Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keyleth leaned against the railing, letting the cool night air brush against her skin. It felt good to be alone for a moment, away from the sharp edge of ‘end-of-the-world’ diplomacy. She’s craving some more moments like that, where she could just be. But with the fall of Ruidus and subsequently everything else going on? Not a chance. 

A few hours ago, she had taken the time to stretch and adjust her posture before entering Rosohna, because she likely wouldn’t survive the next few hours without loosening up. She had her essentials—not a bad day for waking up and breathing, sure, though she's not sure how much she'll be able to focus and extend her opinion. Maybe I’ll finally cuss someone out today. 

The air folds in Keyleth’s wake as she steps onto the polished black stone of the Kryn Dynasty's throne room terrace. The meeting had been long and grating, filled with inquiries and veiled barbs between the dignitaries. The beacon was secured, and their council was grateful yet suspicious. The second someone suggested that more beacons may have been stolen, things started to go out of spiral faster than she anticipated. 

There’s tension; politics and tension don’t usually mix well. Keyleth wasn’t really a stranger to this particular talk, but the exhaustion of recent months made her patience thinner than she liked to admit. The Bright Queen and Quana have always been pretty amiable and mostly friendly towards Keyleth. Her subordinates on the other hand? They’re nagging and annoyingly pious clergymen of a god that probably doesn’t actually exist. 

She doesn’t cuss anyone out.

Instead, she finds a balcony. The sight of the Kryn capital was a sight to behold beneath her—it’s strangely devoid of light and the cold night air felt starkly alien and distinct compared to Zephrah’s warmth. She tells herself it’s a nice contrast, that diplomatic relations with the Kryn Dynasty and everything else but what happened these last few days after the war with Ludinus is what she should focus on. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to everything else. The Bloody Bridge…Vox Machina…Ruidus… God, where’s Bells Hells right now?

Vax. She felt it swarm her thoughts again. Vax'ildan... A chance for salvation, peace of mind, a new beginning stripped away again. Again. 

Keyleth shakes her head and instead diverts her focus to finding a tree suitable enough to travel. The extremely dim lighting of the green lamplights doesn’t make it easier for her but she makes due. She starts tracing her finger over the stone railing until a small swirl of green energy forms beneath her touch. She bends it, contorts it and as it starts to solidify—the soft clink of armor startles her. 

“What do you need?” She did turn with a bit of a flinch, but it was a soft slow one. One that isn’t really ideal for the approachable demeanor she’s supposed to maintain. 

“Voice of the Tempest” The drow said, clearing his throat. “Do you mind if I interrupt?”

She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Verin,” she said, straightening. From what she can tell, this particular knight champion’s too smiley to be a threat but it’s good to stay aware and keep a distance. “No interruptions left to be had, I think. Everyone else has already said their piece.”

He hesitated for half a breath, then shook his head. “No, not really. I just... noticed you left early. Thought you might want some company.”

Keyleth arched an eyebrow at him. “And you assumed that company should be you?” 

“I do not visit Zephrah often,” he stated. To his credit, Verin didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Meeting someone of your renown halfway across the world is simply a once in a lifetime opportunity, isn’t it?”

Despite herself, a small huff of laughter escaped her. It was fleeting, but Verin caught it, grinning as he approached. Looking closer, she sees he’s dressed as she’d seen him before the ship incursion and during this particular meeting: in sleek black armor marked with faint carvings. His hair, much like other dark elves she’d encountered, was stark white and braided. A glaive was strapped across his back, with a helmet of protruding horns tucked under one arm. 

“May I join you?” he asked, gesturing to the railing beside her. “If not, I can go. I’m, uh, not known for my subtlety.”

“No, no, you can stay. It’s fine.” She shook her head, auburn hair catching the light as she turned to look at him. “Subtlety isn’t always what’s needed. I’d probably like a chat.”

“I’m glad for the opportunity,” he smiled. “I didn’t expect to have to seek you out. You left the conference earlier than the Bright Queen thought and she had sent for me, to deliver a message. I thought it was fate.” 

