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The clock keeps running. Tick, tick, tick, tick. It doesn't stop. Why would it stop for a single person? Time doesn't stop; it doesn't wait for you to catch up. Usually, if you don't keep running, you're left behind. But there are times when stopping isn't even a possibility. You need to keep up.
It's odd. It's awfully odd.
Odd isn't the right word. It's too small, it doesn't even begin to describe the pain that is inside her; it's like half her heart has been ripped off.
She walks by the garden, looking at all the flowers that are growing despite the freezing and unforgiving cold. Keyleth has been appearing frequently to help them, battling with her own grief in her unique way. She's disappeared for the past few months, though.
Each of them has been battling grief differently.
Pike takes refuge in helping people. After the fight with Vecna, many people still need help and food. And with Grog by her side, that hasn't been much of a problem. She has made it her job to ensure that everyone survives and makes it through the winter.
Keyleth appears occasionally. Keeping the Sun Tree alive and safe, along with the crops, is her main occupation. The gardens also continue to bloom, fighting the plagues and conditions that threatened to end them. She also helps them rule, takes care of their daughter, and puts aside her grief to keep the city safe and thriving.
Scanlan is on his own, traveling around the world, reconnecting with his daughter. They're getting back all the years they spent separated, even if that means she sees him less and less.
Percy is familiar with grief. It's nothing new in his life. But those years he was convinced had been a fever dream, those years going on adventures with Vox Machina, had essentially stopped the healing process. Mentally, as much as he desperately tried to hide it, he still is the boy who couldn't process that his family was gone. And now, he can't process that Vax is gone, forever this time. Percy focuses on his creations. He builds and dismantles clocks into pieces, as he wanted to do for a living when he was younger. Anything to pull his mind from what's happening.
Finally, Vex has…feelings. She doesn't quite know how to process everything.
Grief isn't anything new for her. Having to mourn the loss of her mother and the lack of a father had taken her teenage years from her, making her mature early. It took that vulnerability from her.
Well. It didn't take it from her, but it made her hide it. Repress it until she couldn't. Fake it until you make it, they said. They'll only want you when they realize you will never break, her father said.
Vax was the only person she could trust to bring down those walls. He always saw right through them, anyway. Behind that strong, confident lady who never hesitated, never showed any pain, was a woman who desperately wanted to be held. At least for a few seconds, before eventually going back to the same routine where death was constantly knocking at their doors.
He was always near her. He was always there for her. Even when they stopped being alone against the world, and the rest of Vox Machina joined that fight, it had been just them. Every fight, they stayed near; every night, they were there to hold each other until they stopped shaking.
She's shaking, now, as she writes the letters. Winter's Crest is near. The first Winter's Crest without him. Gods, not now. She pushes those thoughts away, shuts that voice in her head that sounds like his, and dips the feather in ink. She gets the envelopes and writes.
From Lady Vex'ahlia, Baroness of The Third House of Whitestone and Mistress of the Grey Hunt, member of Vox Machina.
To Scanlan Shorthalt, Member of Vox Machina.
Scanlan has barely been seen. He's still on tour with Kaylie. Vex sometimes hears news about the father and daughter, absolutely dazzling the audiences, gaining fame and money, maybe less than what they would want, but enough to survive better than Kaylie's mother. Enough to survive better than his own had.
He received the letter after performing for the last time in Westruun, their last performance before taking a Winter Crest break. They had made enough money to manage on their own. And then, as he stood outside, waiting for Kaylie to get the money, a woman in a horse stopped before him. A woman wearing a symbol he recognized.
"Scanlan Shorthalt, member of Vox Machina?" She asked, getting down from the horse.
"The one and only, m'lady. But the show is over, I'm afraid," he told her, leaning back. "Though you come from Whitestone. How are those two doing?"
"Lady Vex'ahlia asked me to deliver this letter. Merry Winter's Crest," she said, before handing him the letter and getting back on the horse.
