Chapter Text
Kal didn't know what else to do. He's barely attached to his position as Fifth Talon. There's hardly anything left for him in Treviso, even if he still loves the city he's called home for most of his too-long life. Almost everyone he's ever known has died and left him behind. The only thing he has left is his work, his nephew Oakley, and Matteo.
So Kal did the only thing that seemed reasonable in his depressing excuse for a life. He took a bit of time off and went to the Necropolis. At least there, he can find others cursed with immortality as he is.
"YOU HAVE RETURNED." Vorgoth greets. "WE WERE NOT SURE YOU WOULD."
"Not like I have much else," Kal mutters.
"YOU HAVE YOUR WORK." Vorgoth tries. It's not enough. It never is. Maybe he can find a nice high cliff to toss himself off. It would be better than living with this gaping wound in his chest for the rest of eternity.
"Lucanis!?" Spite cries, Kal whips his head around. There's nothing. Not that charming face, nor that sexy accent. Kal bites his lip, the hurt crashing in harder and stronger than before. It's suffocating.
He should have known better. His Luca has been dead for centuries.
Tears prick at his eyes. He doesn't even give Vorgoth a farewell before storming off. Maybe he can find somewhere quiet and secluded to be miserable in. Oakley's an adult. He'll be fine on his own.
He doesn't really know how he found himself sitting on a precipice without another tear left to shed and the ever-growing ache in his heart. Why does he even bother to keep going? He should just train up a replacement and retire. Then, he could end it all without issue.
He looks out into the massive cavern stretching out in front of him. The Necropolis goes on for as far as the eye can see. It would take years, decades, even, for someone to explore it all. Maybe he should just disappear into its depths, never to be seen again.
"You're new here." Kal jumps, shifting enough from his seated position for him to get a bit too close to the edge. His hand slips and sends him careening to the depths below.
Is this how he goes out? Unexpectedly and suddenly? In a semi-familiar place? A bitter smile finds its way to his lips. As long as it's quick, this is fine. At least he won't be forced to suffer anymore. Kal shuts his eyes, prepared to finally meet his end.
Something appears under him. It feels suspiciously like he's being carried. Why? No one cares about him enough to bother.
"Hey now! I know you have the ability to save yourself. So why wouldn't you use that lightning of yours to bring yourself to safety?" That voice… Luca?
Kal's eyes fly open. They're sliding down a mostly smooth path of bones back to solid ground. His eyes land on the man carrying him. His face is painfully familiar, even if the details have changed.
Instead of coffee brown in a sea of white, he finds two different shades of green ringed in silver in a sea of black. There's no glorious beard, only day-old scruff that hasn't been shaved away. There're a few scars where once there were none. A few thin piercings hang off his ears. The dark mane he once spent so long combing his fingers through had only grown longer, dyed a dark, nearly black green with a few brighter strands here and there, and tied back into a loose hold to keep it out of his face.
So many different emotions wrap around Kal with such ferocity that it makes him dizzy, and hurt, and confused all at the same time. He… He can't handle this. Not right now. Not when he's so much like his precious Luca and yet not at the same time.
Kal pushes himself out of the man's arms, stalking away. He can't do this. Not like this. He can't deal with whatever trick this is. His eyes sting.
"You sure you're alright?" The man tries.
Kal has to bite back the harsh response that nearly breaks free. "Leave. Me. Alone." With that, Kal stalks off to find somewhere else to deal with his raging emotions.
The man approaches him with a covered tray in his hand. "Hey. I apologize for the other day." He pulls the top off the tray. It's a simple pasta. The last meal Luca ever made for him. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that… I brought you something to eat?" The tray's set in front of him. "I hope it's okay. I'm not much of a cook."
Kal glares at it. "Did I do something wrong?" Kal glares at him. "Right. You don't like me for some reason. May I at least know the reason for your dislike of me?" Kal looks away, curling tighter into a ball.
The man sighs. "Alright. Fair enough. I'm prying, and you would rather be left alone to brood." He sets the tray on the ground. "I'll leave this here for you. Just… Give it back to the kitchen when you're done with it, yeah?"
Finally, Kal's left alone with nothing but his thoughts and Spite. "Kal's hungry." Spite chimes in. "Kal needs to eat." Spite appears in front of him in the way he hasn't in decades. Kal hurts just looking at the image of his long-dead husband. "Kal hasn't eaten in days! Kal must eat!"
He doesn't really have the appetite, but Spite has a point. Sighing, Kal takes the provided fork and nibbles on the pasta. Tears flow down his face. How? It's exactly how he remembered it.
Emery Vakarian was many things. He's an accomplished Necromancer, a scholar, and a self-proclaimed plant nerd. He's seen hundreds of people come and go through the Necropolis in his twenty-four years. He's seen plenty of people he finds attractive. And yet none of them have drawn Emery in the same way that mysterious white-haired elven man with the bone piercings does.
