Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I gasped for air as I awoke, not being able to catch my breath for a second as I lay there motionless, not entirely understanding what was happening, I thought that I was somehow still back in my car and being flung over a cliff was just a horrible nightmare. But no, what I felt was all too real, the aching deep in my bones, the empty coldness of the pod I was in, and the lingering smell of dead fish mixed with sulfur. I was too tired to move, to think, to try and figure out a way out of here, my eyes were heavy, but I fought to keep them open. My throat was dry and sore, I wanted to scream or cry for help, but I was frozen in fear and tears began to roll down my cheeks.

“What happened to me…where am I…” I whispered, my voice was raspy.

The realization that none of this made any sense, and at best I should have been crushed in my car at the bottom of a ravine based on the last thing I remember, hadn’t hit me yet. But I don’t remember anything besides swerving off the road and waking up in this pod. I couldn’t wrap my head around the situation I was stuck in, so I decided to distract myself by looking around the room I was in. It was dark and it was hard to make out any specific details, but it seemed small, curved, and lined with at least 6 other pods. The pod to my left was empty and I didn’t want to linger on what happened to them but the pod on my right had a green woman with amphibian-like features and big yellow eyes. She had the face of a warrior and sat in the pod stone face, no emotion to be seen.

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since I had been awake but suddenly a tall slender figure appeared in the doorway and began to move closer to a raised pool in the center of the room. It was cloaked in shadow, moving so gently and softly that it almost seemed like it was gliding across the floor with long robes behind. At that moment, my eyes darted back over to the person beside me, and we locked eyes, her mouth moved, but I couldn’t make out what she was trying to tell me.

The figure emerged from a shroud of darkness at the pool in the center of the room and I was able to make out more details of my captor. Besides the tall, slender frame, it had pale lavender skin, a large bulbous squid-like head with long tentacles sprouting out from where a mouth should be. The most unsettling feature of this creature was its milky white, pupilless eyes. Those eyes did not look at me but beyond me, somehow knowing my darkest secrets and desires, things I've never shared with anymore. I felt seen in a way that made me feel exposed, making a shiver run up my spine.

Long, spindly fingers grab something from the pool before sliding over to the person in the pod next to me. The machine hissed loudly as it opened slightly, just enough for this thing to reach inside it with its bony, xenomorph-like fingers holding whatever it picked up from the brine pool. The silence was deafening, it was so still that you could hear a pin drop and that was more terrifying than any scream could have been at that moment.

I was frozen in fear not even noticing the familiar hissing sound of the pod which opened with a jerk and the moment a small gap was opened the air that flowed in was stale and smelled heavily of decay. I closed my eyes tightly as my head spun from all the information trying to process in my brain, but I couldn’t make sense of anything that had happened to me. Tears began to roll down my cheek and I wanted to scream or yell for help, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“There was no one coming to help me” I muttered through my tears.

Suddenly, an intense calming feeling washed over me, in that moment all the fear and despair that I felt deep in my bones just melted away. Time seemed to stop as the creature reached its elongated fingers towards me and the last thing I remember before fading from consciousness was its clammy fingers caressing my cheek.

~

I woke up to my pod, being violently shaken, we lurched to the left and this is how I found out we were flying. I felt intense heat all around me as the acrid smell of sulfur and burning brimstone filled the pod. I heard screaming, a crack of lightning, and the roar of a dragon before once again, blacking out.

~

The next time I opened my eyes the room was destroyed, the crimson walls pulsed with energy like it was screaming out in pain. Pods were strewn about, some dented and busted open while others were completely ripped out from their foundations and presumably flew out of the giant hole in the side of the ship. I couldn’t see any survivors and the pod that housed my neighbor was empty - I hoped for my sake they were alive somewhere on this ship.

Figuring out what happened or if any of this was even real was irrelevant if I died inside this pod, so I was determined to get out and find answers. I pushed hard on the inside of the pod in hopes of escaping and to my surprise, I heard that familiar hissing sound as the door opened. My head pounded with pain as I climbed out of the pod, landing on very squishy, flesh-like ground. I was hit with a wave of heat as I made my way from the pod to the big hole in the wall, looking outside I saw a desolate, endless hellish wasteland. A war raged below me, pools of blood and ichor littered the landscape and to break up the terrain was a long, darkly colored winding river. I could hear a cacophony of screams mixed with crackling fire, distant explosions, and a very low but constant hum of energy. The air was thick and suffocating, making it very difficult to breathe. I backed away and made my way over to the area where I saw the creature emerging from earlier.

I stood with my hands on my hips frustrated because I swore there was a door there, I walked closer and noticed a small part of the wall started to twitch and pulse. That’s disgusting, I thought to myself. I moved closer, reaching my hand out and then almost like the door could sense my presence layer by layer began to peel back, revealing the chamber beyond.

“Cool…guess I’ll just walk through the anus door, that’s normal,” I said to myself as I stepped through.

I made my way as quickly as possible to the next area and found myself outside. I tried my best to push my fear down as a huge red dragon flew past me, roaring so loud I thought my ear drums were going to burst. I was standing on a ship that was flying through hell, and I was somehow not having a total breakdown. It was a feat that I couldn’t enjoy for long since after walking a few feet, my neighbor from the pod appeared in front of me. She narrowed her eyes and pointed her very shiny sword at me. Before I could react, something connected us, I could see her memories and feel what she felt. It made whatever was in my head, whatever that thing put inside me squirm, I held my head in pain as memories flashed through my mind.

After our connection ceased, she sheathed her sword and told me I was no “thrall” which I guess was a good thing because it seemed like she wanted to work together to get off this ship. She seemed eager to move on, but she was the only person I had seen this entire time, and I was desperate for answers, my head spinning with how fast my thoughts were racing through my mind.

“Who are you? Where are we? What the fuck is happening?” I blurted out.

“Do you want to become Ghaik? Because if you do not quiet yourself, that is what is going to happen. We need purification.” She snapped at me and turned around.

“Bu-” She cut me off before I could finish, not even looking at me as she scolded me like my mother would.

“We need to go to the helm, follow me or die” And with that, she walked off towards a pile of ravenous-looking demons tearing something apart.

Up until that point, the adrenaline was keeping me from completely shutting down but when my green companion so casually strode into battle, the feeling of impending doom finally hit me, and I was hit with a sense of dread. I fell to the floor, blankly staring off into the distance, thinking to myself; this couldn’t be real, right? This was some super realistic coma dream and I'm lying in some hospital right now and not about to fight a horde of ravenous infernal beings. I had no idea what was happening or how I was supposed to make it through this because I couldn’t cast spells, swing a sword, or fire a bow and there was no way I was getting anywhere fist-fighting. But for some fucked up reason, I followed her into the fray.

But by the time I finished having my latest existential crisis and made my way over to the battle, my companion had already cut through them all, wiping off guts as I got over to her. I don’t think she noticed I wasn't there assisting her because she didn't make any comments regarding my absence and again insisted that we make our way to the helm. So, we journeyed on.

From there, we made our way into what looked like some sort of lab with 3 unconscious people lying upright on lab tables. In front was a strange console that I couldn’t understand so I decided to leave it alone and move along. As I made my way further into the room, I noticed there were more of those pods, and not all of them were empty as I noticed a muffed banging of glass and what I assume was a cry for help.

“Do you hear that? I think someone is alive in one of those pods, we should try to save them.” I began to walk over to the pod where the noise was coming from.

“We have no time to pick up stragglers” She huffed and crossed her arms.

“You’re welcome to leave lady but I’m not leaving anyone behind” I put my hands on my hips, she groaned and whispered something under her breath but said nothing else.

I made my way over to the pod, that towered over me and saw a pale, raven-haired woman inside, I gave a little smile and a wave.

“Hey, you! I’m trapped in here, get me out” She pleaded, continuing to bang on the glass of her alien prison.

“I’d love to, but I have no idea how to, any ideas?” A look of embarrassment made its way across my face.

“It has something to do with that console, I think it needs some type of key to unlock it. Please hurry. I don’t want to die in here.” She responded.

“Alright, I’ll look around for a ‘key’” She seemed to calm down as I said that and turned on my heel to search the chamber.

I noticed there were two more fleshy doors, so I picked the closest one to the pod. Once the door peeled open a small horde of little brains rushed through, although not very concerned with our presence. Inside seemed to be a continuation of the lab from the other room and as I stepped inside, I noticed a body lying on the floor, so I took a look to see if they had the key I was looking for. As I rummaged through their pockets, I found some items and two different keys: one normal-looking and one alien-looking slate. I decided this was probably the answer to my problems and made my way back over to the console. Reassuring the girl in the pod that she was going to be fine, I inserted the slate into the socket.

The console hummed with energy and much like when I connected with my green companion, I felt the console resonating with the thing inside my head as it began to squirm, I had the feeling I only needed to think what I wanted it to happen. OPEN. The pod reacted, hissing and releasing steam as the lid popped open.

“I thought that damn thing was going to be my coffin. Thank you” Before I could respond to her, our minds meshed, and I could feel her gratitude was outweighed by her weariness because I had a 'gith' with me.

“What's a ‘gith’?” She was very surprised at that response and pointed at my traveling companion.

“You keep dangerous company” Her face soured.

“She killed like, four demons so maybe being dangerous is good -I like her” I rested my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at her.

“Fair point. Seems like the fighting isn’t over yet. Let me come with you. We can get off this ship and watch each other's backs”

It was strange to me that neither of them acknowledged that our minds were merging, giving a glimpse into one another’s thoughts and feelings.

“What's the mind connection thing about? It makes me dizzy every time" My stomach turned a little bit.

“It must be because of those parasites they put in us…that’s why we need to get off this ship as soon as possible. I’m Shadowheart by the way”

"Right, yeah of course, silly me" I was taken aback at how casually she mentioned that.

"Mind flayer tadpoles." the green one spat.

Before we departed, Shadowheart told us to give her a moment and grabbed a weird object, it looked like a Rubix cube to be completely honest, and my curiosity peaked.

"What's that?" I pointed at the small, multi-sided object in her hands before she put it away in her haversack.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. Let's head out.”

"Yes, let's not die here." My green companion grunted and set out for the other door in the chamber, and we followed behind.

I had more questions than answers, but I think at this point, I had enough existential crisis that I just decided that this was a dream and that whatever I did didn't matter because it was all inside my head. I was in no real danger and these people I'd imagined were just manifestations of my loved ones. This reassured me for about two minutes before we finally made our way to the helm.

A war waged inside the room we entered - cambions and imps versus mind flyers. Our minds connected and the instruction to go to the transponder echoed in my mind.

"What the fuck is a transponder?" I groaned. And at that moment, information flooded into my mind, letting me know exactly where to go and what to do.

It was a mad rush from that point on, everything happening in a haze. My green friend swung her sword, the goth one flung spells and I just ran as fast as I could to reach the transponder because I had a feeling that this ship would go down soon. I let my companions clear a path for me and I made my way through the maze of monsters and OSHA violations. Finally reaching what I knew to be the transponder the mind flayer implanted into my mind, I walked up to it and reached my hands out to grab two floating tentacles but before I was able to connect them, a red dragon burst through the wall.

It roared so loudly I thought my ear drums were going to burst and vomited fire all throughout the chamber. The force sent me back a few feet and I had to use all the strength I had to get on my feet and finish what I started. Grabbing the slimy tentacles as hard as I could, I jammed them together and what happened next, I'm not too sure.

I remember being trashed all around the chamber, flying to one end and hitting my head before my vision went dark, but I was still conscious. When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else; an endless silvery void, a shimmering sea of shifting colors- pale blues, purples and streaks of radiant gold, floating throughout were massive asteroids or possibly chunks of civilization lost to time. I was weightless, there was no gravity to hold me down, I floated aimlessly, on the cusp of being lost in the infinite.

Looming over me was an angelic figure cloaked in a bright light which blurred their features, making it impossible to see who they really were. An invasive but warm presence floods my thoughts and begins to unravel the barriers of my mind. I could feel their mind wrapped around mine like a second skin, looking for something in the deepest parts of my psyche.

I could hear their voice force their way into my thoughts, it was smooth, humanlike but there was something so alien about the way it spoke into my mind.

“YOU ARE MINE NOW. MY POWER IS YOURS, YOUR WILL BENDS TO MINE” the voice boomed and echoed throughout my mind.

In that moment, I felt a burning sensation spread through my skull then to the rest of my body, my veins were glowing violet, and my hands started to crackle with psionic energy. My body trembled as my newfound abilities surged through me, this creature’s influence now permanently woven into my being.

Chapter Text

I was lying flat on my back when I awoke, my veins cracking like lighting under my skin. I opened my eyes to a blinding sun and a sprawling crash site that went on for miles all around me.

“How did I survive this…. what happened” I thought to myself as I rubbed my temples to find some relief from the pain in my head. As my brain pulsated with psionic energy, I was reminded of a conversation I had with the angry green lady aboard the ship when we first met...

“Mind flayers” I mumbled to myself in disbelief.

I tried to recall all the information I knew about mind flayers that I gathered from various lore over the years but that’s just fantasy and none of that stuff is real…right? My head throbbed the more I tried to think about it, so I decided to put a pin on that existential crisis and journey forward to hopefully find help and some answers.

The sun was beating down on my back, the hot sand burning my feet through my beat-up converse.  I navigated through the broken pieces of the alien ship that captured me, trying my best to avoid setting myself on fire or getting an unknown disease from getting cut by a piece of sharp fuselage. Ahead of me, I saw a figure that was laying prone on the ground, I approached cautiously; praying that it wasn’t another mind flayer. That’s when I noticed the raven black hair shimmering in the sunlight and the shiny armor of the goth girl I met abroad on the ship, beside her sat that weird Rubik cube thing she insisted on taking. For a moment, I thought to grab it just to see If I could figure it out but then again, it could kill me instantly. Instead, I got on my knees and to my surprise, she was alive as I could see her chest rise and fall. I reached out and gave her a little shake.

Her eyes flickered open and she sat up quickly which made me pull away from her, just in case she attacked me.

“I remember you from the ship, you look...different...” a small but nervous smile peeled across her face.

“Different how?”  I questioned.

“Here let me just show you” she said confidently.

Before I could process what was happening, she was sticking her hand out flat, palm up and began to mutter something I couldn’t understand. In an instant a small incorporeal version of me appeared in a purple mist that became more detailed the more I looked at it. What I saw was, my once freckled porcelain skin was now a pale lavender, my eyes were no longer the muddy brown they once were but misty white pupil-less orbs; eyes that I saw on the mind flayer that captured me. I was too busy staring into my eyes to notice that my ears were now long and pointed, like ones of an elf or a drow. My mouth hung open and I lifted my fingers to touch the tips of my newly elongated ears.  

Shadowheart retracted her hand and stood there silently for a moment, she rested her hand under her chin as she were deep in thought. I feared what she would say next but finally she broke the silence.

“What’s your deal?” She looked directly into my eyes and titled her head. “When I saw you abroad the Nautolid you were very much a human…but now…you’re some sort of mind flayer hybrid?” Her tone of voice was one of curiosity, not from a place of fear or anger. She seemed to be genuinely interested in what had happened to me.

“I don’t really know how to explain this but I’m not from here.” The words felt like venom in my throat as I tried to cough them up.

“I’m not either, I’m from Baldur’s Gate. What’s your point.” Her curiosity peaked, but it was mixed was wariness.

“Like the place I come from, none of this-” and I started to gesture with my hands in all directions “is real, this is just fantasy, like out of a book or a TV show. The only time I’ve seen a dragon was on Game of Thrones.” I’m sure my eyes were wild as I explained the situation I found myself in.

“The last thing I remember before waking up in that pod was driving in my car during a rainstorm, I think I hit something and swerved and when I woke up…well.” The word vomit would not stop, and I continued, desperate for answers.       

“Then when we were falling to our death, I went somewhere else, somewhere new entirely…”  I was abruptly cut off by Shadowheart before I could finish.

“What do you mean ‘went somewhere else?” Her eyes narrowed.

“It was like an infinite silvery void of blues, purples and streaks of gold with floating debris.”

“That’s sounds like it could be the Astral Plane…very peculiar…hmm” She trailed off but didn’t continue.

“And while I was there, I saw this figure; they looked angelic, surrounded by this bright light so I couldn’t make out any features. I heard them speak to me in my mind and tell me ‘I was there's’ then I felt an intense burning sensation and now this” I gestured to my still crackling hands and glowing purple veins.

Shadowheart kind of just stood there again, the only sounds being made were the sound of waves crashing, and the breeze blowing past us.

“What exactly is a car?” Shadowheart finally spoke up.

“You’re serious? Nothing else I just said was weird to you. "I started to raise my voice out of frustration.

“Yes, I’m serious” She crossed her arms, staring at me with a mad twinkle in her eye.

“It’s like…a mechanical death trap with wheels. Instead of horse drawn carriage, we have steam powered engines that move these vehicles” I’ve never had to explain the concept of a car to anyone before and out of everything that has happened, this was the most surreal moment I’ve had.

“Very peculiar indeed, I mean it would explain your clothing choices. Can you cast any spells? It sounds like you made a pact with whatever creature saved us from the fall.” Her arms remained crossed over her chest as she stared me down.

“I’ve never cast a spell before, but I can try…” I stared at the palms of my hands that were still slightly crackling energy.

I tried to take all the knowledge from every fantasy RPG I've played and focused hard on this new power within me.  I tried to summon it to do something, anything, and when I was about to give up, my hands erupted into a small fire that quickly distinguished itself.

“We’ll work on it. But for now, I suggest we move on to find some civilization, maybe some new clothes so you won't stick out so much”

“So, you want to stay together then...?” I was genuinely surprised she wanted to stick with me, since I was practically useless if I couldn’t learn to use my powers.

“You saved my live abroad the Nautoloid, you could of easily ran past by pod and left me to die but you didn’t; I owe you for that, plus we have matching mind flayer tadpole we need to get rid of...” She laughed softly but the way she looked into my eyes was earnest.

 “Plus, I don’t think you’d make it too far without some help from someone from here.” She gave me a soft smile

“Thanks, I guess, I'll take any and all help” I smiled back at her.

~

From there we started heading deeper into the crash site, large pieces of the ship loomed over us as we walked through a valley of metal. We passed by some more of those weird little brain things, but we were able to avoid conformation with them by ducking behind a piece of fuselage and not coming out until they disappeared. We walked mainly in silence, only making remarks on the passing flora and fauna.

“Can I ask you something?” She finally breaks the silence

“Sure, go ahead.” I slowed my pace down to walk with her since she'd be lingering behind me for a while, probably waiting for the right moment of awkward silence to speak up.

“As you’ve already made clear, you’re not from here, some mundane world it seems, but if you’re not from Toril, where do you call home?” She sounded tired as she spoke.

“I’m from California on a planet called Earth, I used to live by the ocean, kind of like the one we crashed on” Memories of home flashed through my mind, the sound of my mother's laughter, the smell of freshly baked cookies flooded my senses and sent a shockwave of goosebumps throughout my body.

“Hm well obviously never heard of it but I'm sure some scholar out there has some knowledge about parallel universes and the possibility of moving between them.  I’m sure someone in Baldur’s Gate could help you, if we ever make it there.”

“Well, we’ll never make it there if we keep standing around like this.” I laughed nervously.

“Good point. Hopefully we can find a village or town before it gets dark...”

As we walked, I began to think of the other women I met abroad the ship as it just occurred to me that I hadn’t seen her anywhere on the beach and none of the bodies I saw matched her description. I was lost in thought and absentmindedly said,

“I wonder what happened to that green lady, I didn't see her anywhere on the beach. Should we look for her?”  My voice is full of concern.

“You mean the gith?  She probably ran off without us, I doubt she's very concerned about what's become of us. We just need to focus on finding a healer.” She rolled her eyes.

“Touchy subject, sorry. She did help us abroad the ship…so i just thought.” I trailed off.

“It's just gith are ruthless pillagers and murders. She allied with us out of convenience and nothing more.  She’s fine, wherever she is.” She spat the words out and I decided it would be better to leave it there.

Clouds started to roll in and the breeze picked up as we climbed a small hill. Off in the distance, we heard shouting like someone was asking for help. We looked at each other, both knowing it could be a trap but decided ultimately to check it out. We picked up our speed and made it over to the spot the noise was coming from.

Chapter Text

He was alone when we found him. Tall, slender, skin-like marble under the forest light. He turned as we approached, red eyes, sharp and wild like a predator who’d already chosen his next meal. There was no one else in sight.

“I’ve got one of those creatures from the ship cornered,” he said smoothly, not a trace of fear in his voice. “You can kill it? Like you did the others?

My eyes drifted to the dagger in his hand, steady and familiar in his grip.

“You’re got a knife.” I said flatly. “You seem capable”

I turned around to walk away which in retrospect, was a very bad decision. Because the second I turned my back, I heard a mutter, words I couldn’t make out and my back hit dirt.  The air left me as he pinned me with terrifying ease, cold hands locking me in place, the dragger gazing over the curve of my neck. His grip was deliberate, practiced, almost sensual. He wasn’t fumbling or frantic, he was savoring it. And god help me, I felt it.

His arm snaked around my waist, holding me firm as I writhed. My stomach twisted, my heart hammering. I squeezed my legs together as if it might chase away the growing ache between them. My face flushed hot, and I hated that I wanted more time to think, wanted more time to feel it. I tried to scream but his hand slid over my mouth.

“Shh” he whispered, voice cool and soft in my ear “Not a sound, not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.”

His hand moved from my waist, then lower, down my ribs and to my waist—flipping me over onto my back like it was nothing. Stradling my hips and pinning my wrists above my head in one strong hand, his grip effortlessly firm.

He looked down at me with absolute control—hungry, calm and amused. A heat bloomed low in my stomach, a needy ache I couldn't control. He smiled like he felt it, almost like he’d been hoping for it and I hated that too.

Shadowheart took a step forward, mace in hand but he whipped his head around and said “Stay back” his voice was low and silky, not taking his eyes off me. “There’s no need for this to get messy”

“There’s no need to straddle her either” She growled at him.

“Oh, but she doesn’t seem to mind,” he said, not even looking back—his gaze fixed entirely on mine. He adjusted his grip, just enough to press his hips closer.

“I just have some innocent questions.” he said “Now nod if you understand

I stared up at him, my body tense and my nerves screaming. But I nodded, there wasn’t must else I could do.

“Good girl” he murmured.  A shiver ran through me, not from fear and I hated that too.

“I saw you on that ship, didn’t I?” He asked, voice low “Strutting about while I was trapped in a pod.”

I nodded again, glaring.

“What did you and those tentacled freaks do to me?”

“There’s obviously been a huge misunderstanding.” I said quickly, “They grabbed me too—I’m not even from here. I didn’t do anything to you!”

“She’s right” Shadowheart called out. “I mean….look at her outfit.”

His gaze flicked back to me, searching. “But your eyes….” He muttered. “They look just like theirs.”

Before I could answer, I felt a pulse, a squirm in the back of my mind. The air shimmered faintly around us, and we connected.

Suddenly, I was seeing through him: dark alleyways, a scream, hunger. A blur of shadows and  fear. It was gone as fast as it came. But he’d loosened his grip just enough for me to scramble away, stumbling to me feet, my heart thundering in my chest.

He stayed kneeing for a moment, gripping his head “If you’re not one of them….what the hells was that?”
“The tadpole” I panted, “They put it in all of us, it connects us—psioncially.”

He blinked. For a moment his expression shifted from predator to confused survivor.

“Hm. So you’re just a poor title victim like me.” He said, rising to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes. “And here I was ready to decorate the forest with your innards.”

“Charming” a still unable to catch my breath.

His grin widened as he brushed hair out of his eyes. He knew--he knew how flustered I was, the way he looked at me said as much.

“I’m Astarion” he said grandly, puffing his chest slightly. “I was in Baldur’s Gate when they snatched me”

 “I’m Mira,” I said, clearing my throat, trying to regain composure. “And that’s Shadowheart.”

She gave a sassy little wave.

“So,” he said, inspecting his nails, “did you learn anything else about these tadpoles?”

“Some angry green lady told me we need to be ‘purified’ or we’ll become ‘ghaik’,” I said.

“They turn us into mind flayers,” Shadowheart explained flatly.

Astarion paused. Then laughed—a cold, sharp sound. “Of course. Of course it turns me into a monster. Naturally.”

He exhaled through his nose, humorless but intrigued.

“Well,” I said, brushing dirt off my clothes, “so far it hasn’t happened. You’re welcome to join us on our quest to fix this. Among other things.”

He tilted his head, considering. “I was all set to go this alone. But safety in numbers… and you are a fascinating little group.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the flutter low in my belly when he smiled at me again.

“Welcome to the circus,” I said with exaggerated cheer. “We should probably find somewhere to set up camp before it gets dark.”

The three of us turned, heading deeper into the crash site—our odd little duo now officially a trio.

I had no idea what we’d run into next. But I was already starting to think I’d just met trouble in the shape of a very pretty vampire.

Chapter Text

We were walking again, and I had no idea for how long, minutes or hours maybe. My mind had wandered far from the broken trees and scattered wreckage around us. And I drifted home—to my mother, probably still clinging on to some fading hope. My brother, trying to keep her strong. My friends, confused and angry, mourning someone they didn’t know wasn’t dead. My chest ached thinking about them searching for me, not knowing that id vanished into another world entirely. There was no comfort in that, only guilt. Guilt they might never find peace, guilt that I wasn’t sure I wanted them too.

Because, truthfully, I liked It here. Even with the danger, even with the parasite squirming behind my eyes, even knowing I could become something monstrous. The sun here warmed my shoulders like I belonged, magic was real, the stories I read were real. I felt more alive than I had felt in years. And it terrified me.

I didn’t even notice the broken piece of fuselage until a hand yanked me back sharply and I stumbled, nearly falling into Astarion’s chest, his grip was firm on my arm.

“Careful, darling,” his whispered, his lips kissing my ear “We would want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Then he just let go, moving on like nothing had happened. I stood there for a moment, skin prickling from where he’d touched m, before falling back in step him and Shadowheart. They chatted idly about Baldur’s Gate, just surface level banter but I stayed silent, trailing behind in thought.

Something I didn’t find interesting is that Astarion never mentioned the fact I wasn’t from here, Shadowheart had commented on my clothes and just generally who I was but Astion said nothing, it was oddly refreshing but mostly unnerving, he barely looked at me at all, except when he did—a grin tossed over his shoulder, eyes that linger for too longer. Like he was playing a game I didn’t even know the rules to. It made my heart twist in a way I didn’t want to examine so I pushed ahead of both of them and kept walking.

Eventually, we reached the edge of the forest and climbed a hill that gave way to a cliffside and that when I saw it. A glowing sigil embedded in the rock—it pulsed faintly, the same color as the veins that glowed beneath my skin. The moment I saw it, my body reacted; goosebumps raced down my arms, a strange electric hum rising beneath my skin.

“Should we check it out’ I asked, already moving towards it.

Shadowheart shrugged and Astarion grunted noncommittally.

I reached out fingers brushing the surface of the sigil, magic surging into me like heartbeat, rippling outward in concentric waves.

Then suddenly, a hand appeared from the center and a disembodied voice followed. I took a big step back, not knowing what to expect.

“A hand? Anyone?” The mysterious voice pleaded.

I looked at my companions, hoping for some instruction on what I should do.

“It would be kind of funny if you cut it off.” Astarion chucked as he said it.

“It would be kind of funny if I punched you in the face” I hissed at him.

“It might be wise to help them” Shadowheart cut in “They could know something”

“Wonderful point Shadowheart” I said sweetly, sending a glare to Astarion.

I strode back up to the signal, not fully knowing what I should be doing. I started to focus on the power within me, trying to channel it and I felt myself connect to the signal, resonating with the magic inside it. I could sense the thing within, and I could feel that their intentions were good.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s working wonders! Now a quick little pull should do the trick!” The voice responded and I knew that our magic connected us, I knew they could feel me the way I could sense them deep in my bones.

With both hands, I grasped the stranger’s and braced myself. I dug in my heels and pulled with everything I had. A moment later, a man tumbled out of the rock and landed at my feet, groaning as he stood up and straightened his robes.He snapped his fingers—and in an instant, the dust vanished from his clothes. He was tall, soft-featured, and strangely familiar in a way I couldn’t place. He smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and something warm and herbal, maybe library air.

“Hi hello, I'm Gale of Waterdeep. Apologies, I’m usually better at this.” The breeze blew past him and the smell of old books and ink wafted off him, reminding me of all the hours I spent at the local library back home.

“Better at what.” I raised my eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest in confusion.

“At magic of course.” He looked surprised like I was somewhat supposed to know his magical capabilities.“Well, I didn’t even know

 magic existed until like earlier today. That little cleaning trick you did was neat though” I realized he was still holding my hand; I blushed and dropped it.

“Oh, that was just a simple cantrip, anyone could do it.” His voice full of confidence as he continued “But did you say you didn’t know about magic until today?” He was now the one raising his eyebrow at me, inspecting me from head to toe.

“Yeah, it’s a long story, most of it I don’t remember. I remember waking up in the pod but not how I ended up there.” I sighed, wishing I knew more.

“Fascinating.” His eyes lit up. “So, you were all aboard the Nautiloid then?”

“Yeah, we were all there.” I looked at my other companions and back at Gale “I don’t remember seeing you though. How did you get suck in that stone?”

“Good question. I’m unsure how things transpired exactly but when the ship broke into pieces, I found myself in a most unpleasant free fall. And you know as I was plummeting to my death, I saw a glimmer which I knew to be of a magical nature. I connected to the strands of Weave and found myself on the other side of it as it were”

I kind of just stared at him blankly, not really understanding what he said at the end there but I’m sure he’s the exact type of guy who’d love to explain it to me.

“How did you all make it off the ship?” He spoke up again to fill the awkward silence hanging in the air.

I explained to him what I told Shadowheart and he was staring at me, mouth agape, holding on to every word I said.

“We have much to discuss, truly, but for now, on to more pressing matters. I assume that all of you were all on the receiving end of a very unwelcome insertion in the ocular region, hmmm?” He reached his hand up and started to scratch the facial hair on his chin.

“Yup, we are all very aware of the mind flayer tadpole and what will happen to us if we don’t get it removed.” I said casually but it seemed that Gale was taken aback for a moment before speaking once again.

“Excellent, well not excellent in the sense we’re facing almost certain ceremorphosis but excellent in the sense you’re already so knowledgeable about out infliction. Would it be a bother for me to join this search for tadpole extraction. I am an excellent cook and an even better wizard.” He rocked back and forth on his heels confidently as a smirk remained plastered on his face.

“You’re welcome to join us, a wizard that can cook will prove extremely useful.” I laughed and flipped my hair over my shoulder.

He grabbed my hands in his, only now realizing how big and strong they were. I gazed into his eyes and could feel myself getting lost in them.

Astarion mumbled something under his breathe but I was too distracted to notice. I snapped out of it; my face went red as I dropped his hands and cleared my throat.

“So, uh, should we look for somewhere to camp for the night? I’m exhausted.” I started to scan the area in search of a nice place to set up.

“Before we depart, I just wanted to thank you for pulling me out of that stone, it was quite uncomfortable in there.”

“Of course, no one left behind and all.” I smiled at him with sincerity.

We walked around the forest for a while before settling on a nice little patch of land nestled in a valley beside a small lake. Once we all collectively decided that this was the spot, we stood there momentarily since we realized that none of us had any useful supplies. Gale seemed very amused by this as he started to chicken softly and then announced,

“Alright my newfound friends, watch this” Mumbling to himself and then snapping his fingers.

What happened next was, for lack of a better word, magical. In the blink of an eye, there was a beautifully set up campsite, equipped with individual tents for everyone, a cute little cooking set up with a campfire surrounded by logs for everyone to sit on. I felt like Harry Potter from that one scene in Goblet of Fire when we went into that little tent for the first time. I kind of just stared in amazement.

“Wow, that was super cool. Could you make me some new clothes next? I said half-jokingly and playfully bumped his shoulder with mine.

“Hmm, I could use a simple fabricate spell, I would just need the proper materials.” He seemed to be deep in thought, genuinely considering what he would need to make me some new clothes.

“I was just joking, well kind of you really don’t need to. I appreciate this amazing campsite well enough.” I couldn’t help but smile at him, my eyes probably still probably twinkling from amazement “Well, I should probably find a tent for myself and settle in.” I turned around to walk away but Gale stopped me.

“If you don’t mind, I'd like a moment of your time later to discuss your...how do I put this...predicament.” he said softly.

“Yeah, I'd love to” And with that, I walked off into the campsite to find an area to set up.

Chapter Text

Later that night, after everyone had settled in, I decided to walk the perimeter of the campsite to get a better sense of where we were. The valley was quiet now, cloaked in moonlight. Trees lined the cliffs above us, their shadows swaying gently across the rocks. A small lake shimmered nearby, its surface glassy and still. Shadowheart had proudly declared it usable earlier—she’d already purified a flask of water with some quiet spell work, giving us at least a small slice of comfort in this chaotic place.

I wandered down to the lake’s edge, just needing a moment to breathe. I sat there for a while, arms wrapped around my knees, listening to the wind and thinking of Gale—his warm smile. He reminded me of my boyfriend back home. Ex-boyfriend, probably. At this point, who even knew? Then, without meaning to, my thoughts shifted—Astarion. His icy hands, the intoxicating scent of bergamot on his skin, the way he’d held me earlier with a strength that thrilled and terrified me. I swallowed hard and squeezed my thighs together, heat rising in my stomach again. I needed to cool off.

I looked around—no one. The camp was quiet. No footsteps. No eyes on me. So I stripped down and stepped into the lake. The water was shockingly cold at first, but it helped. I sank into it gratefully, letting it soothe the tension that had wrapped itself tight around me since waking up in the wreckage. For the first time since arriving here, I felt a sliver of peace.

The lake was deeper than it looked. I waded out until the water met my shoulders, then dove under, pushing myself as far down as I could go, lungs burning by the time I resurfaced. I floated on my back, eyes scanning the unfamiliar stars overhead. They looked almost right. Almost. But I knew them too well to be fooled. The constellations I loved were missing. The ones I used to wish on weren’t there.

I thought of summer nights back home reading on the beach, the chirp of crickets, the salt on my skin. The grief hit suddenly, hot and sharp. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I stared at a sky that wasn’t mine. I took one last breath and swam toward the shore.

That’s when I heard it—rustling in the trees. My head snapped toward the sound just in time to catch the glint of glowing red eyes watching me from the brush. I froze. My breath caught. The eyes blinked once—then vanished. I swam fast, heart hammering, stumbling onto the shore as water dripped down my legs. I pulled my shirt over my head and clutched the rest of my clothes to my chest, praying no one would see me walking pant-less through camp like some half-drowned fool.

When I reached my tent, I threw back the flap and something was waiting for me. A bundle, neatly folded and wrapped in soft linen, tied with a golden ribbon. A note sat on top, my name written in precise, curling script. I sat down slowly, water still dripping from my hair as I reached for the note.

For your comfort—so you might feel more at home among us. Welcome to this strange little corner of the world. - G

Gale.

The ache in my chest twisted into something warm. I carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the linen to reveal a few soft pieces of clothing, a tunic in warm, earthy tones, a pair of comfortable camp trousers, and a plum-colored cloak.

They smelled faintly of lavender and parchment. They weren’t fancy. Just thoughtful. Human. Something meant to make me feel like I belonged here. I changed into them slowly, savoring the way they fit—not just my body, but something deeper. A quiet piece of me that hadn’t felt seen since I got here. They didn’t know me. Not really. And yet… Gale had taken the time to do this. Not out of obligation. Just… kindness.

And I needed to see him, so I stepped out into the cool night again, pulling the cloak tight around my shoulders, and followed the soft flicker of candlelight glowing to his tent. I noticed Astarion staring at my every move, holding a goblet of what I assumed was wine, and when he realized, I was going to Gale's tent, he narrowed his eyes at me, taking a long sip out of his glass. It was the longest walk of my life, but I finally made it to the other side of camp where Gale’s tent sat.  

“Hey, uh… I’m here.” I lingered outside the tent flap, my voice barely louder than the crackle of the nearby campfire. A moment later, the curtain swept open—and there he was.

“Yes, yes, do come in. Make yourself comfortable,” Gale said, ushering me in with a flourish.

The interior of his tent was bathed in warm candlelight. I sank into a pile of plush, violet cushions, the fabric soft and inviting beneath me.

“So,” he said, a proud glint in his eye, “how do you like it?”

“It’s amazing,” I said, unable to hide my smile. “How did you make them so fast? It’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”

“Magic, of course,” he replied, handing me a glass of deep red wine before settling beside me.

“Right,” I laughed, “how could I forget?”

His tent smelled like old parchment and incense, a comforting, lived-in kind of scent. Books were stacked in organized chaos, papers scribbled with inked notes, and a few crystals caught the candlelight, scattering it in small, dancing flecks across the canvas walls. It felt like a pocket of another world—his world—quiet and curious and endlessly warm.

“So,” I said, trying to refocus, “you wanted to talk?”

He took a sip from his glass. “Yes, I did. I wanted to know more about your world. Where you come from. I’m curious how it compares to ours.” He leaned back into the cushions, gaze never leaving mine.

“Well, for starters… we don’t have magic. Or mind flayers,” I said with a weak laugh. “We rely on technology—computers, phones, cars... that kind of thing.”

I watched as Gale’s eyes lit up, curiosity crackling behind them like firelight. It reminded me of how Shadowheart had looked at me—fascinated and skeptical—but Gale’s curiosity felt softer. And much sweeter.

“I'm happy to give you a crash course, Earth 101” I teased.

“And I’ll take studious notes,” he promised.

Unlike Astarion, who watched me like something to be devoured, Gale looked at me with quiet wonder. He had changed out of his usual robes, now dressed in soft, loose camp clothes. His hair was half-tied, the rest falling around his shoulders, and when I looked into his eyes—deep brown and catching the candlelight—I could swear I saw stars flickering in their depths.

We talked for what felt like hours. About my job, my hobbies—crocheting, baking, writing. I told him how I always dreamed of traveling the world, but my fear of flying kept me grounded. That, naturally, led to a long and clumsy explanation of what airplanes were. He asked question after question, his interest never wavering.

Then came astronomy. My favorite topic. I told him how I used to sneak out late at night as a kid, climbing a hill just to get a better view of the stars. I spoke about constellations I grew up knowing by heart—none of which existed here. He listened, fascinated, asking thoughtful questions I never expected.

The wine flowed as easily as the conversation, each topic spilling into the next. We laughed. We leaned closer. The world outside the tent vanished.

At some point, I noticed how close we were sitting. Inches apart. I could feel the warmth of his body beside mine, the faint scent of sandalwood clinging to his clothes. My heart thundered in my chest. He said something—I didn’t catch it. I was too lost in the shape of his mouth, wondering what it would feel like against mine.

Then his hand brushed my thigh, anchoring me back to the moment.

“Sorry,” I blinked, “what did you say?”

“I was asking about the Astral Sea,” he said, topping off his glass. “What did it feel like? What did you see?”

I hesitated. “It felt like… sinking. Like something tied a weight to my ankle and dragged me into a void. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—but not because there was no air. It was something else. Something heavy. And the feeling of being watched, by everything. Then the creature—” I broke off, shuddering.

I didn’t even realize I’d leaned against him until I felt his arm wrap gently around my shoulders, his other hand resting on my head.

“I’ve always dreamed of seeing the Astral Sea with my own eyes,” he said quietly. “But the chance never came. I’ve been… preoccupied these past few years.”

“Can’t a wizard prodigy just go?” I hiccupped, too tipsy to filter myself.

He chuckled. “Perhaps. But there are things that even prodigies must wait for.”

I murmured something incoherent, my head heavy against him.

“You need rest,” he said, brushing his fingers gently through my hair. “Stay. I’ll get you some water.”

By the time he returned, I was already asleep.

I woke later, wrapped in a warm blanket, his silhouette framed by candlelight. He was sitting cross-legged nearby, nose buried in a book, the quiet scratching of his quill the only sound. I didn’t know how long I’d been there—but I didn’t care. I felt safe. Tethered. Like nothing could touch me in this little pocket of peace.

Still half-asleep, I curled deeper into the cushion. The sound of his scribbling, the soft rhythm of his breath, the occasional hum of a half-formed spell—it was all so soothing. I let myself drift back to sleep, cradled by candlelight and the comfort of Gale’s presence. 

Chapter Text

 I awoke to the smell of parchment and campfire clung to the blankets. Something warm pressed against my back—not heavy, just there. Steady and safe. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking past the morning light that filtered through the canvas of the tent.  

Gale. He was asleep beside me; one arm folded under his head and the other curled loosely near where my hand had been hours ago. I sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it—my head throbbed, my mouth was dry, and my stomach turned as flashes of last night came rushing back.  
Too much wine, laughter, Gale’s voice explaining something magical I didn't understand but pretended to. Me leaning on him a little too long, his arm slipping around me like it belonged there. The quiet hum of Weave in the air, and the way it made my skin buzz. And then just sleep, drunk, warm and way too tired to leave. It wasn’t anything, not really, but it looked like something. I stared at him, his hair was messy, and he had a faint smudge of ink on his jaw, like he’d touched his face while explaining something and forgotten about it. He looked peaceful.  

Quietly, I pushed the blanket off and slipped out of the tent, boots in hand, clock bunched awkwardly under one arm. The air outside was quiet, cold against my skin, crisp with morning dew and the sun was just beginning to rise over the tree line. My nerves twisted in my stomach as I stepped lightly across camp, hoping no one would see me.   

I wasn’t sure why I was sneaking. It wasn't like I did anything scandalous. I just...fell asleep, it was warm, and he was kind, the way he talked about the Weave and stars and some ancient theory I half-understood made me feel so safe.  And safety is what I needed right now.   

I made it three steps before I heard his voice—Astarion—leaning against a tree a few feet away, arms crossed. His expression was almost unreadable, but his eyes gave away everything, I felt exposed, like I just walked naked onto a stage.   

He didn't say a word, or blink, he just stared at me with those eyes, his head tilted slightly, examining me. His gaze dropped—slowly—from my tangled hair to the wrinkled shirt I'd slept in, his lips curling up into a smirk, slow and deliberate. I stopped in my tracks, heart stuttering.   

I hated how he looked irritatingly perfect in the morning light, “Well, well. Look who's sneaking out of someone else’s tent.”  

“I wasn’t--sneaking,” I muttered, hugging my boots tighter.   

He raised an eyebrow “Oh, of course not. You just happened to tiptoe out like a thief fleeing the scene of the most delightful crime.”  

I flushed so hard I could feel it in my toes. “We were just talking...”   

“Mmm. How intimate .” His voice was silky, and smooth, it was dangerous, dropping just enough to make my skin tingle.   

I didn't say anything. I just stood there and ultimately made the mistake of meeting his eyes—sharp and glittering, thoroughly amused. There was no judgment in there just playful teasing and god, that made it so much worse.   

“Not that it's any of your business” I paused, hoping my voice didn’t crack “...But nothing happened. Gale’s nice.”   

I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain myself to him but the way he looked at me, made my stomach churn, I couldn’t think when he was smirking at me like that.   

He pushed off the tree, and moved closer to me, swiftly and too quiet.  

“Nice. Safe . Probably smells like sage and freshly unrolled scrolls” his eyes were on me, watching me closer as he moved into my space.  

“I—I like nice...” I felt my cheeks get hot again, I looked away from him.   

“Do you?”  

I looked up and he was closer now, not too close but enough that I could feel the air shift between us.   

“You strike me as someone who might enjoy a bit of danger too.” His voice was smooth, silken like the first drag of wine across my lips.   

I swallowed hard, “That’s—that’s none of your business.”  

His face softened for just a moment, and moved in even closer to me, his body casting a shadow over mine like a storm on the horizon. He leaned in, slowly, brushing his lips against my ear as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”   

I flinched, my head was spinning, as he strode off, I didn’t even see where he went but one second, he was there, breath on me, wrapped up in his scent and then he was gone, like smoke. I stumbled back to my tent as quickly as I could and laid down on my bedroll, my heart beating so hard in my chest I thought it would burst.   

~  

When I eventually woke up, back in my own tent,it was hot.   The air inside was stifling—thick with heat from the sun already beating down on the canvas above.  It must have been sometime in the afternoon. My head throbbed as I sat up, wincing and rubbing at my temples. I stretched out slowly, blinking at the haze of light filtering in. I reached over to the pile where I had tossed my clothes, throwing my shirt over my head, sliding my pants on then slowly standing up to make my way outside.  

The world outside was oddly quiet. The only person who was around was Shadowheart, who sat by the firepit, calmly stirring something in the cook pot. I made my way over to her, and when she saw me approach—she didn’t say anything, just kept stirring the pot, I sat across from her.  

“Good morning, where’d everyone go? I asked through a yawn, stretching my arms high above my head.   

“Gale said he was out looking for herbs, said he’d be back in a few hours” she said, still focused on the pot. “Astarion just disappeared”   

She paused, then added “Long night?” her tone was unreadable, but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth told me that she knew something.  

I laughed out of embarrassment “Too much wine and a wizard that likes to talk is a dangerous combo.”   

She didn’t say anything after that, but she did look up at me, her braid swaying in the light breeze that picked up, searching for something in my eyes I couldn’t figure out before looking back down at the pot.   

“Well, if neither of the guys are here it’s a perfect time to go skinny dipping, it’s hot out here. Wanna join me?” I said, already peeling my shirt off.  

“Not particularly. Maybe I’ll put my feet in. Gale was very adamant I watch his pot, though.” She said, glancing up at me, the tone still unreadable.   

“Suit yourself.” And I made my way over to the lake.   

I stripped down and left my clothes in a pile on the small beach, I took my hair down from the ponytail it had been up in for far too long. The water was warm, I wadded in deeper, letting it soak the remnants of my headache away. Shadowheart eventually came over and did exactly what she said she was going to do, settling on the shore near my clothes and dipping her feet in the shallows. She leaned back on her arms, eyes closed, soaking in the sun with an expression I could only describe as reluctant contentment.  

I let myself drift further out, floating on my back beneath the bright sky, eyes closed, breath slow, the breeze curled lazily over the water. For just a moment, everything was finally quiet, I was at peace for that brief second.  

 I had no idea how long I was floating there but when I finally looked back at the shore, Shadowheart was gone, I squinted and saw she returned to the cook pot, dutifully stirring again. A moment later, she returned with something in her hands, a towel or what passed for one, tossed gently in my direction before she turned and wandered off again.   

