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Chapter Text

Bren

You are hereby expelled from the advanced program, and as such from the Soltryce Academy at large. Your funding has stopped, and you have until the end of the day to pack your things and vacate the dorms. 

Your lack of control disappointed me. 

Master Trent Ikithon, 

Archmage of Civil Influence. 

Bren’s world collapsed on him almost as soon as he woke up in the school infirmary. Astrid and Wulf were okay, he learned, singed but alive. His arms were covered in barely healed burns as well. And he’d been expelled. His one chance at studying magic, becoming something more than the farm boy he was destined to grow up as, gone like ash in the wind. 

With the memory of Astrid and Wulf’s terror as the fire burned, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Master Ikithon was right. He was dangerous and out of control. He could try to beg, beg his master to take him back, swear he would be better, but with the throbbing pain in his arms and the swirling pit of guilt in his stomach, he couldn’t bring himself to. He packed all his belongings (not many) in a bag, alongside what he saved of his allowances (not a lot, as he sent most of it back home), and walked out of the academy for the last time. 

He stumbled through the cold streets of Rexxentrum, wondering how he’d get back home. Walking would be dangerous, and it would be a while before any letter he could send would reach his family, or any farmer from Blumenthal came to the city to sell their wares. He went to the market anyway, just to check, and bought a small, fresh loaf of bread for a few coppers. As he put the soft, warm bread in his mouth, he couldn’t help but start crying. He dipped away from the busy market, trying to find somewhere he can be hidden and undisturbed, and maybe a little bit sheltered from the rain. He just sat in an alley, sobbing to himself and clutching the bag containing all his possessions to his chest. 

He froze when someone walked into the alley. He was wearing blue robes, and frowning to himself when he looked toward Bren. He must be a pathetic sight, soaked to the bone and sobbing and holding on to a small bag like a lifeline. 

“Hey kid, what’s the matter?” He came over slowly, kneeling before Bren with a warm and open expression. “Did you run away from home?” Bren shook his head. “Then what happened?” He had to take a shaky breath before answering. 

“I-I got kicked out. From Soltryce. My scholarship was cancelled and- I don’t know how I’ll get home.” He furiously wiped his eyes, trying to keep from crying, wishing that he still had his long hair to hide his face under, or fidget with when he was nervous. The man gave him a small, understanding nod. 

“I see. My name is Bernard, what’s your name?” He asked, trying to angle his umbrella in such a way that will keep the rain off both of them. 

“Bren.” 

“Well Bren,” Bernard smiled, “how about you come in? Warm up a little? This rain is a miserable place to be. Once you warmed up a little, we’ll figure out how to get you home.” He seemed kind and genuine, if a bit tired, and Bren didn’t really have a choice but to believe him. He wanted to believe. He followed Bernard into the building, his fears forgotten as he stared in awe at the huge building, filled with shelves upon shelves of books. Bernard chuckled, seeing his expression, and led him in. 

“Who is this, Bernard?” A tall, imposing half orc in similar (if more elaborate) robes asked as they walked in. Bernard straightened in a way that made Bren tense up as well, the way master Ikithon expected from them. 

“Archivist Kathedoc, this is Bren. I’m trying to figure out a way to get him home, or at least figure out accommodations for him until he can go back home.” Bernard seemed respectful but not scared, which was… a weird experience. Kathedoc turned his eyes to Bren, scanning his soaked clothes and hair, and his still red-rimmed eyes. 

“What happened to you?” He asked, gruff but not angry. 

“I got kicked out of Soltryce, sir. I live in Blumenthal, and since I got kicked out of the program I was told to leave the dorms immediately. I tried to catch a ride back with one of the merchants in the market, but no one I know was there so I tried to find shelter from the rain.” He looked up at the tall, imposing man, hesitant and slightly scared. Kathedoc nodded, looking at him silently. He felt his nerves rising. “I’m a hard worker sir. I can work to pay for space to stay. I don’t need much.” He hates how shaky his voice was. 

“Gods, kid, you don’t need to. We’ll get you some space to stay until you can find a way back home. We’ll figure something out.” Kathedoc seemed taken aback by the suggestion, and Bren didn’t understand that, but he was just grateful that he was allowed to stay out of the rain. 

“Thank you so much sir.” He lowered his head, grateful and respectful. Bernard put a careful hand on his shoulder. 

“He can have my room for now. I live in the city anyway, I don’t mind letting him have it.” Bernard smiled, and Kathedoc nodded. Tomorrow Bren will send a letter home. For now he just dried up, and went to sleep. 

***

Beau’s face still stung from the way her father slapped her. His ring caught on her cheek, and the cut was still bleeding a little. She contemplated picking the lock and jumping out of the closed cart, but she knew better. It would hurt more than help, and she wouldn’t be welcome at home either way. The pair driving the cart were silent and stoic just like they were when the man picked her up unceremoniously and placed her firmly in the cart, despite her kicking and screaming and biting. 

She didn’t say a word after her father slapped her. 

She felt the cart coming to a stop, and curled into herself inside. It opened to the tall, imposing man whose name she didn’t know. 

“We’re stopping for the night. We will be in Rexxentrum by tomorrow.” His voice was quiet and rough, but he looked at her with something she couldn’t quite figure out. When she didn’t move, he climbed in with her and just sat down, leaning against the side of the cart. “It’s not so bad out there, you know. They can give you a chance to make something of yourself.” She snorted at that. 

“You don’t even sound like you believe it.” He huffed a small laughter at that, crossing his arms over his knees and looking at her. 

“Maybe not. But you can make the best of what you got.” He said quietly. “It’s not all bad. Soltryce is beautiful, and you seem like a smart kid. You’ll get the hang of magic.” He seemed awkward, but well-meaning in this conversation. She could almost forget he kidnapped her from her home. 

“I don’t even want to learn magic.” She grumbled, knees pulled to her chest and head resting on them. She stubbornly wiped the tears away. “My dad just wanted me out of the house cause I’ll never be good enough for him.” The tears came streaming faster, and her breath hitched. 

“Prove him wrong then.” The man said, touching her shoulder carefully. She felt something wash over her, like she imagined a wave in the ocean, and the burn of the cut was no more. She snuggled, looking up at this tall, towering man. “Show him how wrong he is.” She nodded hesitantly, scooting out of the cart after him. He gave her a half smile, and turned away. 

“What’s your name?” She called out. She could hear the smile in his voice, as they both looked at the short, sharp woman they traveled with. She was eyeing the both of them as well. 

“Eadwulf. This is Astrid. Like I said, we will teach you the ropes.” She hesitated, but joined them

Near the fire nonetheless. 

