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Chapter Text

It’s dark and cold in this tower but the firebolt forming in his hand is warm, in an artificial way that flows dully through his veins. A crossbow bolt shoots from a place behind, narrowly missing him but hitting it's mark dead on. Mind racing he tries to recall why or how they got into this situation but things are blurry and the figure illuminated by runes and candlelight is taking most of his attention. An older human, with receding white hair that flows straight down, almost blending into his robes, though the latter is now patched with blood. Finally gathering the courage he sends the bolt forward. It hits the Ikithon, flames engulf the man but he stands still, face now lit from below with flames, a ghoulish sight.

The Ikithon retaliates in spades, effortlessly many globules of, pure energy are formed. Almost creating a halo behind him. They shoot forward, all destined for one target. And behind him Caleb hears the strangled cry, not quite a death rattle, of a goblin falling unconscious. And reality very suddenly and violently hits him. Vision filling with static and ears filling with blood he begins stumbling forward, hands up in surrender. Protests from behind him but he cannot hear. He falls forwards once he comes to the feet of the Ikithon, kneeling as if in some heinous prayer.

“Please, not her, not them. I’ll come back, I can serve the empire still.”

More words than this tumble out but it's a mix of Zemnian, Common, Celestial and anything, everything else. Dissolving into shuddering and slurred words it all comes to a stop when the Ikithon gently pulls his head upward by the chin. Flames slow and stop their flicker, frozen surely by the Ikithon.

“Caleb. The empire has no use for you, why would I take back broken goods?”

Eyes widening with a realization but the world is stopped and he is slow as the Ikithon touches two fingers to his temple and he convulses, body shuddering, and jerking violently as the seconds tick on and he is in agony.

Eventually he awakens. Eyes opening to a star filled sky, smoke in the air, and the familiar warmths of his cat, and Nott curled next to him. She stirs as he trembles slightly, eventually sitting up and looking down at him.

“Caleb? Are you alright?”

“Ja. Sorry for waking you.”

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Dancing, waltzing with her has always been calming. Even if he knows it's fake, even if he knows if she saw him today she would not hesitate to rip him limb from limb and tear him apart with care and precision and not bother to put him back together. These are always the oddest dreams, not quite lucid, but not quite immersed in the fantasy of times before. It's selfish but he tries to enjoy these moments, imagining a timeline where he could have everything he wanted. Where he could have served the empire, had a love, and not have so much blood on his hands. He doesn't deserve that reality, but the fantasy is nice.

No good thing lasts forever, especially when you don’t deserve it. The first note that things were going south was the candelabra slowly tilting down towards the rug. The second note was the wailing, the keening sound of loss, the broken cry of a mother having lost her child and the almost audible crack of a father’s strong facade breaking. It rises slowly, first almost akin to the white noise of the ocean tides. Growing ever stronger until it drowns out all other sounds but yet he still dances. His partner shifts though, switching from a pale blonde human, face dotted with freckles and hair carefully pulled back into a delicate ponytail. To a blue tiefling, face dotted with freckles still but her hair more wild, the charms from her horns and from her ears catching the light from the fire beautifully.

It’s always the fire that ruins these dreams. He could handle the wailing, let it dissipate into the background over time but the fire roots him in place, makes his movements slow and eventually stop. His partner looks to him confused, upset.

“Caleb?”

The fire spreads evermore. Creating a ring around the two, waiting almost politely for the perfect time to strike. It doesn't enter with a rush, but more so a trickle. Creeping behind her and catching her feet, slowly climbing up, flames licking upwards from the bottom of her dress as she grows more frantic.

“Caleb! What's wrong? You can tell me please. You have to talk, You can’t just stand there like that!”

Grabbing onto his arms now, almost sobbing, not quite disappointed in him but upset nonetheless. The worst part about these dreams is that he can’t escape. He can’t go to that part of his head where it all goes away and he’s just a husk. Flames continue to creep up her body, burning fabric and melting flesh, charring bones and evaporating her very essence of life. They've reached her face, and she contorts in agony as her hair catches on fire the trinkets, baubles attached to her horns melt and drip onto her cheeks carving pathways not dissimilar to tear tracks.

Her last word was ‘Please’. It fell from her lips as her cheeks were burned away and he could see her teeth through the dripping flesh. The dream doesn't have the courtesy to end there. He stands for what feels like years, looking at the pile of ash and whatever chunks of bone survived. The wailing never stops but the fire dies down, satisfied with the carnage. It never leaves though, nor does it go after him. He knows why.

He doesn't awake with a start. He’s asleep one second but awake the next. He avoids Jester that day, and feigns ignorance when Caduceus brings it up later.

Chapter Text

They itch terribly sometimes. The hundreds of lines carved into his skin. They raise and redden and the area becomes painful to touch. Usually it's easy to ignore, mind over matter, push it to the back of your mind there are more important matters. But tonight it’s not so easy. Carefully unwrapping the bandages, re-spooling and setting them down. As he carefully and methodically gets ready he’s still trying to talk himself out of it in a way, he knows it won’t help to scratch but he does anyway. Nails jagged and broken from being bitten to the bed, he scratches this itch.

He doesn't expect the lumps under the scars, under the flesh of his arm. It doesn't hurt to touch or to move them slightly, they're just there. He continues scratching, partially out of habit and partially to sate his curiosity. It isn't long before the skin is broken. Not by his nails, but by a glimmering shard of crystal, embedded in the skin but having broken the flesh. Blood pools and drips off of the arm, making tracks in the dirt and spilling across the earth. With morbid curiosity he begins slowly, methodically, dislodging the crystal.

It takes a few good yanks to rip it out, like a healer ripping out a bad tooth. Blood immediately begins pooling in the caldera left behind, overflowing and joining with the earth. With one shaking hand he wipes the blood off of the crystal and inspects it. It's a quartz pillar, completely clear but darkened at the base. Setting it next to the bandages he finds the next crystal, still embedded. This time pushing the skin and flesh surrounding it down, aiding the crystal in erupting from his flesh.

Six crystals later his left arm is more crater than flesh. The blood has grown to soak the majority of his pant leg, as well as the bottom half of his coat. Using his scarf, once blue now far more burgundy, for grip he twists the current crystal. It budges slightly, but not enough. Gripping once more and gritting his teeth he twists again and this time there's an audible snap as it comes free. Nausea hits then, a sudden realization of what he’s been doing.

He wakes before his dream self can vomit, but doesn't stop himself from retching, only a small amount of bile rises and hits the earth. The dirt around his bedroll is darker than the rest, and he feels a small lump in his arm when he goes to check. He double wraps his arms for the next week, the lump doesn't go away.