Chapter One:

From Diamonds, Ash

In Girum Imus Nocte et Consumimur Igni

We circle round and round by night and are consumed by fire.

((Big 'ole spoilers for episode 26 of Critical Role then maybe some minor spoilers from episodes 27-28 before we diverge from canon))

…

Caleb stood in the center of a decaying room lit only by the dying sun behind him. A shock of gray hair sprung from his temples from a lifetime of stress, dirt caked under his nails, and a fine layer of dust coated him as if the surrounding room claimed him as its own.

Before him, arranged with impossible precision, laid all his wealth in the world. Every asset he had liquidated besides the clothes on his back and two worn, familiar tomes at his side. The rest he traded for gold, and gold he traded for diamonds. Five-hundred-thousand-gold worth of diamonds, specifically, and not a cent more.

A chill wind blew from the opened window behind him, carrying the dried husks of leaves with it. They skittered across the floor, and Caleb put a heel down on one before it could cross into his circle of runes.

The slow crunch was the only sound besides Caleb's beating heart.

He wanted to be excited, relieved, or hell, even scared. But now, standing in front of the ritual he'd devoted thirty years of his life to, he didn't feel anything. This didn't feel real, but then again, neither had his life past the age of seventeen.

He flexed his numb fingers and stepped carefully into the center of the circle. He hadn't told anyone else he was leaving today, but that wouldn't matter. Theoretically.

Caleb steadied himself by wrapping a calloused hand around the golden charm hanging from a damaged chain around his neck. The oils from his hand gripping it over the years had tarnished the gold, and dirt and flecks of dried blood—potentially not all his own—collected in the grooves of the heart-shaped talisman. For a brief moment, the gemstone beneath the grim caught the fading light, flashing crimson in the murky dusk.

Cracked lips parted, releasing a mumbled incantation that felt like a prayer. The last word faded, and the room was still.

Nothing happened.

Caleb's eyes widened. Why hadn't—

The room exploded with the sound of a thousand thunderclaps, shaking the castle until the walls crumbled and the floor gave out beneath him. Sensations passed over him faster then he could comprehend. Hot, cold, darkness, light, pleasure, and most of all pain. The air was dragged from his lungs and the pressure in his skull built to a degree that his skull vibrated with the tension.

Visions rushed around him in an alien blur of colors, just on the edge of understanding. They filled the space, mowing him down and rushing up his nose and down his throat like he was trapped in the bottom of a rushing river.

A large black shape sped towards him, larger and larger. Caleb couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It slammed into him, consuming him in black tar. His lungs burned, and he gasped for air that wasn't there.

He was going to die.

Then he jolted awake, accidentally kicking the warm body curled beside him.

He took several deep breathes, fighting down the rising panic. He felt fine. Actually, better than fine. His joints didn't ache, his limbs weren't stiff, and his lungs didn't rattle. His body wasn't held together by scar tissue and force of will alone anymore. He had all the fingers on his left hand again.

He continued his deep breathing, taking in a deep lungful of cold air before surveying his surroundings. Flat swathes of canvas hung over him in a familiar triangle shape, and a chill breeze played with the tent flap, rustling his hair and clinging to the sweat on his temple. Through the gap he could see the black sky hung heavy with clouds and the shapes of dead and dying foliage scattered around the hilltop along with a paper-thin layer of snow.

A small figure curled against his stomach, her slight chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. A less familiar arm was slung haphazardly over his chest from behind with several gaudy rings attached to the fingers. Warm knees poked at the back of his thighs.

At that he blinked, then the realization finally sunk in.

This was it.

He'd done it.

His heart began to race again to keep time with his rushing thoughts. He shifted, unable to keep to still.

"Caleb?" asked a voice, rough from sleep, that he hadn't heard in sixteen years. The sound of it sent a shudder up Caleb's spine.

Mollymauk yawned behind him, withdrawing his arm to stretch, eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Are they here?" Nott asked, voice quiet but eyes wide as if she'd never been asleep at all. Her golden eyes studied him in the darkness while she waited for a response. It was nice to see her again with two eyes instead of one.

"No, I've just got to take a piss," he managed, keeping his voice as even as he could under the circumstances. He pushed himself on to his knees and rushed out of the tent before she could protest.

Caleb walked forward to the edge of the hill, running his hands through his hair. The snow and dead grass crunched brittle beneath his boots.

