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There is distance between Essek's mind and body. A strategic compartmentalization to keep himself from succumbing to either the exhaustion seeping into his bones or the spiraling worries that threaten his focus.
He is unaware of how much time has elapsed since the Nein entered the heirloom sphere — the happy funball, as Caleb insists on calling it — only that the minutes have continued to pass and the group has seemingly forgotten about him.
The telepathic connection he forged between them all was not as useful as he had hoped, now knowing whatever entity that had latched onto Caleb has also scrambled the rooms, added chambers that — from what little Essek can gather — mirror memories from Caleb's own mind. He shudders to think of what the Nein see, but finds he cannot ruminate on the possibilities for too long without threat of losing his hard-won focus and the tentatively held entrance attempting to slam shut.
A drip of sweat prickles down the back of his neck. Vaguely, at the edges of his consciousness, he feels magic being siphoned from him into the sphere more aggressively than what had been pulled from his stores in the last stretch of time. The knuckles of both hands go white with the strength required to keep the brass inlays of the sphere aligned with his left and the complex dunamantic stabilization in steady in his right as the conflicting magics seem to thrash against his will in unison.
A battle had undoubtedly begun a few minutes ago, if the disparate shouts, grunts, and familiar choice words were anything to go by. Veth had been all but screeching into Essek's mind for longer — he tries not to think of what manner of torture she may be experiencing at the hands of whatever they had hubristically unleashed by opening that door.
If he is hurting Veth…
The brass slips minutely beneath his fingers again, and Essek shoves the thought from his mind, drawing in a tight breath and furrowing his brows even deeper. He gathers more dunamis around himself, the shroud of silvery-grey energy thickens the air of the study. He focuses it around the sphere, willing both it and his hands to remain steady long enough for his friends to return safely.
"No, c'mon, Caleb." Yasha's voice is wrought with tension, so palpable Essek can feel her terror as if it is his own. "Jester!"
Jester screams, anguished, "This is a healing flame! Think about that, Caleb!"
The seconds that pass stretch into millennia before all the fight in the brass between Essek's left hand deflates. Absently, he realizes there will likely be grooves left in the flesh of his fingers from how tightly he is gripping the brass reliefs, but it is inconsequential when set in perspective of everything else that has transpired. His heart hammers against his ribs as the brief silence is broken by a jagged sob from Jester piercing his mind.
"We need to get out of here, now," Beau says, her voice thin and absent of its usual bite. "Fjord—"
"Way ahead of you—" Fjord's voice echoes through Essek's mind just as the energy of the chamber shifts and six figures shunt out of the ball in the space of a second.
The first thing Essek sees is Caleb's limp body being held in Yasha's arms. Her hands are glowing where they grip below his shoulders and knees, the large slashing wound on his stomach stitching up so the blood pouring from the gash slows to a trickle. His face is slack and pale, head lolling out over Yasha's bicep. Jester is frantically digging through her haversack, muttering about a diamond.
"What happened?" Essek pushes forward to stand directly behind Jester. Some not-insignificant part of him wishes to shove them all aside and assess the damage himself, but he regrettably has little in the way of healing, so he gives Jester space to work her spell.
Both Yasha and Jester wilt at his words.
"We had to free him from that thing," Jester says, withdrawing a rather large, high-quality diamond from the depths of her pack.
"By killing him?" The words come out much more pointed than he intends.
"We did what we had to," Beau argues from a short distance away where she is sitting on the ground beside a prone Veth, "it's not like we were trying to kill him."
Yasha is silent, eyes fixed on Caleb's chest and face contorted into a pained expression. Her dark eye makeup mixes with the tears that fall steadily down her cheeks. Essek has to draw a breath deliberately through his nose to keep from whirling around and shouting at Beau or worse. Surely there must have been some other way to—
But he does not know. He has but a vague idea of what they encountered; he was not there, he was not of use to them. He dragged them all into this mess, and his meager attempts at aiding them had done nothing at all.
Useless as always, Thelyss.
Essek's limbs are cold, as though he has been trekking through the snows of Eiselcross without proper gear. Vaguely, he is aware of the Nein shifting around him — Veth, on the floor with Beau at her side, Fjord standing sentinel over Yasha's shoulder as Jester thrusts a diamond against Caleb's unmoving chest with a flash of green and pink magic that fills the stagnant air around them with the scent of baked goods, Yasha's silent tears as Caleb's body remains unmoved — but he feels akin to a spectre, simply observing their actions rather than an active participant in his own body.
