size should have been capable of producing, his tail lashing in warning.

“...Very well. Familiars can always be resummoned, I suppose…” Yussa took a step forward. Pulling on the threads of magic holding the spell together, like a weaver working a loom, he stretched the wisps of fog, winding coils of magic around his palms. “In theory, their magic has been diffusing throughout this space since your drow friend’s original casting. If we can separate them…”

Following his example, the Nein plucked gossamer threads of amber and violet from the air. With each thread wound, the dome gradually dimmed, the fog thinning to reveal a dark expanse dotted with distant stars. The light emanating from the body dimmed, pooling beneath the cat’s paws resting on their forehead.

All the while Frumpkin let out a rolling growl, his fur standing on end. His forelimbs trembled with the effort of holding down the weave of arcana as Yussa pulled it away from the body.

The body shuddered, their chest expanding as if in an inhale as it rose up to hover above the ground, the dim glow growing brighter and brighter. For an instant there was silence. Frumpkin dangled from his master like a fly at the center of a spiderweb. The rest of the Nein held fast to the threads of weave looping around them, fear and uncertainty resonating between them.

Suddenly, the threads pulled taut, fissures bursting across the body with a sound like the ice of a lake splitting at the onset of spring. In an instant the Nein were blasted back into the fog, their shouts of surprise swallowed as quickly as their forms. 

Yussa found himself suddenly alone with Frumpkin. The familiar held a jagged crystal in his mouth, about the size of a fist. Swirling amber and violet magic swirled gently within. Reflexively, Yussa snatched the crystal from the cat’s mouth. The moment he touched it, the ground lurched beneath him.

Frumpkin stared at Yussa, his mouth hanging open with an odd sort of animism before he rounded on him, arching his back and yowling.

Swaying against the sudden strain of the spell, Yussa closed his arms around the arcane core. It jerked and wriggled in his hold like an unruly child.

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to help, hm?” Frumpkin glared at him with his glowing eyes, letting out a final hiss like a curse before he turned and bolted into the fog. The moment he left, the dome vanished, leaving Yussa kneeling, blind and alone.

He held fast to the core, and bid the intrepid adventurers to return soon.

The ship rocked beneath Caduceus, the lifeboat knocking against the hull in rhythm with the rise and fall of the waves. He tried to use the sound as a metronome, timing his breathing to the beat, but it did nothing to ease the well of regret in his chest. Clearly, the Wildmother was angry with him for abandoning his home, Her rage clear in each thrashing wave shoving the boat farther from the shore. The glowing eyes of Her lighthouse burned into him, even as he sat curled against the hull with his head pressed to his knees.

His clothes stuck to his fur, drying in itchy salt-matted clumps. What had been a wonder of nature that morning was now a great beast, clawing and hungry just beyond the railing.

So lost in thought was he, that he did not even notice the ship rolling until he was thrown overboard. Icy water filled his lungs, his hands clawing out desperately for a handhold. Something lashed out at him, slicing through his forearm and dyeing the churning sea red.

He clapped his hand over the wound, kicking back and falling out of the water and into the grass. He landed hard on his back, the beast looming over him. Rainwater ran down the bone shards flaring from its shoulders like a crown of thorns, its claws jagged and red with his blood.

Nothing more threatening than a deer had ever passed through the grove’s gates before, and yet here the bear stood, a corruption of one of the Wildmother’s own children. He took some small comfort in knowing that the beasts of the savalierwood killed to torment, not to consume. Perhaps She would lead someone else to care for the grove. Someone who could succeed where his family failed. Hopefully, when they came, they would inter what remained of his bones.

He rolled to the side as it brought its paw down where his head had been, throwing himself into the freshly dug grave at his side.

The funeral shroud spread out over the bottom of the pit tore, the graveyard vanishing as he plummeted into the dark. Instead of the bottom of the grave, he fell on his back on cold, snowy ground. His fingers throbbed from dozens of splinters, his shirtsleeves still smoldering as he was dragged away from the burning house. Only once he was sat in a carriage, Eodwulf’s arms holding him more like a pair of manacles than an embrace, did his eyes focus enough to see Master Ikithon and Astrid sitting across from them. Astrid’s neck was blistering and red, her shirt collar hastily cut away from the burned area. She hissed as the carriage jolted, refusing to meet his eyes.

He had something to say to her, but his throat burned. From the smoke or his screams, he didn’t know. He closed his hands over his blistered forearms, squeezing until his vision whited out with the pain. The choking scent of burning flesh flooded his nose. He instinctively doubled over, pressing his head to his knees as his stomach turned violently.

He heard something beneath him crunch, only a scant few inches of dirt and a thin linen shroud between himself and the bodies below. The bear lunged forward, its claws tearing out a lock of his hair and sending a shower of soil and small stones beating his back. It was only right that the Wildmother should take him like this, the taste of lilies on his tongue, his duties forgotten, just as he was. The beast recoiled at the scent of decay as he tried to brace himself, his hand piercing the fabric.

Tearing his hand from the material, he exposed two gaunt faces, Una und Leofric, his own parents. They screamed as their bodies exploded with fire.

He threw himself backwards, falling, falling, falling, water rushing around him, filling his lungs, weighing down the rags hanging from his gaunt shoulders.

A man with a bucket, his faded white uniform smeared with dirt and blood, splashing another freezing deluge of lily petals over his head as the splinters were torn from his palms.

His masters standing over him, peering down at him like the filth he was, pawing at the muddy bank of the spring, desperate to forget the screams of his parents as they burned, calling for him, begging him to save their home.

Ikithon waved his hand, a deadly gesture, his words cutting deeper than the claws of the beast beyond. He floated, untethered, away from his body, up, up, above the slithering vines of the cursed forest below.

Nicodranas was so beautiful from above. Every time a seagull stole a treat from a vendor’s cart, or someone tripped over the uneven stones of the bakery stairs while ogling the baker’s physique as she kneaded dough near the window, she immortalized it in one of the sketchbooks piled beneath her bed, or across the ever-shrinking canvas of her walls.

Without Blud to guide her, the city was loud, hot, and labyrinthine. The sun beating down on her neck quickly grew from a pleasant warmth to a burn. Her back was drenched in sweat where the bag laden with supplies pressed against her bodice, her hair thoroughly mussed from the wind’s attempts to style it.

She turned down another street, certain this one led to the stable where so many others had misled her. The sound of the group trailing a block or so behind her grew louder, closer. The Traveler urged her around the next bend. She ducked behind a pile of crates, his cloak sweeping over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, listening as their footsteps and laughter drew nearer and nearer.

Icy wind howled down the alley, bringing with it the scent of spiced wine and fresh-baked bread. Shifting her weight, she straightened from her hunched posture with effort. The smell of refuse and decay returned as the wind ceased, sending her growling stomach rolling. With each stumbling step away from the market, she could feel where the corner of a brick thrown at the back of his neck wept with blood, warm for a moment, before it spread in a growing icy trail down her spine.

Thankfully, it missed her head. If she passed out with the shopkeeper in pursuit, she would be lucky to wake up in a jail cell.

Sloshing through the damp, half-melted snow and mud seeped into the holes in the sole of her tattered boots. The crowing of a merchant farther up the street hawking his wares morphed into the screams howling day and night, just beyond the walls of her cell. She presses her palm to her threadbare shirt, pinning the pendant between her hand and heart.

