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Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 9:29 am - Loop 1?

The streets of Rexxentrum are already teeming with the morning's flood of people, the citizens bringing with them the chatter and laughter of morning trade, the smells of baking bread and frying meat, and the general groans and sighs of the capital city waking up. Deep in the heart of it, at the nexus of this web of activity, within the Shimmer Ward lies the Soltryce Academy, a sprawling campus of manicured greens and ivory halls that’s abuzz with activity as the students and professors move with purpose, shouting instructions and carting a seemingly endless parade of various supplies from one location to another. Standing at the front gates is a young elven man, his arms crossed in front of him. The crowd parts around him, giving him a wide berth, and Essek Thelyss is greatly appreciative of this, because the morning light and clamour are not doing his foul mood any favours. He’d woken from his trance strangely off kilter, then received a message from the Martinent that he would be unable to attend their meeting this morning, then told that Master Ikithon would be going in his stead, and worst of all, was further told that he had to travel directly to the Empire to meet him. To the academy itself, even! 

Essek glances once more at the clock tower above him, to check that it is, in fact, still one minute before their arranged meeting time, and Master Ikithon is still not here. He considers calling the whole thing off and teleporting home, when he spots a young human man with auburn hair cutting a path across the field directly towards him. 

“Lord Desran Thane, I take it?” 

“Yes, and you are?” 

The man inclines his head in a slight nod, “Caleb Widogast, one of Master Ikithon’s assistants.” 

Essek takes in the man before him. Instead of the uniform robes of one of the students or professors of the academy, the man wears a smart red jacket, lending credit to his claim. He stands with a straight back, but an easy posture, and when he meets Essek’s eyes, he sees a spark of critical assessment. Most likely one of his scourgers, Essek concludes. Especially if he’d been trusted to handle such a clandestine meeting in Trent’s stead. 

He opens his mouth to ask a question, but Caleb cuts him off.  

“I’m afraid that Master Ikithon has been roped into preparations for tomorrow’s festival, and will be unavailable for the next hour. I’ve been instructed to keep you entertained until that time.” 

Essek sighs, bristling at the dismissive phrasing. “Delightful.” 

“One moment then.” The young man raises one hand in front of himself, and twists it in a somatic gesture immediately familiar to Essek as the wristpocket spell, and a black parasol drops into Caleb’s hand. He opens it, and offers it to Essek. Momentarily taken aback, Essek hesitates for a second, before accepting it. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He smiles slightly, “Now, if you’ll follow me please.” 

Caleb then begins walking back across the academy grounds, without turning to see if Essek is following. He swiftly adjusts the positioning of the parasol so it’s blocking most of the light and heads after him. 

“If Master Ikithon is busy today, why was I called in this early?”

Without missing a step, Caleb replies “Master Ikithon was supposed to be available all day today, but preparations for the Hazel Festival have been unprecedentedly hectic this year. One of the other professors unfortunately injured himself earlier in the week and all of his duties have been handed over to Master Ikithon, on top of his own responsibilities. He would have told you earlier, but Ludanis only informed him of the meeting a few hours ago.” 

“How unfortunate.” Essek says, bitterly. Caleb however seems unperturbed by his charge’s surliness, and leads Essek on a tour of the campus. They start outside, Caleb leading them past bustling guildhalls and under grand walkways, all the while rattling off random tidbits of information of the school’s history, when each part was added, what’s done in these buildings. Essek feigns listening politely, nodding along, noting that his guide sounds about as bored as Essek feels, and tunes him out almost entirely. All the while, there’s a nagging sensation at the back of Essek’s mind that he’s struggling to place. Like the last vestiges of a dream clinging to your mind when you wake up in the morning, a single snagged verse of a song stuck in your head, or the faintest whiff of a scent in the air before it’s whisked away by a strong breeze. Essek’s concentration is broken by the sudden sound of Caleb chuckling. 

“What is it?” 

“You really aren’t listening to a word I’m saying.” 

“I-” 

“I just said that this building grew out of a seed planted by a purple gnome with three horns called Dr Fizzlebopper, and in it students are taught about the fine art of cheese wizardry. You called it ‘fascinating’.” 

Essek flushes, and forces out a laugh, “My apologies, my mind isn’t quite where it should be today. I shall endeavour to be more attentive from now on.” 

For a moment, a puzzling expression crosses Caleb’s face, and Essek gets the distinct impression that he’s being examined. For what, he doesn't know, but whatever it is, he must be found wanting, as the expression clears as quickly as it came, and a blandly polite smile takes it place. 

“Perhaps it’d be for the best if we head back inside, Master Ikithon shouldn’t be much longer.” 

Essek acquiesce quickly, and they step inside the main building, Essek returning his parasol to its rightful owner, who loops it over his arm instead of magically dismissing it once more. Before them is a grand hall with towering white marble walls, their vast expanse interrupted at regular intervals with paintings and statues of presumably professors and what Essek recognises as members of the Cerberus Assembly, current and long past. He’s spared the history lesson when Caleb leads them swiftly past, deeper into the building. Hopefully in the direction of Ikithon’s office, but Essek wouldn’t know, as the route they take is unnecessarily complicated, either by design or at his guide’s whim. Essek is quite thoroughly lost. The rooms in front of them do look promising, however, as the bronzed plaques on the walls beside them are emblazoned with the names of professors rather than simple numbers. 

Once again, Essek is snapped from his thoughts by his inscrutable guide, this time by placing a hand on his arm and firmly stopping him in place. Essek’s eyes jump from his arm to Caleb’s face, but his complaint dies on his tongue as Caleb opens the parasol with his other hand and holds it above them, just in time for a moderate shower of iron nails to rain down upon them. While Essek had been looking at the doors, he failed to notice the ladder in front of them, and the man at the top of it attempting to nail a banner to the doorframe, leaning over it precariously.  

“Sorry!” The man calls down, and Caleb removes himself from Essek’s arm to gather the nails from the floor, passing them back up to the man. 

“No harm done. But do move the ladder next time, instead of reaching.” The man apologises once again, and  promises to do so in future, but Caleb frowns, disbelief evident. 

Caleb closes the parasol once more, and this time he does activate his wristpocket and sends it into the pocket dimension. He turns to Essek and inclines his head towards the hallway in front of them, paired with a generous sweep of his arm. 

“Master Ikithon’s office is just down here, Lord Thane.” 

Essek wonders if the use of his false title is part of a sleight against the worker, a subtle reminder to make a good impression on their noble guests. He nods at Caleb and allows himself to be led even further into this labyrinthine building, preparing to meet the fabled minotaur within.  

Master Ikithon’s office is a tasteless affair, showing scant few glimpses of his personality through his possessions, and those that are displayed are unpleasant. A stack of unsorted paperwork gathers dust on his desk, and a gaudy painting of the Academy holds court behind his vacant chair, which in itself looks to be the most expensive thing in the room, as if Ikithon intends to spend as little time in here as possible, and when he’s forced to, he prefers to do so in comfort. The pair of wooden chairs set aside for visitors are laughable in comparison, but Essek drifts down onto one of them nonetheless. 

The other chair is also swiftly occupied, as Caleb deposits himself into it a moment later, after snatching a textbook from one of the many overflowing bookshelves scattered around the room. 

“Am I to be minded after every second of my visit here?” Essek enquires.

Caleb flicks open the book to the middle and settles back into the chair, not even sparing Essek a glance as he replies “No one is allowed in Master Ikithon’s office without supervision, he shall be arriving in 25 minutes.” 

Essek raises an eyebrow. Completely ignoring someone and reading a book is certainly an interesting definition of supervision. Essek glances around the room, and alights upon a stack of research papers on a side table, the title promising novel theories on the utilization of evocation in academia. While he certainly wouldn’t be able to finish it in the short time he has, he could at least make a start, and it’d kill time faster. He leans forward.

“Don’t touch that.” 

Essek freezes. “I’m not touching anything.” 

Ignoring his interjection, Caleb continues “Master Ikithon knows where everything in this room is and will not react kindly to his books being moved. Besides, those research papers are much drier and less revolutionary than the title suggests. 

At no point in this conversation did Caleb look away from his book, or alter his voice from a resigned monotone. Essek muffles a sigh and settles back into his chair, crossing his arms across his chest and resigning himself to a long wait. 

25 minutes later exactly, Caleb snaps his book shut and replaces it on its shelf, and a moment later Ikithon swings the door open. He quickly surveys the room, nods once at Caleb who has moved to stand at attention by the door, and then offers Essek a smile as pleasant as a dead fish. 

“Lord Thane, one moment please.” 

Essek wonders how many more moments he will be asked to spare today, but nods his head in acknowledgement. Ikithon casts a series of spells, dispelling all magic within the chamber and then magically sealing the door. Essek’s disguise falls away from him, and while the sight of his own grey skin is comforting, he mourns the loss of that intangible barrier between himself and this office. Not that it made much of a difference, with both of the room’s other occupants already well aware of its presence. He doesn’t think he’s met Caleb before, as he so rarely deals with Ikithon and his scourgers, but the man doesn’t react at all to the change. 

“I’m sorry for the delays, Shadowhand. Let’s not waste any more time, shall we?” 

Essek goes to agree, but finds himself suddenly overwhelmed by an oddly familiar taste at the back of his throat, and a pounding in his head, those same fleeting wisps of sensation once more dancing in and out of his grasp. He blinks through it and choke out a passable response, and Trent immediately launches into a status update on the Cerberus Assembly’s advances into their research with the Luxon Beacons. However, hard as he tries, Essek can’t focus on a word he’s saying. Every syllable that falls from his lips is like a clash of cymbals directly inside Essek’s skull, echoing around nauseatingly, until he pauses, and frowns. 

“What’s gotten into you?” 

With a shock Essek realises he’s allowed his inner turmoil to show on his face, and he swiftly corrects this, snapping back on his pleasant facade. It does nothing to fix the sting of tears burning at the corners of his eyes, which are undoubtedly visible, but he tries to will them away regardless. 

“I apologise, I think perhaps so much time out in the sun this afternoon has triggered a migraine. I’m sorry, I think I should return to my home and perhaps reschedule this meeting when the Martinet is available.” 

Ikithon says something else, but Essek is no longer listening, and begins the familiar incantation to take him home. The last he sees in that wretched office before it dissolves into smears of light is the scourger Caleb, eyes wide and staring directly at him.

Once back in the comfort of his own home, the sensation recedes somewhat, but it doesn’t fade entirely. In fact, it lingers throughout the day, pervading through all of his mundane daily tasks. When he settles down in the evening to read through some research he’d laid out for himself yesterday, he is struck by the strangest impression that he already knows what’s written on the pages before him. He only borrowed them from the Conservatory yesterday, but sure enough, as he opens them, he finds himself skimming through rapidly, the words on the page racing to catch up with his mind, not the other way around. And stranger still, when he turns his attention to the questions he’d jotted down the night before for further study, he finds himself writing out answers that would take hours of research without a second glance. 

Thoroughly perturbed and ready to be done with this strange day, Essek gives up and turns in for the night, retreating to his bedchamber and preparing for his trance. It’s only as his eyes fall closed and he finally calms his racing, tangled mind that he realises exactly what has been eating at him all day. A sharp tang of ozone in the air, a half-felt impression of formless weight bearing down upon him, the roar of a distant star reverberating through his bones. Traces of dunamis. He’d felt high volumes of expended dunamis within the halls of the Soltryce Academy, in the beating heart of the Dwendallian Empire. With that troubling thought, Essek loses his grip of consciousness.

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 6:05 am - Loop ??

Essek’s eyes snap open, and he barely manages to lean over the side of his bed before he throws up. He prestidigitates the mess away with a flick of his wrist, and curls in on himself, palms pressed to his eyelids. There’s a pounding in his head and a churn in his stomach like a hangover, but he didn’t drink anything last night. Essek’s first thought is that someone, somehow, snuck into his chambers and cast a spell on him whilst he was trancing, but none of his wards have been tripped. He casts a detection spell on himself just in case, and finds nothing. He doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. Whilst it’s a relief that no one had slipped through his defenses, it does make this a harder puzzle to solve.  Distractedly, Essek sets about his morning routine, managing a light breakfast despite his unease. He pauses after dressing, waiting for something, although he isn’t sure what.  A moment later, the voice of Martinet Ludanis Daleth reaches him. “Shadowhand, I’m afraid I will be unable to attend our meeting today, but Master Ikithon will see you in my stead. He’ll contact you shortly.” 

He hears himself replying before he processes the words, which is a good thing because once more he is overcome by a bone deep discomfort. “Thank you for informing me, I’ll contact Master Ikithon myself.”

He lets the spell end, and covers his face with his hands. Takes a deep steadying breath, and takes stock of the situation. There’s something wrong, something off, and he knows that he knows what it is. There’s a familiar sensation permeating this unsettling morning. And then it clicks, for the first time, for the thousandth. He’s experiencing the side effects of a dunamancy spell gone wrong. But once again, Essek can’t tell if this is a good thing or not, because he certainly didn’t do this. He was researching last night, not experimenting. So why does he feel like this, unmoored and adrift?  He takes another breath, and another. Runs his hands down his face, then brings them together in front of him, stretching a single thread of this tangled web between his fingers and sends a message to Ikithon. 

“I’ve been informed that you shall be meeting with me in the Martinet’s stead today. When and where should I meet you?” 

Ikithon’s reply is short and to the point, “Meet me at the Soltryce Academy at half past nine.” 

Essek thinks he should be put off by the chosen location, but finds himself unsurprised. It is a uniquely strange experience to hear the echoes of a person's words before they are spoken. Perturbed, Essek tries to read for the intervening time, but ends up unable to focus, and teleports to the academy early. 

The Shimmerward lives up to its name, the early morning sunlight scattering across the bright marble walls and stained glass windows that make up the grandest and most important buildings within the district's walls. The light is blinding, and significantly worsening Essek’s muddled mood as it sears into his retinas. He quickly seeks respite in the shade beneath the boughs of a large tree on the academy grounds, and curses both of the members of the Cerberus Assembly responsible for landing him in this situation. He slowly begins to regret his haste in teleporting there, as it dawns on him that not only has he not escaped the grasp of whatever failed spell encased him that morning, but its grip is even stronger at the academy, every breath tinged with the scent of static before a storm. Crossing his arms, Essek leans back against the tree and hopes that he hasn’t unwittingly found himself in the eye of it. 

He isn’t left to ponder for long, as at 9:29 exactly, he watches an auburn haired human man confidently walk across the campus to the gates, then pause. He turns around, confusion evident even from this distance, before catching sight of Essek and rerouting. 

“Lord Desran Thane?” he asks once he’s close enough, the echoes of his voice rippling through Essek’s mind before he speaks, “I am-”

Essek cuts him off, “Caleb Widogast, yes, one of Trent’s assistants.” 

Caleb tenses almost imperceptibly, and stares at him. When he finally speaks, it’s with only one voice. “Who told you that?” 

Who did tell Essek that? “Master Ikithon must have told me this morning.” He says, falteringly, and Caleb tilts his head to the side.  

“I don’t think you believe that.” 

He doesn’t, but he doesn’t have a better answer.“What are you insinuating?” He asks. 

Caleb presses his lips together in a frown, and casts a look around the green. “Come with me and we can talk for a minute.” 

Essek raises an eyebrow, “About the matters I have to discuss with Master Ikithon?” 

“No. Please just follow me.” And with that he walks briskly towards the main building, pausing after a few steps to make sure Essek is following. He takes in Caleb’s sudden shift in demeanour, his hands twitching at his sides, and Essek senses danger present, but his curiosity weighs out and he follows intently. In short order, Essek is escorted down a bewildering path to Ikithon’s office, and hurried inside. Once within, Caleb shuts the door and casts a series of silencing and locking spells. Apparently satisfied with the security measures, Caleb turns his gaze onto Essek with a burning intensity that startles him. 

“We’re stuck in a time loop.” 

Essek blinks. “Excuse me?” 

Caleb runs his hands through his hair, “Time is repeating itself. Someone has caught today in a spell, and it is replaying itself endlessly.” 

Essek lets the idea sink in, and considers it carefully, remembering his observations from this morning. While he’d never heard of anything like it, it would certainly make sense. He’d assumed that someone had performed some sort of dunamantic spell, one with far reaching ramifications to be able to affect him so, as far as he was from the source, and some sort of temporal loop would certainly be capable of such effects. Putting aside the how for the moment, he has to wonder why someone would do this, what purpose it’s serving? 

“Why? Does this day have any kind of significance? Do you have any idea who did it?” 

Caleb stares at him blankly for a moment. “You believe me?” 

Essek allows himself a small smile, “Time is one of my specialties. I’ve known all morning that some kind of dunamantic irregularity is occurring. While this isn’t what I was expecting, it isn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility.” 

Caleb blinks, and sighs, releasing with that breath the high strung tension that had wracked his frame since Essek introduced him. “Of course. And I have no idea why, today doesn’t have any special significance that I’m aware of outside of being the day before the Hazel Festival.” 

“What exactly is the Hazel Festival?” Essek asks.

Caleb waves a hand in the air vaguely. “Honestly it’s more of an excuse for a celebration than for any real purpose. ” 

“That would explain why it’s being held on a Grissen, I suppose.”

“Ja. Some of the students over the years have petitioned for it to be moved to the weekends, to allow them more time to celebrate it properly, but the professors have so far refused. The current compromise is taking the day off each year. It’s predictably hectic.”

“Yes, you told me that Ikithon had to take over the duties of another professor.” 

Caleb tilts his head, “I told you that yesterday.”

Essek frowns deeply. That’s right, they’d barely shared a few sentences. Caleb’s voice and manner is already worryingly familiar to him, and Essek doesn’t like this at all. “How many times has this day repeated itself, that you’re aware of?” He pauses, and adds  “And why are you aware of it, for that matter?”

Caleb begins pacing the room, and Essek drifts over to one of the room's chairs to give him more space. 

“As far as I’m aware there have been 9 previous loops, and this is the 10th.”

“That is deeply concerning” Essek remarks, clasping his hands against his mouth. 