They arrived in Rexxentrum the next day, as promised. It was closing on sunset when they reached what she assumed was the academy. The building was huge and intimidating, but Eadwulf’s words from the night before still rang in her ears. Prove him wrong. Show him . She could show her father that she was better than he could ever be, the superstitious asshole. 

“Eadwulf. Astrid. I see you brought one of our new… promising students?” The voice made her shudder a little even before she saw who it belonged to. She climbed out of the cart, standing behind the two adults who were as tense as the soldiers she saw doing drills once. She looked between them, at the source of the voice. 

The voice belonged to an old man in resplendent robes of white and gold. He had a grey beard and a balding head and liver spots on his face. 

Beau didn’t like him. 

“Yes master Ikithon. We believe she indeed shows a lot of promise.” Astrid was the one speaking, Eadwulf silent by her side. “Though she will need to be taught from the ground up, sir. She has no prior background in arcana.” The man, master Ikithon, eyed her in a way that made her almost shiver. There was an intensity about him, which she guessed was probably powerful magic or something. 

“Miss Lionett.” He nodded in a surprisingly warm welcome. “We brought you to the academy a bit early for this exactly. With that determination I see in you, I am confident that you will catch up to speed with the rest of the students. Mister Grieve, miss Becke, See to it that it happens.” Ikithon looked her in the eye, and she lifted her chin stubbornly. She wasn’t afraid. “Let’s see what her promise is worth.” 

***

Bren was hidden in a corner of the library, breaths quick and laboured and arms shaking so hard he dropped the books he was trying to organise. 

It’s been three years, but he was still shocked that his parents allowed him to stay in Rexxentrum, in the archive. The archivists taught him the secrets of the library, how to organise it, how to work in it. He sent regular letters home, when he could, worked hard and earned his keep. 

The letter he received now filled him with terror even he didn’t fully understand. 

His friends disappeared, and their parents dead. 

Someone killed the Grieves with a sword,

(Bren remembers Eadwulf, precise and practised movements, the sword almost a part of him with how fluid his movements were. He remembered admiring the way his muscles moved under his skin)

-and the Beckes were found dead at the dinner table. 

(Bren remembers a lesson on chemical compounds, and about the properties of different plant components. He remembers Astrid’s rapt attention, her precision in the alchemy lab. He remembered admiring her sharp mind and focus)

The children are nowhere to be found. We are worried, Bren. Rexxentrum must’ve had something to do with it. Stay safe. 

(He remembers his friends, the friends he loved and admired and cared for the friends he knew were lost. His parents were right to be worried, or would’ve been if he were still in the academy) 

Love, mum and dad. 

(He thinks, can’t help but think, what would be their fate if he had stayed. He doesn’t have to think much, before the smell of fire and burnt flesh floods his nose, and he knows it to be true. Fire always came easy to him, after all)

Something is in his field of vision. It takes him a few moments to register a person. They’re an elf, their head is shaved, and they wear grey robes. 

He’s only seen expositor Dairon in passing before, but it wasn’t hard to recognise them. They were formidable and well respected, and they were here , seeing Bren’s meltdown, and his breaths only grew more erratic. 

“Follow my breaths.” They commanded, and started guiding him through his breathing. She was calm and patient, and Bren tried, he tried his best, but he didn’t know how to stop. 

It took a while (twelve minutes and thirty four seconds) before he was calm enough to properly follow. 

“Expositor Dairon, I’m sorry for wasting your time-“ he started, trying to dust himself off and pull himself up. She cut into his words.

“Nonsense. Bren, right? I heard about you. What happened?” They asked, and he showed them the letter. They asked for context, asked questions, and with each question their expression grew more severe. More professional. She was on a mission, and he didn’t know what the mission was. 

“I failed because I lost control. That’s when I got here.” He finished, looking down at his exposed arms, the burn scars red and ugly. Dairon’s expression was unreadable. 

“The things you described are… very concerning, Bren. But if you are worried about losing control, then I can suggest you join the monk training. You’re of an age to it, more or less, and control is what being a monk is about. Think about it.” She said, standing up to their full height. 

“Thank you, Expositor Dairon. I appreciate it. Thank you.” He lowered his head, and she shook her head. 

“I’ll keep an eye on you, Bren. You show promise.” They left, and for once someone saying he showed promise didn’t sting anymore. 

The next day, he showed up bright and early in the morning in the training ground, with brand new training robes and bandages wrapped around his arms, ready to face head on the future waiting for him. 

***

Beau flexed her hands around the amulet on her neck. She had graduated. She succeeded. But it felt hollow and empty and vile, because of the things she had to do for it. 

She took pleasure, almost, in seeing her father finally cower before her. Seeing him respect her power. She was stronger than him. Bigger than him. He was nothing. And with a swift casting, sharp hand movements and a flash of arcana in her eyes, he was bleeding out on the ground. 

She didn’t take as much pleasure with her mother. She disliked her, but mostly pitied the woman. She was so scared, all the time. First of Thoreau, and now of Beau. She was clutching a wailing bundle to her chest, the baby that was so recently born, they were going to call him Thoreau Jr, what a stupid name, and then she too was gone, and all that was left was the sobbing baby. 

She didn’t even waste magic on him. A swift movement of her wrist, and he was forever silent. 

Master Ikithon was pleased. 

Grieve and Becke were silent. 

Beau was numb. 

Time to go. 

She packed a bag, money and spare clothes and magical components, and escaped, as fast as she could. She had nowhere to go, no plan other than to get out . She didn’t stop until she was deep in the woods. Until the only thing on her mind was the burning in her muscles. 

She will be free. 

Chapter Text

After years in the archive, learning and practising and memorising, developing discipline and control over every muscle, every breath, every thought that crossed his mind, Bren was ready. He was aware of time, aware of space, aware of his own body. And finally, expositor Dairon told him that if he were to become an expositor, he had to find his way in the world outside of the library. He packed his things, kissed his family goodbye, mother and father and Elise and little Caleb, every bit his brother despite being adopted, before heading out into the world. 

He got into scraps. He mingled with people. He camped with strangers on the road, and hid from thieves. He walked the length of the empire, from the forests of the northern Zemni Fields, to the meadows and fields of the Marrow Valley. 

It was already dark, and he was looking for a place to rest, when he spotted a campfire not far from where he was. The people at the camp weren’t quiet, and he heard a high, clear voice, and laughter. He crept closer, trying to be invisible under the cover of night, until he reached the camp. 

It wasn’t much of a camp, just two people and a small campfire. They were talking, happy and relaxed. He tried to figure out as much as he could from looking and listening. 

The voice he heard belonged to the woman, a young tiefling in a dress, looking quite strong but also bright and carefree. The man was slightly older, half orc, though his tusks seemed to be missing, and he listened to her with attention mixed with amusement. 