In the weeks after the clouds were taken away, the world came back to her in snatches. Sleeping curled between two warm bodies on a cold winter’s night. The scent of parchment and ink. The taste of warm bread and butter, savored as the sun rose. She held her memories close, immersing herself in each one when the howling threatened to rend her apart once more.

She forgot just how deafening the outside world could be.

She tried, at first, to run, living like a wild thing far from the keening calls of humanity. In the quiet, her parents whispered to her.

She preferred the noise.

Her stomach growled.

She pressed her fingers into the warm loaf of bread in her pocket, but didn’t dare bring it to her mouth. Better to siphon the heat from it until it was as frozen as her numb fingers while she put some distance between herself and the vendor she filched it from.

“There he is!” 

~~~~

Yasha found something strange while out on her hunt. She tucked it beneath the worn leather strap she used to secure the sword on her back, peering down at it every so often as she cleaned and prepared her kill. It smelled faintly sweet, four tiny petals, as round and white as pearls, waving from the end of their stem. Zuala would find it intriguing, perhaps even playfully offer her a kiss in exchange for it, as she so often did with the things she brought back in her flights of fancy. Perhaps she would add it to their collection above their hearth, stones and crudely-carved figures all resting on a long piece of vermaloc wood Zuala felled and carved herself.

When she pushed open the door, it gave way not to the simple home they built with their own hands as far from the rest of the tribe as they could, but to a cluttered dormitory.

The bedsheets of both beds were draped across the floor as if its occupants had risen in a hurry. Piles of books and parchment covered every available surface, a mismatched collection of clothing scattered across the floor. A sheathed sword hung on a peg near the door, atop three coats of different sizes and styles. A thick knit scarf and a worn cap hung from the hilt.

The faint sound of birdsong and distant laughter filtered in through the open window at the far side of the room, a sudden breeze dislodging a sheet of parchment from its place on the windowsill.

She stooped to pick it up, but as she straightened the light faded. The warm scent of spring was replaced with cold damp rot. The bare chamber before her was barely large enough for her to spread her arms in either direction. The entire room was made up of white tile, the floor so caked in filth it may as well have been dirt, save for the faint ring of exposed tile around the fetid drain at the corner of the room. Instead of birdsong, muffled screams and moaning rang out from every direction. There were no rumpled blankets, no piles of books, though she did hear a faint scrape against her waist as she reached for the single squat window some ten feet up on the wall.

Pinned beneath her waistband was a crumpled piece of parchment. Unfolding it, she angled herself in the thin beam of moonlight to illuminate the page. It was covered in script, the words on the tip of her tongue, yet she could not parse its meaning. Her heart rose to her throat, her breaths coming in erratic pants as the parchment slipped from her grasp. A single white flower fluttered to the dirt floor as she fell to her knees, its perfect white petals dyed crimson.

Fury and agony roiled within her, thunder roaring in the distance as she crept towards the body on the floor. Before she could touch, thunder clapped and she was kneeling before a worn stone altar, her body covered in blood and viscera not her own, her sword held limply in one hand. She collapsed to the ground, her cries swallowed up by the howls of the storm.

Fjord woke up to a mouthful of sand and saltwater, Vandran’s sword plunged into the surf beside him.

In the weeks following the shipwreck, he wandered inland in a daze. Sea salt dried in the folds of his armor and crusted his cracked lips, his shoes worn to tatters with each dogged step. 

It wasn’t until he came upon a young woman resting on the side of the road that he came back to himself. She was bent over a sketchbook, her back cushioned by a plush blanket spread over a log on the side of the path. Her tail swished like a cat’s, her muttering and occasional laughter at seemingly nothing too quiet for him to make out.

He stopped short at the sound of her laughter, intending to step back towards the road and avoid her. As he did so, however, he broke a tree branch underfoot. The girl’s head shot up, dark locks bouncing around the curl of her horns. 

In a flurry of motion and a half-dozen rhetorical questions, she fed him a handful of stale pastries and coerced him into building them a proper fire to ward off the night’s chill. She didn’t push when her comments about his tattered clothes were met with silence, instead rambling on about her quest to travel the world in search of her father.

It was easier to set aside his worries when he had to focus on keeping her out of trouble.

They travelled together. With the Nein, he drew more attention. In his dreams, those yellow eyes surrounded him. Promising. Threatening. Warning. Enticing. After a life of powerlessness, it was tantalizing. He just had to give it what it wanted. An exchange. A transaction. A contract signed in blood.

With every step away from the shore, and every foe slain with that strange barnacle-encrusted blade, something in him shifted.

He tried to resist, but sometimes he didn’t even realize he was giving in.

A blade at Caleb’s throat, a threat to his dominance. Pressing the cloven crystal into his chest, the satisfaction of a piece of himself returned, one he never knew he was missing. Golden eyes watching approvingly as he choked on the steel of his blade, slick frigid tentacles praising and threatening.

While the rest of the Nein recuperated in Zadash, mourning the loss of Molly, he felt the pull. Stronger than before. The sea held answers. The sea held vengeance. The sea held potential .

Days of riding, of disguises and restless nights. Waking in the morning with sea salt stinging his throat. Of following the pull, heedless of the consequences, towards the sea. Finally, he reached the border, stopping just out of sight of the patrolling empire guards.

He shaded his eyes with a hand, his head pounding. His vision blurred, sunlight stinging his already sunburnt skin. As he blinked away the burn, a gust of dry air ruffled his robes, sand and grit piling on his eyelashes.

Thankfully he and the rest of the counsel were teleported in for the occasion, only a few steps necessary to bring them into the relative comfort of the conjured sphere of darkness where the rest of the spectators gathered.

Set at the center of a semicircle of great bone-white spires, a sun-bleached wooden scaffold towered over the gathered congregation. Though he had never seen it in person before, he heard many tales of its purpose in the scant decades since he was appointed Shadowhand.

His hands ached, as they often did, but he dared not raise one to soothe the other. A guard led a drow in chains onto the platform. His hair hung in rough patches about his ears, his den braids harshly cut by his umavi when he was first sentenced. After days of walking, his body was so thoroughly coated in dust he looked more like an animated statue than a man. Only two thin strips of cracked charcoal skin were visible on his cheeks, where his tears cleared away the detritus. He let out a hollow moan with each step, his bare feet leaving bloody tracks on the worn wood as the noose was fastened around his neck.

He could feel the rough hempen rope around his own neck as the man thrashed, the canvas bag drawn tight over his head chafing against the tips of his ears. The Dusk Captain finished reading off his sentence, looking to the Bright Queen for her signal. She raised one hand, and the floor disappeared from below Fjord’s feet. Frigid seawater swallowed the scream that tore from his throat and seared his sunburnt skin.

For a terrifying moment he couldn’t tell up from down, the dark billows of his mantle and heavy robes hindering and blinding him. The reflection of the flaming ship sinking beneath the waves cast the sea in an eerie yellow glow.

