Chapter Text
Vax had walked in the dreams of others before, but it was always strange. He took in the familiar sight of Zephrah on wing, reflecting as he banked on a breeze, the sensation familiar against his wide wings.
He toed the line between life and death - no longer a Revenant, nor a mere soul. The Champion walked a path that was closed to most, a path that allowed him to enforce the will of a goddess. His soul was free to roam, flitting from plane to plane with ease. His strength had only grown - for now rather than use the shadows, he became them.
To exist as such was to belong to another - her grip on him was loose, but encompassing. When he first passed into her realm, he had spent a few long days with his mother, finding comfort in her embrace. But before long the Matron had whispered in his ear once more, and the work began.
The first time he stood before her throne he was still raw with grief. She had looked on him kindly, but her eyes were unwavering. His first command had been simple - to tie up the strings left behind him.
“Together we will clip the wings of those that would rise as Vecna did,” She had said, her melodious voice harsh as she spat the name.
The irony was not lost on him as she explained further - he would be her greatest weapon against those that would taint the world with Undeath. His arm had begun to ache and itch after, the beginnings of the bone like growth that began to bloom from his flesh, painful and strange. Her gaze had flit to it, a spark of curiosity in her bright red eyes. He had looked back defiantly - he could not control it, would not if he could. It was a reminder, a physical manifestation of her, of the one thing she could not take from him.
Memory, manifested in flesh.
But there was another transgression she allowed him, perhaps the only thing that made his existence bearable, especially in the lonely, cold beginning.
The Raven.
He barely remembered the first time - he had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms. After the last dregs of Vecna had been dispatched his Queen began to direct him to others. He slit the throats of corrupted necromancers, stabbed the hearts of wandering feinds, stalked escaped wraiths along the trembling boundaries of dark planes. His work rarely ceased, and he was grateful for it - for the distraction. He would return to his mother when he could - her kind face a balm.
But his heart must have been more weary than his twisted flesh, and he slipped away, falling towards her - towards Home.
He woke on the wing, soaring in the Zephrah sky. For a hysterical, hopeful moment he thought it had all been a dream, or a gift - he would spread his impossible wings and fall into her arms, apologies and desperate words spilling from his mouth. But he had no mouth - his vision was strange, and as he spread his wings and screamed he heard his caw rent the air, felt the pull of the cold wind against his feathers.
He found her, wandering the woods, her eyes dry. He had perched clumsily and watched her, heart aching. Her hair was longer, pitch-dark feathers braided into the bright red locks. But she was unchanged, as young and beautiful as the dawn. He will never forget the thrill as she saw him, her bright green eyes softening in recognition as the glow of the sunset painted her in gold.
He began to visit once a day, then. She traveled often, but he always found her. Her stays in Whitestone were so difficult at first - for everyone. The children and the city kept them busy, but there was still a shadow of grief that hung over them. It eased with time, and he finally started to visit the others.
He would peck at Grog’s head as he watched the babies, cawing in laughter as he swiped at him with a wide smile. Pike knew him immediately, her bright grin warm as he alit on her armour. He sat in the window with Scanlan, his music soothing his aching heart. The gnome was always happy to see him, and spoke to him just as he had in life, laughing as the Raven clumsily tried to write with an offered quill or pecked at his instruments.
“Excellent idea Vax, I really should integrate more fiddle into that melody,” He would say, grinning as the Raven barked a laugh, the feathers on his throat puffing.
Percival was...difficult, at first. “I do not accept this,” And he meant it. Vax would peck against the windows of his workshop as Percy poured over blueprints, a baby slung across his chest. Percy would play along, at least - pressing a finger to his lip and shooing him away, gesturing at the sleeping infant. It took assaulting him as he worked alone one night high up in the clocktower, that he at last broke down and yelled at him.
“Goddamnit, Vax, I know alright! I know it's you, will you bloody just leave me alone!” He had yelled, banging his forehead on a beam as he threw a wrench at him.
Vax had squawked in triumph and swept down to return the wrench, proffered in his beak. Percy had taken it begrudgingly, his handsome face exausted as he scrubbed a hand down his jaw and took the wrench. Vax had stayed for hours, delighted as Percy’s dam spilled at last, telling him about his family, new and old, in between adjusting intricate gears, the Raven handing him tools.
Vex’ahlia had been the most difficult. She knew, after the wedding - at least, he thought she knew. If Keyleth had not told her the truth, Percy must have. He appeared to her in the woods, deep into a long chase. She still led the Hunt, and they were pursuing a beast that has escaped Galdric. She was crouched low, studying a footprint, dragonscale armour gleaming in the moonlight. Her dark brows were drawn in concentration, but her keen focus had not dimmed - as he had settled on a branch before her, her clever eyes had immediately snapped to him.
Time ceased as they regarded each other. After what felt like an eon she held out her arm, smiling softly as he alit on her dragonscale armour. She ran a steady finger down his wing, a ragged sigh escaping her.
“I was wondering when you would show, you little shitbird,” She had whispered, and he closed his eyes and bowed before her, his world shifting just a little more into something he could bear.
So long ago.