Bren decided to make noise with his quarterstaff on purpose, not wanting to surprise them. They tended up immediately. 

“Who’s there?” The half orc asked, a sword now suddenly in his hand. The tiefling didn’t seem any less intimidating for her short frame. 

“Just a fellow traveller on the road. I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’ll come closer slowly.” He raised his hands, coming through the brush into the clearing. 

“Why were you creeping around our camp?” The woman asked, tilting her head. 

“I wanted to make sure you won’t hurt me . Besides, larger groups deter bandits. Once I realised you weren’t bandits yourselves, I was going to ask if you’d be alright with me joining your camp for the night.” He smiled warmly. 

“What’s your name pal?” The man asked, still looking suspicious. 

“Bren. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What are your names?” He asked, with a calm expression on his face. He was genuine, and didn’t really have anything to hide. 

“I’m Jester, and this is Fjord!” The tiefling smiled, dropping her alertness. The half orc’s sword disappeared into the ether, and he nodded with a small half smile. He was handsome and charming and Bren couldn’t help but smile back. 

They talked about their journey, Fjord mentioning he wants to study magic, and Bren offered to escort them. It would be nice, travelling in company, and he knew the roads much better than them, having grown up in the empire. 

He went to sleep that night with a good feeling in his stomach. 

***

Beau was in a jail cell. It wasn’t her first time, and sometimes it was better than being on the road. She’d find a way to break out eventually. She’d have to, before they figured out who she was. Right now she was just a pickpocket. 

She shared a cell with a goblin woman. She seemed to be trying to manoeuvre her sharp claws into the lock, cursing the whole time. 

“Do you actually know how to pick locks or are you just trying your luck?” Beau asked, curious. She’s been watching in silence for a while. 

“Of course I know how to do it, but they took my damn lock picks! And my booze!” She groaned, frustrated, and slammed the lock. 

“I might be able to figure something out. Get me out of here, and I’ll help you get your stuff back.” Beau looked at the girl eyeing her up and down. She nodded, offering a hand to shake. 

“I’m Nott. What’s your name?” She asked, and Beau immediately came up with an alias. She couldn’t risk using her real name. 

“Tracy.” She shook the goblin’s hand with a half smile. Nott grinned with all her sharp teeth, somehow looking mischievous on top of the terrifying smile. 

“We’ll need the tools, and we’ll need to distract the guards.” Nott said, looking around. She was intelligent, Beau could tell. Eyes darting around the cell, trying to find exit strategies and guards. She was twitchy, not that Beau could blame her. Being a goblin, people probably didn’t treat her with much kindness. Kindness was sparse and hard to come by in this world, she learned painfully. She snapped her fingers, summoning her familiar to her side. 

“Hey Buddy, can you get us some stuff to pick a lock with? Wire and pin, or a lock pick set if you can find it? Don’t draw attention. I want you coming back to me.” She gently petted the familiar’s head. He chittered softly, running out of the cell. Nott looked at her with wide eyes. 

“Are you a wizard?” She asked, amazed. Beau nodded. 

“Yeah. Hadn’t been practising in a while though. Components aren’t cheap, and I’d rather not risk my freedom too much.” She admitted, tilting her head. Why was she doing this? Maybe she was lonely. She spent years living in close proximity to another person at all hours of the day, so now… loneliness stung. It was making her do stupid things. 

“Well, I’m a very good thief.” Nott offered her a smile. “We could stick together. If I got you components, would you teach me magic?” She looked like she was almost vibrating with tension and excitement. 

“… you know what? Sure. We can stick around for a bit.” She shrugged. There could be safety in numbers. She could use this girl. Survival would be easier. A couple scraps of magic won’t be too much of a cost. 

Buddy returned with the tools Nott needed, and Beau put him back in the inner pocket of her coat. As they ran out into the night, she couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. Freedom and company and maybe some more food in her belly. For the first time in a while she dared to hope. 

***

Bren was sitting alongside Jester and Fjord in the Nestled Nook. Yesterday was a good day. They helped the old fisherman. Fought a giant snake. He liked these people. He wrote a letter to his family in his little book. He didn’t bother sending them, knowing his parents won’t be able to reply, but when his journey is done, he would come home and give them the book, and they will hear what he’s been through, and see that he’s even thinking about them the entire time. 

When the old man came with the payment, leaving the coins on the table, Bren started counting them, agonisingly slow, to the groans of everyone around the table. It was a habit, making sure that not a copper went unaccounted for. It was important at home, when he was growing up. They never had a lot. The money he sent from Rexxentrum helped, and Elise also worked, helping mother and father in the farm as well as doing some mending in her spare time. She studied magic as a hobby, but mother and father forbade her from going to Soltryce even as she was scouted, like he was. 

They were scared, he knew. He was too. He was afraid of her losing control like he did, or relinquishing control like Astrid and Eadwulf. Until Elise started talking about going to Soltryce three years ago, Bren hadn’t been able to see how cruel their treatment was. But thinking about his baby sister going through the same thing, scars on her arms and crystals under her skin and a cold tower at night… he could start to see the cruelty. It was for a good goal, or so master Ikithon said, but… he wouldn’t let her go through it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two women in the table closest to them, eyeing their coin. They both looked skinny and malnourished under the ratty cloaks and the bulky coat, and the smaller one was very clearly a goblin wearing a mask. 

Jester also clearly noticed them staring. And when Jester noticed something like that, pranks were sure to follow. She was very dear to him already, despite having only travelled together for a short while, but it was hard not to fall for the charms of Jester Lavorre. 

“Don’t move, tieflings can only see movement.” The goblin woman froze in place, eyes wide. Her companion raised an eyebrow, before Jester chimed in. 

“That’s true, we don’t see very well! But I can hear you!” She grinned brightly. “You have such pretty eyes!” She turned to the other woman, still smiling, getting uncomfortably close and examining her eyes. She did have nice eyes, though they were extremely sharp. This was the face of someone who had to fight hard against the world. She seemed to struggle between her awe at Jester and the instinct to smack her away and get her personal space back. 

“We literally just met. Buy me a drink first.” She settled up on a smirk and gently pushing Jester out of her face. Jester giggled at that. 

“Hi, I’m Jester!” Her grin was just as wide as before, and Bren couldn’t help but look at her adoringly. It was hard not to. 

“Would you two like to join our table? Breakfast is better with friends, I think, and we could get you that drink you wanted. I’m Bren, what are your names?” He asked, putting on a friendly and open smile. 

“I’m Tracy. This is Nott. You’re not exactly my type.” Tracy raised an eyebrow, and he only laughed. 

“That’s quite alright, but you two are still more than welcome to that drink. Making new friends is always interesting, and I’d like to get to know you.” He scooted over with his chair, giving them a place to sit around the table, as he gave Fjord and Jester their cuts of the payment. 