"Dad, who was that?" Kaylie said, appearing from behind him.
"How do you feel about meeting some old friends for Winter's Crest?"
—
Scanlan would be lying if he said he didn't see everyone in Vox Machina, except for Pike and Grog, as something close to his children. He always played the genuine worry as a joke; he always tried to keep the mood light, but deep down, even before he discovered he was actually a father, he felt the same way for Vox Machina. Percy and Keyleth were barely adults, hells, Percy was Kaylie's age, and Keyleth was younger, and they both had gone through so much. The first time he saw them break down, it had sparked something protective inside him. And then, the twins, of course.
Vex'ahlia, the twin who got all of the attention. The one who liked money, the one who liked to be seen as confident and never in need of a shoulder to cry on—thinking back, that shoulder was probably Vax's—the one who had the most complicated relationship with him. He remembers that strong argument with them, the one where he had decided to leave, how she had looked. Heartbroken, aching. Like a daughter losing her father again. Again, keyword. Though the man who raised her can't be called a father. Can you lose something you never had?
And then, there was Vax'ildan.
Seen by an outsider's eyes, Vax'ildan was dangerous, quiet, and a man you couldn't trust. You couldn't trust anyone who had worked in the Clasp, after all. But Scanlan knew Vax.
The man had always been odd. He was kind, deeply kind, but wanted to act like he wasn't. He was reckless, awfully annoying sometimes, always willing to get in the way of blows if it meant saving someone, always up to get himself in danger in order to keep them safe. It was almost worrying, like he had a death wish.
Fitting, thanks to what happened later. Everything to save Vex.
He put others before himself constantly. He cared about his sister more than anything. He sucked at romance. He used to play with his knife when he got nervous and knew how to make tricks with coins to entertain children. He wanted to be a paladin of Sanrenae. He loved each of them. Those were things he knew that someone who didn't know him would never know.
He was supposed to fix everything. He had the Wish. He was supposed to break that deal with the Matron and give him the happy ending he deserved, with his sister and Keyleth, getting the family he deserved, getting the time and the future he deserved. But now he was gone. Turned into ashes.
And he couldn't save him. He failed him.
And now, as he rides his own horse along with his daughter, heading towards the castle of Whitestone, prettier than ever, there's nothing he can do to amend that mistake. But at least, he can try to take care of Vex. It's what he would've wanted.
To Pike Trickfoot, member of Vox Machina.
She gets handed the letter by another cleric, an older woman who barely has to kneel to be at her level. "This is for you, my dear. From Lady Vex'ahlia," she says, handing her the envelope.
"Oh, from Vex? Well, thank you, miss!" she says, reading its content. Her smile drops for a second as she sighs. "Okay," she mutters. "Okay."
"Is everything alright, dear?" The woman asks, worried.
"Yes, yes, everything's fine. I just need to talk with people. The bakery will be closed for a while, I guess.
—
He looked up to her, she thinks. And she let him down.
She had noticed how he wished to become a paladin of Sanrenae. He used to pray quite a lot, always asking her how to do better. He saw her as a guide, as someone he wanted to become like. He remembers the first time he asked her about her goddess, and how she had excitedly talked to him about her and how great she was. And he had listened, and she had noticed the way an idea formed in his mind, given how his eyes brightened.
She saw him help people; she saw him pray. She felt how day after day, he tried to become a better person, someone holy. She remembers him confessing to her all of the terrible things he has done, because, as he had said, verbalizing made them real, and making something real means forming something you can leave behind.
The list had been long. Stealing, murder, some other minor stuff…He had lived a hard life on the streets, a hard life that had brought him to where he was. But he was still a good man. He cared for his sister; he cared for his friends. He never hesitated to take damage for them, even if that made him the one who got healed the most.