He fought with all of his strength, chasing the last bubbles of air as it raced away from him towards the surface. The firelight grew brighter, blinding him. One desperate hand broke the surface of the water, just as a tentacle slithered around his ankle, and pulled. 

Something slick and sharp caught on Veth’s shoes as she thrashed, binding her legs together. The hand digging into the back of her neck forced her face down into the muck. She screamed, the sound swallowed up by brackish water.

Finally the hands released her. Flailing onto the shore, she coughed wetly, splattering mud and tears at her brother’s feet.

“Look how ugly she is when she cries,” he laughed, planting his foot on her shoulder and kicking her back into the pond. His friends jeered as she scrambled for the shore a second time, pelting her with clods of dirt and river stones. She lurched back as mud splattered across her face, blinding her.

Swiping the filth away, she forced her stinging eyes open as claws dug into her skin, forcing her down to her knees. Even the goblins holding her down flinched back as the hag bent over her, long spindly fingers pinching and pulling at her flesh.

“Make her suffer.”

Thrust into the water once more, an icy chill ran down her spine.

“You will earn what you are due, in time,” Daleth purred, patting her shoulder condescendingly. She wished the illusion concealing her form would block out the feeling of his touch. She watched the beacon disappear into a pocket dimension, a spell pilfered from her own repertoire after their last meeting, surely.

“And what, may I ask, would you consider to be, ‘due time’?” 

“You would think one of your kind would have more patience,” Daleth peered at her hands. She fought down the urge to cover the starburst mark of her failed consecution encircling her wrist, hidden beneath a glamour even in her daily life. “Now, away with you, before your queen realizes you aren’t home for supper,” he waved a dismissive hand, returning to his tea as if she were interrupting him with some trifle.

She turned and thrust the door open, stepping into the Dungeon of Penance. Word of the beacon’s disappearance spread rapidly throughout the dynasty, every cleric and scholar with the right to stand in the presence of their most holy relics being taken for questioning. She kept her face impassive, hyper aware of the scrying ball the guard to her side was holding, projecting the proceedings to the queen’s chambers. The drow in the cell before her, one of the guards assigned to the beacon chamber that night, sputtered and coughed, icy water dripping down his neck from where it had been forced into the bucket below.

“And you say you saw nothing? No one going in or out, nothing amiss at all?”

“I already told you-!” the guard flinched as his arms were pulled back, the interrogator’s fingers curling warningly in his hair.

“That’s enough,” Veth’s voice nearly cracked as she spoke, “we will learn no more from him today. Perhaps a few weeks of isolation will jog his memory.”

As he was dragged to his feet, the guard continued to profess his innocence, his pleas raising to screams as he was dragged deeper into the dungeon. The dark of the room spread until only the faintest flicker of lantern light remained.

It guttered as if blown by a preternatural wind, gradually growing brighter until it backlit a hulking figure. Isharnai towered over her, even seated as she was. Her spindly fingers tapped the table in rhythm. 

“To break the curse, you would need some sort of payment.”

“Or an equal misery in turn.”

“Does the misery have to affect me, or my friends? Can it affect anyone?” Isharnai lifted her head, her beady eyes widening in curiosity.

“What if two warring nations were about to form a lasting peace, and that peace just… Went away?”

“Ah, but I am not tethered to that misery… Unless you tether it for me.”

Beau’s kidnappers forced her arms behind her back, twisting harshly. The pain in her cheek was outweighed by the shame burning in her gut at being slapped. Her father was never a very expressive man, in spite of all the superstitions and wives tales he followed, but the look in his eyes as his hand lowered was… Vacant.

“This is for your own good, you understand?” He handed a sack of coin to one of the robed figures. Ignoring her swears of reply, he turned back to the house, her mother lingering in the doorway with a hand held over her mouth. She flinched away from Beau’s burning gaze, turning away without a word.

It was humiliatingly easy to wrestle her into the back of the carriage, tossing her down like so much cargo, her wrists bound with coarse rope behind her back. With a thud of finality, she was plunged into darkness.

In spite of the fury and hurt coursing through her, her head fell heavily against the wood floor. She didn’t let herself cry as she faded away.

“Is the lesson boring you, New Soul?” her most recent dunamancy professor, a drow dozens of times her age, asked from his place at the front of the classroom. “Or perhaps this is typically the time you are set down for a nap?”

Beau’s ears flicked back, pinned against the sides of her head with shame. The laughter of her classmates, all decades if not centuries her senior, cut deeper than any blade.

“No, professor, I apologize,” she forced herself to speak, loud enough to be heard across the great expanse of the hall.

“You would do well to recall that you are here on a trial basis.”

Her knuckles stung from the reprimands of her practical instructors, her eyes burning and dry from reading into the early morning. Satisfied with his reprimand, the professor nodded to himself, returning to his lecture. Every concept had either been thoroughly covered in previous lessons, or thoroughly disproven by Beau’s own research.

If someone would just listen to what she had to say-!

“Why won’t you even let me try?!”

“Try what? To humiliate us more than you already have with one of your idiotic schemes?! You are a disgrace to everything I have worked so hard to build.”

“You throw around all this bullshit about legacy, but the second you die, everything you’ve tried to build will, too! When will you wake up and see the world for what it really is?!”

“Oh, foundlings, all of you really are too alike, aren’t you…”

They blinked, suddenly finding themselves surrounded by a forest of blood-red grasses, each gargantuan blade moving as if it had a mind of its own. They were leaning against the stem of a white poppy as tall as a tree, its scent washing over them with each gust of preternatural wind. They tried to stand, only for a pain like jagged glass to slice through their entire body, doubling, vanishing, tripling, the burn of acid over their fingers, a bolt of lightning down their spine, frigid sea water stinging their eyes as cloying nausea rose up in their throat.

“Oh dear,” a soft voice lilted. They couldn’t open their eyes against the pain, let alone lash out at the danger. “It seems the rest of the foundlings made a right mess of putting them back together, didn’t they?”

“Fractured, fractured, fractured ; apart, but not broken.” A childlike voice whispered in reply. “We can help, help, help mend the pieces. Fix them! Heal them. Put them back together!”

“Let’s see if we can convince them of that, first,” the lilting voice conceded. 

Though they didn’t hear their approach, a soft press of a tiny paw atop their leg sent a whip of pain far worse than the last lashing over their body before it settled into blissful numbness.

“Now then, that ought to be enough to let them think.” 

Their head lolled against their chest, their eyes struggling to focus on the being before them.

A… Creature stood before them, with a spotted feline body. It blinked its eight dark eyes up at them, its triangular ears tipped with plumes of black feathers. A set of sparrow’s wings folded over its back. Its forepaws were soft and catlike, its hind paws the hands of a simian. Where its tail should have been, a writhing orange tentacle lashed back and forth, batting at a tiny gray mote dancing out of the way of its attacks.

“Frumpkin?” They croaked.

“I am heartened by your recognition, foundling.” The creature bent forward, flaring its wings out in a strange bow.

“Do they know me? I have played with my favorite Little Star for many moons more, more, more, we are more, aren’t we?” the mote of energy zipped forward, circling Their head in frenetic circles.

“I–it can’t be.”

