Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two months post Elder Brain…

                In the days following the Elder Brain’s defeat, Baldur’s Gate fell still. After cult attacks, doppelganger murders, tyrannical power plays, and illithid invasions, the city was holding its breath. With their luck, the bloody tarrasque would show up and end their misery once and for all.

                But, instead, there was silence. Blissful, confusing silence. And then, the city got to work. Duke Ravengard and Counsellor Florrick were at the forefront of the movement to rebuild and reshape the city. Their goal was mold it into something greater than it was. With the coronation of Archduke Wyll Ravengard and his subsequent marriage to the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, the Tiefling paladin Lelith, the focus was even stronger on making life better for all people in the city.

                With Upper City destroyed, and so many homes outside of it with them, the squabbles of who belonged in the city proper didn’t seem to matter. Some citizens chose to start over anew with Halsin, taken by his ideas to restore Reithwin. Others stayed, keen on rebuilding the city. Refugees from the Outer City were offered a stipend to help with the reconstruction efforts. It was a way for the able-bodied to get a foot in the door for themselves and their families. It was a good thought, but Zevlor often found himself wondering what would happen after the city was rebuilt.

                Perhaps he was being too cynical after everything, but he thought that cynicism well deserved, all things considered. He had fought all his life to prove his worth, and so much was undone simply for being born in his body. Elturel turned its back on its proud Tieflings. He watched as previously generous neighbors suddenly rejected and sneered devilkin at him. He saw firsthand how druids of Emerald Grove reacted to them, and they wouldn’t be the only ones. Though he had been fortunate enough to make it through the gates (thanks to the Flaming Fist in the pods with him), he knew that many of his people—did he even have the right to call them that anymore?—were stuck outside the walls. That refugees were not treated with kindness in general under Gortash’s rule. Aside from that, it wasn’t even the first time Baldur’s Gate was at the center of a dangerous plot. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe fell.

                None of these concerns could be shared, of course. As the highest-ranking officer of the veterans, he was naturally placed in a leadership position of the Hellriders in the temple. It was imperative that he keep a positive face for not only the people in his command, but for the sake of all who came to seek help or aid the cause themselves. His concerns were kept private, and, as he started to see the positive effects of their combined efforts, he was starting to warm to the idea that a difference was truly being made.

                He wasn’t meant to survive that final assault, but the gods spared him from death time and again. Perhaps this was not the path that he had foreseen for himself, but it was one that contented him for the time being. He could allow that to distract him from darker thoughts.

                “Commander? Did you hear a word I just said?”

                Zevlor snapped back to attention. These days, he was prone to quiet contemplation. He didn’t want to fathom how often his fellow Hellriders caught him staring off, deep in thought. It took him a moment to recall his surroundings, tucked away in the small, private office room the temple granted them—and staring at the wall again. He cleared his throat, turning toward the voice. “My apologies, Lieutenant Guerus.”

                Guerus gave a wry grin. “The years are catching up to you, old man.” They had fought alongside each other for years—Guerus was by his side in the final assault two months ago. Had the joke been made in front of his other subordinates, perhaps it would have earned a sharp reprimand. Instead, Zevlor shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Guerus continued: “I’ll have Arkis write up a report. Things are progressing smoothly. There’s nothing requiring your immediate attention.”

                Zevlor nodded in gratitude before his attention was drawn to the door. A polite knock before it was opened. Intari, one of their younger members and another who joined him in the assault, popped her head inside. “Beg pardon, Commander, Lieutenant,” she apologized, “but there’s a woman here to speak with you. Says she’s here on behalf of the Duchess?”

                He stood up a little straighter. “Yes, of course. Let her know I will be right out, Private.”

                “The sooner the better, sir,” Intari responded, sounding exasperated. “Casmir is making an absolute fool of himself.” The two men exchanged a glance and silently decided the best course of action was to follow immediately. Zevlor could hear the tone of conversation before he was close enough to make out the words and nearly groaned. It was worse when he got into earshot.

                “…has this really great stew they serve. People come from all over just to eat it!”

                “Oh? I haven’t had the pleasure.” The feminine voice was politely disinterested in the current conversation.

                “If you’re free later, I can take you there,” Casmir persisted, not taking the hint.

                “That’s quite enough, soldier.” Zevlor stepped into view. To his relief, Casmir was keeping a comfortable distance from their guest—a Tiefling herself—though, perhaps, closer than what would be appropriate given the circumstances. The young soldier looked suitably chastened to be scolded by his commander. “Take your leave.” As the young Tiefling left, he instead turned his attention to the woman. “My apologies, miss. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

                She gave a lazy smile in response. “Long enough to glean that you all could use a break,” she replied smoothly. Out of habit, he took quick inventory of her appearance. Another from Asmodeus’s bloodline, with red skin and gold eyes. She had black horns that curled along the natural curve of her skull and upward at the ends. Blue purple hair was worn wavy, loose, and long. She wasn’t wearing the armor of the Flaming Fist or the City Watch, nor anything resembling the city’s higher echelon. Instead, she wore a black and tan bodice over a black blouse, a thin brown belt looping high on her waist, accenting her curvy figure. On her lower half were a brown skirt, ruched in the front and longer in the back, and a pair of black lace up boots. Over all of that was a navy cloak, with the hood currently down. She wasn’t much shorter than him, all told. She tipped her head to the side. “I get the impression you don’t get out much.”

                Guerus chuckled from behind him but didn’t add any commentary. Zevlor shook his head. “My apologies for Private Casmir’s behavior, miss. It will not happen again.”

                “Oh, I wasn’t offended.” There was a dismissive wave of her hand. “You must be the Commander then?” She held out her hand. “I’m Mavari. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                “Well met, Mavari. Zevlor,” he supplied, taking her hand. He noted with approval the nice, firm handshake. “I am told the Duchess sent you?”

                She nodded. “That she did. The Duchess is old friends with one of my teammates. We’ve been in the city since—well, everything—and she got in touch. Turns out that helping your husband run a city doesn’t leave much time for adventuring, or as much time around the city as one would like.”

                “No, I don’t imagine it does.” Though he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.

                Mavari placed her hands on her hips. “There are certain things that can’t be asked of the City Watch or the Fist. She mentioned all the people she had met while battling the Absolute. She wants someone to keep an eye out for all of you. So, she’s asked us to provide help where we can that she and the Archduke can’t.”

                Zevlor considered this. “So, she has contracted an adventuring party—you are adventurers, yes?—to take on the jobs any of us would previously ask of her?”

                “I might have described it with a little more importance, but you’ve got the idea.” She shrugged. “The point is for you know who to contact to get the job done right.”

                “Ms. Mavari, Lieutenant Guerus.” Guerus stepped forward into the conversation. “Do you have proof of this contract? How can we be certain you are who you say you are?”

                Her eyes shifted toward him. “Lieutenant Guerus,” she demurred, “I would never presume to come to Elturel’s Hellriders without proof.” She reached into her pack and produced a scroll, handing it to him. “Take your time.”

                Guerus unrolled the scroll to read. Zevlor kept his eyes on the woman as he did so. Mavari returned his gaze levelly. There was a hint of fire behind it, though, one that he recognized well—she was ready to fight for herself should the need arise. She didn’t falter under his stern gaze. “Commander.” Guerus handed him the scroll. Zevlor only broke eye contact once it was in hand to read.

                It certainly looked authentic. The scroll was notarized from the office of the Archduke, bearing nine signatures: Lelith’s, the notary’s, Mavari’s, and six others. The document referenced their adventuring party and the duties expected of them, as well as the Duchess’s blessing as written in her own hand. He didn’t question its validity. He rolled the scroll and flicked his gaze back to hers, still unwavering. “Very well. I am convinced. Lieutenant?”

                “It looks legitimate,” Guerus confirmed. “One question, though. You named your group Cataclysm?”

                That comment broke Mavari’s stare. She made a face. “Don’t ask.”

                Guerus held up a hand. “Not asking.”

                “If you’re agreeable to it,” she continued, looking back to Zevlor as she tucked the contract away, “I’ll stop by at once a tenday to check in. If there’s anything you need us to do, you can let me know then.”

                He considered this. The Hellriders were certainly very capable at handling what needed to be done, but, he had to admit, there was a certain appeal to having someone to call for the tasks that weren’t appropriate for their attention. “Very well,” he agreed after a moment. “But I would like to test this for a few weeks before I commit.”

                Mavari broke into a charming smile. “Of course, Commander,” she responded silkily. “I respect your discernment.”

                “I do have one favor to ask, though,” he noted. She tipped her head slightly. “We have Elturian refugees still in Rivington. If it isn’t too much trouble, would you check on them and report back to me? I’d rather you not say I’m the one asking, but…”

                “It’s no trouble, Commander. The Duchess asked me to check on them, as well. I’ll be headed that way tomorrow.”

                A tension he didn’t realize he was holding in his shoulders dissipated. He closed his eyes for but a moment to control his reaction. “Thank you.”

                “Of course.” She smiled again. “Do you require anything else of me at this moment?”

                “We do not.” Zevlor returned the smile. “Thank you for introducing yourself, Ms. Mavari.”

                “Oh, the pleasure was all mine, Commander, Lieutenant. Should you need anything of us in the meantime, you can put a word in at the Blushing Mermaid.”

                “The Blushing Mermaid?” Guerus questioned. “Isn’t that place seedy?”

                “It’s under new management,” Mavari responded smoothly, if not a bit automatically to Zevlor’s ears. She gave a low curtsy. “By your leave.”

                “Be in good health,” Zevlor responded politely, returning the curtsy with a bow of his own. He watched as she moved to the door, eyebrow quirking as she turned around.

                “You know, we’ve got some good stew of our own at the Mermaid,” she called. “Stop by and try it out sometime.” Grinning, she left. It was at that moment he realized that her tail had been moving in a lazy, steady S-shape from base to tip.

                Only once he was confident that she was out of earshot did Guerus give a low whistle. “Maybe we need to cut Casmir a little slack,” he admitted.

                “Don’t be ridiculous, Guerus.”

                Guerus glanced behind Zevlor. “You wanna try running that by me again?”

                Only then did Zevlor realize his tail was mimicking that same S-shaped movement. He scowled. “Not one more word, Lieutenant.” He could hear Guerus snickering as he swiftly left the room.

                “Hells,” Dammon hissed, throwing his hammer in frustration. He barely flinched as it found purchase against the stone and walked rapidly across his forge away from it. He crouched low, running his hands over his hair to intertwine at the base of his skull, and tried to calm his rapid breathing.

                Nothing was working. Nothing was right. He had no idea how anything he had made the past two months sold, because nothing was up to his standards. And what did it matter, anyway? The one person who needed him, relied on him, was dead. And what did he tell her? That her only option was to go back to Avernus, the place she refused to return to, that he didn’t think he’d be able to find the answer in time before her engine gave out?

                Gods damn it, why didn’t she listen? At least she’d be alive. Now, it was too late, and he was left with nothing but regrets and questions. His fingernails dug into his skin in frustration. He wanted to go up to the Duchess herself and scream at her for not trying harder to convince Karlach to live. It was fine and good for the Hero to go off and have her happily ever after, but she couldn’t do the same for her friend?

                Dammon growled and punched the stone floor. It took him a solid ten seconds before the pain shot up his arm. “Fuck.” Blood was dripping from the skin that broke when it hit hard surface. Money was tight. He couldn’t afford to go to a healer—

                “Ummm, hi?”

                “What?” he snapped without thinking. Immediately, he froze. Showing his emotion so openly was unlike him—especially not anger. He swallowed and stood up, trying to mask the pain he felt. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be rude.”

                Dammon felt like he might have to apologize for being rude again, because he had never seen someone like the person in front of him, and he was aware that he was staring. She was short with light blue skin, a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was long and wavy, with the sides tied back in a braided style. Her hair resembled the color of the ocean, starting off light at her scalp and getting darker at the ends. The oddest thing was that it was moving on its own like gentle waves. Webbed fins were where her ears should have been. She wore a dark blue dress with a brown corset and skirt combination over top, with matching brown boots and black leggings. Large blue eyes were looking at him with concern. “So I’m pretty sure you just busted up your hand,” she noted bluntly. “I’d be rude, too.”

                He quickly hid his bloodied hand behind his back. “No, no, I’m fine.” He waved off her concern with the other. “What can I help you with?”

                “Yeah, no.” The young woman crossed the forge, holding out her hand. “Give it.”

                “I’m fine,” he insisted, clearly not fine but wanting to be left to his misery as soon as possible.

                “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure the Duchess would be mad at me if she knew I left you alone with a broken hand, so give it here already.”

                The Duchess? Dammon was so thrown off by the casual name drop that he barely registered her grabbing his arm. It wasn’t until he felt the warm relief of healing magic that he noticed the woman was softly singing as she cast the spell. It still felt a bit sore, and the wounds were only just closed, but at least the bones felt intact again. He flexed his fingers a few times. “…thanks.”

                “Not a problem,” she chirped in return. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Dammon. I’m Lyric!”

                He was going to question how she knew his name, but, if she sought him out, of course she did. Dammon sighed. “Well met, I suppose. Why are you here?”

                “I’m supposed to check in on you on the Duchess’s behalf.” She leaned over slightly and squinted up at him. “Do you often yell and punch the ground?”

                “No,” he snapped. In a better mind state later, he would be embarrassed for his attitude, but for now he turned away from her. She was starting to get on his nerves. “Tell the Duchess I don’t need or want any help.”

                Lyric tipped her head to one side and followed. “That’s interesting, she had nice things to say about you. She said you helped her friend Karlach—”

                “Don’t,” he hissed, “talk to me about Karlach.” He didn’t want to hear it. Whatever the Duchess had to say about him, or about Karlach, she clearly didn’t care enough about either of them to actually give the barbarian a fighting chance when it counted. He clenched his fists. “I need you to leave.”

                She blinked then shrugged. “Okay, fine. But I’ll be back next week. I hope whatever is making you so mad stops being dumb.” She turned on her heel and started to leave.

                “Wait.” Dammon winced. This was so unlike him. She stopped and turned back. “What kind of help?”

                Lyric burst into a big smile. “Oh, anything you need! We’re adventurers who have fought foes from Ten Towns to the Dalelands, heroes to all the realms—”

                “Can you do me a favor?” he cut off.

                Undeterred, she curtsied. “Of course. How can the great Cataclysm assist?”

                “Can you bring me any infernal metal you find?” He reached into his pouch and produced a sample. “Anything like this.”

                Lyric took the iron and studied it. “Oh, sure! We find a lot of stuff on our travels,” she added, handing it back. “We’ll definitely bring you anything we find like this.” She grinned. “In the meantime, if you need us for any reason, or if you just need a good drink”—she gave him a knowing look—“you can find us at the Blushing Mermaid!”

                “The Blushing Mermaid?” he repeated. “Didn’t someone get killed over stealing an ash tray there?”

                “It’s under new management!” she sang cheerfully. “Byeeeeeeee!” With a flourish, she was off. It was only as she was leaving that Dammon’s brain supplied him with the word genasi.

                …huh. And he asked her about infernal iron? Dammon gazed down at the scrap in his hand with a frown. Why? What good did infernal iron do him now that his entire reason for researching it was gone? He closed his fist around the piece and shut his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Maybe one day this wouldn’t hurt so much.

                “It took the children longer to settle tonight than usual, didn’t it?” The monk Aurelia gave Halsin a smile. She, along with her adopted son, had been among the many volunteers to help rebuild Reithwin. Though her assistance was invaluable, her friendship was a welcome surprise. They had been pleased to find so many commonalities between them, both being wood elves of the same age. Despite that, they had differing enough perspectives that it helped to challenge his way of thinking, and she was not afraid to (gently) correct him as needed.

                Halsin chuckled. “They asked for another story,” he explained as he sat down on the roof. “I couldn’t tell them no.”

                She handed him a steaming mug of tea. “You could,” she reminded him, amused, “but you didn’t want to.”

                “You’re correct.” He lifted the mug toward her in silent cheers before taking a swallow. Notes of lavender and chamomile hit his tongue, along with the sweetness of honey. He hummed in gratitude as he looked out over the land. It was healing beautifully after the Shadow Curse’s end. Thaniel and Oliver were diligent, and so were the people making this their home. The masonry that remained was well intact and didn’t require too much structural work, fortunately. They needed to clear the dead and debris, but they were making great progress on turning Moonrise Towers into apartments. Reithwin proper would be next, giving the businesses that already started to pop up a place to form roots. At the pace they were working, it would take perhaps a year for it to be a fully-fledged community, by his estimation.

                “I’m glad you have them,” the monk smiled. She tugged on a cardigan, then held her own mug between her hands. “We’re all lucky to have you.”

                “I didn’t anticipate wanting to lead anyone again,” he admitted, “but this seems…different from the Grove.” A topic they had breached before, though not in great detail. He considered his next words carefully. “I suppose, if I had chosen leadership prior, I would have felt differently. But, this…” He smiled proudly as he gestured. “This feels like I’m making a difference.”

                “Helping people find their community while rebuilding something the darkness took from us,” she summarized. “It’s a wonderful cause, Halsin.” She took a moment to swallow some tea. “Though, I admit, it feels like something is missing.”

                “Oh?” Halsin glanced over at her. “Should we add to the plans? A temple for you, perhaps?”

                “Not with the plans,” Aurelia corrected, smiling at him. “And a temple is quite unnecessary for my practices, though I appreciate the offer.” Her face turned solemn. “I meant with you.”

                He blinked. “Me?” He chortled. “I have a purpose. I have the children to look after. The Shadow Curse is gone. What else could I need?”

                “I can’t answer that for you,” she spoke quietly. “You seem a little…restless, that’s all.”

                “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Of course, he couldn’t look at her when he said it, instead glancing off to the side. He was met with silence. Normally, that wouldn’t have phased him—companiable silence was common—but something lingered in the air. He sighed. She was doing it on purpose, patiently giving him the space that he needed to open up, and it was working. Again. “Might I ask you something, Aurelia?”

                “You may.”

                “Your…solitude. Do you enjoy it?”

                Her lips quirked. “I suppose that depends on how you define solitude. However…” She glanced over at him. “If I am assuming your intention correctly: Yes. I’m quite happy. I treasure my friendships and family, but I am more than fulfilled without a lover.”

                There was more there she wasn’t adding. Halsin waited then relented when he realized she wasn’t going to. “I respect your decision, but I don’t fully understand it.”

                “As is your right.” She lightly nudged him with her elbow. “I’m aware you’ve made some friends.”

                He rubbed his chin. “Yes, well…” Friends was a way to put it. He had certainly had his dalliances since the Shadow Curse was lifted and hadn’t regretted any of them. But the intense attraction he had felt for Lelith a few months ago had made him reconsider a few things. No, he no longer carried that flame; he took her answer seriously. It didn’t escape him, however, that he couldn’t remember the last time he felt that overwhelming urge to connect with someone. “I enjoy the freedom to be with whomever I wish, but I find myself wanting a more…dependable situation, as it were.”

                She hummed in acknowledgment. “At our age, I think that is natural. Certain parts of you that you’ve had for hundreds of years suddenly don’t feel like you anymore.” He gave her a curious look. She didn’t acknowledge it. “In my observation, the casual relationships come easily to you, but you are looking for something more…substantial. Having a partner or partners who see you past your most obvious features and who will stay with you. But,” she added gently, “you also fear this.”

                The druid paused. “Astute observation.” How did she do that? “Why do you say that?”

                “You speak as though you expect the answer to be no when it comes to advocating for yourself.” Aurelia looked at him fully now, gaze intense. “You feel like you haven’t earned the right to ask for something selfishly. Perhaps it hasn’t gone well in the past, and you took that as a sign. But, Halsin, you deserve to be loved as anyone else does.” It was his turn to be silent, but Aurelia only waited a short pause before she continued: “I didn’t know you before volunteering to come to Reithwin, but you’ve grown quite a bit in such a short time. You’ve become more self-assured, and the children bring out a much more relaxed side of you. You are worthy of being more than someone’s fling.”

                “I was not aware we would be getting so heavy,” Halsin admitted slowly.

                “My apologies,” Aurelia sighed. “I’ve been rather prone to contemplation lately.” She gave him a small smile. “I hope I didn’t overstep.”

                Out of habit, he was about to quickly reassure her, but he took a moment with his feelings. “Perhaps this was not the best time,” he conceded, “but I believe I needed to hear the words nevertheless.” He took a moment before swallowing down a mouthful of tea. “But I think I need some time to myself to reflect.”

                “Of course. I’ll leave the rest of the tea with you?” At his nod, she stood then paused. “Oh, and Halsin? Don’t try to force anything. The right people have a way of finding us exactly when we need them.”

                He smiled at her and bid her good night. Only when he couldn’t hear her footfalls anymore did he sigh, letting himself deflate. Nettie had been the last person close enough to him to read him so thoroughly, and it was just as disarming with her as it had been with Aurelia. He wasn’t entirely sure how to process it all, but perhaps he didn’t need to quite yet.

                The right people have a way of finding us exactly when we need them. And they had, hadn’t they? Lelith and the others had led to where he was now. If it happened once, it would again. Besides, all he had was time. He only wished that thought comforted him as much as it was supposed to.

                “What in the hells is that?” muttered Guerus. He leaned back from his spot in the soup line and narrowed his eyes. “Who’s letting birds in the temple?”

                “Hold on a sec, Lieutenant.” Intari knelt beside the crow. “It’s…carrying an envelope.” She carefully plucked said envelope from its beak. The crow gave a single caw of acknowledgment before flying out the door. The young Hellrider stood before walking toward Zevlor. “Commander, it’s addressed to you.”

                Odd. Zevlor held out his hand to take it. “Will you keep an eye out for few moments, Lieutenant?” he asked. Guerus made a shooing motion with his hand. With a nod, Zevlor walked back to the makeshift office.

                It took him a moment to register what it was—not until he started to read the elegant script. This was a report:

Commander,

I hope this letter finds you well. As promised: an update on the Elturian refugees in Rivington.

Most of my conversation was with a woman named Cerys. She was very willing to work with me and is adamant about staying in Rivington until all the refugees have a more permanent residence. Seems stretched very thin. She pulled me aside to ask after you. I feigned ignorance but told her I’d ask around.

There’s a sweet couple named Bex and Danis. They were excited to share their plans about starting their own café. They seemed slightly discouraged at first but were more hopeful after we spoke a while.

A young man named Zorru, who was one of the refugees who took stipends from the city to help rebuild. Seems downtrodden and angry. Not sure what your plans are, but I’d avoid him if I were you.

Four boys named Ide, Mattis, Mirkon, and Umi. There’s a girl named Silfy there who is making money peddling the Gazette in Lower City, but I haven’t met her yet. The boys were friendly enough with me but proving quite the handful for Cerys. I don’t get the impression she’s getting much help or that they’re going to make things easier. They asked about a Mol and said the Duchess would know who she was.

Throughout the conversation, there were six other names that were brought up as those who made it past the gate: Alfira, Lakrissa, Dammon, Rolan, Cal, and Lia. I can confirm that these six are in Lower City. Rolan, Cal, and Lia have made their residence in Ramazith’s Tower. I’m set to check in on them today. Dammon has a forge in near the Elfsong Tavern, where Lakrissa and Alfira usually are. I’m not the one assigned to check in on them but can tell you if my teammate has anything noteworthy.

There may be others, but I’d have to look. Will continue to keep you informed. With respect to individuals’ privacy, of course.

- Mavari

                He read the letter twice more, digesting it, before Zevlor put it down. He had been aware of Rolan and the tower, as well as Dammon with his forge, but the rest was new to him. So that was…sixteen of his people out of how many who had set out from Elturel under his command? Gods. There might have been more survivors, but his gut told him there weren’t. He lowered his face into his hands and sighed. The familiar doubts started creeping in again—if only he had been able to resist the Absolute’s pull, if only they had been stronger, if only, if only, if only.

                They were fractured. He could read between the lines well enough to tell that the children were going to end up falling through the cracks if no one stepped in. Cerys was very capable, but she was still gaining confidence as a leader. She was placed in the line of succession as a formality but was never meant to take over in his stead. His fear at the time was that she would struggle rallying the Tieflings to her cause, and it sounded like that fear was well-founded…let alone trying to do so while keeping the children out of trouble. And none of the other adults thought it was necessary to help? Zevlor found himself utterly disappointed, but he noted with some dismay that he wasn’t surprised. It was an old song and dance he was all too familiar with. Those poor children.

                As for Zorru…well…the warning said enough, didn’t it? At least one Tiefling was still upset with him, which meant more likely were. Was it worth even trying at this point? No, all he could do was move forward. He could try to atone through his good deeds, if such a thing were even possible.

                He steadied his hands before tucking the letter away. Dark thoughts were seeping into his mind, but he could not allow them to settle there. His fellow Hellriders needed him.

Chapter Text

Three months post Elder Brain…

                “There’s not enough room in here to spread my wings.”

                Mavari rolled her eyes. “Funny how none of us considered your wing span when choosing a place to live.”

                “Yes. That was rude of you.” In the vanity’s mirror, she watched as her patron—tall, imposing, massive horns and wings, purple skin that faded into black at his extremities—flopped face first onto her bed. He looked ridiculous with his clawed feet hanging off the end. Her attention turned back toward powdering her face. Whatever the reason for his unannounced visit, she wasn’t going allow herself to be late. Today was her day to visit the Rivington refugees, and especially important was the conversation to follow. Normally, she wouldn’t worry quite so much about her appearance, but the past month was leading up to this moment, and…

                Her eyes flashed toward sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Her incubus patron was rolling around on her comforter like a damned cat. Idiot. Mavari slammed down her makeup brush and whirled around. “Urich, get off my damn bed.”

                He stopped, propping his cheek on his hand. “Oh, but why? It’s so comfortable.” Patting an empty spot beside him, he added, tail wagging playfully, “Maybe you need to come over and convince me.”

                “Absolutely not. Get up.” She glared before turning back around. In the mirror, Urich gave an impressive pout. “What do you want, anyway?”

                He hummed in response, stretching languidly. “Oh, I thought it was time for a nice little chat with my cute little warlock, that’s all.” Urich slinked off the bed. She was practiced at ignoring him, especially in his obvious pleas for her attention, but it was very hard not to watch him glide across the room toward her. That physique was not fair, and he knew it too damn well. He stopped behind her and began absent-mindedly running his fingers through her hair. “You’ve been quite busy playing with the Duchess, haven’t you?”

                “It’s a regular gig in a place where we can make a name for ourselves.” She capped the powder and reached for the kohl. “Jael’s going to be here for a while with Doomguide work, anyway. Renorash thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to establish a home base.”

                “And you,” he mused, “who has only ever wanted a home, finally got one. Little big for only you, though.”

                She paused. “The others are staying while they sort out their own living arrangements.”

                “And after?”

                Mavari felt his claws very lightly rake against her scalp. Despite herself, she closed her eyes, letting out a soft sigh. It felt good. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out today. The kids in Rivington…”

                Urich hummed in acknowledgement. “Unwanted children, forgotten by those with the power to save them.” He knelt so that his face joined hers in the mirror. “Vagrants, learning too soon the darkness the world has to offer, in danger of being swallowed by the worst of the city.” She didn’t respond to that. He chuckled, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her against his chest. Snaking the other arm around her shoulders, the back of his fingers ever so lightly brushed her cheek. “You want to save them from what Luskan did to you.” She shut her eyes but elected again not to respond. He knew her far too well. “Honorable. But, if they’re like you were, they won’t trust anyone.”

                “I won’t know if I don’t try,” she argued, opening her eyes to meet his red ones in the mirror. “Besides, I have a plan.”

                “I believe that you do, my little crow.” He cupped her chin. “But I’m not here to talk about your little hatchlings.” He loosened the arm around her waist, instead placing his hand on her hip. Still maintaining eye contact in the mirror, Urich leaned in toward her ear, whispering, “I want to talk about the broken bird.”

                “What broken bird?” Mavari couldn’t suppress the shiver at the hot breath against her cheek. Hells, he knew exactly how to draw a reaction out of her. “I see a lot of people who’ve suffered hardships these days. You’re going to have to be a lot more specific.”

                “Don’t play stupid with me, little crow. You know better than that.” He shifted so that he could press his cheek against hers, eyes still locked on her reflection. “That temple with the Hellriders. You spend an awfully long time there when you check in.”

                Oh, that’s what this was about. She smirked. “Are you upset because you can’t get in? Poor little incubus.”

                She felt his hand rest atop of her head, his fingers entwining with her hair before jerking it to the side. It wasn’t a rough gesture, but she winced all the same. “I am not little.” With more of her neck now exposed, he shot a lazy smirk at her before hovering his lips over it. “Word on the street has it that the Commander was fucked over by the Absolute, and now his people hate him. But what a strong, loyal man, trying so hard to redeem himself…all the while desperately hating himself.” Urich chuckled sardonically against the sensitive spot behind her ear. She had to clench her teeth to avoid reacting. “Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised, little crow. You’ve always liked the broken ones.” He breathed against her skin, his warm breath tickling her, letting his lips hover close enough to set her nerves on fire as his face moved down the curve of her neck. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers in the mirror again, his gaze was much more intense. The hand on her hip tightened. “Is the old man going to be a problem, Mavari?” he growled.

                She met his intense gaze with a steady glare of her own and spoke a single word: “Volo.”

                Urich froze, staring at her incredulously for a moment, before cursing in Abyssal. Immediately, he jerked backwards, holding up his hands in surrender. They stayed raised as he stood. He looked incredibly frustrated, but he listened. Mavari turned in her stool and crossed her legs, leaning on her elbows against the vanity. “Now. Let’s try this again, shall we? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt in my ability before, Urich?”

                He crossed his arms. “No.”

                “Have I ever turned down an assignment from you?”

                “…No.”

                “So, what does it matter?” He scowled at her but didn’t answer. Mavari rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. It’s not like I haven’t been attracted to other people before.”

                “Yeah, but it’s not like you’ve ever stayed with other people before.”

                “You saying that suggests you know something I don’t.” She squinted at him. “Yes, he’s attractive. I’ll admit it. It’s harmless flirting on my behalf and being politely engaged on his. But I doubt it’s going to go any further than that.” Probably not. Usually, people who found her attractive made it well known by this point. Then it dawned on her. “…Urich, are you jeal—”

                “No,” he snapped, “and you’d regret finishing that sentence.” Oh, he absolutely was. This was rich. The jealousy combined with getting rebuffed was making him pout like a child. “Ulch. Go try to save the Tiefling race or whatever. See if I care.” With a mighty shrug, he disappeared in a swirl of purple energy.

                Mavari snorted and turned back to getting ready. Urich’s confusing feelings weren’t worth deeper thought. She turned her mind instead to the kids in Rivington, wondering if he had been right. There was every chance in the world that the kids would say no. Why should they trust someone they’d only known for a month, especially after all the adults in their lives disappointed them over and over? But they deserved a safe place to sleep at night, and she had to at least try.

                “Rolan?” Cal yelled. “Someone dropped off more magic items in the shop.” He waited for a response that never came. Wherever his brother was in the tower, it evidently wasn’t in earshot. He shrugged and put down the crate. In the past month, Rolan had started advertising he could identify magical items for a price in addition to buying unwanted ones, and that had led to a few surprise donations. This one was from a Waterdhavian, who had been cleaning out their granddad’s attic. They claimed they came across a bunch of artifacts from his adventuring days. As if Rolan weren’t busy enough cataloguing all the books in Ramazith’s Tower, now he was taking on this project… Cal adored his brother, but he worried that he would burn himself out.

                Well, the least he could do to help was to sort out said crate's items. The person wasn’t sure any of them still even worked, so it wasn’t like he could do too much damage, right? Besides, being able to see the items spread out would be easier on Rolan than having to unpack them later. Whistling to himself, he set to work.

                Each item was placed on the table with care. He had already broken a few things in the tower and very much didn’t need to make that a bad habit. Something caught his eye, though. There was a worn deck of cards neatly tied with a ribbon amongst the larger items. Huh, that was weird. What were playing cards doing here? Maybe he could convince Lia to play a game of war later. Idly, he untied the ribbon and flipped over the top card to inspect it.

                Odd. It showed a skeleton with a red ribbon tied around its head, and a long cloak over its form. Well, huh. He was about to put it back in the pile when a loud popping sound startled him. Cal yelped, sending the cards flying, and whirled around. “Lia, that’s not fun—”

                Right in front of his nose was a skeleton with very familiar horns. Cal screamed and fell, scrambling backwards on his hands and feet. “Mrag!” he yelped. The skeleton, dressed in tattered robes, made a low groaning noise at him, clutching a scythe in its bony hands.

                “Cal?” he heard Rolan call. “Is something wro—Gods above!” His brother had appeared on one of the balconies. As he surveyed the scene below, his hands gripped the railing so hard his knuckles were turning pale. “What did you do?”

                “Nothing!” Cal insisted, scrambling to his feet. “I was just unpacking a crate!”

                “How many times have I told you to be careful with the donations—"

                “What are you two yelling ab—mragresham!” Lia dropped the book she was carrying. The loud thump echoed throughout the tower. Her eyes were wide in horror. “Rolan, what in the Hells did you do?”

                “I did nothing!” the self-proclaimed archmage barked at her. “Ask Cal!”

                “All I did was look at a card!” he protested.

                “What—oh, no.” A look of horror crossed Rolan’s face. “Lia, stay back. Cal, watch out!”

                “Wh—” Cal had only a moment to react, jumping back as the scythe sang through the air. It narrowly missed him. “What the fuck is happening!?”

                “Rolan!” Lia snapped, reaching for her bow. “We have to help!”

                “No,” the skeleton rumbled in crystal clear Infernal. “Only the summoner can fight me.” It raised its scythe toward Cal. “Only one may walk away. Face me or die the death you deserve.”

                “Fight, Cal!” Rolan commanded. His voice was firm, but his face was pale. “That’s an avatar of death!”

                Oh, fuck. Cal reached for his short sword and shield, grateful that he had kept them on his person that day. He steeled himself. With a shout, he leveled a strike at the avatar, hitting hard bone. The skeleton gave a low hiss of…something as the weapon connected. “What do I do?”

                “Rolan!” Lia yelled again, frantic. She was already nocking an arrow.

                “If you try to fight it, it’s only going to summon another one to fight you!” he shot back. Lia, too, paled and took a step back, eyes wide at Cal.

                That moment of distraction was all the avatar of death needed to land a hit. Cal let out a startled cry as the blade slashed against his chest. If that weren’t enough, he felt a cold chill run through him and knew immediately that attack carried some necrotic magic with it (because of course it did). He swung back and missed.

                “We have to do something!”

                “We can do nothing but watch!”

                Cal groaned as the avatar landed another strike—more potent this time—feeling himself stagger more. One more strike like that, and he was a goner.

                “Cal, if you don’t beat this thing, we can’t revive you!”

                Oh, fuck. He did not like the sound of terror in his brother’s voice. His next attack swung at empty air, and he could hear Lia screaming, but the loudest noise in his ears was the sound of his own heartbeat. He was going to die. There was no way he was going to survive this next attack, not with that necrotic magic. Panic started to settle in. He didn’t want to die. But if he did die, at least he could be with Mom again, and—

                The avatar missed. The avatar missed! He could have wept in relief, but the overwhelming urge to survive kicked in. With a mighty shout, Cal let his short sword arc through the air, this time finding his mark. With a loud hissing noise, the avatar of death disappeared into thin air. Cal had to stop and stare, dumbfounded, at where the thing had been standing. His sword clattered to the ground before he crumbled to his knees, breathing heavily. He was alive he was alive he was alive—

                “Gods damn it all, Cal!” Rolan, somehow, was the first of his siblings to reach him. He gripped Cal’s shoulders, shaking him. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Don’t touch those,” he snapped to Lia as she approached.

                “All I did was pull a card,” Cal muttered, knowing he was about to hear an earful.

                “Never,” Rolan scolded, “ever pull a card from a deck if you don’t know exactly where it’s from.” Rolan’s hands were shaking as he pulled back. He started to carefully pick up the cards, cautious to only do so when they were facing down. “This is a Deck of Many Things. Every card you pull has the chance of dramatically altering your life in some way. The boons are great, but the punishments are worse. If you had been killed from that thing, nothing would be able to bring you back.”

                Lia was beside him now, helping Cal stand. “For once, I agree with Rolan,” she commented. She, too, was shaking. “That was incredibly stupid.”

                “How was I to know?” Cal argued weakly. “And how do you know so much about these cards?”

                “Lorroakan had me studying them.” It was offhand, as most references to his former master usually were. Still the subject was a sore one. “We’re to be so lucky that you didn’t pull the Void,” Rolan noted dryly, “lest your soul remain trapped somewhere on this godsforsaken planet.” He paused before letting the tension out of his shoulders. “Just…leave the magical items to me, hmm?”

                “What am I supposed to do around here, then?” Cal asked. He felt his frustration rising. “I’m not allowed to help you sort the books. I can’t touch anything without breaking it. I want to be useful.”

                “I…” Rolan shut his eyes. When he next spoke, his voice was strained. “I hear what you’re saying. But can you ask me after I’ve recovered from almost having to watch you die again?”

                “We’ll talk later, Cal,” Lia murmured to him, tempering her own emotions. “Give us a little time to…process.”

                “Fine.” He sighed. “I guess…I’ll just go to the Blushing Mermaid.”

                “The Blushing Mermaid?” Lia raised her eyebrows. “That place where the green hag was hiding?”

                “It’s under new management,” Rolan supplied. He scratched at his cheek. “I could use a drink myself. We all could, most likely.” He glanced to Cal. “Would you have us join you? Unless, of course, you want some time alone.”

                He considered it. “Give me an hour so we can all cool down, and then come join.” In the end, he couldn’t deny time with his siblings, but, yes, having some space was a good idea for the time being.

                “One hour,” Rolan agreed, exhaling slowly.

                “Don’t drink all the good stuff before we get there,” Lia added, voice cheerful but strained.

                Its trials, no common adventurer may exceed / When each day sends forth new ones to their fates / But one great hero, by the founder’s will—

                A clawed hand reached out to slam the book shut. Zevlor looked up, eyes narrowing at his friend. He didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Lieutenant, what is the meaning of this?”

                “You need to get out of this place for a night,” Guerus told him bluntly.

                “I get out just fine, Guerus.”

                “Do you?” The other man leaned over the desk so they could be eye level. “Walking around in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep doesn’t count. You need to get out and relax for once, Zev.”

                He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You seem to have something specific in mind. Get to the point.”

                “Come to the Blushing Mermaid with us for some pints. And,” his lieutenant smiled slyly, “the scenery.”

                Ah, there it was. Zevlor crossed his arms. “I remember quite well the days of watching you flirt with the barmaids in Elturel,” he responded dryly. “I think I can live without experiencing that again.”

                “Bah, I’m not talking about me, you old fuck.” Guerus hoisted himself on the desk. “Let yourself have some fun for once. You can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about a certain invitation for stew these past few weeks.”

                “I don’t see what going for drinks has to do with Mavari’s—”

                “There.” Guerus pointed at him. “First, you knew immediately what I was talking about. Confirmation you’ve been thinking about it already. Second, you stopped referring to her as Ms. Mavari.” Zevlor gave him a withering look. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you. Day comes when she’s supposed to check in, and you’re standing up straighter. I’m assuming it’s only sheer force of will you’re not wagging your tail like a teenager when she walks in.” At he was met with stunned silence, Guerus groaned. “Don’t tell me you haven’t realized it yet.” More silence. “Seriously, Zevlor?”

                ”In my defense,” Zevlor grumbled, rubbing his face, “it’s been a hell of a few months.” Gods. Was Guerus right? He certainly couldn’t miss her flirty comments, but he hadn’t taken them seriously. She lightly teased the other Hellriders, too. The very telling tail movements were another matter, but he had convinced himself that it had nothing to do with him. It could just be her nature. And, yes, she was quite attractive, but he barely knew her. These things took time to develop. There was a natural progression to how this was supposed to work. None of that seemed important, though, because certainly she couldn’t be interested in an old Hellrider—

                “It’s settled, then.” Guerus thumped a fist on his desk. “Get changed.”

                His eyes went wide. This was…happening. Gods. “Guerus, I don’t think—”

                “I’m not taking no for an answer,” Guerus told him cheerfully. “In fact, I insist. You need to find yourself a pretty young thing and forget about the bullshit for a night.”

                “I don’t want—”

                “Don’t believe you.”

                “This is wholly unnecessary—”

                “I beg to differ.”

                He heaved a sigh. This was going nowhere. “…fine.”

                Guerus pumped his fists in the air in triumph.

                Minutes later, Zevlor found himself walking toward the Blushing Mermaid with his subordinates. Though vaguely aware of Arkis and Intari chattering on either side of him, his eyes remained ever vigilant, always watching for signs of danger in the fading light. The last time he had walked with a group of Tieflings in the dark like this was the day that devastated them. He stiffened, half expecting to lose himself again, despite knowing full well that the heroes had eliminated the Absolute. How in the hells was this supposed to be a relaxing evening?

                Was it too late to go back? As though reading his mind, Guerus turned around and gave him a plain look. Mrag. He wasn’t getting out of this. Zevlor inhaled and tried to keep a positive attitude about the night as they approached the bar. The revelry could be heard down the block. Customers were milling about on the pirate ship deck outside the front door. Already he felt the headache of too many people settling in, and, with it, the fear that he might run into one of his fellow refugees.

                His tension spiked as they approached the front door. Right as Casmir was reaching for the handle, the door burst open. “Back!” Zevlor barked automatically. The group quickly leaped out of the way. Seconds later, a body was thrown over the threshold. A massive half-Orc woman, twice the size of the human man she just tossed, pointed at the offender menacingly. “Make trouble here again, and it’s more than your gold that’s gonna be missing, got that?”

                “Thank you, Raya,” a feminine voice sang from inside. This Raya grunted and went back into the building.

                Zevlor shot Guerus an alarmed look. Guerus shrugged. “They’re proactive with problems these days,” he offered by way of explanation. Without further ado, he headed inside.

                “It’s really not as bad as it seems, Commander,” Intari reassured him before she accompanied the lieutenant. Zevlor rubbed a temple, desperate to stave off his headache, but followed the group regardless.

                Inside was cleaner than he anticipated but packed with people. It resembled the older taverns he’d frequent as a Hellrider, which brought some measure of comfort. The group was headed toward the right. As they approached the, he noticed a blue-skinned woman with a magical aura behind it. With a huge smile on her face, she was gesturing animatedly, a small group raptly watching. Getting closer to the bar, he noticed that she had several glasses lined up in front of her. With a flourish, she poured a deep blue liquid out of a cocktail shaker, and the group in front of her each grabbed a glass. They lifted their drinks to her in cheers before dispersing.

                The young woman beamed at the Hellrider veterans once they bellied up. “Well, look who it is! My favorite soldiers!”

                “You say the same thing to all the soldiers,” Casmir teased, leaning an elbow on the bar.

                “You’re all my favorites,” she replied cheerfully. She turned her attention to Zevlor, eyes lighting up. “Oh, and you brought a new friend tonight!”

                Casmir turned and gestured toward him. “Lyric, this is Commander Zevlor. Commander, this is Lyric, the new proprietor of the Mermaid.”

                “Just Zevlor will do tonight, Casmir.” True, he was out of his element in that moment, but they weren’t on duty. The formality only served to make him feel more separated.

                “Oh, I know that name!” Lyric beamed and held out a hand to shake his. “The Duchess had a lot of good things to say about you.”

                The Duchess? Did that mean she was…? His head swam a little. He was about to ask a follow up question before he noticed her gaze shift away. Lyric scowled over his shoulder and pointed. “Torinn, those men haven’t paid their tabs!” she scolded.

                Zevlor turned toward where she was pointing. The largest blue dragonborn he had ever seen froze, looking slightly chastised. One unconscious man was slumped over his shoulder, while another was tucked under his arm. He furrowed his brow and turned. “Babe!”

                From the shadows appeared a human man with long, dark hair and a goatee, fully dressed in black. He sauntered up next to the dragonborn, rubbing his chin. After a moment, he easily plucked a gold pouch from one of the men’s belts. Taking a quick glance inside, he looked toward the bar and waved the pouch. “Catch.”

                Without watching the trajectory of the bag, Lyric effortlessly snatched the coin purse from mid-air. “Thank you, Arlo,” she sang sweetly.

                “Anything for you, sweetheart,” Arlo drawled in response. The sarcasm was punctuated with a slight bow of the head and a wave of his hand. He tapped Torinn’s bicep with his knuckles, and the two exited. Wordlessly, Zevlor looked over to Guerus, who just shrugged.

                Madness.

                “Anyway.” Her head swiveled toward the Hellriders again. “You tell Tabi over here”—she jerked her thumb toward the human barmaid—"to take good care of you, okay? We just got a Shadowdark ale in that you really should order fast you want any. It’s been popular tonight.”

                With that, she bounced off, enthusiastically greeting another customer. Zevlor felt dizzy from the experience. It must have read on his face, because Guerus chuckled. “She has that effect on people, I’m afraid. Water genasi, by the way.” While Arkis flagged down Tabi, he added, “Word has it this place only suffered minor damages in the attack. Enough that previous ownership decided it wasn’t worth saving. According to Lyric, they practically stole it with how little they bought it for.”

                Based on the context clues, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. “Cataclysm bought this place, then.” That explained why Mavari had said to seek them out there. It must have served as their home base.

                “You got it.” Guerus grabbed one of the tankards Tabi placed on the bar in front of them, handing Zevlor another. “This place helps finance their adventuring party, but it’s…a work in progress.”

                “I see.” Zevlor glanced back, but the petite genasi was nowhere in sight. No matter. He clanked his tankard against Guerus’s and took a long pull, noting with approval the rich flavor. In a crowd like this, he reasoned with himself, it would be highly unlikely to run into anyone from Elturel. Wasn’t the Elfsong their preferred spot? He allowed the tension to melt from his limbs. Maybe it could be a nice night, after all. Giving himself permission to relax, he got lost in conversation with his comrades. It was…nice, actually, to put aside his work and engage in some idle chatter. It had been quite some time.

                Soon enough, that tankard was replaced with a second one. Feeling himself buzz a little (the ale was potent, and he wasn’t used to that), he realized his comrades had dispersed. Zevlor frowned. What was the point of all of them coming to the bar together if they weren’t going to stay together? Sighing to himself, and still with a solid tankard left, he elected to start looking for at least one of them. His comfort level with remaining here hinged on having someone to use as a social crutch, as it were.

                Then again, he wouldn’t put it past Guerus to have them scatter on purpose.

                He took a deep breath and glanced upward out of habit. Doing so make him realize this place had a balcony that overlooked the main floor. On that balcony were two women staring down at him. The first was unfamiliar to him, a nervous looking half-elf with a long, dark braid cradling a mug between her palms. The second was very familiar Tiefling with a glass of red wine in hand. Mavari offered him a wide smile before touching the half-elf’s shoulder, whispering something. Pulling back, she crooked her finger at him.

                Oh, yes, Guerus knew exactly what he was doing. And, hells, maybe he could just enjoy the evening for what it was. Certainly, it wouldn’t hurt to—that train of thought was broken as someone bumped against him. Startled, his eyes met a very familiar pair. His eyebrows shot up. “Dammon.”

                “Zevlor?” the blacksmith repeated, surprised. His brow furrowed. “What are—I mean, I thought you were dead.”

                Were I to be so lucky. The thought came unbidden. Zevlor winced. Dammon must have caught it, because he quickly added, “I’m sorry, I just…you seemed…”

                “It’s fine, Dammon,” Zevlor reassured automatically, catching immediately how tired he sounded.

                The younger Tiefling looked on the verge of saying something else but instead pointed to the bar. “You wanna drink?”

                He started to decline, but the slight slur in Dammon’s voice made him think that accompanying him was the best option, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on him. “Lead the way.”

                Sliding onto a bar stool, a tankard was soon placed in front of Dammon, and he slid a few coppers across the counter. The bartender quickly swiped it up on their way past. Zevlor kept a close eye on the young man as he stared into the dark liquid, then lifted his gaze to his own. “So, you didn’t die,” Dammon started, “and you’re still in the Gate. What’ve you been doing these past couple months?”

                “Helping with the relief efforts, mostly.” Zevlor shifted. “A few of the other former Hellriders have found their way here, as well. We operate out of a temple and provide our time and our swords where we can.”

                “Huh.” Dammon swallowed down some of the ale. “Surprised you stayed, if I’m honest. Some of the others really hate you.”

                Zevlor tensed immediately. He had figured it, of course, but hearing it delivered so bluntly was a hit to his pride. “Where would I go?” he asked quietly. Elturel wouldn’t take him, nor would he go back if they would. Candlekeep, perhaps, or spend tendays more heading to Waterdeep. But Zevlor was tired, and he was keenly aware that at some point he’d be running from it all. No, it was probably for the best that he have this awkward conversation now and get it over with. “Leaving isn’t an option, Dammon. I need to atone, and I need to do that here.”

                “Atone, atone.” Dammon rolled the words around on his tongue, testing them out. He nodded. “Okay.” Wait, it was that easy? Zevlor stared. This had to be the alcohol talking. Dammon was always a rational sort, but to accept his explanation so easily didn’t seem quite right to him. But, as Dammon turned fully toward him, anchoring an elbow on the table, he switched gears: “So…does the Duchess have people checking in on you, too?”

                …ah. He sensed this was a loaded question. “There is a Tiefling woman who stops by once a tenday, yes.”

                “You get a Tiefling. I see.” Dammon’s head lulled slightly. “I got a Lyric. She cuts me a deal on drinks.”

                Maybe she shouldn’t, Zevlor thought.

                “I just don’t see why she thinks any of us need checking on at all,” Dammon continued. Lyric? No, he was back to talking about the Duchess. His voice was gaining heat. That was unlike him. “Pretty fucking ballsy after what she did.”

                He whole-heartedly disagreed—knowing he had the support of the Archduke and Duchess was a tremendous help—but he sensed there was more to this than what Dammon was saying. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

                Dammon made an impatient noise of disgust, jerking his head to the side. He gave himself a few moments before turning back to meet Zevlor’s gaze. “After all of that,” he began, “after everything Karlach had been through, after they fought together so hard, just…letting her die…”

                Oh, this was about to get heavy. Zevlor found himself immediately ill-equipped to deal with the present situation coupled with the startling realization that he had to handle it very carefully. He was grateful Dammon reached for a drink so he could gulp more of his own before answering. “I imagine it was not easy to…”

                “Not easy.” Dammon snorted. “Not easy for a group that just defeated a damn Elder Brain and the gods know what else. Saving the life of someone who was supposed to be their friend should have been easy. But, no, why do that when they can just watch her burn up and do nothing about it?” They were teetering on a dangerous ledge here. Zevlor had no idea what he was meant to say to comfort the blacksmith. Then, Dammon added quietly: “I should have done more.”

                Oh, hells. “You did everything you could,” the Hellrider began gently.

                “Did I?” Dammon slumped. “Clearly not, or else Karlach would be alive.”

                “You can’t—”

                “I can and I am,” he snapped. “If she had only gone back to Avernus, then I could have gone with her, and maybe if I were back at Carixim’s forge again, I could have made something…”

                Gods, he was talking about theoretically returning to Avernus. Zevlor couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to, but…ahh. It dawned on him. Dammon loved her. He was mourning. That was all too familiar. Gently, he placed a hand on Dammon’s shoulder. “You have every right to feel the way you feel,” he began. “Karlach was unforgettable. I can tell how much you care about her.”

                The smith’s eyes welled with tears. He swallowed and met Zevlor’s eyes. “I never got up the nerve to tell her,” he admitted. “I almost did, once. Not that it matters, anyway. I’ll never be able to now…” Zevlor gave his shoulder a wordless squeeze. In a small voice, he added, “I don’t know when my heart will stop hurting.”

                That part hit him in the chest like a knife. Zevlor knew all too well that feeling. He took a moment to finish the rest of his tankard (how the hell did he manage to finish it already?) before responding. “It will feel like it never will for a while,” he began, “and, then, slowly, it will start to hurt less.”

                Dammon gave a hopeful look. “I’ll drink to that.” He started to flag Tabi down before Zevlor reached for his hand, pinning it to the counter firmly.

                “How many drinks have you had, Dammon?”

                “Uh. I don’t remember.”

                “Enough, then. Let me help you home.”

                “I can make it just fine.” Dammon illustrated the point by hopping off the stool and immediately stumbling. Instinctively, Zevlor snatched his upper arm to keep him upright. “Whoa.”

                “As I said,” he remarked dryly. Without giving Dammon the opportunity to protest, Zevlor was on his feet, slinging the smith’s arm over his shoulder. He kept it in place by holding his wrist, while the other arm looped around his waist for support. “Come on, then.” He hoped Dammon had enough awareness to be able to direct them home.

                “Seems like perhaps I caught you at a bad time,” a familiar voice teased. Luck would have it that now would be when Mavari appeared. She placed a hand on his upper chest and smiled, a much more intimate greeting than he was used to from her, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. That was definitely new. He could feel some heat rising in his cheeks. “Who’s your friend?”

                “Who’s your friend?” Dammon slurred back.

                “Ooh, good one.” She sounded amused. At least one of them was.

                “This is Dammon,” Zevlor began. “He’s a blacksmith in the city. One of ours from Elturel…”

                “Well, then, Dammon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She drew back to give a small curtsy. “Do you need any help with him?”

                “No, I should manage fine on my own.” Without thinking, he slipped his hand to take hers and lifted it to his lips. He gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles, noting her surprise as he released her hand. “My apologies for not staying longer.”

                Normally quick with a comeback, it took Mavari a moment to respond. “Don’t apologize. It just gives you an excuse to come back.” She bit her bottom lip with a grin.

                Dammon looked between them. “Zevlor, I can make it home on my own if you want to stay.”

                “Bad idea, new friend,” Mavari cheerfully replied, placing a hand on his cheek. “We don’t want you falling into the harbor, hmm?”

                “If I drowned, I could join Karlach,” he mumbled.

                “Oh, that’s—” She bit off whatever she was going to say, looking to Zevlor again.

                “Another time.” She didn’t argue with that. “I will see you at the temple.”

                “Zevlor!?”

                He winced. Three more familiar faces—one shocked, another angry, and the third wary—appeared from the direction of the stairs. Of course. How could anyone mistake Cal, Lia, and Rolan? Lia was the first to move, stalking her way over to where he was standing. Her eyes blazed. “You have a lot of godsdamn nerve to show your face after what you did!”

                “Lia, this isn’t necessary,” Rolan complained, quickly jogging up behind them. Mavari subtly took a half step in front of Zevlor.

                “Shut it, Rolan!” Lia glared at Mavari. “Get out of the way. Do you have any idea what he did?”

                “I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Mavari snarked.

                She pointed a finger at him. “Asharak died protecting the kids while you were busy begging for surrender, you coward. Did you know that? They’d be dead if it weren’t for my brother!” Zevlor jerked his head back. True as it may be, and though he anticipated the anger, hearing the words hit him like a sack of bricks. “Rolan is the only reason as many of us survived as we did.”

                “This truly is unnecessary,” Rolan tried again, clearly uncomfortable. He flashed Zevlor a look of—well, Zevlor wasn’t sure what it was meant to be.

                “Maybe we should have this conversation when we haven’t been drinking?” Cal pleaded.

                Lia wheeled on him. “I’m still not happy with you.” She turned back toward Mavari. “Let me at him.”

                Mavari placed her hands on her hips. “Pretty sure the Duchess’s rule about us watching out for her allies extends to from each other, Lia. I get you’re pissed, and I’m not telling you not to be, but I’m warning you to walk away.” He read the body language well and clear. The puff of her upper body to make herself look bigger, the tail arched and rigid—she was primed to fight.

                Lia’s eyes widened. Did she look…betrayed? “You’re helping him, too.” It was a statement, not a question, and her voice was thick with emotion. “Mrag.”

                The adventurer stayed still for a moment, staring, before she let relaxed her stance with a sigh. “Buy you a round and have a chat about this?”

                “…Fine.” The fight was leaving Lia’s limbs, too. “But you owe me something strong.”

                “I’ll break out the almond brandy.” She looped an arm through Lia’s and led her toward the bar. Cal followed soon thereafter, shooting Zevlor a concerned look. Rolan, however, hovered behind. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to speak, but no words came out.

                “Thank you,” Zevlor spoke instead, “for helping the others.” Rolan took a moment to digest the words. He shut his mouth, letting out a tired, audible sigh, before following his siblings. Well…that was, perhaps, the best he could hope for from that engagement. “All right, Dammon. Let’s get you home.”

                Leaving the Mermaid, the cool night air felt like a godsend against his face. Zevlor breathed a sigh of relief and readjusted his grip on the blacksmith. They walked for a few minutes in silence before Dammon dared to speak: “I don’t hate you.”

                “That is both surprising and humbling to hear, Dammon.” He wasn’t quite sure how to take it. He certainly didn’t believe it, especially not after Dammon drunkenly confessed the others hated him.

                “No, really.” Dammon straightened a bit. “You couldn’t help what happened. It could have easily been any of us.” Except it wasn’t. The Absolute had been very shrewd in their choice. “And, if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have gotten that far to begin with.”

                “Tell that to the dead,” Zevlor retorted.

                “Well…” He trailed off, not having a good response to that. “I think it says a lot you’re staying here and trying to help us despite everything,” he tried again. “Don’t…don’t think too much about what Lia said, is what I’m trying to get at.”

                “Lia is fully in her right to feel angry with me, Dammon.”

                He swayed a bit. “Maybe.” There was silence for a little while longer. Then: “You’re a good man, you know that?”

                Zevlor had to stop himself from staggering. “Truly, I am not—”

                “No, I mean it,” Dammon interjected. “You could’ve left me to fend for myself tonight, and you didn’t. You could have turned tail on all of us, and you didn’t. You’re helping at a temple with people who need it when you could just be done with all of this. That’s a good man.” He wanted to protest, argue that he wasn’t worth his praise, but his throat was dry. Just as well he couldn’t, because Dammon was already changing topics: “Is that Tiefling your girlfriend?”

                Now he actually staggered. “I beg your pardon?”

                “Is she your girlfriend?” Dammon repeated. “She kissed you.”

                Would the Hells open and swallow him right now… Why was everyone so interested in his love life today? “Mavari is quite charming,” he began, trying hard as he spoke to figure out how to deflect the attention, “but we are not together.”

                “Oh.” Dammon sounded confused. “But she had that tail lift, so I thought…”

                …gods damn it all. Guerus was right. He could only be grateful that Dammon hadn’t been able to see what his tail might have been doing. “We are not together,” he repeated.

                “But you kissed her hand.”

                “Very observant,” he remarked dryly. He also couldn’t find a way to defend himself in this situation, so he wisely chose to remain quiet.

                “It’s okay if you are,” Dammon told him.

                “…Thank you?”

                “I mean, in case you felt like you needed to be told, you’re allowed to date as many people as you want. You can have twelve partners if you feel like it.”

                “I don’t…” What? Where was this even coming from?

                “Well, everyone deserves to find someone. Someones. Oh.” Dammon’s face fell. “I just made myself sad again.”

                “Let’s just get you home,” Zevlor quickly interrupted. Blessedly, they didn’t have too much further to go at this point. Dammon muttered incoherently to himself, but, after some fumbling, they were able to get him inside the house. “Careful, now,” he murmured as they navigated the stairs. It was a far slower process than it should have been in the smith’s current state. He led Dammon to the bed, helping him to sit. “Here you are, my friend.”

                “Thanks, Dad,” Dammon mumbled before crashing.

                Zevlor froze, feeling his brain short circuit. Did…Dammon just…? No, no, no. This night was too strange. He needed to get home, and fast.

Chapter Text

Four months post Elder Brain…

                The air outside the city was crisp. Renorash breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, a smile spreading across his face. It felt good, being out on the road again. He maintained that having a home base for their team was a good idea, especially as they started to establish a stronger name for themselves. Now, if only he could convince his wives that relocating to the Gate was a good idea… But, well, that would come with time, he supposed.

                The half-Orc sat up from his bedroll and cracked his neck with a satisfied sigh. Glancing around, he was unsurprised to find that he was up before most of the team. The exception, as always, was their resident drow. Though she wasn’t in immediate sight, her bedroll was already neatly packed.

                “Rise and shine,” he called. Several groans of protest met his ears. He chuckled as he stood. “Come on, you lot. I’ll get the coffee going.”

                Only one other teammate popped up immediately. Lyric yawned and stretched her arms above her head, grinning at him. “Good morning!” The team bard kicked off her blankets and rolled fluidly into a stand. She glanced up, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Looks like nice weather for kicking old cult member butt.”

                “Too loud,” groused Torinn. One of his massive arms was thrown over his eyes as the dragonborn scowled.

                “Get up, babe.” His husband, Arlo, was standing, nudging Torinn’s side with his foot.

                “C’mon. Breakfast in bedroll?”

                “Yeah, we’re not at home.” The ranger grabbed his pack. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft since we’ve last been out.”

                “I’m never soft.” Appropriately spurned, Torinn, too, got to his feet.

                “I forgot what it was like to wake up and immediately have to hear all of you.” Mavari yawned, stretching out on her stomach. Propping her chin on her palm, her tail flicked lazily. Despite the complaint, she had a sleepy half smile on her face. “Good to be back.”

                “Good, indeed.” As Renorash prepared the coffee, he added: “We’ll set out as soon as we get some breakfast in our bellies.” As his fellow adventurers set about packing their bedrolls and changing into their gear, his eyes fell on the one remaining lump. “Give Mira a chance to decide she wants to join the world of the living.” His eyes lingered to an empty spot around the campfire, and his heart sank a little, feeling keenly the loss of… A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Renorash turned to see their drow walking back to camp. “Morning, Jael.”

                Jael grunted in acknowledgment. The benefit of only having to trance meant she was already in her black scale mail for the day—though he believed she would have been awake and ready before the rest of them regardless. The sides of her hair were braided, pulled back with the rest of her white waves into a high ponytail that tumbled down her back. Red eyes scanned the area, taking visual inventory of their teammates, no doubt. They fell on the lumpy bedroll. “Did she stay up too late again?”

                “She and Lyric were still up when I went to bed,” Renorash responded. Not that Lyric ever had trouble waking in the morning. “Said she wanted to watch the stars for a while.”

                “Up, Mira.” Jael prodded the lump with her foot. A pronounced whine came from somewhere inside the bedroll as it tucked into itself tighter. The cleric rolled her eyes and turned her attention back toward him. “So far, the path looks clear. Should nothing get in the way, we should be able to reach our destination by nightfall, accounting for breaks.”

                “Good.” Falling back into the habit was easy. Of the party, Jael was the only other one with a military background. It made strategizing much easier. “We’ll get a good meal in our stomachs before we head out.”

                “Very well. Mavari,” she called. The Tiefling woman poked her head out from behind the tree where she was changing. “Your crows, please.” Mavari held out her bare arm to give a thumbs up before ducking back behind.

                “Is the coffee about done?” Arlo asked. He was pulling back long, dark waves into a low ponytail as he approached. As per usual, it hadn’t taken him long to change into his dark ranger armor.

                “Just about.”

                They fell into their familiar rhythm like breathing. Arlo set about starting breakfast for the group. Torinn, dressed in his splint armor, flopped onto a log and started polishing his weapons. Lyric skipped up next, lute in hand, followed by Mavari. As the genasi started idly strumming, Mavari knelt on the ground. Her already yellow eyes started to glow a richer color as her hands moved, quietly murmuring the spell’s incantation. Renorash began pouring the coffee and handed it to each of his teammates in turn.

                Carefully, he knelt neck to the remaining bed roll. “Mira,” he called softly, “coffee’s ready.” He held it close enough that she would be able to smell the roast but far enough away that any movement as she woke wouldn’t cause it to go flying (that was a lesson he learned the hard way). Mira’s head jerked up suddenly, green eyes blinking owlishly. She mumbled something unintelligible as she sat up, still wrapping the blankets around herself like a cocoon, and snatched the mug from Renorash’s hands. He was pretty sure he heard a “thank you” in there somewhere and took it for what it was.

                Satisfied, Renorash jogged off to put on his own plate armor. By the time he returned, pulling his long, dark dreadlocks into a ponytail, Arlo had finished with breakfast and was starting to dish out plates. Jael had settled with the group on her own rock, intent on something Torinn was saying to her. Mira had now fully joined the world of the living (though remained in her bedroll) as she chatted amicably with Lyric. Mavari finished casting as soon as he walked up, and, in a swirl of yellow energy, three crows popped into existence. One perched on her horn, another on her shoulder, while the third hopped around the campsite, cocking its head curiously at the inhabitants.

                Home. Gods, how he missed being on the road with this crew.

                Alfira set down her lute with a heavy sigh. Now that Baldur’s Gate was properly rebuilt (mostly), things had calmed down significantly. The downside was that she now was back to where she started. No regular gig, playing on the rooftop of the Elfsong Tavern to practice where she couldn’t play inside of it. She rubbed her eyes. Who was she fooling? How was she supposed to be able to start her own bard school if she couldn’t make the money to do so in the first place?

                Worst of it was that she barely saw Lakrissa these days. Her girlfriend was putting in insane hours as it was, and Alfira felt awful for not being able to help with rent. Lakrissa never complained, of course, which made her feel worse.

                Idly, she reached into her pack and withdrew a small seashell. The Duchess had sent adventurers to keep an eye on them. She couldn’t be sure if Lelith had intended to send the group’s bard to her on purpose, but Lyric had been a joy to speak with. Before she had left on a mission, Lyric gave Alfira the seashell with the not-so-subtle declaration that the Blushing Mermaid needed performers. At the time, she was reticent, and so was Lakrissa.

                “The Blushing Mermaid? Where someone got killed over a card game?”

                “It’s…under new management? I guess?”

                But money was tight, and she trusted Lyric. Steeling herself, Alfira packed up her things and headed toward the hatch downstairs. She flagged Lakrissa down and pointed to the door, indicating she was leaving. Lakrissa gave a wave of acknowledgment and a bright smile. She looks so tired, Alfira noted sadly.

                She’d do whatever she could to help. Her poor girlfriend needed some rest.

                Through the streets she went, glancing about her as she moved. Things were already better in the Gate than they were before. The streets were cleaner under the new leadership of the Archduke and Duchess. Flowers decorated windowsills, and children’s laughter echoed through the streets as they played. She thought she caught a tiny Tiefling tail out of the corner of her eye, but, as soon as she looked, it was gone. Strange.

                She heard the Mermaid before she saw it. Alfira had to stop and collect her nerves before she moved forward. Though she was aware things had changed for the better, it was hard to reconcile the stories of pirates and debauchery that gave the place its reputation. Was she really going to go in here, by herself, with no friendly face to back her up? Her, a bard, with no combat experience? She physically had to stop herself from turning around and instead tightened her grip around the seashell in her hand.

                Into the tavern she went. It was…loud, but maybe not as busy as she’d have expected for this time of day. She hesitated briefly before heading to the bar, where a slender human man in glasses was tending. “Hi, excuse me,” she apologized. “I’m here for, ah…” She held out the seashell.

                The man raised his eyebrows and reached for it. “Ahh, my sister must have seen something in you.”

                “Your sister?”

                He offered her a grin. “The family resemblance is there if you look closely enough,” he teased. Alfira blushed, embarrassed at herself. She hadn’t considered Lyric could be born to a human family. He shook his head. “My name is Liam. As it turns out, we’re needing a bard to perform later tonight, anyway. Want to show me what you can do?”

                “Oh, um, here?”

                “We’ll go upstairs. Tabi,” he called behind him, “watch the bar for me, will you?”

                He gestured for Alfira to come with him. She readjusted the pack on her shoulder and followed, noticing that the upstairs was a little sparse at this hour. It was bigger, with one room off to the side, and a stage to the left. It was to the stage that Liam gestured. “Go on. Try it on.”

                She moved to the stage area, looking around the space. For a moment, she imagined a crowd of people watching her and couldn’t decide if the idea was more exciting or frightening. But, as she placed her pack down, she pulled herself back to the present moment.

                “Let’s hear what you got, then,” Liam nodded, taking a seat in front of the stage.

                Right. Alfira adjusted the instrument and closed her eyes, playing the first few notes of the song. She was nervous enough to play the introductory chords for an extra eight count. Eventually, she started to sing: “Dance upon the stars tonight/Smile and pain will fade away/Words of mine will turn to ash/When you call the last light down…”

                Gods, she sounded so tentative. She wasn’t going to earn any favors with Liam for this. As she continued, though, she started to become more confident in her abilities, growing comfortable with the song. When she came to the bridge, her voice was louder, clearer: “Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace/Faith, care, all the love I can't repay/Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace/Faith, care, all the love I can't repay…”

                As her voice carried to the end of the song, she was now fully at ease: “Rest and know that I will pray/Farewell my dear old friend/Dance upon the stars tonight/Smile and pain will fade away.”

                She was transported back to the present when she heard Liam clapping politely. “Well done,” he said with a smile. “I haven’t heard that one before. Yours?”

                “I…yes.” Alfira blushed, realizing she hadn’t played that song for anyone besides the Duchess and Lakrissa before.

                “I liked it. It’s a little melancholy, though. Not a bad thing,” he quickly added, “but you’ll need to have a variety of musical tones for a show here. Can you play something else?”

                Something…else? Her mind was blanking. “Of course!” she said, plastering a bright smile on her face. Well, she wasn’t going to say no, was she? She started strumming on her lute to find a melody, see what happened to sprout to mind, and it came to her. “Ah. Yes. Are you ready?” Liam nodded, and she began to sing.

                “Don't try to make yourself remember, darling/Don't look for me, I'm just a story you've been told/So let's pretend a little longer/'Cause when we're gone/Everything goes on…”

                This was one that she hadn’t fully finished yet, but she had started writing it within the past few months. Truthfully, it hadn’t been something she planned on debuting for a while, but, in her panic, it was the first thing that came to mind.

                “But if I was gone tomorrow, won't the waves crash on?/Is it selfish that I'm happy as we pass the setting sun?/Someday I'll be overcast, but you won't have to cry/'Cause we'll do the grieving while I'm by your side…”

                She found a natural stopping point and looked to Liam. “It’s still a work in progress, but…”

                He clapped politely again. “Well done. One last question, Miss Alfira. Are you available to play tonight?”

                “Tonight?” Her mind was reeling. “Um…yes! Of course!” She’d have to be, right?”

                “Excellent. We need someone to play for an hour or so as an opening act.” He gestured. “Come downstairs, and we’ll talk compensation.”

                He led the way, and Alfira did a little fist pump. She’d be back performing again! She couldn’t wait to tell Lakrissa.

                The difference in Renorash’s body language was remarkable. Ever since the business with the Absolute, their fearless paladin had been tense. Bad enough they lost one of their own, and they’d have to adjust for the absence. Worse that most of them hadn’t been taking advantage of their strengths in the last four months. Yeah, Lelith’s business proposal for the group was a welcome one, but it also involved a lot more talking and waiting than most of the group cared to do.

                Sure, Renorash could bullshit with the best of them. He, Lyric, and Mavari had the easiest time with the tasks the Duchess asked of them. But where the ladies had settled in easily to the routine, Renorash was constantly buzzing in anticipation, like something wasn’t settling right. Seeing their half-orc leader now, it clicked that he, like most of them, had just been waiting for the moment to get back to what they were good at.

                Arlo was glad. Granted, he still had his own missions to fulfill. Mavari and Jael, too. And Mira, desperate for some flora and fauna, kept sneaking out to the wilderness. Renorash was, of course, the only one who wanted a break from the city who didn’t take any, only leaving once to visit his wives. The guy needed this more than anyone.

                Falling into their habitual marching order was natural. Renorash was always in the lead, as expected; Jael was always in the back, insistent that she protect the flank. Arlo stayed in front of her; Torinn was behind Renorash. In the middle were Mavari, Lyric, and Mira in shifting order, although their bard was known to skitter all over the place to chatter with her team.

                Damn, he missed these fools.

                Presently, Mira was directly behind Torinn, whereas Lyric was walking side by side with Mavari. It would have been polite to tune out the conversation, but he was too nosy, and he was reasonably sure the others were listening in, too.

                “…like, seriously? I thought something would have happened by now.”

                “Like what?”

                “I dunno, like an actual date? This whole pining thing is killing me.”

                “I’m not pining.”

                “If you want, I can set something up…”

                “Lyric, I love you, but stay the hell out of my romantic life.”

                “Oh, so it’s romantic…?”

                “Renorash,” Mavari called to the front of the group, “do we really need a bard?”

                “You can’t kill the bard, Mavari,” Renorash called back, “especially when she’s asking what we all want to know.”

                “I hate you all,” the Tiefling grumbled, but the easy swish of her tail indicated she didn’t mind that much, “and I’m telling you nothing.”

                “We’ll get it out of you eventually,” Renorash chuckled before turning his attention forward again.

                …yeah, these were his idiots.

                “We should be scouting ahead,” Jael reminded the group, bringing their focus back to the mission.

                “I’ll do it,” Arlo offered. “Be a way to test out our new toys the wizard made us.”

                “Oh, yeah.” Lyric withdrew the small pearl shaped object from her pouch as the group slowed to a temporary stop. “How do we do this, again?”

                “Hold it behind your ear, and it’s supposed to just…adhere, I guess?”

                “Hmm…” Lyric experimentally tucked the object behind her ear. Arlo watched as the object glowed a bright white temporarily before it sank slightly into her skin. She gave a surprised yelp. “Oh, that’s weird.”

                “How do you talk on it, then?” Mira held a hand up to the pearl. “Like this?”

                “Like this?” echoed in all of their heads.

                She lowered her hand. “Wizards are amazing.”

                “I’ll make sure to pass Rolan along your compliments,” Mavari noted. “I’m sure it won’t go to his head at all.”

                “I’ll be off, then.” Not that Arlo didn’t appreciate the banter, but they had a job to do.

                Renorash nodded. “Tell us if you find anything.”

                Arlo gave a quick salute before pulling up his hood and slipping away. Sometimes, it was easier to go at it alone than have to navigate around clanking armor and those who weren’t good at masking their footfalls. He slipped easily into the foliage and moved forward.

                For hours, it was uneventful. But, then, a sudden movement caught his eye. Arlo quickly stepped back into the shadows and carefully nocked an arrow. Something was—there. Without a word of warning, he sent the arrow flying, only to hear a sharp inhale of surprise. There was no other movement. He narrowed his eyes and carefully nocked another arrow, waiting.

                There was silence. Then, out of nowhere, an arrow came flying at him. Arlo quickly ducked out of the way, the arrow whizzing past his chest, as he let loose his own. This one found purchase, drawing a surprised noise from its target.

                Bingo. Letting instinct kick in, Arlo replaced his longbow with his two shortswords and darted forward, following the trajectory of his arrow. He lashed out blindly, drawing out his opponent from their hiding space. A lithe figure covered entirely in black jumped back, only to be met with the slash attack from Arlo’s offhand. He could hear the snarl before two daggers sang out. Arlo was not quick enough to dodge the first but managed to just barely side step the second. “Oh, it’s gonna be like that, eh?” he mumbled.

                And Arlo smiled. A good fight to start things off? Thank fuck. If this were one of the ex-cultists? Even better.

                “If you know what’s best for you, you’d leave,” the figure—a masculine voice—shot to him. The only part of his body that could be seen were red eyes, and they were narrowed dangerously. Interesting. Could be a drow? Some of them had been part of the Absolute’s ranks. Arlo blocked both incoming dagger attacks. “I’ve little time for the likes of you.”

                “Yeah, well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it, buddy?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “Why don’t you do me the favor of dying and make this quick?”

                The man scoffed, parrying Arlo’s sword strike. “You’ll have to try much harder if you intend to kill me—ack!”

                While distracted, Arlo’s hand shot out to grab his neck. He swung him around and slammed him against a nearby tree, intent on getting him in the sunlight to better see his face. What he didn’t anticipate was that the moment a ray of sun hit the man’s face, and he’d cry out in pain. Arlo was caught off guard long enough to loosen his grip. The man ducked and rolled backward, crouching into a ready stance. Arlo returned the stance and bared his teeth. “Bit dangerous for you to be wandering in the daylight, isn’t it?” Yeah. He knew a vampire when he saw one. Or a spawn, maybe.

                “I don’t recall asking you for your opinion,” he scoffed. “Kindly do me a favor and die, will you?”

                “Only if you do me the favor of going first,” Arlo growled.

                “Arlo! Babe!” he heard Torinn call. “Where are you?”

                “Use the stone, jackass,” Mavari’s voice spoke in his ear.

                “Why don’t you call back to him, babe?” the man goaded.

                “Why don’t you take a nice walk in the sun?” Arlo snapped back.

                “What in the hells is going on?” Renorash demanded over the stone.

                “Arlo!? Use the call,” Mira reminded, sounding a little panicked.

                Ah, right. He was so caught up in the moment he nearly forgot. Arlo slightly turned his head to whistle—a cardinal’s call—to give his location. I’m fine, but come quick. He certainly wasn’t worried about his new friend, especially when all he needed to do to ensure victory was kick him in the light, but better to be safe than sorry.

                “Pretty,” the man scoffed. “But pretty noises won’t save you.”

                “Should be more worried about yourself.” He twirled a sword around his finger tips, shifting the grip, and plunged downward. The vampire gave a startled cry as the sword bit his side, but it was Arlo’s turn to be startled when the tip of a dagger rested just below his chin.

                “I win, darling.”

                “The Hells you do.” His spare sword came up to rest at the man’s throat. “One word, and I end this.”