I dragged myself out of the lake, hair dripping and skin flushed. I laid the cloth down in the sand and collapsed into it, spreading out beneath the sky. The heat pressed into me, and I welcomed it, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed earth. I let my guard down and melted into relaxation but that’s when I heard it. Raised voices—sharp and quick—from camp.   

I lifted my head, looking towards where the noise was. Shadowheart stood facing Gale, who looked—panicked? His hands were moving as he spoke, fast and animated. Shadowheart just tilted her head and looked over at me. Gale’s head whipped in my direction, and we locked eyes.   

Shit. I scrambled upright, probably not the best decision as I was suddenly very aware of how naked I was. I grabbed the cloth, hastily wrapping it around myself, cheeks burning hotter than the sun. I wish this sheet wasn’t so thin, so sheer, it clung to my skin in all the places I wish it wouldn’t—a very clear outline of everything. I stood there frozen for what felt like an entire lifetime, clutching this useless linen around myself. It was practically translucent in the sunlight, my legs, my stomach, the very clear curve of my breasts—all visible.   

Gales eyes widened, his entire body stiffening. He looked everywhere but at me—at the sky, at the fire pit, at Shadowheart like she might save him from himself. He was trying to form words, but his mouth was moving uselessly. I could almost hear his inner thoughts as he panicked in real time.   

“My, my,” came a voice as smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous “What a way to start the day”  

And Astarion appeared, stepping out from the underbrush like the woods had birthed him to make this moment worse. His hands behind his back, head titled slightly, that infuriating glint in his eyes. His gaze dragged down me with all the subtlety of a man carving his name into stone. Slow, purposeful and enjoying every second of it.   

Gale made a strangled noise and turned fully around, facing the trees. “I truly didn’t mean to—I was just— Shadowheart said the lake and—by the Nine, I didn’t look ! I mean, I looked but I didn't linger , I swear—”  

Shadowheart, completely unbothered, lifting a cup to her lips and muttered, “If you trip over yourself any harder, you’ll fall in after her.”  

“Do you all mind ?” I barked, pressing the towel harder against my chest. “Maybe don’t ogle the naked woman like she’s your morning entertainment?”  

“Darling, you were the one lounging like a siren draped in moonlight. If this were a painting, I daresay it would go for a fortune.”  

“If this were a painting,” I muttered, stomping toward my tent, clothes in hand “I’d set it on fire.”  

A genuine laugh escaped his lips, as he stepped aside to let me pass but not before murmuring “Do take your time drying off… some of us are enjoying the view.”   

I wrapped myself tighter and stormed off. But even as I reached my tent, my heart was still racing...I could feel both of their eyes on me. And the worst part? I didn’t know which one I liked more.  

Hair damp and half dried from the sun, I tugged my shirt down over my hips, careful not to rush and pretended not to feel the silence that immediately wrapped around me like another layer of clothing. My fingers trembled as I pulled my pants on, trying to force the memory of Astarion’s smirk and Gale’s stunned silence out of my head. It didn’t work. I still felt the heat of it burning under my skin.  

But I straightened out, took a breath and stepped out into camp like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t the naked, glistening drama center piece from ten minutes ago.   

Gale was standing by the cook pit, staring at it with too much intensity.   

“Hey” I said as I walked up, my hands locked behind my back.   

He didn’t look at me, but he shifted to pick up a teacup and held it so carefully as if he was on the verge of breaking it. I didn’t think he heard me, so I followed up with,   

“Gale? You okay?” I touched his shoulder, lightly and he flinched.   

His ears were red, “Of course, perfectly fine.” He said very quickly, “Lovely day, isn’t it? No lingering awkwardness at all. Tea?”  

“Uhhh, sure.” I sat down on one of the logs.   

He poured a second cup with practiced care and handed it to me while very deliberately looking at the space above my head. Like if he stared hard enough at the sky, he could float into it and escape his own thoughts.   

We just stayed there in silence, the fire crackling softly between us. I took a sip, and he finally risked another glance at me before quickly looking back down at his cup.  

“Where did Shadowheart go?” I didn’t want to ask but my mouth was moving faster than my thoughts “Astarion?”  

He nearly choked on his tea when I said that “Shadowheart went to grab something from her tent and Astarion is probably off….”  

“Watching” I finished his thought, lifting the cup to my lips.  

It was silent again for a moment before I said, laughing softly “Do you think you’ll look me in the eyes again.?”   

He took a deep breath, and turned to meet my gaze, and I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t just flustered politeness or scholarly detachment. Something that was warm, yearning and very confused.   

“I didn’t mean to see you like that.” He said, “But I don’t think I’ll forget it.”  

I swallowed and almost dropped my cup.   

He went rigid for a moment but continued, “You looked….” Looking away from me as he said “Radiant”   

His lips parted like he might say something else, but the moment passed. Shadowheart came back, sitting down beside me fully dressed and said “Gale, tell Mira what you told me...before we were interrupted.”  

“Oh—uh--right, yes, well” He cleared his throat, “I was out in the forest doing some foraging and I found something. Someone. A gith women in a cage. I didn’t approach, I came right back to tell everyone and well…” he trailed off.  

His eyes never quite made it to mine again, they hovered somewhere around my forehead, or maybe past me, his face was still a little red.   

“She’s close” Shadowheart offered, glancing up with a casual shrug. “I say we leave her”  

“No way” I said immediately, “If she’s in a cage, she needs help.”  

I stepped forward, then paused— very aware that I had absolutely no idea where I was going. I turned towards Gale, whose eyes finally met mine again.  

“Please lead the way, Gale” I said softly.   

“Of course, yes. Follow me” he said, obviously still flustered.  

Shadowheart rolled her eyes as she stood, grabbing her haversack from nearby. “We’re leaving Astarion!” she called over her shoulder, “Come or don’t.”  

No answer, I glanced towards his tent and nothing—his absence was noticeable.   

“He’s probably off sulking” Shadowheart groaned.  

“Or he’s lurking somewhere” Gale said, looking around.  

“Whatever, let’s just go” I said “He can catch up if he wants”  

We moved out, following Gale through the trees. He took the lead with determination, weaving through brambles and overfallen logs. I followed behind him, brushing the leaves aside, trying not to notice how stiff his shoulders were. Shadowheart walked at my side in her quiet vigilance and Astarion was still nowhere in sight, but I could feel the ghost of his smirk lingering in the back of my mind like a bruise.   

I told myself I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter if Gale could barely meet my eyes or If Astarion had vanished. But I could still feel both of them, one avoiding me and the other watching—even if I couldn’t see him.   

Chapter Text

Clouds had begun to roll in and the breeze picked up, bringing some relief from the heat. The shift in the air made the journey feel more serious, like something was coming.

“The spot is just ahead!” Gale called out from the front.

I picked up my pace, squinting through the trees as we reached a small clearing. Sure enough, there she was—the women from the ship. She was caged and suspended several feet in the air, arms crossed, and an expression so deeply displeased it could’ve curdled milk.

Below her, two red-skinned, horned humanoids were arguing—tieflings, if I had to guess. Their voices were low and heated, tails flicking in frustration. I couldn’t make out everything, but I caught the end of the conversation as we approached.

“Let's get this creature back to camp, then we’ll look into the blast,” one of them muttered.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, stepping forward.

Both tieflings jumped. The more feminine presenting one stared wide-eyed. “Holy hells. Under-elf”

I had no idea what that meant good or bad. I made a mental note to ask someone later, preferably with wine.

But then I stepped closer to the cage, and it hit me. A pulse of pressure exploded behind my eyes, sharp and sudden. My skull throbbed. My mind didn’t just feel her—it merged with hers, if only for a heartbeat. Her glare locked into mine and in an instant, I could feel her thoughts, her rage, and her indignation.

Her mouth never moved but her voice echoed in my mind, crisp and cold as steel “Release me or enjoy your future as ghaik”

Even in my mind she was rude. “I’m working on it lady!” I snapped at her.

I put my hands on my hips and tried to sound as assertive as possible. Shadowheart warned me about Githyanki—might as well use that.

‘You should stay away from that creature. She’s dangerous. Me and my companions are more equipped to handle this.” I raised my head in confidence.

The tieflings exchanged a look, hesitated, then finally the taller one nodded.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got to check out that blast anyway”

He turned to his partner “Let’s head out.”

“Wait—hold on!” I called after them. “You said something about a blast? Like an explosion?”

The shorter one turned around frowning “Yeah. Shook our whole camp. We came to investigate.”

 It was probably the enormous alien ship that just crashed on the beach but it’s good to know there was camp somewhere, this is a good lead. I thought to myself before I spoke aloud,

“Oh, there’s camp nearby? I said quickly “Were in need of supplies and uh...medical attention.”

“Yeah, the Grove, its Northwest.” The tall one said, “And ask for someone named Nettie, she should be able to help you out with any wound you may have.”

“Wow—thank you. Seriously. That’s…really nice of you” I relaxed, putting my hands down at my sides.

“Well, we better get going” he said

“Watch out for goblin traps!” she added as they walked off “They’re everywhere.”

Once they were out of earshot, I exhaled and turned to the others.

“Glad we got that taken care of. Could anyone get that down?” I scratched my head, looking towards the cage.

Shadowheart gave me a look and said nothing. Gale stepped forward, already preparing a spell with a flourish of his hand.

“I could cast a quick-“

Thunk. A sharp whistle of air sliced through the quiet as Astarion appeared with his bow drawn. It struck the rope dead center with a crisp snap. The cage dropped its prisoner landing hard but unharmed. Astarion slinging the bow back over his shoulder as he made his way over from lurking in the shadows.

“You’re welcome” he purred, grinning at me “I thought it might be more…efficient”

“Show off.” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t quite help the smile as I made my way over.

She was already standing—rigid and poised, clad in full metal armor that looked heavier than anyone in this group. Her arms stayed crossed, jaw set, and her expression didn’t waver as I approached. Her hair tied back half in a tight ponytail the rest falling to her shoulders, a few strands falling across her forehead—eyes narrow, assessing and waiting.

I flashed my award-winning smile and gave a little wave “Hey, welcome back to the ground. We met on the ship; I probably…look different.” I paused before continuing, “I’m glad you’re okay”

“Of course I am okay.” she huffed “Do you think I am fragile?”

“No.” I said carefully. “I think you’re standing in full plate armor like it weights nothing and eyeing me like you’re deciding whether to kill me or not.

“Correct” she said, deadpan.

Shadowheart cut in, “You were captured” she said, stifling a laugh “By tieflings.”

“They are fools. Herd animals pretending at war.” Waving the comment off like it didn’t matter before turning her focus back on me, her eyes raked over me; top to toe.

“We share the parasite.” She said coldly. “That is the only reason I do not put a blade through your throat. We must seek a creche for purification. You will join me.”

I didn’t even realize how close he had gotten until I heard Astarion’s voice near my ear “She seems charming”

“Do you mind?” I hissed back. “I’m trying to make friends”

“I will travel with you until we are purified. Then we part ways. Or I kill you. Whichever comes first”

“Looking forward to it.” I paused, “What’s a creche?”

“It is many things—a training grounds, a hatchery, a shelter” She didn’t blink “And above all—it is where we will be purified.”

She stood tall as she said it, her arms flexing just slightly like she was daring one of us to question her again.

“Okay, so…they can cure us” I asked, not trying to sound too skeptical. It felt too easy—too convenient. Just walk into some Githyanki community center and no more squirming brain worm? Yeah, sure but it’s not exactly like we had better options.

“Githyanki protocol is clear,” she snapped. “When infected with ghaik spawn, we report to the ghustil for purification. Delay is weakness. Weakness leads to corruption.”

“And that purification doesn’t, like… kill us, right?” I chuckled nervously.

She scowled at me, “We need purification if we wish to avoid becoming ghaik.”

And just like that, she was already walking ahead like she’d made the decision for all of us.

“I overheard the teef-lings,” she called back over her shoulder. “They spoke of a Zorru—one of their own. He saw more of my kind. That confirms a crèche nearby. We find him. He tells us where.”

“Who put you in charge?” Shadowheart snapped. “Also, its tieflings”

She spun, her hand ghosting the hilt of her blade.

“The parasite makes us kin. I will not watch you rot from the inside out.”

“Let’s all take a breath,” I cut in quickly, raising my hands. “If there’s even a chance this crèche helps us, it’s worth following up on.”

Shadowheart huffed. “There’s no point in showing a mad dog kindness—it still bites.” She paused, then looked at me with something almost like respect. “But I’ll trust your judgment. Not hers. Not yet.”

She turned and walked a short distance away, stopping beside Astarion, who leaned casually against a tree like this whole conversation was a mildly entertaining stage play.

I turned back to her, offering a tight smile. “Well. Welcome to the group. Let’s go find Zorru and figure out where this crèche is.”

Her expression was a mask of cold pride. “You have made an ally of Crèche K’liir,” she said. “Call me Lae’zel. Let us move.”

We resumed our journey, on a dirt path winding through the trees.

Gale and I walked at the front, side by side—his voice low as he spoke about the likelihood of ancient ruins, magical wards, or something he called “psionic dissonance.” I didn’t catch half of it. I was too focused on the energy behind us.

Shadowheart trailed close, quiet and alert, her eyes flicking between Lae’zel and Astarion. Lae’zel followed a few paces behind her, back ramrod straight, hand never leaving the pommel of her sword.

And behind her? Astarion. Walking like this was just another lovely afternoon stroll, utterly unbothered, lips curved in that faint smirk that meant he was either plotting something or thinking of a witty insult. Probably both.

Chapter Text

We didn’t know fully knowing where to go and ended up following a narrow, sloped path between crumbling cliff walls and leaning trees. It was less a trail and more a scar through the wilderness, half-overgrown with roots, and the occasional skeletal remains of travelers less fortunate.

 The chapel came into view abruptly, the walls were cracked and leaning, stained by time and weather. It looked like someone had just...dropped the building here, for no reason and it was long forgotten.

“Do you think this is the camp?” I had a feeling we ended up in the wrong place but maybe it was worth checking out.

“I doubt it, but you never know” Shadowheart said.

“Should we check it out?” My curiosity was getting better of me, I could feel something ancient radiating from deep within.

“Could be worth a look” Gale added.

“t’rac, seeking out Zorru should be top priority” Rage crackled in her voice- low, dangerous, held just barely in check.

“You never know, Zorru could be in there” my words coming out in a melodic way as I started to make my down the overgrown path to where the chapel was.

The path led deeper into the ruins, past collapsed walls and broken columns veined with ivy and cracks. As we rounded the bend, we came to a stone archway that was half sunken into the chapel's foundation. Set into the wall and down some stairs was a large, heavy-looking wooden door that had been blackened by time and soot.

There was a sun and moon symbol on the door, I didn't know what it meant, if anything. And before I could give it much thought, I put my hand on the cold iron handle and turned it. I could sense a presence, not evil but not good either. Curious. Ancient. Waiting.

The door groaned open with the sound of stone grinding against stone, as if the ruin itself disapproved. The moment I stepped in, the cold sunk into my skin, like a warning. My magic prickling against something unknown and I was keen to find out. The air faintly tasting of musk, bones and something I couldn't identify; not rot or death but maybe the absence of life, the emptiness that had been waiting far too long.

I stepped through the threshold, the rest of the group shifted behind me – all of us silent, say for the clank of Lae’zels armor. This felt wrong, not like a trap or danger but something entirely different, like a memory, old and murky. 

Once, this room might have welcomed worshippers with warmth and light—offering candles, sacred water, the hush of peace. Now it stood gutted, bones of stone and shadow exposed to the cold breath of time.

Crates and sacks—clearly looted or left behind by raiders—were scattered throughout the space. Some had been ransacked recently, others left to mold. A few broken weapons still leaned against the wall, rusted to near uselessness.

“Does anyone else feel that?” I looked around at my companions.  I wondered if Gale could feel that gnawing under his skin like I could, my magic felt...wrong here.

“I don’t feel anything, but I sure do smell something, it’s disgusting in here” Astarion groaned and waved his hand around in air, with a sour expression.

“This use to be a scared place, now it's an echo, a ruin.” Shadowheart said tensely.

“This place has no value. Whatever power it once held has faded. We waste time here” Lae’zel huffed, her hand remained firm on the pommel of her sword.

Gale stood there silently and that worried me but eventually he finally said “Yes, Mira, I do feel that. There's some very old magic in here.” His face was unreadable, his eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, as though he was looking for something beyond our mortal plane.

A breeze brushed past us, which is odd since I didn't know how a current could have gotten in, there were no windows open or smashed.  Goosebumps spread through my body as I felt a sense of impending doom but against my better judgment I decided to press on, I felt drawn to something, deep below the cracked stone of the ruins.

I noticed another wooden door to the far-right side of the room, without warning I set off for it, ascending the stairs and pulling the level to reveal a small, long chamber beyond. The smell of decay and the feeling of longing was stronger here; my head started to throb.

The corridor beyond the door was narrow, flanked by collapsed walls and broken tiles, the stone floor beneath my boots shifting slightly with each step. Faint light from the chapel behind us barely reached this far. Every breath tasted older, heavier.

“Is...is everything alright, Mira?” I could hear the concern in Gale’s voice as he caught up to me, his footsteps cautious, deliberate.

I didn’t stop walking, “Yes, I feel...something...its calling to me”

“Well, that's comforting” Astarion said, voice full of sarcasm.

“This place isn't right. If Mira feels something...maybe we should listen” Shadowheart said.

Lae’zel grunted “Her instincts are soft. Weak. This is a distraction.”

I turned to her, rage boiling inside me, with shadowy energy pooling in my hands, the voice that came out of me was not mine, something beyond “Then go, no one’s keeping you here”

I heard Astarion and Shadowheart laugh, and she looked at me, tense with a shocked expression I thought she was going to kill me, but her face softened and said nothing else.

I kneeled to touch the ground with my fingertips, “I can feel it. Beneath the stone. Waiting.” I got up and took another step, heading towards a door off to the right in the corridor.

“Mira, wait-’ Gale said behind me, but I didn't stop, I couldn't. I could feel the hum beneath my skin, the pull of something that wanted to be found, by me.

I turned around before walking through the door, “Its waiting for me” and disappeared through the threshold.

“So, we’re just going to follow the person hearing whispers in a creepy abounded ruin? Great plan” Astarion protested, loud enough for me to hear it but I kept going.

The stairs groaned under my weight as I made my way down, my hand trailed along the stone wall, the surface oddly smooth in places – worn by more than time. I heard my companions follow behind me, but their steps were more cautious than mine, trying to hide their presence from this ancient feeling, I wanted it to see me, to find me.

At the bottom there was an open chamber with large, rounded doors to either side. The ceiling rose like the inside of a stone ribcage, held up by crumbling pillars. I felt drawn to the door off to the left and walked through it.  Shadowheart threw up little motes of light so we could see better as we made our deep inside. The light flickered across dust-choked reliefs and moon symbols carved into the walls, dulled with age. And in the center of the room stood a single stone sarcophagus. Unbroken. Untouched.

 I whispered, not necessarily talking to anyone. “This is it”

“Whoever this was, they were important. The enchantments around the tomb are intact. Preserved.” Gale said, his voice was stoic and low.

Astarion hovered near the edge of the room, arms folded, clearly trying to look unimpressed “If something jumps out of that thing, I’m blaming all of you”

Shadowheart said nothing, her gaze was fixed on the sarcophagus, her knuckles white where she gripped her mace.

Lae'zel muttered a curse behind me, something sharp and ugly I didn't catch, as I stepped closer to the sarcophagus.

The shadows of the floor seemed to move, pooling thickly around my feet, like ink spreading on wet paper. The whispering in my mind grew louder, almost frantic, and my magic buzzed wild and restless beneath my skin—something inside calling me and something inside the tomb answering. I lifted my hand hovering over the carved stone lid. The runes along the base shimmered faintly, pulsing once, twice like a dying heartbeat. And then the air shifted, there was a sudden drop in pressure accompanied by a jarring silence, one that felt wrong, one even the stillness of the crypt couldn’t hold.

“What the fuck just happened?” Astarion said, no longer amused.

I barely heard him, I barely heard anything over the thunder of my own heartbeat.

“Don’--” Gale said sharply beside me, but it was already too late.

My fingers brushed the stone, and the world ripped sideways, I was no longer cold. I stood in the chapel but not ruined, not forgotten. Alive.

Moonlight spilled through perfect stained glass. Silver-robed priests moving through candlelit aisles like dancers, their steps matched to the low, humming chant that filled the air. There was a peace here, a deep and reverent stillness, the sense of something ancient and sacred breathing aside me.

At the center of it all there was a man cloaked in robes of bone white and ash. Gold threaded sigils I didn't recognize embroidered along the hems. He faced the altar, whispering a name I didn't understand in a language older than stone.

He didn’t notice me at first but eventually he turned to me and saw me—but it felt like more than that, it felt like he saw the shape of my soul, saw that I didn’t belong here. I wanted to speak, I wanted to ask but before I could, the stone cracked, the flame consumed everything, and the singing collapsed into screaming.  Then nothing but silence and falling ash.

I gasped as the vision broke, stumbling back from the sarcophagus. The room had returned but something else had too. The lid slid open with a long grinding groan and from within, a figure rose.  

A skeleton, draped in ancient robes of gray and crimson, more symbols were stitched in gold across their chest. Scrolls. Hands. Skulls facing past, present future.

“Those are the markings of Jergal…the Lord of the Dead…” Shadowheart whispered.

It's skull was smooth, unbroken, their eyes alight with a pale, endless glow. They looked at me like someone opening a book they’d read long ago but forgotten the ending too.

Then the voice came like it had always been there waiting to be heard, “You are not of this place. You walk with memories that are not your own.”

The voice wasn’t sound, it was more of a weight that settled into my bones. It continued “You are not wrong child…but you are not whole.”

The figure drifted closer, robes brushing the dust without a sound. The torches that were once dark, lit up and started flickering wildly, shadows crawling at the edges of the crypt.

“The ink of your soul is borrowed.” The voice was intoned. “The shadow that stains your spirit...stitched by hands not your own”

It paused, the air around it crackling with invisible pressure.

“You burn with a fire that leaves no light, you bear the hunger of the thing-that-thinks… but it is not the first to claim you.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I heard Gale whisper beside me “what…what does that mean?”

The figure ignored him, their gaze stayed, locked on me.

“When the world forgets what is is” it said “I remember. And for those who have forgotten themselves…I offer remembrance”

It lifted one bony hand, and for a moment I thought they were going to reach out and touch me, might return something I didn’t even know I’d lost. But they stepped back into the shadow of the crypt, folding themself into the dark until they simply weren’t there anymore. Gone. The air shifted again, and I could breathe. As I stood in the silence of the dim crypt, with too many thoughts in my head; I began to feel like the hallow shape of a girl that I once knew, I needed to be whole again and figure out who or what did this to me. I needed answers.

Shadowheart whispered, “We shouldn’t stay here” her voice shaky.

“Are you alright, Mira?” Gale looked at me, his usual soft face, was full of worry.

“I—I don’t know” My breathing shallow. “Can we leave, please?”

Lae’zel was already walking, “We wasted too much time in this tomb.”

“There's nothing I’d like more than to leave” Astarion said as he followed Lae’zel out, Shadowheart followed then Gale and me.

We walked in silence back to where we came from, a heavy silence lingered in the air. By the time we made it back outside, it was night, the cold air hit us as we walked through the door. Everything was still, it was too silent for a forest at night. Shadowheart threw up her lights and we continued to walk in silence back to camp

When we arrived back, I didn't immediately go to my tent, instead I sat by the fire, lost in thought until,

“Here” And Shadowheart came from behind and handed me a goblet of wine. I could smell the scent radiating off the cup “Looked like you needed it.” She sat down near me, holding a similar goblet.

She was dressed in her usual camp clothes and for the first time since we’d met, I saw her with her hair fully down. Long silky waves cascaded well over her shoulders to her mid back, it looked freshly washed and smelled of lavender, which was impressive since mine probably smelled like dirt.

“Can I ask you something? It's been on my mind all day?” I glanced over at her, but she didn’t look back.

She took a long sip, “Sure” Finally glancing over at me.

“Earlier...when we found Lae ’zel...that tiefling called me an ‘under-elf” I paused because I had a feeling, I knew the answer. “What does that mean exactly?”

 Her eyes were dark amber, sharp around the edges like burning sap. There was heat in them, focused and unforgiving — the kind that didn’t just watch you but read you.

“Ah. Right.” she hesitated for a second, ““It’s what some surface folk call Drow. A little less crude than ‘spider spawn’ or ‘darkblood,’ but not exactly polite. The implication, of course, is both literal — you hail from beneath — and social. That you’re beneath them.”

She took another sip and before I could speak, she added, ““Which is all the more complicated, since we still don’t know if you’re really a Drow. When we met, you were definitely just... human.”

“Will it cause trouble if people think I am one.” I looked down at my other hand, resting in my lap.

“No more trouble than traveling with a githyanki.” She snorted.

“Cool cool,” I finally took a sip, a little too long because my head started to spin when I removed my lips from the rim. “Thanks, for everything really.”

Shadowheart didn’t answer right away. She stared into the fire like it held something she couldn’t quite name.

Finally, she spoke — quieter than before. “You carry a lot for someone in a place they are not meant to belong.”

I looked over, surprised by the softness in her voice.

“Just... don't let the world decide what you are before you do,” she added. “That’s how you get lost in other people’s stories.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded.

“Get some rest Mira, you need it.” she said, voice back to something cool and even.

I stood up, legs a little unsteady — maybe the wine, maybe something else. She didn’t look up, but I could feel her eyes on my back as I walked toward my tent.

I crawled onto my bedroll, the weight of the skeleton’s words pressing heavy against my ribs. The vision still flickered behind my eyes — whole, broken, burning — looping endlessly. I tried to make sense of it, tried to find where I fit into it all, but above all else one phrase lingered in my mind:

You bear the hunger of the thing-that-thinks... but it is not the first to claim you.

A hollow ache bloomed in my chest as I turned the words over and over, wishing I understood, wishing I had answers instead of riddles, wishing I knew what had been taken from me and whether it could ever be given back.

Chapter Text

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, not after the skeleton that looked at me and through me, the only thing that helped was the wine from Shadowheart. I rolled onto my back, staring at the fabric of the tent above me and after what felt like hours, the darkness that followed when I finally shut my eyes was too natural.   

I opened my eyes to black water stretched in every direction, perfectly still and perfectly silent. The sky above was a void, pulsing faintly with stars that blinked like neurons firing. There was no ground but somehow, I was standing.   

There was a ripple in the water, and a creature emerged from the endless black pool. Smooth, humanoid, tall with robes of deep violet. I couldn’t see their face; it was shadowed, wrongly lit and always out of focus.   

They didn’t speak but I could hear them, their voice was sharp, too sharp.  

“ I’m happy to see you’ve made it this far”  

I stiffened, remembering the conversation I had with the skeleton “ You bear the hunger of the thing-that-thinks… but it is not the first to claim you.”  

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice was steadier than it felt.   

The figure moved forward, soundless over the dark water  

“I am the one who found you adrift.” They said “Lost. Broken. Empty.” 

Each word sank into my chest, heavy as stone.  

“You reached for salvation. And I answered.”  

“You gave me this power?” I asked slowly, the words felt wrong coming out of my mouth.  

The figure paused and smiled, which seemed impossible. But it wasn’t a warm smile, it wasn’t kind. They smiled at me like they owned me.   

“I gifted you purpose. Shape. Strength.”   

The stars above flickered, spasmed into unfamiliar constellations, maps I didn’t recognize. I took a step back instinctively, the water remained unmoving. I couldn’t find the right words to say so I just looked up at it, they tilted their head, a calculated gesture of indulgence.  

“You were hollow before me. Now you are filled. Do not burden yourself with the past. It was a cage. I have set you free.” Their voice softened into something almost tender.   

“But why do I not feel whole? Why did that—“  but before I could finish it cut me off 

“Because you remember.” The words hissed at my skin as their impossible smile sharpened into something crueler.  

“Memory is a wound that refuses to close” They reached out, not touching, just hovering—their hand inches from my heart.  

“Let me quiet it. Let me bind you closer to me—and I will grant you the peace you crave.”  

The shadows twisted around its fingers, writing like snakes. Something deep inside me, a place I didn’t know existed, screamed.  

“No” tears falling down my cheeks, I didn’t realize I was crying “I need to remember” I stepped back again. 

The figure’s smile faltered, just for a moment as he lowered his hand with slow graceful patience.   

“You will understand in time,” it said, “one way or another.” 

The dream shattered, ripped apart by unseen hands and I fell.  

I woke up gasping, sweat clinging to my skin, my pulse echoing in my ears. It was too hot in my tent, there were too many thoughts running through my mind, my head spinning as I stumbled outside. I made my way to the far side of camp, where the glow from the dying embers of the campfire barely hit. It was peaceful and quiet, which made my thoughts—the whispers—even louder. Thoughts of the strange, shadow cloaked entity that came to me in my dream, saying words that weren’t really words and more a promise of power, if I obey.   

I sat up against a tree, bringing my knees in and resting my arms on them. My magic had finally quieted, even if my mind wouldn’t, but I fear it wouldn’t be too long before I needed to call upon the power inside me—call upon it .   

I sighed, too wrapped up in my thoughts to hear him approach but I did, eventually “You move like a ghost” I said without looking up.   

“Maybe I am” his voice softer than I had heard before.   

Astarion crouched down beside me, his arms laid lazily across his knees, we were close but not touching. We didn’t say anything for a while, just silently sitting beside each other until I finally decided to break the silence,   

“Can I ask you something?” I still didn’t look over at him.  

“That sounds dangerous but go on” a hint of curiosity in his voice.   

“Are you…” a long pause, I couldn’t get the words out, tension hung in the air, I swallowed.   

“What do you think I am?” he said breathlessly.   

I finally looked over at him, his skin, his stillness, his eyes—red, gleaming in the dark, too still, and way too sharp. They looked into mine like they knew what I was about to say.   

 "I think ," I said slowly "you’re a vampire.”  

“And here I thought I was doing a really good job at hiding it.”   lips curving into wry smile. 

I laughed, “Well, unfortunately for you, where I’m from vampires are like a huge thing”  

“A…. thing?” he blinked, long and slow.   

“Popular.” I already regretted my choice to bring it up “Like books, movies, the whole tragic undead heartthrob deal. They’re always brooding and sexy and ruin everything. That’s the point.”  

He stared at me for a moment that lasted too long before saying “I’m…sorry, are you saying vampires are romanticized in your world?”  

“Obsessively.” I looked away from him as I said this “you’d be surprised how many people where I’m from dream of being bitten by a vampire…”  

There was a pause and then his eyebrows lifted in that familiar way, followed by a slow, amused smile. “Are you one of them?”   

“I—I…am not going to answer that…” I couldn’t look at him, especially now.   

His laugh was soft but sharp “And you weren’t more concerned about me joining this little adventuring party?”   

I brought my eyes back up to look at him, “I’ve read enough to know the scariest ones…always want something more.”  

“And what is it you think I want?”  

“I think—I think you’re still deciding” I said softly, we didn’t take our eyes off each other.   

He looked at me for a long time before saying, his eyes darkening as something flickered across his face—want, hunger, restraint. “You don’t know what I could do to you.”  

“No but…” I shifted to crouch in front of him, placing my knees on the ground and resting my hands between his legs. Eyes level; his entire body stilled as I leaned in closer.   

“Maybe I do. Maybe I know exactly what you could do and how you’ll take it.”  my words slow and intimate.   

“What are you doing?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. More like a line he didn’t trust himself not to cross.  

“Getting a better look” I murmured, my voice like smoke trailing over the edges of his restraint. “I’ve never seen a vampire up close before. Can I see your fangs?”  

A muscle twitched in his jaw “Careful” he exhaled slowly.   

“Why?” I asked, and let the words roll of my tongue like honeyed wine

“Do I make you nervous…" I paused "...or hungry?"

Brushing my hair back and tilting my head slightly, just enough for the moonlight to catch the soft vulnerable skin he was trying so extremely hard not to look at. But I could see his gaze flicker—there and back again—fast, controlled.   

I could see his fingers twitch, his eyes dropping down to look at my mouth, but only for a second. I leaned in that last little bit; our lips were now an inch apart.   

“You’re used to being the one who temps,” I whispered, softer now “What happens when someone tempts you?”  

His mouth parted, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, everything he was holding back was in his eyes. The ache. The hunger. The danger.   

Eventually, he stood deliberately like he was dragging himself out of gravity. His gaze didn’t leave mine, not for a moment.   

“You should get some rest, darling.” He said voice horse, a hint of a growl underneath.   

“And if I don’t?” I looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering.   

He paused, smirked, and said “Then I might stay”  

And then he turned, vanishing into the dark, leaving me crouched there, pulsing with magic and need and something I didn’t have a name for.   

Chapter Text

The morning broke eventually, quietly. I hadn’t slept — not after the dream, not after Astarion. I lay on my bedroll, thoughts swirling in my mind, things I shouldn’t have been thinking about so early. But he was right there, so close, his scent so intoxicating it nearly drove me mad. I had to get out of this fucking tent, had to breathe. Slowly, I stood and slipped outside.  

The sun was low, a wash of gold over treetops, casting the camp in soft light and long shadows. Everything felt too still, too clean after the darkness of the crypt and the thing I found beneath it.   

I made my way over to the edge of the fire pit and wrapping my blanket around my shoulders and stared at the ashes, consumed by my thoughts.  

The dream still clung to me, the thing that calls to me, claims me, the voice in my bones that speaks like they’re a part of me, the ache behind my eye returned the more I thought about it. I sat there for a little while longer until the camp started to wake up.   

Shadowheart came out of her tent, stretching, and yawning. Lae’zel already fully in armor, sharpening one of her swords, it doesn’t seem like she slept at all. Gale eventually came out of his looking a little scruffier than yesterday, but he fixed that very quickly with a snap of his fingers.   

Shadowheart eventually came over to me—not saying a word— and sat down to braid her hair with clinical precision.   

Lae’zel saw me and shouted, “We must seek the Grove, no more wasting time underground.”  

I saw Shadowheart roll her eyes as she finished doing her hair, glancing at me quickly with an unreadable look before putting a kettle over the fire, presumably making tea.   

Gale appeared at my side, holding something folded in his hands, dark and smooth like shadow made of silk.   

“After yesterday, in the crypt," he paused "I thought you may want something more…. your style.”   

I was shocked, my mouth hung open slightly, “Thank you.” I blushed as I unfolded it.  

Dark, shadow-rich black with subtle undertones of violet and grey. It didn’t shimmer but shifted like light passed through it differently. The lining was soft and warm without weight. The clasp—a crescent moon cradled in flame—gleamed faintly silver.  

“This is…” I trailed off, before looking at him “beautiful”   

“There’s a ward stitched into the lining.” he said “It won't stop a killing blow, but it might change where it lands.”  

“You really didn’t have to do this for me….again.” my voice strained from lack of sleep and trying not to tear up.   

“Sure, there’s many things I don’t have to do…won’t stop me from what I want to do.” There was that look in his eyes again, the one that made my heart ache.   

I slipped into the cape, now shadows didn’t just gather at my feet anymore, they clung to me, draped over me, like a whispering of what I was becoming. 

“I saw how you stood in the crypt,” he said, “You’ll be seen again, might as well be dressed for it.” His gaze lingered on me for a moment and then,   

Before I could think, before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and folded myself into him — arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest. He stiffened, surprised, then slowly — almost reverently — wrapped his arms around me in return, as if afraid I might break. 

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. I only knew the world outside of him faded away. 

Eventually, I pulled back, but his hands lingered, resting lightly on my arms. For a moment, our faces hovered too close — eyes searching, the space between us charged with something fragile and burning. 

“Well, I’d best get ready for the day ahead.” And I walked away, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.   

~  

Eventually, we all left camp, making our way through trees and around rocks. The sun was high in the sky, my cloak pillowing behind me like a trail of smoke. Lae’zel wanted to be in the front of the group, so she took the lead, and I followed closely behind. To my right was Gale and to my left was Shadowheart walked with her hand over the object that she never talked about. And of course, lurking in the back was Astarion. We hadn’t talked this morning about last night; in fact, he’d been ignoring me all day.   

We’d been walking for a few minutes when Gale had quickened his pace to match mine, enthusiastically engaging in conversation with me about the basics of magic and briefly explaining the process of casting a spell. But I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he talked and how he spoke like the words weren’t fast enough to keep up with his thoughts. I realized I wasn’t paying attention, and I hadn’t said anything in a while. I should have said something, but I was too busy watching him and the way he squinted his eyes when the sunlight hit him and the curve of his hand when he described how the weave felt in between his fingers. It made my chest ache in the gentlest way.   

Our shoulders brushed, a soft accidental touch. I startled, muttering an apology, glancing away — but the flutter he left behind stayed, delicate and trembling in my chest 

His voice slowed and his face dimmed a little “Am I boring you?”  

“No, it's just a lot to take in all at once,” I paused carefully, choosing my next words “I like to listen to you talk, we should do it more often…”   

He smiled then — a real, unguarded thing — the kind of smile that felt like an invitation. "That’s a relief," he said, a soft laugh curling around the words. "I’d hate for my ramblings to drive you away." 

He kept talking, but I barely heard him — too caught on that smile. The way it tilted, half a secret, half a dare. Something deep and slow stirred inside me, a warmth that settled in my bones, anchoring me to him without permission. 

An indiscernible amount of time passed as we walked, looking for a camp. We eventually made it to a split in the road where a large boulder sat, we decided to veer left and then I heard shouting in the distance.   

“Something is happening up ahead” I stopped walking. “Do you hear that?”  

Everyone came to a halt, almost bumping into me as I stopped abruptly. The noise got louder as I stepped closer.  

“Sounds like someone’s yelling, could be the camp the tieflings mentioned—doesn’t sound good—but let’s check it out.” Shadowheart said sternly.  

“Let’s hope for a battle.” Lae’zel gritted through her teeth, tightening the grip on her pommel.   

As we came around the bend of the rock, I saw three –very bloodied—people running towards a large wooden door built into the side of a cliff. They shouted “help” and “open the gate” I didn’t want to know what they had been through, but I had a sinking feeling that we were about to see exactly what they were running from. I looked up, and saw more tieflings, like the ones we had seen the other day, saying something back, they were having a conversation with the people outside and I couldn’t make out what they were saying  

Then suddenly, we felt a low rumbling that shook the ground slightly. I looked around, scanning the area to find the location from where the source of the shockwave was but didn’t see anything -yet. The rumbling got louder, closer, magic bubbled up inside me and I could feel my fingers start to tingle in anticipation, something desperately wanting to be released—to be seen.   

For a moment that lasted way too long, it was silent but then they came over the hill, like something out of a fever dream, spilling over the hilltop like ants from a broken nest – green skin, wide mouthed and their weapons more rust than metal.  

And somehow, without knowing how, I knew what they were. The knowledge didn’t come from memory; it came from somewhere much deeper. That voice again—-cold and clinical—rose from the back of my mind, whispering facts in a language I didn’t know. 

Goblins, it told me. Crude, vicious, hungry.  

The goblins didn’t wait; an arrow snapped past by cheekbone—close enough to sting. But somehow, I didn’t flinch. My cloak flared behind me as I stepped forward, the rest of the group spread out—Lae’zel charging with a guttural cry, Shadowheart saying a pray and casting something bright on an incoming goblin and I watched It drop to the ground, unmoving.  

But me, I called to the whisper in the dark and it answered, power surging through me and threading down my spine like ice water, The shadows welcomed me, without resistance— coiling around me like smoke, threads of psychic static in the air.   

I heard shrieks and snarls before everything went quiet, the shadows surged forward, crawling like spiders from my boots, weaving through the dirt and spearing up through the goblin’s ribcage from below.   

My magic surged faster and darker this time not even having to cast –I only had to think—and the shadows wrapped around my hands like silk. I lift both my hands up, the ground cracks, and tendrils of void-light peeling through the soil like roots from another world.    

The ground at my feet, splitting, darkness spilling like ink, my eyes turned black, my breathing got faster. Another goblin lunged at me, but I didn’t need to dodge, simply raising my hand and whispering, the goblin screamed—dropped its weapon, clawing at its own eyes. I didn’t stop, I couldn’t stop, my body was on fire.   

Magic screamed through me. It wasn’t a spell, not really. It was a surge. A torrent. Something primal and wrong, clawing its way out of me and exploding toward another goblin that was hurling a javelin my way.  

I heard Gale behind me “Mira—please—you need to stop; you’re using too much too fast.” I heard the worry in his voice, but I wasn’t me.  

“I—I—I can’t” I lifted off the ground, my cloak fluttering behind me as I raised my hand and a blast of shadow tore from my palm—not controlled, not shaped, just force—slamming into a group of charging goblins, sending them flying. One hit a tree with a crunch. Another burst apart mid-air.  

Darkness poured from me like a flood breaking through a dam—dark, ancient, too big for my body to hold. I wasn’t aiming for or controlling the shadows, I barely knew what I was doing and every time I lifted my hand, the world cracked open just a little more.  

I was in the middle of a storm, and it was too much. The world was ringing. My vision blurred at the edges, every breath scraping my throat like smoke. My cloak swaying in the air behind me in violent snaps of wind and power, my hands were crackling with the last remnants of magic that shouldn’t have fit inside me. 

And then magic peeled away from me, and the heat that had been buzzing in my limbs turned to static. I felt the world tilt, my body folded inward. And for a second that lasted too long, I was falling.   

You are not ready…but you will be. Rest now, My little flame . Their voice echoed in my mind, my chest felt too tight like my ribs were trying to contain a storm.  

And then the arms caught me. Astarion was already there, moving faster than he should have, catching me mid-fall like he’d been waiting. One arm wrapped beneath my knees, the other against my back as my weight collapsed into him. My cloak spilled over his arms like shadowed silk, my head lolling gently against his chest, still warm with the echo of power, twitching before I went limp.  

The last thing I remember before everything fading to black was his face, looking down at me with an expression I hadn’t seen on him yet—he looked serious, no longer amused. Maybe it was fear in his eyes, I didn’t know. I heard him say something, and we were moving. The darkness, that had been too much of a comfort to me lately, eventually consumed me as I fell into its depths.

Chapter Text

The first thing I felt was warmth, Not heat, but warmth. Gentle and all-encompassing

 My eyes opened slowly, lashes heavy, breath shallow. My limbs ached and my head throbbed more than usual. The ceiling of my tent swaying slightly in the breeze, sunlight spilling through the canvas, soft and golden. The smell of herbs lingered faintly in the air—lavender, sage.

It was still, quiet, I could hear the world outside—birds chirping and water flowing somewhere nearby.

I was tired, my body still hummed with something I couldn’t name. I wanted to sleep again, to sink beneath the surface. But I couldn’t, so I rolled over onto my side, one arm tucked under my head and the other resting beside me.

And then I saw him, Gale, sitting off to the side of my bed roll, back straight and hands folded tightly in his lap. His cloak, I realized, was draped over my legs and the expression on his face when my gaze met his was something caught between relief and heartbreak.

“Mira” I heard him sigh “You’re awake.”                           

I rubbed my eyes, “What happened?”

He moved closer to me, exhaling slowly “You overexerted. Whatever you did, there, whatever that power was—it took everything out of you. You collapsed and Astarion caught you. He carried you back to camp.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Where is he now?” I choked out the words, my mouth was dry.

“I—I don’t know. He disappeared after he brought you back, we all came when we could, and I’ve been here ever since, making sure you were okay” I could see his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for me, to touch me but he didn’t, but our eyes remained on each other.

“You scared me…us…” His voice dropping, the worry in his voice made my heart ache.

“I scared myself…” My voice breaking up as I hold back tears.

“You were glowing.” He said flatly “Not metaphorically or poetically. You were literally glowing. Like the Weave was trying to burst from your skin.”

It came back in flashes, the screams, the blood-soaked grass, the power I wielded and the shadows I harnessed. And then I remembered the voice, its voice, their message piercing through my eye into my mind like a lobotomy.

You are not ready…but you will be. Rest now, My little flame.

I was unsure if I should tell Gale about it, what he would think. He could probably help. 

I was hit with a pang of guilt as I thought of how I let go, all that magic surging through me, the shadows I created covering every inch of the battlefield. I let out a large sigh and covered my face with my hands.

“Did I hurt any of you?” My breathing getting more erratic as memories of what I did came flooding back to me,

“No.  Just yourself.” His voice was so soft, it made me want to cry.

“You’re not alone in this.” He reached his hand closer to me “Whatever’s happening to you---whatever growing inside you—I won’t let it consume you.”

I finally met his eyes again and then there was a shift—a shadow at the tent flap. The soft scrape of boots against dirt and then the tent rustled open. “Is she awake?” came a familiar voice, cool, careful and too neutral.

Astarion stepped inside, eyes adjusting quickly, he paused when he saw me, gaze flicking briefly to Gale, then back to me.

I shifted, dragging myself upright even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to stay down. My hair clung to my skin in tangled waves, wild and damp with sweat. It curled in loose, unruly curls that stuck to the side of my face and neck. I brushed a few strands of hair out of my face as I looked up at him.

“She’s fine.” Gale’s tone was polite but there was an edge to it.

Astarion arched an eyebrow “Clearly. I just came to check in.” he added, stepping closer but not crossing the invisible threshold between us. “You gave quite the performance”

I stared at him. I wanted to ask him why he caught me at all—why he held me like I was something fragile, something worth saving—only to disappear before I could open my eyes. I wanted to ask about the look on his face before the darkness took me, the fear I thought I saw there. If it was real… or if I just imagined it because I wanted it to be.

I wanted to scream, but all I managed was “Sorry if I worried you” I tried to mask my bitterness with sarcasm.

“Worry is a luxury,” he replied. “But you? You’re something else entirely”

I felt Gale stiffen beside me as he said, “She needs rest.” Looking at him, with something dark in his eyes.

“Well, I’ve delivered my concern” He turned around to leave “I’ll leave you with your appointed guardian”

His eyes lingering on me for a moment too long before disappearing, the tent flap swaying behind him.

We stayed like that for a while, bathed in silence as the last rays of light faded from the tent. Outside, night took hold, and the world beyond the canvas dimmed to soft shadows and the glow of distant lanterns. I went in and out of sleep, Gale never left my side—bringing me tea and bread. I think at some point he was reading to me, telling me about his favorite stars. Maybe he just needed the sound of his own voice to keep his thoughts from turning inwards. But I liked it. It calmed the noise in my head.

But now I’m awake, my legs were shaky, and my chest ached. The worst of it was inside my head—Gale’s soft voice, Astarion catching me and the whisper in the back of my mind I couldn’t shake. I told Gale I needed some air, I needed to think, and that I was going to go on a walk. I thanked him, and said I’d come by his tent later if he wanted me to, before stepping outside.