“A message,” said Keyleth. Apparently it wasn’t just a chat. It was politics again, inevitably. Verin arrived with news: an invitation for the legendary Vox Machina to attend a formal event at the Lucid Bastion. Keyleth is fairly certain none of the other 5 legendary heroes except Vex would bother to show up. The whole of the matter, however, was the reinstallation of a Luxon beacon to its rightful place in the Bastion.  

Verin talked about the details and eventually went a bit over the rails and started talking about his interests too, charmingly of course. It wasn’t the kind of charm that overwhelmed or demanded attention. It was quieter, more genuine, like he was letting her in on some private joke without even realizing it. He’s composed, sure, but there’s definitely warmth to him, a genuine desire to connect, even if his words didn’t always land perfectly. She didn’t fully understand him yet, but she could already tell he wasn’t as straightforward as he seemed. And for now, that was enough for the Voice of the Tempest to feel comfortable and let herself talk.

It’s strange. Usually, as far as Keyleth knew, the Kryn Dynasty doesn’t host ceremonies for recovered beacons, but given the circumstances—and a desperate need to rekindle spirits—Leylas Kryn had apparently decided to make an exception.  

“Grudgingly, from what I hear,” Verin added with a small grin. “Still, I’m not surprised they’re throwing something together. We even skipped the Winter Solstice this year! Can you imagine? I’m just glad everything worked out in the end.”  

His enthusiasm was enough to shake Keyleth from her previous haze. Despite her previous irritation, she found herself responding, “Sounds like a bummer.” 

Verin nodded thoughtfully, as though it were the most profound thing he’d ever heard. “Say,” he started again softly, setting his helmet down near the railing. “How do you like sweets, Tempest?” 

“I—Huh? What do you mean?”

“There’s something I’d like to gift to you, if you’d take it.” 

Verin reached into a small pouch on his belt and produced a delicately wrapped morsel. He handed Keyleth a small, glossy parcel wrapped in paper. “A little tradition,” he said, grinning as he unwrapped his own. Inside was a small dense cube shaped sweet that shimmered faintly in the light, clearly dusted with fine sugar. “You can only find it in Rosohna. Us soldiers like to eat it before battle—for courage and stamina.”

Keyleth smiles. “What’s it made of?”

“It’s mostly nutty and great for energy. I had made some for my brother before he left for Vasselheim.” Verin’s grin melts into slight worry at her reluctant expression. “There’s nothing that even resembles poison, I assure you!”

The tempest shoots a confused look mixed with some amusement at the soldier. She chuckles, for what she assumes is an attempt at a joke. 

“It helps me prepare.” He gestures with his hands and straightens up quickly. “You don’t have to try it if you’re suspicious. I’m aware of how cautious someone of your repute has to be.”

Keyleth smiles at the knight. If anyone else said that, like maybe another stuck up asshole from Vasselheim or even Tova tried that, it’d be an annoyance. But Verin? That drow somehow managed to say it with full sincerity. He clearly admires her to an extent, but she isn’t so sure how reliable or truthful that admiration is just yet.

It’s nice to be admired, Keyleth, the ‘Former Legendary Warrior of Vox Machina and Current Leader of the Air Ashari Who’s Definitely Admired Often’ thought. 

“Thank you for, um, offering,” she said before she took a bite.  

It was pretty crunchy. The taste is mostly of nuts and honey. There was also a subtle tang of something fruity—perhaps dried berries?—and a lingering warmth, almost spicy, that spread across her tongue and down her throat. The dessert itself isn’t anything new. Keyleth probably had something exactly like this in Zephrah once; but the gesture still made her heart warm. 

Verin grinned. “Exactly! It’s meant to wake you up and steady your nerves. Good for focus. I’m quite proud of this particular batch.”

“Surprisingly, yes,” she gave a small nod and looked the treat over once more. No poison, apparently. Just sweetness. “It’s a nice treat. Thank you again, Verin.”

“Of course,” he murmurs. “I take it the rest of your expedition went well?” 

“It did.” Keyleth turned back to the view and quietly snuffed out the string of magic still in her hands. “Um— for the most part, yeah. We did what we were set out to do, and well… right now we’re just waiting on news from Ruidus.” 

“I applaud your success then. That Celestial— He was the entrapped Champion of the Raven Queen, was he not?”

