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Caleb has been unconscious for 51 minutes and 28 seconds. That is the first thing that comes into his head as he blinks his eyes open. He is secured to a stone chair. Thick metal bands adhere his wrists and ankles to the seat. Another is latched onto his face. Whoever took him knows to take away his ability to cast. As Caleb takes stock of his surroundings, he almost loses his sharp focus.
He knows this room.
Knows the buzz of dispel magic just outside of the room, knows the stonework, knows the table filled with tools, knows the lack of light, knows the smell of damp stone and old blood. Trent used to bring him and the others here.
Panic claws at his chest.
Astrid and Eadwulf are not here with him. He is not a teenager being tested. The thought helps calm him slightly. Looking to his hands, and to his bare chest, Caleb sees the scars of his adventures with the Nien. That one below his shoulder is from a crossbow bolt, the one at his abdomen is from Lorenzo, those thin lines from his back are from Lucien. Caleb breathes as he remembers his history outside of this room. He pulls at the bindings on his ankles and wrists. The metal is too thick and does not yield. He can barely snap his fingers the bonds are so restrictive.
Caleb rolls his head. Trying to clear the grogginess of a sleep spell. The heavy weight of the metal band around his head makes it difficult. Experimentally he tries to press his tongue against the metal but finds that there is no space to work his jaw free. At first, he thinks it is due to the tight binding but when he takes a deep breath through his nose, he smells it.
Arcane fire and burnt flesh.
The wave of nausea that crashes over him nearly threatens to send him into unconsciousness again. His breathing comes short as Caleb tries to suck in enough air through his nose. The more he struggles, the more the realization panics him.
The large metal band that encompasses his mouth and wraps around his head is not just sitting over his face. He can smell the burnt flesh, and with each small turn of his head can feel the skin of his mouth and lips being pulled as his heartbeat drowns out all sound.
The metal band does not sit over his mouth.
The skin of his mouth is melted into the metal.
As his breathing continues to feel too fast and panic grips at the emptiness of his stomach, his brain unhelpfully starts thinking of how his captures managed this. Perhaps the heat metal spell, was that hot enough to melt flesh to metal? Maybe it was arcanely produced metal and they simply cast it at his face, meaning if he was saved there would be metal lodged into bits of his skin. More unwanted theories pulsed into his brain as he tried to stem the panicked tears that are threatening to fall. Caleb pulls against the heavy metal bands, twisting his wrists back and forth. Trying anything to get some semblance of movement. Some small break in the binds to let him cast.
Nothing.
Before Caleb and work himself further into a blind panic, the door of the room creaks open. Caleb blinks against the light but settles his face into a glare. As the figure steps closer, Calebs mind hones into the details. Young, maybe just past 18, splotchy facial hair stubble, long and matted brown hair, dirt covered clothing that had been darned one too many times, maze like scars on the forearms, and dark brown eyes that have no light in them. Volstrucker. Another young prodigy, now seeking revenge for his master.
No words are said by the boy, barley any sounds are made as he steps towards the wooden table. He picks up a small hammer and turns. Caleb does not squirm, does not give this boy the satisfaction of fear. Merly clenches his fist and glares out against his torturer.
When the Volstrucker reels back the hammer and slams it down into the back of the left palm, Caleb does not unclench his fist. Another blow comes, just as vicious as the first. Four blows, five, eight. It’s not until the hammer strikes hard enough that Caleb can see his own veins gushing out blood does his fist unclench. The Volstrucker is lighting fast when the hand finally unwinds. He grabs one Calebs fingers, wrenches it out of its socket, then slams the heavy hammer into the first knuckle. Caleb lets loose a scream. Hardly any sound escapes out of the metal band across his face. A small trickle of blood runs down the corners of his mouth were some of the skin spilt open.
The scream invigorates the Volstruckrer. Those nearly black eyes finally shinning with a delight that makes Calebs stomach turn.
He takes each of Calebs fingers, repeating the process. Wrenching it out of the socket, hammering down on each knuckle, then moving onto the next. Any time Calebs hand attempts to shy away or close again, the hammer strikes the back of his palm once more. Once the Volstrucker had done each knuckle in the left, the boy simply takes a side step to the right of Caleb.
It takes 20 blows to open the right hand.