She also remembers those conversations while she patched him up. She remembers all those scars across his body, scars that matched her own. They talked about nothing and everything, about Sanrenae and gods, about faith, luck, and destiny. He asked why she started following her goddess, and he told her that, in his case, it was when he met her. He saw someone so firm, so holy, and so good that he wanted to become like them. And she had just nodded, thanking him for the praise.
The Matron and Sanrenae weren't exactly compatible. He bound himself to a goddess and had to abandon the path he was trying to follow. Actions had consequences. He had made a deal; he had brought someone back. The Matron was neutral, Sanrenae wasn't.
She couldn't do anything. And despite her being a cleric, despite part of her abilities being resurrection, she wasn't able to interfere with this. There was something greater than death pulling him away.
As the night falls, she prepares a pantry of biscuits and leaves them ready to bring tomorrow. Those were his favourites, she thinks. She baked his favourite treats unconsciously.
She goes to sleep. There's not much she can do, now.
To Grog Strongjaw, Member of Vox Machina,
It's Pike who gives him his letter. "Yep, buddies," she says, handing him the envelope, "these two came in today. I think we do need…time to reconnect with the team, don't you think?"
He nods, reading the letter's content. The language is especially simplified; it's clear that Vex has put an effort into avoiding any complicated words, but with Pike's reading lesson, he manages to understand most of it. "I think seeing them is a good idea. Sign me up."
—
Being strong means you have to protect. It's a pretty simple rule, even he could understand it. Big folk protect little folk, even if those little folk are assholes; they still need to be taken care of.
Vax and he never had a great relationship. Since they began traveling together with Vox Machina, their relationship had been a mix of discussions about mundane things and elaborate pranks. Vax had also been an asshole to him; Grog still remembers the beard thing and how badly he wanted to kill Vax back then.
He didn't want to kill Vax anymore. In fact, he wanted him back.
He saw him as someone weak. Not that he was weak at all, he had done some awesome things, like killing a dragon or suggesting putting that love potion on Scanlan's drink, but nonetheless, he still was someone to protect. Like his little brother, just like Percy, Keyleth, and Vex. He knew Scanlan and Pike could take care of themselves, Scanlan because he had initially traveled with him and had seen him in action, and because Pike was awesome and a monstah.
In the Herd of Storms, there was a key rule. Have no mercy, especially when they're smaller than you. Breaking that rule was what made him get kicked out of the brotherhood back then, when he refused to kill Pike's grandpa. It was she who helped him relearn mercy and how it was actually a good thing.
He had had mercy on Vax multiple times. Again, the beard incident could have very easily been Vax's last day if he hadn't woken up in a good mood.
But that same day, he had had to protect Vax during a fight. He knew he should have left him to die to take his revenge, but he still didn't let him die.
He protected him, because that's what friends do. Even when said friends seem to have a death wish.
Grog wasn't used to feeling helpless. And he wasn't used to feeling how he felt when Vax said his goodbyes, when he turned to ashes. He should have protected him, and yet he had failed. He had lost.
Grog didn't like losing. He wasn't used to doing so. None of Vox Machina was. There were struggles, there were hardships, there were moments where they genuinely thought they wouldn't make it.
But they always did make it. Except that one last time, when saving the world had meant losing him.
He goes to sleep. He doesn't like having to think that much.
To Keyleth, from the Air Ashari, Voice of The Tempest, and Member of Vox Machina,
The wind brings her the letter. She's supervising the construction of the new buildings of Zeprah, with crows perched on her shoulder. She has enormous bags under her eyes; she hasn't slept well in a while.
She hums, kneeling to pick up the envelope. "Oh, Vex," she mutters, opening the letter.
Dearest Keyleth,
As you know well, the loss of Vax'ildan has impacted our lives greatly, and it's like having a splinter in the heart. We've resorted to separating, to try and drown the pain on our own, but I don't think that's working, especially for you, Keyleth.
I know you loved my brother. I know he loved you, too. And I know he would've hated knowing you would be so devastated by his loss.