He cannot force his eyes away from Caleb. The slashing wound through his stomach. His auburn hair falling limply over Yasha's arm. The copious amount of blood soaking his now tattered new coat, slowly dripping onto the floor.
"Why—?" Jester's hands are still pressing against Caleb's chest, even after the diamond has disintegrated and its energy flowed into Caleb's body.
Immediately, she begins to dig through her haversack again. Fjord rests a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off, another terrible, jagged sob pushing its way past her lips. The sound grates at Essek, threatening to draw tears from his own eyes.
He steels himself. This is not an end; Essek will see to that personally.
"Caleb—" Veth stutters out, head thrown back and eyes closed tightly against the pain of— childbirth, Essek finally registers.
That clears up some of the incongruent conversation he heard. What in all the hells happened in that ball?
"—Is going to be just fine," Beau reassures, patting Veth's shoulder before turning her attention to Essek, expression grim and tone even grimmer. "We need to get Veth to Nicodranas. Now."
He glances back at Caleb's lifeless body and feels a vise grip tightly around his heart. Before he can speak, Jester cuts in, her voice shaky as she continues to stare at Caleb.
"Me and Fjord can take her to Mama's. I'll tell Yeza to meet us there."
The three of them disappear a few moments later in a flourish of magic that leaves the air smelling of sweet candy and cinnamon. Essek, Beau, and Yasha — still holding the limp body of Caleb — are now alone in the foyer of Essek and Caleb's home in Rexxentrum, bloody footprints marring the blue rug. Absently, Essek calculates the amount of prestidigitations it will take to fully restore the fabric; thirty-nine, he decides.
Caleb's face is blank, peaceful, in a way that leaves a clawing, cold void settling at the base of Essek's gut. Even in sleep, even so far removed from the stress of adventuring and the shadows clouding his past, Caleb never looks so placid. His brows are almost perpetually furrowed — more so in recent months, Essek recognizes in hindsight and curses his inability to broach the subject earlier.
Coward, even still. Essek has always been patient, cataloguing the minute changes in Caleb's mood but giving him the space to approach the conversation at his leisure. He has always considered it to be a courtesy, to let Caleb take the lead in situations revolving around whatever complex feelings he had brewing within him, but now Essek just feels cold. Even knowing that Caduceus would set everything to rights only warmed him marginally.
He has only ever borne witness to one proper resurrection ritual — that sort of magic was heretical within the dynasty, to call a soul back from its rightful place within the Luxon's cycle of rebirth — and it had not been successful. The idea of crowding around Caleb's lifeless body and imploring his spirit to return and nothing stirring in response filled Essek with apprehension, nausea swirling in his stomach.
This whole adventure into the heirloom sphere — the happy funball — had been Essek's idea, after all. Caleb's death is a result of Essek's incessant paranoia, the fear of the Dynasty or Assembly coming for him once again. He had lost his position at the Soul because of his complacency with Bell's Hells, and he had spent the last several months altering the arcane wards on their home to ease his anxiety to very little relief. Caleb had proposed another expedition into Aeor, to one of the lesser tread crash sites where neither Empire nor Dynasty were conducting continued investigations, but Essek proposed approaching Yussa to borrow the happy funball instead.
Essek now wishes Caleb had chastised him for being so completely swallowed by fear and just dragged him up to Eiselcross instead.
He startles at the feeling of a hand against his forearm, and just barely swallows the urge to rip his arm away. Beau is looking at him, her brows furrowed, and lips pursed in an almost pained expression. "Do you have enough for another teleport? We can rest here if you—"
"No—" Essek shakes his head and draws an unintentionally shaky breath. "Please, I can manage it. The grove?"
Beau nods, eyes boring into Caleb's body still held within a silent Yasha's arms several feet to Essek's left. "Cad's on his way back."
"Where is he now?"
"Not sure, probably somewhere in the woods."
"I need a more precise location than that," Essek mutters, fumbling in his pockets for the sending stones Caleb had crafted years ago. It warms against his palm and glows a faint bluish-green as he presses at it to activate the magic. "Caduceus, do you see any landmarks? Any idea where exactly you are, or distance from the grove? I am attempting to come to you directly."
"Ah, hello, Mister Essek. Not sure. Just lots of trees and plants around here. I told Beau we're on our way back, just gathering some—"
The stone goes cool and inert in Essek's hands. He shoves it frustratedly back into his pocket, shoving thoughts about how similar the stone and Caleb are in this moment from his mind. Both lifeless and cold, magic mirroring its creator in the most macabre sense.