“Ja. As for why I’m aware of this, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve always had a perfect memory and sense of time, so perhaps that’s part of it. Most likely part of it is also the work I’ve been doing under Master Ikithon with the beacons.” 

He says it offhandedly, but Essek is reminded that the man in front of him, unimposing as he may seem, is a trained scourger hand selected and favoured by Ikithon. A fact that wouldn’t worry Essek as much if he understood the man’s intentions, but right now he doesn’t, and that unknown value is making him all the more dangerous.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

The pacing stops. “Because I need your help.” 

Interesting. Essek leans forward. “Is that so?” 

“Yes. I know who cast the spell, and found their notes, but my experience with dunamancy is limited, and I worry that in trying to unpick the spell, I might damage things even further. You were already starting to feel the effects of being stuck in the loop, so I figured you’d probably remember everything on your own eventually.” 

That’s likely true. “And why should I help you?” 

“Because if you don’t, we will be stuck in this day indefinitely.” 

Essek restrains a laugh. “You misunderstand me. I will break this spell, but I can do that without you, as long as I have access to the original notes, which you say you have.” 

Caleb raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, incredulous. “Is that so? Then why don’t I go show you them?”

He can easily read the challenge in Caleb’s gaze, and wonders that there might be more to this scenario than meets the eye, but says “That would be ideal, yes.” 

He rises from his chair and waits as Caleb dispels the wards he cast on the door, but then he falters. “Scheiße, Master Ikithon will be here in 10 minutes, and if we leave now, we will cross paths with him on our way there.”

“We could just teleport there directly, no?” 

Caleb winces “We could, but Master Ikithon is expecting us, and I’d rather avoid him having to come looking for us where possible.”

The thought of Ikithon scrying on him, and interrupting his spellwork is incredibly unappealing. “Alright.” He acquiesces, “Would it be for the best, then if we simply wait here, and continue this afterwards?”

“Probably, yes.” 

“Alright.” Essek sits back down, and crosses his arms. 

Caleb finishes removing the wards from the door, then positions himself next to it, adopting the persona of an implacable guard once again. 

Meanwhile, Essek begins running the calculations in his head. Why someone would wish to live life in just a single day is beyond Essek, although he can certainly think of ways he’d like to implement a variation of the spell himself. More time to research undisturbed without having the other obligations of his position forced upon him. There isn’t really a spell like it that Essek is aware of, most chronomancy spells forcing the target forwards in time, or utilising the potential of discarded timelines. Although, perhaps this isn’t too dissimilar, and they are just currently living through various potential timelines over and over again. Perhaps once the caster has found their desired timeline, they will end the spell. Usually a spell of that size would taper off after a time, depleting the spellcasters magic reserves. For this spell to go on as long as it has, it is likely drawing its energy from a conduit of some kind.

Essek continues to mull it over until Ikithon arrives, and they have a brief meeting that Essek realises he could probably conduct in his sleep. Now that he’s had a moment, he realises that the cloying disconcertion has receded, and while he knows exactly what Ikithon will say before he says it, the disconnect no longer sends him reeling. He can still feel the weight of the expended time pressing against him, the taste of potential still lodged in the back of his throat, but it’s bearable. For that, he’s thankful, as trying to get any spellcraft done under those effects would have been deeply unpleasant. 

The meeting is over shortly, Ikithon claiming he has more duties to fulfill in preparation for tomorrow’s festival, and Caleb offers to see Essek out. Ikithon waves his hand dismissively, seemingly no longer caring what happens to his esteemed guest once he’s out of sight, and leaves. 

“Well, shall we?” Caleb asks.

“Lead the way.” 

Caleb leads them east, past the Castle Ungebroch and towards the Candles, looming over the ward like the bars of a cage. The Martinent’s silver spire is familiar enough to Essek, but that is not their destination, their path instead veering towards the estate surrounding the branching, rust coloured tower of Master Ikithon himself. 

“I thought our goal was to avoid your master finding us?” Essek asks. 

“Ah, yes, but he shall be staying at the academy until very late in the evening. Besides, we are not heading to his towers.” 

True enough, Caleb steers them towards a small home on the edge of the property, and picks the lock on the front door. 

“I take it this is the home of the caster then?” 

Caleb takes a moment to answer, concentrating on manipulating the lock. 

“Ja, this is the residence of Bren Ermendrud, another of Trent’s personal assistants-” a scourger then, “I wouldn’t worry about him returning home, he was sent on an assignment this morning and isn’t due back for a few days.” 

“Wonderful.” Caleb opens the door, and holds it open, allowing Essek to cross the threshold first. Bren’s home is comfortably furnished, but sparsely decorated, granting Essek no insight into the man's intentions. It is also otherwise empty, so Essek waits a moment for Caleb to shut the door, then dismisses his illusion. 

“So, the notes?” 

Caleb nods and moves past him, deeper into the house. “Yes, they’re in his study.” 

Bren’s study, it seems, will not be quite as easy to get into as the house itself. Caleb explains that he had taken immense caution in securing his notes before he left, and there are numerous wards set in place that would alert the caster if anything within the room was touched. A detection spell from Essek proves that to be true, as immediately his senses light up with dozens of layers of abjuration and evocation spells encasing the study, which Caleb begins slowly dismantling. 

The reason for this absurd level of precaution is abundantly clear once Caleb finishes and opens the door. While the antechamber and living room were fairly devoid of anything of note, the study is overflowing. Even Essek, who takes some pride in his own private book collection, is impressed by the tomes lining the walls. Not just the quantity, but the vast array of reading material, from the predictable spell scrolls and magical theory textbooks from all schools of wizardry, but historical accounts, biographies, children's stories and folktales. It looks like this Bren owns just about every type of book under the sun, and all of it sorted meticulously. Interspersed throughout the shelves are magical and scientific instruments, measuring everything from the room’s temperature and air pressure to the movements of the heavens above them, and in some places Essek can see rows of herbs he recognises as spell components drying out in the sunlight streaming in from the room’s only window. Each space not taken up by bookshelves is occupied by a desk. Many, Essek assumes, hold more spell components, but the most interesting thing in the room is the main desk, upon which sit reams of notes, spread haphazardly across its surface, and in the centre of it, on proud display, the faintly glowing Luxon Beacon. 

Essek stares at it for a moment, the immediate shock giving way to incredulity. “He just left this here? For anyone to find?” 

“Well, there are a not insignificant number of magical wards.” Caleb points out.

“That took you two minutes to dismantle, that wouldn’t deter any but the most novice of thieves.” Certainly they had been impressive, but without any guards or decent locks, it might as well be unguarded for a wizard worth their salt. 

Caleb sidesteps past Essek and into the room proper, leaning over the desk. “Well, he probably put a lot of faith in no one expecting him to have it.” 

“But you found it.” Essek remarks, joining Caleb at the desk, and getting his first proper look at the notes. Much of it is in Zemnian, but a quick spell fixes that. 

“Ja, but I was the only person who’d think to look for it. As far as everyone else knows, the beacon is exactly where it’s supposed to be, and no one will check on it until tomorrow morning. I myself only started looking because I knew something had to be powering a spell like this.” 

Essek hums noncommittal, as he starts flicking through the pages of equations. These first few pages are the basic framework of the spell, in a state of near completion.

“It’s still a risky endeavour. As was this spell, by the looks of things.” 

“Oh?” 

Essek ignores the prompt, and instead settles into the vacant chair, scanning the notes. What he finds there sends a chill down his spine, and he starts pulling notes faster, barely refraining from snatching at them. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“This is very bad.” 

“What is?” 

Essek spreads the notes back out in front of him, and gestures towards them vaguely.

“Bren wasn’t trying to create a time loop, he was trying to go back in time.” 

“Oh” Caleb pauses, “That’s a problem?” 

“Yes.” It comes out as a hiss, and Essek cuts himself short. Composing himself, he tries not to let his panic bleed into his tone. “If this was an intentional spell effect, then I would be able to end it relatively quickly. However, this is a completely unintended side effect. Now I have to go through every single page of notes to figure out where he went wrong, which is likely many places, and figure out how to counter it. I’m going to be effectively working from scratch.” Essek runs a hand through his hair. “This will take a while.” 

Caleb considers this for a moment in silence, then in a measured tone, says “It would go faster with a second set of eyes, no?” 

Essek turns in his chair to assess him. As he’d esteemed before, he’s one of Ikithon’s elite scourgers, well versed in various magical arts, and with some experience with dunamancy. Essek knows little of the training program, but has heard enough of their arcane talents. He’d greatly prefer to work on his own, but he isn’t sure how stable the time loops are, and if they start deteriorating he might not be able to finish the work. If presented with the option, he’d choose another renowned dunamantic scholar, one from the Kryn Dynasty, not a scourger with a year's practise at most. But, then again, he did trade the beacons over to the Assembly for their help, to see what new revelations new eyes could bring. And more to the point, he isn’t sure he wants to make more people aware of the current time anomaly. The more people that are aware of it, the more likely someone else will meddle with it, either making things worse, or figuring out the solution themselves. Essek doesn’t know if he trusts anyone with that knowledge. 

He doesn’t trust Caleb either, but right now it doesn’t look like he has a choice. While Essek himself is an accomplished mage, he isn’t sure that he can stop a scourger from breaking into the study and interfering with his work every day and still have the resources to actually work on the spell. With resignation, Essek sighs. Hopefully, Caleb won’t slow him down too much. 

“You said Ikithon taught you some dunamancy, yes?” 

He perks up, “A bit, ja.”

“Show me something. The most powerful dunamancy within your grasp right now.” 

Caleb hesitates, “Wouldn’t it be best to demonstrate outside?” 

“I’m sure you can come up with something.” 

Caleb rubs at his arms, thinking for a moment, before plucking one of the instruments from a nearby shelf and holding it aloft. He then sprinkles it with gold dust, and releases it, efficiently demonstrating the immovable object spell. Perhaps not the most powerful of spells, but Essek did set some fairly limiting constraints, especially for dunamancy. 

“I guess that’ll have to do. Come and have a look at this then.” 

With a smile, Caleb pulls over a second chair and they get to work. 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 8:15 am - Loop 11

Essek wouldn’t consider himself a vain man, but he does take a certain amount of pride in his appearance, as it’s a vital part of a first impression. Learning that he’d technically been wearing the exact same set of clothes ten days in a row didn’t sit well with him, even knowing that the clothes never dirtied and no one but Caleb would remember. So, Essek picks out a different outfit while awaiting Martinet Daleth’s call. Previously, he’d been wearing formal clothes, appropriate for meeting an associate and comfortable enough for reading at home, but perhaps not ideal for the hands-on work of spellcraft, where ink spills, chalk dust and the general mess of various spell components are par for the course. He’s just finished clipping his mantle in place when, right on time, the Martinet sends him a message. 

“Shadowhand, I’m afraid I will be unable to attend our meeting today, but Master Ikithon will see you in my stead. He’ll contact you shortly.” 

“No need, Martinet, I’ll contact him myself. Thank you for the advanced notice” 

Naturally, Essek has no intention of doing that. Before he left last night, Caleb had informed him that Ikithon first hears of the change in schedule from Essek himself, so as long as Essek is able to convince Ludanis not to contact Trent, he should have the day to do as he pleases. While he is still wary of Caleb’s intentions, there’s no reason for him to be lying about that, considering how adamant he was about avoiding Ikithon the day before. The cycle before? Essek resigns himself to the inevitable confusion that will result from this, as he casts a precautionary illusion over himself and teleports to Rexxentrum. 

They hadn’t made much progress on the spell yesterday, spending most of their time reading through Bren’s notes and making annotations. Essek was already starting to dread how much progress would be lost each day simply by the pages resetting, and having to rely on his own memory. He’s trying to think of ways to mitigate that loss when he arrives at Bren’s home, and finds the door already unlocked. Either Bren hasn’t left yet, or Caleb got here early. Essek chooses to be optimistic and assumes the second as he enters the premises. His hopes are proven true when he finds Caleb sat at the dining room table, in front of a handful of trays filled with gorgeous looking food that he’s ignoring, instead writing on something Essek can’t see. 

Essek takes a step into the room, and he nearly jumps out of his chair at the sound. 

“Ah, Herr Thelyss, you are early.” He puts down his quill and picks up the piece of paper, tucking it into a coat pocket. 

“Yes, I didn’t see much point waiting around. You’re sure Master Ikithon won’t come looking for you today?” He dismisses his illusion and, after a moment's thought, removes his mantle as well. It’s not exactly the most comfortable thing to wear when sat at a desk for hours. He should probably have left it at home, but that somehow feels like a step too far. 

“Ja, very sure, I feigned sickness.” 

“Good, good.” Essek takes a seat at the table across from Caleb, and gestures at the feast in front of them. 

“Are you ready for today’s work or are you not finished eating?” 

“Ah, no, I assumed that we would be wanting to spend as much time as possible studying, so I took the liberty of procuring us something from the academy’s kitchens. This should be enough for the whole day, no?” 

“Yes, this should be sufficient.” All of the food looks to be of Zemnian or otherwise Empire origin, very little to Essek’s personal taste, but he isn’t one to complain, even if he’s never actually tried several of these dishes before. He’ll worry about that later. 

“Well, let’s get to it shall we?” 

“Yes, of course.” Caleb stands and they go to the study. 

There are two important discoveries made by Essek this loop. The first is that Caleb’s claims of having a perfect memory aren’t exaggerated, which should prove to be a great boon in the cycles to come. Essek wonders why he didn’t leverage that particular skill while negotiating his way into helping, but perhaps he may have done so, if Essek hadn’t relented when he did. The second is that the Zemnian food provided is delicious. Unfortunately, this is the extent of the tangible progress made, and at the end of the day, while Caleb promises to memorize all of their notes before the day ends, Essek finds himself tired and ill at ease. To put so much faith into the memory of someone he just met, a scourger with unknown motivations, is not a decision Essek is comfortable making, but unfortunately he doesn’t have much of a choice. He takes some small comfort in the knowledge that Caleb isn’t happy with this either. 

Loop 12 - 13:19 pm

“Oh, that’s odd.” 

“What is?” Caleb says, glancing over from his desk. They’d decided that work would go a lot faster if they split the notes in half, looking through for any errors, and to better facilitate this, Caleb had cleared one of the desks surfaces to make a work space for himself, allowing Essek the main one. 

Essek taps the paper in front of him, and jolts slightly as Caleb rests a hand on his shoulder as he looks over.

“This equation here.”

Caleb furrows his brow, “what about it?” 

“It’s calculating the energy required for the spell, and how to draw that energy from the beacon as a conduit.” Essek explains.

“Okay.” 

“The calculation looks like it should work perfectly, which alone is impressive. What’s odd is that it should only have drawn enough energy for the original spell.” 

Caleb’s face clears, and he leans further forward, his hair brushing against Essek’s face, “and yet energy is still being drawn from the beacon.” 

“Exactly.” 

Caleb thinks for a moment, reading over the notes, and Essek resists the urge to pull away from the contact. 

Eventually, Caleb asks “Do you have any idea why it’s doing that, if the equation is correct?” 

Essek sighs, “not at the moment.” 

Caleb pats him once on the shoulder and pulls away, “well, we have plenty of time to work it out.” 

With a nod, Essek gets back to work. Just as he’s been ignoring the lingering echoes of dunamis, fading faster now they’re moving away from the day’s set pattern, he tries to ignore the lingering warmth from Caleb’s hand, like a brand against his skin. 

Loop 13 - 10:03 am

With a sigh of relief, Essek opens the door to Bren’s house and steps inside. The entryway is empty and mercifully dimly lit, so he drops his illusion and levitation spells, and begins unclipping his mantle. 

There’s a scrape of wood on wood from the study, and a moment later, Caleb steps into the hallway, a wary expression quickly giving way to something more relaxed. 

“Herr Thelyss.” 

Essek slides his cloak off and hangs it on the coat rack. “Sorry for the delay, my translocation spell sent me a little off target.” 

By his best guess, it had sent him a little over 150 miles to the east, not too far from Nogvurot. He’d spent a not inconsiderable amount of his magical abilities for the day trying to close the distance, before realising exactly where he was, and teleporting again. Thankfully his second spell landed him much closer, on the other side of the city. Walking through the middle of the capital city of the Empire on a bright sunny morning was far from pleasant, and Essek is immeasurably glad it’s over. 

Caleb steps back into the study and lets Essek pass into the room. It looks like Caleb hadn’t waited long for him to show up, notes sorted into organised piles on the desk and the second table cleared and ready for Caleb’s use. As Essek gets closer, he sees Caleb has already written up their notes from the days before, stacked neatly in front of the Luxon Beacon.  A handful of books have been pulled down from the shelves and lay open on Caleb’s desk. 

“I thought you might have changed your mind,” Caleb says from behind him.

“What?” 

Caleb’s still lingering in the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking in. “About helping me.” He clarifies. 

Essek leans back against the chair. “No. I apologise for...worrying you, but I assure you I’m as interested in seeing this through as I was yesterday. Unfortunately, this was bound to happen eventually, I perhaps haven’t been doing my due diligence committing this exact location to memory. Translocation can be fairly imprecise.” 

Usually to mitigate this sort of problem, he’d take a small trinket from the study with him, but unfortunately that isn't feasible in this scenario. Expecting the conversation to be over, Essek turns, and goes to sit in the chair, but Caleb still hasn’t entered the room. 

“Actually, I found something that might be helpful.” 

“Oh?” He turns back around. Caleb shifts his weight and casts a considering look over Essek, then nods and steps out into the hallway. 

“Ja, come I’ll show you.” And he leaves Essek’s sight. 

Part of Essek is sure this must be a trap of some kind, but he can’t see how. Caleb’s had ample opportunity to pull something over the last three days, and done nothing. The logic doesn’t silence the worries entirely, but he follows Caleb nonetheless. 

He brings them to a stop in the living room, and perfunctionally kicks aside the rug, exposing the wooden panelling beneath. Curiously, nothing looks out of order to Essek,  so he hastily casts a detection spell and finds a  series of wards and illusions over that section of the floor. As Essek watches, Caleb snaps his wrist at them and dispels them, revealing a trapdoor. 

“A basement.” Essek observes. 

“Ja.” Caleb pops the hatch open and drops down. 