They raised a hand, jagged shards of violet and amber forming the vague impression of a palm, upon which the mote paused for a moment, weaving between their fingers like a caterpillar. Though it had no expression, the way it flattened itself against their palm felt expectant. “You’re… The Luxon?”

The mote sprang out of their hand, flickering and flashing so brightly They had to squint against its light.

“Me! Me! Me! The little star sees me! It knows me! Many moons more it has, and many moons more it will! Ha!” The luxon flashed before Frumpkin’s eyes, easily dodging an irritated swipe of his forepaw.

“What is this place?”

“This is where I go when you dismiss me, or when a rather rude guard decides to kick my corporeal form to dust,” Frumpkin licked his forepaw imperiously, “Welcome to the endless Meadow, better known among your kind as the feywild. Or rather, my mind’s approximation of it. The irritating ball of childlike wonder suggested we bring you somewhere calming, given the circumstances. It was either this, or the endless vacuum of the Astral sea.” The Luxon huffed, scrubbing rapidly against Frumpkin’s side until his fur stood on end with static. “I lament that the other foundlings solicited the assistance of the golden-scaled one, rather than the warm one thrice-copied. Your Star’s spell was fragile from the start, and because of the gold brute’s rough handling, now it is completely shattered.”

“But warm-thrice-copied lives with the scary pokey meanies! We don’t need him to fix it! We can fix it! We will fix it!” The luxon bobbed above Frumpkin’s head. “Our friends brought all the pieces, now we get to play with them!”

“No games until they’re both as they should be,” Frumpkin groaned.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” They asked. Every syllable was agony on their throat, every heartbeat the cut of jagged glass, but they held fast. Frumpkin peered at them for a moment but said nothing, turning his attention to scratching a series of swirling glyphs into the soil around the trunk of the poppy as the Luxon drifted nearer.

“You remember what it was like when we first played with a dark star ?” The luxon asked, going still as it hovered before them. Its silvery body darkened like a stormcloud.

The pull of gravity, oppressive, more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, drawing him in, swallowing the sound of his screams before it could reach his ears. The force disappearing as rapidly as it had appeared, leaving only agony behind.

They swallowed harshly.

“If we don’t make you two again, you’ll be a dark star. You’ll gobble each other up, then poof! All gone. All gone! A~ll go~one!” the Luxon singsonged, “But your friends will be left behind, hurting on the inside like you hurt when you think about them leaving you behind.”

“They’ll forget about me soon enough,” They tried, their voice weaker yet.

“I think not, foundlings.” Frumpkin’s expression softened. “Even if they did, though we both know they would not, you have more work yet to do. You both have goals of your own, and duties woven by the fates only you can accomplish.”

“But if we aren’t Us anymore…”

“Oh! Oh! I can help! Help you feel together, even if you can’t be all mooshy-smooshy!” Frumpkin sighed as the Luxon began to quiver where it floated in the air, before it split in two, then three, one returning to harrying Frumpkin’s ears while the others swept forward to orbit their head.

Another wave of pain, stronger yet, rocked through their body. The sunset overhead darkened into night, the poppy closing with the loss of light.

“It’s time, my Hearthlight; Little Star.”

“Alright, I… Very well.” They struggled to speak as their body crumbled, fracturing into thousands of amber and violet crystals. Frumpkin nodded to the Luxon, and in an instant They began to flow apart. The terror set back in immediately, and They fought against the sensation, unable to stop the flow until a single crystal, larger than the rest, was all that remained holding Them together. Amber and violet swirled together within. The two motes of the luxon flew to the crystal, sinking into the surface and dissolving into stardust.

Faster than perceptible, They were no longer looking at their heart as one.

One looked away from his amber hand, taking in the inspiring violet form cradling the heart alongside him, the luxon orbiting his head with alacrity.

The other looked up and met the gaze of his treasured amber companion, his familiar, returned to the form of a cat, curled around his neck like a self-satisfied scarf.

The only remaining mix of color was the heart clasped between their hands.

“If I let go,”

“Will we still be us?”

Frumpkin nuzzled against his Hearthlight’s chin. “You can still be together, but not like this. It’s time, foundling.”

The Luxon swirled around their Little Star’s hand, urging their fingers apart. “Let’s go play some more! I have a whole bunch of new ideas for us to try!”

With a flash of blinding light, they let go.

Chapter Text

The first thing Essek noticed as he woke was the feeling of a hard, unyielding mattress beneath him.

The second thing he noticed was a familiar pulsing pain radiating from every joint, particularly brutal along his shoulders and hips.

The third, and most disconcerting, was the feeling of something crawling through his hair, its tiny claws hooking and pulling the strands.

He flailed upright, immediately regretting the motion as the pulsing swelled to a roar in an instant. 

“Woah there,” he flinched as a large, warm hand closed around his wrist, halting his attempt to slap the something away. A moment later, the creature was plucked free.

“Careful, schatz. It would be bad luck to swat them,” Caleb chided, opening his palm to reveal a tiny, gray bat. It had curly fur, small wings tipped with gray claws, and enormous round eyes. It was the sort of creature Jester would immediately try to ‘adopt.’

What struck Essek most, however, was the white starburst pattern coloring the fur of its forehead. A twin to the mark of his failed consecution burning his wrist like a hot coal.

“Have you always had a familiar?” Caleb asked. The bat scurried up his arm, nuzzling into Frumpkin’s side. He flicked his tail, but made no move to dislodge it.

“I… Never saw the use in one.”

Frumpkin growled lowly from his place on Caleb’s shoulder. He soothed him with a gentle scratch along his chin.

“When I woke, it was curled in your sleeve. It hasn’t left your side all this time.”

“All this time? How long was I..?”

“Only a few hours longer than me. I woke up when the others were moving us out of the laboratory. They woke well before us, and Yussa earlier yet. Jester offered to watch over you, but I, well…” Caleb trailed off.

Peering around the room, Essek noticed a pile of components, half-sorted across a scrap of leather at the foot of the bed. Caleb’s books were laid out neatly next to it, a knit blanket and pillow fashioned into a backrest against the footboard.

“You stayed with me?”

Caleb flushed, peering at the rafters and scratching idly at Frumpkin’s fur.

“I wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any… Ill effects. Yussa wasn’t in much of a mood to discuss the specifics.”

“Who is this Yussa, again?”

“He is a friend of ours, an arcanist. We gave him a few artifacts for safekeeping that piqued his interest, so we call in favors, now and then. He helped untangle the spell.”

“I owe him a great deal, then.” Essek mentally cataloged his collection of arcane relics, wondering how many he would have to part with to keep this whole ordeal under wraps. The Nein were well known for trusting the wrong sort.

Abruptly, the bat stopped rubbing its face in Frumpkin’s fur, climbing onto his head and leaping gracelessly down to land on Caleb and Essek’s joined hands. They flinched in sync, neither having noticed how they moved to cling to the other. A sudden onslaught of emotions bombarded Essek’s mind. Impatience, indignation, and a childlike sense of irritation struck him like physical blows.

“I think the aftershock of the spell finally hit,” Essek groaned, doubling over and covering his mouth with his free hand as nausea swirled in his gut.

“I’ll get Caduceus.” Caleb rested a hand on Essek’s shoulder. As he moved to untangle their fingers, the bat clamped down on them with its claws.

