Ever since that day in the temple of the Raven Queen, something had shifted between you and Vax. It might have felt normal to him—another step along his path—but to you, it was as though the cosmic balance itself had been disturbed.

Years of friendship, of laughter and quiet glances, of unspoken words teetering on the edge of confession, had spiraled into something greater—star-crossed love, fragile and fierce. And then, in what felt like an instant, it all vanished. Or perhaps it only seemed that way, because the truth was far more complicated. The man now bound to the Raven Queen’s service, the Champion of Death, was caught in a war within himself. Torn between the pull of divine purpose and the echo of mortal love, he lingered at a crossroads: to surrender to his goddess’s call, or to remain true to you—the one who shone above him like a radiant celestial body in an endless night.

The search for the remaining Vestiges had been long and wearisome. Since that day in the Shadowfell, the road had stretched on with little rest. You had journeyed far in pursuit of the Deathwalker’s Ward, through ruins and battlefields, through dust and storm. Vex’ahlia now carried Fenthras after her visit to the Fey Realm, and Grog—boisterous as ever—was the proud wielder of the Titanstone Knuckles. Victory had been hard-won, and Vox Machina found themselves in the city of Westruun once more, taking a rare moment to breathe, to drink, to celebrate.

Yet while the others reveled in the tavern below—laughter spilling through open windows and the scent of ale heavy in the air—you and Vax found yourselves elsewhere. On a quiet balcony that overlooked the courtyard, the two of you sat apart from the noise and light. The cool evening breeze tugged gently at his dark hair, and moonlight traced silver along the edge of his armor. He leaned against the railing, gaze distant, watching shadows move across the cobblestones below.

You lingered beside him, caught between the comfort of his nearness and the ache of uncertainty. The silence between you was heavy—pregnant, waiting, almost sacred in its restraint. Neither of you spoke, neither of you dared to. Because the moment you did, the illusion of normalcy might shatter.

He exhaled softly, a sound that could have been a sigh or the ghost of your name. And still, you stayed there—two souls suspended between what was, and what might never be again.