The air outside was heavy but it felt nice on my aching bones. I followed the sound of water, hoping I would find some solace near the water but instead I found Shadowheart. She was crouched on the shore while washing some fruit in the current.  Her dark braid was looser than usual, strands curling at her temples from the heat. She looked up when I approached but didn’t say anything.

“Hey,” I said awkwardly.

“Still alive, I see.” Her tone was dry but not unkind.

I laughed and sat beside her “Yeah, barely.”

She set the fruit down on a piece of cloth next to her and grabbed another one to dry her hands.

“So, how did it feel to explode?” voice still even.

“I didn’t technically explode…” I said, “More like…leaked violently.”

She let out a small laugh.

“It’s the parasite…” I paused, lowering my voice “Mixed with the fact I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t think I’m good—at all this. This world…these people.” I brought my knees up to my chest, hugging my legs tightly, eyes on the water.

“I don’t think you’re doing all that bad. Everything considered. You convinced all of us to join you.” Her voice was softer now, “For what it’s worth, I don’t know if I’d do any better being thrust into a world I didn’t know, with an alien parasite lodged in my brain.”

“Don’t forget the scary shadow magic that almost tore me apart” I laughed again, more bitter this time.

She didn’t say anything at first, all I could hear was the chirping of some creature off in the forest, and for a while that was the only sound between us.

“You looked like a star falling apart.” She finally said “Light and shadow pouring out of you like you didn’t know which one you wanted to be.”

“I had no idea you were so poetic” I looked over at her, she had her dagger in her hand, cutting a piece of fruit with terrifying precision.

“Once in a while.” She smiled, quietly amused.

Another moment of silence before I said, “Gale stayed me, he didn’t leave my side the whole time.”

“Of course he didn’t, he’d probably conjure an entire library in your name if you asked.” She took a bite of her fruit—an apple, maybe.

‘Then Astarion came to check on me, and the way he looked at me made me want to crawl out of my skin.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment immediately.

“We haven’t seen him since he left your tent. It’s been hours. Not unusual for what I’ve seen of him. But he seemed weird when he stormed off...upset” She began to bundle up the washed fruit, tying a piece of cloth in a knot.

She continued, “I can’t help you with your dilemma, but I will say. You’re not broken, Mira, just powerful. And power makes people either fall in love or run away screaming.”

 Pausing for a moment to stand up “Gale and Astarion—think you’re made of starlight and nightmares. One wants to save you and the other…who knows. Just be careful.” And she walked away, bundle of fruit in hand, her braid swaying behind her.

~

I sat there by myself for a while. The fire had burned low and most of the camp was asleep or at least pretending to. I decided it was probably best to avoid skinny dipping for the time being and decided to just splash water on my face, trying to wipe away the ache of the day off my skin.

But then I felt it, the prickle at the back of my neck when he was around, like I was being hunted.

“You’re not very good at sneaking. you know.”  I groaned, standing up but not turning around.

A quick and quiet chuckle from behind me “I wasn’t trying to sneak”

I turned around, knowing exactly what I’d see and sure enough there he was, stepping out of the tress—all shadow and silk. Moonlight caught the edge of his smile, and something in his eyes was off—too glossy, too dark.

I folded my arms over my chest, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

He closed the distance between us quickly, “Oh, but I am. I can’t stop thinking about you” he said plainly “Specifically… your blood, how hungry it makes me.

I didn’t say anything, I just stared at him, eyes narrow.

“But it’s not just a hunger,” he continued and took another step toward me, his voice low. “It's you. Your scent. The way your magic crackled in the air when you collapsed. The taste of your fear—and your power. Mira, it’s in my head.”

“Is that why you didn’t stay?” My heart skipped a beat as I looked into his eyes, as wild and unhinged as ever.

“Is that why you came back…”

He didn’t answer. Just watched me move my hair over my shoulder, trying to hide my neck. It made him grin wider, too knowing.

I wasn’t scared of him biting me, if anything…I wanted it--no I was more afraid of what it would do to me if I let him, what it would mean.

“I’m not one to comfort. The wizard was more than happy to take care of that “He licked his lips “No, I’m not here to hold your hand or read you stories, I’m here because I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to drink from you.”

I took a step back, but he just moved in closer, latching his hand on my wrist tightly—to keep me in place. I should have been afraid, my heart beating so quickly should have been out of fear, but it wasn’t. A long, aching shiver ran through me and goosebumps spread across my skin, my breathing shallow.

“You don’t understand what it’s like” he pulled me closer to him, his lips on my ear, murmuring “To need something so badly you ache for it.” He moved his lips down to my neck, just barely grazing it as he brushed my hair back, I froze.

He pulled back, but not before letting his fangs lazily scrape my neck, it felt like a warning and a promise, “To hear your heartbeat”

I looked down, “What if I said yes?” I don’t know why I said it, but I did, and I couldn’t take it back.

That made him laugh--low and amused,  “You play a dangerous game.”

“If I were to start” he whispered, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.”

We stood there, suspended in silence, inches away from each other. The tension was so thick, I could barely breathe.

“Then—then why are you here?” I choked, my voice hoarse, still not looking at him.

I felt his other hand rest under my chin, lifting my head up to look at him—pupils dilated, fangs out. “Because every part of me is screaming to touch you.” His lips were so close to mine. “But I want you to choose.”

I could feel my heartbeat in every part of my body, I thought I was going to collapse. The tension twisted between my ribs, heavy and aching in the most infuriating way. My thighs clenched without permission, and I hoped he didn’t notice but I know he did—his glare was all knowing.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me to bite. Tell me to burn or send me away before I do something we both regret.”

I didn’t move, I couldn’t move, I was paralyzed but not with fear. His hand rose again from my chin up to my cheek to brush a curl back from my face. It lingered there ghosting across my cheek, cold and careful.

I could feel my magic thrumming under my skin, bubbling up to the surface. I could feel the shadows start to crawl down my skin. My veins lighting up that familiar purple hue as I stared into his eyes, as wide as they could be, my lips slightly parted—unable to speak.

“You’re glowing again Mira” he growled, “Do you understand what that does to me?”

I was dizzy, I couldn't think of anything else to say but "No” my voice low, trembling. “Tell me…show me”

He moved in quickly, grazing the edge of my jaw, my breath caught when he brushed his fangs against my neck again.

“You smell like magic and blood and fear,” he said, voice shaking. “And it’s intoxicating.”

My body reacted before I could stop it, tilting my head to give him space. Inviting him. His lips parted against my skin; his breath hitched; I felt him tremble. I could feel the sharpness of his fangs against my neck, almost breaking through.

“Wait,” my hands flattened against his chest.

And to my surprise, he froze.

“I—I don’t know,” I said, voice cracking. “I thought I did, but—this feels like something I can’t come back from.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t retreat. Just stared at me, so still I could feel the tension crawling under his skin like fire.

“You said you wanted me to choose,” I said, barely above a whisper. “But I think you already decided.”

His eyes flicked away, jaw tight.

“You think I want this?” he said, quietly furious. “You think I enjoy losing control?”

I didn’t answer. He slowly stepped away from me, like if he moved any faster, he couldn’t stop himself from plunging his fangs in my neck.

“You’re right,” he said coldly. “You’re not ready. And neither am I.”

 He turned. But before he disappeared fully into the trees, he paused. “Next time, Mira… make up your mind before I do it for you.”

I crumbled into a heap on the shore, legs to my chest, arms hugging them tightly. My breathing grew heavier and every nerve in my body was screaming, as I tried to catch my breath. I could still feel the storm burning beneath my skin.

~

I debated going to Gale’s tent, but it felt wrong going in there when I still felt Astarion’s touch on my skin and the unbearable ache between my thighs when I thought about his fangs on my neck. My legs were shaking as I made my way back over to my tent, my breathing still erratic.

The part that scared me the most was how much I wanted it, how badly I wish I allowed him to feed on me. I don’t think I’ll get the image of him looking feral over me out of my mind, his eyes wide, pupils dialed, fangs out; I hadn’t really seen his fangs before but now I did—they consumed my thoughts. The feeling of his hand gripping my wrist, how easily he pulled me into him.

Sleep didn’t come easily, which was becoming more normal these days. When I finally closed my eyes, falling asleep felt more like sinking deeper into an abyss with an anchor tied to my leg, the familiar feeling of not being able to breathe returned.

The darkness, and the silence turned into something else and suddenly I was standing in a black void that stretched endlessly in every direction. Deep, dark and infinite. Above, thin strands of light shimmered faintly like veins in the dark sky. It looked like a galaxy bleeding through the fabric of reality

I could see a figure at the end of my vision, and I instantly knew what it was, they were backlit by a soft, impossibly low light. Its form was only a suggestion—humanoid in posture, cloaked in fabric that shifted like smoke underwater. I couldn’t see its face, only a vague impression of a smile where a mouth should be. They were more a presence wrapped in calm, cloaked in something that felt ancient and all-knowing

“You’ve returned”

“I didn’t mean too” I said trying not to look at it

“But yet, here you are.”

“You never told me who you are…or what you want from me”

“I’ve told you what matters. None of that matters if you do not trust yourself Mira.” It moved closer to me.

I took a step back which seemed impossible since there was no ground in this space. My heart beating in my chest, my palms were slick as I felt the fear rise from my toes, slow and electric.  

“You’re not frightened of me. You’re frightened of your hunger. Of what waits inside you”

It leaned in, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the weight of his words inside of my burrow deep in my skull.

“More than anything you’re frightened of what you’ll become without someone to tell you what’s right.”

“Of course I’m frightened, I didn’t ask for this” I said, I think I was yelling but it was hard to tell in this space “This power, this bond—whatever you are—I never wanted it.”

It laughed a cold, empty laugh that echoed endlessly, “Of course you did”

“You reached for something to save you and I answered.”

“I was dying…I was desperate and confused…” Nausea bubbling in my stomach.

“But now…” its tone was almost tender “Look how alive you are now”

I didn’t answer. Just stood there or floated there. I didn’t feel alive, I felt like a husk of the person I used to be.  

“You still believe this is something you can reject, but the power will not wait for you to decide.”

“Then take it back….” I hissed “I don’t want to be some monster you use.”

It made that sound again that I think was a laugh. “But you already are.”

My stomach dropped, I tried to back away but the lights above me began to pulse as it reached out and touched me, but it wasn’t really touching me—they sank into me. Its presence slid beneath my skin, settled into the marrow.

“You fear what this makes you.” Their voice softer now “You can’t deny the part of you that wants it.”

“No—”

“Yes. You liked it, the way they looked at you, terrified and in awe. You liked the way the shadows crawled up your skin and bent to your will.”

I shivered. My body remembered it, the feeling of magic buzzing under my skin like a hive of bees bursting open inside me, the thrill of the unknown that came with it. The way the shadows hugged me like they knew me already

“I didn’t—”

“Do not lie to me little flame. You’ve tasted what I’ve given you and you won’t let it go, you can’t.”

A faint shimmer appeared around us, threads of violet and silver unraveling from its palm and spiraling around me. They pulsed, faintly alive, almost like strands of magic itself.

“I see you clearly, Mira. I have seen your potential. You’ve only touched the surface of what you are. What you could be.”

The light around me flared. My skin began to glow—veins lit with amethyst, tracing like runes along my forearms, my collarbone, my chest. The threads around me tightened—not suffocating, but possessive. Something opened inside me. A door I hadn’t known existed.

“Now,” it murmured, “Let me show you what you are.”

It raised a hand—blurry, indistinct. No touch. Just focus. It pointed to my chest.

The pressure built up inside me as my lungs seized and the edges of my vision dimmed—then everything broke open. Power surged through me like cold lightning—not fire, not chaos, but something surgical. Controlled. Precise.

I saw flashes: eyes locking with mine and going still, minds unraveling, magic that obeyed because it already belonged to me.

I screamed but I don’t think there was any sound, I felt my body tremor as I dropped to my knees. All the air was punched out of my lungs, I couldn’t move, I could see my skin still glowing, alive with something I didn’t understand. Warm tears fell down my cheeks, but I barely noticed.  

Then the voice returned, curling around me like smoke, “There.”

It forced me to look at it and through my tears I could see their wicked, cruel imitation of what a smile should be. One that told me they owned me, and they weren’t letting me go easily—they had a purpose for me.

“Why…” I said weakly

The dream started to collapse around me, the lights that were stretched above me started to fizzle out like fireworks and as the space around me started to fold inward, shrinking and vanishing. I heard one last thing before everything faded away.

"Wake, little flame." I felt the voice by my ear, "There is still so much to burn."

I shot up, panting, a scream caught in my throat. I was back in my tent; the world was back to normal. I don’t remember undressing but when I woke up, I was in my underwear, shivering even though it felt like I was on fire.

 I wrapped Gale’s cloak around me and laid back down, trying to process what just happened. Time went by but I didn’t notice even though I could see the light change as the sun came up outside.

The conversation echoed in my mind like a bad omen, curling sickly in my gut. I felt hallow, restless, trapped. Every thought spun too fast, too sharp, and if I stayed in this fucking tent for a moment longer, I might splinter apart.

I dressed in silence—boots, cloak, gabbing Gale’s too. The air outside was cold and clean, but it didn’t help. I could still feel the buzz of the void lingering on my skin.

I walked straight to his tent. I didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t sure what I thought I’d find there, maybe answers, safety or someone to tell me I wasn’t a monster. The lantern inside glowed faintly, I pushed the flap open and stepped in.

He was asleep or close to it, propped against a pile of cushions, book half-open in his lap—he looked peaceful. I could see the way his curls fell across his temple when he wasn’t tying them up, a little smudge of ink on his thumb, his lips slightly parted like he fell asleep thinking of something smart.

I told myself I was just here to return his cloak, nothing else as I stepped quietly forward, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but take one more look at him, my heart ached at how badly I wanted to crawl next to him and think of anything other than the void behind my eyes.

But I didn’t, I grabbed the tent flap, and I was halfway through when I heard him stir behind me.

“Mira?” his voice was thick with sleep, soft with surprise.

I froze. “Sorry” I whispered.

My hand was still on the fabric of the tent “I was just returning your cloak…”

“Are you sure that’s all?” there was something aching in his voice that was so safe and open, and I hated how much I was starving to be touched.

I turned, my cheeks hot with embarrassment because there was more, but I could still feel the creature’s presence wrapped around my wrists, my throat, I could still feel its voice in my mind. Little flame.

He was sitting up now, rubbing his eyes and when he finally looked at me—really looked—his brow furrowed.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said quietly, “but...what happened to your hair?”

“I---” I paused, “What do you mean?”

He reached into a small bag beside him and pulled out a mirror. I stepped forward to take it, our fingers brushed, and I could feel the warmth of his skin against the cold that hadn’t left mine.

I looked at myself. And there it was, a streak of white, clean, stark, and woven through my dark curls like a brand. A thin but vivid line like lighting frozen in place. It felt like something had claimed me.

“Does it look bad?” I tried to joke but the laugh caught in my throat and died.

“No,” his voice was soft, “You look...” he hesitated “Beautiful.”

He moved closer but I stepped back. His expression flickered—hurt maybe.

“I thought maybe I could stay.” I said quietly. “For a moment I did.”

“But?” There was a pain in his eyes. Worry. Something deeper too, something patient and quiet and full of things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

“I wanted this to be okay. I wanted to sit next to you and try to forget all the noise in my head but--” I looked down at my hands and they were shaking

“But I can’t” I touched the white streak, it felt like nothing, but it meant everything.

“Mira—” he moved to close the space between us again, but I stepped back.

This time he didn’t follow. He just stood there, watching me, his face full of concern.

“I don’t know if I’m me anymore.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. I couldn’t meet his gaze. It hurt too much.

“Mira, please...” his voice was strained

“You can’t wade into these waters and not except to drown I’ve seen what powerful magic does to people. What they’ll do to keep just a sliver of it.” His voice was quieter now, sadder, something in his tone felt personal.

I stood there, staring at my hands. Still shaking. I could feel the morning air drifting through the half-open tent flap, cold against my skin. I wanted to tell him, about the dream, the power crawling under my skin, the pull of the shadows and the creature trying to puppet me. The words rose to my throat but fizzled out.

“I should go...” I turned to leave finally, but I felt his hand on my shoulder. Still, I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Mira, please look at me.” it wasn’t a demand, just a quiet, pained request, so I did.

He searched my face, his eyes were dark, I couldn’t see the stars twinkling in them. I guess whatever he saw in mine must of hurt because he pulled back slightly, his hand moved from my shoulder to my elbow.

“You don’t have to explain.” He said “You don’t owe me that. But I can offer you what I have—books, star maps, bad jokes. Or just silence, if that’s what you need.”

I just shook my head “I can’t…not now.”

The feeling was still there—sick and heavy in my chest. And if I stayed, if I lingered in that tent a second longer, I knew I’d come undone. Gale looked at me like he wanted to say something more, to reach for me, to pull me back from wherever I was drifting but he didn’t. And I slipped out, the canvas brushing my shoulder like a hand that didn’t quite want to let me go.

The morning air was sharp, a clean slap across the face that did nothing to clear the fog inside me. I stood just outside his tent, arms wrapped around myself as if I could hold all the cracked parts together. There was something lodged under my ribs, molten and aching—maybe shame, maybe guilt, maybe fear. They were so tightly knotted together I couldn’t tell one from the other anymore. I felt like I was coming apart in places I hadn’t even known could break.

I kept walking because standing still would mean thinking too long, too clearly. About everything. About them.

Gale had stayed. He’d waited. He’d spoken to me with that kind of quiet patience only someone truly kind can muster. He made me feel like I was still a person, not just a vessel for something terrifying. He looked at me like I mattered. Like I could still be saved. And maybe he could help—maybe he wanted to. But I couldn’t let myself believe it. Not fully. Not when I could still feel that creature’s voice curling in the corners of my mind, whispering promises like prayers. Not when its presence coiled inside me like a phantom limb—familiar, seductive, and impossible to ignore.

And then there was Astarion. Who didn’t lie to me, or to himself. Who looked at the shadow in me and didn’t flinch—maybe even wanted it. Maybe only because it mirrored his own. He didn’t ask me to be whole. He didn’t ask me to be better. He just asked for blood. For surrender. For something raw. I thought of the way his voice sounded at my throat, the heat in his eyes, the burn in my chest when I let myself want him. It terrified me—how much of myself I’d give to be touched like that again.

Gale sees what I could be. Astarion sees what I already am.

I used to know who I was. But now I wake up glowing, shaking, tasting ash and power like something sacred and wrong has settled into my bones. Maybe the real Mira is gone. Maybe she died in the wreckage and all that’s left is this version—cracked down the middle, marked by shadow, too afraid to look in the mirror for what she might see.

I wanted to be held. I wanted to be ruined. I wanted someone to understand what it felt like to unravel from the inside out. But maybe that’s too much to ask. Especially when I don’t even understand myself.

Chapter Text

Waking up felt like dragging myself out of quicksand. My eyes opened slowly. I didn’t remember crawling back to my tent—but here I was, lying on the surprisingly soft cushion of my bedroll. I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to stand. Even breathing felt like effort. Everything hurt—not just my body, but something deeper. My heart ached in a way that didn’t stop.

The world felt heavier than it had yesterday. It hadn’t paused long enough for me to forget what had happened. My limbs were sore, and a strange heat still pulsed under my skin, as if the power hadn’t fully settled. Shadows clawed in my chest, pressing against my ribs. At least my head wasn’t throbbing anymore—but that didn’t ease the leaden weight pressing down on me. Exhaustion wrapped around me like a second skin.

I lay still, staring up at the fabric of the tent as it swayed in the breeze. I tried to think about my mother. Just her name made something shift in me—but when I reached for details, the memories blurred. I couldn’t recall the color of her eyes. The shape of her face. And that—that—was more terrifying than anything else. The thought of losing the person I used to be before all this... it made me sit up.

I was still fully dressed. My hair felt wild and frizzy as I gathered it into a ponytail, fingers brushing the white strand—it was cool to the touch, like frost. Sunlight seeped through the thin walls of the tent. It felt like a cue, and I took it.

My cloak was folded neatly beside me. I didn’t remember doing that, which meant... Gale, probably. He must have snuck in and tidied up after I tossed it carelessly aside. I wrapped it around my shoulders. It felt different this time—like it was watching me. Alive, somehow. I shook off the thought and stood up slowly.

Outside, the sun was low, its light filtering through thinning fog like a secret trying not to be heard. The camp was too quiet. No banter, no snide remarks. Just wind, and the faint hiss of running water nearby.

I started walking toward Shadowheart’s tent. I wasn’t sure why. It just felt right. Then I realized—I’d never been inside. Each step grew heavier as I approached the shaded little corner of trees where her tent stood.

For a moment I just stood there not fully knowing what to do but finally I said “Hey, uh, are you here?”

There was a silence that stretched on for too long before “Come in.”

The inside of her tent felt different than the rest of camp—contained, intentional. Dried bundles of flowers and twisted cords hung overhead in precise knots, old tomes stacked in tidy columns, wax pooled in crooked spirals around burned-down candles. And in the back, half-hidden behind a gauzy veil of cloth, sat a small altar. Not decorative but devotional, it wasn’t for show, it was for something unseen. It felt like trespassing, peering at a piece of her personal life she didn't want any of us to know about.

She sat cross-legged on a cushion near the center, a green-leather book resting open in her lap. Her expression was unreadable, the way it always was—cool and guarded. I saw her eyes move up to meet mine, and there was something there I didn’t have a word for. It wasn’t warmth or pity; I think it was just an understanding.

“You’re up” she looked back down at the book “Rest well?”

I let out a breath of a laugh, “Could have been better.”

“You looked like you’d sleep for a week.” She replied, casually turning the page.

“Well, I’m up now.” I stepped inside, just a little “Everyone left again? Everything okay?”

“I’m still here” she said then added with a trace of dry amusement. “Lae’zel insisted they leave for the grove. She absolutely could not wait for you to wake up.”

She closed the book as she continued “I told her to go and take Gale and Astarion with her.”

“But you stayed?” I clasped my hands behind my back.

“I didn't think you’d rest with two men hovering over you.” Her gaze sharpened, unnervingly perceptive. It made me feel like she saw more than I wanted her to.

“That’s....thoughtful of you” I moved deeper into her tent.

She shrugged and said, “You needed sleep unbothered by wizards and teeth.” then adjusted herself, back straight, eyes locked with mine.

I faltered for a moment, surprised by how little got past her. But then I asked, “Do you know what happened?”

“No.” she said plainly “But I do know that Gale was pacing outside your tent and Astarion couldn’t take his eyes of it.”

Her eyes flicked up to the white streak in my hair, “I know something happened.”

“You don’t owe me or anyone your secrets” she added “Just don’t carry them until they become chains.”

“Poetic Shadowheart is my favorite.” I teased, trying to ease the tension.

Her face changed, just for a second, she dropped the mask, and I could see a genuine smile underneath, but it passed quickly.

“The others didn’t leave too long ago” she said, “We can catch up whenever you’re ready.”

"I’ll grab my things.” I said and then lingered for a moment longer before turning and starting to exit the tent.

She stood, her posture steady even in camp clothes, like she could walk through a battlefield barefoot and never flinch.

“Mira, one more thing” she said softly.

I paused.

“I know what it feels like. When the shadows feel more familiar than the light. When you wake up and the weight in your chest is the first thing that reminds you, you’re alive.

I stared at her, unsure what to say. The truth of it hit too close.

Finally, I managed, “You’re kinder than you realize. Thanks, Shadowheart.”

And stepped back out in the morning.

We left camp soon after, weaving quietly through the trees toward the Grove. We didn’t say much as we walked but I felt her presence beside me like a thread keeping me grounded. When we reached the clearing—where the battle had raged, where I’d nearly burnt myself out—I paused.

The memories flashed through my mind and as I looked around the empty field—grass still stained with blood, cracked trees and there was a buzz of static still faintly hanging in the air. But luckily, there were no bodies.

I hadn’t seen what happened after I fell. It had all happened so fast. And now, standing here, I felt the familiar sting of guilt, I wish I could have helped more.

As we came closer to the large wooden doors, I heard a voice, muffled but I could make out the words “Someone’s coming.”

I looked up and saw the heads of more tieflings from the other day, some off to the side with bows drawn and some looked like they were holding spells. They noticed us and hesitated for a moment. I heard another voice ring out, clearer this time.

 “Hey, it's that girl that almost exploded!” They seemed to ease up a little bit, but I could sense their wariness.

“Leaked violently” I shouted back.

Then softer, “Would you mind letting us in? I think the rest of my group is in there.”

No one moved, they still hadn’t decided whether to trust me.

“Come on! I killed like five goblins.”  I placed my hands on my hips, “I’m on your side.”

I saw a few of them shrug, nod their heads in agreement, or whisper things to each other that I couldn’t hear this time. I glanced over at Shadowheart who just shrugged, unbothered as usual. It was silent until I heard the loud creaking of the wooden gate opening.

“Thank you!” I called, stepping through.

We made it a few feet inside when we saw another tiefling jogging up to us, he was older and slightly out of breath when he arrived.

“It’s you.” He said, taking me in, not with suspicion or flirtation but genuine surprise.

“I didn’t actually believe them when they told me a Drow helped save us.”

“Yeah well…surprise” I wiggled my fingers and smiled.

“I owe you thanks. You bought us a great deal of time to prepare.” He paused to take a deep breath “The fighting continued after you fell but you and your group aided us tremendously. I’m Zevlor”

“Mira” I loosely crossed my arms “Speaking of my group, have you seen them?” I started to scan the area, keeping an eye out for them.

“They came through recently, looking for own of ours named Zorru. I’m unsure if they’ve located him but they’re here somewhere.”

“That’s very good to know, thanks.” I paused “I heard there was a healer named Nettie here, do you know where I can find her?”

“She’s down there with the other druids” and he turned to point “Just follow this path down to the right and you’ll find it.”

He paused, and hesitated before adding “Just warning you, the druids are….in the middle of performing a ritual to seal this grove from outsiders, like us. I would recommend doing any business you need to do quickly and be on your way” His voice was filled with sadness, lumped with concern.

“They’re kicking everyone out? That’s awful.” My chest tightened.

“Yes. My people aren’t fighters; We’re just refugees looking for a safe place.” He sighed, long and exhausted “We won't survive on the road with all those goblins….”

 I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to help but what could I do? I can barely control my power without burning out and being consumed by the shadows.

“Excuse me for rambling” he added quickly “But it is rare to see a drow above the surface, even rarer to see one help outsiders. But you did.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully “If you are going to speak with the Druids, maybe you could convince them to delay the ritual, to give us more time. You seem powerful, they may listen.”

Beside me, Shadowheart exhaled—something between a sigh and a scoff.

I met Zevlor’s gaze. He looked worn, desperate. Like someone grasping at the last thread of hope.

“I need to focus on finding the rest of my group and locating a healer.” I looked away from him.

Guilt bubbled up in my chest, burning my throat. How am I supposed to help a caravan of refugees?

“I’m really sorry about what’s happening to you and these people and.…” I paused and looked back over at him, his face was softer this time “I’m really not what you think I am, but I’ll speak to the Druids, I can’t promise anything else.”

“That’s more than I was expecting, I’m grateful.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head slightly.

“If you need to find me, just follow this path all the way to the left, you’ll see a set of heavy doors” he rested his hand on his sword.

“I’ll come speak with you later” I said, “Good luck with everything.”

 I moved past him, further inside with Shadowheart in tow. The grove opened before us as we stepped through the stone and bramble like the forest itself pulled back to reveal something secret and sacred. The light that came pouring in through the high canopy was dappled gold, catching swirls of dust and motes of pollen. It smelled like earth, sharp with pine, sweet with blooming flowers I didn’t know.

I heard birds calling somewhere in the distance, but closer, wrapped around me, were the sounds of a lively camp. Metal clanged, not in combat but in preparation. A child cried. A women shouted. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, a deep laugh rang out—genuine and bright.

I saw more tieflings—horns gleaming and eyes dusty, narrowed with suspicion, moving quickly, some carrying things, packing stuff onto carts and into large chests. Some looked up at us when we passed, some whispered something into another’s ear when I approached, stepping out of my path. It was unnerving.

“Do you think they’re scared of me?” I whispered to Shadowheart, who seemed to be above it all.

“Probably. You are scary” she it dryly.

“Thanks, I feel loads better.” I picked up my pace a little.

In the heart of the grove was a large oak tree, its branches tangled into a natural archway, that pulsed faintly with magic. I felt something stir beneath my skin in response—like it recognized something old here, like it did in the crypt. High in the tree were wind chimes, made of copper and bone that swayed in the breeze, humming a soft, eerie tune.

I wouldn’t describe this space as peaceful; it was tense here like everything inside it had been holding its breath for too long. But it was beautiful, achingly so.

As we walked on the path that twisted through the middle of the grove, I saw children playing and laughing, in the shadow of tents, chasing each other across mossy stones. Their laughter cut through the tension like sunlight through a storm cloud. That was the part that undid me slightly, I stopped walking for a moment, my heart aching.

“A sanctuary wrapped around a battlefield.” I said softly, breathing slowly before continuing.

As the path continued further, the air was thick with humid greenness that can only come after rainfall. I could smell herbs, smoke, and wood fire tinged with something acrid. Not rot, not yet but something very close.

Shadowheart walked beside me, her eyes flicking towards every moving shadow like she expected someone to pounce.

Just ahead, just over the ridge, through the soft light filtering through the trees, I saw the rest of my group, I quickened my pace as I made my way over to them.

I saw Gale first, standing slightly off to the side, nervously adjusting his cuffs. Then there was Astarion, lounging against a rock like nothing bad was happening. And finally, Lae’zel, who was standing over a terrified tiefling, I could see her hand gripping her pommel tighter than ever like it was the only thing holding her back.

“Hey, what the fuck guys?” I shouted.

Lae’zel didn’t react but Gale’s head snapped over to me immediately, relief flashing across his face like lightning. Astarion pushed off the rock, moving towards me with an all too smooth saunter that made it hard to breathe.

“Well,” he said smugly “Look who decided to join us after her much-needed beauty sleep.”

He slid into my space smoothly, and I could see Gale clamoring over out of the corner of my eye.

“What’s this?” He murmured, tilting his head, eyes narrowing on me, His smirk widened as he reached up, fingers hovering toward the streak of white in my hair.

Without thinking, I caught his wrist midair. His eyes flickered—something cold and calculated behind them—and the smile turned sharp, all teeth and intention. I let go, but he didn’t move, the grin lingering like a knife pressed lightly to skin.

“Touchy this morning, are we?” He chucked softly.

“Leave her alone Astarion” Gale said from beside me “She had a long night and doesn’t need you pestering her.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” He smirked, and didn’t take his eyes off me “I was just wondering what this was. This wasn’t there when I left you in the dark last night.”

I was stunned to silence, Heat flushed across my cheeks, and I wasn’t sure if it was shame, embarrassment, or something else entirely. Gale gave me a look like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

I turned my gaze toward Lae’zel desperate for a subject change.

“I see Lae’zel is taking the direct route.” I groaned “This is the exact reason why you should have waited for us…” I rolled my eyes as I pushed past Astarion and made my way over to her.

“He won't give me the information I am seeking” she said through gritted teeth, her grip on the sword so tight I saw strain along her knuckles.

“Yeah, maybe because you’re standing over him like you’re going to gut him.” I placed my hands on my hands.

“Yes.” She said, deadpan, “That usually works.”

“Let me try. We’re guests here, let’s not threaten the people that welcomed us.” I didn’t let her answer as I pushed past her and crouched down in front of the tiefling.

“Hey, I’m Mira.” I smiled “You’re Zorru right?”

“Ye—yes” he responded.

“I have no intention of threatening you like my companion here. But I’d really appreciate if you could tell me the information she’s seeking.”

He hesitated, eyes dating between Lae’zel and me, tears still fresh on his cheeks and in that moment of hesitation before I even realized what I was doing, I reached out my hand to cup his cheek.

 I could feel my magic waking up, the shadows reacting before I even meant to summon them. I could see pebbles vibrating around me as my vision blurred, I felt my eyes roll back and then I was inside his mind.

It was made of mostly disjointed thoughts and broken memories. But then I saw it, a flicker of fear, a flash of silver armor, a narrow trail, then I heard a quiet, muffled voice crawling its way to the surface “mountain pass.”

Before I drew myself out of his mind I whispered, “sorry about that.”

 I could feel the magic pounding in my veins, begging for me to let go just a little more.

But I blinked the connection away and stood slowly “Mountain pass.” My voice not entirely my own “That’s where we’ll find them.”

I turned to face my companions who were all wearing very different expressions.

Lae’zel’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been approval. Shadowheart was as unreadable as ever, lingering a few paces away. Gale looked... stunned. Horrified, maybe. But not without awe. And Astarion just tilted his head, his eyes darker than before, searching me for something.

“I got your information. Are we done here?” I moved my hands under my cloak, afraid of what they might do next.

“That was satisfactory.” Lae’zel said “At least you are useful, finally.”

“I’m not a tool to be used.” I snapped “And just to be clear—I didn’t do it for you. I did it for him” I looked over at Zorru, who was starting to gather himself “So he wouldn’t lose his life over your temper.” 

She didn’t say anything. I don’t think she was used to anyone challenging her, and she had no idea how to handle it.

I could feel the shadows sliding off me like water, thick and heavy, pooling at my feet as I stared her down. It felt like I was dissolving—sinking into something darker than anger, something colder.

We stayed like that. Eyes locked. Silent. Until—

“Well,” Astarion said, his ever-present smirk, curling tighter “Someone woke up dramatic.”

I ignored him, the power was still buzzing under my skin like static.

“I’m going to speak with the druids and find our healer.” I turned on my heels and started walking further down the path.

I heard the group shuffle behind me. Gale catching up to me and saying, “Are you alright?” He placed his hand on my shoulder, just for a moment.

“I’m fine.” I said curtly, not interested in talking about what just happened because I had a gnawing feeling it wasn’t over.

He didn’t say anything else, just walked quietly beside me—I felt my magic calm slightly when he was next to me.

The grove narrowed around us as we pushed deeper, the light shifting, filtered through thick boughs and the hush of old trees. The sunlight dimmed, and there was an ever-present greenish murk that clung to the edges of the stone path. Past the outer camp, the path led us to the Sacred Pool—an open stone clearing half-consumed by the roots of an ancient oak. The air was thick with sage, wet moss, and something metallic, something sharp—like blood left too long to dry.

And there she was.

 A woman at the water’s edge, cloaked in emerald robes that moved like a second skin. Her beauty was precise and terrible, as if it had been carved out of something cruel and left in the sun too long. Her hand gripped a blackened staff like it was the only thing keeping her upright. At her feet, a tiefling girl knelt—tiny, shaking, her horns barely buds on her brow.

My breath caught. I could already feel it—the stir of shadows under my skin like they were drawn to something wrong.

“This snake tried to steal our most sacred idol,” the druid intoned, her voice like shattered glass.

“What is the punishment for a thief?” Someone else said.

I could see her lips moving but I didn’t hear her. I was already moving, pushing through the circle of gathered druids with a force I didn’t know I was using.

“What the fuck is happening here?” My voice rang sharp across the stones.

I looked down at the child, her cheeks slick with tears, her arms wrapped around herself like she could disappear.

I continued “She’s just a child. I sure hope you’re not about to do anything insane.”

The druid’s eyes snapped to me—cold, precise, dead. “She is a thief. And thieves suffer.”

“She made a mistake,” I said, stepping closer. “You don’t harm children over mistakes.”

“Mistakes lead to weakness” she said, sneering. “Weakness invites rot,”

“Just let her go, obviously you got your trinket back, anything beyond is just cruel” I tried to say as calmly as possible.

“No.” she said flatly, “Teela, to me.”

And from the shadows slithered a long serpent, black as oil and twice as fast, fangs bared as it neared the child—something inside me snapped.

The shadows inside me didn’t wait to be summoned, they surged. I felt them writhe beneath my skin, coiling around my spine. The air thinned. The world dimmed; color faded. I could feel my outline blur, edges softening as the darkness wrapped itself around my ribs like it belonged there.

I stepped forward—and didn’t quite feel the ground beneath me. The stone beneath me rippled, or maybe I did. My voice came from somewhere deeper than my throat.

“You are the rot.”

It wasn’t a shout. It didn’t need to be.

The world tensed. The great oak groaned, its branches creaking above us. The shadows twisted tighter around my arms like they were bracing me for something. My veins lit, a soft violet glow that pulsed like they remembered something I’d forgotten.

Pain lanced through her—sharp and psychic. She gasped and staggered, clutching her skull. Her staff fell to the stone with a hollow clatter.

“Fine!” she choked, fury and fear bleeding into her voice. “Fine. Take her.”

“Your mercy today will lead to bloodshed tomorrow.”

She turned without another word and stormed toward the carved doors at the rear of the chamber, her robes snapping behind her like they were trying to escape, too.

The gathered druids shifted. Some followed. Others stared at me like they weren’t sure what they’d just seen—only that it was something dangerous.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” I yelled loud enough for her to hear me.

I dropped to my knees beside the girl, heart still pounding, the remnants of magic still crackling under my skin. She flinched at first, but I kept my voice gentle.

“Hey. You okay? She didn’t hurt you, right?”

The girl shook her head, wiping some tears from her face. “No… I—I’m okay. Thank you.”

“You need to get out of here. Go find your parents, yeah?” I offered her a smile I wasn’t sure reached my eyes. “And next time, maybe be sneakier.”

She nodded, eyes still wide, and ran.

Astarion was the first to break the silence. He stepped up beside me, voice low and humming with something close to delight. “That was… delicious.”

I didn’t answer. My eyes were still fixed on where the druid had stood.

Gale approached more slowly, his expression tangled—concerned, awed. He said nothing, but I felt the weight of his gaze.

Shadowheart lingered farther back, unreadable as always, but there was something in her eyes. Not pity. Not fear. Something closer to recognition.

I was still on my knees, fingers curled tight into the stone like I needed it to anchor me. The last dregs of that power still flickered under my skin, not gone, never, just waiting.

When my breathing finally steadied, I stood back up. The realization of what just happened hit me, I just ruined any chance I had of trying to delay this ritual, I felt hollow.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Shadowheart crossed her arms “If we still want to talk to the druids then Mira probably shouldn’t come with us.”

“Why not?” the words spilled out before I could stop them, but I knew why, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.

“Well, you nearly dismantled a druid’s mind in front of half the grove.” Gale’s tone was gentle but there was a slight edge in it that hadn’t been there before. “Even if we agree with what you did, they might not. Let us handle the politics.”

“You are unstable and frightening. Stay.” Lae’zel didn’t wait for a response, she just turned and started walking.

I opened my mouth to protest, to argue but I didn’t. I didn’t know what I’d If do another confrontation happened. My magic was still whispering in my blood, humming like a lullaby with teeth.

Shadowheart sighed “You shouldn’t be alone though. Someone should stay with her.”

“If Mira needs a babysitter” Astarion said, smirk growing wider “Then I absolutely volunteer.”

Gale shot him a withering look “Of course you do.”

“I don’t need—” but he cut me off before I could finish.

“Oh, I definitely think you need to be watched…closely…” His gaze flicked to me as his smile sharpened “Preferably by someone who knows how to appreciate her…more feral moments.”

The silence that followed was almost worse than arguing, the others looked between us—conflicted, resigned, cautions.

 I exhaled, slowly “Fine.”

Lae’zel made a sound that might’ve been a scoff or just her usual breathing and finally stalked off. Shadowheart followed with a shake of the head.

Gale lingered, hesitating. “Mira—”

“Just go, I’ll be okay.” I smiled, hoping it was convincing enough. “I’ll see you later, promise.”

He nodded slowly, gaze dragging over me one last time like he wasn’t sure if walking away was the right thing to do. His fist clenched slightly. Then he vanished with the others.

The moment he was gone, I felt Astarion step closer, his voice a soft purr behind me.

“You know,” he said “you’re utterly terrifying when you’re like that. It's intoxicating.”

I didn’t answer, my hands were twitching slightly, magic still pulsing through me like aftershocks. The shadows had disappeared, but they were always there, crouching inside me—waiting for me to let go.

“You’re glowing again.” He murmured; I could hear the restraint in his voice “How delightful.”

His presence hummed behind me, warm and cold at the same time. My mind flashed to the other night, by the lake, his hand on my wrist, the bite that didn’t happen, the one I wanted more than anything. I tried to push the feeling down, but it radiated low inside me.

 He circled me slowly, like a predator to their prey, gaze locked onto me. There was a thunderstorm in my chest that so badly wanted to be let out.

“You could pretend you’re not enjoying this so much.” I felt my body stiffen as he moved in closer.

“But why would I lie?” his lips curled “You’re the most interesting contradiction.”

His smile was all teeth, sharp and dangerous but all I could think about was them at my throat.

“One minute you’re a soft-hearted savior who needs to be caught when she falls but then you turn into such a terrifying shadow wreathed goddess.”

I rolled my eyes “What do you want—”

“Darling, I want many things from you.” His voice dipped lower. “But I won’t pretend watching you peel that druid apart with nothing, but a whisper didn’t make me want to take you right there.”

My breath caught, just slightly and his smirk widened.

“And if you keep doing that…” he moved in closer, his breath hitting my neck “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.”

He was too close, I could feel the hunger in him was more than thirst, it was deep and sharp. But I couldn’t move, his pull was too strong.

“Is this you trying to seduce me?” I tried to sound cool and confident, but I think I just sounded hot and bothered.

“Is it working?” his eyes moved quickly to my lips then back up to my eyes.

I just stood there, looking up at him, unable to lie, unwilling to admit the truth. My silence said more than either of them.

“That’s what I thought.” He brushed a curl behind my ear and stepped back, just barely.

His eyes never left me, they dragged over my skin like a whisper, still carrying the ghost of everything unspoken.

Then his voice came out smooth and low, “Enough teasing. Come on, let's go.”

“Go where?” I raised my eyebrow.

“On a walk.” He turned casually dismissive but clearly expecting me to follow.

“But--”  

He glanced back, his face even “Mira, I won’t tell you again. I’ll carry you if I have too.” His voice stern, layered with something else that made my knees weak.

“You’d like that too much.” I mumbled.

“Why yes, I would” His grin curled sharp.

I hated how easily he got under my skin but at the same time, maybe I liked it too.

He didn't wait for me to follow, knowing I would and finally I moved my feet to join him like a lost puppy, matching his pace.

I wasn’t used to walking beside him. He always lingered behind me, muttering wicked little things under his breath. I glanced over—just a moment too long—and he looked down at me with that smirk, the one that made it hard to breathe. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I quickly turned my eyes back to the path.

“I can’t tell which side of you I like better," he murmured The one that’s so sweet and obedient… or the one that’s dark, wild, and just barely holding it together.”

His hand hovered near the small of my back—close enough to feel, not quite enough to touch. I let out a sound—half whimper, half gasp. I didn’t even know where it came from.

It felt good. Too good. To be seen like that. Not just noticed. Not just wanted. But feared and craved. No one had ever made me feel like I could be dangerous and desired in the same breath. Like the mess inside me wasn’t a flaw—it was a lure.

I could feel his gaze on me, heavy, deliberate. I didn’t dare meet it. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words got tangled behind my teeth.

He laughed. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just… pleased.

“You’re so well behaved” he said voice like a secret “Given the right encouragement, of course.”

He paused, “Still, good to know.”

“Don’t get used to it.” I muttered, softer than I meant.

“Mmm, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” His voice smooth as silk.

Eventually we came back to the area where we had the confrontation with Zorru and moved past. I could see tieflings scurrying around, it made my stomach drop. It made me want to help these people, even if it meant using this power, I didn’t know how to control.

It wasn’t long until I saw an older woman, something about her was off, her smile was stretched a little too wide to be natural. I felt something deep inside me stir, looking at her made me feel uneasy. But I couldn’t look away.

“Astarion…” I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Yes, darling?” he said smoothly, but I barely heard him.

“Do you see that woman? Over there.” My gaze was locked on her.

“You mean the one staring at you like she wants to wear your skin?” he said “Yes, I noticed.”

“I think I’m going to talk to her.” I started to move closer.

“Of course you are.” He said, following with a sigh.

She sat behind a small table scattered with strange jars and bottles—each one more questionable than the last. Her green robes clung like moss, and her short white hair curled at the ends like smoke. Her grin was too wide. Her eyes didn’t match it.

“Well now, what do we have here?” Her voice was syrupy, but wrong, like she stole the sound from someone else’s throat.

“I heard what you did at the Gate, everyone’s talking about you.” Her tone almost sounded like she was admiring my work but even that sounded stolen.

“Talking about how you lit up like a fallen star. All shadow and glory.”

“You were watching?” I said quietly.

“Oh, sweetling” she chucked “There’s not much I miss. And you’ve got a scent on you like a storm that forgot to die.”

Astarion stepped in front of me, subtly, casually shielding me. His body was still relaxed, but I could feel the tenson coiling beneath his skin.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” His voice was smooth, but I could sense the edge behind it.

“Please, call me Auntie Ethel.” Her voice shifted for a moment, unnaturally dipping in a way it shouldn't have.

Then in a moment, everything changed as she tilted her head and somehow her smile grew wider, like a cat toying with their food.

“You’ve got something sour clinging to you too, pet. Bit of rot under all that charm. I’d be careful if I were you.”

I glanced up at him and I saw his expression change from confidence to fear, a look of recognition.

Ethel’s gaze moved back to me, sharper now, and it felt like being watched by something old. Something buried in roots and bone. “You, little flame, you’re barely holding it together, aren’t you?”

She did one big theatrical sniff like she was catching the scent of something overripe.

“Power like that always leaves something behind. Tell me—how often do you wake up and forget who you were?”

My throat went dry; I pressed my lips together unable to speak.

“Right” she said, her grin softening to something almost sweet “You don’t need a warning from me. But maybe he does.”

She cast a glance sideways at Astarion “I’d keep those fangs sheathed if I were you. There’s someone in the wood looking for someone who matches your description.” Her smile glittered like broken glass.

She looked back at me. “Be careful who you play with, sweetie.”

Then just as quickly, her expression snapped back to sweetness, just a regular vendor again, gesturing to her wares.

“Now!” she chirped, patting the table beside her. “Can I interest you two in a tonic for unrequited lust or perhaps something to help you sleep through the screams?”

“I think we’re good.” I said quickly, stepping back.

“Pity.” Her gaze lingered too long. And before we turned around to walk away, she said one more thing.

“Don’t wait too long to choose what kind of creature you want to be, Mira. The world’s full of stories like yours. Most don’t end pretty.”