He really doesn't have an explanation for it. Or for the random inspirations, he's been getting the past few days. Why would he have assumed the elven man liked pasta? How did he guess where he'd be, sitting close to the edge like he was? Why does he get such a strong feeling of familiarity with a man he's only known the existence of for three days?
Emery doesn't know, so he went to the one person who might. Oakley Suledin. He may not know much about Oakley, but Emery knows the younger elf is the only person his mysterious new acquaintance has talked to besides Vorgoth.
He finds his target speaking with Ashurak. Good. His Qunari friend seems to be making headway into the friendship he wanted with the strange white-haired elf.
"Ash!" Emery greets. "And Oakley, yes?"
"Yeah." Oakley smiles at him. "Is there something we can do for you?"
"Yes, actually. I was hoping to ask you a few questions if you wouldn't mind?"
The elf grins at him. "What did you have in mind?"
"The other man you came here with, what can you tell me about him?"
That smile falters immediately. "Ah." Something darker, more mournful, perhaps, takes the place of the cheer that was there mere moments ago. "You want to know about Uncle Kal. This will probably be longer than you think. Let's find a seat."
Emery nods and leads the three of them to his private quarters. There's plenty of space to lounge. He waits until everyone is seated and served a nice cup of tea before jumping in. "You said he's your uncle? You don't look that much younger than him?"
"It's… A bit complicated. He's… probably about twenty-five? Thirty years older than me? I don't remember exactly. It's hard to keep track precisely when you've lived for centuries."
He's got so many questions about that, but he tries to narrow it down to just one or two. "The two of you have been alive for centuries?"
"Yeah. My Uncle, Mom, and their siblings were the ones spearheading the fight against the last Blight. I was found a few years later. We never found out exactly what we are, but Uncle Kal and I were both found as babies inside meteors. We both stopped aging in our early twenties."
"I see." He doesn't know how he would feel if he had to live forever like that. Emery glances at Ashurak. Would he be as cheery if he outlived his closest friend? "That must have been hard on the two of you."
"Yeah… It hurt for a while, seeing everyone I loved grow old and die while I remained the same. But I learned how to let go, eventually. My Uncle never did. He's been different since his husband died about a century, century and a half ago. Uncle Luca was his first and only love and given that he always struggled with his emotions before that, I suppose it's only natural that Uncle Kal never really recovered from it." Oakley gives him a sad smile. "You look and sound a lot like Uncle Luca, you know? Seeing you probably brings back a lot of painful memories for him."
"That would explain why he's so hostile towards me."
"He probably sees too much of his husband in you, and it's dragging up all those painful emotions he never dealt with." Oakley takes a small sip of his tea before offering him a happier smile. "Is there something else you want to know about him?"
"Something feels off about him. Does he have a spirit companion?"
Oakley smiles at him, much warmer this time. "I didn't think anyone would be able to sense him. It's been a while since my Uncle even mentioned Uncle Spite. He's a spirit that was originally attached to Uncle Luca and later got bound to Uncle Kal." Oakley pauses. "I'm glad he's still okay. I was starting to wonder if Uncle Spite was even still around."
"You said your uncle struggles with his emotions?"
Oakley nods, pulling up his sleeve to reveal lyrium burned into his skin. "You probably saw something similar on my Uncle. They're limiters. From what I was told, his used to be a lot more complete. Mom explained once that her brother came to House de Riva without a single emotion in him and that, over the years, he slowly reclaimed a few of them. He had to rely on his siblings and Uncle Luca to help him figure them out." He pauses. "I'm told he had a harder time with them after the Dreadwolf came back blighted and disfigured." Oakley rubs at his arm absentmindedly.
"Apparently, Uncle Kal actually lost the ability to see Uncle Spite and other spirits after that. It was during that fight when his tattoos started burning up, you see. We didn't know it at the time, but they were what were letting him see spirits and the like the whole time." He chuckles at that. "My Uncle freaked out. I got a front row seat to him having to be talked down from trying to burn off the rest of his tattoos. He was convinced that removing the rest of them was the only way he'd get to see his partner again."
Emery raises a brow. "Clearly, that didn't happen. What changed his mind?"
Oakley grins. "We had an old Watcher with us." Emery's heard tales of the old Watcher Professor who left to take a job teaching some kids, but he hadn't expected to hear about him again tonight. "He partially bound Uncle Spite to Uncle Kal while still keeping him primarily with Uncle Luca." The elven man grows a bit more reserved. "Uncle Kal severed the connections between his lovers before he gave Uncle Luca the release he asked for."
There's a moment of hesitation. "Why so interested in my Uncle?"
Emery freezes. He doesn't actually know. "There's something that… Well, for lack of a better word, I'm drawn to him for reasons unknown." If only he could come up with a better reason! He must sound like some crazed stalker or something!
Why is Oakley smiling at him so softly? Why does it then drop into something darker?"If your wish to get to know my Uncle is genuine, then I'll warn you. I think my Uncle came here to die. I would appreciate the extra set of eyes on him."
"If that is truly his wish, then why stop him? Would it not be better that he meet his end when he's ready?" Emery has never understood why the rest of the world was so opposed to death.