“Celestial? No, no he’s…” She paused, catching herself. “Huh. That’s… one way to put it, I guess.”

Verin cleared his throat and continued. “We were instructed to escort you back through another skyship,” he said, voice lightening. but I thought, ‘Well, the extremely powerful Voice of the Tempest is here, and Vox Machina is reuniting. Surely they have their own ways of traveling.’”

She laughs. “I guess we just teleported away without checking in, didn’t we? I apologize. That was a very… emotional reunion.” 

“I trust the strength of your bond far outweighed any protocol.”

Keyleth gave him a half smile. It’s also nice to be trusted. “Were there a lot of…casualties? I know we were, uh, awfully reckless.” 

“Soldiers do indeed fall in the fog of war, but it was an earned victory.” Verin watched her closely, his expression softening. “Even when the task is completed, there are often some wounds that remain and they are being tended to. I’ve mourned the loss of some of my units.”

“How do the Kryn typically mourn?" she asks. "I’d assume with the option of consecution and all...” 

Verin’s hand glided briefly on his glaive before he set the weapon aside, leaning it against the terrace railing. “I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted. “You’re right. Many high ranking soldiers are actually consecuted (as am I) so the mourning part is sort of kept to a minimum. We are the sort to keep putting one foot in front of the other because stopping isn’t an option.”

She finally looked up and met his eye. His face kept that welcoming smile and Keyleth wasn't sure he’d taken his eyes off her since he got here. “You fought well the other day.”

“Really? I must thank you! Though, I am a bit embarrassed at my oversight. I should’ve known they had a trick like as that."

“They came prepared.” Keyleth takes a soft bite of her sweet. “I guess it wouldn’t be the first time an airship crashed near the Malleus Key.”

“Yes, but you took care of it. Incredibly so! I had not seen elementals fight before. You were formidable and handled the situation cleverly,” She wasn’t sure how often she’d heard that phrase. Did he just not see Cerkonos? Oh well. It felt pretty sincere coming from him, albeit a bit exaggerated. “You must be at peace knowing everything went well?

Keyleth glanced at him. There was an openness to Verin that caught her off guard. She can't quite pinpoint what it is.

“Peaceful isn’t exactly how I’d describe my time there,” Keyleth said, her voice low. 

Verin tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Did he not return safely?”

Her hands tightened around the railing. “Vax’ildan,” she said quietly. “Yes, he returned safely. We did not…get more than a night with him before he returned to his duties.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Tempest.”

She nods. “I know. This isn’t the first round of…condolences I’ve gotten.”

Verin hesitated, fidgeting slightly before he spoke again. “I… saw your friend. Briefly. When you brought him back.”

“Oh,” Keyleth turned to look at him fully, her green eyes searching. “You were there? At the Malleus Key?”

“Not for long,” Verin admitted. “It was intense. I didn’t want to intrude. But I saw him, and—well, he was hard to miss. That raven feather mantle, the way he carried himself…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Forgive me if I’m, erm, overstepping but, it is known among the general populace that you were lovers.” 

“That… travelled all the way here, huh.” The memory struck her right where it hurt, like salt on a fresh open wound. She just can’t seem to stitch it up no matter how hard she tries. 

Keyleth turned back to the city, her voice steady. For a moment, she considered dismissing him, retreating back into her solitude and rushing home. But just something in his expression—that quiet sincerity—made her continue. “I went on the expedition because I had to try, if there was any way… any way at all to save him at all. It wasn’t just for me. It was for him, for his soul, for the peace of mind of the countless people who worship the,” she sighed, “Matron of Ravens.”

Verin stayed quiet, and Keyleth has to assume he’s urging her to talk. She wonders how many other grieving soldiers he’s had this conversation with and grudgingly hopes the charm works on her current grief too. 

“In short,” she does eventually relent and continue. “We infiltrated it and the others were able to retreat safely.” 

He affirmed. “You succeeded.” 

She swallowed, her voice growing tighter. “And I succeeded. We brought him back. It’s strange. He was standing there, alive. Breathing. Looking at me like he always did—with that sort of, I guess, exasperation and affection? Like I’d somehow made things harder and easier all at once.”

