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14 Sydenstar, 836
Mutter und Vater,
This may be the last time I will be writing to you. But in case it is not, allow me the privilege of telling you about so many things.
It will soon be over, gods willing. The man that had robbed me of so much, stole a decade of my life from me, all for the “greater good” of the Empire, is finally going to face justice for his crimes.
He did not care what he had to do, as long as it made my home, our home, strong. Even if it meant resorting to the grooming of children into becoming a militant force to unleash against dissenters and criminals.
This man… I had written about and spoken of him before. His name is Trent Ikithon. And what he has done will no longer go unpunished.
Mutter, vater… he used me to kill you. That night in Blumenthal, when I was visiting home for a spring sabbatical, I had overheard you talking about dissent, about rebellion against our homeland. The very thing that myself and countless others were… prepared to deal with.
I had told Master Ikithon about what you discussed, and he had decided that I could not afford to let you carry out your plans.
So for my graduation, I was ordered to burn you to the ground. All of you, and our home, until naught but ashes remained.
And I did. And I was so sure, I was so sure… until I wasn’t. I… I broke.
The methods Ikithon had done to me, to Astrid, to Eadwulf, and to so many other children of the Empire… the vast majority I cannot even commit to paper. It is agonizing to even recall those methods, and the professionalism he demonstrated when he… experimented on me. On us.
He wanted to make us strong. We wanted to be strong. We wanted to prove our loyalty to the Empire and to the crown.
And we did. Astrid poisoned her family, Eadwulf murdered his, and I… well, you know now.
It was not until eleven years later that I fully realized.
Ikithon had lied to me. He planted false memories of you talking about revolution.
And yet… I still chose to do what had to be done. Manipulation or not, my hands have killed, my flames have killed, all for the Empire.
But now I am putting that behind me. My companions and I intend to transport — yes, transport — Master Ikithon to the Cobalt Soul archive in Rexxentrum.
I have a friend, an Expositor within the Soul. She is the one spearheading this venture. Mutter, vater, you would be proud of her. She is doing what must be done for our homeland, but she does so without deceit or malicious intent. She genuinely wishes to make our home better, to leave it better than that we found it. I couldn’t be more proud of her, she is very much like a schwester to me.
But regardless, the morning has come, and as such I have to depart. As I said, this may or may not be my final letter to you, but as I once told a dear, dear friend, it takes time. I, no, we will make the Empire strong. But we won’t resort to using children like he did.
No, we intend to prove that it is not pain, but love that saves people.
And we intend to make our story known, and your story known.
I hope that you are proud of me, and I hope to not let you down.
Your loving son,
Bren Aldric Ermendrud
Caleb puts down the quill and takes a deep breath inside his rented room at the Lavish Chateau. Never in his life had he summoned the strength to pen such a letter. It was quite a liberating, sobering thought. Quite literally, considering the hangover he’s still nursing.
He waits a moment to let the ink dry across the parchment, gently holding his divination veiler amulet in his closed fist. It’s actually going to happen. The man he despised and feared was going to be at the Cobalt Soul’s mercy, although he’s far from deserving of it.
Knock knock knock!
Caleb smirks. Speak of the devil. “Come in.”
The door opens. Caleb turns to face them.
It’s Beauregard.
“Morning, Caleb,” she remarks. But it is lacking the bite that normally matches her demeanor.
“Guten Morgen,” he responds.
“Fjord, Jester, and Yasha are waiting for us downstairs. We’re ready to head to Rexxentrum.”
He just nods. “The Cobalt Soul?”
“The Cobalt Soul.”
Caleb raps his fingers on the table before turning back to his letter. The ink is now dry.
He pauses for a moment and then he folds it up and tucks it in his book.
Beauregard just smiles a little. “You ready?”
Caleb nods. This is it. This is the day where Ikithon finally sees justice served.
He walks over and after a few moments, he gives her a hug.
A hug that she is more than willing to return.
“Come on,” she says to Caleb. “Let’s bring ol’ Ickythot down. And then we can think about what to do next.”
“That sounds nice.”
They break the hug and head outside to meet the others.
Finally, at long last… Caleb will be free of him. The Empire will be free of him. Wildemount itself will be free of him.
It is a belief that carries him throughout the day, from Beauregard showing him to Yudala Fon to the inevitable trial and sentencing.
And every step of the way, Beauregard was there for him. A sister in everything but blood. He had nothing but the utmost respect and love he could afford to give.
He was richer for having known them all, every single one of the Mighty Nein.
It was not until the final gavel that Caleb finally allows himself to breathe.
At long last, no more would that man place any children on the pyre.