Chapter Text
"Hey. Rollan. Wake up."
Awareness came gradually, in small pieces of information.
One. The smell. Musty and crowded, the strong stench of body odor and sweat, not at all like the fresh, natural air or the damp mist of the forests and caves that Rollan had grown used to. In fact, the smell reminded him of the streets of Concorba.
Two. The sounds. Distant voices, and Rollan vaguely recognized the sound of shopping and haggling, bartering for cheaper prices. And that same persistent voice in his ear.
Three. His sight. Finally, Rollan pried his eyes open, groaning as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "Whaddya want?" He muttered, voice rough from disuse.
A sigh, then, "The medicine, remember? For Digger?"
Rollan blinked, then opened his eyes wider, and realized he was staring at the mildly dirty face of Smarty. Oh. Oh.
Essix. The Evertree. The Wyrm. Their failure. The Cloaks, screaming then-
"Medicine?"
Mr. Valdez was as rude as ever.
Alone in the cell, Rollan's thoughts whirled. He'd subconsciously gone through the movements from what felt like so long ago, but now that he had nothing but his thoughts to accompany him, he had to come to terms with his situation.
OK. OK. This is fine.
What had happened? Rollan remembered the loud shriek of a bellbird, the Cloak's custom alarm system, and then there were pained screams, shocked yells, and-
He died. He had truly died. Died as in death, death as in blood and pain and screams. Rollan shivered.
"How old are you?" Rollan jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of the jailer.
His Nectar ceremony, Rollan realized.
"I haven't had my Nectar ceremony yet, if that's what you're wondering," He blurted out carelessly. Shoot.
The militia member eyed him suspiciously. "Alright..." The man responded slowly. He walks away, and Rollan silently admonished himself for being absentminded.
In the farthest cell, the gaunt man snorts. "Did 'ya get caught for the Nectar?" He asks.
"Just making the best of my situation," Rollan responds, smoothly evading the actual question.
An hour or so later, the jailer returns with a female Greencloak who looks to be in her late teens. Rollan never learns what Zerif did to her- if he did do anything, of course, but Rollan would not put it past him.
The jailer unlocks the cell, and he nods and gestures him forward. One of the militia members beside him holds a cage with a rat. Rollan decides he's going to ignore him.
The troublesome prisoner says aloud, "I'll bit a copper he calls nothing," The prisoner pats his pockets, and Rollan mouths the words with him. "Wait, two. Any takers?"
"Can we just do it?" Rollan asks awkwardly. He doesn't know what to expect now. Would he still call Essix? What if this time is different?
Would Essix remember?
The Greencloak produced a flask, and holding it out to him, she says, "Only takes a swallow."
And this time, Rollan is too nervous to say anything snarky back.
The Nectar tasted as delectable as it did the first time, and Rollan smiles at the taste. All at once, he feels queasy, and as he holds out the flask for the Greencloak, his arm feels unsteady. Just like the first time.
Rollan allows himself to hope.
Dropping to his knees and maybe a little delirious, he murmurs, "Essix?"
And there she is, in all of her brownish-gold glory, amber eyes keen, and Rollan smiles.
"Essix," He muttered, stroking her feathers. Rollan didn't know whether she remembered or not, but Rollan appreciated her company all the same.
In response, Essix nipped at his ear with her curved beak, and the familiar movement made Rollan smile. Then, shockingly, she disappeared in a flash of light, before reappearing above his heart, and Rollan knew, that whatever happened, they would be together.