He paused, seemingly deliberating if he should inquire further and eventually does, “What’s changed? After that brief reunion?” 

Her chest tightened, but she kept her tone composed. She had to. 

Why had she said Vax’s name? When she thought of the past, she saw him as he once was: bold, clever, and untouchable—But how did she see him now? As a memory? A ghost of the man she loved?

After everything that had happened, there’s a renewed question burning at the edges of her thoughts: What’s changed?

“N-Nothing, I guess. He made a vow to the Matron of Ravens and he has to…” She shook her head. She’s explained this a million times now and it’s never gotten easier. 

Verin’s expression was something of sympathy. “That’s harsh. Even for a god.”

“She gave us one night. I didn’t even want him back. We, his family, just wanted to make sure he didn’t have to suffer.” Keyleth’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. Her mouth was dry and she was immediately regretting saying anything in the first place. “Besides, she’s the god of death. Harsh and Unforgiving is her nature.”

“Does it make it any easier?” he said. She had to give him credit. Most people would back off or give their condolences and promptly run away at this stage of grieving. But he kept engaging her. 

“No,” Keyleth sniffled. “It doesn’t.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment. Keyleth shifted her weight, clearly unsure of how to proceed. She turned and started reaching for her magic again. But, to her surprise, he speaks up first.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said finally, his voice low. “I thought it was strange when I heard you were back to work less than a week after what must’ve been such an important day. I know this doesn’t mean much to someone of your status and you must hear it every day, but he seemed like a good man.”

“He was,” Keyleth agreed softly. “He was reckless, infuriating, and impossible to keep up with. But he was also… kind. Loyal. Maybe a bit too loyal.”

“Sounds like a man of virtue. I think us fighters and soldiers have a lot to learn from him.” 

“He did incredible things,” she admitted, tracing small, idle circles along the surface of the railing, her fingers seeking movement while her mind refused to settle.. “I–I’m sorry. I don’t know if it was appropriate for me to talk about something like this. For what it’s worth, thank you for listening.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you are correct to grieve here. I'm not uncomfortable in the slightest." 

“I hope that autograph is still worth something,” she chuckles lightly. “I don't even know why people bother asking me for autographs.” 

“Really? I know many people all across Exandria who are extreme fans of you and your troop, somehow more than I am.” “And I’m a fan who begged my brother to let me accompany the archivist just to meet you. 

“That’s really sweet,” said Keyleth, gently tapping her fingertips across her lashes, mascara smudging on her hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard anyone call us a troop before. Do you like poetry, Verin?” 

“Ah, I sort of do,” he said quickly, looking confused with himself. “I have visited Zephrah once. My mother enjoys poetry of that region most out of all of us. We do have more booklets besides the one you signed. Well, technically, my brother has the painted hardback copy of The Gale and the Ra—”

Keyleth turned sharply, laughing nervously. “Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for one night. Maybe… next time?” She straightened her back, gesturing toward the balcony door. 

“Ah, next time, then,” Verin said a bit reluctantly. There likely wouldn’t be a next time, not with someone as busy as Keyleth and she felt he knew that. “But I’ll escort you downstairs, at least.”

“Oh, there’s no need to—” She paused as he opened the door, holding it wide for her. He bowed, “After you.” She sighed, shaking her head, as she stepped past him. “Thank you, Verin. Really.”   

He smiled as he took his glaive and left the hall himself and started guiding her, a quick wide stride, the heels of his boots ringing on the steps as he went downstairs. 

The Lucid Bastion is spacious, its high, vaulted ceiling supported by slender columns of dark, polished stone. And, typical for a place like this, it is accompanied by an endless flight of stairs. Initially, Keyleth had teleported here. So, she really doesn't have to navigate places this large often and, as they descend more and more steps, she gets more and more amazed by the sheer scale. Even Percy’s castle isn’t this large. Verin’s armor clinked with every step taken and the echo made her shudder. 

He talked of the history of the portraits, of the renown of his den Theylyss and his equally accomplished older brother, as they went downstairs. Verin spoke with such warmth about his family, especially his older brother. This part of him takes Keyleth aback. She’d heard the Shadowhand had gone missing, and it felt strange to hear Verin speak so freely, so joyfully, about someone whose fate was still so uncertain. Maybe she could take a few notes from him. 