Squeaking insistently in Frumpkin’s direction, it flapped its wings and held fast. Frumpkin descended far more gracefully into Caleb’s lap, placing a paw alongside its fluttering wing.

Like stepping into a dream, Caleb and Essek were struck with the image of an alien landscape unlike any they had ever seen, yet immediately recognizable. A chimera of familiar forms and a fragment of possibility speaking to them in the shade of the petals of a poppy flower. Of shattering, of losing who they were, to return to who they had always been.

“The Luxon said it would keep us connected.”

“Do you think..?”

”A part of the Luxon, bestowed upon me,” Essek breathed. The bat wiggled its ears at him, squeaking energetically. Its tiny body was warm and soft, quivering from the rapid speed of its heartbeat.

“There will certainly be a scandal, should your clerics learn of this,” Caleb laughed, turning their hands to cradle the bat in their joined palms.

Essek froze, his face blanching to an ashen gray. He pulled away; the bat clinging to his wrist as he tucked his hands into his shirtsleeves. A palpable wave of disgust and remorse seemed to radiate from the creature, mirroring Caleb’s pinched expression.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Essek pushed past him, ignoring the familiar stab of pain with each step. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he turned for the door.

“I have to go. I need to report in before anyone comes looking for me, if they haven’t already. You have means of protecting yourself from divination, but the rest of the Nein–” Caleb snagged Essek's sleeve as he closed his hand around the door handle.

“Essek, warte—I—Wait, just a moment.”

Slowly, Essek turned to face him. This time, a wash of foreign panic and remorse brushed over his skin, again centered on the soft body of the bat.

“We don’t know if the spell is truly complete, or if it has any unforeseen side effects. We should confer with Yussa.”

“I put you in enough danger as it is, all of you. Please, Caleb.” Essek turned for the door again, only to pull Caleb along with him. Their fingers had intertwined of their own accord, tethering them. Caleb flushed, breaking the hold without making eye contact.

Fear, disgust, longing.

“I know you are beating yourself up over all of this. I understand that feeling better than anyone. I cannot say I miss being one with you, in that way. There is closeness, and then there is…” he trailed off.

Fear, disgust, longing.

“But, you saw the pains I suffered, just as I saw your own. You must admit that changes things.”

Fear, anxiety, determination.

“It doesn’t have to change anything.”

Fear, disgust, longing.

“What if I wanted it to?”

Fear, anxiety, determination.

“If you hate me for this, I will never speak of it again. I–” Caleb reached for both of Essek’s hands, interlacing their fingers.

I want to learn with you. I want to unlock new power with you. I want to see the world with you. I want to be selfish, just this once. I want. I want. I–

“I love you.” The words spilled from Caleb’s mouth of their own volition.

Essek flinched back, his heel knocking against the door.

Anxiety, resentment, fear, disgust, disgust, disgust.

“You’re lying.”

Terror, regret, disgust.

“You’re lying! How naive do you think I am?! I stoked war between our people, wrought death and destruction upon the world for my own selfish gains. I tore you from your body, subjected you to a hell of my creation, and for that I am truly sorry, but I won’t be a pawn whatever game you’re playing!” He threw himself away from the door. With a hissed utterance and a swift somatic, Caleb’s body went rigid, his arms clamped to his sides, his mouth locked shut.

“I could ruin you, Caleb Widogast. Do you understand? I refuse to be used again.”

With a shockwave of energy that stole Caleb’s breath away, Essek vanished.

Chapter Text

“Hey Essek? Could you maybe come back, pretty please? Caleb won’t tell us what happened, but he doesn’t look so good. Did something happen? It’s–”

“Did something embarrassing happen when we were swimming around in your brain? If you want, I can tell you the story of how Fjord ate—”

“Essek? I know you’re probably super busy and everything, but could you at least let us know you’re okay? Caleb still won’t say why you–”

“Hey, um, Essek? Could you maybe come to the Chateau sometime and talk? I’m getting kinda worried. Fjord, do you think he’s not getting these?”

“Still no answer?”
“No!” Jester threw herself against Yasha’s side, her hands fisted in her skirts.
“He’s probably busy covering his ass, since he basically fell off the face of Exandria.” Beau scoffed.
“A whole week later?” Jester pouted.
“Maybe he just needs some alone time.” Yasha wrapped one arm around Jester’s shoulders.
“It’s not like we’re getting anywhere sitting around being pissed at him.” Beau added.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the chateau with us, Veth? We’ll have the spa all to ourselves, and I could paint your nails, and we could talk about boys…”
“Like the one currently becoming one with his bunk on the ship, or the one who ran away like a coward?” Veth snapped. Jester winced, Beau’s expression briefly hardening at her behind Jester’s back. Veth sighed. “That sounds great, but I’d better get home to my other boys.”
“Aww, okay.” Jester pouted for a moment before turning her attention to Fjord.
“I’ll just go say goodnight to him…” Veth left him to her mercies, making her way below to Caleb’s cabin. Her soft knock earned her a hoarse invitation in. The room was as it had been for the past week, a pile of blankets untouched at the foot of the bed, Caleb sitting with his back pressed to the corner, his arms curled around his knees. Frumpkin was wedged between his legs and his chest, purring loudly. Veth climbed up onto the bunk beside him, pressing her side to his.
“I’m going to head home.”
Anger, paranoia, anxiety, fear.
“Do you need anything before I go?”
Fear, regret, anxiety, resignation.
“Maybe something to eat?”
Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety.
Veth grasped Caleb’s elbow, squeezing gently. He jolted, sucking in a startled breath.
“Huh?” He finally acknowledged her, worrying his fingers in Frumpkin’s fur. “Oh, good evening, Veth. Ah, no, I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Well of course I don’t need to, but I’m going to, anyway.” Veth reached up to comb his hair back with her fingers. He closed his eyes, leaning into the contact with a weary sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Hmm, ja, okay.”

Guilt ate away at her as she walked home, enjoying the cool, crisp evening air. Yeza met her at the door, arms open. He didn’t question her as she curled around him, lingering in his embrace for longer than normal. As they settled for the night he told her a story about the cooking class he was taking. One of the other students managed to use a fire cantrip to toast bread, but she got too excited and burnt it at the very end.
It was a simple story, one that didn’t require any real response as she combed her hair and changed into more comfortable clothes. He pulled the covers back and opened his arms as she neared the bed. With the blankets tucked around them, her heart sung at the way his grip tightened, like he could guard her from any danger that dared come near. Even if she were the only one with the skill to use the dagger stashed beneath the mattress, or the extra crossbow behind the headboard, or the stiletto disguised as a candle on the nightstand. Or…
Veth yawned, nestling under his chin and curling an arm around him, holding him tight. No matter how often she heard it, the steady thud of his heartbeat always set her at ease. On that night, however, it didn’t have the same lulling effect as usual.
Perhaps an hour later she shifted, eliciting a muzzy whine from Yeza.
“Everything alright?” He slurred, evidently having had no trouble falling asleep. She pulled away to look at him, her hands still fisted in the back of his shirt.
“It’s just… It’s been a long time since Caleb shut me out like this. We’ve all tried to get him to talk to us, to give him space, whatever he needs. I feel terrible knowing there’s nothing I can do to help him, not really. Everyone’s so tense, which only makes him clam up more, but trying to act like everything’s normal when it isn’t is… I’m worried he’s just going to keep backsliding until, I don’t know…”