He'd done it. Finally. Leapt sixteen years back in time. Now only one more jump remained. His goal was so close, so tangible. His hands shook and his whole body felt weak and jittery like his legs might give out on him. Breathing in time, Caleb leaned against the gnarled tree, grabbing for his pendant.

His hand grasped at empty space.

Ah. Of course. It was still around Mollymauk's neck at this point. That was going to be a hard habit to break.

Caleb ran another sweaty hand through his hair, pushing it back. Mollymauk was unexpected.

He'd meant to land a day ahead from now, right before the assault on the Iron Shepherd's headquarters. From there, events would play out just as they had the first time and would allow him the opportunity to make his second jump in just several weeks.

Mental math in the form of magical runes scrolled through his head as he reviewed his spell, looking for the error. One day shouldn't change anything, but it did mean he would have to relive one of his darker memories.

The fluttering of wings broke his train of thought as an owl landed on a dead branch several feet above him. Caleb couldn't help his small smile as he offered his forearm to the bird. With ever-unnatural grace Frumpkin alighted on his arm, talons lightly gripping his thick jacket.

"It's nice to see you again, old friend," he mumbled, scratching the bird's neck. Frumpkin's presence calmed him, and his quiet panic slipped away in place of heavy exhaustion. To the east, the sky turned a lighter grey. It wouldn't be too long now before the Iron Shepherds crested the ridge.

He idly wondered if he should try casting Haste instead of Slow this time but shook the thought off quickly. Everything had to happen exactly the same or he risked starting a cascading chain of events that might prevent him from being able to make his second jump on time.

He glanced towards a space at the bottom of the hill where a grave would soon be erected in likely less than an hour. At that thought, the chill of the wind pierced him to his bones.

A hand grabbed on to his coat, causing him to jump and Frumpkin to take off into the air.

"Are you okay?" Nott asked.

Caleb could only give a rough laugh at that, but it was cool as the air around them. "Ja. Just thinking about the fight is all," he said.

Nott gave him a curious side-eye that he ignored in favor of staring out at the approaching snowstorm.

"Nerves?" she asked.

Caleb shook his head. "Didn't sleep well."

"Tell me about it," she said with a crooked grin, "Turns out Molly's a blanket hog and it sounded like Beau and Keg were having a snore-off. I feel bad for Jester," she said, smile falling as she referenced their kidnapped companion.

Caleb's stomach dropped at her name as well. He swallowed hard and shifted his weight, trying to appear casual. What would his younger self have said at this point?

He opened his mouth to speak, hoping words would supply themselves when a clear, mechanical alarm sounded in his head. His eyes flashed to Nott's who had already steeled her gaze, anticipating his next words.

"They're here."

In minutes their companions were roused, and the tent disassembled and shoved underneath a bush. Keg packed her supplies in silence while Molly unsheathed his swords, giving them an experimental twirl.

Beau yawned deeply, stretching out her muscled arms and cracking her back in the process. She looked so much younger. She was so much younger. Fewer frown lines, fewer scars. She caught Caleb watching her and gave him a nod before picking the Beacon up off the snow. She studied it for a moment before looking at the rest of her companions.

"Nott," she called, tossing the dodecahedron to the shorter woman. It wouldn't help her. Caleb reflexively glanced over to Molly, who was watching the meager sunrise with his back to them. His last sunrise.

He was less vibrant than Caleb remembered. It could've been attributed to the diffused grey lighting draining the world of color, but Caleb also knew after his passing they'd idealized him a little bit. He became a legend, an ideology to the Mighty Nein. Larger and brighter than life, but with someone like Mollymauk that wasn't hard to do.

Caleb bit down hard on his cheek, resisting the urge to offer guidance as Nott used the Beacon.

"Alright, I guess it's that time, huh?" Beau said, cracking her knuckles.

"Just like we planned," Molly said.

They split up, slinking across the uneven landscapes to their designated hiding spots. A pair of hands grabbed Caleb's elbow.

"Caleb," Nott whispered, and he reflexively leaned down to better hear her. "It everything goes shitty, I'm gonna throw my flask of oil on the first cart. Light it on fire," she said and broke away. Caleb watched her crawl into her log. It wouldn't help. None of these preparations would help.

With leaden feet and a churning gut, Caleb took his place behind the farthest bush. His memory was good, but this moment in time was burned into his head with crystal clarity—replayed for him in guilt-fueled nightmares for years. Exhaustion and the weight of his knowledge pressed down on his shoulders as he grimly prepared for a long-closed wound to reopen.

