go back your duty
media: dungeons & dragons (personal campaign)
originally published: january 2022
word count: 7792
notes: with the destruction of port valor, reides realizes that his facade must fall.
i.
the life of an adventurer isn’t easy.
so many creatures are downright eager to tear you limb from limb. and your surfacer friend wasn’t joking when he warned you of bad people. you’ve certainly met your fair share of those.
but you never expected any of this to be easy, did you?
you’ve always harbored a turmoil. a sense of needing to go, of needing to run. if you settled down and sought peace… well, with the way you’ve been living, it’d feel like a lie. there’s a reason why you only lasted a year in port valor. you’ve acted on impulse for as long as you can remember. the storm prince, indeed. you once hated that title; now, you see the truth in it. storms carry a multitude of meanings amongst your people. above all, they promise change.
and, in your experience, most tritons don’t like change.
while your father never gave chase, the fury in his eyes stuck to you and followed you up to the surface. you see it in everything that has ever raised a hand against you.
however, there is always hope, and that is what keeps you going.
you learn. you learn so much. the pages of your journal are crammed full of drawings and notes. for every creature that tried to kill you, there are dozens of wonderful ones. even the ones that have tried to brutally murder you have taught you so very much. your skills with magic have improved exponentially, too. pepega, the fluffy white owl familiar who is almost-always by your side, is proof of that.
and while you’ve met some truly vile individuals, you’re certain that you’ve also met some of the most incredible people to ever exist. kilwin, rilineth, jorah… you laugh with them, you cry with them. you feel safe with them. they don’t pry and you like it that way. even when you let something slip, you know how to deflect. you know how to hide where you’ve been behind a bright smile and lighthearted jokes. you are yourself around them, unabashedly so, but there are parts of you that you don’t want them to see. you don’t want them to know about the storm that rages in your chest. you don’t want them to know about what it means for you, or for the crown, or for laverathia, or for your family, or for them.
with time, it feels like you’re deceiving them, over and over and over again. like you’re putting them in danger, even though you care about them all so very much. you don’t want to think about it, so you just keep moving. matching your pace alongside theirs. helping as best as you can.
you travel all over alethustria with them, and that’s freedom… isn’t it? you go with them to quadroad and to vila's watch… to falas and to malino’re. you face all sorts of enemies, from bandits to giants to tiny blue creatures that move very quickly and really want to stab you. you work together to ensnare a much-hated revenant (who was tracking you, no less), to take down corrupt werewolves, to bring down a dragon.
there are so many fights to look back on. so many experiences. some are incredible. some are tragic. but what truly matters is that you and your friends are together. always together. you see the surface for what it is. and it may not be easy, but you love it. you truly do. drinking firewhiskey with everyone. narrowly avoiding the scams of various merchants. walking around the bloomshower festival with wyrran. spending many evenings pouring over your spellbooks, compiling various arcanic formulae.
eventually, you are all en route to kilwin’s home - a village called cowersby. you’ve never seen cows before, so it’s all very exciting. but before you get there, you pass by laketon, first. the sight of its lake - its namesake - makes something flare up within you. you wade into its shallow waters. it’s like a homecoming, but not quite.
it’s been weeks since you’ve seen the sea.
ii.
everything falls apart with a big, bright flash.
the familiarity of it is what gets you. it twists your stomach into knots before you can even make the connection: a reflex that your mind must lurch to keep up with. but the memory does come to you. the memory of a new friend. keras. you remember that light, and… death. his death.
silence hangs in the air for a fraction of a second. and then come the screams.
they’re odd screams. muffled. you’re too far away to hear them clearly. but the terror is evident. people pour out of port valor, running away from whatever caused that light. you start running, too; towards it. you know that your companions are doing the same, though you, admittedly, don’t check.
this is not something you want to run away from.
you’re fed up of running away.
iii.
the trees of port valor have been reduced to gnarled trunks and jutting branches.
the people of port valor… all of the surfacers who bustled about, full of energy, full of life… they’re all now entirely devoid of it. they’re splayed all over the ground; on the roads, in the dirt. their eyes are blank despite the lack of wounds marring their flesh.
you can’t wrap your head around it. they couldn’t all have just… dropped dead. keras’ case was terrifying enough. but… an entire city? it’s a nightmare. it must be. but rilineth pinches you as per your request and, in the process, they confirm it.