“I get it. It makes me scared to think of what Luc’ll be like once he stops thinking girls will give him cooties.”
“We do give you cooties, though.”
Yeza huffed a laugh, nuzzling their noses together.
“You said Jester’s been sending to Mister Theyless, right? Did he ever respond?”
“No…”
“Well, maybe you guys should go see if he’ll tell you his side of the story in person.”
“I guess I could pay him a visit… Do you have any of those smoke bombs I brought the stuff for last week?”
“What kind of a husband do you think I am? I made all of them, and worked up a prototype blinding bomb with that flash powder formula we’ve been working on—”
“Baby, keep talking like that and I’ll never leave this bed again,” Veth purred, walking her fingers up his chest to cradle his chin, leaning in for a kiss.
Yeza absently turned away from her as he continued.
“—It might be more of a frag bomb than a flash bomb though, since we haven’t tested the integrity of the new casings, so make sure you keep a safe distance and wear eye protection if you—” He rambled.
“Aaand you ruined it. Safety schmafety!” She swatted playfully at his shoulder, cutting off his tangent. That earned her a laugh, and a proper kiss in apology.
“I’ll see if Yussa can send me back tomorrow, I guess.”
“There should be a bottle of white wine in the cellar. Take it with you. It’s a lot easier to cajole favors out of him once he’s had a few glasses.”
“Do I even want to know?”

Veth paid rapt attention to a story of hijinx Luc got up to with his new friends over breakfast. She let his unsubtle attempt to steal one of her daggers go unpunished, swapping it for one of his wooden ones when she hugged him goodbye. With a promise to be home in time for dinner, she slung her pack over her shoulder, weighed down with a handful of the explosives her darling husband had prepared, and three vials of high-grade acid she nicked from his lab on her way out. Yeza pressed a bottle of wine into her hands and a soft kiss to her lips, lingering in the threshold as she forced herself to leave his embrace and make her way back to the shore.
Caduceus was leaning against a crate on the deck of the ship, shirtless, sharpening a knife with an incongruously placid expression.
“Morning Deucy,” Veth greeted. “Impromptu laundry day?” She gestured to his tunic draped over the rail, dripping onto the deck boards below.
“Morning. Ah, nah. A pelican and I had a disagreement, s’all.”
“Hmm, alrighty then. The rest of the ladies not back yet?”
“Nope. Jester sent saying they were going to go shopping a little bit ago.”
“Alright, well, I’ll be out for most of the day, too. Could you do me a favor and keep an eye on Caleb?”
“Mm, sure.”
It was quiet belowdecks, save for the gentle groan as the ship rocked back and forth. She knocked softly on Caleb’s door, waiting a moment before easing it open. The room was dark, his coat draped over the porthole to block out the early morning sun. He shifted with a tired groan as she crossed to his bags, but didn’t wake. Frumpkin uncurled from where he was loafed at Caleb’s feet, stretching with a wide yawn and padding over to her side inquisitively.
Unwrapping the plate of breakfast she’d saved for him, she placed it on the bedside table next to a cup of tea long gone cold. She rifled through his belongings, tracing the teleportation sigil for Rosohna onto a scrap of paper. All the while, he never stirred.
Hopefully, Caleb wouldn’t mind her lending it to Yussa, in exchange for getting her where she needed to go.
Frumpkin trailed after her as she disembarked, trotting a few steps ahead as if he knew where she was going. She half-expected him to veer off somewhere along the way to do… Whatever it was he did when Caleb didn’t need him. Yet, he lead her all the way to Tidepeak tower, sitting on his haunches as she explained herself to Wensforth.
Luckily, the bottle of wine and the teleportation sigil were enough to buy her passage. She took a moment to disguise herself as a nondescript goblin, opening her pack at Frumpkin’s pawing and letting him clamber inside. He sneezed at the heavy scent of gunpowder, but didn’t fuss further as Yussa finished the preparations for their departure.

Early morning melted into endless night as they passed through the firmaments. Veth ignored the occasional sideways glance as she made her way towards the obnoxiously swanky neighborhood where Essek kept his towers. Frumpkin freed himself from her bag once they came into view, occasionally shaking his head and flicking his ears as if he were trying to dislodge a particularly irritating fly.
 Winding a piece of copper wire between her fingers, Veth pointed in the direction of Essek’s laboratory.
“Hey, dumbass. You home?”
A moment passed with no response. She pointed to the tallest tower, his personal chambers.
“You can’t hide from me. I’ll bust into a hearing with the Bright Queen herself, if that’s what it takes.”
Again, no response. Veth cursed under her breath, pointing the wire at the lowest tower. “If you haven’t fixed your wards yet, you have ten seconds to get ‘em up before I blow this pop stand sky high.”
“That would be inadvisable for a number of reasons.” To her surprise, Essek’s voice, thin and wan, replied from the lowest tower.
“Then you better let me in. I’m sure the neighbors won’t appreciate the noise.”
A minute passed with no response, then two. Veth debated the merits of throwing one of the bombs she brought at his door. She was weighing it in her palm, digging through her bag with her other hand in search of her tinderbox, when the front door swung open.
Taking it for the invitation it was, she entered, returning the bomb to her bag. The door snapped shut behind her. She dropped her disguise as it did, squinting in the dim light.
The sitting room was in disarray. Piles of books and parchment lay scattered across every available surface. A large urn sat at the center of the chaos, its lid propped open with a stick of charcoal. The sofa was pushed up to the table, blankets and pillows heaped in one corner in what she could only describe as a nest. Beneath the table, two ornate satchels reminiscent of the bottomless bag Fjord carried leaned against a stack of wooden cases. The topmost case was open, revealing neat rows of healing potions. packed in straw.
Despite the disarray around him, he was as perfectly put-together as the day they met. His hair was cleanly styled, not a lock out of place. Delicate silver earrings and matching ear caps, decorated with dozens of tiny rubies, adorned his ears. Several silver rings decorated his fingers, and a thin silver chain with a larger ruby hung from his neck, all apiece. He hovered over her, looking down his nose at her with an unreadable expression.
“What do you want?” He said, his voice cold.
“I want to know what you did to Caleb.”
His stony expression sharpened into a cutting glare.
“What I did to him?”
“Yes, what you did! Ever since you took off without thanking us for saving your sorry ass from the disaster you caused, he’s been a complete mess! You did something to him, I know it!”
“Do all of you think me so naïve?”
“I think you’re a high and mighty prick who wouldn’t know an absolute catch if it bit you in the ass!”
“I don’t have time for this.” Essek flicked his fingers, a mage hand shoving one of the bags over the crates of potions with more force than necessary, glass clattering as they vanished into its depths.
“Oh, because running away instead of letting him down easy is such a great idea. If you didn’t feel the same way, why did you string him along for so long?!”
“What in the Luxon’s light are you talking about!?”
“I’m talking about how you broke Caleb’s heart, you dumbass!” Veth unsheathed her dagger, leaping up onto the table and brandishing it at his throat. In a flash of arcane darkness, he was across the room in the threshold of the kitchen, jagged crystalline mirror images dancing around his form.
Typical wizards. Why can’t they just flinch like everyone else?
“He said I broke his heart?”
“No, but you just did.”
They both stood there frozen, Essek’s posture loosening minutely before he shook himself, falling back into a fighting stance.
“I didn’t–he only said it to try and trap me! He was so disgusted it was practically palpable. I always knew our relationship would only last as long as we were useful to each other. I tried to make my peace with that. So why?”