                Naturally, this would be the moment his team showed up. He could hear Mira gasping. “Arlo, stop! Don’t hurt him!”

                “Now’s not the time to get a bleeding heart, Mir!”

                “You.” The man’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. He shot a glance between Arlo and Mira. “You’re with this cretin?”

                “That’s Mr. Cretin to you, punk.”

                “Stand down, Arlo,” ordered Renorash. “He’s one of the Duchess’s people.”

                “You know Lelith!?”

                “You know Lelith?”

                He really didn’t want to drop his swords, but he was one of Jael’s Command spells away from being forced to. Reluctantly, he took a step back. The man did, too. He closed his eyes, then looked toward the party. “Mira. So lovely to see you.”

                “Hi, Astarion. I didn’t expect to see you on the surface.”

                “Yes, well…” This Astarion affected a haughty air. “Sometimes I like to come up and see what I’ve been missing, you know.”

                “Mira.” Jael was giving Astarion a hard look. “This is an undead.”

                He made a tch noise. “Undead is such an…uncivilized term, really.”

                “He’s one of the heroes that fought with the Duchess,” Mira noted, stepping toward the pair of men. “She wanted one of us to check in on him and the other spawns…”

                “The what!?”

                “I told you there was a reason we shouldn’t say anything to the grave cleric,” Mavari grumbled. The drow wheeled on her. Mavari gave her a hard look back. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been doing your Doomguide stuff this whole time.”

                “Anyway…” Mira shot her friends a look before turning back to Astarion. “It’s dangerous for you to be up here in the sun.” Her voice carried concern and the silent question: Why was he here?

                “I can manage all right if I stick to the shadows and stay covered.” A subtle step back as he glanced upward. “And, in any event, I caught a lead that I needed to follow.”

                “Us, too.” Mira gestured toward the group. “The Duchess wanted us to track down some cultists…”

                Something hadn’t fully sat well with Rolan over the last month. His thoughts kept wandering back to the night at the Blushing Mermaid—naturally, the first night they had been to the establishment—and Zevlor was there. Rolan was, of course, aware that Zevlor had made it to the Gate after seeing him in Upper City, but he hadn’t heard a thing from him since. It hardly seemed to matter. Since the man was hellbent on dying, he assumed he just did. Seeing him alive and rather…companionable was incredibly jarring. He hadn’t fully known what to do or say besides try to keep Lia from making a scene, as per usual. After all, it wouldn’t do to have the dashing master of Ramazith’s Tower be caught in a bar fight.

                He couldn’t blame Lia, of course. How could he? That attack in the Shadow Cursed Lands was traumatic for all of them. Yes, Zevlor couldn’t control his own actions, but it didn’t mean that seeing how he froze and hearing him beg his people for surrender didn’t stick with all of them. Watching Asharak get mutilated before the Cult did him the mercy of killing him. Watching the others who tried to fight back getting mowed down or taken away. Especially for those who were taken captive to Moonrise Towers, how were they ever supposed to forget? What would have happened to them if not for the hero and her party?

                “Thank you for helping the others.” What in the Hells was he supposed to say to that? Saving who he could wasn’t even a question at the time, no matter how much of one it had been later. Why was Zevlor acting like Rolan was a hero for doing the right thing? What did that have to say about him? And why did he make a point to say it at all? By all means, the man had a chance to start over again. Couldn’t he just forget everything and move on?

                No, something felt strange, and Rolan found himself needing to…apologize. That was an odd sensation for anyone that wasn’t his siblings. And, yet, here he was, traipsing around Lower City trying to find the old Commander. The Hellriders were doing relief work out of one of the temples, and he had gone there first. Rolan was only slightly put off that Zevlor wasn’t there. The lieutenant, Guerus, had given him a few other potential places to look with the shrugged addition that the commander didn’t always tell them exactly where he was going.

                Wonderful. Just what he wanted to do with his day. Rolan felt his interest in finding the old Tiefling waning the more places he was told to check and decided it was better to come back some other time than to go on a wild goose chase. But one spot was close enough to Sorcerous Sundries that he couldn’t justify not at least looking. Zevlor often went to the Forge of the Nine, Guerus said, to check on a friend. It didn’t escape Rolan’s notice that Zevlor had been helping a very drunk Dammon the last time he saw him. Did obligation lead him to check up on the blacksmith?

                His answer came as he approached the forge. He saw a figure with a familiar pair of black horns perched on the half wall, tail moving idly, before he spotted Dammon at the grinding stone. Zevlor had a mug in hand as he watched Dammon work, but his eyes moved toward the wizard as he approached.

                Damn. Too late to back down now.

                “Dammon,” Zevlor called to grab the younger man’s attention. “You have company.”

                The grinding stone slowed to a halt. Dammon placed the weapon carefully before turning, eyebrows lifting. “Rolan? It’s nice to see you.” Why are you here would have also been an appropriate question, but he was apparently too polite to say so. “How can I help you?”

                “I’m sorry to interrupt your…” He glanced between the two men. What had they been doing? “…well, anyway. I was looking for you, actually.” He gestured toward Zevlor.

                “Oh?” The older Tiefling’s eyebrows raised, surprised. “What do you need?”

                … this was going to be torture. “I was, ah…” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize on behalf of my sister. Lia is…”

                “You don’t have to apologize for her, Rolan,” Zevlor noted quietly. He shifted awkwardly. “Lia has a right to be upset with me.”

                Yes, she does, he agreed, but Rolan internally sighed, knowing it wasn’t so easy. “She shouldn’t have…I mean, to do so in public is…”

                “Would it have been better for her to do so in the temple?” Zevlor asked, giving a small smile. “Truly, it is no trouble. I have been told what happened with Asharak.” An exchanged glance toward Dammon, then, and Rolan had to shake the image of the eyeless, tongueless man from his memory.

                “In any event, I apologize. It won’t”—well, no, he couldn’t promise that—“shouldn’t”—that wasn’t right either—“may not happen again.”

                To his credit, Zevlor looked amused, briefly, before his face turned serious. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Rolan.” Dammon shifted, crossing his arms, with slightly narrowed eyes. Something about the two presented a united front, which confused and intimidated the wizard.

                “Yes, well…” He floundered. “I must be off. Important business at the Tower, and what not. Busy, busy!”

                He turned on his heel and quickly power walked away. As he did, he could hear Dammon’s voice: “Most of us will come around eventually. There’s too few of us left not to.”

                “We will see about that,” Zevlor replied, sounding doubtful.

                He very much didn’t want to think about this further.

                Astarion couldn’t believe he agreed to this, but, well…there was a safety in numbers, he supposed.

                His intel had proven accurate, once he started talking to this Cataclysm. The issue was that this intel had been maddeningly incomplete. He was led to believe there were maybe a dozen former cultists gathered outside city limits; he soon learned that number needed to be multiplied by three, at least. His source also neglected to mention there would be more than just goblins to attend to—several former adventurers turned Absolute whackjobs were included in that number, as well. He had little doubt in his own abilities, of course, but it perhaps would still be smart to have allies…just in case.

                While waiting for nightfall, the group made their game plan. Best to attack when the camp would be settling down for the evening. Rather than all charge right into the fray, like Lelith was so fond of doing, they planned to divide and conquer in their strategy. Three of them—the Tiefling, the bastard, and himself—would sneak in from the back. That way, they could launch a surprise attack to hopefully mow down some of their number before they could react. The dragonborn and Mira each would go along the sides to start picking off the enemies with ranged attacks. That left the half-orc, the drow, and the loud one to attack from the front. In theory, this all would work. In practice? Well, best laid plans and all that. They shouldn’t die.

                In theory.

                Shortly before the sun began to set, they got into their respective positions to wait. He had to keep his face down and covered with an arm, but he was able to do it. Night eventually fell, thank the Gods, and the cultists started to relax. Some remained on alert and on watch, but most, he noticed, had started drinking. Good. His eyes automatically searched the area for something he could spike, but—damn, they were smarter than to drink from a communal source. Just as well, the paladin would scold him for poisoning their drink, anyway.

                Astarion glanced over to the warlock. The warlock met his eyes before looking toward the bastard. The bastard gave a nod and lifted his longbow, nocking an arrow. Astarion took the hint and lifted his own crossbow. She held up a hand, seemingly listening on the…whatever magical contraption they had. After a few breaths, she pointed, signaling the men to strike.

                He let loose two arrows into cultists’ backs. The bastard got four and managed to down three of them on the first arrow. Bastard. As the two of them moved into better positioning, the warlock fired off three Eldritch Blasts at the cultists they previously targeted. Six down from their trio. He heard shouting and spells being slung and knew that the others had jumped into the fray.

                Two more down as Mira’s ethereal arrow slammed into someone’s skull, and a clever sneak attack on his own behalf ended another. One more from a Divine Smite. Three more from a cleverly cast Spirit Guardians attack. Two more from the fighter’s axes.

                He had fallen into the rhythm of fighting alongside a team rather easily. And, fortunately, they were extremely competent in combat. It took very little for them to dispatch their enemies. Soon enough, the ground was littered in dead bodies. Astarion looked around at the carnage and felt the hunger within him start to rise, but—well, he wasn’t going to push it with that damned cleric. It wouldn’t take much for her to end him, he wagered.

                “Jael, see if you can get anything from them,” the paladin said to the cleric. “We’ll check the bodies.” The cleric nodded and began to cast a familiar necrotic spell on one of the bodies. In the meantime, he bent to check of the corpses nearby.

                “What’s this?” the loud bard asked, picking something off one of the bodies.

                “What’s what?” Astarion asked, sneaking over.

                “Oh, nothing…” He caught the barest glimpse of a dark amulet before she quickly pocketed it.

                Astarion eyeballed her, debating the best way to pick her pocket. “Well, that’s certainly not fair, is it?”

                “Step away from Lyric, spawn,” the bastard called. “Your job’s done. You can fuck off any time you want.”

                “Not without proper payment, darling,” he argued. No sense trying to steal it now that attention was on him. Damnation.

                “Proper payment for doing what you were going to do anyway? Please.”

                “Enough,” Mira snapped. She pilfered an empty bag from one of the bodies and dumped some gold coins in it. “Thanks for your help, Astarion. I’ll see you in the Underdark?”

                “Of course, darling,” was his airy response. He tried not to be too annoyed with his dismissal. “I look forward to it.” Without another word, he was off.

                I’m going to kill Lyric.

                Of course Lyric got a sniff of attraction between her teammate and someone else and wanted to get in the middle of it. Of course she let the genasi’s comment get into her head. “This whole pining thing is killing me” her ass. She wasn’t pining. She didn’t pine. Yes, she found the Commander attractive. Yes, they were slightly more friendly with each other since that night at the Mermaid. But being flirty didn’t mean there was serious interest on his side. With how many people had she played this song and dance only to find out their intentions in the end?

                But it seemed…different with him, somehow. If all he wanted was sex, he would have said something by now—he didn’t strike her as the type to do a long con. In fact, He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and they had pleasant conversations. That didn’t indicate romantic interest, of course, but, if she let her mind wander enough…

                …Gods above. Fine. Maybe Lyric had a point. Mavari had to stop and gather herself before she could continue her way to the temple. She’d ask him for a date, and then she’d know for sure, and then she could finally settle this whole matter.

                He wouldn’t say yes, anyway. She had nothing to lose. Recognizing that gave her more confidence. She squared her shoulders and marched to the temple with her head held high. Get it out of her system and move on with her life. Simple.

                Of course, the temple would be busier than usual today. She stepped inside and noticed the room was packed. A few familiar faces, including a handful of young ones that pretended not to recognize her, but she was adept at making herself move unseen in a crowd. Quickly and quietly, she made her way along the sides of the room. No Zevlor helping in the soup line today. She subtly tried to draw Guerus’s attention. It took the lieutenant a moment, but he raised an eyebrow at her before jerking his head back. With the silent go ahead, she gave him a nod of thanks and headed further into the temple.

                She could hear some tense voices before she got to the office. She nearly faltered before she reminded herself, above any personal motivations, she was here as part of her agreement with the Duchess. With that in mind, Mavari glided the rest of the way, noticing the door was ajar. She could better make out Zevlor and Arkis’s intense conversation before she politely knocked. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.” As much as she’d be tempted to eavesdrop (old habits died hard), it wasn’t the best practice when building trust.

                The shift in body language was immediately apparent. Arkis stood up straighter in her presence, but there was a visible relaxation in Zevlor’s stance. He offered her a warm smile. “Good day, Mavari. If you could give us a moment, please.”

                “Of course,” she demurred, slipping back into the hallway temporarily.

                “See what we can get from the stalls, and quickly.”

                “We may not have time to make another pot of soup, sir.”

                “Buy some already made if we must. I won’t have any of these people go hungry.”

                “Yes, sir.” Seconds later, Arkis came into the hallway. He glanced her way and took a moment to waggle his eyebrows before continuing. Did everyone know something she didn’t? She was going mad.

                “Come in,” Zevlor called to her.

                “You know, supply issues fall under the realm of things you can ask the Duchess for,” Mavari reminded him as she sauntered into the room.

                “I’ve been remiss to ask, but perhaps I shouldn’t be.” It took her a moment to realize she had been holding out her hand to him, and a moment longer to register that he had gently taken it. He placed a light kiss just below her knuckles and smiled. It was a familiar gesture, and it filled her with warmth.

                Then she realized they’d been doing this since that night at the Mermaid, and she—Gods damn it, she was blushing. Then she realized they were still staring at each other, and Zevlor wasn’t letting go of her hand. She cleared her throat, nervous, and that was enough to make him release it. She laced her fingers together over her abdomen. “I’m assuming that’s not going to help much currently, but is there anything I can do?”

                “We’ll have soup enough for a while yet,” Zevlor admitted, but he sighed. “Unfortunately, it won’t be enough for everyone waiting. The Gate is welcoming more refugees into the Lower City, which is good, but we weren’t prepared for it.” He gestured toward his desk. Instinct had her sitting on top of it, while he leaned against it beside her. Idly, she was aware that this too, had become familiar. “We should manage for today, Gods willing, but we’ll need to reassess for tomorrow.”

                “Torinn works with a couple farmers out in Rivington,” she recalled. “I can check with him to see if we can work out an arrangement.”

                “If you could, it would not go unappreciated.”

                They spoke business for a little while longer—of course—all the while she was aware of how closely they were sitting. Business turned to casual conversation, which she was both grateful for and afraid of. How’s the Mermaid, you should come back; how’s that book you’re reading, I’m really enjoying it. She found conversation with him easy and relaxing.

                There was a natural break in conversation, and she paused. It was now or never. She drew in a deep breath. “Zevlor?”

                “Hmm?” He glanced over at her. “What is it?”

                She considered her actions for about half a second before she gently placed a hand on his bicep. He looked a little surprised at the closeness, but—perhaps subconsciously—leaned slightly closer. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

                “Tomorrow?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

                Nothing to lose, she reminded herself. “Is that too soon? I don’t mind later this week. If you’re interested, of course.”

                He paused long enough that Mavari wondered if she misread the situation. She gingerly started to withdraw her hand, only to feel his cover hers. “You want to have dinner with me?”

                “Of course I do. Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased. Tilt of the head, easy smile. The playfulness came naturally, as always. She gave an ever-so-slight squeeze to his arm, quietly delighted at the subtle, instinctive flex in response.

                He didn’t respond again for a moment, but his hand shifted off hers. Quietly, he laced their fingers together. “Dinner tomorrow sounds lovely.”

                Yeah, see? He wasn’t interested, and it was—wait a minute. “You’re…interested?” she blurted out. Actually interested?

                “Of course I am. Don’t sound so surprised.”

                …oh. She wasn’t expecting this. Mavari cleared her throat. She could do this type of thing in her sleep when the other person didn’t matter. Now that actual feelings were involved, she was feeling a little self-conscious. “Let’s meet at the Elfsong, then. Say…around six?”

                He took a moment before responding. “The Elfsong at six sounds wonderful, Mavari.”

                “Great!” …What did she do now? “Great,” she repeated. “I’ll see you then.” Should she…kiss him? That seemed a little forward. Instead, she squeezed his hand before letting go.

                “Until then,” Zevlor responded, smiling. It was only as she pulled away from him that she realized in mild horror that their tails had twined together while they were talking. Was that her fault? Was she too forward? But, wait, what if he initiated it and she didn’t realize it…? Surely, if it bothered him, he would have said something?

                She needed to stop thinking and rely on her instincts. As she got to the doorway, she shot him a smile over her shoulder and was pleased to see him watching her, smiling back. The mental image of his smiling face had her practically floating out of the temple.

                That feeling lasted her only a few minutes. Once she was about ten yards from the temple, she felt something land on her shoulder. Simultaneously, the faint scent of licorice filled her nostrils. “Can I help you?” she asked dryly.

                “Your tail is doing that thing,” the crow complained in her ear. His tone was accusatory. “You saw the broken bird again.”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responded airily.

                “Don’t play dumb with me, little crow.” Mavari winced as the sigil on the back of her neck burned. “I’m going to ask you again, is the old man going to be a problem?”

                “The old man is none of your concern,” she shot back, quickly schooling her face into a neutral expression. “And I told you that you have no reason to doubt me.”

                The crow fluttered his wings. “I’ll hold you to that, little crow.” She watched as her patron flew off and shook her head. It didn’t matter what Urich thought. She was allowed a little something for herself for once.

Chapter Text

Four months and two days post Elder Brain…

                Mattis crossed his arms with a frown. He watched as their—what did they call Mavari, their benefactor?—walked down the street in the opposite direction. With Mol off having her new group of “kids,” it was up to him to keep an eye on his sister and the three boys that were left. Mol was the better leader, and she was the reason they were together in the first place, but he’d be damned if he let anything happen to them. He quietly resented her for what she did, but he could never tell the other kids that. They were still hopeful she’d save them someday.

                Keeping an eye on them meant that he needed to keep an eye on her. Yeah, it was nice of Mavari to offer her basement as a safe place within her rules or whatever, but his experience taught him adults never did that without some sort of motive behind it. The other kids were too young to get it, obviously, but not him.

                And when Umi and Ide mentioned seeing her leaving the Hellrider temple with a “weird tail,” not to mention seeing the old man smiling after she left, he became suspicious.

                “We need to follow her,” he said out loud.

                “I don’t know, Mattis,” Ide sighed. “I think we need to leave Mavari alone.”

                “I need to know if we can trust her,” Mattis insisted. What if she were going to see the old Commander? That was consorting with the enemy, wasn’t it?

                “But she gives us a place to stay,” Umi argued, “and food and gold. No other adult’s done that for us here.”

                “So?” Mattis started walking. He was losing sight of her. “Come with me or don’t. I don’t care.”

                “Where are we going?” Mirkon popped his head up from the trap door.

                “We’re going to spy on Mavari.”

                “I love spying!” The younger boy scrambled out of the basement. “I’ll come with you!”

                “Don’t be a jerk, Mattis!” Ide yelled, stomping his foot.

                “I’m not being a jerk,” Mattis shot back. “I’m watching our backs. C’mon, Mirkon.”

                Mirkon scrambled up to walk by his side. As he chattered excitedly, Mattis tuned him out. He had to think.

                What am I doing?

                Zevlor pinched the bridge of his nose. He had arrived outside of the Elfsong Tavern early, which was the polite thing to do, but it left him with nothing but time to think. When was the last time he had been on a date? Gods. Decades at this point. He scarcely knew what he was doing, and he absolutely refused to ask his subordinates for help. He could have asked Dammon, but—well, he wasn’t sure broaching the topic of dating was a good idea with him, all things considered.

                He’d figure it out. He always did. And, if it went badly, well…it wasn’t as though he had any expectations for how the evening would turn out to begin with. Relationships weren’t something that he had prioritized since Asher’s death. How differently life might have turned out if he had, but he had shoved his emotions aside after his grieving period, and he never sought it for himself again.

                Until now. And a part of him still felt guilty for doing something for himself. But meeting the adventurer and spending time with her had filled him with a feeling unfelt since those early days with Asher. He felt…lighter, when she was around. He enjoyed their conversations and her company, and, despite not being sure he deserved happiness, he wanted to pursue this.

                And, if it didn’t work out…well, at least he tried.

                His eyes scanned the area again before he found whom he was looking for. Mavari, wearing a flowing blue dress with a cincher around the waist and knee-high boots, was striding with purpose toward the Elfsong. Seeing her made his stomach flip. He stood up a little straighter and smiled.

                What am I doing?

                Mavari didn’t do dates. Not really. Any that she had were done within the context of Urich’s work, and, in those, she always had a specific character to play. She wasn’t sure she knew how to be herself in this context, and she’d have to work very hard not to fall into comfortable patterns. She liked Zevlor. She wanted to make a good impression. And, yet, she was wholly uncertain she could. She was brusque, sharp tongued, and far too quick to jump into a fight. Last she checked, none of those things were especially desirable in a partner.

                Then again, she wasn’t expecting the date to go particularly well to begin with. The fact that he said yes at all was a victory in itself. She wasn’t expecting anything further, because life had taught her that nice things were for other people. She’d fought hard for what little she had, and she’d accept that everything else wasn’t meant for her.

                She was trying very hard not to get her hopes up.

                She turned the corner and habitually kept her eyes moving. As she approached, she spotted the man of the hour outside the doors of the tavern: clean, pressed dress shirt and slacks. Somehow, she half expected him to show up in armor, but she was very glad he didn’t. He looked very nice.

                “Hey there, stranger,” Mavari greeted as she approached. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

                “Not at all,” he replied, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles. “You look beautiful.”

                Certainly, it wasn’t the first time she had been told that, and, yet, the sincerity in his words made the heat rise to her cheeks. Shit, I’m in trouble. “I bet you say the same thing to Guerus every day,” she joked. Recognizing that maybe some simple gratitude was the appropriate response rather than being flippant, she immediately added, voice softer, “Thank you.”

                He paused for a moment before an amused smirk played on his lips. “Guerus doesn’t pull off that dress half as well as you do.”

                …oh, he was good. She didn’t think the paladin had it in him. “Lucky me, then.” She lightly fingered the material on his shirt at the shoulder. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and she had to forcibly resist unbuttoning another. “You look quite handsome yourself, Commander.”

                Zevlor looked as though he wanted to protest, but he, too, seemed to think better of it. “Thank you.” He offered his arm to her like a proper gentleman. Hells, she wanted to die on the spot. “Shall we?”

                She slipped her hand through his arm, placing her hand just above his elbow. “We shall.”

                He led her inside the Elfsong Tavern. There was a little nervousness, knowing it was likely that the other Elturian refugees could very well be here, but he tried to ignore it. Of course, the fear was immediately well-founded when the first person they ran into was Lakrissa.

                “You,” she began, her limbs immediately tensing. “What are you…?” Lakrissa’s eyes shifted to the woman on Zevlor’s arm. She closed her eyes for a moment, and she started to noticeably—perhaps forcibly—relax. “Ah. Table for two, then?” Her voice carried a note of stiffness, but she seemed to be trying for professionalism.

                Zevlor opened his mouth to speak, but Mavari squeezed his arm. “Please,” she responded. As Lakrissa led them toward an empty table, Mavari leaned into him. “Don’t think about it tonight,” she whispered. “Focus on the moment.”

                Right. An apt reminder. Tonight was not about his guilt of the past; it was about the two of them enjoying each other’s company in the present. He placed his free hand over hers briefly in thanks as they followed. Still, as they moved, he noticed her attention drawn away for a moment, and a scowl crossed her face. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbled.

                “What’s wrong?” He looked around to see what had caught her attention, but nothing seemed out of place.

                “Nothing,” she quickly amended. “Can you give me a moment?”

                No sooner than she had told Zevlor not to concern himself with memories of the Shadow Cursed Lands had she seen them. Sitting in one of the larger booths were five very familiar shapes, all attempting to hide behind menus. Mira probably could have gone by undetected, maybe Arlo, but Torinn and Renorash’s massive forms made them hard to miss. And Lyric, of course, had a way of drawing attention naturally.

                Mavari scowled. “You have got to be kidding me.” She was going to throttle all of them.

                “What’s wrong?” Zevlor questioned.

                Shit, she spoke out loud. “Nothing.” How was she going to save this? “Can you give me a moment?”

                “Of course,” he agreed, a little confused, as she pulled away. Mavari weaved her way through the tavern to the group. She slammed her hands down on the table. “What in the Hells are you five doing here?”

                “Oh, hi, Mavari!” Lyric beamed at her. “We were just dying to try out this famous stew that the Elfsong serves. You know…it’s market research. I wanted to see how good it was compared to the Mermaid’s.”

                “No.” She pointed at the genasi. “You can’t play that game with me. I know your tactics way too well.”

                Lyric batted her eyelashes with a sweet smile. Torinn placed the menu down. “Can you blame us for wanting to keep an eye on you?”

                “Yes,” Mavari hissed. “Yes, I can.”

                Renorash offered a warm smile. “Mavari,” he began in his usual placate the team voice. She hated that voice. “We simply want to make sure you’re being treated as well as you deserve. Just pretend we aren’t here.”

                “What kind of guy do you think Zevlor is?”

                “Well, if past history is anything to go by,” Arlo began. He snickered at her glare. “I’m right, and you know it.”

                “Well, he’s not, and you’re an idiot.” She stood up straight. “Stay out of it.”

                “Mavari?” Mira called tentatively as she turned to leave. The Tiefling turned back. “Your hair and make-up look really nice tonight.”

                She paused before the tension left her shoulders, and Mavari offered the druid a warm smile. “Thanks, Mir.” But she glared at the group once more before heading off to find her table. She had to remember what she told Zevlor about focusing on the moment.

                “Here you are,” Lakrissa said cheerfully, gesturing to the table. It was undoubtedly still very awkward for her, but she was nothing if not a consummate professional. She placed two menus on the table. “I’ll come back for your drink order in a bit.”

                “Thank you,” Zevlor said to her with a smile. He tried to swallow down the panic that Mavari might have changed her mind and left. He didn’t have long to consider it before someone was sliding into the seat across from him.

                “You actually did it,” Dammon said, sounding impressed. “I didn’t think you ever were going to.”

                “Dammon,” he greeted, brows lifting in surprise. “Going to what, exactly?”

                “Go on a date. You never talked about it, so I guess I assumed you weren’t interested…”

                Wait, had Dammon been expecting him to talk about Mavari to him? He resisted the urge to rub his temples. The finer points of social interaction around dating eluded him. “I didn’t think—” Was it a faux pas to say he didn’t know if the blacksmith could handle the conversation? Most likely. “I’m not used to talking so casually about my life.” He enjoyed the younger man’s friendship, but it was still in its beginning stages, and there was quite a bit of navigating to be done around it still.

                “Okay, well, look.” Dammon glanced to the side before leaning forward. “I’m better with dates, but Rolan’s better with drinks. I’ll have him send something over for you two, okay? If you need us, we’re over at the bar.” He jerked his thumb behind him. Zevlor’s eyes flicked toward where Rolan was standing. The wizard lifted his hand awkwardly, looking a little uncomfortable but a lot curious. Zevlor lifted his in response, feeling equally awkward.

                “Truly, it isn’t necessary, Dammon. I have been on a date before.” Dammon didn’t have to know his most recent experience had been decades ago.

                “Just trust us,” Dammon insisted with a big smile. “Oh, I gotta go…” Before Zevlor could react, he was standing and hurrying back toward the bar.

                “Was that the guy from the Mermaid?” Mavari asked as she came to the table. She slid into her seat.

                “Yes, he stopped by to say hello, that’s all.” Hells, he wasn’t about to share the conversation with her. It was embarrassing that they thought he couldn’t manage this on his own.

                “This is completely absurd,” Rolan complained as Dammon rejoined him. “We don’t need to get involved in Zevlor’s evening. Or any part of his life, for that matter.”

                “Don’t be such a wet rag,” Dammon smirked, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Don’t you want to see someone have a good night?”

                “No, actually, I don’t.” Although it would be entertaining to watch the evening unfold. He glanced as Mavari slid into the empty chair. “I’m sure I’ll hear about it tomorrow from his date, anyway.” That part wasn’t completely true—she wasn’t likely to share those details—but, if it helped distract Dammon from interfering, it was worth trying.

                “By the way, I told him you’d suggest a bottle for the table.”

                Rolan jerked his head back. “You what!?”

                Dammon looked innocent. “Is there a problem?”

                “I don’t even know their drink tastes,” Rolan hissed. “How do you expect me to come up with the perfect wine for their evening?”

                “I didn’t say it had to be perfect. You did.”

                “Gods, you’re irritating. Why did I agree to come with you tonight?” He rubbed his eyes. No pressure or anything; it just had to be a good quality, good tasting wine with a high price tag to reflect well on him. Why did everyone in his life insist on being annoying?

                “Lakrissa! Hey.” Dammon flagged their fellow Elturian down. “Rolan’s got an order for you.”

                “Another?” She gave Rolan a stink eye from behind the bar. “I just brought you a glass of Arabellan Dry. Don’t tell me it’s gone already?”

                It’s about to be, he groused inwardly. But, no. Rolan sighed. “Send a bottle of Blackstaff Elite to Zevlor’s table, will you?”

                “You want to buy Zevlor wine?” Lakrissa raised a finely arched brow. “You know he’s here with a date, don’t you?”

                “I know that!” Rolan snapped. “Just do it, will you? Put it on my tab, and tell them it’s courtesy of Ramazith’s Tower.”

                “Tell them you want to be their third. Got it.”

                “Godsdammit, Lakrissa!” he snapped, but she was already snickering as she took the bottle and two glasses away.

                So much for not thinking of the other Elturians. He resisted the urge to sigh and instead busied himself in his menu. The numbers that followed each item made him deflate a little, but perhaps it wouldn’t be unmanageable if he were careful. “Don’t worry about prices, by the way.” He glanced at Mavari, who held up a coin bag and shook it. The coins inside made a pleasant tinking sound. “The Duchess paid extremely well last mission.”

                Zevlor frowned at her. While it was true that he had little to his name, it didn’t feel right to expect his date to pay. “I can’t—”

                “I didn’t ask you out expecting you to pay on a volunteer’s income,” she reminded him. The sharp look that punctuated her statement indicated she wouldn’t tolerate an argument about this. “Besides, when’s the last time you had a good meal?”

                …Elturel? Yes, it had been Elturel before the descent. Everything since had been scraped together with what they could manage, and he often forewent his own rations to help the others. Gods. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will make this up to you,” he promised.

                “Don’t worry about it,” she noted airily. “Just get whatever you want.”

                Tall order. Maybe he’d just request whatever she did and save himself the trouble of thinking.

                “Sorry for your wait!” Lakrissa’s voice was cheerful as she returned to the table. In hand was a bottle of Blackstaff Elite wine and two empty glasses. The purple Tiefling set the glasses down on the table in front of her as she uncorked the bottle. With ease, she gave each of them a generous pour. “This bottle comes complements of Ramazith’s Tower.”

                Ah, so Dammon was correct. He noticed Mavari knitting her brow and turning toward the bar. Dammon gave a charming smile, while Rolan simply raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. “…huh,” she mumbled. “I’ll have to thank him tomorrow.”

                “Are you ready to place your orders, or shall I come back?” Lakrissa asked pleasantly. He followed Mavari’s lead—steak, potatoes, and root vegetables—before Lakrissa left them to their own devices.

                Once they were left alone, Mavari took a swallow of her wine before she leaned forward on her elbows. “So,” she began. “I know a lot about your literary tastes, and your inability to take breaks, but I don’t know much about you. Are you comfortable talking about yourself?”

                It was true. They had great conversations the past couple months, but, while they discussed several in-depth topics, they never actually managed to talk too much about themselves. He wondered if that were by design or if they simply never thought of it until now. That begged the question: Was he comfortable talking about himself? Honestly, he wasn’t convinced he was. On the other hand, if he wanted to potentially have a relationship with this woman, he needed to trust her with information about himself.

                “Mmm.” He took a swallow of wine. “I fear I’ve not had much time for relaxation in quite a while. I like reading, of course… I used to like cooking quite a bit, too.”

                “Cooking, huh?” She grinned at him. “Maybe I should have asked you to cook tonight instead.”

                “I used to,” he corrected her with a chuckle. “I’m out of practice.”

                She waved a hand. “You have time. What else?”

                “I think I’d enjoy anything that lets me work with my hands,” he mused. “Ah, dancing. That was the only part of state functions I enjoyed in Elturel.”

                “You dance?” Her interest seemed piqued.

                “It has been quite some time,” he amended. Ah, wait. He had an inkling that she asked for a reason. “Perhaps we could go dancing sometime. If you’d be interested, that is.”

                “I’m always up for dancing,” she enthused. “Sometimes the girls and I will go out, but it’s different than dancing with a partner.”

                Did he just commit himself to a second date before seeing how this one ended? Zevlor cleared his throat and took a drink. Who was this Zevlor, and how was he so bold in this moment? This is the you before you took command, he reminded himself. How…strange. “And you?” he questioned. “What else do you enjoy?”

                Mavari hummed and swirled her wine. “Dancing, obviously. I’m learning about mixology for the Mermaid. And we do a bit of singing in camp, I suppose. I’m like you in that I don’t have a lot of extra fun time, if I’m honest.”

                “Understood.” They clinked their glasses together before each took a swallow of wine.

                “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Mavari continued, “but are you from Elturel originally? You don’t have to answer if it’s not…”

                There was something in that statement. He regarded her cautiously. The careful phrasing, immediately adding he didn’t have to answer… Perhaps she was quick to assert he didn’t need to answer because she wouldn’t have in his position? Curious to ask in the first place if that were the case, though. “I don’t mind answering,” he responded slowly. “Yes, I was born in Elturel. Only child. My parents were both Tieflings.”

                “Rare,” Mavari commented.

                “Indeed.” He rubbed his chin. “My father was a carpenter. My mother was a washwoman. We had a humble but happy life.” Memories he long put from his mind had started resurfacing. He leaned back, staring into space. “I…don’t recall much of my father. He passed when I was five.” The strongest man on Toril, or at least that’s what he thought as a child. His father could do no wrong in his eyes. “I remember only slightly more of my mother. She was gone by the time I was eight.” He recalled his mother had been so full of life, once, only to become a much sadder version of herself after his father’s death. Died of a broken heart, the neighbor lady had said.

                He hadn’t understood what that meant at the time, though, years later, he had recalled those words all too keenly.

                Zevlor took a moment to look at Mavari, gauging her reaction. Her lips were pursed, and she looked a cross between concerned and frustrated. Though curious, he didn’t question it but instead continued: “I had no relatives to take me in, so I was sent to an orphanage.” He watched as she closed her eyes, tempering her expression, before returning carefully neutral. “I enlisted in the Hellriders as soon as I could. They take people as early as twelve.”

                “I’m sorry you—” she began, but he held up a hand.

                “That was a lifetime ago,” he said gently. “We can’t change the past.”

                “I…suppose you’re right. I…” She frowned. “I don’t like hearing about adults failing children.”

                He hummed in acknowledgment. “Your letter, when we first started working together, about the children,” he began. “You seemed concerned for them.”

                “I was,” she agreed. She tipped her head, seemingly wrestling with a thought. He waited patiently. “I don’t want them to live like I did.” And he watched as she winced and drained her glass.

                “I don’t want them to live like I did.”

                Fuck. She actually said that out loud, didn’t she? She quickly drained the remainder of her wine before reaching to pour another glass. Mavari had no intention of being honest about her upbringing—it wasn’t anyone’s godsdamned business—but then he had been so honest about his. Not only that, but she was surprised to find that he, too, knew what it was like to be an orphan. To do that, and then to bring up the kids from Rivington…she just…blurted it out.

                But they had a stupid audience watching this date, and she knew if she acted too upset, they were going to misinterpret and intervene. She could so clearly see Torinn and Renorash starting to stand in her mind’s eye. Clearing her throat, she sat up straighter and smiled. “More wine?”

                His glass was mostly full. Zevlor kept his eyes on her, brow slightly knitted, as he reached out to grab his wine glass. He, too, drained it before holding it out for a refill. As she poured, he added, “I won’t force you to share anything you are not comfortable with sharing.”

                But he had trusted her with his history, and wouldn’t it be fucking rude of her to weasel it out of him and not offer something in return? She placed the bottle down, drumming her claws lightly on the glass, as she considered. “I never knew my parents,” she began slowly, leaning back in her chair. Trust. This was about trusting him with information she told nobody. Weren’t they on this date to see if they were interested in a relationship? Didn’t people in relationships trust each other enough to tell their partner their secrets? Her eyes locked on his. “I don’t know who they are, and, if I’m honest, I never cared to find out. My earliest memories are trying to survive on the streets of Luskan.”

                She hadn’t expected his reaction. His eyes darkened, which initially made her nervous. But, then, he reached out a hand toward her. Mavari looked at it for a moment, trying to figure out the meaning behind it, before gingerly placing her hand in his. He squeezed it tightly but gently. She was…not sure what she was expecting, but the sympathy surprised her, and then the fact that it surprised her made her frustrated with herself. What, did she think Zevlor was going to judge her for being a kid on the streets?

                …well, a part of her did. It wasn’t as though it hadn’t happened before.

                She closed her eyes, carefully schooling her reaction, before she met his gaze again. She very much didn’t want to relive those memories, nor did she want to admit how she got out of Luskan. Some secrets would come much, much later. “I can’t let what happened to me happen to those kids,” she finally said with strong conviction. “I won’t.”

                He let the statement linger in the air. “Two of them were in the soup line yesterday,” Zevlor began, keeping a careful eye on her. “Did…you have something to do with that?”

                She wet her lips and opened her mouth to speak, but it was at that moment that Lakrissa returned. “Sorry to interrupt,” Lakrissa said cheerfully in a tone that indicated she very much wanted to interrupt whatever was happening. A basket of freshly baked rolls was placed on the table, along with a tiny bowl of butter. “Just popped out of the oven. Chef Roveer’s famous honey butter to go with them.”

                Mavari quickly shifted into a much happier expression. Slipping into a role was as easy as breathing. “Thank you, Lakrissa.”

                “My pleasure.” Lakrissa beamed. She looked between the two of them and subtly jerked her head toward the bar, reminding them they had an audience. “Chef is preparing your meals now. They should be out soon.”

                “Thank you,” Zevlor said with a smile. As she left, Mavari noticed him flicking his eyes in the direction on the bar. “Perhaps we may need to relocate after dinner.”

                “I hate to tell you that they’re not the only ones,” she noted. Mavari nodded toward where her party was seated, suddenly looking very interested in their plates of food. “I didn’t expect we’d have such a captive audience.” Thank the Gods for Lakrissa reminding them. She squeezed his hand. “Let’s change the subject, then. Did you hear about that new publishing house that started up recently?”

                The conversation was much lighter over rolls. They veered away from anything too tense, laughing and joking with each other. At some point, they had laced their fingers together again; she noticed with delight how Zevlor would squeeze her hand every so often. They fell into an easy rhythm, and both were much more relaxed by the time Lakrissa arrived with their food.

                They had only a few bites between the two of them when their meal was interrupted. “Ahem!”

                Mavari glanced up to notice a very familiar Tiefling child staring directly at her and had to hide her reaction. She wasn’t going to ask how Mirkon knew where she went, or why he was here; she knew he’d share it in a flurry of excitement later. Instead, she took in what he likely considered a brilliant disguise: a suit coat that swam on him, a fedora, a pair of oversized glasses, and a fake mustache that dangled partially off his lip.

                Despite a feeling that the evening was about to go way off the rails, she couldn’t help but be charmed. “Oh, hello, sir. How can I help you?”

                “Excuse me, mister,” Mirkon said, affecting a posh accent, turning toward Zevlor. “Did you know you are eating dinner with my daughter?”

                Mavari made a noise and quickly covered her hand with her mouth. To his credit, Zevlor kept a calm demeanor. “Yes, sir,” he intoned. “Is this a problem?”

                “Yes, my daughter is too young to date,” Mirkon said with absolute confidence. “She is not allowed to date until she’s thirty-five.”

                “Do you even know how old I am, Dad?” she questioned, trying very hard to conceal her laughter.

                “Yes, you’re eighteen!” He gave a firm nod to punctuate this claim. The glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up again.

                “Smooth, kid.” Very, very wrong, and she wasn’t entirely clear whether Mirkon fully believed that or if he were lost in his character.

                “And your mother said you’re not allowed to be out after seven.”

                “Oh, Mom’s strict.”

                “Yes, so you should go home, or else we’re both in big trouble!” Mirkon wagged his finger at her. “Or else we have to go to bed early for a week!” His mustache was now just barely dangling off his lip. He quickly smashed it back on, leaving it lopsided. Mavari ducked down to avoid cracking up.

                Zevlor cleared his throat. “Sir,” he began. It sounded to Mavari like he was trying to contain his laughter, too, and doing a much better job at it than her. “I promise to bring your daughter home as soon as we are finished with dinner.”

                “Yes, you should.” She sat up in time to see Mirkon now shaking his finger at Zevlor. “And you should bring home five desserts to make it up to her mother and me. I am a very important businessman, young…old man.”

                “Mirkon,” Mavari interrupted, “this isn’t a con to get sweets, is it?”

                “I am not Mirkon,” the child responded, now turning that finger to Mavari. “I am a very important businessman and your father!”

                She propped her chin on her hand and raised an eyebrow at him. “If I promise to take you to the bakery tomorrow, will you go home?”

                “Hmm.” Mirkon rubbed his chin. “A fine proposition, good ma’am, a fine proposition. I’ll have my people call your people.”

                She was so engrossed in whatever was happening with one child that she hadn’t heard the approach of the second. “Can I talk to you?” Mattis grumbled in her ear. She turned to notice the slightly older boy looking grim. “Now?”

                Well, it looked like this was unavoidable. She gave a slightly confused Zevlor an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Give me a few minutes?”

                “Take as long as you need,” he nodded. She was positive she was going to have to answer a few questions later. With an apologetic smile, she followed Mattis to a spot around the corner.

                “What are you doing?” Mattis asked, crossing his arms. “Do you know who that is?”

                She leaned over to better hear him above the noise of the tavern. “No, I have no idea who the man I’m on a date with is, Mattis.”

                “Don’t be like that, Mavari.”

                “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m well aware who Zevlor is, and I’m well aware of what happened.”

                “Why him, of all people?” Mattis gestured wildly his hands. “Why not, like…Rolan?”

                Mavari paused. “Is that a serious suggestion?”

                “Kind of?” Mattis sounded frustrated. “At least Rolan actually saved us.”

                She had to remember that, no matter how mature Mattis was, he was still a child. She chose her words carefully. “Well, first of all, attraction doesn’t work that way for everyone.” Not to mention she and Rolan would kill each other if they were a couple. “Second…I understand where you’re coming from. I don’t know what it must have been like for you, but you aren’t wrong to be upset.” Mattis shifted; apparently, he wasn’t used to an adult speaking to him like this. “But also understand that sometimes people are made to do things against their will. It’s up to you whether you forgive them, if they show remorse and change.”

                Mattis shifted again. “Most adults would just tell me to get over it.”

                “Surprisingly, I’m not most adults.” She lightly flicked his forehead. “Lucky you.”

                He made a face at her, then he allowed a grin. “Okay, fine. I guess I can let you go back to dating the old man, but…” He pointed a finger at her. “We need to talk about this later.”

                “We can absolutely talk about it tomorrow,” Mavari promised. “Now, may I go back to my dinner?”

                “Fine, I’ll grab Mirkon and go back home.”

                They returned to the table to find Mirkon sitting in her chair and chattering incessantly. Zevlor flicked an apologetic look at her, and she realized immediately that her plate was entirely empty. Her stomach growled in protest. “…Mirkon, that was my dinner.”

                “Yes, and it was delicious,” he enthused. “You should try some!”

                “I…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t going to get mad at him. She wasn’t going to get mad at him. “It’s impolite to eat someone else’s food without asking.”

                “Well, you walked way,” he told her, unfazed. “I thought you were done with it.”

                “Hey, Mirk?” Mattis tugged on his arm. Mavari was grateful for the interjection.

                “My name isn’t Mirkon, it’s Mr. Businessman!”

                “Okay, Mr. Businessman, let’s go home.”

                “But I wanted dessert.”

                “We can get some on the way.”

                “Hmm. Okay!” Mirkon shrugged and hopped off the chair. “Bye, Miss Mavari! Bye, Zevlor!”

                It took Mavari a moment. “Where are you guys getting dessert at this hour?” The two kids started walking very quickly to the door. “Boys, where are you—” She sighed, sinking into the chair. “Never mind.”

                She the sound of a dinnerware squeaking across wood. When she looked up, Zevlor had nudged his barely touched plate of food toward the center of the table. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” he apologized. “Here, we can share mine.”

                Mavari immediately felt guilty. “I can’t, Zevlor. It’s your dinner—”

                “I’m not letting you go without,” he reminded her firmly. “Go on.”

                It was such a simple act of kindness, and her heart swelled. Swallowing down the urge to get emotional, she smiled gratefully at him and blurted out: “Zevlor, you are far too perfect.”

                He paused at that and looked down at the table, briefly. “I am not, but I am grateful you think so.” He gestured for her to eat first.

                Lakrissa came by shortly after they finished the shared plate to offer dessert. The benefit to one of their meals being eaten by a child was that both had room for a slice of Chef Roveer’s famous fruit pie. By this time, Zevlor had nearly forgotten that they had an audience entirely. This evening felt…comfortable. It was nice. He was enjoying himself greatly.

                But one thing remained in his mind. “I can’t let what happened to me happen to those kids. I won’t.” Whatever had happened in her past was not his business, but that statement combined with seeing four of the children from their Elturel group gave him pause. Of course, Mavari had worked with those in Rivington, but she spoke to them with much more familiarity than that. Had she taken them in, perhaps?

                “Might I ask you something?” he questioned after the pie was delivered.

                She lifted her brow. “What is it?”

                “Have you…?” Hmm, how did he word this? “Are the children in Lower City?”

                He saw her shoulders relax a bit. She must have anticipated this topic. “Ah, yeah. For a little under a month now, actually.”

                “Where are they staying?”

                She considered her words as she sliced her fork through the tip of the pie. “Cerys and I were hoping that someone would adopt them,” she began, “and I still want to see that happen, but they’re at the age where…” Mavari trailed off and looked at him. He knew; she didn’t have to say. After all, no one had wanted him at that age. The unfortunate truth was that potential parents preferred adopting much younger. “And, unfortunately, they insisted they could take care of themselves. But letting them stay in Rivington homeless wasn’t an option, so I made them an offer they couldn’t turn down.” She paused long enough to pop a piece of pie in her mouth. “My place has an extensive basement. We—my teammates and I—fixed up a room there as a safe place for them to stay. It’s…not the ideal solution, but they can come and go as they please, and at least I know they have somewhere safe to sleep.”

                Of course. Because the temple would not be an option for them, and they would not go willingly to an orphanage. Zevlor rubbed his chin. She didn’t have to do this. Certainly not when she didn’t owe anything to Elturel. But…he found himself grateful nevertheless. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I…find myself frustrated with their circumstances, but I am very grateful you’ve stepped up.”

                “I couldn’t in good conscience let them suffer,” she murmured. Mavari reached out for his hand; he placed it in hers without argument. She gave his hand a squeeze. “And, for what it’s worth, I gave the adults hell. Outside of Cerys, I mean. Consider them appropriately chastised.” She smirked. “Bex wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. Danis is still scared of me, I think.”

                “I shouldn’t encourage this,” he began, “but I believe it was well deserved.”

                “Glad we’re in agreement, then.”

                Once their desserts were finished, Mavari reached for her gold pouch. When Lakrissa came around, she smiled. “Actually, your bill was taken care of,” she began. “I’m supposed to tell you to thank a mermaid…?”

                Zevlor watched as slow realization dawned on Mavari. She smacked her own forehead. “Of course she did,” she grumbled. But Mavari gave Lakrissa a big smile. “Thank you.”

                As Lakrissa left, he asked, “Your teammate paid for dinner?”

                “Yes, and, because I’m trying to make a good impression tonight, I’ll leave it at that.” She fished some gold coins out of her bag regardless, leaving them on the table in a spot that Lakrissa could find but random passersby may not. “Shall we?”

                Like a perfect gentleman, Zevlor offered to walk her home. Home was across Lower City from the Elfsong, but he didn’t seem to mind. Arm in arm, they kept the conversation light as they walked. It seemed like all too soon that they were standing at her front door. He glanced up at her home. “Beautiful house.”

                “Thank you.” By most people’s standards, it wasn’t. Arlo had immediately commented on the cosmetic work that would need to be done eventually. But it was a home, her home, and that meant it was the most gorgeous place in the world. “We originally bought it for the group,” Mavari began, “but eventually everyone wanted their own place. Our druid still stays here when we can get her in the city.” She took a step forward and turned toward him, taking both his hands in hers. There, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes, she was feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

                “Thank you,” he returned, smiling. His thumbs were lightly stroking her hands. “It was—I would like to do this again sometime.”

                “Me too,” she agreed. “Any time you need to get away, you’re welcome to come here.”

                He glanced up at the house again and nodded. “I’d like that. And I do owe you a night of dancing.”

                “I can’t wait.” She took a half-step closer to him. “Mind giving a girl a kiss good night, handsome?”

                It was his turn to look a little shy, and her heart practically exploded. But Zevlor reached up to cup her cheek. “As you wish,” he murmured. He lowered his face to hers as she lifted hers to his. As their lips met, his kiss was soft and sweet. She gave a content sigh and, without thinking, leaned her body into his.

                As soon as she felt his free hand rest between her shoulder blades, she knew there was a shift. Without thinking, she let her arms wrap around his shoulders. He gave a low sigh and tilted his head, pressing more firmly against her lips. Instinctively, she let her lips part and practically melted into him as he began to kiss her properly.

                It was all she could do to hold him and kiss him back, while he kissed her like the world was ending.

                But breathing eventually became a necessity, and she was the one to break it. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Zevlor’s were still closed. Though he had pulled himself upright, the expression on his face gave away a man who had been wanting something very badly for a long time and was in disbelief that it happened. She brushed the back of her fingers along his cheek, and he opened his eyes, giving her such a tender look she felt like she wanted to swoon on the spot. He leaned in to kiss her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a few seconds. “Have a good night, Mavari.”

                “You too, Zevlor,” she breathed. “I’ll see you at the temple, if not sooner?”

                He had reluctantly stepped back to give her room, but he smiled at that. “Let’s see if we can make it sooner.” He didn’t move, though, and it took her a moment to realize why. He was waiting to make sure she got into her house okay.

                She unlocked the door and waved good night. As soon as the door was closed and locked behind her, she rested her back on it and let herself slide down. She knew she had the goofiest smile on her face.

                It only occurred to her later that this was the first date she had been on where her date hadn’t tried to get in her pants. A warm rush of relief flooded her, and she felt even more affection toward the Hellrider for it.

                He waited until she was safely inside before he lifted his fingers to his lips. The taste of hers still lingered there. It felt incredible to kiss her; he had forgotten what it felt like. But even the smaller intimate gestures—the handholding, having her on his arm—had filled his heart with such joy.

                Zevlor couldn’t help but admit that he was very invested in seeing where this went.

                He cleared his throat to break himself of his reverie. The man turned on his heel and headed back to the temple. As he walked, he heard a steady cawing nearby. His eyes fell on a crow perched on an awning, and he swore the crow was staring at him…

                Hmm. The crow could be a bad sign—misfortune—but it could also stand for transformation. Perhaps this one had shown up to symbolize a positive change in his life?

                No matter; it wasn’t important. He was pleased to see what the next few days might bring.

                Stupid smug bastard.

                He fluttered his wings as the old broken bird passed. Small fortune for him the idiot wasn’t smart enough to sleep with his little crow, but Urich was deeply displeased with this turn of events.

                You’re lucky I want her happy, asshole, he wanted to yell, but—no, giving away his cover was a bad idea. Instead, he gave a caw of displeasure at the retreating Tiefling’s figure and flew away.

                He had more important work to do, anyway.

Chapter Text

Five months post Elder Brain…

                The Duchess of Baldur’s Gate placed her hands on the railing as she overlooked their gardens. She sighed, unsure of when she’d ever get used to Upper City. Probably never, truth be told. Though she was Lower City born, as a girl, she much preferred going to the woods outside Rivington. Perhaps that was the catalyst for Lelith to swear her paladin oath to the Oakfather.

                She held a hand over her heart. That oath had been tested and broken so many times over their battle with the Absolute; it had never wavered before. She remembered so clearly each time it happened—bringing back Connor for Mayrina, her decision to temporary ally with Gortash at the insistence of the Emperor, and letting the vampire spawn go free in the Underdark. To ally with Gortash was a stupid move on her part, as she had neglected to hear his “divine oath” clarifier, but the other two…well, she still would make those decisions. Perhaps the lesson Mayrina learned with Connor was a harsh one, but it was necessary for her to move on. And, of course, seven thousand ravenous vampire spawn could destroy an ecosystem if left unchecked, but none of those seven thousand—including children—had wanted that life for themselves. They were victims of Cazador like Astarion and his siblings were. Silvanus’s will was to kill the unnatural undead, but she couldn’t in good conscience do that to innocent people.

                I should have spoken to Halsin about this, she thought, not for the first time. After all, the Archdruid also served the Oakfather. Something had held her back then, and it held her back still. The word “chosen” was never bandied around for him, but it was true that Halsin had much more favor with his god than she did. She was embarrassed to address it.

                The purple skinned Tiefling let her fingers close around the soft material of her dress, clutching tightly. She hadn’t even shared with Wyll that her oath had broken one last time. She couldn’t. He was already so busy and didn’t need one more thing to add to his plate. No, this was her burden to bear. The Oathbreaker Knight constantly haunted her. She couldn’t afford his price, but to admit to being an Oathbreaker was…

                No. She couldn’t. Lelith squeezed her blue eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath. Not now, she chided herself. You have business to attend to.

                “Your Grace?” one of the servants tentatively called. Servants. Gods, she felt so strange about having servants. “Your guest has arrived.”

                “Thank you, Maggie.” It was a concerted effort to keep her voice level. “Would you show him to the gardens, please? My usual spot.”

                “Of course, my lady,” Maggie replied. The Halfling bowed deeply and scuttled off.

                Lelith took a moment to compose herself, smoothing out her dress, before she headed the gardens herself. She could trace the steps to what their staff lovingly called her pergola by heart. If possible, she preferred taking her appointments out there. As she and her guests walked along the flowers, there were fewer ears to overhear her conversations, and it gave her the opportunity to be amongst nature. Moving helped to keep her mind clear.

                She soon arrived at her pergola, where she often spent her time. There, Renorash waited, dressed in his gleaming paladin armor. He smiled and saluted at her approach. The half-orc learned early on and very quickly in their professional relationship that she preferred a salute to a more formal greeting. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. It’s great to see you.”

                “Likewise, Captain. At ease.” He relaxed. She smiled. “Let’s walk, shall we?”

                Without needing any direction, the two of them started through their normal path on the garden, a longer loop through the flowers. They had taken this walk every week for the past few months; her guest knew it well. Lelith loosely clasped her hands at waist level. “Tell me, Renorash. What news do you have for me?”

                “Nothing but neutral or good news,” he confirmed. “The spawn seem to have settled into a stable life in the Underdark. They’ve lost a dozen more since my last update, but that’s better than losing hundreds.” Lelith remembered. According to Mira’s reports, some of them didn’t make it against the predators in the Underdark. Others had wandered off, never to be heard from again. But Astarion’s siblings took the order to watch over them to heart. “The Elturian refugees—that is, those from the Grove—are now fully out of Rivington. Most have found permanent places to stay, but they’re out of the camp, at least.”

                “That’s wonderful news,” Lelith murmured, smiling. “And, those who were in Lower City…?”

                “The forge is doing well,” Renorash continued, “as is Sorcerous Sundries. The bard, Alfira, has been performing at the Mermaid. She’s been a crowd favorite. The Hellriders’ temple continues to do wonders for the refugees.” She nodded along with each update and allowing Renorash to speak further on the various people she had asked Cataclysm to look after.

                “And what of the Temple?” she questioned once he had finished. “Any updates?”

                Here, Renorash faltered. “Ah, well, it’s…a constant process, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “Jael and her fellows have been working diligently, but the process of purging it is…a larger task than they expected. Bhaal’s influence was wider spread than they had originally anticipated.” His eyes widened as he realized what he was saying. He quickly amended: “Always forward progress, she assures me, of course!”

                “Of course,” Lelith spoke quietly. “I do appreciate that they purged underneath Candulhollow’s first.” The smaller area was likely easier to take care of in the long run, but it was also the most accessible. Getting that out of the way meant the city could start making better use of the space.

                Renorash nodded. “Of course, my lady. I would hate to impose, but any assistance you can offer…”

                “I’ll see what I can do.” They were approaching the house again. As she turned to look forward, she was surprised to see her smiling husband standing, waiting, underneath the pergola. His eyes met hers, and his smile widened. “It was a pleasure, as always, Renorash.” Lelith smiled at the man. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

                “Until next time, Duchess.” Renorash gave her a salute then bowed toward Wyll. He made his exit without delay.

                Once he was out of her line of sight, Lelith turned to her husband. She stepped forward, sliding her forearms over his, fingertips lightly brushing his biceps. “My love, I didn’t expect to see you home so early.” Simply being near him calmed her, and she felt the stress she was carrying start to dissipate.

                “My afternoon became unexpectedly free,” Wyll explained, a twinkle in his eye. He held her elbows in his palms. “I thought the best way to spend it would be with my lovely wife.” He leaned forward to kiss her, which she was all too keen to return. “Are you too tired to walk the gardens with me, darling?”

                “I could always stand to walk more,” she agreed. Wyll turned, offering her his elbow like the gentleman he was. She looped her arm through his and let her opposite hand rest just below it. They began to walk their normal route through the foliage.

                “How did your conversation with Renorash go, my love?”

                “It went well, for the most part. Everything seems to be progressing as it should, although some things are slower than I’d like.” She squeezed his bicep affectionately. “The Elturian refugees we met are all out of Rivington now.”

                “That’s wonderful news.” Wyll beamed at her. “Due in no small part to your intervention, I presume.”

                “It was Cataclysm’s work, not mine.”

                “Ah, but you brought them to Baldur’s Gate for the purposes of helping you, did you not?”

                She gave a light laugh. “All right, fine. I concede.”

                Wyll chuckled at her, and then there was silence. “My love,” he began carefully, “you’ve been…distant, of late.” He placed a hand over hers and met her eyes, concern evident in his features. “Would you care to talk about it?”

                “Ah…” She gave a shaky smile. “I should have known you’d have noticed.”

                “I’d hoped I was wrong,” Wyll admitted, “or that it was a temporary malaise, but, when it persisted, I grew concerned.” He stopped and turned toward her, gently touching her face. “I won’t force you to speak, but…”

                “I…” She faltered. “My darling, after we defeated the Netherbrain, I…” Lelith didn’t want to talk about this, but she had kept it from him enough. If ever there were a time for courage, now was it. She reached up to lay a hand over his. Gingerly, she pulled it away to instead lace her fingers with his. “Do you remember about a month later, when we found that pocket of Baneites?” She felt Wyll’s hand tighten its grip on hers, but he remained steadfast, giving her a calm nod. “I…something happened when we were battling them. They had civilians with them, fighting for their own lives, and I…” She drew in a breath. “I didn’t realize this until one of them met my blade. I thought he was fighting on behalf of the Baneites. I…”

                “Lelith,” Wyll spoke quietly. He reached up to brush a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t realized she started crying. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

                “I couldn’t.” She placed a hand over his. “I was so ashamed of myself for failing my oath again, I…”

                “Shh, my love.” Wyll reached forward to wrap an arm around her waist, bumping their foreheads together. His thumb lightly stroked her cheek. “I’m not ashamed of you,” he assured her. “I’m worried for you, but never ashamed.”

                Though that ache in her chest was ever present, hearing that made her feel better. Letting out a soft sigh, she nudged her nose against his lightly. “You are far better to me than I deserve, my love.”

                “You deserve nothing less than all the stars in the sky,” he rumbled, kissing her softly. “If you would like, we can come up with a solution together. Or I will be your ever supportive husband if you prefer to tackle it on your own. But you don’t have to deal with this by yourself. It’s important for you to know that.”

                “I know.” She liked this, being soft with him. This was the one area in her life where she felt she could be. “I’ll think about it.”

                “Take your time, my love. Now…” There was a mischievous gleam in his eye. “We have quite a bit of time before our dinner with Father and Florrick. If you’re agreeable, I have a few ideas of how we can spend it.”

                “I could be convinced.” She laughed. “Lead the way, my love.”

                Moonrise’s renovations were complete at this point, and Reithwin was nearly there, as well. Businesses were starting to flourish in the space, and they were becoming a much more self-sustaining community. New Reithwin, the community took to calling itself. Halsin was glad for the progress. Many of its inhabitants had homes of their own now, though there were others, mostly adventurers and retired military, who chose to remain at the Last Light Inn. He was among them. Eventually, he would have a home to call his own, but it felt selfish to make one when so many others needed shelter more than he did.

                From the front balcony, his gaze fell east, back toward the location of the Emerald Grove, toward the battlegrounds, toward the entrance to the Underdark. Much would still need to be done, of course, but he was pleased nonetheless. He drank deeply from his mug, enjoying this new flavor of tea. One of their own brought it back from the Gate, claiming a new café was selling interesting blends, and he quite enjoyed it. Some sort of spiced tea, created by a pair of Elturian refugees. In his mind’s eye, he could see the two of them so well—what were their names? Bex and Danis? Halsin smiled, glad that those who survived the trek had begun to thrive.

                What of the others, though…? He knew from traveling with Lelith and their comrades that some had made it to Lower City, and the rest had been in Rivington. He also knew none of them chose to come with him here, likely because the painful reminders weighed too heavily. Word was that Wyll was doing all he could to get the refugees housed and employed, but that would take time, and the battle was likely harder than he anticipated against opposition. He had regrettably not kept up, instead focusing on his duty here, but perhaps that was all he could do.

                I should contact Lelith, he reminded himself, taking another sip of tea. They still hadn’t spoken in all this time, and he felt a little self-conscious of the fact.

                He heard some shouting from the distance and furrowed his eyebrows. They were vigilant about keeping New Reithwin safe, but much of that was thanks to a task force that ensured it would stay that way. Typically, this was out of abundance of caution more than anything. The panicked shouting was…unusual. He squinted as the figures came into view. Two armored individuals came rushing over the bridge to Last Light, dragging a third between them. The third was not moving and for all intents and purposes seemed to be either passed out or—

                Halsin nearly dropped his mug. Cade. The toe-headed half-elf was unmistakable, as was the large gash in his abdomen. Aurelia’s adopted son and his fighting prowess had been a great asset in keeping New Reithwin safe, but now…

                “Hold,” he called down to the soldiers. Setting the mug down, Halsin quickly wildshaped into a hawk, flying down to where they were standing. He shifted back to his elf form and looked sternly at both. “What happened?”

                “We got attacked from the Underdark,” the first soldier explained. “Some duergar came up looking for trouble. Cade did a fantastic job, but he…”

                “We got him back as fast as we could,” the second jumped in.

                Halsin looked over the young man’s body. It was no use. The young man was dead, and he was past the window where Halsin’s druidic magic could revive him. That poor boy. He drew in a breath. “Take his body inside,” he said quietly. “We’ll need to alert Aurelia.”

                “Yes, sir.” Without needing to be told twice, the soldiers moved toward the Inn. Halsin exhaled and started toward the town, knowing that Aurelia would be as the temple she insisted she didn’t need. He felt heavy as he moved, and heavier still once he got inside the stone walls. His footsteps echoed in the empty space, past the various statues of gods and goddesses, down toward the small meditation area. Though her back was toward him, he recognized Aurelia’s perfect posture as she sat on the ground, legs crossed in front of her, hands delicately placed together in front of her heart.

                “Halsin?” she called after a breath. Somehow, she always knew it was him. “What’s going on?” The archdruid hesitated a moment too long. The monk turned her head sharply. “Speak. Quickly.”

                “I…am deeply sorry, Aurelia. Cade was…”

                Faster than he thought possible, his fellow wood elf was on her feet. Her face was pale. “No,” she responded, voice cold. “No, he’s not.” Halsin didn’t know how to respond to that. He opened his mouth, but the words weren’t coming out. Aurelia thundered up to him. “No one had a scroll of Revivify? No one was able to get him healed in time!?”

                “There’s nothing we can do,” Halsin began. Seconds later, he felt something powerful connect to his jaw, and he saw stars. He was dazed. She…decked him. He didn’t see it coming. Her damn right hook was impressive. Rubbing his chin, he realized she was shouting for a cleric. “Aurelia,” he tried again.

                “Get a cleric to use Gentle Respose on him,” she said coldly. “And we need to send a message to Jael, now.”

                “Jael is…?”

                “Cade’s other aunt.” He had never heard her voice so severe. She was speed walking out of the temple. He jogged after her, trying to make sense of her commands. “She serves Kelemvor. She can fix this.”

                “Are you quite sure?”

                “She’s brought back every single one of her teammates from death before,” Aurelia shot back. “She will fix this.”

                Interesting. Withers for them was able to, but he was—well, they knew who Withers really was, didn’t they? He wasn’t going to argue with Aurelia, especially not after she already decked him once. “I can send an animal messenger,” he proposed. “Where is she located?”

                “I…” Aurelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “She’s in Baldur’s Gate, but she might be inaccessible. It’s best to send word to the Blushing Mermaid. There’s a bartender named Tabi who will be able to reach her. Red hair, brown eyes, human woman.”

                “I can work with that,” Halsin confirmed with a nod.

                “Tell her…” Aurelia paused. “Make sure to tell her it’s from me, to be safe. Jael gets…a lot of requests.”

                “I will,” Halsin confirmed. “You go on ahead, and I’ll take care of the message and the cleric.” Aurelia gave a curt nod and ran ahead. He moved outside, eyes on the skies, before he caught sight of a blue jay. Reaching into his pack, he withdrew a small morsel of food, coaxing the bird toward him. Casting the spell, he told the bird, “Take this to the red-headed human bartender who answers to Tabi at the Blushing Mermaid. The message is as follows: This is on behalf of Aurelia to give to Jael. Cade has been killed. Need you immediately in New Reithwin at the Last Light Inn.”

                The blue jay gave an affirmative noise before flying off in the direction of Baldur’s Gate. Halsin watched it disappear beyond the horizon before he started his search for a cleric.

                It took two days for any sort of response to come. Late in the evening, two unfamiliar faces arrived in New Reithwin: A half-elf in druidic robes and a drow in dark colored cleric’s armor. The presence of the drow raised some concerns for him, but her armor and shield bore the symbol of the Lord of the Dead. Like or not, apparently, she was whom Aurelia called. Not seeing an immediate need to intercept, Halsin instead kept to his usual routine.

                The number of children was getting smaller. More of them were getting adopted by families in New Reithwin. It was a good thing that they had families now, though a part of him felt a little sad nevertheless.

                Only after the children had been tucked safely into bed did he leave to seek out the visitors. He was pointed toward the temple in the city proper. In the quiet of night, it took little time to get there. As he entered the temple, he noticed the drow standing next to Aurelia, speaking in hushed tones. Cade’s body was on top of a blanket on the floor, hands folded over his stomach, looking peaceful.

                The drow was the first to notice his entrance, her gaze unflinching on him. Aurelia looked up next and offered a tight smile. “Halsin. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up.”

                “Of course,” he told her warmly, walking toward the pair. “You have been a great friend and a valuable ally. Cade, as well. I would not go without supporting you.” However… He glanced at Jael. “Well met, my lady, but I have to admit I was not expecting to see a drow here.”

                She cocked her head to the side. Red eyes regarded him coolly. “You are not the first and will not be the last to express a lack of faith in my abilities due to my race.”

                “My apologies, but not too long ago, I was on the receiving end of torment from one of yours. I think you can agree that my hesitance is well-warranted.”

                “Well-warranted or not,” she responded flatly, “I have not associated with any from Menzoberranzan for hundreds of years. I am no more a servant of the Spider Queen than you are.”

                Something in that made him wince with images of memories long suppressed he had only recently begun to process. Now was not the time. “I understand. My apologies, my lady.”

                “I am no lady.” She folded her arm. “You may refer to me as Doomguide Tarrlok.” Doomguide. He knew that term. She was one of Kelemvor’s favored servants, then. That spoke highly of her ability.

                “Jael,” Aurelia noted quietly. She gave Halsin a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I would trust Jael with my life, and I have. She is not going to cause any harm to our community.”

                “Very well. Again, my apologies, Doomguide Tarrlok.”

                “…What house?”

                “Pardon?”

                “What house was your enemy from?”

                “…Baenre.”

                “It’s always the damned House Baenre,” Jael sighed. Somehow, that reaction endeared her to him more, and he gave a light chuckle despite himself. She gestured to the side. “My teammate will be returning shortly. Please, stay over there.” She glanced to Aurelia. “Is he participating?”

                “I haven’t asked.” The monk turned to Halsin. “Have you been a part of a Resurrection ritual before?”

                “I have not,” he confirmed. “But I would be curious to learn, if you’ll have me.”

                She nodded. “It takes an hour. At some point doing the spell’s casting, Jael will be asking anyone who wishes to call out to the soul to contribute. It is meant to help encourage the soul to come back, but you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

                “Encourage?” he echoed.

                “Follow what your heart tells you to do,” she noted. “You’ll see when the time comes.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her smile was forced. Clearly, she was tense about what was to come, although he wondered if there were something else underneath it all.

                He clasped his hand over hers with a smile before he withdrew. Carefully, he moved to the side and took a seat. No sooner than he had did someone rush into the temple. “Sorry! I had to check in with Renorash…”

                “They know to contact you, yes?” Jael tapped at her ear.

                “They know,” the half-elf woman confirmed. Halsin took inventory of her appearance as she bent over slightly, trying to catch her breath. A long, black braid that fell over her shoulder. A set of tan, gray, and green druidic robes he hadn’t seen the likes of before, with a dark blue skirt overlaying others. He noticed the torn bits of skirt on one side that reminded him of an animal’s tail, as well as a constellation pattern and a moon symbol on her pantleg. Across her cheeks and bare shoulders were a plethora of freckles that he assumed carried down her back and arms, but the rest of her outfit covered them up. The young woman stood up straight and rolled back her shoulders. “Are you ready?”

                “Do your thing, and we can start,” Jael responded, waving a hand dismissively.

                “Right.” Her eyes fell on Halsin then, and he noticed they were a bright green. “Oh, ah, hi. Sorry I didn’t notice you before—”

                “Mira,” Jael said sharply.

                She started. “Yes, sorry!” Giving him an apologetic grin, Mira moved to kneel opposite of Jael, near Cade’s feet. Closing her eyes, she held out her hands, murmuring incantations softly. From the ground sprouted flowers of all types: pink carnations, white gladiolus, purple hyacinth, and lotus flowers. They sprouted along the sides of the blanket with leaves intact, as though they were growing in a garden. Of course, the symbolism of each flower was not lost on him: a mother’s love, strength, sorrow, rebirth. This druid clearly knew what she was doing.

                “Beautifully done,” he complimented. “You are well versed on your flower language.”

                She glanced at him and offered a small smile. “My mother made sure we were well taught.”

                “Quiet,” Jael commanded. She plucked a diamond out of her pouch and held it between her palms. Closing her eyes, she started to concentrate. Her eyes began glowing green as she murmured the incantation, her hands moving. Within a couple minutes, the diamond floating between her palms shattered, absorbed into thin air. From her spot across from him, Halsin noticed Aurelia’s eyes trained hard on Cade’s body, her own very still. Mira’s eyes remained trained on Jael as she spoke the words, flicking occasionally down toward the young half-elf’s body. As time passed, he noted that a light green glow had surrounded it.

                A half hour had gone by in almost complete silence. The only sound filling the air was Jael’s measured speech as she kept casting the spell. Then: “Now.”

                Aurelia looked toward Mira. Mira drew in a breath then nodded slowly. She leaned forward on her palms. “Hey, Cade. Remember your promise to take us to Cormyr? You wanted to show us your childhood home. You said you wanted to know what happened to the farm after your mom passed away.” She gave a light huff of laughter before her voice got soft. “I know dying is scary. It’s hard having to decide if coming back is worth it. But, Cade…I don’t think it’s your time yet. You need to come back to us, okay? If for nobody else but your aunties.” She glanced at Aurelia and Jael in turn. “Please,” she added quietly.

                Aurelia hesitated. “Rel,” Jael bid her, not flinching from her spot.

                The wood elf woman sighed and, too, moved forward. She brushed the hair from Cade’s face and started to speak lowly, inaudibly. Halsin couldn’t make out her words, but he thought she might be speaking in Elvish. What he didn’t miss were the tears that started to fall down her cheeks, nor the clench of her fist against her knee. She kissed the young man’s forehead before leaning back, swallowing down a sob.

                There was a beat of silence before Halsin cleared his throat. “Cade,” he began, “you have been of great service to New Reithwin. To all of us. To know we can count on you to keep all of us safe, to fight for those unable to fight for themselves…” He smiled. “I respect and admire you. Were you to come back, it would mean a great deal to all of us.”

                There was another pause before Jael spoke briefly, not wanting to interrupt her own spellcasting too much. “It is not your time, Cade,” she spoke. Her speech was short but full of conviction.

                The green energy swirling around her hands and Cade’s body grew darker. Halsin knit his brow and looked across at Aurelia, whose eyes were firmly focused on Cade’s body. Flicking his gaze to Mira, she gave a slow, reassuring nod. He nodded back and kept watch. The glow became more intense until it became blinding. He heard Jael’s voice raise as she chanted, and then the words cut off abruptly. Blinking into the light, he heard a light groan. Then… “Auntie Rel? Auntie Jae?”

                “Cade,” Aurelia sobbed, rushing forward. Jael, too, moved forward.

                Looking incredibly relieved, Mira rose to her feet. She gave Halsin a smile. “We should leave them for a bit,” she whispered, inclining her head in indication. He nodded in response and followed her out the door.

                Once they were a outside of hearing range of the temple, he spoke. “That was impressive magic. I am curious about the speeches, though.”

                “Ah, well.” She fussed with her braid. “It takes some time to locate the soul, and, sometimes, it takes some convincing to get them to come back. We all spoke to him, of course, but sometimes people have performed songs or poetry…” She grinned. “It’s all means to help convince the soul that they are loved and wanted.”

                “I see. How does this differ from Revivify, I wonder? A longer time frame, of course…”

                “So long as she has the body, and it’s been dead for less than a year, she can bring them back. It requires a diamond of a certain value, of course, but the spell can repair wounds, replace missing parts… She just needs one part of the body.”

                Now his mind started racing. “Suppose that there was no body,” he began slowly. “What then?”

                “Well…” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I think there is a spell for that, but it’s…very expensive. I haven’t seen her cast it, so I’m not entirely sure, but…”

                “I shall ask it of her later.” Halsin gave her a smile. “Your robes, if I might ask—from what circle do you hail?”

                “Oh!” She lifted her eyebrows. “I’m, ah, Circle of Stars. There aren’t many of us…”

                He gave a hum of acknowledgment. “I am not overly familiar myself, but I would be interested in learning. Would you care to talk about it sometime?”

                “I…” Her eyes widened a little in surprise before a smile spread across her face. “Of course I would. Are you interested in joining the circle, maybe?”

                It was in that moment that he was very certain this young woman had no idea who he was. He had to remind himself that he no longer wore the robes of the Grove, of his own circle. Had he introduced himself earlier? He opened his mouth to respond before he heard the drow’s voice call out: “Mira! We need to leave soon.”

                “Okay!” she called back. She turned toward him. “Um, if you find yourself in Baldur’s Gate, ask for us at the Blushing Mermaid. Tabi’s our main bartender and usually knows where we are at all times…”

                “The Blushing Mermaid?” he repeated. “Quite the hag problem it had a few months ago.”

                “Oh, ah, it’s under new management,” Mira responded quickly. “No hags anymore!” There was a nervous laugh at that. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be finding a good tree to use for a spell. Can you point me toward a decent sized one?”

                “Tree Stride,” he supplied, impressed. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen that spell used.”

                “It comes in handy,” she quipped.

                With little preamble, Halsin showed her a tree he thought would work. Jael joined them soon after, and the two of them left for Baldur’s Gate. Once again, he realized he hadn’t thought to introduce himself. Well…perhaps it was for the best.

                He turned, pondering, as he walked back toward the temple. He’d need to see if Aurelia and Cade needed assistance back, and then he would take a long walk around the community so he could think.

                The right people have a way of finding us exactly when we need them. Aurelia’s words from a few months back came back with clarity in that moment. She was right, of course. She and Cade were two of them. Jael coming to resurrect him had helped him to confront his opinions on the drow. And young Mira, well…she was intriguing for a whole other reason.

                Perhaps he might have to find his way to Baldur’s Gate after all.

                “How long does this take, anyway?” Lyric stretched her arms forward and let her head lull onto the table. “I’m bored.”

                “You didn’t have to come along,” Mavari reminded her with a sidelong glance.

                “Yes, I did.” Lyric rolled her head to the side so she could glare at Mavari. “It’s my amulet.”

                The warlock gave her an exasperated look but didn’t argue the point. She knew exactly why Lyric had clung so hard to it. “Depends on how complicated the item is and how much Rolan’s got going on. Sometimes he’s done in an hour. Sometimes I have to come back another day and get it.”

                “Ughhh, that’s so annoying.”

                “That’s magic.”