The soldiers they passed greeted them, a slight bow and a salute here and there. She found herself roaming, slowing down the pace, asking about every portrait of her own free will. And, eventually, what would be an egregiously long descent that would've killed her back feels easier on her. 

When they reached the entrance, Verin did quiet down and nodded, gave her a salute, and started heading back towards the archway. The doors opened and pale moonlight hit Keyleth's face, the light of a full moon. She took a step out and then he suddenly paused, and turned back to look at her with the most sincere and annoyingly cute stare. 

“Tempest,” he said quickly.

“Um—ah, Yes?” she turned. “Also, you can just call me Keyleth.”

“Right, Keyleth. Sorry, I just—” Verin started, hesitated, and took a step forward, readjusting his composure. “I feel like I should say something meaningful here, but honestly, I’m terrible at endings. But I just wanted to say... it’s been an honor. To meet you, I mean.”  

Keyleth blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “Oh, well… thank you. That’s kind of you to say. You’ve been… uh, very hospitable.”  

“Hospitable?” He tilted his head, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if that’s the word most people use to describe me, but I’ll take it.”  

She couldn’t help but smile back, shaking her head. “Alright, fine. How about charming, then?”  

“Now you’re just being generous,” Verin said with a small laugh, though the faintest flush of color crept into his cheeks. He straightened a little, brushing a hand through his hair. “Sure! Sure. It’s what friends—or allies—are for, yeah? Or… whatever you’d like this meeting to be.”  

“Friends?” Keyleth raised an eyebrow, amusement in her voice.

“Well, I mean, maybe allies is safer. Don’t want to presume, after all.”  

Her smile softened as she looked at him. “Allies works for now. But who knows? Maybe friends later.”  

Verin nodded, standing a little straighter now. “I’ll hold you to that, then.” He gave a small bow, his expression briefly serious. “I just hope I’ve been able to represent my country well.”  

“You have,” she said, her voice steady, the words coming easier than she expected. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a better diplomat than you give yourself credit for.”  

He chuckled, taking a step back toward the archway. “Well, let’s keep that between us. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”  

That first part was said with an awkward sort of confidence, the kind that made Keyleth unsure if she was being intentional or if the words had simply tumbled out before she could stop them. ‘Allies, not friends.’ Seriously? Loosen up Keyleth! It’s true she should be careful but that just felt cruel to her. Before she could think of a way to successfully throw herself off the stairs, Verin stepped towards her, his hand reaching out.

For a moment, she thought he was gesturing towards the exit, but then his fingers brushed hers, warm and steady. He held her hand gently, his grip firm but without presumption. “You’ve carried much alone,” he said, his voice quieter now, more *serious, which scared her a bit. “If you ever need someone, just for company, you know where to find me. I am almost never off duty here. Her Excellence keeps us busy.”

Keyleth froze, her mind stuttering like a misfired, flickering spell. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more: the touch, the sincerity in his tone, or the fact that he probably has no clue what he just implied. Is he even allowed to talk to her like that? Or is that part of his training? His voice made her chest feel weird in a way she hadn’t expected. 

“I—uh,” she stammered, her face heating. She pulled her hand back a bit too quickly, fumbling to mask her reaction. “Thanks, Verin. That’s… that’s kind of you. I should—um—I should get back. Lots to do.”

She turned sharply, her cloak swirling as she made for the door, her steps quick and clipped.

“Of course!” Verin called after her, his voice bright and cheerful. “Stay safe out there, Voice of the Tempest!”

The druid with the fancy title did not look back, her heart thudding in her chest as she strode away. By the time she reached the end of the corridor, her blush still hadn’t faded.

“Pull it together,” she muttered to herself, pressing a hand to her burning cheeks. But she couldn’t quite suppress the small, bewildered smile that crept onto her lips. 

Keyleth went back home, her thoughts still heavy but no longer unbearable. The cool wind tangled her hair, tugging at the edges of her cloak, urging her to stay. As she reached her quarters, she paused at the door, her hand hovering over the handle for a moment before pushing it open.