"Alright, gather close," Essek says, shoving air into his lungs and out again, trying to ground himself enough to focus on a teleport when his magic is already all-but spent, and his goal location is a mere fog in his head. Beau crosses her arms over her chest.
"We're not teleporting to buttfuck nowhere."
Defiance spikes in Essek's veins, hot and prickling. "I am not going to sit around and wait for Caduceus to wander back when Caleb is—"
The words fail to form on his lips. Caleb will be fine.
"And we aren't going to get lost in the Savilirwood because you can't be patient," Beau argues.
Both Essek and Yasha bristle at her word choice.
"I am not being impatient, Beauregard, I—"
"Yes, you are." She says, taking a step towards him and jabbing a finger at his chest. "You're being impatient and impulsive, and you know it. You don't even know where you're going; we need to just—"
"Would you feel the same if it were Yasha?" Essek practically spits, the words spewing from his lips like hot venom. He can see Beau and Yasha both recoil as they hit. Good. "I said I would come back for him, that I would save him, and now he is dead. So, yes, I am going to do all within my power to ensure he comes back to me safely. If you do not wish to aid me, I will go alone."
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Essek, just—" Beau squeezes her eyes shut, taking a breath and blowing it out carefully. She stands, interposing between Essek and Yasha. Strategic — she would get an opportunity to stop him if he tried to grab Caleb's body to teleport away with. "None of us wanted this. We didn't leave our comfy-ass bed to help you save him just to—" She scrunches her nose, cutting herself off short again. "Look, we're going to get him back, but just think for a second. If we get lost trying to find Caduceus, we can't do anything."
Essek averts his gaze towards the floor. His chest aches at the sight of Caleb's blood covering the rug, and he quickly finds an unnotable spot on the wall to focus on instead. He knows Beau is right, logically speaking. None of them had entered with the express intent of hurting Caleb. He knows that he is being an asshole, accusing them of not caring after they had all come so swiftly to his aid, placing no burden of blame on him when it is so rightfully deserved.
And still, the knowledge that he had been utterly useless throughout the entire endeavor gnaws at his insides.
He had stood there, his brain being pulled taut between spells and sphere, listening to his friends experience unknown horrors with nothing to do but bear witness and maintain his position. He heard as Fjord adopted the accent of Trent Ikithon, calling Caleb little spark, as Veth echoed the words Caleb had spoken to him once, in the hull of a ship in Nicodranas — "You were not born with venom in your veins, you learned it. Now unlearn it, you bookworm nerd motherfucker!" — as all six of them screamed in agony, being burned in what Essek had deduced was a facsimile of Caleb's childhood home, and he had been powerless to aid them. The hours are burned into his memory, the pain of his inadequacy rioting against his ribcage like a rebellious animal fighting for escape.
"It is my fault he was even in there to begin with," Essek says quietly, swallowing against the growing thickness of threatening tears in his throat. "I… This is all my fault, I can't just—"
"Hey, it's not entirely your fault. Caleb wouldn't have gone in there if he didn't want to." Beau says, expression taut as she rests a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to fix this, alright?"
Essek pulls in a breath through his nose, pointedly not allowing his eyes to drift back to Caleb's slack, pale face. It is all he can do to nod, taking another shaky breath before drawing arcana around the four of them with a muttered incantation.
There is, practically speaking, a limit to the magic one should be able to command within a day. Essek is acutely aware he is stretching that limit, bending reality around his will in such a way that should be inaccessible to him after spending so much of his power holding the heirloom sphere stable. But, regardless of his current stance within his den, he is still a dunamantic prodigy of Den Thelyss. Time, space, and possibility dance to his direction. No practical limits would stand in his way when Caleb's life is on the line.
Essek plucks at the web of dunamis in the atmosphere and wraps it tightly around the arcana he commands in the form of a teleport. It is not enough on its own to take them to the Grove, but Essek draws possibility itself to his fingers, weaving the proper reality — the one where they land safely on target — into an elaborate tapestry before his eyes, so vivid he can already smell the fragrant blossoms of tea, and forces it into fruition around them.
A blinding shock of pain shoots up Essek's legs and through his back, reverberating through his entire skeleton as the magic dissipates in a crash. It feels as though his ribs are collapsing against his lungs, pressure building along the skin of his chest and stomach, both crushing him and shoving his organs outwards. His vision clouds with white, ears ringing.