                “…how long has it been?”

                “Be quiet, will you?”

                Fortunately for Lyric’s boredom and Mavari’s patience, they only had to wait about half an hour. Rolan cleared his throat as he approached the table where they waited, taking his seat opposite them. “A query, first. Where did you say you picked this up again?”

                “We took it off a cultist north of the city,” Lyric replied. “We didn’t see anything else like this when we were checking the bodies.”

                “A cultist?” He looked to Mavari, raising a brow.

                “The Duchess had us looking into some rumored cultist activity,” she explained. “Turns out it was a group of leftover Absolute fanatics that couldn’t let go. They’re no threat to anyone anymore.”

                “Hmm. Good.” He gave an approving nod of his head. He placed the amulet on the table between them. “I hope they had no idea what this actually is. This…” He tapped on the table beside the amulet. “This is one of those items that comes with a spell attached to it. Are you familiar with a spell called Plane Shift?”

                The two women exchanged glances. “That amulet lets you cast Plane Shift?” Mavari repeated, a little dumbfounded.

                “It does, but…” He turned the amulet so it was pointed toward them with a frown. “If you miscast it, it can randomly transport you somewhere else. Somewhat of a…dangerous item to just have.”

                She could feel Lyric’s eyes boring into her but didn’t turn her head. “Interesting. Have you seen anything like this before?”

                Rolan shook his head. “Not particularly, no. Lots of items with spells attached to them, but I’ve never seen anything with this powerful a spell attached to it.” He hesitated. “Is this something you’re aiming to keep?”

                “Yes,” Lyric said immediately. She snatched the amulet back, putting it in her pack.

                “…well. All right then.” That matter was settled, it seemed. He glanced to his fellow Tiefling. “On the subject of payment… Due to the nature of the spell and the associated labor, five thousand gold should suffice.”

                “Five thousand?” The genasi’s eyes went wide. “Make it four thousand.”

                “Five thousand,” Rolan responded coolly, “I’m already discounting the service as it is.”

                “Fine. Five thousand.” Mavari ignored Lyric’s sputtered protest. “What about the other items?”

                “Ah, yes…” Rolan reached into his pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of journals, both with pale pink covers. “I have to say, I didn’t think pink was your color.”

                “It’s not,” she confirmed, “but it is the favorite of the recipient.”

                Rolan quirked a brow. “A likely story.” But he was grinning as he said it. A claw tapped on one of the covers. “Thirty gold for the pair.”

                “All right.” Mavari reached into her pouch to withdraw the money. “Platinum pieces okay?”

                She saw his eyes go wide before Rolan coughed politely. “Ah, yes. Platinum will suffice.”

                “Wonderful.” Five hundred and three platinum pieces later, and the two women were on their way out of the magic shop.

                “What are the books for?” Lyric asked, eyeballing her companion.

                “You know, Lyric, there are some parts of my life you don’t have to know about,” Mavari chided. She took a moment to playfully bump her hip against the genasi as they walked. Lyric gave a dramatic gasp, stumbling slightly, before returning the gesture. Mavari snickered but managed to stay upright. She cleared her throat. “Listen, Lyric. About the amulet…”

                The bard hesitated. “I don’t plan on using it, if that’s what you’re worried about. It doesn’t seem…right.”

                “No, agreed.” She considered her words carefully. “I think maybe we need to keep this between us for a while.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, why would they have had an amulet that lets them shift planes?” She glanced off toward the coast. “Lots of questions and not all of them good. I think we need to sit on this until we know more.”

                “I…don’t want to keep secrets from everyone.”

                “Yeah, well, sometimes it’s better to keep a secret than risk what happens otherwise.” It was changing her perception of them. What secrets were they hiding…? Surely the others would have opinions, and…well, maybe the group’s memory of them should stay positive. “Let’s just keep it quiet for now.”

                “Well…okay.” Lyric didn’t sound convinced.

                The Tiefling glanced over at her. “I promise we can say something when the time is right.” She placed a hand at the genasi’s shoulder blade; Lyric was much more affirmed by touch than she herself was. “I just…want to know a little more first, that’s all.”

                “I trust you.” Then why did she sound hesitant…? Mavari wasn’t going to push the point, and neither, it seemed, was Lyric. She dropped her hand as they continued westward in silence.

                By the time they reached the normal fork in the road between home and the Mermaid, Mavari bid farewell to Lyric, though she was surprised that the genasi followed her instead. “…uh, what are you doing?”

                “I don’t have to be at the Mermaid for anything for a while,” she commented lightly. “I thought I’d come hang out with you.”

                “Oh, uh, that’s…nice, but I’m okay.”

                “Don’t be ridiculous, Mavari, we haven’t had quality girl time in ages.” Lyric brushed past her, and alarm bells started going off in her brain. Lyric knew. How did she figure it out? Why the hell else would she be so insistent? Mavari held in a groan and quickly followed her friend, trying to figure out how to eliminate the problem very quickly. She wasn’t able to come up with anything by the time Lyric reached out to open the front door. “Oh, look, it’s unlocked. That’s unusual for you, Mavari.”

                “…please leave.”

                “Well, now I have to make sure no one’s inside, silly.” She looked like the cat who ate the canary as she walked inside the home. The minute she did, several wonderful smells filled the air, and Mavari’s stomach growled loudly. But she regrettably couldn’t indulge in them too long, because… “Oh, hello there! Whatcha doing?”

                Shit. Mavari rubbed her eyes. Lyric had found her guest. It was all over.

                She very quickly hurried to the kitchen to see Lyric making herself comfortable at the table. She was sitting with her chin propped in her hands, a slightly dreamy look on her face. A slightly perplexed Zevlor was glancing back at her, but his eyes shifted to Mavari as she entered. The warlock noted quietly how his shoulders started to visibly relax as he registered her appearance. He smiled warmly at her. “Hey,” she greeted. This was…not the warm, loving greeting she had been hoping to give him. Damn it, Lyric. “You’ve been busy.”

                “Is that bread?” Lyric asked, inhaling deeply. “Oooh, you must have been here a while.” She shot Mavari a look. “He’s been here a while, huh?”

                “He has a key.”

                “You gave him a key already?” She waggled her brows.

                Hells. This was why she wanted Lyric to be gone. “I gave him a key so he could use my kitchen.”

                “He uses your kitchen?”

                “Will you just leave?”

                “No.” Lyric had the audacity to fold her hands together and give her friend a smug look.

                Mavari held in a groan again. If she weren’t still trying to be on her best behavior for the man she was courting, which Lyric knew, she’d have given her a solid piece of her mind. She shot the bard a glare before gliding over to where Zevlor was chopping vegetables. She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Sorry about the interloper,” she murmured.

                She started to withdraw—visible affection in front of others wasn’t either of their thing—but she felt his arm snake around her waist. She leaned into him as he kissed her forehead. “Good afternoon, Mavari,” he greeted. It was a warm if not fairly safe greeting as he glanced to where Lyric was seated. “Lyric, yes?”

                “That’s me,” she enthused. “And you’re Zevlor. I want to say I’ve heard a lot about you, but Mavari doesn’t tell me anything.”

                We don’t really need a bard, Mavari grumbled internally. The Renorash in her brain heaved a sigh at her. “Don’t try to get me in trouble.” She turned back to Zevlor. “Don’t tell her a damn thing.”

                “So rude. I can hear you.”

                “I know.” She shot a look at Lyric and stepped away from the man, only realizing as did so that they had been standing hip to hip. She instead stood at the table and started rifling through her bag, needing something to do with her hands.

                “So,” Lyric started, “are you treating my friend well?”

                “I beg your pardon?” Zevlor blinked at her.

                “Are you treating Mavari as well as she deserves?” Lyric’s chin was in her palms again, but a look of resolve burned in her eyes. “Because she deserves the best, and I’ll kick your ass if you aren’t giving her the best.”

                Oh, this was embarrassing. “Leave him alone,” Mavari snapped at her.

                “It’s quite all right.” Zevlor, for his part, gave Lyric a solemn look. Why was he entertaining her? Oh, Gods. “I swear to you I will give her nothing less than what she deserves.”

                “Good.” Lyric nodded. “And how’s the sex?”

                And there it was. Zevlor spluttered. Mavari jumped into action. “Thank you, Lyric.” Forget trying to be on her best behavior. She moved quickly around the table, hooking her arms underneath Lyric’s arm pits, and lifted her from the chair.

                Lyric squawked as Mavari’s hands locked behind her neck. “What? It was an honest question!” The height and strength advantage worked against her. She struggled a little, but her limbs were flailing in midair. “You’re so mean, Mavari!”

                “Put it on my tombstone.” She moved quickly across the house, despite the wriggling genasi. Thank the Hells for prehensile tails, she thought, as she carefully turned the door knob. Unceremoniously, she dumped Lyric outside. “Goodbye, Lyric.”

                “I’m telling Jael,” Lyric fumed at her.

                “Jael will be on my side,” Mavari reminded her, shutting the door.

                The yell pierced through the door. “I’m telling Renorash!”

                “Good!” She engaged the lock and took a moment to breathe. Great. That wasn’t the impression she wanted to make a month into dating the man. But what was done was done. She collected herself before walking back toward the kitchen, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Sorry about that. Lyric’s…a handful.”

                Fortunately, Zevlor chuckled. At least he seemed amused. “She’s looking out for you. I’m glad you have people like that in your corner.” He reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. “Although, I admit,” he continued, pulling her into an embrace, “I expected that meeting your teammates would be a bit more formal.”

                “This was probably pretty accurate for the experience, to be honest.” She felt a rush of warmth rise in her face as his arms encircled her. She placed her hands on his chest as she lifted her lips to his. He kissed her soft and slow, and she nearly melted on the spot.

                “Good afternoon, Mavari,” he hummed once they broke apart, letting his forehead rest on hers.

                This was how she wanted to greet him before. Gods, this man was unreal. “Good afternoon, Zevlor,” she replied, biting her lower lip. It had been a month since their date, and they were taking it slow. She was surprised at how much she was enjoying the courting process and how comfortable she was with it. Watching the Commander find his confidence in their connection was nice. Letting herself be more vulnerable with him was also nice, if not a little scary. She let her hands slide to clasp behind his neck. “Whatever you’re making smells amazing.”

                “Lamb shanks with sauce,” he began, “frites, bread.”

                She might not be much of a cook, but she hesitated. “Lamb shanks are expensive,” she began. Could he afford it on his coin? A part of her was screaming that she wasn’t worth the extra money.

                He kissed her again, a quick peck this time. “I wanted to make it,” he said simply. She felt his tail twine with hers. He kissed her nose before pulling back to return to cooking, but his hands didn’t leave her until the last possible moment.

                Now that he had permission to touch her, she noticed, he took every opportunity he could in private to touch her in small, intimate ways. Nothing too forward, not yet, but he liked that constant physical intimacy. It filled her with a warmth she wasn’t ready to define.

                He nodded toward a bag on the counter. “I’ve made some extra bread for the children, but I thought to bring some food for them, as well. I was not sure how often they were in residence…”

                Mavari’s attention was piqued. “It’s hard to predict, but someone’s down there most days.” She glanced inside the bag, noticing the cheese, dried meats, and fruits. “Thanks for this. They’ll appreciate it.” Food would be a good way to win them over, although she was sure that wasn’t necessarily Zevlor’s intention. He’d have wanted to make sure they were provided for without wanting the credit. “You want anything to drink?”

                “A dry red will pair best with the lamb,” he noted, “but I am not particular.”

                “I’m sure we have a bottle or five.” She glanced at the collection of alcohol in the corner. When six of them were still sharing the house, they had amassed quite the collection. Now that it was only her and occasionally Mira, the collection was relatively stagnant, but they still broke into it when she had company. She plucked a bottle from the collection, pouring each of them a glass. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

                “This is something I want to do for you,” he told her, taking the glass she offered him.

                “That’s a no, then, I take it.”

                His lips twisted into a wry grin. She clinked her glass against his as they each took a swallow before she settled at the table. The smells of the potatoes and sauce soon filled the air, making her salivate. She withdrew the pink journals from her bag as she started to sort through its contents in earnest.

                Once the bread was deemed cool enough to carry, she took it, some butter, the bag of food, and the journals with her downstairs. Getting there was as simple as going through the basement hatch. Once her feet hit solid floor, she glanced at the door that separated her storage area from the room where the kids stayed. The side where they entered had an Arcane Lock on the door to avoid unwanted visitors, in addition to a kid sized secret tunnel that let them bypass it entirely. On this side of the basement, the door could still be locked for safety, but a regular key did the trick. She carefully withdrew her key and unlocked it, wondering if any of the kids were present.

                It had been a bit since she had been in the space. In the instance the kids needed anything, they usually wrote a message to her or even popped up through the hatch into the house. Looking around, she noticed the kids had really taken to adapting the space into their little hide out. She could immediately tell which bunk bed belonged to whom based on the belongings there—Silfy’s, for example, had blankets hung up to mimic privacy curtains, while Mattis’s had several bags tucked into the corner. It was also…slightly a mess, but they were kids.

                None of them appeared to be down here, either. She set the bag of food down on the table and carefully relocated Ide’s drawings so as not to ruin them. She spread the food out on the table. Next, she withdrew the journals. She opened both to the first page and started writing in one of them. As she did, the ink started appearing on the page in the second: Just for you. Now you don’t have to share with the boys. This one will only respond to whatever passcode you give it. She signed it as M with a little doodle of a crow before closing both books. The second one, the one she didn’t write in, was carefully tucked in Silfy’s bunk by the pillow.

                One journal amongst five kids to send her messages had been causing a little bit of chaos from what she could gather. Between Mirkon wanting to write her long stories and Ide drawing pictures in lieu of being able to write himself, it had been hard for the littlest Tiefling to get her turn. Maybe it was a little bit of favoritism, but, Mavari figured, the youngest and only girl among the group should have her own to ensure that she was being heard.

                That done, she tucked her copy of the journal under her arm and left the room, locking it behind her. She climbed the ladder back to the main level and closed the hatch. As she returned to the kitchen, she was just in time to watch Zevlor plate the food. “That smells even better than before.” She noticed that the lamb was covered in a thick sauce with vegetables. He had taken it upon himself to slice the bread and left it on the cutting board with a slab of butter between their plates. The bottle of wine they were drinking, too, was placed on the table.

                She felt…overwhelmed in the best way possible. The amount of care this man took into the preparation and presentation of their dinner was impressive. She didn’t feel worth this attention, if she were honest. Mavari turned toward him and flung her arms around his neck to give him a full kiss. Zevlor started in surprise but chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back. “I’m going to return the favor someday,” she promised him as she pulled back.

                “No need, my dear,” he responded, brushing a stray hair from her face. “You’ve done more than enough for me already.”

                She disagreed, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. Giving him another peck, she took a seat. “This looks amazing,” she enthused. Waiting for him to sit down first, she tentatively cut off a piece of the shank to pop in her mouth. It was so tender she nearly wanted to cry, let alone the flavorful sauce along with it. Instead, Mavari let out a low groan of approval. “Holy shit. When you said you liked cooking, I didn’t realize how good you were at it.”

                He chuckled. “I’ve learned a thing or two in my time.”

                “Can I ask how you became so good? Around Hellrider duties, I don’t imagine there was a lot of time…”

                Zevlor paused as he chewed. After swallowing, he noted: “I had a good teacher.” He considered his words. “My husband’s family owned a tavern. He taught me some, and the rest I picked up through trial and error.”

                Mavari froze mid-bite. “You have a husband?” Logic in that moment was flying out the window as her fight or flight instinct was rearing its ugly head. She tried to tamp it down.

                “Had,” Zevlor corrected quietly. He gave her a small smile, and she felt like an ass for assuming the worst. “He died in the line of duty about twenty years ago.”

                Twenty years. She put down her fork. “Zevlor, I…I’m sorry if I brought up any painful memories.”

                He shook his head. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. It was a long time ago.” He paused before reaching a hand across the table, palm upward and open, toward her. She looked at it for a moment before she carefully placed her hand inside his. He closed his hand around hers tightly. “I’ve done my grieving,” he told her gently. He lifted her hand to his lips, lightly brushing his lips against her knuckles.

                Damn. How did he know the right thing to do and say every damn time? She turned her hand to cup his cheek, and he leaned his face into her touch. She met his eyes, and—she’d be an idiot to mistake the affection in them. “Oh, you’re good,” she muttered.

                His lips twisted in amusement. He turned his face to kiss her palm, sending a lovely tingle through her, before he let her hand go entirely. “The frites are the Elturian style,” he began. “There’s more spice to them than the Baldur’s Gate version. Try some.”

                They continued light conversation over dinner, with he, as always, being an attentive listener. Once the plates were clean and cleared away, he took her hand as they drank the rest of the bottle, continuing their conversation. Only once they had finished did Zevlor glance out the window. “It is late. I should get back to the temple.”

                Do you have to leave? she wanted to ask. A part of her desperately wanted him to stay with her that night, but a larger part was screaming at her to take her time. “Of course.” She stood with him, following him to the door. Once they got there, she looped her arms around his waist and drew him close. “I was thinking. Do you want to take a walk around Rivington next week? There’s supposed to be some sort of fair going on beside the Temple of the Open Hand.”

                He brushed his fingers against her cheeks before holding her face, kissing her softly. “Next week,” he agreed. “I’ll pick you up.”

                She didn’t want to let him go, but she had to. As he left, she locked the door behind him and leaned her back against it, holding her breath. Only when she was certain he was a decent distance away did she let out a light squeal and let herself fall to the ground. How in the Hells did she get so lucky? Her? She never got nice things.

                “…Miss Mavari? You seem really happy.”

                “I am,” she agreed, aware of how dreamy she sounded. It took her a moment to register that she wasn’t alone. She blinked at looked at Silfy. That euphoria threatened to ebb. “…What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing,” Silfy said quickly, shyly. “I just, um…I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

                That…surprised her. Usually, the children only approached her if they needed something. Not that she blamed them—they had only known her how many months?—but it was the way things were. But Mavari nodded slowly, rising to her feet. “All right.” Why not? It couldn’t hurt anything, could it? “Come here.” She gestured for Silfy to follow her over to the chesterfield and settled in herself. As Silfy hopped up next to her, she noticed the girl was clutching a book to her chest.

                “Um,” Silfy began tentatively, “I was wondering, can we read together?” She held out the book. “Mattis found this other day, but I’m having trouble with some of the words.”

                “Of course, sweetheart.” She spread the book across both their laps. It looked like a standard book of fairy tales to her. She started a little as Silfy snuggled into her side, but she found she actually didn’t mind it. Gently, she wrapped an arm around the girl’s small body.

                “Thank you for the journal,” she piped up. “I was really happy to get it.”

                “I thought you might be.” She rubbed Silfy’s arm slightly. “Now. How about you start reading, and I’ll help with whatever words are hard?”

                “Okay.” Silfy cleared her throat and then pointed at the words on the page. “Once upon a time…”

Chapter Text

Shortly before the Epilogue…

                Finding time to breathe these days was nearly impossible, let alone reach out to anyone. Were it not for Lyric popping by once a week to check on her and Lakrissa, Alfira wasn’t sure she’d see anyone outside of the bard school. Thus, when the request came from Withers to write a letter to Lelith, she was caught completely by surprise. Had it really been almost six months? Gods. Where had the time gone? She wished she had embraced the opportunity to thank Lelith properly earlier, or at least tell her about the new school before now, but…well. Perhaps she would understand, all things considered.

                Somehow, she had found a quiet moment while eating breakfast to sit down with a quill and paper to write. Alfira tapped out an idle rhythm with her fingers before she figured out what to say. It was Lakrissa’s hard work and meticulous gold saving that allowed them to afford their adorable home in Lower City. She wrote of how her girlfriend even put a plaque out front dedicating the new School of Music to both Lelith and Lihala. Thinking of it even now made her misty eyed, but she persisted. She wrote of how it was filled with trainee bards from all along the Sword Coast who eager to learn from her (and she didn’t say it, but a part of her wondered if that were Lelith’s influence). She mentioned how she was exhausted at the end of the day but was happier than she’d ever been.

                There was so much to say but so little time. She ended bidding that Lelith come visit them. Carefully, she sealed the letter in the envelope to be put in their box for later.

                Alfira glanced out the window of their home toward the rising sun and smiled. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared to dream of this life. She was one of many fearful for their lives in Avernus, convinced that they wouldn’t survive. Brave adventurers saved them then, followed by Lelith and her crew, and adventurers hired by the Duchess were looking after them now. She didn’t know what any of them did to deserve this, but she was grateful to whatever god was listening that they had the support.

                “Lakrissa,” she called, “have you seen my lute?”

                The request had come from the bone man, and Dammon heavily debated if he even wanted to respond at all. A part of him was still upset with the heroes for letting Karlach die. But, six months later, and a lot of healing in that time, had softened the wound somewhat. Making a point to socialize with others did, too, whether that was having dinner with Rolan and his siblings at the Elfsong, drinking and dancing at the Mermaid, or his long, deep conversations with Zevlor. The Hellrider’s friendship had been a particularly pleasant surprise; as they opened up to one another, Dammon was able to better confide in him about the feelings he otherwise suppressed.

                It helped knowing that Zevlor had wrestled with similar in the past, and they spoke for a long time about grief. More importantly, Zevlor didn’t begrudge him, instead maintaining that whatever Dammon was feeling was exactly what he needed to be feeling at the time.

                Finally unable to put it off writing the letter any longer, he poured himself a glass of Moonshae and sat at his desk. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and started writing. He didn’t stop to read what he wrote until he was finished.

                Why did he tell her about the infernal iron…? It was true that he requested Lyric and her team to bring any they found to him, and, yes, he did suppose it was to be able to help another Karlach if one would show up at his forge…but Lelith didn’t need to know that, did she?

                “I’m not rewriting this,” he said out loud. Dammon stared at the paper as the ink dried before folding it neatly into the envelope Withers provided. What’s done was done.

                It was a lie to say he hadn’t thought of Lelith many times over the past six months—not when she stood so tall as a heroine of his people—but he hadn’t thought to reach out personally. Zevlor had assumed she was busy with her new duties and was content to watch her progress from afar. She didn’t need an old Hellrider to distract her, after all.

                Thus, the request was a bit of a surprise, and he had to think on it for an evening before he knew what to say. It was a quiet night alone in the temple, as the others had already retired for the evening, when he sat down in his office to write.

                What could he say, really, to the woman who was everything to the Tieflings in a time where they needed a hero, in a time where he failed them? What would be deemed as important for someone such as herself? How could he ever fully put his respect and admiration into words?

                So, he wrote about the other Hellriders. How they found themselves again in the face of adversity, how they found a purpose in protecting the Gate’s people however they could. How he was trying to atone every day for what happened in the Shadow Cursed Lands and that he was hopeful, in time, that his people would allow him alongside them once more.

                Come and see us, when you can. It was a bold ask, but—well, he reasoned, he was asking on behalf of all of the Elturian refugees. Seeing her again would do well to lift their spirits.

                Content, he signed his name. This letter would suffice for now, until he had a chance to speak with her in person. The letter was quickly sealed and set on the edge of his desk. Quietly, he contemplated the sending stone on his desk. It was late, but perhaps… Carefully, he picked it up and brought it to his lips. “Don’t feel pressured to respond, especially if you can’t safely. Checking in to make sure your mission is going smoothly.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “Thinking of you.”

                It was still a little soon for those three little words. He closed his hand around the stone as he lowered it back to the desk.

                “The Hero of the Gate,” he murmured to himself. “I wonder when you’ll be called upon next?”

                The bard, the smith, and the paladin were not the only Tieflings that received requests from Withers to write. Another Tiefling, the dashing master of Ramazith’s Tower, also had received correspondence. The request arrived amongst a pile of envelopes. His business was booming, and every day seemed to bring some new sort of excitement, whether welcome or not. Thus, the letter remained unopened on the edge of his desk until a nosy Lia plucked it from its spot.

                “How long’s this been here?” she asked, flipping the envelope over in his hands.

                Rolan didn’t even look at her, too intent on the strange staff that came in yet another box of old magical items from someone’s basement. “Who knows? Probably a bill.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Go ahead and open it.”

                She shrugged and did so. After a moment, she slapped a hand over her forehead. “Rolan…this is a request to write to the Hero.”

                He glanced up. “Write to the Hero? Why?”

                “Thanking her for everything, I presume.”

                “Oh, well…” That would be worth taking time away from his magical studies. “Let’s sit down and write it together later, then. Or you can transcribe it for me if you’d be so—”

                Lia held up a finger. “Problem, brother mine. We were supposed to send this back three days ago.”

                Rolan stared at her for a long moment before letting out a long string of curses. After he got that out of his system, he asked, “What, ah, what’s an appropriate apology gift for a Duchess?”

                “You dumbass,” Lia sighed.

Chapter Text

                Six months since the defeat of the Absolute had flown by. It seemed like she hardly had a chance to breathe, and that was considering Lelith wasn’t nearly so busy as her husband. Wyll had thrown himself into rebuilding the city and its recovery efforts, and, though she hadn’t held an official title, she aided where she could. It bothered her that her new life limited her from being as involved as she had been, but that was why she hired Cataclysm. Through them, she was able to keep a closer eye on those allies she had made throughout their fight.

                It wasn’t ideal, though. Relying on them to maintain and grow those connections was not the same as her being there to personally help the refugees. To aid the rebuilding efforts side by side with her fellow Baldurans. A part of her felt kept and useless.

                But, she admitted to herself as she glanced at Wyll, she wouldn’t trade her life with him for the world. She reached for his hand as they walked. Rebuilding Upper City came first, somewhat regrettably, but it was where the money came from, and it was the most damaged. Sooner than she could have imagined after reconstruction completed, social invitations from the Upper City elite came flowing to their manor, all of which Wyll had turned down. Some of that was on principle—how could he celebrate when so many Baldurans still needed shelter?—and some was lack of time. But, one day, there came an invitation that neither of them could refuse…

                Wyll smiled at her, grasping her hand tightly. “My love, who could have imagined that we’d return here as Grand Dukes?”

                Lelith returned the smile in kind. “Grand Duke of the Wyrm, Heart of the Gate. I like that title better than Archduke.”

                “I as well. The newly reinstated Council of Four will bring balance to the city once more.” It was a conversation they had a month ago over dinner with her father-in-law and Counsellor Florrick. It occurred hours after she confided in her husband about her broken oath, and life had been a whirlwind ever since. Ulder, of course, would take the position of Grand Duke again, now titled as Grand Duke of the Triad, Keeper of the Fist. Florrick stepped up into the role of Grand Duke of the Crossing, the Face of Devotion. And, she? She had been nominated as Grand Duke of the Coast, Doom of the Dead Three. She had nearly been moved to tears when Will proposed it and accepted immediately. In the Grand Duke position, she could do so much more to help than she could as Duchess. She was desperate to be more of an active force in her home city.

                “The city’s future looks brilliant indeed,” Wyll had said, beaming, as the four of them toasted.

                It certainly had not been an easy road. Though the bards relished in the story of a former warlock and his valiant sacrifice, the reality was that many were afraid of the devilish features Mizora cursed him with. The Ravengard name helped but could only take him so far. Not, of course, that Wyll wished to rely on it, but it had helped open some doors nevertheless. Their people adored him, but the patriars, aristocracy, and Amn and Waterdeep’s councils were another matter. Having a Tiefling serve as Grand Duke alongside him was bound to raise some eyebrows, too.

                They’d face that adversity together. Lelith was confident they could overcome it.

                “My love, my heart. Breathe deep.” Wyll himself took a breath. “Can you smell it?”

                She inhaled deeply. Of course—she was well versed in nature. “Deep, pungent wood. It reminds me of the Wilden Oak…and the night you proposed.” She nudged his arm with hers, smiling.

                “I hoped you would remember.”

                “Of course. It’s one of my most treasured memories.” How could she forget? Before they had even gotten to Wyrm’s Rock, he had proposed to her with an acorn in place of a ring. The item wasn’t as important to her as the symbolism was, and he more than made up for it once they were properly in the city. Astarion had tutted at them, but she saw him smiling when he thought they weren’t looking.

                “And mine.” He squeezed her hand. “Can you believe we haven't been there since that very eve?”

                By now, they had wandered into their old camp. In awe, they observed the scene in front of them. Withers had outdone himself with the spread of food and alcohol. Her stomach started to rumble. One glance at her husband confirmed that he was eyeing the booze. “Time is so precious,” he mused.

                She knew. They spent as much time as they possibly could with one another, but a part of her had felt a little cheated out of those newlywed days of bliss. Still, she wouldn’t change it for the world.

                “You've been patient through it all,” Wyll continued. His eyes shone with adoration for her. “Your love is the fuel that drives me forward.” He squeezed her hand again. “We will make the decisions we see fit, the ones that'll restore the city to glory.”

                “Cheers to that,” Lelith grinned.

                Her eyes scanned over the party, her heart swelling with pride at the sight of their friends. Shadowheart wandering around with her customary cup of wine, looking slightly leaner and more toned than the last time they spoke. Gale in neat robes tucked in his corner with Tara the tressym ever vigilantly by his side. What appeared to be an astral projection of Lae’zel gliding about the camp, taking in her surroundings. Astarion parked near the center of the action, watching everyone with a half-smirk. Jaheira looking relaxed by the fire as Halsin idly did a shuffling half-dance. And Minsc, wearing some…interesting attire.

                “Oh, Minsc,” Lelith sighed. “What did you do now?”

                Wyll shot her an amused look, but, with their arrival, Withers spoke: “Thou wert called here. Some from above, some below. For with thine bond, together thou hast kept the Wheel of Fate spinning, when it threatened to halt. Though thou wert drawn far apart in the months after the collapse of the Absolute. Tonight, Fate renews thy bond once more. Thou shouldst take care to preserve it—it is a great weapon, wielded in the hand of good. Go. Know one another once more.”

                But this was not all of them, of course. They were missing one of their own. Lelith knew that she would feel Karlach’s absence deep in her chest, but knowing it was coming and actually feeling her absence were two separate things. The world seemed…colder. But Lelith tried to keep her spirits up. “I wish we could have brought Lily,” she whispered to her husband, focusing her mind elsewhere. “She'd be the life of the party.”

                “Ah, the girl could melt the staunchest heart.” Wyll’s face lit up thinking of their adopted daughter. Lily Aurora Ravengard, their pride and joy, had been found at the door of the Open Hand Temple. A Tiefling baby with light purple skin, one gray eye, and one brown eye hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Crying God’s faithful. They saw it as a sign and had contacted Wyll immediately the next day. “She might even have brought a smile to old Withers’ face!”

                Of that, Lelith had no doubt. The four-month-old had absolutely melted the hearts of everyone she met. She hadn’t considered motherhood this early in their marriage, but she had become smitten with their daughter.

                “But tonight is for us,” Wyll continued, leading her toward one of the drink tables. “I promise, the Temple will keep her in good care.”

                “You’re right, my heart.” She watched as he poured two generous glasses. “Enjoy yourself tonight, my darling.”

                “Go on, my love,” he smiled, handing her one of the glasses. “The night's young. You shouldn't waste a moment of it.”

                Lelith offered him a smile. As she walked away, she heard Wyll call out to Astarion with a laugh, claiming he’d drink half a dozen bottles that night. Shaking her head, she nearly ran into Shadowheart. “There you are. I was starting to wonder if you’d show up.” The silver-haired woman laughed. “Come here, will you? It’s been forever.”

                “It’s good to see you, Shadowheart,” the paladin said warmly. She pulled the cleric into a tight embrace, so much so that her comrade let out a light noise of surprise.

                Not that Shadowheart could let her get away with it, of course. “You feel a little more substantial than usual,” she teased.

                “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lelith remarked dryly. She leaned back to admire Shadowheart’s figure. “You look good, too.”

                “I suppose I do, don’t I?” That drew a snort from the Tiefling. “I’m glad you seem well. Truly.”

                “The feeling’s mutual. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

                With that encouragement, Shadowheart spoke of what she had been up to in the last six months. She and her parents had settled into one of the many abandoned homes left in the Absolute’s wake. An abandoned cottage, half-ruined, that her father had been helping her fix up. There, she was making up for lost time with both parents, learning recipes from her mother on the woman’s better days. She had even adopted a small menagerie of her own—five dogs (including Scratch, whom she didn’t have the heart to leave after the brain’s defeat), eight cats, six pigeons, four sheep, a milk cow named Daphne, an ornery squirrel, and an orphaned wolf cub named Buttons that her father was helping raise. She seemed completely at peace with this new life for herself.

                “After everything we pulled off together,” Lelith noted, “a little slice of normalcy sounds like just the thing.”

                “I couldn't have said it better myself. Just be sure to take your own advice whenever you can?” Shadowheart quirked a brow at her, half-smirking. “You've earned it. Although…” She smiled around her cup of wine. “From what I hear, you’re not doing a lot of resting.”

                “No,” Lelith admitted with a tired laugh. “Wyll can better tell you what he’s been up to, but it turns out rebuilding a city and re-establishing its governing force take a lot of time and energy. Who would have thought?”

                Lelith began to give the cliff notes of her last six months, with Shadowheart offering light quips. After some time, the cleric went silent. “I’ve heard you have Kelemvor’s Doomguides clearing out the Bhaal Temple.”

                She paused. “I do.”

                “I wonder…would you possibly consider something similar for the Sharran temple?” Shadowheart sharply inhaled, clutching her hand. “Oh, you wretched thing,” she grumbled.

                Lelith’s brow creased. She knew the price that Shadowheart had to pay to keep her parents alive, but that Shar was still bothering her was…not ideal. “The Bhaalist temple was an immediate threat that needed to be dealt with for the safety of the city,” she began slowly. “I would not be opposed to doing the same for the Sharran temple, though I would need Selunite followers to help.” She gave Shadowheart a pointed look.

                Shadowheart paused, seemingly weighing the options. “…perhaps in time. Have you considered asking Dame Aylin and Isobel?” Lelith didn’t respond. She was ashamed she hadn’t thought to send one of Cataclysm to check on them. Shadowheart laughed. “Perhaps just as well. I imagine they’re rather busy.” She had a mind to ask, but Shadowheart continued: “Hopefully these meet-ups will become a regular occurrence. It's not that I miss the tadpoles, but at least they brought us together. Now we've got to make the extra effort ourselves.”

                “Don't worry,” Lelith promised her, “we'll keep in touch.”

                “I'm sure we will, but let's be proactive about it, all the same.” That was pointed. Lelith knew that it would be far too easy for her to rely on others or completely forget, and she silently vowed to make keeping in contact a priority. “We're more than capable. After all, we've faced down bigger threats than wrangling together a few social calendars.” She pulled Lelith in for another hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

                “Well, now. You can make yourself presentable, when you have a mind to.”

                “I missed you, too, Jaheira.”

                “Hah. How nice to be understood again.” Jaheira was looser, more relaxed, than Lelith recalled seeing her over the course of their entire journey. She smirked as she drank from her cup. “I have spent the past months bickering with builders and bankers—all to restore the city exactly as it was. Same twisting alleys for purse-pickers. Same wooden buildings, ready to get burnt by next year's dragon. Same cisterns overflowing...”

                “It's a kip, but it's our kip,” Lelith laughed. “I wouldn't change a thing.” And she knew Jaheira, for all her blustering, felt the same on some level. Her children were still in the city, after all—the High Harper wouldn’t leave Baldur’s Gate while they still remained.

                With prompting, she and Jaheira discussed the city’s efforts to return to normal, with Jaheira’s usual good-natured disdain for the Gate ever present. It turned out that Jord and Rion were following in her footsteps to serve the city despite her best attempts to dissuade them from the lifestyle—Jord as a Harper and Rion as a Flaming Fist (again, apparently). It was clear how proud a mother she was.

                Speaking of her kids allowed Lelith to transition into speaking of Lily Aurora. She saw Jaheira’s eyes light up behind her cool exterior, and she entertained the paladin as she spoke of married life.

                “Agh, sentiment. With the greatest affection, I can think of better ways to sour our stomachs.” The Harper turned. “I must inspect the refreshments. You never know—some ne'er do-well might have tampered with the wine.” Something gave her pause. She turned back to Lelith. “Perhaps tonight is not the night, but I do want to hear more about your little project with the Bhaalists, yes?”

                Lelith stood up straighter. “Yes, ma’am.” And, because she knew Jaheira well enough at this point, she added, “I could set up a meeting with you and the Doomguide in charge.”

                “Wonderful.” Jaheira lifted her cup in cheers. “Now, go get drunk.”

                It was fitting that she’d talk to Minsc after speaking with Jaheira, but Lelith left the conversation more confused than informed of what the hero from Rashemen had been up to for the past six months. There was something about fighting against the Guild despite being on good terms with Nine Fingers, and being in jail, and…she was left with a bit of whiplash, all told. Now, Minsc was loudly proclaiming he was going to take a bath in the Chionthar…? Best, perhaps, not to think too heavily about it.

                “It truly is splendid to see everyone gathered together again, if only for a night. I hope the sun does not make haste to rise on us.”

                “Tell me how you've been faring,” Lelith greeted Halsin with a warm smile. She had missed speaking with the wood elf. “You wanted to form a new settlement, didn't you?”

                It was odd to see him out of his druidic robes, as he instead favored a leather ensemble for the night, but it suited him. Halsin beamed. “Our community grows rapidly; in six months, we have turned what was once a shadowy wasteland into a true home for all.” It thrilled her to hear that—she knew that he had been determined upon leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands to heal it, alongside Thaniel and Oliver. That the dream was becoming a reality was nothing less than she expected from the Archdruid. “In another six months, I would wager the scars of the past will be entirely invisible even to those who remember them. The old masonry of Moonrise Towers and Reithwin have been repurposed into new homes, and the land is rich with harvests and bountiful trees. Nature and civilization are in harmony, stronger together. We’re calling it New Reithwin, for a new beginning.”

                “Is this the balance you wished for?”

                “In a manner of speaking, yes...though it is a more complex, evolving beast than I could ever have anticipated.” She knew. Though she and Wyll were not starting from the ground up like Halsin was, their tasks were nevertheless an uphill battle. What Halsin was dealing with was likely very challenging in ways she couldn’t imagine. “True balance is no simple, fixed thing. I see that now. We welcome folk from all walks of life—anyone who wishes for a new start. Naturally, it can be chaotic at times, but it is a thrilling sort of chaos. It thrives in ways I could never have dreamed of.”

                “I'm glad you're happy.”

                “As am I. I may age more slowly than most, but I do believe I've gained some new laughter lines of late.” Halsin paused. She saw it then, that there was a hint of something unsatisfied within the man.

                “Halsin,” she began, “are you truly alright? If you need assistance, I can send…”

                “Hmm?” He snapped back to attention. “Ah, my apologies. I’ve plenty of help, if that’s what you’re asking.”

                Lelith tipped her head to the side. “You seem a little distracted.”

                “Think nothing of it, my friend,” he said smoothly. “Now, enough about me. What have you been up to? And, please, feel free to embellish the details. I promised the children I’d return with stories.”

                Though talk of politics and reconstruction would likely bore the children, Lelith updated him regardless, making sure to mention Lily, as well. (Halsin immediately wanted to meet her, naturally, but Lelith promised him he would soon.) She gave stories about Cataclysm’s missions, knowing it wouldn’t be the same as hearing her own heroic epics, but, truthfully, she had none of her own to share. Halsin seemed appreciative nevertheless.

                In return, Halsin mentioned that he had taken the owlbear cub, now much larger, into his care. But he worried he had taken up too much of her time. “Before you go, though, I have something for you—just a little keepsake, really. Do you remember how I told you I like to whittle?”

                Lelith’s eyes lit up. “I do. I remember you whittling at camp.”

                He chuckled. “I made this for you.” He handed her a wooden duck. “Ducks are my favorite, but I thought they were particularly fitting in this case. They are migratory birds, of course, travelling far and wide with the turn of the seasons. Yet they always find their way back to where they belong, just like old friends find themselves back in each other's company.”

                She took the duck and held it to her chest with a smile. “You're a sentimental creature at heart, you know that?” she teased softly.

                “Oh, I am well aware, trust me.” His lips twisted into a smile. “Now…I've taken up enough of your time. Go on, enjoy the festivities.”

                “Old friend. For two months I trained as Knight of the Comet. For two more I skewered kith'raki bellies. And for two more yet I travelled through Limbo. But to see your face...it brings me even more pleasure than taking a royal inquisitor's head.”

                “It's good to see you, Lae’zel.” Or, well, the projection of her, as it were. It wasn’t quite the same as having her proud friend there in person, but it was as good an answer as any.

                “It's nice to hear it. It's taken a dozen gishes' talents, a few stolen psi crystals, and two tendays of effort to conjure my projection. Worth it, I'd say. I missed this place. This—ahem—'Fay-run.’”

                “Your efforts to topple Vlaakith are well underway, then.”

                Lae’zel’s projection nodded as she explained what had unfolded over the past six months. A foothold in the Astral Plane, gaining victories against their enemies, and yet they still needed allies. She was to parley with the immortal god-king of the githzerai. It was on her to secure an alliance with him, but she was determined to move forward in the battle against Vlaakith with or without his aid.

                “When will we see you again?”

                “Soon—when the Comet has risen, when the lich queen has crumbled to dust.” Lae’zel glanced around. “I missed this place. More to the point, I missed you.” Her lips twisted into a smile. “I'll be back one day. The Overgod himself couldn't keep me away.”

                “I’ll keep you to that,” Lelith returned, lifting her glass. “And…ah, Orpheus?”

                Lae’zel hummed in contemplation. “Voss and I keep our eye on him. Thus far, his transformation has not appeared to take control of him, but we are prepared should that change.” Her eyes flicked away from Lelith for a moment. “Would you excuse me, my friend?”

                “Ah, of course.” She noticed the projection moving quickly toward one of the tables and raised a brow when she saw who Lae’zel was headed toward. Of course. Why didn’t she see that coming? Smiling, she turned her attention to the next friend nearby.

                “Hello, darling,” Astarion all but purred. “I wasn't sure our withered old friend could live up to his promise, but here we are. And you're looking more delicious than ever, if you don't mind me saying.” Lelith rolled her eyes. “Whatever you've been doing with your time, it's clearly worked wonders.”

                “After everything, I wanted to keep helping people,” she pointed out. “I've been trying to make a difference.”

                “Ah, so it's the healthy glow you get from being a good person? That explains my pallor.” He smoothed a hand over his hair with a smirk. “But I'm glad to see the world has treated you well—you've earned it. We both have, in fact.” He took one look at her empty glass and grabbed a nearby bottle. “And where better to celebrate our good fortune? An old haunt with old friends.”

                “And you,” Lelith pointed out as he topped off her drink. “An adventurer now, are you?”

                “Well, yes. It turns out no one actually cares about murder, as long as you murder the right people. And, apparently, I'm rather good at it.”

                “I could have told you that.”

                “Yes, but you say all sorts of things. Honestly, I don't even listen half the time.”

                Lelith snorted. “Cataclysm reported that you helped with the cultists I hired them to kill.”

                “Yes, well, about them.” Astarion placed a hand on his hip, swirling his wine. “Competent fighters, I’ll give you that. But really. The bard is far too loud, and that bastard human is—”

                “—one of my old teammates and a dear friend?” Lelith raised an eyebrow at him.

                “I don’t care if he’s your father,” the spawn sniffed, “he was insufferable.”

                “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t seek your approval for whom I hire, isn’t it?”

                “You should, darling. Things would be so much more efficient.” They exchanged a cool stare with one another. Their bickering, it seemed, was not just a thing of the past. Finally, Astarion relented. “I do quite like Mira, however. She’s…sweet.” Lelith caught his face softening just a little. “The others aren’t used to that kind of kindness. They appreciate her visits.”

                “Right. I'm sure they do.” And Astarion didn't enjoy that kindness one bit, obviously. It seemed Renorash had picked well when he chose the druid to meet with the spawn.

                “Oh, honestly, don’t you have other people to go bother?” He tutted at her. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but Astarion grabbed her wrist. “Wait. I’m sorry. I meant to say…thank you. We’ve had quite the journey, you and I. From the moment I first threatened you, I knew you were someone special.”

                “Careful, Astarion,” she teased, “I’m a married woman.”

                “I’m trying for sincerity if you’d let me.” But the complaint was said with a smile. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

                “Well, well, look what the tressym dragged in... Professor Gale Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy, educator of the esteemed School of Illusion.” Gale gave a flourish of his hand and a bow. “A pleasure to remake your acquaintance.”

                “Only a professor? With your expertise, I'd have thought you could teach every kind of magic going...”

                Gale held up a finger. “I did offer, as a matter of fact. However, the Blackstaff insisted I couldn't teach every subject, nor could the simulacra of myself I offered to create for that purpose. So, I've settled for teaching the art of illusion.” As he rambled on, Lelith smiled to herself. She really had missed the wizard and his tendency to go on forever about whatever topic interested him. But she nodded along to every word: how Mystra had cured him of the orb after he surrendered the Crown to her, talk of his students, how he was a little confounded at his students not being as eager to learn as he had been at their age. And, then, he started to talk of Lelith and Wyll visiting his tower, with Tara interjecting that he meant their tower, and Gale conceding. It was only when he casually dropped a woman’s name mid-conversation that Lelith found the ability to cut in.

                “Who is Iris?” she asked.

                “Ah, yes, the young lady.” Gale beamed. “Iris Evergarden, a wonderfully adept druid. Her expertise is different than our esteemed comrades’, of course, but she is quite the talented healer.”

                “Ms. Evergarden has taken up residence in our tower,” Tara interrupted. Lelith was expecting a little more emotion out of the tressym, but Tara didn’t provide—her tone and body language were entirely neutral. “Mr. Dekarios has become quite smitten with her.”

                “Oh, well, come now, Tara,” he chuckled, half-pleased and half-nervous. “Iris needed a place to set up her shop, and I had extra space on the ground level I wasn’t using. It only made sense to offer it.”

                “And space in your bed, as it were,” Lelith teased. She waggled her eyebrows at him as she took a drink.

                Gale’s cheeks turned pink. “I’ll have you know that I am quite the gentleman.” Despite his words, he sounded pleased at the teasing. He coughed politely. “Come now, I can’t keep you all to myself, can I? Go, go.” He waved a hand. “Enjoy the festivities.”

                “As you say, Mr. Evergarden.”

                He chortled and made a shooing motion with his hand. She smirked and turned to leave. “Oh, and Lelith?” She turned back to see Gale’s warm smile. “It's good to see you again.”

                “Have you seen the letters, my love?”

                “What letters?” Lelith questioned, stepping up to her husband’s side.

                “It appears that Withers was quite thorough in his correspondence,” Wyll spoke, slipping an arm around her waist. “Go on. None of us wanted to open them before you had a chance to.”

                “Very well.” She pressed her face against his cheek briefly, affectionately, and allowed her husband to lead her to where the chest was located. Several editions of the Gazette were plastered on a board beside them, and Lelith allowed her fingers to trail over them as she reminded herself of the headlines. Rolan and his success with the Tower, Bex and Danis finally opening their café, Barcus sorting out the Ironhands… Her smile widened with each reminder. “Darling, we’ll need to go support Bex and Danis soon.”

                “Of course, my darling.” Wyll kissed her temple. “Go on, now. The letters.”

                She delicately skimmed her fingers over the chest before opening it. Her eyes widened at the contents. “…oh!” There were, overwhelmingly, dozens of letters.

                “You’ve touched a lot of lives, my friend,” Gale spoke warmly, stepping up behind the two of them. “It’s not just ours you’ve improved.”

                Her cheeks started to warm, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. Well, not entirely, anyway. “Oh, I…I just did what was necessary, Gale.”

                “You’re far too modest,” Shadowheart scolded, laughing. Her hand lightly touched Lelith’s shoulder. “Go on, now. We’re all curious.”

                Together, the companions sorted through the letters. There were letters from her father-in-law and Florrick, heartfelt praise and admissions she had not heard from either in person that touched her deeply. Wyll held her just a little tighter after reading those. There was a letter from Elminster addressed to Gale that she handed over directly without reading, not feeling right taking his correspondence from him; Gale kept a carefully neutral expression and pocketed it without letting anyone else read. But Arabella’s letter suggested she was under Elminster’s tutelage now, and Lelith wondered if that had something to do with it.

                “Elminster is a fine teacher,” Gale noted, “and Arabella will be an excellent student…if not, perhaps, more of a handful than my old friend might expect. Still, he is quite adept, and she is in good hands.”

                “I cannot help but feel responsible for what happened to her,” Halsin mused, “but it appears that everything has worked out for the best in the end.”

                The drow who had been so interested in their blood wrote a letter (“Just toss that, darling,” Astarion sniffed), alongside Sebastian and the Gur. The latter was addressed to the vampire spawn, and so Lelith handed it to him first before reading. Was he…emotional as he read it? Astarion coughed politely. “You may read it, but no one else,” he said stiffly. Lelith looked it over and smiled—of course Astarion would want to hide that he was a kind person underneath his aloof exterior. Dutifully, she handed it back to him, and he slipped it into his pocket.

                Sebastian’s letter made her own eyes well up with tears. Though that decision shattered her oath, she didn’t regret for a moment allowing the spawn another chance at their unlife, and the letter solidified her decision. Wordlessly, she handed the letter to Wyll. Upon reading it, he fully embraced her. She tucked her face against his shoulder and let the emotions roll over her.

                A gith slate from Orpheus that was shown to Lae’zel’s projection, causing the warrior to smile. Lelith suspected she knew much of what was written already, but to hear praise from her prince was nevertheless likely welcome.

                There was a letter from Nocturne addressed to and given to Shadowheart, who, like Gale, elected not to share it, though unlike the wizard she appeared emotionally moved. Lelith next opened the letter from Isobel (with Aylin’s addition) and furrowed her brow. “Shadowheart,” she began. “Were you aware of these attacks on Selunite enclaves?”

                Shadowheart peered over her shoulder. “I was not,” she began slowly, “but perhaps my family and I need to be more vigilant.” She let out a light laugh that didn’t seem all that mirthful. “I suppose asking Isobel and Aylin to help with my suggestion is off the table.”

                Wyll gave his wife a questioning look, but she shook her head at him—later. Before she could speak, though, Lae’zel’s projection did: “Are you in danger, Shadowheart?”

                “Nothing I can’t handle, I’m sure,” Shadowheart responded airily.

                The gith’s eyes bore through her. “Should you need protection—”

                “I’m fine, Lae’zel.” She delivered it flatly, but the small smile on her face as the cleric turned away indicated otherwise.

                Valeria, Hope, Mayrina, Nine-Fingers, Barcus, Art (“He does his best with the time that remains,” Halsin sighed), something called the Guild of Great Genius…finally, she was down to the last three. Lelith picked up one that carried a floral smell as soon as she lifted it, and she knew immediately who it was from. A smile crossed her face as she read Alfira’s words. She opened her bard school after all. That conversation on the Elfsong’s roof played in her head, and she was grateful that the young woman had a chance to live her dream. Perhaps a different one than you had intended, she thought, but it suits you. In another life, Alfira may have never gotten that chance. She was glad the bard did in this one.

                The second letter she picked up was crisp and clean, carefully folded with military precision. Zevlor, she supplied immediately, before she even started to read. The letter said so much and yet left so much more unsaid—he had severely downplayed his own involvement in the recovery efforts—but she found herself growing emotional at his admissions. You will never stop blaming yourself, will you, Zevlor? It occurred to her that the person she should be talking to about her broken oath was the Hellrider. Although Zevlor’s oath had never broken to her knowledge, he had lost his faith, and she imagined it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to sympathize with her plight. “I want to talk with Zevlor soon,” she murmured to Wyll.

                “I think that’s a wise idea,” he confirmed, again tightening his hold around her waist.

                The very last letter had a few marks on it, and she knew immediately who it was from. Lelith paused before picking it up, recalling the reports from Renorash about the blacksmith’s condition. From her understanding, he had been extremely upset with them, and she couldn’t blame him. Not knowing what was coming, she took in a deep breath and opened the letter.

Hello,

I hope this finds you well, but I don't know how it can. I heard that Karlach died shortly after your defeat of the brain. Though I didn't know her half so well as you, she was unforgettable. I can't help but blame myself—wonder what more I could have done. Believe me, I won't be caught short again—I've made it my business to learn all I can about infernal metalwork, in case another Karlach should ever visit my forge. But then again, how could there be another? She was absolutely singular.

With sympathy,

Dammon

 

                Lelith swallowed hard and put down the letter. Wyll called gently to her, but she shook her head, Wordlessly, she broke away from the group, headed toward the one area she had not yet explored—the abandoned building on its outskirts. Withers had made it his own, filling it with tables, shelves, and books. He glanced at her as she entered.

                “Thou feelst it still.” His voice carried its usual calm yet powerful tone. “She is not here. She who was the boldest.” He paused. “Hast thy thoughts been with brave Karlach often?”

                A loud sob rocked through her despite her best efforts. “Can't you bring her back?”

                “She would not come.” Withers spoke with finality.

                Her shoulders shook. Wouldn’t come back? But she had so much to live for, and, if she had another chance, she could… But, no, Withers was correct. She wouldn’t want to come back if she still had to deal with her engine. Not when the solution was returning to Avernus. “She was like a sister to me...”

                “Not like,” Withers corrected gently. “Thou wert her kin. It was written in her heart. Surely thou knowest that?” And there it was. The tears started falling in earnest now. “In the Fugue Plane, her soul burns so bright, it pains the Gods to look upon.”

                Karlach…

                “Recall that in time, all changeth, and all is rejoined. Thou shalt be with her again.”

                Lelith couldn’t speak. Instead, she gave a slow nod before walking out of the building, back to her comrades. The group had moved away from the table and instead gathered around the fire, looking as somber as she did. Wyll immediately stood to attention at her approach and held open his arms. She didn’t care about appearances as she walked straight toward him, burying her face in his shoulder again. They hugged tightly as she let herself sob freely.

                “Lelith,” Jaheira called softly. When the paladin lifted her head, she found the Harper pressing a fresh glass in her hand. Glancing around the group, she nodded and lifted her drink. “To Karlach.”

                “To Karlach,” the group echoed. They each drank deeply from their glasses before standing in silence. Then, they began talking, hesitantly at first, then growing more affectionate. Stories of their barbarian friend, celebrating her life as only they could. Lelith found herself feeling better with each tale shared.

                “…I have to tell you all something,” she began. All eyes were on her. “I asked Withers if he could bring Karlach back, and…he said she wouldn’t come.”

                “Ahh.” Gale didn’t sound surprised one bit, although he did sound disappointed. “I suppose, given the option between living with the same issues and dying at peace, I can imagine she wouldn’t.”

                “The finality of death is so…” Astarion trailed off. “Well, I mean, I have been around for hundreds of years and still fear it. I can’t understand just…being okay with it.”

                “I imagine when the moment comes, it is different.” Jaheira had a strange look on her face. Lelith knew she was thinking of their conversation in her sanctuary.

                “Ay, Boo,” Minsc spoke up, addressing the hamster on his shoulder. “Surely we did everything we could to repair Karlach’s heart before.”

                “Did we?” Shadowheart questioned. “Couldn’t we have tried some of the iron from the Steel Watchers?”

                “Dammon said the only fix was to return to Avernus,” Wyll said slowly.

                “I know what Dammon said, but you read the same letter we all did.” Shadowheart gestured. “He’s not even sure he did everything he could have.”

                “Let’s not pin the blame on Dammon,” Lelith pleaded. Shadowheart glanced at her then away, dropping it.

                “…What if she could return with a new heart?”

                Immediately, all eyes swiveled to Halsin. “What do you mean?” Lelith questioned, brows furrowed.

                He paused. “There may be a way to bring her back. I..haven’t looked into it fully myself, but…” He glanced toward Shadowheart. “Are you familiar with the Resurrection spell?”

                “Resurrection, certainly,” Shadowheart confirmed. “So long as you have one body part and a certain monetary value of diamonds, you can bring someone back to life.” Her eyes narrowed. “But Karlach’s body burned up. There is nothing left, Halsin.”

                The druid paused. “A cleric—a Doomguide Tarrlok,” he supplied, glancing at Lelith, “came to New Reithwin but a month ago. She performed a spell to resurrect one of our own—her nephew—who died. I spoke with her companion about it, and she had made mention that there may be a spell to bring a person back to life without a body. Though, she didn’t seem to know much more about it.”

                “A True Resurrection spell,” Jaheira supplied. “Very costly magic, that.”

                Shadowheart glanced at her. “A Resurrection spell uses a thousand gold’s worth of diamonds,” she began slowly.

                Jaheira snorted. “A thousand? You’d be looking at much more than that, girl. Which one of you has twenty-five thousand gold’s worth of diamonds laying around?”

                “Twenty-five thousand!?” Astarion’s eyes bugged out of his head.

                “If it were cheap, we wouldn’t have any dead,” Jaheira pointed out.

                “Certainly, amongst the nine of us, we should be able to pool enough resources.” Gale glanced about the group. “I’d fund more than my fair share if it meant we could get her back for good.”

                “Don’t forget that Withers said she wouldn’t come back,” Lelith warned. “We wouldn’t want to gather the resources for nothing.”

                “…Would she return if she knew she’d have a new heart, though?” Wyll mused. Lelith glanced at him. “I think it’s worth considering, my love.”

                Lelith relented. “If you all think it’s worth it, I will certainly request an audience with Jael.”

                “My friend,” Lae’zel spoke up, “we owe it to the tiefling to at least try.”

                “You’re right,” Lelith confirmed. “I’ll speak with her.”

                “Speaking of the Doomguide…” Jaheira eyed Lelith. “Tell us about the work with the Bhaal Temple.”

                “We will meet again in the Gate,” Wyll promised everyone hours later. “I will send out invitations to the duchal banquet within the tenday.”

                “I look forward to it,” Shadowheart smiled. “The future is looking brighter already.”

                “The balance of the world restored,” Withers intoned, signaling the end of the party. “The balance of these lives, mortal and otherwise, brought to account. Hear me, thou heroes, wastrels, friends. I have waited long to tell you these words. It is over...for now. Thou played thy part in weaving the fabric of fate itself. But for every thread you sewed, so did the gods unravel another. Sleep, rest, revel. But be ready. For thou mayest yet be needed. Until we meet again, I wish thee every possible fortune. Health, wealth, love, and above all, problems worth solving.”

                Lelith glanced around at the group gathered and smiled, lifting her glass. She could only think of one thing to add: “To the greatest friends I could dream of.”

                “To you.”

Chapter Text

                The day after the party, Lelith and Wyll both woke up with pounding headaches and called off all their meetings. But the day after that, she decided it was time to start paying her old friends a visit.

                For a moment, she considered bringing Lily Aurora along, but she decided it was safer for the child to stay behind. Without having spoken directly to any of them since before the Netherbrain’s defeat, it thought it a better idea to focus entirely on her allies. For another moment, she considered donning her old armor…but that seemed too formal, and she didn’t feel quite worthy of it anymore. Still, going completely defenseless was a bad call, and so instead she tossed a chain shirt underneath her dress and called it a day.

                She did strap the greatsword at her back, though, just in case. After all, against Wyll’s wishes, she was going alone. It didn’t seem right to have Fist escort, nor did she want it.

                Setting off to the Lower City, the closest location to her happened to be the one she wished to visit first—the temple where the Hellriders had stationed themselves. Zevlor’s letter had given her some hope for how he and the other refugees were doing, and she wanted to see it for herself.

                At this early hour, not many were in the temple—by design, she arrived early so as to avoid taking them away from their work. As she entered, she saw a young Tiefling man with blue gray skin and gleaming armor glance up. Then, as he registered her appearance, his mouth dropped open. He stared at her for a moment before snapping to attention, standing up straight and saluting. “Duchess Ravengard,” he began.

                “Grand Duke Lelith Ravengard, now,” she corrected, and she saw the man’s eyes widen. “But you may call me Lelith.” She tipped her head to the side with a friendly smile. “What’s your name, soldier?”

                “Ah—Casmir. Private Casmir, ma’am.”

                “Casmir,” she repeated. “Well met, Private. At ease.” He relaxed his stance. She took this as permission to move further into the temple. “I was hoping to speak with your commander. Is he here?”

                “He should be back shortly, ma’am. Can I, ah, get you something to drink?”

                “Who are you talking to, private?” An older, red skinned Tiefling came out from further in the temple. His graying hair was slicked back into a ponytail. When his eyes fell on Lelith, he, too, stood up straighter in a salute. “Your Grace. Lieutenant Guerus. To what do we owe this honor?”

                Guerus. She considered. “You fought alongside us in the end.”

                He paused, then allowed a flash of a grin. “Yes, ma’am. Private Intari and I fought alongside the Commander to aid against the Absolute.”

                “At ease. I am very glad to see you alive and well,” Lelith informed him with a smile. “You were very impressive, Lieutenant.”

                He looked pleased. “Well, we had the best training, and we are well led.” He cleared his throat. “You’re here to see the Commander, I take it?”

                “I was informed he was not here,” she began. “Do you mind if I wait for him?”

                “Not at all, my lady. I’d anticipate his return any moment. But could I introduce you to the others, by chance? They’d be thrilled to meet you.”

                “I would be honored, Lieutenant.”

                In short order, she met Privates Intari and Arkis. Intari, she had noted, had a burn mark scar across her face; the woman admitted that it was from the red dragon atop the brain. The paladin was enjoying the conversation with the four Hellriders when she heard a familiar voice yet surprised speak: “Lelith?”

                With a smile, Lelith turned around, and then her smile widened when she saw the man. Zevlor stood, tall and proud as he entered the temple. He, unlike his Hellriders, was not wearing his armor—instead wearing casual attire. Based on the marks on his clothing, she assumed he had been doing some manual labor. “Zevlor,” she greeted, stepping toward him. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

                “Likewise, my friend.” He gave her a smile in return as he walked toward her. He staggered a bit as she threw her arms around his shoulders in a hug, but he chuckled and easily returned the embrace. She felt his arms squeeze tightly once before he pulled back. “Look at you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

                “You look much healthier,” Lelith replied, glancing over him. “It’s good to see.” He appeared to have filled out a little from the time they were on the road—and something about him seemed a lot lighter. “Happier,” she added.

                Guerus coughed loudly behind them. Zevlor’s eyes flicked briefly toward him with a disapproving look. He returned his smile to Lelith. “Please, come in. I have an office where we can talk. Can I interest you in something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”

                “Tea would be lovely.” Zevlor nodded toward Arkis and started toward the back of the temple. Lelith followed him to a small office, taking one of the seats in front of the desk. She expected him to sit behind it, but, instead, he took the second chair and turned it to face her.

                “My apologies for being so underdressed,” he began. “Had I known you were coming, I would have donned my armor.”

                “Don’t trouble yourself, my friend.” She paused as Arkis brought in a tea pot and two cups. Zevlor thanked them, and they gave a nod before leaving, quietly shutting the door behind them. She watched as he began pouring the tea. “Have you been volunteering somewhere?” It would make sense. His fellow Hellriders seemed aware of his absence, and the work clothes pointed to it. He certainly seemed the type to volunteer his time.

                He paused, as though the question confused him. After a moment, he chuckled, gently placing the pot on the desk. “Helping a friend with some house repairs, that’s all.”

                She gave him a curious look as he drank his tea. “I didn’t know you were so inclined to that kind of work.”

                “I aided a little in the reconstruction efforts. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert by any means, but I can handle minor repairs.”

                “That’s quite kind of you.” Her smile faltered. “I’m sorry I didn’t come visit you sooner. It’s been…well, I didn’t anticipate how busy everything would become.”

                “Think nothing of it.” Zevlor reached out to touch her hand briefly. “I know too well the political game. You and Wyll have had a city to rebuild and run.”

                “More so him than me, but, yes.” She gave him a sheepish look. “I received your letter, by the way. Thank you.” She glanced around the office. “I’m glad to see the temple is taking care of you. And these Hellriders, separate from your group?”

                “Correct.” He took another swallow of tea. “When Elturel exiled us, we split our numbers. Staggered our departures, divided the Hellriders amongst us, traveled different routes. My four companions are what remains of our ranks, and each had their own refugees they escorted.” For a moment, he looked tired. Then, he shook his head, giving her a smile. “We do good work here. It has been an honor to work with the needy who seek us out. Fewer these days, but still some nevertheless.”

                “And, when the refugees have been housed?” Lelith questioned. “Have you considered what you will do then?”

                He paused. He looked as though he wanted to say something but had changed his mind. Instead, he spoke smoothly, “I have been mostly concerned with the day-to-day, Lelith.”

                “Of course.” An idea was already forming in her mind, but she needed more time to consider it.

                “Enough about me. What about you?”

                She updated him on her life—the duties, her marriage, her new title, and her child—and Zevlor’s smile grew wider with each update. But she regrettably couldn’t stay forever. Lelith paused and offered him an apologetic look. “I have a few others to visit yet today, although I…” She hesitated. “I have things I’d yet like to discuss with you. Would you be able to come to the manor?”

                His eyebrows raised. “Ah, of course, my friend. When?”

                “Come in two days’ time,” she began, “Midmorn.” She smiled as she rose to her feet, and as he, out of courtesy, did the same. “I will look forward to seeing you.”

                Seeing Alfira so happy made her happy. Lakrissa had worked herself to the bone trying to make enough money to buy the little house turned school. Running it kept them busy, but it also left little time for much else. She’d never dare tell Alfira otherwise, but she sometimes wished they could have a night off to leave the house. Go on a dinner date, go dancing, something that wasn’t just…constant work.

                She also didn’t want to tell her girlfriend that she was feeling a little…well…unfulfilled. Yes, this was Alfira’s dream, and she loved making it happen for her, but it wasn’t her dream. Lakrissa was realizing more and more each day that simply loving the things her partner did wasn’t going to make her happy, and she didn’t know how to address that. Not when she emphasized so hard how much she wanted Alfira to live her dreams. So, she smiled and indulged her, and, while Alfira was curled up with her at night, she found herself wondering how much longer she could sustain this charade.

                That day was no different than any other, with one notable exception: they had an unexpected guest. She had heard the murmur from the front of the house and resisted the urge to sigh. The bards kept them in business. New bards meant more money, she knew that. But, sometimes, she thought, as she turned toward the front door, she just needed a break—

                “Oh!” Lakrissa startled despite herself, eyes wide. “It’s you!”

                There she was, in all her glory: the duchess of Baldur’s Gate. Lelith looked gorgeous in her fitted gown, and the greatsword strapped to her back made her even hotter. Lakrissa realized, six months later, that her fun little crush on the woman was never actually going to go away. Alfira teased her for it constantly, but…well, they were both kept women, after all. And Lelith smiled, which made her want to melt on the spot. “It’s great to see you, Lakrissa,” she greeted. “I’m sorry it took me so long to visit.”

                “No, no!” She fluttered her hands nervously. “Please, don’t think anything of it.” Lakrissa quickly gestured. “Come, ah—” She glanced around the room. Slowly, the other occupants of the room realized who was at the door and began walking over. Before Lakrissa could register what was happening, the entire damn school was walking up to Lelith, eager to introduce themselves.

                Only then did Alfira seem to register what was happening. Her girlfriend gave an audible gasp before rushing over. “Lelith!” she exclaimed, immediately reaching for the woman’s hands. Flirty as Lakrissa may be, Alfira was the one less afraid of physical touch. “I wasn’t expecting you! This is such a nice surprise!”

                “I received your letter,” Lelith began, smiling. “I was hoping to catch up with you two, privately?”

                “Oh, well—” Alfira glanced at her students, hesitating.

                “They can practice independently for a while, sweetie,” Lakrissa reminded her plainly. She glanced to Lelith. “Maybe we can head to the Elfsong for a bite?” Please let us get out of here for once.

                Lelith considered this. “I’ll need to be that way afterward, anyway,” she agreed. “Let’s do it.”

                Lakrissa beamed toward her girlfriend, who looked uncertain. “Oh, come on, Fira. It would do you some good to get out of the house.”

                “I suppose you’re right,” Alfira agreed. “Let me leave the group with instructions, and then we can go.”

                “Wonderful,” Lelith smiled.

                Well, this was bloody embarrassing.

                First, Rolan forgot to send the hero a letter after the unopened request sat on his desk for days. Now, the hero had arrived unannounced through the portal to the tower, and the place was a damn mess. Of course, Lia knew damn well none of this was her fault, but she still felt responsible for the litter of spell scrolls, books, and items all over the place.

                She was going to kill Rolan. But, first, she had to play the proper hostess. She offered a huge smile to Lelith. “The hero arrives!” she welcomed, giving a flourish to her bow. “Or do we need to address you by Your Grace now?”

                Lelith was amused. “Please. If you call me Lelith, I’m more than content.” She glanced about the Tower. “I see you’ve been busy.”

                “Yes, ah, well…” Lia coughed. “There always seems to be something new every day.” She gestured for the purple skinned Tiefling to follow her. “Our dining room, at least, is usually pretty clean. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

                “I just finished at the Elfsong with Alfira and Lakrissa,” Lelith replied, following Lia. “But, yes, something to drink would be nice.”

                “Sure.” Thank the Gods the dining room was clean, if nothing else was. She gestured. “Have a seat. I’ll see if I can find Cal and Rolan. Unless, uh, it’s just Rolan you want?” In theory, it could be just him. He was the ruler of the Tower and the almighty wizard. Cal and Lia were…there, too.

                “I’d like to catch up with all three of you, if possible,” Lelith confirmed with a smile. “I care about you two, as well.”

                “Oh, ah…” Now she felt her face turning hot. “Yeah, of course!” She coughed. “Let me just…” She gestured toward the door before scurrying through it.

                The hero wanted to see all three of them? Well…of course she did! She met all three of them, and she helped save them all. She was the one who reunited them—twice. Why wouldn’t she…?

                Lia was far too used to people coming to the tower for her brother the wizard, that’s why. Gods, she and Cal needed to find other employment, and fast. They had to get an identity outside of “Rolan’s little siblings.”

                Speak of the devilkin: “I heard commotion in the main area,” Rolan commented. He practically glided into the kitchen. (She wasn’t sure if the way he carried himself these days made her feel pleased or embarrassed on his behalf.) He frowned at her. “What’s going on?”

                “Remember how you forgot to write to the hero this last tenday?” Lia asked, placing her hands on her hips.

                He winced. “…unfortunately, yes. I don’t think I’ll live that down.”

                “Guess what? The hero is in our dining room.”

                Rolan stared at her for a long time before letting out a low string of Infernal curses. “Why didn’t you come find me!?”

                “Funnily enough, I was going to,” she remarked dryly. “She wants to see Cal, too. Know where he is?”

                Rolan wasn’t listening. He was pacing, suddenly looking very nervous. “Gods, we need to get her some refreshments… Did you get her refreshments?”

                “Was about to get her a drink, but you interrupted me.”

                “A drink. What’s her drink…what have I seen her drink before…?” Rolan paused before snapping his fingers. “Daggerford clarry. I just imported a bottle. If we don’t know what she likes, something expensive must do.”

                “You’re ridiculous,” Lia sighed, but she allowed him to uncork the bottle and grab four glasses. “I’ll…go find Cal. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

                “I can carry myself just fine,” he snarked at her, shooting a glare. Clearing his throat, he put on his usual important host persona as he pushed through the door. “Lelith!” she heard Rolan exclaim. “What an unexpected surprise!”

                She rolled her eyes and went off in search of their baby brother. By the time she had wrangled Cal, elbows deep in inventory, she returned to the room where Rolan had launched into yet another self-indulgent ramble about the business and what he had been doing with his time. At this point, Lia could recite it from memory. “Oh, give it a rest, Rolan,” she grumbled, sliding into an empty chair. “We all know how busy and important you are.”

                “I’ll remind you that my being busy and important means you have a nice home,” he scoffed at her, but Rolan got the hint. He leaned back in his chair and scowled at Lia.

                “I’ve heard a lot about what Rolan has been up to,” Lelith began, “but how about you two? What is new with you?”

                “Oh, um…” Lia glanced at Cal, feeling slightly embarrassed. The truth was that they hadn’t made good on their promises for when they got to the Gate. Lia was primed and ready to join the Flaming Fist, but, upon seeing how they had acted when they got here, she had second thoughts, no matter what Duke Ulder Ravengard said. “We helped with the rebuilding efforts, but, otherwise, we’ve been helping out around the shop.” It was embarrassing to admit. Granted, according to Rolan, they didn’t have to work—but neither of them just wanted freebies. It wasn’t in their nature.

                “I’ve been considering maybe going into contracting,” Cal began. He spoke confidently enough at first, and then backed off when Lia and Rolan both looked at him with surprised expressions. “Well…helping reconstruct the city made me feel good, and I was pretty good at it…”

                “While I would like to tell you I hope we won’t get hit with another attack,” Lelith began, “history begs otherwise. The city could use skilled laborers.”

                Well…shit. Cal had an idea what he wanted to do with his life. Why didn’t she?

                A loud boom resonated throughout the tower. The four Tieflings stared at each other before Rolan slowly asked, “Cal…what was it you were taking inventory of?”

                “Dunno. They were these cylindrical shaped things? I assumed they were some sort of scroll…”

                “…Was that a shipment for the fireworks store?” Lia asked, slowly lowering her face into her palms.

                “Gods damn it all, Cal!” Rolan pushed back from the table and stalked out of the room.

                “Now is probably a bad time to invite him to a banquet?” Lelith remarked dryly.

                Dammon gave a low sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow. Today was an especially taxing day at the forge, and, though he knew better than to work shirtless, he nevertheless found himself needing cool air on his skin during a break. He finished the sword he was working on and stepped back, untying the apron. Letting that fall around his waist, he pulled the shirt over his head. Grabbing his water jug, he sat down on the half wall and started drinking, groaning in relief as the cool liquid slid down his throat.

                Hells. He had plenty of water. He undid his hair and poured some over top his head. Dammon let his fingers run through wet hair, lightly scraping his scalp with his claws. Bliss.

                He had mostly allowed himself to block out the world, but a throat loudly clearing itself distracted him. He looked up and froze. He wasn’t unused to visitors dropping by unannounced to his forge—Lyric, who couldn’t keep a consistent schedule to save her life; Zevlor, an unexpected friendship that blossomed over the past couple months; Rolan, trying to form a closer bond in his own awkward way. But this person was none of them.

                “Lelith.” His voice was low. Talking out his feelings with Zevlor had helped ebb his grief. Time helped the wound. Having a goal in mind helped. Even writing that letter to her helped somewhat. But all of that was assuming he wouldn’t be in a position to actually face her. He didn’t know how he’d react.

                Slowly, he rose to his feet. In a fight, he wouldn’t stand a chance against her. Him, a blacksmith, strong in his own right, but very much not a fighter. She, an adventurer who killed a god’s avatar and destroyed an Elder Brain. He’d be knocked out flat before he could register what was happening. But logic had nothing on base instinct, and he stood, chest puffed, tail thrashing behind him, primed to fight. In contrast, Lelith’s body language read calm. Too calm. And the look on her face was…was that a hint of trepidation?

                Gods, he wanted to punch her. The etiquette his mother had hammered into him told him not to. Logic told him she’d punch him back harder.

                “Good evening, Dammon,” Lelith spoke, her voice calm. “It’s been quite some time.”

                “…it has.” He should say something. Polite? Cutting? He didn’t trust himself. So, instead, he stared at her, sure that he was boring holes through her with his glare.

                “I received your letter,” she began.

                …damn it, the letter. “…you have.”

                Her hands calmly folded in front of her. “I have.”

                They stared at each other longer. The memory of his mother was chiding him for not inviting a young lady in for tea or a drink. He was ignoring it. “Then,” Dammon supplied, “I suppose you know.”

                “To be clear,” Lelith spoke, voice frank, “I’ve been aware of your feelings toward me for quite some time.”

                Damn Lyric. He should have known his feelings wouldn’t be private, no matter how much he disguised them from her. Of course she would report to Lelith on his condition. That was her job. Then again, he reasoned, you’re the one who was a drunken idiot at the Mermaid. Multiple times. “And you came here because…?”

                She set her jaw. Lelith took a few steps forward, experimental. “I wanted to talk.”

                He wasn’t going to be deterred. Still puffed up like a cat, he took a few steps forward himself. “I don’t want to speak to you.”

                “That’s too bad, because I have some things to say.” Her eyes narrowed. They were now close enough that they could reach out and touch hands, but barely. She considered him. “None of us wanted Karlach to die.”

                “Then maybe you should have worked harder,” Dammon snapped at her.

                “Do you think we didn’t try?” Lelith growled back. “I begged with her to return to Avernus. I told her to stay in the House of Hope so that she could live. She refused.”

                “And so you just left her to burn up,” Dammon said coldly. He took another step forward. “When she was already in so much pain from the engine.”

                “She made her peace with dying.” Lelith took a step forward herself. “All she wanted was for us to be with her while she…when she…”

                Dammon pressed on. “She could have had a full life!”

                “How? Did you come up with any solutions in that time?”

                That was a slap in the face. He winced. “…no.”

                “How dare you accuse us of not doing enough?” Lelith continued, her voice raising.

                “And how much do you expect me to have done?” Dammon’s voice, too, was increasing in volume. “I’m a blacksmith. I can only work in the context of the materials I’m giving. I’m not like you lot. I can’t just go to the Hells willy nilly and kill things to get what I need.”

                “We didn’t just—” Lelith hissed at him. “We had a purpose for everything we did.”

                “Oh, sure, a purpose.” Dammon rolled his eyes. “And I suppose not going the extra mile while you were already in Avernus never occurred?”

                “Shut up,” Lelith snarled. “Just shut up.”

