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Essek watches Verin scribble dopily on his arm replying to his soulmate. A bitterness settles at the back of his throat and he adjusts his gloves that cover his arms, a common privacy tool, but a red herring itself. He’s far past the age that soulmates meet, yet never has a word scribbled across his skin. He scans the same sentence over again in his book before sighing and setting it down. He's a touted prodigy yet a luxon-damned shame on the family name. Unconsecuted and without a soulmate. Though, he’s not sure whether that's a good thing or not with how Verin acts nowadays, like a smitten twit.
:)
He’d recently started work as a shadowhand when it happens. The strange tingling along his forearm draws him from a trance; it's so odd. He rips the glove from his arm and runs his finger over the script. It's messy, and in common he thinks, though the simple hello is spelled wrong.
Hallo
Essek scrambles for a pen and immediately pens back. Hello.
Ah schreibst du Zemnian?
What? Zemnian? Essek doesn’t write back immediately trying to place the word before it dawns on him. It's an Empirical language. His soulmate is his enemy. He scoffs unbelievingly and scrubs his face in annoyance,
No
That’s fine I can write in common okay. What’s your name?
Essek stares at the golden writing against his skin and takes a deep steadying breath. He could say, or he could ignore them for the rest of his life, or his soulmate’s life. It’d be a certain torture and blemish upon him to have a human for a soulmate. He's a shameful heretic anyway. Why not?
My name is Essek. You are?
Essek is an interesting name. I’m Bren.
It is not entirely rare. But yes, I suppose it is.
How old are you? I’m 16.
Essek tries desperately not to choke on air, but he does anyway. 16. His soulmate is a child. A human child he’s going to assume. Of course. It couldn’t be simple could it? He should stop. Though he’s likely to never meet his soulmate all things considered. Either way they’d be killed on each other's soil, and Essek is… at least somewhat happy where he is. He wouldn’t give that up for a chance he’d get along with a human, let alone such a weird concept as soulmates. Why should he give it all up?
I’m 109
It's a long moment before Bren replies. Essek almost puts his pen away when the writing curls back along his arm.
Thats… old.
Not for an elf.
Of course. That would explain it. What do you enjoy doing?
Bren is full of questions, and it pulls slightly at the corners of Essek’s mouth. It's amusing if anything.
I do magic. Magical research. Experimentation.
Oh! I’m going to school for magic! In Rexxentrum. At the Soltryce Academy.
Prestigious.
You don’t think so?
Essek blinks at the statement. What does that mean?
I did not say that?
Oh, sorry. I read it as sarcastic.
It is alright. What are you studying?
Transmutation right now. I have a penchant for fire though.
Transmutation is a good field of study. There are many ways it can be utilized.
That’s true. What kind of magic do you do?
Essek sighs. Another big question. Something else he can get in trouble for. Though, as long as he doesn’t teach him…
I focus on the study of dunamantic magic.
What's that?
I do not have enough arm to explain it, but in the large scheme of it all, its potential and actuality and the magic surrounding it.
Sounds complicated.
It is. I’ve studied it my whole life.
That's a long time. I have to go, Essek. Can I write to you tomorrow?
Of course, Bren.
Good night!
Good night.
Essek sets his pen aside and then wipes his own ink away from his skin. Bren’s writing fades before his eyes and he’s left alone again. It's rather… lonely, which is odd. He’s been alone for a long time. He rubs his arm lightly and shrugs away the feeling of loss. He abandons his trance and walks to his lab. He can trance later, magic will keep his mind off it.
:)
He’s had him for little less than a year before he drops off the face of Exandria. The writing on his arm ceases abruptly and never comes back. He writes for a few days, and then gives up when he gets no responses. His life had grown around responding to Bren’s idle chatter, it had become a facet of his day, a comfort knowing he’d be there. It was stupid, he argues with himself, entrusting the wellness of his day to the fickleness of a human child. A human child who had probably decided he wasn’t worth his time.
Essek spirals though. He’s lonely, he knows he is, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t dare ponder the loss. So he throws himself into his work. Into his study. He becomes ruthless, a known facet of interrogation in the dungeon. He gets his answers. He sells knowledge to the Empire when his own people, and his Queen, denies him. He offers a beacon. Gets lost in the never ending vacuous emptiness that leaves him angry and sad, and just… alone. He wants an answer. He wants to demand it. Why did he abandon him? Left him for nothing like his good for nothing family. There’s not much that holds him back anymore, he craves knowledge, craves answers to unknowns he’d thought about long before Bren had intruded into his life and left his chest hollow, as cliche as it is. Its stupid he even entertained the boy.
He decides to forget about him, to put the idea of soulmates behind him. If anyone asks. He’s dead. For all its worth to Essek, his soulmate is dead. He goes about his life, studies, tries to ignore his family, other than Verin anyway. At least until an unruly group of adventurers are brought to the throne room and present the very object he’d given away. The human man looks beautiful really, aesthetically anyway, beyond the grime he’s coated in. Essek can see it.