Sturdy hands grasp at Essek's forearms, keeping him upright as his legs nearly give out beneath him. He blinks, trying to push the fog filling his head away enough to ensure he has landed them properly within the Blooming Grove. His vision returns, blurry at first, and he is greeted with the sight of a stressed Beauregard glaring intently at him.
"I'm fine," he manages after breath floods back into his lungs.
"Yeah, right." Beau rolls her eyes and steps aside, but she keeps a firm hand beneath his forearm while they cross the graveyard towards the Clay's home.
It does not escape him that they've brought Caleb's dead body to a graveyard — to a family who steward the transition between life and death, who put bodies like Caleb's to eternal rest beneath the dirt — with the hopes of breathing life into him once again. What would the divine stewardess of this land think of a heretic imploring her favored charge to perform a resurrection within her sacred grounds?
The grove is peaceful as ever. A gentle breeze follows their group as they meander through the graveyard, each well-maintained headstone accompanied by blooming plants of many colors, shapes, and states of growth. On previous visits, Essek has found the wide array of fragrant teas Caduceus brewed for his appraisal intriguing. Caduceus often shared stories his family had passed down about the various people the leaves were plucked from.
Essek tries his best not to think about what Caduceus might say about each of his friends, after such a time has come when they are all laid to rest here. He will have plenty of time to hear those in years to come. The thought settles sourly against his ribs, deepening the cold numbness spreading from his stomach out through his fingers and toes.
Several hours pass in near silence, the tranquil ambiance of the Blooming Grove keeping their small group company. The sun has already begun to nestle itself along the verdant treeline when Caduceus and his sisters push through the foliage at the back edge of the graveyard. The sight of them turns Essek's stomach; a twisting combination of dread and hope that leaves his shoulders drawn taut.
Immediately when he reaches them, Caduceus has divine magic pooling between his hands and aimed at Caleb. The sallow grey pallor of his skin does not improve, but the slackness of his face does subside slightly, as though the magic has reminded his muscles how to hold him together once more.
Caduceus's expression is grim, brows drawn and eyes focused on the half-sealed wounds visible through the slashes in Caleb's fine clothes. He guides them to a clearing in the graveyard, instructing Yasha to deposit Caleb's body among the lush grasses and sprouting yellow wildflowers.
"What happened?"
"Wizard date in the happy funball gone wrong," Beau says, glancing very briefly at Essek before angling her stare at the dirt instead. "Some ancient entity latched onto Caleb, and we had to save him."
"Without a cleric? That's… a choice." Caduceus's ear twitches, frown deepening. Beau stiffens, fixing Caduceus with a weak glare.
"Jester was there, too; she's handling our other ordeal. That thing made Veth go into labor mid-battle. And it's not our fault you were fucking busy."
"Oh," Caduceus says. He blinks, brows raising in surprise before furrowing once more. "Oh, that's not good."
"Yeah. I think she tried to help before they left for Nicodranas, but it didn't work." Beau says. "That… that's fine, right? I mean, for your thing?"
"Mm, yeah, it should be. Might make things more difficult."
"Difficult? How?" Essek finally manages to find his voice.
Caduceus looks at him, expression softening in a way that makes something in Essek's stomach twist with indignation. He does not need platitudes or pitying glances. He needs breath to draw into Caleb's lungs once more.
"Death clings tighter to those that have been embraced by it before. It's not impossible, but he'll probably need some solid persuasion to return." Caduceus leans over to press a hand to Caleb's cheek, a melancholic smile tugging at his lips. "It's not time for you to stay here just yet."
"It'll work, though, right?" Beau asks again, her voice uncharacteristically small.
Caduceus is quiet for a moment, expression set and eyes focused on an indiscriminate spot of grass.
"It's hard to know for sure, but I'd like to think so."
A chill settles in Essek's bones as their small group gathers around Caleb's body where it lies on the lush forest floor. The magic flowing from Caduceus's staff has the moss and grasses crawling towards Caleb's body, rooting him into the ground and pulsing faintly with warm yellow and green divine energy.
Beau steps forward first. She stands above him for a moment, shoulders taut, before taking a deep breath and settling on her knees at his side.
