Chapter Text
Deep in the woods around Whitestone, a dark-haired young half-elf woman and a white-haired young human man lie together next to a gently crackling flame. The young woman is crying quietly, curled against the young man, who is cradling her head in his arms and whispering to her. A bow and several guns lie within reach, but nothing will attack them this night. The woods are familiar to the young couple. They both know the forests of the area intimately. Yet tonight, the woods are as alien to both of them as the Plane of Pandemonium, because her brother, his dear friend is no longer skulking in the shadows just out of sight, but instead a plane away.
In a room of the castle of Whitestone, a red-haired Ashari woman sobs into the now-matted flank of an armored bear, clutching a raven feather to her chest. She in equal parts yearns for and dreads her upcoming return to Zephrah, where she will be named headmaster of the Air Ashari, the Voice of the Tempest. She does not want to lead her people without her boyfriend by her side to help her through it. Although she has blossomed into a fine leader in her travels, she can’t shake the feeling that nothing will ever be the same without him.
In another room of the castle, two gnomes, a man and a woman, lie in bed together. Neither is asleep. Both stare at the ceiling of their room. They are holding each other tightly. The man is still wracked with guilt over his inability to change his friend’s fate, even after the words of his friend. He cannot believe that he did everything he could’ve. The woman tries to give him as much comfort as she can while she wonders what she can do for the rest of her friends. She has taken her friend’s words to heart. She will strive to do all she can to be the light for her friends. And she sends up a prayer to the Everlight that all her friends will find healing. That she can.
In another part of Whitestone's woods, a hulking goliath man paces through the forest punching trees that look sturdy enough to take it. That feeling is at least familiar to him, but everything else is different now. He wishes that his friend were here. He isn’t sure whether he’d want to pants the stealthy motherfucker or hug him. He knows that he’s not the smartest one in the party, but even he can see how much their friend’s absence is hurting everyone. Growling, the goliath grabs his axe off his back and stalks off to find more trees. Somebody in Whitestone’s going to be getting a shitload of firewood tomorrow. And maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll find something to fucking kill.
In Vasselheim, many drink to the name Vox Machina. An enormous earth titan stands motionless, one foot in the air, and people are already starting to use it as a monument to Vecna’s defeat. People rebuild. Some lie dead in the streets, and many are mourning steep losses: their homes, their businesses, their friends, their family. Healers work overtime, trying to save as many as possible, and the many temples of Vasselheim, or at least the ones still standing, are clogged with worshipers thanking the gods that they still live, praying for comfort, praying for healing for themselves or a loved one, praying for a return to normalcy.
A plane away, the Champion of the Raven Queen holds the memory of his sister’s embrace, his girlfriend’s final kiss, and all his friends’ love in his heart.