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~Nine Years Earlier~
Callum wandered out into the vast, intimidating castle corridor, hugging his arms around his small frame as he tiptoed across the long ornate red rug with golden trim. It was deserted aside from a few guards who merely nodded to him; maybe one or two gave him a concerned look as to why he was out and about in the wee hours of the morning. The young prince kept his head down, trying not to cause any trouble as he made his way to his destination.
Reaching the king’s chamber, Callum glanced up with huge emerald green eyes at the two guards stationed on either side of his stepfather’s bedroom door. “Uh… can I go in?” he asked timidly.
The guards gave each other a side-eyed look. “I don’t see why he can’t,” the one on the left whispered. The right one at least gave Callum the courtesy of kneeling down to his level.
“Alright, Your Highness. But just so you know, he’s not awake yet.”
“That’s okay,” the little prince said, shifting uncomfortably between his feet, his hands twisting in front of him. “I just wanna… be in there.”
“I understand,” the guard nodded, a twinge of sympathy in her voice. She and her cohort parted their halberds so Callum could pass through the doors. Sure enough, his stepfather King Harrow was still in bed, breathing deeply as he slept. All alone. Callum’s gaze fixated on the untouched pillows beside his stepfather in the huge canopy bed, fluffed and ready for use. But he knew they would never be used. Not anymore.
The young boy hugged himself again. Queen Sarai, his mother, was gone. She was dead. She was never coming back. It had been a fortnight since her funeral and every possible iteration of the truth had been spoken to Callum as if he hadn’t heard it the first time. “Do you understand?” so many people with good intentions had asked him. Of course he understood. He wasn’t stupid.
But he was tired of being alone in his room. Staring at the wall. Making a blanket fort to feel better. Drawing in his sketchbook. Sometimes crying. That was the worst because his mother wasn’t here to hug and kiss him anymore, so Callum would just cry and cry until eventually he stopped. Now his heart just hurt, and he wanted to be near his family. Or what was left of it.
It didn’t feel right to climb in bed beside King Harrow. He wasn’t his real dad, even though he was the only parent he had now. And his Aunt Amaya had finally left to go back to her station at the Breach, as much as Callum hadn’t wanted her to go. She was the closest link to his mom that he had, wasn’t she? His lower lip trembled. Maybe coming in here was a bad idea. He should probably just go back to his room.
A little whine was heard from the crib in the corner, and Callum whipped his head around. Another whine, this time louder and fussier. Tiptoeing over to the cream-colored bassinet, the young prince dragged over a stool and hoisted himself up so he could get a good look inside.
“Ezran?” he whispered. His baby brother was writhing on his back, his face scrunched up as if he were about to cry. “Are you okay, Ez?” Callum reached down and stroked his finger over one of Ezran’s tiny hands, and the baby prince opened his bright blue eyes. His fussing diminished somewhat at the sight of his big brother, a smile spreading on his face.
“Were you having a bad dream?” Callum asked, helping him to sit up. “It’s okay, I— I’ve been getting them, too.” Ezran gazed up at him curiously, as if asking if he wanted to talk about it. Callum didn’t know if he did or not, and yet somehow he found himself doing so anyway. “They start out normal. Mom is there, and she’s smiling. Laughing, and playing with us. And then we’re all falling together. Down, down, really far, and I’m reaching for Mom. But she just smiles and waves at me. And… and then she’s gone…”
The young prince buried his nose in his arms on the edge of the bassinet. “That’s usually the part where Mom would come and tuck me back into bed. She’d hug me and tell me it was just a dream…” He sniffled, tears falling to soak into his sleeves. “When— when King Harrow told me that Mom died, I thought that was a dream, too. That I’d wake up and she’d be there to tell me it— it wasn’t r-real—”
Baby Ezran could not understand what his brother was saying, but his heartbreak and distress scared him, causing his lip to tremble and tears to well in his giant blue orbs. Callum could barely hold back his sobs, reaching with his hand to hold onto Ezran’s tiny one. “I miss Mom, Ezran. I… I want her back. And it’s not fair that—”
“Callum.”
The boy whirled around to see his stepfather peering down at him tiredly and sorrowfully, and his heart leapt into his mouth. “I’m— I’m sorry, King Harrow! I didn’t mean to wake you up, I— I was just all alone and I needed to—!”
