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For the first time for as long as he could remember, Vander didn't feel any pain.
Cool, white fog surrounded him. He ran his fingers through the mist, enjoying the ability to curl his hand into a fist without razor-sharp claws threatening to tear the flesh out. His skin felt softer too, like it was from before he had even stepped foot in the mines. Where there had previously been deep calluses, skin grown over in tough layers, unyielding to Powder's best attempts at softening them, there was now buttery tissue.
Powder.
His eyes widened and he sat up. All around him was wide open expanse, only broken up by a few green trees. The grass under him was delicately lush, easing pressing against the weight of his feet. Above the fog was a dusky sky. The sun had just started to set, reflecting off golden clouds in shades of pinks and purples and blues. His eyes watered.
"Powder," he croaked uselessly, stumbling forward. He caught himself against a tree, his shoulders shivering, although it wasn't from the cold. "Vi? Where are you?"
Flashes of big, teary eyes filled his mind's eye, the sound of sobbing haunting his each breath. He screamed into the bark.
"Took you long enough."
The familiar, raspy drawl broke Vander away from the torrent of memories slushing around in his brain. He turned to see—
"Benzo?" He dragged his forearm across his eyes to make sure he was seeing right.
"Aye, in the flesh." Benzo stopped himself with a wince. "Sort of, anyway."
"You died," Vander breathed out, his knees growing weak under him. Maybe he was dreaming all of this.
"Sure did." The spectre snorted, clapping a hand onto Vander's shoulder. "And so have you!"
The cheery proclamation did little to soothe Vander, actually, it did the opposite. His stomach revolted against him, and he found himself spitting up thick globs of saliva and stomach acid at the foot of the tree. He sank to his knees with a groan.
"That happens. It'll fade with time, once you get used to all this," Benzo reassured him, squeezing his shoulder. The gesture seemed to help, making Vander feel more real, more grounded.
Once he stopped heaving, Vander collapsed back onto the meadow floor. The memories were tangible now, coherent instead of random bursts of light behind his eyes.
"I'm dead," he stated numbly.
"You are."
"I don't feel dead."
"Oh, yeah? And what d'you reckon that supposed to feel like?"
If this spectre wasn't Benzo, it was doing a fucking good job at mimicking him.
"Asshole."
Benzo settled onto the grass next to Vander, resting his elbows on splayed-out knees. "It's alright, Vander. You can take your time, coming to terms with all this. None of us got over it in a day."
"None of… There's more?" Vander was stirred into action, sitting up again, except this time it was too fast, and he got dizzy from the speed of it. "Where are we, Benzo?"
"Spirit Realm. The Path. Afterlife. Don't think it matters what you call it, really."
"Janna."
Benzo chuckled. "Rest up. There's lots running about here who feel eager to meet you."
The thought was mortifying to Vander, but he pushed it away, content to just feel this strange universe vibrate around him.
"You do that a lot."
Vander didn't bother turning back, simply pouring out beer into another tankard. "You're very welcome to sit with me."
Grayson's weight thudded onto the other end of the log. In front of them, the last rays of sunlight drowned into the vast expanses of the timberline—a sunset not unlike the one Vander has experienced on his first night.
"I thought you had seen enough darkness for a lifetime."
"I have," Vander agreed, taking a deep sip of his drink. It didn't have the same metallic tang that the alcohol he served at The Last Drop had, nor did it do much to inebriate his senses. Apparently, that last part was a feature of this world. "But this doesn't feel much like darkness."
"No?"
Vander knew that Grayson wasn't here to inquire about his nightly routine, the first traces of her actual question bleeding through the innocuous confirmation, but he ignored it.
"The darkness in the Undercity was permanent. A thick, grey thing that settled over our heads, and never went away. Here, I get to watch the sun fade away, and then come back like it always will."
Silence enveloped them, sinking into Vander's chest, settling into his diaphragm with an insistent weight.
Eventually, Grayson must have decided enough is enough. "You have been avoiding—"
"I talk to Benzo, and Mylo, and Claggor. And you."
"But you won't talk to them."
The beer started rising up as bile in his throat, burning away at the flesh. He forced it down with another few gulps.
"I have nothing to say."
Grayson hummed, a teasing smile playing about her lips.
"We're too alike for me to believe that," she said, her discerning gaze shifting to Vander for a moment before it mercifully pulled away. "You've spent your life taking care of the people you felt duty towards."