I felt cold all the way down to my bones. Like her words had reached something buried in me—and woken it up. Then she just returned to tending to her jars, humming a tune that didn’t belong to this place—or any place.

When we were far enough away, I said, “Is someone after you? Should I be concerned?”

He didn’t answer right away, but I could see the way his jaw tightened, eyes scanning the area around us.

“You don’t need to worry, I can take care of it, if it comes to that.”

I stopped, and so did he, hands still resting in his pockets. At first, I was looking down at the ground, my fists clenched, not entirely sure how to get the words out. I felt his hand creep under my chin, lifting my head up to look at him.

“Mira,” his voice was stern again, mixed with something more commanding “What is it?”

“If someone comes to take you…or kill you.” My voice catching on the edge of something sharp. “I’d melt their fucking brain before they could touch you.” My eyes were wide, as I stared into his.

“Now,” he growled “When you say things like that...” he leaned in closer to me, his hand still resting under my chin.

I thought he was going to kiss me, maybe he was going too but he eventually pulled away.

“Let’s go back to camp.” His voice had shifted, laced with something carnal, possessive.

He tilted his head in the direction of the gate like he was waiting for me to move so I did, and he followed, making a point to stay behind me. His eyes weren’t searing through me like they usually did. This time, they stayed sharp and watchful.

This wasn’t flirtation anymore, this felt like instinct. Like something in him wouldn’t allow the world to touch me while his back was turned. And maybe, something in me liked it that way. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as we made our way silently back to camp.  

Chapter Text

But we didn't return, we walked deeper into the forest—truthfully, I don’t think either of us wanted to return. We lingered in otherer's orbits like gravity wouldn’t let us drift apart.

Yet, there was something in the woods that pulled at me, too. Not a sound or a vision—just a weight behind my ribs, tugging me forward. I didn’t know if it was a danger or fate, but I kept walking.

Astarion walked behind me, close enough that I could feel him—not quite touching but present. Something about him had shifted. The usual bite of his sarcasm had dulled, turned quiet and watchful. I could feel he was tense, on edge but despite that we kept walking.

But now and then he’d say something that made me laugh, unexpected and dry. Or I'd pause to point out a flower that almost looked like one from home. Every time he’d humor me by flashing me a glance that didn't feel like he was mocking me, it felt like he was paying attention.

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky. The air turned cold. A breeze whipped through the tree singing a song that felt like breath on the back of my neck—thin, eerie, full of warning.

Eventually, for a reason that I can’t explain only that I felt something inside me click, I stopped abruptly.

We were at a shallow, mostly dried up creek, clinging to the last of its purpose, and I looked around for something. The trees around us loomed—thick, still, too quiet.

My skin started to prickle, my stomach began to churn. I looked over to Astarion, but he wasn't looking at me, his eyes were still scanning the trees.

“Can you feel that?” I asked quietly.

“You know” his voice was tense “I really hate when you say things like that.”

“There’s something here. Watching.” I said. 

His fists were clenched as he finally turned his gaze to me, eyes narrowing “What do you mean, here?

“Something in the trees…I can’t tell where.” I paused, “I have a feeling it was that women…what she said…” I trailed off.

“I think she lured us out here, somehow.” I whispered, the words felt wrong coming out of my mouth.

“The creepy one from the grove?” He stepped closer to me, voice sharpening. “Why?”

But I didn’t get the change to answer, an arrow hissed through the air, close enough to rattle the breath away from my lungs. It buried itself in a tree behind us—a warning shot.

I spun around but saw nothing, everything remained eerily still.

Astarion moved in front of me, dagger drawn. Gone was the flirty, smirking companion I knew. In his place there was something hauntingly lethal.

“Stay behind me,” he said—protective, automatic.

I scoffed and ignored him, stepping back to his side—where I felt I belonged.

Then I heard the whistle of another arrow, this time sinking into the ground in-between us.

“They’re toying with us…”  My eyes scanned the tree-line, searching for some movement.

“I don’t play well with people trying to hunt me.” He snapped; the illusion of charm was shattered by something raw.

Then a voice rang out from somewhere beyond the trees, rehearsed and too smooth.

“Well, isn't this precious, I didn't expect you to be tethered, little vampire.” the man said, mockingly.

I turned toward the sound, my magic flaring to my fingertips uncontrollably, swirling around and sharpening like claws.

The man stepped out of the trees like a shadow come to life—tall, lean, armor dark and worn. He moved with confidence like the fight was already over. His bow was drawn; another arrow was already loaded up. I think he was done with warning shots.

There was something carved into the leather he was wearing, something I didn't recognize but I could tell that Astarion did by the way he stumbled slightly, a flicker of something that might have been fear.

“How...” his voice was strangled, lost in his throat.

“I’ve been looking for you, spawn.” he said, gaze fixed on Astarion. “And now—here you are.”

 “The hag said you were traveling with someone dark,” he mused “But I didn't expect her to have claws…or such a pretty face.” Turning to look at me, his eyes were hungry and measuring.

Astarion made a sound, low and guttural—barely restrained. A wicked noise erupted from the hunter; I think it was supposed to be a laugh, but it was sharp and wrong.

“So, you made a deal with her then?” I said “To what? To find him? To kill him?”

“I have a job” the Hunter said, “To drag him back to where he belongs.”

“You think you can just come here and take him?” The heat surged under my skin, almost unbearable, magic licking the edges of my bones like it wanted out.

“Without a fight? No. Not happening.” my voice steadier than I was expecting.

“You can have him, over my dead body.”

The Hunter tilted his head, smile stretching into something feral. “Maybe I’ll take you too. Bet you beg real sweet once the shadows start peeling.”

I heard the bow creak, heard the string snap but the arrow wasn't coming for me, it was aimed at Astarion. I think I screamed but my heart was pounding so hard in my ears it was hard to tell. Then my world slowed, and at that moment, I didn't think, I just moved in front of Astarion like it was the most natural thing in the world.

One second, I was standing strong, and the next my world tilted when I felt a searing pain right below my collar bone. The arrow made its way through my shirt, muscles and sinew with a wet, cracking sound. Blood spatters in a sudden burst, spraying outwards, and on the ground. Around the base of the arrow blood soaked through my shirt and dripped down from my elbow in uneven splatters.

But there was something else too, something cold, crawling. I could feel it spreading underneath my skin, threading itself into my veins like fire laced with frost. Poison or maybe something worse. It wasn’t just a wound, no, it was a warning written in venom.

My vision tunneled for a moment, sound thinning into a distant ringing. I staggered but didn’t fall, forcing myself upright. The skin around the wound throbbed violently, pulsing with raw heat as if it had become its own heartbeat—torn open and seeping something black and cruel into my bloodstream.

“I’ll rip your fucking throat out” Astarion said frantically to the Hunter, but he was too focused on me.

I spat out some blood—that came out looking too thick, and too dark—as I rose to my feet, shaking but somehow standing.

“Is that all?” I laughed, wiping my mouth with my arm, “Try again.”

And he did, another arrow moved through the air in quick succession. But this time something had awoken inside me, something different than before, something new.

 As shadows began to pour from me like water, slick and rolling, weaving around my form until I was something half-seen, half-born of nightmare. My vision went black; my lips parted.

I raised my arm, the arrow stopping midair, a tendril of shadow snapping it in half.

Then I felt the itch again, the one that the creature left behind, the one that craved to bend his mind to my will. Rage boiled over in me but unlike earlier with the druid—I wasn't planning on stopping.

The Hunter laughed again “You’ve got a real gift, girl. Shame no one’s taught you how to use it. I’d have shown you…slow.” I saw him load his cross bow.

 Astarion moved out of the corner of my eye, but it was too late, I pushed off the ground, hovering a few inches in the air, just enough to be taller than him.

“I’ll show you how much of a gift this is.” I said.

“Now, let’s see what’s rattling around in that head of yours.” A sadistic laugh erupted from me as I reached my hand out, in the shape of a fist about to be clenched.

“You really think—” but I didn’t let him finish his sentence.

As I clenched my fist, my magic wrapped his mind like iron bands, squeezing—not just pain, but fear, memory, identity.

 His body seized, dropping his bow to the ground, stumbling back, a step, then another. He grabbed his head, clawing at his face like he could tear me out. His scream died in his throat.

“I have half a mind to let you live” I released the grip on my fist slightly "To let you go back to wherever you came from and tell whoever sent you that they’re next.”

 “Maybe I'll send them your head instead.” I said, tilting my head and smiling.

I clenched my fist as tightly as I could, I saw him try to scream again, but his jaw locked. His eyes rolled back, blood began to spill from them, then his nose, then his ears. He finally dropped to his knees.

“You don’t get to touch what’s mine.” The voice that came out of me was doubled, something ancient, and angry spilled out me.

I floated forward, blood still running down my shoulder, and with one last flick of the wrist, I shattered whatever else was left of him. The shadows surged and his mind finally broke under me. He slumped over, dead before he hit the ground.

Whatever form had taken over me, faded like a scab from skin. I could feel the sting of something moving through me—cold, invasive—as I sank back down to the ground. Every limb felt too heavy. My feet hit the dirt and nearly gave out beneath me. I staggered forward and would’ve fallen if Astarion hadn’t caught me.

He wasn’t holding me exactly, just bracing me—his hands light on my arms like he didn’t know if I’d collapse or explode. He stared at me, utterly still, his expression cracked wide open with something I couldn’t place. Disbelief, maybe. Horror. Gratitude. Fear. I think he was about to cry before he caught himself and tucked it away.

I laughed, a ragged, bloody rasp that ended in a cough “I told you” I wheezed, tasting metal and something worse, “I’d melt their brain.”

The arrow still lodged in my chest pulsed with a dull, deep ache that bloomed wider every time I moved. I winced as another gout of dark blood spilled from the corner of my mouth, thick and oily. The poison was in my veins now—I could feel it slithering, latching onto every nerve ending like a thousand tiny hooks.

“This is good reminder” he tried to laugh “To never get on your bad side.”  But the sound came out brittle, wrong. He wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to fall apart.

He swept me up carefully—one arm under my legs, the other bracing my neck. His movements were deliberate, painfully gentle, but every step jostled the wound and made stars bloom behind my eyes. I whimpered once. When I looked up at him through blood-streaked lashes, I smiled. Not from relief. Not from kindness. A proud, messy thing—twisted at the corners like I wanted him to remember this. Remember that I did it for him.

His jaw clenched. He looked away, tightened his grip, and picked up his pace.

By the time we reached camp, the sun was just beginning to set—rays of gold cutting through the trees, softening the edges of everything. Astarion shouted before we even crossed the threshold.

“Mira needs help. NOW!” His yelled, voice slightly cracking.

Our companions shot up from their places around the campfire, Gale came rushing over first.

“Mira, oh my gods, what happened” he said panicked.

“I got shot” I coughed up more blood, it was darker than it should have been, it stung coming out like it was mixed with bile.

The nausea was getting worse; my throat was burning. I knew something vile was coursing through me, my whole body was tingling like spiders were hatching under my skin.

“What did you do?” He looked at Astarion, with a fury that came too fast.

“What did I do?” I felt his grip tighten on me.

“We leave you alone for a few hours and she comes back with—” Gale’s hands flew up, voice rising but I cut him off.

“Someone...attacked...us...” voice low, speaking in between quick breaths.

I reached up to cup Astarion’s cheek, my fingers slick with blood. It smeared down his jaw and neck. “Wanted…to…take…him.”

Shadowheart eventually came over and winced just slightly when she saw the arrow protruding from my chest.  

“Wow, that doesn’t look good.” She crossed her arms, her expression neutral.

But when she peaked over to assess, I guess she saw something because her face changed for a moment. She could see the way the wound burned me and the blood that was coming out.

 “That’s no ordinary arrow” said grimly, “Must have been coated with something. Poison probably”

“Okay, that’s more of a reason to stop standing around.” Astarion said with a strain in his voice, fear laced with heartbreak maybe.

He set off without another word to my tent with Shadowheart and Gale following closely behind. When he got there, he laid me down gently but didn't stay by my side, instead he backed away with an unreadable expression on his face.

 Shadowheart rushed to kneel next to me, pulling some things out of her satchel.

“Stay still.” She said, “We need to get this out and fast if its poisoned.”

“My body’s tingling...” I let out a whimpering cry. “Blood feels…funny.”

Astarion hovered nearby, pacing in tight circles, his hands twitching by his side like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Gale knelt across from Shadowheart, and even though my vision was going soft around the edges and light started to bleed into the shadows, I knew it was him from the scent of ink and parchment clinging to his clothes. Tears slid down my cheeks unchecked.

Shadowheart groaned “’Both of you—either be useful or get out.”

“Someone press this down when I pull the arrow out, I need bowls, hot water and some linen” Neither of them moved.

 “NOW” She snapped.

They scattered. Gale left the tent in a hurry, I could see the blur of him leaving through the tent flap. Astarion crouched beside her after a moment, but only long enough to pass her something pale—linen probably—before retreating back into the shadows, eyes wide.

Gale returned quickly, handing something to Shadowheart without a word and slid back beside me. Muttering something I couldn’t quite catch as he took one of my hands in his—warm, steady.

‘Okay, I need to neutralize the worst of the poison first” She leaned over me “Then we’ll get the arrow out, okay?”

I couldn’t say anything, I just nodded.

She started muttering something and placed her hand lightly on my chest. I felt a searing pain that quickly faded into something duller. My vision began to clear up slowly, and the feeling of a thousand spiders under my skin was reduced to something more manageable.

"Now, I'm going to pull the arrow out.” She moved her hands to the base of the arrow, gripping it slightly.

“Deep breath.” She gripped it a little tighter.

The pain wasn’t subtle—it was white-hot and blinding. I felt the arrow shift inside me, grinding against bone. I screamed, sharp and guttural, thrashing as it tore through layers of skin and muscle. It felt like something inside me was being unmade.

Then—finally—it came free with a sickening, wet snap.

Shadowheart didn’t waste a second. She shouted something—words I barely registered—and suddenly there was pressure against my chest. The arrow clattered to the floor as she tossed it aside, immediately reaching for the bowl and linen, catching the fresh wave of blood as it poured from the wound.

‘Let me just clean you up.” She murmured. “We’re almost there.”

A glow bloomed in her palm, divine magic rushing into the wound like a tide. I could feel the magic stitching up my skin, The pain ebbed slightly, but there was still something deep inside—like the poison had left echoes in me.

“I’m done.” She said dryly “You’ll live to see another day, probably.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel special” I said weakly “Thank you.”

She just nodded, rested her hand on my shoulder in a dutiful manner before she began to pack up her things, making her way out of the tent.

Leaving just Gale, Astarion and me.

“We should talk about what happened…who attacked you? Did you know them?’ Gale stood, visibly tense.

Astarion said nothing, just continued to stare at me like I was about to crumble into dust and blow away in the wind.

“His brain is goo on the forest floor” I closed my eyes “I think we can wait to talk about it until the morning.”

I looked up at Gale, his face was still paralyzed with panic. He didn't argue, I think he knew I didn't have the energy so he just leaned down again to brush some hair out of my face, his palm lingering on my cheek for just a heartbeat too long. Something flickered in his eyes, like he didn't want to leave, like he wanted to stay and keep watch, to make sure I didn’t slip away while I wasn’t looking. But he didn't, he stood slowly like pulling himself away from me was going to tear something open inside himself.

“Fine. Tomorrow then.” He said, “Rest well, little star.” before turning and leaving as well.

The silence settled like dust in his wake. Astarion stayed but he didn’t come close to me, just stood at the edge of the tent watching. He hadn’t said anything since Shadowheart had pulled the arrow from my chest. Not when I screamed.

Not even when Gale knelt down to brush some hair from my cheek, no snide comment about his pet name for me.

I didn’t say anything for a while or glance over at him, hoping maybe he would speak, break the silence. But he just stood there like a stature carved from marble—silent, unmoving, unreachable.

“You’re still here.” My head weakly bobbing to look over at him. 

He took a step forward and hesitated before saying “I wasn’t sure if I should be.”

“I told you I’d do it," I winced as I tried to sit up but failed but slumped back down, "In the Grove” 

“I think that’s what scares me the most,” His face was unreadable “That it wasn’t just talk…”

“Honestly, maybe it was, until it actually happened.” I drew in a shaky breath “I didn't even really think...I just knew I had to save you.”

He exhaled sharply, a sound that wasn't quite a laugh, maybe a noise of disbelief.

“You’re mad, you know that?” He ran his fingers thought his hair “Mad, reckless, and absolutely the most confusing creature I’ve ever met.”

Finally, he knelt beside me. His hand hovered for a moment before he reached for mine. I met his eyes. His expression was raw—delicate in a way I wasn’t sure he wanted me to see. Like If I touched him wrong, he might fall apart entirely.

“What did he mean?” I used all my strength to push myself upwards finally, head slumping over slightly.

 “Take you back to where you belong?” The question had been burning a hole in my mind, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

He sighed and gripped my hand tighter, “For the last 200 years I’ve been a slave to a vampire lord in Baldur's Gate. He turned me when I had no other choice.”

He sounded strained as he continued “I was locked away, forced to obey, to be a puppet and do his bidding” He paused, almost in disbelief “Until this strange twist of fate gave me something like freedom.”

“And he wants me back for one reason or another...” His voice was almost a whisper.

“Unlucky for him, then” I said. “Because that won’t happen.”

He gave a hollow laugh, “I admit, I didn't know my past would catch up to me so quickly.” He shifted to sit next to me, settling down like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond.

“We’ll protect you” I rested my head on his shoulder “I’ll protect you.”

It was silent for a moment, my eyelids drooped with exhaustion, and I murmured, so softly I wasn’t sure if I said it out loud or if it was just in my head.

“Are you going to stay this time?” My voice muffled, cheek pressed to his arm.

With one careful movement he pulled me into his lap, gently, cradling me like I weighed nothing. I tensed for a moment, but his hands were steady, firm, reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere” he gave the top of my head a gentle kiss “As long as you’ll have me.”

 His arms tightened around me being mindful of my wound and the bandages. One of his hands moved in slow circles on my back, soothing something I hadn't even realized was unraveling.

“You didn't have to save me,” he whispered into my hair “But you did. And I don't think I know what to do about that.”

The ache in my chest was still there, dull and persistent. But for the first time in hours, I felt peace. As I rested in Astarion’s arms, wrapped in quiet and forest sounds, I let myself believe—for just a little while—that everything might be okay.

I knew it wouldn’t last.

But for now, it was enough.

~

When I woke up, I expected to be alone, but I was surprised to still feel the weight of Astarion wrapped around me. One arm coiled around my waist and the other was resting at the nape of my neck. Not possessive, just there. I wasn’t entirely sure if he was awake, he was still, besides the rise and fall of his chest.

I stirred slightly whispering “ow” to myself as the pain from my wound reminded me it was still healing.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, pulling me closer to him.

“I’m okay.” I yawned “Just hurts.”

He planted a small kiss on my shoulder, then gently tuned me onto my back.

“Let me take a look.” He said softly peeling back the bandage and inspecting the wound with practiced care “I'll go get something to clean this with.”

He stood and left the tent, presumably headed for Shadowheart’s supplies. I stayed where I was, staring up at the canvas above me, letting the pain root me in the present. By the time he returned, the light had shifted. In his hands were two small bowls, under his arm a fresh cloth and a roll of bandages.

He crouched down next to me, dipping the cloth in one of the bowls, peeling the bandage back once more,

“This will probably sting,” he warned, though his voice held more than concern—there was something reverent in it, like the act of caring for me meant more than he wanted to admit.

The cloth touched skin, and I flinched. It burned—sharp and cold. I tried to be strong, but whimpers escaped now and then. Every time, he answered with quiet praise.

“You’re doing so well.”

“Good girl.”

“You’re so strong for me.”

The praise was warm and low, curling around me like balm. He worked with precision, dipping his fingers into the second bowl—this one filled with a thick herbal salve I didn’t recognize—and gently rubbed it around the wound. The mixture cooled the sting, dulling the ache to something more distant.

“I’m almost done, my darling,” he said, carefully pressing a clean bandage over the wound and wrapping it snug. When he finished, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the dressing.

I stared up at him, stunned by the tenderness of it, the unspoken devotion in every small, deliberate touch.

He lingered, eyes still on the fresh bandage, his fingers tracing the edge of it like he didn’t quite want to stop touching me. The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably—it was the kind of silence that asked for nothing, only allowed room to breathe.

“Thank you.” I whispered, afraid that if I said it too loud, I’d cry.

“It’s my fault this happened,” cupping my cheek “It’s the least I could do.”

We stayed like that for a long moment—him crouched over me, hand on my face, both of us content just to exist in each other’s space. Eventually, I sat up with a soft groan, resting my weight on my good arm.

“You’re free now Astarion, in one way or another. You don’t have to follow orders anymore.”

I paused. “For better or worse, we’re in this together now. And if your past comes to haunt you again, we can face it together.”

Something in his expression shifted — not broken but maybe beginning to mend. I think it caught him off guard: the idea that I expected nothing, that I just wanted him to be free, too.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. Then lower — wrapping his arms around me, resting his face gently against my chest. I felt him tremble, just slightly.

“I’ve spent so much time looking over my shoulder, his whispered, voice frayed “I forgot what it was like for someone to be looking out for me.

He went still. Then quietly, like he was admitting something to himself more than me “I think you’re going to be the end of me, Mira.”

I smiled faintly “Maybe” I murmured “Or maybe, it’s the beginning of something new.

Chapter Text

It was sometime in the afternoon when we finally left my tent. I told him I could walk but Astarion insisted—carrying me like I was something delicate or something his life depended on. I wasn’t sure if he was making a point to himself or to Gale. Maybe both.

He brought me past the firepit and down to the lake—the spot he knew I liked to sit.  The water was still. The light hit it just right, turning everything gold. When he sat me down on flat, sun-warmed rock, his hands lingered at my waist like I might break under his fingertips.  

“Stay” he said, hand resting gently on top of my head, fingers slipping through my hair. His voice was soft but it wasn’t a question. Then he turned and walked away, as he did I heard him mumble about finding something “edible” for me. 

So, I did. I stayed. Staring out at the water. Back home, it had been my safe place. But now even that memory felt like it belonged to someone else. Some girl who hadn’t burned from the inside out.

The hags voice slithered back into my thoughts, “How often do you wake up forgetting yourself.”

Too often. And it felt like I was losing her—whoever I’d been—bit by bit. Like she was dissolving under the weight of who I was becoming.

“You’re alive.” Shadowheart said from behind me “That’s good.”

 I laughed “Only thanks to you.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it.” She said dryly as usual, but there was a note of concern threaded in.

Then she shifted in front of me, arms over her chest, face unreadable “We should talk about what happened. All of us.”

“About the arrow?’ I said.

“About what happened with the rest of us after we split,” she clarified. “The druids.”

I blinked, the memory slipping in behind the pain like fog through a crack. “I forgot about that.” My voice went quiet. Another thing to feel guilty about. Another thing I’d buried just to make it through the day.

“Okay, let’s have a team meeting.” I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping it would help me from breaking apart.

“Lets.” She said as she turned to walk away “I’ll gather the others at the fire.”

And then she was gone, swallowed by the trees. Leaving me alone with thoughts I didn’t want.

Until I wasn’t. A hand touched my shoulder, light delicate.

“Here you are, my sweet,” Astarion handed me a small plate of fruits—apples, figs, a single perfect slice of pear. His thumb brushed the back of my hand as I took it.

“It’s not exactly fine dining,” he said, “But it’ll keep you alive. And I quite like you that way.”

He stayed beside me while I ate. Watched over me like I might vanish if he blinked. Once I’d had enough to convince him I wasn’t going to drop dead, he stood, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

 “I’ll be right back.” And then he left, I didn’t like the silence that was left in his absence.

“Mira!”

Gale’s voice cut through the trees, warm and eager. He was beaming as he hurried toward me, robes pristine, eyes shining in the afternoon light. When he reached me, he wrapped his arms around me without hesitation.

“I’m so glad you’re okay” he let out a sigh, relief poured off him.

“—ow” the sound slipped out more from reflex than pain.

He pulled back instantly, startled “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m fine” I shook my head, offering a weak smile “It’s just sore.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you alive, upright and snacking.” He exhaled a little laugh. “It's more than we dared hope for last night.”

“It was that bad, huh?” I started to look away from him, but I felt his hand on my cheek, warm and grounding, tilting my head back to look at him.

“Mira, please, look at me.” His voice hardened to something stern, his gaze was singular, fixed on me like nothing else existed.

“I’m sorry I worried you.” I sighed, “Again…”

“That doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re here, you’re safe.” He didn’t move his hand from my cheek.

“But I should’ve been there...” his voice cracked slightly.

“You couldn’t have even known.” I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I know but that doesn’t—”

He didn’t get to finish.

 I felt it—the prickle at the base of my spine. A shift in the air like a shadow curling too close. I didn’t need to open my eyes to know he was there.

“I had a feeling I’d come back to find you in the wizard's arms.” Astarion’s tone was light, amused but there was something under it. Not quite jealously, not quite desire. Something darker, deeper.

I opened my eyes and turned. He stood just beyond us; hair still damp from whatever rinse he’d taken—curls clinging to his jaw and throat, shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest it wasn’t by accident.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss me or scold me for daring to be soft with someone else.

“I’m just making sure Mira’s alright,” Gale said. “You know—after she came back from your company with an arrow lodged in her chest.”

Astarion laughed, sharp and humorless. “Are you implying I let her get shot?”

“I’m saying if you’d been more careful—”

“Careful?” Astarion’s voice dropped an octave. “She stepped in front of it. I didn’t ask her to. Though—” he glanced at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “—it was touching.”

Gale turned to me, brows furrowed “Mira, please tell me that isn’t true.”

Their gazes pinned me in place—two kinds of heat burning into me. And I’ve never felt so small, my stomach twisted. I felt like a child caught doing something wrong.

“Yes…” I admitted, voice low—glancing down and back up “But I would have done it for any of you.”

“Unbelievable.” Gale muttered, I couldn’t tell if it was directed at Astarion or me. Maybe both.

“Mira, you can’t do that.” He sighed and rubbed his temples “Your life is more valuable than that.”

“She made a choice,” Astarion said, voice taut. His eyes dropped to me, and something in his jaw flexed. “She chose to protect me.”

“She shouldn’t have had to make that choice, that’s the point.” Gale snapped, barely keeping his voice level.

I knew I should have said something—I was a person with agency. I wasn’t a prize or a pawn. But the words refused to come. They stayed locked in my mind, half-formed and useless.

“Are you jealous?” Astarion hissed “Jealous because she risked her life to save me? Do you wish it were you?”

Gale didn’t respond at first. I watched his shoulders tense, then ease, just slightly.

“No, I’m not jealous.” Gale said quietly. “You’re not the only one who cares about her.

He continued “And I don’t want her to make a lethal choice to protect someone who doesn’t deserve her.”

“Oh, and you do?” Astarion’s voice dripping with sarcasm. “For the record, I never claimed to deserve her. But that won’t change the fact she chose to step in front of that arrow, for me.”

His pride hung in the air like a crown he wasn’t sure he deserved—let alone wanted to wear.

And for a moment, I thought he might break and the mask might slip.

That he’d make some sort of snide remark on how he stayed. How he cared for me. How he cleaned my wound. But he didn’t, and I think that was the most heart aching part—he hadn’t dressed it up in theatrics or twisted it into something clever.

That moment will live forever live in time as a quiet ritual between us. A glimpse behind the curtain of who Astarion really was. When he pulled me into his lap, or looked me in the eyes, it felt like I mattered.

But then the moment ended, and the Astarion that bit back returned.

“Remind me, Mira,” he added, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine’—am I quoting you correctly?”

They were both too close, too much. I felt their words press in like heat from two sides, like they were both waiting to see which way I’d lean. My whole body pulsed with awareness; tension strung tight enough to snap.

The world blurred for a second, light and sound crashing together like waves. But finally, I said “Yes. That’s correct.”

They both looked at me, Gale’s eyes were soft and heavy with unspoken wants and Astarion’s were darker. A storm brewing behind them and seething with something just barely beneath the surface.

My throat tightened.

“Listen, I can’t change what I did,” I said, not looking at either of them, “Because honestly? I’d do it again. I’m not sorry I protected him—just like I wouldn’t be sorry if it had been you, Gale.”

I looked up and met Gale’s eyes. “I didn’t do it because I don’t value my life.”

Then I turned to Astarion “I did it because I value yours”

Finally, I looked between them. “But I’m not a prize. I’m not some puzzle you get to solve. I’m just a girl who’s scared out of her mind, trying to survive whatever the hell this is.”

My voice cracked “And maybe I was trying to find comfort or a distraction somewhere I shouldn’t but I’m not doing this—” I gestured between the two of them “—not like this.”

I paused “I need a break. From the both of you.”

Neither of them said anything, they just stared at me, lips parted, brows slightly furrowed. I almost didn’t want to continue but I did.

 I took one shaky, sharp breath. “I need to get my priorities straight. I need one night—just one—where I can breath without being emotionally interrogated by two men who...” I stood slowly wincing as the motion tugged at my wound “..are far too charming for my own good.”

“So, I’m going to go over there” I pointed to the fire pit “And have this team meeting and pretend like I’m not splintering.”

Then I pushed past them, it took everything in me not to look back. It was silent but eventually, tentatively like they were unsure if they should follow, I heard their footsteps behind me.

When I got there, Shadowheart was already seated, her hands folded delicately in her lap, ankles crossed, spine perfectly straight. She looked like a statue carved from poise and steel—composed, impenetrable.

Lae’zel arrived next, striding over with that familiar scowl, and dropped herself onto a nearby log like she was preparing for war instead of a conversation. Her arms crossed over her chest, one boot tapping impatiently against the dirt.

Eventually, Gale joined us. He lingered near me, but not as close as he used to—his posture unsure, arms loosely folded as if holding himself back. His eyes flicked toward me once, then away, jaw tight.

Astarion came last, silent as a shadow. He didn’t sit. He stood directly across from me, arms at his sides, fingers twitching slightly. He didn’t blink. His gaze burned into me like he was trying to set me on fire with sheer will—something hungry, and heart-wrenching and terribly quiet.

“Right,” Shadowheart said, clearing her throat. “We need to discuss what happened with the druids—and try to make a plan for what to do next.”

“Well, firstly, it seems the goblins are more organized than usual,” Gale said, rubbing his chin. “We’ve been told they’re led by three figures: a drow, a goblin priestess, and a hobgoblin.”

“More troubling,” he added, “is the god they claim to follow—something called the Absolute.”

Lae’zel muttered something under her breath, probably a curse, eyes narrowed like she could already see the battlefield in her mind.

“They’re holed up in an abandoned temple not far from here,” Shadowheart said, her hands still folded, though her voice grew sharper. “It’s likely fortified.”

“If we go,” I said, arms wrapping tighter around myself, “We could die but we could also find out more about the parasite, so it’s worth a shot.”

Shadowheart nodded. “Additionally, one of the druid leaders left with a group of adventurers to find these so-called leaders and hasn’t returned.”

“He could still be alive,” I said. “And he might know something.”

“I would love to kill a few goblins,” Lae’zel added, her lip curling into something resembling a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Astarion still hadn’t spoken. He just stared at me, eyes locked and unblinking, like he was reading every breath, every twitch of my fingers. Like if he looked long enough, I might say something only for him.

Shadowheart stood, brushing the dirt from her sleeves. “We should move soon. The sooner we find that temple, the sooner we get answers.”

Lae’zel was already on her feet, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Finally.”

But even as I stood to follow them, I felt the thread between me and Astarion still pulling tight—stretched thin and unresolved.

And when I brushed past Gale, his hand barely grazed my arm, a soft, grounding touch that lingered longer than it should have.

I didn’t look at either of them, but I felt both of them and I didn’t know which ache was worse.

Chapter Text

 We left camp, but our usual formation had shifted. I walked in front with Shadowheart, Gale followed then Lae’zel and Astarion, who, true to form, sulked so far in the back he might as well have been part of the scenery.

We’d been walking for hours. Quietly. The kind of silence that wasn't tired. Loaded. No one said it, but I knew everyone was still raw.

The trees thinned as we crested a ridge overlooking a burned-out farmstead. Blackened wood, a broken cart, a well long gone dry. The presence of goblins lingered—smoke and rot mixed with the kind of uncanny silence that settles after something terrible.

And then we saw him.

A lone figure, sword drawn, crouched behind a ruined wall, holding a defensive stance. His coat was singed, his lip was bleeding, but he held his ground like he wasn’t going to let a single thing past him.

Lae’zel reached for her weapon.

“Easy,” I said. “Let’s talk first.”

He turned at the sound of my voice.

Dark skin, a faint scar running down one cheek, eyes too warm for a battlefield. He didn’t lower his weapon, but he didn’t look surprised to see us either.

“Well,” he said, breathless but polite, “I was beginning to wonder when someone competent might show up.”

He approached us with measured steps. Not cocky. Just calm.

“My names Wyll,” he said, giving a slight bow. “Also known as the Blade of Frontiers. Though I admit—I'm not exactly the picture of heroism at the moment.”

I stared at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He gestured toward the tree line. “I’ve been tracking the goblins for days. Thinning out the packs when I can. And trying—very unsuccessfully—to find someone named Halsin.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“You’re looking for him too?” Shadowheart asked.

He nodded. “Word is, he went in after their leaders. Hasn’t come back. Thought I might try my luck.”

“You thought you’d handle that alone?” Astarion said, arching a brow.

Wyll glanced at him. “Well, I didn’t expect company. But I won’t complain.”

Lae’zel scoffed. “Another bleeding heart.

“I’ve been called worse.” Wyll chuckled.

I stepped forward. “We’re heading for the goblin camp. To find Halsin, among other things..”

He looked at me then—steadily, openly. Not possessive, not guarded. Just... present.

“Then it looks like we’re headed the same way,” he said. “And if you’ll have me, I’d rather not face it alone.”

I didn’t hesitate. “We could use another blade—especially one with such a charming wielder.”

He smiled, all confidence. “Then I’m yours. For now.”

I tilted my head, just slightly. Let my lips curl at the edges.

“I’d be careful what you offer,” I murmured. “I tend to take people at their word.”

I took a step closer, “And I’ve earned a bit of a reputation lately…for keeping things I like.”

That landed. Behind me, Gale made a strangled noise. I could feel him tense behind me, I didn’t have to turn to feel the quiet storm coiling tighter in his chest.

Astarion’s breath caught. Not a gasp A warning. Then a soft, sardonic laugh—too smooth to be harmless.

Wyll, to his credit, just grinned wider. “I’ll try to be careful, then,” he said smoothly. “But I make no promises.”

“Let’s go kill some fucking goblins then.” And I started walking,

Wyll fell into step beside me without hesitation, Shadowheart drifted toward Gale, their voices low. Lae’zel was walking like she had a perpetual storm cloud over her head. And in the rear—unchanged, unspeaking—Astarion, slinking in the back, like he had something to prove or hide, maybe.  

Tension clung to us—thick, and murky as swamp fog. But every so often, Wyll would say something effortlessly charming, and I’d laugh. Lean in, brush against him, letting my hand rest casually on his shoulder. It wasn’t anything, at least not for me.

But for them. I wanted it to mean everything.

I wanted them to look at me and wonder if I was already slipping away. Wanted them to feel it, that I wasn't theirs—not yet at least.

I could feel the eyes on the back of my head. Burning. My skin prickled, itched and it took everything in me not to turn around. I already knew what I’d find if I did.

So, I didn’t. I kept my gaze forward, let Wyll’s voice distract me from the weight behind.

The temple sprawled before us, half-sunken into the ground like it had tried to hide from the world and failed. The air was thick was smoke and something more ancient. Something that buzzed beneath my skin.

Bone chimes rattled in the wind. Fire pits belched oily smoke. Goblin banners hung like warnings.  And somewhere in the distance—something rumbled.

My fingers started to crackle.

We approached slowly, trying to stay to the crumbled walls as best we could. I tucked my hands into my clock, trying my best to become one with the shadow. Lae’zel had that bloodthirsty look in her eye, Shadowheart fiddled with her amulet, Gale was mumbling something to himself and Astarion—he looked delighted, there wasn’t a hint of fear in his eyes.

He whispered, close to my ear “Charming décor.” more amused than he should be “Should we ask for a tour before we defile the place?”

I shot him a sideways glance “Yeah, what a shame to spoil such a lovely place with dismemberment.”

He hummed, clearly enjoying himself “There’s that wit that I adore.” A beat then softer—slipping beneath the smirk “I half expected frost, not fire.”

I didn’t look at him, just smirked—sharp and easy. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Mm, careful, darling. If you keep talking like that I might forget were in enemy territory.”

“I’m counting on it.” I flashed him a quick glance, smirking curling on my lips.

And for moment, we just looked at each other. His eyes burned but mine felt like they’d frozen over.

Then the moment broke—quietly—when Wyll knelt beside me, steady and focused.
He scanned the watchtower with practiced precision.

“That’s a lot of them.” He said.

“I’ve handled worse.” Lae’zel snorted.

“Well, I haven’t so,” I muttered “What’s the plan?”

“We shouldn’t rush in.” Shadowheart said “Maybe draw a few out first.”

“I could sneak in” Astarion said twirling his dagger “Slit some throats. Quietly.”

“Or I could charm one.” Gale added “Let a few fall before they realized what’s happening.”

Wyll said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword, “Or we go in loud. Fast. Hit them hard before they know what’s happening.”

But then everyone looked at me, “Yeah ask battle strategy from the girl that’s been here a week.

“But fine if I must…I guess..” I paused. “Hard, fast, lets overwhelm them before they can catch their breath.”

“Now, that sounds like a good time” Astarion let out a sound that made my stomach twist.

And then we descended on the goblins. Moving quickly, controlled and deliberate. Shadowheart’s spell lit up the first wave, radiant beams burning through goblins like fire through paper. Gale’s spell shook the ground, shattering barricades and sending goblins flying like broken dolls. Lae’zel’s war cry split the air as she carved through them with terrifying ease, barely breaking a sweat.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ll do.” Astarion licked his lips. “Try not to disappoint me.”

I let the shadows fold over my arms like living ink. They crawled up my throat coiled around my shoulders and sank into my skin until I couldn’t tell where I ended and the magic began.

No longer was I Mira. I was something else. Something darker. Something sharper. My veins pulsed with faint purple light beneath the smoke curling around me. I hovered off the ground, shadows lifting like tendrils of storm cloud. Everything else—the clash of metal, the cries of goblins—blurred around the edges.

Then I heard a thump, at my feet was a dead goblin—with a bloody, clean slash across its throat. My heart ached in a way I wish it hadn’t.

I looked around to see if I could find him and there he was, looking up at me like I was his salvation.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus with you like that.” He gave me a toothy smile before dashing back into the fray.

It flustered me for a moment, but I shook it off when I saw another approaching goblin.

My hand floated up in front of me, drawing something in the air I didn’t recognize, I pressed my palm to the center and the goblin crumbled like a piece of wet paper.

Smoke. Blood. Screams. I couldn’t see anyone but Wyll and I needed some support. Something steady. I surged toward him, cutting down anything that got too close with sharp tendrils of shadow.

He didn’t flinch when I reached him. Just nodded and together we moved—fighting like we’d done it before. He knocked them down, I finished them—fire and shadow. It felt easy, safe even. Like something I could pretend mattered.

Arrows sang past my ear, blood sprayed across my chest, my body moved on instinct—dodge, swing, blast, duck.

But it felt like something inside me was unraveling with every blow. Not the tadpole, not magic, just something hungry and wanting.

I was burning up from the inside, every heartbeat another goblin gone. But then the moment stretched thin—something was off, I could feel it. The battlefield twisted under my feet. Time pulled taut like a bowstring.

I turned, searching and that’s when I saw him. Gale. One goblin in front of him was circling wide and another pulling out a jagged blade behind him. He didn’t see it, too focused on the one in front of him.

My heart stuttered. “No” the word tore from my throat as I slipped into the shadow between seconds—reappearing beside him in a dark rush of smoke.

“Ah ah ah, I don’t think so.” And I reached out, grabbing the goblin by the throat with unnatural strength. The shadows snapped around it’s body like chains, crushing bone with a strength that wasn’t mine. I dropped it and moved on.

I darted forward reaching both my hands out, cupping the other goblin’s face between my hands, whispering something in a language I didn’t understand, and blood started to pour from its eyes.

Turning to face Gale—still reeling, wide eyed—and reaching up to trail my fingers down his cheek. Gentle, lingering, and almost apologetic.

Then I disappeared again, shadows swallowing me whole as I slipped back to where I was before.

The fighting went on until my vision blurred and the power was starting to feel like a fever under my skin. My knees wobbled slightly as I sent out one last raw blast of power at the last goblin standing.

It was silent for a moment. Just the sound of my ragged breathing, the sizzle from my skin and the faint sound of drums in the distance.

“I don’t think I can” I bent down hands on my knees, breath coming in short, ragged pulls “go on for much longer.”

My shoulder ached, the wound flaring with every inhale. Shadowheart’s magic had helped me from dying but the poison? The poison had settled in me like it had found a home. I pressed my hand against the spot, trying not to flinch.

It still felt like it was inside me. Clinging. Claiming.

“That was barely a warm-up.” Lae’zel groaned, already scanning for something to kill.

“We should make camp nearby and finish the job tomorrow” Wyll glancing at me “We won’t win anything if were tired or wounded.”

He stepped closer, extending a hand, “Need help?”

I smiled as I took his hand. “Thanks.”

“Let's go before more come.” Shadowheart said curtly.

“Yes, let’s” Gale added. I caught the flick of his hand as he began preparing the spell for camp—his movements smooth but a little too practiced. Like he needed something to focus on.

We moved quickly, scanning the terrain for something defensible and hidden. Eventually we found it—a narrow creek winding between thick trees, the ground sloping up just enough to give us cover. Tucked behind a ridge, it felt removed and safe.

Gale’s spell settled over the area like a blanket—warding signals glowing briefly before fading, the tents springing up one by one.

Somehow, my tent landed in the last place I wanted it to be, in between Gale’s and Astarion’s. I didn’t know if Gale did that on purpose, maybe he was still upset, maybe he wanted to keep me close. Either way, I groaned.

I dropped my bag, stripped off my cloak and sat by the fire. Small and smokeless, which I admit was a clever touch on Gale’s part. But still, I felt the heat pressing onto me on all sides.

Dinner was quiet.  The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows that stretched across the camp like ghosts reluctant to leave.

I stayed. I didn’t want to leave. Didn’t think I could. The air felt heavy. Like being buried beneath it. It felt like dirt was filling my lungs.

Every breath felt like it took more effort than it should. The quiet didn’t feel peaceful—it felt suffocating. The silence curled inside my ears, ringing faintly, the kind of sound you hear before a storm.

From the corner of my eye, I could see silhouettes moving behind the thin canvas walls—soft shifts, blurred outlines. They were all so close and I had never felt further away.

I shifted, elbows digging into my knees, hands folded beneath my chin. My shoulder throbbed slightly—I ignored it. I watched the fire dance in the breeze—flickering but never fading.

The only persons still awake, that I could tell, was Wyll—sitting tall, blade balanced across his lap, his back straight, his eyes scanning.

“And then there were two.” I said softly, still staring into the embers. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not with everything ahead.” He said, voice was calm but serious—anchored, like him.

We sat there for a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just suspended. Like the moment between lighting and thunder.  

“What will you do after this?” I asked eventually, my voice low, echoed with fatigue “With the goblins, I mean. Once that’s done. Will you go with the tieflings?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept his eyes on the woods, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Then, quietly: “I’m hunting a devil. One horn.”

I blinked, turning my head. “You’re…. what?”

“She’s dangerous.” He said, “A runaway asset from the Hells. Part of the terms of my pact.” He finally looked at me and there was something unflinching in his gaze.

“Track her. Find her. Bring her back. Or worse.”

“Your pact?” I asked, brows lifting. “What does that mean?”

“It’s the promise I made. To my patron.” His tone didn’t soften “The source of my powers. It’s how I do the things I do. I’m bound to carry out their will.”

He didn’t elaborate but I don’t think he needed to.

“It feels weird to say but…I get it.” I murmured, after a beat. “I didn’t have magic before the ship. I didn’t even know or believe it was real. But somewhere between the wreckage and the shoreline, I called out to something and it answered.”

I lifted my hand. Shadows flickered to life, curling around my fingers like they were listening. I flexed and they dissolved into nothing.

Wyll watched me, not with fear, not with awe but with quiet curiosity.

“Wait,” he said, “You were on the mind flayer ship?”

“The very one.” I tried for humor. It barely landed.

His brow creased. “Then…you have one of these too.” He tapped his temple lightly.

I nodded.

“That explains it” I said “You felt familiar, but I didn’t know why. There’s something about us, the infected, like magnets dragged toward each other.”

Behind my eye, the tadpole squirmed—reacting to something in the space between us. But the shadows rose up and hushed it. Silencing even that.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

“I didn’t know how much I could trust everyone.” He shrugged a little “But we fought back-to-back and now I know we share more in common than just a parasite.”

He smiled, warm and genuine.

“I can’t believe you’re still hunting your devil with everything going on.” I said, concerned.

“I don’t really have a choice” he sighed, I don’t think it was intentional “And as long as I can still swing a sword, I’ll fight. I’ll deal with the tadpole when it stops me.”

His confidence wasn’t loud or arrogant. It was steady and worn like a well-used scabbard. Comforting.

“Bound by dark magic and a mind flayer tadpole” I said, with a laugh that barely passed for one “depressing things to have in common with someone.”

Wyll voice brought me back “Now that I know were not so different if you’ll help me find her, I’ll help you cure your tadpole.”

I smiled, soft but real this time, “You’ve got a deal.”

I extended my hand. His met it—strong, callused, warm. The hand of a fighter who hadn’t forgotten how to be kind.

He stood, sheathing his word with practiced grace. “I’m going to run some drills in the woods. Clear my head.”

“Good luck” I murmured “There’s monsters out there.”

He grinned, over his shoulder “Then they’d better watch their backs.”

And then he was off, making his way into the dark tree line, swallowed by the forest until I couldn’t see him anymore.

I stayed there for a moment, the fire was still popping, but dimmer now. I was about to stand up when I felt it. I instinctively put my hand at the nape of my neck, turning around slowly.

Bathed in moonlight. Perfectly still. He looked like a statue carved from marble—too flawless, too composed. Blood stained his shirt, dripped from the corner of his mouth. And his eyes—wide, searching—locked onto mine.

And suddenly, I couldn’t move, my body forgot how to function.