this is reality. port valor has fallen.
you have to keep moving.
iv.
those who still live were just lucky. they were barely out of the range of the blast and are now crammed in a temple. you wander amongst them, exchanging words of comfort; making promises to look out for their loved ones. but it is difficult. it is difficult when you think of the docks. of your first steps on land. of him. of needle and their shop. of drunken sailors bellowing out sea shanties. of all those fishermen. of busy markets and staring eyes. port valor was home to you, for a time. it was home, and it was important, and now it is bleeding out and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
in that moment, a memory comes to you. of him brushing back your hair, voice low and playful in your ear. salt water taffy cures everything.
perhaps there is something you can do.
you give your pouch of taffy to one of the survivors. zenine. a child you knew from before. you tell her to be strong; for her father - kargath - and for herself. and children are wise; wiser than anyone gives them credit for, you think.
for there is hope. your mantra returns to you: there is always hope. you cannot lose sight of it. the storm prince, at it again. that’s what viglis would say. the triumph of emotion over logic. good. you like it that way. emotion will be your strength, now. hope will be your strength. in the face of the impossible, of the unthinkable… it has always been with you.
as have your companions. ever since you met them, anyway.
your party can’t stay holed up in the temple forever. you reason that you need to examine one of the bodies of the fallen in order to deduce just what happened here. and, perhaps more importantly, you need to look for other survivors.
preparations are made prior to setting out. weapons are distributed so as to give the present survivors a means of continued survival. jorah hands a spare shortsword to kargath; zenine takes some delight in the poison dagger you gift to her. before you leave, you visit another child. one that kilwin is attempting to cheer up - and rightfully so. the boy looks as if his very world has been torn apart. you know it likely has. you feel horrible for him. you truly do. loneliness is always terrible. he must feel the worst loneliness of all.
kilwin promises to look for his family. you do the illusionary fish trick. it works for a moment, you think, but what the boy needs right now isn’t something illusory. he needs something real. something to hold on to. and so you decide to leave pepega with him. it’s not like you can take her where you and your companions will be going. no, her talents are best put to use here. you try to keep your tone light so as to not bog the boy down further. you say that she’s a very special owl who can always make people feel better. it’s not a lie: she’s cheered you up on countless occasions.
you quietly tell pepega to come find you all if something goes awry in the temple, and you know that she will. you tell the boy - dillan - to take care of her, and you know that he will. as he reaches out to pepega, there is a small flicker of something in his eyes. hope, you think. barely recognizable. there nonetheless.
it’s enough for now.
v.
many things happen. too many things.
a guard accompanies you; a guard searching for his missing son. he is killed; felled by one of the orcs responsible for the town’s destruction. kilwin brings him back from the dead, but the sight of it is enough to make bile creep up your throat. so much death. you can’t afford to become sensitive to it, not now. the guard is sent back to the temple with his companion - along with an unconscious orc prisoner and one of the victims of the blast that brought the port to its deathbed.
there’s no time to stay still. all of you keep looking for the guard’s son; for survivors. you’re rather quick to find one: the count of port valor. he’s in grave peril, of course. he is saved, but more blood is spilt. more lightning comes screaming from the tips of your fingers. fires are set and put out and enemies are slain and it would all be very exciting if it weren’t so fucking terrible.
it takes a toll on everyone. you see it in rilineth’s features - in how they move about the battlefield, all rage. all fury. even if they say they do not care, something in them begs to differ. they roar with each swing of their blade: they will have their revenge. you see it in the tightness of jorah’s brow. in the way he slips into an almost mechanical state, listing what the next step should be. an attempt to guide; to make sense of what should be nonsense. to hold everyone together as you all threaten to unravel at the seams. and you see it in kilwin. in how prayer after prayer spills from his lips. in how he grips his holy symbol. in how he keeps you all safe with gentle - yet fierce - determination. as for you - well, you don’t know how you look. you know that you must look some sort of terrible way, as you feel some sort of terrible way. but you don’t have the time to reflect on yourself - nor do you want to - so you simply hope that whatever you’re doing is enough.
all of you look for dillan’s parents. you don’t find them. you find a torn-up teddy bear and the state it’s in is almost the last straw for you. kilwin is quick to put it back together with a spell and you make a small mental note to give it to the boy. a poor substitute for the news he’d want to hear, but it’s something nonetheless.