The room smelled faintly of cedar and wildflowers, the remnants of dried congratulatory bouquets left by her attendants. The hearth, though cold now, held the promise of comfort, and Keyleth allowed herself to exhale as she set her staff against the wall. She sees ravens perched on her bedroom canopy and willingly forces herself to relax, lying down on the bed. Maybe, just maybe, she can push the thought to the back of her mind. She gave the raven a small smile, a reassured one, that said: I’m glad to see you’re alright.

Chapter Text

The smell of flowers overwhelm Keyleth. 

She casts cantrip after cantrip for what seems like an impossible amount of time: spells to control plants, spells of breaking, spells of opening; each of them hit its weakness, crack the armor of the vines that entangle her, but they are endless. It regrows every time, and the smell of the flowers grows stronge.

The words come undone as she voices them, her vision is drenched in mist, colors bleeding into one another with every breath. The air was thick with the cloying scent of jasmine and lavender, their blooms pale and luminous. Among them, scattered, lay narcissus flowers of white petals, pale chrysanthemums trembling on fragile stalks, and delicate snowdrops bowing their heads as if in prayer. Clusters of gardenias exhaled their soft perfume, while bellflowers drooped with quiet melancholy. As her eyes wandered, she caught glimpses of star-like lilies and forget-me-nots, their faint hues almost swallowed by the endless sea of green.

In the very back of this scene stood one vibrant, defiant bloom—a purple flower so bright it seemed to glow. Its petals were wide and lush, stark against the pale canvas of the other blossoms. Keyleth reached out to touch it, her fingers brushing its soft surface, and the vines around her shivered and tightened.

They leapt, twining around the flower, sprawling over the void in an undulating carpet of curling shoots and greenish leaves and eventually, in the blink of an eye, exploded into black feathers.

There it was—the raven mask, its empty eyes gleaming faintly. It hung just beyond the greenery, watching her. She called out, unsure of what name or sound she made, but before she could take another step, a sudden gust of wind tore through the dream. 

Keyleth woke with a start, her breath catching, taking a moment to center herself, placing both feet on the cold wooden floor. She let the coolness ground her mind. The faint scent of jasmine and lavender lingered, though it had no place in her chambers. Shaking her head, she sat up, brushing loose strands of hair from her face as she tried to shake off the weight of the dream. By the time she emerged from her quarters, she was composed, her usual calm demeanor firmly in place. 

Keyleth notices the doubt that's clawed its way into her veins and knits itself into her bones, nonetheless.

The day’s tasks awaited her, and Keyleth successfully buried the unsettling remnants of her dream beneath layers of focus and resolve. Today was an interesting day. So, despite the dream, she found herself engaged in a peculiar task that had arrived via courier only days ago.

A young Bormodo, a child of the species who happen to be inhabitants of Ruidus, had been entrusted to her care. Archivist Seth Domade, a figure of high regard within the Cobalt Soul and one she’d met quite a few times, had personally brought the youth to Zephrah. His letter had explained the child’s unique talents and the importance of their integration into Exandrian life following the cataclysmic destruction of their homeland. Seth had remained in Zephrah to observe the child’s adjustment, though she can’t help but wonder why a low rank archivist would bring her something like this. Regardless, she quickens her step.

Keyleth stood at the central courtyard of Zephrah, her staff in hand as the winds curled around her. Before her was the Bormodo child, Rhaaka, no taller than four feet and covered in reddish-brown skin. Four arms hung loosely at her sides, and her large, black eyes blinked up at Keyleth with an expression that was both curious and wary. 

Her cyta was nowhere to be seen at first, but she found it sneaking behind Seth. Clever little thing, she thought. It’ll protect her well.

“Rhaaka, was it?” Keyleth knelt slightly to meet her gaze, her voice gentle.

“Yes,” the child replied softly, her Common spoken mumbled but clear.

“She’s an extraordinary specimen of her people,” Seth offered with a slight cough. “Her connection to her Cytaa remains intact despite the events on Ruidus. I thought it necessary that someone with your experience in guiding outsiders find the means to nurture her abilities.”