“How much silver did I get?” Jester asked, sitting back in her chair properly and moving to give Nott and Tracy space. 

“Seven.” He gave her the coin to the sound of hollering. Fjord was sitting back, looking at everyone with that cool, suave act he liked to put on. Bren knew a lot about acts, but he wouldn’t push the guy. Trying to appear confident was important, and usually showed someone wasn’t actually confident. A shame, really. He was a good guy. 

They had a nice enough conversation, Tracy staying pretty quiet for most of it, when the door burst open with a flurry of colour and movement. A gorgeous tiefling, decked in jewellery and wearing the brightest, most ostentatious coat known to man, walked in and began announcing the carnival. He was followed by a woman in monochrome, tall and intimidating and beautiful with a giant sword strapped to her back. 

“You lot look like you could use some fun! My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, Molly to my friends, and I would like to invite you to the Fletchling and Moondrop Carnival of Curiosities! This is Yasha, she’s the charm.” He gestured toward the tall woman, who gave them an awkward nod. 

The two circus folks joined in the conversation for a short while, Mollymauk making quick friends with Jester and selling her on the idea of the circus. Nott seemed to like it too, which made Tracy buckle. 

“What about you? Would you like a reading?” Mollymauk turned to him after finishing with Jester’s. “It’s only two coppers.” He was smirking. 

“I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of cards and chance. Not a huge fan of fate either. I believe we can forge our own fate. But you seem to be quite the reader of people, and that’s much more interesting than the future if you ask me.” Bren smiled back, leaning forward. Jester was giggling on the side, looking between them. Mollymauk laughed. 

“That will cost extra love. Come see the show and I’ll think about it.” He winked, getting up and continuing his rounds. 

***

Safety in numbers. And with a group as colourful as this (she still couldn’t shake off Jester’s face, so incredibly close to hers, innocent curiosity and mischief mixing into the same beautiful face), Nott and her could easily blend in. They were both very sneaky, and with her drab coat and hunched posture, she wasn’t exactly eye-catching. So they joined the three others on a beer tour, drinking (the human, Bren, didn’t seem to drink much, and always seemed to be on high alert), and eventually joined them to the circus. Nott wanted to go, and Beau wasn’t about to leave her alone. 

Of course things had to go wrong. 

In the middle of the little girl’s performance, an old man in the audience seemed to turn into a zombie. Beau’s first instinct, as always, was to run. Running was what she did, since she was a little girl. She rushed into the crowd, ducking in and trying to scan for Nott. 

Nott, who seemed to have planted her feet down and started shooting at the creature. 

The entire group seemed to be going in. Mollymauk was spinning around with his twin scimitars, Yasha storming in with a greatsword. Fjord and Jester both used magic, though it didn’t seem arcane, and Bren rushed in, fists raised, trying to block the creature from attacking more people. Creatures, now. Shit. She struggled between the selfish need to run and the also selfish urge to keep her partner on the road safe. She was casting from a safe distance, mostly trying to back Nott up, but also lending a hand to the others. It won’t do any good to appear useless to the group, especially if they were going to join them. 

This was the principle she followed through the entire time, interacting with the others as much as she needed and not giving too much away. Nott and her were a team, for now. Using one another for their own purposes, though they’ve grown into close friends in the time since. These people she didn’t know, or trust. Jester was sweet, if a bit naive. Fjord was suspicious. Bren seemed full of himself, but he did look to be a bit more than just a punching guy. She’d have to keep an eye on him. Molly she didn’t trust one bit. Yasha ran off before they actually got to know her. 

“It’s okay. Toya, right? Molly asked me to come help you. It’s alright. You’re safe.” He murmured softly, soothing the little girl hidden behind a rock as Beau and the others dealt  with the monster (a Nergalid, apparently. Bren and her figured it out together in the end). She was panicked, and Beau would’ve used magic, or just knocked her out, but Bren very gently assured her safety. It all crumbled when she saw they were fighting the monster she considered a friend, and she could see the sadness on his face as he knocked her out. 

A part of her called him weak, for the emotions washing over his face as he gently laid the girl down and rushed back into the fray. For being so soft, and not knowing how to do what needs doing without moping about it. 

Another part of her felt sick with herself, playing and replaying the moment she slit her baby brother’s throat. Without feeling. Without care. He might be weak, but she was a monster. 

When she got knocked out, felled by the imps, her last thought was good riddance . She never expected to survive it, and yet she woke up with Nott huddled over her protectively, her back bleeding. Beau’s throat closed. 

They ended up dispatching of the monster, and clearing their names. The circus broke apart. They all decided to travel together. 

“How do you feel about them?” Nott asked that night. They shared a room, and a bed, cuddled together for warmth and comfort, though Beau wouldn’t admit to seeking the latter. 

“They’re… interesting. Molly’s an ass, Fjord is suspicious. Jester is… well, she’s honestly awesome, I kind of like her, and Bren is somehow both naive and full of himself. Honestly… they could be good for us. Useful.” She hummed. They slept well through the night, in a way they usually didn’t. 

Chapter Text

The trouble was, Bren liked them. He liked Fjord’s calm charisma, and Jester’s bubbling charm. He liked Nott, with her sticky fingers and ferocious protectiveness, and Mollymauk, though he was pretty sure he never told them anything true about himself. He even liked Tracy, reclusive and suspicious as she was. 

He wasn’t supposed to like them. He probably shouldn’t stay involved with them. Fjord wants to flog to Soltryce, where Bren will never set foot again. Can never set foot again. Tracy and Nott were clearly suspicious and up to their own agenda. Molly… Molly was running from something, but who was Bren to ask?

No, he shouldn’t stick with them for much longer. 

But he would anyway. 

As smart as he was, he was a man who followed his heart. And his heart told him to follow these people. Told him good things would come from that. 

Bren always loved fire, since he was a boy. He connected to fire on almost a spiritual level, his first tinkering with the arcane producing a flame cantrip with he kept cultivating and “noodling” with even after his accident. The fire was as inherent a part of him as his Ki, which he was now learning to cultivate and use. 

He smelled the fire before any of the others did, freezing in place. The smell of burning buildings, and burning people. 

“Bren? Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Jester was the first one who noticed, sitting at the back of the cart with him. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four. 

Breath in. 

Breathe out. 

Answer. 

“I’m fine. Just… does anyone else smell that?” He asked cautiously, not certain if his mind was playing tricks on him or if something else was amiss. Jester and Nott both sniffed around. 

“Smells like a fire. Fjord, Tracy, do you see anything ahead?” Jester called out to the two driving the cart. Molly, near them, had a grip on his sword. 

