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The first time Caleb woke up on the 13th of Fessuran, it was with a dreadful sense of finality.
The room was large and cold, because everything in Rosohna was large and cold, and even Jester and Caduceus's best efforts could not create an exemption for the Xhorhaus. For a long time, that largeness and coldness had seemed almost a comfort. It was a place Caleb Widogast was welcome, it was a place he was safe, it was a place that was his.
Now, Caleb had a place that was actually his, miles away in another city. A place that was actually safe, and it is small and cluttered and warm. And after today, even that would feel empty, because after today, Essek would not be coming home.
After today, Essek would not be .
The thought consumed Caleb's mind, try as he might to shove it anywhere else.
The facts were thus:
- After nearly three years, the Dynasty managed to catch up with Essek.
- Essek was sentenced to be executed today.
- In their last (their final) conversation, Essek made the Nein swear not to try and save him.
So things were somewhat bleak.
Caleb simply lay in his bed for a long moment, listening to the sounds of movement throughout the Xhorhaus. Caduceus bustling about the kitchen. Veth and Yeza's hushed tones from the next room. Beauregard and Fjord's morning workout — even today. Yasha's soft voice contrasting with Jester's forced cheer.
It was strange, in a way. A hollow echo of a happier time. Back when Essek was their guide and a near stranger. Just the mysterious Shadowhand who gifted them a house, and not …
Not the man who was everything to Caleb.
How was he going to face today?
"Caleb?" Veth's voice broke through his reverie. "Lebby? Are you okay? Are — how are you holding up?"
She stood in the doorway, eyes wide, fiddling with something at her waist. Behind her, Yeza padded quietly down the stairs.
Caleb grunted. It was going to be a long day. A long, horrid day.
The second time Caleb woke up on the 13th of Fessuran, it was with a crushing sense of grief.
His first thought, strangely, was of Mollymauk. Of hair brushed gently aside from cold purple skin, of a final, gentle kiss to the forehead, of glassy eyes and a body laid to rest beneath a loving memorial.
Essek would have none of that. There was no tribute to pay. No body to bury — and if there were, Caleb would not be allowed to see it. That's not how things were done in Rosohna. There was no honoring the dead that would return in the next lifetime.
Essek was not consecuted. Essek would not return. Essek was gone.
But he lived, still, behind Caleb's eyelids. Not the way Caleb wanted to see him, but the way he'd last seen him. Skin a sickly lilac, hair limp and stringy, eyes sunken and glassy. Bruises poking out from beneath ratty clothes. His face, eyes trained steadfastly on Caleb in the morbid crowd, cracking like porcelain, splintering into fractals that grew smaller and smaller, and smaller still, until there was no space left between the cracks, until there was nothing but cracks, until a breeze blew through and …
Dust.
Caleb sat up with a gasp. He scrubbed at his eyes, desperate to remove the image, to no avail. It was a memory, now etched forever in his brain, in his stupid perfect memory. If there was ever one to let go, it was this.
The Xhorhaus wasn't quiet. It should've been quiet. The silence should've been suffocating. Instead, there was Caduceus, bustling about the kitchen. There was Beauregard and Fjord, still working out — had they no decorum? There was Veth and Yeza, speaking hushedly where they surely must've thought Caleb couldn't hear. There was Yasha, sweet, gentle Yasha, and Jester, with her forced exuberance.
Why couldn't she give it a rest? This act wasn't actually hiding her pain from anyone. After so many years, there was no hiding anything from the Mighty Nein.
"Caleb?" Veth's voice broke through, uncharacteristically gentle. Familiar and warm, like a mother's touch. "Lebby? Are you okay? Are — how are you holding up?"
Caleb met her eyes from where she stood in the doorway, fiddling with something at her waist. Behind her, Yeza padded quietly down the stairs.
The lump in Caleb's throat constricted his voice, but he managed to croak out an "I'll be alright," and a weak smile. Jester wasn't the only one who could cover her pain. Maybe that made Caleb a hypocrite. He already knew that though.
Veth's face crumpled in sympathy, and she crossed the room to sit next to Caleb on the bed, taking his hand in hers.
"I know you will," she said. "You're so strong and brave. But I also know it's going to be hard, and well — we're all here for you Caleb. We all love him too."
Caleb grunted. It was almost the exact thing she'd said yesterday.
"Do you have — I mean, they probably won't let us talk to him, but if they do, is there anything you need to say to him?"
Caleb looked at her sideways. She had also asked that yesterday. Before the execution. When such a question made sense.
"What are you talking about?" he said. "It's already happened. He's already — "
Dust.
Veth's eyebrows scrunched together, her eyes shining. "Oh … no, Caleb, it hasn't. It's happening today."
"No … I remember it … " Fractals splitting across Essek's face. Disintegrate . Used to ensure the condemned can't be resurrected.
Burned forever in Caleb's memory like so many other horrors.
Veth's face clenched even further in sympathy, and Caleb had to look away.
"Oh Caleb … you must have had a nightmare. I know I — "
"No," Caleb cut her off, with perhaps more force than intended. "No, I know nightmares . This wasn't — this happened. Don't you remember?" She'd been there after all. Standing right next to him, holding Caleb's hand in one hand and Yeza's in the other.
She took both of Caleb's hands into hers now. "It hasn't happened yet." Her voice was impossibly soft. Caleb wanted to throw something. "It's today. We can … we don't have to go, if you don't want to. If it's too much."
Finally, Caleb met her gaze, searching for … something. A lie, a misguided joke, an enemy in disguise, anything to make this make sense. All he found was gut-wrenching sincerity.
He shook his head, pulling his knees up to hide between them. Was she right? Was he really to live this day again?
"I'll go," Caleb said eventually. "I should be there." Like he was last time.
It was going to be another long day. A long, horrid day.
The third time Caleb woke up on the 13th of Fessuran, it was with trepidation. Once was painful, twice was horrible, but thrice?
He didn't want to think about it.
Caleb had a theory, one he desperately hoped was wrong. Of course, the universe rarely offered Caleb Widogast the luxury of being wrong.
He didn't sit up. He didn't dwell. Instead, he lay still and listened.
The soft clinks of porcelain knocking against each other. Caduceus was moving about the kitchen and … there. The tinkling crash of a dessert plate smashing against the ground.
Hushed voices from the next room. Veth and Yeza were talking, though far too quietly for Caleb to make out what they were saying. But there was a lull in the conversation, and in two seconds … yes, that was Yeza's voice again, right on cue.
Grunts and panting from upstairs. Beauregard was counting, and there would be a slight pause between 99 and 100. No words were exchanged between her and Fjord, and wouldn't be for the entire morning.
Downstairs, Yasha was speaking gently. Again, too quiet for Caleb to make out, but he could anticipate Jester's laughter. A little too loud, a little too bubbly, and entirely too forced.
"Caleb?"
There was Veth in his doorway once more, fiddling with something at her waist. An errant button. And Yeza, quietly padding down the steps behind her.
"Lebby? Are you okay? Are — how are you — "
"Holding up?" Caleb finished for her with a mirthless smile. "Ask me again tomorrow."