"Hey, Caleb." Her voice is gruff and quiet as she puts a hand on his shoulder. "If I'd known you were going to, y'know, die, I would've brought you something. Like how we did with Molly. Kingsley." She frowns. "I still… whatever. Anyways. I'm just here to say if you don't come back, I'm going to find a way to meditate into the afterlife and kick your ass all over again. Don't get all broody or whatever; you should know by this point we love you, even when you're trying to kill us."
For good measure, Essek assumes, Beau gives him a weak punch. The spot she hits on Caleb's upper arm pulses a brighter yellow, then a patch of moss rapidly spreads to cover his entire shoulder. She wipes at her eyes and cheeks before sitting back, staring intently at the moss that continues to slowly spider out along his arm and chest.
Yasha comes to the other side of Caleb, dark, makeup-laden tears staining her cheeks. She is silent, brows and lips drawn into a solemn expression, shoulders shaking slightly as she stares down at Caleb's face. Gently, she clasps one of Caleb's hands in both of her own, closing her eyes and releasing her large, white feathered wings. They come to cradle Caleb's body, capturing both of them in a halo of white. She rolls her head back, staring up at the clouds beginning to gather high above the tree canopy, breathing out a heavy sigh as thunder begins to roll in the distance.
After a minute, the wings fall away, dusting Caleb's body with white feathers that fizzle into nothing as they hit his skin. Moss slowly crawls to envelope his body, small white flowers sprouting all along it in the spots where Yasha's feathers touched.
Essek stares, barely registering the pain still flowing through his body. He feels light, staring down at Caleb's lifeless body enshrouded by moss and green and life. Words he wishes to say tangle in his throat as he sits at Caleb's side, next to his head. He sweeps a lock of greying auburn hair from Caleb's forehead, tucking it behind his ear, and tries not to register the coldness, the lack of life and color beneath his skin. Tries even harder not to stare directly into his milky eyes that refuse to stay shut, the once clear crystal blue now muted and empty.
"I never thought we would be doing this," Essek says quietly, slipping into undercommon for some semblance of privacy — even if he knows Beau will be listening. "I always imagined your passing as a peaceful thing. You— we are not meant to have a long time together, I know. I… I have made my peace with that, but— I do not accept this, Caleb Widogast. Not for a moment.
"I am sure you remember when I told you of my mother. The altruistic tale I wove for myself to justify—" Essek sucks in a shaky breath, trying and subsequently failing to stifle the fresh tears that spill over his lashline. "My greatest transgressions have been borne from someone I care for falling victim to fate prematurely. I failed her terribly, but I refuse to fail you, Caleb. If this does not succeed, I promise you, I will rearrange the threads of fate with my own hands until you are standing at my side. I do not ask you to defy death for me, only to wait until… until it is time."
Essek leans down, tracing the edges of Caleb's goatee with his fingers and letting his eyes trail along the freckles and wrinkles that pepper his pale, ghostly face. Caleb's skin is cool and too elastic beneath his lips as Essek presses a kiss between his eyebrows.
"I promised I would come back for you, and I did. Now you have to come back to me, too." His voice is barely a whisper, the breath ghosting over Caleb's face and gently rustling his hair. There are damp spots along his cheeks and forehead where Essek's tears fall.
A line of moss spreads from where it covers Caleb's body up to the spot between his eyebrows and spreads from there to cover his entire face. Small purple blossoms and delicate sprigs of greenery sprout along the moss, concentrated on where Essek's lips had landed. The smooth contours of his face and body are still visible through the thick foliage that enshrouds him, pulsing with gentle waves of yellow and teal-green divine energy.
In Cognouza, this spell had concluded with a boisterous explosion of energy. Caleb's small stone bursting with stored arcana in a brilliant, blinding flash. Essek finds himself waiting with bated breath for the same to happen now, only it never comes.
Caduceus takes soft steps towards Caleb, falling to a knee beside Essek and pressing his hands against Caleb's chest. His eyes are still drawn shut, lips moving in near-silent prayer as a gentle, warm breeze picks up from an indiscriminate somewhere behind them. The air carries on it the scent of petrichor and sprouting wildflowers, filling the void that has been steadfast in Essek's stomach since they opened that cursed door with a small amount of warmth.
Time, for all Essek has boasted his mastery over it, slips from his awareness, then, as he stares at the moss-covered form of Caleb Widogast. Tears flow down his cheeks, cooled against his skin by the soft blow of breeze from the Wildmother herself.
Essek Thelyss has never believed in the gods; he has spent the majority of his life in staunch opposition to even the idea of divinity. But as the foliage enshrouding his lover begins to shift and wither away, revealing a markedly more alive form, he finds it difficult to deny the influence of anything other than Caduceus's benevolent goddess.