                “You’re the all-mighty heroes,” Dammon countered, stepping forward again, then another. “If anyone could have saved her, it was you.”

                “Don’t you dare,” Lelith warned him, stepping forward herself. They were now face to face. “Don’t you breathe another word.”

                “You didn’t care enough to save her.”

                “I loved her, you fucking ingrate!” Lelith yelled. The forcefulness of her words had her recoiling like she had been slapped. And Dammon froze, mouth agape, while she stepped back, letting her hands trail over her face.

                “…okay.” He was stunned. The hero…had loved Karlach? There were so many questions dancing in his brain, but he none of them were coming. He immediately moved backward and rubbed his neck with his hand, suddenly sheepish. The fight was melting away from his body. “I didn’t…well, I wasn’t aware…”

                “It didn’t matter,” Lelith sighed. “In the end, we didn’t have that connection, and I’m in love with Wyll.” She glowered at him, but she, too, was starting to slouch. “This is…not how I wanted this conversation to go.”

                “…I’m sorry, for going on the offensive.” And he was. Zevlor would have many words for him later, he was sure. “It was a terrible situation, and we tried…”

                She considered her words for a moment before looking up. “Dammon, what if I were to tell you there may be a way to bring her back?”

                He froze. “…what?”

                As though realizing what she said, Lelith grimaced. “I…look, I have to be honest, it’s tenuous at best. If she doesn’t want to return, it won’t make a damn bit of difference. But…” She wet her lips. “We have recently learned of a high-level spell that would bring her back with a new heart.”

                Dammon stood up straighter. “…how? What…?”

                “I have a Doomguide in my employ,” she began, “who is evidently well-versed in similar magic. It is my intention to speak with her about the possibility, but I…”

                Karlach could come back. Dammon felt his knees go weak. He let himself sink onto the half wall, considering. She could have another chance.

                Lelith exhaled. “I didn’t want to say anything until we knew for sure, so as not to make any promises we can’t keep.”

                He stared ahead for a moment before looking up at her. “What can I do to help?”

                She stared back, deep in thought. Finally, she spoke: “For now, we can do nothing until I speak with Doomguide Tarrlok. But…I will keep you informed.”

                He nodded slowly. “…thank you.”

                She nodded in return, curt. “I’ll send word with—” She paused. “I will come tell you myself.”

                There was a change. He lifted his brow but nodded. “…all right.”

                They stared at each other awkwardly, before Lelith gave a polite cough. “I, ah, I will be on my way then. Have a pleasant evening, Dammon.”

                “And you, Lelith.” He watched as she left, aware that they likely had the attention of the neighborhood, and finding he didn’t so much care. With a sigh, he pulled his hair back into its knot and reached for his shirt. Tonight seemed like a good night for a drink.

                Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.

                As the band’s accompaniment boomed through the space, Mavari allowed her partner to guide her willingly. Not one to concede control easily, she frequently defaulted to back leading, but Zevlor proved an incredibly adept partner. A subtle hand at her shoulder blade signaled his intended move before he did it. Sarada, barrida, ocho, boleo. He guided her through crosses and turns with a surprising ease. The tango wasn’t an easy dance by any means, and, yet, it seemed to come as easy as breathing to him. How often did they do this dance at state functions in Elturel, she wondered…? The thought amused her, trying to imagine a bunch of tightwad politicians doing such a charged dance.

                Then again, it was a dance that required much more physical control than perhaps most politicians wanted to muster.

                He surprised her tonight—the only other time they went dancing, with arguably less demanding social dances, they spent as much time off the floor as they had on it. Tonight, it seemed, he had stamina to spare, only taking breaks as necessary to hydrate. Otherwise, he wanted to stay on the floor, and she was happy to oblige. He was calm, focused, determined in his movements.

                But the time passed quickly, and the band was packing up. Breathing heavily, she placed a hand on his cheek. “Ready to go?”

                He touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes briefly. Mavari realized idly he hadn’t dropped his arms from stance, not yet. He inhaled deeply before exhaling. “…Yes. Let me walk you home.”

                It was only when he spoke that it occurred to her: he hadn’t said much this evening. Carefully, she pulled back, concerned but uncertain if she should bring it up. He placed a hand on her lower back to guide her, and she had to check her own reaction. Even though they spent the past couple hours in a very intimate partner dance, somehow his hand placement now struck her as much more forward than he had been the past two months. Something she was afraid to define fluttered in her belly, and, as their tails twined, she tried to ignore it.

                Out of the small club and into the cool night air, they walked toward her home in silence. Mavari tolerated this for a couple minutes before she glanced up at him. She wasn’t going to be able to let this slide without asking. “Is something wrong, Zevlor?”

                “Hmm?” The hand on her back twitched briefly. “Don’t trouble yourself with me, my dear.”

                She lightly nudged his side. “That’s not how this works.” If they were working toward a relationship, they needed to communicate.

                Zevlor let out a noise of acknowledgment. “You’re right.” He considered. “The—well, Grand Duke Lelith visited me yesterday.”

                She paused. She wasn’t aware that Lelith was planning on visiting him. It was her right, of course, but a part of Mavari wondered what this meant for Cataclysm. You can still visit everyone without needing to work for them, she reminded herself. That didn’t stop the quiet panic from settling in. “…oh?”

                “She requested I come to her manor tomorrow to speak in private.” He paused before glancing at her. “You don’t happen to have any insight on what that conversation may be, do you?”

                Why would she…? Oh, now she saw the logic in the question. She glanced at him. “Honestly, I’ve only talked to the Duchess a handful of times. Renorash is the one who meets with her on a regular basis.” She paused before she slid her hand behind his back, resting just beneath his shoulder blades. “Do you have a reason to be concerned?”

                “Only a history of expecting the worst.” He gave her a small smile. “But the meeting went well otherwise, so I suppose not.” He looked forward again. “She…did ask what I planned to do once all the refugees have been housed.”

                “Oh?” Did he have an idea for what that was? Considering everything he had been through, it wouldn’t surprise her if the man had to function on a day-to-day basis. Honestly, she didn’t know how he managed to do everything he did for the temple and still be as attentive a date as he was. But he didn’t answer her inquiry. Instead, his hand shifted to her hip to draw her a closer. She allowed this, leaning against his side, and decided not to push that particular issue. “Still, going to the Upper City, that’s a big deal. I’m sure it’ll work out all right in the end.”

                “I hope you’re right.”

                “Hey.” Mavari placed a hand on his chest and stopped walking. He halted, turning toward her with a quizzical look. She rose onto her toes to give him a peck on the lips. “It’s going to be okay. That Withers guy wouldn’t have asked you to write her a letter if you weren’t on good terms, right?”

                He paused, then exhaled slowly. “You’re right,” he amended.

                She smiled and leaned up to kiss him again. This time, he returned it—soft and brief, given that they were still in public—before they continued their way.

                Zevlor hadn’t been in Upper City since he was aiding the heroes against the Elder Brain. Seeing it now, when it wasn’t partially destroyed, was entirely different. And, oh, he was aware of the looks he got from people as he walked down its streets. But the Tiefling walked tall, ignored the stares, and moved with purpose toward the younger Ravengards’ manor.

                The doublet that he wore felt foreign on him, but, especially given how Lelith met him two days prior, he felt the need to look a little more formal. The armor would have been his go to, but Mavari had insisted it would give a completely different tone to the meeting. Now he wondered whether he should have listened to her advice.

                As he approached, the first thing he noticed were the gardens behind the manor. He had to pause briefly, impressed, before he continued to the front door. Carefully, he knocked. A Halfling woman with mousey brown hair smiled up at him. “You must be Commander Zevlor,” she greeted. “Her Grace is expecting you. Would you follow me, please?”

                “Thank you,” he nodded. The woman led him outside to the gardens and to a pergola with ivy wrapped around its legs and support beams. There, seated on a bench, was Lelith, with a tiny Tiefling baby on her lap. Had he not known the baby was not biologically hers, he may have been fooled—her skin was almost identical to Lelith’s. As he and the Halfling servant approached, the baby was babbling and trying to catch her mother’s tail as Lelith teased her with it. She’d reach for the spade only for it to be pulled back, shriek with delight, and reach for it again.

                “Your Grace,” the Halfling announced, bowing, “the Commander.”

                “Zevlor.” Lelith smiled at him. Immediately, Zevlor realized that Mavari had made the right call—Lelith’s own attire was a sleeveless doublet and trousers. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

                “And you,” he returned, smiling warmly. He bowed respectfully.

                She waved a hand. “No need for such formalities amongst friends. Please.” She gestured toward the bench. “Sit.” As soon as he took a seat, she turned the baby toward him. “Lily,” she began, her voice lighter, “this is Mommy and Daddy’s friend, Zevlor.”

                Lily Aurora turned big bright eyes toward him. One eye was gray, and the other was brown. Her father’s eyes, he noted with amusement. “Well met, Lily,” he spoke.

                “Gah,” she responded solemnly. Little arms reached out toward him, and Zevlor felt his heart swell.

                “Would you like to hold her?” Lelith asked, laughing. “Although I don’t think she’s giving you much of a choice.”

                “I would be honored.” Lelith carefully handed the child to him, and Zevlor plopped Lily on his lap, facing him. Her big eyes looked up at him with such adoration it almost embarrassed him. She gurgled and extended chubby little hands toward his face. He paused before leaning toward her. Immediately, she started to touch his face. Wide eyes took in every detail as her hands explored his nose, his brow and cheek ridges…and then came the horns. Tiny little hands reached up…and yanked down hard. He let out a surprised grunt despite himself.

                “Lily, no,” Lelith scolded, expertly snatching her daughter’s hands. “Ouch.” Zevlor opened his mouth to reassure her, but Lelith shook her head to cut him off. “We’re don’t want her in the habit of pulling horns.” Lily’s lower lip trembled. Lelith sighed and flicked her tail toward the baby. Immediately, her face lit up as she popped her mother’s spade in her mouth, gnawing at it happily.

                “She’s darling,” Zevlor complimented. The baby was still looking up at him adoringly. He couldn’t help but to smooth a hand over her curls. “I’d hoped to start a family of my own, once,” he commented before he could catch himself.

                “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Never managed to settle down?”

                He took a moment. “Once,” he confirmed. “I was twenty-six when I married my husband. We had talked about adopting when our lives settled down, but we never got around to it. By the time he passed, it never occurred to me that I could still adopt. Then again…” He sighed. “I was far more focused on my duty.”

                “I am sorry about your husband,” Lelith supplied gently.

                He shook his head. “It was twenty years ago, Lelith. I’ve made my peace.”

                She considered. “There is still time for you, you know. To start a family, that is.”

                If he were honest with both her and himself, he’d admit that the thought had occurred to him more than once recently. And yet… Zevlor let out a chuckle. “Let’s not talk about such things. You had called me here for a reason, yes?”

                “I did.” For a moment, she glanced away, and she looked to be worlds away. Inhaling slowly, she looked back toward him. “You said you weren’t focused on this, but I’ve been thinking about you and the other Hellrider veterans.”

                “…oh?” He wasn’t sure where this was going.

                “Being able to fight alongside them again gave you a sense of purpose,” she began. “I could tell immediately in Upper City that day. Your letter, too…” She offered him a small grin. After a beat, she continued: “I have a proposition for you, if you’d be willing to accept it.”

                “A…proposition.”

                “I’d like to hire you and the other Hellriders,” she began, “and potentially some of the other Elturian refugees to form a…coalition, of sorts.” Lelith paused. “I trust my father-in-law, and I trust Florrick. I trust that they’re doing good work with the Fists. I do not, however, trust the Fists. Not after everything with Gortash. I don’t believe some of them will change so easily just because Ulder gave them another chance.” She looked at him fully now. “I do, however, trust you.”

                A coalition? Or another mercenary group? He considered this. “What is your expectation?”

                “I’d be more comfortable having my own force to command over the Marshal’s,” she said bluntly. “With attitudes as they are toward Tieflings, and with Mizora’s punishment to Wyll, I want to know the people protecting us have our backs.” She gestured toward him. “I know you have…complicated feelings about your military involvement. But I would be remiss if I did not bring up the opportunity.”

                He paused. Another military force? His whole life had been about being a Hellrider, up until his exile. And then, after everything, he returned to it in a much smaller capacity. He had to admit that it was tempting, and it would solve the issue of what he and the others would do once the refugees were taken care of…and, yet, the idea of a quiet life was tempting. Would he be content with that, though?

                His complicated feelings must have read on his face. She offered him a warm smile. “You don’t have to answer right away,” she began. “But think about it, will you?”

                “I will,” he confirmed. He’d prefer to speak to Guerus, at the very least, before he made any firm decisions.

                “Good.” She paused before turning to look behind them. “Maggie? Could you take Lily to play, please?”

                “Of course, Your Grace.” The Halfling moved to collect the Tiefling baby. Lily started bawling immediately, reaching tiny hands toward Zevlor. For a moment, he was startled before reminding himself that the baby was safe, just upset to be disturbed.

                “Would you walk with me, Zevlor?” Lelith requested, standing. He nodded and followed suit. She let him quietly through the flower gardens, and he admired the beauty around him in the silence. It was only when they were a good distance from the manor that she spoke. She glanced backwards first, then toward him. “I did have another reason for calling you here today.”

                A chill ran up his spine. “What is it?” he asked. Something in her tone alerted him.

                Lelith wet her lips. “Forgive me for this,” she began. “When…you were exiled. Your oath…remained intact, right?”

                He gazed at her for a long time. “I lost my faith,” he began slowly, “but my oath never broke. It is…a complicated matter, when one’s faith is so closely tied to one’s oath, but I remained true even as my trust in the gods fell.”

                “I…” Lelith swallowed. “I see.”

                Both of them were silent for a long time. Realization slowly dawned on him. “Lelith,” he began, trying to be as gentle as possible, “did your oath break?” Not did you break your oath. Never that.

                The purple Tiefling looked forward, swallowing hard. “Zevlor,” she began. Her voice sounded small—he had never heard her sound so timid. “I’ve…broken my oath before.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “The first time I broke it, I swore I’d never let it happen again. And that damn golden knight”—the Oathbreaker Paladin, he had heard rumors of his existence—“scared me into thinking I’d never…” She sighed. “I paid his price to regain my oath.”

                “I am sorry,” Zevlor started, but she shook her head. She, it seemed, wasn’t done.

                “The second time, his price was steeper. The third…well. I told myself I couldn’t afford to break it again.”

                “Lelith,” he tried gently. Breaking one’s oath once was daunting enough, but the way she spoke… A pit of dread formed in his stomach. When she looked at him, her blue eyes pooled with tears, and he knew. He knew. “Oh, Lelith.”

                Something in his tone broke her. The strong, capable paladin that he knew, always so cool and calm in the face of danger, burst into tears. Propriety be damned. He immediately reached for her, pulling her tight against him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She didn’t even try to resist, burying her face against his shoulder. Her hands balled around the fabric of his doublet as she sobbed, great heaves that shook her entire body.

                The only thing he could do was hold her and stroke her hair, allowing her to feel her emotions. His heart broke for her. He had heard tell of men who broke their oaths—that hollow feeling, like something integral to one’s existence was gone, that sense of losing oneself so completely. Breaking it once was enough to send a man to his knees. But four times…he had no idea how she was still standing.

                Well, of course he did. This was Lelith. He believed she could do anything, but she was still a mortal creature. She was, though he was loath to admit it, as infallible as the rest of them.

                “I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered. “Zevlor, I can’t…I can’t afford his price, and he just keeps…hanging around, waiting for me to give in. But I can’t become an Oathbreaker…I just can’t.”

                “How long have you been struggling with this?” he asked kindly.

                “…Gods.” He heard her breath hitch. “Four months?”

                Four months!? He squeezed her tighter. “Have you told Wyll?”

                “Only recently,” she admitted, voice small. “I was too embarrassed to…”

                To embarrassed to tell her husband? He wanted to scold her for it and then realized that, perhaps, he needed to take his own advice. “I understand.” He inhaled slowly. “Look at me, Lelith.” She hesitated before drawing back to stare at him fully. “You are not a lesser person because you broke your oath. You are a strong, capable woman, and the best damn warrior I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Do you understand?”

                “I’m…” Lelith shook her head.

                “You are.” His voice was firm. “While I can’t fully understand what you’re going through, I do understand the self-loathing you must be feeling. Please, Lelith, I cannot tell you what to decide, but know that you don’t have to suffer through this alone.”

                She swallowed hard through her tears. After a moment, she gave a slow nod of understanding. “Can I…can we visit with each other more often?”

                “Of course we can,” he told her gently. “I would be honored.”

                “Thank you…” She threw her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. He started a little, surprised, but then melted into the embrace with a chuckle. When she pulled away, he offered her his arm, and they continued their walk through the gardens.

                And Zevlor felt his opinion on the hero shift. He still held the utmost respect and admiration for her, but she was…different, now. Less untouchable. He looked forward to their new friendship, however it may unfold.

Chapter Text

                “Tabi,” Lyric sang, waving to the Mermaid’s bartender. “I’m going downstairs. Forward my messages, will you?”

                “You’re a menace,” the redheaded human reminded her in an equally sing song voice. She was, though, grinning while she said it. The genasi beamed at her before making her way downstairs.

                It took months of work to clear out the residual hag magic, but, after calling in some favors, they finally were able to start using the basement. It’d take a while longer to get it fully renovated to their use, but at least Cataclysm had a place to meet in private. Lyric sauntered down the stairs, past their storage area, through a door, and into the dilapidated space that used to be the hag’s lair. “I’m here,” she sang.

                “You’re late,” complained Jael. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and frowned at Lyric. “Some of us have better things to do than wait.”

                “That’s not a very nice way to greet someone who brought a bottle to share,” she giggled, shaking the huge wine bottle in Jael’s direction.

                The drow gave a long sigh before looking toward their leader. Renorash was sorting through papers at a low table, glancing up when he felt eyes on him. He lifted his brows at her, and she sighed, shifting from the wall to take her own seat. “Alright, people, gather up,” he called to the group.

                The members of Cataclysm meandered to the low table. Once everyone had seated themselves, Lyric started pouring and passing out wine to the group. Renorash glanced around and cleared his throat. “Well…I have good news and bad news.”

                “You know a meeting’s going to go so well when that’s how it begins,” snorted Arlo.

                “I have good news but mostly bad news.” Mavari imitated Renorash’s deep voice and added, smirking, “Okay, I lied, it’s all bad news.”

                “Is this going to be like last time he had bad news,” Mira piped up, “and we had to bribe the Candlekeep guards to get Torinn out of jail?”

                “One time,” the dragonborn protested, “and none of you will ever let me live it down.”

                “It was pretty funny, babe,” Arlo laughed.

                Renorash rolled his eyes but had a resigned smile on his face. “Okay, okay. That’s enough from the peanut gallery.” He placed his hands on the table. “Bad news first: Grand Duke Lelith is pulling us from our assignments.”

                “What?” Mira frowned. “Why?”

                “And how is Mavari going to see her boyfriend now?” Torinn cracked.

                The Tiefling shot him a cool look. “Oh, don’t you worry about her boyfriend,” Lyric chirped. “He has a key.”

                “Lyric,” Mavari growled. And her expression only turned darker as Lyric beamed devilishly at her, the rest of the party now chiming in.

                “A key?” Arlo frowned at her. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

                “Can you even trust this man?” Jael added.

                “It’s been almost three months,” Mavari protested, “and yes,” she glowered at Jael, “he’s trustworthy.”

                “If you gave him a key,” Mira mused, tapping her finger on her cheek, “is he moving in?”

                “I…what?” Mavari gaped at her. “No. I gave him a key to check on the house when we’re gone. And so he can use the kitchen.”

                “He’s in the house when you’re gone?”

                “Jael, don’t even start with me.”

                “Anyway,” Renorash continued. “The Grand Duke doesn’t need us to check in anymore. That’s not going to stop any of you from doing so for your own personal reasons, of course, but she’s getting systems in place to help on a more permanent basis. In the meantime…” He sat up straighter and flicked an envelope to the middle of the table. “We’ve got bigger opportunities.”

                They all looked at it, but Lyric was the who snatched it first. Sliding open the envelope, she removed a piece of paper with fancy script on it. “What’s this?” she mused. Her eyes slid over the writing then lit up. “We’re invited to a banquet?”

                “A what?” Torinn reached across the table, but Lyric held the card away from him.

                “The members of Cataclysm are cordially invited to attend a banquet at the Ravengard Estate,” Lyric read dramatically, “to formally celebrate the reinstatement of the Council of the Four and to announce the appointments of Counsellor Florrick, Marshall Ulder Ravengard, Wyll Ravengard, and Lelith Ravengard to the title of Grand Duke.” She continued to read off the date (seven days from now) and time (evening) until Renorash cut her off.

                “Grand Duke Lelith wants all of us to be there,” Renorash confirmed, beaming.

                “Why?” Torinn asked, frowning.

                “Yeah, I don’t see what the ducal banquet has to do with us,” Arlo chimed in.

                “Because,” Renorash responded, still beaming, “she wants to promote us as the premiere adventuring party for Baldur’s Gate.”

                “This group?” Jael questioned, sipping at her drink. “Has she met you?”

                “Don’t pretend you’re not a part of this,” Mavari laughed.

                “Only when it suits me to be considered such,” the drow grumbled.

                “I don’t know how I feel about this,” Mira admitted. “Won’t that put a target on our backs?”

                “You gotta take risks for greatness,” Lyric cheerfully pointed out. “You don’t become well known or well respected by playing it safe.”

                “Premiere adventuring party,” Arlo grumbled. “That’s going to make our work outside Cataclysm harder.” He glanced to Mavari. “You can’t be okay with this.”

                “Some of us work with disguises instead of shadows,” she demurred, “and connections always make things easier. I don’t see how it’ll hurt.”

                “Better paying jobs, I guess,” Torinn conceded grudgingly. “Better equipment as a result.”

                “I’m surprised you’re okay with this,” Mira noted, frowning at the dragonborn.

                “Okay with being a premiere adventuring party, maybe. Not attending a fancy ass banquet.”

                “I’m surprised you’re okay with this,” the druid continued, looking toward their party cleric.

                “I’m not,” Jael responded flatly. “These events are dull and useless. But I’d be going regardless.”

                “Ah, to be the wife of a Parliament member,” Mavari mused. “Will that work for or against us?”

                “I’d hope my job would work for us.”

                “Anyway,” Renorash cut in, “we’ll be attending to network.”

                A chorus of groans was his response. Lyric glanced around the table. Mira looked like she was ready to throw up (poor girl, she really didn’t do big crowds). Arlo and Torinn looked annoyed. Jael’s expression, as always, was unreadable. Mavari was the only one who seemed relaxed and open to it. As for Lyric herself? Well…she was excited.

                “I think this is a great idea,” she enthused, giving her most brilliant smile. “And think of the business it’ll bring the Mermaid!”

                Renorash faltered. “Lyric, this is about more than the—”

                “I guess this would be the kick in the pants we need to finish off this place,” Arlo mumbled, glancing around the space. “Would we bring clients down here?”

                “Is it supposed to be for clients or for us?” Mira frowned.

                “We have homes here. Well, except for you, I guess…”

                “She has a home,” Mavari supplied. “Mine.”

                “Yeah, for now.”

                “Guys,” Renorash cut in, exasperated.

                “I guess I was thinking the purpose of this place was for us and our adventuring comrades,” Mira continued slowly. “As a kind of safe space to be away from things?”

                “It can be both,” Lyric supplied. “It’s big enough. And we can make proper rooms and things, so there’s a place only we can go.”

                “Wasn’t that the plan with the teleportation circles once we start with those?” Mavari wondered. “So not anyone can just wander into them?”

                “Guys,” Renorash tried again. He sighed; Lyric knew they had successfully derailed him yet again. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later. Just…get something nice to wear. Use the party funds. Ask Mavari for help if you don’t understand clothes.”

                “I can help, too!” Lyric insisted.

                “Mavari can help us look good and not make us go broke,” Renorash retorted flatly.

                “Jerk,” Lyric grumbled.

                “You’re all free to go.” Renorash sighed again. “I’m gonna go have a drink upstairs.”

                They pushed back from the table and, as a group, headed up the stairs. Lyric was aware of the chatter behind her, but her mind instead was on the banquet—what she was going to wear, how she was going to dazzle the crowd, and so on. In situations where they had to talk to people, it always fell on their paladin, their warlock, or their trusty bard. She already knew Renorash was going to be too wound up, and Mavari was Mavari, so she’d have to ramp up the charm to a thousand percent.

                “Tabi,” she sang, pushing open the doors. “Any messages?”

                Tabi glanced her way before jerking her thumb to an older woman at the bar. A silver haired half-elf turned, raising a brow. “My, but aren’t you the motley crew.”

                “Hi,” she greeted, giving a curtsey. “I’m Lyric—Breakker—and welcome to the Blushing Mermaid! How can we assist you?”

                The woman glanced her over before looking behind her; Lyric assumed it was at the rest of the group. “I’m here to speak with your cleric,” the woman began. “Ah, you. Lelith told me I’d find you here.”

                Lyric glanced back toward Jael, who, as usual, was standing almost painfully straight. She cocked her head to the side. “About?” Not that she blamed her for being cautious; so many people came to Jael with all sorts of crazy requests.

                “I have a vested interest in your work,” the half-elf continued. “Might we speak in private?”

                “…Fine.” Jael gestured behind her. “We’ll meet downstairs.”

                “See?” Arlo looked toward the group. “Clients.”

                Jael ignored him as the woman brushed past the group to join her downstairs.

                “Well,” Lyric chirped. “Alfira’s gonna be sending over one of the bards from her school, so I suppose I better get—”

                “Your man is here,” Arlo cut in. Lyric looked his way, then followed Mavari’s gaze to where the Tiefling commander was standing with another, shorter Tiefling. Both were in full armor, though the woman’s armor looked different than his. She also was a good foot shorter. Was that what people saw when they saw her with the taller members of Cataclysm? Yeesh. She needed to get bigger heels. “Why’s he got another woman with him?”

                Mavari swatted his arm. “Knock it off.” Without explanation, she headed toward the Tiefling duo.

                Lyric watched as Zevlor leaned down to kiss Mavari, then as Mavari greeted the mystery woman. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Arlo,” she insisted. “I think he’s a good one.”

                Arlo glanced at her, his lips thin. “Wish she’d just introduce him to us already.”

                “Give her time,” Renorash supplied. The group watched as Mavari led the Tieflings upstairs. “Healthy relationships are new to her.”

                “Babe,” Torinn cut in, placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”

                Arlo looked ready to argue, but realization dawned on his face. “Shit. You’re right.” He looked toward the other three. “We’re talking about this later.”

                “Or never,” Renorash corrected to the ranger’s retreating figure.

                “Anyway…” Lyric beamed at Mira and Renorash. “I gotta get ready for the bard. I’ll catch up later, okay?”

                “No spying on Mavari’s boyfriend,” Renorash ordered with a pointed look.

                “Ugh, fine.”

                She totally was going to spy.

                There was a polite knock on the door. Zevlor glanced up to see Arkis’s large form. They cleared their throat. “Sir, there’s a young lady here to see you.”

                “You’re getting in the habit of young ladies visiting you,” Guerus teased.

                “Stop,” Zevlor commanded. He stood from the desk where he and Guerus were pouring over paperwork. “Did she give a name?”

                “Cerys, sir.”

                He froze. Of course, he was aware Cerys had survived. Mavari had told him as much over four months ago when she started working with the Tieflings. He had known she was dedicated to staying in Rivington until all the refugees in her care found places to stay, but he felt bad knowing he hadn’t kept up with her whereabouts afterward. He could have asked his—girlfriend sounded too juvenile, partner sounded too formal for where they were—the woman he was dating what happened to her, but Mavari wasn’t likely to share anything she wasn’t supposed to, even if she did know. But Zevlor cleared his throat. “Guerus, keep working on this. I don’t…know how long this will take.”

                For his teasing, Guerus recognized the seriousness of the moment. He leaned back. “She’s one of yours, then?” Zevlor didn’t respond. The Lieutenant tipped his head. “Take the meeting off site. Maybe the Mermaid. Unless your lady love will get the wrong idea?”

                “Bite your tongue,” the Commander grumbled, but he nodded regardless. “Keep working.” To Arkis, he asked. “Where is she?”

                “Main room, sir.”

                “As you were,” Zevlor dismissed, moving out of the room. He paused in the hallway long enough to collect himself. He rolled back his shoulders and stood up straighter. Drawing in a breath, he walked into the main area of the temple, blessedly sparse of occupants at this hour.

                And there she was. Standing with her arms over her abdomen, a familiar nervous tick, she was wearing the armor he had seen her in last. At this point, he wondered if that were a conscious choice or a force of habit. She glanced his way as he entered and straightened, dropping her arms to her sides.

                For a moment, neither of them could speak. Zevlor wasn’t sure whether it was proper for him to initiate conversation, all things considered. Finally, after the silence dragged on long enough, he spoke: “Cerys, I—”

                “I don’t know whether I want to hug you or punch you more,” the scout blurted out simultaneously.

                …well, that was fair. He tipped his head toward her in deference. “I daresay I deserve one of those things more than the other, but I assume that wasn’t your motivation for coming here today.”

                “No, sir,” Cerys admitted. She briefly let her shoulders slump before immediately standing at attention again. “We have…a lot to discuss.”

                “Indeed.” He drew in a breath. “Perhaps not here.” He was aware the few eyes in the room were on them as it was. “Would you be opposed to the Blushing Mermaid?”

                “The Blushing Mermaid?” she repeated. “That’s the place where…wait.” Cerys squinted at him. “Cataclysm owns it.” It wasn’t a question.

                “Indeed.”

                The gears were turning in her head. “Is that more private than here?”

                “I am sure we can use our mutual friend’s name to get a private spot if need be.” Zevlor wasn’t the type to use connections like that. In fact, he hated doing it. But, for this, he could convince himself to make an exception. He gestured for her to join him. Side by side, they left the temple.

                The walk to the Mermaid was silent. Zevlor, out of habit when embodying his commander role, walked with his hands clasped behind his back. Cerys kept pace beside and slightly behind his left shoulder out of her own habit. The walk to the Blushing Mermaid was not typically a long one, but it seemed to last forever in the silence.

                Reaching the tavern, he gestured her inside first before following. At this hour of the day, it was relatively quiet. He noticed a small group near the bar and took a moment to register it as Mavari and—he recognized Lyric by name and four of the others by appearance, having spotted them across the room a handful of times. The tall drow woman was new to him, though, and—was she talking to one of the heroes? He didn’t get too close of a look before both the drow and the hero were disappearing behind a set of double doors.

                The human man—Arlo, was it?—narrowed his eyes and nudged Mavari. She glanced over. He saw her eyes light up at him, then flicking toward Cerys, registering surprise. The human was saying something, and she swatted his arm before turning and heading toward him. “Hey,” she greeted, seemingly unsure how she should act with Cerys in tow.

                It occurred to Zevlor why her teammates must have seemed so keenly interested in them. Though very affectionate in private, he did not care for public shows of affection, but this situation may have called for it. Lightly, he brushed his fingers on her cheek before leaning down to give her a quick peck of greeting. Mavari lifted her eyebrows in surprise but quickly caught on, pecking back. She gave him a soft smile before turning her attention to the scout. “Cerys, it’s been a while. How’s the new job?”

                “Same as the last one,” Cerys sighed. “I can’t stand those Upper City pricks.” As though remembering herself, she coughed and immediately corrected herself: “It’s challenging, but I’m rising to the occasion.”

                What did that mean? “Cerys, are you working in Upper City?”

                “Guard duty for patriar families, sir.” She thinned her lips. “It was meant to pay well.”

                Oh, that was heavy with the unspoken, wasn’t it? He scrutinized her carefully. Mavari cleared her throat. “You two want a place you can talk, I’m guessing?”

                “If it’s not too much trouble,” Zevlor began.

                “Not at all.” She gestured for them to follow her up the stairs. There, tucked near the stage was a small nook, large enough for a table and chairs, where they could speak in private. “Usually someone from the bard school comes to start playing around now, so they can help mask your conversation.”

                “Thank you.” Zevlor reached for her hand long enough to give it a light squeeze before taking a seat. Cerys followed, sliding across from him.

                “What do you drink?” Mavari asked, glancing at Cerys.

                “Oh, ah…” She cleared her throat. “I’m not picky, honestly.”

                “I’ll bring up a bottle of Lathander Red, then.” She didn’t need to ask Zevlor’s preference, and he didn’t correct her otherwise.

                “Thank you,” Zevlor told her with a smile.

                As Mavari turned to head back downstairs, Cerys allowed herself a low whistle. “Well. I didn’t see that coming, although perhaps I should have.”

                It took him a moment to register her words. He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

                “Well…” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I mean, I can’t blame you. Mavari’s a good-looking woman.” She didn’t clarify whether they were together. Perhaps she didn’t have to. “I just assumed you had…you know…given up everything outside of duty.”

                Is that what his people thought of him? So dedicated to his duty that he’d sacrifice all else? But, then, of course he did. He had been so singularly focused on escorting them to the Gate that he’d talked of little else. Thought of little else. Though, he reasoned with himself, what else was he supposed to do? “I had a responsibility to our people,” he began, and then he quickly backed off that train of thought. He had, and he failed them, whether he intended to or not.

                Cerys’s eyes flashed, and he braced himself. Before she could speak, though, a small tray of bread was placed on the table, followed by two wine glasses. Mavari carefully uncorked the bottle, generously pouring into both glasses. She set the bottle down. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me,” she told them. She must have sensed the tension, because she was quick to deliver a light kiss to his cheek before she left.

                A quiet sign of support, knowing this was going to be a tough conversation.

                Cerys was swirling her wine in her glass, waiting until the woman was out of ear shot, before she spoke: “You know, I didn’t believe it when the hero told me you survived. Believed it less when I heard you stood with her at the end.” Zevlor winced. He deserved that. Cerys took his silence as indication to continue, leaning forward on her elbows. “We all looked up to you,” she continued, voice taking on an edge, “and seeing you demand our surrender while watching our kin die by the cultists hands was bloody awful.” He was aware. Others had said the same. And, though he was a victim of the Absolute in that moment, he knew nothing he said or did could take away from the fact that his actions caused this. “But,” Cerys sighed, letting her shoulders sag, “I know it wasn’t…well, you.” Gold eyes looked at him, and…were her eyes misting? If they were, she steeled herself quickly. “You were taken, Asharak was killed, and it all fell on me. I got the group to Rivington, but…” She thinned her lips.

                Zevlor took a chance. “You never expected to take command,” he began.

                “I’m not you,” she sighed. “When we got to Rivington, and half of us were left outside city walls, I found myself wishing you were with us. You would have known what to do. You wouldn’t have had…” She paused. “You would have been able to keep us together.”

                He felt a pang of guilt, at having made it past the gate thanks to the Flaming Fists he had been rescued with, that he couldn’t have done more for the others. But, he reasoned, would they have welcomed him back? “I don’t think the others would have accepted my leadership after…everything.” Mavari’s warning from months ago about Zorru being angry sang out in his mind. Was the young man still angry?

                “No,” Cerys admitted, and, oh, that confirmation hurt. She looked down before lifting her gaze again. “But hearts can change, eventually.”

                Curious. He regarded her cautiously. “Yours?”

                She lowered her eyes, carefully training them on the table. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him again. “A part of me is still furious with you,” she began. “Asharak, Ikaron, Memnos…all of them just…dead.” She wet her lips, glancing toward the stage, where someone had started to play. “Some dead, others missing, and yet…” Her expression softened. “We’d have all been dead if you hadn’t led us in the first place.”

                “Had I not been enthralled,” Zevlor began, taking a swallow of his drink, “more would have survived.” He didn’t like this train of thought. Over the past six months, he had grown to accept what had happened, although it still plagued him from time to time. Now, old feelings were starting to surface in earnest.

                “You didn’t have control over yourself,” Cerys said slowly. “It doesn’t make the losses hurt any less, but it…” She hesitated. “But it makes me feel like we didn’t misjudge you, initially.”

                He jerked back. That, he hadn’t been expecting. Dammon had reassured him before. Rolan had…somewhat approached the topic. But those were two Tieflings who had made it to Lower City—the ones stuck in Rivington were another matter entirely. And, truthfully, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to people speaking kindly of him for what happened. “Cerys, you…”

                She held up her hands. “Let me get it out.” Cerys stared at him hard. “None of us have your experience. Even those of us who had formal training don’t have the years or the experience you do. That became even more blatantly obvious to me when everyone started looking to me to lead.” She drew in a breath. “Again: All of us would have been dead without you.” Cerys’s expression softened a little. “The problem with leadership is that you become an easy person to blame if things are going wrong.”

                He paused. “Cerys,” he began gently. He leaned forward slightly. “Did the others give you a hard time for…?”

                She started, looking surprised and then guilty. “Well, I…” She hugged her arms. “You know, it took a few months to get everyone out of Rivington, and…”

                “Landing in Rivington was not your fault,” Zevlor reminded her. “They wouldn’t let you through the gate.”

                “The longer we were there,” Cerys continued, “there was some bitterness as to whom was allowed through. Which is understandable, but then…” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “With the kids becoming harder to manage, and our continued stay in the camp, the complaints turned to me not doing enough. It stopped somewhat after Mavari stepped in—or, at least, they stopped being so vocal about it.”

                He recalled. Mavari mentioned she had upset Bex and Danis in particular. It made it harder being able to put names to problems, trying to reconcile the sweet personas with the angry ones. They, too, likely cursed his name. “I’m sorry you were forced into that position, Cerys. Asharak and I never thought…”

                “It’s fine,” she sighed. “It was a learning experience.”

                They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments, sipping wine and eating bread. Cerys was the one to break it, blurting out: “I heard rumor the hero wants to form a group of her own. Like the Fists, but honorable.”

                Zevlor started. “Where did you hear that?” The conversation had just happened only days ago. He hadn’t even had time to properly consider the prospect.

                “Oh, the rich’s employees gossip just as much as their employers.” She rolled her eyes. “Caught wind of it on duty yesterday.”

                This concerned him, considering their discussion happened in what was meant to be a private spot. “Why did you come to me about this?” he asked, fearing the worst.

                “Someone said they saw an older Tiefling head to the Ravengards’ estate,” she pointed out. “I put two and two together. If the hero’s gonna ask anyone to help with it, it makes sense it would be you.” Cerys leaned forward. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

                He knit his brow. “Cerys, I haven’t made up my mind about whether or not I’m taking part.”

                “Why not?” She leaned forward more. “You shine on the battlefield.”

                “I’d wanted to be done with soldiering,” he began, but was that even strictly true? He was so proud to stand beside the other Hellriders again at the brain. Was it different if he had a cause to stand for?

                And—he felt ridiculous. It hadn’t even yet been three months that he started dating Mavari. He wasn’t some lovelorn teenager anymore. It was far too soon to be thinking about settling down with her, and yet the idea had become more and more appealing each time he saw her. The look Guerus had given him when he discovered Zevlor had a key to her place had said it all. His lieutenant teased him about playing husband with the repairs and the cooking, and, now that he was letting himself put those pieces together, he felt mortified. Entertaining fantasies like this at his age? Preposterous.

                But, while the temple had been fulfilling, it wasn’t going to bring in the gold, and there were already fewer refugees seeking aid. Soon, they’d need to find employment. What would he have the other Hellriders do? Join the City Watch or the Flaming Fist? Those were certainly options, but…having a Tiefling force was certainly appealing. Not having to answer to someone else’s authority was very appealing. Being respected again was…an intoxicating prospect.

                Would he be repeating history, though…?

                He glanced down at the table, deep in thought. Then, he looked up. “If I arrange a meeting with Lelith,” he began slowly, “will you come with me?”

                She sat up straight. “You’re gonna do it?” Her voice was barely containing her excitement.

                “I am considering it,” he corrected. “I will have the conversation with her.”

                “Zevlor, I could kiss you right now—” Cerys quickly glanced off to the side. “Uh, you know.”

                He snorted. “I think Mavari would understand,” he said dryly, “but I would rather you not.”

                She looked thrilled. Zevlor wished he felt as thrilled as she looked, quickly draining the remainder of his glass to pour another. “Would you be comfortable talking to me about what you’ve been doing since we last saw each other?”

                “Been a while since I’ve been down here,” Jaheira commented, glancing around the space. “Feels much lighter without the hag stench.”

                “It was pervasive,” Jael supplied with a sigh, “but it’s finally useable.” She gestured to the table. “Eventually, we might even get some decent furniture.”

                The druid smirked. “You’re adventurers. What are basic necessities like furniture and clothes compared to saving up for a magical sword?”

                “I hate how accurate you are.”

                “Of course I am. I’ve been around my fair share of adventurers in my time.” Jaheira slid onto a cushion at the table, and Jael found herself wondering if she was drawn to Mira’s spot purposely, but she didn’t question it. Jaheira eyeballed the bottles that Jael set on the table before tapping on the Moonshae. Jael lifted her brow but obliged, handing her a lowball glass to pour her own. “I admit, I’m quite curious about your crew.”

                “We came together after traveling with other parties,” the drow replied simply, “but surely you didn’t ask to speak to me about my teammates?”

                “Astute.” Once finished with it, the half-elf passed over the bottle. Jael began to pour her own drink. “And correct. I won’t waste your time.” She held her lowball glass toward Jael. They clinked them together in cheers before each taking a swallow. “You’re working on Bhaal’s grounds.”

                Jael knit her brow, setting the glass down. “I am.” No sense in hiding it. If people knew Kelemvor’s people were on the job, then it wouldn’t take long to realize that one of his longest serving Doomguides was, too. It was only because she purposely kept to herself that more hadn’t approached her about this. But, then, not everyone who wondered was a person who had multiple experiences with the temple in question.

                The other woman leaned forward. “I have a vested interest in knowing exactly what you are doing down there.”

                The Doomguide crossed her arms and tipped her head. “Consecrating the space. The Grand Duke wants the Bhaalists gone. As does Kelemvor.”

                “I see. And your eventual goal?”

                “Ideally,” Jael responded, keeping her voice level, “as an extension of the temple, to perform more private ceremonies and to train future Doomguides. Surely you are aware of the temple the Grand Duke has funded?”

                “I am,” Jaheira confirmed. “And how do you plan to keep the Bhaalists out?”

                “The entrance from the sewers has been sealed. Permanently. The only way to get into the space is through our temple.” She cocked her head. “You fear they’ll come back.”

                “The followers of the Dead Three always find a way to come back,” Jaheira retorted darkly, drinking again. “Of course I do.”

                “Not on my watch.” She said it with such ferocity that Jaheira raised a brow at her.

                “I applaud your conviction,” Jaheira began, raising a glass, “though you will excuse me for my cynicism on the matter.” She swirled the whiskey. “I wonder. Would you take me there?”

                “To the temple?”

                “Mmm.” Jaheira inclined her head. “You’ll forgive me if I have a vested interest in making sure what you’re doing is working.”

                “Once again I find myself in a position of being doubted,” Jael remarked dryly, “but for the hero’s friend, I suppose I can make an exception.”

                “I forget myself. My apologies.” Jaheira nodded. “I will defer to your judgment, of course, but, because of my aforementioned history, I’d rather see for my own eyes that the threat is gone.”

                Jael looked at her for a long moment before inhaling. “Very well. Come to our temple first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll take you down.”

                “I appreciate that.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Jaheira finally said, “I’m not one for small talk.”

                “Neither am I.”

                In companiable silence, they finished their drinks.

                “And then there were three.”

                “And then there were three,” echoed Mira, clinking her glass against Mavari and Renorash’s. With the others gone or otherwise occupied, their group was cozy. As much as she liked her teammates, she usually preferred a smaller group when it came to socializing. She sipped at the sweet wine—chosen for her palate, not for either of theirs, kindly enough of them—and watched as her teammates picked at the meat and cheese tray in front of them.

                “Don’t take everyone’s responses so personally, Renorash.” The Tiefling rolled a thinly sliced cut of dried meet and popped it in her mouth. “You know it’s hard getting everyone to agree to something. They’ll show up.”

                “And make my life hell reminding me how much they hate it,” the half-orc sighed. “This is half the reason we agreed I would be the one who would report to Lelith in the first place.”

                Mira didn’t want to point out that they were talking in front of one of the teammates who really didn’t want to attend the banquet, nor did she want to have to field questions as to why. Instead, she decided to change topics away from the awkward one. “When are your wives arriving?” she asked instead, smiling at Renorash.

                Whatever frustration he had with the meeting melted away the moment mention of his wives came up. His face lit up. “Soon,” he enthused. “I was hoping they’d arrive before the banquet, but it’ll be cutting it close if they do.”

                “Glad you finally wore them down,” Mavari grinned. “Can’t imagine what just one long distance marriage would be like, let alone two.”

                “Kya has her reservations about the Gate, given what the attitudes were toward Tieflings under Gortash, let alone what happened to me.” He contemplated a piece of cheese. “Gemma really didn’t want to leave the home she built with her dad and brothers. Not that I blame her…”

                “Well, it’s not like you can’t go back some day,” Mira pointed out. Or, she added silently, that his wives could go back one Renorash had passed, or that Gemwin could return after both her spouses were gone. But contemplating the differences in everyone’s mortality was too heavy for the moment and definitely too heavy for her most times. “Will you be keeping the house?”

                “Two of her brothers are going to take care of it,” Renorash supplied. He winced. “Hope they don’t trash the place.”

                “Maybe the threat of Gemwin coming back to kick their asses will keep them behaving.” Mavari quirked a brow at him as she drank from her wine. “It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to see them. It’s gonna be fun.”

                “For you,” Renorash groaned, but he was beaming as he said it.

                As the two of them went back and forth, Mira let her attention wander. Everyone was finding their place in Baldur’s Gate. From one home that they pooled together their own money to buy, almost all of them had branched out in some way. Jael, of course, had her own place with her husband since they first got to the Gate. Renorash was the first of them to leave the shared home, occupying a house he had since been fixing up in his spare time for his wives and any future children.

                Lyric was next. Although they all had ownership in the Blushing Mermaid, Lyric had really taken it as her own, taking advantage of her father and brother’s knowledge as well as her own experience to transform it. She decided to take some space above the Mermaid to call her own, making a quaint little apartment out of it.

                Arlo and Torinn left after her, taking a little longer to find—well, they actually never really said where they were living. She assumed it was a small apartment, but Arlo especially was being tight lipped about it.

                And then there were two. Mavari had agreed to keep the house, even though it was a lot for just her—she made it known that Mira was allowed to stay as long as she wanted. But did Mira want to settle down in the Gate? Everyone had their own thing—Lyric and the Mermaid, Renorash becoming more and more trusted by the Grand Duke, Mavari and the Elturian Tieflings, Jael and the Temple, and the boys with…whatever they did. What was her connection?

                The team. Her connection was the team. But the Gate had the same issues as Waterdeep carried for her, except somehow amplified. Too busy, too crowded, not enough green space. Civilization was nice, but Mira needed to be somewhere green, where she could see the stars clearly and be connected to nature.

                Where did she fit into the grand scheme of things? Did she at all?

                Not for the first time, she found herself longing for the forest where she grew up.

Chapter Text

                “I don’t want to do this,” Mira insisted for the third time that night. This time, she sounded like she was on the verge of a panic attack.

                “You look beautiful, Mir,” Lyric enthused, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on the half-elf’s dress. Somehow, between the two of them, she and Mavari had convinced Mira to wear a simple, emerald dress. The knee-length dress had a sweetheart neckline. Over top that was a translucent layer, tea length, with flowing sleeves that ended just past her elbows.

                “Wish we could have convinced you to wear heels, though,” Mavari sighed, glancing at the simple flats. Unphased by Mira’s noise of protest, she continued: “Hair looks like it’ll hold just fine.” Mira’s long hair was braided around the crown, the rest pulled into a low, elaborate bun at the base of her neck. Black tendrils framed her face.

                “You’ll do great,” Lyric continued. “And, you can always stick with us if you get nervous…”

                “The point of the night is for each of us to individually network,” Renorash reminded them. He was checking his gray three-piece suit in the mirror, taking a moment to fix the red tie around his neck. For tonight, his dreadlocks were tied back at the base of his neck. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. In retaliation, Lyric stuck her tongue out at him in the mirror. He leveled a glare at her. “I saw that.”

                “I hope you did,” she grumbled. The genasi wore her hair loose with the sides gathered into a gentle twist. The pale pink—why did she have to choose pink—dress she wore was tea length with a cowl neckline and a full skirt. Unlike Mira, she had no issues donning a pair of pretty heels that helped make up some of the height difference between her and her teammates.

                “Mira’s got the right idea of this,” Torinn chimed in. He was rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He elected for a vest and slack combination. “I can’t pull this shit off like you can,” he grumbled to his husband, “and I feel like I’m gonna bust out of this thing.”

                “You look handsome, babe,” Arlo insisted, as though they this discussion countless times already tonight (at least as many as Mira protested their attendance). He, more than the other two men, looked completely at ease. In a single-breasted suit, he elected to forego his tie, instead leaving the top button of his collar undone. Arlo’s hair was slicked into a low ponytail. After a pause, he reached over to adjust the dragonborn’s tie for him. “Besides, they’re giving us alcohol.”

                “Please don’t get drunk,” Renorash pleaded.

                “Yeah, good luck enforcing that.” Mavari appeared next to Renorash in the mirror, adjusting herself in the deep purple, floor length dress. A fitted waist flared into a flowing, full skirt with a slit on the side. The plunging neckline was…a choice, but probably not a bad one, all things considered. Her hair was curled and pulled back on the sides into an elegant twist not unlike Lyric’s. Like the genasi, she also elected to wear a pair of heels.

                “Are we entering or not?” Jael questioned, stepping into the space. At once, every single one of her teammates stared at her. She scowled at them. “Stop gawking.”

                “Jael,” Torinn began, impressed, “you clean up good.”

                She scoffed. “I clean up well,” she corrected. “And of course I do.” A floor length, off the shoulder black dress with a slit up one side hugged all the right places on her muscular form. Her white hair was braided on the right side of her head, with large, loose curls tumbling over her left shoulder. She wore only as high of a heel as she had to, already tall enough on her own. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

                Renorash nodded in agreement. “All right. Let’s show them what we’re made of, people.”

                “Famous last words,” Arlo whispered to the warlock. Mavari bit back a grin and followed.

                “This feels…strange, sir.”

                Zevlor inclined his head toward her. Following their conversation with the Grand Duke, Lelith had formally invited them to attend the ducal banquet as representatives of the newly forming coalition. Something about good will and getting their faces out there, which Cerys understood in theory. In practice? She felt a little out of place.

                A hand smoothed over the dress she bought for the occasion. Navy and fitted with a scoop neckline, there was a tasteful slit in the skirt. A part of her wondered if it were formal enough, but, seeing some of the outfits that the rich elite chose to wear, she almost felt underdressed. Figuring out what to do with her hair was another issue entirely, but, somehow, she had managed to slick it back into a simple, elegant updo.

                “There are a lot of people here,” she continued. She heard the uncertainty creep into her voice and immediately hated it.

                “I suppose it was wishful thinking to assume this would be a quiet affair,” Zevlor conceded. It was strange to see him in a suit. Weirder still to be escorted on her Commander’s arm into the banquet. But, once most eyes had moved onto the next guests being announced, they pulled away from each other to a more comfortable stance. Habitually, his eyes scanned the room, and she figured he was doing the same thing she was—looking for any suspicious figures, locating the exits, taking inventory of things that could be used if a fight broke out.

                When was the last time she entered a room, and it was just a room? After Elturel, she wasn’t sure it would ever be like that again.

                “I recognize a lot of patriars,” she noted to Zevlor quietly. “Some Parliament members, too.”

                He nodded. “I assume the Grand Dukes will be arriving later, as typical.” A servant balancing a tray of champagne flutes passed by, offering them a drink. Zevlor made the decision for them, grabbing a flute for each and handing one to Cerys. “These events are stuffy,” he admitted, “but take what enjoyment you can from them.”

                “Are you encouraging me to drink, sir?”

                “I’m encouraging you to have a responsibly good evening.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “We aren’t the one’s paying for drinks.”

                “Sir.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or gape.

                “These functions are—ah. Would you excuse me for a moment, Cerys?”

                “Sure,” she agreed. He nodded his gratitude before disappearing into the crowd to talk to…Gods knew who. Cerys took a swallow of champagne and turned, trying to figure out the best way to avoid her former employers. She made it about five feet before she bumped face first into someone’s chest. Damn, she hated being short. “Oh, I’m sorry…”

                “Watch where you’re—” The voice was familiar and grumpy, but it quickly turned to bewildered surprise. “You.”

                Oh, Hells. The world was moving in slow motion as she looked up. Of course she was looking into his godsdamned face, of all people. Cerys took a quick step back. Of all the bloody ironies that the color of his tailcoat matched the color of her dress… The gold on the coat matched the intricate gold embroidery on his black vest. She was surprised he was wearing something like that rather than dress robes, all things considered.

                “Rolan,” she greeted, keeping her voice steady. “Fancy seeing you here.” But of course she would, wouldn’t she? He was the damn master of Ramazith’s Tower now. It had been all over the Gazette. The one who didn’t belong here was her. Except, now that she knew he was here, she wasn’t willing to let herself be self-conscious about her attendance anymore. Cerys stood as tall as her petite frame would let her and looked him square in the eye.

                “And you, Cerys,” he responded, lifting his glass toward her in greeting. “I didn’t take you for someone who enjoyed this kind of thing.”

                “I’m not,” she remarked flatly. “I’m here on business.”

                “Business,” he repeated, furrowing his brow.

                She didn’t want to clarify. “Aren’t you?” She gestured to him. “Figured you’d be trying to spread the good word about your tower.”

                “Yes, well…” Was there a twinge of nervousness to his chuckle? Maybe she was just hoping there was. “The Grand Duke requested my presence, so, naturally, I needed to put in an appearance.”

                “Uh huh.”

                Under her intense gaze, he took a swallow of champagne. “Look, Cerys…”

                “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

                “Will you just let me say it anyway?” he snapped. She fixed a glare at him but gulped her own champagne. “I’m…sorry. I should have done more to help. With Rivington, I mean.”

                This was…awkward. “You had your apprenticeship to get to,” she responded, voice low. She had willfully forgotten the memory of him looking back toward her at Wyrm’s Crossing before turning away. Until tonight, that moment over half a year ago was the last time she saw him. And before that, they…

                No. She wasn’t going to entertain that.

                “Yes, but I could have reached out after.” Rolan glanced to the side, uncomfortable, before turning his attention back to her. “I never thought to reach out, and that was my fault. I could have done…something.”

                “Interesting,” Cerys responded slowly. “And would I have gotten this apology if you hadn’t unexpectedly seen me tonight?”

                His face twisted into annoyance. “I’m trying to be sincere.”

                “Well, stop it. I don’t need your pity.” She frowned at him. This was all wrong, and this was definitely not the place to make it right. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be working…”

                “Wait.” He reached for her hand. She jolted, clearly caught off guard, and let him take her hand in both of his. “Would you at least dance with me? Just once.”

                “…Why?”

                “Because I would like to dance with you. Why else?”

                “Fine,” she conceded. “One dance.”

                “Good…good.” He let her hand go. Cerys gave him a stink eye before turning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction, hoping her face wasn’t burning.

                Shadowheart inhaled sharply as she rubbed her hand. Shar had been leaving her alone in recent months, but the wound was throbbing more often these days—ever since the party that Withers threw for all of them. If she had to hazard a guess, the goddess was displeased with the suggestion that they consecrate her abandoned temple in Baldur’s Gate. Shadowheart didn’t particularly care about the goddess’s feelings on the matter; she’d endure pain every day if it meant other children weren’t ripped from their family like she had been.

                She tried to put the dark goddess from her mind. For Lelith and Wyll’s sake, she sought out Figaro Pennygood’s boutique for a dress. By the time she had gotten to the Gate, it was a matter of finding something off the rack that fit, which suited her just fine. A delicate silver A-line dress with a V-neck called to her, and luck would have it that it fit like a glove. Letting her hair fall in loose curls down her back, held back from her face with a simple beaded headband, she felt elegant.

                Elegant, yes, but woefully out of place. Rubbing elbows with the Gate’s elite was not something she’d ever choose to do. She carried herself well, of course, and everyone wanted to talk to the heroes, but she found herself quickly trying to find a familiar face.

                She found one in the form of a very talkative wizard. Quietly, the cleric snuck up behind him, looping an arm through his. “Might I steal you for a moment, Mr. Dekarios?”

                “Ahh, Shadowheart! I’m glad to see you could make it.” To his conversation partners, Gale offered a pleasant smile. “Would you excuse me a moment, Lord and Lady Hlath?” He offered no resistance as Shadowheart tugged him away. “My, but look at you!” Admiring her dress, he added, “You look beautiful tonight.”

                “Oh, just a little something I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” she quipped idly. But she took a step back to admire Gale in turn. “The finest dress robes that Waterdeep could offer.” Purples and blues of varying shades interwove into a very expensive set of dress robes, and Gale pulled them off like he was born to wear them.

                “Oh, well, this old thing?” He quipped back. “Just a little something I had in the back of my closet, that’s all.”

                “Truly.” Her lips quirked. “Where’s your friend?”

                “As it were,” Gale continued, offering his arm to the cleric, “Iris isn’t overly fond of these types of things. She was happier to stay home with her studies. And…” He hesitated.

                “And?” Shadowheart prompted.

                “One of Lelith’s guests is a dear friend of hers.”

                “…And she needs to stay home because…?”

                “Because they always find a way to make my life complicated and frustrating when they’re together,” Gale said, voice both blunt and weak at once. “My heart needs a break from wondering what magical item they’re going to break in the most spectacular way.”

                “I suppose I can understand.” Though a part of her wished to see this in action. Both snatched champagne glasses from a nearby server, and Shadowheart leaned hers toward Gale. “To old friends.”

                “To old friends,” he echoed, clinking his flute against hers. They started moving through the crowd. Somehow, while they were together, more people chose to leave them alone. “Do you suppose we’ll be able to talk much with the Grand Dukes? Would be a shame to come all this way without a chance to say hello.”

                “We’ll find a reason to—”

                “There you are! Gods.” Shadowheart found someone looping their arm through her free one. It was only because she recognized Astarion’s voice that she didn’t Guiding Bolt whomever had dared be so friendly. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “You look ravishing, my darling. And Gale, you’re here, too.”

                “A pleasure as always, Astarion,” Gale responded dryly.

                “This is so droll,” Astarion sighed. “To think I used to enjoy this type of thing. Everyone is so…stuffy.”

                “Not quite like drinking around the campfire, is it?” Shadowheart quipped. “We could always return.”

                “I’d much rather drink around my grand fireplace, if it’s all the same to you,” Gale replied, “but that does beg the question. We really should find more excuses to see each other. Believe it or not, I’ve missed you lot. The party only made me realize how much.”

                “Gale’s getting sentimental again,” Astarion sniffed.

                “It’s always so embarrassing when he is,” Shadowheart sighed.

                “All right, you two,” he groaned, but Gale’s smile gave away that he knew they were joking. Probably.

                “Presenting: The adventurers of Cataclysm!”

                A hush fell over the room. “Ah, the guests of the evening,” Gale mused. “I’m curious to see what our dear friend’s little adventurers look like.”

                “Little isn’t the word I’d use,” Astarion supplied, swallowing some champagne, “but I am curious to see how well they clean up.”

                Shadowheart ignored the two men as she, as well as everyone else in the room, looked toward the wide doors. Seven individuals stood in a row of varying heights and races. Immediately, she began to hear whispers around her as people gossiped about the Grand Duke’s adventurers. Some fervently tried to steal glances. Others outright stared. Still more politely turned their attention away entirely. But she herself looked raptly, wanting to commit their appearances to memory:

                A tall, severe drow woman, red eyes coolly regarding the room.

                A human man with scars on his face and a neat goatee, looking at ease.

                A nervous half-elf woman, stealing glances at the confident looking half-orc man next to her.

                A curvy Tiefling woman with an easy smile on her face, subtly reaching her tail toward the massive, uncomfortable looking blue dragonborn beside her.

                A petite woman with blue skin and fins for ears, looking excited and bubbly. Clearly, she was an aquatic race, but Shadowheart was not familiar with what kind.

                The seven adventurers in near perfect unison dipped into low curtsies or bows—the dragonborn and half-elf needed nudged to do so, while the drow bowed in place of curtseying. As they came into the room, the chatter picked up around them anew.

                “Interesting collection of characters,” Gale commented. “I quite imagine the patriars will have some untoward things to say.”

                “Capable warriors,” Astarion supplied, “but annoying.”

                “If Astarion finds them annoying, that means they’re perfectly lovely individuals.” Shadowheart smirked at the spawn’s plain look. “I should like to speak with the cleric myself. And whichever one gives Gale a headache.”

                “If you speak to Miss Breakker,” Gale responded, “you didn’t see me. I’m not here.”

                “Please, good luck hiding in that outfit, darling.” Astarion quirked a brow. “I’d quite like to see how you handle the loud bard.”

                “Ah, Astarion, ever the card.” The wizard’s eyebrow twitched.

                “May we present,” a voice cut above the crowd, “our Grand Dukes.”

                “Quiet,” Shadowheart ordered. Their eyes, as did everyone else’s, fell on the doors as the four Grand Dukes were introduced. Wyll’s father and Florrick were first to rounds of applause, but her interest, naturally, was in her comrades.

                “Presenting: the Grand Duke of the Wyrm, Heart of the Gate, Wyll Ravengard! And introducing the Grand Duke of the Coast, Doom of the Dead Three, Lelith Ravengard!”

                The applause was deafening. Wyll and Lelith were glowing in their coordinating gold, white, and purple attire. Lelith’s strapless dress showed off her well-toned arms, as well as the myriad of scars that crossed them. Shadowheart practically swooned. “There they are,” she enthused.

                “They clean up quite nicely,” Astarion agreed, impressed.

                Wyll cleared his throat, and a hush fell over the space. “Esteemed guests,” he greeted, “thank you for coming to our home to celebrate with us this evening. If you would follow my lovely wife and myself to the dining hall, we will start with dinner.”

                The crowd started following the Grand Dukes. Gale tossed a wink to his friends. “Good luck with your table mates. Let’s reconvene afterward.”

                “I hope they’ve got some decent gossip, at least,” Shadowheart quipped, following her friends.

                 “It’s good to see you, Halsin,” Zevlor greeted. The druid’s handshake was exactly as he remembered it—firm, steady, with the other hand clasped on his shoulder. One firm shake, and Halsin withdrew his hand as they exchanged a smile. “I admit, I didn’t expect to see you here, although perhaps I should have.”

                “My presence was requested,” Halsin rumbled. “Besides, it’s as good an excuse as any to come visit old friends.” He spread his arms wide, nearly taking out a server in doing so. “Though, I admit, I would prefer something a bit more…intimate, as it were.”

                “On that, we are agreed.” Zevlor would have tipped his champagne glass toward Halsin’s, but it appeared the druid didn’t grab one. Instead, he tried to cover the gesture by taking a sip. “What have you been up to these past several months, my friend?”

                The two of them, oblivious to the surrounding chatter, spent some time catching up. Halsin spoke of New Reithwin’s construction and offered Zevlor the chance to visit; Zevlor politely declined for the moment. Zevlor talked of the Hellriders’ work with the refugees; when Halsin asked of the other Elturians, he deftly changed subjects. Then, of course, came the real reason he was here: “Lelith is creating a coalition of sorts. She has asked me to be its Commander, and she wants the other Hellriders to join, as well as whomever wishes to enlist.”

                “Interesting,” Halsin mused. He was watching Zevlor carefully. “Is this what you want? You were…disenchanted with the military lifestyle before.”

                If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure this was what he wanted, but he felt an obligation to his people. “Hellriders serve for life,” he began. “So long as I am able to wield a sword, I have an obligation.”

                “That,” Halsin rumbled, “doesn’t answer my question.”

                He was right, of course, but the announcer’s voice interrupted them. Both of their attention turned toward the door as Cataclysm was introduced. “Have you met any of them?” Halsin asked casually.

                There was something in his tone that caught Zevlor’s attention, but he couldn’t fully identify it. Some sort of…vested interest, maybe? “As it were,” he began, “I’m dating the Tiefling woman.” It felt awkward to admit this out loud. Most people just seemed to know, but Halsin, of course, wouldn’t. “Her name is Mavari.”

                He felt even more awkward when Halsin’s eyes lit up. “Are you?” He took another look toward the adventurers. “She’s beautiful.”

                Yes, she is, Zevlor quietly agreed, taking a swallow of his champagne.

                “You will make lovely children together.”

                Zevlor choked on his champagne.

                Halsin, oblivious to his friend’s discomfort, continued: “I had met Doomguide Tarrlok and Mira in New Reithwin a couple months ago. I should like the chance to talk to them again, if the evening permits.”

                He had a vague idea of who the members of Cataclysm were, even though Mavari hadn’t seen fit to make her introductions yet. The Doomguide was the drow cleric; discussing her work consecrating Bhaal’s Temple had led to an animated debate about the ethics of resurrection magic. Mira was the druid who shared a home with Mavari but curiously never seemed to be there when he was. He looked toward where Cataclysm was dispersing and was curious at the tone Halsin took. The seven members each seemed to go in different directions. He caught Mavari’s eye; with a wide grin, she made her way over to him.

                “Hey there, handsome,” she greeted. Habit had her holding out her hand, and naturally he took it to kiss her knuckles. With ease, she snatched a flute off a passing tray and sidled next to him. His arm easily encircled around her waist, while her hand splayed between his shoulder blades. “You look absolutely dashing.”

                “And you,” he responded, smiling. “You look beautiful.” She was slightly caught off guard by the compliment but smiled nevertheless. Zevlor gestured to the tall, grinnig druid. “Mavari, I’d like to introduce you to the archdruid Halsin. Halsin, this is my partner, Mavari.”

                Partner slipped out so easily that he wondered if he should be concerned. But she didn’t seem bothered by it as she offered her hand to Halsin. “Pleasure to meet you, Halsin.”

                “And you,” Halsin rumbled in return. He took her hand and mimicked Zevlor’s kiss to her knuckles, causing Mavari to raise a bow. But the druid didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he was beaming at her. “I believe you and I perhaps have another mutual acquaintance.”

                “Oh?” She easily slid her arm back around Zevlor. As she did, their tails twined easily. “Who might that be?”

                “The monk, Aurelia Crimsonwind. She and her nephew, Cade Lightfoot, have helped me establish New Reithwin.”

                “I’ll admit that others know her better than me,” Mavari replied, “but Aurelia and Cade are both good people. Were you present for…?”

                The question only lingered momentarily. “Ah, yes. I was. I was hoping to ask some questions about that, if your teammates don’t mind.”

                “Sure, if you catch them in the right moment. I’m sure they’ll be happy to talk about something that’s not telling everyone how great we are.”

                Halsin furrowed his brow at her, as though trying to discern her meaning, before he gave a light shrug. “Very well. Would you excuse me? Very nice to meet you.” And, with that, he was off.

                “The resurrection ritual,” Mavari supplied once Halsin was out of earshot. Zevlor inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Hey.” She kissed his cheek. “I thought Cerys was supposed to be with you?”

                “I excused myself to speak with someone and lost track of her,” he sighed. Gently, he turned their bodies to start walking in the last direction he saw his scout. “I should find her again.”

                “If not now,” she supplied, “then at dinner soon.” Mavari nodded to the room at large. “Quite the crowd. Renorash wants us to try and talk to everyone amongst the seven of us. I’m sure that we won’t.”

                “Speaking of your team,” he began, “will you introduce us to each other tonight?” Mavari hesitated. He pressed: “Now is the perfect opportunity, Mavari.”

                “You’re right,” she relented. “All right, I’ll introduce you where I can.”

                He covered a hand over hers. She paused, meeting his gentle gaze. “Thank you,” he murmured. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. For whatever reason, she had been reluctant to have them around each other, and he couldn’t figure out why—

                “May we present: our Grand Dukes.”

                Well. A concern for later, he supposed.

                Seeing Cerys again threw him off, but Rolan was trying to put that from his mind. If he let himself, he would start overanalyzing their entire conversation, and the clumsy way he asked her to dance, and…

                No. He was here to form meaningful connections with important people. He needed to stop thinking like a damn teenager. Rolan squared his shoulders and stood straighter as he followed the press of people. The dining hall, as it turned out, was set up with one long table stretching its length. Seeing that the guests were moving to and quickly away from spaces, he assumed that there were place cards designating where each was meant to sit.

                Smart, on the Grand Dukes’ behalf. He would have done the same, if only to avoid unsavory conversation partners. After a short search, he found his place card and stood behind the chair, following the Ravengards’ example. As he glanced around, he took note of where a few others were standing. The heroes of the Gate in attendance appeared to be spread out from one another. Cataclysm, too, though they at least were in pairs, aside from the drow. On the opposite end of the table, he noticed Zevlor and Cerys standing behind chairs, quietly conversing with one another.

                Once everyone had filtered in, the Ravengards took their seats, as did the rest of the attendees. The servants immediately sprang into action to pour everyone’s preferred drink, with bowls of soup being served promptly after. Rolan delighted in light conversation with his tablemates, regaling them with answers about the Tower. He found one conversation partner, an older gnomish man with a propensity for machinery, particularly enlightening. The two were engrossed in a deep conversation about the artillery at the tower as the empty soup bowls were taken away to be replaced by the main course.

                As the main course melted into dessert, Rolan was engrossed in a friendly debate with the human woman to his right about the ethics of spell creation. He had just finished his slice of pie when he heard a throat clearing loudly down the table. “Your Graces,” a booming male voice began. When Rolan glanced in that direction, he noticed a portly, balding human man leaning forward. “I would like to raise a concern.”

                Eyes flicked toward the lord and lady of the manor. Lelith’s gaze were cast down to her plate as she delicately dabbed a napkin at her mouth. Wyll was the one to meet his eyes. “Yes, Lord Baranton?” he responded pleasantly.

                This Lord Baranton adjusted his tie. “Let me be the first to say that I am grateful for your service,” he started. Rolan heard some muttering and sardonic chuckling behind him. “The city was rebuilt in record time. I am ever so grateful that you prioritized Upper City to allow a return to normalcy.”

                Rolan’s eyes flicked to Lelith, who was remaining very, very still. Curious.

                “We are glad you approve of our work,” Wyll responded levelly. Without looking, he reached a hand out to cover his wife’s. “Our concern, as always, is to make the citizens’ well-being a priority.”

                “Yes, well, about that…” Baranton took in a breath. “I, and I’m sure many others, have well-founded concerns about the rabble that you’ve allowed sanctuary in the city.”

                He watched Lelith’s fists clench. Wyll’s knuckles were turning pale from how tightly he was gripping his wife’s hand. Because Rolan knew her, he recognized the subtle grit of her teeth—that same one had precluded her fighting Lorroakan on his behalf. That same one was used on him after saving him from being an idiot in the Shadow Cursed Lands. It was the sign that she was ready to tear into someone but containing herself for the sake of others. Wyll, for his part, remained outwardly calm. “The rabble, Lord Baranton,” he began, “are people just like you and me. They deserve a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, as all of us do. They deserve to feel safe, as all of us do.”

                “Do you think we feel safe with them here, Grand Duke Ravengard?” Baranton asked flatly.

                Rolan bristled. Oh, he knew what Baranton was getting at. He knew he was about to level a complaint against the Elturians, as well as the other refugees displaced from their homes during the crisis. The statement, it seemed, had gotten under several other attendees’ skins, as well. His eye immediately sought out where Zevlor was sitting, elbows propped on the table, hands folded in front of his face, eyes firmly on Baranton. The older Tiefling’s brow was creased as Cerys, eyes on the lord, leaned in beside him, making a comment behind her hand. Several others down the table were also whispering to their seat mates.

                But it was the druid Halsin who had the most visible reaction. He set his fork down none too gently and gave a visible scowl to the man. “Baranton, was it?” he boomed in return. Interestingly, he didn’t see a need to use the man’s title. “Such a callous way to regard fellow lives. None of the refugees chose to be cast from their lands. None of them asked to lose their livelihoods. Should they be so condemned due to circumstances beyond their control?” He shook his head. “Attitudes such as yours are exactly why New Reithwin was founded.”

                “But should we prioritize them over born and bred Baldurians?” countered Baranton. “How many of us lost jobs or food because we had to sacrifice for the refugees?”

                “Oh, do regale us with the answer,” Rolan heard the High Harper call behind him. He glanced to Jaheira, a dangerous glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips. “I would love to hear how you lost the chance to have your second dessert of the day, patriar.”

                A nervous chuckle echoed around the table. It was Grand Duke Florrick who spoke next, standing. “Lord Baranton, I assure you that no honest Baldurian has been left wanting from our efforts. Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard, in particular, has been working tirelessly to provide for all the Gate.” Her eyes moved around the table. “That goes for any of you who are doubting his efforts. He is a truly remarkable young man.”

                “You’re asking us to place our trust in a devil,” piped up an elf man. “How can we?”

                Lelith lost her cool. She slammed an open palm on the table. Everyone jumped in surprise. “My husband, Lord Farswallow,” she said coolly, “was protecting an innocent soul from a fate she didn’t deserve. His horns are a symbol of his bravery against adversity, not a mark of shame.”

                Rolan didn’t miss the look of love Wyll flashed his wife. Others might have, though, as Ulder Ravengard spoke next. “That is my son you are calling a devil, Lord Farswallow,” he spoke coolly, “in his own home, no less. Lest you forget, he is part of the reason that we have the Gate to live in now. Unless you would have preferred to become a mindflayer slave?”

                “We all appreciate the young Ravengard’s efforts,” Lord Baranton corrected quickly, nervously. He gestured toward the other heroes at the table. “As do we all. We very much like not being…slaves.” He hesitated. “But, ah…if you were going to promote an adventuring party…”

                “Oh, here we go,” Rolan heard a low, masculine voice grumble. He glanced over long enough to see the genasi woman hushing her dragonborn teammate.

                “…why would you not promote your own?”

                Lelith finally looked at him. “Perhaps this will shock you, Lord Baranton,” she commented coolly, “but it is slightly hard to do adventuring work when one is helping run a city.” Another chuckle rose from around the table. “I advise if you have something to say, you’d best come out and say it.”

                The lord stood. “Grand Duke Lelith,” he spoke, now emboldened. “I and others have had great hopes for you as the savior of our city and our newest Grand Duke, but I have great cause to question your judgment of late.” He thinned his lips, shooting a look at Zevlor and Cerys, then back to Lelith. “First of all, your own private military force? Are you out of your mind?”

                “A number of institutions have been formed around the city in its time,” Lelith replied levelly. “The Knights of the Shield, for one. The Order of the Gauntlet, the Harpers, the Flaming Fists, City Watch. Would you argue against the necessity of any of those?”

                “Surely the Fists would accommodate whatever concerns you have,” Baranton scoffed. Boldly, Lelith laughed out loud in response to that. Rolan did not miss the way Ulder Ravengard glanced away. “This is…this is a power play.”

                “Truly.” Lelith let out a sardonic laugh. “Would you like to share the real reason you’re upset, Lord Baranton? Is it the fact that I’m forming a coalition, or because it’s founded by Elturian refugees?”

                “Tieflings,” Baranton sneered. “Your own private force of Tieflings.”

                “Lord Baranton.” Rolan felt a shiver run down his spine. Zevlor was sitting up straight now, looking calm. Dangerously calm. “I spent forty years as a Hellrider. I’ve met people with your same attitude again and again, and I’ve nevertheless put my life on the line to protect every single one of them.” He lifted his chin. “You may feel differently, but I assure you that the circumstances of one’s birth have no effect on whether I’ll protect them. I would ask no less of the brave souls who are to be in my service.” Now, Zevlor looked down the table, attempting to meet as many eyes as he could as he stated his point. “None of us have a choice whom our parents are, nor the bodies we are born into, but we do have a choice in who we choose to be. I am proud to stand beside my kin and to serve the Grand Duke.”

                Lelith gave a grateful nod to him. “Lord Baranton,” she continued, “what do you see when you look at me?”

                “I…” He faltered. “I see a Grand Duke.”

                “Oh?” Her expression turned dark. “You don’t notice my purple skin? What about my eyes; do you notice the black sclera? What about my tail? What about these gray horns sticking out of my forehead, Lord Baranton?” She pointed at the horns as she said the last part, voice increasing in volume. “I am Tiefling first and Baldurian second. I’ve had people like you who have never let me forget that my entire life. Is it not natural,” she continued, looking around the table, “to want better for my kin who have been forcibly displaced from their homes? To give strong, capable warriors a second chance?”

                “They could join the Fists—” Baranton began.

                Lelith laughed in his face. “The same Flaming Fists who followed Enver Gortash’s tyrannical orders?”

                A murmur rose from the table again. Ulder Ravengard cleared his throat. “The Grand Duke of the Coast,” he began, voice frighteningly calm, “has my endorsement, as Marshall of the Flaming Fists, in the creation of the coalition. If any of you have concerns, you are welcome to raise them with me directly.” The steel edge to his tone indicated that they were wiser not to.

                “Fine,” Lord Farswallow chimed in, “let the Tiefling Duke have her own private military force. I don’t mind that. What I do object to,” he continued, shooting a glare to Lelith, “is this joke of an adventuring party you’re trying to shove down our throats.”

                “A joke, sir?” she responded, voice low. Down the table, he caught Mavari leaning forward, about to speak, but the half-elf woman beside her held an arm in front of her. The Tiefling relented.