The Iron Shepherd's procession neared, the sound of their horses and carts breaking the frigid dawn.

The passed before him in a line. Lorenzo's hulking figure stormed by and Caleb clenched his knuckle until they turned bone white. A spark of anger lit beneath the exhaustion.

With a loud crack, the tree across the way split in half, crushing the axel of the first cart and trapping it.

He wanted to run, to close his eyes, to vomit, to rain down fire on their heads before the inevitable tragedy.

Instead, Caleb pulled out his ball of molasses from his component pouch and swiped vertically downward through the air. Warm and familiar magic surged around him and invisibly through space, coating the Iron Shepherds in thick enchantment. As soon as the last fragment of the spell left his fingertips, his heart shuddered and a stabbing pain erupted through his chest. He gasped, the air forced from his lungs, and fell to his knees.

Something was wrong. This didn't happen the first time. Something was wrong.

With ragged breathes Caleb pushed himself up to see Molly taking large slices out of the enemy druid from behind while Beau rained down calculated punches from the front.

Lorenzo's booming voice echoed out from the chaos. "Keg, I don't know what you're trying here," he said, voice casual and languid, "But I think the line's been drawn." He stepped back away from Molly, Beau, and Nott, positioning himself on the other side of the cart with a singular raised hand.

Molly and Beau ignored him to focus on their target, but Caleb's eyes were glued to Lorenzo. His mouth felt dry and he fought the urge to turn away at what came next.

An arrow flew through the air, pinning Molly in the shoulder and sending him stumbling back. His neck already dripped blood from his own arcane ritual, staining the white undershirt beneath. A second arrow whizzed by, catching his arm, cutting through his coat and through the purple bicep beneath. Molly snarled, spinning on the enemy bard attacking him.

Caleb lifted his hand instinctually, launching three burst of flames from his gauntlet, two of which connected with the bard in an eruption of flames.

A crossbow bolt from a different direction launched towards Caleb. He flicked his wrist in a practiced motion, and the bolt bounced off his magically shield with a rippling 'thwung'.

His chest wrenched again like his ribs wanted to detach from his sternum and cave in to crush his insides. He clenched his head between his hands, trying to keep the bile down. His ears rang and a drop of blood dripped from his nose and dribbled onto his upper lip so he could taste the metal.

His muscles tremored, but Caleb pushed himself up again, forcing his eyes to focus on his friends just for Lorenzo to clench his open fist. A spray of ten-foot-tall icicles erupted from his hand, propelling their razor edges directly at his friends before Caleb could even cry out.

All three leapt out of the way, but the ice was faster, cutting and spearing at legs and torsos.

Lorenzo looked back at Keg, lazy smile drifting across his brutish features, repeating the words Caleb had heard in nightmares for months. "Am I gonna have to make a lesson here?" He looked to Nott. She noticed, and dived off the side of the cart, clinging to it out of his range while Beau cracked the druid across her temple, flooring her.

With miraculous agility, Beau leapt across the horse's back, landing on top of the far horse to face Lorenzo while Molly circled around to the other side. Molly's scimitars spun in the air, flicking an arc of blood in the air behind them before carving a large slice out of Lorenzo's torso.

The two men parted, momentum throwing them in opposite ways. Lorenzo spoke, but Caleb couldn't hear him over his own deafening heartbeat. Lorenzo's wicked glaive spun through the air as Molly prepared for the hit he wouldn't survive.

Faster than his own thoughts could process, Caleb pointed at Lorenzo, firing a spear of green lightning from a single shaking finger.

It collided with Lorenzo's broad back, hitting him square between the shoulder blades with a boom that shakes the ground. The magic tossed him like a ragdoll twenty, thirty feet in the air, sparking with green energy that devoured his body. Everyone, friend and enemy alike, paused to watch his arc with eyes wide and gaping mouths.

Then, Lorenzo hit the ground and exploded into a cloud of black ash.

At the same moment, Caleb's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell unconscious.

…

'In Girum Imus Nocte et Consumimur Igni' besides being a pretentious Latin phrase I dug up, is both a palindrome and a riddle, the answer to which is 'moths'.

Anyways, this is my fun little coping method for the death of a fictional character and is being written right after episode 27, so I apologize if future canon information conflicts with some of this story—mostly lore and backstory stuff bc we're already knee deep in AU atm. I'm going to try my best though! 1 review = 1 more second Lorenzo suffered on his way out.