There are innumerable things a mage might keep in their basement, especially a scourger like Bren. But considering the topic of conversation that had led to this reveal, Essek can hazard a guess. He reactivates his levitation spell and floats down. 

Illuminated by a handful of sconces on the wall that Caleb just finishes lighting, Essek can see the chamber easily. It’s relatively small, with nothing but a handful of crates scattered around it, a glorified storage space. The main attraction of the room is immediately evident at the centre of the room, a 10ft diameter circle of arcane sigils carved into the stone floor. That explains why Caleb was able to arrive here so early each morning. 

“Most Vollstrucker have similarly made teleportation circles in our homes, so I decided to check and see if he had one.” 

Essek hums in agreement and moves closer to the circle to inspect it. He can easily imagine why an assassin would prefer to be able to return to their home with perfect reliability. What he doesn’t know is why Caleb is showing him. It’ll certainly make things easier for Essek, not having to expend quite so powerful a spell every morning, but it’s a minor inconvenience at worst. He supposes it is more efficient for both of them if Essek is on time, without having to worry about a failed teleportation spell landing him in the middle of Rexxentrum. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Caleb says, and Essek turns around just in time to see him climb back up the ladder to leave the room. He half expects him to slam the door shut and seal him down here, but he doesn’t, and Essek returns his attention to the circle. He summons his spellbook from his wristpocket and begins copying the circle into it. Of course, the diagram will disappear in the morning, but the memory of it won’t. 

Loop 15 - 18:27 pm

This late in the year, the sun sets early in Rexxentrum, and the looming darkness is a balm for Essek’s sore eyes. The study is relatively dim, with only the barest traces of sunlight slipping in through the window, but for much of the afternoon it struck the desk at just the right angle to illuminate the workspace. A design choice that would be ideal for a human, but is an inconvenience at best for Essek. If it was just him in here, he’d pull the shutters closed, but Caleb needs the light to be able to see, so he resolved to leave them open. 

There’s a sigh of frustration from behind him, and Essek turns towards it, finding Caleb squinting in the fading light at the sheets laid out before him. 

“What are you doing?”  As he says this, he snaps his fingers, and a handful of purple lights pop into existence around the human’s head, who sits up from his hunched position. 

“Ah, thank you my friend. I was going to light a candle in a moment.”

He sounds strangely bashful, and Essek tries not to read into the appellation. “It’s no trouble.” 

Caleb stretches, Essek wincing at the cracking sounds it pulls from his back. Instead of going back to work, he settles into his chair, arms trailing over the back of it, and looks out of the window. The twilight painting the city is a beautiful sight, but Essek is drawn instead to the profile of Caleb’s face, bathed in the indigo light Essek had conjured for his convenience. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you see better at night, yes?” Caleb still isn’t looking at him, and his voice is soft and pensive. 

“Sunlight can be difficult for drow, yes.” He concedes.

“Why not close the window?” Caleb does turn to look at him now, and Essek meets his eyes. The genuine concern and confusion he finds there is too much for him to process, so he looks away.

“You need to be able to see as well to be of any assistance.” 

The words are harsher than he intends, but Caleb simply shakes his head, “I can see well enough by candlelight. And besides, you’re not the only one of us who can make lights.” And with a roll of his wrist, four more globules of light flicker to life, these ones a rich amber, like an open flame, before he dismisses them once more. 

Essek isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he simply nods. Caleb apparently has nothing else to say either, so Essek returns his attention to the papers in front of him. A moment later, he hears Caleb do the same, and Essek can’t help but wonder if there was something else he should have said. 

Loop 17 - 10:48 am

Essek is starting to think Bren is a genius. Scrawled in the margins of each page are theories on the mechanics behind dunamancy, including several questions Essek has frequently found himself asking, with deeper thoughts on the topic than many of the Kryn scholars Essek has worked alongside. Not to mention his in-depth understanding of dunamancy itself, being able to build a clear, stable framework from only a year’s worth of study. From reverse engineering what little dunamancy he would have been exposed to, and pulling on his own theories on how to utilise the potential presented by the beacons, he’d been able to jerry rig one of the most powerful dunamancy spells Essek has ever seen. He isn’t sure if he should be impressed or terrified, that some unknown individual has this kind of power. 

Essek taps his quill against the inkwell and stares at the Luxon Beacon on the desk next to him. He could almost laugh;He finally gets hours of uninterrupted study with a beacon, and he has to use it to clean up someone else’s mess. What sobers him is the reminder that this Bren managed to successfully steal a Luxon Beacon without anyone noticing. A challenging feat for sure, and he should know. He did it twice. 

What he still doesn’t know is why. The man clearly went to extreme lengths to make this spell, months of study evident in the stacks of notes Essek has been reading, and now he is nowhere to be seen. He’d think him dead if Caleb didn’t assure him he left on a mission that morning. 

“Where exactly is Bren on this mission?” Essek asks, finally pulling his attention away from the faint glow of the beacon. There’s a slight pause as Caleb sits up beside him. 

“Nicodranas, I believe. Why?” 

Essek shrugs, “I think that understanding why he built this spell would be invaluable to creating its counter.”

Caleb turns around fully in his chair so that he’s facing Essek, the orange glow of dancing lights catching in his wide eyes. “You want to work with him?” 

“No.” Essek says, “I think that’s too much of a risk. He seems…” Essek ponders his wording for a moment, trying to sort his impressions of the man. “Dangerous.” Intelligent, yes, and competent, but undeniably dangerous. Essek continues, “I just think that if we could meet him, he could provide vital insight. If I understood what his ultimate goal with the spell was, what he was leaving out, then I could understand what caused this to happen.” 

Caleb looks away, and tugs at his sleeves. “Ja, maybe.” 

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” 

“Nein, it’s a good idea.” He’s still pulling on the hem of his sleeve, still not looking at Essek. 

“But?” Essek pushes.

Caleb sighs, “but I’m not sure if it would be worth it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

For a moment, Essek thinks Caleb is going to ignore the question. He considers prompting him again, but thinks better of it. He shifts so he’s fully facing him, and waits him out. Eventually, Caleb replies. 

“Bren is...I didn’t know him well, I rarely worked with him directly, but he has a reputation, even among the volstrucker. All of us will follow any of Master Ikithon’s orders, without question, but Bren has always been...particularly ruthless. He gained Ikithon’s favour, and is one of his most trusted agents. He is a terrible person.” 

Essek taps his pen against his lips as Caleb trails off. From this angle, turned away from Essek as he is, Caleb is little more than a silhouette, limned in amber, but the discomfort is clear in his voice,in his posture and Essek is struck by the inexplicable urge to soothe him. 

“Well, if he makes you so uncomfortable, I’m sure we can work around it.” 

Caleb finally turns and meets his eye, “You’re sure?” 

“Of course. Your input thus far has been immeasurably helpful, and if you will not work with him, then I prioritise your continued assistance over his.” 

He internally cringes at how analytical his words sound, but keeps a straight face. Isn’t that what this is about, after all? Working together efficiently. If seeking out Bren, even just tailing him for a day to get an idea of his motivations, or talking with him and modifying his memory afterwards, would hurt his collaboration with Caleb, then it isn’t a risk worth taking. While Essek is loath to admit it, Caleb has been instrumental to much of the progress they’ve made so far. Not just because of his impeccable memory, or for double checking Essek’s work, but because of his own insights. Honestly, Essek has learned more about the Assembly’s progress with the beacon over just this last week working with Caleb than he’d been able to bleed from them over the entire year since this endeavour began. It’s equal parts frustrating and thrilling.

Caleb stares at him a moment longer, scanning his face for something, before looking away. He huffs out a laugh that’s unexpectedly bitter.

“Ja, ok.” 

Essek waits for further comment, but it seems the conversation has ended, as Caleb goes back to his work. After a moment, Essek does as well. 

He can see the risks in talking to Bren. It’s clear just from looking through the spellwork. He’s an intelligent, brilliantly creative and innovative mage, that much is evident from first glance, but days pouring over his writing reveals a startling recklessness and desperation. Every line of spellwork, every paragraph of theory, was written with clear purpose, weighing their worth towards turning back the clock, but Essek can’t figure out why. Perhaps his reasoning is buried deep under scratched out lines and abandoned equations, but more likely it was so obvious to Bren that he never wrote it down. If it weren’t for the clear results and the coherence of the later pages, Essek would dismiss it for the scrawlings of a madman. But, while it’s certainly untested, the framework is sound, and while there are a few minor things that Essek would tweak if he was doing it, he still can’t figure out why this temporal anomaly has been created instead of the desired result.

Yes, he’s clearly a genius, but if anything that worries Essek even more. To be able to produce such powerful results by accident is extremely dangerous, if anything Essek is almost glad that these temporal loops are the result, because some of the alternatives would have been cataclysmic. Sending the world back to the Calamity, or launching it forward into the heat death of the universe, or a multitude of other disasters in between. The most spine chilling part of it all though, is that Bren can apparently cause a disaster like this, and simply carry on with his life. Utterly unaware of the consequences of his actions, apparently thinking the spell simply failed and going on to his mission. Leaving a priceless arcane relic here, unattended, while he carries out his job, to come back and fix the job in a few days time.

Of course there are several questions Essek would love the opportunity to ask him. Ones about his reasoning behind some of the decisions made, like the runic inscriptions. He seems to be favouring celestial over draconic, and Essek is sure there’s a reason to that, and wonders what impact it had on the spell, if the specific connotations of the celestial words over the draconic ones carry over into the intent or result of the spellcraft. Or ones about his theoretical approach towards implementing the Luxon Beacon in a spell like this, and treating it as both a generator of magical power and an amplifier, and how he achieved it. But he wasn’t lying. If getting those answers would risk Caleb’s collaboration, then he’ll have to do without. 

He watches the dancing lights for a moment, the amber lights gilding Caleb’s hair a vibrant orange, like a candle flame, like molten steel, and Essek tries to convince himself it’s a purely logical decision. 

Loop 19 - 19:36 pm

“Scheiße!” 

Bringing food into the study was a bad idea. It had seemed sensible at the time, struck mid meal by inspiration, and hurrying to act on it, before the phantasmal spark of ingenuity vanished from them. But while finishing their dinner at their desks seemed more convenient on paper, in practice the dim lighting and crowded surfaces made the endeavor more precarious than initially assumed, leading to the inevitable. 

Essek quickly prestidigitates the spilled stew away, while Caleb fumbles to collect the broken crockery shards. A sharp hiss tells Essek he found one piece the hard way, and Essek gently rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Perhaps it would be best for me to clean this up?” he suggests.

“Ja, perhaps” Caleb manages, his finger in his mouth to staunch the bleeding. Essek makes quick work of the rest of it, and disposes of them in the waste paper bin. When he returns, Caleb is still looking at the ruined papers in front of him, dry but irrevocably damaged. 

“I hadn’t had time to memorize those annotations yet.” Caleb said, his voice small and pained. 

Without fully meaning to, Essek had started to rely on Caleb’s memory, trusting him to accurately recall pages upon pages of notes and calculations of incredibly dense dunamantic theory for them to further build upon, meticulously rewriting them each morning. He realises now that may have been too much of a burden to place upon one man, even if it was one he was willing to bear. 

Forcing a casual tone, Essek says “What we created once,we can create again. It may not be a perfect replica, but hopefully it should still do the job.” 

Caleb stares at him for a moment, “But you were working on that all day.” 

Essek picks up the offending parchment, ignoring the last vestiges of liquid seeping through his fingers, and crumples it in a ball, throwing it in the waste paper bin as well.

“And I can do it all again tomorrow, and it’ll be faster the second time. My memory may not be as exact as yours, but it’s good enough.” 

He smiles, tightlipped but genuine. Caleb keeps staring, before finally breaking and looking away. He picks up another piece of paper, the ink blurred to the point of obscurity, and when he slides his finger across the page, a thin trail of blood is left in its wake.

“How’s your finger?” A foolish question, but it’s spoken before he can think better of it. 

“Hm? Oh, it’s fine.” 

“You don’t need a bandage or anything? I’m sure Bren has something around here.” 

“Nein, it’s fine.” After a pause he continues, “thank you, though, for your concern.” 

“Not a problem.”

Loop 21 - 12:05 pm

Essek takes a deep breath and tells himself for the thousandth time that this isn’t a mistake. In his hands, he holds a small stack of books. Six, specifically. Each of them text books and research papers penned by leading dunamantic scholars on the forefront of chronomantic innovation. None of them have been seen or even heard of outside of the Kryn Dynasty. 

He tells himself that this is the same as handing over the beacons. Easier even. Less extreme. But the beacons, while important, were just raw power. Locked within them are the secrets of the entire Kryn Dynasty, their rule, their religion, and in Essek’s hands he holds the key. Giving over just the beacons meant the Assembly had to start from scratch, reinvent the wheel. And Essek is about to give Caleb the collected knowledge of millenia of research into the mysteries of potentiality. 

It’s for the best. If they are on the same page, working from the same starting point of knowledge, or at the very least somewhere closer, then progress would be a lot swifter. As much as Essek had grown to enjoy explaining certain dunamantic theories with Caleb, and listening to his thoughts on the topic, he can’t help but wonder how much more they could do. Caleb has a unique perspective on dunamancy, learning it outside of the constraints of Xhorhassian society, and Essek wants to hear his thoughts on more advanced works. A lot of Essek’s own research builds upon the frameworks established in the six books he’s holding, and once more he tells himself that this is a good idea. 

He can’t help but feel like this is a step too far. Not because it’s exposing too many of the dynasty’s secrets, but perhaps because it’s sharing too many of his own. 

He shifts the books carefully to one hand so he can draw an arcane sigil with the other, the world smearing into a blur of lights around him as he’s yanked away from Rosohna and alights carefully in Bren’s basement.

Loop 23 - 22:56 pm

Caleb’s dancing lights dissipate once more, and the resounding darkness that engulfs them in their wake informs them that they should have retired for bed hours ago. With a soft laugh, Essek summons his own, and collects his work to pass to Caleb. 

“If you could memorize these, particularly the first page, that would be extremely useful,” he says, and Caleb takes them, blinking hazily. 

“Ja, of course. You’re the one doing most of the hard work, this is the least I could do.” 

There’s a question that had been burning Essek from the inside out, and so far he’s kept it from his tongue, in turns not trusting the answer Caleb would give, and not sure what the truth would even get him. But tonight, for some reason, Essek asks it.

“You went through nine loops before you asked me for my help, yes?” 

“Ja?”

“Why did you wait so long?” 

Caleb rubs at his eyes, then cheeks and holds his head in one hand. “Well, I didn’t think you would trust or believe me. Not until you started remembering on your own.” 

“But what about others? Like Ikithon?” 

The sharp bark of a laugh that escapes Caleb is startling and painful. 

“If Master Ikithon had found these notes, I’d never see them again. Or anything else. You can’t tell me you trust him with this kind of power?”

Essek carefully weighs his answer. “I don’t trust anyone.” 

The grim smile Caleb answers him with is salt on the wound. “Good.” 

“But surely you must have someone you trust?” 

“I did, once.” If there was going to be more to that sentence, it dies prematurely, as Caleb cuts himself off and stares at nothing. Essek waits him out, and eventually, he shakes his head and continues. “I did try to tell other people, the first couple of loops. Some of them called me crazy. Some agreed to help me, but forgot everything the next morning, and I realized I would have to spend so much time catching them up each day that we’d not make any progress. Other attempts went even worse. After 5, I gave up.” 

Words of comfort and assurance have never been Essek’s strong suit, and he struggles to find something to say, before giving up and resting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb smiles, softer this time, and clears his throat. 

“Well, it’s getting late, I only have about an hour to read through this.” 

“Right, of course. I’ll be heading out then.” 

Caleb nods in acknowledgement, and returns his attention to the notes. Essek lingers for a moment, fighting the irrational urge to stay, knowing that his continued presence would be a significant distraction and only slow Caleb down, and he needed those calculations for tomorrow. But still he lingers, and eventually settles on a compromise, squeezing Caleb’s shoulder once. 

“Good night, Caleb Widogast.” 

Caleb turns from the paper and meets his eye, the blue of his iris lost completely in the amber light, a strange expression flickering over his face for a heartbeat before it’s gone. 

“Good night, Herr Thelyss.” 

Essek finally releases his grip and teleports back to his towers. As he moves through the darkened halls to his bedchambers, he takes in the clean and impersonal furniture and decor. He’d never seen it as a problem before. Nothing had changed since yesterday, that is guaranteed by the nature of the spell they’re caught in, but he would swear that it never felt this empty before.

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 11:38 am - Loop 25

As a researcher, Essek has faced setbacks before. They were inevitable, if infuriating, just another part of the job. Essek has always prided himself on his ability to find a way around them. With enough time and patience, a solution can always be found. When he was promoted to the Shadowhand, and confronted with understaffing and told to focus his efforts in more clandestine activities, he made a deal with the Assembly. Of course, the deal isn’t exactly going as he’d hoped, but at the time it had seemed like a faster way to get results than appealing to the court. 

He’s used to roadblocks, but right now it is taking all of his decades of experience not to scream. 

They’d been making steady progress on the spell, until 2 days ago. They finally hit a point where they are no longer able to work around the glaring issue at the centre of the problem. They still don’t know why the original spell, Bren’s attempt at going back in time, didn’t work. They’ve tried working around it, but the looming unknown threatens them with further setbacks and side effects. And so, they’re right back to where they started, pouring over Bren’s notes, line by line, to find the errors they must have missed the first hundred times. 

The words on the pages are starting to look like meaningless scribbles, and Essek can’t tell if he’s been staring at them for too long or if the comprehend languages spell has worn off. He drops his head to the desk, vowing to just rest his eyes, just for a moment. 

“Essek.”

Oh, right, he’d been in the middle of explaining something. “Just. I just need a second.” 

This is ridiculous, he knows he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to move from his current position. He’s erroneously sure that if he lifts his head from the desk, the pile of spellwork on his desk will have doubled. 

“Essek.” Caleb’s voice is a little louder, and a little more insistent, but still Essek doesn’t move. 

“Come on, let’s take a break.”