"Because he's not seeking death. He's seeking an end to his emotional state, and the only path he sees is death. My Uncle has never been great with his emotions. This is just the latest in a string of bad choices." Oakley bites his lip. "At the very least, I want to give him the chance to heal before he takes such a measure."
Emery strolls through the Necropolis, giving himself time to think. Kal was a little less of a mystery to him now, but he still doesn't know why he feels so strongly about a man he's known for all of three days. Sure, he's Emery's type. He's hot, unashamed of his body, and has sure wonderfully soft-looking knee-length hair that could really use a decent care routine that Emery would be more than happy to provide an even perform for—
He needs to focus, not worry about how much he wants to run his fingers through his hair.
Oh! There's Kal! A few dozen feet away from a cliff. Speaking with someone in attire Emery's never seen before.
"— I'm sorry to have been one the ones to inform you, sir." Emery's uncertain he should be hearing this conversation, but something demands he keeps getting closer as a rock forms in his gut. "But I've been sent to inform you that previous First Talon Matteo Dellamorte passed last night in their sleep."
Whatever will live Kal still had shattered at that moment, his expression flipping through at least a dozen different states before landing on a depressed acceptance. "I see. Thank you for informing me." There's not a spec of life left in that voice.
"Their funeral will be held in three days at the Estate." The young woman states, keeping a sharp eye on Kal.
"Dismissed," Kal states. The woman backs off but never leaves entirely. Kal blinks, takes a deep, shuddering breath, then turns, and darts for the cliff.
"Sir—" The woman tries, missing Kal by feet. Emery's feet carry him forward faster than ever as he races towards the last spot Kal was seen. He's still falling. Good, there's still time. Emery pulls at his magic, controlling the bones that answer his call until they form a slide to let him safely follow after the falling elf.
His heart skips a beat as a crack resounds off the floor as Emery gets within mere feet of Kal.
No!
"NO!" Something cries. "Can! Not! Die! Not like this!" Emery doesn't recognize the voice, but he does recognize the possession currently taking place. This must be Spite. "Kal! Hurt! Kal! Dying! You!" The spirit points Emery out specifically. "Do! Something!" There's pain, worry, concern, and at least four other things in that tone that Emery doesn't have time to place.
He has to move quickly if Kal is to survive this. "Spite. I need you to keep your body as still as possible while I check for damages." He knows there's at least one broken bone. Kal's leg sits at an awkward angle, jutting out at several sharp, unnatural angles with bone poking through the skin.
That isn't something he'd even normally consider trying to heal. Still, something screams at him to do everything in his power, no, use everything he has and everything Spite has, and even beyond that, to heal the dying man on the ground in front of him. He's going to do it, and he's going to make sure Kal heals as perfectly as possible.
Letting his magic flow over the elven man, Emery controls the bones, slipping them back into the positions they're supposed to be in and ensuring no fragment gets left behind. He's fixed the skeletons in the Necropolis hundreds of times. This should be no different.
There's a break in his neck. It takes all his skill to shift the bone fragments into their proper places without cutting his spinal cord. It's a straining process, and he doesn't even know why he cares so much, but he's not going to quit now. Once they're in place, Emery realizes two things. Firstly, he's not going to be able to fix both his neck and his leg in one go, and secondly, he's going to run out of magic before being able to fix Kal's neck properly.
"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?" The woman from earlier inquires as she shuffles up beside him.
"Potions." Emery starts, thinking fast. "Lyrium and healing. Lyrium is the more important of the two. You can ask Vorgoth where we keep them and tell him they're for Kal. I'll have more for you when you return." She darts off. He's left alone with his monumental task.
He can do this, right? He's done this so many times before, so why does he feel so much worse about the mere thought of failing?
No. No, he may be young, but he's confident in his abilities. He can do this. He has to. He's not losing Kal. Not after everything they've been through toget— Wait. What? Where did that thought come from?
Shaking it away to think about later, Emery goes back to work.
Emery slouches in his chair as he sits next to Kal's bed. He's exhausted. He doesn't even know how long he spent trying to piece his hot elven companion back together before getting him into a state same to move. He could use a nap. And some tea.
"You. Are not. Lucanis." That voice he heard earlier states. "But you smell like Lucanis. You look like Lucanis. You feel! Like Lucanis. Why are you not Lucanis?" What?
"I… Don't understand the question."
Spite appears in front of him. Emery has to take a moment to realize he's not looking in a mirror. He would have expected a spirit bound to a host for so long would have taken that host's form. No. This spirit has chosen to remain in the form of its original host. This would be what the long-dead Lucanis looked like.
He's been told that he looks a lot like the dead man, but to be shown the proof? He can hardly believe it.
"You should be Lucanis. But you aren't. WHY?" He… Still doesn't understand.
"Spite." Emery turns to the new arrival. "It's been a while."
"Oak! Is here! Missed Oak!" Spite grins, hovering around Oakley with fervent excitement.