The people running away told them what happened. Told them about the gnolls and the fire and the attack still going on. And everyone rushed forward to help, but Bren couldn’t breath, remembering a locked room and the rotting wooden floor going up in flame, and Astrid’s scream as she burned. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four. 

Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Rush forward. 

The gnolls were attacking civilians and guards alike, the animal laughter of a hyena ringing through. Some of them were skeletons, returning from the grave to pillage once more. And everything was on fire.  

He rushed through, maintaining control of his body through the waves of panic and nausea. Pushing down the bile like he learned in the cobalt reserve. The watchmaster was struggling, and while Bren wasn’t capable of fully processing everything said, he got the gist of things. He got the situation, the visual input of what was happening where, and went in. 

One. 

Two. 

Three.

Four. 

Breath in. 

Breathe out. 

Dodge. 

He was stuck in a doorway, dodging attacks and deflecting bolts and trying to survive. He wasn’t sure where everyone was. He hoped they were okay. He didn’t know. Couldn’t really know. He was focused on the ones ahead of him, focused on not dying, focused on drawing as many enemies to himself as possible, because if they are on him they aren’t attacking his friends, or the innocent bystanders. 

Focused on maintaining control, on breathing, on counting, on anything that will stop him from spiralling downward and freezing. 

As a monk, Bren learned to maintain control of his body. That was the biggest lesson he learned, terrified of ever losing control again after it cost him his place in the academy, his dear friends, and almost all their lives. 

He couldn’t lose control again. Even if it means his field of vision shrinks only to the pinpoints of the enemies in front of him. 

Then the battle is over, and the flames are being doused, and his mind tries its best to realign. He went looking for his friends, finding everyone safe, if battered and bruised and hurt. Every movement is deliberate. Every breath too. He heard only vaguely what was being said to them by the watchmaster (Bryce, their name is Bryce, but he will analyse his memories to extract information later), before leaving with the others to the one inn still standing in town. 

***

Something was wrong with Bren. Beau made it a habit of noticing her teammates, noticing what was happening to them and who they were and what they did, analysing, thinking. It was useful, knowing her companions. Cataloguing their moods. It was useful for staying safe, for gathering information. And something was wrong with Bren now. 

It was as though he was replaced by a machine. Mechanical breathing and mechanical movements and an almost empty look in his eyes. Pupils wide in a way she knew well from her training. Terror. And yet he didn’t act on the terror, the mechanical breathing slow and steady, the mechanical movements swift and precise. 

He was a well oiled machine in a way that was reminiscent of watching her instructors teaching them how to insert the crystals into each other’s skin. It was unnerving, and so, so wrong . 

So she stayed away. Went to her room with Nott, eyes returning to him on the way. Mollymauk wrapped an arm around his shoulder and dragged him to the room they will share, a half-smile on his face. 

“You did good today.” Beau said quietly to Nott when they settled down to bed. Not smiled with a yawn, curled up against her. 

“You did too! You’re a great wizard Tracy.” She smiled fondly, squeezing her arm gently. Nott was small and bony, and Beau didn’t have that much more meat on her bones, but they slotted together nicely, holding on. “… you were looking at Bren an awful lot on the way here.” She noted, opening the conversation. 

“I don’t like him.” She mumbled. “It’s like… did you look at him out there? Really look? He was like a robot. I saw that look on people before. That’s someone who would do anything to reach his goal. Which, respect, but as long as I don’t know what that goal is, I don’t like it.” She frowned, and Nott stayed quiet for a moment. 

“… he looked scared to me.” She said after a while. “I mean, can’t blame him, right? It was pretty terrifying.” She seemed thoughtful. Beau hummed. 

“Will you help me figure out what his deal is?” She asked gently, smiling down at Nott. The only person who stuck around this long. Nott nodded. 

“Anything for you Tracy.” She promised, soothing, and Beau’s heart twisted painfully, remembering another girl, telling her the same, trusting her. This girl was no more, her mind lost. Beau used to visit her in the sanatorium, before she ran. She wondered if she ever recovered. Ever will recover. 

They went into the mine, fighting gnoll after gnoll. She prepared to send lights ahead of them, but was surprised to see Bren already making the somatics, sending four globules of amber light ahead of them. 

“… I didn’t know you were a wizard.” She said quietly, eyeing him with suspicion. He looked sheepish, almost. 

“I’m not. Not anymore, that is. I studied when I was younger, but… things didn’t work out.” He closed his eyes for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “I can still do this. I can still make a flame. I don’t need much more.” He smiled sadly, looking away from her. Weird. He was soft , in a way that made Beau uncomfortable. The people who looked soft were often the most dangerous. Eadwulf appeared genuinely kind too, at first. 

“Didn’t work out how?” She asked, walking beside him into the tunnels. She could see his muscles tense up, see him continue walking through the force of inertia alone. 

“It… doesn’t matter. Maybe I’ll tell you when we get out. For now, let’s focus on the mission at hand.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, expelling nervous energy. 

“You know that’s like, the most suspicious thing you could say. Like, the absolute most suspicious.” She was walking behind him now, looking around. 

“Says the most suspicious person in our group.” He replied, seemingly at ease, though he was still very alert. Good. At least he knew not to lower his guard. 

“That’s exactly how I know I’m right.” She grinned, all sharp edges, surprised to hear him chuckle. 

“I like you. I don’t trust you, but I like you.” He smiled, scanning the area. 

“Good. You shouldn’t trust me.” She said darkly, and Bren glanced over his shoulder seriously. 

“That might just be the first true thing you said to me.” He said calmly, serious and quiet. 

They went the rest of the way silently. 

The fighting was hectic, spells and fists flying around. Mollymauk seemed to have taken it upon himself to shield her, as the caster, swirling around her like an icy cyclone and chipping away at their enemies. The manticore was unexpected, but the others seemed to handle it fine. She focused on the mage, before she heard Nott’s shrill voice. 

“Hey asshole!“ she called out, holding a dagger over the nest. There were small cooing sounds in there, and Beau’s eyes widened the moment she realised what Nott was about to do. 

The squeal turned to a gurgle, and Beau could feel the blood on her own hands. She smelled the rain-soaked air, hear the crying of her little brother, the boy they made to replace their troublesome daughter, the boy her father always wanted. 

Her father was already on the ground, crumpled and unimpressive, bleeding from his ears and nose and mouth and eyes. Her mother was gone too, curled protectively around her son. At least in the end she grew some guts and tried to do something to protect her child. Protect him the way she never protected Beau. 

He was crying, the baby was crying, and she didn’t even waste a cantrip on him. Simply took the dagger at her hip, and cut him down. 

“Tracy, we have to go!“ she felt a hand grab her arm with a vice grip, another one at the back of her neck. 