you entertain the thought of visiting the docks but suspect that the sight of them would just make you cry. and if you start crying now, you will never be able to stop.
the helplessness is the worst part.
vi.
thorak fireaxe.
he is the one responsible for all of this. for tearing souls from the living; for reducing them into husks that still, somehow, try to survive. he is the one who will meet his doom - for he must meet his doom. but that will come tomorrow. tonight, you are back in the temple. you are tired; bone-tired. but it is not the type of tired that sleep can help, and there is still much to be done.
rilineth hands out a variety of items: wares looted from stores that no longer need them. kilwin approaches the temple priestess - lathendria - so as to discuss the condition of the count. jorah stands, quiet. still tense. still keeping a watchful eye over everyone.
you do what you do best. you drift.
dillan is asleep, and you are so very glad that he can sleep. pepega remains with him, true to the promise that she made. you swoop her up in a hug, burying your face in her soft feathers - then slip the teddy into dillan’s grasp, careful as to not wake him. he stirs ever-so-slightly, thanking pepega, and your heart swells. we have a son now, you joke to your familiar. she obviously agrees, as she coos and nestles beside the child once more.
the boy has become important to you in a very short period of time. it’s strange. you used to be completely fine with being on your own - to the point of seeking that solitude out. even when you were settled in port valor, you were more than content with fleeting meetings and casual friendships.
now? now, you have become rather sentimental.
the faces of kindly strangers come back to you. the woman who’s necklace you got back… it belonged to her sister, didn’t it? were they from port valor? you can’t remember. you hope not. those tavern-keepers who sold you firewhiskey and laughed when you sampled virtually all of their wares… the little girl who stared at you, wide-eyed, months and months ago… where are they now? where is everyone now?
people who were not strangers come to you, too.
needle. they would not abandon their shop, and their business hardly ever took them beyond the range of the blast. you want to be hopeful but the fact that they’re not in the temple does not bode well. you’d best brace yourself for the worst.
and… your first friend. you never found out his name. more and more, you regret not finding out his name. how else can you ask for him? you don’t even know the name of the ship he works on. he does business in port valor - that’s how you ended up here in the first place. but… that boat takes him to all sorts of different places. the chances of him being in port valor for the blast… they’re slim, aren’t they? he was somewhere else. he is alive.
you should’ve saved a piece of saltwater taffy for yourself.
what would your family do if they knew of the horrors at play here? lotlyn would cry, you think. as for the rest… at best, they’d ignore it. at worst, they’d twist it into some sort of condemnation of the surface world. they were always shockingly skilled at doing that sort of thing.
as different as you are from your people, you’d be lying if you said the thought of dying beyond the sea didn’t terrify you. for some reason, you can’t quite bring yourself to tell that to your companions.
vii.
interrogations are tricky business.
jorah is very serious about it all. you, on the other hand, feel a bit too awful to be serious about anything. you bring the prisoner a ration and speak to him pleasantly. after all, you wouldn’t talk if someone was cruel to you. as jorah begins conversing with him in orcish, you wonder just what sort of path would lead someone to be complicit in the destruction of an entire town.
a dark one, evidently.
you learn of thorak’s alliance with an abyssal creature, further complicating an already-complicated task. the prisoner speaks of death and sacrifice so easily. it is all we know, he says, and you come to realize something. he is lost.
you don’t know much about orcish clans, but you know a thing or two about being lost. you tell the prisoner to find a new path. his own path. to cherish life, and to abandon those who would claim otherwise. no one is expendable. not one single person. a good leader would never treat their followers as a means to an end. it’s all the more reason to put thorak down… though you fear he will never feel the same amount of pain that he wrought.
jorah suggests a starting point for the prisoner’s new path: a city in the mountains. it’s promising enough. kilwin’s magic seals up his wounds. you ask for the prisoner’s name. torshul, he says, and you introduce yourself, too. then you read your new friend torshul a story.
circumstance can make a friend out of anyone, you suppose.
ix.
as expected, the battle is a tough one.
thanks to some of the information that torshul provided, you and your companions are able to spearhead an intra-clan revolt against thorak. but the fight is tough even with othurk and his fellow orcish allies. there is more blood. there is more death. and the sight of the small, unconscious boy on the altar - the guard’s son, andrew - worries you to the point of disorientation.