Oakley smiles, though he doesn't seem to see the spirit bouncing around him. "I missed you, too. But before we get too far, you're confusing Emery." Spite tilts his head, blinking in confusion.
"How?"
"You haven't explained yourself very well, Uncle. You can't just ask why a person isn't someone else without explaining why you think that. And even then, you're going to confuse them."
"He! Should be Lucanis! Why isn't he Lucanis?" Spite huffs. "Smells like Lucanis and dust! Feels like Lucanis!"
Oakley blinks while Emery tries to piece together what the spirit is talking about. He resemebles Lucanis. That much he's certain of. "How does Emery feel like Lucanis?"
Spite pouts. "Inside! Inside feels like Lucanis! I would know! I know what Lucanis felt like inside!" Oakley's brow furrows as he mumbles something Emery doesn't catch. What's Spite talking about?
"I see." Oakley looks Emery over with a critical gaze before shaking his head and changing the subject. "I originally came to ask how my Uncle is and what happened."
Emery takes a deep breath, turning back to his unconscious patient. "He's stable for now. I was able to heal the breaks in his neck quite marvelously." He motions to the leg Emery spent far too long getting into a proper splint. "I had enough magic to get his legs back in the proper place, but it'll be weeks yet before it's healed enough to walk on."
"So he won't be able to try again for a while."
"Not easily, no."
Oakley lets out a relieved sigh. "Alright. What caused it?"
"Ah. Uh." Does Oakley really not know? "A messenger came to inform him that a Matteo Dellamorte recently passed away."
Oakley freezes, his expression falling. "Ah." He must have known Matteo personally, then. "Is that messenger still around?" It's hard to tell with Oakley's black sclera, but Emery thinks he might see tears forming.
"I apologize. I don't know." Oakley rushes out, slamming his door before a broken sob makes its way back to Emery. They were close, then. He should ask Ash to check-in on his new friend.
Spite just watched Oakley leave, his expression a lot darker than Emery's ever seen on a spirit. A few moments later, the Spirit's attention is dragged to their unconscious companion. Spite vanishes.
Kal groans, shifting slightly. His eyes open slowly. "Why am I still alive?" There's nothing in that tone.
Emery really wishes he knew why he cares so much about this sad, sad man. "That's all you have to say to the man who saved your life?"
"I'm not sure why you bothered." Kal retorts. "Not like there's anything left to live for."
He bites back his first retort. It wouldn't have helped. "I understand that your son died, and you're devastated by the loss." He can debate how he knows that later. "But could you really see yourself leaving Oakley, or Spite, behind like that? Surely, you still have some form of affection left over for them, yet?"
"Oakley's a lot stronger than me. He would've been fine."
"I don't think anyone would be fine losing the last of their immediate family in one day," Emery argues. "I think that would have been enough to actually crush him." Kal doesn't seem interested in replying to that, so Emery switches the topic for now despite everything else he'd like to say on the matter. "You're legs still broken in several places. You won't be walking on it for a while. Ash and I will be taking care of you and helping you with whatever you need. Emery sighs. "Now. Do I need to keep a watch on you in case you try again, or are you going to behave?"
"No!" Spite yells out of Kal's body. "I keep him here! Keep him alive! Promise!"
"Alright, Spite. I'll trust you on that matter."
Kal sits on a bench, staring blankly at the memorial in front of him while people he doesn't know or care to know mill about trying to talk to him and ask how he knew Matteo. He chuckles mirthlessly.
"Fifth Talon!" Mihari calls. "You're back!" He doesn't really care what his assistant wants right now. "First Talon Dellamorte wants to speak with you." He glances at the elven boy behind her with a shock of short white hair, a blue eye, and a brown eye. He's probably in his thirties.
Why must he be haunted by the shadow of his child? "I don't want to talk to you," Kal mutters, a pit of despair yawning open under him. Were it not for the broken leg and Spite freezing his body where he was, he would have thrown himself off this rooftop.
"A shame, considering I've always been interested in my great, great grandparent's father, given all the legends about you." He smiles at him. "Are you sure you won't give me a moment of your time?"
He glares at the boy. "I don't know you, boy, and frankly, I don't need my kid's look-alike twisting the knife in. Leave me alone." Finally, Kal's left alone to be miserable on his own. Spite tries to talk to him, but all it does is make him feel worse.
"So this is where you went." Oh. It's him again. "I was wondering where you, Oakley, and Ash went. If you wanna talk about it?"
"Yes! Talk with him! Do it!" Spite demands.
"No." Spite hisses at him.
"You know. The Mourn Watch has many rituals and activities to help with the mourning process. I could introduce you to a few of them." Kal glances at him, only for an old spike of pain to shoot through him, once more opening that ancient, infected wound in his heart.
He glances down at the pair of finger bones in his hand. He really hadn't been looking forward to adding the final piece to his collection. Tears he'd long since assumed dried and forgotten well at his eyes.
"Those are finger bones, right?" The nuisance inquires. "Are you going to turn them into another piercing?" He motions to the numerous others lining his face. "You do that as a way of remembering them, right?"