Keyleth never called him by name - not after almost two thousand years. Perhaps it was a habit, as she had told Cala. Perhaps it was still too painful. There were rare occasions where he heard his name in her mouth - in passing conversations with others, each time the word tripping her like a rock in a shoe. It would thrill him each time, the illusion of life almost tangible for a shining moment.
It was enough. To see the recognition in her eyes, to hear the soft words she whispered into his feathers, to sit with her in the dawn as he once had. As the years had passed, he had been able to sneak more time away with her, with all of them - always ready for his leash to be yanked.
But the Matron was kind - kinder than he expected.
As the cruel years had rolled into one another, they brought his family back to him. Her bright red eyes in the antechamber, her kind smile as she told him that Grog was soon to pass. When Grog recognized him he felt his heart beat once more. He wrapped his heavy soul around his shoulders and took flight - the first of many.
As they came back to him, he felt his soul begin to reignite, his false heart pounding painfully in his chest. When he held Vex’alia again at last, her light-filled soul screaming and sobbing against his chest, he had felt peace begin to knock at his soul. But that peace was bruised each time he saw Keyleth. Each new grey hair, each buried De Rolo or Shorthalt.
The Tempest was revered and honored for her tireless work, her commitment to her people, and to all peoples of Exandria. She had weathered the changing world with grace, and many had called upon her aid through the centuries. He knew that her toil was for love, for duty. He knew that it was also for her own heart. He knew that she worked as he did - for the good of the world, but also to busy herself from the aching hollow.
He returned to the moment, and cut into a dive, fanning out at the last second. He landed on a thatched roof before dropping to a windowsill, looking through to see Cala and her party.
He could feel protective magic around them - an Alarm spell. He peered in - Cala and the elf were cuddled together, their faces slack with sleep, a mountain lion at their feet. The orc was splayed in the back, and he saw the gnome curled beside him, a thick, seven foot python wrapped affectionately around his leg. The bard - Ben, with the heavy soul - was in a nest of pillows, his strong jaw open slightly as he slept. Curled in his arms was Aniah, a dark blanket thrown over her eyes.
He closed his own, reaching for her consciousness. She was Touched by the Matron, her mind like a beacon of light. He surrendered his form and felt himself shift, opening his eyes to a dark hallway. He could hear the sounds of battle, and though he knew it was a dream he still felt the familiar spike of action, his hand reaching for Whisper at his side. He padded silently down the hall, the sounds growing louder - he recognized a few spells, the incantations screamed, as well as the clash of metal.
He peered around a corner to see an entryway, a flash of movement greeting him. A tiefling, scrambling up from the white marble floor - a shining silver rapier glowing dimly in her shaking hand. A slash across her cheek painted her pale grey skin in streaked crimson. Her dark hair was loose as it fell across her bright white eyes, the locks damp with sweat. Narrow black horns protruded from her skull, and her full lips were bared in a snarl as another figure appeared.
Deep red skin, strewn with blood. Female, her frame rippling with muscle. He could not see her face, but her curling horns were massive. Her wing twitched in pain, the red membrane slashed. He watched as she lunged forward and grabbed the tiefling by the throat, holding her aloft and covering her mouth. The tiefling gripped at her throat, the sword falling from her grip. The figure murmured a few words, and Vax heard a distant scream as they disappeared in a flash of light.
He leaned farther, watching as a Drow ran into the room, his hands alight with magic. His frame was tall and lean, his highboned face stricken with fear and anger. His long white hair was flecked with blood, and his eyes were wild as he looked to his left, seeing -
“Champion?” A quiet voice asked.
Vax spun on his heel, hand at his dagger as he looked into the darkness. Aniah stood before him in the hall, her pale grey eyes wide as they watched him. Vax inclined his head in greeting, listening as another transportation spell sparked in the distance before silence descended.
Aniah was silent as she walked forward, her mouth slightly open as she looked at him with open fascination. He listened as the house grew silent before he heard the dim creak of hinges. He glanced to the side as a door to his right fell slowly open.
He and Aniah watched as a child emerged, a short sword held in her trembling hands. He heard Aniah sigh as they both watched the child walk on shaking legs to the main chamber, a sob breaking out of her thin chest as she bent down to pick up the blood stained rapier, wide grey eyes filling with tears.
Aniah walked forward and crouched, watching as the girl looked around the blood stained hall with wide eyes. After a long moment she sprinted to her room with the rapier, slamming the door shut and sliding locks into place.
Anaih looked to the marble floor with a sigh, before her eyes looked back to Vax. He saw the rapier at her side, glinting dully in the sparse light. Her story began to manifest before him as she rose slowly, coming to stand before him. Her eyes met his, the tired grief and rage in her face achingly familiar.
“I was twelve. My parents were ambassadors from the Dynasty to Rexxentrum - academics and politicians. They were attacked - and taken. What you saw is what I have been able to put together since that night. They have been seen since then, but never for long.” She said slowly, her voice measured - a story told many times.
She glanced at the door, her shoulders tight.
“It is why I went to the Matron. I could have been an Archmage like my father, but I needed more than raw power. I need answers. I needed a strength that I could not get in a book. I needed a god.” She said softly.