That gets Essek moving. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“A break.” Caleb repeats. 

“No, no, I don’t need a break, I just needed a second.” He quickly pulls the nearest page of notes closer to him and tries to find the last line he’d checked. 

Caleb gets up from his chair and stretches, Essek’s own aching back twinging in sympathy. “We’ve been going around in circles for two days. Let’s get some fresh air, take today off and come back tomorrow with clear heads.” 

Essek flips the page to the otherside, ah that’s what he was going to do, grasps after a textbook, “We can’t take a day off. We have no idea how long the time loops will stay stable like this, we could- '' Then Caleb's hands are on top of Essek’s own. Not grabbing, just gently resting there, the slightest bit of pressure capable of bringing Essek’s motions to a total standstill. 

“We have no reason to believe the loops will deteriorate, certainly not overnight. Just one afternoon off is all I’m asking.” 

They’ve spent hours sat in the cool study, reading and writing for most of it, so surely Caleb’s hands should be cold. But they aren’t, the warmth radiating from every point of contact where they meet Essek’s skin feels like it could thaw him out completely, if he let it. He should pull away. He doesn’t. He relaxes his grip on the book he was reaching for, and lets his hand rest flat against it. 

“Alright?” Caleb asks.

“Alright.” he lets himself relax, “What did you have in mind?” 

Finally Caleb lets go of him, and Essek tries to convince himself he’s relieved. He moves away and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. 

“Why don’t we go celebrate the festival?” 

“Isn’t the festival tomorrow?” Essek asks, but he stands regardless, and reluctantly puts on his mantle, the metal of the clasps cold against his burning skin. 

“I don’t see why that should matter.” 

“Surely most of the festivities will not be happening today.” Caleb pauses while wrapping a scarf around his neck, and considers this for a moment. 

“That is true. We’ve already sampled some festival food, so that really just leaves beer and dancing.” 

Luxon help him, why is he going along with this? “I doubt we’ll find a dancehall open this early in the day.” Perhaps they can come up with some other activity. Preferably with less people involved. 

“The academy band is doing a rehearsal at noon. If we go now, we’ll just catch them.” 

Essek considers it. He actually considers it.

“We don’t have to, I just thought you might enjoy it.” Essek believes him. He believes that if he says no, that’ll be the end of it. But...there’s a flicker of hope in Caleb’s eyes, and Essek feels himself cave.

“Dancing sounds...fine, although I’ll admit I’m not well practised.” He’d taken a few lessons in his youth, but never saw much use in keeping it up. He’d never enjoyed being so  close to someone for so long, the prolonged contact making him bristle. A whisper of a memory of Caleb’s hand on his arm, his shoulder, his own hand, ghosts over his skin.

The bright smile Caleb gifts him in return is enough to melt the last of his reservations, as he says “dancing poorly is part of the experience.” 

Essek just smiles and allows Caleb to lead him to the academy. 

The walk across the Shimmerward is short, made shorter by Caleb’s eager pace, and Essek scrambles to keep up. A parasol, while practical for a drow walking around Rexxentrum in the middle of the day, is a bit conspicuous in Quen’Pillar, and while that’s fine for visiting Ikithon or Daleth, Essek decided to forgo it on this excursion, not wanting to draw undue attention. It does mean, however, that Essek is near blinded as they pass through the sunlit streets, all he can do is follow Caleb, like a moth to a flame.

The opening bars of music can be heard even before they enter the marble halls of the academy proper, a jaunty tune that’s carrying quite a distance. It’s a small relief when they enter the shaded interior of the building, but to Essek’s surprise, Caleb doesn’t lead them directly to the grand hall. Instead he leads them further away from the sound. 

“I thought the hall was that way?” 

“Ja, it is, but first, for the proper Hazel Festival experience, we need a drink.” 

“Ah, right.” Essek vaguely remembers that part of the explanation. 

“Usually, snacks and beverages would be served in the hall itself, right before the dancing, but as this is a rehearsal, we’ll have to make do.” 

Caleb leads them on to the kitchen, and asks Essek to wait outside as he sweet talks the chef into giving them a free sample. Essek leans against the wall, and watches the throngs of students pass by. None of them spare him a glance in his disguise, and he wonders why he let himself be talked into this. He’s never liked parties, and a drow getting caught in the Soltryce Academy would be a political nightmare, and yet he stands and waits for Caleb to get him a beer, or a mulled wine, or cider or whatever it is the Zemnians drink at festivals. He could call this off right now. Say the fresh air has been enough of a break for him, and get back to work. Should, really, if they want to be rid of this temporal anomaly in anything that can resemble a prompt fashion.

But he must be more exhausted and overworked than he thought, because when Caleb returns with a stein in each hand, Essek takes the one offered to him and swallows a large mouthful, so quickly he doesn’t even register the taste. 

Mercifully, Caleb doesn’t comment on his haste, and instead explains the long standing tradition of beer drinking in Rexxentrum and the surrounding Zemni fields. Essek really tries to pay attention, but fails miserably. Instead he’s listening to the reserved excitement in his voice, and seeing the joy radiating from him, in his face and his posture. Essek takes another sip of his drink. 

Eventually, Caleb tails off and leads them back to the grand hall, and Essek just stares. He’s never come through the hall this late in the preparations before, and by now all of the decorations have been strung across the walls, banners and streamers in gold, red and orange, an approximation of an autumnal forest. And while he can’t say he’s ever been a fan of Zemnian architecture, the acoustics are phenomenal. The band have switched from their previous jig to something softer and slower, and they find a spot near the back of the hall, where they should be out of the way, and call less attention to themselves. Essek looks to Caleb for instruction, and waits while he tilts his head, apparently listening to the music. 

“Do you know how to waltz, Herr Thelyss?” He asks, after a moment’s consideration.

“I do not.” Most of the dances he’d learnt were Xhorhasian, particular to and developed by the Dynasty. Frankly, they bored Essek to tears. 

“Ok, well it's a very simple dance to learn.” 

Caleb sets his drink down on a side table, and Essek quickly finishes his before doing the same. Caleb extends a hand towards Essek, and after a heartbeat’s hesitation, he takes it, and drops his levitation spell at the same time. Caleb takes a step forward, until they are almost chest to chest, and takes Essek’s wrist in his other hand.

“Because I will be leading,you should put your hand on my shoulder, like so” and he maneuvers Essek accordingly. He forces himself to relax under the gentle manipulation, an act made harder when Caleb continues “And I will put my hand on your waist.” 

It’s a gentle touch, a barely there pressure, but it burns like a brand even through his clothes. Essek breathes in, and stares at a point just past Caleb’s shoulder, sure that trying to make eye contact now would break something, though he isn’t sure what. 

“The steps are simple.” 

Caleb leads him through it, and sure enough, it is simple. As Caleb takes a step back, Essek takes a step forward, ever careful to maintain some distance between them but perhaps not being as mindful as he should be, stumbling over his own feet, before catching himself. 

“My apologies.” 

Caleb laughs, “I told you, bad dancing is part of the fun.” 

Essek laughs along, and just for once, just for now, relaxes into it. And they dance. 

They move faster as Essek grows more comfortable with the movements, and Caleb starts incorporating in some more complex motions, spins and twirls. Some of these Essek has done before, in some variation or other back in the Dynasty, but that was half a century ago. It isn’t elegant, but he’s starting to understand that elegance isn’t the point. This isn’t a display put on by and for the court, practised over millennia to the point of perfection for the entertainment of the highest nobles. The only people watching are a handful of students and servants, and they’re completely ignoring them in their little corner. No, as the gentle simmer of the beer burns inside of him, and Caleb’s arms surround him, Essek thinks he’s starting to understand the point. 

Then Caleb freezes in his arms, and Essek stumbles into him, and behind them the band comes to a cacophonous, disjointed halt as each member stops of their own accord and focuses their attention on a point behind Essek. He cranes his head to look but just before he catches sight of the cause of the commotion, a voice reaches him. 

“Ah, Bren, there you are, I’ve been looking for you all morning.” 

Trent Ikithon stalks into the room, and for a moment, Essek hopes wildly that one of the band is called Bren, and he and Caleb will return to Bren’s home and laugh about the close call, but that hope is dashed when Caleb straightens his posture and lets go of Essek. 

“Master Ikithon.” 

Ikithon comes to a stop a few paces away, and gestures impatiently. 

“Come along now, I have a meeting in 15 minutes, unless of course you’re not finished dancing with, who is this?” 

The question isn’t directed at him, but Essek answers anyway.

 “Caleb Widogast.” 

It’s the only thing he can think to say.

Ikithon sneers, “Yes well. I’m sure Bren will be back to entertain you when he isn’t on the clock.”

And he turns to leave. Cal-Bren is still frozen less than an arm’s reach away, but it feels like a continent. He stands there, locked immobile, and a spark of rage flickers to life in Essek’s heart, then flares into a roar, blazing through him. 

“You’d better go, your master is waiting.” Essek says. Bren flinches hard, and Essek steels himself against it, constraining his expression into a blank mask, letting the flames of his anger singe his mouth but not show upon his face.

“I can explain.”  Bren starts, but Essek cuts him off. 

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not sure I’d believe you.” 

And Essek leaves, trusting his feet to find the way out the door and round a corner before he teleports back to Rosohna. His feet hit the hardwood of his living room floor, swiftly followed by the rest of him as all at once the wrath burns up, and he crumples.

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 6:30 am - Loop 26

It has been a long time since Essek last felt like a fool. A child prodigy, the best in his field, he often unintentionally made others feel foolish in comparison. In court, he excelled at gauging each individual’s intellect, intention and personality and how to respond to them. As for his personal life, well he’d had no interest in maintaining close personal relationships, having not found anyone who could keep up with him. And now, for the first time ever, he thought he found just that. Intelligent, ambitious, good company. But of course he’d been manipulating Essek from the start, seeing him as a convenient means to an end, a solution to a problem he’d made. 

The city wakes up around him, and Essek stubbornly remains in bed. Technically, he has no need for a bed, he can sleep sitting upright, floating a foot above the ground, for light’s sake. But it’s better for his back, the Umavi constantly reminded him, and right now its soft blankets and plush pillows are a comfort Essek can’t bring himself to deny. Besides, it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. 

He really thought he’d finally found his equal. He’d hoped from the start of this endeavour with the Cerberus Assembly that he’d find like-minded individuals, who saw a greater potential in the beacons, who wanted to investigate their true abilities with him. That hope had dwindled over the past year of minimal reports and discoveries held draconically close to the chest. But then there was Caleb, whose interest in the beacons was almost purely academic, who’d listened to everything Essek had to say, and wanted more, who’d engaged Essek’s theories with his own. But of course it was a lie. Bren wanted to turn back time, gods know why, and he’d fucked it up and was trying to cover his mistake before anyone else noticed. 

Essek spent days reading those notes! Hours upon hours of trying to work out what Bren was trying to do, why he’d chosen the runes and symbols and components that he did, anguished over the gaps in his information, and all the while Bren had been right there, pretending to help! 

Overcome with restless energy, Essek finally gets up and dresses. And Essek had taught him dunamancy! Advanced dunamantic theory! No wonder he picked it up so quickly. Even through his burning haze of anger and betrayal, Essek could admit that Bren was a genius. Honestly, that just made it worse. Imagining how much more progress they’d have made if Bren had been honest from the start leaves Essek seething. 

Well, let’s see how far he gets on his own, Essek thinks. 

With sharp movements, Essek snatches a thread of magic between his fingers and sends a message to the Martinent. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to reschedule our meeting, I’ve unexpectedly fallen ill. Is next week amenable?” 

“Very well, next Miresen should give you enough time to recover. I’ll contact you again then.” 

Of course the esteemed Martinet doesn’t mention his own scheduling conflicts unless forced to. Essek laughs darkly, and sets about making breakfast and plans for the day. While Bren may have his notes, and all the information Essek stupidly gave him, all of his thoughts and notes memorized, Essek has at his disposal millenia’s worth of dunmantic research and other experts in the field. Certainly many of them have no interest in furthering the school, or testing the boundaries of what is known, but surely someone somewhere will have some answers. 

Essek is part way through his breakfast when he is rudely interrupted. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to deceive you. If and when you are ready, I can explain. I am truly sorry.” 

He thinks about letting the spell dissipate without answer, but at the last second bites out, “I think you’ve said quite enough, thank you.” 

He waits for a follow up message while he finishes his meal, but it doesn’t come, Bren apparently taking his words to heart. Essek drinks the last of his tea, hoping the scalding liquid will burn the bitterness from his tongue. 

Essek’s first destination is the Marble Tomes Conservatory. The grey marble complex is a reservoir for all collected knowledge on dunamancy. Essek has read as much of it as he could manage over the century he’s been alive, but he’s certain there must be some answers in there, in some book or scroll Essek had never found, or in one he’d read decades ago and since forgotten. He has some idea of where to start, at the very least. 

Walking the streets of Rosohna after almost two weeks in the Empire is strange, being able to wear his own face without a second glance. At the Conservatory, people nod respectfully in greeting, recognising and acknowledging the Shadowhand, knowing not to disturb his doubtlessly important research. He’s left entirely to his own devices, and starts pulling as many texts as he can think of. 

He stays there all morning, and well into the afternoon, the pile of research material in front of him growing as his hopes diminish and his frustrations mount. Much of what he finds is either things he already knew, or completely useless. The few things that hold potential would need to be tested and double checked first, and he’d need his notes for that, which he doesn’t have. He spent an hour scrawling what he could remember, but he knows it's incomplete. He’d learnt many loops ago that pocket dimensions such as his wristpocket aren’t except from the anomaly, much as he wishes he could just put the notes in there and have them remain come dawn. 

Eventually, he decides to turn to his second course of action. He’d hoped to figure this out on his own, but a second opinion might be useful, and the Conservatory is the workplace of many esteemed dunamantic scholars.Unbidden, Bren’s account of his previous attempts to inform people of the temporal anomaly rings through Essek’s head. Whether he was telling the truth or not, Essek doesn’t know, but he decides to tread carefully nonetheless. At the very least, no one seems currently aware of the problem, everyone carrying about their daily routines. He wonders if even the Umavi are unaffected, but he certainly isn’t going to ask them. 

Instead, he seeks out Starguide Uraya Hythenos. A long time associate, Uraya is one of the few people Essek actually enjoys working with. Intelligent and efficient, and interested in looking into more practical applications of dunamancy. Their office lies on the upper floors of the conservatory, and thankfully they are in when Essek arrives. 

“Come in.” 

The goblin is sat at their desk, head in a book until they glances up as the door opens. They immediately straighten their relaxed posture when they see Essek in the doorway, and snap the book closed.

“Shadowhand. What can I do for you?” 

Essek steps inside and lets the door swing closed behind him. “I have a bit of an odd query.” 

They raise an eyebrow. “Go on.” 

Essek rubs a thumb over his lips, considering how to phrase this. “I have been sensing an anomaly of sorts, dunamantic in nature. Have you felt anything similar?” 

They put their book down on the desk, and turn to give Essek their full attention. “You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“It feels as if time has become...unsynced. I’ve felt extreme nausea and deja vu, and the uh sensations of expended dunamis.” These impressions had abated considerably since he first became aware of the spell, until they were merely a faint after image in the early morning, but he remembers them distinctly.

“How long have you been feeling this?” Uraya asks. 

How long indeed. “Since this morning.” 

Uraya rests their chin in their hands, and looks out the window, deep in thought. Outside, the night sky embraces the world below, gentle starlight kissing the rooftops, as it always does in the midnight city.

“You haven’t felt anything similar?” Essek prompts. 

Uraya sighs, “Not in particular. It sounds like a spell gone wrong.”

“I thought so as well. Alright, well, thank you for your help.” 

They look ready to inquire further, but they just say “Not a problem.” 

Essek leaves. That was remarkably unhelpful. If some of the most competent dunamancers in the world can’t sense what’s going on, then he’s really doing this alone. Why he himself can remember anything is a mystery. Perhaps due to his proximity to the epicentre of the spell? Prolonged exposure to it? His dunamantic experience combined with knowledge of the spell? Some combination? He could spend months testing out theories, but the point stands that right now, only two people are aware of the loop, and they are the only people who can break it. 

As Essek checks out a handful of the more useful books on his way out, there’s a bone deep itch in him watching the people go about their day. 26 times they’ve done this, by Bren’s count. And seeing as he’s the one who cast the spell, he must be right. How many more times will they live through this day, drink that coffee, read that book, tell that joke before Essek fixes this? Because Essek must fix this, because he caused this. Not wholly, but he cannot deny the part he played in it. He handed over two of his country’s holy relics, two artifacts of immense magical power, and this is what he gets in return? If he were a religious man, he’d wonder if this was some sort of divine punishment. He knows better, but he must admit the notion is compelling. He takes the books from the clerk and goes home. 

For the rest of the night, he reads. He makes himself a scant dinner, and eats it quickly. He writes and rewrites his notes and calculations, trying to remember them, trying to find the puzzle piece that will fill the hole. He thinks it would be faster with Bren’s help and he hates himself for thinking that. He’ll have to cave eventually, he knows. He can’t remember weeks worth of work perfectly, and he knows that Bren holds the key to unlocking the final part of this spell. This would have been so much easier and simpler if he’d been upfront from the start. If he’d just told Essek that he cast this spell, that he was looking to fix it. But Essek knows himself well enough to know that he never would have worked with him if he’d said that. 

He sighs and leans back against his chair. It’s getting late, although it’s hard to tell in Rosohna. If he works on this alone, he thinks he could probably fix this, in time. He knows that if he works with Bren, he can fix it soon. He stares up at the ceiling of his bedchamber and resolves, just once, to see this bitter day through to its end. And then he blinks and -

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 6:05 am - Loop 27

-wakes up in his bed to the joyous sounds of the bustling city around him waking up. 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 7:00 am - Loop 29

After three days of fervent research without any marked progress, Essek gives in. He needs his notes, needs to see Bren’s original spell. If he didn’t have to start from scratch every morning, he could do it, he’s sure but as it stands, he can’t do this anymore. 