“I’m surprised the Cobalt Soul would think to reach out to me directly.” she replied, gently putting her staff aside to approach Seth. “Guiding outsiders, huh? I wasn’t aware that was my reputation.” 

“Your reputation is much more than that, Voice of the Tempest,” Seth said, inclining his head in a bow and bringing Rhaaka forward. “Now if you do not mind.” 

The formal address irked her slightly but Keyleth focused on Rhaaka. The creature’s behaviour isn’t that of a fragile little girl and quite more energetic than what she expected. With dirt on her cheek and hunger in her step, Rhaaka looks meekly. Yet she's studying the flowers at her feet, occasionally sneaking glances of the courtyard with wide-eyed wonder. 

Magic swirls around Rhaaka, and Keyleth mutters a few words. The spell ‘Greater Restoration’ is cast and she makes sure the child is neither exhausted, hungry or ill. 

“I’ll do my best, Rhaaka,” Keyleth said finally after taking a moment, offering a reassuring smile. “Zephrah is a place of growth, and you’re welcome here. Let’s see where we can start.”

Seth remained in Zephrah longer than she expected, always polite but never quite forthcoming. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’s hiding something. There’s just something there. Mannerisms were precise, his knowledge just a bit too expansive. He made no remark, no mention of his fellow archivists. Seth would exchange nothing more than a confusing glance with the guests. she had no concrete reason to confront him.

With a sigh, Keyleth set her work aside and set her gaze on the little girl. The weight of her responsibilities felt lighter with Rhaaka here, her presence a reminder of what they were fighting to preserve. 

Keyleth is helping Rhaaka study on the Ridge today, the winds calm yet carrying a subtle chill. She glanced down toward the valley, where the distant treetops swayed lazily. The morning air felt heavier than usual, though she wasn’t sure if that was the mountain or her own thoughts.

Leeta approached her slowly, her steps deliberate. Keyleth didn’t turn to greet her at first, her focus still trained on the horizon, but she acknowledged her presence with a slight tilt of her head.

“How’s Rhaaka?” Leeta asked as she approached, her voice is gentle and dense like honey.

“Just teaching her what I can,” Keyleth replied, letting out a soft breath. “I’m still trying to find out what works for her.”

“She’s already made quite the impression,” Leeta continued, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Apparently, her dreams were about the Ashari.  She asked for us, described her cliffs and everything when the 'Cobalt Soul' found her. Isn’t that sweet?”

Keyleth finally turned, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, it is. But she’s still a long way from understanding her place. There’s something…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing slightly. “Unsteady. It's likely because of her current unfortunate circumstance but I can't seem to find something she'll fully adjust to. Like she’s caught between two storms and doesn’t know which way to turn.”

“She’s young,” Leeta offered. “She’ll find her way. With your guidance, I’m sure of it.”

Keyleth nodded, though her expression remained pensive. She opened her mouth to say more but was interrupted as Leeta tilted her head towards her when the bormodo went off on her own to play.

“A few miles off near the southern border, Kryn are approaching,” Leeta said, her voice lowering slightly. 

Keyleth straightened, her posture sharpening. “Kryn? In Zephrah?”

“They’re not alone,” Leeta added carefully. “Seth and Verin arrived with them. We may be in mixed company soon.”

An odd combination, she thought. Keyleth’s lips thinned as she considered this. “Were they close before? Like, friends?”

Leeta hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “They act very close, Tempest. I assure you that isn't a hunch. I’ll be honest, I have my doubts.”

Keyleth’s gaze turned toward the direction of the approaching figures in the distance, her expression unreadable. “What sort of doubts?”

Leeta shifted uncomfortably. “According to reports, they've travelling together for quite some time to various nearby villages. Pretty unlikely duo, right? Verin…I understand why you indulge him. He’s lovely company and all but…”

“But?”

“But he’s more guarded than usual when Seth’s mentioned,” she cringes slightly. Keyleth wonders when Leeta and Verin ever met. Knowing Verin, he probably couldn't help making a face. He moves in his own awkward way.  

“That’s unlike Verin,” Keyleth murmured, half to herself. “He’s always been straightforward, even when he’s being formal.”

Leeta gives her a confused look and Keyleth doesn't notice her judgement.