The urn shifted slightly, a dull flapping noise rattling from within. Frumpkin leapt onto the table to swat at it, inching it closer to the table’s edge.
“Why do you have a bird in a jar?”
“She’s a bat,” Essek snipped. The mirror images warped around him as he crept closer to the table, bracketing the urn in with a few piles of books.
“Okay, why do you have a bat in a jar?”
“Because she refuses to be unsummoned, and she kept biting me, and every time she touches me I — Anyhow, she’s a pest.” Essek shook his head, sorting the books into two piles. He paused when he reached a particular book. While most hardly showed any sign of wear, this one was in tatters. The spine crackled in protest as he opened it to the front cover, his expression tightening. Veth recognized it—a collection of essays Caleb had gone to great pains to bring to him. She sheathed her dagger, taking a measured step back.
“Caleb bribed Jester with a box of pastries so she would mend the spots he’d worn down. He has a bad habit of rubbing the pages between his fingers as he reads.” She laughed dryly. “He trusted you with the spell to get my body back. He empathized with you when you betrayed our trust. He was scared to let you back in, afraid of being burned, sure, but anyone with eyes can see how gone he is on you.”
“An act,” Essek snapped the book shut, but he didn’t put it down, staring at the cover.
“You said that before—what’s that all about?”
“They connected us. The Luxon and…” Essek hesitated as Frumpkin stopped fiddling with the urn, inclining his head downright imperiously in his direction. “They allowed us a glimpse into one another, an echo of what my spell forced us to become. But when he,” Essek swallowed, his ears pinned back against his head, “when he said he loved me, all I felt were waves of regret, fear and disgust. How can you say you love someone when you are filled with such hatred for them!?” Essek slammed the book down on the table, wincing at the impact. His mirror images vanished. “He regretted it the moment the words left his lips! As soon as he realized I saw right through his lies!”
“Would someone trying to use you for their own gain spend the next week in bed wallowing in his angst? You going to tell me he’s just upset that his ‘master plan’ failed?”
Essek huffed a breath, visibly reeling in his temper.
“I don’t know what to think. Not anymore.”
Frumpkin shot Essek a truly unimpressed glare, his tail lashing. Rearing up on his hind paws, he knocked the lid of the urn to the ground. From within, a tiny white blur shot up in the air, the bat flapping in rapid circles around the chandelier overhead and squeaking uproariously.
“Light sear it,” Essek cursed, backing away from the creature. Frumpkin hooked a claw in his robes before he could get out of range, tipping his head in the bat’s direction.
“Why are you so afraid of the bat, again?”
“Because she’s constantly biting me and crawling into my robes, and every time she touches me all I feel is…” Essek raised his head, eyes wide. “Misery.”
“Do I need to spell it out for you? The Luxon? Connection? Feeling each other’s emotions?”
Frumpkin meowed, waving a paw in the bat’s direction once more when Essek acknowledged him. Hesitantly, he held out his hand.
The bat dove towards him, colliding with his palm like a fluffy magic missile. He cringed back at the contact, his eyes going glassy. Peering into its huge black eyes was like looking up at a night sky. Dull glimmers of sadness, regret and shame wound around the ball of misery that surrounded its core. He felt a chill overtake him, his own fear and heartache firmly rooted in his chest, not tied to the creature.
“So it wasn’t… But he..?”
“You’re lucky you’re so hot.”
“What?”
“This might be a little hypocritical of me, but I’m not going to overstep any more than I already have. What I will say is this: I know he’s hard to read. I get that you’re scared, even if it means you did something so monumentally stupid that it makes me want to cave in your idiot skull. But, no matter what he said, this?” She gestured to the room at large, torn apart with bags half-packed, “this is what he was afraid of. Would you at least give him a chance to explain himself? If you still want to run after, we won’t stop you.”
Essek stroked a finger over the bat’s soft fur. It wiggled its ears happily at him, yet it felt like a lead weight in his palm, a palpable ball of misery.
“He, all of you, would be in constant danger every moment I’m with you.”
”Eh, Uk’otoa and Trent Ikithon were getting old, anyhow. New enemies’ll shake things up.” Frumpkin leapt from the table to Veth’s shoulders as she ushered Essek to the door. “To Nicodranas!”
“Wait. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it properly.” Checking for anything he may have forgotten, Essek surreptitiously took in the sight of his tower for what very well may be the last time.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, pretty boy.”
“Just… Follow me.”

Frumpkin was gone. A snap of Caleb’s fingers didn’t bring his feline security blanket back. Veth was out spending time with her family. He wouldn’t begrudge her the time, but he wished, selfishly, that she was there with him.
Caduceus roused him for lunch, ignoring his attempts to beg off and planting him at the small table in the galley. Once he picked at his food enough, Caduceus piled mesh bags of fruit into his hands and marched him out to a spread of toweling on the beach, an umbrella blocking off the worst of the sun.
He would have complained, perhaps snuck back to his room, if not for the uproar as Jester, Beau and Yasha returned to the ship, their arms laden with the spoils of their shopping trip. Jester rallied every available hand, including several members of the crew, into stringing lanterns between the masts and arranging tables ‘borrowed’ from the Chateau on the deck, shouting about the party she was planning loud enough for him to hear from his distant vantage point.
Caduceus had a cutting board balanced on his knees, carefully carving a pile of fruits into different shapes and adding them to a bowl resting between them. He hadn’t spoken a word since he settled at Caleb’s side, only humming to himself and pressing a smaller bowl of offcuts into Caleb’s hands as he worked. A pair of seagulls screeched near the waters edge, fighting over a scrap of melon rind.
Ever since Frumpkin left he felt… Vacant. Like a part of him was missing. He felt disappointed, and ashamed, and disgusted with himself, but none of those emotions were as urgent as the frantic wingbeats of anxiety and anger and fear battering against his heart ever since Essek left days ago.
The bowl in his hands was starting to overflow. With every cut, the pile became more tenuous. He forced himself to eat a piece, to prevent the entire stack from toppling over into the sand. As he chewed, Caduceus added another. His mind gradually quieted as he focused on keeping the tower from toppling over. Each type of fruit was stacked on top of itself. If he let them fall, they would mix together. Irreversibly altered. They could never go back to what they were before.
He bit into a piece of strawberry stuck to a sliver of kiwi. Its flavor was unique, a sum of its parts. But he could still taste the strawberry, the kiwi. The strawberry was firmer, sweeter, while the kiwi gave easily, adding a satisfying texture.
By the time Caduceus finished, Caleb was jittery from the sugar, something he rarely indulged in.
“Have you ever baked a pie before?” Caduceus asked, apropos of nothing. Caleb nodded without looking up from the bowl of fruit in his hands. A piece of pineapple was stained blue from the juices of a blueberry, crushed beneath it.
“Well, we have some apples left over. Would you mind giving me a hand?” Such a blatant manipulation from anyone else, though with Caduceus one could never tell. Caleb let himself be led back to the ship, and down to the galley once more.
Hours later, covered in a dusting of flour from an unfortunately-timed wave rocking the boat, Caleb pulled the last of three pies from the squat iron stove. The first was a bit underdone, the apples too crunchy. The crust of the second cracked from the heat of boiling fruit juices, specks of char dusting its outer edges, but the third was perfectly golden, the sweet scent of apples and spices filling the small space.
As he placed it on the table to cool, a drawn-out meow drew his attention to the doorway. Frumpkin emerged with his tail held high, padding over to rub himself fervently against Caleb’s legs.