He stepped forward—too quickly, too smoothly. His shirt hung open, streaked with blood. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was overwhelming.

“I know what you’re doing.” He said breathlessly.

He was too close, too much. I couldn’t hide from what I was feeling—not when he looked at me like that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I muttered,

I tried to move, to stand but he loomed over me and my legs still hadn’t figured out how to work again.

“If you’re trying to make me jealous,” he said, grinning wider now—shaper, wicked, a little too real, “it’s working.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and scoffed. “God forbid I speak to any other man beside you and Gale.”

His smile vanished. “This isn’t about that,” his voice was tight. “It’s about you bleeding for me—whispering that you need space—and then batting your lashes at the next man who so much as smiles at you.”

A pause. His voice dropped, rougher now. “Like I wouldn’t notice. Like I wouldn’t feel it.” There was something pleading in it, but his eyes were cold.

I wanted to hold steady but my voice cracked—pathetic and wanting.

“You think space means silence?” I said, “That I crawl into a corner and stay untouched so you can feel safe?”

I breathed in hard through my nose “You don’t get to weaponize what I needed just because you don’t know what do with it.”

 “I told you.” I said, voice quiet but firm, “I’m not a prize. So, stop acting like you can win me.”

Something flickered in his expression—hurt, pride, want.

Then his hand reached out, slow, almost hesitant, and brushed his fingers along my knee. Not possessive. Just a touch. Just a reminder that he was real, and close, and choosing to be gentle—for now.

“I want to win,” he said, barely above a whisper, “Even if I know I shouldn’t.”

His fingers curled slightly, lingering just above my skin.

“I’m going to my tent.” I stood slowly, not breaking eye contact.

I paused.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He didn’t answer. But I felt it—that ache inside him, not just hunger, but loneliness. A need not just to possess, but to be chosen. To be wanted back.

I didn’t look back. Even though I wanted to see him one last time, if I looked back I knew I’d collapse into him.

So, I dragged myself toward my tent, my gaze flicking briefly to Gale’s. Just a glance but it was just long enough to hurt. I held myself stead as I pulled back the flap and stepped inside. Alone.

I pulled out some clothes we’d picked up on the road, Gale made sure to clean them before giving them to me.

I peeled off my torn, bloodied shirt. It was stiff with dried gore and dotted with holes. The tunic I slipped into was light, too clean. Almost jarring. I pulled off my pants, tossing them to the side and sank down on my bedroll.

Sleep came with a rogue wave. Sudden. Drowning. I didn’t even feel it.

When I opened my eyes I was standing in front of my childhood home, I could hear my mother’s wind chimes, but instead of comfort, the sound brought dread. My stomach dropped.

 The front door was cracked slightly, I could hear something moving inside but I pushed it open anyway, making my way through it slowly. The hallway was narrow and groaning beneath my weight. The paint was wrong. Pale yellow but curled and peeling like dead skin. I couldn’t tell if it had always been like that or If I was forgetting what home was supposed to look like.

The air was wrong, like rotting plants, mixed with bleach and something faintly burnt.

My feet were bare, every step thick and heavy like I was walking through molasses. My stomach burned from the effort of movement.

I looked at the walls that were once covered in memories. Photos—laughter frozen in time.

First, I noticed my mother’s smiling face, scratched out and eyes gouged white with something sharp.

Then, my brother, gone, only static where his face had been.

One by one, as I walked, every picture blurry or scratched so badly I couldn’t remember the memory of it being taken. My entire life…erased.

I couldn’t breathe; imaginary water filled my lungs.

I had to keep moving, I couldn’t be trapped here, in this awful place. I forced my body around the corner and into the kitchen. I had a memory of my mother baking, but it faded quickly into something dark.

The light was off, but it flickered once, illuminating a counter full of rotten food. The walls pulsed like they were breathing. The furniture was thrown about; the fridge hummed a little too loud and the smell from earlier was worse here.

I heard something, a light in the darkness, calling out to me, it wasn’t familiar, but it was soft.

“He’s in trouble.”

The lights flickered again, once then twice. The buzzing got louder, and I heard the voice again this time, closer.

“He’s in trouble.”

I turned in a slow circle. The kitchen was empty. But the shadows crawled toward me—slow, hungry. And when they reached me, they clung to me, climbing my limbs and wrapping around my neck—sliding beneath my skin.

The voice came louder this time, right in front of my face.

“Wake up and save him.”

I screamed myself awake. Shot upright, heart slamming against my ribs. For a breathless moment, I didn’t remember where I was. But then I felt the bedroll under me, the cold air on my bare skin and the faint tingling of fading magic. Camp.

There was just silence. The voice echoed in my mind like a bell behind my eyes.

He’s in trouble.

I sat in the dark, knees to my chest, blanket slung over my shoulder, trying to steady my breath.

I tried to shake it off and tell myself that it was just a dream, that it was just my nerves. But my eyes drifted towards Gale’s tent without meaning too, and when I realized where I was looking, my stomach twisted. The urge to go check on him gnawed at me—sharp and insistent.

But after everything…I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t allowed to care like that or if he’d even want me to. I sat in it, chewed on the thought until it turned bitter in my mouth.

 Then I stood, dressed slowly and carefully before standing on bare feet and leaving. The camp didn’t stir.

My thoughts were swirling, I was just checking to see if he was okay and nothing more. I stood at the entrance to his tent; the flap was slightly open.

When I stepped in, I saw him collapsed on the ground, body twitching in small erratic spasms. Curling and unspooling, his mouth moved like he was trying to speak but no sound came out.

I dropped to my knees beside him “Gale?” My voice cracked “Gale, please look at me.”

He didn’t. I wasn’t sure if he could. But a low pained sound escaped him, something halfway between a gasp and a growl. His skin was deathly pale, sweat streaking his brow. A flicker of purple pulsed faintly at his chest, just beneath the collar of his robes.

Magic, unstable, too much. I could feel it.

I reached out, hands trembling, not sure if I should shake him, cast something or scream.

“How can I fix this” my voice broke. Tears slid hot down my cheeks. “Tell me how to fix this.”

“Please” I whimpered.

I could feel it in him—magic thundering, frantic, ready to tear him apart from the inside out. His chest heaved beneath my hands. For one terrible second, I thought he was already gone.  

I pressed my palms over the light blooming beneath his skin. I didn’t cast anything—I just gave. Everything I had. Raw, desperate magic poured into him.

But nothing changed.

So, I just laid on top of him, defeated, quietly weeping, wrapping my arms around him like I could tether him back to the world.

“You’re going to be okay” I whispered, frantic “You’re—-you’re okay. You have to be.”

The light beneath his skin flared once, bright and then dimmed. His body shuddered once but the spasms finally stopped.

“Mira?” His voice raw, thready. But alive.

I didn’t move, just sobbed harder, “You’re alive.” The words cracked and spilled out of me “You’re alive.”

A silence settled between us, too real to break. His arms folded around me, slow and careful. Like he was afraid one of us would shatter if he held on too tight.

“I’m glad it was you who found me.” He whispered in between shallow breaths.

“Me too.” Barely a sound.

He let out a breath “Although…surprised—after yesterday but thankful. Truly.”

“I had a dream….” I said softly, pulling back just enough to sit on my heels, hands resting in my lap. “Maybe a vision I don’t know.”

He pushed himself upright, slowly and I reached to steady him, my hand warm against his back.

 “I was in my childhood home,” I said, eyes far away “But it was wrong. Rotten. And there was this voice. It didn’t belong. It just said…’He’s in trouble’ over and over. I woke up and had to check. I had to. I couldn’t live with myself without checking.”

“You do have an unhealthy habit of following a feeling.” He said with a quiet laugh, reaching for my hands.

“Yeah, but,” I felt my face get hot “I don’t mind if it means I know you’re okay.”  I didn’t look away.

The shadows of the tent swayed around us. I could hear the creek just beyond the ridge, the whisper of the wind in the trees. But all I could feel was the heat between us—tender and electric, tight and fragile.

“I’m not used to being saved.” He said “And I’m even less used to being seen…like that…”

More serious this time “Sometimes when you look at me, it's like you’re looking through me. like you can see all the things I try desperately to hide. The mask I wear is nothing under your gaze.”

I didn’t speak. I just let my fingers brush his—slow, tentative, deliberate. The connection sending a flicker of magic down my spine, soft and golden this time. It wasn’t dangerous or terrifying, for once. Just warm, the tenderness almost made me cry.

His eyes dropped to my mouth, but neither of us moved. I didn’t lean in and neither did he. Even though I wanted to, so badly.

Instead, I said “Get some sleep, Gale.”

He looked like he might argue or kiss me to make me stay. Maybe even crumble. But in the end, he just nodded.

Unraveling this thing between us was harder than I’d expected. As I stood, I felt it pull tight again—like a knot I couldn’t undo. My eyes lingered on him too long before I slipped through the tent flap.

My chest ached—not from injury. From weight. A pressure behind my ribs that hadn’t let up all day.

I didn’t know what I was doing, with Gale or Astarion, that much was clear.

Gale had offered steadiness—the kind you could build a future on if you dared. He listened, he understood, and when he looked at me, I didn’t feel monstrous or strange. I felt seen and safe.

But Astarion made me feel like lighting. Like I was dangerous and divine all at once---a weapon, a temptation, a secret he wanted to keep buried in his skin. I could feel the imprint of his absence, the echo of his fangs on my neck.

Neither choice was easy, both felt like falling.

I didn’t know what I wanted, not with everything else—the tadpole, the mysterious power, the pain---still swirling inside me like smoke that wouldn’t clear.

Not choosing was its own kind of choice and for now, that would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

The morning came slowly, and too bright. Birds chirped somewhere overhead, and the steady murmur of water drifted in through the canvas. For a moment, I almost felt peace then memory caught up and the ache behind my eye returned.

 I groaned as I rolled over on my back, the air drifting in through the seam of the tent was cold on my bare skin. I rubbed my eyes, yawned and stretched before slumping over onto my side, brushing some loose curls out of my face and then—

“She wakes,” Astarion’s voice was like wine—smooth, indulgent, and a bit dangerous. “Finally.”

I sat up, instantly awake as I turned my head toward the noise, slowly.

 And there he was—reclined like temptation incarnate. One knee raised, his elbow draped lazily atop it, cheek resting on knuckles. In his other hand, his blade spun nonchalantly with practiced ease. His gaze, however, was fixed entirely on me.

“What—why are you here?” I tugged my blanket higher, only now registering I was in nothing but my underwear.

“You don’t have to cover up on my account,” His eyes dropped, unashamed, lingering on the curve of my chest “I was enjoying the view.”

“Astarion….” My voice had an edge that caught him off guard.

He blinked, then grinned. “Well, you said you needed one night, and now…" he gestured vaguely at the golden light streaming through the canvas “It’s morning, so I was just checking in.”

“Checking what, exactly?” I arched an eyebrow.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "I heard the sweetest little sounds,” he said, voice low and far too pleased with himself. “Moans, whimpers... made a man curious.”

He let his gaze drag lazily down my body “And now that I know how delightfully bare you sleep..."

His grin widened, wicked and amused.

“I think I’ll have to stop by more.”  

The silence stretched between us, thick and crackling. I held his gaze, lips parted slightly, not sure what I was about to say—only knowing it would come from somewhere deep and reckless.

There was something besides just hunger in his eyes when he looked back at me.

It wasn’t quite hesitation, or guilt. But something quieter…a flicker of softness that didn’t belong in his carefully cultivated performance.

And that hit me harder than anything else could have because I wasn’t ready for it. Not from him, not today, especially after everything. The ache that bloomed in my chest felt too familiar.

“You didn’t come here just to flirt,” I said, voice cool. “So, what is it?”

He blinked. Just once. His smile didn’t vanish—but it no longer reached his eyes.

He wouldn’t have invited himself into my tent if he didn’t want one thing in particular. And I wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.

I tilted my head, letting the silence speak for me, then added—

“Are you here for me” I said, slow and deliberate, “or just my blood?’

His smile faltered, just briefly.

Then I let the blanket drop, cool air kissed my skin as I raised both my hands up to tie my hair back into a ponytail. The motion slow, deliberate. My neck arched, bare for him.

The shift in him was immediate. His eyes darkened. The knife stilled in his fingers. He inhaled—shallow and sharp. For a moment, he didn't move at all. Just stared at me like a man who couldn't decide if he wanted to touch me or tear me apart.

“Because I think” I said, my voice low as I met his gaze again, “I know exactly what you’re checking.”

A blur—then suddenly, his weight was on me, pinning me into the bedroll like gravity had doubled. I gasped—not out of fear, but because of the sheer intensity of his presence. Every inch of him pressed down, solid, commanding. He loomed above, eyes wild and bright. He wedged his knee between my thighs, forcing them apart just slightly.

“Don’t tease me.” His voice was all gravel and restraint “Not again. Not unless you’re going to finish what you started.”

“I’m not scared of you.” I kept my voice even, barely. “Or your teeth.”

His hand gripped my shoulder. The other slid down, fingers wrapping around my thigh, tight. Just shy of bruising. His gaze burned but not just with hunger, but something sharper—it was self-control stretched to its fraying edge.

“You should be.” His voice was low and dangerous.

I laughed, soft and defiant “Maybe.”

Pausing for a moment, “But that doesn’t stop those late-night thoughts I have about you.”

A sound escaped him—half moan, half-growl. His hips pressed into me, and I could feel him grow hard underneath me. A desperate whimper escaped my lips as I ground my hips into him.

He buried a hand in my hair, dragging his mouth to my throat; fangs grazing my skin—not biting, not yet but so close. Tortuously close. His breath was molten, lips hovered, and dragged, tasting the heat pulsing beneath my skin. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to begin.

“Astarion...” my voice was a moan, half-begging as I reached my hands up to run my fingers through his hair. Trying to bring him closer to me, I needed him closer.

But then he went still, deathly still. Like the weight of what he was about to do—what he wanted so badly—came crashing down.

He still hovered over me, eyes flicking between mine, my mouth, my throat. His hands trembled where they held me. One shift, one breath, and I knew he’d devour me whole.

But he didn’t. Instead, he peeled himself away from me like it hurt him to do so, every inch a reluctant departure.

“No.” He said, voice tight with restraint, “Not now. Not like this.”

“Why?” My heart sank. It wasn't just a disappointment—it was hollowing.

“Because I’m tired of reacting,” he whispered, “Losing control…” he trailed off.

“Why does that matter now?” my voice sharp with something I didn’t want to name. “What does that prove?”

 “I think it proves I care.” He was still close but not touching. “And that terrifies me.”

I sat up, dragging the blanket tighter around me like it could hold me together. “You looked at me like you wanted this. Like you needed it.”

“I did,” he said. “I do.”

“Then why not?” My voice cracked because this wasn’t just rejection. It felt deeper, more personal.

His jaw clenched “Because I don't know if I want to be a monster who just takes...” His voice cracked, raw and exposed “I came here thinking I could. That this would be simple—pleasure, blood, a clever line or two. Nothing messy.

He let out a soft, humorless laugh “And then you went and ruined everything.”

 I choked out, throat dry “Me? Is this about the arrow?”

“That arrow changed everything.” His voice was bitter, quiet “You didn't hesitate. You threw yourself in front of me like—like I mattered. No one’s ever done that.”

 “And now” he said “When you look at me, I feel something I didn’t know I deserved to feel anymore. Real. Seen.”

I knew I shouldn’t be upset. He was being honest—vulnerable in a way I don’t think he’s allowed himself to be with many people. And still, it hurt. I was angry. Confused.

Because what do you do when someone wants to change for you—when they choose control over chaos—and all it feels like is something you waited too long to hold slipping through your fingers.

So instead of screaming or shattering, I turned away, pulling on my shirt with fast, frustrated movements.

 “Fine,” I said voice tight “If you want to be a gentleman now, go ahead. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel it—this fire under my skin, lit by every look, every almost.”

My vision started to burr, and I did everything I could to stop the tears from falling.

“And every time you pull away, it's like my body doesn’t know what to do with itself.”

“Do you feel that too?” I sighed, looking down at my hands.

“Of course I do, Mira.” The longing in his voice almost made me unravel completely.

“This…feeling—whatever it is—I don’t know what do to with it. I don’t know what it makes me. And I’ve spent so long pretending I don’t need anything like this…and now…”

“I don’t know if I’m ready because I’m not sure I know how to want something without destroying it.”

 I tugged my boots on without looking at him. “You have a lot of nerve letting yourself into my tent, crawling under my skin, and telling me you’re not ready.”

I stood up, and for once, I was looking down at him. “That’s not fair.”

He didn’t follow when I shoved the tent flap open, I looked back at him once, “My neck is yours, whenever you are.”

But I felt him behind me anyway. Watching. Wanting.

~

I didn't talk to anyone, if I did, I may say something harsh or just scream. The rest of the group engaged in their usual morning routines, but I lingered by the edge ove everything, distant, distracted.

When we left camp, I felt darker than usual, the shadows clinging to me already like they knew, they always did.

I heard Shadowheart behind me say to Gale, “Was it you or him?”

He laughed “Truthfully, could be either.”

Shadowheart groaned “Great.”

And that was it, that was my limit, so I pushed off the ground, magic swirling beneath my feet, and drifted to the back of the group—reluctantly hovering next to Astarion, my boots no longer touching the earth.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little shadow" he said too smoothly. “Come to brood in the back with me?”

 “Don’t start.” I snapped.

The shadows scraped down my body in thick coils tightening around my frame like armor. I didn't stop them, I didn't think I could’ve.

“And people say I’m dramatic.” He laughed, softly. “I do very much like when you’re like this though.”

 His eyes lingered—too long—dragging them down the curve of my hips, across my thighs, up my chest like he hadn’t already memorized every inch.

Before I had the time to respond, Lae’zel stopped, I could see her head move back and forth, scanning. Then, she unsheathed her sword with one quick motion.

“Goblins approaching.” She yelled to the rest of us.

“Finally, something to kill.” I groaned.

They came fast, seemingly out of nowhere—an avalanche of green and rust and snarling mouths. But I didn’t wait because unfortunately for them, I was having a bad morning,

I surged forward, teleporting across the battlefield, landing in the middle of the fray. I felt Astarion’s eyes lock with mine from the far side, something wild and unfamiliar in his face.

The shadows dripped off me like tar, slick and glittering, slithering across the dirt They rose into the air in slow spirals, a dark shimmer that swallowed light.

“Sorry guys” I said before everything went dark.

I saw her still swinging her sword with terrifying precision even in the dark. Wyll looked right at me, chuckling as he said, “good idea.”

Goblins stumbled about aimlessly, but I moved fast, cutting through them, one by one, until the weight of the spell became too much. When I finally let go, I staggered slightly—breath ragged, arms shaking.

The world brightened again. I stepped from the mess of corpses, shadow magic still trailing faintly from my body, guts sticking to my boots. My expression soured as I wiped blood from my cloak.

“That’s new.” Shadowheart said, arms crossed.

I laughed once—dry. “I hate how normal that’s becoming for me.”

“Let’s move,” Wyll said, already scanning the tree line. “Better to find them before they find us.”

While everyone started to gather up again, Astarion didn’t move—his gaze returned to me. He stared at me like he’d watched something dark and sacred take shape and he wanted to touch it—even if it could kill him.

He took a slow, agonizing step toward me, his voice velvet thick “You looked like the end of the world.”

I tilted my head, shadows still curling faintly around my boots, “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m the end of yours.”

He said, too neutral. Detached. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out of that tent this morning.”

I laughed—sharp, bitter, “You didn’t let me do anything. But you didn’t stop me either…”

He ran his fingers through his hair, like he needed somewhere to put his panic.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He said, voice breaking “Control. Restraint. It sounded so virtuous in my head.”  

Then softer, more fragile “But after watching you unleash like that—terrifying, glorious—” He swallowed “I’m not sure if I want to kneel or run.”

“Well, figure it out,” I snapped “Because I’m not going to stand here while you decide whether I’m worth the risk.”

He flinched, then stepped closer. “Mira, I don’t know what this is. But I do know that I want to be near you” He paused, “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be apart of your chaos.”

He finally reached out but only to brush a fallen curl out of my face.

“Careful.” I warned voice tight. My magic sparked in my palms “I’m still charged.”

“I know,” he murmured. And then—he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear “I can feel it in the air around you; I can taste it.”

It took everything in me to not collapse right there. I looked up at him, lips parted, pulse hammering. Words swelled at the back of my throat—dangerous, aching things I had no business saying.

I looked away. Not because I was embarrassed—but because if I kept looking at him, I’d do something dangerous.

His grip tightened briefly—just long enough to make it feel like maybe he’d stay. But then he let go and turned, sauntering back toward the others like he hadn’t just set me on fire and left me to burn.

The others moved. The shadows shifted. But I didn’t. Not yet, not while his touch was still buzzing under my skin.

~

We didn’t have to walk much further before the temple came into view again—this time, double the number of goblins guarded the outer perimeter.

“Looks like they were smart enough to beef up their security.” Gale said tensely.

“This is going to take hours.” Astarion groaned.

“Come on,” Shadowheart said, a glittering enchantment flickering across her skin. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I can’t wait to exterminate these vermin.” Lae’zel said with a s thrill in her voice.

I let the shadows roll back over me, my form of armor. “Showtime, I guess.”

“Onward to glory.” Wyll said dryly with just a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

In all honestly, the goblins didn’t stand much of a chance with all of us working together, and for the first time it felt seamless, like we were actually a team.

I stayed close to Gale. After what I saw last night, something gnawed at me. A sense of dread I couldn’t shake.

But maybe I just couldn’t stop looking at him.

The way he moved, the fluidity of his casting. His hands danced through the air—precise and practiced—like a conductor leading an orchestra. His face remained calm, strikingly handsome every time he finished an incantation. It made me stop, too distracted to see what was around me.

An arrow grazed my arm, slicing my skin open with a clean cut.  I turned toward the goblin, lifting my hand—sending a raw burst of energy into their chest. Bones snapped as it dropped.

Across the battlefield, I spotted Shadowheart mid-spell, an aura of silver pulsing around her. She knelt, murmured something sacred, then rose with eyes glowing white. Her hand snapped upward, two radiant orbs shot forward, slamming into the chests of two goblins. They dropped instantly.

Lae’zel charged into view, blood-soaked and grinning—a real honest smile. Her sword gleamed crimson as she plunged it into an oncoming goblins gut, twisted, then yanked it free with a cry. Blood spattered across the stone as the creature fell.

From behind us somewhere, Wyll vaulted into the fray. His sword cleaved into a goblins shoulder, then he planted a boot against its chest and kicked hard, sending it tumbling to the ground. It’s skull cracked with a sickening crunch.

“How are you holding up?” he asked breathlessly, passing by.

“Better than I thought.” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

He nodded once with a warm smile before sprinting back into the chaos.

 I scanned the battlefield. My eyes searched for Astarion against my better judgment. And that’s when the hairs on the back of my neck rose, I turned just in time to see a goblin creeping up behind me.

Before I could react, fire engulfed it. The goblin screamed and collapsed, charred.

Gale of course.

“You’re fast.” I said, blushing “Thanks.”

“You’re getting quite good yourself,” his voice was full of a soft praise “Haven’t even collapsed once.” Not mocking, just teasing.

“Well, there’s still time.” I laughed.

He held my gaze for half a second longer than he should have—then another goblin screeched from the tree line, and he turned again, spell already forming.

But my eyes still scanned for him. Lae’zel was cutting her way through a horde of enemies on the left but from the rocks to the right—a flash of silver.

Astarion

I watched as he slid his blade clean into a goblins neck, pulling out cleanly with a grin. Then another, every move he made was performance—every kill was a section, m quick and elegant.

I felt something bubble up from inside me as we locked eyes and blood dripping down his mouth, grin widening from ear to ear before dashing away.

And then he was beside me. so fast it made my head spin. His breath kissed my neck. “Can’t let Gale have all your attention.”

I didn’t answer. That throbbing feeling twister deeper inside me, undeniable and becoming unbearable.

Now I was between them. Gale off to one side, voice sharp with spellcasting. Astarion to my other, standing too close, his body angled protectively—or possessively, I couldn’t tell.

Arrows flew, landing at our feet, one slashing my cheek, warm blood trickling down my cheek. I looked up, spotting the arched on a platform high up.

“I see you.” A shadow surged upward, large and reaching—then slammed into the goblin, knocking it off the ledge. It hit the ground with a wet spat.

Then it went silent, say for the sound of the last remaining goblins who had some sense to retreat into the temple, but that wouldn’t stop them from what was coming.

Lae’zel wiped her blade clean on a fallen body, chest heaving with satisfaction. “That was invigorating.”

Wyll clapped Gale on the back. “Now that’s what I call coordination.”

“That was fun.” I said as I let the shadows fall away, returning me back to my regular form.

Astarion wiped his blades clean on a fallen goblin’s tunic, then slipped them back into their sheaths with practiced ease.

“You know,” he purred, voice low and razor-edged, “watching you like that—dripping power, all shadow and blood—was positively sinful.”

I arched a brow. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Always.” he said, brushing a knuckle under my still-bleeding cheek. “You looked absolutely ravishing. Tell me, Mira—if I licked that off, what sound would you make for me?”

I inhaled sharply heat rising to my cheeks before I could stop it, I heard Gale clear his throat next to me, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Then I snapped out of it and rolled my eyes “I don’t know.” I knocked his hand away “Are you ready for that?”

My eyes locked on his—narrow—he looked surprised even as I brushed past him, his expression stayed the same.

Then I made my way over to Shadowheart who was leaning against a pillar, pressing cloth to a shallow cut on her shoulder.

“You okay?” I called out to her.

 “Well, I’m not dead” she muttered, but there was a ghost of a smile there. Just barely.

“You were really amazing out there,” I smiled “Just had to let you know.”

“Thanks.” She said quitter than I expected. Like praise wasn’t something she knew what to do with.

“Okay,” I said glancing back at the others “What’s the plan now?”

“It seems like they’ve retreated for the time being, might be wise to heal a little before continuing.” Wyll was already wiping down his blade.

So, we took a moment—just long enough to breath. My cheek and arm stung more than I wanted to admit. I winched, the pain spreading hot under my skin,

Without looking at me Shadowheart said “Want me to heal that for you?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, nervously “I keep forgetting you can just do that here.”

She reached out her hand, touching my shoulder. Warmth poured through me, washing through ski and bone like cleansing fire. The pain ebbed and the bleeding stopped.

I touched my cheek—nothing but smooth skin. The warmth was starting to fade.

“Thanks.” I said, amazed.

“Don’t mention it.” She smiled, then she stepped away, back to being unbothered.

While the others rested—sharpening blades, looting corpses—I stood at the ruined temple steps. My hand was still on my cheek and for once, my mind was quiet, silence wrapped around me and it let it.

I didn’t hear him approach but I felt him. His shoulder brushed mine. Grounding and familiar.

“You handled yourself well, I’m impressed.” That made something twist inside me.

“The way you commanded your power, less reactionary and more intentional, refined.”

He slid an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close—not possessive, just present. And comforting.

“It doesn’t feel like control,” I admitted. “Feels more like it’s using me. Every time.”

“I know what it means to carry power that doesn’t belong to you.” He said softly “To feel like it’s shaping you into someone you didn’t ask to be.”

He paused to take a deep breath.

 “If it ever gets too heavy… you don’t have to carry it alone.”

My heart stuttered. I turned toward him, and that’s when he said it—quiet, trembling at the edge of his own restraint.

“And even though I am terrified of what it could do to you.” He paused, deciding his next words carefully.

“I can’t deny… watching you like that—what you became—it does something to me.”

He tensed, hand falling from my shoulder, as if realizing he’d let too much slip. As if he was afraid he’d gone too far.

He cleared his throat “We should probably get going.”

I stood there for a second longer, something burning under my skin that had nothing to do with magic.

“Ok, guys,” I called to the others. “Let’s finish this.”

The temple loomed ahead of us—its door half-collapsed, warped wood and broken stone leaning inward held open mid-scream. Whatever goblins remained had disappeared somewhere deep inside and they were waiting for us in the dark.

We reformed as a group, weapons at the ready, footsteps quiet on the crumbling threshold. As we crossed into shadow, the light behind us faded.

The air turned cold. Heavy. Damp. It was too quiet. There was no wind, no breath—just the crushing weight of a place that shouldn’t exist.

“Mira” A whisper—thin, faint, directionless—threaded through the dark.

“Did anyone hear that?” I said.

But I wasn’t there long enough to hear a reply because the world around disappeared like a curtain torn down in silence—no walls, no footsteps, not even air.  

The ground beneath my feet was slick stone wet with something that clung to my boots. Ash? Blood? Water? I couldn’t tell. Black feathers blanketed the floor in a thick unmoving layer. Thousands of them. Still, untouched as if they’d been waiting.  

The darkness peeled back in slow motion, revealing the outline of a hallway—vast and ancient. Crumbling pillars reached into the void above, wrapped in decaying black veils. Like funeral cloth that’s been long forgotten.

Somewhere impossibly far away and unnervingly close, a bell rang, a slow echoing toll. A chill climbed up my spine like ice water.

I took one step forward, and the feathers on the ground shifted — not from movement, but as if they were breathing.

The bell tolled louder, my ears rang with it.

Something pulled at me—an invisible weight twisting behind my ribs, telling me to turn. I didn’t want to. I was terrified. But some part of me knew…whatever was behind me wasn’t here to hurt me.

 But I was still afraid, and when I did eventually turn, slowly, shaking, I saw a door.

A door that was tall and arched, framed with bone-white wood, twisted like dead roots. The door pulsed not with light, but something alive, I could feel a presence just beyond. I started to move but froze when I felt something whisper behind me, it didn’t register as voice, it was more like a breath against the back of my neck.

You are not what you think are.

The bell tolled again, and for the briefest moment I could see a figure in the doorway. Tall and veiled in shadow, eyes hidden, their hair was long, black and trailing like silk in water. They said nothing but I could feel their eyes on me, their gaze carried the weight of thousands.

You were mine

 The voice was a funeral bell, deep and final. Then darkness, and the door slammed shut.

I blinked and the word had returned to normal. The feathers were gone. No more veils. No looming figure. But the silence lingered and so did the pounding in my chest, louder now, like my heart hadn’t gotten the message that the danger was gone. If it ever had been there at all.

“Are you alright?” Gale said. “You said something and just…stopped.”

I turned to him slowly. My body felt too tight, like I was wearing skin that didn’t fit anymore.

I swallowed; my throat was dry “I—I’m fine.” My whole body was tense.

“I can feel your magic reacting to something” he said softly. But beneath the gentleness, there was a firmness—and edge I couldn’t ignore “Don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t know what it was.” I whispered “It felt familiar. Like it knew me.”

The pause stretched a little too long between us. I could feel him thinking. But finally, he let out a soft, wry chuckle, a flicker of humor under the worry.

He said “Of course, you do seem to have an affinity for unsettling architecture and cursed places.”

He didn’t push further, but he didn’t leave my side either. I felt him there as we plunged deeper into this temple, solid and steady. A constant in a place that felt built to unravel us.

But it was hard to shake the feeling of what had happened, the voice, the figure, the fear, they settled into me like splinters in bone—sharp, invisible, permanent. I tried not to think about what it said, and how it sounded like the truth.

Chapter Text

It felt like the temple swallowed us whole. The stone walls pressed inward, narrowing with each step. Every footfall echoed too loudly, too long—like the sound itself didn’t want to leave. Gale’s conjured lights flickered weakly above us, stretching down the corridors like they were trying to leave us behind.

Lae’zel led the way, sword already drawn, the tip dragging sparks from the stone. Wyll moved beside her, his posture all clenched restraint. Shadowheart kept to my side, silent, her gaze hunting for the first sign of danger.

Gale hovered close, watchful, as if I might wander somewhere he couldn’t follow.

And Astarion...I could never tell where he was. In front, behind, beside—his presence was slipping. Too quiet. Too still.

The floor turned soft, and spongy, under our boots. The walls wept with pulsing, sickly lichen, glowing faintly with a green too bright to be natural. The air thickened, humid with the scent of rot. Not just decay—ferment. Like something long-dead had only just remembered how to breathe again.

“This is not what I was expecting…” Wyll muttered, sword up.

“A lot squishier than I expected” Astarion groaned, somewhere in the gloom. “I hate when places squish.”

Shadowheart whispered, “Something is growing here. This is beyond wrong.”

“Nothing good can come from a place like this.” Gale replied.

And then we stepped into the chamber ahead of us.

In the center, a nest—massive, obscene—throbbed like a wound. It shimmered with tendons and slick, wet silk, like a spider’s lair fused with something mammalian. Corpses hung within it like fruit left to rot. Goblins, mostly—but not all. Some were too ruined to recognize. Their mouths moved. Some twitched. All of them smiled.

“Very cozy in here” Astarion said next to me, too close, breath hot by my neck “Shame we didn’t bring candles.”

I laughed, slowly and quiet, letting my eyes drift across the chamber and back at him. “We’ll just have to find other ways to set the mood.” I said with a smirk “Though I do think it already is.”

“Only you two could flirt in a place like this.” Shadowheart groaned behind me, her voice low and dry.

She hesitated and stepped forward before continuing “This place screams cult lair. And it stinks of rot and ritual.” I could hear disgust in her voice.

“There’s some very strong magic here. Old, feral. It’s not just in the air” Gale stepped forward, his fingers already moving through practiced arcane patterns. “But woven into the stone.”

I was moving before I even realized it. One moment I was with them then the next everything shifted.

The air warped around the edges, sound slipping sideways like it was being pulled through water.

I didn’t feel my body anymore, not like I used too. The floor beneath me was still there but I wasn’t touching it. I hovered, suspended by something that felt both outside me and inside my bones. The air was thick and cold and wrong but I moved through it like it was liquid. My heartbeat echoed behind me, a distant drumbeat I couldn’t reach.

I heard Gale say my name. sharp and uncertain. But his voice was felt far away—muffed, like someone speaking through cloth.

When I tried to breathe, the air tasted like iron and rot and secrets no one had words for, it made me gag.

I turned my head—slowly, too slow—towards the others. They hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure they could see me like this. Maybe I hadn’t moved at all.

Then I was in front of them, far ahead. Further than I should’ve been. The distance impossible, unless something had skipped time around me.

Shadows clung to my legs, spider-silk fine but heavy with intent. They curled around my ribs like fingers. One of them stroked up my spine, slow and deliberate.

The moment I hovered over the nest’s edge, the floor beneath shuddered. A low wet ripple spread outward from the center like the chamber had just exhaled. The silk trembled, the corpses twitched.

The web rippled and she emerged. She slithered out of the nest like something hatched too late. Her robes dripped with black rot, hanging in strips that pulsed with a sicky sheen. Her skin was pocked and split with ritual scars, weeping slow trails of something dark and clotted.

Her smile opened too wide, too human but also not. She looked at me, only me and something gripped me from the inside. A sharp pressure behind my eyes like someone pressing fingers through the back of my skull. I wanted to cry out but I couldn’t, the sound was trapped in my throat.

The net pulsed with her. The shadows wrapped around me tightened—not painful, not yet, just a little too familiar.

“You’ve come.” She rasped. Her voice wasn’t just hers—it echoed on top the sound of hundreds, maybe thousands of others. “As promised.”

I couldn’t answer. My tongue felt pinned in place. The world around her shimmered like heat off stone. And she tilted her head, studying me. Like she was looking through me.

“No need to be afraid” she cooed “She’s been watching. And she’s so pleased.”

Something cold unspooled behind my ribs, the shadow creature—the thing that had latched itself to me since I first got here—uncoiled from where it had been waiting. Not visible, not entirely but present. It didn’t speak. It didn’t have to. It was thrumming beneath my skin.

I wanted to step back. I think I even tried. My mind told my body to move—to pull away—but there was no response. Like the message got lost somewhere in the static now buzzing through my blood.

The shadow inside me pulsed once. Not a voice—not exactly—more like a sensation, a hum in my teeth. A hand against the inside of my chest.

I clenched my fist, hard. My body still hovered above the ground, weightless, but braced like I was about to break. A tremor ran up my arms.

“This isn’t—” I breathed, barely a whisper “This isn’t me.”

But the priestess only smiled wider. Like she knew I’d say that. Like she knew it didn’t matter.

“You say that” she purred “but she’s already inside you.”

Then she screamed and the room erupted. The web around her exploded outward, bile sprayed across the chamber. Tendrils lashed the stone—some aimed at the others, some straight for me.

Lae’zel didn’t wait. With a roar, she launched herself forward, sword cleaving through the first tentacle mid-strike. She landed hard, boots skidding across the floor as she shouted, “We take her now!”

Wyll cut one of the tendrils mid lash and a black fluid sprayed across his armor, sizzling like acid. “WHAT IS THIS?” He yelled.  

Shadowheart flung a guiding bolt that tore through a mass of rising rot, divine light bursting like a miniature sun.

Gale cast some protective ward across the group, but his voice came out loud, panicked “Someone get to Mira,” he barked “She’s not—she’s not right.”

The power stretched in my chest, warm, hungry and so easy to give into. I didn’t think I could stop fighting it. The shadows bloomed out of me like ink in water.

 Then I descended, graceful and controlled. Like a queen slipping on her crown for the first time.

The priestess shrieked “She’s here! SHES HERE!”

I stepped forward, calmer than I felt. The shadows coiled around her limbs, holding her aloft like a puppet suspended on threads to thin to see. She thrashed, teeth bared, eyes rolling white—but I was already there.

My hand lifted, two fingers—steady, deliberate—extended toward her brow. And pressed, not hard or fast but enough. The moment my fingertips met her skin, the world shifted again. Her body shuddered but didn’t resist, the flesh beneath my touch rippled, not from pressure but from someone else. Something fundamental. Reality was yielding to me.

My fingers slipped through her skull like moving through warm wax—no resistance, no break, just the parting of matter that no longer remembered how to be solid.

She gasped, not from pain but from recognition. Her limbs went still and suddenly we were entangled.

The inside of her mind wasn’t thought. It was pressure. Heat. Screaming. Meaning and purpose, shredded, raw.

Her memories weren’t given. They were ripping themselves out, crawling backward through the connection like they could drag pieces of me with them. They came fast, too fast.

Images. Smells. Chants. A stone alter. A heartbeat drumming in ritual rhythm. The weight of a god’s promise soaked into blood and bone. Whispers from the dark—not words but compulsions, orders. Her body breaking, being rebuilt around that voice.

The first time she saw me. not me—but the idea of me, carved into bone, painted onto cave walls. The girl who devours. The mouth of the shadow.

I tried to pull my hand back, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t her that was resisting, it was the memories themselves.

They lashed out—grasping greedy, frantic—shoving themselves to my throat, behind my eyes, I could taste them. Copper. Smoke. Mold. Something sweet that curdled as I tried to swallow it.

I staggered, shadows flickering violently around me but I didn’t stop. I stood my ground, curling my fingers deeper into her and pulled. The web snapped and her mind came undone like wet thread unraveling in my grip.

She was gone in an instant but her body didn’t fall. It simply unwove—unraveled in midair, her features distorting into strands of shadow and rot that faded before they touched the ground.

The chamber went silent. No scream. No thud. No collapsing body. Just a soft sound as the last threads of the Priestess vanished into the dark.

And I just stood there, frozen. My hand still outstretched, fingers curled like the gesture had never ended. My breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat.

The shadows still clung to me, twitching fainty—like they weren’t quite ready to leave.

I didn’t speak. I think I forgot how. I just continued to stand there, trying to remember how to breath. Something had passed through me and it had left behind its teeth.

“Mira,” Gale said sterner than I’ve heard him before “You can’t—what was that?”

I turned slowly, my limbs felt wrong—too light, too distant. “I don’t know...I didn’t mean too…”

He stepped forward, cautiously, like if he got too close, I would do it to him too—which   made my heart ache.

 His eyes were locked on mine, too wide. “That wasn’t the Weave. That was something else entirely.”

His voice cracked slightly “That wasn’t magic...that was something much older.”

“It’s not like I planned it,” I pleaded quietly, “It just…happened.”

Then came that familiar soft, delighted laugher from behind him.

“Personally, I hope it happens again,” Astarion purred.

Gale spun toward him. “Are you serious?”

Astarion’s face remained emotionless, he didn’t even blink. He stepped closer to me, eyes bright “She touched her mind. Slipped inside it. Gods, it was exquisite.”

He tilted his head, voice dropping an octave—low and deliberate. “The control. The precision. The way she unraveled—slow, helpless—Mira, darling, you don’t know what that did to me.”

“Astarion,” Gale hissed, “this isn’t some game. She could have—”

“What? Lost herself?” Astarion cut him off, eyes never leaving mine. “No, no. She found something.”

He stepped even closer, voice thicker now, sinuous. “And I would very much like to see it again. Maybe even…feel it.”

I inhaled sharply, the taste of shadow still in my mouth.

Gale’s tone shifted, softer, more pleading. “This isn’t you, Mira. This thing—this power—its seductive, yes, but it doesn’t love you. It will consume you if you let it.”

Astarion smiled, all teeth. “Oh, let it. What a beautiful way to be devoured.”

I stood between them, silent. One pulling me back and the other daring me to fall deeper. The shadows inside me still stirred, buzzed under my skin like lighting.

I finally spoke, voice flat, but trembling at the edges.

“I’m not a child. I don’t need to be scolded.” I met Gale’s eyes.

Gale didn’t hesitate. “I think you do.”

His tone wasn’t cruel but it was firm. Steady in a way that made my stomach twist. “Someone has tell you when you’re standing on the edge of something that could ruin you.”

I stared at him. “You don’t think I know that?”

“I think you’re pretending not to care,” he said softly “Which is worse.”

Astarion made a low, amused sound “Gods, the tension.” He stepped between us “Maybe she wants to be ruined. Ever think of that?”

He turned to me, eyes alight with wicked delight “I know I do.”

I wasn’t sure who I was angrier at—Astarion for being right in that smug way that made my knees weak or Gale, who cared too much about stopping what’s already past the point of no return.

So, for a moment, I just stood there. Then I turned and walked away, each step was harder than the last, like the floor hadn’t quite settled after everything that had just happened.

I found Shadowheart leaning against a cracked pillar, fingers still wrapped lightly around the grip of her mace. She looked up as I approached, eyes sweeping over me like she already knew what I was going to say.

“Camp would be so uneventful without the three of you.” She said dryly, “I couldn’t tell if you were going to kiss one of them or set them on fire.”

I huffed, “Those things did cross my mind.”

She didn’t smile exactly, but there was the ghost of it at the corner of her mouth. “Men.”

I sank down beside her, dragging a hand through my hair. “Back there…I didn’t mean to do what I did…to her.”

Shadowheart was quiet for a moment then dropped down beside me, then said “But you didn’t stop, either.”

It wasn’t a judgement, just the truth I didn’t want to hear right now.

“I didn’t feel like I could,” I admitted. “It wasn’t just magic. It was like…something else took over.”

She looked down at her glove, thumb brushing a tear in the leather. “I know what that feels like.”

She wasn’t looking at me, but I was watching her. And I could see something shift. That hard exterior cracking, just slightly, to reveal the soft vulnerability beneath.

“I was raised to obey. To listen without question. Surrender wasn’t failure—it was sacred. When She speaks, you listen. When She calls, you follow.”

Her voice dropped, quiet but razor sharp. “But lately, I started asking what happens if I stop listening.”

I swallowed “And?”

Shadowheart’s eyes flicked to mine. “I’m still here.”

Another moment passed, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

Then I said, “Do you ever feeling like something is moving inside you—something old, something not yours—and you’re not sure if its growing stronger or you’re disappearing?”

She exhaled, slow and deliberate “Every day.”

We sat there in silence for a while. Shadowheart didn’t press. She didn’t need to. And that was one of my favorite parts about her. She understood the weight of silence and knew how to let it speak.

But quiet made space for something else to rise, a knot in my chest I’d been holding for too long. I stared down at my hands, looking for some omen in my palms. My fingers still tinged faintly with shadow, still not entirely mine.

“Can I tell you something?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” She replied.

“I haven’t told anyone this…” I swallowed “Not Gale. Not Astarion.”

That caught her attention. She didn’t speak, just looked at me with an intrigued gaze.

“Theres something wrong with my memories.”

“I used to dream. All the time. Maybe too much. My childhood. My family. My friends. My hopes. Places I’d been. Places I wanted to go.”

I took a deep breathe before continuing, “Now, when I try to think about it—It’s like trying to catch smoke. I remember the shape of things, but not the weight of them. Faces blur. Names slip away.”

I placed my hands on either side of my face, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “And its more than just forgetting who I was, its replacing.”

“Replacing?” Shadowheart asked, voice quitter now. Cautious.

“I’ve been having these...dreams, visions. At first I thought maybe it was the tadpole but it feels deeper. Older. Like someone is watching me from behind a veil.

I hesitated, then added “I hear whispers that I can’t translate. I see palaces I’ve never been—but they feel familiar, I feel them in my teeth when I wake up.”

Her expression didn’t change much but I saw something flicker behind her eyes. I think it was recognition or maybe fear.

“And when I am awake,” I whispered, “I remember less of the girl I used to be. A part of me thinks, she never existed at all.”

Shadowheart didn’t look away. She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze somewhere distant—turned inward. And suddenly I was unsure whether I should have said anything.

Then she reached out, slow and careful, and grabbed my hand, interlocking her fingers with mine.

Then softly, she said “I don’t remember my childhood.”

She didn’t release my hand, just tightened her grip slightly.

“I have fragments.” She continued. “Not memories—just flashes. A voice I cant name. a garden I’ve never seen. A song I sometimes hum without knowing why.”

She paused and looked away. “Sometimes I think they’re real. Sometimes I think they were given to me.

“And every time I try to reach for them,” she said, “I feel Her watching. Not angry. Just…waiting. Like there’s a line I’m not allowed to cross.”

I stared at her, eyes burning.

And it was hard not to notice how beautiful she was. Not in a delicate way but in the kind of way that made you ache. She carried too much. The kind of weight that didn’t come from age, but from grief. From being broken before you even had a chance to grow.

She reminded me of Astarion, in that way. They both held too many secrets, saw too much. And I hated the thought of either of them carrying all of that alone.

Shadowheart finally looked at me again. “There are parts of me that don’t belong to me either, Mira.” She said it like a confession, like a warning.

We sat there, hands still clasped, shadows all around us. And  here, in this quiet moment, we were just two women with borrowed histories, carrying the weight of an unforgiving god, clutching what little of us was still there. We weren’t fixed or healed and maybe we would never be.

The silence pressed in but not heavy—not unwelcome, never that, not with her. I glanced down at out joined hands, then quietly, without looking up.