Blue and red infiltrated her vision. She struggled sluggishly, her body not quite obeying her. But she was rapidly being pulled into her body. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Can you count with me Tracy?” Bren, it was Bren, there was blood splattered on his face and soaking into his bandages, his forehead pressed into hers, searching her eyes for awareness. 

“One. Two. Tree. Four.” She followed numbly, shaking the numbness from her head. 

“Good. We’re running and blowing this place up. Let’s go.” He pulled her along with him by the arm, and she followed, stumbling forward. She didn’t let go. He kept counting, and she followed, forcing herself to focus. By the time they were out, she wrenched her arm out of Bren’s hand, more present but still wrong-footed. 

She felt the vice grip on her arm still, counting to herself. 

***

Tracy worried him. It wasn’t quite surprising, he was pretty shaken himself from Nott’s actions there, but Tracy simply froze, hands falling to her sides. The mage took it as an opportunity, turning to attack her. 

Bren leapt at him, pummelling his head in. He could feel the blood soaking into his bandages, bone shards cracking under his fists. Once the mage was down and everyone was retreating, he grabbed her, forcing her to count, forcing her to return to reality. Come with them. She pulled back eventually, moving away, and Bren rubbed his sore knuckles through the bloodied bandages. 

She was staring, he knew. As Bren removed his bandages to change them for clean ones, Tracy was staring. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

The more he watched her cast, the more certain he was. He recognised certain flourishes in spells he once learned, long ago. Recognised the technique, the stance. 

Trent Ikithon’s tutelage was consistent and familiar. 

He slowly unwrapped his arms, exposing his scarred, burned arms. She wouldn’t be able to see the thin, surgical scars under the thick burn marks, not without looking closer. He put a salve on his arms, then wrapped them once again. 

“These are some nasty burns.” Mollymauk noted, sitting by his side. “What happened?” He asked curiously, cleaning his swords. He was calm and casual and bleeding from self-inflicted marks still. He was covered in them. He also offered him a tankard of ale, which Bren accepted. One ale won’t get him drunk. 

“An accident when I was a boy. A lesson in caution and discipline.” He smiled grimly. Mollymauk nodded, casually wiping his glittering scimitars and drinking. 

“Discipline, eh? You’re definitely disciplined. Very high strung too.” He smirked. “You need to let loose a little. How about you drink with me?” He wrapped an arm around Bren. 

“I already am, Mollymauk.” He smiled, wrapping his own arm around Molly and raising the tankard. Molly shook his head with a dramatic sigh. 

“You know what I mean! Get drunk with me? It will be fun! You need to let loose a little.” He grinned, looking him in the eye. Bren smiled a little. 

“No thank you Molly. Can’t lower my guard, can I? You go, have fun, I’ll watch to make sure no one steals our stuff.” He clapped his back very gently. 

“I’ll get you to let loose one day love.” He grinned, getting up and strolling to grab another drink, leaving Bren to his thoughts. He wrapped and unwrapped his arms, back and forth, using the sensation of pressure as a meditation focus. He opened his eyes to Tracy sitting by his side, mulling her own, bandages, far dirtier, between her fingers. 

“… you didn’t have to drag me out.” She said quietly, drinking from her flask. Bren nodded. 

“I didn’t need to. But I wanted to. We’re a team, and we stick together. Like I said, I like you.” He gave her a small smile. She eyed him suspiciously. “Want cleaner bandages, until you can wash yours? I have a few sets.” He offered her two rolled bandages, which she accepted quietly. 

“What’s that salve you put on your arms?” She asked, slowly working on removing the bandages from her arms. 

“Something I got from the healers at the reserve. It’s to soften the scars, make sure I can move my arms properly.” He didn’t mind talking about it too much. The what was easy. Why was the problem. 

Sitting side by side in a hidden corner, she undid her bandages and started wrapping the new ones over her arms. Her hands still shook as she tried to hide familiar, surgical scars. The pattern was different from the one he had, but master Ikithon must’ve perfected it by now. It’s been a long time. 

She didn’t have the tattoos, which meant she didn’t complete her training. 

Maybe she was like him. 

“I won’t ask. About the scars, or about what happened in the mines. It’s none of my business. But do you want some help with the bandage? I’m pretty practised.” He offered, hesitant. 

“I don’t need you.” She huffed, squinting. 

“Didn’t say you do. Frankly, it helps me meditate. If I keep re-wrapping my own it will fall apart soon.” He tried to be good-natured, give her the excuse to accept help. 

“… whatever.” She hesitantly pulled up her coat sleeve, letting Bren access it. 

“Do you want some of the salve for the scars? I could get you some more of your own, when we get to Zadash.” He suggested, and she pulled her arm away. 

“Don’t touch them.” She said coldly, and he raised his hands in surrender. 

“Okay. Okay. Nothing you say no to.” He promised, and she kept glaring at him as she offered her hand back. Bren wrapped the bandage over her arm, meticulous and careful, touching her skin as little as possible. She let him wrap the other arm as well, zoning out a little. “There. All done.” He let go of her arm, and she quickly hid her arms with her sleeves. 

They sat together silently for the rest of the night. 

***

Beau thought back, replaying her interactions with Bren over and over again. 

Casting Dancing Lights with ease, essentially calling her a liar, saying she isn’t to be trusted. 

Also saying he liked her. 

One stable hand on her arm, the other on her neck, forehead pressed to hers. Pulling her out of her mind, her thoughts, her memories, dragging her out of the mine. 

Quiet counting. 

His eyes on her scars, careful hands wrapping her arms with a bandage. 

She didn’t trust him. How could she? Why would she trust him? He was nice, and in her experience that meant he wanted something. 

But other than Nott, it’s been a while since anyone was just kind to her. 

Something about him bothered her. 

She replayed the memories over and over again in her head, getting stuck on his casting. 

She thought back to that, and recognised something. 

He was casting this spell like she did, with a flourish in the end. Which shouldn’t be out of the ordinary, lots of people had similar castings. Except Astrid was the one who taught her this spell, and she knew this particular somatic wasn’t common. 

He was like her . 

Chapter Text

Bren was a creature of routine. He carefully counted his coin, both spent and earned. He organised his things in a particular order every time he went to sleep. He started his morning with the same routine, shaving his face, meditating, training, and then washing up and preparing for the day. He always rose early, a habit trained into him over the years. 

So he was awake, meditating silently and watching the rolling fields, when he spotted Tracy sneaking out. 

“Morning Tracy, sleep well?” He greeted, alerting her to his presence. Her head snapped to him like a terrified, cornered animal, and she was practically snarling. She made a sharp noise, an arcane command, and he felt it reverberating through his skull, searing pain that drew forth master Ikithon’s sneer, disappointment, punishment . He felt the blood coming out of his nose. “What the hell?” He coughed out, eyes wide, tracking her with his eyes. 