“There you are,” he hummed, stooping down to greet him. Stroking his soft fur immediately enveloped him in a warm blanket of hope, tinged with anticipation and the slightest edge of anxiety.
Maybe he still had a chance to make things right.

From the boardwalk, the Nein Heroez glowed like a beacon in the night, not unlike the tree marking the Nein’s home in Rosohna. Strings of paper lanterns shifted in the breeze. The cool evening air carried with it the fresh scent of sea salt.
Hope, curiosity, calm.
Essek huffed, brushing invisible dust from his cloak. He could hear distant voices calling over one another, but he remained rooted to the dock, watching from afar. He strained to hear any sign of Caleb’s voice amidst the sound, to no avail. Would it be better or worse to hear him laughing with the others, like nothing ever happened?
Hope, curiosity, unease.
This was folly. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t weigh down this family, so much better than any he had ever known his own, so much truer. All he would do was drag them down with him when the knives at his back finally plunged through.
”Foolish,” he hissed, ignoring the claws hooked into his lapel, the tiny teeth nibbling at the jewels hanging from his ear.
Even if they could forgive him, it was only a matter of time until—
Shock.
“Essek?”
He froze.
”I’m sorry,” Essek blurted. Caleb stood on the gangplank, expression as stunned as his own surely was. He looked worn. Tired. Frumpkin narrowed his eyes at him from his place draped across Caleb’s shoulders.“I’ll leave. I shouldn‘t have–“
“No, mein–Essek, I–“ Caleb reached for him as he turned away, always the coward, always on the run. “I want to apologize.”
“What?”
“I scared you. It wasn’t the right time for–I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off.
“Do you regret it?”
Caleb’s eyes darted away, a flush rising across his cheeks.
“I regret frightening you away.”
“But did you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Have your feelings changed, on the matter?”
Caleb met his gaze.
Hope.
“Have yours?”
Essek took a deep breath, Caleb’s hope buoying him.
“I realize that I overreacted, ah, rather extremely. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love before. I have loved. I loved my parents, as a child, before they learned I was a new soul. I love Verin, even if he drives me mad more often than not. I… I care a great deal about you, all of you. But you, Caleb Widogast, I think if I were to find I loved anyone, it would be you.”
Caleb gaped at him, shock joy hope spiraling dizzyingly from the warm weight of the bat on his shoulder.
“That is, if you can find it in yourself to forgive me for... Everything. For running, and starting this whole mess in the first place. But, if you are amenable, I would like to try.”
“We are too alike, you and I,” Caleb laughed, “a little arcane mishap would hardly be enough to drive me away. I’d rather hoped we would have time to bring more about, together.”
”A mishap that could have cost you your very — huh?”
”Perhaps with a bit more research beforehand, and a more rigorous trial phase, but the principals of the spell are quite genius, as everything you create is. Would you like something like that?”
“I think I would, Caleb Widogast.” Caleb swept into Essek’s space, their fingers interlacing. At the touch, the warm sensation of affection love hope joy flowed between them. Caleb leaned down as Essek raised his head, like a flower chasing the sun. Their breath mingled, lips scant centimeters apart.
“May I—?” Caleb began, only for his arms to loop defensively around Essek’s back, both wizards flinging arcane shields over the other as a great screeching whistle broke the peace of the night, followed by a resounding BOOM as a flash of light illuminated the night sky.
“BEAU WHAT THE HECK YOU RUINED IT.” Jester sprang up from behind a nearby barrel.
“THEY’RE TAKING TOO LONG!” Beau shouted back from her place behind a tower of crates, downing the contents of a brown bottle before placing a firework inside. Her satchel was packed with similar rockets, the source of the noise. Yasha followed behind, accepting the bottle as Beau pressed it into her hand, fumbling with her tinderbox.
Jester groaned dramatically, flopping over the top of the barrel. Veth materialized from the shadow of a crate opposite her, unloading and putting away her crossbow, nodding approvingly in Essek’s direction.
“You guys can still kiss, if you wanna.” Jester encouraged.
Caleb hid his face in Essek’s shoulder, his own shaking with laughter. Essek fought the urge to hide like a child with his face pressed to Caleb’s chest, tightening his hold where their fingers remained interlaced.
“Well, if you aren’t going to, I wanna meet this little guy!” Jester rounded on Essek, holding a hand out to the bat. “What’s your name, buddy? You look like a Macaron. Oh! Or Crumble.”
“I admit, I am curious,” Caleb said. “I think she looks more like a Gertrude.”
“Uhrluki,” Essek replied, blushing. Beau snorted.
“You named your familiar Disobedient Child?”
“She wouldn’t listen to me!” Essek defended.
“Are you coming with us, then? Ohmigosh this is going to be so great!” Jester crowed.
“Now, now, he still has his obligations, I’m sure.” Caleb reasoned, though Essek could feel his hope curiosity excitement.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, prettyboy.” Veth drawled.
“Well, you see…”

“What is this, Shadowhand?” as she spoke, he could see a spark of amusement in the Dusk Captain’s eyes.
“My resignation, your grace.”
“Hmm. Has this anything to do with the rumors surrounding your recent… Outing with the Heroes of the Dynasty?”
The faint tinkling of his earrings clattering against each other drew attention to the flustered flick of his ears.
“Ah, I—well…” Essek flushed, grateful for the high collar hiding how his skin darkened down to his chest. “They have so few years left. If I hesitate, I will regret it later.”
“Hm. I am saddened to see you leave so early in your career, but perhaps a few decades of sabbatical would do you well.”
“Your grace?”
“In spite of our longevity, our people rarely venture beyond the bounds of our nation. The Bright Queen is planning to offer a position at an outpost North of our lands to someone she can trust. I will admit I considered recommending you. It is important to stretch your legs, especially in your first youth. But, perhaps it would be wise to enlist an emissary in the Empire, to ensure the peace talks stick..?”
“Though I do think it wise, I would like to take a step back from politics.”
Her gaze turned sharp.
“At least for now,” Essek placated. “He has his own qualms with his home, as their allegiance to us has shown. I fear my presence in an official capacity would put a strain on that which is already tenuous.”
“He?”
Essek forced himself to hold her gaze, but did not respond. They held their standoff for another moment, her eyes drifting between the delicate scrawl of his letter of resignation, and the shifting of his sleeves failing to conceal how he twisted his fingers. With a sigh, she plucked her quill from its holder, her expression softening.
“Tuhm tekatain, Young Master Theyless. I hope you will find time to visit.”
“Tuhm tekatain, Blademother.”

Essek leaned against the ship rail, peering through his tinted glasses at the endless expanse of the sea beyond. He resisted the urge to float, heeding Jester’s warnings about the misery of blisters should he fail to break in his new boots before they set off.
Familiar footfalls approached from belowdecks, Caleb’s warmth pressing against his side.
“Guten morgen, schätz,” he rasped, resting his forehead on Essek’s shoulder. He reached back, scratching along the side of Caleb’s head. He was very much like his familiar, arching into the contact with a grumbling noise reminiscent of Frumpkin’s purr. They were, at Essek’s request, taking things slow, though he found he rather enjoyed the palpable rush of affection comfort safety every time Caleb held him.
“So, where to?”
“I believe we may have a lead to follow to the north. Have you heard of Eiselcross?”
Essek froze.
“Not a fan of the cold?”
“No, it is just… I may have turned down a job offer that could have provided us with better accommodations.”
“Ah, well I may have a solution for that. I’ve been working on a new spell...”