He quickly runs through his morning routine, and mutters the incantation necessary to teleport directly to Bren’s basement. As he arrives in the dimly lit room, the circle flaring to light beneath him, he wonders why Bren even showed him this room. He would probably have never found it by himself, far more interested in getting the job done than poking around the living quarters of a stranger. It seems like a pointless safety risk to Essek. Certainly it’s marginally easier if Essek can guarantee he’ll arrive here exactly on time each day,and he has been grateful for it, but letting a man you just met teleport directly into your house at any time? He didn’t know it was his house, but it’s still absurd. Essek shakes his head and heads upstairs.

Bren is nowhere to be found on the bottom floor of the dwelling, so Essek checks the second floor. He’d never had cause to  go up there before, and is unsurprised to find it as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house. He knows why now, Bren spending most of his time at home asleep or in the study. Therefore, it’s of equally little surprise when he opens the door to the bedchambers and finds it moderately more lived in. There’s a bookshelf with lighter reading material by the bed, more comfortable looking furnishings, and a blessedly closed window that Essek assumes, when open, would flood the room with the morning sun. In the centre of the room is a double bed, with a thicker quilt than would be strictly necessary in the chilly Quen’Pillar air covering the sole occupant. 

Essek only gets a moment to take in the room, as apparently Bren is a light sleeper. He sits bolt upright when the door opens, hand outstretched, energy crackling to life in his palm, coalescing into a mote of flame. Then his eyes catch on Essek, and recognising him instantly, he lets the flame dissipate, leaving nothing but a plume of smoke curling past his fingertips. Essek’s eyes follow the trails of smoke up Bren’s arm and realises that for once his sleeves are rolled up, his forearms uncovered, revealing an intricate design of black tattoos. 

“Essek.” 

His gaze snaps up to Bren’s face, the soft pained look he finds there abrasive to Essek’s nerves. He crosses his arms. 

“You said you could explain? Frankly, I don’t particularly care, but with my notes disappearing each morning, I don’t have a lot of options. If we have to collaborate to be out of this loop in a timely manner, then so be it.” 

Bren rubs at his face, eyes bleary, hair loose and unruly around his face. 

“If you truly do not want to hear it, I understand, but I think it might be for the best to at least tell you the basics. You deserve an explanation at least.” 

Essek leans back against the wall. “Fine, let’s hear it then.” 

Bren hesitates. “Can I get dressed first?” 

“Fine, when you’re ready I’ll be waiting in the dining room.” 

As he sits at the dining table, in the same seat he’s taken so many times over the last two weeks of this interminable day, he tries to gather his thoughts. After the initial shock and anger at the revelation had passed, Essek was filled with a sadness so all encompassing, he was sure it would leave him with nothing else. He’d resigned himself to working with Bren again, letting him use him for his knowledge, until they end this ordeal and once it’s done he’ll never have to see him again. He remains confident that Bren wouldn’t be able to fix this on his own, and he seems disinclined towards violence, so Essek probably won’t have to fight for his life as soon as this is over. Although that could have been part of the ruse as well, defanging himself so that Essek would put his head in the lion's mouth willingly. He had called Bren ruthless, he dimly recalls. He wonders if he should take it as a threat. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Bren enters the room, now fully clothed. He sets a plate down at the place across from Essek, with an omelette and some bacon, and hesitates before sitting down himself. 

For a moment, he doesn’t eat, and he doesn’t talk. He just stares at the table between them. Eventually, far too soon, Bren begins to speak. 

“You want to know, deserve to know, why I cast this spell, and what I was trying to do, but it is a long story, so please bear with me. Do you know what it takes to become a scourger?”

There’s a multitude of answers to that question. Arcane ability, a ruthless nature, particular training that Essek couldn’t fathom. But he senses there’s a specific answer Bren is looking for, so he says “No.” 

Bren sighs and puts his head in his hands, eyes boring into the table still. 

“Then let me tell you about how I murdered my mother and father.” 

Bren talks, and Essek listens, and in jagged broken pieces the story rips itself from his lips, each word coughed up like it tore itself from him.  How he was plucked from his home town with two others and thrust into the gloriously magical world of the Soltryce Academy. How those three students were singled out once again and honored to become Ikithon’s pet project. He fed them on compliments and propaganda until they were willing to do whatever he asked, for the good of the empire. Bren skips the grim details of their training, their torture, but leaves enough edges for Essek to get the picture. And he tells of the false memory implanted in his brain, and of their final graduation test. The more he speaks, the harsher his tone becomes, his gaze growing distant as he curls in on himself. Essek hears him speak of the blaze that ended it all, and remembers the snap of fire in his hand not an hour ago, and he wonders how he can stand it. He stays silent. 

“I was so sure that what we were doing was right. So sure. Until I wasn’t. I broke a bit that night. I stood and stared into that fire and I heard their screams and I was so sure that I was in there with them. Part of me was. Bren Aldric Ermendrud died that night, and a husk was left in his place. But I had nowhere else to turn, so I went back with them. I stayed, and trained, and went through with everything, because what else could I do? It was never the same after that. I tried to convince Astrid and Eadwulf to leave with me, at first, or find some way to take that man down, or do something, but in the end we just grew further apart. Astrid has her own ambitions, and still believes that everything we did, that was done to us, was for the good of the empire. Eadwulf...I’m not even sure if he cares anymore. So I looked for another way out. I thought about just running. All the Vollstrucker are granted veilers, amulets which cloak us from magical detection, I could just go and live out a normal life somewhere far away from this wretched empire. But all I’ve ever known how to do is destroy things, so what else could I do?” 

“So you stayed.” 

He nods, “So I stayed. If I couldn’t leave, I could at least burn the whole place down with me. I did everything Master Ikithon asked of me, and more. I was the best, most loyal, most ruthless scourger so that Ikithon would never look at what I was doing. And I took every opportunity presented to me by being his right hand to find a way to tear it all down. And that’s when you came along.” 

“The beacons.” 

“When I first learnt of the deal, I knew it was my chance. I could find a way to undo everything, make it so this never happened. But I had to work slowly. I’ve always been a fast learner, but I knew this was something that would take time. Over the past year, I’ve been learning whatever dunamancy I can and working on this spell, until today.” 

Bre-Cale-He lapses into silence. 

“What were you going to do?” He has to ask. He has to know. 

He sighs. “I don’t know. Go back to that day and save my parents? Or to the day I was selected to go to the academy and stop that message from ever arriving? Or to the day Trent was installed in the academy and prevent him from getting that position? Or to stop him from ever being born? This first run of the spell was just supposed to be a test run, a proof of concept.” 

He finally has an answer to the question he’s been asking for the last 29 days, and it’s so simple. Essek lets out a half laugh, and leans back in his chair. “Well, that solves one problem then.”

He looks up from the table finally, “what do you mean?” 

“The spell didn’t work because a proper anchor point was never set for it.” Essek explains. “Time keeps repeating because it’s searching for the exact time you wish to go back to. I imagine the only thing stopping time from going back further is us changing the timeline with every decision we make, forcing it to search everything all over again.” 

He blinks “Of course, how did we not see this sooner?” 

“I’d assumed that Bren, or rather, you-” 

He’s cut off, “please, Bren died with his parents a long time ago.” 

“Alright, Caleb then?” 

Caleb nods. 

“Alright. I’d assumed that you’d filled in the appropriate gap when you’d actually cast the spell. If you’d been honest from the start, this would have saved us a lot of time.” 

Caleb flinches, but holds Essek’s gaze. “Surely you can see why I didn’t tell you. Would you have ever worked with me if I told you this from the start?” 

Essek looks away first. “I don’t know.” 

They settle into an uneasy silence, that’s still more comfortable than before. Caleb finally tucks into his breakfast, and Essek turns over his words in his mind. He doesn’t know what to do with this information, or what to think of the man in front of him. An assassin who killed his own parents, worked his way up to become Ikithon’s most trusted scourger, then broke the fabric of reality itself out of vengeance, and lied and manipulated Essek into helping him. A young man who was tortured and abused, and forced into desperate measures to get out of an unthinkable situation. A scholar who learnt voraciously, with an intuitive grasp of dunamancy, who was able to construct an entirely new spell on his own after less than a year’s study in the field. A reckless idiot who performed it incompletely, without setting a proper goal. A man who picked apart his own mistakes at Essek’s side, and considered them from all angles. Who worked by candlelight to save Essek’s eyes, who allowed him to memorize the teleportation circle to his own home, who sat up and memorized their notes every night so they could pick up where they left off in the morning. Was it all a lie? 

Essek shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts.

“It shouldn’t take too long to undo the spell now that I know all of this.” Essek says. “It’s just a question of if we want to go forwards or backwards.” 

Caleb looks up from his plate, “You think you could do that?” 

“I don’t know.” He says honestly,  “It might be possible. If a lack of an anchorpoint is really all that was missing from the spell, then it could work. We’d just have to choose when.”

Caleb puts his cutlery down. “I think perhaps I’ve taken enough risks lately. I would like to see tomorrow.”

Essek wonders if Caleb counts bringing him into all of this as a risk. And if he thinks it was one worth taking. 

“Alright. Do you want to go to work now?” Essek asks.

There’s a moment where Caleb falters. Then he says, “I think that would be for the best, yes. If we want to get this spell broken in a timely fashion, ja?” 

His own words thrown back at him, Essek tries not to flinch as they hit their mark. “Alright then. Let’s get to work.” 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 9:00 am - Loop 29

Caleb dissipates the wards on the study with a flick of his wrist, and a wave of tangled emotion crashes into Essek, catching and snaring in his chest. He could have done that the whole time. It was a performance every morning. He unlocks the door, and steps aside, letting Essek enter first. 

The room is bright with the morning sun, streaming in through the window and bouncing off glass vials and metallic devices, illuminating every dark corner, and Essek shrinks away from it, before steeling himself and raising a hand to shade his eyes. 

“Ah, sorry, let me just-” Caleb quickly crosses the room and pulls the shutters, extinguishing the glare. Essek bites his tongue before he can thank him, and instead nods in acknowledgement. 

He crosses the room to his desk, and freezes two paces away. Bren’s desk. Caleb’s desk. He forces himself to move and closes the remaining space, taking a seat. Caleb had just let Essek take over his study and occupy his own desk. Of course, he couldn’t say anything about it then. If he has anything to say now, Essek isn’t exactly interested in hearing his complaints. 

There’s a faint shuffle of movement behind him as he sorts through the papers on the desk, Caleb moving to stand beside him. Essek sighs, and snaps his fingers, calling a handful of purple lights into existence. He hears Caleb’s soft exclamation, and does his best to ignore it, pulling the last of the necessary notes into a pile and turning around. 

“Did you make any other notes that aren’t included here? Is this the final version of the spell?” 

Caleb falters, before saying “No, that is everything.”

“Good. That makes this easier. I had previously been working on the assumption that there was some missing piece, but an incomplete spell makes sense.” Essek taps his fingers against the pages. “Were you ever planning on telling me?” 

Another pause. “No.” 

Essek closes his eyes and breathes through his anger. “Fine. Well, regardless. Stabilising the spell, while preferable, would be remarkably difficult at this point. Creating a counter spell that pushes time in the other direction would also not be ideal, so that leaves dispelling it. Dispelling a side-effect is impossible of course, but this isn’t one, as I’d previously thought, the spell is working exactly as intended. Which would have been nice to know 10 cycles ago.” 

Caleb flinches at the barbs, and Essek scolds himself. This isn’t productive. He clears his throat. 

“Anyway, the framework that we’ve been working on over the last two weeks should still…” The framework that he doesn’t have. 

“Ah, right, I’ll get right on that.” Caleb says, and with achingly familiar motions, rises from his desk and opens a drawer, counting out a precise amount of blank parchment before closing it again, and returning. He pulls out a quill and inkwell, and starts to write. Essek rearranges his dancing lights to accommodate the movements without even thinking about it.

“What are you doing?” He finds himself asking. 

Caleb looks up, pausing in his writing, then quickly moving the pen off the paper so as not to blot it. “Writing up the framework?” 

“So we’re just going to...keep working and act like this never happened?” 

Caleb frowns. “That is what you wanted, isn't it?” 

Essek puts his head in his hands. What he wanted…Essek wanted a lot of things. But those wants are irrelevant. They need to finish this spell, so they can get back to their lives, so everyone could get back to their lives, instead of this incessant pantomime. He drops his hands, and lifts his head. 

“Yes. That would be a lot simpler. Carry on.” 

He waves a hand vaguely, and Caleb continues writing. Essek turns back to his desk, Caleb’s desk, and finds himself staring at the Luxon Beacon. In the darkened room, its faint glow paints Essek’s face, and washes over the notes in front of him. This close to it, Essek would have thought he’d be able to feel the spell weaving around them, taste the echoes of the enfolded time encasing them, but all he feels is the familiar gentle thrumming. He wonders if perhaps he can still feel it, but has been in it so long he’s simply forgotten what being without it’s like, the weight of a dozen discarded timelines dismissed as easily as the weight of his own clothes, the smell as undetectable as that of his own house. When they do end this spell, will he feel that loss as distinctly? 

The room is silent aside from the scratch of Caleb’s pen, and Essek supposes he should do something. Organise Caleb’s notes, pull down abjuration text books, write down a plan, anything except just sit and stare into the beacon. But as his hands flitter over the paper, he has to restrain himself from grabbing fistfuls and ripping them to shreds. Caleb had written their notes out every morning! He’d looked at his handwriting every single day! Had he been faking it every single morning? He must have, or else Essek would have noticed. 

Honestly, he should have suspected sooner. The way that Caleb moves through this study, as easy as breathing, knowing where every book and component belongs, is not just the level of familiarity one could achieve after the handful of visits he’d attested to. This study is practically an extension of Caleb’s self, his life’s work collected and displayed, and oh the picture it paints. Books from every school of magic, every theoretical school of thought, each one an attempt to find a way out of the grave he’d dug himself. The cabinets full of components, the wood worn smooth on the ones most used, like the large reserves of guano and sulphur. The false bottom in the desk drawer Essek had found a few days ago, a place to store his treacherous plans. 

There’s a sound far too close to Essek’s ear and he startles, flinching hard. But it’s only Caleb, handing him a sheet of paper. 

“The first page of notes. It’ll take me about an hour to write up all of them, but if you want to make a start…”

Essek takes the paper, and Caleb holds on for a second before releasing it, and turning back to his work. When Essek looks at it, he notes that it’s Bren’s handwriting, the same one scrawled across the broken spell. Of course it would be, there’s no reason for him to keep up the charade anymore, but the evidence still stings. 

A million questions burn inside of Essek, threatening to sear their way out of him, but he holds them in. What good would they do? He knows what Caleb did, and he knows why he did it. Does it really matter how much of it was a lie? Would it make things better or worse if every small instance of friendship, every act of kindness, was merely a tool to endear him to Essek, and get him to fix his mess? And would knowing the truth, whichever it may be, bring him any measure of comfort? He thinks not. So he stays quiet, and gets back to work. 

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 13:09 pm - Loop 31

After two days of this, Essek finds his patience wearing thin. He’d hoped that now everything is out in the open, they would be able to work with a level of professional courtesy, without false niceties and manipulation, but apparently Caleb hadn’t got the memo. 

The spellwork is easy enough, Caleb has been a lot more forthcoming than Essek would have expected, and surprisingly open to criticism. He’s told Essek his entire thought process working up to the spell, and some of his theoretical questions on the nature of dunamancy and how to implement it. No, his attitude towards work isn’t the problem.

The problem, Essek thinks to himself, as Caleb’s dancing lights spark out of existence and he sits up from his work, is this. 

“Ah, we should probably break for lunch soon. I brought over some of the stew that you liked from the academy.” 

He keeps doing this, and Essek doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. 

“I’ve already agreed to continue working with you until we break this spell. You don’t have to ply me with gifts.” His voice sounds tired even to his own ears. 

Through the darkness, he sees Caleb blink in confusion. “That isn’t why I’m offering.” 

Essek huffs out a laugh. This endless barrage of placating gestures is some of the most overt manipulation Essek has ever seen in his years as Shadowhand. Truthfully, he’s a little ashamed of himself for not realising them for what they were from the start. He’d let himself get lulled into a false sense of security. Had wanted it, even. 

“It isn’t,” Caleb insists, recasting his dancing lights. Even in his frustration, he keeps them far enough away from Essek to not strain his eyes. 

“An attempt at an apology then? That also will not be necessary. I understand why you did what you did.” It hurts, but he understands. What he doesn’t understand is why he’s continuing to do this. 

Caleb looks away, “I’m just...trying to make it more comfortable for you here.” 

“Why?” Essek asks. It’s a ridiculous notion, it doesn’t matter if he enjoys his time here, he has to be here to see this through. 

“Because I want to.” He says it like it’s so simple, and Essek feels his frayed patience snap. 

He asks again “Why?” 

Caleb throws his hands up, “because despite what you think, I have actually enjoyed working with you.” 

Essek opens his mouth to interject but Caleb keeps going, “And not just because of what you’ve taught me. I didn't...this wasn’t just an elaborate plan to access your nation's secrets. You’d already given them away freely. I was just trying to fix what I broke, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. This wasn’t supposed to be some long drawn out deception, I thought it would be a simple fix, and again, I am sorry for pulling you along like this.” 

Essek cuts in, “I already told you, you don’t have to apologise for that. I would have done the same.” 

“Regardless of whether it was justified or not, it still hurt you, and I am truly sorry. Once we started working together, I realised the mistake I had made, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.” 

A crumpling beneath his fingers alerts Essek that he’s crushing the pages in his hands, and he forces his fists to unclench. “If you truly didn’t plan on pulling me along as you say, why do any of this to begin with? Why not just keep this strictly professional?”

Caleb flushes and looks away. “I didn’t mean to. I just get carried away where magic is involved sometimes. And maybe...it was easier to pretend to be the man you thought I was. It was selfish of me, but I didn’t expect you to ever find out.” 