“I know what you are, Bren, if that’s even your name. You’re not taking me back to him!” She hissed, hands in a stance ready to cast. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He promised, genuinely confused. “Tracy, let’s talk about it. What do you think I’m here to do?” He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was snarling and ready to attack. He dodged her as best he could. 

“I know you’re one of his! It’s not past him to make someone burn their arms to hide the tattoos, but I know you’re one of them!” She was snarling, impulsive, reaching to grasp him. He grabbed her arms, restraining her from somatics. 

“Tracy, stop! Listen to me. Yes, I was a student of Ikithon. I was expelled a few months after the real training started. I don’t want you hurt, and I don’t want you to go back to him. I swear.” He looked her in the eye, pleading. She struggled against his arms, and he let her hands go. She pulled away, rubbing her wrists. 

“How can I trust you?” She asked, glaring at him. He slowly and carefully removed his bandages, telegraphing his movements. 

“You can touch my arm. You know where the crystals should be if I were still with him. At least, he told us that he intends to make them permanent, and that was almost a decade ago, so I assume he succeeded.” He was careful, scarred arms forward. She approached carefully, like a feral cat, and searched for the crystals she was familiar with, finding only the scar tissue born from the extensive burns. 

“… what happened to your arms then?” She asked, cautious, as he rewrapped his arms. 

“I lost control. The first time he had us cast with the crystals, I set half the building on fire. I was expelled afterward.” Her eyes widened. 

“That was you ?” She asked, shocked. “You’re a cautionary tale in Soltryce. Too much power, not enough discipline.” Bren grimaced, looking away. 

“Well, I don’t think I lack in discipline anymore.” He said quietly. “But… I’m on your side here. I don’t want you back with him any more than you do.” He promised. She looked at him, arms still shaking with adrenaline. 

“… you’re not what I expected.” She said quietly, crossing her arms. She was rubbing her forearms. He raised an eyebrow, curious. “You’re… very careful. I don’t even think I saw you get drunk.” She was quiet. 

“This is what happens when I lose control.” He gestures at his arm. “I will not let it happen again.” There was steely determination in his eyes. Tracy nodded. 

“It’s good. You getting out, I mean. It’s… things don’t exactly get better, you know.” She wouldn’t look at him. He nodded quietly, examining her. She was young, vulnerable, all sharp edges like broken glass. 

“I know. And Tracy… you getting out is also good.” He smiled a little. Tracy didn’t deign him with a response, hunching inside her large coat and walking back inside, leaving Bren to his meditation. 

***

She could still feel his hands holding hers. He was too warm. She kept rubbing at her arms, trying to get rid of the feelings of all the arms that touched her. Most of them weren’t kind. 

(Bren’s were. He didn’t try to hurt her. She was casting at him and he didn’t attack her once)

She went back to the room she shared with Nott, seeing the girl already awake. 

“Tracy! Where were you? You’re not usually a morning person.” She smiled, and Tracy couldn’t help but relax, just a little. 

“Went to take a walk.” She lied smoothly, sitting back down on the bed. Nott was packing her bag in the meantime, taking a swig of her flask. Beau took a swig too, snatching it from her hand. 

“Hey! Get your own flask!” She swatted at her playfully, grabbing it back. Nott was a good friend, a close friend. They kept each other safe. If there was anyone she trusted, it was Nott. 

They went on from Alfield and headed for Zadash. Beau noticed Bren keeping an eye on her, and she really wasn’t sure what to think about it. He didn’t tell the others. About what she was, or that she attacked him. She was in a precarious position here. Bren was well liked, well respected. Useful, extremely so, but more than that, valued . In contrast, she was the shifty, shady one no one really trusted. She was rough and distrustful and that set her apart from the rest. If Bren told them she attacked him… she didn’t know if she could fend everyone off at the same time. She hadn’t been doing much magic for years. She lost a lot. Not to mention, her missions were more of the… subtle kind. She wasn’t made for brawling and close combat. 

But he didn’t tell them. He remained friendly with her, just like he was before, even though she could still see the fear, confusion and betrayal that filled his eyes as she cast at him, making him bleed out of his eyes and nose and ears. He still offered to share his food and drink and healing salve, still watched her back when they fought. 

She just couldn’t understand. 

She kept petting Buddy’s soft fur, felt him grasp her finger with small claws. It was grounding, and she held him close to her. He was good, her familiar. Kept her company when she didn’t have anyone else. Comfort when she was lost. 

“What’s his name?” Bren asked curiously, walking beside her. She startled, glaring at him. 

“… Buddy.” She replied shortly, curling her hand around him protectively. If he wanted to hurt him-

“He looks very smart.” Was all Bren said, with a small smile. 

“I don’t get it. Why are you… like this?” Beau asked, confused and a little hostile. 

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head, like a cat, watching her with keen eyes. She didn’t know what he saw, didn’t want him to see all the things that bubbled so close to the surface. She squinted at him suspiciously. 

“I hurt you . I attacked you out of nowhere, and you didn’t tell anyone. You know the kind of things I did, at least some of them, and you didn’t tell the others. You’re trying to play nice with me, and I don’t get it. What’s your angle? What do you get out of this?” She walked beside him slowly, talking quietly. 

“I told you, I like you.” He said, good natured and light. 

“Not good enough. What do you get out of this?” She hissed back, preparing to cast if he reacted aggressively. 

“I get you and Nott staying with the group. I get the chance to talk to someone who knows what I mean, and who might share a common goal with me. Who might be able to help bring him down.” His eyes turned serious. “I’ve been working on it for a while. Years. The Soul believed me, gave me resources, but I am an easy to dismiss reject of the program who burned half a building to the ground. He’ll just say I resent him and the program because I wasn’t good enough. He inspires… loyalty. Fear. No one from within would go against him.” He’s clearly thought about it a lot. Beau was still squinting. 

“… and what makes you think I will help you?” She asked. She genuinely didn’t know if she would. It would be a danger to her, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to risk her skin when she’s still so weak. Especially not for this guy she barely knows. 

“Just hope. And even if you don’t, you and Nott are both still two very powerful individuals, and it would be good to have you with us.” He shrugged, once again carefully careless. Beau grit her teeth, watching Bren walk further away. 

***

The more time he spent with Tracy, the more he saw just how avoidant she was. How terrified she was. It was understandable, she’s been living her life so far glancing over her shoulder, like a hunted animal. She was distrustful of any institution, and of the crown more than any. It made sense, the girl had suffered at the hands of archmages, in the name of the crown, for years. 

So of course she was on board with the Knights of Requital almost immediately. Bren… frankly, Bren was feeling very sympathetic as well. As a monk of the Cobalt Soul, training to be an Expositor, ridding the Empire of corrupt influences was part of his job. But the way they planned to do it… 

He would join them anyway. Of course he would. The rest of the team seemed on board, so he would join. To keep everyone involved safe. He was a protector, that was his job.  