thorak fireaxe is somehow more vile than you imagined. a feat, to be sure, as you were very much expecting a monster of a man. he has no respect for life; he relishes in carnage. he’s far beyond reason - as if you’d ever even offer to reason with someone as disgusting as him. he asks for your last words. you scream fuck you. every spell you cast is in the name of port valor. of that place which was once your home.
you don’t think you’ve ever been more angry. you wonder if the same can be said of your companions. every word is vicious. every attack is brutal. but worry punctuates your fury. you worry as you see jorah fall, his blood dripping from the babau’s claws. you worry as rilineth bears the brunt of thorak’s blade. you worry as an aurochs gores into you. kilwin’s healing keeps you all standing - but you worry and you worry, and your desperation adds a charge to your violence.
and as the tide begins to turn - to finally, finally turn - thorak lunges for the sword placed upon his fucking altar. he sets it aflame and plunges it into his own chest and time, itself, seems to stop.
he is to be his own sacrifice. he is summoning his master.
rilineth is the first to act. take the child, they scream. take the child and go! as if any of you would leave them behind. not after all you’ve been through together - not when you got this far. kilwin casts sanctuary on andrew. your grip on your spellbook tightens.
what comes to face you and your companions is like something from a nightmare. it’s massive, with spiraling horns and cloven feet. a demon. his plate amor is so dark, it seems to suck in every bit of light that surrounds it - even the light given off by the fiery portal burning behind him.
he draws an onyx blade and utters a single word: kneel. something grips you. it pushes you down - commanding you to comply, to give in, to kneel.
but you think of viglis. of those two words that have haunted you for as long as you can remember. storm prince. it’s true. you were born from dark waters. from rolling thunder. from forked lightning and savage currents. there is the splendor of the storm in your blood and you will never kneel for anyone.
so you do not kneel for him.
your companions fall to their knees, compelled to do so by whatever sorcery this blighted creature has casted. but he will not have them. you stand your ground, teeth bared. the demon summons a mote of fire - a threat. still, you stand.
but then he starts talking to rilineth, and everything happens so quickly.
they begin to move to the demon’s side - with regret, so much regret - and you tell them to stop; you beg them to stop. kilwin does, too. he calls out a name you’ve never heard before: slumberjack.
it’s a sharp blow somewhere deep. it rattles you more than thorak’s cruelty, because at least that was expected. you care for rilineth. you knew that they had their secrets and you respected that - after all, you couldn’t possibly demand secrets out of someone while fiercely guarding your own. but you were still bold enough to wager that you knew them. instead, you find yourself not knowing anything. the same helplessness that walked with you through the ruined streets of port valor is back by your side. (and you wonder: did it ever leave?)
rilineth - slumberjack? - is swallowed up by the portal. you have no time to process it, no time to sit with your grief - as the demon is reaching for kilwin, now.
but he is not interested in this friend of yours. he finds what he wants in the bag of holding. the bag that you ensnared that much-hated revenant in.
he dispels your arcane lock with ease and tyrian comes tumbling out.
you almost feel relieved. almost. you were always in two minds about ensnaring someone - even if that someone is an undead and virtually unkillable entity who solely exists to track down and murder you.
his attention snaps to you immediately. he reaches towards the corpse of an orc - to take their axe, no doubt, and bury said axe on some part of your body - but his master calls him away from you. the abyssal crest has been secured. the two of them leave through the portal that took your friend.
and then there is silence.
x.
the aftermath feels like another battle in itself.
you ricochet between horror and profound sadness as you sift through the ruined chapel with your remaining companions. riddles are solved. clues become answers. slumberjack’s absence weighs heavy. there is much to discuss but you can’t find words anymore. you just can’t.
as you’re getting ready to leave, something catches your eye. something you almost overlooked entirely. a small piece of paper, torn and lying there on the floor. you’re not sure what draws you to it; what inspires you to check it despite how very hollow everything feels… but you move to it, plucking it out of the soot and ash.
and you see aquos.
aquos.
scrawled on there, in rough strokes of ink.
aquos.
it’s circled.
other cities are listed underneath it. some of the others are circled, too. others are crossed out or have question marks next to them. but you can’t focus on those. you can’t.