Harrow said nothing, but knelt and opened his arms, wrapping them around the young prince and pulling him as close as he dared. “It’s alright. I’m here.”
His stepdad was here. Not his mother. And while his hug just wasn’t the same as hers, lacking the faint scent of jelly tarts and sweet hum of music in his ear, King Harrow’s arms were still warm and safe. And right now, it was enough for little Callum to finally let go.
“I wish— I wish she could come back!” he sobbed as if his heart had cracked in two, his fingers digging into Harrow’s dreadlocks as the king’s low hush attempted to soothe him. “Why’d she have to go fight?! Why couldn’t she stay here?!”
His stepfather didn’t respond, nor even know how to answer. The boy had pierced him with the very question he had asked himself over and over every day since he had lost Sarai. Why she had chosen to follow him on the expedition that had sealed her fate, he would never know. Leaving him alone, unmoored and shattered with two heartbroken boys. Harrow didn’t know the first thing about raising children— how he had relied so heavily on his wife to be there to guide him. Now as he sat crumpled on the floor with Callum in his lap, listening to Ezran wailing in his crib along with him, the king found himself at a loss.
“I miss her, too,” was all he could say. Even those words tried to stick in his throat, choked with tears he thought he’d wrung dry. “And as much as she meant to me… I feel it will never compare to how much she meant to you, Callum.”
“I didn’t get to— to say goodbye…”
“I’m so sorry…” Harrow pulled back slightly and brushed Callum’s bangs back from his eyes. “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Uh-huh,” the young prince nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“What was the last thing your mother said to you before she left for the Border?”
Callum’s lips trembled, but he straightened up and tried to put on a brave face. “She woke me up really early in the morning. It was still dark. She said she was leaving on the same trip as you, and I didn’t understand ‘cause I thought she said she was staying with me and Ezran. But then she said… she said you and she are stronger together, and that’s why she had to go too.” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “That’s when I knew it wasn’t just a trip. You were doing something dangerous.”
“Stronger together…” Harrow closed his eyes, wet with hot salty tears. “Sarai…” He pulled his stepson close once more, “Thank you, Callum. I know it isn’t easy to talk about this.”
“Talking actually made me feel a little better,” Callum said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “We… we can talk about Mom some more if you want.”
Harrow finally smiled, “I’d like that.”
“Do you know what her favorite jelly tart flavor is?”
He knew, but he wanted Callum to tell him. “What is it?”
“Poppy seed with honey!” Callum said triumphantly, as if he had just solved a hard history question.
“Hmm, then how about we bring some poppy seed and honey jelly tarts as an offering to your mother tomorrow?” the king suggested. “You, me and Ezran. Just the three of us, and we’ll spend some time in your mother’s company.” He stood to gather his infant son into his arms, and his cries gradually softened into sweet little coos.
“Okay,” Callum said, nodding slowly. “I think I’d like that.” He thought for a moment, furrowing his little brow. “Seems weird to give her presents when it’s not her birthday, though. Maybe we can also bring her jelly tarts on her birthday?”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” his stepfather agreed, kneeling back down with his baby brother in his arms. “So it’s settled. Every year on your mother’s birthday, we’ll bring her a huge plate of poppy seed-flavored—”
“Every flavored!”
“Every flavored jelly tarts,” Harrow corrected himself with a good-natured chuckle.
“And you’ll be there, right?” Callum said. He gripped Harrow’s large warm hand with both of his small ones. “I… I don’t wanna go without you.”
“Of course, Callum.” Harrow reached up and stroked the back of the boy’s neck, “I’ll always be there right next to you. Every time.”
“It looks like sugar-dusting out there.”
That was Ezran’s cue line to Callum, to let him know that he was ready to go to the Valley of Graves on this, the first snowfall of the year. It had always been, for as long as he could form full sentences. And for equally as long, Callum would respond with “Time to mix it with jelly”— indicative of the plate of jelly tarts they would bring as an offering.
But this time, his brother didn’t answer. He barely even acknowledged that there was someone else in the room, staring out at the setting sun and hugging his pillow to his chest. He didn’t even shift over when Ezran sat down next him on the mattress, peering closely at his face, dull and expressionless.
