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Orym digs his fingers in the gravedirt, letting the cool dampness soak into his skin. He’d dragged the crate into his quarters on the skyship after the message bloom wilted, leaving Orym with more questions than answers. He still feels stunned.
It was good to hear from the Voice of the Tempest. It’s even better to know that she’s coming to help them. With her power…Orym feels like they might actually survive this. Of course, her presence didn’t save Will or Derrig. And apparently it didn’t save the Ashari she mentioned who died in Terrah, either.
Not for the first time since hearing from Keyleth, he wonders who they lost. Was it someone Orym knew? Or someone that joined the Tempest Blades in the last six years of his absence? Would the Voice have told him if it was someone in his family? If it was Lita? Or would she have been worried about distracting him from the mission? He doesn’t know. His sister would have certainly been at the Voice’s side, which means she’ll be here soon. Unless she’s one of the ones who fell. The worry gnaws at Orym.
Even if Lita made it through the conflict in the Earth Plane, coming here is likely even more dangerous. Orym still has no idea what to expect out of the looming battle, but he knows it’s going to be bad. He’s faced Otohan twice, and both times she was deadly.
Danger aside, Orym’s not sure how he feels about seeing his sister. He hasn’t seen her since…since the attack. He’s only been back home once, and that trip was so brief he hadn’t had time to visit anyone.
That’s not true. He could have gone to see his family. He’d chosen to run off in the night again, as soon as the Voice of the Tempest gave him the mission to track down Oshad Breshio. He hadn’t been ready to face Will’s family. His family. He’s still not ready. But it doesn’t look like he has a choice.
With the hand that isn’t buried in dirt, Orym rubs at his tattoo. “Wish you were here.” He murmurs. Gods, he misses Will. He misses his father. All of this is so overwhelming. “I know she’s still my sister. But it feels different without you.” He takes a shaky breath. Of course Will’s family will always be Orym’s family. But there’s something about facing them that makes his grief sting sharper. Out in the world, away from Zephrah and anyone who knew his family, the loss becomes a private thing, something he can put away, something he can run from. Around people who never knew his husband, Orym didn’t have to be the grieving widow. It’s why he’d left; to escape the suffocating weight of their absence that had threatened to drown him back home. But with Lita in front of him, Orym can’t help but think about Will. Even six years later, it hurts .
Orym should sleep. The solstice is in three days. It’ll be two days when he wakes up. It’s ridiculous, but it almost feels like if he stays awake, it’ll buy them more time, somehow. He scrubs a hand across his eyes.
Fearne’s already asleep with the other witches. Orym smiles fondly. He’s still…not angry at Imogen, but wary of her. Being around her…he doesn’t want to think about the choice she’s going to have to make when they face her mother. He doesn’t want to remember the anger he felt at the woman who helped bring about his family’s death, doesn’t want to feel that when he looks at his friend. Imogen is good. He believes that. But she’s in a terrible position right now, and Orym doesn’t have the strength to help her when what’s right seems so clear to him.
But Fearne, capricious as ever, seems to have already forgotten the conversation they had about what will happen if Imogen turns. Orym wishes it were that easy for him to forget. Not just the anger, but the smell of poisoned blood, the cold weight of a body in his lap, the pain—
A knock on his door pulls Orym out of his memories. “Orym? You in there?” He’s surprised to hear Ashton’s voice on the other side of the door. They’ve been making themself scarce since Orym and Fearne spent the night in their room a few days ago. Orym had been wondering if he’d crossed some boundary he hadn’t realized was there, but he hasn’t had the energy to ask Ashton about it. Probably best to give them space and let him decide when to come to Orym. Or maybe that’s just Orym being afraid.
“Yeah, I’m in here.”
The door creaks open. Orym looks up from the makeshift planter to meet Ashton’s eyes. They look…sheepish. It’s a new expression for them. Despite himself, Orym lets his eyes trace over their face; the lines of gold shot through their skin, the opalescent sheen of their mostly blind left eye.
“Hey.” Ashton says. If Orym weren’t so exhausted and worn thin emotionally, he would laugh. It’s an absurd way to start a conversation with someone you plan to stop the end of the world with in three days. But Orym guesses there isn’t exactly a greeting that wouldn’t feel ridiculous.