And after 26 minutes and 22 seconds, the Volstrucker smiles. In the dim light of the room Caleb can see the yellowed teeth in that crooked face. Bright and uncontained murderous glee adorns the adolescent grin. The boy turns back to the table and rummages around some of the items. In that small moment Caleb tries to take stock of himself, willing that surge of panic to stay down long enough to be defiant towards his capture.
Caleb couldn’t stand to look at the mangled mess of twisted fingers that used to be his hands. All of the fingers bent in different directions and soaked with warm blood that still pulsed from his exposed veins. He did not have much longer. There was too much blood to survive. He’ll never see his family again.
Caleb had not been afraid of dying in some time. But now, knowing that the last time he saw his friends would truly be the last, there was an immense grief that threatened to overwhelm him. Never would he hear Jesters sending, nor see Fjord in all his glory helming his ship. Never have another dinner with Beau and Yasha, scheming over wine after dinner. Never see Veth raise her children or speak to Yeza about alchemic advancements. Never see his love again. That beautiful Essek. All purple skin and poise, with glittering jewelry and sharp intelligent eyes. Never get to see him knit on the couch, never hear him ramble about his research, never catch fond smiles from the corner of his eye. Never again. Never.
He almost lets the grief take him, let this sadistic boy win and just go limp against whatever ministrations this sick fuck has planned. That thought lasts until Caleb catches the glimpse of Residuum crystal the boy holds.
Caleb has so little strength left. Vainly he tries to wrench his arms out of the way of the knife that slices open different areas of the forearms. Tries to beg to any god that might listen as small crystals are placed beneath the skin. Tries to call to the Traveler, to Jester, to Essek. Begging that he would be freed as larger and larger crystals are shoved beneath the skin. Cries out against the metal band making his words sound only as muffled noise. Keeps begging some version of his friends and family to help him until the
Volstrucker snaps his fingers and the world dissolves into blinding agony.
Memories of what Trent did to Caleb as a teenager all those years ago were nothing compared to this. Caleb can feel the splintering of crystals that tear up and out of his skin. Can feel the arcane energy of cracking open the strong stones then sending those shards ripping through the meat of his arms. Every fiber of muscle that tears open as the sharp edges begin to push and grow is felt. Arcane energy sparks and burns at the wounds as Caleb wrenches his head back and screams. It never stops, never fades, never falters. Just a current of agony as more magic rips him open from the inside. The skin of his arms bulges then tears then stiches back together against the smooth surfaces of the stone.
He can feel every fiber of skin that is being fused to the cold unyielding edges of the residuum.
It is too much for his brain to comprehend.
It is too much.
It’s too much.
Too much.
Too much.
Too much.
It stops.
The agonizing breath he is able to take through his nose barley satisfies his lungs after the screaming and sobbing. Caleb’s head falls to his chest as he tries to take more pitiful sucks of air through his nostrils. Through his tears he can barley make out the floor in front of him, or the shoes that replace them. But that color. It does not fit what the boy was wearing.
Gentle finger tips press against Caleb’s cheek. Then a palm cupping his face, taking some of the pressure off of his neck straining to hold the additional weight of the metal band. It’s a soft hand. With a crease in the middle from long hours of writing. The smell of ozone mixing with the familiar scent of teleportation sparks against the palm that holds him. There is also just the smallest hint of plum. The muscles shake slightly the longer Caleb keeps staring down trying to get enough air to lift his head. He does. And blessed glorious miracle, Essek kneels before him.
Beautiful perfect Essek. Hair frazzled, hand holding Calebs cheek, silver earrings twinkling in the light, eyes red rimmed brimming with tears, and a stone solid expression that speaks of a rage just enacted. Caleb lets a wavering sigh out leaning into the touch as much as he is able too. Never letting his eyes leave the violet that glows with so many intense emotions.
Esseks’ hand is shaking more intensely now. That stone expression does not waver but Caleb can feel the stress and sorrow rolling off of his lover. His jaw is too tight, his shoulders pulled taught, his eyes fierce and scared. Caleb wants to hold him, bundle him in a blanket, and let the world disappear as they cuddle in front of a fire. For now, all he can do nuzzle further into the shaking hand. Esseks’ gaze softens ever so slightly. Until there is a groan.
Caleb looks up from his beloved to see the Volstrucker laying in a pile of splayed tools. It takes a few moments to piece together the lack of door and arcane marks on the stone work. Essek had exploded the door open, shoving the boy to the ground. And now he was waking.