kilwin and jorah must’ve caught sight of you, as they’re peering at the list, too. their discussion amounts to buzzing in your ears and your breathing gets heavy. panic starts to move from your chest and up your throat.
why is aquos listed here? laverathia isn’t on any of the well-known surfacer maps. why did thorak fireaxe - a demon-serving, bloodthirsty madman - possess this list? why does he know about aquos? how does he know about aquos?
kilwin snaps you out of your spiral. he says that he can’t quite place aquos on the map. neither can jorah.
you look up at them. you’re tired. you’re hurt. you don’t want anyone else to suffer and you don’t want to keep any secrets. not anymore.
you say something that you thought you would never say again.
aquos is my home.
xi.
by some miracle, the child is unharmed.
he wakes up and is immediately frightened by the sight of unfamiliar orcs. othurk’s presence calms him down a great deal, however. a part of you is glad that the child was unconscious for all that you and your companions saw. such horrors aren’t meant for anyone, much less children.
the trek back to the temple is very strange. it’s as if no one can bring themselves to be at ease. there is still pressure in the air. tension. you no longer have a battle to focus on; your rage is exhausted. you try to laugh and to joke but your worries threaten to overwhelm you. you worry for slumberjack. for needle. for that surfacer. for the cities on that list. for port valor. for aquos. for your family.
you worry for kilwin. for jorah. for yourself.
for you have not been honest with these people. these people, who have been through so very much with you. who have fought foe after foe alongside you. who have laughed with you, cried with you, drank with you. one of them is gone, now. swallowed up by flame.
you don’t want to live with any more regrets. you can’t.
as you approach port valor once more, you see a frail woman. her robe is tattered and bloody and burnt in some places, too. her skin is lilac and her hair is long and white. there is an otherworldly quality to her that fascinates you. for a moment, you wonder if she is a ghost, but you don’t ask if she is. you ask if she is from here.
“oh, no,” she says. “i just thought that i’d visit… for tourism purposes.”
kilwin remarks that it’s a bad time for that and gets right to healing her. jorah offers her some spare clothes. as tense as you feel, the sight of them immediately moving to help this woman shifts something within you.
you don’t want to live with any more regrets, and you know what you must do.
xii.
everything begins to feel significantly less hollow when you arrive back in the temple. against all of the odds, andrew is able to reunite with his father - and the numbness that took over your body begins to wear off, like ice finally thawing under warmth.
the woman’s name is ashara. the way she interacts with the world is an odd - yet welcome - comfort: it reminds you of yourself when you first arrived on the surface.
kilwin tells you about slumberjack. you can’t say that their secrets don’t hurt - not when the wounds are still so very fresh. but you’re glad that the truth has come to light. and you don’t think of what slumberjack did as a betrayal. rather, they saved you. it wouldn’t be the first time they did so, either. you all agree to help them, because that’s what it means to be companions. that’s what it means to be friends.
the emperor and her court mage show up, having finally heard of port valor’s current status. you all put your minds together and try to decide on what the next step should be. you stare down at that dirty piece of paper - at that circled word, at aquos.
and, when you are finally able to muster the courage, you turn to face your companions.
“can we talk?”
xiii.
the sun is setting. the last rays of the day wash the world in gentle gold.
you are all sitting together. ashara has just finished telling you of her past - of her pain. she is of the vrinian empire, which no longer exists save for within the pages of history books. you’ve only known her for a few hours and you already trust her. she decides to join you and your companions on your quest and receives a warm welcome. her honesty, her bravery - it sharpens your resolve.
so you take a deep breath… and you tell them.
you tell them your full name: reides aurelian yon-zinthos kien-khavas laverath. it’s odd, saying it again after such a long time. you expect it to feel… foreign. uncomfortable. instead, it flows easily off your tongue. even though you have been through so very much… it’s just you.
you tell them that aquos is the capital city of laverathia, and that you are a prince of laverathia - second in line to the throne. kilwin and jorah are shocked - you knew they would be - but far too much was held deep within you. the wave has begun its crash to shore, and there is simply no use stopping it.
you tell them of the events that led to you the surface world; of your father’s ferocity and your sister’s mercy, and of your friend who fished you out of the depths. you tell them how you felt crushed under the weight of your crown. how you were desperate to just be. would they understand that you were suffocating? or would they write you off as a noble brat chasing some far-fetched fantasy? viglis always said you were stuck in your own head far too often.
the freedom you attained lacked direction and simply became negligence. you have been selfish, and you admit as much. kilwin is quick to interject - to say that you haven’t. that he understands. it calms you down a great deal; grounds you to what you must ask of them.
because you love this world. with your whole heart, you love it. you cannot turn your back on it. you will not. and that means that you cannot turn your back on your past, either.