 “I’m glad you’re here.” I smiled faintly “I’m glad I saved you from that pod. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if I was stuck with just a vampire who flirts through blood lust or a wizard with a god complex and too many feelings.”

That made her laugh, just once. Sharp and unexpected.

I looked at her, eyes tired but honest. “I need someone who gets it. The forgetting. The god-thing. The quiet.”

“You aren’t as alone as you thought.” her expression unreadable but warm in its own way.

She added “It’s weird though…” she said softly. “I never thought I’d make a friend in a place like this.”

“We’re friends?” I said, surprised.

“We both saved each other’s lives and out of everyone here, you’re the closet thing there is.” She said softly.

“I’m glad you think so” I laughed softly, squeezing her hand. “Because if I’m going to unravel, I’d rather do it beside someone who knows what it feels like.”

“You unravel, I’ll keep pace.” She smiled, but this time it felt real, it reached her eyes.

And in the quiet that followed, I felt something settle. It wasn’t exactly peace, not yet, but something like it that I could hold onto.

Shadowheart didn’t say anything else, but I didn’t either—we didn’t need to. We just sat there in the quiet for another moment, her hand still in mine. No questions or judgements, just the weight of shared silence between two people who understood what it meant to be afraid to go sleep at night for fear they’ll wake up with nothing.

But eventually, I rose and she didn’t stop me.

I slipped away from her, weaving through the broken stone and half-collapsed corridors. The silence followed me—thick but oddly comforting now. I didn’t have a destination in mind. But I felt something tug at me, so against my waning better judgement—I followed it.

I climbed a narrow flight of stairs tucked between the walls, half-forgotten and overgrown with lichen. The chamber above was mostly ruined—dust and bones, rubble scattered like broken teeth.

And there was something glittering, half buried in stone.

I moved toward it, almost in a trance. My hands lifted instinctively, shadow-threaded magic coiling down my arms. Th rubble resisted at first, rocks grating against one another, pebbles scattering like spilled dice. But I pushed harder and something gave.

I rushed over to it, dropping to my knees and brushed some dirt aside until it revealed itself: a small ornate chest.

It was no larger than a bread box but heavy with presence. Its metalwork was delicate, filigree crawling over the surface like veins, but the lock…the lock was cruel. Sharp-lined and strange, like it hadn’t been made to open but instead, to dare someone to try.

I sat down, legs crossed, the box in my lap. And for a long moment—I just stared at it. Because I had a feeling I already knew what I was going to find inside, it wouldn’t feel like a gift, it would feel like recognition.

I hovered my hand over the lock, unsure if I wanted to touch it and called upon the shadows to try to pry it open but the moment the magic collided with the metal—a   sharp jolt ran up my arm, like the box was biting back at the intrusion.

“Ow” I said quietly to myself, shaking my hand out.

A voice slipped out of the shadows behind me—amused. “That won’t work.”

I jumped “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to enjoy the show.” Astarion strode out of the darkness, hands in pockets, his voice condescending “Do you need any help?”

“No—maybe.” I stared down at the chest, refusing to give the satisfaction of a glance. I focused, stubbornly, hoping I could will it to unlock through pure spite.

And then he was in front of me, looming over me with his hand outstretched, palm up.

“Give it here,” his voice stern, dark and velvet-rich.

I blinked up at him, my brow furrowing. “What?”

“Don’t make me ask again,” his fingers curled slowly—beckoning. The motion was deliberate.

He wasn’t just waiting for the chest. He was waiting to see if I obeyed.

I hesitated, fingers tightening around the sides of the box. He tilted his head—not demanding, not pleading. Just waiting. Testing.

That was Astarion’s game: not asking outright. Letting you decide how far you’d go for him. What you’d give without being told.

And maybe I liked being tested. Maybe I wanted to pass.

I groaned “Fine” shoving the box in his hand.

“That’s my good girl.” He grinned, all gleaming teeth.

It hit me like lighting—hot and low, sharp enough to make my breath catch. Something molten pulsed between my thighs.

I hated how smug he sounded but more so I hated that I liked it. How it felt natural to obey him. How I burned to know what he’d do if I said no. My cheeks went hot and I didn’t respond.

 He chuckled and then turned his attention to the chest. Crouching down in front of me, the chest balanced between his knees. He pulled a thin tool from a hidden seam in his sleeve—cruelly elegant.

His hands moved with practiced grace, every flick of his wrist precise, almost theatrical. I knew he was showing off. And I knew the performance was just for me.

 He murmured, not looking up, “You continue to surprise me, Mira.”

“Why’s that?” I said.

“One minute, you’re plunging your fingers into a goblins skull” he said, adjusting the pick with a flick of his wrist, “The next, you’re pouting on the floor like some helpless little maiden. So wide-eyed. So sweet. Just begging for someone to help.”

“Well, for the record” I could feel my pout intensify, “I didn’t want help.”

“Mm. Of course.” he drawled “You wear that stubbornness like armor. It's adorable. But I know what you really want.”

Then click, the chest unlocked with a soft snap. His smile widened. But he didn’t open it right away, instead he looked up at me, deliberately, slowly as if he really wanted me to know how easily he could do what I couldn’t.

“There.” he said, “Not so hard.”

He shifted to sit back, stretching his legs out before moving the chest into one hand. With his other hand, he patted his thigh—a silent command to ‘come here.’

I hesitated and he tilted his head at me—calm, expectant. I knew exactly what this was. This was how he cared: through control, through unspoken invitations and little tests designed to see where I’d bend or bleed for him without being told twice.

The danger of it all was he did care, more than he meant, too.

So, I bent because I knew he wouldn’t show me what was inside until I crawled into his lap. I scooted forward and settled between his legs, facing away from him. He leaned down and ran his nose though my hair, letting out a theatrical inhale.

“Lovely.” His voice dropping dangerously “You smell like night. Like dark magic and restraint.”

His arms wrapped around me as he placed the box in my lap with a surprising gentleness..

“Open it.” He whispered in my ear, sending a chill up my spine.

Then his hands slide down to my thighs, he didn’t squeeze or cling—just rested there, warm and waiting.

My fingers trembled slightly as I opened the lid, the hinges groaning in protest like the box itself resented being disturbed. Inside, nestled on a bed of crushed black velvet, was an amulet—silver chain tarnished to near black, fine as spider silk. The pendant was shaped like an inverted teardrop, a deep red stone cradled in obsidian filigree. It pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat of its own—one that wanted to sync with mine.

I didn’t touch it. My fingers hovered just above the stone, suspended in hesitation, like even brushing it would seal something I couldn’t unmake. I swore I heard it whispering—low, breathy, seductive—threading through my thoughts like silk pulled through the eye of a needle.

Then Astarion’s hand appeared beside mine. His fingers grazed mine—barely, purposefully—as he reached for the pendant like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to be close to me again. His touch was a spark and a question. And my skin answered before I could think.

“Here,” he murmured, his voice soft, smoky, but threaded with something darker—something possessive. “Let me.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every breath felt too loud in my chest, my nerves stretched thin like a wire ready to snap. He reached for me again, slower this time, brushing my hair aside with an almost reverent care. The backs of his fingers skimmed the nape of my neck and I shivered, not from cold, but from how deliberately he touched me. Like he was tasting the idea of it—of me—with his hands.

It felt like fire and ice. Like permission and a dare. My pulse stuttered beneath his fingertips, and I knew he felt it. I didn’t have to look to know he was smiling—that wicked, secret smile he wore like a promise.

It circled my throat. His knuckles grazed my collarbone as he fastened the clasp, and the sound of it locking into place was soft, but it echoed in my ribs.

His fingers lingered. They always lingered. They trailed down the slope of my throat, tracing the sharp edge of the pendant where it met bare skin, then brushed the hollow between my collarbones like he was leaving something behind. Not a mark, but a claim.

“There,” he said, voice low, rich with satisfaction. “Now, you’re perfect.”

His hand didn’t move. His thumb hovered over the pulse in my throat, feeling the rush of blood he’d stirred. And then he leaned in. Closer. Until I could feel the shape of his smile against my skin.

“You know,” he whispered, the words warm and dangerous, “it would be so easy to bite you right now.”

The sound slithered down my spine like smoke. But I didn’t flinch. I tilted my head, offering him the curve of my neck.

“There’s nothing stopping you but yourself,” I whispered, my voice soft, sweet, and anything but innocent. “Are you afraid I’d like it too much?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He leaned in, his breath brushing my skin, and I felt the ghost of fang—the anticipation of the bite. My body tightened, waiting, desperate but he didn’t break the skin. Instead, he laughed. A low, throaty sound that made my toes curl.

“You would,” he murmured. “And I would, too.”

Then he pressed a single kiss to the vulnerable spot just above my collarbone. Slow. Intentional. Wicked.

“But if I start,” he breathed against my skin, “I don’t know who I’ll be when I stop.”

The amulet pulsed again, answering something unspoken between us. I could feel it in my bones—his hunger, my want, the magic. It all blurred. Heat curled low in my belly, and I couldn’t tell what was him and what was the thing I had just let claim my throat.

And maybe… I didn’t want to know the difference.

My heart was racing. I hated how much I craved him. Hated more that it wasn’t just desire—it was ache and anticipation, fear laced with fascination. Shame threaded through curiosity like barbed wire. I didn’t even know which part of me was shaking, only that I was.

We lingered like that, suspended in a moment stretched too thin to last. Then, finally, he withdrew—slow and deliberate, as if pulling himself from a dream he hadn’t meant to wake from. His touch slipped away like silk, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Come now,” he said, extending his hand with mock elegance, though his eyes still burned with something far less playful. “We should rejoin the others before they come looking and get the wrong idea.”

I didn’t take his hand. I rose on my own, legs trembling faintly. “I say we let them.”

I moved past him, feigning composure, even as the knot in my stomach twisted tighter. But when I caught the flicker of his expression—satisfied, knowing—I knew he saw through it. He’d noticed the tremble in my fingers. The way my knees had nearly buckled. The fact that I never said no.

We didn’t speak as we left the ruined chamber. We didn’t need to. The silence between us was charged, humming with all the things we didn’t touch but still felt.

Astarion walked just half a step behind me, and I could feel him. The weight of his gaze pressing between my shoulder blades, dragging lower. The heat of him—a phantom presence tracing the backs of my thighs, the space between my hips. He didn’t reach for me again, but he didn’t have to. His restraint only made it worse. Every moment without contact made my skin burn with awareness.

My body still remembered the shape of him. My neck still tingled from his mouth. I swore I could feel the curve of his hands still etched into my skin.

I glanced back once—couldn’t help it—and caught him watching me. His expression unreadable, lips parted slightly like he hadn’t exhaled since I walked away. But when our eyes met, he just smiled—slow, secretive. Like he’d already won something I didn’t know I was playing for.

Then we stepped back into the main chamber, and it felt like a spell breaking.

Shadowheart stood with Wyll, heads bent in quiet conversation. Lae’zel leaned against the mural wall, arms crossed, posture sharp and coiled. And Gale—Gale looked up the second we entered. His gaze snapped first to me, then to Astarion, and finally to the space between us.

Which, notably, no longer existed.

His gaze dropped to the amulet at my throat, the faint red pulse catching in the firelight.

‘Where were you?” Gale asked, not accusatory but close.

I didn’t hesitate “Just exploring.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Exploring what, exactly?”

“The ruins,” I said sweetly, “You know. Creepy artifacts. Cursed jewelry. You know—my usual.”

“She found something beautiful and strange,” Astarion said, “Naturally, I insisted she kept it.”

And as if to drive the point home, his hand drifted, lightly and deliberately, to my waist. Not possessive but unmistakably intimate.

His thumb brushed once under the fabric of my shirt, just enough to make me shift under the heat of it. Just enough for everyone to notice, but I think he only cared about one person.

And he did. Gale’s jaw tightened—subtle but not enough to miss. His gaze dropped to where Astarion’s lingered, then locked eyes with me.

“You shouldn’t be wearing that.” He said, finally.

I opened my mouth to respond but Astarion beat me to it.

“Why ever not?” he drawled, smug. “Its clearly powerful. And it looks good on her, it fits. Dark, dangerous, and a little cursed—just like our little shadow.”

“That’s not the point,” Gale snapped, stepping forward. “We don’t know what it does. I know you can feel the magic radiating off it. Magic like that always comes with a price.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion waved a dismissive hand. “Everything comes with a price, sweet wizard. Some of us are just more comfortable paying it.”

His fingers grazed my waist again, tighter this time. “Besides, she made the choice, didn’t you?”

I shifted slightly between them, feeling the weight of both their stares.

“Its just an amulet.” I said, even though we all knew it wasn’t. “It’s not a big deal.”

Gale’s jaw tightened under his breath. “It’s not just anything and yes it’s a big deal. You cant just keep treating unknown magic like its some game to flirt your way through.”

Astarion laughed under his breath. “And yet, it seems to be working out rather well for her.”

“You’re not helping.” Gale snapped at him.

“I wasn’t trying to.” Astarion said sweetly.

I rolled my eyes and stepped just slightly out of reach, the tension winding tighter around my ribs.

“If it becomes a problem,” I said cooly, “We’ll deal with it. Until then, I’m keeping it.”

Astarion gave me a look that said good girl without having to say it. Gale looked like he wanted to argue further—but didn’t.

Instead, he turned away, running a hand through his hair like it physically hurt to walk away from the conversation. The silence that was left throbbed like a bruise.

Astarion stayed behind, of course, sliding back into my space with ease.

 He moved his hand to cup my jaw, then leaned in, his lips brushing my ear before whispering “I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t want to ruin you.” Then he gave my earlobe a soft bite but it send goosebumps all over my body.

Then like it never happened, he slipped away.

I stayed where I was, stunned and burning, until the others began to stir again. The world returned in pieces—Lae’zel’s low growl, the faint crack of Shadowheart’s knuckles as she adjusted her grip on her mace, the scrape of Gale’s staff as he moved.

I exhaled slowly, grounded myself, and forced my legs to move.

By the time I caught up, they’d begun to regroup—clustered loosely at the base of the altar. I slipped back into their orbit without a word, the warmth of Astarion’s lips still ghosting my skin, the weight of the amulet like a second spine.

Shadowheart  glanced at me. Wyll gave a nod. Lae’zel didn’t even look. And Gale—Gale was already watching.

“We have two more to go,” Wyll said, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s deal with them quickly so we can get out of here.”

“Do we even know where we’re going?” Shadowheart folded her arms, clearly unconvinced.

Lae’zel scoffed and turned on her heel. “We will follow the scent of blood and cursed magic,” She marched off toward a corridor that looked like a throat waiting to close.

“I can try to locate spell,” Gale offered, his fingers already moving in practiced rhythm. “Try to trace the unnatural magic that’s clinging to this place.”

But before his magic could find its form, I felt it again. That pull. It didn’t seize me all at once—it crept. Coiling through my thoughts like smoking curling under a door, threading through my ribs and tugging from somewhere deeper than magic. Somewhere older than names.

I turned, silent and sure, making my way toward the back of the chamber, where two curved doors loomed behind the desecrated alter. I didn’t mean to. Not really. But I was already walking.

“She’s doing it again,” Shadowheart muttered behind me, half-irritated, half-resigned.

“It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?” Astarion’s voice came from behind my shoulder, unbothered and entirely too please. “I do love a women with initiative.”

The whispers were louder now. Not words—impressions. Shapes. Echoes of a voice I almost recognized. Something that already knew my name.

The group moved ahead, deeper into the temple, their footsteps echoing against damp stone. I followed slowly—until Gale caught up in my left, falling into step like he had something he couldn’t keep in any longer.

“You’re being reckless.”

I arched a brow, not slowing. “It’s just a necklace, Gale.”

“Its never that simple, especially with you.” He snapped, squaring his shoulders, jaw tense. “You have no idea what that could do to you.”

I sighed, playing at innocence “Come on. It’s a pretty necklace. It pulses with ominous energy. I figured it fit me.”

Before he could retort, Astarion slid in on my right like he’d been waiting for a cue. He offered me a smug little glance, then—without so much as looking at Gale—slid his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t listen to him,” his voice was irritatingly smooth “He’s just upset he didn’t get to fasten it around your neck first.”

Gale’s jaw flexed visibly beside me. “She shouldn’t be wearing it at all,” he bit out.

“Oh, I disagree entirely” Astarion mused, now watching the amulet like it was a work of art “Radiates an air of beautifully restrained danger. Much like our sweet Mira herself.”

“You’re exhausting.” Gale muttered.

“You’re jealous.” Astarion countered.

“Both of you, stop. Please.” I groaned “I don’t need a handler, thank you.”

Astarion chuckled, smirk wide, fangs gleaming “I think some handling is in order.”

“I don’t need discipline, from either of you.” My voice calm, steady, deliberately detached “If I wanted it, I’d just ask.” I didn’t look at either of them.

 Astarion made an amused sound beside me. And Gale stumbled slight—over a rock, or maybe his pride.

“But just to be clear,” I added voice lower now, knife-sharp and silk-smooth “If I did want discipline, I wouldn’t ask for another heartfelt lecture.”

I smiled sweetly. “I’d want a firm hand.”

Both men stopped. One stunned and the other absolutely delighted.  

“I’ll leave you with that fun thought.” I said, slowing my pace. “I’m going to walk with Shadowheart,”

And then casually, almost lazily, I veered toward Shadowheart. She looked up as I approached, already shaking her head with a faint crooked smile.

“Leaving carnage in your wake, I see.” She murmured.

“Always.” I said and smiled back.

Chapter Text

The path twisted downward; the taste of blood and ash was thick in the air. We moved in silence, even the air around us seemed to still. The walls still pulsed with something unseen, and the whispers grew louder with every step. Something waited ahead. My instincts screamed at me to turn and run. 

I didn't. I couldn’t. I had to know what was waiting for me deeper in the temple, what was pulling me toward it on an invisible thread. 

The tunnel opened up into a throne room that reeked of sweat, steel, and slaughter. Stone pillars jutted from the ground like broken teeth. The floor was littered with discarded weapons and broken bones—the debris of a hundred deaths.  

And in the center, towering even as he sat, waited a monster. 

Slabs of muscles barely contained patchwork armor. His skin was painted in streaks of blood and war paint. A massive axe rested across his lap; the blade chipped and wet with fresh gore.  

When he saw us, he rose. The grin that spread across his face was a predator's grin—wide, cruel, all hunger and malice. His eyes were locked onto me, and his grip around his axe tightened.  

“Well, well,” he boomed, “If it isn’t the shadow and her strays. I thought you’d never come.” 

I stepped forward without thinking, sliding between Gale and Astarion—my favorite place to be.  

Astarion’s voice brushed my ear, playful, dangerous, “I hope I’m not just a stray to you.” 

I elbowed him, smirking despite myself, and turned back to the beast before us. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” I said," forcing calm into my voice. “We promise not to take up any more of your time—by killing you quickly.” 

Magic pulsed at my fingertips, shadows coiling like smoke, ready to strike. And the monster's grin grew wider, crooked with amusement. 

He laughed, but it was sharp and distorted, like it came from the voice box of someone’s throat that had been crushed.  

“I’ve heard you be called many things,” he rasped.  

“Prophet. Vessel. Key…” he said slowly, like he was tasting the words. “Funny little names for a girl who bleeds like the rest of us.” 

“Said you’d crawl out of the dark with the end clinging to your heels.” His gaze swept over me, head tilted, studying. 

My fingers twitched. Rage prickled up my spine like static. My hair lifted on a breeze that wasn’t there. 

“You know nothing about me.” I took a step forward and felt Gale catch my wrist to hold me back. 

“I’m not what they say I am. I won’t be.” 

He chuckled again, a horrible wet sound. “No? You sure look the part. Thought you would be taller.” 

“You have that hollow look in your eyes. The kind that screams something’s been carved out.” 

“I’m so over cryptic bullshit.” I snapped, “Over people trying to define me and control me.” 

“You can’t stop what's already burrowed inside you.” He said. 

The Hobgoblin stepped down from his throne, boots striking the stone with the weight of inevitability. The ground shook beneath him. His axe dragged behind him, screaming against the floor, leaving behind a black smear of blood in its wake. 

“You still think you’re you.” He said as he took another step, bones crushing underfoot, “How sweet .”  

“‘I’ll show you sweet.” Shadows erupted from me, wrapping my form in a flickering void. “When I unravel you from the inside out.” 

That laugh rang out again as he closed the distance. “You are hollow, and you’ve forgotten your purpose. But we’ll remind you.” 

“Enough.” Lae’zel bellowed, “No more riddles. No more stalling.” 

A feral roar tore from her throat as she launched herself forward, meeting the monster head-on. Her silver blade flashed as she carved a deep cut into his side. Blood geysered from the wound but stopped, congealing almost instantly. A pendant at his throat flared with a sickly light. The wound knitted closed before my eyes.  

Lae’zel struck again, lower this time, slashing across his ankles. He stumbled but recovered fast, slamming the haft of his axe into her chest. She skidded backward across the floor, armor shrieking against stone, sparks trailing in her wake. 

Wyll charged next. His blade found the monster's thigh, buried deep. The monster roared, grabbed the embedded weapon, and ripped it free, flinging it aside like nothing.  

His axe came down like a guillotine, final. Carving through muscle, crackling bone. But Wyll was faster. He twisted away just enough to keep his leg attached to his body.  

Blood poured from the wound, and he fell on the floor, clutching his leg but not making a sound. I saw Shadowheart waiting for a moment to step in.  

The beast turned his gaze to me, beginning to advance again. My heart was pounding harder than ever before, the room started to spin, and I thought I was going to throw up. 

And then—Astarion. He was just there, blades flashing, dragging twin arcs of red down the monster's back. At the same time, Lae’zel lunged again from the other side. 

The beast growled and turned to meet her, distracted just long enough for Shadowheart to dive to Wyll’s side. Her hands were already glowing, light spilling from her fingers as she pressed them to the wound.  

Gal, of course, was right beside me. Calm in a way that unsettled me a little, but he did look eerily handsome. Spell after spell flew from his hands—fire, frost, crackling bowls of raw magic I didn’t recognize.  

His aim was clear: the goblins. He was thinning the horde around us—surgical and relentless.  

But I just stood there. 

Panic crept up my spine like cold fingers, circling tight around my chest. The things the hobgoblin had said rattled through my head, loud and relentless. Not making room for new thoughts. A fog rolled in behind my eyes that was thick and suffocating.  

My shadow form flickered out.  

I dropped—boots colliding with the stone floor, suddenly armor-less and exposed in the middle of a war zone.  

I turned to Gale. He was already looking at me.  

“Is everything okay?” he asked, way too calmly. Another spell surged from his hand as he spoke effortlessly.  

“I think I forgot what to do.” My voice came out thin. Small. 

His fingers stopped moving, and he took a step closer to me, placing both hands on either side of my face. 

“Just focus,” he said softly. His voice was warm, grounding, but something in it twisted deeper than reassurance. “Can you do that for me, little star?” 

I just nodded; I couldn’t find the words anymore. 

He smiled, eyes full of something I couldn’t name. “I know you can.” 

My heart fluttered. My cheeks got hot. But he just let go and turned back, already casting again like nothing had happened.  

I swallowed hard, trying to pull myself back together. One breath, then another. I shut out the noise, the light, the pain. Let the world fade. But when the silence came, it wasn’t peaceful. 

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the void—the place that wasn’t a place at all. A horizonless ocean of darkness, thick and stifling, where even the silence had weight. The air wasn’t still; it pushed into my ears, my lungs, the spaces behind my eyes. It pulsed with something deeper. Something ravenous. 

Tendrils rose from the black like serpents from tar—slick, sinuous, gleaming with a vicious sheen that caught the faintest shimmer of non-light.  

Slithering up my calves, my thighs, down my arms with a lover's patience and a predator's intent. Coiling around my limbs, winding slowly. Stroking the hollows behind my knees. Curling around my wrists like bracelets forged in some obscene ritual 

When they moved, they made a sound—wet, vulgar. A slick, sucking slide that echoed too loudly in the pressure-heavy dark. 

Then they pulled, lifting me off the ground—if there even was ground—spreading me wide, baring me to the silence. 

My spine arched. The cold slid deeper, beneath my skin and into my lungs. My legs trembled in their grip. My arms stretched taut above my head, helpless, o ffered .  

One tendril slid beneath my shirt. The fabric parted for it like we knew it would. It traced my ribs, tightening with each breath. Another trailed along the ridge of my spine, wet and warm like a tongue, nestling into the dip of my lower back. A third skimmed the curve of my breast—featherlight, lingering. 

I gasped. The tendrils shivered in response, vibrating with something that felt horribly like pleasure. Their rhythm shifted—tightening, flexing, holding me like something sacred. Something meant to be worshipped. 

Then came the voice. Close and far. Sweet enough to rot teeth. Smooth in a way that felt wrong. Like something wearing a human mask. 

“I’ve missed you.” It purred. 

The restraints tightened, not harshly or cruelly but intimately. Like a spider cradling its prey before the feast. The void churned, a storm with no lightning—only the unbearable pressure of what was coming.  

“I’m glad you called upon me again, finally.”  

I gritted my teeth, said nothing, shut my eyes, and tried to will myself back into the chamber I was in before. I tried to remember anything I could—boots on the floor, the smell of iron, Gale’s hands on my face, Astarion’s breath at my ear. Something real. Something mine .  

But it knew what I was trying to do. The void closed in tighter, clinging, smothering. Its cold was endless, its hunger bottomless.  

Then a laugh. It was a terrible, fractured sound—something with too many mouths trying to harmonize. “That won't work.” 

“Please.” The word cracked like ice: “Let me go.” 

“Now, why would I do that?”  

The mist thickened. A shape emerged from it—shifting, cloaked, impossible.  

It didn’t walk. It spilled forward, gliding, the air bending around it in ripples. Its form was humanoid in the same way nightmares are—vaguely familiar but twisted at every seam. Its edges blurred, bleeding into the dark, like it couldn’t hold shape for too long.  

I could never fully see its face, but that was the point. It didn’t want to be seen; it wanted to be felt.  

It pressed against reality with every inch it moved, the weight of it sinking through dimensions like stone through water. 

And then, it touched me.  

Not with flesh but with the memory of flesh. A shape. A presence. A hand made of absence and hunger brushed my cheek.  

Cold seared into me, curling under my skin like frostbite blooming from the inside out. My nerves screamed. My flesh felt like it was pulling away from my bones.  

It wasn’t just touching me. It was unwrapping me. Peeling me open with delicate care. Savoring every exposed inch.  

I gasped. My vision blurred. Tears spilling before I even realized I was crying, as if my body already knew it was too late.  

“You’re mine, Mira.”  

Its eyes appeared then—twin voids burning like collapsed stars. They didn’t shine. They devoured, drinking the light, the memory, the self from anything they looked at.  

“ Not the wizard who wants to save you. Not the vampire that wants you for your blood. Mine .”  

“I’m not anyone’s,” I hissed. “Especially not yours.” 

A tendril looped around my throat, not tight, not yet—just a promise.  

Another slithered down my stomach, slipping beneath my trousers with unnerving ease. It curled between my thighs like it had done this before. Like it belonged there. The cold kissed the heat that it found, pulsing like it could taste me.  

I jerked instinctively, trying to twist away, but the restraints only pulled tighter, locking me in place. Worse, my body moved without me. My hips lifted, seeking friction, and I hated how my skin bloomed with heat under its touch.  

A broken, breathless sound escaped my throat as the tendril began to stroke—deliberate, knowing. It didn’t caress; it read. Every moment was a line from a story it already knew by heart. It pressed into me like it had done this before—like I’d already given myself to it and just hadn’t realized.  

“You wound me. ” Its voice sounded almost tender, “ After everything I’ve given you.”  

I didn’t respond, but the tendrils shifted again, pressing just enough to make my hips roll again instinctively. I hated it. I hated the way my breath hitched. Hated the wet sound of the tendril stroking slowly between my thighs. Hated the way it knew me.  

“What you gave me was because of a trick,” my voice cracking. “You took advantage of a scared girl who didn’t know any better.” 

Another stroke—languid, measured. The rhythm was perfect, like something that knew how to read my pulse. 

There was that laugh again, one stitched together from thousands. “ I saved you.”  

“And now you’re becoming exactly what I’d hoped for.” A tendril caressed my cheek, soft and almost loving.  

The tendril at my throat pulsed, then tightened. “A perfect weapon. My little monster.”  

Before I could speak, it continued, “ But you’ve been distracted. You waste time on foolish desires. On them.”  

Contempt bled through the voice. “When you should instead be devoting yourself to me.”  

“You don’t get to decide who I am. Or who I give myself to.” 

“Oh, but I do.” It snapped—no longer sweet. 

 “I never asked for this. I never asked for you.” I swallowed. “I had a life, friends, and family who love me. They’re probably still wondering what happened to me...” 

“I was—I was just starting out; I barely had time to—to…” I couldn’t finish. It hurt too much.  

“ You were nothing.” It said coldly. “Just a weak human who didn’t realize they were destined to be more.”  

Its grip turned bruising, phantom fingers grabbing my face, pressing into the hollow of my cheeks until I thought my jaw might snap. 

“Look at you now.” It murmured . “How you’ve changed. You’re terrifying. Dripping with power. You should be thanking me.”  

“I will never thank you for anything .” The knot in my throat got tighter.  

“I won’t let you puppet me.” I said through gritted teeth, “If I have to start over and rebuild a life here, it’ll be on my own terms.” 

It leaned close. Its breath slid over my skin, colder than death, more intimate than touch, and licked my tears with a twisted reverence.  

“Oh, my sweet Mira, my precious flame.” It mocked , “You let me in. You already made your choice. You have no choice but to submit. To be mine.”  

The tendril between my thighs pressed harder, dragging across the soaked fabric of my underwear. Back and forth, with long, claiming strokes. Not for pleasure but for ownership . It left a slick, glistening trail behind it as it pulled away, like it was marking me.  

I went limp as my restraints pulsed against my skin, slithering wet and ice cold over every intimate inch of my body. I tried to push down the part of me that wanted more, the undeniable pulse of shameful need.  

“—I don’t want this. I want to be me again.” I cried. 

“Too late for that.”  

I was slipping. Losing the thread. On the verge of giving in.  

What was the point of fighting something that had already settled into your bones? Something that lived in the corners of your thoughts? That had made a home behind your eyes? 

“You haven’t even told me what you want me to do.” 

“ You are still weak.” It said , “Not ready. Grow your power. And then, only then, I will reveal your purpose.”  

It watched me, eyes blackened to collapse—twin black holes pulling everything in. I could only see my own destruction reflected in them. 

“I —I don’t want this.” 

Then it leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. It burned on impact. “Too bad.”  

“But I must go now.” It said, too soft. 

 “Be good for me.”  

Then it dipped lower—dangerous. “ Do as you're told and I’ll reward you.”  

It began to pull away, but its gaze was still locked on me. It watched me dangle, amused by my trembling, smiling at my shame.  

“And don’t make me wait this long to see you again. To feel you. ” 

 One final tendril dragged over me—one last stroke across my soaked cunt, smearing another cold line of slime against the fabric.  

Then they all tightened once more before loosening completely, and then I fell. Through the dark mist. Through the silence that screamed. Through a cold that clawed at my bones and tried to pull me back.  

When I finally hit stone, I had to claw my way out through thick tar that clung to every inch of me, black and viscous, like it wanted to keep me. My fingers left streaks in it as I clawed myself free. And when I looked up, the chamber hadn’t changed.  

It was still and silent, as if time hadn’t moved at all.  

Everything felt wrong, or maybe it was just me. Something heavy pulsed through my veins, cold and slow. My fingertips were stained back, as if whatever touched me in that place had followed me here. 

I scanned the room—my companion's frozen mid-motion, suspended in some fractured second. But the moment I stepped forward, the world caught up all at once.  

Blasts. Screams. The clash of metal. The fire licking my skin. And I hadn’t realized I’d been standing still until someone yelled my name—sharp, panicked.  

I turned just as a goblin lunged at me, blade raised. 

I threw my hands up to cast something—anything—but my magic flickered and died in my hands. My breath caught, and I shut my eyes, waiting for the impact.  

Something hit me a moment later, hard, crushing, slamming me to the ground. I braced for pain, but the weight on top of me was…familiar. Cold fingers, the scent of raspberries. And then— 

“You should be more careful,” Astarion murmured, crouched above me.  

His voice was tight and breathless. Too concerned for even him to hide. He leaned in and licked a smear of blood from my cheek like he couldn’t help himself. 

I blinked at him, “Was I…here the whole time?” 

“You always ask such interesting questions.” He tilted his head, curious. “I mean, I think so.” 

He offered a sheepish shrug, “I was a little busy slicing through the horde to notice, unfortunately.” 

“I went somewhere.” I said, voice raw, “But it wasn’t a place…not really…I don’t think it really counts as anywhere.” 

“There’s always something with you.” He said, smiling, “It’s absolutely invigorating .” 

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the battlefield blurred around us. That look again—desire, hunger, want.  

“If you keep looking at me like that,” I said, voice low, “I might forget we’re still in the middle of battle.” 

“Like what?” He purred, licking his lips. 

His smirk widened as he stood, but he didn’t let go. He pulled me up with him, I crashed into his chest—warm and solid—and I didn’t want to leave. 

But he let go a moment later and vanished back into the chaos. No parting word. Just blood and blades and the taste of him still on my skin.  

I forced myself to focus, to push past the ache the shadow had left in my bones—the ache that had awakened, the one still humming under my skin. 

Ask for my help, Mira, and you shall receive it.  

The voice cracked through my mind like a whip, volcanic and cold all at once. Freezing heat. Molten ice.  

I knew what would happen if I didn’t. I’d die. I’d fall here, like nothing . I wouldn’t make it out of this temple. Not alive, not intact, not me.  

But the thought of asking—of inviting that thing in again—made my stomach twist. What I had to do to survive might cost me everything I still clung to.  

But then again…what if none of it had ever really been mine? 

The longer I hesitated, the heavier my body became. A creeping numbness started at my toes, flooding my legs, rooting me to the stone like I was already sinking. 

I exhaled, shuddered, and finally—I caved.  

Please. Help me.   

It answered immediately, and I could hear that laugh echoing in my mind.  

Then a rush of cold bloomed in my chest, spilled down my arms, my spine—like ice water poured straight into my heart. Like hands, I couldn’t see wrapping tight around my bones. My body shifted—not with pain, but with precision, like something being unmade and reshaped. I was still in there. Still me. But I could feel it, my control was slipping, and I wasn’t the only one holding the reins anymore.  

I moved without meaning to. Quick, sharp, and clean. My boots glided across the stone like I was skating. I darted towards a cluster of goblins. Shadowheart and Gale were already holding the line.  

“Here,” I said—except the voice wasn't fully mine. “Let me help.” 

I raised my hands. Fingers curled tight as they lifted, shadows peeling from the floor like oil-slick smoke. They sugared upwards, tendrils that gripped and pulled and devoured. The goblins screamed as they were dragged into the stone, shadows swallowing them whole.  

Shadowheart looked mildly impressed. But Gale, his face was all worry. I didn’t wait for him to speak before I glided away. 

As I moved, I scanned the battlefield, taking out any goblin I could with small bursts of black shimmering balls of shadow. They dropped like flies; it felt too easy.  

And I wanted more, I felt too good to waste myself on mere cannon fodder. I wanted something bigger . 

I turned to the fight at the far end of the chamber—Lae’zel, Wyll, and the hobgoblin locked in brutal combat. The others look ragged, bloodied, and breathing hard. 

But he looked fine, barely scratched. He moved with energy, with purpose. 

My eyes narrowed. The amulet. I remembered the way it pulsed when he took damage, how his wounds sealed shut almost instantly. 

That was it; that was the key. 

I debated calling out to the others to let them know. But before I could decide, a flash of silver flicked at my side. 

Astarion. Casual as ever, hands in his pockets, blood on his collar. 

“Need any assistance?” He said, voice light, eyes sharp. 

“If you can help me get that amulet.” I pointed to the hobgoblin, “I’ll owe you one.” 

“A favor from you?” He raised a brow and leaned down closer to me, “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” 

“Okay, don’t get too excited,” I let a grin curl across my lips, “Not yet, at least.” 

“Too late.” His eyes remained locked on mine as if he looked at anything else, he wouldn't be able to stop himself.  

“Of course, I’ll help you, my sweet. I’d do it for free—but since you’ve offered something so deliciously ambiguous…I accept.” 

He leaned in a little more. The air around us shifted, pressure rising like the pause before lightning strikes.  

“You look dreadful , by the way.” He murmured, voice lowered to a velvet hush. “It’s…deeply compelling .” 

There was something else behind his words. Tension curled beneath the silk, tight, quiet. His gaze lingered too long; his smirk faltered, for just a breath.  

I tried not to smile. Tried not to notice how hard he was working, not to care. 

We didn’t speak again; we just moved together. Like shadows made flesh, weaving between blasts and stray arrows, our focus locked on the same prize. 

The amulet burned at the monster’s chest, pulsing with each heartbeat, glowing brighter every time he took a hit, sealing his flesh like time was bending backward to protect him. While our companions bled and staggered, he looked like he was enjoying himself. 

That ends now.  

Fighting with Astarion felt like breathing— effortless, instinctive. Like it had always been this way. His silver blades flashed, and shadows curled at my fingertips like talons. He darted left. I swept right. 

He reached the hobgoblin first, leaping and diving both daggers into his side. But he barely flinched. He grinned and struck. 

Astarion didn’t have time to dodge. 

Ragzlin caught him by the arm and slammed him into the stone with impossible force. The crack of impact echoed through the chamber. I could still see the slight rise and fall of Astarion’s chest as he lay there, still breathing. But he wasn’t moving. 

“Astarion!” 

He coughed—wet, red—but still, somehow, smiled through it.  

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” He wheezed. “She’s obsessed with me.” 

I surged forward, blinded by rage, but the monster was faster. His hand snapped around my throat—huge, calloused, and hot. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, choking the breath out of me before I could scream.  

My fingers raked at his flesh, and my legs kicked uselessly. The shadows gathered, but not fast enough to save me now. 

His face twisted into something between reverence and disgust. 

“You’re a door.” He rasped, “You just don’t know what’s knocking.” 

My vision blurred at the edges. My veins burned—the shadows and blood pulsed under my skin too fast and too loud. 

“You don’t belong in this world.” He hissed, eyes glowing with cult-madness, “But you’ll die in it just the same.” 

He pulled me closer, breath steaming and rancid in my face. The amulet pushed between us, glowing bright enough to sear the back of the skull.  

I reached up, my hands shaking, and grabbed the chain. The magic sparked against my skin, but I yanked as hard as I could—until the clasp snapped. The moment the amulet came free, the monster dropped me like I burned him.  

“You bitch.” He roared, lunging to grab me again, but the shadows answered first. 

They exploded outward like black lightning, hitting him dead in the chest and sending him stumbling back; this time, his wounds didn’t close from the impact.  

Smoke curled from a blackened scorch mark where the blast struck. And then, the others were on him.  

Astarion rose from the ground like a revenant, blood streaking his jaw, daggers gleaming red. Wyll hurled a bolt of eldritch flame. Lae’zel screamed and drove her blade into his thigh.  

I rose slowly, calm, controlled, but burning with a fury that felt new. 

“ Move aside,” the voice was one made of many. 

To my surprise, they did, parting like the sea, and I was on him in a blur. My feet rose off the floor to meet him eye to eye. 

My hand floated in front of me, fingers curling. My vision went black, but I could feel everything . 

No, it was more than that—I knew . The magic sang in my blood; the power hummed beneath my ribs.  

I plunged my hand into his chest. Flesh gave away like wet parchment. My fingers pushed past skin, past bone. I felt his ribs fold under pressure. I felt sinew stretch and tear.  

And then, there it was—his heart. Still beating, slick and hot in my hand, thrashing like it knew I was its doom. 

“Where is your God now?” I cackled as I gripped and pulled. 

It tore free with a wet, sickening snap, veins and muscle ripping loose like strings of meat. 

 The monster screamed—not in pain but something deeper. Something final. Like the unraveling of a soul. 

He dropped to his knees first. Then toppled forward—his chest a hollow cavity. Gaping. Twitching. The light in his eyes dimmed, flashed once, and vanished. 

My vision came back in fragments. Blood on my arms. My fingers clenched tightly around the still pulsing heart. 

And I just stood there panting. The air was thick with blood and ozone. My neck ached from his grip, my breaths coming in short, shallow huffs.  

I turned toward Astarion, who was watching me like I might rip his heart out next. Blood dried in the corners of his mouth, a smear running down the side of his neck.  

I dropped the heart, letting it fall to the stone with a wet slap, like it was nothing. 

Then I stepped toward him, “Is it weird?” I said, voice rough and low, “That I always want to kiss you more when you’re covered in blood?” 

He didn’t respond; he just continued to look at me like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to flee, fall to his knees, or fuck me against the nearest pillar. 

But finally, his mouth parted, lips stained red, breath catching in his throat. 

“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” He said with a chuckle.  

He stepped closer, just one pace, but it felt like crossing a battlefield. 

“You are absolutely deranged.” His eyes roamed over me, slow and sharp. “Monstrous even.”  

“And gods, I need you like this, Mira, cloaked in shadow and death and wrath.” 

“Then have me,” I said, eyes wide with anticipation and something more feral. 

We were inches away now, close enough to touch, but I don’t think either of us dared yet. We were too close to crashing into one another, violently, desperately. 

“Very tempting.” He said. 

 His hands found my shoulders, fingernails digging in just enough to make me feel it. 

His eyes locked onto mine with a hunger I hadn’t seen from him before—something deeper than lust. Closer to longing .  

 “But I think what you need right now...” his voice gentled. “Is to sit. You look like you’re going to pass out. And I don’t have the energy to carry you back to camp.” 

Then he pushed me down—carefully, firmly—until I was sitting on the cold stone. He leaned down and brushed his fingers over my lips. Then, I gently tucked my hair behind one ear. 

“I’ve never wanted someone more than I do right now.” He whispered, and his voice cracked on it. 

Then he turned and disappeared into he dark of the chamber. 

I sat with my back against a broken pillar, each breath finally starting to come easier. The ache had settled into my bones, low and deep—less pain, more echo.  

Shadowheart made her way over in silence. She knelt beside me and offered her waterskin without a word. I drank gratefully, too parched to speak. By the time I moved to hand it back, she was already gone, tending to Wyll’s leg as he sat cheerfully on a chunk of fallen stone, humming to himself like he hadn’t almost lost a limb.  

Gale stood a few feet away, watching. Not coming any closer, not yet. 

Lae’zel eventually stalked over to me, passing close enough to glance down and mutter, “That was brutal. Unhinged. She took a moment to pause, thinking over her words, “I respect it.” 

I blinked up at her retreating form, momentarily stunned. We’d barely spoken beyond curt camp interactions. She scared me, if I was honest, but not Astarion scared me. Lae’zel didn’t flirt with danger. She was danger. I'd made it a point to keep my distance, and I always assumed she preferred it that way.  

So, hearing approval—respect, even—from her felt strange like being knighted by a dragon.  

“Oh, thanks,” I said, a little too softly for her to hear. 

She didn’t look back. Just starting riffling through the corpses of fallen goblins like nothing had changed.  

The battle had ended a while ago, but I still felt it—mercury in my veins. That unnatural magic is still humming low beneath my skin.  

I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the amulet. I hadn’t realized I’d kept it. I hadn’t remembered pocketing it at all.  

It pulsed against my palm, slow and steady, like it recognized me.  

A cold unease crept up my spine as I stared down at it. It didn’t feel dangerous exactly, but it didn’t feel neutral either. There was a weight to it. Like it wanted something. 

I should have dropped it. Buried it. Crushed it beneath my boot.  

The thought of Gale crept into my mind. I bet he would know what it was. 

I don’t know how long I sat like that—still staring—until I heard the soft shuffle of boots beside me. I didn’t look up right away. It wasn’t until the air shifted, warmer somehow, that I turned my head. 

Gale. 

Standing over me, like I’d summoned him with nothing but want alone. 

“Oh, hey.” I didn’t look up—just shifted my gaze back to the amulet, still warm in my palm. It pulsed steadily, like it was breathing. 

“How are you feeling?” Gale’s voice came gently as he stepped closer, arms tucked behind his back. His hair had fallen loose and wild across his face. For once, he didn’t bother to fix it. 

“Like I ripped someone’s heart from their chest.” I croaked, aiming for humor and missing the mark by miles.  

He let out a soft chuckle.” You certainly look like it.” 

Then, after a pause. “May I?” He gestured to the empty space next to me. 

“Of course.” I gave him a half-smile as he lowered himself next to me.  

We sat there in silence for a beat, the air between us stretching and folding in, then, without looking at me, he said quietly, “I saw you. On the battlefield. Everything slowed. You didn’t vanish entirely, but...the light left your eyes.” 

I pulled my knees close to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Hmm, I was wondering about that.”  

He reached over, resting a hand gently over mine.  

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about? He asked, and the question wasn’t clinical or cautious. It was kind and soft. 

I swallowed, “I’m scared,” I whispered, “Of what’s happening to me. Of what I’m becoming….”  

His grip tightened slightly, grounding. “Mira, whatever’s happening to you…it worries me, but you don’t scare me.” 

“I know this is all new to you, having these powers, but the ones you’ve been given...they always take more than they give.” 

“I just don’t want to see something happen to you that I could have helped you avoid…” 

And that was it. 

Not a demand. Not a plea. Just quiet, careful concern, and it undid me more than anything else could have. 

Something inside me reached for him. 

I wanted to tell him everything. About the voice. The void. The way the shadows had moved with me. The way it hadn’t felt like using power—it had felt like being claimed. 

And still, he looked at me like I was whole. I didn’t know why I kept it all locked away. Maybe I thought I could protect him from it. Or protect myself from what he might see in me if I let him look too closely.  

But now? Now I didn’t want to carry this alone. My hand twitched, wanting to reach for his. I didn’t, but I wanted to so badly.  

I turned to him, breath caught behind my teeth, and he was still smiling. Soft. Steady. Like nothing had changed. Like I was still someone worth waiting for.  

“Can we talk later?” I asked, my voice barely holding. “I don’t know if I’m ready right now.” 

I could see relief wash over him, “Of course.” 

He hesitated, then added, “Why don’t we take a walk together? I know the temple scenery isn’t the most…calming of landscapes, but a walk to clear your head might be what you need.” 

“Yeah,” I tilted my head and gave him a real smile this time. “I’d really like that.” 

“Perfect.” He rested his hand on my head, fingers lightly threading through my hair. “When the others settle in for the night, meet me at my tent and we’ll go.” 