                “Seven adventurers,” Farswallow continued, looking toward her, “and none of them Baldurian? You could be promoting good old adventurers from the city. What about the Beno Boys?”

                Lelith’s bark of laughter in response was partially hidden by laughter of others. “I remain unimpressed with the Beno Boys’ efforts, Lord Farswallow.”

                “Not them, then,” he quickly amended. “What about others? The A-Team? The Power?”

                “Cataclysm,” she responded calmly, “has more than proven their worth in my eyes. As you’ll recall, my own adventuring party was comprised of members who were not from the Gate. Isn’t that correct, Gale?”

                “Quite,” Gale Dekarios responded, sounding pleased to be acknowledged. “I am a proud Waterdhavian, but I assure you, my esteemed fellows, that I was no less invested in saving Baldur’s Gate for it. As it would have it,” he continued, “we return to the subject that one’s home is not necessarily where one was born.”

                “Hear, hear,” Mavari chimed in down the table. The half-elf quickly shushed her.

                “And,” another voice cut in. This one belonged to a dwarvish woman. “You’re wrong about none of them being Baldurian, Lord Farswallow.” She turned her attention toward the half-orc member of the team. “Renorash Kelk,” she began, a slow smirk crossing her features. “Or, should I say, ex-Gauntlet Kelk?”

                The people around him started to chatter nervously. Renorash looked like he was trying to keep his expression neutral. The human teammate beside him, however, glowered at the dwarf openly. “Renorash’s past has nothing to do with—”

                “Enough, Arlo,” Renorash interrupted quietly. Arlo looked at him, seemingly wanting to say more, before he backed down. The half-orc took a deep breath. “Lady Merthock,” he began, forcing a calm smile. “I do not deny my past involvement with the Fists, but I assure you it doesn’t affect my ability to lead my team.”

                “Oh, my fellow patriars,” she responded sweetly, “I would highly reconsider trusting a Fist who was court-marshalled.”

                Whatever reaction the table would have given was quickly drowned out by the sound of canine growling. Alarmed, Rolan looked down the table to see Mavari physically holding back the half-elf. The half-elf’s eyes were glowing yellow, and it looked like she was baring fangs. (Ahh, of course, a druid.) It was enough to startle Lady Merthock into sitting back in her seat.

                “I would recommend you not judge any Fists for their past actions, Lady Merthock,” Mavari noted sweetly. “Unless, of course, you want to cast judgment on the many Fists following Gortash’s orders while you’re at it.”

                “Why don’t all of you leave the judgment of Fists to Marshall Ravengard and myself?” Florrick remarked coolly.

                “The majority non-Baldurians,” Baranton spoke, apparently not having learned his lesson, “and the majority of them are half-breeds. And a damn drow.”

                That definitely drew a reaction. Rolan saw both Mavari and her friend simultaneously react while trying to hold each other back. Renorash’s head snapped toward the lord, as did Arlo’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dragonborn, too, lean forward, with the genasi hugging his arm. But it was the drow who placed her napkin on the table and stood. Her demeanor was cool but calm. “Like the Grand Duke,” she began, “I am used to people judging me for the circumstances of my birth, Lord Baranton. Fortunately for you, I do not let the judgments of the city impede the work I am doing for it.”

                The elf man beside her stood up. He was dwarfed by the woman. “My wife has been instrumental in consecrating the areas used by the Bhaalists,” he began, “to ensure they can’t get a foothold in the city again. A task none of you have thanked her for, I am sure.”

                “Half-breeds, really,” the cleric Shadowheart scoffed. “A man of your age should be well passed that type of thinking.” She raised a brow and looked down the table. “This half-breed resents the remark, thank you very much.”

                “Do they even have any credentials?” Lord Farswallow pressed.

                “Oh, I can answer that!” the genasi chirped. She popped up to her feet. “Hi,” she greeted, her voice a singsong. “My name is Lyric Breakker. You know, like Bram Breakker? The Right Hook of Murann!” She imitated a punch with her right arm to punctuate. The murmuring returned. Rolan had no clue who she was talking about, but apparently others did. He quickly gathered he must have been a former adventurer or something along those lines. “You know such a powerful guy wouldn’t let his only daughter go adventuring with just any old adventurers, right?” And she turned on the biggest smile he had ever seen.

                “The Right Hook’s got a genasi daughter?” someone commented, loud enough for the table to hear.

                “Well,” Lyric drawled, “when a man and a woman love each other very much in a highly magical area—”

                “Lyric,” complained the drow, her face buried in her hands.

                “Right, well!” The bard seemed unfazed by this. “I’ll have you know that Renorash and Mira were part of the group that saved Ten Towns a few years back. Y’know, Ten Towns, the place that used to have eternal winter? Yup! That was them.”

                The half-elf down the table now looked sheepish. Renorash was glancing at Lyric curiously.

                “And the trouble with the Redbrands in Phandalin several years ago?” the bard continued, extending one hand toward the other end of the table and the other at the dragonborn. “That was Torinn and Mavari’s group that stopped them! And…” She pointed to the human member of the party. “Arlo used to travel with the Grand Duke before the mess with the Absolute. And, of course, you’ve already heard about our amazing Doomguide cleric, Jael…” Lyric gave a flourish of her hands. “As for me, you’ll just have to come chat with me to find out!” The water genasi finished with a bright smile. A few members at the table applauded politely before stopping awkwardly.

                Wyll cleared his throat. “I believe we are all finished with dessert,” he spoke, then added dryly, “and the after-dessert entertainment.” He glanced sideways at his wife before looking around the table again. “Those of you who are doubtful of my wife’s decisions are welcome to further discuss the matter privately with her or leave.” There was a firmness in his tone that suggested this was not up for debate. “The rest of you are welcome to join us in the ballroom for drinks and dancing.” With that, he and Lelith rose. The rest of the party politely joined suit. Wyll offered his wife his hand, and they led the group toward the ballroom.

                “Well,” Rolan mumbled to himself. “This is certainly an interesting evening.”

Chapter Text

                To say that Renorash was upset would be putting it mildly. To say he was furious and humiliated would be much more accurate.

                He was aware of his teammates’ eyes on him as he paced back and forth in the small parlor. He was trying very hard to calm himself before he spoke. But the fury inside his chest was proving difficult to swallow. The patriars’ words were getting to him.

                Yes, he was aware of the possibility someone would bring up his expulsion from the Fists. He hoped not, for the sake of the group’s credibility, but Lady Merthock had exposed it regardless of his wishes. It might prove difficult to convince some of the patriars yet, but it was something he could and would handle. At the very least, he knew how to be convincing.

                If that were the only hiccup, it would be one thing. The problem was that it wasn’t only him that was targeted. Half-breeds and a damn drow, Lord Baranton had said, dismissing every single one of them but Arlo in one fell swoop.

                Outside of the fact that it was wildly inaccurate to refer to dragonborn, genasi, and Tieflings as “half-breeds,” it was also incredibly insulting. He knew the things people said about half-orcs. He also knew how much derision half-elves could deal with, although Mira never liked to vocalize it. To reduce all of them to parentage they could not control was infuriating. As though genetics would undo everything they had accomplished.

                Were the patriars so lucky to consider themselves privileged enough not to fight for the freedom of people who hated them. He wanted to scream at them how powerful the team was, how much he respected and trusted them, but it wouldn’t make a damn difference. People like that never changed.

                “None of you take what the patriars said to heart,” he finally spoke, barely containing his frustration. “We’ve worked too damn hard for too damn long to stop now.”

                “Hard to want to rub elbows with these people when they hate us,” Torinn grumbled.

                “Not all of them hate us,” Lyric chirped. “And we can convince the ones who do how awesome we are!”

                “You can,” Torinn retorted. “Some of us aren’t good at making friends.”

                “Enough.” Jael looked up from where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “What’s done is done. We can do nothing about it. What are we doing now?”

                Renorash closed his eyes. She had a point. He drew in a breath. “Keep to the plan,” he said finally. He heard how grim his voice sounded. “We’ll just have to work harder at being charming, I suppose.”

                “Oh.” Mira faltered. “Really?” He flicked his gaze over to her, and she shrank back. Unsurprisingly, it was likely she was hoping they could just leave, but that wasn’t on the table.

                “Keep to the plan,” he repeated. “I’ll try to find Grand Duke Lelith to smooth things over.” But he relented slightly, looking into his teammates’ faces. “…If the attitude toward us doesn’t get better in an hour, we’ll leave. Fair?”

                “Very,” Torinn said immediately.

                He gave a curt nod before smoothing out his jacket. “Let’s show those assholes who we are.” He paused. “Respectfully.”

                “Damn,” he heard Torinn grumble.

                The evening was not going as they had hoped, but Wyll was confident they could yet salvage it. Of course, he expected a certain level of tension given the patriars’ involvement, but things could have gotten very ugly very quickly had they not intervened. There were a few hurried conversations, but they were able to be resolved quickly before moving on with the night’s festivities. Leading his wife to the dance floor, he gave her a kiss to the back of her hand before gesturing toward the four-string quartet they hired for the occasion.

                The quartet began to play a waltz. It was a well-known number, written with cues at regular intervals for the dancers to switch partners, and was chosen by design. It would be a way for them to interact with more of their guests, as well as for their guests to interact with each other. Wyll gave his wife a smile as he bowed to her, and Lelith curtseyed in turn. Taking the stance, he started leading her through the steps.

                “Do you think I handled it well?” Lelith fretted.

                Wyll thought for a moment. “I think you handled it as well as you could have,” he confirmed, “although Father may be having words with us later.”

                She exhaled. “I imagine so.” Likely, Father wouldn’t be too thrilled with the slight against the Fists. Neither would Florrick. But, at the same time, they couldn’t deny recent history. Lelith met his gaze and gave a soft smile. “Thank you for having my back.”

                “Of course, my darling. You have my full support.” Gods, she looked beautiful. He could have kissed her, but the change of music filled the space. “Off you go then,” he laughed, twirling Lelith toward her next partner.

                Lelith was not entirely keen on this partner dance, especially with her emotions riding high after dinner, but, she reasoned, it was what was expected of her as a Grand Duke. So, she entertained it for her husband’s sake. Still, she was reluctant to leave him and was surprised to find herself straight in the arms of Jael.

                “Hello, Doomguide Tarrlok,” she greeted. Interestingly, she noted, the cleric defaulted into a following position. She wondered if that were preference or deference.

                “Grand Duke,” Jael responded levelly.

                “I’ve been meaning to touch base with you,” she began.

                “Oh?” The slight tense of Jael’s shoulders was hard to miss. She realized that Jael was likely fielding this type of question all night.

                “Halsin told me about the Resurrection ritual you performed for your nephew,” she began. “I wanted to speak with you about the possibility of, well…performing one for me. For us,” she corrected quickly. “My team.”

                Jael narrowed her eyes but inclined her head. “Very well,” she responded levelly. “Come to the temple in two days’ time, and we can discuss this then.”

                “Perfect,” Lelith smiled. As the music cue hit, she spun Jael away.

                “I was hoping I’d get to speak with you,” the woman began, and Jael resisted the urge to groan. A half elf with white hair and a silver dress was her next partner. She had a feeling she was going to hear variations of that all night, more so than she already had, and very badly wanted to be home with her husband. “Shadowheart, by the way.”

                “Doomguide Jael Tarrlok,” Jael responded warily.

                Shadowheart paused, her lips twisting. “I suppose you’re hearing that from everyone tonight.”

                “Yes,” was the simple response.

                “I won’t bore you, then. Merely wanted to introduce myself, cleric to cleric.”

                “You don’t seem like a follower of the God of Death.”

                “I’m not,” Shadowheart confirmed. “I’m a cleric of Selune.”

                “Are you?” She was aware of the troubles the Moonmaiden’s followers were having, albeit not to any great detail. It wasn’t beneficial to her to be concerned.

                “I am.” The half-elf cocked her head. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other some other time…”

                Jael guided her through the turn and moved on.

                Shadowheart was a little surprised to whirl into Renorash’s arms. The half-orc paladin chuckled as he effortlessly picked up the dance. “The man of the hour,” she teased airily. “I didn’t expect I’d have the chance to interact with you.”

                He seemed to take it in stride. “Fortunately for you, my dance card is embarrassingly empty.”

                “A shame, that.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t take what those stuffy patriars say seriously. Half of them pay others to wipe their asses.”

                Renorash coughed politely. “Be that as it may,” he commented, “I feel it is in our best interest to be cordial with them.”

                “Oh, certainly, don’t let me tell you what to do. After all, I’m not the one trying to make money from them.”

                He gave another polite cough as she turned toward her next partner.

                Renorash was starting to develop a headache. Between the behavior at dinner, and his dance partners’ comments, and the fact that half of his team apparently disappeared, he was beginning to seriously doubt the decision to stay here.

                He lifted his eyebrows in surprise when his next partner approached. “I know you,” he began. “You’re Gale Dekarios.”

                “A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Mr. Kelk.” The wizard smiled widely. “I do say I admire you for your grace under pressure.”

                “That makes one person at this ball,” Renorash remarked dryly.

                “Oh, come now, I’m sure you’ve more than just me as an admirer.” He allowed himself to give a huff of amusement. Gale tipped his head. “You’re right. With this crowd, it’s unsurprising.”

                “Perhaps we can talk further later,” he suggested as he lifted their joined hands, whirling Gale to his next partner.

                “Oh, no,” Gale groaned when his next partner arrived. Anyone but her.

                “Hi, Gale!” Lyric beamed at him.

                “Hello, Lyric,” he responded wearily.

                “You look really nice tonight.” Unsurprisingly, she took to the dance like a natural. Bards.

                “And you.” When was the band going to signal a partner change? Gods. Not soon enough.

                “Iris didn’t want to come?”

                Lyric should have known the answer to that. Why was she asking questions she knew the answer to?! “No, and thank the gods for that. You two in the same space is a disaster.”

                “Oh, we’re not that bad.” She cocked her head to the side with the most innocent expression he had ever seen.

                “You got yourselves transported to another plane the last time you were in my tower.”

                “Totally not that bad.”

                He was all too eager to pass her off to Astarion. The chaotic genasi was his problem now.

                Gale was hilarious when he was flustered, but Lyric had other people to talk to. She was thriving with all the extra attention that night. So, when she was caught by a familiar vampire spawn, her eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s you!” she chirped. “How have you been?”

                “Wonderful, darling,” Astarion responded airily. He was probably the best dance partner she had so far that night, easily keeping time with her. “I must say, you’re doing magnificently tonight. You had some of the attendees practically eating out of your palm at dinner.”

                “All in a day’s work,” she reassured him, beaming. “I’m very good at what I do.”

                “I’m sure you are. Your team is fortunate to have you.”

                “I know,” she remarked dreamily. The signal in the music hit, and she grinned at him. “Talk to you later?”

                It caught Astarion off guard when he landed in the Tiefling’s arms and more so that she was leading their little dance. He let out a surprised laugh and allowed her to do it. “It’s Mavari, isn’t it?”

                “Astarion,” she responded with a smirk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

                It was fascinating to compare her to her teammate—one relied on sweetness and was, by all appearances, an open book. This one kept her cards close to her chest. That was far more comfortable for him. He chuckled. “And miss on the opportunity to dance with the loveliest Tiefling here?” The flirt came as naturally to him as breathing. It was, after all, expected in social situations—and just as empty as it always was.

                “Oh, I’m sure your comrades would disagree with you,” she responded silkily, “although a lovely compliment from such an upstanding man as yourself surely won’t go unappreciated.” Hers was just as empty as his.

                “Lelith knows what she did,” he scoffed. The offhanded grumble caused Mavari’s eyebrows to shoot up, and then she politely coughed to cover her laughter. “But you,” he continued, “you seem a kindred spirit.”

                “Do I, now?”

                He recognized that tone, too. Trying to keep up the act while feeling on the defensive. “A…friend, potentially,” he offered. “Nothing more.”

                “A friend,” she repeated.

                “Think about it, darling,” he quipped as he spun away.

                A…friend. That was an odd proposition. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have friends, but when was the last time someone walked up to her and told them they wanted to get to know her as friends?

                …Lyric told her they would be friends. That didn’t count, and, most of the time, she wasn’t convinced.

                She was surprised at who her next partner happened to be. The Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard had taken her hand, and she let him pull her into the waltz stance. “Your Grace,” she began, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. That was…an odd feeling for her. Then again, this was her boss’s husband, and a very powerful man in his own right.

                “Lady Mavari,” he greeted pleasantly.

                “Despite what you may have heard,” she retorted, “I am not a lady.”

                That earned a surprised albeit amused laugh from him. “I will make a note of that.” His lips quirked in amusement. “Are you enjoying the evening? Apart from, of course, the outburst at dinner.”

                “Well enough,” she replied honestly. “I find some of your guests a little stuffy for my tastes, but most are pleasant enough.”

                “Proper decorum dictates I not dignify that with a response,” he intoned, and she laughed. Oh, she liked Wyll. “If there’s anything you need this evening, please, let us know.”

                “Sure,” she agreed. And, as the song ended, she stepped back to curtsy low to the Grand Duke as he bowed in turn.

                “I don’t know how Mavari and Lyric do it,” Mira complained. Her legs splayed in front of her in an entirely too unladylike posture, but she didn’t care. She, Arlo, and Torinn tore themselves away from the party to get some fresh air, taking a bottle of champagne with them. She was sitting with her back against the railing. Torinn, too, had his back against the railing. Arlo was leaning backward against Torinn’s chest, allowing his husband’s arm to drape lazily around his waist. Mira swallowed some of the sweet champagne and made a face. “The fancy outfits and being charming…it’s just so much.” At least she won the argument about the shoes, much to Mavari’s chagrin. If she would have had to navigate the party in heels, she would have been a dead woman.

                “What I wouldn’t give to be killing something right now,” Torinn grumbled, gulping half his glass in one go. “This bites.”

                “Personally, I don’t see why we all needed to be here,” Arlo complained. “Most people just want to talk to Jael anyway. Renorash could have handled the rest of it. Hell, let Mavari and Lyric come in to charm the pants off people. It’s not like they wouldn’t meet the rest of us eventually anyway.”

                “It’s not like we’re doing a particularly great job at selling ourselves, either,” Mira sighed. Dinner did…not go as planned. Those patriars were mean. At least Lyric was able to save it for them. That didn’t help them at all with whatever happened during dancing. “We probably did more damage to our reputation than we did earning it…” She drained her glass and set it down. Arlo held the bottle aloft, raising a questioning brow, and she shook her head to indicate she didn’t want any more.

                “How much time is left in our hour?” Arlo asked, swallowing directly from the bottle. “What I wouldn’t give to go back to the Mermaid right about now.”

                “Too long,” Torinn sighed.

                The door squeaked open, and the three of them were immediately on alert. Standing in the doorway was the massive elf from New Reithwin, looking surprised. “Ah, my apologies, I didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

                “By all means.” Arlo gestured. “Everyone’s welcome to use the space.”

                He inclined his head with a gentle smile. “Might I join you?” He gestured to the spot next to Mira. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you all night.”

                “…oh?” Mira felt a rise of butterflies in her belly. She had found the man attractive when she spoke with him before, but she hadn’t thought too much about him until tonight. Now, suddenly, he was everywhere. She swallowed down her nerves and offered a warm smile. “Sure. Absolutely.” Suddenly becoming aware of her unladylike posture, she quickly crossed her legs at the ankles.

                The man chuckled and sat down with a relieved groan. He leaned against the railing and closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t find these kinds of events particularly relaxing,” he admitted. “I’d much rather be at home with my books.”

                “I don’t either,” Mira replied quickly. “There’s too many people, and they’re all so self-important.” She paused and blushed. “Sorry,” she added quickly.

                His lips twisted in amusement. “It’s quite alright,” he laughed. “You said what I didn’t.” The man withdrew a pipe from his jacket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

                “Not at all.” Mira barely registered the press of a glass in her hand. Instinctively, she lifted it to her lips, realizing Arlo had topped her off after all. She watched as the man filled the pipe with mugwort. “Here,” she offered, reaching forward. Using druidcraft, she lit the pipe for him.

                His eyebrow arched. “Ah.” He sounded delighted but amused. “Thank you.” He took a long pull of the pipe, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment, before exhaling slowly. “I had been hoping to talk to you since that day you came to New Reithwin.”

                “You have?” She glanced behind her to the guys, but she realized that Arlo and Torinn had left. Did they somehow know…? Looking back at the man, she smiled. “Did you have more questions about the resurrection ritual?”

                “Although I admit I have a healthy curiosity around the practice,” he began, “I was more interested in you.”

                “Me?” she repeated.

                “You,” he confirmed. “I want to get to know you better.”

                Physical attraction wasn’t anything new to Mira. She was typically very comfortable with it. She didn’t carry the same type of reservations that Mavari or Lyric did about people approaching her for sex. It was a healthy desire and part of their nature. But this seemed…different. She didn’t usually approach new relationships privately—she wasn’t good at that. It was always with one of the girls or Arlo doing the heavy lifting, while she stood by smiling and chiming in as she was comfortable. This felt…uncomfortable. Like she was going to screw it up somehow.

                And, yet…something about this felt right. She didn’t feel uncomfortable in his presence. If anything, he had the opposite effect on her, and that counted for something. Mira drew in a breath and smiled at him. “Well,” she began, “I told you before I’m a druid from the Circle of Stars.”

                “Of course.” He smiled at her. “You said there weren’t many of you. Is your family part of it?”

                “Ah…no.” She sipped at her champagne. “I…come from a family of druids, but I never resonated with our circle. So, I struck out on my own to figure out what really worked for me.” Mira glanced at him. He was giving her his undivided attention. She blushed and quickly looked away. “While I was traveling, I ran into a group of druids who were in the Circle of Spores. I found out their way wasn’t for me, either, but they were able to point me toward Ten Towns, and to a druid who studied the stars. I found my way toward her, and she became my new master.”

                “Intriguing. You look up where other druids look down.”

                “I suppose,” she confirmed. Idly, she reached down to slide a hand in her shoe, rubbing her arch. Maybe these weren’t the heels Mavari insisted she should wear, but they were still not the most comfortable things to wear. “I’ve always loved the stars.”

                “A worthy study.” He glanced down. “Are your feet hurting?”

                “Oh, it’s okay, I’ll manage…”

                “Nonsense. May I?”

                It took her a moment to register what he meant, and an additional one to wonder why. Nevertheless, Mira turned her body toward him and carefully toed off her shoes, letting her legs splay across his lap. The elf reached for one of her feet and started to glide his thumbs along the underside. She resisted the urge to jerk her foot back at first, but she quickly melted into his touch. “Oh, that feels nice.”

                “The pressure is okay?” At her nod, he continued, “What circle was your family a part of?”

                “Circle of the Land. My parents and older sister are all part of it.” She wasn’t sure she should bring up her brother and the mess that him deciding to do his own thing became. While she was still a druid, her little brother, last she knew, went an entirely different route. That was too heavy for a first meeting. “This is the second time you’ve asked about my druidic magic, and I didn’t get an answer before. Are you interested in joining a circle yourself?”

                His lips quirked. “I didn’t get a chance to answer before, but I happen to have been part of one, as it were.”

                “…You have?” Something was playing at the back of her mind that she couldn’t quite identify.

                “I have. Circle of the Moon.”

                “Oh!” Her eyebrows lifted. “I had no idea. I’m fascinated by your circle.”

                He chortled but didn’t reply. Didn’t have time to, really, because a blue blur popped onto the balcony.

                “There you are!” Lyric exclaimed. “Renorash is asking where you went.” The genasi’s eyes fell on the man, then down to where he was massaging Mira’s foot, then back up to the man, then to Mira, and then she grinned devilishly. “Ohhh, I’m interrupting.”

                “It’s fine,” she began. Mira offered the man an apologetic smile before reluctantly climbing to her feet. She slipped her shoes back on. “This is Lyric, one of my teammates.”

                “As I recall,” the elf replied, standing himself. At his full height, he easily towered over both of them. “You were the one who dissolved the tension at dinner.”

                “I was,” Lyric chirped. “And I know who you are, of course. I’ve heard a lot about you, Halsin.”

                Mira froze.

                “Only the good things, I hope,” Halsin responded with a laugh.

                “Good things and some really wild things, actually.”

                Mira was talking to Halsin. The Halsin.

                “Well, I…” Halsin laughed. “I suppose I cannot deny the past.”

                “It’s okay,” Lyric confirmed, “I’m not one to judge.

                The Halsin? The Archdruid Halsin?

                She quickly drained the rest of her champagne.

                Lyric cast a glance at her. “Well, anyway,” the bard said breezily, “we need to get back out there and schmooze.” She looped her arm through Mira’s. “Save a dance for me later, big guy? And at least one for Mira, okay?”

                “Lyric,” Mira said tightly.

                “Of course,” he agreed amicably, “though I should warn you that dancing is not my strongest suit.”

                “Oh, I find that hard to believe.” Lyric started off, dragging Mira behind her. “Bye~!”

                “Lyric,” Mira tried again. As she was dragged off, she watched Halsin puff on his pipe, eyes trained on her, amused.

                Once they were back inside, Lyric turned toward the druid. “Look, I would have loved for you to spend the rest of the night flirting with the Archdruid,” she began, “but Renorash will have a stroke if we don’t talk to everyone here.” She paused, squinting at Mira. “…No. Don’t tell me.”

                “I didn’t know,” Mira blurted out.

                “I told you not to tell me!” Lyric grabbed both of her hands. “How did you not know? Your dad had to have worked with him with the Enclave!”

                “I’ve only heard about him,” she groaned in response. “I’ve never seen what he looks like.”

                “Oh, Mir.” Thankfully, the genasi wasn’t giving her a difficult time with this. Instead, Lyric leaned in to give her a hug. Gratefully, Mira hugged back. “We can talk about it later if you want, but I think now we need drinks.”

                Another? Her head was starting to swim as it was, but…well, it would help with the nerves, at least. “Lead on,” she agreed with a sigh.

                The next set of music was starting. Zevlor had found himself both amused and frustrated with the choice of dance partners, although he admitted that the idea to switch partners after certain cues in the music was a smart one. Tiring, to be sure, but smart. At the very least, these songs were intercut with normal dances where they could have longer conversations.

                Instinctually, his eyes flit around the room to keep stock of where those closest to him were. He noticed the Ravengards off to the side, engrossed in conversation with the drow cleric and her husband. Cerys and Mavari were across the room from him, as was Rolan. (Rolan. He should talk to him, shouldn’t he?) He took note of Halsin returning from…somewhere.

                There wasn’t a lot of time to search, though, as he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, the human member of Cataclysm was smirking at him. “Been meaning to track you down,” he commented lightly. He took up the leading position—following felt unnatural to Zevlor, but he had a feeling it was wiser at this moment—and started the dance. “Arlo. And you’re Zevlor.”

                “I am,” he confirmed.

                “Mavari won’t make the introductions, so I took matters into my own hands.”

                “I had wished to speak with all of you,” he began. He wasn’t sure how to point out that the fact that he hadn’t wasn’t for lack of want, but he didn’t know how to express that without also inadvertently blaming her for it. Mavari had her reasons, even if he didn’t understand them.

                Arlo nodded. “I’ll cut to the point. What are your intentions with Mavari?”

                “…I beg your pardon?”

                “She tries to keep you separate from us, and then you show up to the bar with another woman.”

                “…Cerys is one of my soldiers. Mavari knows her and is fond of her.”

                Arlo gave a noise of derision. “Look, Peepaw, she’s dealt with enough bullshit in her life. If I find out you do anything to hurt her”—he leaned in closer—“I’ll put an arrow through your skull before you know I’m even there.”

                 Zevlor was somewhat convinced this was well-intentioned, but he wasn’t appreciative of the threatening tone. “Arlo,” he began, his own voice low, “Mavari is an adult who is fully capable of making her own decisions. I may have yet to prove myself in your eyes, but you should at least trust her.”

                With the music signaling a change of partners, he stepped back and away from the human. He needed to find his way to his partner.

                Left somewhat miffed by the interaction, Arlo was surprised to find himself practically slamming into the other man he wanted to find. He looked up to see the burly druid smiling down at him. “I left you alone with Mira for a reason, Archdruid,” he commented, taking up the leading stance.

                “Ah, well, your bard friend mentioned she needed to get back to the crowd.” Halsin sounded apologetic and amused at the same time.

                “Unfortunately for you, now that means you have to talk to me.” Arlo noted with a mixture of humor and frustration that the elf was a much clumsier dancer than Zevlor had been. “Your reputation precedes you, Halsin. While I’m all for adults exploring their own sexuality, I don’t want Mira hurt in the crossfire.”

                Halsin knit his brow. It appeared to him that he, too, was less than fond of being criticized. Good. He wanted to put fear into the men. “I have no intention of hurting the young Mira,” he began. “I’d like to get to know her better and see where things go from there. If our hearts are aligned, then…”

                “Mira has a big heart,” he noted calmly. “If you break it, I’ll break your knees.”

                His timing was impeccable with the signal, and he walked away.

                Halsin was left both amused and confused. He was fairly certain that the human man had just tried to give him the intentions talk. While a part of him was pleased that Mira had such a caring friend in her corner, he also was a little concerned what his reputation had said about him to warrant such a warning.

                No matter, as it was his turn to dance with another. He turned and was at eye level with the dragonborn member of Cataclysm. “Good evening,” he laughed, a little surprised.

                Clumsily, the dragonborn took up the dancing stance with him. Halsin felt a rush of relief as the two of them merely rocked back and forth rather than tried to keep up with the waltz steps. “I see you had to deal with my husband,” he began. “Sorry. Arlo’s…very protective of the girls.”

                That’s right. The two of them were with Mira on the balcony. “No harm done,” he reassured his dance partner. “I think it’s great that they have someone who is looking after them.”

                “I guess, yeah. Torinn,” he supplied.

                “Well met, Torinn. Halsin.”

                The two of them danced in awkward silence until the music signaled the change.

                Torinn was ready to kill Renorash. He wasn’t good with small talk, he hated dancing, and no amount of alcohol was going to help him get through the night. He felt like an idiot. Why couldn’t they kill things to show the patriars why they were worthy of hiring? That seemed like a better use of his time.

                “You don’t seem all that pleased to be here,” his dance partner commented. She was the one who called that asshole patriar fat. That made her infinitely cooler in his book.

                “This sucks,” Torinn responded flatly. Remembering himself, he winced. “Sorry.”

                “Don’t be,” the older half-elf replied, “you’re correct.”

                Blessedly, she didn’t push him for further conversation, and she gave him an over exaggerated bow before moving on.

                “Oh, it’s you. The fledgling wizard.”

                “Fledgling!?” Rolan scoffed at her. “I have a great deal of respect for you, High Harper, but I am not above Thunderwaving you off the balcony for disrespect.”

                “Oh, do you think you can?” Jaheira couldn’t help but to pick at him. The Tiefling amused her.

                “Of course I can,” he retorted. “At your age, you can’t move that quickly.”

                She barked out a laugh. “You would be so lucky to age as gracefully as I have!”

                “Gracefully is rather generous, don’t you think?”

                “Watch how you speak to your elders,” she scolded him, smirking. Rolan was laughing as they switched dance partners.

                “For the record,” Rolan spoke, taking up the leaders’ stance, “I was hoping for a longer dance with you.”

                “We can’t all get what we want,” Cerys retorted. She fell in with the dance relatively easily. “I’ve been busy.”

                “Ah, yes, here on business. I take it you’re part of Lelith’s coalition?”

                “Going to be, yeah. She wanted us here to get our faces out there.”

                “Are you okay working with Zevlor again?”

                Her face darkened. “I’m not answering that.”

                “I’m not criticizing you,” he said quickly. “I’m just asking.” Cerys glowered at him. “Look, I have nothing—Zevlor is—”

                “Thank you, Rolan,” she remarked coolly. As she moved away, he smacked his forehead, wondering how he was screwing up this badly.

                “Easy now,” Cerys murmured, taking the initiative to lead. Cataclysm’s druid was an awkward tangle of limbs trying to waltz, and she had little doubt that was only partially due to alcohol. “You’ve got this.”

                “I don’t,” she mumbled in response. “I hate this. I’m not good at it.”

                Cerys’s initial thoughts were correct: self-confidence was a large factor. “It’s okay,” she soothed, “this type of dancing can be difficult. I’ve got you.” Poor girl. “What was your name?”

                “Mira,” she supplied.

                “Mira is a beautiful name. I’m Cerys.”

                “Cerys. You came to the Mermaid the other day.”

                That’s right, she did see them. “You lot have done good things with it.”

                “Oh, um, thanks?”

                Cerys nodded and offered her a warm smile. She quickly looked around, hoping that she could pass the poor girl off to someone nice when the music changed. Her eyes fell on Zevlor nearby, dancing with an elf woman, and she knew.

                “Head to Zevlor next,” she whispered to Mira before twirling her away.

                “Finally!” Mavari easily fell into step with Zevlor, smiling at him. “Been trying all night to get back to you.”

                “That tired of your dance partners already?” he teased.

                “Why settle for mediocre when I can have the best?” She gave him a wink, but the moment would soon be broken as someone crashed into her. Mavari whirled around, primed to react, before she realized who it was. “Mir?”

                “Mavari,” her friend said, voice thick, “I need to talk to you right now.”

                “Okay…?” The druid looked on the verge of panic. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you off the dance floor.”

                She turned to Zevlor and mouthed an “I’m sorry.”

                “Wait.” She reached out and snatched the paladin’s wrist. “I’m pretty sure he has to come, too.”

                “What?” Mavari met Zevlor’s wide eyed gaze. “Why?”

                “Cerys said I was supposed to head to him?”

                Something seemed…off. “How much have you had to drink?” Mavari questioned as they headed off to the side.

                “Not enough.”

                “That means quite the opposite, then, my darling friend.” She shot Zevlor an apologetic look before turning back to Mira. “What’s wrong?”

                “I think I messed up,” she began. Mira was wringing her hands.

                “Okay,” Mavari said slowly. “How did you mess up?”

                “I met the Archdruid Halsin,” she began.

                “Okay…”

                “He came out to the balcony to talk.”

                “Okay…?”

                “And we had a really nice conversation.”

                “Mira, I’m failing to see the problem here.”

                “I didn’t know who he was.” Mira was gesturing wildly with her hands. “He never introduced himself, not this time nor when we were in New Reithwin, and I didn’t think to ask.”

                She pursed her lips. She felt Zevlor’s hand brush her lower back. “And…you think you messed up how?”

                “He rubbed my feet.”

                The Tiefling woman stared at her. “Okay…?”

                “He rubbed my feet, and I had no idea who he was, and he probably hates me.” Mira glowered at Mavari. “Don’t laugh!”

                She must not have been as good at hiding her grin as she thought. Mavari cleared her throat. “Let me get this straight,” she started slowly. “The Archdruid Halsin may or may not have specifically sought you out on the balcony, where you were probably hiding on purpose—oh, don’t give me that look, I know you, Mir—and struck up a conversation with you. And, for some reason, he decided to give you a foot rub. And you think that means he hates you?”

                “…yes…?”

                “Mira.” Mavari wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “How often do you touch someone you can’t stand?”

                “Well…” The tone of her voice indicated she was going to be stubborn about this.

                Fine. She had insisted Zevlor come along for this, so Mavari was going to use him to her advantage. “Zev,” she began, turning toward the slightly uncomfortable looking man, “would you give someone you attracted to a foot rub?”

                Once he was addressed, his expression turned soft. He offered Mira a smile. “Not at all,” he replied. “Halsin is a friend of mine. I have not known him to be false in his affections.”

                “But—” she started to argue.

                “No buts,” scolded Mavari. “Halsin doesn’t hate you, Mira.” Despite her commentary, she recognized the apprehension for what it was. She gave her friend an affectionate kiss to the temple and added gently, “If you want to, we can talk about this in private later, okay?”

                “Okay,” Mira agreed quietly.

                She gave her friend a quick squeeze before pulling back. “By the way, Mira, meet Zevlor. Zevlor, Mira.”

                What anxiety had started to fade came back full force. “Oh, no,” Mira gasped. “I made the worst first impression on you—!”

                “It’s quite all right,” Zevlor responded gently. “Perhaps we can speak in a more relaxed setting some other time.”

                Mira visibly relaxed again. “I’d like that,” she agreed. “It’s been really nice seeing—”

                CRASH.

                “D…dragon!?” a gnomish man yelped.

                ROAR.

                “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mavari groaned.

Chapter Text

                The sight of the dragon would be resplendent, with its opalescent scales and tufts of emerald green, if only it didn't look angry.

                The attendants of the ducal banquet were screaming. Some had started running for the exit already. Others were rooted in fear where they stood. Those who were inclined to fight and protect reached for weapons that weren’t there. But it took one brave soul to step forward to encourage the others into action.

                A high note sang on the violin before the bow rapidly moved across the strings, an arpeggio before ending on a warbling C major chord. Lyric pointed her bow toward Mavari. The Tiefling stood up a little straighter before thinning her lips, nodding at the genasi.

                “Sorry”—she grabbed Zevlor’s shoulder for balance as she slipped off her heels. “Can you hold these?”

                “I…” He didn’t have a chance to respond before the shoes were shoved at him.

                Mavari drew in a breath. Her hands quickly formed the somatic components as her lips murmured the incantation for a Hex spell, followed immediately by an Eldritch Blast. One, two, three streams of the purplish energy smacked into the dragon. It turned its attention toward her, growling something at her in a language she didn’t understand—but the three druids in the room stood to attention upon hearing it.

                “Get to safety,” she commanded Zevlor, tearing off in a direction furthest from the crowd.

                “Mavari!” he yelled after her, but she had already sprinted away. Here he was, a powerful warrior in his own right, relegated to…holding his partner’s shoes. Never mind the fact that his sword was nowhere near him, it felt wrong not to do something. He turned toward the crowd behind him. “To the exit,” he commanded, “now.”

                He wasn’t going to think too hard about that Eldritch Blast.

                Mira’s eyes were wide, but, seeing to it that her comrade was acting as dragon bait, she didn’t let herself think too hard about it. With no weapons on her person, she closed her eyes and channeled her druidic abilities into shifting her shape. Her form became translucent, glowing a soft white, with a constellation pattern traced over her form. A bow of celestial energy materialized in her hands. Immediately, she readied an arrow and shot it toward the dragon. “Arlo!” she yelled as she moved, trying to keep away from the crowd while also maintaining distance for a ranged attack. “The thing seems fey!?”

                “I know!” Lyric had danced her way over toward where he and Torinn were standing. The shimmer of illusion magic fell away, revealing the Bag of Holding slung across her chest. He shoved his arm inside the bag to withdraw his own weapons before getting out of the way for his husband. In rapid succession, Arlo let off three arrows, moving with each shot. “Careful of the breath, it can put you to sleep!”

                “Oh, great,” Torinn groused. Clutching his great axe, he rushed over to intercept Mavari. Right as the dragon was getting ready to swipe one of its claws at her, he quickly grabbed her and pulled her out of the way. The claws managed to find purchase on the dress’s skirt, ripping some of it at the bottom. In a fluid motion, the dragonborn switched places with her, hefted the great axe in the air, and brought it down hard on the foot. The dragon yowled before clocking him with its other front claw. With Torinn knocked out of the way, the dragon bared its jaws and—

                “Hey!” Renorash pointed at the dragon. “Your fight’s with me, buddy!”

                The dragon’s eyes clouded over briefly before it whirled its massive head over toward the half-orc, the Compelled Duel spell taking effect. Snarling, it snapped its jaws at him, but the paladin was able to dive and roll out of the way. “Lyric! Sword!” The genasi took a running start before sliding on her knees underneath the dragon’s jaws, lifting the bag above her head toward him. He shoved his arm in the bag to withdraw his greatsword. With a shout, Renorash sent it crashing down on the dragon’s skull.

                “Rhys, keep back,” Jael said sharply to her husband. “I’d tell you to leave, but I know you won’t.”

                “Be careful,” the elf warned, eyes wide at the dragon. “You’re not as indestructible as you think.”

                “One dragon won’t kill me.” Probably. Without hesitation, she charged into the fray. “Lyric!”

                “The genasi delivery service is a little busy!” the bard yelled back.

                “Now.”

                “The genasi delivery service is suddenly very free!”

                Hiking up her dress, Jael dashed forward. Her fingers moved rapidly as she cast a quick Spiritual Weapon spell, bringing a celestial spear to form beside her. “Let’s make quick work of this.”

                With the battle in progress, the guests were given an opportunity to escape. The patriars and parliament members, for the most part, had quickly scrambled to the door, though some were slower than others. “Rolan!” yelled Gale. “Do you have the Globe of Invulnerability spell prepared?”

                “Do I have it prepared,” Rolan scoffed. “Of course I have it prepared.”

                “Do it! Now!”

                As the people moved around them, both wizards spaced themselves out to cast. Hands up, twin golden protective barriers formed around them, spreading the width of the room. There was little chance the dragon could get past them (although the chance was never zero), and it gave others the time needed to make their exit.

                Those who lingered beneath the globe were those capable of fighting who simply did not have their weapons, and they all looked lost.

                “We should be helping them,” Shadowheart fretted, “somehow.”

                “With our combined power, we could take the dragon down immediately,” Jaheira agreed. She made a face. “Why didn’t I think of hiding a Bag of Holding on my person?”

                “Some of us hide our weapons a little more cleverly,” Astarion scoffed, grabbing two daggers, one strapped to each calf.

                “Stupid boy. Assuming I didn’t think of that already…” Jaheira brushed over her own secret holster, strapped at a thigh. “Does not help with bows, though.”

                “Can we get to the vault in time?” Lelith asked Wyll, ignoring the banter.

                He hesitated. “It’s certainly worth a try,” he agreed, although he didn’t sound overly confident.

                “Cerys, Astarion,” she called, her eyes not leaving the battle in front of her. “Help Wyll with the weapons. Halsin, Jaheira, Shadowheart, and Zevlor, we’re on standby to help heal until we’re equipped. Rolan and Gale, be ready to support Cataclysm with spells.”

                “I can help,” Astarion began, but the glare Lelith leveled at him made him pipe down. “Right. We’ll be back.”

                “You’re sure you don’t want us to wild shape?” Jaheira confirmed.

                Lelith thinned her lips. “Let them prove what they can do first.” As capable of fighters as this group was, Cataclysm was prepared. She was reticent to undermine them immediately.

                “I agree,” Halsin spoke. He was regarding the group curiously. “If things look dour, we can intervene.”

                Zevlor took one look at the group before rushing forward, tossing a Beacon of Hope onto as many members of both groups as he could. Lelith nodded at him in thanks and readied herself.

                And then a blinding light overtook her vision. “No,” she groaned, “not now.”

                “Watch out!” Arlo shouted sharply toward the group. Through their combined efforts, they were trying to keep the dragon facing away from where the others were precisely to minimize the damage from its breath, but that didn’t mean it was always successful, nor that they would be able to take the hit better. As it stood, without their armor, they were all a little worse for wear. Indeed, as the dragon reared back, Cataclysm attempted to scatter.

                A long blast of what looked like moonlight, ten foot wide, shot straight from the dragon’s mouth. Two members of Cataclysm had been close together at the time of the blast, and both Torinn and Lyric got stuck inside it. Lyric let out a pained scream as she crumbled to the ground. Torinn, somehow, was still standing, though the smell of singed scales filled the air.

                “Lyric!” screamed Mira. She dropped the celestial bow and quickly changed to another starry form. The bow morphed into a chalice instead. Clutching it to her chest, the druid was sprinting toward where the genasi fell.

                But Jael beat her there first, skidding to a halt with her shield up in front of both the bard and the fighter. “Torinn!” she snapped, reaching blindly behind her to touch his arm. The Cure Wounds spell coursed through him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

                “Hey!” Mavari yelled. “Over here, fuckface!” Once again, she was sprinting away from her comrades, attempting to distract the dragon. Another round of Eldritch Blasts caught its attention as it turned after her.

                Taking the opportunity presented, Mira lightly touched Lyric’s shoulder. “Up you go,” she murmured.

                Lyric whined and sat up. “Thanks…” She grabbed the violin from the ground and scrambled to her feet.

                Several more arrows from Arlo rained against the dragon’s backside. Renorash let out a loud shout as his sword found purchase, a Thunderous Smite adding extra damage…

                “Oathbreaker.”

                “Don’t call me that,” she pleaded to the golden knight.

                “How long can you run from your fate?” He towered above her, already a massive figure as it stood, but floating midair made him more imposing.

                “I can’t,” she insisted, frantic. “I can’t be a—I won’t be like you.”

                “So you instead choose to feel like a shell for four months, Oathbreaker?” He placed his hands over the hilt of the sword impassively. “Lelith Ravengard, you are putting off the inevitable.”

                “I refuse.”

                “And so you swear an oath for the fifth time, Oathbreaker. At what point do you admit to yourself it isn’t meant for you?”

                The unfortunate thing is that she already had. Her mouth opened to respond, but her throat immediately felt dry. The argument died in her throat.

                “Lelith!” Shadowheart was shaking her shoulder. “Lelith!” But the purple Tiefling was lost to them, staring with wide, vacant eyes somewhere above her head, mouth gaping.

                “I won’t be like you,” the Tiefling was saying frantically.

                “What in the hells is going on!?” Rolan demanded. He and Gale had yet to drop their Globes of Invulnerability, too shaken by Lelith’s odd behavior.

                “I don’t know!” Shadowheart’s eyes swiveled toward the Archdruid, eyes pleading.

                “I refuse,” Lelith whispered.

                Halsin took one look at her, then to Shadowheart, then shook his head. There was nothing he could do.

                The problem being the bait was that, sometimes, whatever enemy they were fighting decided it was more worth it to kill the pest than the heavier hitters. Mavari braced herself as the dragon snatched her in its jaws. With some quick thinking, she jammed the quarterstaff in her hands between the roof of its mouth and its tongue so that, when it bit down, the resistance was enough to absorb some of the damage. Shaking its head, it tossed her from its clutches, sending her rolling to a stop a couple feet away. “Ulch,” she grumbled, feeling gross from the dragon saliva.

                She didn’t have long before a claw smashed down on top of her. The Tiefling let out a pained scream.

                “NO!” she heard shortly before a warm light washed over her. Mavari lifted her head to see the claw attempt to stamp down on her again and meeting with resistance. Snarling, the dragon turned his attention toward Renorash.

                Her head swiveled toward Zevlor’s outstretched hands with surprise, and she connected the dots easily. She mouthed the words “thank you” as she sat up, letting the Healing Word spell from Mira wash over her.

                She’d be safe thanks to the Sanctuary spell, of course, but the others…

                “No,” the Oathbreaker continued. “The Oath of the Ancients is not the path for you.”

                “Don’t,” Lelith warned, even as her heart sank. Her argument was weak. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t the right fit. But what other choice did she have? She couldn’t be known as an Oathbreaker, but going on with the giant hole in her chest was…

                The sound of sword hitting ground reverberated in her ears. She winced. “Perhaps, Oathbreaker,” the golden knight intoned, “it is time for you to forge a new path.”

                “…what?”

                He grabbed the hilt of his sword, adjusting his hold so that the blade was held flat against upward, open palms. “Grand Duke of the Coast Lelith Ravengard, Doom of the Dead Three,” he began. “You serve the city of Baldur’s Gate, now, do you not?”

                “I do,” she confirmed slowly. “I want to protect those who are unable to protect themselves, and those of whom others ignore.”

                “Law,” began the Oathbreaker. “Loyalty. Courage. Responsibility. These are the tenets of your oath. What is your purpose?”

                “To protect my people from enemies of the Gate,” she began, adding, “even if those enemies are our own.”

                “Very well.” He held the sword toward her. “By this blade, you shall now be sworn to the Oath of the Crown, Doom of the Dead Three. Be thy ever vigilant.”

                She lifted her hands toward the blade. As soon as it was placed in her hands, a rush of warmth washed over her. The blade glowed golden in her hands. She wrapped her dominant hand around the hilt, and a name popped into her mind: Crownkeeper.

                Lelith paused for a moment to reflect on the sudden full feeling of her chest before she fell into a ready stance. Letting out a war cry, she rushed forward toward the dragon, letting the tip of the sword nearly touch the ground, arching it in an upward slash…

                Right as Cataclysm was looking ragged, right as the other warriors were debating if they needed to jump into the fray without equipment, right when the group sent to fetch weapons had returned, a bright light filled the room. When the flash had faded, Lelith stood, eyes glowing a golden color and surrounded by a similarly golden aura. Like a woman possessed, she charged forward with a shining greatsword, let out a shout, and arched said weapon at the dragon. One slice upward followed by an immediate downward slash, focusing the full power of a Divine Smite into the strike. The dragon let out one final mighty roar before it fell, motionless, on the floor.

                “Well,” grumbled Astarion, “guess we didn’t need the weapons after all.”

                “Unless there are more coming,” Cerys added darkly, always assuming the worst after Elturel. She quickly made work of distributing the weapons she grabbed to the rightful owners; Wyll and Astarion followed suit.

                “I suppose you no longer need your greatsword,” Wyll quipped to his wife. Something about her seemed…different. Powerful. In comparison, he felt…well, insignificant. It wasn’t that he minded her being stronger than him—if he were honest, a part of him secretly was thrilled by it—but he hadn’t been the same since Mizora reclaimed her powers from him, and he was very aware that his abilities were not at the same level as his team’s.

                Mutely, Lelith shook her head. Carefully, she let the tip of Crownkeeper touch the floor, her hands resting on the hilt. “Is everyone all right?” she called. The adrenaline remained coursing through her veins.

                “We’re fine!” Lyric chirped cheerfully in response.

                “You took a full-on breath attack and almost died,” Torinn reminded her.

                “But I’m not dead, right?”

                By now, the others were coming toward the dragon. Renorash glanced around at his team, taking in their condition quietly. It confused him why Mavari hadn’t bothered to stand up until he saw the Tiefling commander rush to her side. When he saw the tender hands on her cheeks, pulsing with healing magic, before the Commander leaned in to kiss her, he no longer questioned why. Clever woman.

                Instead, Renorash turned his attention to Lyric. “You snuck in the weapons.”

                “Yeah, and it’s a good thing I did!” She placed her hands on her hips.

                “We were told very specifically the weapons were to be checked.”

                “I mean, what they couldn’t see didn’t hurt anyone.”

                “You deliberately went against protocol.”

                “I told her to,” Jael said flatly. When the paladin glanced at her, the cleric was giving him a hard look. “Events like this are prime for enemy ambush. We are lucky it was only a dragon.”

                “So far,” Torinn piped up, unhelpfully.

                Renorash regarded her with crossed arms, somehow less imposing in his suit than in his armor, before sighing. “Fine. It was a good idea.”

                “How come it’s a good idea when it was Jael’s idea?” Lyric grumbled.

                “Arlo,” Lelith interrupted, inspecting the corpse, “what type of dragon is this?”

                “Moonstone,” Arlo responded. He trotted up beside her, hands on his hips. “Adult. They’re not usually aggressive like this. And,” he added, now shooting a glance toward Mira, “they’re from the Feywild.”

                “Pulling a dragon from another plane?” questioned Gale. He rubbed his chin. “Most intriguing.”

                Lyric stared hard at Mavari. Mavari pretended not to notice as Zevlor helped her stand. Rolan looked between the two women, a frown on his face.

                “I don’t think this one was pulled in by choice,” Mira warned as her starry form dissipated.

                Jaheira made a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment in the back of her throat. “Sylvan,” she supplied to the group. “You speak it?” she directed toward Mira.

                “Ah, not fluently, but enough to get by.”

                “Intriguing. Something about you looks familiar.”

                “Well, I…” Mira glimpsed to the side, aware that Halsin had now stepped forward to join the two of them. She felt her face grow hot before turning back to Jaheira. “My father is a leader in the Emerald Enclave, High Harper. Although I do have a brother in the Harpers out of Waterdeep.”

                “The brother,” Jaheira continued. “You have the same eyes.” She considered Mira. “Your druidic magic isn’t like anything I’ve seen around the Enclave.”

                “I trained in the Dale, ma’am.”

                “Not to interrupt a moment,” Arlo chimed in, “but what did the dragon say?”

                “She was,” Halsin chimed in, “upset about being taken away from her nest.” By this point, he had one hand on Mira’s shoulder while the other held her hand, the warmth of healing magic pulsing through his hands. She had one hand over her face trying to cover the full red color it became. “Whatever had brought her over did so against her will.”

                “We killed a mom?” Lyric asked, dismayed.

                “That mom was about to kill all of us,” Astarion argued. “You were right to put her down.”

                “Astarion is correct,” Wyll confirmed. “It’s a regrettable turn of fate, but we do need to consider the safety of everyone first and foremost.”

                Torinn was nudging the body. “Can we take anything from it?”

                “Torinn,” Renorash warned.

                “What? We killed it. By right, we should take the spoils.”

                “Take what you want from it later, and we’ll get help to clean the rest.” Lelith looked around the group, meeting all their eyes individually. “Get yourselves cleaned up, then meet in my office in fifteen minutes. Darling,” she spoke to Wyll, “a word, privately.”

                Wyll inclined his head and nodded, following his wife from the banquet hall. Jael watched them leave before reaching toward the dragon, casting a Gentle Repose spell on it.

                “A warlock,” Zevlor murmured to her as she used his shoulder for balance, slipping on her heels. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                For oh so many reasons, but Mavari settled on the simplest: “I didn’t know how you’d react.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I meant to bring it up sooner.”

                “You have your reasons,” he began, although the tone didn’t fully hide the disappointment, and that twisted her gut.

                “I understand if you have to step back from…this,” she began. “I don’t—”

                He reached a hand behind her head to rest at the base of her skull. Gently, he kissed her forehead, then pressed his against hers. “A conversation for later,” he noted, “when we’ve more time.” His spare hand curled at her hip, while his tail wrapped protectively around hers. This much affection in public was…very unusual where Zevlor was concerned.

                Given the quick Sanctuary spell, and the way he rushed to her after the battle, she had a good idea why that was. Gingerly, she lifted her hands to rest on his cheeks. “Hey,” she murmured, letting her thumbs trail along his cheek ridges. “I’m okay.”

                He offered a tiny smile in return but said nothing. Instead, the hand on her hip tightened just a little.

                “A dragon from the Feywild,” Torinn muttered. He and Arlo were standing side by side, looking over the corpse of the dragon. Unknowingly, he had mirrored his husband’s crossed armed, wide legged stance. “Your gran’s gonna be pissed.”

                “Gran’s natural state is pissed,” Arlo grumbled back. But he inclined his head—his husband was not wrong. “If we’re going to start seeing dragons getting pulled in where they don’t belong, we’re going to have big problems.”

                “You think that he is going to…?”

                Involuntarily, the shudder ran up his spine. “Don’t even go there.” He tried to sound tough, but it came out as a whisper. Arlo made a face and turned away. “Fuck. I wonder where Lelith keeps the hard booze.”

                “I’m okay,” Mira insisted to Halsin. She really needed him to step back if she ever wanted her face to return to its normal temperature. The earlier conversation with Mavari was a fading memory, and she felt a little embarrassed at how incorrectly she read his intentions.

                “Perhaps I should leave you two alone?” Jaheira commented, quirking a brow. “For a little privacy?”

                Halsin lifted his own eyebrows. “Ah, my apologies, Jaheira.” He let go of Mira’s hand, though the second hand, the one at her shoulder, trailed down her arm briefly before he withdrew it. She resisted the urge to shiver. “In truth, I am curious to hear about the Enclave, as well. I’ve spent some time working with them while I was First Druid.”

                “You’ve met my father,” Mira informed him. “He’s mentioned your name before. James Nightsong. Circle of the Land.”

                “Nightsong,” Jaheira repeated. Though it was spoken plainly, there was a question in that statement.

                “An old elvish surname from my mother’s side,” Mira explained, offering a small smile. “Dad took her name when they married. I am…aware of why you question it.”

                “James was a fair man,” Halsin confirmed. “Is,” he quickly corrected. “It has been some time since I spoke with him.”

                “And yet you yourself are not a part of the Enclave,” Jaheira mused, “and neither is your brother.”

                “Ah, no.” The questions were fair, but Mira wasn’t sure how she felt revealing this information to people she had barely met. “Our older sister,” she began before trailing off.

                “Bah, don’t mind the questions of an old woman.” Jaheira shook her head. “I would like to speak again when the timing is better. Perhaps over an ale at your Blushing Mermaid, yes?”

                “Okay,” Mira agreed, because she didn’t know how to respond otherwise.

                “Wonderful.” Jaheira tapped Halsin’s chest with the back of her hand. “Mind the cub. I like this one.”

                Mind the cub? She blinked at Jaheira’s retreating figure, but Mira didn’t have long to consider it as Halsin was stepping into view. He leaned down to take her hands in his two huge ones. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

                “I’m positive,” she confirmed, offering him a smile. “I promise.”

                “Good.” Was he…rubbing the back of her hands with his thumbs? Was he nervous? “Your druidic magic was impressive. What was that, some form of wild shape?”

                “Starry form,” she supplied.

                “Beautiful.”

                Mira blushed, unsure if he were talking about her, the starry form, or—dare she imagine—her in her starry form. “Erm, thanks.”

                He gave her a slow, easy smile.

                Cerys crossed her arms over her chest as she stood back from the group. Cautiously, Rolan sidled beside her, as though he were expecting to be reprimanded for it. She gave him a quick sideways look before nodding slowly. He relaxed his stance and clasped his hands behind his back as they both observed the scene in front of him.

                “I feel out of place,” she admitted frankly.

                Rolan paused before glancing at her. “I don’t feel dissimilar.”

                “I’ve barely talked to most of the people here,” she continued, “if we’ve spoken at all.” Her eyes fell on where her boss was standing with his partner, then quickly away. It seemed too private a moment to observe.

                “Good old imposter syndrome.”

                “Is it?” Now she looked to him. “I didn’t contribute to saving any city. I didn’t help the heroes defeat the Elder Brain. I’m just…someone who is helping someone else set up a coalition.”

                “You downplay your contributions,” Rolan argued. He turned his body toward hers; she did the same. “You jumped into a role no one thought you’d have to. You made sure we were safe in Last Light, on the way to the Gate, and then in Rivington for those who couldn’t get inside the city. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened?”

                She frowned. Zevlor had said similar to her. Why did it feel different coming from Rolan? “I did what anyone else would have in my shoes.”

                “Perhaps, though you may be giving others more credit than they deserve.” Rolan glanced away again, briefly. “Many would have crumpled under the responsibility. You never did—at least, not that you showed publicly.”

                He was looking at her intensely now. Cerys felt…awkward about this. “You already apologized once tonight,” she told him. “I don’t need a second apology.” The silence lingered in the air between them. Then… “Wait. Why do you feel out of place?”

                “Well, I…” He faltered. “Truly, I would not be in the position I am in if not for Lelith. It’s one matter to parade around with the patriars, but against those who are markedly more powerful than I am is…” He sighed. “I feel inadequate, if you can believe it.”

                Yes, I can, she thought, but it seemed ill-advised to admit that. Perhaps she should have made some sympathetic noises at him, but a part of her was still wary around him.

                “I’m not handling this well,” he grumbled, mostly to himself.

                No, you aren’t, she agreed.

                “Can we just…start over?” he asked.

                She wanted to keep arguing with him, which meant she needed to step away from this conversation entirely to keep a level head. “I don’t know yet. Don’t seek me out,” she told him bluntly. “If I want to talk, I’ll come find you.”

                He considered this for a moment before nodding. Seemed he figured it better than nothing.

                Wyll closed the door to the office behind him. His wife was facing away from him, but her skin was still outlined with that golden glow. She was standing taller, prouder, than she had in months. And the appearance of that sword from nowhere, the one that she was placing delicately across the desk… “What’s going on, my love?” he asked, touching a light hand to her shoulder.

                Lelith turned toward him. Her eyes were watery, but it wasn’t from hurt. A slow smile spread across her face—she was relieved. “Darling,” she began.

                The pieces fell into place. He quickly tugged her into a hug. Lelith’s arms encircled him around the waist, squeezing tightly. She briefly dipped her head down to touch her forehead to his shoulder. “I’m so glad,” he breathed. “Your oath…”

                “It is,” she began, “a new oath.” Lifting one of Wyll’s hands, she lightly brushed his fingers against her lips. “One I have no intention of breaking.”

                “That’s wonderful, my love.” And he meant it. He smiled and let his hand smooth against her cheek before settling there. “I hated to see you suffer.” And she gave a hum of approval as he leaned forward to give her a gentle kiss.

                “We can discuss it more in detail later,” she murmured. “I am sure the group will have questions, but…” She slid her hands to his hips and squeezed lightly. “Telling you was more important.”

                “I’m honored,” he laughed. His humor faded somewhat. “The repairs to the ballroom…”

                Lelith groaned.

                Fifteen minutes later, and Lelith’s office was overflowing with people. Lelith herself chose to lean on her desk, arms crossed, while Wyll had taken a seat behind it. With only two chairs, there was a little fumbling and polite arguing before they finally agreed; Jaheira and Shadowheart claimed the two seats. Everyone else stood around the perimeter of the room, shorter members of the group in front, as they looked to her for guidance.

                “Thank you for staying,” she began. “I know this evening didn’t turn out the way we would have hoped.”

                “Are you kidding?” Torinn spoke up immediately. “It was boring—” He caught Renorash’s disapproving glare. “What!? It was.”

                “I’ll admit,” Shadowheart quipped, “if I never talk to another patriar about his choice of mistress, it will be too soon.”

                “Oh, I thought that was very enlightening,” Lyric commented airily.

                “You have to admit, darling,” Astarion spoke, “the rich elite of the city are quite droll.”

                Lelith affected an agitated sigh, but she was giving the group a wry smile. “I amend my statement to not the way that’s best for Baldur’s Gate.”

                “A fairer statement,” Jaheira smirked. “I don’t suppose you have any hidden booze in this office.”

                Lelith stared at her before giving a genuine sigh this time. “Darling?”

                “I’m on it.” As they spoke, Wyll worked on pouring the liquor in small glasses, each getting passed around the room until everyone who wanted a drink had one in hand.

                “You said the dragon got pulled against its will from the Feywild,” Lelith continued, glancing at Arlo now.

                “Seems like.”

                “How?” Now, her eyes went to Gale, then Rolan.

                “Well, now,” Gale commented, “movement between the planes isn’t so unattainable as one might think. As simple as casting a spell, to start…”

                “Or,” Rolan chimed in, his eyes flicking toward Mavari, then Lyric, “an item imbued with magic.”

                Mavari gave him a level look. Zevlor’s face registered light surprise when her tail snaked around the length of his leg before his brow creased. Lyric glanced away.

                “I suppose you’ve seen a number of such items in your line of work,” supplied Gale, gesturing to Rolan, “as have I. Most curious, though. I don’t often see a Plane Shift spell imbued into items. Seems rather unattainable to most.”

                “I agree.” Now he was outright glaring at Mavari, since Lyric was decidedly looking away. “Perhaps, say, in an amulet.”

                “That would be awfully convenient, wouldn’t it, Rolan?” Mavari responded.

                “An amulet?” Astarion mused. “Perhaps like the one that your lovely bard discovered in that pocket of cultists?”

                “What amulet?” demanded Renorash. Now he was looking hard at Lyric.

                “It’s nothing,” she breezily responded, though Lyric wasn’t meeting his gaze.

                “Lyric,” Jael cut in, scowling.

                Under the drow’s stare, she caved. “Mavari told me not to tell anyone about it.”

                Mavari shot a look at the genasi now. (Zevlor was coughing politely and trying to subtly tug his leg away.) “Mavari said we needed to keep it to ourselves until we had more information.”

                “Why in the hells would you hide that you have something like this?” Renorash looked exasperated.

                “Because I thought the questions it brought up were going to cause more harm than good,” Mavari snapped at him.

                “Why!?”

                “Because,” Lyric cut in quietly, “it looks like the one Taevis had.” Whomever this Taevis was, a hush fell over the members of Cataclysm. Lelith immediately registered the looks of pain and guilt in varying degrees across their faces. Lyric looked at each of her teammates in kind before bluntly adding: “I know we have this unspoken thing where we’re not talking about them, but we need to talk about them.”

                “I agree,” Mira spoke quietly.

                “So do I,” Torinn said, louder, hands on his hips. He looked directly at Renorash. “Sooner or later, we have to.”

                “Who is Taevis?” Zevlor questioned. He placed a hand on his partner’s back. Mavari relented, releasing his leg from the death grip of her tail.

                “They are our eighth member,” Renorash answered on behalf of the group. His shoulders slumped a bit. He glanced at the glass in his hand before knocking it back in one big swallow. “Were our eighth member.” The room was quiet, still, as he gathered his thoughts. “Tiefling. Sorcerer. And just as effusive with their words as they were talented with their magic.” He closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them to look at Lelith. “When you were mounting your final attack against the Absolute, they transformed.”

                A chorus of sharply inhaled breath around the room. They all knew what that meant. Lelith met Renorash’s gaze levelly. “I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly. “I was not aware.”

                “We haven’t talked about it.” Renorash squeezed his eyes shut. Likely, it was too painful. He looked toward his teammates. “We should.”

                “We can discuss that in private.” Jael was the one to bring it back to the present. She crossed her arms and looked to Lyric. “What would the cultists be doing with an amulet like Taevis’s?”

                “That’s the million-gold question, isn’t it?” Mavari tapped her finger on her bicep. “Lots of theories, none of them good.”

                “Just to be clear,” Gale spoke, also giving Lyric a look. “You haven’t been playing with the amulet, have you?”

                “Of course not,” she insisted, sounding insulted.

                “It seems a little too convenient,” Wyll noted. “Not that you discovered the amulet, of course, but that one would show up after the…what happened. The simplest answer would be that the cultist took it off their body.”

                “We can hope for the simplest answer,” Astarion commented, “but it seems rather naïve to assume such, doesn’t it?”

                “What are you proposing, Astarion?” Lelith narrowed her eyes.

                “The theoretical existence of two of these amulets, darling. If there are two, there are more.”

                “Wait, hold on.” Mira held up her hands. “We don’t know that Tae’s amulet had a plane shift spell attached to it. Maybe it was storing a different spell?”

                “Naïve,” Astarion sighed.

                “And why would they need an amulet with a spell in it in the first place?” Arlo questioned. “Unless, of course…”

                “I told you none of the theories were good.” Mavari’s voice was blunt.

                “We don’t know that for sure!” Mira wrinkled her nose at Mavari, who ignored it.

                “It would make logical sense to assume something like this brought a dragon from the Feywild,” Arlo concluded.

                “Certainly more accessible to the common folk than a high level spell,” Gale mused. “Though, I would assume, whomever owned an amulet like this was not common by any means.”

                “It seems like this was deliberate, Your Grace,” Cerys spoke. Her eyes were steady on Lelith. “The dragon, I mean. Whomever took it from its home, provoked it to anger, did so knowing at the very least that all four Grand Dukes would be here tonight. The attendance of patriars and Parliament of Peers members was a logical step from there. Wipe out the city’s new political power in one easy swoop…” Her eyebrows lifted.

                “You’re right,” Lelith agreed. “Whether or not they realized we’d have powerful guests, or whether the dragon would live, the end goal of sowing discord stayed the same.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, the headache already forming there. “My love,” she complained.

                “I’ll speak with Father and Florrick,” he promised her.

                “Thank you.” Drawing in a breath, she looked to her teammates. “I hate to ask this of you,” she began, “but…be ready.”

                “Always am, darling,” Astarion practically purred. “Except, of course, with that pesky sunlight business…”

                “Whatever you need, my friend,” Gale responded warmly. Shadowheart gave a nod and smiled at her.

                “Doomguide Tarrlok,” Lelith continued, moving her gaze to Jael. “I’m afraid I need to expedite that Resurrection request. What do you need from me?”

                Jael twisted her lips. “Are you certain that the person you wish to bring back wants to live?”

                She felt herself bristle then willed herself to calm down. “You can replace her heart, right?”

                “Yes.” Jael looked at her levelly. “But do you want to risk twenty-five thousand gold’s worth of diamonds plus the fee to cast the spell on a maybe?”

                “It’s worth whatever cost,” Lelith responded immediately, stubbornly. They stared at each other hard until, surprisingly, Jael was the one who relented.

                “Fine. Still two days’ time at the temple. Bring whomever you think would be able to coax her back, as well as the diamonds.”

                “It will be done,” Lelith said smoothly. She again looked to her teammates in kind. “Can you all stay in town another couple days? You can stay here if you need a place.”

                “You might come to regret that,” Shadowheart warned her with a smile, “but I think my parents can manage the farm. I’ll send word.” Murmured agreements from the others.

                “Lily Aurora will be delighted to entertain all of you,” Wyll noted, beaming with fatherly pride. Lelith was privately very glad they thought ahead to their daughter staying elsewhere for the night for her own safety.

                “Zevlor, Cerys,” she continued, looking toward the Tieflings, “I’d like to speak with you tomorrow regarding the coalition. Rolan,” she added the mage, “likely I will need to speak with you as well. I’ll send a messenger prior.” The soldiers saluted, while Rolan gave a deferential nod. “Cataclysm,” she addressed the group at large, “be at the ready. You will be my first line of defense against any of these attacks by virtue of having the most mobility.”

                Lelith watched as each of them in unison, fluidly, gave the salute they agreed upon—shifting their weight to their left legs while extending the right leg out at a forty-five degree angle and their right arms straight out to the side, hands in fists, then clasping the closed fist over their hearts while their right foot snapped against the left. She nodded in approval. “I will be in touch with all of you,” she noted, “but, for now…” She gestured toward Torinn and Arlo. “Take what you want from the dragon, otherwise, get some rest.”

                The group murmured their good evenings as they filtered out of the office. Zevlor lingered a moment longer, giving her a questioning look. Lelith glanced at him momentarily before realizing what that meant. Carefully, she picked up the sword from the desk behind her, then placed the tip of it against the floor, hands over its handle. Then, she offered him a wide smile.

                The proud smile she got in return made her chest swell as the Hellrider left the room.

Chapter Text

                Upon leaving the Grand Duke’s office, Cataclysm collectively agreed they needed to talk and to drink, and they needed to do both immediately. The group waited on Arlo and Torinn to collect the spoils they wanted from the dragon. As they were waiting, Zevlor hovered near Mavari, his brow furrowed.

                “Will you be alright?” her beau asked, his tone protective. She knew that the events of the evening had left him on edge—let alone seeing her nearly get killed by a dragon with no weapon to prevent it.

                Despite the not-so-subtle audience, she placed her hands on his biceps. Instinctively, his hands cupped her elbows. Mavari leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted quietly. “The team needs…time together.”

                “I understand.”

                “We’ll talk soon,” she promised. The Hellrider touched thumb and forefinger to her chin in acknowledgment before softly kissing her goodbye.

                Mavari smiled after him, that smile only fading as she heard Lyric draw in a breath. She whirled around and pointed. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

                “Not fucking daring,” Lyric chirped a little too sweetly. The Tiefling shot her a look but let it slide.

                Once the husbands were finished, the group made their way together back to where their time in the Gate began: the house all of them once called home. With plenty of alcohol left in the kitchen that Mavari had scarcely touched, the group descended on their collection, indiscriminately grabbing partially full bottles. Some had changed into spare clothes they had long forgotten at the house, while others stayed in their formal attire. But all of them looked morose as they sat around the living room, glasses in hand, staring anywhere but at each other.

                Mavari flicked her eyes toward the others in turn, waiting for someone to speak first. Finally, she drew in a breath. “I’m sorry the topic had to come up this way,” she began, “but maybe now you can understand why I wanted to keep this quiet.”

                “I understand that your secrets are important to you,” Renorash began, rubbing his temple, “but finding out this one in front of the heroes was unappreciated.”

                “Right,” she nodded, “I get that.” She said the words but didn’t fully mean them, and she took a swallow of Turmishan wine to cover that. The bottle was old and had soured, but she didn’t particularly care to be picky. They’d all be questioning their friend now, and she had preferred when only she was being paranoid.

                “I don’t want to remember Taevis and be angry,” Mira piped up. She was curled on the floor, her back against Jael’s armchair. “They were our friend.” Maybe it was the alcohol in her system, or a rare motherly moment, but the drow reached forward to let her fingernails scrape lightly against the druid’s skull. Mira closed her eyes and leaned back into the touch.

                “Taevis had their secrets like all of us do,” Jael began. Though normally the stoic, stern member of the party, her voice was what would be considered “gentle” for her. “Do not think less of them for this.”

                When it came to secrets, Jael would know. She was the one who brought the party back when they needed resurrected. Mavari wasn’t fully aware of the details (and admittedly was a different case, what with the demon patron and all), but she knew it had something to do with finding the souls and coaxing them back. Jael knew something about all of them they wouldn’t want shared, and she was staunch about keeping their privacy.

                “I have to ask,” Renorash began, “did you have any inkling of this?”

                Jael gave him a long look. “No,” she began, “or, at least, nothing that seemed to obviously point at this. Taevis’s soul was…jumbled but still ultimately good.”

                Mira visibly relaxed. “So, they had a good reason for keeping secrets,” she breathed.

                “Perhaps.” Renorash glanced to Mavari at that. She wrinkled her nose at the paladin but drank her shitty wine.

                Arlo, perched on the arm of the couch, swallowed the dark amber liquid in his cup. “Giving the benefit of the doubt’s not usually my thing,” he began. He rolled his eyes and waved off the chorus of snorts and laughter. “Taevis never gave us a reason to question their loyalty. I’m not thrilled with this amulet revelation, but they didn’t have the temperament to spend years plotting something.”

                “Agreed,” Torinn chimed in. “This sucks, but it’s not them.”

                “But, even if they were good,” Mavari pointed out quietly, “it didn’t mean they came from good. Assuming there are multiple amulets, that suggests the existence of a specific group. And, if that’s the case, Taevis may have been running from them, and thus we have a bigger problem.”

                They fell silent. Lyric, cupping her glass of sweet Amnian, looked around the group. “If there were a way we could communicate with them,” she began.

                “There’s not,” Jael responded flatly.

                “Why not?”

                “Communing with the dead requires a soul. Their soul is gone.”

                When they turned into a mindflayer, they lost their soul. No soul meant no communing with the dead, and no soul meant no way for them to come back. That somber realization had them all drinking deeply.

                “I wish there were some way we could see them again,” Lyric murmured. But no one seemed inclined to speak further, and the group drank in silence until, eventually, Arlo broke it.

                “Do you remember that time in Daggerford when Taevis bartered with the shopowner over a chicken?”

                “Yes,” Mavari groaned. “Just buy the bloody thing! We could afford it!”

                “They said it was the principle of the thing.” Arlo smirked. “Damned that it worked.”

                “Or the time they convinced that group of bandits to just walk away?” Lyric chimed in.

                They spent the rest of the night drinking and reminiscing, settling into a much happier mood.

                Having a giant hole in one’s residence made taking meetings there hard. Instead, Lelith requested meeting them at the temple. Thus, Zevlor and Cerys waited in his office for her, though neither was inclined to sit. Instead, Cerys was pacing back and forth, while Zevlor leaned against the desk, deep in thought. The former scout was muttering under her breath, punctuated by heavy sighs. Though he had tuned her out at first, the behavior was now distracting. His eyes flicked toward her. “If you’ve something to say, Cerys, you’d best say it before Lelith arrives.”

                Cerys stopped pacing. Her eyebrows furrowed. “The attitude that the patriars had at dinner,” she began. “It’s not uncommon among them, but it pissed me off.” …ah. Yes, he imagined it would. It didn’t exactly thrill him, either, to put it mildly. “That attitude’s pretty common amongst their lot.” She gestured widely. “I’m sure you noticed that all the patriars are human, elf, and dwarf. It’s like you have to be slotted into the preferred races to be among their number. The rest of us are only worthy of being their servants.”

                It was unfortunate, and it made his blood boil, but she wasn’t wrong. He had seen the patriars’ guard. Cerys was rare as a Tiefling in their employ—or, rather, formerly in their employ. And, though he had said his piece at the dinner alongside Lelith, he lacked confidence that his words would truly sink into their minds and hearts. That would take time, effort, and…well, perhaps it was better to not get too far along that line of thinking.

                “I was hoping things would be different than in Elturel,” she continued, “and maybe I deluded myself into thinking they were. But…they’re really not, are they?”

                His mind flooded with the memory of then General Gideon Grayspire, recently promoted to High Observer, giving the orders that the Tieflings were exiled from their home effective immediately. “We have allies in high places here,” he responded levelly. He knew this was not a good answer to the question, and Cerys’s frustrated look said as much. Zevlor thinned his lips. She might not care for the answer, but what could he say to her? He wasn’t going to lie.

                “Commander.” Arkis appeared in the doorway. They offered a polite nod to Cerys. “The Grand Duke has arrived.”

                “Thank you, Arkis. Show her in, please.”

                Moments later, the Grand Duke Lelith entered the office. She glanced at Zevlor and Cerys in kind. “Is this a standing meeting?” she asked, amused. “I’m not against the idea, mind.”

                “Sorry, Your Grace,” Cerys sighed. “We can sit.”

                Lelith shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m feeling too energetic to sit myself.” She glanced between the two of them. “About last night,” she began. “I feel it goes without saying that that the attitudes of certain patriars do not reflect my own opinions. Nevertheless, I feel obligated to apologize on their behalf for the discomfort at dinner.”

                Zevlor and Cerys exchanged a look. “You’ve been a Grand Duke for weeks, Lelith,” Zevlor lightly reprimanded her. “These things take time.”