"And I failed." Vander still hadn't grown used to the way tears would, at random, start to accumulate in the corners of his eyes. He hadn't cried so much since he was a baby.
"We both did," Grayson mused, the smile slipping. "We thought we were doing the right thing. Maybe we were, but that is not the point." She set her still-full tankard down, a few drops sloshing over the side. Vander watched the wood turner a darker shade of burnt umber. "Coming here was a shock. I spent the next 7 years watching it all go downhill, powerless to stop it. I learnt to suppress it all, and it stayed that way, until…"
Grayson gave a meaningful look over her shoulder. "Sometimes, you have to let yourself feel things without acting on them, Vander."
"Sounds like a cop-out."
"Even the Hound deserves retirement."
Deserves. Vander wasn't sure what he deserved. Every waking moment was a recurring nightmare of screams and bloodshed, the images of his children burned into the forefront of his mind. Maybe he didn't even deserve to call them his children.
The weight lifted. "Just think on it."
"You have kept my friend worried."
Vander blinked. A tall, statuesque woman stood before him, dressed in a tightly wound corseted gown, covering her from neck to toe. Even her hands were gloved.
"My apologies, Councillor." He went back to grinding his mixture.
Cassandra Kiramman huffed, primly settling down across from Vander. The light of the bonfire he'd lit reflected off her azure earrings, making the stone look like it was alive, shifting and shimmering with each movement.
"You may call me Cassandra."
Vander snorted. "Much obliged. How can I help you?"
"Grayson conversed with you, some fortnight ago."
"Yeah."
"She seems to think…" Cassandra inhaled deeply, briefly fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. "She thinks I may offer you some insight. Our daughters seem to be quite taken with each other."
"I know. For what it's worth, your Caitlyn is pretty damn extraordinary." That was an understatement. One of the few things that had given Vander any real semblance of comfort was knowing that Vi wasn't alone anymore. He had watched his girl, his brilliant, big-hearted, stubborn little girl, now a woman, start to heal from everything that had been forced upon her, with Caitlyn by her side. He had found relief and appreciation in the young Kiramman, in a way he didn't know he could feel for a Piltovan.
The corners of Cassandra's mouth twitched upwards, pride glimmering across her face. "That she is. Your Violet is no less impressive. I confess, I feel grateful. To her, and in turn, you."
"Didn't have much of a hand in it." Vander shrugged, ducking his head. He dumped the batter into his cast-iron pan, squeezing in a bit of lemon juice before stirring it around. The thick scent of sugar rose up into the air, the crushed berries sizzling until it formed a dark, jammy syrup. He ladled it out into two servings, topping them with honeyed biscuits.
Cassandra had better manners than Grayson because she actually deigned to take a bite, humming in satisfaction at the makeshift blueberry dessert Vander had first thrown together when he was still just a teenager.
"The stars always reminds me of my daughter," Cassandra said, wistfully staring up at the dazzling night sky. "She would light up, at times, and this electricity would sparkle in her eyes." She frowned, looking back down at the bowl. "Eye, I suppose."
"She's strong."
"Far stronger than she should have had to be." Cassandra sighed quietly, tightening the cords of her body and squaring her shoulders before continuing. "In the beginning, I felt a sick sense of guilt, yes, but I also felt angry."
She smiled ruefully. "My husband is many things, and I loved him dearly, but he was supposed to be there for her. Instead, I watched her lose her spark, consumed by the desires of others, and I felt such terrible rage at him. I couldn't—I still don't understand why he just stood by as our child, our baby—"
It was an odd sight; the usually calm Cassandra choking on her own words, a slight flush painting the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat.
"All this to say, you're allowed to be angry."
"But…" Vander prompted.
"But it will eat you alive unless you confront it."
"I'm already dead."
"Precisely."
Vander thoughtfully chewed on a biscuit. "Friend, eh?"
"I'll thank you to keep your silence."
Vander wasn't sure why he was doing this. He had debated over it for so long, almost six months now, and he still wasn't sure. Every step he took carried him closer to the little cottage, the front covered in wild roses, and honeysuckle, and lavender. He paused at the gate, ready to turn back around when the door swung open.
"Vander?" Felicia gasped, dropping the basked in her hand. The next thing Vander saw was a blur of purple lightning darting towards him. He braced himself for the blow that never came.