Their plan didn’t go as smoothly as they wanted it to, but it did end up going. Until, of course, the High Richter showed up. Bren was no wizard, not anymore, but when he saw that bead, he had an idea of what it would do. 

“Everyone get down!” He called out, managing to pull Jester down right before the explosion went off. He covered her, letting the fire skim over his skin, holding his breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Since he was a boy, fire was a part of him. He held it in his palms as a child, breathing life into it to feed the stove they used for cooking and for heating in the winter. He let it escape his grasping fingers as the crystals burned under his skin. And now, he took steady breaths, letting it glide over him. Once it subsided, he helped his friend get up, urging everyone to run. 

They darted through the streets, dodging guards, before hearing another explosion. The Zauber Spire, towering over the city, began cracking, collapsing to the side. Flying figures were attempting to stabilise it, and fighting against others who appeared to be the source of the explosion. 

He didn’t know who was flying there, but most chances were that it was no one good. 

They dove into the sewers, Bren taking the rear to ensure everyone got in safely. He saw Tracy spare nervous glances back at the spire as well, their eyes meeting briefly, thinking exactly who might be flying there. The dark and damp tunnels, filled with cobwebs and despair, were their salvation. At least until they heard the noise coming from ahead. Bren vaulted around and over his friends, planting himself at the front alongside Yasha and Mollymauk, when the armoured man burst from behind a corner. 

The armour was strange, almost organic-looking, and pitch black. His sword was sharp. And his face… blood red eyes and grey skin, fangs exposed in a snarl when he saw them. He was already hurt, it appeared. They all froze in place, for but a moment, before the man attacked and all hell broke loose. 

Dodging and punching and trying to pin him down , proved harder than they thought, with the shadowed duplicates he appeared to produce at will, but eventually, they managed to get him down. Unconscious. Jester made sure he stayed alive, at least long enough for them to interrogate. 

What the hell was a Kryn soldier doing in the sewers of Zadash? Bren had a feeling it had something to do with the attack on the Spire. Tied up and stripped of his belongings, the man didn’t look as feral as he had when they’d just seen him. He looked… hurt. Bren had seen men like him in the dungeon, only a few times, as a student. He knew Tracy had seen them many more. He immediately turned to check on her. She was sitting aside, nursing her injuries silently, glaring daggers at their prisoner. He could see she felt wrong-footed. Took one to know one, after all. He sat near her, in the muck of the sewers, examining the strange object they found in his possession. A crystal dodecahedron, glowing in dull grey light, pulsing almost like a heart. 

“What do you think that is?” She asked, glancing at it for only a second before turning her eyes back to the prisoner. 

“I heard about things like this existing. It’s a religious artefact of theirs, I think. I don’t know much about that.” He looked at it, staring deep inside, and felt it pulling at his consciousness, urging him to dive in. He pulled away, almost dropping the thing. Tracy was immediately on edge. 

“What?” She asked, hands at the ready to cast. 

“It felt like it was… pulling me in, I think. Don’t look in for too long. It’s not… it’s not trapping you, I don’t think, but I wouldn’t take the risk without looking into it first.” He said quietly, glancing at it tensely. He didn’t like anything that tried to infiltrate his mind. He carefully set it aside, hiding it. 

“It was him.” Tracy said, very quietly. Bren turned his full attention to her immediately. “Outside of the spire. I recognised him. It was him . This was too close. I can’t stay.” She grit her teeth. Bren stayed quiet by her side. 

“We are leaving soon, I think. Wouldn’t risk staying after… this.” He sighed. “But we also can’t risk leaving immediately. Too suspicious.” He would protect her, if it came to it. No one deserved to go back there. No one. And he was fairly certain he could keep Ikithon focused on him if need be. Tracy seemed to look at him like he fell from the sky. He only tilted his head in return. 

“Who says I’m sticking around with you?” She asked through a copper wire, trying to read him. He replied with pure sincerity. 

“No one. But I hope you will. We would miss you if you left.” He said plainly, like it was easy. It wasn’t easy, but it had to be said. He really didn’t want her to go off alone. She didn’t reply, didn’t say anything at all, but she was still there when they got to the tavern so that was a victory in his eyes. 

***

Sitting in the basement, with her only company being a skeleton and a glowing rock (damn that group, making her stay, damn her cowardice, not letting her sneak out, damn her luck, that today of all days, in the place she was in, he had to be), Beau ruminated on what’s to come. 

She could leave them. All of them. Even Nott she could do without, if she had to. She could go back to hiding silently in the countryside, between nameless villages and muddy roads. 

We would miss you if you left , she still heard Bren’s voice in her brain. She couldn’t get a read on him. Even knowing what he was, who he was, he was as hard to read as he had been before. When the fireball exploded, she could see the haunted look return to his eyes, and now she knew why too. He still wasn’t quite okay when they parted ways. She was surprised to find that she cares. 

The phantom touch of a blade to her throat urged her to leave. Fjord, with his weird sword pointed at her as she tried to get the scrolls. They don’t understand. They will never understand. 

Nott’s frantic, feral defence of her. Bren’s firm insistence that he lowers his sword and lets her go. She saw the glance exchanged between the two, and wondered if she had a bit more than she thought before. 

“We’re really fucked, Buddy.” She sighed, petting her familiar gently. He chittered softly, nibbling on her finger in reprimand. A reminder. Insistence pressing against her mind. Reassurance. “You’re not gonna leave me, I know. But there isn’t much you can do against him . Not much any of us can do.” She leaned back, head bumping against the wall, before looking at the crystal. 

Bren said it pulled him in. She could see his eyes going glassy and faded, like he was falling unconscious, when he looked into it. She get the magic pulsating out of the crystal, growing stronger as she looked in. As her eyes focused on the strange grey light,she felt herself drawn in. It didn’t feel malicious. It felt… familiar. Like her own magic, almost, but slightly to the left. 

The grey transitioned, turning into a colourful star scape. Grey-silver threads threaded around like spider silk, connecting flaring stars. She knew those stars, as intimately as she knew her own hands. Futures. Divination. Choices. Her magic. But the threads were new. With divination she could predict or set an outcome. With this, she could follow the road. 

A familiar mote of grey light landed on her, soaking into her flesh. It sat right beside her heart, like it always belonged there. The chill of it soothed an ache she didn’t know she was feeling, and she knew she was holding pure chance between her fingertips. 

She came to but a minute later, still in the cellar, and still with that mote of light in her chest, with tears of joy down her cheeks and a smile on her lips. 

With this unlikely cast of the die, she stayed.