“i must accept that i have a duty,” you tell them. “not as a prince, not as a triton, but as… a person.”
you apologize for deceiving them and you admit that you’re terrified. seeing aquos on that list has shaken you to your core, and you bow so low that your forehead presses against the earth.
but when you speak, your voice does not shake.
“as a guardian of the depths, i humbly ask that you three will help me in saving my fellow tritons from whatever darkness is being ushered upon them.”
your friends reply so quickly, there is no room for doubt to come creeping in. they all wish to help. ashara says so, first - entirely sincere; the newness of your friendship not even slightly an issue. kilwin says that he would be joining you on the journey to save aquos even if you asked him not to. jorah says that you will surely have a ranger at your side when you return.
there is no need for you to hide. to deflect and to guard. to hold those you love at arms’ length. all of the tension that clung to you dissipates. you feel lighter - more free than ever before. it brings back the memory of your arrival in port valor, months and months ago.
back then, the sun shone bright. now, the moon is rising.
you will never forget this place. you will never forget this moment.
you are the prince of storms, and storms bring change.
you resolve that you will change this world for the better.
xiv.
the members of the fireaxe clan are going to make stew.
or, rather, the former members of the fireaxe clan are going to make stew.
it’s a sort of peace offering. a way of distinguishing them from their objectively terrible leader and those who wrought havoc on the town.
the survivors aren’t exactly enthusiastic about the stew… nor are they enthusiastic about the presence of the fireaxe clan orcs, former members or not. but these orcs helped you and your companions, and so you do your best to spread excitement and cheer over a meal that isn’t dried rations. it isn’t a difficult task, as you’ve tasted krogash’s cooking before, and it is delicious.
dillan seems to be doing better. he is still very close to pepega. it seems like he has quite the courageous streak, as he’s one of the first to try the stew. your heart swells with pride. the warmth of the stew is a massive comfort, and you get the sense that everyone has begun to heal. it will be an arduous journey. rebuilding port valor is no small task, and the events of the past few days (by persana, how has it only been a few days?) have inflicted a great deal of hurt on all of you. they have left scars that will not fade with time. you know this.
but there is finally laughter - true laughter. at jorah’s tainted mess kit, at quips made by the orcs, at you as you sing praises for krogash’s culinary masterpiece. the flicker of hope that you saw in dillan’s eyes has become something stronger; something that has truly caught on.
for the first time since you saw that big, bright flash, you truly believe that everything will be okay.
xv.
plans are made. many are scrapped, but many also stick.
you and your companions will secure the rest of the abyssal crests and, in doing so, thwart the plans of that horrific demon. it is a journey that will one day lead you back to aquos. back to your home. it is a terrifying thought, but the thought of failing your people scares you so much more.
there is also something else that you all wish to do. many of the fallen in port valor are beyond saving; burnt away in ensuing fires or mangled by gloating, sadistic orcs. however, there are unwounded bodies, too. the anti-life magic that fireaxe clan deployed may have ripped their souls from them, but their bodies still support life. the idea of reuniting these bodies with their souls is proposed, and arrangements to accommodate this are made. it is a mere sliver of hope, but that’s where everything starts, is it not?
ashara ends up working very closely with the court mage - an earnest fellow named kain - in order to realize this goal. together, they begin assembling the schematics for a stasis pod, similar in design to the one that brought ashara out of the ancient past and into the present day.
during all of this time… all of this discussing and plotting and arranging… you, very foolishly, keep your distance from kain.
there is no deep reason for this.
you merely find yourself jealous of his spellbook.
the spellbook that you cobbled together all on your own pales in comparison to his wealth of institutional knowledge. he says that he spent ten years studying in atemcester - the renowned city of magic. you think back to your time in laverathia, and how you’d fuss over self-taught incantations for months at a time. if only you could have studied, too. your spellbook would be just as good as his. probably even better!