                “They do, but, regardless, it doesn’t make them right.” Lelith frowned. “I’m grateful to have had all of you for that and…later events.”

                “Has the dragon been cleared?” Zevlor questioned, curious.

                “They’re working on it. We’re dividing the meat amongst the temples first and the merchants second. The rest, I’d…” She looked to Zevlor. “I know we were going to speak about the coalition today, but there’s something else I wanted to run by you.”

                “Oh?”

                “I wasn’t thrilled with the sentiments the patriars raised about specifically the Tieflings,” she began. “It struck me that both of you tend to speak of your people as a community.” She nodded to both Zevlor and Cerys in turn. “It also hasn’t escaped my notice that the sense of community you coveted wasn’t able to continue here in the Gate.”

                “I’d have preferred if the group could stay together,” Zevlor conceded, “but I understand that we are fitting in where we can.”

                “Wyll and I spoke after everyone left last night.” Lelith crossed her arms. “The dragon attack was unfortunate but came with its own benefits. We’re planning on selling every bit of that dragon we can harvest and putting the gold toward a good cause. Namely…” Now she stared directly in Zevlor’s eyes. “We want to put the money from it toward funding a district specifically for the Elturian refugees.”

                Zevlor was stunned. Had he heard her correctly? A district of their own in the Gate? Cerys, gods bless her, was able to speak where he could not. “Lelith,” she began, her voice growing heavy. “That’s a lot of money.”

                “I know.” Her gaze was steady. “We don’t need it, and, even if we did, we wouldn’t feel right keeping it.”

                “Where would you…?” Cerys cleared her throat. “This is a lot to take in.”

                “I know.” Lelith’s expression turned gentle. “Conveniently, there’s a wider area around the bard school and the café that has been in sore need of attention for a while. As is,” she now looked to Zevlor specifically, “the house Cataclysm bought.” He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with Lelith’s quirked eyebrow but chose to ignore it. “We are looking at redistricting that. There are buildings there currently that can serve as temporary housing until more permanent ones are built. I’d like the coalition to be headquartered there, as well. It’s clear to me that protecting your people is much more of a necessity than I originally anticipated.” She paused, looking at them in turn. “Is this something you think you would be in favor of?”

                “A district for ourselves would be ideal,” Zevlor began slowly, “but there are less than two dozen of us left from our group.”

                “Yours,” Lelith began, holding up a hand and ticking down her fingers, “Guerus’s, Intari’s, Arkis’s, Casmir’s. Plus any who had broken apart from the groups but survived.”

                Did he dare…? Zevlor stood straighter. “After the Shadow Cursed Lands,” he began.

                Now she looked at him more meaningfully. “A scout has come forward to bring news of a surviving group of Elturian Tieflings. They’re managing but won’t last much longer with their current situation. I’m hoping that they’d agree to come to the Gate.”

                “I…think I need to sit down,” Zevlor muttered, moving around the desk.

                “I know.” Lelith took a seat of her own. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

                “Miraaaaa,” whined Lyric. “Pleeeeeeeease.”

                “It’s steeping,” Mira scolded her, rubbing her middle finger over her temple. “If you’re going to wake me up to make you the tea, you need to give me time to actually do it.”

                “Maybe we shouldn’t have drank so much last night,” Torinn groused from the couch. “I feel like I got ran over by a herd of axebeaks.”

                “Feel like my head’s gonna explode.” Arlo, splayed on the other side of said couch, had his forearm over his eyes.

                From her chair, peering over her book, Jael regarded at her miserable teammates. “I told you all before you went to bed to have some water,” she chastised. “But you never listen to me.”

                “Jael, do me a favor and shut the fuck up.”

                “Guess that means Arlo’s not cooking breakfast, then.” Mavari sauntered out of her room, tying her hair up with a ribbon. “Looks like I have to be a good hostess after all. Here.” She grabbed a loaf of bread and set it and some butter on the table. “Have that to soak up the alcohol. Zevlor made some the other day and left the extra.”

                “Zeeeevlooooor,” Lyric sang, but a lurch in her tummy prevented her from teasing further. Mavari cocked an eyebrow at Mira, who stifled a giggle, and started moving about the kitchen.

                “Will you need any help wrangling these children?” Renorash asked as he entered into the living room. He, too, seemed to be doing okay.

                Mavari waved him off. “We’ll be fine. Go see Kya and Gemma.”

                The half-orc nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” He moved toward the door. Moments later, she heard him make a surprised noise. “Ah! Hello, Archdruid.”

                “Just Halsin will suffice,” a familiar deep voice rumbled. “I beg pardon, am I intruding?”

                A load noise of protest arose from the husbands. Mira and Mavari immediately exchanged looks and peeked around the corner. At the door, they could see a pleasant looking Halsin, whose eyes swiveled to them as they moved. Mira felt her heart start to beat a little faster as he smiled at her. “Mira,” he greeted. “I was hoping you were here.”

                “Good to see you, Halsin,” Mavari greeted warmly. “Come on in, if you don’t mind the hangover idiots.”

                Renorash stepped to the side and looked back to the women. Whatever Mavari was saying or doing, Mira couldn’t tell, but he nodded and left quietly. Mira gulped and straightened, turning toward her friend. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

                “Trust me,” Mavari whispered back. She lightly bumped her hip against Mira’s, sending the druid slightly off balance. “Go talk to him.”

                Mira gulped again but nodded. She took a deep breath and headed toward the door, where Halsin was lingering. “Hey,” she offered with a nervous smile.

                “Good morning,” Halsin responded, his own charming and easy. He gestured toward the room. “I take it you had fun last night after the banquet?”

                “No,” groaned the husbands.

                “Reminiscing,” Mira replied, waving it off. “How about you? Did you stay at the Grand Dukes'?”

                Halsin nodded. “I did. I must admit, if their home had similar festivities, I was not made aware of them.”

                “Miraaaaa,” Lyric whined again.

                “Knock it off.” Mavari threw a piece of bread at her. “She’s busy.”

                “Oh, the tea!” Mira clasped her hands. “Sorry, give me a moment to get them sorted?”

                “Let me assist you,” Halsin insisted.

                “Oh, it’s okay,” she babbled, “it just needs poured.”

                “Then I shall assist in distributing the cups.”

                Well, she couldn’t say no to that.

                To his credit, Halsin stayed for breakfast with the group, and he helped steep a second pot of tea. Whether it was because he was helping them or the husbands were too sick to care, Torinn and Arlo were holding off their usual barrage of questions. Lyric, too, seemed subdued in comparison to usual. “For your sake,” Mavari muttered to her as an aside, “I’m not going to complain about how quiet they are about this.”

                “Fair,” Mira whispered back. The poor Tiefling did get it worse than she had.

                The older druid cleared his throat. “It was pleasant to spend time with all of you,” he spoke warmly, “though I admit my motive for coming here was different.” Halsin looked to Mira and held out a hand. “Would you care to go for a run with me outside of the city?”

                “Ew, running,” Lyric groaned.

                “Oh, ah…” Mira faltered.

                Mavari lightly nudged her. “Do you want to spend time with Halsin?” she asked.

                “Can it be, like, a lunch date or something?”

                “It’s not your date.” The Tiefling threw the towel in her hand at Lyric, who squawked.

                “Yes, I do,” Mira blurted out. “I mean…yes, that sounds lovely.”

                “Wonderful.” Halsin beamed at her. “Shall we?”

                “We’ll take care of the idiots, Mira,” Jael provided, standing. “Enjoy yourselves.”

                Halsin found the young druid to be pleasant company. Walking from Lower City to the outskirts of Rivington would take some time, which gave them ample opportunity for idle chit chat. Once Mira had gotten over her nerves, she had proven to be an enthusiastic conversation partner. He was finding himself more and more intrigued by her by the minute. Soon enough, they hit the edge of Rivington, facing into a wooded area. Halsin turned to face the half-elf. “Do you have a preferred animal shape?”

                Mira tipped her head and nodded. She met his eyes with a smile as the familiar yellow glow filled her own then surrounded her body. She shifted forward onto all fours, and, within seconds, the form of a wolf had taken her place.

                “Fitting,” he laughed. Protective, loyal, pack-oriented. He remembered fully how she growled at dinner when that Lady Merthock brought up her friend’s court marshal. With a nod of acknowledgment, he, too, concentrated on the wolf form. At this point in his life, his bones shifting and his body rearranging itself as it changed shape was an old familiar feeling. Soon enough, his wolf form was nodding to her in deference. She could lead.

                With his go ahead, Mira took off into the woods. He followed. For miles they ran, darting around fallen trees, jumping over exposed roots, bouncing from ledge to ledge… They yipped happily at each other and kept going. Halsin couldn’t remember the last time he ran so freely like this, and especially not with another druid. It was exhilarating.

                Once they arrived at a clearing, Mira turned around and nipped at him before falling back into the familiar chest down, haunches up stance. Play? Halsin growled good-humoredly and bapped her with his paw before falling back into a similar stance. Mira hopped from side to side before tackling him, initiating a wrestling match.

                By the time he had managed to pin her, their wild shapes had expired. Halsin watched as paws gave away to hands, fur into flesh, and long canine snouts shortened into their humanoid faces. It took him a moment to recognize Mira below him, face flushed, as his hands pinned her shoulders to the ground.

                “Halsin,” she breathed. And, oh, did she look at him so sweetly. He wanted to lean down and take her right then, but—

                Don’t try to force anything. Aurelia’s words from nearly half a year ago were ringing in his ears. He paused. Her voice in his memory continued: The casual relationships come easily to you, but you are looking for something more…substantial.

                Was he simply repeating the past with Mira? Had he convinced himself to bring her out here because they’d both want something out of it, and then leave it as casual? Is that what he wanted? No, Aurelia had been right. He wanted something more for himself, and falling back on old habits wasn’t the way to get it.

                Mind the cub, Jaheira’s voice spoke in his head. I like this one.

                Taking in a deep breath, Halsin sat up, releasing her shoulders. Mira swallowed and sat up. “Halsin?”

                “Forgive me, Mira.” He couldn’t resist lightly catching her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I was taken by the moment.”

                “Um,” she began. “I don’t mind.”

                As much as he appreciated that, it didn’t help him. He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Perhaps we should head back. But I very much would like to do this again sometime.”

                “Halsin?”

                “Yes?”

                She threw her arms around him and captured his lips. He staggered a bit but quickly placed his free hand on her hip, welcoming the gesture. When she pulled back, Mira had a mischievous look on her face. “Okay, now we can head back.”

                “Lead the way,” he laughed. This one was full of surprises.

                Despite the circumstances surrounding it, it felt good to have almost the entire party together again. Lelith placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder as she looked around the parlor, her heart swelling. Astarion and Jaheira were in an animated conversation over their glasses of red. Minsc was hovering nearby, gesturing wildly to an intrigued but bewildered Gale. Shadowheart, at the last moment, came rushing in, declaring a need for a glass, which Wyll was all too happy to pour for her, followed by a sheepish looking Halsin, who, unusually, also requested a glass.

                It still felt empty without Lae’zel and Karlach. But one of those holes would be filled eventually, and the other hopefully the following day.

                Lelith drew in a deep breath before settling down on the love seat next to her husband. “One of these days, we’re going to reunite under more pleasant circumstances.” She smiled at that and the chuckles that followed. She held her wine glass aloft. “To us.”

                “To us,” the party echoed before each took a sip of their drink.

                “You were gone for quite some time, Halsin,” Astarion commented, trying to sound disinterested while simultaneously being extremely interested.

                “Why, Astarion,” Halsin quipped, a smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t realize you cared.”

                “I don’t,” Astarion scoffed.

                “He’s bored and stuck inside,” Shadowheart supplied, “of course he’s going to care.” Astarion shot her a look.

                “As it were,” Halsin replied, “I don’t much like staying in the city more than I need to. I went for a run outside the city with company.”

                “With company, hmm?” Shadowheart quirked an eyebrow.

                “A run?” Jaheira said simultaneously. Whereas Shadowheart looked amused, Jaheira was giving Halsin a critical look.

                Halsin met Jaheira’s look levelly. “A run and nothing more,” he spoke solemnly.

                What in the hells was going on between the druids? Lelith coughed politely. “Regardless, we’re glad you could join us again tonight, Halsin.” She gave Jaheira a plain look. The half-elf lifted an unimpressed brow in return, which was par for the course, really.

                “Impressive job clearing out that dragon,” Gale commented. “Unfortunate for the attack, but they did thorough work harvesting its body. What is it being used for?”

                “The meat is going to the soup kitchens in Baldur’s Gate first,” Wyll responded pleasantly, “and the rest will be distributed amongst the merchants. It should be more than enough to provide meals for the poor for a few days. The merchants will make good money from it, too.”

                “What of the rest of it?” Gale leaned forward with interest. “Dragon parts can make for some powerful alchemical ingredients.”

                “Selling it,” Lelith responded firmly. “We have no need of it ourselves.”

                Gale lifted his eyebrows. “That’s quite a bit of money. Is it going toward the resurrection?”

                “After we put forth the gold?” Astarion complained.

                “I know you’re not whining about thirty-five hundred gold toward bringing our friend back from the dead, Astarion,” Lelith retorted coolly.

                Astarion scowled and threw up his hands. “Look, if you were going to sell it anyway—”

                “The money will not be going toward the True Resurrection ceremony,” Wyll spoke. He glanced at his wife with a smile before he turned back to address the group, meeting all their eyes in kind. “We harvested as much as we could from the dragon specifically to raise funds for the Elturian refugees. It became clear to us after the dinner how much work needs to be done toward them specifically, and, regrettably, how much hatred still lives in the hearts of some Baldurians. With the gold, we hope to fund and build a district specifically for them and other Tieflings.”

                “That’s wonderful news,” Halsin enthused. “I am sure Zevlor will be pleased.”

                Zevlor was overwhelmed was more like it. But he seemed to warm to the idea by the end of their meeting earlier.

                “Are there enough of them left?” Shadowheart questioned. “Not to put a damper on your idea, but a lot of them didn’t make it.”

                “There were other groups that made the trip from Elturel,” Lelith reminded her, “and we’ve identified a pocket where other survivors have made a temporary home. We’re hoping we can convince them to the Gate.”

                “An admirable effort,” Halsin repeated, more forceful this time. He shot a look to Shadowheart.

                “I didn’t say it wasn’t an admirable effort, Archdruid,” she snapped, but she sat back regardless.

                “Minsc was wondering,” the berserker spoke. All eyes fell on him. “What is going to happen with this…True Resurrection?”

                …ah, yes. Centering them back to what was important. “I’m not entirely clear,” Lelith started slowly, “but Jael mentioned that Karlach’s soul might need convinced to come back. She said this could be accomplished in a few ways—some read poems, some give an impassioned speech—but every contribution counts.” Something in that reminded her, and she winced. She was supposed to tell Dammon when she knew something. Lelith reached out and grabbed Wyll’s forearm. “Don’t let me forget,” she murmured to him. “First thing in the morning, I need to go to the Forge.”

                Wyll nodded. He then turned back to the group. “With all luck, we’ll have our barbarian friend by our side this time tomorrow.”

                “Cheers to that.” Jaheira lifted her glass.

                I hope Withers was wrong, Lelith sighed internally, lifting her glass to toast with her friends.

Chapter Text

                After he finished setting up the forge for the day, Dammon yawned. He stretched his arms above his head and felt the satisfying pop of his spine. Business was less hectic in times of peace than when the Gate was in mortal danger, but he still had a steady enough business to consider himself lucky. The business shifted in nature, true, but money was money.

                He rubbed his neck as he turned toward to the house. Some breakfast while the forge was heating, as per his routine, and he’d be ready for the day. The sound of approaching armor, however, interrupted his flow. Furrowing his brow, the Tiefling turned to see Lelith approaching. “…Grand Duke,” he greeted.

                “Dammon,” she returned levelly. “I won’t keep you. I told you I’d be in touch once I knew something…”

                He stood up straighter. Was this about the…?

                “Doomguide Tarrlok is performing the resurrection ritual today,” Lelith continued. “With all luck, Karlach will be back with us tonight.”

                One had to appreciate that she got straight to the point, but he froze regardless. Was it really…? This was actually happening? He could hardly believe it. “Lelith?” he began. She held up a hand, and he fell silent.

                “I can’t promise anything,” she warned. “There is a chance she may choose not to come back at all.”

                “I understand,” he said calmly. Inside, he felt anything but. Karlach could actually be returning.

                Lelith looked like she wanted to say something else, but she instead gave a curt nod. “I’ll have someone reach out once we know something.”

                “Right.” They stared at each other for an awkward moment before Lelith nodded again, turning to leave. “Oh, and Lelith?” She paused, turning back to him. “Thank you.”

                For a moment, her face softened. Then, it was back to business. “Wait to thank me until we see if it works,” she advised. Without another word, the paladin left.

                He exhaled slowly, running his hands over his hair. She might be coming back. She might be coming back. He should be thrilled, right? Then why did he feel so strange all of a sudden?

                The Kelemvor Temple was built in Lower City, directly over the Bhaal Temple in the Undercity. It was stark and clean, with marbled floors and columns. Whereas some temples were designed to appear inviting, this one was strictly for business and reflected such. One by one, the heroes of the city arrived to the building, apart from Astarion. It did, though, include the arrival of Minsc with a body shaped bag over his shoulder that no one questioned. The last to show up was Lelith last, looking a little perturbed as she entered the foyer. No one questioned that, either.

                Upon seeing the gathered party, one of the clerics trotted over. “Doomguide Tarrlok should arrive shortly,” they promised. “In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable.”

                “Not really much of a way to do that, is there?” Shadowheart muttered under her breath, looking at the nearly empty room.

                “Please,” the body bag groaned over Minsc’s shoulder, “I’m getting claustrophobic.” The cleric, to their credit, didn’t seem phased at all by a talking body bag. Instead, they left the heroes to their own devices. “Put me down, you oaf!”

                Minsc shrugged. “Whatever you say, my friend.” The bag was dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

                “Could you be a little gentler?” the bag complained. The tie at the top loosened, and a head of white hair poked out from the opening. Astarion scowled at the berserker. “Honestly. This is not what I had in mind when I said I needed assistance.”

                “He got you here, didn’t he?” Jaheira rapped her knuckles against the spawn’s skull. “You should be more grateful.”

                “I’ll be grateful when we see if this works,” he groused, standing.

                “Enough.” Lelith shot them both looks before her attention was drawn toward the entrance. Doomguide Tarrlok in her clerical armor had entered, walking tall with hands behind her back. Behind her were Renorash, Mira, and Lyric. “Doomguide Tarrlok,” she greeted. “Thank you again for this.”

                “Thank me when we see if the ritual succeeds,” Jael advised. Behind her, the druid and the bard exchanged a quick look. “Is everyone here?”

                “Not yet,” Shadowheart interrupted. The group looked to her. The Selunite cleric merely pointed to a corner of the room where a shimmer had formed. In moments, Lae’zel’s astrally projected form appeared.

                “I hope I am not too late,” the githyanki began.

                “Lae’zel.” Wyll sounded surprised but pleased. “How did you know?”

                “Shadowheart contacted me,” was the simple answer. “I could not allow myself to miss Karlach’s glorious return to the Material Plane.”

                “Glad to have you.” Lelith smiled, relieved.

                “Shall we get started, then?” Jael walked past the group and pushed open a set of double doors at the end of the room. Renorash gestured for the group to follow her, and, as they collectively entered the room, the other three Cataclysm members followed. This room was much the same as the rest of the temple, though it had an altar near the far wall, situated in front of the God of Death’s statue.

                “Pardon me,” Mira apologized. Once they had moved, she took a long red blanket from her pack and spread it out in the center of the room. Wyll was quick to assist her in smoothing it out, earning him a smile of gratitude. With that done, she carefully knelt to the ground. Her fingers lightly touched the ground on either side of the blanket. Around its edges sprouted white gladiolus, marigolds, and lotus flowers.

                Halsin made a noise of approval. Gently, he touched Mira’s shoulder. “May I?” She blushed at the gesture but nodded. With her approval, he, too, gently touched the ground; his druidcraft created flame lilies to intersperse with her blooms.

                “Beautiful.” Mira exchanged a smile with him.

                “The diamonds?” Jael questioned, not caring that she was interrupting a moment. It was Wyll who stepped forward to hand her the bag. The cleric nodded her thanks to him. She closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself, before looking at the eight people and one projection gathered before her. “I do not know how long this will take,” she spoke. “If you need to take a break, please leave and come back quietly. It will take some time to find Karlach’s soul in the Fugue Plane. Once I do, her soul will then need convinced to come back. I will tell you when it is that time. Are we understood?” The group nodded. “Are we ready?” They nodded again.

                “If you could gather around the sides, please,” Mira bid. Carefully, they shuffled to either side of the blanket. Some chose to stand, while others sat, but all of their eyes were trained on Jael. The drow knelt at one end of the blanket, her back toward the alter. Mira sat opposite of her, keeping her eyes trained on Jael. Renorash and Lyric hovered on either side of the alter. It wasn’t immediately apparently what their part would be in this ritual, but those gathered had their minds on more important matters.

                “Let’s begin.” Placing the bag on the ground, Jael reached inside, scooping the diamonds out in her hands. She closed her eyes momentarily as she concentrated. As she began to murmur the spell’s incantation, she spread her hands in front of her. The diamonds floated in the air between her palms. She opened her eyes to reveal they were glowing green. Her hands, also glowing, began moving in a slow, steady rhythm, forming the somatic components. Minutes later, the diamonds shattered.

                The majority of the group startled, leaning forward, but Mira held up her hands silently, gesturing them to calm down. She nodded toward the blanket, where a faint green glow had started to form. They settled back gingerly, eyes trained on the glow.

                Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. “Is it working?” Minsc asked, voice loud in the silent space.

                “Quiet,” Jaheira snapped at him. Jael’s brow furrowed.

                Twenty minutes turned into forty-five. By now, most had chosen to sit. The group was now restless and worried. Renorash glanced around the room and had stepped forward when Jael let out a gasp. “Now,” she breathed. “Call to her.”

                They jolted upright. Everyone stared at each other, unsure who should go first. Wyll cleared his throat. “I’ll start.” As the others visibly relaxed, he leaned forward slightly. He wasn’t sure where to focus his attention exactly, but, figuring her body was meant to materialize on the blanket, he deduced that was the best place. “Karlach,” he began, voice soft but firm. “My friend. Our friend. We would not have been able to defeat the Absolute without your courage and bravery. Though we only have traveled together for a short time, you were our heart. You became much more than a companion or a teammate—you became our family. I would not ask anything of you that you do not wish, Karlach, but please consider giving yourself a second chance at life. A chance to live truly free of Zariel and the engine.” His voice was steady even though it became heavy. “We love you, our sister.”

                “Good,” Jael murmured. Wyll sat back, exhaling slowly. She inclined her head slightly, indicating the next person should go.

                “I’ll go next,” Shadowheart offered. She cleared her throat, nervous. “I, ah, found this poem in the Ravengards’ study. I thought it was fitting. I’m not sure if you’re a fan of poetry, but…well, perhaps you’ll like this one?” She hesitated, finding herself looking toward Mira. Her fellow half-elf nodded with an encouraging smile. Drawing in a breath, she began to recite, voice shaking: “Let me but live my life from year to year/With forward face and unreluctant soul/Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal/Not mourning for the things that disappear/In the dim past, nor holding back in fear/From what the future veils; but with a whole/And happy heart, that pays its toll/To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.”

                Jael furrowed her brow. Shadowheart winced. Seeing this, Halsin quickly stepped in. “Karlach,” he began quietly. “I understand that this must be difficult, particularly after accepting your own death. While I certainly respect your decision, I must beg you to consider the opportunity before you. What happened to you in the hells was not your fault, nor was it your intended path. You have the unique chance to try again, to live your true purpose. To live as yourself. Please, my friend.”

                Before Jael could react, Lae’zel jumped in. “Karlach Cliffgate,” the projection boomed. “Demonsbane. Protector of the Realm. I have told great stories of you to my people. All who hear your name are inspired by your power. Your name will forever be written in the stars.” She spoke a phrase in her native tongue and translated: “Vanquisher of the Unjust. Come, let us fight alongside each other once again.”

                “Do we all have special titles in gith folklore?” Astarion stage whispered to Shadowheart.

                “Shut up,” she hissed.

                “Keep going,” Renorash urged, ignoring the whispers.

                “You know, my friend,” Minsc boomed, “we have a saying in Rashemen. There are those who think and those who dream. I think it is less time for dreaming and more for thinking!”

                “What in the hells is that supposed to mean?” Lelith muttered to her husband.

                “Perhaps dreaming is a metaphor for the eternal sleep?” Wyll mused.

                “Bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

                “Why are you trying to apply logic to anything he says?” Astarion scoffed.

                “Karlach,” Jaheira interrupted. Once again, she needed to step in to aid her struggling friend, even if he didn’t realize it. “We’ve only known each other for a short time, but you’ve made a strong impression on me. I’m honored to call you a friend. Please, come back and show everyone how much of a force you are.”

                “Keep going,” Lyric urged. “Every bit helps!”

                Gale looked to Astarion and Lelith before drawing in a breath. “Right. Err. I have an idea, but I need your help with it,” he added, looking toward Lyric. “Begrudgingly.”

                “Of course!” Lyric beamed. “What can I do to help?”

                “Take that lute, please. I think you’ll know this one.” Gale drew in a breath and started to sing, a lovely baritone. Lyric quickly picked up the accompaniment. As the song continued, he grew more confident in his performance. “Now, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend/When people can be so cold?/They'll hurt you, yes, and desert you/And take your soul if you let them/Oh, but don't you let them.” He finished the song and then looked a little sheepish. “I, ah, I thought that might resonate with you, Karlach. The song reminded me of you.”

                Lyric nodded, beaming, and looked to the remaining members. Indeed, everyone’s eyes were on Astarion and Lelith. “Astarion,” Mira began, “would you like to contribute?”

                “Well, I…” He huffed, then softened. “Alright. Since you asked.” He crossed his arms. “Oh, stop staring at me!” Shifting uncomfortable, he inhaled. “You know, I thought you were overwhelming when we first met,” he began, “and more than a little insufferable.”

                “Astarion,” scolded Gale.

                “Hold on, I’m not finished!” The spawn shifted again. “But then I realized that you were…very caring. I wasn’t—I’m not, I suppose—used to people who are as good as you were. Are. And, well…perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have you back in our lives again, Karlach.”

                Jael’s brow creased again, which did not seem to be a good sign. Now, with only one of them left, all eyes were on Lelith to finish strong. Gathering herself, the Tiefling looked at each of her teammates in turn, then to the present members of Cataclysm, before she spoke.

                “Karlach,” she began. “From the moment we first met, I knew you were something special. Someone special. The absolute joy you had for life when you realized you were free, how willingly you fought for each and every one of us, I…” She paused, unwilling to give too much away. “We love you so much. You know we would have given absolutely anything to change your fate, to fix your engine for good, but we had no means at the time.” Outside of casting her back into the hells, which was not an option. “We now can,” she stated firmly. “With this spell, you will have a heart again. Your heart. You can finally be fully, unequivocally free of Zariel’s influence and free to live your life as you like. Isn’t that what you wanted?” A hint of desperation seeped into her voice. “We need you, Karlach. Please.”

                Wyll’s hand reached for hers. Lelith snatched it and gripped it tightly. Wordlessly, she looked around the room. Something in her words had resonated with her now misty-eyed teammates. But, now, their work was done, and it was up to Jael and Karlach.

                All eyes were on the blanket as the green energy there and around Jael’s hands grew darker. It appeared to be forming the shape of a body. Gradually, the light became more intense in line with the Jael’s voice increasing in volume. “Karlach Cliffgate!” her voice boomed, and the light became blinding. Once it had faded, the companions’ vision slowly adjusted in time to see one very naked female Tiefling laying on the ground before them, groaning. They could do nothing but stare in disbelief.

                Slowly, the woman sat up. “Uh, hey, everyone,” she greeted, lifting a hand awkwardly. Her voice was hoarse from disuse.

                Karlach Cliffgate, alive and well, yelped in surprise as her friends dove in to give her a hug.

                Jael still wasn’t sure that this was the right decision by her god, and she had a feeling she’d be mulling on this during her trance. But, limbs shaking, she had to admit it felt good to see so many happy faces. And, as promised, no sign of the infernal machinery in sight. Karlach’s body was fully hers.

                “Careful,” Renorash murmured, reaching down to help her stand. Lyric scurried to her other side. “You did well, Jael.”

                “Everyone’s so happy,” Lyric enthused. “But are you okay?”

                “Very tired,” Jael sighed. The spell took a lot out of her. She could sense her teammates shooting each other worried glances.

                “We’ll make sure you get home okay,” the genasi promised. The drow nodded mutely, watching as Mira interrupted the love fest long enough to offer Karlach a simple set of clothes. The Tiefling took them but didn’t yet dress. She presumably had just noticed her lack of engine, as she was presently feeling her chest and crying. Jael blinked tiredly and registered Shadowheart pointing at her.

                Her eyes went wide as the enthusiastic Tiefling came over to her. Not many people could make her feel small, but Karlach wrapped her arms around Jael and lifted her into the air, giving her a tight bear hug. She let out a light squeak of surprise, which was very unlike her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Karlach gushed.

                “You’re…welcome.” Jael was relieved when Karlach placed her back on her feet. She frowned. “Now, Karlach,” she warned, “don’t push yourself too hard. You’ll need to take it easy for the next day or so as you get used to being alive again.”

                “Yeah, sure,” Karlach responded in a way that didn’t inspire confidence in Jael she would.

                “If you need us for any reason,” Lyric chimed in, “come ask for us at the Blushing Mermaid!”

                “The Mermaid?” Karlach’s eyesbrows raised. “You mean where we kicked the hag’s ass?”

                “It’s under new management,” the genasi hummed. Jael recognized that tone all too well as she frowned at Lyric.

                “Karlach,” Lelith called, “there’s one stop we need to make before we head back. You can stay with Wyll and me as long as you need.”

                “Ah, right.” Karlach grinned and saluted. “See you around, then?”

                “Please put on your clothes first,” Mira begged.

                “Oh, yeah!”

                Jael blinked tiredly as the larger group, now with a not naked Karlach, left. Perhaps bringing her back was the right decision after all. After all, the fact that she was still on the Fugue Plane and not claimed by some god or another seven months after her death was strange…

                The sun was starting to set. Dammon sighed and wiped his brow as he set about dousing the forge. He had kept himself purposely busy, not wanting to get caught up with “what ifs.” Finally, though, it seemed about time to call it a night. He wiped his hands and began to put his tools away.

                “Dammon?”

                He froze. No. Certainly, that couldn’t be… Slowly, he turned around. He had to blink once, twice, before he could believe what he saw.

                Karlach, dressed in simple, modest clothes, lifted her hand. “Hey,” she called shyly.

                He was in disbelief. Surely, he was dreaming…? His feet started moving without him realizing. Soon, he had closed the distance between them.

                They stared at each other for a long while, and… He didn’t know which one of them had kissed the other first. But, before he knew it, their arms were around each other as their lips pressed met. And Karlach pulled back first, laughing. “I, uh, hi.”

                “You’re back,” he breathed. “You’re actually back.”

                “Yeah,” she confirmed sheepishly. “Um, I can’t stay. Cleric said I need to get my rest so I can get used to being alive again, but…Lel said you’d want to see me.”

                For the first time, Dammon noticed the two Grand Dukes standing near the entrance. Lelith’s arms were crossed in front of her chest, while Wyll’s hands were clasped behind his back. Both nodded politely. “Oh, uh…I see.” He cleared his throat. “When you’re rested, how about dinner? My treat.”

                “Uh, sure.” Karlach’s lips quirked. “I’ll come by and let you know?”

                “Perfect.” She flashed him another grin before hurrying back to the Ravengards. He waved awkwardly as the trio left. There was a feeling of uncertainty gnawing at him, but…that didn’t mean anything. He’d ignore it, and it would go away.

                Karlach was back.

Chapter Text

                “A scout?” Guerus questioned, brow furrowed. “Color me curious.”

                “Someone who took it upon themselves to seek out survivors, at that.” Zevlor crossed his arms as he leaned on his desk. “The Grand Duke didn’t say who it was, but she said she’d wanted to arrange a meeting.” Days after the banquet, once the dust settled and one Karlach Cliffgate’s resurrection was successful, things were calming down. Upon calling this meeting, the first thing he did was inform the remaining Hellriders of the plans for the district. Especially knowing their time at the temple was coming to an end, he wanted to reassure them they had other options available. The second bit was, of course, discussing the coalition.

                Having to endure Intari, Arkis, and Casmir brainstorming names was much better than hearing them fret about their future. He could live with it if it gave them some relief.

                “I wonder if they are one of ours?” Intari mused. Her gaze turned toward the two lieutenants, raising her eyebrows.

                “A good guess,” Arkis supplied, “but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

                “Indeed.” Zevlor shifted. There was a strange feeling forming in his stomach. He ignored it.

                “Sir.” Casmir poked his head around the corner. “Your guest is here.”

                “Bring them in, Private,” Zevlor spoke, nodding.

                Casmir saluted before gesturing the guest to enter the space. From around the corner came a Tiefling with a familiar set of red leather armor and green sleeves. Zevlor had about half a second to register just who that armor belonged to before a fist was flying at his face.

                Crack.

                The aim was slightly off, hitting his cheek rather than his nose, but he didn’t attempt to block or stop it. In fact, the punch brought a strange amount of…relief. Somehow, the tension he had felt for several months, anticipating a form of retaliation from someone, dissipated. Now, he could move forward.

                It took him a moment to register how fast Arkis and Casmir had pinned their guest’s arms. They were trained to protect him, of course, but— “Leave him,” Zevlor barked. “Leave us.”

                “Commander?” Casmir looked conflicted.

                “I’d like to speak with Zorru alone,” he commanded, eyes on the young man. “Do not interrupt us until the Grand Duke arrives.”

                “You heard the Commander,” Guerus ordered. “Out.” He shot Zevlor a concerned look. Zevlor nodded slowly to him before turning his attention toward Zorru. Guerus inclined his head and shut the door quietly behind them.

                “Pretty stupid of you to be alone with me.” Zorru was puffed up like a cat trying to make himself look bigger. Despite the bravado, his eyes carried a look of fear. “I should kill you for what you did.”

                “There was a time where I’d have let you,” the older Tiefling responded calmly. This time, when Zorru leveled a punch at him, he easily caught it. Zevlor’s hand tightened around Zorru’s fist, drawing a surprised noise from the scout. “Would you sit down, please?”

                “I don’t want to sit down,” Zorru insisted. “I want to kick your ass.”

                “Interesting. Yet you chose to enter a building with five trained soldiers and a sixth fighter on the way.” Zevlor inclined his head. “You’re a smart man, Zorru. If you truly intended harm, you would have drawn your weapon by now. Do not,” he continued as Zorru’s hands fell to the dagger on his belt, “even consider it.”

                Gingerly, he let his hand fall away, but the glare he levelled at Zevlor didn’t waver. It was in that moment that Zevlor remembered Mavari’s words of warning all those months ago: Seems downtrodden and angry. Not sure what your plans are, but I’d avoid him if I were you. His eyes carefully swept over the young man. The body language read defensive but exhausted. The eyes were burning with frustration in addition to the fear. It seemed that those feelings had still not been resolved.

                He drew in a deep breath, rising. Zorru flinched, as though preparing for retaliation, and then looked surprised when Zevlor moved around the desk to take his seat instead. Gingerly, dumbfounded, Zorru took his seat, eyeing the Commander warily. “You must have questions,” Zevlor began, gesturing. “Ask.”

                “You betrayed us,” Zorru whispered. “Why are you, out of everyone, still alive? Why are you being rewarded?”

                A question he had asked himself many times since that day in the Shadow Cursed Lands. Fewer times these days, having been filled with a new purpose, rekindled connections with his kin, and a blossoming romantic relationship. “You are…aware of the cult that the heroes defeated. Their leader had attempted to sway me, and, in the process, I was…not myself. By the time I realized it, the damage had been done.” He kept his eyes steady on Zorru’s. “I do not make excuses for the damage that happened under my leadership. I accept that the blood of our people is on my hands. But, Grand Duke Lelith and her team thought I was worth saving—worth a second chance—or else I would have become a mindflayer like…” Like Tilses had. “...like their other captives.” He hadn’t let himself think about Tilses’s fate in all of this, but she was taken to the colony, and there had been no sign of her after his rescue. That was a sobering thought. He closed his eyes briefly to swallow down the emotion.

                Perhaps something to talk to Mavari about later. Having a partner with whom to dissect these feelings was a different and comforting feeling.

                “You deserved death,” Zorru said flatly. “You promised us you’d get us to the Gate safely.”

                He’s young, Zevlor reminded himself, and scared out of his mind. “I apologize I wasn’t able to fulfill my promise. But I am grateful for Cerys and Rolan, for helping where I could not.”

                Zorru shifted uncomfortably. Zevlor realized his error quickly—mentioning how Cerys guided the surviving Tieflings to Baldur’s Gate in his absence, and how Rolan was responsible for saving a number of the Tieflings who made it, likely felt to Zorru like he was twisting the knife. For where the two of them stayed and helped, Zorru left. And, though Zevlor didn’t blame him, it probably seemed like he was drawing comparisons. He opened his mouth to continue but a knock on the door interrupted him.

                “My apologies for interrupting,” Grand Duke Lelith spoke, sounding not at all sorry to be interrupting. “May we come in?” Hovering behind her was Cerys.

                “Please,” Zevlor gestured, standing. The office only had two chairs. Cerys gestured for Lelith to take the remaining one while she stood. Proper etiquette would have Zorru offering his chair to Cerys, but the scout remained seated. The Commander quietly took note of this, though he didn’t call attention to it out loud. Once the Grand Duke was seated, Zevlor followed, slowly sinking into his chair.

                “Sorry for being late,” Lelith continued. “Lily was a little fussy this morning.”

                Talk of the child brought a smile to his face. “Think nothing of it,” he reassured her.

                Lelith nodded. “I won’t waste any more of your time, then. Zorru,” she began, “tell the Commander and Cerys what you know.”

                Zorru drew in a breath. “I…felt like something was wrong,” he began. His voice was shaky. “Only so many Tieflings came with you to Rivington,” he gestured to Cerys, “but something felt…strange. A lot of other Elturians made their way here with their groups, right? I thought, for sure, we couldn’t have been the only survivors from ours. And I felt a…I felt a tug. Like we were missing something.” He hesitated, looking toward Lelith again, who nodded encouragingly. “I mean, if I made it through on my own, surely there was a chance that others did. So…I set out, not really sure what I was looking for. The Fields of the Dead,” he continued. He refused to meet Zevlor’s gaze. “After breaking away, they escaped into the fields to tend their wounds and set up camp. But they felt unsafe to get closer to Baldur’s Gate with the Absolute’s army between them and the city.”

                “I presume,” Zevlor spoke, “something has kept them from moving toward us since the Absolute’s defeat.”

                “Some bandit activity,” Zorru admitted, “and Kobolds, and other things they weren’t really equipped to take on. So, they’re doing the best they can where they are, but they’re running out of supplies.”

                “How many of our kin are there?”

                “A baker’s dozen? Maybe a little more. I’m not sure I saw everyone.”

                Zevlor’s eyes shifted to Lelith. “What’s the plan?”

                The other paladin leaned forward. Calmly, she began to speak.

                Tabi was taking a day off. For all the woman put up with, both from her employers and the customers, she more than deserved it. Unfortunately, finding a replacement for her at the last minute was nearly impossible, and so Lyric took it upon herself to tend bar in Tabi’s place. Any of the extra tips she made were put aside to distribute amongst the staff later. And, once the lunch rush was done, she sank into the stool behind the bar with a relieved “whew!”

                They needed to pay Tabi more for everything she did. And they would.

                Yawning, Lyric placed her arms on the counter, propping her chin on her forearms. The problem with the rush being over was that now she was going to be bored until more people came. When they had guests, it was easy to entertain herself BY talking to them, but now there was…nothing. Maybe she could work on some music while she waited? Except her lute was upstairs, so she couldn’t work on the musical accompaniment to the degree she would like. Her notebook, though, full of poetry and ideas—that was still down here.

                Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Lyric bolted upright, flashing a brilliant smile automatically. “Welcome to the Blushing Mermaid!” she sang sweetly. “Take a seat anywhere!”

                “Thanks, Lyric,” a masculine voice replied warmly. It took Lyric approximately half a second to place a smiling but nervous looking Dammon with the woman who Jael had just resurrected. And then it clicked in her brain that she was the Karlach Dammon was mooning over for so many months.

                Her smile widened significantly. She clapped her hands together. “I’m so glad to see you two together!” she enthused. “I’ve heard so much about you, Karlach. Come here, come here…” She gestured toward an empty spot at the bar. “Your first round’s on me, you beautiful love birds, you.”

                “Uh, thanks.” Karlach flashed her an anxious grin of her own as she slid onto a bar stool. “I’ll take, eh…you got Tanagyr’s Stout?”

                “Got some in earlier this tenday, in fact,” Lyric responded, voice bubbly. “I’ll get you a tankard. Dammon?”

                “A pale’s fine.”

                “Got it!” Lyric hummed to herself as she turned. As she busied herself finding clean tankards, she heard the two of them murmuring quietly to one another, though (annoyingly) she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Whatever it was, their tones sounded a bit…strained? Well, whatever, it wasn’t her business. She attempted to ignore it as she poured from their requests casks. “Here you are!” With practiced effort, she placed the two tankards on the bar, pleased that she managed to not spill a single drop.

                “Thanks,” Dammon grinned to her, grabbing his tankard.

                “Cheers!” Karlach added, lifting hers in thanks toward the genasi. The two Tieflings tapped their tankards together before they each took long drinks. “Hey, you were at the resurrection ceremony, yeah?”

                Lyric perked. “I was!” She beamed. “I helped Gale with his song. Usually at those things I accompany someone, or I sing myself…”

                “Thanks for your help,” Karlach enthused. “I was really impressed by the whole thing. I mean, outside of, you know…coming back and everything. But this…” She tapped her chest. “Having this back means everything.”

                “Oh, um…” Lyric laughed sheepishly. “I mean, I didn’t have anything to do with that. You’d have to thank Jael, of course, it’s her magic that…”

                “Oh, sure, sure,” Karlach agreed, “I’ll thank her when I see her. But don’t discount yourself, lovely. It was a team effort, yeah?”

                She…guessed? She wasn’t sure where Karlach was going with that. “You’re right,” she conceded. And then it was time to change the subject. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

                “A couple of your specials would be good,” Dammon piped up.

                “Two specials, coming right up!”

                As Lyric moved toward the kitchen to place their order, something was bothering her. Karlach and Dammon had both seemed more comfortable with her than they had each other. Was it possible that they really weren’t as compatible as she thought?

                …No. There was no way. She was going to pretend that thought never occurred to her and move on with her day.

                The banquet was over, the resurrection was completed, and a High Harper’s work was never done. Jaheira sank into her chair and looked over her desk. Piles of paperwork had accumulated in her home office yet again. She found herself longing to abandon it to be in the field with her Harpers, or on another journey with adventurers.

                Lelith’s group, of course, was out of the business. Astarion was an option, although they might end up strangling each other. Cataclysm seemed promising, though perhaps she need not entertain these fantasies. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger.

                And, were she truthful to herself, she was realizing all too clearly her own mortality. But, thanks to her travels with the hero, she was now at peace with the idea of her inevitable death. Jaheira no longer chased the idea of immortality to avoid fate and instead was—not looking forward to death, but unafraid of it. After all, she’d be able to see Khalid again.

                Perhaps it was ironic, then, that her fingers happened to grab a letter that concerned life and death in a…peculiar way. She ignored the parchment that said something about a druid’s gathering in the Emerald Grove in favor of another with what she recognized as a Waterdhavian Harper seal on it. Quick work with her dagger popped open the seal as she unfolded the paper.

                Her eyes narrowed. Suspected fugitive in Baldur’s Gate. Grum’shar, half-orc wizard. Leader in the Xanathar Guild before a group of adventurers hired by Volothamp Geddard, sent to find one Floon Blagmaar, killed him. Though the adventurers had told the City Watch where to find the body, it has been missing since. They eventually let the trail run cold, but the Harpers picked it up. Recent tensions in the city with rumors of mindflayers have caused their eyes to turn to the Xanathar Guild, and they wanted to pursue any avenue they could to gain intel on them. And, of course, what tied it all together was a lead from close to a year ago. Three individuals and a corpse entered an abandoned temple under the dark of night: a drow, a half-elf, and a gnome, all female presenting.

                The gnome’s name meant nothing to her. Fuzzkettle rang familiar as a wizarding family, but that was as far as her knowledge stretched. Tarrlok and Nightsong, though…

                “Your group has many mysteries, doesn’t it, Cataclysm?” she murmured, rubbing her chin.

                Harboring a dead fugitive in the Gate… Certainly their group was led by a half-orc, but he was a paladin, and the timeline didn’t match with what had been revealed at the dinner. Perhaps this fugitive was being kept in the old Bhaal temple, and that was part of why Doomguide Tarrlok was being so stringent about who was allowed down there?

                She’d need to look into this further. And, perhaps, question why Jerrick Nightsong was willing to highlight his sister’s part in this.

                “Your timing is really awful,” Mavari complained, staring at the crow.

                Urich held up a wing as though he were holding a finger toward her. “Actually, my timing is great,” he corrected her. “Full moon’s coming up. I know you didn’t forget.”

                Of course she didn’t. For fifteen years, every full moon, she had to do his bidding. Eventually she had negotiated her way into a veto for one mission, but she hadn’t used it yet. Her eyes flicked toward the door. “I have a house full of people who don’t know about you,” she began, voice low. “Can this wait until later?” He gave a crow cackle, and she knew he was mocking her. She heaved a sigh. “Fine. What is it?”

                “There’s a man whose been hanging out in the Fields of the Dead,” he began. “Supposedly has some contact with Graz’zt worshippers. Or maybe is one himself. The sparrows didn’t seem clear on that.”

                Oh, yes, his sparrows. Urich’s seedy little informants, usually (though not always) found in brothels around Faerun. “So find him and pump him for information? It can’t be that easy.”

                “Well, you may have to kill him, naturally.” The crow shrugged casually. “And they didn’t seem to know who all was hanging around him, so you might have to kill those people, too.”

                “Great. Do they at least have a description of what this guy looks like, or a name? Something not infuriatingly vague?”

                “Yeah, sure. Name’s Yelson. Human, apparently one of those nondescript types. Brown hair, blue eyes, roughly your height. They said was wearing green robes last they saw.”

                Mavari placed her hands on her hips. “Your sparrows did sloppy work,” she complained. The mark on the back of her neck burned. Mavari hissed and placed a hand over it. “Okay, fine. I’ll find this Yelson.”

                “Good,” the crow purred in response. He hopped onto her shoulder. “I want to see how this plays out with your guests.”

                “There is no reason for you to be there,” Mavari grumbled to him, but she started walking out anyway. Urich trilled at her but said nothing as she pressed through her bedroom door and into the loud silence of her living room.

                She didn’t know why Lelith chose her home of all places to have this meeting. Why not the Mermaid, or the temple, or somewhere in public? But, instead, she saw eleven adult Tieflings crowded into the space. Lia, Lakrissa, and Alfira were piled onto the couch. Cal was flopped in one of the armchairs, with Rolan propped onto its arms, arms crossed, looking wary. Dammon was in the other chair across from them, looking curious. Opposite the couch, in four chairs pulled from the dining room table, were Bex, Danis, Cerys, and Zorru—the four Rivington adults in solidarity. Finally, standing just behind Dammon’s chair, arms crossed, was Zevlor.

                All eleven pairs of eyes turned toward her as she entered, as though waiting for someone to break the tension. Drawing in a breath, she let a friendly smile spread across her lips. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she greeted warmly. “I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable.” Well, comfortable enough. She saw the plate of cookies on the table, delicately arranged. “Those look amazing, Bex. Danis, would I be able to trouble you for some tea?”

                “O-Of course,” Danis stammered, practically jumping to his feet. He scrambled to the kitchen.

                “We haven’t met,” Alfira began toward the warlock, taking it upon herself to make the introduction. Her voice was bubbly, matching Mavari’s energy, but a hint of nerves peeked through. “I’m Alfira, the owner of the bard school nearby.”

                “Oh, right, you’ve played at the Mermaid before,” the red Tiefling recalled. She held out a hand to shake Alfira’s. “I’m Mavari. Nice to meet you.” On her shoulder, Urich leaned forward, peering at the pretty bard.

                “That’s an interesting bird,” Alfira began. “Your familiar?”

                Mavari straightened, lifting a finger to rub under the crow’s beak. “He’s something all right. His name’s Rochefort.” Urich gave a light squawk of protest that she ignored.

                “Rochefort,” Rolan repeated, raising an eyebrow at her. “You know, if you were choosing a singular name from that book, I would have expected D’Artagnan.”

                She snorted. “He’s not a D’artagnan.” Urich squawked at her again. She ignored him again. “You’ve read it?”

                “Since moving into the Tower, yes.” Rolan’s lips quirked. “I occasionally read something outside of my magic books. Perhaps you could benefit by reading more of them?”

                “You’re going to start this debate in my house, wizard?”

                “Anyway,” Lakrissa cut in. “Nice to see you again, Mavari. Didn't connect the dots until just now.”

                “Nice to see you again, Lakrissa." That's right. She was the waitress for her first date with Zevlor at the Elfsong. "Hey Lia, Cal.”

                “Mav,” Lia responded in kind. “Took you long enough to invite us over, eh?”

                “To be fair, there’s one of me and three of you, and your place is infinitely nicer.” She turned. “Cerys,” she greeted, “welcome.” Her gaze lingered on Zorru, but she noticed the scout looked about as nervous around her as she felt wary around him. Kindness, then. “Zorru. It’s been a while.” There was a tight smile and a nod of acknowledgment from the younger man. Figuring that was as best she was going to get, she turned to Dammon. “Good to see you again.”

                “Likewise,” Dammon nodded.

                And, finally, her beau. Mavari glided toward him, placing a hand on Zevlor’s arm. He turned his head toward her. He looked…tired. She hadn’t seen him look this exhausted since she first met him. But, where the rest of him was impassive, his orange eyes were warm as his fingers lightly brushed hers, and she read the body language well enough. If he wanted to keep their connection private in front of his people, she was fine with that for now. She withdrew her hand and turned toward the group.

                “Do you know why we were called here?” Cal asked Mavari. “I mean, considering we’re using your house.”

                She inclined her head. Zevlor had informed her about his conversations with the Grand Duke—the potential of a coalition, the proposed district, the small pocket of survivors that needed their aid—but she wasn’t one to tip her hand to anyone, much less when her silence was requested. “Only as much as she needed to convince me to host the meeting,” she lied easily. It was good enough for Cal, who nodded in understanding. Rolan, taking a cup of tea from Danis, arched an eyebrow at Mavari over the brim that she promptly ignored.

                As Danis continued to pour tea for the group, Bex started passing around the cookies. Mavari, it seemed, had broken the ice enough for them to start chatting amongst themselves. She accepted a cookie and a mug herself. Glancing over at her partner, she noticed he had taken a cup of tea but, rather than drink, was standing with his hands wrapped around it instead. There was a pained look in his eyes hiding behind a stoic façade. And she knew he had wanted her to act natural, that he didn’t want to advertise the relationship in front of everyone, but she hated to see him like that. Subtly, she let the end of her tail find his, looping around to lightly touch her spade to his. His tail tightened around hers as though giving a brief hug, and she smiled behind her cup before withdrawing hers.

                Moments later, the door opened. All eyes went toward it as Lelith, dressed not in armor but a doublet and pants, entered. Behind her was a huge red Tiefling woman in comfortable but clean looking clothes that strained against her muscles. Lelith looked calm but serious; the other woman seemed excited.

                Immediately, everyone stood. Alfira and Lakrissa not too subtly cast glances in Dammon’s direction, but the blacksmith’s eyes were on the muscular Tiefling. Mavari didn’t think too heavily about that, instead choosing to salute the Grand Duke. The shifting of armor behind her indicated that Zevlor, had, too, as had Cerys and, a few seconds behind, Zorru. “Welcome, Your Excellency,” Mavari spoke calmly. “Can I get you anything?”

                “I’m fine, Mavari. At ease.” Lelith gestured for the group to sit. Carefully, they arranged themselves where they had been previously. She motioned toward her guest. “Mavari, this is Karlach. She was by my side during our fight with the Absolute.”

                “Karlach,” Mavari repeated, holding out a hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

                “Nice to meet you, too,” Karlach responded, her face breaking into a friendly grin. The woman’s big stature betrayed her genuine enthusiasm, and Mavari was surprised at the eagerness in which her hand was shaken. “Met some of your mates already. Nice group. Won’t ever forget what you did for me.”

                What they did? Mavari registered a bit of confusion before she realized. “I’ll make sure to pass along your gratitude,” she promised. Certainly, Mavari herself hadn’t earned it.

                “Do you want to sit down?” Cal asked Lelith.

                Lelith shook her head. “I’d prefer to stand for this.” She nodded to Karlach to join the circle. Karlach padded up to Dammon’s other side, standing between him and Lia. Lelith moved further into the room to stand between Alfira and Cal. She crossed her arms and looked around the group. “Thank you for coming today,” she began. “I know this group has not been together for…quite some time.”

                Mavari was slightly surprised to feel Zevlor’s tail seeking hers. She wrapped hers around his and gave a reassuring squeeze.

                “There have been a few recent developments,” Lelith continued, “that I feel necessitated a meeting with all of you. First…” Lelith sighed and flashed them all an apologetic look. “I have not been as present for you as I would have liked. We—I—should have been available more than I was. I am grateful for Cataclysm’s involvement”—here she nodded toward Mavari—“but that doesn’t replace the fact that I should have been the one to visit, and to check on all of you, after everything.”

                “You couldn’t help it,” Lia reassured her, “you had a city to help run. And, besides, less important people forgot to check on others…”

                “Excuse you,” Rolan grumped.

                Interestingly, Mavari noted that Bex and Danis were noticeably silent. How quickly did she see them reassure Zorru about his part in everything, and how often had she heard them criticize Zevlor? The pieces were falling into place. Her eyes remained on them as she responded: “You’re in a position of authority. You have a lot of power, but you’re only one person juggling the needs of many. It’s going to upset people no matter what you do.”

                Danis wouldn’t look at her. Bex did, narrowing her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but Lelith continued before she could. “I understand your point, but I am not above criticism, either.” The paladin considered her words briefly. “The Council of Four has been discussing the possibility of creating a district specifically for our Elturian residents. I was moved by the sense of community fostered within your group when I met you in the Grove, and I want to restore that.”

                “What do you mean by a district for us?” Lakrissa questioned, curious. “Doesn’t that just separate us from the rest of the Gate?”

                “Not necessarily,” Lelith responded. “You won’t be forced to live or work there. It’s entirely your choice. But it’s a way to keep you together and foster that sense of community that you had moving forward. An area to call your own and grow as you see fit.”

                The Tieflings exchanged a look. “We spent a lot of time growing our lives since we’ve been in the Gate,” Alfira began. “I’m not sure I want to…uproot, that quickly.”

                “As it happens, the proposed area contains the bard school and the café,” Lelith noted, nodding to the two pair of couples in turn. “The forge or Sorcerous Sundries are outside of it,” she noted to Dammon and the trio, “but you would be welcome to use the district regardless.”

                “If we’re already in the neighborhood,” Danis began murmuring to Bex, who looked intrigued.

                Bex nodded to him before turning toward Lelith. “Question,” she began. “Wouldn’t having our own district make us targets? How are we going to be kept safe?”

                “An excellent question. In addition to the district, I proposed to the Council the idea of a coalition. Originally, I admit, this was a bit of a selfish ask—I do not trust the Flaming Fist as far as I can throw them.” There was murmured agreement at the sentiment. “I wanted a group that I felt had the best interests of myself as a Tiefling and my daughter at heart, and who I could trust to keep us safe. I then realized that, if I felt like this as someone in a position of authority, then all of you likely felt the same. And, in realizing that, I wanted something a little more…permanent than a coalition.” She looked to Cerys, then Zevlor, before turning her attention back to Bex. “I’ve spoken to the Commander and Cerys about the possibility of enlisting already.”

                Mavari had anticipated some blowback to this, but she didn’t expected everyone to start shouting at each other at once. She could feel Zevlor tensing beside her, no doubt warring with himself. The fight was burbling inside of her, wanting to defend him where he would not, but she was trying not to make things worse. Instead, she whispered a short incantation, casting Thaumaturgy.

                A piercing whistle split the air. Everyone immediately went silent. “Thank you, Mavari,” Lelith spoke evenly. “Now. May we talk about this calmly?”

                “You want him to protect us?” Bex asked, glaring at Zevlor. “After what he did?”

                “Zevlor was a victim of the Absolute,” Dammon argued. “It could have happened to any of us.”

                “You promised to keep us safe.” Bex ignored the blacksmith, glaring at the Hellrider. “The blood of our kin is on your hands.”

                Zevlor drew in a breath. “You are right to be upset,” he began.

                “Of course I’m right to be upset!” The baker stood, fire in her eyes. “If it weren’t for your weakness, Danis would have never gotten captured—”

                “Right, only Danis,” Lakrissa grumbled.

                “—and all the others wouldn’t have been killed—”

                “Bex,” Zorru tried to cut in, but she wasn’t to be deterred.

                “—and none of us would have been stuck in Rivington as long as we were!”

                “That’s not true, Bex,” Cerys argued. “Whether we all survived or not didn’t change the fact that the city didn’t want us.”

                “Not all of us, you mean,” Danis interjected, flashing a frustrated look around the room.

                “You think that we had it easy just because we got past the Gate?” Lia scowled at him.

                “A cushy appointment with a wizard—”

                “A wizard who ended up being a fraud and a complete bastard,” she growled at him. “You don’t know what my brother had to endure from that man, and, if you did, you’d never insist he had it easy! That we”—she gestured to Cal and herself—“had it easy. We weren’t allowed in the Tower.”

                “Oh, poor you, suffering inside the Gates with a roof over your heads,” Bex said sarcastically. “Meanwhile, we spent months in tents!”

                “And you,” Danis continued, turning to Zevlor. “You got to lead our kin to their deaths and still managed to get inside?”

                “Zevlor has spent the better part of the year volunteering his time to help refugees,” Cerys snapped at Danis, “and he’s been atoning ever since. Don’t you dare think about insisting he had it easy.”

                “Just because you easily forgave him doesn’t mean the rest of us do,” Bex snapped.

                “Do not assume that Cerys’s forgiveness came easily,” Zevlor remarked quietly. He would not speak to defend himself, but he would to defend the younger woman. Mavari didn’t know whether she found it more endearing or frustrating. “Nor would I have wanted it to.”

                “You don’t get to talk,” Bex said furiously.

                “Why shouldn’t he?” Rolan interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “The man deserves to speak as much as any of us do.”

                “How can you say that? Your siblings were taken by the Absolute because of him!”

                “Oh, now we matter,” Lia grumbled.

                “You are the only reason the children survived!”

                She had been willing to let the statements slide, no matter how badly she wanted to argue. It wasn’t her place. But bringing up the children? That hit a sore spot. Something in Mavari snapped. “You’re going to talk about the kids, Bex?” Mavari’s voice was eerily calm. “Do you really want to go down that route?”

                “Bex,” Danis said, sounding afraid. Bex steeled herself and started to stand.

                “Sit down,” Mavari barked. “None of you—none of you—thought about what would happen to the children in all of this. If you had, they wouldn’t have been left alone in Rivington.” She glared at all of them in turn, excepting her partner and Cerys. Once her gaze reached Cerys, she gestured: “By the time I met you, Cerys was the only one looking after them, while also trying to do right by the rest of you. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

                “They—” Rolan began, but Mavari held up a hand to silence him.

                “I’d advise you be very careful what you’re about to say,” she said coldly, “because they’re listening to every word that’s being said right now.”

                Throughout the conversation, she had noticed the hatch to the basement slowly lifting just enough. Five sets of glowing eyes peeked out from beneath it. It was a wonder no one else had caught onto or commented on it. But, once it was acknowledged, the hatch to the basement shut quickly, startling the adults who promptly turned toward the noise. “It’s all right,” Mavari called. “You can join us.”

                Tentatively, the hatch pushed open, and Umi shoved it all the way open. One by one, Umi, Mattis, Ide, Mirkon, and Silfy crawled up from the basement. Silfy immediately hurried across the room to Mavari, hugging the warlock around her waist tightly. Her hand wrapped around the girl protectively. In contrast, the boys lingered near the hatch, eyeballing the adults warily—all except Mirkon. “Are those cookies?” he asked excitedly, beelining for the plate.

                “You—” Rolan began, looking toward Mavari.

                Although she opened her mouth to respond, it was Zevlor who beat her to it. “Mavari has given the children a safe place to stay, as well as food and coin. She is the reason they are safe.” For the first time in this conversation, his tone was firm, inviting no argument.

                “As I was saying,” Lelith continued, nodding her thanks to Zevlor, “I’ve spoken to Zevlor and Cerys about the possibility already. The other surviving Hellriders are aware of the offer, as well. It is my intention that this force both protects the Tiefling district of the Gate as well as serve as my guard. Which brings me to my next point…” She nodded toward Zorru. “Thanks to Zorru’s efforts, we have located an additional group of refugees that had made it out of the Shadow Cursed Lands.” This made the group murmur amongst each other again. “I want to get them back to the Gate, but there’s danger between us and them, and they are nearly out of supplies. I feel I have…not done enough. I want to help escort them here. There is at least a dozen of them.” She looked around the group. “Zorru will be leading the way. I am looking for volunteers to come with us.”

                “You have my sword,” Zevlor told her immediately, firmly.

                “And my bow,” Cerys added.

                “And my axe!” Karlach piped up cheerfully.

                “You already agreed to come,” Lelith pointed out to her.

                “Yeah, but it sounded like the right thing to say.”

                “I want to go, too,” Lia spoke up. “I want to—I feel like it’s the least I can do for our kin.”

                “If Lia’s going,” Cal chimed in, “so am I.”

                “And I,” Rolan added.

                “But the store—” Lia began.

                “Some things are more important,” he responded to her. “I will make the appropriate arrangements.”

                “I want to go, too,” Lakrissa piped up, effectively cutting off a potential argument.

                “Krissa?” Alfira looked concerned

                “I…need to do this, Fira.” Lakrissa turned toward her girlfriend, face determined but eyes pleading. “Please.” Alfira's face softened, and she relented with a small nod.

                “Where is this located?” Lia asked Lelith.

                “The Fields of the Dead.”

                Mavari felt Urich tugging at her hair. She resisted the urge to frown. This didn’t pertain to her—though she helped with the Elturians, and though she was dating the Commander, she wasn’t herself one—but this opportunity was almost too good to pass up. “Should you have need of me, Your Excellency,” she began, “I would be willing to help.”

                “I’d appreciate your magic for this,” Lelith nodded.

                Mavari’s eyes moved toward the remaining adults in the room who hadn’t volunteered. “Alfira, Bex, Danis, would you keep an eye out for the children while I’m gone?” The three readily agreed—after all, they couldn’t say no in front of the children, and particularly not after being chastised.

                “Good,” Lelith nodded. “Let’s discuss our plan.”

                As Lelith began to inform them of said plan, a voice in the back of her head warned Mavari that she needed to tell Zevlor about Urich, or this wouldn’t end well…

Chapter Text

                Although to her body it was only a tenday since her last adventure, her time spent on the Fugue Plane made it mentally feel like years. Time spent idle never boded well for Karlach. Now that she was back in her body, she was itching to use it and her new heart.

                And, well, if she were honest with herself, things were a little…off with Dammon. She couldn’t put her finger on what. Shouldn’t things have been perfect and amazing like the books said? Should they be living their happily ever after? But it wasn’t, and they weren’t. Mostly, she wanted an excuse to get away from the entire thing, sort out her brain and all that. So, the minute it was suggested they get a group together, she jumped on the opportunity. A chance to flex her muscles, test drive her new heart, (potentially) kick the shit out of bad guys, and help the Tieflings to make up not doing so in Avernus? Count her in.

                Two days after they met at the Cataclysm house, the group gathered on the outskirts of the Gate. Two horses, four oxen, two covered wagons, and plenty of supplies later, they were off. The horses, as Lelith explained, were in case they needed to get someone medical attention or an urgent message delivered quickly. (Rolan argued that his magic could aid with that, and Lelith flatly reminded him that his magic wouldn’t do anything for them if Rolan was the one down.)

                Of all of them, Lelith and Zevlor were the two who chose to ride the horses, while a few of them would rotate steering the oxen. They started with Cerys on one and Zorru on the other. Zorru, from his vantage point, could call out directions to the paladins as they led the envoy. It was a pretty good system, all things told.

                Thinking of the pair of paladins, Karlach peeked out the front of the wagon and around Cerys’s small frame to do so. Really, it was a bloody no brainer to let the Hellrider have a horse, and it was no bloody wonder how natural he was riding it. Zevlor looked confident, and he looked relaxed. Next to him, Lelith was—a little stiffer on the horse, but she actually had some riding experience, unlike the rest of them.

                She watched as the pair quietly talked between themselves. The Hellrider’s tail was perfectly controlled, giving away nothing of his inner thoughts, but Karlach knew Lelith well enough to clock the anxiety in her tail movement. Erratic flicks of her spade, inability to keep it in the same position for more than a couple minutes at a time. Something had her friend on edge, and she was curious why.

                “Everything okay?” Cerys asked.

                “Hmm?” Karlach snapped back to attention. “Oh, yeah! Just watching ahead. No worries.”

                “Alright,” Cerys responded smoothly. “Would you mind not hovering? It makes me nervous.”

                She realized that she’d been leaning forward over Cerys’s shoulder, her chest practically touching the smaller woman’s upper back. She also realized how stiff Cerys was in response. “Oh! Uh, sure, sorry about that.” Karlach gave a nervous laugh before she plopped back down in the seat.

                “Bored?” Lakrissa asked, smirking.

                “Yeah,” Karlach admitted, “I’m not used to just…sitting.”

                “Me either.” Lakrissa stretched her arms above her head. She looked over to their third wagon mate; the siblings elected to ride in the other wagon. That left the Tiefling from Cataclysm—Mari? Mavinha?—with them. “You seem calm. How are you not losing your mind?”

                The red-skinned woman lifted a brow, glancing up from her book. “Not good with the quiet, are you?” she asked dryly. But she snapped her book shut and sat up. “These are cozier arrangements than how I usually travel. I’m enjoying it for what it is.”

                “You’re employed by the Grand Duke, and this is what you’d consider cozy?” Lakrissa wondered.

                Malady shrugged. “We mostly walk unless we have the means of magical transport, which is…not as common as you’d think.” She laced her fingers together. “And I suspect we’ll be on foot on the way back, anyway.”

                She wasn’t wrong. With, what, over a dozen people they were hoping to transport? Those they were rescuing would get priority in the wagons. It made sense to let them all rest on the way there, but—“Gods, sitting around is just so boring.”

                “So, let’s make it fun,” Lakrissa insisted. “I don’t really know you all that well, hero. And, Mavari”—oh, it was Mavari—“I know Lyric better than I know you.”

                “Oh, I know her,” Karlach blurted out. “I mean, of her, mostly. Dammon knows her better than me. But she seems really sweet and really fun.”

                “Dammon knows her, does he?” Lakrissa waggled her eyebrows. “And how’s that going?”

                Damn. His name had slipped out, hadn’t it? And Karlach hesitated. She knew exactly what was Lakrissa was going for—she wanted all the fun details about their relationship—but she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it, really. The trip was supposed to be a way to get her head on right about—

                “Lyric,” Mavari interrupted, “is a damn menace.”

                “Oh, why?” Lakrissa turned her attention to the curvy woman. “She’s perfectly friendly.”

                “Yeah,” Karlach agreed, “I like her a lot.”

                “That’s how she gets you,” Mavari said ominously. But she was grinning as she said it. “Never tell her I told you this, but I am fond of her, no matter how much she tries to stick her nose in my business. She’s like my little sister.”

                “Never had siblings, myself,” Karlach mused.

                Mavari hesitated only a moment before adding, “Me either.”

                “I had a brother,” Lakrissa offered. “Had. And then the descent…”

                They all fell silent for a moment. It was then that Karlach realized Mavari had changed the subject for her benefit, to avoid the conversation about Dammon. She found herself wondering if her discomfort were that obvious… But she cleared her throat and decided to introduce a new topic of conversation: “So, you’re Zevlor’s girl, are you?” Mavari gave her a plain look but didn’t respond. She pivoted. “So, about that new district…”

                “You know,” Mavari mused, “I’ve never actually ridden a horse before.”

                “No?” Zevlor was untying the horses for the second half of the day’s journey. The group had broken for a lunch and water break, giving the animals some reprieve, before they were on their way. By his estimation, they were making good time.

                “Not like there was much opportunity in Luskan,” she admitted. “And the few times we get mounts, they’re usually unconventional.”

                We being Cataclysm. He nodded. “Would you like to ride behind me for a bit? To try it.”

                “Really?” She sounded incredulous.

                “It won’t be for long,” he informed her. “We have a way to go.” Doubling the weight on its back would be hard on the horse. Flash was a sturdy mount, but there was no use pushing it. “Perhaps we can scout ahead a bit?”

                “All right,” she agreed slowly. “It couldn’t hurt.”

                He lightly brushed his knuckles against her cheek, aware that several pairs of eyes were on them, before he turned his head. “Cal!” he called. “I need your assistance.”

                Cal trotted up. “Commander?” he asked, glancing between him and Mavari.

                Zevlor pulled away, hoisting himself with ease onto the saddle. “I need you to help Mavari mount,” he spoke. “We’re going to scout ahead before we take off.”

                “Yes, sir.” Lacing his hands together, Cal formed a makeshift step for Mavari to use. She was careful as she stepped up, swinging her leg around and settling in behind Zevlor. One she had adjusted herself properly, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

                “We will be back shortly,” he promised Cal. He gently squeezed his calves at Flash’s side, and the horse started off at an easy trot. As the horse started moving, he heard Mavari gasp and hug him closer. “I won’t let you fall,” he promised her.

                “You won’t,” she grumbled, “you said nothing about the horse.”

                Zevlor chuckled. “I won’t let you fall,” he repeated, letting his tail wrap around her waist.

                He felt her shift a little before warm lips pressed to the hair behind his ear. Mavari propped her chin on his shoulder. “I trust you,” she murmured. There was enough hesitancy in her voice, in addition to the tension in her limbs, to indicate that she wasn’t fully there, but he chuckled and placed a hand over hers briefly, affectionately, before returning his hands to the reins.

                They trotted in silence for a few minutes. Zevlor enjoyed having her warmth at his back, a quiet intimacy that he hadn’t afforded himself for a long time before her. Being on a horse again and having someone he loved to share that with was—well, it was special, but it was also new. Certainly, with Acheron, he hadn’t had passengers unless it was an emergency. He quite liked this.

                After some time had passed, Mavari began quietly: “Zev?”

                “Hmm?” He touched his hand to hers again. “What is it?”

                “Now that we have some privacy,” she began, “I think it’s time I talk to you about my patron.”

                He angled his head toward hers. It had been eating at him since the banquet, and he wished she had told him sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to push her into sharing before she was ready. He squeezed his hand over hers. “Go ahead.”

                She drew in a breath. “When I was eighteen, I…was broken, and I was desperate. My patron offered me a way out of a bad situation. I did have a choice, but—”

                “You didn’t actually have a choice,” Zevlor supplied, voice carefully calm. But his tail tightened around her. This was a story as old as time, and knowing that it affected his partner flared his protective urge.

                She paused. “No,” she agreed, “I didn’t.” Mavari buried her face against his neck briefly. “There’s a man out here I’m supposed to find. I…might be gone a night or so, depending on how it goes.”

                He furrowed his brow and guided Flash to turn around. “Explain.”

                “I don’t know much more than that,” she admitted. “A man named Yelson who looks like every other adult human man and might be wearing green robes. That’s all I have to work with.”

                Something about this seemed…very off. Either Mavari wasn’t being forthcoming with him, or her patron was being purposefully vague with her. He was starting to grow suspicious of this patron and opened his mouth to question her further when a noise in the direction of the group rose in the air. “Hold tight,” he commanded her before squeezing his legs against the horse. Flash took off at a gallop.

                “Where are they going?” Karlach asked loudly as Cal trotted back toward the group.

                “Scouting ahead,” Cal explained.

                “I bet they are,” Lakrissa drawled, smirking. Cerys shot her an exasperated look. “What?”

                “Don’t insinuate anything,” the former scout warned her.

                “Two people who are clearly into each other going off on their own?” Lakrissa scoffed. “I’m not saying anything no one else isn’t already thinking.”

                Cerys tossed a pack at her. “Stop talking and start helping.”

                “I’m not wrong, am I?” Lakrissa grumbled to Lia.

                The other woman raised her brow and shrugged in response. “What do you expect?” Lia asked. “Cerys is close to Zev. Or, at least, closer than any of the rest of us, except maybe the Grand Duke. Of course she’s going to protect him. But, honestly”—her voice lowered—“I’m surprised he knows how to be in a relationship. Man wouldn’t know how to relax if it put him six feet under not to.”

                “What do you know about his girlfriend?” Lakrissa whispered back. “Outside of her being really protective over the kids?”

                “Oh, we know Mavari quite well, actually,” Lia offered. “She brings Rolan all sorts of magical items. Sharp as a whip and tough as nails.”

                “Wonder what she sees in old Zev,” Lakrissa mused.

                “Dunno, but, for some reason, they seem to make each other happy.” Lia shrugged. “Can’t imagine wh—wait.” She held a hand in the air to signal to the rest of the party. “Did you hear something?”

                Lakrissa watched as, slowly, the rest of the Tieflings took note of Lia’s raised hand and stilled. Moments later, a loud screech filled the air.

                “Fucking quasits!” Karlach snapped, reaching for her axe. “Look alive!”

                Lakrissa inhaled sharply as she reached for her bow. But it had been quite some time since she had to use it, and so she fumbled with it clumsily. “Mrag,” she grumbled, entirely dropping the damn thing. She hurried to pick it up, then, lifting her eyes, found herself face to face with one of the little demon creatures.

                She yelped and scrambled backward. It hissed at her and skittered forward so fast, way too fast. Then, suddenly, an arrow went through its skull, impaling it to the ground. Lakrissa jerked upright to see Cerys giving her a—well, she couldn’t read that look—before turning her bow elsewhere.

                You can’t even grab your bow to defend yourself, her inner voice chastised. Someone else has to cut in and save you. How embarrassing. In that moment, she hated herself.

                She watched as the others killed off the quasits, slinging spells, shooting arrows, and swinging blades with seeming ease. Then, the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. Zevlor looked absolutely furious, slowing the horse to a halt as he came into the camp. Mavari was holding on tightly behind him, her own expression darkly calm. “What in the hells is going on?” he demanded.

                “Bloody gang of quasits decided they wanted to die by my axe,” Karlach called, raising her great axe high.

                “Quasits?” Mavari repeated. Lakrissa watched as Cal hurried to the horse to help her dismount. “They don’t normally attack unprovoked.”

                “Yeah, little fuckers are too fond of saving their own hides,” Karlach agreed. “Means there’s probably something bigger out there.”

                “Zorru,” Lelith began, turning toward the scout, “did you notice anything demonic when you came through before?”

                “No, ma’am,” he confirmed, looking nervous. “I’d seen signs of the bandits, but I’d remember anything abyssal in nature, especially after…” He trailed off.

                “We need to leave,” Zevlor warned. “We can talk strategy on the way to our camp for the night, but we can’t stay here.”

                “Shouldn’t we try to eliminate the threat first?” Karlach frowned.

                Zevlor leveled a look at her. “If there is a greater demonic threat, we need to get to the others as soon as we can to protect them.”

                “Better to be proactive than reactive,” Karlach argued.

                “Karlach,” Lelith warned, stepping forward. “Zevlor is right. Regardless of anything, we can’t stay here. Let’s revisit the topic at camp.” She nodded toward the group before swinging herself onto the second horse. “Let’s get moving.”

                The ride to the camp was silent the rest of the way. In the silence, Lakrissa found herself self-conscious about her abilities in battle, and she wondered if coming along had been a smart idea after all. Maybe this wasn’t the great new start for her she hoped it would be.

                The mood had shifted since they returned to the group, but Mavari was okay with the silence. Seated in the back of the cart with Karlach and Lakrissa, the latter was uncharacteristically subdued. The former eventually hopped down, jogging beside the cart to burn off excess energy. It gave the warlock time to think of next steps.

                Zevlor and Lelith would no doubt be going over about four different plans between them. She could hear some murmuring from the direction of the other cart and assumed the siblings were strategizing, too. That left her to her own devices.

                The presence of the quasits meant that whomever this Yelson fellow was had to be somewhere near there. If he had connections to Graz’zt, the quasits made perfect sense. And, while it was true that the group could kill two birds with one stone, she also hadn’t quite gotten to the point where she told Zevlor exactly who her patron was, and now seemed like a bad time to, all things considered.

                Warning bells went off in her head. The longer she put it off, the worst it would be, and it seemed like now she absolutely waited too long. But, she reasoned, she wanted to keep this from Urich for as long as she could…

                Damn it all. She chewed on her thumb claw irritably. What in the hells was she going to do…?