Kal bites his lip, wondering why he feels the urge to tell someone. "The ones on my right brow are from my kids. The left are my siblings." Emotion threatens to overtake him, but he keeps going, pointing to the pair in his nose. "Mom and Dad." He motions to his nipple piercings as he gets choked up. "Luca…"
Why do the tears choose to come now? Why, after everything he's been through and everything he's done, do they choose to come now, at the death of his youngest? Why can't he stop the hot, salty tracks from forming into gorges he'll never have a chance to fill? Why can't he stop himself from being overwhelmed with these emotions when all he wants is to shut them away and return to the numb uncaring?
A broken, mournful sob rips from his throat. Spectral arms wrap around him, murmuring in that too-familiar voice that Kal hasn't heard much of in years. Why? Why would he push Spite away like that?
Kal signs off on the papers presented to him as Oakley confirms they're correct before sending his nephew off to deliver them. He doesn't even know why he still does this job. Is it because he doesn't want to let go of the last thing Viago ever gave him? Is it because he's too much of an idiot to realize that he should have quit a long time ago, given that he can't even do something as simple as reading, and he's just making himself a nuisance?
"Kal is not a nuisance!" Spite reassures. "Kal is hurting and refuses to heal!" He's right, but Kal doesn't know how. Spite beams the image of Kal's new personal headache into his mind, demanding Kal talk to him. He's not sure how Spite wants him to do that, considering his still very much broken leg. Not that he's going to, anyway.
Spite huffs then appears on the desk in front of him. "Try!" He demands. "Talk to him! Talk to Emery!"
"Why should I?" Kal mutters. "All that's going to accomplish is to make everything hurt worse."
"Needs to hurt." Spite states, leaning closer to him. "Need to open the wound! Cleanse it! Give it the chance to heal properly!"
"So why do I need to talk to him for that?" He grumbles. "Wouldn't Oakley be enough?"
"No! Must be Emery! Emery hurts you to look at. Reminds you of Lucanis. Speak. To. Emery! Emery will help!"
Glaring at the spirit he once married, Kal can feel nothing but skepticism and that old, jagged shard of hurt. "How can you be so sure?"
Spite growls. "He. Will. Help. If. You. Ask." That's not an answer, and Spite knows it.
"What are we asking?" By the Stone, why does he always show up at such convenient times?
Before Kal has a chance to stop Spite, he's already in front of Emery relaying everything without a care for what Kal wants. Kal would rather be anywhere else, but Spite's holding him here.
It's a long few minutes before Spite finally vanishes, leaving Kal alone with the one person he doesn't want to be anywhere near right now. "I know this isn't ideal," Emery starts, "So I won't force you to say anything. But if you want to let anything out, I can at least do you the favor of listening."
He's not sure if he's actually absorbed anything Emery just said. Kal's far too busy in his own head as memories flash into view, overlapping Luca where the imposter stands. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Kal does everything in his power to keep from breaking his resolve.
There's no reason this fraud should be able to crack his century-old walls this easily. There's no reason Spite should be poking and prodding at all the emotions Kal's spent so long burying. There's no reason he should be this weak-willed that the mere thought of someone caring enough to listen has him actually considering telling someone. There's no reason any of this should be making him cry, either, but really, Kal is losing on all fronts, and he can't keep up this fight when Spite won't let him leave.
"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." Luca's voice complements in his head. "I know it's hard, but you have it in you to do this."
Spite cheers in his head as Kal loses his fight and proceeds to dump every last bit of his pain onto the man that he'd really rather not deal with. Every bit of his pain at losing his wonderful husband of six decades. Every little bit of the dread and hurt he felt at watching his family grow old and die before him. Every last speck of the crushing weight of his cold, lonely reality as he was slowly left alone and forgotten to time.
Not once does Emery shy away. Not once does he look at Kal with anything like pity as Kal ugly sobs into the open air where Spite once stood. Not one single time does Kal feel judged for making himself into a burden on this man who has no reason to care about him.
Kal wouldn't know how to handle it even if he wasn't currently sobbing his eyes out because Spite demanded he reopen the infected, oozing wound in his heart.
Kal lies in bed, empty and cold and fair too tired for him to be struggling to sleep. His eyes sting, ready to start leaking again at how much Kal finds himself missing the presence of another warmth in his bed.
Something shifts, and Spite pulls him in, wrapping those ethereal arms around Kal tight enough that he's almost certain he'll end up spending the rest of his life there. "Rest." Spite demands. "I'll be here when you wake up, mi queridas."
Kal ends up falling asleep snuggled into Spite's chest as the hurt begins to fade for the first time in decades.
The next several months went by in a haze for Kal. He doesn't remember much besides feeling empty, Spite holding him as he falls asleep, Oakley helping him with the work that somehow manages to reach him even here, and Emery frequently making appearances to check on him.
It wasn't until Vorgoth came to visit that Kal's sense of time began to return to normal.