“Callum? Did you hear me?” His emerald eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, the pillow at his chest stained with dark splotches, and the young king cautiously placed a hand on his arm. The anniversary of their mother’s death always cut Callum deeply, but Ezran knew that was far from the only thing paining him.
“Gimme one good reason why I should go,” Callum finally rasped out, the corners of his eyes glimmering in the setting sun.
“Because it’s for Mom,” Ezran said softly, rubbing his thumb gently over his sleeve. “And we always go, every year.”
“We always went with Harr— Dad.” He tried to take a deep breath, but it just came out in staggered hitches. Ezran’s heart tugged in his chest; he must’ve been crying all day. “But now… now he’s gone, too.”
“I know, Callum. We— we’ll visit him along with Mom if—”
“No,” Callum bit out, curling away and resting his temple against his bedpost. “I don’t wanna visit any of them.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t wanna be reminded that everyone leaves someday!” He hadn’t meant to shout, but too many big feelings had been building in his chest today. Maybe all week. If he were truly honest with himself, maybe for the past five months.
“I’m here…” Ezran said softly, moving his hand up to Callum’s shoulder and gripping it. “I’m not going anywhere, Callum.”
Callum snorted. “For now.”
His brother sighed deeply, not knowing what to say. There were a lot of feelings swirling around in Callum’s heart, some of which he understood. And some the depths of which he couldn’t comprehend, no matter how much he empathized. All Ezran knew was that tonight, he very well might be taking their traditional offering plate of poppy seed jelly tarts to their mother’s grave all on his own.
And that scared him. He didn’t want to face his own big feelings alone– no, he needed his older brother by his side.
“Callum,” Ezran tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, but it was impossible. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry things happened this year that hurt you. And you know I’m always here for you, right?”
Callum’s breath hitched dangerously, fresh tears building in his eyes, and Ezran’s heart seized, wondering if he said the wrong thing. But then the prince shut his eyes, letting the tears fall in thick rivulets down his cheeks, and breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Three or four times before his hand fumbled for Ezran’s smaller one, gripping his fingers tightly like they were his anchor to the present. “Yeah… I know,” he finally said.
“But, that’s kind of why I wanna go talk to Mom. We can tell her about all the bad stuff…” The young king’s face brightened, “But we can also tell her about the good things. Like Zym and bringing him home to Queen Zubeia all the way at the Storm Spire. And how brave you were, Callum.” He pulled him into a one-armed hug, “How you’re learning magic. And you’re really, really amazing at it.”
Callum snuggled his little brother close, his throat and nose burning as he fought back more tears. He loved and admired Ezran for seeing the light at the end of every tunnel, the silver lining of every storm cloud. He wanted, more than anything in the world, to be able to just sit at their mother’s grave like they did every year and partake in their annual jelly tart feast. But this year was different. Harder. Far more painful, and Ezran knew it, no matter how he tried to soften the jagged edges.
When Callum recalled discovering Zym’s egg and setting out to return it, he also recalled his stepfather and leaving him behind to die. His stepfather, who would never take them to their mother’s grave again, leaving the boys to not only visit hers alone, but also King Harrow’s. To share their endeavors with him as well as her. Saving Zym. The battle at the Spire. Learning magic…
It hurt. When Callum looked back, all of it just hurt. Because now, a huge part of that story– and a huge part of Callum’s heart– was missing.
“There was someone who could’ve gone with us…” Callum’s voice trailed off.
“I know,” Ezran soothed.
“I–I wanted to bring her there. We never got a chance to go.” With every holiday, with every anniversary, all he could think of was yet another missed opportunity with the girl he loved and missed so desperately that his very being was torn asunder. But Ezran didn’t want to hear about that anymore, Callum was sure. He had done nothing but rant and weep and turn it all over and over in his head to his little brother for weeks upon weeks that had somehow transformed into months. The last thing anyone in this castle wanted was to hear more about Callum’s broken heart.
Sources, he couldn’t even say her name.
“Callum, you know you can grieve for her at the Valley too, right?”
His head snapped up. “Wh-what?”
“You’re grieving,” Ezran repeated, pulling him tighter in his arms.
Callum shook his head, his lower lip trembling. “Ez, she isn’t…” At least he prayed every night to his parents’ spirits that she wasn’t. He truly did not believe he could go on if the unthinkable had happened to her.