Please, dear, I know it's hard for you. It's hard for all of us to open our hearts and allow others to see what we're going through, but we need to try.
I'm sending you this letter because I don't want you spending Winter's Crest on your own. We're your friends, worse, you're family, and we all care about you. We miss you. If you're capable of doing so, please join us—
What follows is the date, time, and how she wishes she could join them. She sighs, folding the letter and putting it in her pocket. She'll have to tell everyone about this, that she's leaving. It'll be just for a few days, but Vex is right. She needs to take a break, and gods, she misses them.
—
She's never experienced a feeling so intense as this one. Maybe rage comes pretty close, but this feels like a constant need to throw up, a constant pain that makes her feel as if her heart is being split in half. She wants to scream, and scream, and continue screaming, but she can't. She's a leader, now, and she has to maintain an image.
The worst part is knowing how this is something she'll have to get used to.
She's an Ashari. Her people live up to three hundred years, some even more. The oldest Ashari she heard of had lived up to a thousand years.
Her mother was just the start. Back then, she was just a terrified little girl who didn't understand why her mother wasn't coming back. She didn't understand many things back then. Now she does, or at least pretends she does. Because of course, she now understands the concepts of abandonment and death, hell, she has killed many things over the years.
Her friends have died many times, too, but they have come back to life again and again. Even though she has died, and there she is. It got to a point where she was unable to take death seriously. Of course, it still terrified her, but they always came back. They always stood up, smiled at her, and told her they were fine. It happened with Pike, with Vex, it happened with Percy, Grog, Scanlan, and Vax, for the first time.
And then, he didn't come back. He turned to ashes; he left. He couldn't be brought back; there was no body to resurrect. He was gone.
She thinks about how she's going to die, the last of Vox Machina. Percy, her best friend, will go first. He's a human, after all. Humans don't live long. A lifetime for him is barely a quarter of her lifespan. Then, Grog, given his habits of fighting. Then, Pike and Scanlan, and then Vex.
And she'll still be there.
She'll see multiple generations of the De Rolos, kids running around with her friend's names, yet their features will eventually fade. There will be a Percival de Rolo VII and a Vex'ahlia De Rolo III without a trace of Percy's eyes or Vex's nose. Without a trace of their origins. And it'll hurt, slowly beginning to forget their voice.
She'll be alone. And she'll be angry. Because those years she was meant to live with the man she loved were taken away. And she understands why it happened; it was fair, but that doesn't mean she's happy about it. Not in the slightest.
Vax'ildan mattered to her, of course, he did. When she needed an anchor, he was there; when she needed a shoulder to cry on, she was there. She still remembers the way he cut her hair after the Thordak fight, the vulnerability shared there.
She wonders how long it will take to forget everything about him. His face, his voice, the way he held her. She wonders and hopes not soon. She doesn't want to forget. Not yet.
She stands in front of a tree, beginning to cast a spell. She visualizes the Sun Tree, closing her eyes. She's grown used to the spell. She remembers how hard it was at first, but now she's mastered it. She visualizes its roots, its wood, the way the leaves change and fall with the arrival of winter. She takes a step forward and enters the portal, opening her eyes.
Whitestone, beautiful as always.
She wonders how long it will take for her to be forgotten.
She thinks again about how she'll have to get used to mourning, and she feels like she's going to throw up again.
Percival, darling, may we talk? I've invited Vox Machina for this Winter's Crest. I think that, after everything that has happened with…Vax, we need to stay close.
She told him that that same morning, as he worked on a design for a clock. He had nodded, putting on a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and told her that it was fine for him. He stood up, kissing her forehead, and they had breakfast together. It was good, they were happy, for at least half an hour. And then, feelings came clawing back.
—
Guilt, pure guilt. Guilt is the only thing Percy has been feeling lately. Who would have thought that a simple thing as not checking for traps, would have such a consequence?