"WE HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU." The fog in a trench coat states. "WE WOULD LIKE TO MAKE USE OF YOUR ABILITIES AS A PROFESSOR."
"What would I even teach? How to hide a body? How to get someone else to do all of your paperwork because you can't read?"
"NECROMANCY."
Oh. Right. That's something Kal knows. "… You want me to teach a class on necromancy? Why?"
"YOU ARE CAPABLE." He blinks at Vorgoth. "WE BELIEVE YOU ARE THE PERFECT CHOICE. YOU KNOW MORE THAN MOST." Why does that feel so good to hear while also hurting so much?
He has to choke out the next words. "I'll… Consider it."
"AS YOU WISH." Vorgoth leaves him to his thoughts. Kal's never thought of himself as a teacher, not with his severe dyslexia and his general disenchantment with life. He looks at his hands. Does he even still remember how to do necromancy? It's been so long since he tried.
Though his leg is still sore, Kal forces himself to make his way through the Necropolis until he finds a quiet area with a few skeletons scattered about. Controlling the bones is easy, but getting a wisp or wayward spirit to inhabit the body so that it might move autonomously? That's a lot harder.
He's never had a great talent for necromancy, not when his magic prefers lightning over all else, but he did put some effort in between his own interest and Fey's instructions. There're a few spirits here, playing and mingling with the numerous curious wisps. One of them should head his call.
Pulling at his magic for a purpose other than destruction, Kal reaches out to the skeleton with Spite's gentle praises in the back of his mind. It helps more than he wants to admit. A curious wisp nears, gets a taste of the wish in his magic, and decides to oblige.
Kal smiles softly when the skeleton shambles to life before finding its way over to him to give a much-needed hug. Kal melts into it.
Spite, unwilling to be outdone, encases his free side, bringing tears to his eyes.
Emery found out about Kal's new position mostly by coincidence. That is to say, he found out from Kal while the man was practicing in the gardens a few months down the line. He hadn't known the elven man was a Necromancer, given that all Oakley, and those weird thoughts, mentioned was his lightning.
Of course, he did the only reasonable thing and watched the man he'd been harboring a crush on for at least a month practice for a while before announcing his presence. He may have been unseasonably warm at that point, but no one else needed to know that.
Spite apparently doesn't count as someone, as he clocked Emery within moments of him revealing himself.
"What do you want?" Kal inquires coldly as Emery approaches.
"You're practicing necromancy?" Emery tries desperately not to let the heat coating his face like a heart in the middle of winter distract him.
Kal only nods, so Emery continues. "Is it a hobby of yours? I didn't think there were many necromancers outside Nevarra, let alone in the Crows."
"There aren't," Kal states in a bland way that makes Emery wonder if the Necropolis has suddenly shot up in temperature. "What did you want?"
"I'm curious why you're practicing."
"Vorgoth offered me a position teaching necromancy," Kal explains. "It's... been a while so..."
"He offered you a position requiring paperwork when you're dyslexic?" Kal looks at him strangely while Emery processes what he just said. "Ah. Forgive me. I seem to be having these slips more and more recently. I don't even know where that came from. I shouldn't have voiced such an irrational thought."
"You're not wrong." Emery blinks. He's not? "I've had it as long as I can remember. My... Sister found out first and created a series of pictograms for me. On important things and paperwork anyone needs to be able to read, I used to have someone else write it down for me. Now-a-days... Well, Spite is much better at it than I."
Emery smiles. "Fascinating!" Then, because they're getting off-topic. "Would you like any assistance in your practice?" Kal shrugs and goes back to what he was doing. Emery can hear Spite chastising Kal for that, but Kal doesn't seem to care. Instead, Emery chooses to stick around and give a few pointers whenever he can.
Kal is surprisingly good at this for someone who claims to need practice.
Kal works on his lesson plans with Spite's help. He only has four students, but that's four more than he's ever had. He wishes Emmrich were... Kal glances out to the vague area where he knows Emmrich's body lies. He could... But he needs someone who can speak with the dead. Are there currently any Necromancers here that even have that skill? He could ask Vorgoth.
"Or Emery." Spite adds. Right... Emery. One interaction won't hurt? Right? He can probably handle one, even if his heart aches just looking at the necromancer.
Before Kal can talk himself out of it, he marches out of his room with his half-baked lesson plans to find Emery.
Kal found Emery three feet from Kal’s door. “Emery.”
“Kal!” Someone’s excitable today. “Where were you off to?”
”Do you know anyone with corpse whispering?”
The Necromancer seems surprised if the stupid, painfully familiar look on his face is anything to go off. ”Yes, actually. I can.” Great. Just great. “Was there someone you wanted to speak with?”Kal sighs, accepting his fate and leading the man through the Necropolis to where he knows Emmrich’s body waits.
They get to the gardens, where Kal stops in his tracks. “Manfred? Vorgoth?” There’s a spirit behind them that Kal can only see because of Spite. “Emmrich?” His voice might have cracked at that. The trio turns to him.