“No, of course she’s not. But you’re grieving her in a different way. Kind of like how Soren’s grieving Claudia.” The boy passed a hand over Callum’s sketchbook he now kept strapped to his belt in a practical fashion. “I don’t think you’d be drawing her this much if you weren’t mourning.”
“How did you–?”
“You said I could look at your sketchbook whenever I wanted,” Ezran grinned, and his older brother sighed– he had indeed said that. “Look, if… if you really don’t wanna go, we can just eat the jelly tarts here. In bed, just like Mom and Dad loved to do.”
“Poppy seed isn’t really my jam.” The corner of Callum’s mouth lifted at his little joke, and Ezran smothered a giggle behind his hand. “We, uh… we better go give them to the one person who would’ve appreciated them the most. Besides, I’d hate for all of Barius’s hard work to go to waste.”
“Me too,” Ezran agreed, sliding off the bed and making to grab the now rather lukewarm tarts from the nightstand. Callum took his time getting properly dressed in his winter robes for the trek to the Valley, and Ezran could have sworn he saw him tuck a familiar blue phoenix feather into the inside pocket.
It was more brisk in the Valley of Graves than Callum expected, the snowy wind whipping his thick deep brown hair into a ruffled mess, and he pressed a hand protectively to the sketchbook on his hip even though he knew it was fastened securely. Every step he took along the slick cobblestone became heavier and heavier, the pit of dread in his stomach dense like a block of ice. He really hadn’t wanted to do this. Callum loved his mother, cherished her, missed her every single day, yet for the first time in his life, had truly considered skipping her traditional birthday meal. After everything that had happened this year, and the prince struggling desperately to weigh the good things against the bad, he didn’t think he would be able to bear it this time.
But Ezran wanted to go. He looked forward to it every year, hearing stories about the mother he never knew, what an incredible queen and warrior she was, and what a loving nurturing mother she had been. And in past years, they had made this walk to the Valley in the company of King Harrow and his rather terrible jokes to pass the time. Now, the royal brothers made their way alone in near silence, apart from the feeble attempts of the young king to make conversation.
“Soren and Corvus are already there getting things set up,” Ezran said, feeling more and more like he was talking to himself the longer his brother’s lack of response stretched on. “Aunt Amaya sent a message saying she’s on her way, but the Embertails fly so fast she might’ve beat us to the grave.” Still nothing. “Callum?”
“Yeah– yeah, sorry, I hear you,” he apologized, drawing his scarf tighter around his neck. Occasionally still, he caught a whiff of something that didn’t smell like him deep within the woolen threads. Lavender. Pine. Sage. Moonshadow Forest… Enough, Callum. Focus.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna turn back?”
I want to, more than anything…
“I’m sure,” Callum nodded stiffly, offering his brother a half smile. “C’mon, if we don’t get there soon, Soren will have eaten the entire offering.”
He was only partially right by the time they arrived, Queen Sarai’s beautiful marble statue towering over a long table set with at least a dozen baked sweets. Corvus was already in the middle of a stern reprimand to his fellow crownguard, who was attempting to counter argue his case through a mouthful of flakey crumbs and strawberry jelly.
“Ah’m on’y doing wha’—” Soren spluttered out before finally gulping down his tart, “—the late Queen would want me to do on her birthday! Indulging in the finest sweets the kingdom of Katolis has to offer.”
“Could you at least wait until everyone is here?” Corvus sighed out, rubbing his temple exhaustedly. “Her sons haven’t even arrived yet and–!”
“Her sons are right here!” Ezran called out, waving enthusiastically as both men hastily scrambled to stand at attention before their king and crown prince.
“Whoa, he got him out of his room,” Soren muttered to Corvus, earning a sharp look from a flashing pair of emerald eyes.
“I heard that,” Callum rasped irritably, stalking towards the table with his plate of poppy seed and honey tarts, glaring at Soren as he set them down audibly. “Okay, you guys have fun eating, I’m gonna go talk to Mom.”