Painfully slow, as muscle and bone remember how to move in harmony, Caleb's chest gives a rattling rise and fall. Then another. Warmth floods into the hand clutched between Essek's fingers, spreading through Essek as well, loosening a modicum of the tension that had wound itself so tightly in his chest.
"Hey," Caduceus says, a small, lopsided smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Welcome back."
Caleb's brows furrow, eyes squeezing tight before blearily opening. Every breath sounds slightly labored as he blinks up at the darkening sky above the Grove.
Essek squeezes his hand, leaning into his field of vision. It takes all of his strength not to wrap his arms around Caleb and squeeze, to feel the reassuring beat of his heart against his own chest. Essek lets a hand card through Caleb's hair, smoothing the soft waves and pulling bits of withered moss from his tresses.
Crystal blue eyes meet Essek's gaze, holding it for a moment before fluttering shut once more. His lips part, voice coming out rough and weak.
"I am sorry."
Yasha's head bows, a thick hand finally parting from its place holding Caleb's to swipe at her eyes. Beau lets out a breath, shoulders shuddering slightly. Something between a laugh and a sob bubbles up in her throat.
"Don't ever fucking do that to us again."
Caleb hums, head rolling to look towards Beau, Caduceus, and Yasha before haltingly speaking again. "Where is Veth? Is she—?"
"Fine, in Nicodranas with Jester and Fjord," Essek replies, begrudgingly dislodging one of his hands from Caleb's hair to swipe at his damp cheek. "Everything is alright now."
"I—" Caleb winces as he attempts to push himself upright, "I need to speak with her, to apologize, I—"
"Careful," Caduceus cups a hand beneath Caleb's elbow, bracing him as he sits up in the grass. "I think everyone could use some rest, maybe some food. It'll be a little while before you're back on your feet, Mister Caleb."
The weight of all that has transpired today coming to bear down on Essek at once. It was just this morning he and Caleb were within the tower, enjoying a slow breakfast conjured by the cats and planning their expedition through the funball. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then.
Caleb is quiet, brows furrowed, and gaze focused on a spot of grass a few feet ahead of him.
"Thank you." He says at length and evidently with much difficulty. "I am sorry for… subjecting you all to that."
Nausea swirls in Essek's stomach again as Yasha and Beau move to help Caleb stand, practically carrying him into the Clay's home. It was his fault Caleb was in the heirloom sphere to begin with; his increasing paranoia in the aftermath of having his disguise dispelled in front of the Bright Queen had driven him to become even more of a recluse. The fear of Dynasty soldiers coming to his doorstep and putting Caleb in danger yet again after all the efforts he had gone to in the last seven years to protect them both was oppressive within Rexxentrum. He had wanted to go somewhere without those threats looming over his shoulder, and Caleb had been eager to appease him despite whatever reservations he may have had.
Essek wants to argue, to impress that it was not Caleb's fault. Essek wanted to explore the sphere; he pressured Caleb to open the door that sealed whatever ancient entity took hold of him away. He had made Caleb hurt his friends.
The words get caught in his throat as the threat of tears stings his eyes. Essek takes a breath, shoving his feelings down for later, and follows them inside where Caduceus sets about making a meager supper.
Essek lies awake in the darkness of a guest room within the Clay's home. Moonlight filters through the tree outside the window, casting swaths of light and shadow that dance along the greyscale planes of the room. He stares at Caleb's sleeping form on the bed beside him; studying the rise and fall of his chest, trying to commit the rhythm to memory.
He attempts a trance at multiple points of the night, but awakes in a start each time, convinced Caleb has gone cold and rigid beside him, unbreathing. Essek's blood is cold, his heart racing and breath coming in shallow gasps until he watches that steady rhythm of Caleb's chest once more, allowing himself to breathe in time with it.
Caleb is alive. Caleb is here, safe, at his side.
Tomorrow — or perhaps the day after, whenever Caleb is well enough to reconvene with the rest of the Nein in Nicodranas — there will be many arduous conversations to be had. Tears to be shed, blame to be cast.
Tonight, however, the Blooming Grove is quiet and peaceful, and Caleb's chest rises and falls unerringly, as though it had never ceased to do so at all.
Essek gently entwines their fingers beneath the blanket, focusing on the warmth of Caleb's hand.
His heart beats against Essek's skin. Steady, unyielding, alive.