Essek sighs. He really doesn’t know what to do with that. He’d been trying not to think too hard about why Caleb was doing what he was doing, was ready to accept that it was just a misguided attempt to get on his good side so he’d continue working with him. But this? If that’s even true. Essek puts his head in his hands. He’d been convinced, for a while, that Caleb was just a scholar, a scourger certainly, but more interested in research than anything else. Then he’d been sure that everything was a lie, and Caleb was out to wring all of his secrets from him then leave him in the dust. Now, he has no idea, and moreover he doesn’t know which he wants to be true. 

When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly level for the tumult in his head. “I don't know how you expect me to believe or trust you.” 

Caleb’s quiet for a moment, pensive, before turning and meeting Essek’s eye.

“I could show you?” 

Essek leans back. “What do you mean?” 

“We could…” Caleb trails off, and Essek waits. He tries again. “You don’t trust me, and you’re right there’s no reason for you to do so, and you probably shouldn’t, but. If we’re going to finish this spell, we should probably have some basic level of understanding. What I’m suggesting is just a conversation. We can go somewhere else, away from all of this, and just talk.” 

Essek thinks about it. Last time he’d let Caleb take him somewhere, it changed everything he thought he knew about him. But it hadn’t started that way. Unless Caleb has even more secrets stowed away, it probably won’t end that way either. Just for a conversation. He could say no, insist they get back to working on the spell. They’ve already wasted a lot of time. But then again, what does wasted time mean in this context, where they have an infinity of todays? And really, Essek has to admit that he’d been using the spell as a...convenient distraction. He didn’t have to confront any of the devastating truths and incessant lies that had been revealed to him. He still doesn’t have to. 

But then he thinks back on the last few todays, and how uncomfortable it’d been, constantly sidestepping around anything Essek didn’t want to face. And how much easier it had been when he didn’t know anything. He doesn’t think they can ever get back to that. But they could try. It scares him senseless, but he wants to try. 

He looks up at Caleb, illuminated by the amber lights surrounding him, and says “Alright, where did you have in mind?” 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 13:30pm - Loop 31

Essek allows Caleb to cast an illusion over the both of them, two non-descript human men and then with a familiar symbol drawn in the air, the ground is rushed from beneath their feet, and everything goes white around them. When the world settles, he’s met with blinding sunlight, salt in the air, and the cry of gulls overhead. 

“Where are we, exactly?” Essek asks, squinting and trying to make out any distinguishing features through the glare. 

“Nicodranas. It’s about as far from Rexxentrum as I could reliably get us.” His voice is close by, just to Essek’s left. 

“Right.” He raises a hand to shade his face, hoping that his eyes will eventually adjust. 

“Oh, actually I have something.” 

There’s the sound of fabric rustling next to him, as Caleb rifles through his pockets, then a soft exclamation of success. He holds something out in front of Essek, something small and dark, then mutters a few words, and Essek can feel the rush of expended arcane energy as the world dims around him, until it resolves itself into a white sandy beach, with clear blue skies and the sea stretching out to the horizon. Caleb stands next to him, rubbing at his wrists where Essek now knows scars linger. 

“It’s a uh modified version of the darkness spell,” Caleb explains, “but more localised and hopefully you can actually see through it. You can see through it, right?” 

“I can see.” Much clearer than he’d expected, he admits to himself. “You developed this?” 

“Ja. I realised that the parasol wasn’t helping you that much, so I’ve been trying to create something better.” 

They haven’t walked through the streets together since the second loop after Essek caught on. Other than when they went dancing, and he didn’t even bring the parasol then. 

“How long have you been working on it?” He asks quietly. 

“On and off over the last few weeks, whenever we hit a snag. I finished it a few days ago.” He breaks eye contact for a moment, glancing down at the sand, and Essek realises he must have wanted to complete it before they took their break. He continues, “Do you have any notes?” 

“How long will it last? Is this localised to an area or just me?” The questions burst from him before he can stop them. He knows they agreed to talk about anything else, but he can’t help it. Talking to Caleb about magic is still so easy.

“It should last about 8 hours, I’ve not really had the chance to test it yet. It should just affect you, the goal was to provide you with a less conspicuous way of travelling during the day, so a radial effect, even tightly localised, wouldn’t have worked as well.” 

“Right.” Essek turns in a circle, carefully examining the beach before him. They’re a little ways off from the city proper, he’d estimate a half hour’s walk, on a stretch of beach that’s fairly empty, despite the noonday sun overhead. He stares transfixed at the ocean, the spell taking the sting out of the refractions, but leaving enough light that the rich deep blue remains, like the purest lapis lazuli. 

He wonders if this is what Caleb wanted to show him. Not the beach exactly, beautiful though it is, but this spell. He’d been working on it so long, and Essek has no idea why. Spending hours researching and developing the spell is a large commitment for very little reward, as far as Essek can tell. It’s hardly an impressive feat, just a modification of an existing spell, it certainly wouldn’t go far in earning Essek’s respect in that regard. And there are easier ways to win someone’s affection, that would be much more efficient if Caleb was trying to manipulate him. A spell that exists solely to make things a little dimmer so that Essek can see better, just to make him a little more comfortable...

He feels the waves lap at his feet before he even realises he walked over there, that he dropped his levitation spell. He should back up, activate his spell again, but the push and pull of the water against his legs, moving at the whim of the winds and the heavens is enthralling. He hears Caleb walk up beside him. 

“I’ve never seen the ocean before.” Essek says

“You haven’t?” 

“Honestly, I rarely leave Rosohna. I’ve never had much reason to.” He admits.

It’s the truth, but in the face of the infinity before him, it seems lacking. He’s seen paintings of the ocean before, read poems about its beauty, but never found it of much interest before. He hadn’t realised it was so similar to the expanse within the beacons, boundless and immense.

He sits down and lets his feet linger in the water, and Caleb sits beside him. 

“I first saw the ocean only a few years ago myself. Ikithon sent me here on an assignment. I don’t remember much of it, but this view always stuck with me.” 

Essek hums in agreement. He can see why. A short ways down the shore, a small handful of beachgoers are enjoying their afternoon. There’s a couple of children collecting seashells and showing them to each other, a group of college age students splashing each other in the waves, and further up the beach an older couple sitting and reading, their hands clasped against the sand between them. 

He sighs and pulls his legs out of the water. 

He wishes Caleb had been honest with him from the start. For two weeks, Caleb lied to him about who he was, his knowledge of dunamancy, and that he was the one who trapped him in this day. For two weeks, they worked hard to understand this spell to get them out of it. This would have been so much easier if Caleb had been upfront from the start. He never would have worked with him if he’d been upfront from the start. If he’d just come up to Essek and said that he was trying to turn back time, and in the process, miscalculated and made time repeat itself, Essek would have dismissed him immediately. He’d deem him too reckless, too dangerous by far, and a fool at that, for thinking that would work. Tell him he’d made his own bed, and now must lie in it. 

He glances over his shoulder at Caleb beside him, a respectful distance away, staring out to sea. His face is hidden under the guise of a stranger, but Essek thinks that’s always been true. At least this time, Essek knows something else lies beneath, even if he isn’t sure what.

They stay there for a while, until Essek’s hunger makes itself known. Reluctantly, Essek stands, and prestidigitates the worst of the sand off of himself, before turning and doing the same for Caleb. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

The genuine surprise makes Essek’s heart clench. He turns away. “You’re welcome. Where to now?” 

“Why don’t we head into the city, get some lunch?” 

Essek looks across the sprawling mass of colourful rooftops, the skyline broken up by a scattering of towers throughout, of a diverse array of heights and designs. It’s a place he wouldn’t mind getting lost in. 

“Lunch sounds agreeable.” 

The walk they take is meandering and slow, in companionable silence, winding their way from the coast and through the city itself. Caleb steers them towards the Opal Archways district, the oldest and wealthiest, claims made clear by the eponymous archways towering over them, each embedded with crystals at their peak, and the denizens darting around them, dressed in fine silks and encrusted with jewelry. If they weren’t actively trying to avoid detection from a very specific individual, and his expansive spy network, Essek thinks he’d likely be able to walk the streets here unconcerned, as while he doesn’t see another drow, or many elves at all for that matter, he does see tabaxi, and half-orcs, and even a minotaur walking with a young tiefling woman carrying a basket of shopping. 

Eventually, Caleb directs them to a small restaurant, Marquesian in design, that is just opening shop for the day. 

“I hope this is ok.” 

He goes to say he trusts his judgement, but the words turn to ash on his tongue. He swallows. “This is okay.” 

He’s never had Marquesian food before, so he let’s Caleb order for both of them, and they take a seat at a table outside. The general buzz of the world around them is loud enough for them to have a private conversation, if they’re quiet. Not that it matters, really, no one will remember anything when the day begins again. 

Their meal arrives shortly, a steaming dish of fried seafood, coated in a spice Essek doesn’t immediately recognise that brings a fresh zesty flavour to the fish with a unique but pleasant aftertaste. They’re also brought a glass of lemonade each, which Essek has had before, once or twice, the court occasionally importing such luxuries from the coast. 

It’s delicious, but Essek cannot bring himself to enjoy it. They’d agreed to talk, about anything other than the spell, but now that they’re away from it, and Essek’s thoughts have had time to settle, he finds he can’t think about anything else. 

“I’m sorry for my part in this. If I’d known what Ikithon would do with the beacons, I'd never have given them to him.” His voice is soft, but Caleb still hears him, hands catching midway between bites, before continuing. 

“Wouldn’t you?” It’s a loaded question, but without barbs, as Caleb looks at him with open curiosity. 

“I never intended for anyone to get hurt. I hadn’t thought that his research methods would be so...unethical.” the clinical words are insufficient. Brutal, sadistic and cruel are more accurate, but would speaking so directly make this conversation easier? He thinks not. 

“There was no way for you to know. He makes certain that that information does not spread.” 

There’s a bitter softness to his tone, as if all of his blades have turned inwards. Essek suspects they’ve faced that way a long time, and his last sparks of anger sputter out. 

“If you tried to leave, with the information you have, he would have killed you.” 

It isn’t a question.

“Ja. But maybe that would have been better. What good have I been doing here?” 

“What good would dying do?” 

His tone is harsher than he means it to be, and Caleb’s gaze snaps up to him, before looking away with a sigh. Essek shoves food in his mouth just to keep it shut. 

They let the conversation drop, and finish their meal. The restaurant is still quiet enough that the waitstaff take their plates away promptly. Caleb pulls a piece of amber from one of his pockets and turns it over in his hand, staring out over the city. 

“For all I thought about taking that man down, I still don’t know what I would do afterwards.” 

“You never thought about it?” Essek asks.

“Not really. I just wanted it to end. There’s an old story about a sailor who was tired of the sea, who was told to walk inland until his oar was mistaken for a shovel. I don’t know how far I’d have to walk, but I could find somewhere quiet to live out my life. Maybe become a farmer.”

“Or a fisherman?” Essek suggests, waving a hand towards the city around them.

Caleb laughs softly, “Ja, something like that.” 

“You’d give up magic?” 

There’s a pause, and Essek sips his drink. The condensation is cool against his fingertips.

Eventually, Caleb says “When I’d thought about leaving, he was always out there, somewhere. If I’d studied magic, there’d always be a way for him to find me again.” 

“But if he was gone?” 

“I don’t know.” They lapse into silence again, and Essek traces the whorls of the wooden table. 

“What about you? What will you do once this is over?” 

“I don’t know.” He hates that it’s become his default answer. “I can’t go back to just working with the Assembly after this, after everything you’ve told me. But backing out of this deal would be incredibly dangerous. And I’d be right back to where I started a year ago.” 

Caleb thinks for a moment, then asks “Why did you trade the beacons?” 

“In the Dynasty, I’m regarded as a prodigy of dunamancy. And because of this, I was granted the title of Shadowhand. Unfortunately, with that title came unwanted responsibilities, and I ended up no longer able to allocate as many resources towards researching the beacons as I’d prefer. I’d thought that handing them over to someone who would be able to dedicate all of their time to researching them would-” he trails off. 

He digs his nails into the table, scratching at the chipping lacquer. He knows what he’d hoped for. That an outside perspective would push the boundaries of what is known, that they’d find new possibilities and share them with him. Knowing now that they’ve been progressing rapidly over the last year and only offering him the barest scraps, the hope feels naive. 

“Do you know how consecution works?” 

“I’m passingly familiar.” Caleb replies, an eyebrow raised at the non sequitur. 

“The noble houses of the dynasty conduct a ritual that binds the soul to the beacons, so that when they die, their soul can be reborn into a new body. Whenever a consecuted soul passes away within the radius of a beacon, they can return. This is how the ruling families have maintained their power for milenia, the Umavi being reborn a multitude of times until they reach what’s considered a state of perfection.” 

“And in taking away the beacons.” He doesn’t complete the question. 

“Indeed.” 

Caleb doesn’t have anything to say to that, and Essek doesn’t know how to continue, so they let the conversation drop again. Essek had never really thought about the impact trading away the beacons would have on the citizens of the dynasty. He’d been aware of it, of course, how could he not be? But he’d always thought that the potential benefits of what they could learn would outweigh the risks. Now, a year into it, with nothing to show for it except for a web of lies and an infinite string of todays, he’s being forced to reconsider. In a way, he’s ripped the lives away from his people twice over. When he first stole the beacons, and denied them the ability to return once their souls pass on, and now that action led to them being trapped in an endless cycle. He couldn’t have known this would happen, but he did know the initial consequences. He just hadn’t cared. And now that he does care, he wishes he never had. 

He finishes his drink, and looks across at Caleb. He couldn’t have known what would happen if he cast this spell either. He admitted it himself. And as Essek sets down his glass, he realises that Caleb couldn’t have known how their...relationship would change while working together. That genuine affection would develop. How could he, when Essek also would never have expected it? While the easy answer, the safe answer, is that everything Caleb did was a well thought out, careful manipulation to buy his way into Essek’s good graces, Essek knows that isn’t true. He’s seen through his spellwork, through his conversations, that clever though he is, cunning though he is, that type of forethought isn’t always his strong suit, instead starting something and hoping that he’ll be able to figure it out as he goes. That’s a flaw with a lot of humans, Essek’s found, completely lacking in patience, their short lives flaring hot and bright. Although, Essek must admit that he isn’t completely above rash actions himself. And more to the point, faking a real friendship, an actual care and investment in Essek’s wellbeing and his thoughts, wouldn’t benefit Caleb at all. 

“Do you still wish to conduct your research?” Caleb’s words startle him out of his musings, his mind scrambling to recover the thread of their previous conversation. 

“I have dedicated my life to it.” That isn’t an answer, and they both know it. 

Caleb raises an eyebrow, waiting for an actual response, and Essek sighs. “I already told you, I no longer feel comfortable working with the Assembly. Everything they’ve been developing, everything you’ve told me, is incredibly unsettling and I want no further part in it. But I can’t stop them either, and backing out of the deal would put a target on my back, and possibly compromise my own attempts at research back in Xhorhas.” 

Caleb leans forward slightly, and asks “but if you could? If there was a way to keep researching safely, would you?” 

“Yes.” Essek raises his glass to his lips, knowing it's empty, and holds it there. “Perhaps it's selfish of me, seeing what my previous attempts at getting the answers I seek has wrought, but I still want to know.” 

“I don’t think it’s selfish. But then, even if you were, who am I to judge?” 

Essek puts his glass down. Turning back time to fix your own mistakes certainly seems selfish, but that isn’t all there was to it. He never said as much, but Essek knows that revenge was never his sole motivation. He wanted to save his parents, save himself from an awful fate, save countless others from the horrors Ikithon has committed. If anything, the indecision caused by his selflessness had led to this situation, not selfishness. 

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he turns back to his previous question. 

“Ultimately, I don’t think it matters if I want to continue my research. I don’t see how I’ll be able to. I have no idea what I’ll do instead but…I’ll find something to occupy my time until I can start again.” 

“What if you didn’t have to wait?” 

Essek tilts his head. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean what if the Assembly wasn’t a concern anymore?” 

Essek laughs, but when he looks over, Caleb’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are like steel. In his disguised form, they’re a flinty grey, and the complete lack of colour and warmth sends a chill through Essek. 

“You’re serious?” 

“You say you do not trust them with the beacons anymore, well, the beacons have been stolen before.” 

By the two of them. Stealing back the beacons he gave them…

“If we did that, and got caught, we would be killed or pursued for the rest of our lives. If we did not get caught, the Assembly would find a way to blame the Dynasty and we’d have a war on our hands.” 

He leans further across the table, hands grasping at the air like it holds the answers he seeks. “There has to be something we can do. Some way to disarm them without causing further such destruction.” 

“How?” 

Caleb scratches at the side of his face, and stares off into the crowd. Essek lets him think, his own mind racing. Taking the beacons back from the Assembly is appealing, he has to admit, but there’s no way he’d be able to keep them. He wouldn’t be able to bring them into his home in Rosohna, wouldn’t be able to research them in his own lab without being caught. He’d be on the run from two governments, and unable to use the very thing they’re hunting him for. 

Caleb must be thinking along the same lines, because he says “What if you returned the beacons?” 

“I would be executed for treason.” 

Caleb shakes his head, “you’re supposed to be looking for whoever took them, correct?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“You could say that you found them, make something up. Then you’ll only have one group looking for you. The assembly can’t accuse you of anything without compromising themselves.”

That could work, but. Essek shakes his head. “The Assembly would know it was me in an instant, they would kill me. Send you after me.” 

He flinches back at that, and Essek regrets his words, but it’s true. As a scourger, the most loyal of Ikithon’s personal army, he would inevitably be sent to execute his will. If he intended to keep the reputation he’d earned over the last decade, and not undermine everything he’d worked to achieve, he’d carry it out. 

“I’m not going to kill you. I’ll help you, of course.” 

Essek blinks at the harshness of his tone, the sincerity. “What?” 

“Obviously I’ll help you steal them, there’s the one currently in my house which you won’t need to worry about, but I can get you to the other one. I can get you a veiler as well, so they won’t be able to detect you once you get away, lay some false trails-”

Essek cuts him off, “If you do that, Ikithon will kill you. You’d never get your chance to stop him.”

In a sudden rush of movement, Caleb clasps Esseks hands in his own. “Nein, my friend, this is my chance to stop him.” 

“Stealing the beacons is one thing, Caleb, but this?” 

