Chapter Text
Callum always wondered what might have been.
Not in the way people usually wondered what might have been—he didn't long for it, wasn't even slightly envious of that version of himself.
Maybe certain things could have gone differently and he would be better for it.
Maybe he had made some mistakes.
Okay, definitely.
But that wasn't productive thinking. In all of the important ways, he was more than happy with how his life had turned out.
…Maybe just one important way? But it was the most important.
Even still, he couldn't help but wonder.
What if she'd never found him in the castle hall that night? Well, that meant she would have killed Marcos—wouldn't have listened to her endlessly benevolent heart telling her it was wrong.
To think Marcos ended up being such an important link for them. Weird
Well, if she had been the fearless assassin they'd tried to make her into, then they would never have known they were coming for his stepfather.
For his brother.
It would've been like any other day, and then the moon would have risen and then… Harrow never would again. Maybe it would've happened too fast, or maybe the commotion would have tipped the rest of the castle off, and even if Callum'd had no clue what was happening, he would've gone to Ezran. If he didn't get his own throat slit trying to save Ez then he probably would have had to watch his baby brother die in front of him.
Rayla was never supposed to go for Ezran, she had said. Callum supposed Runaan had had the decency to not make the child kill the other child. But, for some reason, in this painful part of his musings that he skipped over as fast as possible, that blip of Ezran's murder hurt so much less when it was Rayla holding the blade.
And then what? Callum knew, of course: he'd have truly lost everything.
Even still, he wondered what would be of Rayla. She might've died, she might've made it out alive. Maybe she would've been captured, and maybe he would've faced her in chains. Callum had never really been able to ignore how pretty she was, even when she was a pointy-sword-holding intruder glaring at him in the corridor, but he certainly wouldn't have been able to see that behind the face of a monster—and that was all she ever would have been.
If it wasn't him conceiving of these realities (when he was supposed to be doing other things, as with most of his daydreams,) then he would say it was inconceivable.
But what if, in a world far closer to his, that had all gone like it did—hesitation and changed minds and dragon eggs? And what if the thing that changed was that Ezran wasn't able to retrieve the egg from the frigid water in time, or Callum hadn't had the idea (or the guts) to sacrifice the Primal Stone so it could hatch?
He knew now that, in a way, he loved her by then, had loved her one way or another since the beginning, but he hadn't been anywhere close to knowing it at the time. And he wouldn't have stopped her when she left.
What else would there be to do? Their mission would've been over, their spirits crushed, and, by then, he'd say they'd evolved from allies to friends, but…
She'd definitely have told them about Harrow before they returned to Katolis to find out for themselves. It would've been a kindness, but that wouldn't have stopped her from being the messenger and Callum knew he probably wouldn't have been able to see past that darkness clouding her image. He and Ezran would've trudged home, and if they weren't killed by Viren first, then they'd go on to live a dim, colorless version of the one they were able to find after their father's death.
But Rayla? She would have had to make the journey home all the way by herself, only to find she was a Ghost. She was stronger than Callum could ever understand, but he also didn't think she'd have been able to overcome everything in the way she did without his words; she'd have hated herself more than anyone ever had and then… who knows where she'd have gone?
What if Zym had never broken her binding? That question was, maybe, less consequential to the overall course of events, but it would have been no small thing.
Callum was no medical expert, but he'd read enough to know that would have been unbelievably painful. She had said it would've eventually "fallen off," but there was no way they would've let it get to the point of breaking skin and nerves and bones. Same as with the wolf they'd just met, the easiest way to end her suffering would've been to remove the hand.
It was grim, morbid, sickening, but Callum sometimes wondered if he would've been the one to do it. Probably not—but, then again, who else was there, really? He didn't think he could bring himself to do that now, let alone as that scared child he'd been, but…
Would he have been willing to go anything to ease her pain, even then? He believed so.
Who would Rayla be without a hand? Well, to Callum, she'd still be Rayla—amazing, talented, strong Rayla. But her worth had been so tightly tied to her capabilities back then; if she hadn't had her full physicality, she might have turned out a very different person.
What if—when none of that happened… she hadn't left?
Callum knew what he wanted the answer to be—if she had realized what a mistake it would be and let him come with her, or even if she had decided not to go at all, then they would've had two more happy years together. He wouldn't have to endure the occasional ache that came from the unfillable hole inside him, she wouldn't have to continue to overcome all the terrible habits she'd picked up; his emotions might not be so volatile and she wouldn't be conditioned for self-punishment and so much heartache on both sides could have been avoided, and it might not have changed the circumstances they found themselves in now, but it would've been so much easier.
Right?