He stood slowly, his warmth fading from the space where he was. He walked off to join the others who had gathered over the body of the monster, everyone but Astarion, who was nowhere to be seen.  

I had no idea how long I was sitting there or how long the others had been looting the chamber. My blood began to cool; my magic started to settle, but it never retreated. I could feel the creature moving through me, even now, it spoke to me in words I couldn’t understand, but felt. My mind was so loud, and I couldn’t discern where my thoughts ended and the whispers began.  

Something had changed, but not just in me, around me. Like the world is waiting for me to become something I don’t recognize.  

My skin started to prickle, but it wasn’t from my magic trying to claw its way back to the surface. I looked around the chamber from where I was sitting, my spine still resting against the broken pillar. 

He wasn’t in sight, but I felt him, though, so he must be close by. 

Then I blinked and there he was. Moving towards me, slow and deliberate, a cloth-wrapped bundle cradled in his hands. 

He knelt in front of me, offering it without explanation. 

“For you.” He said. 

His voice was sickly sweet. But behind it, something uncertain flickered—like even he didn’t know why he’d done it. 

I stared up at him, confused. He was bringing me gifts now. That wasn’t…normal. Not bad, just strange. 

The idea of him seeing something, thinking of me, and choosing to bring it over—it didn’t quite line up with the man who just licked blood off my cheek. And yet…it fit. Uncomfortably well. 

“I found this,” he said, then added, “and it reminded me of you.” 

My cheeks flushed with heat as I took the bundle and set it carefully in my lap. I looked up at him one more time. His eyes were soft, too soft, which made my chest ache. 

I held my breath and unwrapped the cloth. 

Inside was a silver ring. Simple. Elegant. Only slightly tarnished. Small dark gemstones lined its band like quiet little eyes. It looked impossibly similar to the pendant around my neck.  

I slipped it onto my finger. It fit like it had always belonged there. 

“Do you like it?” His voice broke the silence—gentle, hopeful, and almost fragile. Like if I said no, it might ruin him.  

“I thought it would go perfectly with your pendant.” He added, “A matching set.” 

I couldn’t help but smile as I looked down at my finger. “I love it. Thank you.” 

He didn’t respond at first—just watched me, the way one watched something too precious to touch. 

And for a long moment, neither of us moved.  

The chamber was quiet. The others were distant shapes, and I could still feel the pulse of power moving through my blood. I still heard the creature whispering beneath my thoughts. But here with him, it felt almost quiet. Not safe, just quiet.  

He stood up, reaching out his hand to help me, and I took it. Pulling me close to him again, like he couldn’t help himself. Before retracting, signaling me to start walking, I did, and he found his spot behind me, and off we went. 

The others had already started making their way back to camp through the crumbling corridors and echoing hallways of the ruined temple. The firelight from earlier battles still flickered on the walls. Shadows moved strangely in the corners.  

No one said much. There wasn’t much to say. 

Wyll was limping slightly. Shadowheart had a smear of blood on her temple that she hadn’t noticed. Lae’zel walked ahead of the group, sword still drawn as if daring something else to try her. 

We returned to the half-collapsed room we’d claimed as our camp—battered stone, scattered bones, one cracked statue watching over us like it remembered what the gods had abandoned.  

Someone started a fire. The smell of blood still clung to the air.  

I sat down slowly. My body was quiet now. But my magic wasn’t; it still churned beneath my skin like a second pulse.  

The ring on my finger felt heavier than it should have. The amulet in my pocket throbbed with quiet heat. I could still hear the shadows whispering behind my thoughts. 

And just as I started to drift—barely breathing, barely here—I heard it again. 

That voice. 

“You wore it well.”  

Silk. Smug. Too pleased with itself. 

“My beautiful little harbinger.”  

I didn’t respond, but I could feel it smiling.  

Later, after the others had eaten and the fire burned low, I found Shadowheart near the back of the room. She was crouched beside one of the old fountains she and Gale had managed to coax back to life—just a thin, steady trickle of water, but it was clean, and that felt like a small miracle. 

Her armor was off. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, dark, damp, and curling. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she rinsed blood from her fingers with methodical grace. 

She glanced up as I approached, without a word, nodded toward the other side of the basin. “There’s room.” 

I sat next to her in silence. The stone was cold beneath me, and then I dipped my hands into the water. It was cold, biting, shocking me into stillness.  

She passed me a cloth and a small tin of some herbal soap, sharp and floral. “For your hair.” 

Then added, faintly amused, “Wouldn’t want goblin guts in your hair for your date with Gale.” 

She laughed under her breath as she said it. Not cruel. Just teasing. 

“I’m choosing to ignore that,” I muttered, a little too warm in the cheeks. “But thank you.” 

We worked in silence for a while, both of us scrubbing out blood and ash and filth. My scalp ached with every pass of my fingers. My limbs were heavy with aftermath. Every motion felt like dragging myself back into my own skin. 

“I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Shadowheart said quietly, rinsing the soap from her hair with a slow pour of water from a jug, “The way you moved, the magic that answered you.” 

“It wasn’t me. Not entirely. It’s that thing. The one inside of me. The one that’s been…tampering with my memories.” I sighed, raking my fingers through my wet hair. 

“Right.” She murmured, “So, it’s getting stronger.” 

“Or I am.” I shrugged, wringing out the ends of my hair. “But it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.” 

She turned toward me then, brow slightly furrowed, her gaze quiet and sharp all at once. “Did you let it in? Or did it take you?” 

I hesitated, then replied, “Both. I don’t think I would’ve survived without it.” 

“That’s how it starts.” She said, and though the words were blunt, there was no judgment in them. Only experience. 

I looked at her in the half-light, moonlight catching her eyes, her sleeves stained to the elbow. She looked like someone carved from twilight and intent.  

“Would you still trust me if I lost control?” 

She gave a short, breathy laugh. “You ripping a heart out wasn’t losing control?” 

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I glanced down at the water, at the faint, warping reflection staring back. I barely recognized her—white eyes where my irises used to be, lavender skin dulled into something ghostly, a streak of white cutting through curls that looked brittle and wrong.  

Whoever she was…she was winning.  

“I’ve seen what happens when someone’s used by a god,” Shadowheart said after a moment. “You’re not first.” 

“This thing.” I said, flexing my hands beneath the water, “It isn’t divine. I don’t know much about this place, but I know that. It doesn’t feel holy. It feels…wrong. Like blasphemy wrapped in velvet.” 

“I’m not divine either, Mira.” She said quietly, “But gods don’t need to be holy to make demands of you. And their gifts always come with consequences.”  

We let that sit for a moment, the silence stretching between us. The kind that felt like safety, not distance.  

“So, you were eavesdropping on me earlier,” I said, turning to face her. “How much did you hear?” 

“Of course I was,” she said with a smirk on her face, far too pleased with herself. “Your melodrama is entertaining.” 

I didn’t say anything, just groaned and splashed water on my face. 

She leaned forward slightly. “I also saw Astarion picking through rubble like something depended on it. Muttering about needing to find something ‘frightening.” She added. 

I held my hand out in front of her. The gems in the ring caught the moonlight, glittering like stars. 

“He gave me this.” I said, "He said It reminded him of me.” 

She looked down at it, and back at me, then at the pendant around my neck. “This is the most shocking thing that has happened all day.” 

I laughed—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. “That’s saying something.” 

Shadowheart looked at the ring once more, then back at me, 

“You know,” she said, brushing a damp lock of hair behind her ear, “for someone wrapped in shadow and doom, you’ve sure got a very complicated love life.” 

“What’s a little doom without some romance?” I smiled and shrugged. 

She snorted and stood, wringing the water from her sleeves. “Well. Good luck.” 

I looked up at her. “With my love life or the ancient entity trying to hollow me out from the inside?” 

“Whoever shows up first,” she said with a wink, and then turned toward the campfire. 

Wyll had just finished sharpening his blade and looked up as she approached. He made space for her beside him, and she dropped down into it without ceremony, her body settling like a blade returned to its sheath.  

I lingered a moment longer at the basin. Watching the water settle, watching the ripples fade. Then I stood, muscles still aching, and made my way to my tent. 

I didn’t rush. But my heart was already moving faster than my feet.  

When I made my way inside, I tore through my pack, desperate for something clean—something that didn’t stink of blood and ruin. Eventually, I found a shirt buried near the bottom. Dark blue, form-fitting, low-cut with puffy sleeves that had once felt too indulgent for everyday. It would do. 

I changed slowly, letting the fabric settle over skin that still felt too raw. Too haunted. But it felt good, in a quiet way, to shed the gore-soaked robes I’d lived in all day. 

Then I pulled on a fresh pair of trousers, smoothing the wrinkles with shaky hands, then slipped into my boots. 

It wasn’t a special outfit. Just clean. Something that didn’t reek of death and unraveling magic. 

I stepped out of my tent, quietly brushing my fingers over the pendant at my neck like that could anchor me. 

The air of the temple had cooled. Somewhere nearby, someone stirred the fire. And there was the low hum of camp settling into night—quiet voices, creaking leather, the crackle of embers. 

And then, I felt it. That subtle shift in the air. The weightless silence followed only him . 

I turned my head to see Astarion standing just outside the circle of firelight, leaning against a broken column like the temple had been built for him to haunt. 

His arms were crossed. His eyes find mine instantly, gaze locked on mine, but he didn’t say a word, just looked. Slow and intentional, like he was memorizing me. Like he already had.  

His gaze dipped, subtle, dragging over the fall of my shirt, the sliver glint at my throat, the place where my hand still hovered over my pendant. Then lower, over to the ring on my finger.  

It wasn’t a leer. It was something worse. It was affection. Amused. Possessive. A little dangerous. 

My heart twisted—sharp and sweet and stupid. 

I swallowed and forced myself to keep walking. Not toward him. Away .  

I didn’t say anything, but neither did he, and that made it so much worse. 

Because as I walked towards Gale’s tent, the warm flicker of candlelight that spilled through the canvas, all I could feel was the burn of Astarion’s eyes on my back. 

Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he wants me to come back later. Maybe I will. Maybe .  

Chapter Text

Something was thumping, and I couldn't tell if it was the sound of my boots striking the stone or my heart battering itself against my ribs. Each step toward Gale's tent seemed to drag time out longer; the faint amber glow bleeding through the canvas pulled me forward like a lure. 

I kept my eyes ahead, refusing to look over my shoulder, refusing to confirm the weight of Astarion's gaze that I could still feel on me. It pressed against my back, heavy and accusing. My fingers found the nape of my neck, rubbing slowly into the taut muscles there as if I could knead away the ache. I turned slowly, as if I were wading through molasses, only to find nothing but the shadowed emptiness where he'd stood. No pale smirk. No teasing glint in red eyes. The absence cut sharper than I'd expected.  

Then I was standing in front of Gale's tent, and I hesitated, pulse pounding in my throat, but finally I pushed the flap aside and ducked in.  

Being inside Gale's tent always felt like stepping into the back room of an apothecary. The air was thick with incense; tonight, it smelled like pine, sharp and resinous, that was undercut with a faint, syrupy sweetness I couldn't name. Books rose in precarious towers, pagers spilling loose from them, scribbled with his quick, elegant hand. On a small desk to the side, glass jars caught the candlelight, filled with powders and crystals that gleamed faintly as though aware they were being watched. An open book lay in the middle of the mess, a candle pooling molten wax at its base.  

And then there was Gale. 

He sat cross-legged, a book in his hands, his hair unbound and spilling over his shoulders in soft, dark waves. His glasses, which were new to me, caught the light as he tilted his head toward the page, making him look somehow more refined and infuriatingly handsome.  

I froze in the entrance, watching him. The steady line of his jaw, the curl of his fingers around the spine of the book. The quiet crease in his brow. I studied him like one might study a portrait, looking for what the painter wanted to hide. I was so caught up in it, I didn't realize he'd moved until his shadow fell across me.  

And it wasn't until his hand ruffled my hair, fingers brushing my scalp with casual familiarity, that I startled. My own wide-eyed look must have given me away because his expression shifted, the faintest curve at his mouth telling me he knew exactly what he'd caught me doing. 

"What has you so lost in thought?" his voice came low and smooth, reaching out to caress my face, his fingers tracing the slope of my jaw, down the side of my neck, lingering just long enough at my collarbone to leave a bloom of heat behind. 

His touch was impossibly warm, soft in a way that made my skin ache for more. My thoughts scattered, drifting somewhere deep in the dark brown of his eyes, and for a second, I wasn't sure I'd find my way back out. 

"You just look oddly like a professor I had in college, like this."  I finally managed, voice catching like I'd been holding my breath.  

"Oh?" A slight lift of his brow. "Is that so?" 

"Mhm." I said, twirling a lock of hair around my finger without thinking, "His class was so boring that not even his good looks could keep me awake." 

"Falling asleep in a lecture?" He leaned in, the faint smile at his mouth deepening, "I would have assumed you'd be a better student than that." 

"Actually, I was a model student, thank you very much." I stuck my tongue out at him before adding, "Except for that one horrendous class." 

The thought shuttered as I tried to recall more details that should have been there, but all I found were gaps, holes where memory should have been.  

His grin shifted, slow and deliberate, as he stepped closer, his hand curling gently around my elbow. The heat of him pressed into my skin.  

"Well, in that case," he muttered, his breath brushing the shell of my ear, "I'd love to see how good a student you really are. Will you show me sometime?" 

The sound of my heartbeat was loud enough that I was sure he could hear it, his gaze caught mine again, both hands now on my elbows, and his eyes burned—not with hunger, not with lust, but with something far more devastating. Longing. 

The moment stretched until my magic stirred restlessly under my skin, sparking faintly where he touched me. Then, as if sensing how close the air was to breaking, he chuckled softly.  

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, easing back and letting his hands fall away.  

I exhaled, finally, the sound shaky "I...uhm...think so." 

"Splendid," he swept his cloak from a chair, draping it over his arm. "Let's go." 

He slipped out of the tent, leaving me in the warm flicker of candlelight with my pulse still hammering and my thighs pressed tightly together. I forced a long, steady breath before following him into the gloom.  

The campfire was low, lanterns dim, shadows leaning long over the stone. Gale stood just outside the tent, fastening his cloak, adjusting his cuffs with slow precision until they met his approval.  

"So, any direction in mind?" I asked, stepping up beside him.  

"I was going to leave that up to you. You seem to have a knack for finding interesting places. And since you're with me, I know you'll be safe." 

His gaze flicked, just briefly, to the spot where the arrow struck me. I could see the memories of me that night flash behind his eyes before his gaze returned to my eyes.  

As we were about to leave, I saw him just beyond the campfire's reach, cloak shifting faintly in the draft. His posture was like a drawn bow, still but sharpened.  

I could see Gale's eyes lock across the dim space, fixed on Astarion, who lingered in the space between two tents, half his face lit by the thin spill of lantern light. 

The air between them felt colder than the stone under my boots. 

Astarion's expression was carved in marble, but his gaze was a blade—cutting through the distance, through Gale. For a single, treacherous heartbeat, his face faltered, something shifted raw. Something that looked like a loss. Then it was gone, buried under that perfect, hollow mask.  

I looked over at Gale, who didn't look away. I could see the corner of his mouth pull in the faintest smirk. Not triumph but something darker, heavier. Like the satisfaction of holding a winning hand, you're not sure you want to play.  

None of them spoke; they just stared at each other, then they turned to look at me. Two threads of attention latching on at once, pinning me in place. My pulse lurched, a hot rush sliding low in my belly. Heat crept up the back of my neck, my magic answering before my mind could catch up; it felt like a sparkler misfiring just under my skin.  

The space between us contracted, not in distance but in weight. Gale's gaze burned steady, assuring, like a hand at the small of my back, urging me forward. Astarion's was sharper, colder, skimming over me in a way that still managed to feel like possession. The pressure of it stole the breath from my chest. 

And the only thoughts I could manage were how I wanted both of them in different ways, for different reasons. And wanting them both at once made something coil tight in my ribs, equal parts ache, and hunger.  

The fire cracked, too loud in the silence. I could feel them still, even without movement, their attention like invisible hands gripping either shoulder, neither willing to be the first one who let go.  

Gale grabbed my arm, softly until it wasn't, his nails digging into my skin.          

"Let's go," he said calmly, his voice was breathless, his eyes remaining locked on me.  

My gaze went from him to Astarion, then back to him as I turned around and started to move. I could feel Gale's hand rise to the middle of my back and rest there until we were past the edge of camp.  

But there was something in his eyes when I looked at him, something that was twisted and sharp. It sank low in my stomach, tangling guilt and heat until I couldn't tell one from the other. And underneath it all, in a place I wasn't yet ready to dissect, was pride.  

We stepped out of the chamber, and the air felt thinner here, less suffocating. I drew in a long breath.  

"What direction now, my star?" Gale said lightly.  

"Hmmm…" I trailed off.  

Three corridors stretched ahead. One led back the way we came—the familiar path to camp, its walls lit with Gale's enchanted torches that would never die. The other two sat dark and silent. My head tipped one way, then the other way, trying to choose. 

And then—whispers. I'm waiting for you. 

I froze. I couldn't tell if the voice was in my head or if Gale had heard it too. But my body reacted before my mind could catch up. My head snapped toward the left-hand corridor, my foot taking a step forward before I pulled back again.  

When I turned, Gale was already watching me.  

"That was quick," he said with a smile, "I'm impressed." 

"You're not worried?" My body stayed half twisted, caught between the voice and his gaze, as he closed the distance.  

"I'm always worried," His voice softened as his hand brushed down my arm, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake. "But I trust in my ability to protect you more than I fear anything hurting you." 

"You won't be getting shot by any arrows while around," he murmured, stepping in front of me, peering into the shadows.  

"Now, shall we?" His mouth quirked, though the glint in his eyes was sharpened. "I'm curious to see what's waiting for you this time." 

We moved together into the dark. Silence pressed close, broken only by the distant drip of water and the furtive scuttle of unseen creatures. With a flick of his hand, Gale brought the faint globes into being, faint globes bobbing ahead of us.  

The temple was cold, empty and ruined. The stone floor was cracked and uneven. Bones littered the way, rusted weapons lying beside them—remnants of adventures too slow, too bold. I wondered how many lives had been lost here, how many had been saved.  

A chill pricked up my spine as I touched the cold stone wall. Bile rose in my throat. The air carried the same sick weight as the poison arrow that had torn into me.  

The heaviness settled on my shoulders, my mind gone silent. 

"What's on your mind?' Gale's voice is low at my side.  

"Whatever happened here," I said tightly, "I can still feel it. Sorrow. Despair. The memories bleed from the walls." 

The pulls within me grew stronger, tugging me deeper until we reached another chamber—a bedroom.  

An ornate canopy bed loomed, draped in ghostly white sheets, untouched, as though someone still lived here. Bookshelves lined the walls, papers scattered across the floor, candles guttering through no draft stirred.  

"It's here. Hiding." My voice was barely above a whisper.  

"I'm starting to feel something too…" Gale trailed off, turning to a nearby suitcase.  

Behind me, he sifted through tones, the sound of pages fluttering and dust stirring. Now and then, he hummed or muttered softly, calling out a "good find." His voice was almost gentle—sweet, even—which felt wrong in a room so heavy it was hard to breathe.  

I wandered to the left, letting my hand trail across faded spines. The words on their covers were too blurred to read. Between two towering shelves, I found a fireplace. Ornate, delicate. The carvings stopped me in my tracks: a great moon framed by flowers, stars, and filigree.  

A storm stirred inside me. My fingers and toes tingled. My lips parted as my gaze locked on the carved moon.  

I dragged my fingers across the mantle. When I pulled back, the tips were gray with dust.  

Then—pain. Sharp and searing in my side, plunging into the cold.  

I collapsed to the floor with a cry, clutching myself, my vision shattered into black.  

A hand crept up my spine-ancient, final, infinite—the weight of millions pressing down.  

I could feel everything. Threads of red stretched around me—some taunt and strong, others shriveled, brittle, crumbling into ash, they snapped one by one. 

You are so close. You need to remember who you are. 

Another voice split through the darkness. It took me a moment to recognize.  

"Mira—what's happening?" Gale's voice was raw with fear. His hand cupped my face, urgent, pulling me back from the edge.  

But the words that spilled from me weren't mine. They were ancient, tearing me like something clawing through my skin. She needs to remember who she is. Bring her back to me, 

"Who are you?" Gale's voice cracked, "Who is she?" He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath ragged. "What is happening to you-please, come back to me." 

He said it as if he could anchor me with enough closeness, enough desperation, I'd stay,  

I gasped, tearing myself free, my body moving faster than I thought possible. My hand shot to the bookshelf, seizing a book and ripping it down.  

A click, the grind of gears. The shelf shuddered and slid open.  

I stumbled forward, but something yanked me back—hard enough to make me stumble. His arm was around me again, solid and unyielding.  

"Hold on," Gale said, voice low, right at my ear.  

"Why?" I snapped, gritting my teeth, "I thought you weren't worried." 

"It has nothing to do with worry." His words shook, though he tried for a chuckle that fell flat. His grip didn't ease. "Just...give me a moment to make sure nothing in there kills us. Can you do that? Can you be patient?" 

I huffed, crossing my arms, but I didn't pull away. Shadows twitched around my feet, restless. "Fine." 

His magic rose, soft sparks flicking in the stale air as he whispered his incantation. He should have been focused on the spell, but his gaze kept dragging back to me. His voice dipped softer, coaxing, "I love when you're good." He murmured, "When you listen." 

Heat coiled low in my stomach. I clenched my fists to keep from reaching for him. 

At last, the tension drained from his shoulders, the spell complete. He straightened, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate care before turning to me. His eyes lingered too long, heavy with someone he refused to say.  

"Okay. It's safe." His voice steadied, but I could still feel the tremor underneath. "You may go. But promise me—" his hand hovered near my jaw, "Promise me you'll be careful, that you'll listen to me." 

Yes," I breathed, my pulse tripping. "I promise. I'll be on my best behavior." 

"I should hope so." His lips quirked faintly, but the look in his eyes was anything but light. 

We stepped into the dark corridor beyond the bookcase, the passage narrowing until our shoulders brushed. The sound of dripping water echoed sharply, amplified by the stone until it felt like the cavern itself was breathing. It was dim and oppressive until Gale lifted his hand and summoned orbs of light, tiny, glimmering spheres that drifted ahead of us like captive stars.  

The hallway opened into a vast cavern. Stalactites loomed above like jagged swords waiting to fall. Here and there, fragments of temple stone jutted from the walls, half swallowed by earth and erosion, as though the building had sunk and fused with the ground over centuries. The air was warmer than I expected—thick, humid, clinging to my skin like a damp shroud as we pressed onward.  

The closer I drew to what was waiting, the tighter the knot in my stomach pulled. Each breath dragged smoke-heavy into my lungs. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until the path finally opened into a chamber half sunken into the stone.  

It was a ruin of what it once had been. Rubble lay in heaps, books and papers scattered across the floor—pages inked with strange equations I couldn't begin to understand. On a warped table a pile of rotting food slumped in place, wax frozen in melted cascades down their sides. 

And on the far wall, a massive iron gate its bars twisted faintly, as though whatever lay beyond had tried to tear its way out.  

My steps slowed. "Whatever is waiting," I murmured, edging toward it. "It's through there." 

The chamber was dim, making it difficult to see fine detail. Gale stood a little way off, unrolling a scroll, attention fixed.  

"Hey," I called, louder than I meant, "Can you bring your lights over here? There has to be something over here to open this gate." 

He glanced at me, a sly smile tugging at his mouth. "Say please." 

I rolled my eyes, pitching my voice back into mock-sweetness, "Please." 

His chuckle was low, pleased. With a flick of his wrist, the motes floated toward me, washing the chamber in pale light. Shadows peeled back to reveal a lever tucked against the wall.  

I hurried over and braced myself, shoving down with all my strength. The handle groaned but didn't budge. Muscles straining, I grit my teeth. "Well, I found it, but it's stuck." 

"Would you like some help?" Gale's voice came smooth and warm, edged with infuriating patience.  

I blew out a sharp breath, then forced my tone lighter, "I would love some help." 

Before I could step aside, he was already there—heat at my back, his presence enveloping me. His hand slid over mine on the iron, steady, deliberate. His chest brushed my shoulder as he leaned in, voice low at my ear.  

"Relax," he murmured, "You'll strain yourself. Let me." 

But instead of bearing down, I felt his magic pulse beneath my hand, soft at first, then growing. His other hand found my hip, holding me still, grounding me while arcane energy rippled into the level.  

The iron trembled, groaning in protest, dust sifting from the stone above. The magic thrummed through us both, carried from his palm into mine, coiling like a shared heartbeat. 

The lever gave, sinking with a grinding screech, until it locked in place with a resounding crack. 

"There," Gale whispered, though he didn't move away. His hand lingered heavily at my hip, the warmth of his body pressed close, his mouth was so near I felt his words more than heard them. "All it took was a little patience." 

My throat worked, swallowing hard, pulse drumming as I leaned—without meaning to—into him.  

The curve of his smile told me he'd noticed exactly how still I'd gone beneath his hand. Another breathless moment passed before he finally let go—slowly, like he wasn't in any hurry to gave me back my space.  

I didn't realize the gate had lifted until the ringing in my ears faded and the pressure low in my stomach eased. Gale's eyes were fixed on me, smug and knowing, his hand outstretched like he expected me to crumble into it.  

"Are you alright?" His voice was silk, his gaze sparkling.  

He already knew the answer—he was the answer. He wanted me to admit it aloud, to confirm what we both knew: how rattled I was, how much of it was because of him. 

"Yes—but no thanks to you." My words came out sharper than I meant, though my hand betrayed me, sliding into his. He pulled me forward with a strength that made resistance impossible, and suddenly I was tucked against his cheek, my head resting there like it had always belonged.  

"You're not the only one allowed to tease," he murmured into my hair, his chuckle rumbling against me. "But now, it's time to go." 

He kept my hand in his, tugging me gently into step beside him. My body followed without thought, falling into his rhythm as though it had been trained to do so. 

After a silence stretched between us, curiosity broke free. "You seem awfully confident in your ability to protect me—better than Astarion." 

At the name, he flinched, subtle but there. 

"So, what would you do to stop me from jumping in front of an arrow for you?" 

"I'm hoping you won't have to experience that again." He said, and there was an edge to his voice that cut sharply. 

"Okay, well—me too. But it will happen. Probably more than once," I tilted my head at him, catching the furrow in his brow. "So, how would you stop me?" 

He stopped abruptly. His band left mine only to seize my arm, his grip startling his intensity—possessive, protective, almost desperate. It reminded me of Astarion, though the fire in Gale's eyes was all his own.  

"Ow." The sound slipped from me, helpless.  

"Mira," my name fell from him like a warming. His grip tightened. "This isn't a game. Your safety is critical to me. Unlike our pale companion, you throwing yourself in front of a blade—or an arrow—for me is not something to brag over. I'd rather not think about it." 

"But—" I started, breath catching, but he cut me off before the thought could take shape.  

"No buts." His voice had turned into command again—unyielding, authoritative. It should have stung, but instead it sent heat curling low in my stomach. I hated how much I liked it.  

The silence that followed was thick, his grip still warm on my arm even after he let go. I tried to shake it off, but the pull inside me only grew stronger-whether it was the echo of his touch or the darker call that had been tugging at me all night, I couldn't tell. All I knew was the ache was relentless, settling low in my body. 

As we walked, he talked. There was never a moment of silence with him. Most people might have found his constant commentary tracing, but I found it enchanting. He spoke of ancient glyphs etched into the stone, of the strange lichen glowing faintly across the damp walls, slipping between careful explanations and jokes that sometimes felt misplaced in such a foreboding place. A part of me wondered if it was nerves—whether the tension of these unexplored tunnels or from simply being alone with me, I couldn't be sure.  

His hand lingered at the small of my back. To guide me forward, perhaps, or because he couldn't bring himself to let go—I didn't mind either way. The passageway sloped downward, and still, we didn't stop. I think we were too wrapped in each other's company, too unwilling to break the spell, to turn back and face the reality waiting for us above.  

The pull inside me only grew sharper, tugging with invisible threads that left sparks of dark static bursting from my hands. Whatever it was, it was close, too close, and I was terrified. 

The air shifted as we pressed on. The chill gave way to something heavier, humid, and clinging, thick with an earthy musk that filled my lungs. Then, as we rounded the corner, I saw it.  

A crumbling temple hollowed out of the stone. Its brazier's still burned with steady flames—likely preserved by some enchantment as Gale's and at its center stood a towering statue, arms outstretched, cradling something that gleamed faintly in the light. And beyond it, framed by the ruin, a pair of immense black iron gates.  

As we crossed the threshold, my ears began to ring, sharp and piercing. A sound tore from me, something between a gasp and a scream. My magic flared, misfiring in jaded bursts, dark sparks crackling from my fingertips.  

I felt myself sinking, powerless to resist. The sensation was horribly familiar; that dreadful slowing of time, the suspended heartbeat before the void pulls me under. I tried to call out, but no words came. 

Gale's face broke through the sound and light—his expression stricken, desperate. His hands reached for me, cupping my face, but I was already slipping away.  

My eyes rolled back. My feet left stone. A hand caught my ankle, tugging hard, but it couldn't hold me. I was unmoored. 

When I opened my eyes, I expected the void. Instead, I found myself. Or something wearing my face. 

She stood before me like an echo of a life I had forgotten. Her hair was white, streaming behind her as though caught in a storm no one else could feel. Her features were honed, her eyes gleaming with the power of a god—terrible, beautiful, inescapable. Looking at her felt like warmth and ruin all at once, like the embrace of a friend I had lost and the judgment of something far greater. 

Hot tears blurred my vision as I reached for her, aching to remember.  

She spoke in a language I had never heard, yet somehow the meaning carved itself directly into me: 

"Go through the gate. Find out who you are." 

Her voice was a flock of birds taking flight, deafening in its beauty.  

Then she stepped forward, close enough to touch, and pressed two fingers to my brow. Her lips moved beneath the cacophony of wings and storm, whispering words meant only for me. 

"Seize what you've lost and make it yours again." 

The pressure hit like a tide. Not pain but something worse—something prying at the locked places inside my skull. A door forced open, splintering against resistance. And I could feel it—something else clawing desperately to keep it shut. 

And then I was eight years old again.  

Perched on a stool in my childhood kitchen, tears streaking down my face. I had scarred my knee riding bikes with my brother, and my mother was tending to my wound. Her hands were gentle, her touch soft, and she hummed a tune I couldn't quite place.  

Then the world cracked. Reality fractured like glass, and I was no longer home.  

I sat on the edge of a dimly lit bed in a chamber I had never seen before. A woman with grey, slicked-back hair tended to me, humming the same tune. 

But she was not my mother. 

Her hands were calloused, her bandaging rough and haphazard as she wrapped my injury. She spoke, but the words reached me muffled, as though drifting through water. I strained to hear, focusing until her voice cut sharply and clearly. 

"You need to try harder. You will not be chosen if you are weak." 

The words were meant to scold, but beneath them, I felt something twisted, care expressed through cruelty, a desperate kind of love. 

"What if I don't want to be chosen?" I whispered 

The women who wasn't my mother laughed, a brittle cackle that set my ears ringing. 

"Don't be foolish. It is your destiny." 

My gaze darted around the chamber until it snagged on a mirror. The reflection staring back stole the breath from my lungs.  

A girl. Familiar. Painfully so. Her hair was a sheet of midnight black, falling in perfect waves, alive with movement. Her skin held the same pale lavender hue as mine. Her expression was one of obedience, as if she had already borne the weight of the world far too young.  

But her eyes—her eyes were something else entirely.  

One was the warm brown I remembered as my own. The other was not a color at all. It was a memory. The bruised sky at dusk after rainfall. The smell of wet pavement. The roar of waves crashing on a distant shore. It shimmered with impossible depth, twinkling with tiny, collapsing stars. 

I couldn't look away.  

The girl bowed to the grey-haired woman and rose. At the door, she glanced back at me, her voice ringing with quiet defiance. 

"You were never allowed to choose. Don't let them take more from you than they already have." 

Then she was gone, leaving a trail of black feathers in her wake. 

I blinked, and I was back in the temple. Hovering, higher than before, light blazing through the cracks in my skin like something inside me was trying to claw its way out. 

Below, Gale stood, his face upturned, murmuring words I couldn't understand.  

I tried to descend, to move, but my body refused. I strained, thrashing against invisible bonds, paralyzed. And without warning, I fell.  

Weightlessness devoured me—until strong arms caught me, cradling me against his chest. 

My body convulsed with spasms as raw magic tore through my veins. My eyes burned when I tried to open them. My fingers felt hollowed, burned down to the wick, trembling on the edge of extinguishing.  

Gale's grip tightened before he finally pulled back, though I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, then shifted his hand to my cheek, gently, guiding me to look up at him. 

"Mira...what was—" he stopped, staring like he was seeing me for the first time. "This isn't the first time something has happened, and you've come back changed. First your hair…and now…" 

I knew, without him finishing, what he meant. My eyes. They burned even now, heavy with every blink, weighed like they no longer belonged to me. 

"Now my eyes," I said flatly, forcing out a breath.  

"What just happened to you? What was that?" His voice cut through the air—not a plea, not a concern, but a command.  

"I—" my throat closed. The fractured images still tugged at me: white hair, hymns in languages I didn't understand, my mother's soft hands, "I don't…" 

"No," his tone sharpened, brooking no argument. "Don't you dare tell me you don't know. You can't just float away like that and shrug it off as nothing." 

I flinched at the steel in his voice, but he only held me tighter. His thumb stroked my cheek, a touch both grounding and commanding.  

"You will tell me," He said, low and fierce, "Every detail. No more stalling, Mira." 

The ache in my chest throbbed—half from the vision, half from the way his authority coiled low in my stomach. I wanted to obey him. I wanted to fight him. I wanted both.  

When I finally spoke, the words came broken, a whisper, "I don't think I'm me." 

His expression shifted, softening, not accusatory but intensely, almost painfully curious. "Then who are you?" 

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." My voice cracked as I drew in a shuddering breath. "I have these visions—or at least, I think that's what they are. They came to me when I was asleep and sometimes when I awoke.  

"And it feels like my memories are being erased—or overwritten with things that seem familiar but never enough to hold onto." 

I dragged in a shuddering breath. "In this latest one, I saw a woman. Someone who looked like me—or maybe someone I was or someone I'm supposed to be. She touched me, and suddenly I was in a memory." Tears blurred my vision. 

"At first, everything was as I remembered. I was with my mother in the kitchen. Then it shifted. Another woman stood there, humming the same tune. But I knew she wasn't my mother. My almost-mother." 

"But I don't know what it means. I don't know what to do—or how to stop something that feels like it's already rooted so deep inside. Like it's always been there." My voice cracked on the last word. 

"You've been holding this in all this time?" Gale's voice was low, steady, though I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "Suffering in silence?" 

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "I didn't know how to tell anymore. I didn't want to let everyone down. For some reason—God knows why-you all look at me like I have any idea what I'm doing. You follow me. I don't know why." 

"Well, for once, you're very convincing," he said softly. "You brought us together. And though your methods are unconventional, you get the job done spectacularly. I can see why the others look to you as their leader." 

"Maybe that's true," I muttered, shaking my head, "but you haven't even heard the worst part yet." A shiver rippled through me, crawling from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers." 

His hand steadied on my arm. "You don't have to be afraid of telling me anything, Mira. I will never think less of you. Go on."  

I lifted my gaze to him. The tears I had been holding back welled up in my eyes again. "There's the void. It pulls me under like a current, and something waits for me there. It whispers—promises, threats-it's hard to tell the difference. Sometimes I think it wants to love me." My voice broke, falling to a whisper, "Sometimes I think it wants to be me." 

The moment the words left me. I saw his composure falter. His jaw clenched, his hand flexing at my arm like he wanted to pull me into his chest and shield me from something he couldn't even name.  

I paused, overwhelmed by the sense of the void—as if the creature knew I was speaking of it, reminding me that it's always there.

"When you saw me earlier…freeze it was because it pulled me under again." My voice cracked. I lifted a trembling hand and pressed it to Gale's chest, needing the solidity of him. "Between the void and these visions, it feels like two things are fighting for me. For who gets to hollow me out and live under my skin." 

The tears came hot, spilling down my cheeks.  

"Oh, Mira…" Gale pressed his forehead to mine, his hand gripping my jaw like he feared I'd slip away if he didn't anchor me. "You should have told me sooner. I could have helped...I can help." 

"I have no idea what I'm doing—with this place, these people, my magic." I swallowed sobs and forced myself to meet his eyes. 

But he didn't look at me like I was a vessel for shadow and ruin. His gaze held me as if I still had time to be something better, to do something more with what I'd been given.  

"I won't lie to you," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over my lip, grounding me. "Whatever is happening—it troubles me deeply. A void like that, I've never encountered anything like that. But…" his voice steadied. "We'll figure this out. Together. I won't let it consume you. I won't let you disappear." 

"What if I'm already too far gone? What if I was always meant to be this monster? What if everything I remember—my family, my friends—what if it's all a lie? How do I even begin to untangle that?" My words slipped bitterly, but the gale only stroked my cheek, featherlight. 

"You're not too far gone. The fact you're afraid of that proves it." His other hand flexed at my back, holding me closer. "As for the rest…I can't answer. But I'll do everything I can to help." He bent, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.  

"Mira, you are strong and fearless—perhaps too much at times." His voice warmed, gentle but steady, brimming with conviction. "I believe in you. Even if you don't. And I will stop at nothing until you believe it too. You are magnificent. You are more than this burden unfairly placed upon you." 

"I don't feel magnificent." I whispered, "I feel…empty." A hiccup escaped, tears still wetting my cheeks. I reached to wipe them away, but Gale caught my hand, brushing them aside himself. 

"Then let me show you something." He said softly, a hint of a smile tugging his lips, "I'm quite the fabulous teacher." 

He pinched my cheek lightly, coaxing the faintest laugh from me. 

"You want to have a lesson here? In this place?" I sniffled, still trembling.  

"Why not? It may help. If nothing else, it will give you a measure of control." He shifted to his feet, drawing me gently into him before setting me back on the stone floor.  

"I guess it wouldn't hurt." My cloak slipped from my shoulders as I set it aside, heart hammering. "What would you like to teach me, wizard?" 

Then a rogue thought pierced through the haze of fear: What if this is the moment? What if he stops holding himself back with me? Heat rushed to my cheeks; my fingers fidgeted, restless. I couldn't stop imagining what his lips might feel like. 

"To summon the Weave," Gale said, his voice slipping into the law cadence instruction. "A beginner's step. I promise it will help you understand how to harness your magic." 

He stepped behind me, one hand settling at my hip, the other on my shoulder. Slowly, he drew his fingers down my arm until they wrapped around my elbow. His touch was both steady and unbearably intimate.  

"Close your eyes." He murmured, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. "Don't reach for the shadows. Don't reach for anything. Don't force it, just listen and breathe." 

I tried to relax, but my pulse was hammering beneath my skin, his warmth pressed solidly at my back, anchoring. The tips of his fingers traced slowly up and down my arm, pausing at my wrist. My skin prickled, sparks leaping like kindling. 

"Magic is in everything." His fingers flexed lightly at my hip as if steadying himself on me, as if I were the conduit. "It's in the stone. The air you breathe. The space between our heartbeats. You don't need to seize it, Mira. You only need to open yourself to it." 

My lips parted, breath shallow. The hum beneath my skin swelled, thrumming in time with my racing heart. 

"Do you feel it?" He whispered in my ear, sending a shiver crawling up my spine.  

"Yes." The word slipped out on a shaky exhale, my fingers twitching. I didn't know if he meant the Weave or him. 

"Good." His voice purred, low and pleased.  

But it wasn't only the Weave stirring. It was him. His hand slid a fraction higher on my hip, grounding me, and the contact nearly broke me. My magic stirred, wild and reckless, crackling beneath my skin, aching for release.  

I snapped like a taut string. Shadows and light flared at my fingertips, dazzling, uncontrolled. I shrieked as it ripped loose—until Gale's hand closed firmly over mine, steady and commanding. He drew the chaos into shape, containing it, while his other arm coiled tighter around my waist, pulling me back into him.  

"Steady now, Mira." He coaxed, voice firm but velvet. "You're not a vessel. You are the master of this." 

"Don't think of control. Think of connection. Your shadows, your flame—they are not separate from you. They are you." 

Magic swirled, softer now, then restless, sparking at my fingertips. His grip tightened, his presence feeding the current. 

"Stay with it. Stay with me. Don't draw back from what you are." 

I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lip hard enough to sting. The sparks swelled into a current, alive between my hands and his. My knees nearly buckled, but his arm held me fast at my waist, steady as stone.  

"Better." His voice brushed against my ear. "Now guide. Not with force—" his lips ghosted my skin as he leaned "with intent."  

The current sharpened, coiling in my palm like flame awaiting breath. I could feel his intent beneath mine, the subtle way his magic shaped mine, coaxing and guiding—not overtaking, but joining. Together, it felt impossibly strong.  

"Gale…" my voice trembled, more plea than word. 

"Hold it." He ordered, firmly, "Hold it for as long as you can." His fingers flexed at my waist, a reminder of his presence. "Show me you can do it." 

The current swirled, light and shadow bleeding together in my palm. I held it until my body shook, chest heaving with effort. Then it slipped, sparking out with a hiss, leaving my fingers numb.  

I sagged against him, breathless. 

His hand lingered at my waist, thumb pressing lightly into my side, until at last he let go. His absence was cold. 

"I think that's enough for tonight." His voice was calm, but beneath it something wound tight, straining. He smoothed his cuffs with practiced precision, needing the ritual to occupy his hands. "You've done well. Better than I expected." 

I turned toward him, still catching my breath, unaware of how tightly my thighs were pressed together. His touch still ghosted on my skin, burning. "That's it?" 

"For now." He said, his tone firm and unyielding. At last, his gaze met mine—dark eyes burning with something he refused to name. "We'll continue every night until you're a master."  

"Every night?" My voice was smaller than I wanted, half hopeful, half frayed. 

"Yes."  The word landed hard, immovable. His gaze softened only slightly as he added, "For your safety. And mine. And the others. You can't afford to keep losing control." 

But I knew—I just knew he was taking every excuse to keep me close. 

He cupped my jaw and I leaned into the heat of his palm before he drew back. "Come. You should rest." 

We lingered there, unable to break away, until he finally stepped back and adjusted his cloak. He tilted his head, a silent signal for me to move.  

I obeyed, even though every nerve in me screamed to turn and touch him. He walked behind me, close enough for his hand to hover at the small of my back. The weight of it—whether with or without contact—made my chest heave, the tension between us thick as smoke. 

I could feel his hand at my waist, the phantom heat of it like a brand. My body ached where he'd steadied me, where he'd guided me. I wanted it back—I wanted him back—so badly, it took everything in me to not spin on my heel and press my lips to his.  

Every breath I took was heavy with the memory of his voice at my ear, the press of his chest against my back, the low command threading through his words. It had stirred something inside me—something raw and desperate.  

I told myself I was trembling from the magic, but it wasn't true. It was him. The way he touched me was as if I were breakable and unstoppable all at once. The way he looked at me, eyes burning with things he refused to say out loud. 

And God help me, I wanted him to break. To forget his restraint and his careful distance, and to want me enough to ruin us both.  

Instead, he walked just behind me, close enough to remind me he was there but too far to let me have him. Each step back toward camp felt like punishment, my skin fevered, my chest hollow. 

I clenched my fists, swallowing heat that threatened to devour me whole. I told myself I could be patient. This could wait. But I knew the truth. 

I was already burning.  

We made it back into the bedroom chamber. To distract myself from the ache still burning between my thighs, I blurted, "Do you mind if I take another look around?" Just in case there's anything useful. I promise I won't take long." 

Almost like a parent indulging a child, Gale nodded. I turned quickly to the dresser and wardrobe, ripping through them in the hope of finding something—anything—to occupy my thoughts.  

What I found stole my breath. A trove of gowns, dusty but miraculously preserved. Most were deep blues and purple; some had intricate lace embroidery, others were simple and silky in their simplicity. My hands hovered, then I gasped and pulled free a black dress with spiderweb patterns stitched on the arms. I spun, eager to show him. 

"Hey, look at—" 

The words died.  

Gale was crumpled on the ground, folded in on himself as if he were about to tear apart from the inside. A strangled groan broke through his throat. 

"Gale?" My voice cracked. The dress fell from my hands as I rushed forward, shadows stirring anxiously at my feet. 

"Not this again." My throat closed. "What do I do?" 

"Stay—back," he managed, but I was already catching him as he pitched forward, pulling him into my arms like something fragile, something that could explode if it let go.  

"No." The word came raw with tears, "I won't leave you." 

My hands shook as I cradled him in my lap, his body cold and damp with sweat. His face twisted in silent agony, pale as death. My heart cracked. I pressed my forehead into his, whispering into the trembling space between us.  

"Please. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help you." 

A tear slid from my cheek onto his. He didn't answer. I knew he couldn't. 

And then—heat bloomed in my pocket.  

I fumbled blindly, drawing out the object without thought—Dror Ragzlin's amulet. I'd forgotten I even brought it with me. It thrummed in my palm, vibrating like a compass needle pointing directly to Gale's chest.  

I hesitated. What if it didn't work? What if it made things worse? But at this point, it didn't matter. I had to try.  

"Here goes nothing," I whispered, my voice shaking as badly as my hands. I pressed the amulet to his chest, directly over the glow spilling through his robes. 

At first—nothing. Gale writhed, groaning, magic buzzing through him like a broken current. My heart dropped. Tears spilled unchecked down my face. 

"Gale, please…" I pressed harder, vision swimming, "Don't leave me." 

The amulet jolted violently in my hand, vibrating faster until golden light burst from it, enveloping us both. For one blinding moment, the world was bathed in radiance. Then, darkness.  

Gale twitched. His head slumped against my chest and for one terrible instant I thought that was it. A raw sound ripped out of me as I clutched him tighter, shadows writhing madly around us. 

"Please come back to me." My forehead pressed to his, tears slipping freely. "Please…" 

And then, he breathed. 

A rush of air against my cheek. So faint I almost didn't believe it. 

I gasped, pulling back just enough to see his chest rise, his lips parting with another shuddering inhale. His eyes fluttered, startled, lost, alive.  

"You're okay." My voice cracked. Relief and terror tangled inside so tight they became one. My whole-body shook. "You're okay." 

"I'm…sorry you had to see that. Again." His voice was low, rough, like it cost him something to force the words out. 