“General Amaya is having her time with her sister,” Corvus said quickly, pointing across the table to the foot of the enormous statue, and Callum followed his gaze. Sure enough, his aunt was kneeling with a candle lit beside her. It was difficult to see what she was signing with her back to him, and on her other side was--
A lump grew to the size of a grapefruit in Callum’s throat. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Janai there, not at all. The Sunfire elven general and his aunt had been growing closer each time he saw them together, and there was no doubt that she made her happier than he’d seen her in years. And now, she had brought Janai to this most sacred family ground of theirs, indicating that things must be getting pretty serious between them.
It wasn’t fair. Callum had wanted to bring– even thinking her name made his vision blur with a fresh onset of tears. Was he jealous of his aunt’s relationship? Had what happened last summer truly made him so hardened and narrow-minded that he couldn’t even be happy for–?
“Are you okay?” He felt a smaller hand on his shoulder pulling him out of his stupor, and becoming aware of the warm tears on his face.
“I’m– I’m fine, Ez,” Callum stuttered, dashing the salty tracks from his cheeks with his sleeve. “It’s okay. It’s all okay…” He didn’t know who he was talking to now, and clearly Ezran didn’t either, glancing up worriedly at his older brother. Shaking his head, Callum glanced down quickly at him and forced a grin. “Hey, those tarts aren’t gonna eat themselves.”
Without looking back at the banquet table, he strode up to the statue and waited patiently for his aunt to finish her silent conversation with her sister. Janai turned and gave Callum a royal Sunfire elven bow, to which he inclined his head in return, which was when Amaya realized they had been joined by someone else. Rising to her feet, she turned to see her nephew waiting for her, and Callum bit his lip to hide its trembling.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Amaya signed before pulling him close in a softer version of one of her tight bear hugs, her hand stroking his hair. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to come,” she added with a somber expression once they broke apart.
“Too much loss this year,” Callum signed back, sniffling. “But I couldn’t let Ezran be alone.”
“You’re a good big brother, Callum,” his aunt praised him silently. “And you know you’re not alone either. Say the word and I’ll be there.”
“I know. Thank you, Aunt Amaya.”
Once she and Janai had made their way back towards the table, the prince suddenly felt very small when he gazed upon his mother’s stony face. Always so different from the warmth and laughter he had always known. And he hated that this was the only way his brother would ever know her.
“Oh Mom,” he sighed shakily, his breaths already wet and shallow when he fell to his knees to light one of the many candles adorning the grave. “I’m usually so happy today ‘cause– well, ‘cause this is the day I really feel like you’re listening when I talk to you. But this year… you already know, don’t you?” He huffed out a laugh, “He’s there too, right? Harrow? Dad? You’d love that I’m calling him ‘Dad’ now, you always wanted me to. Except I–”
Callum’s throat burned and he cleared it loudly. “I didn’t start calling him that until it was too late. Pretty awful, huh?” He blinked away the fog in his vision and went on, “It hasn’t all been bad. Some of it’s been pretty amazing, actually. Again, I dunno how much Dad’s told you, but we brought the Dragon Prince Zym back to his mother and started rebuilding peace between humans and Xadia. The– the night we found it is when Dad died, and that’s why… Ez and I are here alone.”
With trembling fingers, he felt for the buckles on his hip and freed his sketchbook from its clasps, flipping past all of his spells and primal magic notes to where his drawings began. Some of the parchment was yellowed, fading with age, and it broke his heart to think that someday his mother and father’s faces would fade from his mind’s eye just as slowly and with such finality. So Callum did the only thing he could think of to preserve these old childhood sketches: With the utmost care, he tore a few pages from the spine and rested them against the base of the statue, using stones to hold them in place so they did not blow in the path of the candles’ flames.
“I feel like you’d cherish these more than I would,” he rasped out in a tight voice. “Both of you always loved my drawings, and– and this is the way you remembered them especially, Mom.” He snapped the book closed and hugged it against his chest as if it were a security blanket. “Y-you know I almost didn’t come? I know– I know I come every year, I never miss it, but– but Harr– Dad was always with us, right?!”
His stomach, no longer a hollow pit, churned and bubbled with so many– too many feelings at once, rising and burning in his chest until they settled in his throat, practically choking him. “Now he’s gone and I had to be the one to bring Ezran here. I have to take care of him, and… and I’m not ready.” Callum was fifteen. A child. The crown prince of Katolis and one of the champions of the Battle of the Storm Spire, but still only a child. “I’m surrounded by so many people who look out for us. Aunt Amaya, Opeli, Soren, Corvus, and Barius, just to name a few.”