In a fluid rush of robe, Essek stands. Blocking Caleb from view. The air grows thick. Arcane energy spiking and coalescing. Casting takes focus and precision. Both of which Essek performs beautifully, even though Caleb can only see his shoulders moving. As the energy finally reaches its zenith, the spell formed that Essek lets his rage show. The body of the boy starts folding in at the knees, breaking bone and snapping the limbs up to the torso. Esseks’ shoulder twitches and the spine of the Volstrucker bends and snaps one vertebrae at a time. Then the head is ripped back and the body folds in on itself becoming impossibly small. 15 seconds. The spell lasted 15 seconds and the boy was dead.
Caleb sees Essek strained shoulders relax before he turns around again.
There are more spells as the restraints on Calebs writs dissolves into a thin powder. So does the metal band around his mouth. Cold air on fresh wounds stings but Caleb watches as that violet light of Esseks’ magic keeps casting and recasting. Esseks’ brows are furrowed down, the small crease between them indicating his focus. It’s the same expression he wears when deep into spell work. One that Caleb loves so dearly. The sudden urge to reach out and smooth a finger angst that tight jaw strikes Caleb but as he tries to move his arm, he can feel the pain shoot up that he had been blocking out.
Calebs’ hands are still twisted and mangled beyond recognition.
And his arms.
Calebs’ head falls back to his chest as the lightness in his head takes over. Though is brain provides a perfect picture of what lays in his forearms. Some small crystals are fused to his skin. The large ones have grown. Splintering and rising into a crude amalgamation of angled sides that look like trees poking through the burned skin. Now that he is aware of them, he can feel the added weight in his arms. Making it impossible to pull them up.
There are voices then. A strangled cry and gasps. Caleb, even in this state, can hear the broken cry of Jester calling his name as the smell of cinnamon mixes with arcane and the bright blue of her skin as she tilts up his face. Tears are freely falling down her scrunched-up face.
“Cayleb.” Jesters voice is so thick with emotion that the syllabus of his name blend together in her accent. She goes to pull out her holy symbol when a pink hand clutches her wrist.
“Jester,” the deep rumble of Caduceus, “we need to work smart here. There is a lot to heal. Why don’t we start with the hands first?” The words almost cover the worried emotion, almost. Jester must hear it too because she joins Essek in kneeling without argument.
“Okay, okay, okay. Cayleb we are going to heal you up nice and good, okay?” Caleb looks her in the eye and gives a small nod. Though the smile he tries to give only pulls on the sensitive skin around his lips. He imagines the smile looks rather unpleasant.
Healing magic from the two clerics is nothing new but feeling them both at once is an odd thing to be sure. Jesters’ magic is warm and soft, like biting into a hot pastry. It soothes and feels quick. Then settles into a satisfying warmth. Bending and placing his fingers back into their sockets then soothing the surge of pain with that delicate heat. Caduceus healing is slow to start. Roots of magic slowly spreading out, gently tugging fingers into their sockets. Then cooling severe aches as the roots wither. Different magics are cast over and over. At one point a purple hand guides several healing potions into him. Eventually there is a clattering of crystals onto the ground. Caleb dares to close and open his hands. Pain still lacing through his muscles but he sighs deeply.
Calebs’ vision swims as he tries to look to his friends. Mixes of colors and faces flash to his eyes. Beau and Yasha stand at the door blocking any potential threats. Fjord and Kingsley stand in the hallway keeping an eye out. Nott is at his ankle, trying to unlock the last of the shackles. Jester still kneels, now grabbing his hand and watching him intently. Caduceus is at his other arm, gently inspecting and healing the areas where the crystals once were. Then there is Essek.
Beautiful wonderful Essek circles the chair and the other Nien. Inspecting for arcane traps if the glow of his eyes is any indication. With a nod to himself Essek looks back to Caleb. There is a moment of quiet before Essek casts something and suddenly Caleb feels weightless. Essek reaches down and gingerly pulls Caleb up. The shifting of his arms causes a pained hiss of breath. While healed, his arms still thrum with a deep ache as does his face. The strange change in position makes his head light and threatens to send him careening to the floor. A thin yet sturdy arm wraps around his him, carefully avoiding brushing against his limp arms. Essek hand is tight but not painful around him, as he guides both of them forward. Through the after buzz of healing and the remaining pain, it takes Caleb a long moment to realize that Essek had used his floating cantrip on him. Now that he knows to look for it. He can feel that familiar was of cold spell work. Caleb can feel Esseks magic encasing him and holding the loose parts of his exhausted body together.