“Hey.” He says back, watching Ashton shift from foot to foot in the doorway. They look hesitant, like they want to ask for something. Orym knows how difficult that is for them. Maybe this is the perfect distraction; someone else’s problems to throw himself into until he’s drained enough to finally fall asleep. “Are you hurting? I can warm up the heating pad, or there’s still some of that ointment left.” He reaches for his pack.
“No.” Ashton says, shaking their head. “I mean, yeah , fucking always , but that’s not why I…” Their roaming eyes fall on the crate of soil in the middle of Orym’s room. At his hand still buried in the dirt. “What are you doing?”
Orym follows their gaze and shrugs, embarrassed. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
Ashton takes a few steps closer and kneels by the crate, inspecting the dirt for new growth. “Did that…uh, Tempest Voice person message you again?”
“The Voice of the Tempest?” Orym shakes his head, dropping his pack back to the floor. “No, it was a one use thing, I guess.” His voice sounds more bitter than he intends.
Ashton picks up on it. They raise an eyebrow. “Are you…I mean, it’s none of my fucking business, except that she’s probably the best fucking chance we have of not dying in a couple days, but you seemed…almost disappointed , when you heard from her earlier. I don’t know shit about your, uh… Ashari stuff, but is it not a good thing that she’s coming?”
“No.” Orym shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s a…a really good thing. The Voice, she’s… powerful. The most powerful person I’ve ever met. It’s good that she’s coming.”
“But…?” Ashton fills in, shifting off his knees, back braced against the wall across from where Orym sits on his bed.
Orym shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to put the complicated tangle of emotions into words. Especially not to Ashton . How can Orym explain that he loves his family more than anything, that he knows they love him, and yet to see them now cuts more deeply than even Otohan’s blade? How can he say that to someone like Ashton, whose entire family is gone, who has suffered so much for that loss, without sounding cruel?
Evidently, Orym doesn’t have to explain. “Is this about your sister?” Ashton asks.
Orym sighs. “Sort of.” He scoops up a handful of dirt again, lets it trickle through his fingers, back into the crate. “It’s…it’s stupid. But this seed…I’ve been holding onto it for a while now. And I guess I had it in my head that one day, once I figured out who it was that attacked Zephrah, that killed… ” His voice breaks. “Once I stopped them, made sure they could never hurt anyone again, I’d finally feel ready to go home. And I thought that I’d take this seed, and I’d plant it by their graves. My husband, and my father. And I’d water it and tend it and I’d tell them all about what I’ve done, these past six years.” The dirt in front of him blurs as his eyes sting with tears. “But now it’s gone. Like I said, it’s stupid. It was probably never going to happen, anyway. But I hoped it would.” He wipes at his eyes. “That hope got me through a lot.”
A hand brushes his, and Orym blinks. Ashton’s green skin contrasts prettily with the dark soil. Their fingers curl around Orym’s where he’s still digging through the dirt. Orym looks up and meets their eyes. “It’s not stupid.”
Orym sniffles, squeezes their hand. He should thank them for this gesture; touch is never a small thing, coming from Ashton. But part of him wants to recoil from it. The thought of seeing Lita again has brought the pain of losing Will unavoidably into the present. Whatever this new thing is that’s blooming between Orym and Ashton…a part of him knows that Will would not begrudge him this, that he’d want Orym to find happiness again, if he can. But something inside him still twists with guilt.
Not only that, but fear. Here he is, going into battle against Otohan with people he loves at his side again, and no guarantees that he can protect them. That he won’t get them killed, too. He sighs. Pulls his hand out of Ashton’s grip. They don’t resist. They’re quiet for a long moment. “You know, I don't even know if Lita wants to see me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.”
Ashton waits, patient as ever. Orym wants them to know just how little he deserves that patience.
“I haven’t…I saw my mother, when the Voice summoned me back. But I haven’t seen any of Will’s family. I couldn’t…” His voice breaks. “I sort of abandoned them, after…” He can’t bring himself to look at Ashton. How many times have they said you don’t leave people behind? But that’s exactly what Orym did. They’re going to see him differently after this, he’s well aware, but that’s all the more reason Orym needs to tell them. They deserve to know what they’re getting into, caring about Orym like this.