He bowed his head, resting it against the statue’s base as his shoulders began to shake. “And I know it sounds– s-so selfish, but I– I still feel so alone! We did something incredible this year, but I lost so much! I lost Dad! I lost—!”
A searing white hot pain shot through his heart as her face burst so clearly into his mind’s eye. Laughing. Smiling. Gazing at him with so much love and tenderness in her luminescent violet eyes as she parted her soft pink lips. Despair etched into every line of her pale face as glistening pearl-like tears clung to her silver lashes. He still loved her. Despite it all, he still loved every single thing about her, and it never let him go.
“Rayla.” It released from him like a sob, carrying with it every ounce of shock, fear, and sorrow that had cascaded upon him since the day he turned fifteen. “Her name was– is Rayla.” Reaching inside his robes, Callum felt for the blue phoenix feather, prepared to set it on the grave as part of his offering. To relinquish it once and for all. Yet it remained in his fist, burning into his palm as her farewell letter was burned into his mind. As every part of her burned in his heart, both as a searing heat and a warm comforting flame.
No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. His fingers unraveled from around the feather and shakily covered his face, hiding his shameful heartache from the world. “We couldn’t have brought Zym home without her. Ezran probably wouldn’t be here if not for her. I wouldn’t have become a mage.” A sound escaped his throat, something like a dry laugh. “I’m a mage. She believed I was a mage, and it felt so right, Mom.”
Callum laughed again. And laughed. His eyes clouded with hot tears as his shoulders continued to shake, the laughter dissolving into wracking sobs, hard and painful against his lungs that made it hard to breathe. “Sh-she’s strong and funny and kind and the– the most incredible person I’ve ever known in my life. Y-you would’ve loved her, Mom– Dad. If she was here, this– this wouldn’t be so hard!”
He pounded his fists against the statue’s base, and he thought he heard the chatter at the banquet table behind him die down. “I could’ve done more… I should’ve been able to do more. If I worked harder, if– if I was more powerful and knowledgeable, then she wouldn’t have left. Right? Right?!” Callum swiped at his face as the tears dripped onto the fallen snow at his knees. “If I keep working hard and learn enough magic, I’ll become a great mage. And– and when I become a great mage, I can protect everyone I love. I won’t lose anyone else! I can’t lose anyone else!”
“Callum–”
“I have to learn even more! I have to push myself harder as a mage! Without it, I’m– I’m just powerless! Useless! Nothing!”
“Enough, Callum! You’re tormenting yourself!” A small hand pressed into his back, steadying him before he toppled over completely. “I’m here, it’s okay.”
“It’s not— it’s not, Ez, I— I’m supposed to be the one who— I’m your older brother—”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Ezran gently guided Callum into a sitting position, his back pressed against the statue of their mother as he covered his face with his hands and wept audibly. Keeping an arm around his brother, the young king glanced up at Queen Sarai’s chiseled face and let out a shaky sigh.
“Hi Mom,” he said softly. “A lot happened this year. I’m sure Callum told you all about it. But the biggest thing, aside from hatching Zym and bringing him home, was assuming the throne. Assuming… Dad’s throne.” Ezran bit his lip, “It’s been hard. There are times I’ve been afraid. Or hopeless. But not alone. Never alone. I have so many people to be grateful for. Opeli and Corvus. Soren is still here. Aunt Amaya has the sweet tooth and iron fist we miss so much about you. And even though you and Dad are both gone… I still have my big brother.” His voice broke, “I still have Callum.”
“Ezran…” Callum reached out and drew him underneath his woolen cloak, pressing a tear-stained cheek to his hair as his younger brother began to sniffle into his chest.
“We’ve been through a lot this year,” Ezran went on in a warbling tone, tears soaking into his brother’s tunic. “Losing Dad. Lord Viren and Claudia… Meeting Rayla, then losing her so fast… it’s like blinking your eyes and half your family’s just gone. But Callum…” The boy slid his arms around his waist and hung on tight, “If he’s been sitting here putting himself down, Mom, then he’s wrong.”