"I missed you," Felicia whispered, throwing her arms around his hulking frame. He froze for a moment, unsure what to do, to say, how to begin making his apologies. For now, he settled for accepting the hug from a friend he never thought he'd see again.
When Felicia pulled away, she grabbed his hand instead, dragging him down the cobblestone path. "C'mon, I have to show you my garden!"
The sound of a soft lullaby, the same one Powder was singing that night on the bridge filled the air. Felicia buzzed from green patch to even greener patch, showing off the fruits and blossoms she had managed to grow, even though she didn't really need to.
"Did you know I can use the trash from my food, carrot peels, old tea, even torn up paper to help grow this stuff? It's so insane, I never thought I'd get to see, never mind create actual food." Sunlight dappled through the trees, making the bright lilac of Felicia's nail polish glow even more neon than it was. She hacked off a beetroot, thrusting it at Vander's face. "Did you ever see this colour in Zaun?"
"Shimmer." Vander cringed as soon as the thoughtless reply left his lips. He curled his hands into fists. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.
"Fee, I am so—"
"Don't," she whispered, grey eyes glistening. They looked so much like her daughter's.
"I have to. They were my responsibility. I told you we would figure it out, promised they would grow up in a better, safer world."
"You did your best."
"My best almost killed them." Vander's voice started raising. "I was a monster. I was the monster. Every attempt I made ended up worse than the last. If I had just—"
A beetroot hit him square in the chest. Felicia scoffed, wiping her cheeks clean. "Way to make yourself the martyr."
"What?"
"Shit happens, Vander. I've had a lot of time to come to terms with the fact." Felicia bounced with a restless energy, pacing around the garden. "Maybe we could have been better, and smarter about our plans. Maybe there was another way. Or maybe, if we'd done nothing, we would have died in the mines. You can scream and cry and rage over it, but we can't change it."
The tirade seemed to have spent her energy, and she sat down next to Vander with a long-suffering sound of exhaustion. She dropped her head onto Vander's upper arm. "Those girls are the best of us. They'll manage."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we'll be here."
However morbid the thought was, Vander couldn't deny the truth in it. He shifted his focus instead. "Do you talk to him?"
"Talk is a loose term." Felicia grimaced. "He doesn't speak. At first, he didn't even look at us."
"What changed?"
"I'm stubborn," she pointed out, quirking an eyebrow at Vander. "You should go see him."
Vander tensed. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"You were brothers, once."
"That's why it's not a good idea."
"Remember what I said earlier about being stubborn?"
"I think you meant insufferable," Vander groaned out, burying his head in his hands.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
The day Vander approached Silco, he half expected the ground beneath them to shake apart. Unlike his own hunting cabin, or Felicia's little cottage, or Benzo's idea of a bachelor pad, Silco resided in a Gothic-style house. The entire structure comprised entirely of a steep roof, pointed arches, sharp gables. Stepping inside reminded Vander of the same, grey darkness that choked the Undercity. Unlike the gentle cool Vander had grown used to in this Realm, the house was entrenched in an icy pall, snaking its way past his skin, tendrils of frost wrapping around his spine.
There was nowhere to sit. The furniture was rotting, mite tunnels carved into the splintering wood. The few safe spaces were piled high with pieces of paper, each sporting complex scribblings. Heavy, velvet curtains shrouded the area in black oblivion, hiding the rest of the damage, although the sound of rats running around was too distinct for Vander to miss. Even the air smelled like it fostered infection, ready to burrow into the nearest sucker's lungs.
In the middle of it all was Silco. Hands coated in charcoal smudges, head buried in a partially torn up notebook.
"Are you alright?" The question felt useless. True to reports, Silco did not acknowledge Vander's existence. Vander looked around for a moment before he finally settled on a plan of action. He grabbed the curtain, using all his might to tug it down. It took a while. Silco's own denial was invariably tied to the house, keeping it alive as a breathing coffin. Eventually, the fabric gave way, just a little. Either way, it was enough. The first rays of morning filtered in, illuminating Silco's face. He had his eye back, Vander noted.
There may have been no verbal response, but Silco stopped his manic scrawling, and that felt like a victory in itself. Vander dusted off a high-backed chair, praying to Janna that it wouldn't crumple under his weight.
"Take your time," he said.