His hands grip tighter around Essek’s own, pleading. “You wouldn’t do it?” 

“To stop him, we’d have to take down the entire Assemble. We couldn’t possibly do that on our own.” 

“No.” 

Caleb’s nails are digging slightly into Essek’s hands. He wants to pull away. He wants to turn his hand over, and interlace their fingers. He does neither. For the longest time, he’d thought that the Assembly, while some of its members were perhaps unsettling, were overall a force for good in the world. Powerful mages who would do right by their country, and by Essek’s own. After all he’s seen now, Essek can barely believe he ever thought that. But the truth is that they do still hold a lot of power within the Empire, and their forceful removal would leave behind a dangerous vacuum. 

But as Essek stares down at their joint hands, the illusion over them hiding the scars and tattoos that line Caleb’s wrists, he knows that he can’t leave them in power either. 

“If we were to do this,” he starts, “We’d have to trust someone to work with us. I know you’ve said you don’t have anyone, and nor do I but surely there must be someone.” 

“If we were to do this,” Caleb repeats. 

“Hypothetically.” He adds, and Caleb nods, but there’s a small smile at the edge of his lips. 

“Hypothetically, of course. Well, there’s the crown, but they might be worse than the Assembly, in their own way. Or the Cobalt Soul, they’ve always acted as a balance for the Assembly.” 

“Right.” The Cobalt Soul have negligible presence within the Kryn Dynasty, but he’s heard about them extensively over the decades as Shadowhand. From the reports he’s received, they’re a force to be reckoned with. Truthseekers, on all fronts, gathering secrets and exposing them to the light of day. He’s well aware of them prying into Assembly business, as he’s been avoiding them himself. It’d be rather ironic, just handing this information over to them, he must admit.

“I don’t know if I trust them with any of this. I’d have to” he pauses, and his fingers twitch against Essek’s hands, like he was going to pull away, but he doesn’t, “talk to them or look into their history or something. I wouldn’t trust them immediately.” 

Essek carefully extracts one of his hands, and lays it on top of Caleb’s own, trying to soothe his restless fidgeting. “We wouldn’t have to do anything immediately. If we were to do this, we would have plenty of time. Nothing has to happen until we break this spell. We can spend 50 days in here planning and running background checks on the Cobalt Soul, gathering evidence, whatever we need to.” 

Caleb smiles, and his hands still, “Ja, that is true.” and then his smile drops. “But this is not what you wanted. I wanted to give you a way to continue researching the beacons, and instead this is just achieving my goals, not yours.” 

He starts to pull his hands away, but Essek holds them tightly. For all that he’d spent the morning, the past week, fretting over Caleb’s intentions, that he was manipulating him for his own gain, when he says that he wants Essek’s help reaching his own ends, he backs out of it immediately. And the one thing he’s asking for is to stop the Assembly from hurting others, to prevent them from hurting Essek. How could he say no? When Caleb looks at him questioningly, he holds his gaze just as firmly. 

“There are an untold number of beacons in the world. If I can get out of this deal alive, and still be allowed to walk free in my own country, I will have ample time and ample resources to acquire another.” 

The gentle sounds of the bustling city around them are the only thing breaking the silence as they share a look. Caleb scans his face, searching for something, and he must find whatever he’s looking for, as he smiles. 

“Will you do this with me?”

“Steal the beacons, return them to the dynasty, and then throw the Cerberus Assembly to the wolves?” 

Caleb laughs, “It sounds insane when you put it like that.” 

“Yes, but so does creating a time loop, and you’ve already managed that.” He’s surprised himself to find that he actually thinks they stand a chance. 

“True. True.” 

“So, where do we start?” 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 10:42 am - Loop 30

The Pearlbow Wilderness is still and silent, save for the gentle rustle of the golden leaves on the frigid morning breeze, catching and twirling until they fall upon the ground. Thrust into the middle of this picturesque clearing is a compound of black craggy buildings of stone and wrought iron, wrenched into jagged spires and tiered towers. The Vergesson Sanatorium stands as a monument to the Assembly’s crimes, secreted away in the middle of this forest, where no one should stumble upon them. 

Caleb and Essek lurk invisible beneath the shadow of a tree a hundred meters away, watching the guards patrol the asylum’s grounds, their armour glinting like ants carapaces. 

“This is where it’s being kept?” Essek asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Currently, yes. They rotate the locations fairly often, but it is here today.” 

“Right.” A different location might have been easier, but this is the only chance they’ve got, so they’re going to have to work with it. 

“I’m permitted to come and go freely here, I could forge a message from Master Ikithon that I  am to see the beacon, and none will be the wiser.” 

Essek looks at him, still staring out at the smattering of buildings, face set in a deep scowl. 

“For some reason, I doubt it’ll be that simple.” He says. 

Caleb shrugs, “I doubt it’d hold up well enough for the actual attempt, but we can certainly try.”

Essek hums in agreement. They won’t attempt to get any closer today, they just came here to familiarise Essek with the location, but it's good to keep in mind. From their current vantage point, they can see three of the guards and get a general sense of their movements. One guard occasionally walks the perimeter of the outer fence, but most remain within the grounds themselves. 

“Which building is it in?” He asks. 

“The northwest tower.” Caleb says, pointing out the one in question, a couple stories tall, with a flat roof. “In the basement.” 

That’ll be a challenge. Just getting into the compound without drawing attention will be difficult, crossing the 60ft gap between the gate and the buildings, then getting into the tower. Navigating his way through the tower and down into a basement will definitely take some work. Caleb can get floor plans of course, but that says nothing about the guard rotation, or how alert and well trained they are. 

“We should probably watch their patrol schedules for a couple of days.” Essek comments.

“Probably. I can see if I can grab their planned routes at some point.” 

“Oh that would be ideal. But we should probably watch anyway, in case there’s some unexpected deviation.” 

“Ja, probably. But not today.” Caleb says, straightening his posture and shifting slightly closer to Essek. 

“No, not today.” he agrees. 

Caleb extends a hand to him, and when he takes it, a flood of warm arcane energy rushes around them, and they’re gone. 

The forest is replaced with the tight press of two brick walls beside them and cobbled streets underfoot as they appear within an alleyway. 

“You might want to, ah” Caleb gestures vaguely at Essek.

“Ah, right.” He casts an illusion over himself, a wood elf dressed in the style of clothes common to the scholars of Rexxentrum. However, as they make their way out of the alley, thanks to the shade spell Caleb cast upon him before they headed out this morning, Essek can see quite clearly that Rexxentrum is not where they are. He glances across the unfamiliar skyline, and spies three spires that tower over the rest of the city. 

“Zadash?” He asks, an eyebrow raised at the choice. 

“Yes, there’s a Cobalt Reserve in the Innerstead.” Caleb replies, leading them out of the alleyway and into the city. 

“I hear there is also a substantial archive in Rexxentrum.” He says pointedly, as they make their way through the crowds.

“Ja, there is, and it’s very popular among Soltryce Academy students and professors.” 

Essek nods in understanding, and they make the rest of the journey in comfortable silence. 

The Innerstead Sprawl makes up the connective tissue of the city, joining the disparate districts together into a cohesive whole. Towards the Pentamarket lies the Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul, a grey stone building that looks more temple than archive, with intricate carvings running down the side of the stonework. He notes this to Caleb, who gives a soft laugh. 

“It is a temple. What better form of worship could one offer the Knowing Mistress?” 

“How...efficient.” 

Entrance to the archive is not as simple, as access to the general public, even ones as well connected as Caleb, is extremely limited. Thankfully, what they’re after should be public record. The Soul are, after all, proud of their part in dismantling corrupt power structures. 

A monk is assigned to them as an escort as they gather books on the Soul’s history. With a gentle bit of prodding, they’re even willing to provide an opinion on the Assembly’s actions, through several layers of false politeness and feigned indifference. They spend the rest of the day there, reading through what they can find on how the Soul operates. Of course, their sources aren’t exactly unbiased, so they’ll have to verify all of this information later, but it’s as good a place to start as any. As the hours pass, and the light shifts its hue with the setting of the sun, Essek realises they’ve settled back into familiar habits again. A warmth grows in Essek’s chest as he watches Caleb dogear one book to give a second his full attention, and for once he doesn’t want to quash it. 

Loop 32 - 13:00 pm

Caleb’s voice is less than a whisper breathed out of the side of his mouth, but pressed close to Essek’s side, it can be heard well enough.

“We’ll have to think of another way to get you inside of course, but getting you familiar with the interior layout is vital.” 

Essek dips his head imperceptibly, the ghost of a nod, his eyes trained on their escort a few feet ahead of them. 

“The Artifact is just in here, sir.” 

“Thank you.” Caleb replies, shifting further away from Essek to raise his voice. 

The guard unlocks the door, and Essek tracks where he keeps the key, what kind of locking mechanism it is, how thick the door is. Caleb had bluffed their way in, saying that Ikithon had granted Essek a look at the beacon, provided a forged note to back their claim, and the guards had hurried to meet their every need. It was strange, being this deep in Empire territory without a trace of an illusion, but stranger still is seeing one of the beacons he stole for the first time in a year, resting on a desk not unlike the one in Bren’s home, just waiting for him to steal it. They won’t attempt to take it now, of course, but he will still take it today. Not this today, nor the next today, but today. 

“May I inspect it?” Essek asks, taking a step towards it. 

The guard falters, eyes flicking between the two of them. “I, uh,” 

“It’s alright,” Caleb says, raising a hand in a dismissive wave “He can have a look at it for a moment.” 

Essek closes the distance, and picks up the beacon. It’s handles still fit his hands as perfectly as they did the night he stole it for the first time. He never thought he’d be stealing it back. He stares into the gently pulsating light at its centre and loses himself entirely. 

Loop 34 - 12:05 pm

Cursing softly under his breath, Essek activates his levitation spell and lifts a few inches off the ground, bringing him eye level with the component cabinet in front of him. He slides open one of the drawers and frowns into it, then pulls out the single bag within. 

“Is this all the iron fillings you have?” He calls over his shoulder. 

“Unfortunately.” comes Caleb’s response, “I was meaning to get some more later in the week.” 

Essek hums consideringly, weighing the bag in his hand as he walks back over to the space they’d cleared on the floor. They’d abandoned their desks hours ago, needing more room to work on the finer details of the spell, including testing component samples. They’d considered a handful of options more typical for dunamantic spells, but ultimately reasoned that due to the spell’s strong abjuration leaning, they should look at spells from that school for inspiration. 

He gently sets the bag on the floor and sits beside it, resuming his place at Caleb’s side. 

“That must only be about 5g” He says, pulling his notes over. 

“Ja, but most spells only call for a pinch.” Caleb points out, handing over a sheet of paper just out of Essek’s reach. 

“True.” Essek sorts his notes out, and stares down at them. They’ve almost finished the spell. They’ve run a couple small test versions, and if the situation was anything other than what it is, Essek would start trying out the actual spell now, but they’ve only got one shot at this, one chance to see if it works. The theory behind it is sound, but that means very little when there are this many variables in play. He thinks they’ve accounted for everything. But Caleb thought so as well, when he cast this spell in the first place.

“I just wish we had a way to make it stronger. Just in case.” 

Caleb makes a low noise of agreement, and absently scratches at his wrists. Essek tracks the motion, and an idea sparks in the back of his head.

“Do you think we’d be able to get some residuum?” He asks. 

Pressed together as they are, Essek can feel Caleb freeze, but he recovers quickly, “The Assembly has reserves of it, sure. They actually keep some in the vault next to the Beacon. I just don’t know if you’d have time to grab both.” 

And it will be him taking them, by himself. They’d realised early on that their best chance at getting away with this is if Caleb stays with Ikithon for most of the day. They also need to grab a veiler for Essek, and if Caleb stays at the Academy, he’s in prime position to do so. 

Caleb is still tense at Essek’s side, so Essek turns to him. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” 

“They also keep spare veilers in that vault. It would take a moment to find them but, if you think it's a good idea, I could come with you, and take the residuum and veilers from there instead.” 

Essek presses his hands to his mouth as he mulls over the information. Caleb coming with him would make the process a lot easier, but it would also make Ikithon more suspicious, and they were trying to avoid detection for as long as possible. And there’s something else.

“All of their spare veilers?” 

“Ja, about 15 of them or so.” 

They only need one, and it would take a not insignificant amount of time to locate the chest, dispel the ward on it, take one, reseal it and leave. If they took the entire container with them, as well as all of the residuum, that’s a lot of items to go missing at once, and a lot of items by which to track them. 

“Our previous plan sounds safer. I’m sure we can do without the residuum.” He concludes.

Finally, Caleb relaxes against him, leaning slightly into his side. “You’re sure?” 

“Positive.” 

Loop 37 - 16:24 pm

After some generous coercion, Caleb had been able to borrow a handful of records pertaining to the Cobalt Soul from the Assembly’s own vaults. They’d been reluctant to let him take them, but eventually they’d relented and allowed him to take them home. 

Much of what they find matches the Soul’s public records, detailing the few instances where the two organisations worked together over the last century. There are also a few about less public alliances, which they couldn’t find information on in the Soul, recounting times when they were necessitated to collaborate and both parties had agreed not to make the information public. Lastly, and the hardest for Caleb to get a hold of without making a scene, were the accounts of strikes taken by the Assembly against the Soul, and vice versa, attempts to curb their influence on the public, and undermine their goals. A circle of sabotage so vicious and storied, Essek cannot tell who started it. 

A slight clinking sound brings him out of his thoughts, as Caleb sets down a cup of tea next to him. 

“We might well be, what’s the phrase in common...leaping out of the cooking pot and into the fire?”

Caleb shrugs as he takes his seat at the desk next to him, gently moving some papers out of the way.

“Ja, that is possible. But if the Cobalt Soul has any skeletons in their closet, we have time  to look for them before taking that jump.” 

Essek hums in agreement, and takes a sip of his tea. As the taste hits him, he pauses for a moment to savour it. Caleb had gotten remarkably good at making it to Essek’s exact preference, and it warmed him to the bone. 

Loop 40 - 14:28 pm

A firebolt whizzes past Essek’s hair as he ducks around a corner. 

Alright, he thinks to himself, charming the guards may not be the best approach.

He peeks his head back around and drags his hands through the air, ripping open a hole in the fabric of space behind the guard and yanking them into it. Perhaps not the most elegant way of solving the problem, but efficient enough.

In front of him stands the vault doors, locked and magically warded.

He rights himself and straightens his cloak. Time to see if he can pick the lock before the rest of the guards get to him. 

Loop 43 - 15:15 pm

Essek anxiously paces the length of Caleb’s hallway. He knows he should be making himself useful, double checking their notes, studying the floor plan of the Sanatorium, or refining the list of spells he’ll need to take on their actual run of the heist, all of them would be a more productive use of his time than wearing a hole in the carpet, but he can’t focus for more than a minute knowing what Caleb is doing, that he’s late. 

Finally, there’s the scrape of the key in the lock, and Essek is struck by the absurdity of the times he watched Caleb break into his own house. The humor is lost on the moment when Caleb walks in, closes the door, and immediately drops to his knees to lean back against it, like a puppet cut loose of its strings. 

Essek is by his side in an instant, hands fluttering uselessly as he struggles between holding him and not. 

“Are you alright? How did it go?” 

With a deep sigh, Caleb slumps impossibly further, taking the decision out of Essek’s hands by leaning into him. 

“It went as well as could be expected.” 

Awkwardly, Essek wraps an arm around him, aiming for comforting. Caleb had volunteered to speak with his old friends again, see what they knew about the Cobalt Soul. Essek had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, but Caleb had argued that they might be able to provide deeper insight, having worked with them once or twice. It would be useful to have an inside source within the Cobalt Soul, but this is the closest they can get in one day. 

Caleb pulls back slightly, tips his head back and rubs at his eyes. 

“Astrid thinks it’s a good idea. Maybe. She thinks it’s a fool’s errand, really, but if I had to pick anyone to go to, the Soul is a good choice.” 

Essek hesitates. “Do you still think we should do this?” 

“Ja.” Caleb says, instant and insistent. Then he sighs again, the intensity dropping. “Ja, she just. Things have been strained between us for a long time, and talking to her can be difficult.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Caleb just shakes his head, and says nothing. They stay there for a long while. 

Loop 47 - 13:13 pm

With careful aim, Essek releases a bolt of dark green energy from his fingertips. It collides with the invisible wall, igniting it in black flame and dissolving it to nothing. 

He goes to move forward into the vault, but a distant clamour stops him in his tracks. Guards, and a lot of them, approaching very quickly.

Essek swears loudly in Undercommon, of course there’s an alarm on the force wall. He sighs and quickly casts teleport, just barely finishing the spell as the first guard reaches the corridor, a crossbow bolt passing uselessly through where he was a heartbeat ago and clattering uselessly to the floor. 

Loop 50 - 14:19

With one final line of chalk, Essek finishes transcribing the runic circle from Caleb’s precise notes. They’d checked the glyphs on paper a hundred times by now, but it’s always easier to see mistakes in their final form, so he carefully walks around the inscriptions he’d made on the living room floor, looking at it from every angle to search for a possible flaw. 

A familiar popping sound, and the half-felt impression of arcane combustion burning in the back of his throat has him turning, just in time to see Caleb appear in the room, landing right on the runes Essek had been working on all morning, smudging them beyond recognition. 

He’s about to make a wry comment, when his eyes catch on the smoke pouring off of Caleb, the scorch marks on his clothing, and the blood dripping down his front. 

“Shit! What happened?” 

Caleb lurches towards the sofa, and Essek is quick to guide him to a sitting position. 

“Ikithon...caught me.” He chokes out. Essek quickly shushes him, and puts pressure on the wound. Caleb grabs at his hands surprisingly firmly for a man shaking like a leaf, and pushes them away. “Potion...in study....chest by the door” 

Faster than he’s ever moved in his life, Essek goes and grabs it, incredibly grateful for how organised the study is, and how much time he’s spent familiarising himself with it. The potion is quickly administered, and colour floods back to Caleb’s cheeks.

“Next time, I’ll wait until sundown before breaking back into his office.” 