but as the work that must be done begins to wind down, kain praises you for your wizarding efforts with such sincerity that you can’t maintain your curtness. kain proposes an exchange of knowledge: a spell for a spell. you ask him to teach you sending. you’ve seen kilwin use it before, and you need to have a means of contacting someone in aquos without actually being in aquos. in return, you teach kain how to summon forth a tidal wave. deeming the trade unfair, kain throws in another spell: locate object. kilwin joins in on the study session and, for a few hours, everything feels so… normal.
as if the fate of the world doesn’t partially rest upon your shoulders.
on your way to bed, you check on dillan. you find him in a deep slumber, using the teddy bear you left with him as a pillow. beside him, pepega also dozes.
that night, you sleep better than you have in days.
xvi.
you stand outside of the temple, facing the sea. that great expanse of blue. no matter how far you go from the sea, you will always be connected to it. it will always welcome you. it will always, always call you back home.
it’s not like you don’t want to go back to aquos. you just don’t want to get stuck. you don’t want to get trapped. your hands still shake when you think of that room.
you need to see if everyone is okay. to warn them of what you have seen. the question is: who will you speak to?
not your father.
you consider talking to your mother. she would know what to do. always brilliant, always skilled; the empress of laverathia has a reputation for working in the shadows with a smile. but the love she has in her heart for your father is the stuff of song. you will not ask her to choose.
you don’t trust dhudus to take you seriously. or to even remember who you are, to be quite honest.
lotlyn, she’s the easiest to talk to - and persana knows how much you miss her. but you can’t put her through these horrors. she has done enough for you. she deserves to live her life as peacefully as possible. to be happy and free.
and that leaves viglis. he’ll yell at you, that’s for sure. he’ll mock and undermine and do what viglis does best: namely, make you feel like one big mistake. but you know that he loves laverathia more than anything else in the world. the shield of the reef. the one who will always protect the people of his empire. the one who dragged you home regardless of whether you wanted to be there or not.
he’s the one who you must speak to. you’ll take his scrutiny; it’s not like you’re a stranger to it.
you channel your arcane energy into your shell. you cast the spell.
you begin to speak.
viglis. it’s reides. on surface. things aren’t good. demons, cities dying. is everyone okay? be alert. i know you’re angry with me but please remember that i still care so much about you and everyone. i just couldn’t stay there.
once you start, you are unable to stop. you’re aware of sending’s word limit. you can only say 25 words; after that, all is lost. you can only hope that the jist of your message gets across.
you shut your eyes, mind racing. does he hate you now? will he ignore you? will this all be for nothing? how will you -
that familiar voice comes booming through your doubt.
viglis.
it’s viglis.
surprisingly, he doesn’t yell at you. he doesn’t undermine nor does he mock.
he is worried.
he tells you that you need to come home. that it’s safer in aquos than it is on the surface. he even says that he is willing to talk - but the word limit hits and he’s cut off.
you stand there, bewildered. at some point you must have opened your eyes because you’re, once more, staring at the sea. you feel… small. like a child again. desperately trying to follow your older brother - the sword he loaned you clutched tight in your hand. dragging you down.
you quash the reflex to talk to him again. you did what you had to do. viglis will do what must be done. the laverathian empire knows that they must be alert. you rub at your eyes; shake off the memories.
there is one more message you’d like to send. the problem is that you still don’t know the surfacer’s bloody name.
kain said that it’s possible. you simply need to visualize the recipient clearly. to know their personality and their background.
unfortunately, you can’t stay you know your friend’s background, either. but you were familiar with him, weren’t you? the two of you spent so much time together. you know what made him laugh and what made him timid. you know how he’d complain about being stuck with the worst jobs on the ship while still being so incredibly proud of the work he did on it. how he’d be so oddly hard on himself while also willing to brag about the most ridiculous things.
you know that you care about him. deeply so. everything you have right now - it’s all because he was so brave. he stuck his neck out for you and didn’t expect anything in return.
you need to to know if he is okay. it’s not something you want to leave up to fate… not when fate can be so very cruel.
and so you focus on the sea once more. then, once more, you close your eyes.
you picture him.
you picture his face. that freckled brown skin - his smooth, gilless neck. his pointed ears and his green eyes. you think of that scar running down his left cheek. and you think of his kindness. his strangeness. his silliness. he was always funny in his own way.