“YOU HAVE FOUND US.” Vorgoth states. “WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEA?”
”Yes.” Kal mutters, emotions welling up behind his surprise. “I would.”
“Here you go!” Manfred offers. “For Knight Kal!” He takes a sip. It’s better than he remembers.
“Kalias! My dear boy! It’s been decades since we last met!” Emmrich’s ghost states. “How have you been?” Kal shrugs as his mind tries to catch up with everything. He doesn’t know how to answer that.
Spite, however, has no qualms against spilling anything and everything to the spirit without regard to the others in the room. Kal feels a spike of shame hearing it all laid out so plainly like that.
"I see,” Emmrich states, floating over to Kal and placing a ghostly hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been struggling with everything alone all this time. It’s only to be expected with circumstances like yours.” He almost sounds sad. “And yet, you’ve found the courage to start to deal with your emotions properly and begin to heal. A marvelous first step!”
Kal grumbles, “I didn’t come here to talk about how I may or may not be holding up. I can here to ask you for help on some lesson plans.”
Emmrich lights up. “Certainly! I’d be honored to help! Vorgoth had mentioned you took a teaching position!”
“It was better than doing nothing…” Kal shrugs. “Now, about these plans?” Kal starts pulling out his papers, having Spite read things for him where the specifics were iffy in his mind.
“Cute.” Oh, right. He’d forgotten Emery was here. “Marry me?” Kal freezes, turning to stare at the Necromancer. Emery realizes what he said, turns a shade of red a bit too close to the one Luca used to turn, and rushes off.
Kal’s left with a weird feeling in his chest.
Emery had to rush off without warning. Why would he say something like that to a man that barely even tolerates him? Sure, Kal is hot, and he did find that whole interaction cute, but to blurt out something like that? He doesn’t even know where that thought came from!
Those thoughts have been happening more and more recently, and he really wishes he knew where they come from because while some of them provide helpful information, they aren’t his. None of those thoughts are his so they have to be coming from somewhere. Is it some illness of the mind?
He knows at least three different illnesses that could be causing it. Slipping into an empty room, Emery goes through what he knows. None of them seem to fit his experience. Is he showing atypically? Is he just not familiar enough with them? Is there something else entirely going on?
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what keeps giving him these thoughts that feel so natural yet aren’t his in the slightest. Is… is he possessed? Emery’s pretty sure he’s not, but some spirits are trickier than others and can hide themselves. It would make him a poor excuse for a Watcher, but maybe he should go see Professor Volkarin? If it is possession, then the spirit should be able to tell him. He’d ask Kal, but Emery’s fairly certain he’s burned whatever goodwill he’d manage to scrounge up with the elven man.
A distinct anxiety fills his chest. There’re too many options, and none of them are looking good for him. He needs to figure this out. What if he can’t continue his work? What if he can’t find the reason? Is he just supposed to live like this forever? Questioning every thought, wondering if it’s truly his or because of this mysterious affliction?
He’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about. He starts. Why did that seem so natural a conclusion? Why doesn’t he question it until after?
All of this started with Kal. It began the day he arrived and has only increased in frequency. Is Kal doing something to him? A mage of his experience would certainly be able to cook something like this up, even if he had little reason to do so on that first day. Was it revenge for nearly getting him killed?
No. No, Kal wouldn’t have done that. Not then. Not when he so desperately wanted to die.
What is it then? Did he piss something off in the lower levels? Is this some new, as-of-yet-unknown phenomenon? Did Oakley curse him for almost getting Kal killed? It doesn’t seem like something the happy-go-lucky man would do, but then again, it’s always the ones you don’t expect that get you.
There’s nothing to worry about. He’s just overreacting. Is he, though? It’s so hard to tell right now.
“Em?” He whips around to be met with a face full of Qunari standing in front of him. It’s just Ash.
“What are you doing here, Ash?” He doesn’t quite keep the panic from his tone.
Ash looks all the more concerned. “Oak saw you panicking earlier and asked me to check on you. It’s been a few hours.” His friend takes a seat beside him. When did Emery start kneeling? Whatever, not important right now. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this.”
He… Doesn’t really know where to start, so he decides to curl up in his much larger friend’s side for comfort while he sorts out his words. “I… Might be going insane.” He mutters. Ash wraps one of his much larger arms around him.
“Why do you say that?” Ash prompts.
“I keep having these thoughts that aren’t mine, but they feel so natural at the moment that it’s only right they come out.” He’s not sure he’s explaining it well, but Ash takes it all in stride. “I don’t know what’s causing it. Is there something wrong with my head? Did I get myself possessed somehow? Am I cursed?” He’s not. He’s overthinking things again.
“Em. How long has this been going on, and why haven’t you told me sooner?”
He bites his lip, ashamed he hadn’t talked to Ash about this before. “Since Kal and Oakley arrived.” He buried himself in his friend’s side. “I… I don’t know. I thought it was fine. It didn’t strike me as weird at first.”