                She’d figure it out. She always did, somehow. And, if it ended with her losing the man she loved… She stifled a grimace as a pang of hurt hit her heart. Well, she wasn’t allowed nice things, anyway, right? She’d be getting what she deserved.

                Mavari shook her head and reached for her book. She needed a distraction from those thoughts.

                In a few short hours, they had reached their destination for the night. The group, she had to admit, was efficient at setting up camp. Though, she rationalized, it made sense they would be after everything. There was just one problem… “We don’t have enough tents,” she realized, frowning as she watched the group assemble them.

                “What do you mean?” Lia glanced at them.

                “There’s five tents and ten of us.”

                “Yeah, we’re doubling up.” Lia shifted.

                “Who am I…?”

                “That’s a joke, right?” Lia gave her a plain look. It wasn’t. Sharing a tent with Zevlor had never occurred to her, although now she felt bloody stupid for thinking that. “Just don’t keep us up,” Lia teased, turning away.

                “Hey!” Mavari protested, but the other woman was snickering as she walked away. She wanted to groan. Of course everyone would assume they were sharing a tent. Probably everyone thought they were sleeping together by now. Those assumptions would be even worse if they knew who she served. But, the truth was, outside of napping together on her davenport, they’d never even slept in the same area before. And now…

                …Well, she’d just see how the night went, she supposed.

Chapter Text

                “Your Excellency, your guest has arrived.”

                “Thank you, Maggie,” Wyll smiled at the Halfling. “Please inform anyone who comes asking after me that I am not to be disturbed.”

                “Again, sir?” Maggie frowned. “Beg pardon, Grand Duke Ravengard, but this is the third day in a row I’ve canceled your appointments. And, with the lady out of town, I…”

                “Father and Florrick are more than capable of handling matters in my absence,” he interrupted her pleasantly. “Otherwise, I will address any and all concerns once my guest leaves.”

                Maggie gave him a wary look but nodded. She left the space—the one Lelith had requested to for training—and a hulking, muscular human man took her place. Minsc, with Boo on his shoulder, beamed at Wyll. “Ah, young Wyll! Minsc was most pleased to hear you wanted his help in learning to battle! But…” He tipped his head, brow furrowed. “You were with us against the Brain. Methinks you already know how to fight, yes?”

                Wyll put his hands on the hilt of the practice sword, the tip against the floor. “You know about breaking my pact, Minsc,” he reminded the man gently. “Mizora took away the powers she granted me. I have to start all over again.”

                Minsc paused as Boo squeaked in his ear. “Boo says that warlocks are supposed to retain powers granted even if their pact is broken.”

                “Yes, well…” Wyll gave a sardonic smile and shifted his stance. “Not all warlocks are bound to Mizora.”

                Of course she’d change the rules. Gods damn her. Everything was a bloody ego trip.

                “Ah, it matters not.” Minsc beamed. “You asked Minsc to help you, and help you Minsc will!”

                He nodded his thanks. Being powerless when the dragon crashed into his home had affected him more than he wished to admit. Cataclysm had done a fine job, but being relegated to weapon fetcher when he knew he could face a dragon before his powers were taken away? Well…that was a major blow to the ego. He needed to gain his strength back, and he needed to do it fast. The next time something happened, he wanted to be as effective of a fighter as his father and his wife.

                His wife… Wyll felt a slight pang of guilt. Lelith, of course, knew about Mizora taking away his powers. Lelith also had strong opinions of the devil that she was never shy about sharing. But Lelith didn’t know how ineffective, how useless, he felt to her now. Knowing her, she’d scold him for it. And, yet…

                …and yet their relationship was founded on watching each other’s backs, on protecting one another. How could he feel their relationship was equal if he lost that ability?

                He didn’t have the courage to say any of this to her. And he felt like a hypocrite, after encouraging her to not hide things from him after she opened up about breaking her oath, but—well, perhaps they had more to work on as a couple than he thought.

                “Let’s start from the basics,” Wyll spoke to Minsc.

                He would be an effective fighter again.

                “Where are you going?” Lyric asked Mira slyly.

                The druid froze. “Away,” she answered cautiously, as though this were not the right answer, and she was about to be swiftly corrected.

                “Does this have anything to do with that little bluebird that came swooping in here?”

                Mira’s face ignited. “No,” she answered far too quickly. Then: “Maybe.” She cleared her throat and tapped the spot behind her ear where the little pearl was located. “Call for me if I’m needed. I’ll be out of the city for…well, I’m not sure how long.”

                “Take your time.” Lyric gave her a lazy grin. “I’m sure the Archdruid will want to keep you for a long, long time.”

                Mira’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”

                It wasn’t that hard. The fact that it was an animal messenger spell narrowed the window down considerably. But that the bird went straight for Mira rather than anyone else narrowed it even further. Of course, Lyric being herself wasn’t going to do something nearly so silly as admit this out loud, so instead she gave a sly little grin. “I just know these things.”

                “Mavari is right,” Mira complained, “you’re a menace.”

                Lyric waggled her fingers as her friend headed downstairs. At the cheerful jingle of the front door, she beamed automatically. “Welcome to the Blushing Mermaid!” That smile faltered slightly when she saw Dammon looking forlorn walking through the door. Shit. “Hi, Dammon!” she chirped, the cheerful façade coming easily. “What can I get you today?”

                “Mermaid whiskey?” he asked.

                “Of course,” she answered breezily. The Elfsong had not liked that the Mermaid started selling the stuff, but Lyric argued long and hard that an establishment with “mermaid” in the name that was also owned by a mermaid not having mermaid whiskey was a crime. Alan at the Elfsong was angry but couldn’t argue against her logic. Lyric turned to pour two short glasses—one for him, and one for her—before sliding his to him. “You haven’t ordered whiskey in a while.” Months, in fact, not since he had started to heal. This worried her.

                “Yeah,” Dammon sighed. He sipped at his drink. “It’s Karlach.”

                Her stomach flipped. “I, ah, what do you mean?” She wasn’t with him, so…

                “She went with the Grand Duke and some of my kin to find the rest of our group,” he explained, sensing her confusion. “Jumped on the chance right away, really, which I suppose I can’t blame her for. She’s…not very good at staying still.”

                “I imagine trying to figure out her place in the world after being gone half a year is confusing,” Lyric noted gently.

                “Yeah, but…” Dammon sighed. “I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’ve been deluding myself this entire time.”

                Lyric took one look at him and then drained her whiskey in one go. She could feel Tabi’s eyes on her from the other side of the bar and knew what the bartender was going to say to her later. “Well,” she began, “you didn’t know her very well before, right?”

                Dammon shook his head. “We had met a few times,” he began slowly. “She needed someone to help with her engine.” He tapped the spot over his heart. “And I happen to be knowledgeable about infernal machinery. I was smitten with her from the beginning, but I…well…I never got up the courage to tell her.”

                It could be the start to an adorable love story. Maybe, in another timeline, it would have been. Boy and girl meet, boy and girl fall in love, girl dies, boy mourns, girl comes back to life, happily ever after. This was the kind of thing she should be writing hours of ballads about. But something was…off. Lyric was almost afraid to ask, but Dammon needed to talk, and she wanted to be there for him. “And then you lost your opportunity forever,” she said slowly, “or so you thought.”

                She remembered well those months he’d come into the Mermaid and drink himself stupid. Covertly, she had started telling the bartenders to water down his drinks. A couple times she outright refused to serve him and kicked him out when he grew angry about it. (She had no idea where he went after that, but that didn’t matter now.) She hoped that behavior wasn’t about to repeat itself.

                “Or so I thought,” he echoed. Dammon stared into the mermaid whiskey before taking another sip of it. “I had just gotten to the point where I accepted Karlach wasn’t coming back when the Grand Duke mentioned her resurrection.” He shook his head. “What a damned mindfuck.”

                A part of her didn’t fully understand—part of the adventuring lifestyle seemed to be constantly dying and coming back to life—except she had to remind herself that it was different for civilians. Resurrection magic was extremely inaccessible to most people. Besides, hadn’t Karlach’s body burnt up…? But she nodded sympathetically. “It’s hard,” she said gently instead.

                He made a noise in the back of his throat and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “It’s been…awkward.”

                “What do you mean?”

                Pink flushed into his cheeks. “I built up this whole…idea of what the relationship would be in my head, I think. Of who she would be. And…Karlach is amazing, don’t get me wrong…” He drew in a slow breath. “But it’s different. And I don’t think she’s as interested in it as I am.”

                There it was. Lyric resisted the urge to sigh. “You had months to think about this,” she pointed out to him. “For her, it’s a lot shorter.” Probably. She didn’t really know how that worked.

                “I suppose…” He rubbed his chin. “Honestly, she seemed more excited to talk to you that one day than she did me.”

                No. No, no, no. They were not going down this road. Lyric cleared her throat and squashed the nervous laughter burbling in her throat. “Sorry, can you excuse me for a moment? I just realized I left the, ah, teleport circle on, and I need to close it…”

                “Can you even cast that spell?” Dammon wondered as she hurried toward the door downstairs.

                The answer was no, of course, but the heat in her cheeks was throwing her off guard. She was ill-prepared to have a conversation with anyone about her potential love life, much less with the person who was getting screwed out of a relationship for it. She really didn’t want to have the conversation with him about forced celibacy and why she was abstaining from relationships. She barely wanted to talk about it to her friends, and no one knew her better than them.

                And she absolutely was not going to entertain Karlach calling her “lovely” the other day.

                “Shit,” she whispered, dropping her face into her hands.

                Halsin’s eyes watched the tree, the one he had pointed out to Mira when she had visited New Reithwin months ago. To say he was nervous about this visit was an understatement. As much experience as he had with people from all walks of life, his understanding of proper romantic relationships was…dismal, in comparison. He hadn’t regretted any of his choices, as they were the right ones for him at that time in his life, but he did feel foolish at three hundred fifty years to be so…inexperienced.

                No matter. He merely had to have confidence in himself, did he not? Mira, when they interacted, had proven an easy conversation partner and a bright spot in his da. Perhaps he’d just have to—what was the phrase Shadowheart used? Fake it until he made it? Perhaps that was wise.

                He let his eyes wander around New Reithwin nervously. It was not the first time she’d have been here, but it was more complete than it had been the last. Reusing the stone that had been there, Halsin nevertheless had been adamant that there be more greenery introduced to its landscape. The entire restructured town was a combination of the city that had been there before and enough natural wonders to fill it with life. He was pleased with the results.

                The flash of magic caught his eye. The tree expanded briefly, allowing the familiar black haired half-elf to step through, before it shrank to its normal size. Mira, a pack over her shoulder, glanced around the area nervously before her eyes fell on the big elf. Immediately, her shoulders relaxed. “You came,” he blurted out, hearing the audible relief in his voice.

                So much for playing it cool.

                “Halsin,” she greeted. There was a touch of anxiety to her voice that he recognized immediately. “Thank you for inviting me.”

                He crossed the area effortlessly, thanks to long legs and big strides, and held a hand out to her. “I am honored you agreed to visit,” he told her warmly. When she placed her smaller hand in his, he gave it a light squeeze. “Come. I will show you around on the way to where you’ll be staying.”

                Taking her pack for her, they walked through New Reithwin hand-in-hand. Halsin pointed out various buildings she might need during her stay—the apothecary, the café—as well as some pleasant spots—the large botanical garden built in the center of town was his favorite. Finally, they arrived at the small area designated for visitors. Several small, comfortable huts were constructed in semi-circle, all surrounding a community fire pit. “For your comfort,” he began, “I thought it best to save a hut for you.” He gestured to the one that she’d be staying in.

                “Thank you,” she smiled at him.

                “I’ll let you settle in,” he began, then he told her where to find his home when she was ready. He added that she could let herself in. The archdruid left her to settle as he returned to his abode.

                He left his residence as one of the last places to be made in New Reithwin, preferring to see everyone else comfortable in homes before himself. The home was admittedly a little large for just him, but the hope was to be able to host loved ones who were visiting and, perhaps, one day, fill it with a family of his own. He had also elected to use as much of nature as he practically could in its construction, building around and into trees and partially into a hillside. He was quite fond of the final product, even if the goats needed coaxed off the roof an alarming amount.

                While he waited for her arrival, he moved into his office, standing over the stone slab that functioned as his desk. Idly, he sorted through the mail that had arrived for him, noting with some amusement that he never truly was able to get away from paperwork. But a letter bearing the symbol of the Emerald Enclave made him pause.

                It was in the middle of reading it, a frown on his face, that he heard the reeds at the door knocking against each other. Halsin had an open-door policy in his home for his people; so long as he was not asleep or otherwise occupied, they were free to come and go as they pleased. It hadn’t immediately registered that someone had entered until he heard a feminine voice call his name hesitantly.

                “I am in my office,” he called back out of habit before recognizing the voice as Mira’s and that she wasn’t likely to know where the office was. Wincing at his own neglect, he straightened and turned toward the door, ready to be a good host, when he saw her enter. He gave an apologetic smile, but she tapped her nose with a grin.

                Right. Her preference for the wolf shape. It made sense she’d have a better nose than most.

                “Is the hut to your liking, Mira?” he asked, tapping the letter against his palm idly.

                “It’s very comfortable, thank you.” Her smile faded a bit as she saw the letter. “That’s the Emerald Enclave insignia,” she noted, hesitating.

                Halsin nodded. “Have you received one, as well?”

                “No,” she admitted, “I’m not a member, remember?”

                That’s right. Neither she nor her brother were. He supposed that was on him for assuming she’d be a member simply because her father was a leader within it. He glanced at the writing again. “Would you like to read it, or would you like me to summarize what it says?”

                “A summary would be fine,” she confirmed, headed toward him. He noticed that she had changed from her normal druidic robes into a clean, light green dress with a leather corset belt around her waist and leather boots. Despite saying otherwise, she stood close to him, peering at the letter. The proximity was close enough that most people would likely be discomforted, but he found it comforting instead.

                Halsin chanced placing a hand around her shoulders, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let an arm wrap around his back. That was encouraging. “The Emerald Enclave wants to call a meeting with the various druid circles,” he began slowly, “and wants to host it in the Emerald Grove.”

                She considered this. “The Emerald Grove is…your former home?”

                “Yes.” He hesitated. “I have…mixed feelings about returning. I should like to see Rath and Nettie again, see how First Druid Francesca is getting along, however…”

                Mira placed a hand at his stomach. “You have trepidations about going.” He nodded. “Does it, ah, say which circles will be present?”

                He nodded. “Circle of the Moon, naturally. Representatives from the Circle of the Land, of Spores…of Stars is on here, as well.”

                Mira stiffened. “The Circle of Stars is…” She breathed in. “As far as I knew, there were only two of us, and Clara lived separately from civilization for a reason. My master,” she added. “I…haven’t seen her in years.”

                “Would you like to attend alongside me?” he questioned. “I admit I would prefer to have at least one friendly face.”

                He wanted support. He just didn’t want to admit it so blatantly.

                “It would be nice to see Clara again,” Mira agreed. “All right. When does this take place?”

                He glanced at the letter. “In a tenday. It would grant us a few days together in New Reithwin before we need to head that way.”

                She nodded. “Alright. I’m curious to see more of the area where…everything happened for you heroes.”

                A part of him was, too. How much had things changed in over half a year’s time…?

Chapter Text

                “So,” Lakrissa began, uncrossing her legs. “What’s up with your brother?”

                “What do you mean, what’s up with him?” Lia raised an eyebrow at her friend. It had been a couple days on the road at this point. According to Zorru, they only had another day or two to go, depending on how the weather held. And, despite investigating a few odd noises, they hadn’t seen any indication of bandits or demons or anything since. Logically, Lia knew she should be grateful for that, but the pessimistic side of her said that they were going to get targeted on the way back.

                “He’s been stiff. Well,” Lakrissa amended, “stiffer than usual.”

                “Running the Tower is stressful.” Where was the other woman going with this? Lia snapped off a piece of dried meat with her teeth and chewed. Her eyes flitted toward where Rolan was talking quietly with Mavari. Both of their arms were crossed as their heads bowed together.

                “I notice he’s been making a point to avoid Cerys.” The piece of dried meat snapped in half in Lia’s grip as her fist tightened. The ever-observant Lakrissa noticed this, and her eyes lit up in amusement. “So there is something!”

                “Nosy little shit,” Lia groused. “My brother’s dating life is none of your concern.”

                “Dating,” Lakrissa repeated, grinning evilly.

                Fuck. Lia pointed at her. “No. Bad.”

                Lakrissa’s eyes went wide, feigning innocence. She placed a hand delicately to her chest. “Me? I didn’t do anything. You gave that information willingly.”

                “They’re not dating,” Lia grumbled. Rolan was going to kill her.

                “Not now, anyway.” Lakrissa’s eyes followed something behind her. Lia turned to see Cerys following behind Zevlor and Lelith as the two paladins conversed. “What a weird pairing, though. I thought they were acting strangely at Last Light.”

                Lia didn’t want to comment on that. At the time, Rolan had seemed relaxed for once, and then immediately he was back to fretting over his apprenticeship. And, while she wanted him to be happy, there was so much weirdness there that they needed to figure out, and she didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Now that the two of them were around each other, Rolan was being tight lipped, never wanting to confide his in his siblings about his feelings, and Cerys was being cold.

                Maybe she and Cal needed to force the conversation. Rolan had to talk to someone about it.

                “I don’t want to talk about my brother’s love life, Lakrissa,” she warned instead. In any event, it wasn’t for the group gossip to hear.

                “Fine.” That slow, evil grin crossed her lips. “How about we talk about the Commander and his girlfriend, then?”

                “Oh, I want to hear about this!” Karlach plopped down near where the two were sitting. “You been catching the noises, yeah?”

                “No!” Lakrissa gasped, excited to hear what Karlach had to add.

                “No,” Lia complained, not at all wanting to hear what Karlach had to add.

                “S’a good thing their tent is off away from most of us, that’s all I’m gonna say,” Karlach said slyly.

                “Can’t believe old Zev still knows how to use his sword,” Lakrissa mused.

                “I’m leaving,” Lia announced, standing. “You two can talk about whatever you want, but I don’t want to deal with gossip today.”

                As she left, she could hear Lakrissa stage whisper to Karlach, “You think we could get someone to date her so she mellows out?”

                “I heard that!” she yelled back. Lakrissa dissolved into snickers.

                They were making camp. Mavari frowned at the setting sun, knowing her deadline was here. It was the full moon, which meant she had to find this Yelson tonight, or else…well, she didn’t exactly know what Urich would do if she didn’t complete a job. In fifteen years of serving him, she never had failed, and she didn’t want to start now, especially when the demon’s eyes were constantly watching.

                She wet her lips and glanced at the group. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. There was a pang of guilt as she still hadn’t told Zevlor who her patron was, and, by some strange miracle, he hadn’t noticed the mark on her hip…but, at this point, it would have to wait. Carefully, she slipped away from the camp and into the woods. It was always easier for her to slip through streets and alleys, as natural as breathing, really, but—

                “Where are you going?”

                She froze. Cal, arms full of split wood pieces, frowned at her, brow knit in concern. “I won’t be long,” she lied. It came easily, smoothly—lying, after all, was a skill she perfected alongside walking and talking. She hated to do with Cal, of all people—one of her own, and someone she was fond of as a friend—but her work superseded everything else. “I’ll be back before you even know I’m missing.”

                “Okay,” Cal responded, sounding unsure.

                “Don’t worry,” she repeated, giving her best reassuring smile. “I’ll send one of my crows if I need help.”

                That seemed to soothe his fears. Cal relaxed and nodded to her. Mavari waved and slipped off on her way. Only once she was a good bit from their camp did she stop in a small clearing, kneeling in the dirt. Closing her eyes, her hands started moving, forming the somatic components of the spell as her lips murmured the verbal. In ten minutes time, the three crows appeared as a result of her Flock of Familiars spell.

                “Athos,” she greeted warmly, holding up her hand as she stood. The first bird, green eyes glowing, perched on it. “Porthos.” The second hopped onto her shoulder, nipping affectionately at her ear. “Aramis.” The third landed on her other shoulder and tugged at her hair lightly.

                Urich wasn’t overly fond of the fact that she used fey familiars over abyssal ones. He argued over how unpredictable the fey were, of how he couldn’t control them. Mavari’s immediate retort was that he couldn’t trust the quasits not to get used against them by a more powerful demon, and didn’t he want to keep the other demons in the dark about his business? That won the battle for her.

                “See what you can find ahead,” she commanded Athos. The crow cawed at her in acknowledgment before flying forward. “You two watch behind me.” She felt Porthos and Aramis shift on her shoulders.

                She estimated she must have walked for a mile and a half, all told, following Aramis’s lead and her own instincts. Finally, Aramis returned to her, and she came upon another camp. Quietly, Mavari hid in the foliage, taking assessment of the area.

                It wasn’t a very big camp, but the demonic energy was emanating from it in waves. A handful of quasits was presently squabbling over an animal carcass. Four dretches total patrolled the perimeter. In its center was a large tent with raised voices coming from it.

                Mavari narrowed her eyes. That’s it, then. Carefully, she started to sneak her way along the perimeter, looking for an opening to slip in.

                “Mavari, where are you?” a voice demanded in her head. She winced. She had forgotten about the sending stone, and Zevlor sounded equal parts angry and worried.

                “I’m fine,” she replied, “I’ll be back soon enough.”

                “Is this about the bloody Yelson job?” he demanded. “You should have taken us with you!”

                “I can handle this, Zevlor. I’ve been handling this by myself for fifteen years. I’ll be fine.”

                “Mavari, you don’t have to do this alone. You’re one of us now.”

                She felt a pang of guilt, but she was stubborn. “I’ll be back soon. I—”

                A heavy blow to the back of her head, and everything went dark.

                “Mavari? Mavari!?” Zevlor lowered the sending stone and scowled. “Godsdamnit!” Willing himself to keep a cool head, he turned to Cal. “She didn’t say where she was headed?”

                “No, just that she’d send a crow if she needed help.” Cal frowned. “She was headed northwest.”

                “You have no idea where she could have gone?” Lelith questioned Zevlor, crossing her arms.

                “She’s been tasked to deal with someone with demonic ties,” Zevlor grumbled, “but I know nothing more than that.”

                “Demonic ties. Karlach.” Lelith turned her head to the barbarian. “You’ve the most experience with demons of all of us. Can you track them?”

                “In my sleep.” Karlach gave a confident smirk. “I’ll go with you to get our girl back, yeah? Leave it to the old nose. I know their stench anywhere.”

                “Half of us should stay in camp,” Lelith continued, her eyes on Zevlor again, “in case the bandits or another threat show up. I’ll stay with the camp.”

                Zevlor closed his eyes with a slow nod. “Cal, you should stay behind, as well.”

                “But I feel—”

                “I know.” He opened his eyes and gave the young Tiefling an apologetic look. “But you’re among the strongest of us physically. If Karlach is with me, you should stay and help Lelith.”

                Cal hesitated and nodded. “Alright.”

                Thanks to the Grand Duke’s calm influence, he was able to fall back into the mindset he needed. Zevlor looked over the group. Mavari made ten, so it made sense to leave five at camp and have four of them go to find her. With Lelith and Cal at the camp and Karlach and him going after the warlock, that took care of the tanks and bruisers. Cerys, Lakrissa, Lia, and Zorru all were more ranged combatants. And Rolan, of course, was invaluable with his magic…but where was he better served?

                “Rolan should also stay at camp in the event of an attack,” he decided. “Zorru and Lia, you’re with me. Cerys, should something happen to me, you’re in charge.”

                “Yes, sir,” she confirmed, though she seemed nervous.

                “I want to go with the rescue party,” Lakrissa spoke up.

                Zevlor looked to the determined young woman. He took a moment, opening his mouth, but Lelith cut in. “I need your talent with a bow here, Lakrissa.”

                “But—I want to be helpful—”

                “You can be helpful here,” Lelith said gently. Lakrissa looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn’t fight back. “And you,” she added, looking to Zorru, “this is an opportunity. Don’t waste it.”

                “Ma’am,” he responded, sounding uncertain.

                Zevlor looked over the group and nodded. “Let’s go. Quickly.”

Chapter Text

                The past few days had been…very nice, she had to admit. Now that she was spending more time here, New Reithwin was beautiful. Certainly, it was a lot more comfortable than the Gate was, and nature was much more accessible. Thaniel’s influence, according to Halsin. She found herself wondering if she could live here and only come to the Gate when she was needed. She could find herself easily settling down in this community. It would be nice to spend more time with Aurelia and Cade—both had been thrilled to see her.

                And, of course, being around Halsin… Her cheeks warmed. It had been some time since she was romantically attracted to someone, and she felt comfortable with him. Mira was notorious for seeking physical affection from her loved ones. (She learned the hard way that Mavari had to consent to it first and Jael did not want to be touched at all.) But the connection afforded from a partner was another matter entirely.

                She had excused herself to rest at the hut for a couple hours. Now, she was headed to his home for dinner and an evening together. It was warm, so she kept the outfit to a simple bodice top, pants, and boots. Mira followed her nose inside the home toward the kitchen, practically salivating. “Is that roast venison?”

                “It is,” Halsin confirmed, smiling at her. He gestured for her to sit. “We have those among us designated to hunt for food in a sustainable manner. This was my share of the spoils. I admit, I would have preferred to provide meat I hunted myself, but…”

                “It’s wonderful, Halsin,” she reassured him with a smile. And, once he put the plate in front of her, she could confirm it—fresh, juicy, the perfect blend of spices, paired with freshly grown vegetables. She stifled a pleased groan.

                They made pleasant small talk while they ate. Eventually, as they cleared their plates, the topic turned toward the druid gathering. They were set to leave in two days’ time. Mira wrapped her hands around the mug of tea he had given her and hummed. “Clara is not known to socialize with other druids,” she mused. “According to her, I was the first apprentice she had in decades.” Halsin paused for a moment before taking a swallow of his own tea. He was giving her space to continue, which was appreciated. “She, mmm, vaguely mentioned a family of her own that hadn’t followed in her footsteps, but she never mentioned how old she was. I think it’s possible they’ve been gone for a while.”

                “Clara is an archdruid herself?” Halsin questioned.

                Mira nodded. “And a human woman. I suppose it’s possible that she has descendants who could join the circle, but I was discouraged from asking.”

                “Perhaps a lot of heartbreak there,” he agreed quietly. “It is…difficult to watch loved ones pass when you know your time is nowhere near.”

                That was…something she didn’t want to think about at all. She drew in a breath and gave an amused smile. Time to change course. “She’ll ask to see my star chart and scold me if it’s not up to her standards.”

                Halsin chuckled warmly and reached a hand toward her. Mira slipped hers in his, and he squeezed it lightly. “Would you show it to me sometime?”

                “Of course.” She lifted her eyes and noticed the warmth in his gaze. Mira blushed but held it. Halsin took a moment to lift her hand his lips, kissing her fingers delicately.

                “You’re beautiful when your cheeks are flushed,” he teased her. Which, of course, made her redden more. Halsin turned her palm to place a warm kiss there, and she felt like her face was on fire. But he gently lowered their combined hands to the table instead. “I am…uncertain how to do this,” he admitted.

                Her brain screeched to a halt. “Uncertain…?” She could feel the vision of Mavari looming in the back of her head, always the one outspoken about unhealthy connections and getting out.

                “Not about you,” Halsin admitted quickly, nervously. “I am very certain about my attraction to you. I am simply, ah, inexperienced with...proper courtship, I suppose.”

                …huh? Mira stared at him. “But you’ve had a lot of lovers,” she noted, confused. “You have experience.”

                “I do with…casual relations.” He shifted. “I am ashamed to admit that I have not much experience with serious relationships. I’ve often kept people at arm’s length.”

                Oh. …oh. That did make sense. …wait. “Do you mean to say you want to be in a serious relationship with me?” The idea was…very welcome but also very sudden.

                He was rubbing the back of her hand nervously with his thumb. “I’d like that,” he began, “but I’d like to do this properly, and I confess I’m not sure how to do that, exactly.”

                “You’re off to a good start,” she began gently. “I mean, you didn’t try to sleep with me right away, and that’s usually a good sign.” At least, that’s what Mavari and Lyric said. In truth, Mira didn’t see the big deal about it, but she had a much more, err, open-minded view on sex than either of them. She smiled encouragingly. “If it helps, I’ve only had one serious relationship before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

                Halsin gave a light whuff of a laugh as he turned their hands, letting his free hand rest over top hers. “Somewhat,” he admitted, “but I am much older than you, after all.”

                “Age is different for those of us with elven heritage,” Mira teased. It had to be, especially for elves. She drew in a breath. “Let’s learn how this works together,” she proposed.

                “Truly? You aren’t…disgusted?”

                “Why would I be disgusted?” She saw the archdruid visibly relax. Mira took the chance to lean across the table and kiss his cheek. “Would I be here with you if I didn’t want to be?”

                “Hmm. You’re right.” He mused. “Your teammate, Arlo.”

                The seemingly abrupt change in topic confused her for a moment. Mira blinked at him before it dawned on her, and she groaned. “He warned you, too, didn’t he?”

                Halsin gave her a perplexed look. “What do you mean, he warned me, too?”

                Mira rolled her eyes. “Oh, he does this with every suitor who looks at us twice. Mavari said he gave Zevlor a warning.” She relented a little. “He means well, Halsin. He just…doesn’t want us to get hurt, that’s all.”

                “It’s an admirable trait, if not…unexpected.” His lips twisted. “I was informed he would break my knees.”

                “That sounds…about right.” She needed to have words with Arlo. Mira shook her head. “Never mind him.” She steeled herself before leaning forward. “So do I need to head back to the hut tonight, or do I get to see the rest of your place?”

                A look of heat flashed in Halsin’s eyes before the slow, lazy smile crossed his lips. “I shall lock the front door.”

                There was an irritating stinging in her cheek. That was the first cognizant thought she had.

                The second cognizant thought she had was that she was in danger. She jolted awake, gasping.

                “About time you wake up, bitch,” a voice growled in Abyssal.

                Her eyes focused on the two figures immediately in front of her. One of them was a tall demon, closely resembling a minotaur, glaring down at her with flared nostrils. The other she presumed was once the man she was looking for, except for the fact that his flesh was sloughing off his body. Maurezhi, her brain supplied. Wonderful. “If I knew I’d be waking up to your ugly mugs,” she snarked, “I’d have stayed asleep.”

                The minotaur-like demon lifted a hand as though to strike her. She flinched instinctively. Her wrists jerked against her bindings—she couldn’t have protected herself if she tried. Maddeningly, the fact that she flinched seemed to have made him happy. He laughed. “See? All bark and no bite. These warlock pukes are all the same.”

                No use asking how he knew. She was sure they could smell Urich from a mile away. “This warlock puke has a name, you know.”

                “Your name doesn’t mean shit,” the maurezhi said cheerfully. “You’re gonna be dead soon anyway.”

                Mavari yawned. “Yeah, okay.” The usual threats that didn’t mean a godsdamned thing to her.

                “This is the one who was traveling with the devilkin,” a quasit piped up. It scuttled close, staring her in the eye. “The ones who stink of Avernus.” Still? After, what, a year? The quasit leered closer, and Mavari snapped her teeth at it. The creature hissed at her and scrambled behind the legs of the big demon.

                “Think they’re headed toward the soothsayer, then?” the maurezhi questioned.

                “What soothsayer?”

                “What soothsayer, she says.” The big guy reached into her pouch to withdraw the amulet. Mavari froze. “You mean to tell me you have this, and you expect us not to think you’re going to see the soothsayer?”

                “I don’t even know what that is,” she insisted, frowning.

                “She’s lying,” the quasit insisted. Mavari bared her teeth at it. It squealed and hid again.

                “I don’t know what that has to do with any soothsayer,” she amended.

                “Mmmm.” The big guy held it aloft, inspecting it. “We could do a lot of damage with this thing.”

                They could, and she was starting to sweat a bit. Why hadn’t she left it in the Bag of Holding with Lyric? Mavari swallowed down her trepidation and forced herself to remain calm. “I don’t see how that’s of any use to you,” she scoffed. “It’s just an old amulet.”

                “Is it?” The big guy flicked it, and Mavari jolted upright. “See, I don’t think it is. Whatever this is, it’s clearly important to you, little puke.”

                They don’t know what it does, she realized with some relief.

                “I’ll make you a deal.” He leaned down to look her in the eye. Mavari had to keep from gagging on his acrid scent. “You give me information on your lickspittle master, and I’ll let you leave here alive with the amulet.”

                “No,” was her immediate answer.

                “No?” He chuckled sardonically. He trapped her cheeks between his massive thumb and forefinger. “We have ways of making you talk. But you should know my name before I bash your brains into the ground.”

                “Your name doesn’t mean shit,” she responded flatly. “You’re gonna be dead soon anyway.”

                He squeezed. She held her breath. “We have ways of making you talk,” he repeated. “Starting with chopping off that pretty little tail of yours.”

                “Wh—” Another quasit grabbed her tail and was holding it taut.

                “Then we’ll move on to these nice horns,” he added, grabbing one with his free, meaty hand as a warning, “and then each of your fingers and toes. How many appendages do you have to lose before you speak, I wonder?”

                “None,” a familiar, eerily calm voice interjected. With no warning, a gray-purple arm shot out from around her chest level, grabbing the minotaur-like demon around the throat. He spluttered, his grasp on Mavari slackening. As the arm extended, a pair of long horns appeared next, followed by a head full of black hair, then the wings—those impressive wings.

                Mavari held her breath as Urich, still holding the demon aloft, stepped fully out of the small portal he formed in front of her, stretching to his full eight foot height. Though she couldn’t see his face, she saw the big demon’s look of complete fear, as well as the maurezhi’s. She felt her tail drop and the distinct smell of urine from somewhere behind her.

                “Pity we have to do this in the Material Plane,” Urich smirked, “I’d prefer to kill you permanently for threatening my little crow.”

                She squeezed her eyes shut as Urich forcefully shoved the big guy’s head toward the ground.

                “Heavy stench of demon,” Karlach confirmed to the party. In the old group, she was used to traveling somewhere in the middle while Lelith led the charge. Now, though, Zevlor had her guiding their group. Made sense, didn’t it? She was the one who boasted about being able to sniff out any demon. Still felt a little…off. “We’re on the right path.”

                She noted that no one was talking much. Zev seemed quietly intense, which, granted, she couldn’t blame him for that. If her girlfriend went off without saying anything to anyone and then got herself into deep shit (allegedly), she’d be feeling all sorts of feelings, too. Zorru seemed hella nervous, which, okay, that made sense. He really didn’t like Zevlor. Lia was the only one among them who seemed to have a completely cool head. At least one of them was thinking straight.

                Speaking of Lia, it was she who pointed, squinting. “Crow,” she warned, “with glowing green eyes. Maybe a familiar?”

                “Crow,” Zevlor repeated. He straightened as the bird flew directly toward him, then around him once, and finally landed on his shoulder. His face darkened. “Mavari’s,” he supplied, voice low. “But this one is…different.”

                “Different?” Karlach repeated, confused.

                Zevlor shook his head. “From whence it came, it looks like we’re on the right track.”

                “What do you mean, different?” Karlach frowned as Zevlor brushed past her to keep moving forward. “Hey, wait a second…!”

                But he didn’t respond to her question again. Instead, they moved in relative silence, with the crow cawing if they moved too far off the path. It didn’t take them much longer to find their destination, the canvas of tents spotted easily through the tree line, but…where was everybody?

                Karlach inhaled deeply. She grimaced. That smell was not a welcome one, but it was a familiar one. “Demon blood,” she confirmed darkly, “fresh. And lots of it.”

                “But where are the demons?” Lia questioned, taking it upon herself to move closer. The others followed. “This whole place looks completely abandoned.”

                “There.” Without a word of warning, Zevlor marched past the younger three Tieflings, his eyes on the largest tent in the camp. Karlach followed. Something compelled her to glance down, and she immediately noticed the blood seeping across the ground from the inside. The warning bells started going off in her brain as Zevlor threw back the flaps. Then, another scent, this one like black licorice, filled her nostrils, and she—

                 “Get the hells away from her!” the Commander yelled. Karlach’s head whipped up as the man charged forward, his hand on the hilt of his longsword.

                “Zevlor, stop!” That was Mavari’s voice. She sounded commanding but—was that a hint of fear?

                She didn’t stop to think. Karlach immediately rushed in after him. A huge demon had his hands on Mavari’s cheeks, but they fell from her face as he straightened. One of his hands was placed on her shoulder almost…tenderly? No, this was a godsdamned demon. Incubus, her mind supplied, and her blood ran cold.

                The incubus’s eyes lazily took them all in, disinterested. But, when his gaze fell on Zevlor, his smile turned big, toothy, dangerous.

                “Hello, Commander Daddy.”

                Halsin was indisputably, undeniably, hopelessly happy.

                He and Mira had stayed up too long the previous night. Making love to her was even better than he had imagined. When they were recovering, they had the most wonderful conversations. By the time they finally fell asleep, her head on his chest, he felt like everything in his life had been leading up to this woman.

                Was this what he had been missing by keeping all his partners at a safe distance? At this moment, he couldn’t fathom why he waited.

                They took their time getting up in the morning—after all, they had nowhere to be. After finally rousing themselves, they working together to make breakfast, then tea to share afterward. It was while they were enjoying the tea that the door burst open. Halsin glanced in that direction and offered a smile. “Jaheira. What a wonderful surprise.”

                “This is not a meeting for pleasure, Archdruid,” she warned him. She nodded to Mira. “I need you both with me. Now.”

                “Is something amiss?” Halsin asked, dimly aware of Mira slowly lowering her cup of tea.

                “With me,” was all the High Harper said in response. The druids glanced at each other before grabbing their things and following her.

                Their walk was in unnerving silence. Although he had traversed New Reithwin every day since settling here, he was keenly aware of where Jaheira was taking them. Toward Last Light Inn, where she had been stationed so many months ago, in the battle against the Absolute. She didn’t enter the building, though, instead passing it. No, it looked as though she were headed toward the beach—the very same one where he had entered the portal to the Shadowfell to rescue Thaniel. More importantly, it was relatively private in comparison to everywhere else.

                “Jaheira,” he began, his voice turning harder, “what is the meaning of this?”

                “Keep walking,” she commanded in response.

                Something about this didn’t smell right to him, but Jaheira was an ally. The correct thing to do was to trust her judgment, wasn’t it?

                As they approached the beach, he realized three others, as well as one wolf, were already gathered there. The first was Jael, the cleric who had resurrected Cade and Karlach. Her arms were crossed, and she looked properly angry. The second was a small gnomish woman in wizard robes. Her pink and green hair was pulled into matching buns atop her head. She looked incredibly nervous, and she gave a shaky smile when she saw Mira.

                “Mira, darling,” she began, “this is just a minor…”

                “Stop talking,” Jael growled at her. And the gnome shut her mouth.

                But the third person… The third person appeared to have a masculine form. His hand was idly scratching behind one of the wolf’s ears. And, when he turned around, Mira let out an audible gasp beside him. Tall, dark hair, half-elf ears, and a familiar smile that made Halsin’s blood run cold.

                “Hey, sis. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Chapter Text

                “Jerrick,” Mira whispered. “What—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was a bad liar. There was a reason she was told to keep quiet when it came to confrontation. And that was with strangers, not with the little brother who knew all her tells. Who became a damn Harper.

                She couldn’t look at Jaheira or Halsin. The fact that the High Harper was here meant that this had escalated to a point none of them wanted. And Halsin…what did he think about all of this, she wondered?

                Halsin, who she had just spent a wonderful night with… After that wonderful vulnerability with him, the thought that he would hate her for what Jerrick could unravel was unbearable.

                Jerrick gave a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he dropped a set of robes emblazoned with a familiar symbol—a circle with ten spokes coming off it. To the unfamiliar, it would look like a sun, but they knew better. She couldn’t help it—she looked to Jael. The drow was barely containing her fury.

                But they had a feeling this was going to catch up to them eventually, right…?

Months Before the Final Battle against the Absolute

               “Quickly, Mira,” Jael commanded, drawing herself away from her lookout position. “The temple will be one of the first places they’ll look.”

                “She’s working on it,” Poppy snapped. She forced a smile in the direction of their companion as a courtesy—of course the druid was too busy casting the ritual to react. The gnome planted her hands firmly on her hips before shooting the drow a fierce look. Poppy had a way of making herself seem bigger than she was. “Honestly, Jael, we could have done this in my tower and have saved ourselves a lot of this anxiety.”

                “No.” Jael moved past Poppy. “I am not about to involve you more than I already have. At least here you have some form of plausible deniability.”

                “I don’t care about that. You know what Renorash would say: We shouldn’t let each other suffer alone.”

                “And you know what Mavari would say. Some things are safer for the others not to know.” Jael frowned as she stood over Grum’shar’s dead body. She could see the orange energy of the transmutation magic weaving its way around him. She was afraid to touch it lest she somehow screw up the spell.

                Carefully, Poppy knelt beside her. “We have almost an hour. Do you plan on sitting quietly this whole time?” After an uncomfortably long pause, she relented, “Okay, that was a stupid question. Can you at least humor me, so I know what gossip’s going to come out tomorrow?”

                Jael didn’t respond. She was watching Mira. The half-elf’s eyes glowed the same orange as the magic as she chanted quietly, hands moving almost rhythmically. It was a tall order, to ask her to cast a spell she never had before, but Jael was desperate, and the always helpful Mira was quick to agree. After a moment longer, she turned her attention toward Poppy.

                “I have been trying for so long to get Grum’shar out of that stupid guild,” she began. “I told him it would lead to an early grave. But he was in too deep. I knew he was in danger when that idiotic bard hired a group of fledglings to find his friend.” She paused. “I offered them my services as a healer with the caveat that Grum’shar remain alive, but they killed him without a second thought right in front of me.” Her hands clenched into fists before she willed herself to relax.

                “And you kept them alive?” Poppy asked dryly. The drow ignored the joke. “Why Xanathar, though? The tension between them and the Zhentarim is so thick you could choke on it. Surely there were…better options.”

                “You know as well as I do that half-orcs are not treated well in most places. The chance to feel important, I think, was a siren song. This is…the only kind way to bring him back.” Crimson eyes memorized his features—the last time she’d see him like this. “His face is too recognizable. It would be dangerous to take him out of the city like this.” She frowned. “Truly, we are taking a risk with him being seen with me at all, but that’s where you come in.”

                Poppy grinned broadly at that. “You’ll get out of the city safely. I promise.” They sat in silence for a little longer, and then: “So, how did you two meet?”

                “Stop talking.”

                An hour passed. The orange glow eventually enveloped Grum’shar’s entire body. Jael and Poppy took turns checking to make sure no one had found their way into the temple. It was Jael’s turn when she heard Mira gasp. Her head whipped around as the glowing body, nearly blinding in its intensity, lifted into the air. The druid looked alarmed but lifted her hands to utter one final word of the spell. In a flash, the orange glow disappeared, and a new body gently lowered onto the ground. Without thinking, she was already moving across the floor, kneeling beside the body.

                “He’s handsome,” Poppy noted once her eyes adjusted, impressed.

                “He was handsome before,” Jael snapped at her. But the facial scar he had earned as a half-orc was still present—that was concerning. She pressed two fingers to his neck and visibly relaxed when she found a pulse. Alive, though unconscious. She placed a hand over his forehead and concentrated on sending healing magic through him. “I knew he would change bodies, but I did not anticipate…this.”

                “I’m so glad it worked,” Mira breathed. She eyed the body. “But I didn’t anticipate he’d…well, being a high elf is good, right? You two will have more time together.”

                Jael didn’t respond. Her eyes were focused on the elf’s face as he groaned, eyes fluttering open. They were a beautiful light blue shade that threw her off. His gaze met hers, and he visibly relaxed with an exhausted smile. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I’d—” He paused. “What’s wrong with my voice?” He held up his hand, intent on touching her face, and started when he saw the pink undertones rather than green. “What happened to my hand?”

                “All will be explained later, my love,” she promised. “But we need to leave now.” She shot a look at the gnome.

                “One portal out of here, coming right up!” Cracking her knuckles, Poppy spoke the incantation, and the teleportation circle appeared on the floor. “Let’s go, people!”

                Grum’shar groaned as Jael helped him to his feet, leaning his weight into her for support. With some sadness, she noted he was a lot lighter than he was before—and shorter than her. Hells, he was going to hate that. Mira glanced back at them before stepping in first, followed shortly by the couple, and Poppy bringing up the rear. The group exited into a wooded area far enough outside of city walls that one could see the Walking Statues above the tree line but only just.

                “Will you be all right from here?” Poppy placed her hands on her hips. Her voice was confident, but it was a familiar nervous tick. She eyed the pair with a lifted brow. “I don’t mind traveling with you for a spell.”

                “You’ve done enough, my friend.” Jael placed a hand on Poppy’s shoulder with a ghost of a smile. “Be safe.”

                “You do the same.” The gnome gave one last look toward the newly created elf, nodded, and touched a hand to her ring. In a flash, she was gone.

                “What in the Hells is going on?” Grum’shar demanded.

                “I’ll, ah, scout ahead to make sure the way’s safe,” Mira offered. Without waiting for an answer, she wild shaped into a wolf and darted off into the woods, never one comfortable with awkward conversations.

                “Who was that? And who was that!?” He waved a hand toward where Poppy disappeared. “And why am I…this!?”

                “Friends. Walk,” Jael demanded. Without giving him a choice, she started moving forward; he was forced to comply. “I promise I will tell you everything, but not until we are able to safely make camp.”

                “But I…” He clenched his jaw. “…Fine.”

Present Day

                “There’s been a lot of chatter around the group that got the deed to Trollskull Manor,” Jerrick began. “Seems they’re making quite the fuss about themselves. Course, good old Volo didn’t help with that before he left. Talked a great deal about hiring them to save his buddy Floon Blagmaar.”

                “Floon Blagmaar is a simpleton,” Poppy scoffed. “I don’t see how whatever trouble he found himself in is of any concern to us.”

                “No?” Jerrick raised his eyebrows at Mira. She desperately wished to be anywhere else in this moment. “Volo met them at the Yawning Portal.” Everyone went to the Yawning Portal. The entrance to the Undermountain attracted a certain sort, and adventurers soon learned it was the best place for leads. It also attracted loose lips and those who made a business of listening. “Six adventurers altogether. Not one of them was capable of healing, and they got themselves in a whole heap of trouble. They say a drow cleric offered them her services in the Portal.”

                She willed herself not to look at Jael. But Jerrick was, and Mira could feel Jael’s anger rolling off her in waves.

                “The adventurers were very willing to talk about how they hired a cleric to help them as they investigated a lead,” Jerrick continued. “How they slipped into the sewers and found the underground Xanathar Guild’s hide out, and how that same drow cleric nearly killed them after they saved Blagmaar. They gave City Watch the location of the body, but, by the time City Watch arrived, the body was gone.”

                “Oh, honestly, young man,” Poppy huffed. “Drow clerics in that city are a dime a dozen, especially with the Bregan D’aerthe.”

                “Poppy,” Jael warned, finally speaking. The gnome promptly shut up—and Mira realized by invoking the name of Jarlaxle’s group, Poppy could have made this worse for them.

                “Funny you mention the Bregan D’aerthe,” Jerrick mused, “because they are quite interested in the story, as well. But, then again, the adventurers aren’t shy about giving out the name Jael Tarrlok.”

                Jael spat out a curse in Undercommon. Mira doubted anyone needed that translated.

The Past

                They walked for hours, guided by the sounds of howling for the first one to indicate safe passage. Finally, when Grum’shar couldn’t walk any further, they stopped. Jael withdrew a spell scroll from her bag to cast the Tiny Hut spell Poppy had transcribed. The two settled into the hut, splitting some dried meat and bread from their rations. After taking off her armor, Jael pulled a bottle of wine and popped it open. She tipped it toward him. “You first. I assume there’s no point in getting the glasses dirty.”

                “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to make our way through this entire thing,” he agreed. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and took a long swallow of the liquid. A moment passed before he shuddered and made a face. “Not the best, but…I’ll take it.”

                “Best I could do on short notice.” Jael knocked back a swallow herself. “Do you remember what happened in the hideout?”

                “What, you mean you coming in with those pukes who killed me?” He scowled. “Jael, I asked you to stay out of Xanathar business.”

                “Funny, I asked the same of you,” she snapped, “and look where that got you. Don’t even get me started on that goddamned mindflayer you were trying to impress.”

                “Don’t you fucking start with me, love. I was doing what it took to survive. And now…” He sneered. “Now I’m a bloody elf?”

                She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We had no way of knowing what body you’d be given,” she explained tiredly. She took another swallow of the wine before holding the bottle toward him. “I don’t want to fight you, Grum’shar. I wanted you safe and alive. My abilities could only give you one of those things.” He gave her a long look before he took the offered bottle. The fight was starting to leave him when he saw that she wasn’t engaging in it, but his sharp eyes didn’t leave hers as he took a swallow. She pursed her lips. “The druid and the wizard are friends of mine. The druid has a Reincarnation spell, which can bring anyone back to life within ten days of their death, but your soul is resurrected into a new body. She has no control over what body that is—something about whatever nature intends. You’d recognize their names, at least. The druid is Mira Nightsong.”

                “Nightsong,” he repeated. “Isn’t there an Emerald Enclave leader named Nightsong?”

                She nodded. “James. Her father. She has no interest, but the name carries some recognition in the city. It’s why she usually avoids it. The wizard, you’ll absolutely know her name. Poppy Fuzzkettle.”

                He sat up straighter. “You’re friends with a Fuzzkettle. And you didn’t think to introduce me?”

                “You met her tonight, didn’t you?” Her lips twisted. She knew his interest would be piqued by a wizard from one of the cities’ more prominent magical families. “You were a little busy helping a crime syndicate. I’ll introduce you properly once we’re safely in Baldur’s Gate.”

                “Baldur’s Gate? The hell’s in Baldur’s Gate?”

                “A new start. The Lord of the Dead is guiding me there. It seems there is some…activity that troubles him.”

                “I will never understand your clerical duties,” he sighed in response.

                “And I will never understand your wizardry.” She reached forward and placed a hand on his cheek, letting her thumb trail along the scar. “Looks like we are even.”

                He grunted in response but placed his hand over hers. Gently, he pulled it away from his face to plant a gentle kiss on her palm. “I suppose we should finesse the plan. Small favor elves don’t need to rest as much as half-orcs.”

Present Day

                 “The thing is,” Jerrick continued, “no one’s seen Jael Tarrlok in Waterdeep since. And Jarlaxle’s made it known that he’s very interested in knowing the minute she steps foot in the city again. How fortunate he’s less interested in sending his men out to find her.”

                “The Bregan D’aerthe operate in secrecy,” Jael spat. “How do you know so much about their activity?”

                “Never underestimate a Harper, Doomguide,” Jerrick said smoothly.

                Mira finally found her voice again. “But this doesn’t make sense,” she argued. “They gave Jael’s name, but why are Poppy and me here?”

                “That’s right!” Poppy jumped in. “How dare you accuse the daughter of Waterdeep’s most esteemed gnomish wizarding family? And the daughter of the Emerald Enclave’s leadership! Your own sister!”

                “Harper work doesn’t discriminate. The City Watch let the trail run cold, but that’s where we came in. You see…” He looked to Jaheira, who nodded. He nodded back before continuing: “What happened in Baldur’s Gate with the Absolute has everyone in Faerun on high alert for mindflayers. We’ve known for some time about the Xanathar Guild’s association with mindflayers, and rumors have risen recently about them in Waterdeep. Any avenue we can take to gain intel on them, we’re taking.”

                Jerrick crossed his arms, pausing to give the women a chance to advocate for themselves. When they didn’t, he continued: “Several months ago, three individuals were seen sneaking into an abandoned temple under the dark of night. The tallest was carrying a corpse. The shortest was gnome sized. A cleric, a druid, and a wizard all have very interesting ways of reanimating a corpse. So, tell me: What happened to Grum’shar, and where is he now?”

The Past

                Avoiding roads as much as possible was the more prudent route, but it did take longer. Grum’shar was still getting used to his new body. They hadn’t seen a living soul in days but had come across a few abandoned campsites. In the most recent one, they settled into a dilapidated building. Rifling through the wardrobes, they found some clothes in better condition than Grum’shar’s ratty, too large robes. With a few quick mending cantrips, they were able to get him some attire that would work until they could get to the city.

                “I’ve decided on a name,” he brought up that night, as she was braiding his hair.

                “Oh?” Jael peered around at him. “What is it?”

                “I kept trying to think of elf sounding names, but nothing seems right. But there was a baker back where I grew up who’d give us whatever didn’t sell at the end of the day,” he recalled. “Rhys was his name. I think I’d like to emulate him more than anyone.”

                “Rhys,” she repeated, giving consideration. “I like it. It sounds both regal and personable. You’ll have an easier time convincing people you’re like them that way.”

                He nodded. “And for the last name…would you be opposed to me taking yours?”

                She paused. Jael turned into his vision and leaned on a palm. “To be clear: You wish to take my dead husband’s last name.”

                “Well, I don’t have one of my own,” he shrugged. “I’m sure we can convince people it’s drow custom for a man to take his wife’s last name or something.”

                “I suppose that’s a fine enough explanation for most,” she agreed. She raised an eyebrow. “And we’re married, Mr. Tarrlok?”

                He placed a hand on her hip with a crooked grin. “The wedding was lovely, Mrs. Tarrlok, but the honeymoon was better.”

                “Oh? You may need to convince me of that.”

                Rhys smirked and shifted, pulling her closer. In two days’ time, they’d know damn well what hardships would face them in Baldur’s Gate. Faerun may not have been especially kind to a half-orc and a drow on their own, let alone as a couple—but they would be in for an entirely different experience as a high elf and drow couple. For tonight, however, they could just be.

Present Day

                “What is the meaning of this?” Halsin demanded. Mira winced at his tone, but his eyes were fixed on Jaheira. His big hand fell heavily on her shoulder as he squeezed it lightly, and she felt…somewhat better that his anger was not aimed at her.

                “Harper Jerrick has been forthcoming about the meaning of this,” Jaheira said simply. “I would advise that you all do the same.”

                “Mira,” Jael warned in a growl, and it made her blood run cold.

                “Stop it,” she warned, well-aware her friend would have zero issue dropping her brother. Mira drew in a breath before looking to Jerrick. “What’s the deal?”

                “The deal?” Jerrick raised his eyebrows.

                “You want information from us,” she began, “what are you giving us in return?”

                “Your privacy,” he began, “and leverage.”

                “Leverage,” Jael repeated, narrowing her eyes.

                “Where is Grum’shar?” Jerrick repeated.

                The women didn’t respond. He shook his head. “Let’s narrow down the possibilities, shall we? Grum’shar had an identifying scar on his face. You could have used a resurrection spell on him, but he’d still be easy identifiable. Not the best for a man who is supposed to be dead and very well could have people looking for him.” Jael growled at him. He ignored the her. “Next: Animate Dead,” he continued, gesturing to Poppy. “Highly unlikely but the possibility is never zero. A wizard could have many uses for the undead. However, a grave cleric would never approve of someone they care for being used in such a way.” Poppy shifted. “But a druid…” Now Jerrick turned toward Mira. “I’m surprised, Mir. I would think you’d be ethically opposed to a Reincarnate spell.”

                Halsin snarled beside her. She didn’t know whether that was aimed at her or her brother. Mira drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t like casting it,” she admitted.

                “Mira,” Jael warned.

                “He’s already figured us out,” Mira responded wearily. “We’re just wasting time denying it.” She turned back toward Jerrick. “I didn’t like casting it,” she repeated, “but Jael is a dear friend who has saved my life more times than I can count.”

                “When she asked you to assist, you agreed.”

                “Yes,” she conceded reluctantly.

                “The elf with you at the banquet,” Jaheira spoke. “Your husband. He had a scar on his face, yes?”

                “Well now,” Jerrick said with amusement. “Hiding in plain sight, was he?”

                “Only one who knew what to look for would find him,” Jael argued, shooting the Harpers death glares. “And I certainly never intend to go back to Waterdeep.”

                “I’d like—”

                Jaheira put her hand out to stop him. “Rhys Tarrlok is part of the Parliament of Peers, Harper. Normally, I wouldn’t care what the Grand Dukes think, but I happen to think very highly of two of them. Handle this discretely.”

                Mira caught the flash of a grateful look on Jael’s face before it hardened again. “Xanathar is bad news,” she warned. “I don’t want my husband anywhere near the guild.”

                “If you will allow us to question him,” Jerrick noted, “we’ll make sure your husband is under Harper protection.”

                “Can I trust it?” Jael asked flatly.

                “You mentioned leverage,” Halsin spoke. His warm hand squeezed Mira’s shoulder. “What is your leverage?”

                Jerrick nodded. “Jak,” he called softly. The wolf companion glanced up at him before stepping to the side. On the ground was a bag, roughly the size of a human. When Jak nosed the bag, a forearm with a flying serpent tattoo fell out.

                “If anyone finds out that this man’s not dead in a ditch,” Jerrick said calmly, “it’ll cause problems for everyone in Waterdeep. But he has information we need.”

Chapter Text

Fifteen Years Ago

                Mavari didn’t realize how far she stumbled until she noticed the buildings getting more and more dilapidated around her. She could no longer see Irondusk Manor. Ducking into an alley, away from any prying eyes, she lost her ability to stand. Her back crashed hard into the wall as she slid into a seated position.

                She was cold, and she was in pain, and she wanted all of it to go away.

                It took her several moments to realize she had withdrawn a knife from her pack. The Tiefling didn’t even remember reaching for it. And why hadn’t the bastard had it taken off her…? Because he didn’t need to, she answered herself grimly. He got what he wanted anyway. Her fingers gripped around the hilt. I need this all to go away. Drawing in a shaky breath, she flipped the blade in her hand, pointing the tip to her heart.

                “Well, now,” a masculine voice interrupted her, smooth as silk. “What do we have here?”

                Her entire body went numb. Instinct took over as she flipped the knife, stabbing out at the sound of the voice. Immediately, a large hand closed around her wrist, firm but not tight. When she dared to look, the hand had clawlike fingers that looked like they were dipped in ink. But, as quickly as it grabbed her, it loosened its grip, gently letting her go. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice promised. The smell of black licorice filled her nostrils.

                “Everyone says that,” the young woman groused, “but they always do.”

                The voice chuckled. “What a life Luskan affords its poorest citizens,” he mused. “Fighting for food, shelter, a sense normalcy…all while they”—he gestured toward where the wealthier homes were located—“profit off your pain.”

                “I don’t care about your monologuing,” she growled. “Leave me alone.”

                “Dolmar Irondusk is a problem,” the man immediately, flatly, continued. She startled and glanced toward the voice, but he was fully concealed in shadow. “Forgive me for being so blunt, sparrow. But I believe we have a common enemy.”

                “Irondusk is too dangerous,” she snapped. She knew. She learned the hard way.

                “Irondusk needs to die,” the voice snarled. Mavari gasped and involuntarily folded into herself. The voice sighed. Back to the same dulcet tones, he continued. “You feel powerless. You’re hurt. What if I gave you the means to change that?” She hesitated a second too long. He chuckled. She watched as long clawed feet stretched out from the shadows beside her. The hand was held out to her, palm up. “I can give you the means to never feel powerless again.”

                “…I’m listening.”

                “Give me your hand.”

                She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to touch him or anyone ever again, or have them touch her. But something was so…strangely appealing about this. Against her better judgment, she gently placed her hand in his. His hand closed around hers slowly, gently. “There’s a good little crow.”

                And, in that alley, the man introduced himself as Urich and explained exactly what they were going to do.

Current Day

                “Hello, Commander Daddy.”

                Zevlor snarled. “That’s Commander Zevlor to you, demon.”

                “Oh, he’s a grumpy one.” The creature wasn’t like any of the demons he saw fighting against Zariel’s forces in the Blood War. He was massive—easily must have been eight feet tall—with horns curving up from his head. Long black hair tumbled down his back like oil, and he flexed massive wings. Claw like feet, sharp claws on his hands, and he was lean and…well, mostly naked. But those eyes—crimson and cold—never left him. The smirk on his face widened. His hand tightened on Mavari’s shoulder. “Is this what you like, little crow? The authoritative type? I suppose it’s only natural…”

                Little crow. The way he spoke with such familiarity made him wonder. No…this wasn’t …

                Karlach snarled. “An incubus?” she snapped. “Your godsdamned warlock patron is an incubus!?”

                Mrag. Zevlor’s eyes snapped to Mavari, who looked half-indignant and half-afraid. She drew in a slow, steady breath. “Zevlor,” she began, “meet Urich. Urich, Zevlor.”

                “I’d love to tell you I heard so much about you,” the demon drawled, “but the truth is that I don’t care that much.”

                Oh, this one was attempting to provoke him. Zevlor caught onto the tactic immediately and willed himself to keep calm. “Get the hells away from her,” he spoke to the creature again, voice cold.

                “Now why would I do that?” Urich took a moment to shoot a tender look to Mavari, brushing a hand along her cheek and lifting her chin. “Look at my beautiful warlock. So lovely. So obedient.”

                “Stop provoking him,” Mavari grumbled. Maddeningly, the incubus dropped his hand. She breathed deeply and stood.

                “A fucking incubus,” Karlach repeated, sounding disgusted.

                “That is what they tend to do,” Lia grumbled under her breath. Zorru coughed uncomfortably.

                “Karlach,” Zevlor admonished. He understood her frustration, however… “We can ask questions later. Right now, we need to get back to the camp. Do you need healing?” He turned back to Mavari.

                “I got knocked on the back of my head pretty nicely. Otherwise, it’s just my pride that’s hurt.”

                He stepped toward her instinctively. Urich slid between them, shielding Mavari’s body with a massive wing. Zevlor glowered at him. Urich cocked his head to the side. “Him, little crow?” He sounded…distinctly unimpressed. “I thought he’d be taller. And less sad.”

                “Urich,” Mavari complained. She pushed aside his wing to step toward Zevlor. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.” The incubus made some sort of comment in Abyssal that earned a curt response in kind from Mavari. The incubus glowered at her. She dipped her head toward Zevlor. Carefully, he laid his hands atop her head, concentrating on healing. She sighed, letting her hands brush against his hips, before he felt her get roughly yanked back.

                Zevlor looked up to see Urich with an arm around his partner possessively, glaring at him. “I’m watching you, Commander Daddy,” he warned darkly. Urich accented the point by pointing at his eyes with middle and forefinger, then at Zevlor’s. “One wrong move, and I’ll make her end it.”

                “That’s rather her decision, isn’t it?” Zevlor questioned, raising his eyebrows. He kept outwardly calm while his blood was rising internally. Urich’s smile in response was cold, silent. “It’s your decision,” he repeated to Mavari firmly.

                “Urich,” Mavari whispered, “go away.”

                The incubus looked annoyed, but he gave her a quick kiss to the temple. “You and I,” he stage-whispered, “are going to have a long talk later about this fuck up and your inability to do your fucking job.” The creature disappeared in a swirl of purple energy and feathers.

                “I hate him,” Karlach announced unprovoked.

                Mavari opened her mouth to speak, but Zevlor shook his head. “Let’s concentrate on getting back to the camp first.” His blood was boiling, and he needed time to let it calm.

The Past

                The creature’s name was Urich. He had taken the knife from her and promised her all sorts of power. And, despite the feeling of power already starting to filter into her limbs, the more prevalent feeling was fear.

                “I don’t want to go back there,” Mavari blurted out. She hugged her arms tightly. “You can’t make me.”

                “Oh, now, little crow,” Urich soothed. He knelt so they could be at eye level. “I don’t think you understand how this works. I ask you to do something once a month, around the full moon, and you do it. If you don’t, you breach your contract, and there are consequences. Surely you don’t want to breach the contract right after signing it?”

                “But I—”

                “Shh, shh…” He pulled her close to his chest. The young Tiefling had no choice but to let him. “I’ll be with you the whole time. One knife strike to the heart, and you’re done. Okay?”

                “If you’re with me, can’t you do it…?”

                “Now, now. We’ve been over this, little crow. I can’t attack him unprovoked unless I want Graz’zt to retaliate. You, however, can.”

                “I…”

                “…will remind you,” Urich said coldly, “you have no choice.”

                She wanted to throw up.

The Present

                They walked back to the camp in silence. Karlach, normally one to chatter a mile a minute, was fuming. He felt similarly. Lia and Zorru kept casting concerned looks but didn’t seem to have much to add. And Mavari had nothing to say for herself at all. Zevlor’s frustration was growing rather than dissipating, and that was…not ideal.

                That incubus, her patron—he was unsettling. There was something there that wasn’t right. And, while he acknowledged the creature was a demon and that demons were by nature unpredictable and unsettling, it seemed more…personal, somehow. He resisted the urge to sigh.

                The camp came into view soon enough. Cerys was the one who spotted them, signaling to the others. Lelith marched up purposely to the group, eyes moving from Zevlor to Mavari to Karlach. “We need to talk.” She glanced around the camp. There wasn’t really a…private place to have this discussion. The Grand Duke nodded and looked toward the far edge of the camp, apparently still wanting to try. “The rest of you, start figuring out an order for guard duty.”

                “You got it, boss,” Lakrissa chimed in, saluting.

                Lelith gestured toward the small group and moved. At the edge of camp, she turned, crossing her arms. Her eyes were fixed on Mavari. “What happened?”

                Zevlor watched as his partner stood up straighter, rolling back her shoulders. “I had a job to do,” she began frankly. “And I messed it up.”

                “What job?”

                “I…” Mavari winced and held the back of her neck. “…am not at liberty to say.”

                “Move your hand,” Lelith said quietly. The warlock hesitated but ultimately complied. Lelith walked around her and brushed inky locks to either side. Zevlor’s breath caught as it revealed a symbol—a circle with a crow, wings extended, centered inside it. Presently it was glowing with a purple light so bright it was almost white. Lelith inhaled slowly. “All these patrons have a means of controlling their warlocks, don’t they?” she said bitterly under her breath.

                “Makes you wanna go to the other planes and kick their asses, yeah?” Karlach crossed her arms with a scowl. “Her patron’s a right prick, too. And too pretty for his own damn good.”

                “Who is your patron?” Lelith questioned. They watched as the symbol blazed again. She shook her head and turned to Zevlor, silently asking the same question.

                “An incubus,” he began.

                “And not like that Haarlep fucker,” Karlach chimed in, unable to help herself. “A demon incubus.”

                “Demon?” Her eyes were sharp on Mavari. “That presents a problem and several questions.”

                Mavari bristled as she turned, hands on her hips. “What are you going to do, abandon me in the Fields?” Her tail lashed low.

                “Why did none of you tell me about this?” Lelith continued, fixing Mavari with a hard look.

                “Because,” Mavari retorted, “my work for my patron has not been a problem with my work for Cataclysm. There was no reason to think that it would be here.”

                “And yet you running off on your own for this job jeopardized your life and potentially the rest of ours,” Lelith said coldly. “A little disclosure would have been appreciated.”

                “Hey.” Karlach frowned. “Cut her a little slack, Leli. You know how that asshole Mizora was with Wyll.”

                Lelith squeezed her eyes shut tightly and nodded once. “Point taken.” She relented, turning toward Mavari. “Can we expect any more of these interruptions?”

                “No,” Mavari said firmly. “My agreement with him is one job around the full moon.”

                “Fine.” She drew in a long breath. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, we all need to rest. We still have another day or so to go.”

                Mavari and Zevlor each saluted her, and Lelith and Karlach left them alone. Mavari started after them, but Zevlor placed a hand on her shoulder. “We need to talk,” he told her lowly.

                She bristled then relented. “Fine.” Mavari folded her arms and faced him. “Talk, then.”

                “You’re pacted with a demon.” Zevlor clasped his hands behind his back. “A devil is bad enough, but at least they have rules that can be followed. A demon is volatile.”

                “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had much of a choice, is it?” She gestured to him. “I told you earlier. He was my one ticket out of a bad situation.”

                “A temple,” Zevlor offered. “One to the Crying God. Surely it could have helped you?”

                Mavari barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding me?” She planted her hands on her hips. “How much did the gods help you when you were sent to the orphanage? How about when the High Observer decided to kick you all out of your homes?”

                He bristled. She identified a weak point and dug in, hard. “How dare you bring up Elturel?”

                “How dare you, Zevlor?” She fixed a glare at him. “You know firsthand how little people care about Tieflings. Do you think the gods—any of them—give a single shit about us?”

                He felt like she thrust a dagger into his heart. He clenched his hand around his wrist tighter. The problem was, Mavari wasn’t wrong. She was frustratingly correct. But hearing her say it so callously hurt. “You jumped straight into pacting with a demon,” he started again.

                “What happened to you didn’t actually have a choice?” she snapped. “Your answer changed due to whom I pacted? Your sympathy is gone?”

                “Stop putting words in my mouth,” he shot back. “You don’t know what it was like in Avernus. What we had to—”

                “And you don’t know what it was like in Luskan, with him,” she snarled. “Fuck you.”

                “Mavari,” he snapped, clenching his wrist harder. The words stung. His tone made her wince, and that hurt him more. Zevlor swore under his breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what you went through. It was callous and thoughtless of me not to consider it. However…” He gave her a resigned look. “How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?”

                He watched as she visibly forced her guard down. Mavari sighed, the fight leaving her shoulders. “You’re right,” she admitted. She breathed out slowly. “Let’s go to the tent.”

The Past

                She hadn’t realized she was out of that room until her knees hit the hard ground. And Mavari was unable to hold in the contents of her stomach any longer.

                The smell of copper wouldn’t leave her nose. Her vision still was full of so much red. Her hands were sticky. She wanted all of it to just go away. That thought made her retch again.

                “Perhaps not the cleanest work,” Urich drawled, “but effective all the same.”

                “I…I killed him,” she tried weakly, frantically swallowing the bile rising in her throat. It was a fruitless effort.

                Urich waited until she finished before kneeling in front of her, letting a finger trail under her chin. Mavari lifted her eyes to his as he gave her a warm smile. “You did. Irondusk won’t be hurting anyone anymore.” His voice was soft, comforting. “You want to keep punishing people who hurt others, right…?”

                “I…” She swallowed. “That does sound good…”

                “Good.” Urich smoothed his hand over her hair before standing. “We need to get you out of here. The pirate lords he forgot to pay will be sniffing out any information they can on his killer.”

Present Day

                There, in the tent, they had changed into their evening clothes. Mavari slid onto his lap so they could wrap their arms around each other and started quietly telling him everything—struggling to survive on the streets, catching the attention of one Dolmar Irondusk, how Irondusk had left her wanting to end everything before Urich intervened. At the time, she felt like her options were to join the demon or die. Urich’s first job for her was to kill Irondusk, and… “Well, you can figure out how things went from there.”

                He didn’t want to make her elaborate. Admitting what she had about her life up until that point was enough. Zevlor wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, remorseful. “I was insensitive, and I was wrong. You should not have had to endure that. Any of it.”

                He heard her give a soft sigh before relaxing against him. Her arms tightened around him; he returned the gesture. “Thank you,” she whispered. Mavari lightly nudged his cheek with her nose. He lifted his head to accept her gentle kiss. “Zevlor, I…”

                “Mmm?”

                She hesitated. “I think we should get some sleep.”

                He suspected that wasn’t what she wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to push her. Not now. “You’re right. We have a long day ahead of us.” He smoothed a hand over her hair and sat back, allowing her to shift off his lap.

                A long day, indeed.

Chapter Text

                Halsin recognized the Zhentarim symbol immediately and resisted the urge to growl. Though there were some Zhent pockets that were better than others, his overall impression of the group was that they were not to be trusted. And the fact that there was a Zhent body, here, in his lands… “Why, Jaheira?” he demanded, looking to the High Harper. “New Reithwin is not to be touched by Zhentarim influence.”

                “Knowing what I know of the Zhents,” Jaheira replied flatly, “you wouldn’t know if they were.” She ignored his growling and nodded to Jerrick to continue.

                “This man was actively infiltrating the Xanathar Guild,” Jerrick noted, “and was unfortunate enough to get caught. We’re in a rare position where he has information on both sides, and we need all the aid we can get.”

                His gaze turned to Mira, who had immediately paled. “No,” she blurted, “I won’t do it.”

                “We need the information he has,” Jerrick continued, voice eerily calm, “and we need to make sure he’s not instantly killed for it by outside forces.”

                Mira hugged her arms protectively. “I don’t want to cast that spell again,” she warned. “It’s not… He won’t have control over what he becomes. What if he gets put into a body he hates?”

                “Being put in a different body is exactly why we need to do it.” Halsin noted that Jerrick didn’t respond to her second question.

                “So,” Poppy spoke up. The gnome found her nerve and stepped in front of Mira, hands on her hips. “I fail to see how we benefit from this more than you. You come in and threaten to expose the secret of a Parliament member, the three of us along with him, and your solution is to have your sister do you a favor because you happened to grab a dead Zhent turncoat?”

                Jerrick frowned at her. “You aren’t aware of the secrets he holds.”

                “And you”—she jabbed her tiny finger at him—“threaten to undo the political climate of a city in an extremely delicate situation, to cast suspicion on the Doomguide spearheading the movement to eliminate Bhaal’s influence, to undermine one of the adventurers handpicked by the new Grand Duke. I can bear the bad press as a wizard. But you are playing an awfully dangerous game, child.”

                “I agree,” Halsin spoke, the frustration bubbling in his chest, “and now you’ve made myself complicit in this, and doing so in a place I want to remain untouched by the outside world’s woes.” He, too, stepped in front of Mira. “Jaheira,” he began lowly, “I ask again, what is the meaning of this?”

                Jaheira looked at him calmly, levelly. After a moment, she turned her attention toward Poppy. “You bring up a very good point, Ms. Fuzzkettle. Having personally dealt with the Gate’s reconstruction more times than I care to admit, I’d rather not cause trouble intentionally. It will find its way there on its own.” Then, her attention returned to Halsin: “I did not use this area lightly, Archdruid. And I’m sorry to do this without consulting you first. As recompense, I offer Harper protection to make sure nothing happens here like it did a hundred years ago.”

                Halsin made a non-committal noise in the back of this throat. “And for the others?”

                Jaheira considered. “What assistance do the Doomguides require with your efforts?” she questioned Jael.

                Jael tipped her head. “Track down any of the remaining Bhaalists to keep them from making our lives difficult. They…complicate matters, and it impedes our progress.”

                “Done.”

                “I want Harper protection, as well,” Poppy spoke. “If trouble is brewing in Waterdeep, I want my tower to be a safe haven.”

                Jaheira shot Jerrick a firm look before responding: “Done. What do you require?” she asked of Mira. The young druid looked frustrated. She shook her head, then turned her attention to Halsin.

                “A favor,” Halsin prompted. “Harper aid in a rough spot.”

                “Fine. Done.”

                “Fine,” Mira echoed. “Let’s get this over with.”

                “Sir?” Cal’s voice was tentative through tent’s flaps. “It’s, ah, your turn for watch.”

                “Thank you, Cal. Rest. I’ll be out shortly.”

                The shadow of the youngest sibling hesitated. He watched as the shadow gave a sharp salute and retreated from the tent’s walls. Zevlor drew in a breath and carefully untangled his limbs from his partner’s. Mavari mumbled in her sleep and pulled him closer, her tail sliding around his leg tightly. For a foolish moment, he desperately debated staying here with her instead, but forty years of military discipline wouldn’t allow him. She didn’t make it easy, though.

                “Dear,” he murmured, smoothing her hair back. He kissed atop her head between her horns. “I have to take my turn at guard.”

                She grunted in response, squeezing him once more tightly, before she let her limbs slide away from him. Carefully, he slipped from their combined bedroll, grabbed his sword and sheath, and left. He headed away from the shared tent and toward the campfire where Rolan was seated, pouring two cups of coffee from the pot.

                “Here.” The wizard held out a steaming mug toward the commander. “I suspect you’ll need this as much as I do.”

                Perhaps not, but Zevlor nodded his thanks all the same. He took the mug and lowered himself onto a log. His eyes followed the trajectory of Rolan’s, which were on the fire. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, sipping at their coffee. It was Rolan who would be bothered by it first: “Is Mavari all right?”

                “She’s…” Was she? Were they? “Last night was a lot.”

                Rolan made a noise in his throat. “I’ve been…aware of her patron for quite some time.” Zevlor made a conscious effort to keep himself calm as he sipped coffee, covering his immediate reaction. Sensing this, the wizard quickly continued: “She doesn’t know. Well, she knows I know she’s a warlock. She’s not aware that I pieced things together.”

                “Oh?” His anger was simmering below the surface. He wasn’t sure whether he was warranted in feeling it.

                “You didn’t feel it? With that…crow that was on her shoulder?” He hadn’t, and it didn’t seem like Karlach had either. Knowing that the demonsbane didn’t even catch wind of it should have made him feel better. And, yet… Zevlor scowled. Rolan backtracked. “Ah, well, in fairness, he was masking his presence—anyway.”

                “You pieced it together through traces of magic?”

                “Ah—yes. How people interact with the Weave is different based on what abilities they possess. Sorcerers, for instance, channel it and craft it around their innate ability to spellcast. Druids take only what they need and supplement the rest with nature. Wizards, like myself, elegantly sculpt the weave into our own creations. Divine casters—well, I don’t need to tell you how you use your own magic.” The Hellrider snorted. “Warlocks are…subtle as a sledgehammer. Because their abilities are channeled through a greater power, they tend to brute force the magic. They haven’t learned to work with the Weave, and, as a result, they haven’t learned how to use it effectively.” Rolan waved a hand. “They tire themselves out channeling it quicker than other casters.” Zevlor stared at him in silence. Rolan stared back. Then he coughed and relented: “Ah, I picked up traces of demonic influence. She hides it well, but it’s there.”