"Gale, what was that?" My hands clutched him tighter. "Please. Tell me, I can't—I won't—" 

His hands lifted, trembling, brushing my cheek. The storm under my skin stilled at his touch.  

He drew in a deep breath, as if he had to remind himself how. The silence stretched, his chest rising raggedly against mine. I refused to let go. Every part of me screamed to hold on, to keep him here with me, tethered. 

When I finally pulled back to meet his eyes, I found fear in them—real fear, soft and uncertain, like I had never seen in him before. 

"Your eye," he murmured, dazed. "It looks like Weave. It's…beautiful." 

"Who's stalling now?" My voice shook, trying for sharpness but falling somewhere closer to pleading. 

"Yes, clever girl—you've caught me." He tried to laugh, but it cracked in his throat, weak and broken.  

"Very well," he rasped, "I suppose I can't keep this secret any longer. You deserve the truth." 

He tried to sit up, but his body shook violently, so I helped him, pulling him up against me. His head dropped to my chest instead, hair spilling forward as if the effort drained him completely.  

"It's an orb." He whispered, "A fragment of Netherese magic. I sought it in my arrogance—foolish, desperate to impress the goddess I served. I made a mistake. And now the price I pay is this: being consumed, slowly, by the very magic I thought I could master. If I don't feed it what it requires—pure Weave—it will erupt. Take me with it. And much more." 

I stared at him, mouth parted, my head pounding. "So, you've been walking around with a—what? A living bomb in your chest?" 

"Yes." His tone was flat, almost resigned. 'Without that amulet..." his breath shuddered "Let's just say I'm glad you had it." 

The ache in my chest shifted—fear, anger, relief tangling until they were indistinguishable. A broken laugh slipped from me, "You lecture me on dark magic and secrets when you're literally harboring an arcane time bomb inside your ribs." 

His brows furrowed faintly, lips quirking despite the strain. 

"Little hypocritical, don't you think?" I pressed "At least when my magic misbehaves, I don't threaten to level the entire camp." 

A weak chuckle escaped him—ragged, but real. "Perhaps. Though in fairness… I've been studying magic my whole life. I thought all my education would keep me safe. I suppose that was foolish." 

His head tipped heavier against me, voice softening. "But surely now you see—power without discipline is perilous. Deadly. Even someone as knowledgeable as me can end up ensnared by something no one should touch." 

I stayed silent, holding him close. His warnings hadn't been born from arrogance—they were confessions, dressed as lectures. That hurt more than I could bear. 

You don't look at someone like Gale and expect him to be broken inside. But he was. He just hid it better than most. Better than anyone—except maybe Shadowheart. 

Silence hung between us, heavy with everything he had just confessed. I could feel the weight of it pressing against my chest, the fragility of him in my arms, the truth of how close I had come to losing him. 

I smoothed a trembling hand through his hair, letting the moment pass until my heartbeat steadied enough to speak. 

"Do you think you can stand?" I asked softly, though I kept hold of him a moment longer, "We should get you back to camp before any more excitement finds us tonight." 

"Yes, I don't think I can take any more." His voice is still rough, but steadier now. He shifted, legs wobbling as he rose, but he managed to stay upright. 

I pushed to my feet as well, brushing dirt from my trousers, moving to the dresser before Gale could protest. 

"Hold on, I just need to do something really quick." 

I plucked two dresses—one black, one dark purple—and draped them over my arm. Only then did I join him, where he waited patiently at the chamber entrance.  

I matched his stride as we began walking, close enough that our shoulders brushed now and then—close enough that I could steady him if he faltered.  

Silence stretched between us, gnawing at me. My mind replayed everything—what I had confessed to him, what he had revealed to me—and yet none of it sullied the truth of how I ached for him—burned for him. 

I dared a glance at him. He was already watching me. His smile was warm, though I caught a hint of uncertainty beneath it.  

The truth is, what I feared—the thought that would haunt me long after tonight—was what would become of him. My fingers twitched at my side. People didn't survive this kind of affliction. Not for long. And the idea of losing him to something so cruel made my throat dry.  

I opened my mouth and then forced the words out through the rawness there. "What are you going to do?" 

When I looked back at him, the firelight caught in strands of his hair. His eyes were exhausted, yet their warmth never dimmed. The sight of it tightened my chest. 

"That's a good question." He raked a hand through his hair, his smile fading into a soft sigh. "I suppose I'll keep doing what I'm doing until it stops working—and hope you're there to save me." 

"Maybe I should just move into your tent, keep an eye on you." The words tumbled out as a joke but lingered longer than I intended.  

He chucked, soft but real this time. "Hmm. You'd never get any peace that way." 

"That's perfect. Nothing about me is peaceful anyway." I smiled,  

When we finally made it back to the temple proper, the air inside was cool across my face, a stark difference from the humidity of the caves—it was refreshing against my tear-stained face.  

The words still lingered between us as the glow of the campfire came into view, voices low and distant. My skin hummed restless, my body aching for him in ways I couldn't disguise anymore. Gale stayed with me until we reached the flap of my tent, the two of us caught in the fragile pocket of silence there. 

I lingered, turning just enough to face him. My skin still hummed, restless. "Maybe you shouldn't be alone tonight." I said softly, "Maybe you should... stay here. With me." 

I didn't even bother hiding the meaning behind my words - what I really wanted, what I craved, but was too shy to ask. My eyes held his, my pulse thrumming in my throat.  

For a moment, he didn't breathe. His gaze flicked to the tent flap, then back to me. The firelight caught the strain in his face—the want burning through him, the restraint of fighting it. His hand lifted halfway like he meant to touch me, before curling it uselessly at his side. 

"Mira…" My name came out hoarse. "If I step inside with you, I don't think I'd ever want to leave." 

Every nerve in my body screamed 'then don't.' My voice cracked softly, pleading: "We don't have to do anything." 

I tried to sound convincing, but I know it didn't work, since he responded with a low, aching laugh—the kind meant to break the tension but only made it worse. "We both know better than that." 

The sound made my heart shatter. My chest tightened as I stared at him, unable to disguise the heat in my eyes, the fire that wanted to swallow us whole. He held my gaze like it hurt him, like saying no was the hardest thing he'd ever done. 

"I want to." He admitted finally, barely above a whisper, "More than you know. But not tonight." 

The sting of it scorched me. I nodded, forcing my face into something cool, careless, while inside I was screaming. "Fine. Whatever you say." 

I turned to my tent, fingers brushing the flap, but Gale didn't move. He lingered, standing in the firelight, his body pulled toward me like he couldn't tear himself away. For a moment, I thought he'd change his mind, that he'd follow me in. 

Instead, he swallowed hard, tore his gaze from mine, and stepped back. Each pace looked like it cost him. 

Only when I ducked inside and let the flap fall close did I finally allow myself to unravel, the ache burning through every vein, the weight of him still clinging to my skin. 

The air in the tent felt too small, too close, carrying the echo of him like a ghost. My skin still thrummed where his hands had touched me earlier. My chest was tight with words I hadn't said. I wanted him—wanted him so badly that it bordered on madness. And he wanted me too. I saw it in his eyes; felt it in the way he lingered like gravity itself was trying to hold him here.  

But he walked away.  

I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound, trying to claw free from my throat, pacing the length of the tent like that could burn off the fire in my veins. My body ached, restless, every nerve screaming for him. And underneath it all was the sting—sharp, humiliating—that he didn't give in, that he chose distance over me.

I lay on my bedroll, staring into the dark, but there was no peace in it. Just the echo of his laugh, the warmth of his gaze, and the phantom weight of his lips I'd never felt. I shut my eyes, but all I could see was the way he looked at me—like he wanted everything and still told himself no. 

It would keep me up all night. 

And in that restless dark, my thoughts turned where they always did when I ached too much: to Astarion. To the way his eyes lingered when he thought I wasn't looking, the smirk that curled when I flustered, the hunger he tried very poorly to hide. He'd been restraining himself, I knew that much. But restraint has its limits. And I was sure I could make him break.  

The very thought of it set my pulse racing, heat curling low in my stomach, heavy and insistent. Where Gale held back, Astarion would give in. Where Gale had left me hollow, Astarion would fill the space with the fire and teeth and hunger that didn't know how to let go. The image of it alone made my breath stumble, my body tightening with want.  

I shut my eyes, pressing my palms hard against them as if it could chase the thought away. But it stayed, humming in the back of my skull. The idea of slipping into his tent, of letting him burn this ache out of me, if only for a little while.  

I curled tighter on my side, my body wound so tight it was a miracle I hadn't already gotten up. My skin still thrummed, restless, as though my veins carried nothing but desire. Because the truth was simple: I didn't just want him. I was starving for him, every part of me screaming. And tonight, I wasn't sure I could keep myself from going to him and finally taking what I craved.  

Chapter Text

Bugs. That’s what it felt like—tiny legs skittering, itching, burning under my skin. Lying down felt like sinking underwater, panic clawing at my throat. I sat up, squeezing myself with desperate arms, like I might splinter apart if I let go—maybe pressure would quiet the raw ache, keep me from doing something dangerously reckless.

But of course, it did nothing. The ache only sharpened, stubborn and insistent.

All I could feel was the phantom heat of Gale at my back, and the reckless, unbearable urge for teeth—sharp, cruel teeth—I’d do anything to feel break against my skin.

It was agony—pure, electrified torment, like someone had filled my veins with air and fire. My shadows writhed in response; they curled and clawed like living waves before a hurricane, battering me from inside.

I dragged myself upright, cradling my stomach like I was going to be sick. I had to do something with my hands before the shadows took me over completely. I reached to grab the dresses I’d discarded on the floor when I’d entered my tent, then dug through my pack until I found a small sewing kit someone had picked up at some point.

Back home, I remembered watching my mom make small alterations to my clothes—hemming my pants because I was always too small to fit them properly, patching sweaters I wore until holes formed at the elbows.

So, I thought, yeah, I can do that.

I laid out the dresses in front of me. The first was a beautiful, dark purple, floor-length gown with intricate lace detailing along the hem, at the high neckline, and at the wrists, made of a silk-like material. It was too nice to cut up, so I set it aside and turned my attention to the second.

Next came a black, floor-length dress, its sheer sleeves intricately patterned with cobwebs. I held it up and paused. This one was lovely too, far too nice to be botched by my hands. Yet my thoughts screamed so loudly, I simply had to do something—anything—to keep myself from spiraling into a place I knew I might never return from.

I slipped it onto map where I wanted to cut and marked the fabric with a pin around mid-thigh. Once I was done, I sat back down with the dress spread before me. I took a deep breath, lowered the scissors, and started cutting. After that, I really had no idea what my plan was. I snipped off the sleeves and set them aside to deal with later, then cut a slit up the side, high enough to show the curve of my hip.

After that, I grabbed the sleeves and decided to sew them onto the waist, leaving enough length to tie in the back. Lastly, I used the remaining fabric to fashion a headband for my hair.

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at what I’d made. When I pulled it on, it gripped my body like smoke. It could get me into a lot of trouble. It was perfect.

Without a full-length mirror, I lifted the small one Gale had let me keep.

A girl stared back, soft, but not safe. A white streak cut through her hair, like it had been touched by death. Eyes burned with the same fire she felt throbbing low in her stomach. Shadows clung to her as if they couldn’t let go, pooling in the hollow of her collarbones.

I gathered my hair to secure the headband, then let it fall however it wanted, framing my face in wild, untamed curls.

As I stared into the mirror, my heart raced, my mind crowded with conflicting needs. One part of me wanted to be seen, touched, and wanted. I wanted to burn with someone who didn’t fear the heat but welcomed it.

I thought of Astarion. How he’s dangerous; he likes to play games and push limits. I didn’t know why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to feed from me; I couldn’t tell if he was holding back for my sake or for his own. I was tired of his restraint. I wanted to march into his tent, bare my throat, and offer myself up on a silver platter. How could he say no to that—

But what if he did?

I didn’t know if my heart could survive two rejections in one day. I felt already half-crushed from the first.

That was when the more rational part of me finally spoke up. I thought of Gale’s steadiness, his hand at my back, always guiding me forward. I needed his reassurance, his lessons, to keep me from being consumed by something I didn’t yet understand.

A war raged in my mind, but after standing still far too long, weighing choices I was already tired of making, I realized movement was the only way to keep from being consumed by indecision. I pushed the thought of Gale away and finally let my feet carry me forward.

The temple air was cool against my burning skin. I didn’t bother pulling on my cape or slipping on my boots; I knew I didn’t need them. I just had to move, to get out because if I didn’t, I’d burn to ash in the middle of my tent.

I moved silently. Camp was eerie, too quiet. The pop of the fire made me jump as I stepped into the forbidden corner where Astarion’s tent sat.

Then it hit me; I’d never been inside his tent before. The realization made this feel more intimate somehow. And when I finally reached the entrance, I paused.

This was it. If I went inside, I wouldn’t come back the same. Good or bad. This was the point of no return.

I shoved the feeling down, drew in a steady breath, and pushed the flap aside.

His tent was empty. No smirking vampire waiting for me.

I froze, my hand still resting on the flap. It felt like a sign from the universe, a last-minute intervention offering me one final chance to turn back. I ignored it and stepped inside anyway, lingering near the entrance as my eyes adjusted to the dim space.

The smell hit first—rich, sweet, intoxicating. Like blood mixed with wine, cut with raspberries. It drew me in like a moth to flame. Candles of all sizes flickered across the floor, some tall and pristine; others burned nearly to the wick—rivers of wax spilling over their bases. Books were everywhere, piled into uneven towers, stacked sideways, shoved into corners with no logic beyond where they fit.

This didn’t feel like the lair of a monster. It felt lived in. Cozier than I’d expected.

What caught my eye was the small table near the back: loose parchment scattered across its surface, a single candle guttering at the center. A quill and an open pot of ink sat there as if he’d only just set them down.

I stepped closer and saw his notes.

The handwriting was smooth, precise—eerily perfect, like someone who had once been forced to write lines until there was no room for error.

I hesitated. I nearly turned around and left. Being here alone already felt like crossing a line, but rifling through his things was something else entirely. Still, Astarion was nothing but mysteries stacked on top of one another. What truths might be hiding here?

Temptation won.

I leaned in, curiosity overpowering hesitation. There, I discovered he catalogued every encounter with surprising enthusiasm—a stark contrast to the careful persona he showed others. Poetry about the sun filled the pages. Doodles crept around his verses. That raw honesty gripped my heart and made it ache.

Guilt prickled beneath my skin. He would rather die—again—than let anyone see him soft like this. To know that beneath the grime and sharp edges, there was something sweet.

Human.

I traced my fingers over the pages, sliding them aside to reveal what lay beneath. And when I saw it, I gasped.

There were drawings.

Most of them were landscapes I recognized: the crash site, our old camp, even the grove he pretended to despise. He drew the sunrise like a lover he hadn’t seen in a long time. He drew like he had to remember—as if at any moment, he might wake up in chains again, and all of this would become a distant memory.

There were portraits of our companions: laughing, sparring, doing the small things I don’t think they realized he noticed.

Then my eyes landed on a bundle tied with twine, tucked just slightly off to the side, like he hadn’t had time to hide it properly.

Whatever was inside, it mattered. Important enough to wrap up. Important enough to keep hidden.

I hesitated again. This felt wrong—but that twisted part of me, the one that yearned to understand him, had to know. With one shaky hand, I reached out and took it.

I untied the twine quickly but carefully, easing the papers free like they were made of glass. I spread them across the table, heart pounding so loudly I thought it might bruise my ribs.

My name leapt out first, written over and over in passages that read like fragments of a journal. There were short poems about the look in my eyes when I looked at him.

And then the drawings.

Of course, there were drawings of me.

He drew me like a holy relic. Like he couldn’t bear to forget—burning every detail into memory with every line, every deliberate stroke of his hand.

He drew me smiling. Angry. Focused. Asleep, which should have concerned me more than it did. But all I could focus on was that this was proof. Proof that he cared. That he thought about me—obsessively, quietly, far more than he’d ever admit with words. Especially to me.

But here, on the page, he could be himself. In ways, I don’t think he allowed himself anywhere else.

It hurt to see how much he wanted to remember. How much he wanted to be something real. Something honest. And how terrified he was of what honesty might cost him—how opening himself like this could mean being rejected or shut out completely.

I don’t know how long I stood there, unmoving, but eventually, I heard soft footfalls outside—unhidden, unhurried.

Still, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My eyes remained locked on the trove I had uncovered.

The flap rustled.

A low chuckle curled behind me.

I spun, knocking several pages to the floor in my haste. My face went red-hot. I just stood there, stiff and guilty, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar—eyes darting anywhere but his.

“Well, well, well,” Astarion murmured, stepping closer, and his already-small space seemed to contract even further. My gaze couldn’t help but flick upward to meet his.

“What a deliciously dressed surprise.”

His eyes dragged down my body, slow and indulgent. “Did you make that? How sweet. And what happened to your eye? You’re full of surprises tonight.”

I stood frozen in silence—only then realizing I was still holding one of his drawings, clutching it so tightly I feared I might’ve ruined it. That’s when he noticed what I’d been doing. His eyes landed on the paper in my hands, then flicked to the table behind me—scattered with the evidence of my meddling.

“Welcoming yourself into my tent to rifle through my personal effects?” He leaned in close; lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

“You naughty girl.”

“I—” Heat surged through me. I turned my head away. “That’s not—”

“Oh, it is.”

He took another step forward. My entire body tensed. He was so close now that I knew he could feel the ragged edge of my breath against his skin.

“Does Gale know you’re here?” He asked, voice dipped in silk. “You made such a show of leaving camp earlier. I assumed the wizard would be your company tonight.”

My throat closed as if a bee had flown into my mouth and stung me from the inside. Shadows curled at my feet, waiting for my command.

He was right there. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, shimmering like rubies. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up; the collar open just enough to show the cut of his chest—like he’d been expecting someone. Like he’d been expecting me. A smear of blood stained the fabric near his collarbone.

His gaze stayed locked on mine. Fangs glinted beneath his upper lip. And he looked at me the way a starving man watches a table laid out just for him.

And just like so many times before, I knew this was a test.

He would wait for me to speak first. To admit something. To offer something.

The air between us snapped and hummed, a current skimming through my ears, down my fingertips, pooling low in my stomach.

“You’re right. I was with Gale. We went on a lovely walk.” I kept my eyes locked on him. “Probably would’ve fucked him too, if he didn’t reject me and leave me alone outside my tent.”

He laughed—sharp and disbelieving, not cruel.

“Gale? Our sweet Wizard? Rejected you?” Another laugh, louder this time. A theatrical wave of his hand. “That man drools at the sound of your name.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Darling, please. If you’re going to lie, at least make it a little more believable.”

I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. The shadows answered for me, retreating into my skin like wounded animals.

The hollow left by that rejection pressed down on my chest again, hard and cold. I couldn’t breathe. I just stared at him, mouth slightly open, while he stood there—amused, eyes locked on mine—waiting for the punchline that would never come.

And the worst part? I knew he'd seen it all. My hesitation. The humiliation. The way my shoulders tensed, and my jaw clenched. And just for a heartbeat, he dropped the act. I saw his lip quiver, a fist clench inside his pocket, and something flickered in his eyes that looked like affection.

“Oh my,” he said, raising an eyebrow, voice softer now. “You’re serious.”

“Dead.”

I crossed my arms over my chest like armor, brittle, and desperate.

He lifted a trembling hand from his pocket, like he was about to cup my face, maybe even kiss me, but he stopped. His mask slid back into place, cold and practiced.

“So, what’s this, then?” He sneered. “Rejected by the wizard, so you throw on a skimpy little outfit and come crawling to me like some strumpet? Am I just scraps to you? A backup plan for when your first choice walks away?”

I looked away, fighting every muscle in my body from lashing out. But my magic had other ideas. My hair lifted in the air, thick with anger. A dark bruise spread across the ground beneath me, slow and pulsing. I dug my fingernails into my palms, trying to hold the storm inside.

“Oh, please. If that’s what you think this is, you clearly haven’t been paying attention the way I thought you were.”

I turned back to him, met his eyes, and forced my voice steady.

He clicked his tongue, a mocking chide.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, lambkin. I’m always paying attention.”

He stepped closer. I tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. His hands landed on the table on either side of me, caging me in with his body. Then he leaned in, his mouth brushed my ear, and I shivered.

“I see you,” he whispered, “batting your lashes at me like some innocent maiden. I see how you brutalize anyone who so much as touches me.”

He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, gentle enough to be cruel.

“I see the way your eyes lock on mine. How you tilt your head when I talk, like nothing else in the world matters but me.”

He pressed against me, body to body, until I was nearly sitting on the table. I whimpered, and his hand hovered over my chest.

“Most distracting of all… is your heartbeat.” His voice dropped lower, velvet, and hungry.

“I hear it. All day. All night. No matter how far you are. But especially when you’re near.”

He tapped a finger to the center of my chest, in rhythm with the frantic beating under my ribs.

“It stutters. It races. I can’t tell if you’re afraid of what I could do to you… or aroused at the thought.”

His smile deepened. “Either way, it drives me wild.”

I could feel the heat blooming under my skin like wildfire, threatening to devour me whole. And then, he pushed away from the table.

His hands skimmed over my hips as he stepped back, and I felt the ache of him leaving like a cold slap.

“And yet,” he said, voice laced with cruel delight, “it changes nothing. You came to me just to quell the ache under your ribs. And well… between your legs.”

He smirked, pride flashing across his face like blood on a blade.

“This was a bad idea.”

I looked down at my trembling hands, swallowing the sting in my throat.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

I tried to move, but my feet felt rooted to the floor. The air thinned, and I sucked in a sharp breath. He would not see me break. I refused to let him have the satisfaction.

I shoved past him in a fury, more papers scattering to the floor in my wake.

I was almost at the tent flap when a cold hand closed around my wrist.

“Let me go!” I growled, twisting in his grasp.

“Wait,” he said, voice softening. “Mira, please.”

I stopped. Turned toward him.

His eyes were wide, shaking. He was trying to be someone he didn’t believe existed anymore. The monster vanished, and what was left was just a man — a man who dreamed of being wanted and was terrified of waking up.

“Stay,” he said, so quietly it felt like the word might shatter him if spoken any louder.

“Fine.” I huffed, guarded.

His grip loosened, and I pulled free. Then we just… stared at each other. Like neither of us trusted what could come next.

I crossed to his bedroll and sank down. At first, he didn’t move. He stood frozen in place, statuesque. I could see him thinking — weighing his options, wrestling with the fact that I had actually stayed.

I saw his fingers twitch before he finally moved, crouching in front of me. His hands hovered over my knees, shaking, as if one touch would change everything, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that change.

The candles guttered.

I breathed him in — wine-sweet, raspberry-sharp, iron underneath. The world narrowed to the inches between his hands and my skin.

He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real. I looked at him like he was a lifeline — not just want, not just desire, but the thing that might save me from the dark.

I broke first, softer than I meant to.

“What scares you more — wanting someone… or realizing they want you back?”

No answer at first. Just breathing, and the sound of my magic crackling in the corners of the tent like distant thunder.

He said at last, “It’s been a long time since I had to think about either of those. I don’t really even know anymore.”

His mouth twisted slightly.

“I wasn’t allowed to want or have anything for centuries. I was broken down, turned into something I don’t recognize. Then I end up here… with you—”

His eyes traced my face. “None of those fears scares me more than you, Mira.”

“Me?” I asked, fingers worrying at each other. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. Technically.”

He breathed out through his nose.

“But I see how everyone looks at me. Always the same. They guard their throats when I’m near. But you…” He faltered. “You look at me and smile. Like I’m not a bloodthirsty monster. Like I matter.”

“I think what’s most terrifying…” he went on, voice low, never looking away from me, “is your restraint. Gods, it’s infuriating. All the times I poked and prodded, waiting to see where you’d break — and you didn’t. I expected you to snap, to beg, to fall into bed with me just to get it over with.”

He laughed, almost bitterly, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought you’d be easier than you turned out to be.”

I smiled, barely. “I wouldn’t call it restraint, though. It’s more than that…”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

“You see yourself as something to be used. Discarded. And I didn’t want this to be a transaction. I wanted it to mean something.”

My hand hovered near his cheek, then drifted down to his chest before pulling back. I curled my fingers into a fist, pressing my thumb against my mouth like it could hold me together.

“When I look at you,” I whispered, “I see someone wading through a sea of regret and anger. Treading water when you’re already past the point of exhaustion.”

“I want you — so bad it hurts. But more than that, I wanted you to know what it’s like to be wanted without conditions. Without a contract. Without someone holding something over you that has to be repaid.”

Then, quieter, like a prayer:

“I wanted you to choose. Just once. Because you matter. And your autonomy matters too. Maybe one day you’ll believe that. I hope I can show you.”

The silence echoed.

Candlelight flickered in his eyes. His face was unreadable, frozen in conflict — I could see it in his shallow breaths. He shut his eyes tight, like he was begging for this not to be a dream. Or worse, some old nightmare with the same sick ending.

His lips parted… then closed again, as if he were afraid of what might spill out.

He let out a laugh — rough, brittle, caught on a jagged edge.

“If you keep saying things like that,” he whispered, “you’ll give me hope.”

A tremor ran through him.

“And hope, Mira—”

He raked a hand through his hair, breath unsteady.

“Hope is crushing.”

“Someone spent a lot of time making you believe that,” I said gently. “But it’s not true. You could use a little hope, Astarion. Maybe something good will finally come of it.”

I hesitated, and then:

“And if that’s too hard for you… I can be your hope. You can believe in me.”

The words struck him like a blow.

He flinched—not from fear, but from wanting too much, after too long a famine. I saw belief flicker across his face… and vanish just as quickly.

So, I reached up and placed my palm against his cheek.

To my surprise, he leaned into it — as if this was the most he would allow himself. His skin was winter-cold against my burning fingers. The contrast made me wince.

My heart hammered loudly and wildly. I knew he could hear it, and I knew he liked it. Music in his ears.

And still, he didn’t move.

His hands hovered over my knees, fingers twitching, still unsure if he was allowed to touch me harder. To touch me at all.

The blood in my ears couldn’t drown the thought spiraling through me.

It was now or never.

I could feel his want—thick as heat, pressing against my skin, making me dizzy. He didn’t need to say a word. It poured off him like steam.

So, I closed the last inch between us, tilted my head, and found his mouth.

His breath caught, but he didn’t stop me. He didn’t even flinch.

And I had never felt him so warm. It was as if just the idea of my blood was pulling him back to life.

His hands finally moved—gripping me tight, anchoring, bracing—waiting to see if I meant it.

I did.

There was no going back now.

I kissed him.

It wasn’t neat. It was hungry, messy, and desperate.

I collided with him, all the tension that had been coiling since the day we met snapping loose at once. I tangled my fists in his shirt and dragged him closer, my shadows wrapping around him like they couldn’t stand to be apart.

At first, he froze. But when he realized I wasn’t pulling away—that this was real—he melted.

The kiss turned rougher and more frantic. His tongue parted my lips with urgency and slid into my mouth, leaving room for nothing else.

I moaned. He answered with a low, guttural sound.

One hand spread wide at the small of my back; the other cradled the nape of my neck, twisting into my hair as he angled me deeper—kissing me like he meant to devour me whole.

At some point, I couldn’t tell where I ended, and he began. For a heartbeat, there was no Mira—only teeth and hunger, and the heat of his tongue.

Everything blurred. Wet. Hot. Messy. Saliva slicked our mouths, and when I traced his teeth and nicked my tongue in the dance, I jolted.

It felt good. Too good.

Blood bloomed on my tongue. He moaned for it—feral and broken with need.

All I could think was how right it felt. How I wanted more. Needed more.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and dragged him in like I meant to fuse us together, and even that wouldn’t be enough.

He kissed me like he hadn’t touched another soul in centuries, like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this exact moment.

His fingers tightened around my throat, holding me at the perfect angle, and I offered it to him without resistance.

That alone made me lose ground. He kissed me harder. Rougher.

Then he moved, a subtle shift, a push, and I went with it.

I didn’t fall. I yielded.

My spine hit the bedroll in a rush of heat and cloth, and I barely had time to gasp before he was on me.

He crawled over me like something inevitable, knees bracketing my hips, his weight settling heavy and cold against my pelvis. And then his hips pressed into mine—slow, purposeful—and ground down.

A strangled whimper escaped me, high and helpless.

The friction lit something between my legs—sharp, hot, electric.

I reached for him instinctively, desperate hands fumbling toward his chest, but he caught me.

His hands clamped around my wrists before I could make contact. His grip was ironclad as he dragged them above my head, maneuvering them into one hand before pinning them against the bedroll.

The intensity of it made my whole body jolt.

He loomed over me, breath ragged, lips smeared with blood and spit, fangs bared.

In that moment, he looked like a god. A god who could save me from damnation or drag me into it with him.

In a flash, he leaned down and kissed me again with the same passion and hunger as before. His grip around my wrists tightened as he felt me writhe underneath him.

The fire under my skin burned hotter the longer I gave in. I felt it in him too—every scrape of his teeth, every grind of his hips, every groan that vibrated into my mouth like a warning.

I don’t know how long we stayed tangled—only that when he finally tore himself back, we were both breathless.

My chest heaved in shallow bursts. His pupils were blown wide, lips shining with my spit and blood. His face hovered inches from mine as we tried to recover from whatever had just happened.

The air was thick between us, almost suffocating. Silence rang like a taut wire, waiting to snap.

If I—” I swallowed. “If I asked you to bite me…would you?”

I leaned in to kiss him again, catching his lip between my teeth before pulling away.

“Or would you keep holding back?”

“I wouldn’t be able to stop myself with you like this,” he admitted, his free hand rising to cup my cheek, thumb softly rubbing the bone.

He pressed a soft kiss to the base of my neck, nipping delicately at the skin, and chuckled, satisfied, at the small yelp that escaped me and the lazy roll of my hips seeking friction.

I tipped my head back, baring my neck to him.

“Astarion, please,” I whined.

“You’re so eager,” he whispered into my skin, and I whimpered, my entire body thrumming with anticipation. “If I’m going to have you, I’m going to take my time to savor it.”

Another kiss. Another teasing bite. Then his hand left my jaw and drifted slowly down my frame, stopping at my hip. His fingers spread wide against the bone, gripping just hard enough that his nails pressed into my skin.

I whined softly.

He replied with a low, deep chuckle and rewarded me with a wet, open-mouthed kiss to my pulse.

He pulled away from my neck, his gaze returning to mine — drinking in the sight of me, so pliant in his hands.

“You have no idea what you’re offering, do you? My sweet little lamb, come to the predator’s door begging to be torn apart.” He smiled, wicked and reverent. “You should know better than to give yourself to the monster.”

“If you don’t want this…” My voice was featherlight, almost silent. “I can leave.”

He laughed — low, dark, rich — and tightened his grip on me.

“This is the only thing I want.”

His lips were back on me — sucking at my neck, biting my earlobe.

“I’ve been dreaming of your taste,” he whispered, voice trembling with hunger. “The sweet little noises you’d make for me while I fed on you.”

“Do you know I can hear the blood coursing through your veins?” He murmured. “How it sings to me, so beautifully, when you bleed.”

He bit down — hard — breaking skin but not yet plunging his fangs into me.

I cried out.

I couldn’t help the roll of my hips, couldn’t stop the pleasure swelling inside me like a tide. I couldn’t think of anything else but him.

His hair brushed against my jaw as he worked my neck with wet kisses and small bites.

“If you want it,” he moaned into my skin, pressing his hips harder into mine, “you’ll have to ask nicely.”

Tears welled in my eyes. My throat dried. I tried to plead, to beg, but all that came out was a long, high-pitched whimper.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased. “You’re usually so talkative. Come on, little lamb, use your words.”

“Pl—please.” My voice cracked, but I forced the words out. “I—I think about you. And your teeth. All the time.”

A small sob escaped me. “Bite me.”

He groaned — a deep, vibrating sound that made the pulsing between my legs unbearable.

When he spoke, it was a growl. He tore his face from my neck and looked me dead in the eyes.

“Say it again.”

His eyes were black. Endless. His fangs bared fully now, his grip on me tight — too tight — like he might break bone just to get closer.

“Bite me, Astarion,” I said, my voice as steady as I could make it. “I need it. I need you.”

Everything stilled. Even the temple air — already thick with heat and secrets — turned to glass.

Sounds died.

The pop of the fire, the distant drip of water, the rustle of fabric—gone. Swallowed by silence.

And after all his talk, all his teasing, I saw something unexpected in Astarion’s eyes.

Uncertainty.

For the first time in a long while, he hesitated. He darted his gaze away from mine, unable to meet it. There was still a part of him that didn’t believe he deserved what he was being offered.

His grip around my wrists loosened until he was no longer holding me at all. Gently, reverently, he brought my arms down to rest at my sides.

His mouth returned to my neck — wet and warm — and it made me shiver. I felt his fangs scrape against my skin and braced for pain…

But instead, he kissed me.

Soft, sometimes wet kisses from my jaw down to my collarbone, broken by little nips. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped me, or the fists that tangled in his shirt to drag him closer. My body twitched beneath him with desperate need — begging silently for more.

There was nothing left in my head but desire. No words, just soft pleading. Pathetic pleases whispered into the space between his mouth and my skin as he continued to tease me — depriving us both of what we knew we craved.

“You’re so impatient,” he murmured into the hollow of my collarbone.

As his mouth trailed back up to my jaw, the kisses turned to bites — not hard enough to break the skin, but just enough to make the throbbing inside me unbearable. My legs kicked. My hips jerked. My fists clenched tighter in his shirt; I thought I might tear it from his back.

He chuckled darkly as his hands returned to where they belonged: one behind my neck, the other gripping my hip.

I whimpered when his teeth scraped the skin right above where my pulse thrummed the loudest. He tipped my head to the side, fingers threading into my hair to hold me taut.

“Desperate little thing, hmm?” He breathed, pulling my hair tighter.

My vision blurred. I felt tears roll down my cheek — and Astarion lifted his head to lick them.

“If you’re worried you’ll hurt me…” I gasped, my voice barely more than a whimper, “I can take it.”

“I know.” I felt him smile into my neck.

He laughed—quiet, breathless.

“Well then…” he repositioned me, fingers wrapping fully around my throat. He pressed my cheek against the fabric beneath me.

“Here goes… everything.”

There was no hesitation now. No soft lead-up. No gentle warning.

Pain exploded through me — white-hot — as his fangs pierced my neck.

I cried out, loud and raw, the kind of sound that echoed through the entire camp. Pain bloomed sharp and searing. My toes curled. My whole body jolted, instinctively trying to escape—

But Astarion held me fast, pinning me in place.

“Stay still,” he growled, his teeth still embedded in my neck.

I froze.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered — fangs sinking deeper.

Then he drank, and the first pull shattered me.

But quickly the pain dissolved into pleasure, so deep and invasive and perfect I could barely breathe. My hips ground up against him in response, and he groaned, low and feral, the sound vibrating through my bones.

He moved with me, pressing himself down, his arousal thick and heavy through his clothes — grinding against the aching heat between my legs.

His hand slid lower, to the hem of my dress, bunching it up to my hips. His other hand moved between my thighs, fingers brushing the slick heat where I needed him the most.

His mouth latched onto me as he drank deeper, harder, like my blood was the only thing keeping him alive.

Blood spilled from my neck, hot and thick, running down my chest in slow, heavy trails.

He didn’t care. He relished in it.

Every pull from his mouth sent waves of unbearable pleasure through me. I trembled beneath him, caught in that exquisite space between agony and bliss.

I moaned his name like it was the only word I knew, broken and breathless. I felt his body shudder against mine in response. And in that moment, he snapped.

His fangs drove deeper. This was no longer just feeding. No longer just survival.

He was devouring me. Claiming me. Marking me in ways he knew Gale never could.

He rutted against me, all restraint gone — hips grinding in rhythm with the sucking at my neck.

The hand at my thigh moved closer to my aching heat, and what he found made him hiss. He stroked his fingers once over the damp fabric of my panties, knowing all too well how ruined I already was.

He pressed his body completely against mine, chest to chest, his mouth still latched onto my neck.

His fingers began to move — slow, torturous kneading against my soaked cunt — rubbing me through the fabric so deliberately that I choked on a scream, my legs trembling beneath him.

The tent might as well have vanished. The temple outside might never have existed. All that mattered was him: his weight pinning me down, his mouth at my throat, his fingers working me.

He kept stroking me over the fabric — just enough friction to make me sob, quietly and uncontrollably.

Then, finally, his fingers hooked the hem of my panties and tore them down in a fury.

Cold fingers met bare skin, and I jolted at the shock, gasping loud and sharp. He groaned at the reaction — his fangs sinking deeper into my neck — while his thumb traced over my swollen, pulsing center, savoring every twitch and tremble.

“My, my. Soaked already,” he hissed against my throat, voice raw. “Perfect.”

Then his fingers shifted, one slender digit pressing against my entrance.

The cold was unbearable. Like ice dragged through fire. My body seized, overwhelmed, but he didn’t stop. He pushed. Slowly. Inexorably. Until the blunt tip of his finger sank inside me.

I gasped, my body straining under his weight. The stretch was sharp and overwhelming, but he slid in, deep and unrelenting, almost to the knuckle.

Then he stilled. Keeping me there. Letting me feel it, feel the way I soaked his finger.

“So tight,” he cooed. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

I whimpered, clenching around him, helpless.

When my hips started to roll, desperate for friction, his hand lifted from my neck and pressed hard against my stomach, holding me down.

“I told you to stay still,” he murmured.

Then he slid his finger out, a wet squelch marking the withdrawal.

When he pulled his hand back into view, it glistened in the candlelight — slick with my arousal — and Astarion looked mesmerized.

“All it took was one bite to turn you into such a mess.” Satisfaction dripped from his voice as he stared at his finger like it was a masterpiece.

Before my body could even react, I was full again — even more so. He’d added a second finger. They sank into me easily, soaked to the knuckle. First, slow — deliberately slow — and I clenched around them as I’d never let go.

Then his fangs returned to my neck, sinking deep into the already-bruised wound, and the rhythm changed.

His fingers began to pump — faster, deeper — relentless.

The sound was wet, obscene, and raw.

His thumb found my clit — already over-sensitive — and began rubbing soft, devastating circles. He worked me like he’d known my body forever. Like he’d already memorized every inch of me. His fingers curled, pressed, massaged —

And I broke.

My back arched off the bedroll. Drool dribbled from my parted lips. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Astarion…” I cried out.

My hands shot up to grab him, but stopped midair, trembling, like my body forgot what they were for.

“Such sweet sounds.” He withdrew his fangs with a wet pop, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes.

My lids were heavy; my mouth hung open, spit slicking my chin as he gazed down at me with admiration— like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His fingers pistoned out of me with purpose, deep and unrelenting, hard enough that my legs kicked, and my toes curled.

He fingerfucked me like he never wanted me to forget the fullness of him. His thumb stayed pressed to my clit, just enough pressure to keep the small, broken sounds spilling from my lips.

The pressure inside me built until it felt like a tidal wave about to crash — heavy, consuming, too much and not enough all at once.

His fingers moved in and out. In and out. Faster.

He spread his fingers, spread me from the inside out, and my body only responded by getting wetter. The sounds turned sloppy. Liquid spilled from me, gushing over his fingers and soaking the fabric beneath us.

“Star…” My words slurred, my eyes rolling back. “…rion.”

“So beautiful when you’re about to break,” he murmured, kissing my forehead. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. Words no longer existed. I could only stare at him and whimper as his fingers moved with ruthless precision, dragging me higher and higher.

“Scary, Mira,” he chuckled softly. “Reduced to nothing but whimpers. How pathetic.”

Bloodstained kisses followed down my throat, his hand pressing firmly to my stomach as my walls clamped around his fingers, begging for release.

“Gods,” he growled, “you’re really tightening up now.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks as he sank his fangs back into me, drinking in tandem with his fingers pumping mercilessly inside me.

I couldn’t hold on any longer. The pressure was unbearable now, a dam on the brink of bursting, and Astarion didn’t stop. If anything, he became more relentless.

Then all at once — like lightning striking earth — I came.

All the candles went out and roared back to life as pain and ecstasy ripped through me. A scream tore from my throat. I clenched down hard on his fingers, like I was trying to milk them dry. My cunt fluttered and closed around him as my hands shot up to clutch at his neck.

And still he kept fucking me through it.

The slick, obscene sounds filled the tent, echoing until my body went limp. When he finally pulled his fingers free, they were soaked — shimmering with the evidence of my release.

Almost helplessly, he brought them to his mouth.

He groaned as he sucked them clean.

“You taste—”

He broke off, leaning down to press a quick, breathless kiss to my lips.

“Divine.”

Then his hands were on my shoulders, and his mouth crashed back into mine — warm, wet, desperate. His tongue forced its way past my lips in a frenzy, slick with saliva and blood, kissing me so deeply I felt it at the back of my throat.

I groaned into him, long and low. Drool slipped from our mouths as his tongue claimed mine, and for a moment — one I never wanted to end — the world narrowed to nothing but that kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, a long strand of saliva stretched between us.

I whimpered softly at the emptiness of my mouth. I wiped at my lips, breath still shaking.

Astarion made no attempt to clean himself.

His lips remained slick — stained with my blood and spit — as he looked at me like he was already undone.

My breathing was heavy and erratic. My skin tingled. I thought I might throw up. I couldn’t tell if I was shaking from blood loss, or from the way he looked at me — with such intensity, like he’d finally found a piece of himself he’d spent hundreds of years searching for.

He reached down, brushing his thumb over my swollen bottom lip, then tilted my head gently to the side. His gaze locked on the bite marks beginning to bruise, inspecting them like a man studying sacred text.

His mouth curled into a pleased smile. To him, I was a canvas. His teeth were the brush. And he’d just finished a masterpiece.

The expression on his face was a mix of pride and possession— like now that he’d tasted me, he couldn’t fathom a world without me in it.

His fingers traced the wounds, and I winced. Then he leaned in, his tongue lapping gently over the blood — cleaning me like I was something precious, something holy.

Then he sucked — once, hard — and I cried out, pleasure and pain fusing into one unbearable thing.

I watched the hunger in his eyes dim. And then came the emptiness.

All that remained was the feeling of me on his lips, and the quiet understanding that everything had just gotten more complicated.

He finally shifted off of me, slowly, and as he did, I caught a glint of sadness in his eyes — like he knew this wouldn’t last. Like he was committing this moment to memory, because when everything inevitably broke… he’d still have tonight.

He had me. My surrender.

And I had him. For better or worse, this moment bound us — in a way Astarion wasn’t ready to face.

We didn’t speak.

He sat far enough away to tell me that if he came any closer, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from taking all of me.

And the quiet between us said more than words ever could.

The silence spoke everything we weren’t ready to say. Words that would be too raw. Too vulnerable. Too real.

And being real had never been part of Astarion’s plan.

His eyes finally drifted to meet mine.

They were glassy — not quite tears, but not far from them. Like he already knew he couldn’t hold onto me the way he wanted to.

My blood still stained his lips. His shirt was soaked and dark where it clung to him. He made no move to clean himself.

He left the blood there like a trophy — something he didn’t believe he deserved but wanted to keep anyway.

“Are—are you okay?” I finally broke the silence, my voice shaky.

He laughed low, uncertain. “No.”

His hands curled into fists. “But I will be.”

Another beat of silence.

“Are you?” He asked, quieter this time. The sweetness in his voice wasn’t the mockery of performance—it was real, unsure, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to ask.

“I didn’t hurt you… Did I?” He added it like an afterthought, but I could hear the fragility in the question.

“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “A little lightheaded, kind of nauseous… but I’ll produce more blood eventually.”

I let out a soft laugh.

“And no, you didn’t hurt me.” I exhaled. “Honestly… I didn’t expect it to feel so... good.”

Everything went silent again. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

We just looked at each other, and I felt more exposed than I had before. Neither of us knew what to do now. But the quiet left too much room for thoughts to crawl back in. I knew the moment I left this tent that everything would go back to how it was. He’d flirt but never take it further. He’d be distant, but always there, always watching.

But the longer the silence pressed between us, the more I convinced myself that maybe things would change. That he wanted this too. Someone he could confide in without it costing him something. Someone who wanted him the way he deserved. Someone who didn’t mistake vulnerability for weakness.

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay here, in this strange quiet, in the aftermath, before we had to face the reality outside.

For now, it was just him and me—caught in a spell neither of us wanted to break.

The question built in my throat like a stone. I could taste the words before I even said them.

“Can I stay here?” I whispered, barely sure I’d said it aloud.

Hesitation flickered across his face, then he chuckled.

“Oh, the scandal. What will our dear Wizard think, finding out you spent the night with the bloodsucking monster?”

Then, quieter, gentler:

“So yes. You can stay. I imagine breakfast will be… quite dramatic.”

I smiled at him—small, tired, but genuine—and tried to push down the guilt rising in me at the mention of Gale. I didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to imagine the look on his face when he saw me leaving Astarion’s tent… or the marks on my neck.

I sighed and rolled onto my side, even though every part of me ached in protest.

“Thank you,” I said eventually.

“It’d be rude of me to kick you out in your state,” he replied, laughing as he lay down beside me.

But he still didn’t come closer. He hadn’t touched me since. Not once.

I slid my arm beneath my head, watching him in the low candlelight. He was glowing, subtly, but there. I’d never seen his skin with so much color, as if my blood really had brought him back to life in some unnatural, beautiful way.

And as we lay there, I could feel his restraint. It prickled at my skin.

He was right beside me, but it might as well have been a canyon between us. One I would have crossed without hesitation, if only he’d reached for me.

But he didn’t.

My lids grew heavy. Sleep tugged at me slowly, a creeping tide. My body still buzzed. My neck ached. But I didn’t mind.

I felt content. Happy, even.

“It was a vision,” I murmured. Barely a whisper.

“What?” He asked. I could hear the surprise in his voice.

“My eye,” I yawned. “I had a vision. When I was with Gale.”

A beat passed.

“And I came back with this.”

“Hm. It’s always something with you, Mira,” he chuckled, shifting slightly. But still not coming closer.

Sleep was taking me fast now. But there was still one more thing I had to say.

A final truth.

“You can bite me again,” I whispered. “If you’d like.”

I heard a strangled sound catch in his throat, like the words had hit something too deep to name. The air shifted with the weight of that offer.

And I knew he could hear it. The beating of my heart. One last thump… just for him. But before I fully fell unconscious, I heard him speak—barely a breath, nearly lost.

“You have no idea how much this meant to me.”

A pause.

“No matter what happens… I’ll never forget this.”

And the last thing I felt before sleep claimed me…was his hand on my thigh. Featherlight. But there. Finally