“The troupe’s approach seems harmless,” Leeta offered, though her voice carries a tinge of careful doubt. “I can send in an informant if you’d like.”

The druid pays no mind to the warning in her tone and instead, can’t help but smile at the thought of being visited by a friend who lives so far away. “No, not yet,” she said quickly. “Let them come. I’ll speak to him myself. But uh, keep a close watch if you want, Leeta.”

“Of course, Tempest.” Leeta replied with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

Later that evening, Keyleth sat by the fire in her quarters, reviewing plans for the upcoming Solstice celebration in Zephrah. A shawl is wrapped around her shoulders and she’s nursing a cup of warm tea. Rhaaka was fast asleep in an adjoining room, her Cytaa curled up at the foot of her bed.

No news about Verin from Leeta. If the knight is visiting, he must be visiting to experience Zephrah’s culture. After their first conversation, the druid and knight became acquainted without much words. A bright smile from him, a silent nod from her and some passing conversation was enough to act as pleasantries. Or atleast, that’s what she assumed it’d be. In reality, he’s engaging her much more than she expected him to. Trips to the Dynasty no longer feel like dull routine but another pleasant opportunity to visit a friend. 

 It’s a great opportunity to renew everyone’s spirits, she thought. Though the Ashari don't quite grieve the gods the way Vasselheim or the Dynasty would. It's still a bummer. 

A knock on the door interrupted Keyleth’s thoughts. She set her papers aside, brushing her hair back as she opened it to find Verin standing there, looking slightly out of place amidst the rustic charm of Zephrah.

“Verin,” she said, surprised. It's uncommon for guests, though not impossible to just march up to her room. “What brings you all the way up here?” 

He smiled, that familiar mix of confidence and awkwardness. “I could say it was the mountain air, but I’d be lying. I heard from Seth about the young Bormodo you’re training. Thought I’d drop by and see how things are going. Also… maybe lend a hand, if you’d like?”

Keyleth stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You, lend a hand? I thought you didn’t have the patience for this sort of work.”

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises,” he said brightly. “Besides, I was already in the area.”

“Zephrah isn’t exactly ‘in the area’ for anyone,” she replied, her tone amused.

“Well, It’d be rude not to visit regardless. I… apologize for invading your personal quarters for such a silly reason.” He chuckled and looked around the room, his gaze landing on the plans spread across her table. “Preparing for something big?”

“Just some Solstice celebrations,” Keyleth said. "It feels like I’ve been planning for weeks.”

He leaned on the edge of the table, arms crossed. “You always take on so much. Don’t you ever slow down?”

“Not really in my nature,” she admitted. “Besides, there’s always more to be done.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of light footsteps. Rhaaka appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She paused when she saw Verin, her expression wary but curious.

“Rhaaka, this is Verin Theylyss,” Keyleth introduced. “He’s… a friend.”

Verin knelt slowly, offering Rhaaka a kind smile. She doesn’t take it and hisses under her breath when he extends a hand. It doesn’t phase him though. “Pleasure to meet you, Rhaaka! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The child tilts her head when she hears the willingness in his voice, studying him before nodding. “Hello.”

“She’s shy,” Keyleth said softly, watching as Rhaaka shuffled back toward her room.

“She seems bright,” Verin remarked. “Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you with a student. You’ve always seemed more like the lone hero type. A perfect…” He searches for the word. “Soldier.”

Keyleth raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve always seemed like the kind of person who rallies people and smiles at trees. Shall we switch jobs?”

“I’m quite fine as is.” Verin grinned.

A soldier, she thinks. It’s true. I’m weak willed, with pure power. I don’t have the charm of a leader. A lone soldier is more than what I thought I’d end up as. 

Vax would once disagree with it if he heard her say it. He'd look at her with that deep pout on his face and start to nag her about how amazing of a person she is. Knowing him, he'd even come up with a seemingly never-ending list of good things she’s done for the world and would definitely refuse to leave her alone until she'd agree with every single of her arguments.

When Verin departs for the night, and Keylethwrapped in a shawl finds nothing else of interest on her mind or desk she takes a step out of her room, and looks around for a while. The 'Voice of the Tempest' finds no raven tonight.