“We were all grieving, and I couldn’t face it. So I ran. I made them lose me, too.” He lets out a sad little huff. “I justified it, y’know? I told myself that this way they could just worry about their grief. They wouldn’t have to see mine, too.” He closes his eyes. “Mine felt so much bigger. Like it would crush all of us. Maybe it was just crushing me.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “And I told myself I would find the people that did that to us. Even before the Voice had any leads, I told myself I’d find something. That I’d come back when I could tell them all that I stopped them. ” He shakes his head, runs angry fingers through his hair, pulling hard. “It’s been six years, and what do I have to show for it?”
“You fucking found them, Orym.” Ashton points out.
Orym shakes his head. “Yeah, and I couldn’t stop them. Otohan killed me too. Now the Voice of the Tempest has to come bail me out. My sister has to come bail me out.”
“You know you don’t have shit to prove to anybody, right? This whole idea that you have to earn your grief is fucking bullshit.”
Orym shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”
Ashton shrugs. “What is there to understand? You went through some shit and you didn’t handle it well. Big fucking shocker. Nobody handles their shit well. It’s fucking normal.”
“My shit might get her killed, Ash. If she’s not dead already.” Orym snaps.
Ashton cocks their head. “That…’Terrah’ shit?” He asks.
Orym nods. “I don’t know…I keep telling myself that if something happened to my family, the Voice would have told me. But I don’t know. Maybe she was afraid it would distract me. That I’d run again.” He looks up at Ashton, tears burning in his eyes. “I can’t lose anyone else, Ash.”
Ashton nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I fucking get it.” They sigh. “I dunno your leader, so I don’t know what she’d tell you or not. But I do think…if your sister shows up, it means she wants to see you.” They shrug. “I know you don’t…this is probably new for you, but if people don’t give a shit about you, they fucking leave, and they don’t fucking come back. Believe me, I know.” They get a distant look on their face.
“You don’t think the Nobodies would show up, if you could call them?” Orym asks.
Ashton huffs. “I don’t know what they’d fucking do. Part of me…it’s a relief Milo doesn’t know where they are. I never have to fucking find out.”
Orym studies them, the way their eyes tighten, the way their fingers trace a vein of gold down their arm. He’s filled with something fierce. “Anyone who wouldn’t come back to you is an idiot.”
Ashton closes their eyes. Orym watches their throat work, like they’re swallowing tears. “I must’ve been surrounded by idiots my entire fucking life, then.” They whisper, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“You must’ve been.” Orym agrees, tone brooking no room for argument.
Ashton scoffs, but they don’t argue.
“I can’t lose any of you , either.” Orym murmurs, wiping at the tears cooling on his cheeks. “If Otohan…” His voice breaks, and he trails off. It’s all he sees every time he closes his eyes; each of his friends dying at Otohan’s hands, again. He won’t let her take anyone else from him. Even though he has no idea how he’ll be powerful enough to stop her. “It would be my fault.”
“How would that be your fault?” Ashton counters, but Orym’s too twisted up with nerves to be rational.
“Because it would, Ash.” He snaps. “Every time I’ve faced her, every single time, the most important person to me within a mile dies. You think that’s a coincidence?” He shakes his head. “I’m cursed. I couldn’t stop her in Zephrah. I couldn’t stop her in Bassuras. I don’t know what makes you all think I can stop her now.”
Ashton is scowling at him. “We don’t expect you to stop her. We’re fucking stopping her together. It’s not all on you, asshole.”
Orym laughs. It’s so Ashton, to cuss him out while trying to comfort him. “I’m a guard, Ash. It’s my job to stop people like this. It’s my job to protect you. All of you.” He closes his eyes. “But the people who get close to me, they die. Always.” He pulls the sending stone from his pocket. “As much as I wish Dorian could come help us, I’m glad he’s stuck on another continent, because then maybe my messed up fate can’t get him killed, too. I wish you were all there.”
“You really believe that.” To Orym’s surprise, Ashton doesn’t sound mad. More…amused. It’s infuriating. He opens his eyes to see Ashton shaking their head in disbelief. “That it’s your fate to get people killed?”
“Why wouldn’t I? The gods are watching. The Voice of the Tempest has met the goddess of fate—” Angry, frustrated tears are burning in his eyes now. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “Maybe this is mine.”
