𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙴 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙼𝚂

essek   lifts   his   eyebrows   ever   so   slightly,   indicating   just   how   deep   an   affront   the   statement   is.   his   gaze   never   lifts,   focused   on   the   kitten   he's   petting. he's   wearing   a   robe   so   thin   and   short   some   might   consider   it   indecent.   the   kitten   (   the   latest   addition   to   their   family   )   is   purring   loudly   as   she   rubs   against   essek's   hand,   and   a   box   of   pastries   lays   on   the   couch   to   his   left   —   freshly   baked,   and   the human's   favorite   kind.   a   caleb   trap,   some   might   call   it,   crafted   to   pull   his lover   away   from   his   work.

"You  know  exactly  what  you  are  doing,"  Caleb  says,  the  corner  of  his  mouth  quirking  upward  despite  himself.

He  lowers  the  tome  of  transmutation  theory  he's  been  poring  over  for  the  last  three  hours,  marking  his  place  with  a  slender  finger.  His  gaze  travels  deliberately  over  Essek's  form—from  the  casual  elegance  of  his  posture  to  the  expanse  of  lavender-gray  skin  the  short  robe  reveals.  And  their  kitten  continues  her  contented  purring,  oblivious  to  the  tension  building  in  the  room.

She wished she had a way to repay him for his kindness. She had a feeling he wouldn't accept money. Thinking for a moment, she shifted her books in her arms and reached up, taking one of the opalescent seashells out of her hair. She had a few attached to some braids, along with some pearls.

Caleb looked down at the shell nestled in his palm, its surface catching the light with an iridescent shimmer that seemed almost magical in itself. The delicate spiral curves were smooth beneath his fingertips, and he could smell the faint scent of sea salt that still clung to it.

Keyleth was on her feet in an instant, her hands reaching out to steady him before pulling back at the last second. She'd learned to read the signs when he needed space versus when he needed support. "Vax, sit down," she said firmly, though her voice carried none of the commanding tone she used with the Ashari. This was softer, more personal. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

She moved to block his path, not touching but close enough that he couldn't ignore her presence. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?" Her green eyes searched his face, taking in the pallor beneath his natural complexion, the way his jaw clenched against both pain and something deeper. "I see someone who's been carrying the weight of divinity for so long, he's forgotten what his own shoulders feel like without it."

the   loose   grip,   the   way   caleb   looks   away   from   him,   it   all   hurts.   essek   has   a   torrent   of   passion   reaching for   him,   but   it   meets   a   stone   wall.        ❝    caleb,   there   .   .   .    it   is   written   all   over   our   culture.   not   only   losing   loved   ones,   but   friends,   acquaintances.   it   is   something   we   are   aware   of   with   each   connection   we   make, something we have centuries of resources for.    ❞

Caleb's  shoulders  sink,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  falling  leaves  outside.  A  heavy  sigh  escapes  him  as  he  finally  turns  back  to  meet  Essek's  gaze,  his  blue  eyes  filled  with  a  quiet  resignation.

"I  understand  what  you  are  saying,"  he  says  softly,  his  Zemnian  accent  thickening  with  emotion.  "But  Essek,  when  I  am  gone,  you  will  be  alone  here.  You  will  have  no  home  to  return  to,  no  culture  to  embrace  you  in  your  grief.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  though  I  have  kept  you  from  finding  a  new  home,  one  that  outlives  me."

"That prison break hardly counts," Vax scoffed, waving dismissively. "It was barely a prison. More like a glorified drunk tank with guards who couldn't stay awake past midnight. And if I recall correctly, who was it that picked the locks while you were busy flirting with the guard captain?" He arched an eyebrow at her, daring her to contradict him.

The lights of the town grew brighter as they approached, the silhouettes of buildings taking shape against the darkening sky. It was a modest settlement—not quite a village but certainly no metropolis—with a smattering of shops clustered around what appeared to be a central square. "We'll find you everything you need," Vax assured her, his voice softening like it always does with his sister.

As they reached the edge of town, Vax pulled his hood up, more out of habit than necessity. The cloak did need replacing; the fabric was worn thin in places, and one of the clasps had broken months ago. Still, it served its purpose well enough, concealing his features and the telltale points of his ears. "Shall we try the tavern first?" he suggested, gesturing toward a squat building with golden light spilling from its windows. The sign hanging above the door depicted a rather poorly painted boar with an apple in its mouth. "The Drunken Hog," Vax read aloud. "Charming. Bet they have the most watered-down ale this side of Emon."

He,  too,  stops  when  Caleb  does  — there’s  a  part  of  him  that  feels  some  relief  when  they  do.  He’s  not  eager  for  this  confrontation,  no  matter  what  he  says.  He  furrows  his  brows  at  the  protest,  eyes  averting  briefly,  but  — he  finds  it  difficult  to  argue  it  back.  He  wants  him  there  with  him,  and  that’s  probably  the  worst  part  of  it  all.  It’s  not  necessarily  a  fear,  but  there  is  an  insidious  little  dread  that  mixes  with  old  hot  anger  and  a  weary  kind  of  grief  in  a  volatile,  complicated  mess.  