Vax nodded, the silence pressing in the hall.
“Perhaps now you need more,” He said, his strange voice echoing in the stone corridor.
Aniah suppressed a shiver, merely sighing as she bit her lip. He watched as she composed herself, her grey eyes steely as she met his gaze.
“Perhaps. Is that why Her Champion walks my nightmares?” She asked, cocking a white eyebrow.
He huffed, impressed by her composure.
“I will not waste your time, Aniah. I hope you will not waste mine.”
Aniah did not speak, but her eyes were determined as they held his.
“I don’t mean to insult, but is there somewhere else you would rather have this conversation?”
He almost smiled as he watched Aniah raise her eyebrows, before the hall dissolved, reforming into a beach at dawn. He recognized Emon in the distance, gulls sounding above them. She turned and led him to a shaded bench, motioning for him to sit beside her. She looked out over the crashing waves, the pink light painting her skin.
“Thank you. I miss my home but...” She said, trailing off as she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees, wrapping her long fingers together.
“I understand. My home was taken as well.” He said gently.
She nodded, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath.
“I will speak plainly, Aniah. Cala stands on the brink of her coronation. The thread of the Tempest draws close. And your search continues. We all need things, Aniah - even I. But, what I need and what you need are intertwined. There must be a Tempest, Aniah - as there must be a Champion.”
Aniah looked to him with thinly concealed confusion, her bright grey eyes hard.
“I pledged myself to the Matron to protect the ones I loved. It sounds like you have done the same - but what you seek still eludes you. You still need more.”
Aniah stilled beside him, her eyes trained on her hands.
“I think...I think I know what you are trying to say. But...I do not think I am…” She said, her voice trailing off.
“I did not either. I was a simple thief - I was terrified. But it allowed me to do great things. Without the Matron I would have been lost long before the end. I saved my family, Aniah.”
She closed her eyes, wincing at his words.
“I have spoken with the Matron. About you,”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she looked on him with shock.
“You are worthy, Aniah. As Cala is worthy. But you must take the next step. I do not ask you this as a favor to me, or Keyleth - this is a gift, for you, for us all. Our Lady loathes Orcus - She has served you in your search. And She can do far more. But you must accept it, freely. Willingly.”
Aniah breathed heavily beside him, looking out to the horizon. The amber glow of the dawn washed out her grey eyes, and she looked strikingly like her mother.
“I hear what you say, and I know it is the truth. I...I only ask that you remember the fear you tell me of so freely. My world is...changing, has been changing, more rapidly than I can comprehend sometimes. I hear you, and I know in my heart and soul and mind that you are right,”
She glanced back to him, her eyes tight as she sat up straight. He gave her a soft smile, remembering the raw fear that had flowed through him those first nights, the bleak unknown.
“I understand. You must not make this choice now, or tomorrow. But you must make it.” He said gently.
Aniah looked back to the ocean, turning her head to glance down the shore. He could see in the distance, Cala, pulling Aniah along as she held a huge hat to her head, a long sleeved robe wrapped around her. Ben followed with an overflowing picnic basket, laughing as the mountain lion pawed curiously at the ocean, the elf standing beside it with an encouraging grin. The orc was further behind, and Vax recognized the argument that the gnome was having with him as he gestured towards the water, the orc unyielding as his python hissed at the gnome.
Aniah watched them with a longing smile, wiping at her eyes Cala tried to drag her distant form into the gentle waves. Vax felt a smile pull at his face as he watched them all, memories aching in his mind. He reached across the bench to hold Aniah’s hand, the young woman flinching at the contact. Her grey skin was alike in color to his own, he realized. So far from the tanned flesh he and Vex had shared.
“Think on what I have said. Many paths lie before you. The threats I saw in your dream are a worthy foe of a Champion of the Raven Queen - whoever they may be. If you do not choose to take Her charge, I’m sure I will end up disposing of them.” He said, rising to his feet and releasing her hand.
She watched him rise, her eyes thoughtful.
“Thank you, Champion. I...thank you,” She said simply, a weak smile gracing her narrow face.
He grinned, placing a hand over his heart.
“Thank you, Aniah. Cala would not be where she is without you. Nor my Keyleth.” He said softly, feeling the dream begin to dissolve at the edges, the horizon growing fuzzy.
He watched her face soften, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He remembered her, crouched and clutching Ben, blood bright against her skin as she pleaded. His heavy soul in his arms, the sleeping Bard whispering ‘Ani, Ani I’m sorry,’.
“You still love her. After all of this time, after...you still love her.” She said gently, her clear voice breaking.
He smiled, feeling his phantom heart beat once, weakly.
“Always. I made a promise - and, against my wishes, so did she. We cannot choose who we love, Aniah. But we can choose to protect them.” He said softly.
She nodded, hope and fear dancing in her grey eyes as the dream faded.
He came back to himself, gripping the worn wood with his talons. Through the window he watched as Aniah woke with a start, sitting up out of Ben’s arms with heaving breaths. He cawed as she glanced up at the window, her jaw slack as she gripped the skull at her throat, watching as he flew into the dark sky.