“Please do.” He sets the empty bottle on the floor and leans his forehead against Caleb’s.

Loop 53 - 13:30 pm

Essek’s fingers wrap around the filigree of the beacon’s handle, just for a moment, before he vanishes it into his wristpocket. So far so good, he quickly backs out of the vault, and carefully locks it again behind him. He pauses for a beat, listening for the clanking footfall of guards coming this way, but hearing nothing, he smiles and teleports away. 

A moment later, he’s standing in Caleb’s basement. He hurries upstairs, checks the clock, and starts counting the seconds for Caleb to return. Exactly on time he’s greeted by the sharp snap of his appearance. Clutched in one hand is the chain of a golden amulet, and Essek swiftly scans him for any sign of damage or distress, but he is unharmed and smiling.

“I think this is it.” 

Essek smiles as well, a grin so broad his face hurts, “I think it might be.” 

In a few short steps, Caleb is hugging Essek to him, a beacon crushed between their chests, the veiler still in Caleb’s hand gently thumping between his shoulder blades and he laughs. Caleb pulls away, just enough to see clearly. 

“Do you want to do this now?” 

Flushed with elation, Essek swallows, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

“No. I think, I think we should do it tomorrow. Make sure everything is perfect, that the Martinet and Ikithon have no idea anything untowards is happening. Give ourselves a head start.” 

Caleb nods, the top of his head brushing against Essek’s hair.

“You’re right. Ok, tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Chapter Text

Miresen, 9th of Quen’Pillar 832 PD, 6:05 am - Loop 54

Essek’s eyes snap open, and he smiles. He climbs out of bed and dresses quickly, he has a lot to get done today, and he needs to stay on schedule. He pauses in the kitchen, knowing that for once, he won’t be able to eat whenever he pleases, and will likely have to skip lunch entirely, so he takes his time with breakfast. The Xhorhasian fare is comforting and familiar but he almost misses the Zemnian meals he’d become accustomed to. He supposes he’s going to have to get used to Concordian food too, if all goes to plan.

He dresses, and then takes the time to pack up a selection of his favourite practical day clothes in a bag. They won’t be leaving today, but it’ll be good to have on hand. He’s just closing the bag when Ludanis’s voice reaches him, right on time. 

“Shadowhand, I’m afraid I will be unable to attend our meeting today, but Master Ikithon will see you in my stead. He’ll contact you shortly.” 

He tucks the bag under his bed as he replies, “Thank you for the advanced notice, Maritnet. I’ll inform Master Ikithon myself.” 

He supposes he could let Daleth call Ikithon himself, but figures that as this is what he did for the first few cycles, it’s fitting to end it this way. Grabbing a small pouch containing the few things he’ll need for the rest of the day, he snaps it into his wristpocket and sends a message to Ikithon. 

“I understand that you shall be meeting with me in the Martinet’s stead today? When and where?” He tries to fabricate a suitably irritated tone. 

Ikithon’s reply is swift, “Meet me at the Soltryce Academy at half past nine.” 

Gladly, Essek thinks to himself. He gives the house one last look over. Over the last few cycles, they’d made lists, evaluating what they would need, what they could afford to bring with them when they went into hiding. Essek would be able to return home, at times, but he certainly couldn’t stay here any more, not after stealing from the Assembly. This would be the first place they’d look for him, and they’re bound to have spies observing it in case he returns. Hopefully, their plan will clear his name with the court, and he’ll be able to leave without drawing their suspicion as well, and they’ll buy his story about investigating a rumor in Marquet. As long as he stays in contact with people here, and sends them misleading but convincing enough information, he’ll be left alone for a time. 

As he walks through the hallways that have been his home for the better part of a century, he finds that, strangely, he doesn't think he’ll miss it much. Of course, he’ll miss his laboratory, it’s certainly extremely convenient to have one, and he won’t be able to take all of his books, instruments and components without raising eyebrows, but Caleb will bring most of his with him, and they can start anew. 

With one last nod of assurance, Essek casts an illusion over himself and teleports to Rexxentrum. 

For as many times as he’s seen it, Essek still can’t get used to the bright light and clear noise of the capital city in the early morning. Rosohna is just as thriving, if slightly smaller, but it’s a lot easier on the eyes, in the most literal sense of the phrase. Squinting, Essek glances up at the clocktower, and is relieved to find he doesn’t have long to wait. 

At 9:29 exactly, Caleb weaves his way through the crowds and meets Essek at the gates of the campus. 

“Lord Desran Thane, I presume?” 

Essek stifles a laugh. “Yes, and you would be?” 

Caleb dips into an exaggerated bow, “Caleb Widogast, one of Master Ikithon’s assistants, and your escort for the day.” 

Schooling his expression into one of annoyance, Essek forces a sigh, “I take it Master Ikithon is not available at the moment?” 

Eyes crinkling with barely disguised mirth, Caleb makes a valiant attempt at keeping a straight face. “Yes, I’m afraid he has been unexpectedly detained for the moment, he’ll be with us in an hour. Until then, I have the pleasure of making sure your precious time is not wasted.” 

Essek raises an eyebrow, and resists the urge to kick him in the shin for overselling it. “Well then, do lead on.” 

Caleb extends an arm to him, and Essek hooks his own through it. Perhaps they shouldn’t act so familiar on the campus, but none of the professors or students are paying them the slightest bit of attention. Caleb then produces the parasol from his wristpocket, and hands it over, their fingers brushing for a moment on the handle before he lets go. 

“Thank you.” 

“But of course. This way please.”

 Caleb steers them to the quieter, more shaded areas of the campus, where they can talk in private without straining Essek’s eyes. They walk slowly, and talk in hushed tones, exchanging theories and speculation on how this could go wrong, and what to do if it does. Caleb’s pace slows as they approach the exterior of the kitchen.

“What is it?” Essek asks, reading the hesitation in his eyes. 

He shakes his head, “It just occurred to me, it’s the last time we’ll get to taste this food.” 

Essek comes to a stop, “we could get some now.”

“We’ve eaten it enough, we don’t need to, I was just-” he trails off. 

“Caleb, if this all goes as planned, you won’t be able to return here for a very long time. We have time for this.” 

He smiles softly, and lets Essek lead him to the kitchens. It’s easy enough for Caleb to sweet talk them into giving them free samples, a beer each and a handful of snacks. It’s probably inadvisable for them to drink before a particularly tense meeting, but the beer is weak, and Essek could conduct this meeting in his sleep. However, it’s even less advisable to try to conduct a heist with a clouded mind, so they stick to just the one. He may have practised the heist a dozen times, until he’s perfected it, but being drunk would dampen his senses and slow his steps, a risk that isn’t worth taking. 

Essek’s never been a fan of beer, he’d always found it too bitter, but right now, with Caleb’s arm still linked with his, his hair burning copper in the sun, this might be the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

Unfortunately, once their drinks are finished, the time of their meeting has come, so they dispose of their glasses and head to Ikithon’s office. Caleb pulls them to a stop just in time for the worker to drop the nails on the ground in front of them, and they finally step away from each other, reluctantly adopting a respectable distance for people who are supposed to have just met. Essek quietly drops his levitation spell to walk around the nails, as them parting around him would certainly draw unwanted attention. He resumes it as he enters the office. 

Essek folds himself into a chair across from Ikithon’s desk, and Caleb stands by the door, arms crossed. It’s been over a month since Essek last was here, and it’s as austere as he remembers. He wonders if it’s worth trying to steal some of the more obscure books in Ikithon’s collection. Probably not, he concludes, if only because he doesn’t want to give them more possible ways to track them. 

Ikithon arrives right on time, without fanfare. 

“Lord Thane, one moment please.” 

Ikithon locks the door, dispels all magical effects in the office, and begins the meeting in earnest. 

He rambles on for a while, and it’s taking more effort than Essek expected to maintain a neutral facade, as Ikithon lies to his face. He speaks of difficulties getting hold of important research materials, having to start over from scratch, toiling away for the scarecest of results, and Essek tries not to glance over at his desk, where a private notebook lies in a locked draw, with an extremely powerful chronomacy spell of his own devising in it. Tries not to glance at Caleb, jaw clenched, and think of the experiments he’s endured at the hands of this man. 

He nods in the right places, makes the right comments, asks the right questions, and soon enough he’s free to leave. For just a second, he catches Caleb’s eye on the way out, then they part ways. He leaves the building, rounds the nearest corner and teleports to the Pearlbow Wilderness. 

Essek lands a hundred meters away from the compound, the dark stone structures still clearly visible through the trees. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. He’s done this a dozen times by now, but knowing this is the real thing is setting his nerves on edge. First, he pulls a pearl from his component pouch, and casts Fortune’s Favour on himself. A little extra luck certainly won’t go amiss. Then, he expends a considerable amount of arcane energy to render himself completely invisible. It only lasts for a minute, so he moves quickly. 

The treeline stops a dozen feet  from the gates, and he cuts across the clearing as swiftly as he can, and casts another spell to jump the fence, a silvery mist visible only to him briefly engulfing him as he moves. He reappears flush against the wall of the tower, a half step away from the door. A guard stands 5ft away from him, but Essek isn’t concerned. Unless he’s very loud or knocks into them, they won’t notice him. 

With extreme care, Essek leans over and looks through the gap between the door and the frame. It’s incredibly narrow, but that’s all he needs, as he teleports once again, and lands silently inside the building. 

His invisibility spell sputters out right as he reaches the first door. There are no guards down this corridor, so he leaves it for a moment, as he focuses on picking the lock. This had never been his area of expertise, but thankfully he’s gotten a lot of practise with this lock in particular, so he pushes the tumblers into place with little effort. Slowly, he pushes the door open and steps into the room. 

Without making a sound, he closes the door. The only thing of note this room contains is a staircase, at the bottom of which Essek knows to be a small entryway, where a guard is sat, staring right at the bottom of the stairs. Taking another calming breath, Essek once more casts the greater invisibility spell on himself and drifts down the stairs. 

At the other end of the entryway is a large set of magically warded double doors, the blue glyphs on the ground faintly illuminating them. Dispelling the glyphs will be easy enough, but there’s no way to actually open the door without drawing the guard’s attention, positioned as he is. On previous attempts, Essek had tried charming him, but as soon as the spell wore off, he was caught. Sometimes though, the best solution is the simplest. 

As they’re underground, the only light in the room comes from a pair of torches in sconces on each wall, and a small lantern resting on the table next to the guard. It would be easy enough to extinguish all of them, but perhaps a bit too conspicuous. Instead, Essek flicks his finger and sends an arcane jolt at the lantern, knocking it off the desk, as if it just fell on its own. 

The guard curses and fumbles to pick it up, his eyes adjusting to the shift in light, but Essek doesn't waste any time. He dispels the glyph and pushes the door open, gliding into the corridor beyond. 

There are no guards in this corridor, but he knows there are a handful waiting in the rooms to his immediate left and right, ready to leap out at the slightest disturbance. His skin faintly tingles with the memory of their spears and crossbow bolts from less successful attempts, but he brushes it off and continues swiftly to the end of the hall, coming to a stop just shy of the final door.

Once again, Essek slips his picks from his pocket and makes short work of the lock, freezing for a second when it gives the faintest click as the final pieces fall into place. Nothing happens, so he pushes the door open. 

This room can generously be called an experimentation chamber, but Essek has long since stopped feeling charitable when it comes to the Assembly’s dealings, so he calls it what it is. A torture chamber. In one corner of the room sits a wooden table, with rollers and shackles at each end to keep the subject in place while they’re being studied, surrounded by various instruments. 

But more immediately, there’s another guard at the other end of the room, stationed right in front of the staircase Essek needs to go down. He repeats the same trick he used on the other guard, this time causing some of the chemicals to slip from their trays, and the guard swears and rushes to grab solvents to clear it up. Essek quickly takes her place and dispels the glyphs at the top of the staircase before hurrying down. 

As he reaches the bottom, he comes face to face with an invisible wall, which does absolutely nothing to stop him from teleporting past it to reach the vault. He reappears a few feet from the door, and efficiently dispels the final glyph, the blue lights flickering out with a wave of his hand. His invisibility spell fades out once more, but unless something goes very wrong from here out, he shouldn’t need it. The guard at the top of the staircase will be occupied for a few minutes and by the time she’s done, Essek should be long gone. 

Now for the hardest part. No matter how many times he practices it, this lock has always given Essek trouble. Perhaps it’d be easier for a more experienced thief, but as it stands, Essek fumbles with it for a full minute before it finally gives way. As quietly as he can, he pulls open the door and enters the vault. 

He doesn’t waste time looking around, he knows exactly where the beacon is, and in no time at all, it's in his grasp once more and he backs out of the room. He listens to the guard above him, waits for the exact time she’s making the most noise, and closes the vault door, knowing the sounds of her movements will muffle the lock clicking back into place. 

Distinctly aware of the seconds ticking away from him, Essek drops to his knees and begins drawing the teleportation circle to take him back to Caleb’s home. If he times this wrong, the guard will see him just as he leaves. But he won’t time it wrong. He finishes the last lines of runes and it flares to life in front of him. He grabs the beacon and steps through, the circle disappearing behind him. A blink later and he’s standing in Caleb’s basement. He takes a moment to let out a sigh, and compose himself, then drops his levitation spell and climbs up the ladder. 

The first requirement for a spell of this magnitude is an accurate spell circle, etched in chalk, and carefully measured. It takes hours to make, so he heads to the study where Caleb had already cleared a space for it, takes off his mantle, and gets to work. 

A few minutes later, the distinctive half-sound of Caleb arriving in the other room meets his ears, followed by his familiar footsteps. 

“Still on plan?” 

“Ja.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and Essek looks up, just as Caleb lowers the veiler over his head, fingers brushing against his throat. 

“Thank you.” 

Caleb smiles, and sits down next to him, picking up the second piece of chalk Essek had left out for him and starts drawing. 

The light from the window gradually fades, and soon the only thing illuminating the room is the combined glow of their dancing lights, and the faint pulsing of the luxon beacon. They’ve set it in the middle of the chamber, and spent the hours drawing lines and inscriptions spiraling away from it, like petals from the centre of a flower, like ripples from a droplet. They’ve checked and double-checked their spellwork a hundred times by now, and as they demarcate the last line, it’s time to put the theory to the test. 

Essek stands at his designated spot beside the beacon, Caleb across from him. He offers him a smile.

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes.” 

Essek nods, inhales deeply, and begins the spell. 

The words of the incantation are familiar in Essek’s mouth, a comforting litany in perfect harmony with Caleb’s own, their words overlapping and compounding on themselves, the echoes of their voices reverberating through the room. 

With each word, the symbols scrawled around them slowly spark to life, casting them in a pure white light, and thrumming with energy as they’re activated. A faint sourceless wind picks up and begins to stir around them, gaining force as the spell continues. 

Then, delicate translucent wisps of energy extend out of the runes and reach towards the beacon, dozens of them, hundreds, cocooning the beacon in strands of pure arcane power. They keep chanting, and Essek watches as threads extend from Caleb’s chest, feels them extend from his own, pouring all of their magical reserves into the spell, and the beacon takes all of it. 

They reach the final lines of the spell, and the strands coalesce into a singular mote of light, snapping and breaking away from their sources and disappearing into the beacon. With the last word of the spell, the beacon’s perpetual glow dims for a moment, flickers, and then flares, emitting a light so brilliant it’s blinding, and Essek flinches and turns away. 

As the light fades around them, and the wind stills, for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Essek thought for sure that he’d be able to tell instantly, that he’d be able to feel it. But the oppressive sense of chronal displacement, the awful side effects of a backfiring spell had long since faded, and so he just stares at Caleb.

“Did we do it?”

And Caleb, with his perfect memory, and infallible sense of time pauses, and holds up a finger. The seconds tick by. Then he breaks into a smile. 

“It is exactly one minute past midnight on the 10th of Quen’Pillar!” 

Grissen, 10th of Quen’Pillar, 00:01am

Caleb pushes the beacon aside and pulls Essek towards him into an embrace. It’s painfully tight, but Essek doesn’t care, he’s laughing harder than he ever has in his life. Essek pulls his arms free and cups Caleb’s face, pressing their foreheads together. Caleb’s breath is warm against his cheek, then his lips, then Caleb is kissing him. It’s a quick half press of the lips, before he starts to pull away. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t assume, I-” 

Essek closes the gap and cuts him off directly. 

.

.

.

Folsen, 13th of Quen’Pillar, 10:24 am

The Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul is much busier than is called for this early on a Folsen morning, in Beau’s opinion. She’s already had to shepherd two separate groups of people around, and it isn’t even noon yet. Why Zeenoth put her on escort duty she has no idea. Something to do with it being an important part of her training. She thinks that’s absolute bullshit, but it’s been difficult to worm her way out of it. She’s considering taking an early lunch break and just fucking off for the rest of the day when Archivist Jennah calls her over.

“What?” 

The woman looks unusually flustered, probably ran into some problem visitors, and Beau relishes in the prospect of something actually interesting happening today.

“There’s two men here asking to see the Head Archivist.” 

Beau sneaks a glance over Jennah’s shoulder, and sees two men, one a human with short brown hair, the other elven with darker skin and blonde hair, standing unnecessarily close together and looking in Beau’s direction. 

She breaks eye contact and looks back at Jennah, “Yudala isn’t here, but I can get Turray?” 

Jennah pouts, “They said they have something they will only share with the Head Archivist directly.” 

“Yeah, well they can’t just waltz in here and ask to see the Head Archivist, who the fuck do they think they are?” 

“I don’t know!” 

She sneaks another glance. They’re both wearing fairly smart clothing, but nothing too expensive. They look more like researchers than nobles. As Beau watches them, the human starts tugging at his own sleeve, and the elf gently pulls his hands away and holds them. They’re clearly agitated about something, but Beau couldn’t say what. 

“Well did they say what this was about?” 

“No! Look, can you just go get Turray?” Jennah snaps. 

“Fine!” Beau flings her hands in the air in exaggerated annoyance and walks deeper into the archive. 

She gets the distinct impression that those two are going to be more trouble than they’re worth. Heaving a heavy sigh, she makes her way up the stairs. This is going to be a long fucking day.