Reckless, reckless, he's always too reckless. And most of the time, it's fine if he's the only one being harmed. That's something he and Vax had in common, he thinks. They both were willing to put themselves in danger if it meant protecting someone. But the second his family came in to play, he needed to protect them. He had harmed them so much already.
But this was definitely the worst thing he had ever done. Forget the murders, forget everything else.
That single moment had ended everything. That single action, touching the Tomb.
He loved Vex'ahlia; that was a fact. He hated seeing her sad; he hated seeing her hurt. He would gladly spend the rest of his life being tortured to give her a life free of sorrows.
And, paradoxically, he had been the cause of her greatest one.
He saw it in her. He's already so familiar with grief, he can see it the other's eyes. And he struggles to be near her. Because, despite her having said that he shouldn't blame himself, he does.
Vax was the one supposed to get a happy ending, he thinks. He was supposed to kill and be killed by Ripley, ending the cycle of vengeance and allowing himself to rest at, maximum, the age of twenty-five. He should have either rotted in a cell, lost his mind to the demon, or put an end to himself, while Vax thrived.
Vax hoped for a future. He didn't. And yet one of them was still alive, and the other wasn't.
He can't ask for forgiveness. Not yet, at least. So he just stays close to her and their daughter, holding her in his hands. He and Vex are standing on the main balcony, as winter approaches and the figures of their friends in the distance begin to appear.
She finishes writing the letter, puts them in the envelopes, and leaves them ready for the royal messengers to deliver. She stretches; she's been in the same position for two hours now. She's been having to rewrite the letters multiple times. There are so many things she wants to tell them, but she'll have to wait until they get here. Her heart aches. She closes her eyes and tries to think of something she does have, of something that she loves that she still has.
Whitestone comes to mind. Vesper, her beautiful daughter, comes to mind. Percy, the one who suggested that trick whenever she felt like grief was drowning her, comes to mind. Vox Machina, her friends, her family. Velora, Cassandra, her people, everyone she loves who loves her back. She has so many things that keep her here.
And yet, a crow is on her window, staring at her.
She stands up, ignoring the bird. She'll accept it someday. She'll accept that he's gone and will begin to move on. But she can allow herself to grieve unhealthily for a bit more.
She walks across the castle, those labyrinthine walls she has grown to know by now, and pushes open the door to her daughter's room. Percy is there, too, asleep over the cradle. He must have fallen asleep while putting her to sleep. She smiles, getting inside the room and caressing his hair, marveling at the sight of their daughter.
It's conflicting. She just lost Vax. She just lost her brother, a part of her she'll never be able to get back. She should be plagued with grief, drowning in death. But she was a brand new life to take care of. It's like some kind of exchange happened. She remembers thinking that, too, when Pike first told her she was pregnant.
She glances at the window. That crow, again. This time, she walks towards it. She grabs one of the feathers that has dropped and tucks it behind her ear, alongside the blue one. "This is your way of staying close, isn't it?" She chuckles, sitting next to the bird. "It suits you."
She stays silent, looking at the floor. "I miss you. We miss you, all of us. Did you know you're an uncle? Vesper Elaina de Rolo, named after mum."
The crow lets out a happy caw, making her laugh. "She would've loved you. You should be here to meet her," she says, looking at the animal. She extends her hand and pets it, feeling tears begin to run down her cheeks. "I miss you," she mutters, with her voice cracking. "I miss you so much. A part of me has been torn away, and I don't know what to do. I can't falter; people need me. I love you," she blurts, trying to stay as quiet as she can. She knows how hard it is to get Vesper to fall asleep.
The crow nuzzles against her hand. In the distance, she notices the figure of a horse with two people on it, illuminating the way with a dim candlelight. Scanlan and Kaylie. The crow turns, extending its wings. "You want to say hello to him, too, hm?" She says, smiling sadly. "Come back soon."
The crow seems to nod, flying away.
She looks at it, dissapearing in the horizon, before murmuring "Do not go far away from me."