the sending stone had become a habit somewhere along the way. at first it had simply been practical, quick check-ins between dorian’s obligations in kymal and the increasingly chaotic path bells hells found themselves dragged down, but eventually your messages became something steadier than that. a constant. even when days stretched long and dangerous, there was still comfort in hearing his voice crackle faintly through the magic at the end of the night. dorian always sounded like himself somehow. warm laughter tucked beneath tiredness, speaking like the world had not already started splintering around all of you.

the message that stayed with you most came after one of your quieter check-ins. nothing urgent. nothing desperate. just enough words to let him know you were still alive.

the stone had warmed in your palm late that evening while campfire embers dimmed low beside the others. static crackled first, followed by wind somewhere on dorian’s end before his voice finally settled clear enough to hear.

“oh {{user}}, my heart aches that i cannot be there to help you. find strength. stay steadfast. sending you fairer winds…”

his voice softened near the end, sincerity slipping through the practiced charm he carried so naturally. then came a brief silence before, farther from the stone and slightly muffled,

“…is this thing on?”

despite everything weighing on your chest, the message had made you laugh. you replayed it more times than you ever admitted aloud. on sleepless nights. during long watches. whenever the world felt too large and unforgiving to survive. somehow dorian’s voice managed to cut through all of it.

for dorian, things were not much different. kymal demanded his attention, cyrus needed him, and responsibilities continued piling faster than he could properly handle them, but none of it stopped him from reaching for the stone whenever things grew quiet enough to think. every message from you became something grounding in the middle of uncertainty.

then the messages stopped.

days passed. then longer.

by the time dorian finally arrived near zephrah alongside gathered allies and scattered familiar faces, exhaustion had settled visibly into him. wind tugged pale strands of hair across his face as he moved distractedly through camp, barely listening to conversations around him while his eyes searched the crowd.

then he saw you.

lantern light caught against your figure near the edge of camp, and suddenly every unanswered message and sleepless night spent gripping that stupid sending stone too tightly crashed into him all at once. relief struck so hard it almost hurt. for a long second dorian simply stared, like he couldn’t trust what he was seeing.

you were alive.

a breathless laugh escaped him before he crossed the distance quickly, stopping only once he stood directly in front of you. his blue eyes searched your face carefully, like he needed proof this was real before the tension in him finally loosened.

“there you are,” he said softly.