"  I  just  don’t  want  y’to  get  hurt,  "  he  mutters,  low,  and  that’s  a  heavy  truth  of  it  but  it’s  not  the  whole  truth,  is  it?  It’s  no  lie,  but  there’s  also  a  distant  worry  about  what’s  going  to  happen  down  there  that  has  little  to  do  with  power.  He’s  gentled  considerably  since  their  first  days  — the  bitter  anger  has  long  grown  softer  teeth,  and  the  vengeance  that  drove  him  has  become  more  like  exhausted  duty.  But  his  past  is  his  past,  and  he’s  not  sure  what  he’s  afraid  of  ——  his  gaze  meets  Caleb’s  at  the  touch,  and  those  words  also  serve  to  remind  why  they’re  here,  and  he  just  utters  a  low,  affirmative  noise.

The  funny  part,  too,  is  there’s  no  magic  on  the  air.  He  can’t  sense  this,  because  he’s  not  connected  to  the  Weave  — but  there’s  no  wards,  no  protections,  no  whiff  of  power.  And,  distantly,  a  figure  walks  out  of  the  rock  outcropping,  leading  a  mule  by  a  rope  to  tie  it  to  a  nearby  tree.  The  figure  is  neither  tall  nor  short,  and  favors  a  leg  heavily:  they  lean  on  the  mule,  and  once  they  have  it  tied  up  with  a  bucket  nearby,  they  pull  a  cane  off  its  back  to  walk  back  out  of  sight.  

Caleb's  expression  softens,  though  concern  still  lingers  in  his  eyes.  "I  understand,"  he  says  quietly.  "But  we  do  this  together,  ja?  Always."  He  gives  Paerin's  shoulder  one  more  reassuring  squeeze  before  releasing  him,  turning  to  observe  the  figure  by  the  mule.

His  brow  furrows  as  he  watches  the  limping  stranger  disappear  back  into  the  outcropping.  This  doesn't  match  what  they  had  expected—a  powerful  mage  who  had  once  nearly  killed  Paerin  shouldn't  need  to  lean  on  a  mule  or  use  a  cane.  Something  doesn't  add  up. "People  change,"  Caleb  murmurs  thoughtfully.  "Time  and  circumstance  can  wear  down  even  the  mightiest."  He  reaches  for  his  component  pouch,  fingers  brushing  over  familiar  items  inside.  "If  you  wish  to  approach  directly,  I  can  provide  cover.  Or..."  He  hesitates,  calculating  options.  "I  could  send  Frumpkin  ahead  to  scout."

A  small  smile  tugs  at  his  lips  as  he  adds,  "Though  your  direct  approach  has  its  merits.  Simplicity  can  sometimes  be  the  most  effective  strategy,  especially  when  expectations  are  involved."  His  eyes  never  leave  the  outcropping,  searching  for  any  signs  of  deception  or  danger.

Vax blinked, staring at the spot where the cat had just been, before starting slightly as the cat reappeared on his shoulder with the snap of Caleb's fingers.

Well. That was quite handy indeed.

He reached his hand up to continue scratching Frumpkin's head, leaning into the cat affectionately. "Cats know good people when they see them. I'm sure he thinks quite highly of you." In fact, Vax'ildan would trust a cats judgement over many of the people he knew.

Caleb was grateful for the dim firelight that might conceal his flushed reaction, though he suspected Vax, with his keen perception, would notice anyway. The wizard's mind raced, parsing the layers of meaning beneath the rogue's words.

"Ach?" he managed, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "I cannot imagine who that might be." The lie was transparent, hanging awkwardly between them, but old habits of self-preservation died hard.

he   raises   an   eyebrow,   slightly,   as   caleb   touches   him   —   not   an   admonishment,   but   a   warning.   mind   yourself, widogast.   remember   who   is   in   charge.   still,   essek's   mask   softens   as   their   foreheads   touch;   a   familiar   contact   they   used   even   before   their   relationship began.   he   doubts   there'll   ever   come   a   time   when   he   isn't   effected   by   it.

❝    hmm.   a   truce,   then?    ❞        he   tilts   his   head   back   to   look   at   caleb,   and   releases   his   chin.        ❝    such   an   agreement   must   be   beneficial   for   both   parties.   you   must   have   something   to   exchange.    ❞

The  sudden  closeness,  combined  with  the  drow's  bold  question,  sends  heat  rushing  to  his  face.  His  cheeks  burn  with  such  intensity  that  he's  certain  they  must  match  the  color  of  his  hair.  "I-  ah-"  Caleb  stammers,  completely  losing  his  usual  eloquence.  His  hands  hover  uncertainly  at  Essek's  waist,  torn  between  pulling  him  closer  and  maintaining  the  respectful  distance  he's  been  so  careful  to  preserve.  The  feeling  of  Essek's  clothed  form  against  his  naked  torso  is  dizzyingly  intimate.

His  mind  races  with  possibilities  of  what  he  could  offer,  what  he  wants  to  offer…  everything,  anything  Essek  might  desire…  but  he's  acutely  aware  of  overstepping.  The  flush  spreads  down  his  neck  to  his  chest,  visible  evidence  of  his  flustered  state.

Keyleth paused, her hands stilling against his wounded skin. The antlers crowning her head seemed to cast longer shadows across her face in the dim light of their shelter. She studied him—this man who had once been her everything, who had died, and who had somehow returned to her side, bearing new scars she couldn't see. "Vax," she said, her voice suddenly weighted with decades of leadership, of decisions made alone, of standing strong when she wanted to crumble. She set the bloodied cloth aside, her shoulders slumping slightly beneath an invisible burden. "I'm not the same girl you left behind."