“But Ez–”
“You’re wrong, Callum,” he stated firmly before looking back up to address their mother again. “He’s been doing an amazing job being– well, everything for me. My advisor, my confidant, my defender, and my brother most of all. Callum takes such good care of me. Maybe too good sometimes, but I know it’s only because he loves me. And I love him too, so much. You should see all the things he can do with Sky magic, Mom. He’s the first human to connect to a primal source in centuries and he doesn’t give himself nearly enough credit. He— he jumped off a mountain without knowing if he could fly or not, and he did it!”
Ezran threw back his head and laughed in triumph, which finally elicited a small smile from his mournful brother. “Nobody works harder or loves more deeply than Callum does. You’d be so proud of him, Mom. Just like I hope you’ll be proud of me…” He swallowed hard, “I want to be my own king, and bring peace to the Kingdoms and Xadia. But I’m only one person, and… and not everyone agrees.”
“We’ll make it happen, Ez,” Callum promised, kissing the top of his head. “One day at a time.”
“It just seems so far away. What if we never get there?” Ezran buried his face in Callum’s chest, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “Wh-what if we’re not here to see it?”
“Maybe we won’t be. But you’ll have taken that huge first step, Ezran.” Callum squeezed him close, “You chose to end centuries of war and cycles of violence. That’s what makes you a great king. You don’t need to hope that Mom would be proud of you, because I know she would be.”
It was a certainty that most of the jelly tarts must have been gone from the banquet table as laughter and lively conversation drifted over to the royal brothers. Yet they never moved from the base of the statue, basking in each other’s comfort and company as Ezran idly flipped through Callum’s sketches. When he landed on one of Rayla, his breath caught as he quickly tried to flip away from it, but Callum’s hand laid atop the page gently, Ezran feeling a long sigh release from his chest like a weight releasing pressure from his heart.
“I think I’m gonna keep this one someplace special,” Callum spoke gently, his fingers stroking the curved lines of the Moonshadow elf in action, brandishing her butterfly blades, glancing off into the distance with her hair flowing behind her. No matter how hard he tried, he would never do her beauty justice. “Maybe hang it up near my desk so I can look at it every day.”
“Really?” Ezran smiled. “I’m so glad, Callum. For a while you… you couldn’t even say her name. And I was worried. She means a lot to both of us.”
Callum used his shoulder to dash the tears from his cheek. “If I never see her again, then I always want to remember what she looked like. Who she was. How much I…”
There were some things he still could not bring himself to say, but Ezran understood without the need for any words. Giving him a slight nudge, the young king jerked his head towards the sky. “The sun’s setting, and everyone’s still waiting for us.”
Callum smirked, “Think they saved us any jelly tarts?”
“Only the poppy seed and honey ones.” Ezran’s smile widened, “Exactly how Mom always liked them. You know Aunt Amaya wouldn’t settle for anything less.” He got to his feet, waiting for Callum to carefully close his sketchbook before he stood beside him. Wrapping their arms around each other’s waists, they took one last long look at the queen smiling down upon them, her marble eyes seeming to twinkle just for a moment.
“Someday you’ll bring her here.”
“What?” Callum’s breath caught in his throat. “Ezran…”
“You’ll see Rayla again, Callum, I know it,” Ezran said earnestly, pressing his hand against Callum’s breast pocket where he knew the phoenix feather rested.
“You can’t know that for sure,” the prince mumbled, hanging his head.
“I can. Because neither of you deserve this kind of heartache,” his brother insisted, taking his hand in both of his and squeezing it. “Mom and Dad’s stories are over. But yours and Rayla’s stories aren’t yet. And I know you’ll find each other someday.”
“How?”
“Because you and she are stronger together.”
Callum’s mind and heart were suddenly seized by something hidden, deeply repressed, perhaps from years and years ago. Stronger together… Mom? “Oh Ez…”
“Just like Mom and Dad were,” Ezran smiled. The brothers gripped each other in one last tight hug just before a call wafted over to them from the table.
“Hey guys! I’m showing a lot of restraint here not eating these two plates of tarts we saved for you!”
Callum finally let out a genuine laugh at Soren’s faux agony before stooping down to his little brother’s level. “Well Ezran, what d’ya say? ‘Cause I say… it looks like sugar dusting out here.”
“Ha!” the young king cheered, grabbing Callum’s hands and tugging him towards the table where their loved ones were waiting. “Time to mix it with jelly!”