“We have need of leaving, safe place we must go.” Essek never fucks up his grammar like that. He is quite upset. Caleb wants to comfort him, to tell him that he will be fine. He tries to move his gaze to Essek but with how heavy he feels, his head comes to rest in the crook of Esseks shoulder.
“Meine Liebe... ich bin geheilt...alles ist g-gut.“ Caleb is surprised how thick his voice sounds as the words tumble out in a mush of syllables. No one responds to the mush of Zeminan. Instead they part and form a protective circle. Essek, still holding him up by the waist, begins to follow the group down further halls. Old memories of this horrid place flare into Calebs mind as he remembers the old routes. They are headed to a teleportation circle that was etched into the private quarters for older students. Even with the healing Caleb can feel a pulse of pain up his arm when Essek turns just a bit too quickly into a different room. He lets out a groan mixed with a clenching of his jaw.
„Hush ussta ssussun, fridj natha klew'ar mzild.“ Essek speaking in his mother tongue is so beautiful. Rich and fluid sounds mixed with hissing. Absolutly stunning. Caleb wants to comment on it to give praise where it is due but the weakness in his limbs and the floaty sensation in his core makes even sighing difficult.
”Ussta che fridj natha klew'ar, Yasha hold him I will cast.” Esseks’ accent is thicker than normal as he switches from undercommon to common. A larger set of hands grasps at his hips. Calebs head is gently removed from its perch. Suddenly there is an arcane spark in the room, and the world shifts.
Replacing the cold damp stone of his previous mentor’s tower is a space filled with rich woods and ever burning torches. There is a faint smell of soup that lingers in the air, behind gentle waft of incense that smells of citrus. Caleb tries to raise his head and blink away his swimming vision but cannot seem to get his body to listen to his commands.
“A safe house of mine, plenty of room for us all. Though some may have need of a lounge chair rather than a bed. Caleb will rest with me.” Esseks tone is sharp and precise. Caleb knows better. Essek is barley holding his shit together. At any moment he will crack.
“Let’s take him to bed then, only if you promise not to take advantage of him Essek.” The teasing tone in Jesters voice makes a few other voices groan but before Caleb can parse out who is reacting, he is being moved and pulled and eventually settled into a large deeply comfortable bed. While still not fully connected to his body can feel blankets being pulled up around him tucking him in gently. He cannot see. At some point he closed his eyes but for the life of him he can’t remember when that happened.
“I mean it hot boy,” Veth’s voice is laced with venom, “no funny business or I’ll kill you.” Had Caleb missed part of the conversation? What did Veth mean? Caleb is too exhausted to figure it out and he sighs deeper into the pillows as the exhaustion settles more deeply in his bones. He just wants to sleep, why are there so many people around?
"We’ll leave you two to get settled.“ Thank the Wildmother for Caduceus. There is shuffling and a soft click of a door. Caleb manages to open his eyes to see Essek at the bedroom door, leaning heavily in the wood. His violet eyes turn to the bed. Essek divests himself of his outer robe and tosses it over a chair. He sits on the bed and looks down at Caleb. Those violet shimmering pools of starlight and lilacs convey the emotions his face refuses to show. Fear and concern swell in an overwhelming manor and Caleb cannot bear it.
"Meine Liebe, du hast mich gere-„ Caleb almost swears at himself for not speaking common, „you saved me.“ Even to his own ears his voice sounds wrecked and shaky but his soft words do the trick. All that pain and fear in Esseks‘ eyes finally topple over and crack his facade. His face scrunches up to stall the tears that refuse to be kept in.
„Ussta ssussun, dead I thought, taken and gone from me.“ Essek heaves out a harsh sob and grabs and Calebs' hand, bringing it to his cheek as if to make sure Caleb was really there. For a few quiet moments Caleb lets Essek simply cry, lets that emotion flood over and be released. His body demands rest though. And try as he might his damned eyes will not stay open. A soft hand is placed against his cheek.
"Rest my light, you have need of rest.“ Eseek own voice is laced with rarely shown emotion but sounds less laced with intense agony.
"Will you stay?“ Caleb is starting to drift away into sleep but feels the bed dip and Essek lay down in the bed next to him, gently carding fingers through his hair in just the right way.
"Of course.“
And Caleb falls asleep.