Ashton shakes their head, as certain as Orym’s ever seen him. “The universe doesn’t revolve around you like that. No one’s fucking important enough. Fate is just something lucky people tell themselves exists so they don’t have to feel guilty for how good they have it.” He huffs. “We’re not a fucking board game the gods get to play. I don’t know fucking much, but I do know that everything that’s ever happened to me is random fucking chance.” They tilt their chin up, looking down at Orym; a challenge. “Or do you think I fucking deserved this?”
Orym deflates. “Of course not.” He sniffles, the weight of exhaustion and anxiety and grief settling heavy on his shoulders. “I’m just afraid of what being close to me is going to cost you all.” He looks up at Ashton pointedly, vision still blurred by tears. “Especially the people that are closest to me.”
Ashton’s certainty wavers, just a bit. “Why do you care so much?” They ask. “You’ve known us for…what? Two months?” They shrug. “Fearne I get, but the rest of us…”
Orym frowns. “You care, too, Ash. I’ve seen it.”
Ashton won’t meet his eyes. “S’different.”
“How?” Orym presses, leaning forward, tears momentarily forgotten now that there’s a problem in front of him, someone else’s pain to ease. Ashton sits in silence for a long moment. Orym can be incredibly patient.
“Cause I don’t have any fucking body else? Cause I’m fucked up when it comes to picking who to care for? Cause I’m using you to—” They break off suddenly. Drop their head in their hands. “Fuck.”
That takes Orym off guard. Of all the things he’d expected Ashton to say, he’d never imagined this. He thinks back on all the things they’ve been through in the past two months; Ashton carrying Laudna’s body through the streets of Whitestone. Ashton throwing themself between the witches and anything deadly. Ashton protectively holding onto a fritzing FCG. Ashton on all the nights they’ve let Orym close to them, revealing a startling vulnerability under their stoney skin. Ashton riding to the end of the world with them all. “You’ve risked a lot for someone that’s using us. What have you gotten out of this arrangement?” Orym asks.
Ashton huffs. “You know you should be pissed about that, right?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I have…issues when it comes to who I care about, too.”
Ashton shakes their head. “I got out from under Hexum’s thumb, for one fucking thing.”
“You had Imogen message her and tell her you owe her a few days ago, on the off chance she knew of something that could help us.” Orym points out.
Ashton sighs. “Yeah, well. That was cause it’s the end of the fucking world. Probably gonna die in a few days, and I don’t exactly have to worry about paying up then.”
“You’re not going to die.” Orym insists immediately, even though he knows he can’t promise that. He has no idea what’s going to happen when they reach that Key. It’s what’s kept him up every night they’ve spent on this ship.
Ashton just looks at him, like he’s trying to understand what makes him tick.
It’s Orym’s turn to look away. “You still didn’t tell me what you’re using us for.” He points out.
“Mmmm.” Ashton rubs at their temples. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t…can you just pretend you didn’t hear that? I know that’s a big fucking ask, but I…if we die, it won’t matter, anyway.”
Orym starts to protest. Ashton holds up their hand.
“Fuck, Orym. Can we just keep…whatever this is between us how it is right now? It’s…you’re one of the best things in my life. Ever, not just right now. I really don’t wanna fuck it up if m’not gonna have time to try to fucking fix it. So can we…look, I promise, if we both live through this shit, we’ll talk about it. Okay?”
Orym hesitates. There’s something in Ashton’s expression that tells him this isn’t something small they’ve blown out of proportion with their skewed sense of self-worth. Whatever Ashton is halfway talking about matters to them. That makes Orym want to know what it is. But he can also sense that if he keeps pushing Ashton will leave, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to lose them, especially if…
Well. Who knows how much time any of them have left?
“Yeah, okay.” Orym agrees. “On one condition.”
Ashton raises their eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Orym meets their eyes. “You accept that I care about you. If I’m not allowed to know whatever you think would ruin this, then you’re not allowed to act like it’s already been ruined. Okay?”
Ashton stares at him for a long time. Orym holds his gaze, keeps his face an open book, prays that Ashton will read something reassuring.
Finally, they deflate. “Okay.” They breathe. Orym nods.
Two days. Whatever it is will keep for two days. And then it might not even matter anymore.
Orym hopes that it does. “I’m looking forward to being really mad at you in a couple days.”
Ashton laughs, a true one this time. ”Yeah, well. You better get fucking used to it.”