you think of his expression when the two of you met. you think of his expression when the two of you parted.
and you begin to speak.
hi. i’m the blue person you helped. in the net. name is reides. sorry for telling you like this. are you okay? world is scary.
you get a response before you can even open your eyes.
your friend is alive.
he’s in atemcester; has sailed in there from davenport. all is well. he keeps talking, is about to say his name -
but that blasted word limit cuts him off.
of course it did. you can’t help it: you laugh. first viglis, now him! it’s too much.
judging from his pleasant tone, you don’t think he knows what happened to port valor. news will travel. he will soon understand why you were so worried.
you can message him again, if you wish - but you decide against it. someday, you will meet him.
someday.
and whenever that day comes, you will ask for his name.
you take one more look at the sea and offer quiet thanks to persana. then, you move to tell your companions of all you have learnt.
xvii.
you have two weeks before setting off. two weeks that you intend to spend doing what you do best.
namely, researching.
ashara joins you, and the two of you spend hours upon hours scouring the library.
ashara works hard at finding substitute materials for her stasis pods. the landscape has changed considerably from the days of the vrinian empire, and materials that were once commonplace for her are now priceless rarities. she also almost drops a particularly heavy tome on your head, but, luckily, you are able to dodge out of the way just in time.
meanwhile, you search for any bit of information you can find regarding demons. and since your companions are willing to help you with aquos, you decide to study water-breathing, as well. it’s a topic you never thought you’d be delving into - after all, it’s not something that’s an issue for you. you couldn’t imagine sticking your face in water and being unable to breathe. the mere concept of it is far too inconvenient. but the absurdity of the topic gives it a certain charm. as a child, you loved imagining things through the perspective of a surfacer. and you owe so much to your companions. this is the least you can do as thanks for their loyalty.
as you study, your mind occasionally wanders to the subject of slumberjack. they walk alongside that demon now, do they not? the thought of it makes you shudder. judging by everything that kilwin told you, slumberjack is the sort who can handle themself. in fact, they may even rival that terrible power. but it doesn’t change the fact that they deserved better. so much better. you wish that you got to be honest with them. you wish that they knew where you came from… that they knew of your bloodline. even if they hated you for lying to them. even if they said they didn’t want to go back to aquos. you wish that you got to tell them. to talk to them; to truly talk to them. to teach them how to swim, as you said you would - so many months ago.
but you cannot change the past, and so you will do better in the future.
with your companions, you will find them. until then, you will hold fast to the trust that you have placed in them. you will hope that they are well, and that they will stay safe.
the connection that exists between you all…
it is not something that can be broken.
kilwin busies himself with helping in the port valor recovery efforts. from recovering bodies to aiding with construction, it’s grim business. you fret over him during research breaks but know that you shouldn’t get in his way. you’ll be sure to check in with him soon, though. everyone has their limits and it would be terrible if he pushed himself too far. at some point, you must gather your courage and ask him about needle.
if nothing else, you’ll see them off right.
you’ll have to do something about dillan, too. the boy has grown so close to pepega. the two of them play every day. he’s begun laughing again; smiling and running. he is not entirely without sadness, but it’s as if his youth has come back to him. it would be too sad to leave him alone once you must take her back. you consider buying him some sort of owl-themed toy; perhaps making one. but wouldn’t it be better to provide him with the real thing? an owl of his own… yes, you’ll have to ask jorah to pick one up for you, later.
the ranger has become the supply-gatherer of the group. the emperor provided you all with funds and jorah was quick to begin allocating said funds to various things that you will all need. you’re not the best when it comes to spending gold responsibly. the surface world is full of so many interesting things, you’d surely spend it all on various, limited-use trinkets - thus incurring jorah’s wrath in the process. so you’re glad that he took the task upon himself.
in the past few days, your whole world changed.
everything went upside down, then rightside up, then upside down all over again. this happened multiple times. over and over again. so many things came to light. so many truths were revealed. you feel… lighter. like a truer version of yourself.
the road ahead will be long. there will surely be more sadness; more grief. but it is a path you will gladly take, as there will surely be happiness, too. there will be laughter and there will be hope.
the life of an adventurer isn’t easy, that much is true.
but it is certainly worth it.