“Okay.” His friend states. “Why don’t you take a deep breath, then we’ll talk this out together.” Emery nods, unsure of how to even start figuring this out but happy that Ash doesn’t think he’s going insane.
Kal had a lot to think about and not many people to talk about it with. So, as awkward as it might have been for him, Kal decides to speak with Oakley. He really should have kept in better communication with his nephew over the years, but there’s no use regretting the past, so Kal just does his thing and barges right in without knocking.
He surprises Oakley while he’s at his desk, doing some of that dreadful paperwork. “Uncle? What brings you?”
“I need to talk to someone, and Spite insists it be you.” Oakley looks at him, sets his glasses aside, and motions for him to sit in the unoccupied chair. “I think there’s something going on with Emery. I was talking with Emmerich earlier, and he blurted out that I was cute and asked me to marry him.”
Oakley doesn’t seem all that surprised, but he does take a moment to consider as Spite decides to appear and chill on the desk. “I have a theory.” His nephew begins. “There’s no proof, but Spite and I think there’s something else going on.”
“Yes!” Spite agrees. “Emery feels like Lucanis inside!”
“We were talking a while ago, and as far as we can tell, we think Emery might have some piece of Uncle Luca in him.” A mix of emotions his Kal all at once. Grief, loss, fear. So many others he can’t even name.
He’s seen weirder things. “It would explain how he knows things he shouldn’t.” Like the silly little running joke he had with Luca or the fact that Kal can’t read, or that Kal’s magic has a heavy preference for lightning, or any of the other dozens of little things he’s mentioned. It hurts in a new way he’s unused to.
Kal doesn’t feel like breaking into tears in front of Oakley, so he tries to get up and walk off. “Spite. Stop that.” He’s stuck in his seat.
“No.”
“Spite!” His voice cracks.
“No.” Spite argues. “Kal needs to feel. If Kal leaves, all the bad feelings are going to get all squished back up in a box. Won’t let Kal.” Stupid spirit, making him actually deal with things.
Emery has been avoiding him. He doesn’t know why, but he really wished he did. Is it because of that incident last month? Kal only wishes he knew why that bothers him so much. In the two years they’ve been in the Necropolis, Emery hasn’t stayed away from him for more than a few days.
“You miss him.” Why does Spite have to be so smug about it? “Kal misses Emery!”
“Professor?” His eyes flick to the boy in front of him. “Are you alright? Ari asked a question and you haven’t responded.”
“Sorry, what was it?” He doesn’t need these kids in his personal life.
“You’re really good at necromancy, right? How many corpses can you raise at a time?” He thinks about it. It’s been a while since he needed to use anything of that scale.
“Last time I tried, I’d guess I had a few hundred?”
“When was that?”
His throat closed up. Right. He hasn’t used Necromancy much since… Well. “During the last Blight.” He’s not going to do this here and now. “Any questions relevant to the lesson?” Not one of the four of them has an actual question. Kal moves on with the lesson.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kal states, finally catching up with Emery. “Why?” Kal’s not entirely sure why he cares. He’d spent years trying to avoid him, and now? Is it just because he may or may not have a piece of Kal’s long-dead husband in him? Is it because Kal actually misses his presence?
“I needed some time to consider something personal.” Emery’s gaze shifts away from Kal. Did he do something wrong? “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”
“So you’re going to resume your constant pestering?” Why is he doing this?
Emery smiles at him. “You missed me?”
“No.”
“Right. Clearly, you’re asking after me because you don’t care at all. That makes perfect sense.” Kal doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Spite teases him about it.
“Why were you avoiding me?” He tries again, knowing some of his true feelings leaked into his tone.
Emery hesitates. “You have a spirit companion. Can you tell me if I’m at all in possession of one of my own?” Kal’s eyes narrow as he looks at the shorter man. Does he think he’s possessed? Why?
“You’re not.” There’s no general aura he would have expected. “Why?”
Emery lets out a resigned sigh. “I was really hoping that was the case…” Something’s going on. “I… I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m getting all these thoughts in my head that aren’t mine.” Kal freezes as Emery looks off, forlorn.
“What do you mean?”
Emery turns a delightful shade of red that only serves to send a pang of hurt through Kal. “That time I uh…” His voice lowers. “Asked you to marry me, and those times I knew things about you without being told.” Kal’s eyes widen. If Oakley’s theory is right, and Emery’s actually having such thoughts, then…
“I see…” He can feel the knot forming in his chest. “Perhaps you should speak with Oakley.”
“What could Oak have to tell me that I haven’t thought of myself?” It’s not an accusation. Simply a broken question. Kal considers his options and ends up doing something he hasn’t in decades: throw Emery over his shoulder and force the man to see Oakley. He can feel Spite’s approval in the back of his mind.
Ignoring Spite, he kicks open his nephew’s door. Somehow, he’s not surprised to see him with that Qunari of his. “Uncle!?” Ignoring the surprise, Kal deposits Emery in the room and stalks off.
He’s going to have to find somewhere quiet and secluded to deal with these feelings, isn’t he?