No, actually; because he knew what the answer really was: if she hadn't left then, she would've eventually. Alternatively, she might have just spent the rest of her life being miserable. It might've been better if they'd gone together but, still…
He recognized his mistake, now: he took in a battered animal off the street and thought with enough love and care he could just domesticate it—but that animal would never stop trying to run through a door left open.
Of course, Rayla was not an animal, was in fact a very intelligent and thoughtful person, but she had been more damaged than he'd realized.
She'd needed that, needed to leave, needed to find herself—and, no, she hadn't needed to do it all on her own or lie or leave him wondering for two years, but… it had worked out.
There were a lot of times when one or both of them had almost died, and the answer to those what-ifs were more or less the same. But he kept finding himself lingering on one in particular.
What if she'd fired the bow?
It didn't mean it was worth dwelling on.
Callum always liked to muse, when they were staring at the sky or walking through the woods or lying awake at night, what might have been.
He wondered what, starting from the moment they met, might have changed if just one thing had gone differently.
Of course, she'd heard that question before—it was the one he'd rhetorically asked before kissing her for the second-first time, the one she'd thought about for so long after because he'd really just been lying there thinking about it?, and the one whose answer he'd tried to make a reality every day since.
These musings, well… they were much bigger than that. They could get much darker. And it always got her own mind wandering.
What if they could go back even further?
Like… what if his mother had never died?
Then King Harrow would have had no revenge to take, and, by extension, neither would Xadia. Callum and Ezran would've gotten the childhood they deserved. But maybe Callum never would've been pushed towards Primal magic, would've ended up a dark mage—if a mage at all. Maybe he would've never found that calling, instead living out the rest of his life in the mold that didn't fit him. He probably would've ended up with Claudia either way. Eugh.
As for Rayla, well: assuming no other adversaries came for the egg, then Zym would have hatched in due time and her parents would have come home. They might have had trouble recognizing the hardened assassin they'd be returning to, but they'd have respected her choices and been happy to see her again regardless, just as she would.
Then what? She'd never really known, actually. She would've continued along with her training, and one day she would've made her first kill, and then her second and third and she would've had no reason to truly question if it was right. She'd probably be able to see a lot of the world through her missions, but it's not like she would ever need to fully leave the Silvergrove.
Would she have ever fallen in love? Probably. Maybe. She couldn't picture it; she'd never wanted to be in love with someone before she met Callum. As a kid, romance made her gag and she was consistently uncomfortable with the idea of being someone's girlfriend or wife or, Moon forbid, someone's mother.
It wasn't that developing a little crush on Callum in two weeks had abruptly changed her mind about everything, but he had changed her heart—the way she processed her feelings. Softness was only something she let escape because the boys made it so easy, with their openness and vulnerability and other practices that were so strange at the time, yet so enticing. Before she knew it, she had let all of the trust and love and wanting barrel out of her and suddenly she was okay with his steady eye contact, and initiating touches that lingered longer than necessary, and the fleeting temptation to kiss him—and then actually doing so. Suddenly, the idea of frivolous romance stopped making her scoff and started making her blush.
Even in her absence she found herself unable to shut that door once it'd been opened. And by the time she'd come back and he took her back, she was (ironically) long gone, so to speak. Now, he had her imagining the cuffs around her horns she knew were coming and the front garden of their future home and, one day, a second, smaller pair of his eyes staring up at her.
Would anybody else have ever been able to make her feel that way?
Probably not contained within the Silvergrove. Maybe she'd have been alone all her life—except for the Shadowpaws she'd have probably started breeding to curb her loneliness. But, who knows? People tended to find other people eventually; she might've ended up with another Moonshadow, who was different from her in the same way everyone else seemed to be, because they would never question the ways of life they all abided by. Maybe it would last anyway, maybe it wouldn't. Furthermore, in her line of work, she never would have wanted children.
And she'd just… never know, would she? She would never know that she wasn't meant to be a killer. Would never know there were people who didn't make her feel fundamentally different. Never know she was right to question her own culture.
Would never know who she really was.
But Sarai had been killed.
Harrow had killed Avizandum and her parents died trying to protect the egg. She was sent on a mission to kill the king and his son and she hesitated the first time she held her blades to a person's throat. She defied her father's will, and found the prince alone in the corridor. She saved the world and fell in love. Made some big mistakes, fell in love even harder, and (kinda) saved the world again.
She had two different families who she loved and who loved her more than anything. She had learned so much about the world and herself. She had someone as intrinsic to her as her own heart, someone who understood her and made it all worth it every single day.
As uncertain as it was, she had a future.
It didn't matter what might've been. She would choose this every time.