Caleb is wonderful. He’s kind, mysterious, and hungry for knowledge. His friends are odd, but great in their own right. Jester is wondrous, and open, and loveable, and down right annoying, but her shenanigans warm his heart despite it. He can’t help it, but the friendship they offer balms that aching loneliness that Bren had left. For once in his life post Bren, he doesn’t care that his soulmate had left him without a word. He doesn’t care that he’s been alone all these years, now that they’ve found him. Caleb fills that void. He’s perfect, but Caleb can’t know. He shouldn’t know what happened, can’t know his feelings, can’t know of that growing fondness that’s morphed and grown into something inexplicably terrifying.
:)
They’re on their way to Eisselcross. To him. To fight a man they’d once called friend. And they want him to come along, to help. They need him. What does he have to lose? They’re in the tower, having their final meal, when Caleb excuses himself for a moment, goes up and up to where Essek would have to be obvious about watching him to keep doing so. It's a long few minutes that he listens to the Nein talk. Their voices are comforting in what's to possibly be the last hours or days of his life.
His arm tingles and his heart stutters in his chest and Beau has to pound his back when he chokes on a spoonful of soup. He excuses himself and not so subtly rips his glove off. There on his arm is a golden writing, far more elegant than before but still messy, and far more familiar than he should realize. A fiery anger wants to surface, but it's replaced by hope and fear and longing that stings at his eyes.
I am sorry, liebling. It has taken me far too long to contact you again. Come to the top floor of the tower and I will explain.
Essek not so casually rushes to the top floor. His heart is in his throat and tears are threatening to spill. What have they done to him. The mighty Nein has dissolved that jaded portion of his heart and replaced it with a vulnerability he didn’t know existed anymore.
When he arrives at the very top most floor he’s surrounded by a sea of stars and potential that Essek is very familiar with. Caleb stands just beyond him, facing away, his arms wrapped around him tightly.
“I am sorry, Essek.”
“What happened?” Essek’s voice thankfully doesn’t break.
“I broke. I… I wasn’t myself for a long time and I- I-.”
“I thought you hadn’t cared.”
“I did. And then when I came back to myself it had been years and I was scared. I- as foolish as it is, I didn’t want to lose you.”
Essek lets out a breathy scoff. “I want to say I would not have been mad, but it is probably best that you did not try to contact me before this.”
“Ja, I would understand if you do not wish to stay-”
“Caleb. You are not the only one in this group that I care about.”
Caleb’s shoulders sink and Essek doesn’t need to see his face to know the dejected look Caleb would have. He walks around him and stands in front of him. It's a simple action, but Essek scoops the hair from Caleb’s face and tucks it behind his ear.
Essek ducks his head so he can look him in the eyes. “But I do care for you, in far different ways.”
Caleb swallows and a warm flush covers his cheeks. “You do?”
“I do. And there is a very likely chance that we will die soon.”
“If it comes down to it, run.”
“I won’t abandon you. You already know my sins, I’ll be dead soon enough anyway.” Essek smiles sadly.
“You- I suppose that is fair.” Caleb sighs.
Essek fights his own personal space issues, and reaches out. His hand tangles in Caleb’s shirt and he pulls him gently to him and envelops him in a hug.
“I am glad you have kept yourself alive all these years.”
“I am glad you did as well.”
Essek takes a deep breath, inhaling the fine smell of woodsmoke and paper that clings to Caleb and its relaxing and comforting. This is odd, but nice. The last one to hug him beyond Jester had been his brother, and having Caleb, his soulmate, embracing him so strongly makes him want to abandon the world and hoard him away from it all.
Caleb pulls minutely away only to rest his forehead to Essek’s. “If you would permit me, Essek Thelyss, I would like to kiss you now.”
“I would like that I think.”
Caleb’s lips are slightly chapped from the cold air, yet still mostly soft, and warm. It's pleasant kissing him, and his hands, indefinitely warm, pull him impossibly closer. The moment is only broken by Jester popping into his head.
“Are you with Caleb? We haven’t seen either of you in a while. Beau says you’re totally boning, but Fjord doesn’t think so. You pooping?”
Essek pulls away, a laugh bubbling from his chest before he can keep it to himself, and he bends forward laughing. Caleb starts to say something, but Essek puts a hand on his chest to silence him.
“Jester, we are not boning, nor am I pooping. Caleb and I are discussing something of a personal nature. Say what you wish. Good night.”
“Ah.” Caleb says. “I was worried I was woefully inadequate.”
“Never. Though I would not mind retiring for the night, if you wished to… discuss this further.”
Caleb pulls him in for another kiss. “I would like that, liebling. For as long as you’ll have me.”