                The older Tiefling grunted. How had he missed it himself? He had spent so much time with her, and not once had he detected it. Was he an idiot? …But he relented, swallowing his coffee. It was, as she had reminded him, a choice between living and dying. And she had been nervous to share for good reason. He needed to let it go for her sake.

                Rolan drew in a breath. “You know, I…” He frowned. The sentence lingered unspoken long enough that Zevlor glanced over at him questioningly. “I have a lot of sympathy for her. For her upbringing,” he clarified. “As much grief as we give each other, if it weren’t for Cal and Lia’s—for my mother,” he corrected himself, “I could have ended up the same.” He chewed on the thought as Zevlor quietly gave him the space to think. “My, ah, birth parents were human. They were less than pleased with having a foulblood for a child.” He snorted. “I was eight when they kicked me out of the house for being, well…me.”

                Eight. That seemed to be the magic age, wasn’t it? “I’m sorry. I was not aware.”

                “I…” Rolan hesitated. “Well, it’s not something I willingly share. I was fortunate enough that my mother took me in from the streets.” He cast his eyes down again. Zevlor could fill in the blanks easily enough—the blustery attitude, the intense need to prove himself, the purposeful separation of himself from the other Tieflings—all deeply rooted in his subconscious as ways to prove he was worthy to people who didn’t give a damn about him. He understood where it came from, though where Rolan had tried to separate from his heritage, Zevlor had clung to it. “I suppose…most of us have hard backstories. Cerys’s father…” He trailed off.

                …ah. Zevlor glanced to the wizard. “Cerys has spoken to you about her family?” Curious.

                “I’m…aware she has a human father who remarried.” Where Zevlor was still, Rolan’s knee started to shake to expel his nerves.

                “I’ve noticed the two of you have been dancing around each other quite a bit,” Zevlor pressed.

                “It’s nothing,” Rolan immediately stated. He paused then sighed. “It’s… This is weird.” He wrinkled his nose at Zevlor. “I feel like I’m talking to her father.”

                He got the point. Zevlor’s lips quirked. “A concerned friend,” he corrected in amusement, “who suspects you may need to speak with someone about this.”

                Rolan glanced down. “You’re…not wrong,” he admitted. “I find these conversations a little difficult with my siblings.” He swirled the coffee around in its mug, not unlike how one would swirl wine. “Cerys and I…were together, in the Shadow Cursed Lands. It was meant to be a one-time thing, but we…found each other again. I liked, well, like her,” he admitted, his face turning crimson, “and I wanted to learn more about her, but…” Rolan sighed. “I was so focused on the apprenticeship, and then Ramazith’s Tower, and that consumed all my thoughts from then. When I saw her at the banquet, I realized how badly I had screwed up. And she, ah, didn’t react well.”

                She wouldn’t have. Cerys was a proud woman. Zevlor nodded slowly. “I suppose from then it’s been a series of miscommunication and missteps.”

                “You would suppose correctly.” Both men drank their coffee. “I’m not…good at this kind of thing. Cal’s the best at it,” he grumbled. “Ridiculous. I’m the oldest and the least experienced.”

                “Don’t hold it against yourself, Rolan. We all work on our own timeline.”

                Rolan snorted, but he shot Zevlor a grateful look. Then his attention turned back to the fire. “Cerys doesn’t want to speak with me anyway. Not unless it’s on her own terms.”

                “That’s her right.”

                “I know. I’m respecting it.”

                “Good.” They both drank again, then fell into a companionable silence as the sun began to rise.

                She had sworn to Mira she’d never put her in this position again. And, while Jael herself wasn’t the one making the demand—no, it was the half-elf’s blood—she felt responsible all the same. While the druid prepared the ritual, the cleric separated herself, standing on a rock looking over the water. She crossed her arms and tried to still her mind.

                “You are upset.” Halsin’s voice itself wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was that he was addressing her in Undercommon. How long had it been since she had a conversation in her native tongue…?

                Jael shifted. “This is my fault,” she admitted. “Were it not for me, Mira would have never been put in this position.”

                The massive wood elf stood beside her, crossing his own arms. They quietly overlooked the lake. “While I certainly understand her trepidation toward casting it,” Halsin began, “I believe your reasoning for doing so was sound. You could not have predicted when trying to save your husband’s life that this would happen.”

                “And, yet, it has.” She tapped her fingers on her bicep. “Best laid plans…”

                Halsin didn’t have a response to that, instead looking over the water. “If he needs to lay low for a while…”

                “No.” The suddenness of the response surprised him. Jael relented. “Aurelia has offered similarly,” she began, “but I think Rhys disappearing from the Gate would raise more questions than not. Poppy was wise to call it to the High Harper’s attention. She won’t do anything to purposely piss off the Grand Dukes.” Halsin chuckled. “Thank you, by the way.”

                “For what?”

                “For looking out for Aurelia and Cade.” Jael paused before glancing behind her.

                “Will you, too, caution me away from your friend?”

                “No,” Jael decided, meeting his eyes. “Contrary to what Arlo’s protective nature implies, Mira is an adult capable of making her own decisions, and, from what I can tell, she made a good one.”

                He held her gaze for a long moment before the smile formed on his face. He nodded to her. She nodded back before falling silent. He inclined his head before stepping away, presumably to be back at Mira’s side.

                Jael didn’t know how long she stood there in silence before Poppy quietly called to her. Wordlessly, she headed back to the group. Jaheira and Jerrick were standing side by side, the former looking impassive, the second looking…slightly nervous? Good. The wolf companion was seated at his side as the half-elf man idly rubbed its head. Poppy was opposite of them, shifting from foot to foot; she never had been good at sitting still. And Halsin was kneeling beside and slightly behind Mira, eyes locked on her.

                As the spell faded away, the human’s body was replaced with something decidedly more…stout. Brown hair turned red, and the shadow of a beard was now replaced with a long one. The lithe, toned form of a human had given way to the much more compact musculature of a dwarf man.

                “The tattoo is still there,” Jaheira observed.

                “We’ll have to get it covered up,” Jerrick responded, looking impressed.

                Mira sighed and wiped her hands on her pants. “It’s done.” She stood, reaching a hand back to Halsin’s shoulder at the subtle touch to her back. She stared at her brother with thinned lips.

                “Thank you.” Jerrick knelt beside the body, testing for a pulse. “He’s out like a light.”

                “Perhaps it’s a blessing.” Jaheira peered at the body. “Get him back to Waterdeep and into a holding cell as soon as you can.”

                Jerrick nodded, then glanced to Poppy. “Could you…?”

                “Oh, well, certainly.” She breezed by the group toward an open area to work on a Teleportation Circle.

                “You’re going to the meeting?” Jerrick asked of his sister.

                Jael wasn’t sure what meeting he meant, but Mira evidently did. She bristled before relenting. “I’m going with Halsin.”

                Jerrick’s eyes flicked toward the big druid, who had risen to his feet. He observed in silence as his wolf companion padded over to Halsin and sniffed at him. For his part, Halsin remained still and allowed this, respectfully. The wolf nudged at his hand, and Halsin obliged with a quick ear scratch. The wolf padded back toward Jerrick’s side. Jerrick gave it a look before turning his attention back to the group. “I’ll see you there, then.”

                “You’re going?” Mira’s voice registered surprise.

                “Dad asked me to.” A shrug of his shoulder. “Can’t imagine why he wants me there, but I can’t say no.” He looked to where Poppy was casting, then to Jaheira. “I’ll send a report, High Harper.”

                “You do that, Harper.” Jaheira, like the rest of them, watched in silence as Jerrick bent over, picked up the newly made dwarf, and headed toward the circle. In a flash, they were gone.

                “Speaking of the meeting.” Jaheira turned toward Halsin. “I don’t see a reason for me to return to the Gate just to turn back around. Care if I stay here and travel with you?”

                “You may stay,” Halsin agreed, “either in one of the huts or in the inn, to your comfort. But I will need to discuss with Mira if we’re comfortable traveling with you.”

                Jael swore she saw Jaheira’s eyes narrow briefly, but acceptance came quickly after. “I suppose I’ve earned that. Very well, I’ll grab a room in the inn, then.”

                “I’d take a hut if you’d allow me,” Jael noted to Halsin. She wanted to speak with Aurelia about everything, and there was little chance she’d get to leave before nightfall.

                “Very well.” The druid nodded. Letting his hand slide to Mira’s, he turned and started walking away from the site. After a time, Jael followed in silence.

                That Harper brother had better not be a problem for them…

                They were making better time than anticipated. Zorru wasn’t sure if it were his original estimation being off or the group being more motivated to find the others, but, if they pushed themselves, they could get to the settlement just after nightfall. The danger to that, of course, would be alerting their kin needlessly, but Lelith reasoned it was better to get to their destination and camp there rather than make a camp close enough to concern the other Tieflings.

                He gripped the reins so tight that his red skin was turning pale around his knuckles. What if he were too late? What if the others had run out of supplies, or the bandits got to them, or the demons got to them? Mavari had sent her crows ahead to help scout, but they—

                “Hey,” Cal called softly, poking his head through the flaps. Zorru jumped a bit. The back of his wagon had been quiet between Cal, Rolan, and Mavari, a stark contrast to the constant chatter of the wagon Cerys was driving. It had made things easier for him to tune out, to sit alone with his thoughts, but Cal was ruining that presently. “How are you holding up?”

                “Fine,” Zorru responded, voice clipped. He hoped he could return to his thoughts.

                Unfortunately, Cal had other ideas. His friend crossed his arms and leaned forward. “I was thinking,” he began. “What do you plan on doing for work after this?”

                “Me?” Zorru blinked at him. “Ah…what do you mean?”

                “Well,” Cal began, tipping his head. “My guess is you’re not wanting to enlist in the Flaming Fist.”

                “No.” Zorru winced. “Too strict.”

                “Nor the City Watch…”

                “Too boring.”

                “And you wouldn’t take well to serving under Zevlor in the Grand Duke’s new force, I bet.” No, he wouldn’t, but Zorru didn’t need to say that out loud—Cal already knew. His friend shifted. “Wanna go into business with me?”

                Business? Zorru nearly dropped the reins again. “Cal, I don’t know the first thing about running a business.”

                “I’ve been learning a lot from the store,” Cal noted helpfully. “I think I can handle a lot of that on the front end until we’re successful enough to hire someone to do it for us. And Rolan said he’d help us with startup costs, since it’s for the good of our kin and all.”

                “What are you talking about?”

                “The business.”

                “I don’t even know what this business is.”

                “Oh, right.” Cal grinned. “I want to go into carpentry. Figured I can roll that into construction. With the way the Gate goes, we’ll always have customers on account of some part of the city always getting destroyed.” He leaned forward. “First thing’s first: building up the new district Lelith’s put aside for us. Make it livable for our people. You in?”

                Zorru considered it. “Sounds better than serving the old Hellrider.”

                “And a good, physical job that helps people,” Cal added.

                Zorru thought about it for a moment longer. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

                “Brilliant.” Cal’s large hand slapped his back. Zorru grunted in surprise. “Ah, sorry. We can talk more after we save everyone, yeah?”

                “Yeah,” Zorru agreed. Cal grinned and slipped back into the wagon. Rubbing his back, Zorru’s eyes faced forward. Construction, huh…? That certainly sounded better than courier work or whatever else Bex was trying to sell him on… He could do with hammering out his anger.

                “Is that it?” Lelith questioned.

                “It matches Zorru’s description,” Zevlor confirmed.

                They had made great time, likely spurned by what happened with the demons the previous night—Lelith wasn’t going to question being ahead of schedule too much. A part of her felt relieved to see the edges of the makeshift encampment. It was tucked into a natural barrier, protected by tall cliffs on either side. It also meant they were sitting ducks for anyone who wanted to attack from above, but…

                “Look,” Lelith murmured, nodding toward the encampment. Several people appeared on the tall sides, horned figures with bows, staring at their group. Lelith held up a hand in greeting. “Friends,” she called. “Kin. We mean you no harm.”

                There was a long pause before a familiar male voice spoke. “By the gods, is that the hero?” A familiar set of horns popped up as the man leaned forward. “With a whole procession!”

                “Guex,” Zevlor supplied quietly. Now that he mentioned it, she did recognize the figure as the exuberant man from the Grove.

                “The hero?” another male voice, vaguely familiar, commented, lowering his bow. “And who’s that with her?”

                “It’s him,” a female voice gasped. The tone was…displeased.

                “Damays and Nymessa,” Zevlor noted. It was helpful—she had only met them briefly when saving Lae’zel. She also realized that he was trying to keep his tone level.

                Lelith slid off the saddle and started forward, leading the horse behind her. Zevlor hesitated before following suit. There was some quick, hushed chatter as the group observed them coming forward, bows raised.

                “It’s me!” Zorru called from the wagon. “I brought them!”

                “It’s Zorru,” Nymessa echoed, head turned behind her.

                “Lower your weapons,” Guex ordered. He, too, was looking back, then glanced forward, nervous. “You’ve come to help?”

                “We’ve come to escort you to safety,” Lelith called back. “Will you permit us to stay the night?”

                “Do you have supplies?” Guex pressed.

                “We do.” Lelith nodded to Zevlor. “We were told you were running low.”

                “All right. I…ma’am?”

                From the entrance to their camp stalked a Tiefling with white hair and cool colored skin. She was wiping her hands on her apron as a look of death filled her eyes. Lelith had a sinking feeling about this encounter, but she knew that face well. “Okta,” she began. “It’s good to see you.”

                Okta didn’t respond. She was moving at a fast clip, her eyes firmly on Zevlor. Lelith barely had time to register a sense of danger before Okta drew back her fist…

                …and socked Zevlor across the jaw.

Chapter Text

                “I’m home,” Renorash called, stepping inside the house. Amongst the three of them, he and his wives were able to afford a decent sized home in the Gate—one that they nevertheless needed to do a lot of work on. Most of the vacant homes needed varying levels of repair after the defeat of the Absolute, but the three of them had worked quickly on its repairs. Gemwin always worked better when she had a project, and, with Kyarra between jobs, she had roped their wife into aiding her. When he was able to, Renorash also assisted, though the dwarven woman would frequently end up shoving both her spouses out of the room if she had a particularly strong vision.

                And Renorash, naturally, could never tell his wives no. Though, he reasoned with himself, one of these days he’d have to, and wouldn’t that be fun?

                “In the kitchen, my darling,” a voice rang out sweetly. The smell of freshly baked goods filled his nose, and he practically floated to the space. There, Gemma was withdrawing scones from the oven, beaming at him over her shoulder. Her strawberry blonde curls were pulled into a tight bun. Setting down the tray, she took off her oven mitts and wiped her hands on her apron. “You have great timing. We were just taking a break.”

                “Gemma was hungry,” supplied the more silken tone of his Tiefling wife. Kyarra, hand on her chin, was chewing on a cooled scone. The dark gray Tiefling was dressed for manual labor with her own white hair tied into a high ponytail. Kya’s eyes swiveled to her husband’s. “Maybe you can take over fixing up the baby’s room.”

                “The floor’s still giving you trouble?” The half-Orc bent over to kiss Kya between the horns. Both had been snapped off a long time ago, and Kya usually wore decorative horns to hide the fact. In the privacy of their own home, she didn’t see the need. And, while he understood this was a matter of pride for her, he preferred when she was comfortable enough in her own skin to be vulnerable. Her horns being broken was not her fault, nor was it something of which to be, in his opinion—but, then again, he wasn’t a Tiefling.

                “I’m not doing it right,” Kya said dryly. She tipped her head back, letting a hand snake behind his head to draw his lips to hers. “Gemma’s nesting is dangerous.”

                “Honestly,” Gemma huffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Ren takes better directions than you, sweetie. You’d be doing me a favor by letting him.” Kyarra muttered something in Infernal, a half-hearted insult they all understood. But she was smiling while she did it, so neither of her partners batted an eye. Gemwin turned toward her husband. “Where’s my kiss, then?”

                “Coming,” he laughed. The paladin crouched to one knee and held open his arms to her. Gemwin beamed and stepped into his embrace, giving him a proper kiss.

                “And how is everyone?” she asked, stepping back to her scones.

                He nodded and stood, joining Kyarra at the table. “Mira and Mavari are out of town,” he began. “Arlo and Torinn disappeared to…wherever the two of them go.”

                “One day you’re going to find out where,” Kya noted. “It’s coming.”

                He gave a half-shrug. That was their business to share. “Lyric’s doing well with the Mermaid. Jael’s kept busy as usual.”

                “That temple is keeping her busy,” Gemma mused, waddling over with a tea pot and three cups. She poured for each of them before sliding into a chair. “How much longer are they going to need until it’s completely clean of Bhaal’s influence?”

                “I don’t know,” Renorash admitted. “I…” There was a knock at the door. He paused. “Were we expecting company?”

                His wives exchanged glances. “I don’t know anyone here outside of Cataclysm,” Kyarra admitted. “Don’t look at me.”

                “You should get to know the Tieflings from Elturel,” Gemma chided mildly, “but, no, I am not expecting anyone.”

                Renorash nodded slowly before he stood. He moved through the house to the front door and carefully opened it. “Good day,” he greeted automatically.

                “Good day, Gauntlet Kelk.” His blood ran cold at the title. Standing before him in well-tailored robes was Counsellor—no, Grand Duke Florrick. Of note, she didn’t have any of her Flaming Fist guards with her. Was that on purpose? “May I come in?”

                He didn’t want to let her. Not after she used his former title—he was certain he wouldn’t like the conversation to follow. But Renorash was far too polite for his own good, and he was all too aware that being brusque with one Grand Duke was likely to get him in hot water with Lelith. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to allow her entrance.

                “Thank you.” Florrick glided inside with ease, her eyes taking in the humble living room. “You have a lovely home.”

                “Thanks to my wives.” He closed the door behind her.

                “Is there a place we may sit and talk?”

                Sensing that bringing her into the kitchen with his wives was a bad idea, he gestured to the sitting area. As Florrick sat on the loveseat, he asked, voice strained, “Can I get you anything, Grand Duke?”

                “No, I am quite fine, thank you.” She crossed one leg over the other and looked at him expectantly. Renorash felt he had no choice but to sink into the adjacent davenport, eyeing her carefully. “I will not keep you overlong.”

                “What is the manner of your visit, Your Grace?” he asked, voice measured.

                “We’ve been combing through the ranks, the Marshal and I,” Florrick began. “Getting rid of those who do not align with our vision for the Flaming Fist. I’d like you to consider returning to your post.”

                His blood ran cold. Seconds later, he heard the shattering of ceramic, followed by heavy footsteps. Whirling around, he saw Kyarra, death in her red eyes, stalking into the room. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Absolutely not,” she snarled at Florrick. “Are you bloody insane?”

                “Kyarra,” he began quietly.

                He heard the hurried footsteps before feeling Gemwin’s hands on his other shoulder. “Counsellor—no, Grand Duke,” Gemma corrected herself. “Renorash has a good job with Grand Duke Lelith as it is. What need does the Fist have of him?”

                “Gauntlet Kelk was a great Fist with strong leadership potential,” Florrick began, folding her hands over her knee. In opposition to his wives—Kya’s anger rolling off her in waves, Gemma’s temper only contained to counter balance Kya—Florrick was the picture of absolute calm. “We could use someone like him as an example of what a Fist should be—of the caliber we want in our ranks.”

                “You didn’t want him when you court marshalled him,” Kya snapped. “This is bullshit.”

                “A decision made by someone no longer affiliated with us,” Florrick responded coolly. “Duke Ravengard and I—that is, the Marshal—will officially wipe it off your record. Further, we’d like to instate you as a Flame.”

                A Flame would put him two ranks above where he ended. Renorash’s hands formed into fists before he forcibly relaxed them. “I have a responsibility to my team.”

                “Of course.” Florrick nodded in acknowledgment. “But I am sure you recognize that adventuring parties do not last forever, do you not, Gauntlet?”

                Gemma was the one to snarl now. “How dare you?”

                “Gemwin,” Renorash warned.

                “Cataclysm is doing great things for the Gate, and you want to break them up so our husband can go back to where he wasn’t appreciated?”

                “Gemwin!” Renorash’s voice was sharper now. The dwarf fell silent. He took in a deep breath and looked to Florrick. “I need time to consider this.”

                “Ren!” Kya growled in protest.

                “Of course,” Florrick responded smoothly. She rose to her feet. Renorash, out of politeness, followed suit. “You know where to find me once you have considered your options.”

                The Grand Duke left. Renorash slowly inhaled and turned to his wives. “I love you both very much,” he began, “but I didn’t need your help.”

                “Ren.” Kyarra looked like she was about to throw up—another vulnerability she would only show her spouses. “You’re not…you can’t be…?”

                He hesitated. “Look,” he began softly. “We have half a year before the baby comes, and”—he gestured to Kyarra—“your hopeful pregnancy after that. I need to consider what the best financial decision to support my family is.”

                “But the team,” Gemwin argued. “You can’t just leave them high and dry!”

                “Jael’s going to be tied up with Doomguide work for a while,” he began, “and her involvement is always hinging on whatever the Lord of the Dead wants. Arlo and Torinn have always had something else going on. Mavari’s got her work with her bloody patron. Lyric’s always a breath away from living the life of an entertainer. And Mira’s…” He paused. What would Mira do? “Well, I imagine that archdruid…” He trailed off.

                “You owe it to them to discuss with them first,” Gemma said stubbornly.

                “Florrick’s right,” he argued. “Adventuring groups can’t last forever. After all, all of us came from other ones…”

                “Bullshit,” Kyarra snapped. “This idea is bullshit. You’re worth so much more than the Flaming Fist, Ren.”

                He drew in a breath. “You’re right,” he admitted. And yet… “Let’s not think about this right now, all right? We have tea and scones to enjoy.”

                As he brushed past them toward the kitchen, he didn’t miss the worried look his wives exchanged.

                Alfira felt absolutely terrible.

                She had been so focused on getting into the Gate, of getting to the Elfsong, of fulfilling her dreams, that she had completely neglected the duty she volunteered for with the children. And, while most of her kin had been supportive, Mavari’s words haunted her: “None of you—none of you—thought about what would happen to the children in all of this. If you had, they wouldn’t have been left alone in Rivington.”

                How badly she had wanted to argue against it. Later, after the meeting, Bex would quickly reassure her that she only did what was best for her—that she had to look out for her own dreams. Alfira thought that Bex might have been trying to absolve herself disguised as comforting Alfira.

                But, in the end, it didn’t matter what the adults thought. It was the kids, the ones who had lost their parents, then the adult figures meant to protect them, then the one who claimed have their best interests at heart. All they knew was how badly everyone who was supposed to love them failed them, and it gnawed at Alfira.

                She needed to do better by the children.

                “Hello?” she called into the house. It was her turn today to check on the kids. Bex and Danis had stopped by the previous two days. Moving through to the kitchen, she could see the empty basket from the day before, only crumbs indicating where there had been baked goods prior. Alfira carefully moved toward it, setting down her own basket on the table. Should she take this one back to the bakery or leave it for Bex to collect the next day?

                “Miss Alfira?”

                She jumped at the voice. Immediately, she whirled around, her eyes falling on a familiar pair of Tiefling kids. “Umi! Ide!” Like she had practiced so often before, she plastered a smile on her face to mask the anxiety beneath. “How wonderful to see you again.”

                “Are you going to drop off the food and leave, too?” Ide asked bluntly.

                There was a pang in her chest. “Oh, I—of course not.”

                “That’s a lie,” Umi argued. He exchanged a glance with his friend before looking back to her. “Bex and Danis only dropped off the food and left, too.”

                “Not that we tried too hard to talk to them,” Ide admitted. “They left us to Cerys a lot, anyway.”

                Her heart sank. How utterly had they all failed these children? “Of course I’ll stay and talk with you,” she reassured them. “Now.” Alfira clapped her hands together. “Would you like to see what I brought you?”

                The kids exchanged glances again before they tentatively edged forward. Alfira pulled back the cloth that protected the food. Sausage, cheese, fruits… She wanted to get them some healthier options that would keep in case the kids took a while to get to them.

                “This is better than before,” Ide noted. “I’m so tired of muffins.”

                “Bex and Danis brought you muffins?” Alfira asked, silently grateful she hadn’t brought any herself.

                “Yeah, they were nice and fresh,” Umi commented, “but there were too many of them.”

                Well, there was that, at least. “I’ll say something to them.”

                The children each took a seat at the table as they started sorting through the basket. Alfira sat back and watched. “Miss Alfira,” Ide began, “why did you leave us in Rivington?”

                And there it was. A pang of guilt hit her heart. She opened her mouth to respond when Umi beat her to it. “Because she doesn’t care about us,” he grumbled darkly.

                “That’s not true, Umi,” she argued, shocked at his tone.

                “If you cared about us, you would have helped us get into the city,” Umi said to her coldly. Ide silently munched on his apple, his eyes sliding toward Alfira. She felt her blood run cold, both reflecting hurt in their eyes, and desperately wished the ground would swallow her.

                But no one here was going to save her, and this was critical. Alfira drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she spoke sincerely. “I should have checked on you much sooner. Everything that happened to us since Elturel was scary, and it wasn’t right of me—of any of us—to leave you like that.” She exhaled, low and slow. “You don’t have to forgive me,” she continued, realizing how sincerely she meant those words. “But, well, I’d like to make things right, if I can.”

                “How d’you plan on doing that?” Umi stubbornly chewed a piece of sausage.

                That was the question. The bard school kept her busy, and, with Lakrissa gone, even more so. Then again, she had to make time for the things that were important, didn’t she? She thought. “What if we set aside time each day for me to visit? To do some fun activity? Maybe we can read a story together, or play music, or…”

                The two exchanged glances again. “Miss Mavari was encouraging us to pick up hobbies,” Ide said slowly.

                Alfira clapped her hands together. “Perhaps we can explore that together,” she offered, the ideas forming in her head. “You two, and whomever else wishes to join us.”

                “Shouldn’t we ask Miss Mavari first?” Umi’s anger had subsided into the worry that Alfira was more accustomed to from the child.

                “Miss Mavari won’t care.” Ide waved his hand. “She lets Zevlor come in and out of the house all the time. Of course she’d let Alfira come here.”

                “That’s because Miss Mavari kisses him,” a new voice piped up. Mirkon’s head popped up from the hatch at Umi and Ide’s twin noises of disgust. “Is that breakfast?”

                “Of course.” Alfira smiled warmly at the dreamy boy. “Would you like to join us?”

                As the boy scrambled toward his meal, she felt a little more at ease. She couldn’t fully heal the hurt on her own, but she could start to mend it. And, once Mavari was back, perhaps she could discuss with the warlock how they could find more permanent homes for the children…

                “You little monsters,” Shadowheart said fondly, nearly tripping over the meowling cats winding around her feet. “You need to give me room.” Cautiously, she was able to set down the large dishes of fish, jumping back as her eight hungry felines descended on them. Shaking her head, she turned toward the five dogs sitting patiently as they waited for their turn. The cleric rubbed Scratch’s head, grateful once again she was able to take the camp canine home with her, and went to gather their dishes. “Stay,” she commanded, setting each dish down separately. “Good pups. And…go!” Once they were given the go ahead, the dogs started to gobble down their own breakfast.

                Life at the abandoned cottage was slow paced but rewarding. She found herself enjoying the time with her parents and their little menagerie, making up for the forty years that they had missed. The dogs and cats were the last of the animals to be fed that morning, which meant she had a little time to sit and rest before the next task.

                She grabbed a cup of tea for herself and moved to the front porch. Her parents were already there, hand in hand as they rocked in their chairs. Her father’s thumb lightly rubbed along the back of her mother’s hand as they stared out toward the woods. Buttons, the orphaned wolf cub they had taken in, lay dozing at her father’s feet.

                “Beautiful morning,” she said by way of greeting.

                “Isn’t it?” Her mother smiled at her. “Very pleasant.”

                “What’s on the agenda for your day, sweetheart?” her father asked.

                “I was considering heading into Rivington,” she began, “to pick up some more bedding for the…” Shadowheart paused, squinting into the horizon. Wait. That couldn’t be. Could it…?

                But the two sets of armor were unmistakable, let along the silhouette of wings. “Oh,” her mother breathed. “Is that an angel?”

                “Please excuse me for a moment.” Shadowheart rose to her feet and started walking quickly toward the horizon. She rapidly increased her pace until she was sprinting toward the women. If Isobel and Dame Aylin had come here, to her little cottage, well…she had a feeling this wasn’t merely a social call.

                “Ah, there she is,” Aylin smiled, spreading her arms. “The little wolf herself. Truly a wonderous sight for sore eyes. How hast thou fared these past few weeks?”

                “Months, Aylin,” Isobel corrected. “We’ve not seen Shadowheart for seven months.” The cleric offered her a smile. “But it is good to see you. I wish, of course, it were under better circumstances.”

                “I suppose wanting this to be a social visit was too good to be true,” Shadowheart admitted, resisting the urge to sigh. “But it is good to see you two.”

                Isobel nodded. “Do you mind if we come in?” she asked, nodding toward the house.

                The former Sharran hesitated. “My mother is…in delicate state,” she began. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t confuse her.”

                “Damn that vile witch!” Aylin scowled. “That cur Shar. Thoust should not have suffered so.”

                The mark on her hand burned. Shadowheart tried not to wince. “Yes, well—” She glanced over her shoulder to see her father leading her mother inside the cottage. Good. “Perhaps I can allow you some rest at the veranda. What was it you needed?”

                The couple exchanged glances. “As you’re no doubt aware,” Isobel began, “Aylin and I have been following attacks on Selunite conclaves recently. We assumed it was a Sharran acting upon her will, but we haven’t been able to secure any concrete evidence of that as of yet.”

                “However,” Aylin spoke, “we have discovered this.” She procured a very familiar looking pendant.

                Shadowheart gasped. “I’ve seen this before,” she murmured.

                “Prithee, do tell.”

                “One of these was found by—Lelith has a group of adventurers that works for her. They found one of these, too.” Shadowheart drew in a breath. “Might I take it off your hands to show her?”

                “Please.” Isobel nodded to Aylin, who handed it over. “Do you know what it is?”

                “It’s an item that allows its wearer to cast the Planeshift spell.” The women exchanged glances again. “We don’t know who it belongs to, but…this is a concern, to be certain.”

                “The Sharrans having access to this type of magic is—”

                “It may not be the Sharrans at all,” Isobel interjected, “but no less concerning.”

                Shadowheart considered. “How about you come with me to the veranda, and I’ll bring out some refreshments? I think we have…a lot to talk about.”

                “You weren’t spotted, I trust?”

                “Do I ever get spotted?” Arlo questioned dryly. Torinn knew his husband wanted to be here about as much as he wanted to eat dirt. At the narrow eyed look, Arlo scowled. “My husband wasn’t spotted, either.”

                The old woman scowled in return. “Truly, I do not understand your insistence that he come to our meetings. He’s not a member of the Quiet Eye. You put us in danger exposing us to him.”

                “You put him in this position sending agents to our home, Gran,” Arlo snapped. “He knows what I know.”

                “You will refer to me as Captain, grandson. Do not forget your place.”

                Arlo froze briefly. Torinn watched him forcibly attempt to lose the tension in his limbs, but there remained a tightness there that belied his true feelings. Torinn fought down the instinct to step forward, knowing that it would be seen as a sign of weakness to the Captain and Arlo both. “Why did you call me here?”

                Here was the underground meeting spot chosen in the city’s sewers. Hardly the most luxurious of spaces, but it was private—only the Gur with their strange red eyed children and the criminal underbelly typically found their way here. The Captain brushed past them, hands folded over her stomach. “The dragon at the Grand Dukes’ estate,” she began. “You took care of it?”

                “Just like I take care of every dragon, Captain.” Arlo produced a scale, handing it to her. Elenora inspected it closely as he continued: “Moonstone dragon. Mother concerned about her eggs. Pulled against her will from the Feywild.”

                “Dead?”

                “Dead,” Arlo confirmed. “We took what we needed and the Grand Dukes took care of the rest.”

                “Good.” She tucked the scale in her satchel before looking at her grandson. “Are you prepared for more?”

                “More.” Arlo narrowed his eyes. It was not framed as a question.

                “Surely if someone is bringing dragons from another plane to ours against their will, that Moonstone dragon will not be the only one?”

                “Of course it won’t be,” Arlo retorted. They knew that already, though—the two of them had discussed it after the banquet. “We’re keeping a close eye out and an ear open for any that show up.”

                “As is expected.” His gran glanced at him. “Just as long as you don’t end up like your father, boy.”

                He watched Arlo’s nostrils flare. Torinn was usually the one to speak before thinking, but the Captain knew exactly what to do and say to get under Arlo’s skin. He jumped in. “Arlo’s excellent at what he does, ma’am—”

                “How dare you talk about Dad like that?” Arlo hissed. “When he died due to your orders?”

                “Enough, child.” The Captain raised a hand and shook her head. “You should spend less time worried about my words and more preparing yourself for when he makes himself known. The Reaper is said to dislike unfinished business, after all…”

                She slipped into the shadows. Arlo snarled at her retreating figure. Turning on his heel, he stomped away in the opposite direction. Torinn hurried after him. “Babe, what your gran said was—”

                “Enough, Tor,” his husband said tiredly. “Need to be mad for a while before I can dissect whatever hidden meaning is in her words.”

                He paused and nodded slowly. Right. The Reyes family was…complicated, at best, without factoring that the family was all a part of the same order. This would naturally weigh heavy on him—not to mention the harsh reminder of how his father met his end. All Torinn could do was try and be supportive of him.

Chapter Text

                She didn’t know what she was expecting. But, watching Okta’s fist connect with Zevlor’s jaw, Lelith felt like an idiot for not foreseeing this.

                This group didn’t see Zevlor like you did, she reminded herself. Guilt settled deep in her stomach. None of them saw how broken Zevlor was in the Mindflayer pods—only Lelith and her adventuring party. None of them saw the guilt plaguing him, or how he punished himself for what he was compelled to do. What they knew was the man who, in their minds, led them to their deaths, who fell easily when met with the right enemy.

                And Zevlor just…took it. He was primed to take a second punch, too, but Lelith realized what was happening and stepped between them. “Okta,” she began.

                The punch connected with her jaw instead. Lelith saw stars. When she shook it clear, her eyes refocused on Okta glaring at her. “Don’t you dare,” the woman growled. “You could have done more to help us, too.”

                She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach. Lelith straightened. “Okta,” she began patiently, “I had no way of knowing what could have happened when you left the Grove.”

                “You had seven among your number, and you couldn’t spare some help to protect us?” the older woman snapped. “You only ran around four at a time, anyway!”

                “I…” Shit. She had a point. They’d switch out their numbers, and those not actively adventuring at the time would stay at camp. Why didn’t they send anyone to accompany the Tieflings? The artifact, she reminded herself. If they separated far enough, the artifact wouldn’t have been able to extend its protection to all of them. Without that protection, they would have transformed. And the unfortunate reality was, even if she, Wyll, and Karlach insisted on escorting the refugees, they were three voices in a group of seven. Lae’zel had been adamant about the creche, and neither Shadowheart nor Astarion would have tolerated it. Gale, well…Gale had been a little preoccupied.

                But how did she say this in front of a clearly angry woman, who had been upset for the better part of a year, who had been grieving the loss of her son for months…? “Okta,” she attempted.

                “The heroes may not have been there to help with the initial attack,” Lakrissa piped up, hurrying forward, “but they came in as soon as they could. Right, Lelith?” She beamed at the paladin before looking to Okta. “As soon as they heard that some of us were taken to Moonrise, they came right away to save us. Then they made sure we could get to the Gate safely.”

                “Only after we were slaughtered,” Okta countered. She glared at Lelith and Zevlor.

                “I understand it’s a painful memory, Okta,” Lelith tried, voice gentle but firm. “And I understand I’ll never be able to take that pain away. But Zevlor couldn’t mentally overpower an Elder Brain.”

                “Perhaps not.” Okta was glaring at Zevlor exclusively now. “But the rest of us have to live with the memory of him kneeling and begging us to let the cult kill us. And I’ll never forgive you for my son’s death. Either of you.”

                “Ms. Okta,” attempted Guex, rushing forward.

                “Don’t you Ms. Okta me, son,” she snapped, smacking away worried hands. The woman turned and stalked back into their camp.

                Guex hesitated, looking from her retreating figure back to the group. Lelith could tell how tightly strung he was. “Guex,” she began softly, “it’s all right. We…knew that emotions would be high.” They did, but Lelith was nevertheless a little spooked that they were high in regards to her. In retrospect, that seemed very egotistical of her.

                The young man inhaled and closed his eyes. He held his breath for several seconds before exhaling slowly. “Right. Of course. I…hello,” he greeted, curious.

                “Good evening.” Mavari’s voice was pleasant. The paladin hadn’t even noticed the warlock had slid up beside Zevlor until Guex drew her attention to it. She glimpsed at the pair and saw one of Mavari’s hands resting lightly on Zevlor’s bicep—the other was entwined with his, his hand gripping hers tightly. The older paladin’s face was carefully neutral, but there was a far off look in his eyes that disturbed her.

                “I don’t recognize you,” the young man said slowly. “Are you from Elturel?”

                “Luskan,” Mavari provided, “but I work with the Grand Duke in Baldur’s Gate. Mavari,” she supplied, inclining her head. “Nice to meet you, Guex.”

                “And you.” He nodded politely. Then, it was back to business. “Well, bring everything inside. Let’s see what we can scrounge up for dinner.”

                “Do you have any threes?” Gan asked, squinting his good eye at Doni. Doni shook his head with a negatory grunt. Gan sighed drew a card from the pile.

                A noise from the front of their encampment drew Rikka’s attention. She glanced in that direction, frowning. Okta was stomping her way through the entrance toward her cooking pot. She noticed Nymessa pacing back and forth nervously, a direct contrast to how completely unmoving Damays was opposite of her. Something was wrong.

                “Give me a second, boys,” she bid them, placing her hand on the ground. Carefully, the woman rose to her feet and headed toward the commotion.

                “Wait a minute, you did have threes!” Doni’s laughter echoed behind her, but she was more focused on the group that was headed inside.

                One cart, driven by Zorru—oh, thank the gods, he had found help after all!—followed by a second driven by Cerys, with Lakrissa hanging off the back. Rikka’s heart soared when she saw the hero leading a horse inside only to sink again at the second horse and who was leading it.

                Zevlor.

                Over the months, their entire encampment had gone through their own stages of grief about their circumstances, and they all agreed that the Hellrider was to blame. In the months since, some had come to peace with it in their own way, while others maintained that hurt. She herself had long since come to terms with their fate—or so she thought. But seeing the Hellrider again was…

                Kaldani getting a spear shoved straight through her, held aloft like some sort of prize by a smiling hobgoblin before she was tossed carelessly aside.

                Ikaron cutting down goblin after goblin before defending his kin, a bugbear stabbing through his stomach. Okta screaming for her son as Guex carried her off.

                A poisoned arrow finding its way into Toron’s neck as he collapsed, gasping desperately for air as goblins laughed at him slowly suffocating.

                Asharak reassuring the children everything would be all right as cultists mutilated him in front of them.

                Zevlor on the ground, pleading with all of them to surrender, that they’d be saved.

                Rikka sucked in a sharp breath. She shook her head, trying to dissolve the memories that had come back full force. “Why are you here?” she whispered.

                But he wasn’t alone. While one hand was on his horse’s reins, Rikka noticed the woman by his side—tall but curvy, clothing in blacks and browns except for the dark blue cloak around her shoulders. A Tiefling, like the rest of them, red skinned with a blueish tone to her wavy hair. She had her arms around one of his , and her head bent toward his. She was…comforting him…?

                “Why is he here?” Pandirna grumbled, sidling beside her. “It’s his fault we’re in this bloody mess.”

                “I don’t know,” Rikka admitted. “I thought they were just bringing supplies.”

                “Supplies with the old Hellrider and the hero escorting—wait.” Pandirna pointed. “That’s the bird who had the mechanical heart. And isn’t that Rolan? Shouldn’t he be some fancy pants wizard by now?”

                Rolan? If Rolan were here, then did that mean…? Rikka’s heart leapt in her throat as she watched the siblings exit their wagon.

                She’d long ago given up the idea of seeing Lia ever again. Their flirting in the Grove and on the road after had been a fun distraction, but the chance of that changing into something more than that left the minute that the cultists attacked. Still, on particularly hard nights, her mind had wandered to the Tiefling woman, so eager to join the Flaming Fists…

                Lia glanced her way. When she saw Rikka, she jolted with surprise and immediately tossed a wink. Rikka straightened, feeling heat blooming on her cheeks. “Well,” Pandirna drawled, thumping Rikka on the back. “Looks like you’re gonna be busy later.”

                “I—Pandirna!”

                The curly haired Tiefling snickered and moved toward the group. Rikka, flustered, followed her.

                “—didn’t think we’d see any of you again,” Damays was saying, arms crossed. “Truthfully had figured we were just biding our time until we died out here.” He made a decidedly undignified noise as Nymessa whacked his back.

                “What my wonderful partner means,” Nymessa jumped in, “is that we’ve been struggling to safely leave this place.” She shrugged. “For a while, we considered making a serious go of things here. Thought maybe we could have our own cute little village. But supplies have been hard to come by, not to mention bandits are sniffing around.”

                “So when Zorru found us”—Damays nodded at the young man—“we were shocked. Thought for sure everyone else was dead.”

                “Understandable,” the hero was saying, nodding. “How many of you are here?”

                “Thirteen,” Rikka supplied quietly. “There’s thirteen of us left.”

                The hero’s eyes slid to her, and Lelith gave her a slow nod. “We understood there was the possibility of more.”

                “There were more,” Pandirna supplied, “until they got themselves killed.”

                To the hero’s credit, she didn’t wince—unlike Lakrissa nearby, who visibly did. Lelith glanced toward Zevlor briefly before looking back toward Pandirna. “Who?”

                “Kivak got caught on the wrong side of the bandits’ blades,” Pandirna began. “Rhy was killed on a hunting trip. Vatas and Kavil left. Said they were going to make a break for Waterdeep. Nymessa found what was left of their bodies a week later.”

                “Maybe we can hold a memorial ceremony for them back in the Gate,” mused Cal. “And the others we lost along the way. Be a nice way to commemorate the new district.”

                “What new district?” questioned Guex, glancing to the hero.

                Lelith nodded. “We have a lot to catch up on,” she began. “But I’ll cut to the important part.” She allowed her hands to drop to her sides. “We are creating a Tiefling district in Baldur’s Gate,” she began. “You’ll have your own guards, and you’ll be able to establish your own businesses with financial assistance thanks to…some extra funding.” Lelith looked to each of them in turn. “We’re here to escort you to Baldur’s Gate, to start a life there.”

                “Leaving?” Gerson stepped forward. The man was an enigma to her, even after all this time, but now he was frowning openly at the hero. “We’ve built a life here. We’re tired. You’re saying we need to leave?”

                “Not all of us are as adept at survival as you and Chell,” Rikka reminded him. The idea of being in civilization again was…highly appealing.

                “Be that as it may,” Pandirna interjected, “I understand Gerson’s point. We lost…so many from Elturel until now.” She rubbed at a spot above her heart; Rikka knew she was rubbing the lotus tattoo for her wife, Almara. “We’re exhausted.”

                “We’re leaving this place? We have a chance to live in homes?” Rikka turned her attention to the new voice. Zae, pale faced and hopeful, waddled up to the group, her hand low on her belly. The woman looked to her kin and continued, “The rest of you can stay here if you want. We will be going to the Gate.”

                Rikka watched Lelith’s eyes subtly shift down and back up. She drew in a slow breath. “Zorru,” she began, keeping her voice level. “Were you planning to share with me that one of the young ladies was pregnant?”

                Zorru’s face paled. “I, uh…” He swallowed. “I didn’t know?”

                “To his defense, Your Grace,” the Tiefling standing next to Zevlor drawled, “it’s considered poor taste to comment on women’s bodies.” Zorru shot her a half-surprised, half-grateful look.

                “I suppose you have a point, Mavari.” Lelith turned her back to the group. “I understand this may be a lot to take in. But it is late, and we need to rest. Might we be able to make camp here? Give everyone time to discuss before we leave again tomorrow?”

                Rikka exchanged glances with Pandirna, then Nymessa. But it was Guex who spoke: “Lady hero, pardon, but we have reservations about the traitor staying here.”

                It was hard to catch with how rigid he already was, but Zevlor stiffened. The woman—Mavari?—placed a hand on his arm. Lelith was the picture of calm: “The Commander is part of my retinue. He stays.”

                “Your Grace,” Zevlor began.

                “Your Grace?” Guex repeated, looking to Lelith. She didn’t offer an explanation. He shifted, though the tension in the air was palpable. “It’s…a lot to ask of us, after everything.”

                “I understand,” Lelith spoke calmly, “and I’m sure all of us are willing to discuss this in more detail over a meal.” At the uncertain faces, she tipped her head. “If Zevlor tries to harm any of you, you have my word that my justice will be swift and final.”

                “…Fine.” Guex swept his arm. “Welcome to our humble encampment.”

                Coming here was a mistake. Zevlor felt like he wasn’t in his own body as he moved silently, helping build their tents, helping unload the necessary supplies, barely aware of what was around him. He snapped to awareness when he felt his partner’s hand on his cheek. “Come with me,” she murmured to him. Mutely, he followed. He was vaguely aware of her making a comment about changing before dinner to the group as they headed toward their tent, set up furthest away from the others.

                He numbly removed his armor. After he had tugged up a pair of pants, he felt a warm hand on his back. Mavari, who was able to change much quicker than him, kissed his cheek. “Come here,” she murmured, settling on their combined bed roll.

                “I’m not in the mood, Mavari,.”

                “Not what I’m asking.” She held out her arms. “Come here.”

                He didn’t know what she was after, but he could deny her nothing. Heaving a sigh, he stretched out beside her. When she patted her chest, he got the hint. Carefully, he rolled over her, shifting so he could rest his head where she had indicated. When she wrapped her arms around him, he slid his beneath her and settled into the quiet.

                The feeling of her fingers in his hair, of the steady rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her heartbeat…it lulled him into a sense of calm. He let his eyes close briefly, willing himself to focus on this and on her.

                He wasn’t sure how long they were laying there before she spoke: “How are you feeling?”

                “…Better,” he admitted. “Though I…have reservations.”

                She made an affirmative noise in her throat. “You were dissociating heavily,” she commented. “You needed to separate yourself to calm down.” Her claws lightly scraped his scalp, and he bit back a groan. They remained like that for a while before she murmured, “Do you need to talk about it?”

                He wanted to tell her no, to bury it deep like he had so much of his trauma, but she was his partner. If he couldn’t feel comfortable sharing with her—especially after she had been so honest about her own history—with whom could he speak about it? He allowed his thumbs to rub against the fabric of her shirt as he thought. “So many of our kin lost their lives on our journey,” he began. “For a time, we tried to keep record of all their names—Tilses had taken it upon herself to do so—but there were too many.” He drew in a breath. “You go into battles assuming not everyone will make it out alive, but those are with trained fighters, not civilians who never thought they’d be forced from their homes.”

                “I recall,” she murmured. “You mentioned recruiting anyone with experience and then having to teach those who showed they were capable of fighting.”

                He grunted in agreement. “Innocent people—innocent children—dying was an entirely different matter. And I…I have never properly mourned their loss. When everything else was falling apart, I had to be strong. The others looked to me for guidance. They trusted me.” She hummed at him as she traced his scars, unwittingly happening upon one he received in the fight against the gnolls. “Once we arrived at Emerald Grove, those of us who survived were getting to know our community better. We banded together to take care of one another. I was able to better learn names and faces. When Lelith’s team had defeated the goblin leaders, even I had felt hopeful for what was to come. And it felt good. But…” He hesitated. “The Shadow Cursed Lands…”

                Her arms tightened around him in an embrace. He had to gather himself, and she gave him space to do so. Zevlor drew in a breath and lifted himself onto his elbows to look at her. “I…recognize there was nothing I could have done to stop the Absolute’s influence in that moment,” he started slowly. “But it still feels like I utterly failed my kin.”

                Mavari allowed her hand to trail to his cheek. He closed his eyes briefly and pressed his face into it. He didn’t deserve her kindness, but he was grateful for it nevertheless. Orange eyes opened to look into her golden ones. “I didn’t come into a sense of awareness until most of the damage was done. I heard…screaming, then I saw the bodies. I saw our kin being taken away in chains. I saw others running…and then I was captured.”

                He and Tilses were taken side by side. But he… No. He needed to talk about this. Zevlor took a moment to kiss her collarbone, centering himself. “I’ve not talked about Tilses much,” he admitted slowly. “I…admit it’s been too painful. She was a Hellrider under my command, and she showed great promise as a leader. I had just recommended her for corporal when the order came to leave. When the Hellriders split up to escort the refugees, she was with me.” Hadn’t entertained any other option, really. He sorely missed Guerus’s advice, but Guerus was needed to lead the others. “Asher and I never were able to adopt before he passed, and I didn’t wish to raise a child by myself. But Tilses…Tilses was the closest thing I had to a daughter.”

                Mavari didn’t respond. Her claws started to run over his scalp again. He steeled himself. “She was brought to the Mindflayer Colony with me,” he began quietly. “I…know she was put in a pod, but I didn’t see her afterward. I…”

                She inhaled sharply. “Oh, Zev.” She embraced him tightly, and he remembered: Her teammate had fallen the same way. Mavari would understand better than most what anguish was plaguing him. He buried his face against her neck and breathed deeply. Of feeling like a complete failure for not being able to save a loved one’s very soul…

                “I…would like to talk about her more often,” he admitted. “Would that be alright?”

                “Of course you can.” Those soothing fingers trailed down his back. “You can talk about whomever or whatever you need to with me.”

                He squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank you.” He blew out a breath. He needed to keep going before he lost his nerve. “Finding out about what happened to everyone was…difficult, and I do not even have the whole picture. I knew I wouldn’t be accepted, and perhaps things would have been easier if I had just left the Gate, but I…”

                Mavari placed both hands on his cheeks and lifted his face. “Don’t go inward,” she murmured. “Talk to me.”

                Right. Inhaling deeply, he pulled himself upright, settling in beside her. When Mavari sat up, he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her to his side. “Seeing the Netherbrain rise into the sky,” he continued, “filled me with a purpose I hadn’t felt in a long time. I knew, no matter what had happened, I needed to fight. No one else should die in a senseless war. And, if it meant I lost my life so that others could live…I knew I would die honorably.”

                “And, yet, you lived.”

                “And, yet, I lived.” He gave a low sigh before smiling at her. “I’m glad I did. I would have missed the beautiful woman who walked into the temple two months later if I hadn’t.”

                “Oh, do go on,” she laughed. But Mavari turned serious. “I know that the others didn’t…make it easy.”

                “No,” Zevlor agreed, “but they’re right to feel that way. We’ve made some progress over time, but I understand how those who were allowed in Lower City could forgive sooner than those stuck in Rivington. If,” he added, “they forgive at all.”

                “Zevlor.”

                “Yes, dear.” He playfully pinched her hip, acknowledging the light admonition. “Truly, I never thought there would be more survivors. And, logically, I understand why they wouldn’t want to see me. But…” He rubbed his jaw. “Imagining the reaction and dealing with it are two separate things.”

                “I imagine it also was a bit of whiplash after the others started to accept you,” she murmured, wrapping her arm around his waist.

                “It was.” He drew in a breath. “I wonder if I should…turn down Lelith’s offer. To lead.”

                She was quiet, rubbing his ridges idly. “That’s certainly up to you,” she began slowly, “but maybe wait until we’re home to decide. A lot can happen in the next few days.”

                “You’re right,” he conceded. He drew in a breath. “I am not sure I can…face them.”

                Mavari turned her head to kiss his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring you food?”

                He made a face. “As much as I don’t want to provoke anyone,” he began, “avoiding them entirely would look worse. But…” He squeezed her lightly. “Would you stay by my side?”

                “Of course.” She drew his face toward hers for a kiss.

                “Seventeen of you,” Nymessa spoke quietly. While the group was settling in, she grabbed Lakrissa to chat.

                Lakrissa nodded. “The three siblings. Alfira and me. Dammon, then Bex and Danis. Cerys, of course, and Zorru. Then Mol—wherever she is—Mattis, Silfy, Umi, Ide, and Mirkon. Oh, and old Zev.”

                “Eighteen,” Lelith corrected idly as she walked by. “You’re missing Arabella.”

                “Arabella survived?” Lakrissa’s eyebrows shot up. “Last I saw, she and her parents ran off into the shadows…”

                “Did Locke and Komira…?” Nymessa’s question died off as Lelith shook her head. “How did Arabella survive?”

                “Touching the idol gave her special powers,” the hero—the Grand Duke, apparently—supplied. “She’s studying with Elminster now.”

                “Who is Elminster?” Nymessa whispered to Lakrissa as Lelith walked away.

                “Someone who likes wine and cheese way too much?” Lakrissa shrugged. “That’s all he wanted at the Elfsong when he came in.”

                “Sounds like a weirdo. Should we be concerned for Bella?”

                “If Lelith’s not ready to charge in smiting, I think she’s okay.” Lakrissa cleared her throat. “There are some others that came with the other Hellrider groups. We don’t know them all that well yet, but I’m betting the district will help.”

                Nymessa leaned in. “This district’s not meant to…other us, is it?”

                “Nah. I think the idea’s more so that we’re not separated any more than it is to keep us in. Besides, Lelith’s starting up some sort of militia for us. Said we’re primarily going to guard each other and her at important events. Don’t think she’d be introducing that if we’re being rounded up.”

                “That’s a fair point,” the archer agreed. She sat back on her hands and mused. “So, what’s the scoop on everyone? Sure by now you’ve all got lives and stuff there.”

                Lakrissa, in contrast, leaned forward, her elbows resting on her crossed leg. “So that big fancy wizard that Rolan wouldn’t shut up about turned out to be a sack of shit,” she began. “Lelith and the others took care of him. Now Rolan owns a big fancy wizard’s tower and a magic shop. Lia and Cal help there for now, but I don’t think that’s their long-term plan. Dammon’s got his forge. He seemed to be with Karlach”—she nodded to the barbarian woman—“but now seems like not? I don’t know, she hasn’t said anything, and he never does. Bex and Danis started their cute little café. Alfira’s got a bard school now, where I help.”

                “Are you happy with that?” Nymessa asked. She noticed the way Lakrissa’s tone shifted slighty, and the way the purple tiefling picked invisible lint off her outfit to avoid the topic.

                “You already know about Zorru. And Cerys, well, she’s been doing guard duty until this whole military business came up. And…” Lakrissa beckoned Nymessa closer. She leaned in. “Cerys and Rolan are doing that awkward avoiding each other thing that you know people only do if they still have feelings for each other.”

                “What do you mean, still?” Nymessa questioned. “Cerys had been out scouting most of the time we were at the Grove. I didn’t realize they even talked.”

                “Right?” Lakrissa grinned. “Turns out they hooked up after the attack and before we got to the Gate? It’s been hilarious watching them.”

                Nymessa not to subtly glanced around to see if she could find either of them. “I dunno. I just don’t see it.”

                “There are weirder couplings, but, yeah. Not someone I would have predicted.”

                “Who would you think Rolan would go for?”

                “I dunno. Something in me says half-elf? He seemed to really hate the rest of us for a while, so I imagine there was a time he’d want to date anyone but a Tiefling. I think he’d feel threatened by anyone who is better at magic than him, so probably not anyone who uses magic.”

                “A bard?”

                “Gods,” Lakrissa laughed, “not with how often he snapped at Alfira for her music.”

                And that was that, Nymessa supposed. “Well, for their sake, I hope they figure it out.”

                “For all our sakes.” Lakrissa’s eyes lifted. Nymessa turned to see where she was looking to find the traitor walking arm in arm with that curvy stranger. She nodded toward them. “Old Zev’s got himself a girlfriend now. Didn’t think he knew how to use his parts anymore.”

                “Do we like the girlfriend?” Nymessa asked.

                “I don’t know much about her,” Lakrissa admitted. “But she seems good for him, and he’s very tender with her when he thinks no one’s watching.” A chuckle. “She’s not afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit. We got read the riot act for…” Lakrissa winced. “The, ah… She’s taken in the kids, in a manner of speaking.”

                She’s taken in the kids. Nymessa looked sharply at her friend. “What happened to the kids, Lakrissa?”

                “Cerys was watching them,” Lakrissa said defensively. Then, she deflated a bit. “And the rest of us just let her. I hate to admit it, but, if Mavari hadn’t stepped in—Mavari is Zev’s girl—they might have gone down a bad path.”

                “She just…adopted six kids?”

                “Five,” Lakrissa corrected. “Mol’s off being a mini-crime lord or something, I hear. But it’s not so much adopted as she made a space for them to come and go freely so they’re not on the street.”

                “I…see.” She didn’t, really. “Doni and Gan…”

                “I know.” Lakrissa breathed out slowly. “We have to talk about the kids at some point. Fira’s helping watch them while we’re gone. I’m sure she’s gonna feel sick about it.”

                “Fira,” Nymessa repeated with a knowing smile. “How long has that been going on?”

                “Well,” Lakrissa laughed. “That’s a whole other story.”

                “It was so brave of you to step up,” Zae insisted. Cerys noticed how much the mother-to-be was touching her belly. It was almost enough to distract from the awkward conversation. “After everything that happened, you were so strong to keep going.”

                “Someone needed to get our kin to the Gate,” Cerys responded, trying to keep her voice level, trying not to read into Zae’s words.

                “But after he”—Chell’s eyes darted toward the side, which meant Zevlor must have reappeared—“betrayed us, and Asharak was killed…you didn’t have a choice, did you?”

                No, she thought, I didn’t. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Anyone else would have done the same in my position.”

                “Oh, I don’t know if that’s necessarily true.” Zae waved a hand. “You see a lot of who people really are when danger hits.” She shot a glare toward where Cerys was now sure Zevlor was standing.

                But, unfortunately for her conversation partners, Cerys was not nearly so careful and measured as Zevlor was when it came to criticism. And something in her broke. “His mind was taken over by an Elder Brain,” she snapped at the two women. “He didn’t actively choose to betray his kin, but now he has to live with the consequences. Now he’s trying his damnedest to do right by people who wish him dead.”

                “He’s the reason so many of us are dead,” Chell argued. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me we’re not allowed to be upset about that?”

                Cerys took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. They are only just now finding out, she reminded herself. They’ve stewed in this anger for nine months. “I’m not telling you that you can’t be upset. And I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’ve had…more time with this. But please don’t demonize him to uplift me.”

                “Oh!” Zae’s face brightened, evidently ignoring her. “It’s the children’s hero!”

                “Please,” a masculine voice responded, and—well, Rolan didn’t sound nearly so boisterous as he normally did. “I did what was necessary. Ladies, might I steal Cerys from you?”

                “Might you?” Zae sang. Why did she sound so interested suddenly? Gods.

                “Zae,” Chell cut in, “maybe we should see if Okta needs our help?”

                “Psh. Okta never wants us in her way when she cooks.”

                “Right, let me rephrase. Let’s not eavesdrop on someone else’s conversation.” With that, Chell grabbed her friend by the elbow and dragged her off.

                “You are the opposite of fun!” Zae loudly complained as they walked away.

                “Against my better judgment, I’m going to thank you for that,” Cerys commented.

                “Against your better judgment, I hope you’re not going to ask me to leave,” Rolan returned.

                She squinted at him, thinking, before shaking her head. “I’ve got a bottle of Blingdenstone Blush in my pack,” she offered as an olive branch. “Want to split it while we wait on dinner?”

                Rolan looked visibly relieved as he nodded. Quietly, they tucked themselves into a corner of the campsite, where they could have their privacy while still watching everything around them. Cerys didn’t miss Lia’s knowing look to her brother over Rikka’s shoulder, nor that Rolan promptly ignored it. He handed her two glasses, into which she poured generous helpings of wine. “Here’s to finding more of our kin,” he offered, “and not wanting to throttle them.”

                “I’ll toast to finding them,” Cerys remarked, “but not throttling them is yet to be determined.”

                He smirked and clinked his glass against hers. “I won’t argue that.” They sipped on their wine in silence. “Are you alright?” Rolan questioned.

                She bristled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

                He gestured toward where Nymessa and Lakrissa were gossiping. “I don’t know if any of us knew what to expect when we got here,” he began. “Reopening old wounds that seem like lifetimes ago. How are you doing?”

                Ahh. Cerys closed her eyes. “I should have expected it,” she began. “Everyone had Zevlor on a pedestal before, and now it seems they want to put me there.” She frowned. “I don’t like it. The same thing could have easily happened to me, or to Asharak.”

                “That woman had a point,” Rolan mentioned, nodding in the direction Chell and Zae had gone. “Expected or not, others would have run.”

                She made a noise in her throat and closed her eyes. “Running wasn’t an option.” She opened them and allowed herself to fully look at him. “But you understood that, too, don’t you?”

                He sighed before meeting her eyes. “I never thought I would,” he admitted, “but…yes. When it came down to it, my conscience wouldn’t let me abandon the children to the cult.” He winced. “Which makes abandoning them in Rivington sound all the more egregious.”

                “Oh, I…”

                “No, no.” He waved his hand. “Mavari had a point. I’m not going to make excuses for it.”

                Cerys stared into her cup. “We should discuss what to do with the children as a group,” she admitted. “Especially with two more coming, I don’t think the current arrangement’s going to work much longer.”

                “I agree.” He paused. “Rikka, I assume, is still taking care of Doni. We should include her in the conversation, as well as whomever has taken charge of this group.”

                She nodded. “Let’s plan on having it on the way back. It’d be nice to see the kids in homes.”

                “Agreed.” His thumb lightly traced the rim of his glass. “You know, I…we’re forming a nice community now, and I am grateful for it. But, seeing the faces here, I wish I would have made more of an effort earlier.”

                “That’s a dangerous road to go down,” she warned.

                Rolan hummed in acknowledgment. “Perhaps. Self-preservation does some…funny things to a person.”

                “Self-preservation?”

                “My birth parents were humans,” he began, gesturing to her. “I’m sure you know where that’s going, considering…”

                Considering her own human father’s behavior toward her. Cerys nodded. “Your adoption?”

                “I was ten,” he recalled. “Cal and Lia’s—my mother had seen me huddled on the street and brought me into her home. Lia was seven at the time, and Cal was four. But I…those people abandoned me when I was eight. And growing up with their attitude toward Tieflings, plus the way people on the street acted like I was beneath them, I…” He sighed. “The hatred I felt for myself translated into a hatred for our people. Not my family. Never my family. But everyone else, yes.”

                “I suppose that explains why you were so standoffish with everyone.”

                “I regret it,” he admitted. “The…internalized hatred. The inferiority complex. I was so focused on my apprenticeship and proving myself that I lost sight of what was important. Though, luckily, I’ve had a chance to correct that.”

                “What happened with your apprenticeship?” she questioned. “Can I ask?”

                He winced. “Lorroakan was…” His tail thwapped against the ground in agitation. “Lelith’s wizard warned me of him, and I didn’t listen. Lorroakan was an idiot and a fraud. Worse, he was a…he had a complex of his own. He delighted in tormenting his apprentices, and especially me.” Rolan was silent for a long moment. Cerys was about to pipe up when he spoke again, voice quieter: “The charlatan would beat me, and I convinced myself that it was part of learning.”

                The scout felt a heavy pang in her chest. “Rolan…”

                “Please,” he spoke quietly. “If I don’t say this now, I fear I never will.” Rolan drew in a breath. “Cal and Lia had no idea until afterward. I felt powerless to stop him. It took Lelith and her friends defeating him for me to break free.”

                The power our abusers have over us, Cerys thought sadly. “Thank the gods for the heroes.”

                “Mmm. Quite.” Rolan considered his wine. “The rest, of course, is history. We got the tower and the store, and things have been a whirlwind ever since.”

                “Knowing this now,” Cerys mused, “I have a better understanding for why I hadn’t heard from you. You were trying to survive.”

                “No, that doesn’t fully excuse it.” Rolan stared into the fire. “I…thought of you, you know. Often.”

                She jerked back. “What?”

                He gave a weak laugh. “After the worst of the beatings, I’d lay in bed and entertain the notion of you coming to save me. And, then, I couldn’t even reach out once the bastard was dead. That was pathetic.”

                Cerys was hung up on the first part of what he said, her heart thudding hard in her chest. “You…thought of me saving you?”

                He coughed and blushed. “I had, ah, vivid fantasies of it, but yes.”

                “Oh,” she whispered, a blush coming to her own cheeks. “I didn’t think you… Well, you know, when someone shows disinterest, that’s usually a sign.”

                He hummed in agreement. “I don’t blame you for it. And I…appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, regardless. You certainly didn’t have to.” The man swallowed some wine as he gathered his thoughts. “I would like to…have a chance to make things right. Court you properly. But I will not press if you do not share my feelings. I’ll respect your decision either way.”

                Did she want that? With how much the wizard pissed her off? Certainly, she didn’t owe him anything, nor did it sound like he expected her to. She considered quietly. “I think,” she started slowly, “once we get back home, I would like to go on a proper date. Then we can see where it goes.”

                “Of course.” He looked relieved. “One day at a time.”

                “One day at a time,” she echoed. Tentatively, she offered her glass toward his. He clinked gratefully. “Now…tell me more about the tower.”

                “Can’t believe that they’d bring that bastard along with them,” Okta grumbled. Her spoon slammed against the pot as she stirred. It was on the tip of Guex’s tongue to make a quip about respecting one’s tools of the trade—of echoing the words the woman would snap at him when he “helped”—but he wisely decided against it. Okta, as he discovered, had trained as a monk. He saw how hard she decked Zevlor. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of such a blow, either.

                “The hero offered to kill him if he stepped out of line, Ms. Okta,” he ventured carefully. “I would trust her word.”

                Okta snorted. “She and her team were complicit in Iki’s death, boy.”

                “What’s your plan, then?” He eyed the large pot. “I’ll warn you the hero is now a Grand Duke before you get any ideas about slipping something into their food.”

                “I wouldn’t do that,” Okta grumbled, though Guex found that he wasn’t overly convinced.

                “They’re willing to escort us back to the Gate, Ms. Okta.”

                She inclined her head. “Oh? They expect us to go willingly with the man who got most of us killed last time he escorted us?” The bite in her tone was palpable. “Still.” She considered. “Zorru did bring them to us. I don’t think he’s nearly so stupid as to bring those he can’t trust to the middle of nowhere.”

                Guex rubbed his chin. “Given that they arrived in a group of ten,” he commented, “I think it’s a good sign that they’re taking this seriously and that, at the very least, the Grand Duke has their trust. Although that number does include Lelith’s barbarian friend and that woman who hasn’t left Zevlor’s side.”

                “The one in the dark clothing?” She rolled her eyes. “Foolish woman. Men are always able to lure in the young and unsuspecting.” She chucked some spices into the mix. “She’ll learn soon enough.”

                Guex couldn’t comment on men luring in women. His closest female friend was Pandirna, and she certainly had no interest in being lured by anyone, much less a man. Before he could formulate a response, though, Okta cast him a glance. “Should have the witch do her”—Okta waved a hand—“magic on her. See what the woman’s intentions are.”

                “I’m not sure it works that way, Ms. Okta. And I’m not sure calling Ms. Belleza a witch is quite appropriate.”

                Okta ignored him. She started banging her spoon against the pot loudly. “Dinner’s ready!” she hollered. “Come get it or starve!”

                “Eloquent as ever, Ms. Okta.” Guex obediently grabbed the bowls to hand to her with each Tiefling who came to the pot.

                Chell (always the first in line), Damays, Zae. Zae always got something extra for the baby—something about extra nutrients to make sure it developed properly. Zorru and Cal, chatting animatedly between them about structures and floor plans—he hadn’t pegged either of them as interior designers or particularly close friends, but there were stranger things in the world. Nymessa and Lakrissa came next, snickering with each other (and earning a stern eye from Okta in the process). Then Gan and Doni, then Gerson and Nerela. Rikka’s arm was linked with Lia’s as they got in line, and Guex almost would have thought they were another pair of gossips until he saw the tender way that Rikka touched Lia’s arm.

                Oh. Well, then. Perhaps he needed to sidle up to the gossips later regarding this development. He hid a smile. He coughed politely at Rolan and Cerys’s arrival, particularly when he realized that they had already hit the bottle that night.

                That left…Lelith, Zevlor, Karlach, Mavari, and the distinguished lady of the camp. Karlach and Mavari exchanged glances as the two paladins had a politely escalating battle of letting the other go first. They quickly helped themselves to the line. Zevlor, as it seemed, won. Okta glared at him and gave him a decidedly smaller serving than the others before Guex cleared his throat. That glare was levied at him instead, but she complied.

                “Get your bowl and socialize, boy.” Okta waved at the group gathering at the campfire. “I’ll take care of the old crone.”

                “Yes, ma’am.” Dutifully, he padded over to find his seat. Rather than segregate themselves into the encampment group and the Gate group, the Tieflings did a good job at melding together. As they ate, they discussed quietly amongst themselves. Eventually, Okta joined them. Once their bellies were full, Rolan cleaned the bowls with an easy flick of his wrist, and the Tieflings politely clapped at the display.

                (“It’s just a cantrip,” Lia muttered, “but of course he’d have to show off.”

                “I missed your brother showing off,” Rikka laughed. “Besides, I’m happy for the excuse not to clean.”)

                “Did Mol make it to the Gate?” Gan asked, curious.

                “Mol’s there,” Lelith confirmed with a nod. She offered Gan and Doni a warm smile. “Mattis, Silfy, Mirkon, Umi, and Ide are also there. Arabella is safe, as well.”

                Doni made an inquisitive noise. He had turned to Rikka and was signing to her—Guex recognized him using signs for two names. Rikka returned the sign for okay before turning her attention to the hero. “And…Meli and Zaki?”

                The hesitation from the adults had said everything the kids would need to know. Doni’s face fell. “O-oh.” Gan sounded dejected, too. “I see.”

                Guex noticed Mavari sitting up straight, as though she wanted to say something, but Zevlor placed a gentle hand on her forearm. She glanced to him, and they exchanged a long look before she nodded, sitting back again.

                “I’m sorry,” Lelith said softly, regretfully.

                Gan drew in a breath. “Hey, Doni”—he affected a cheerful tone—“let’s go back to the cards, okay? Let’s play some Slapjack.” Doni made a noise in the affirmative, and the children stood, heading to their tent with tails low.

                The adults waited until they were out of earshot before Lelith drew in a slow breath. “Rolan?”

                “I…don’t recall seeing them,” he admitted regrettably.

                “Nor were they with the bodies we found.” Lelith closed her eyes.

                “They were with us,” Gerson began quietly, nodding toward Chell. “Before we all found our way together. The…we weren’t fast enough to…”

                A sharp, collective intake of breath. “Kelemvor watch over their souls,” Mavari murmured. Guex watched her intertwine her fingers with Zevlor’s, gripping tightly.

                “We didn’t want to tell the children,” Chell added quietly.

                “No,” Lelith agreed, “that was the correct call. They’re smart enough to piece it together without having to be explicitly told.”

                “Grand Duke Lelith, who…” Rikka cleared her throat. “Whose bodies did you find?”

                “Wait,” Lakrissa interjected. “This isn’t a conversation to have sober.”

                “Damn it,” Zae complained. (Guex knew how much she drank at the Tiefling party and thought perhaps her being pregnant was for the best.)

                The Tieflings made quick work of opening bottles and passing out cups. For her part, Lakrissa looked around the group and lifted her wine. “To our kin,” she offered.

                “To our kin,” the group echoed, each drinking.

                Lelith took a moment, collecting herself. “Asharak, Ikaron, Kaldani,” she began. “Memnos, Rechel, Xeph, Toron, Amek. Their bodies were in the spot where you were ambushed. Locke and Komira’s bodies were found…deeper in.”

                “You know about Elegis and the ox before that…” Cerys gestured. They did. Guex personally shielded Silfy’s eyes from having to watch the poor woman get gored by the beast. “The heroes gathered their bodies when they could,” she added, nodding toward Lelith and Karlach. “We had a small funeral for them at Last Light Inn and buried them.”

                “I want to see the graves,” Okta said quietly. “I want to see my son’s resting place.”

                “Of course, ma’am,” Cerys responded kindly. “We’ll make arrangements.”

                “We”—the hero gestured between her and Karlach—”ran into a few of your scouts along the way. Ellyka. Yul.” Zorru stiffened. “A young woman who was friends with you,” she added to Zorru.

                “Ah…Cherish,” he recalled. “She was one of the only people in our group with a virtue name.”

                “Cherish,” Lelith repeated, as though committing the name to memory. “And Kanon and Nadira. We…haven’t seen the others.”

                “Arka was with us,” Nymessa offered, nodding to Damays. “When she realized Memnos was gone, she…told us we wouldn’t see her again. Walked right into the shadows.”

                “Brutal,” Cal murmured.

                “Eramas?” Cerys questioned.

                “Eramas was taken with us to Moonrise,” Lia recalled. “She…was taken to the necromancer.”

                “Gods.” Lelith pinched her nose.

                “Tilses?” Guex questioned. Surely, if she survived, Tilses would be—

                Zevlor cleared his throat. “Tilses was taken to the Mindflayer Colony,” he began. “She…was forcibly transformed.”

                “What does that mean?” Pandirna questioned. “Can you bring her—”

                “No.” Zevlor’s voice was almost inaudible. “When a person turns into a Mindflayer, they lose their soul. We cannot bring her back.”

                A collective silence fell over the group. Guex felt on pins and needles. For all their anger at Zevlor, no one was admonishing him in this moment. His heartbreak over his fellow Hellrider was palpable.

                It was Pandirna who tentatively broke the silence, clearing her throat. “And we already mentioned losing Kavil, Kivak, Rhy, and Vatas.”

                “Like I said earlier, we should have a memorial service for everyone we lost,” Cal spoke up. “Be a good way to honor them all. Do we have a list of names of the Tieflings we lost between Elturel and the Grove?”

                “We did,” Zevlor supplied. “Tilses had it.”

                There was a beat. “Shit,” Cal swore, looking sheepish. What else could he say?

                “We…” Okta inhaled deeply. She looked at the other Tieflings from the encampment sternly. “We’re going to the Gate,” she said firmly, in that tone that indicated she would not be argued with. “And we’re going to have the grandest memorial that damn city’s ever seen.”

                “Oh? You’re planning a party?” Guex heard the jangling of Belleza’s jewelry behind him and knew that the lady had joined them.

                “About time you showed up, you old goat,” Okta complained.

                As he turned, he saw the gray-skinned Tiefling woman hold up a bony finger. “A lady arrives precisely when she is supposed to.” Guex started to scramble to his feet, but she shook her head. “No, no. Stay seated.”

                “Ma’am,” Rikka began, but the old woman, aided by her elaborately carved walking stick, made her way around the circle. Her hooves beat rhythmically against the ground, her tail dragging behind her. Her black horns spiraled up from erratic purple curls interspersed with grays. Though he knew that the woman was blind, her light green eyes were focused in the direction of one Tiefling in particular.

                “You,” she began, looking to Mavari. “Your magic. It’s familiar. It’s…faint, but it’s there.”

                Mavari stiffened. “I…that’s not possible, ma’am. My patron doesn’t have any other warlocks.”

                “Pah!” The old woman waved a gnarled hand. “I don’t mean your pissant patron, girl. I’m talking about your real magic.”

                Mavari looked confused and—was she afraid? “I didn’t have any magic before—”

                “Oh, don’t take me for a fool, girl. I can smell the sorcerer’s blood on you from across the camp.”

Chapter Text

                “What?”

                “What!?”

                “What!?”

                The three voices—Mavari, Zevlor, and Rolan—rang out in unison. Mavari looked spooked, Zevlor was on high alert, and Rolan sounded—extremely affronted? Why was he mad? Karlach leaned back on her palms and watched the show.

                “Surely you had some inkling, girl.” That Belleza woman’s face crinkled. “Or did your patron hide it from you?”

                The red-eyed crow landed on Mavari’s shoulder, and Karlach had to resist the urge to snarl. The incubus fluffed up into an agitated ball, trilling angrily at the old woman.

                “Away with you,” Belleza scolded. “The adults are talking.”

                “That’s impossible,” Rolan snapped. “If she had any trace of sorcery, I would have felt it.”

                Belleza inclined her head in his direction but didn’t move. “My, you sound upset. Not used to being wrong, are you?”

                “I beg your pardon?” The wizard looked personally affronted.

                “Ma’am,” Zevlor tried, voice carefully calm, “how are you able to tell?”

                She turned those vacant green eyes toward Zevlor and smiled. “I have my ways. But, to answer the question to your satisfaction, I happen to be a sorceress myself. I’m well-versed in picking up on magical signatures. You,” she added, pointing in Rolan’s direction, “be quiet.”

                He snapped his mouth shut.

                “You’re her, aren’t you?” Mavari asked quietly. “You’re the soothsayer.”

                “What do you mean, she’s the soothsayer?” Lelith leaned forward, scowling.

                “Oh,” Belleza said cheerfully, “we keep secrets here, I see.”

                “Your Grace,” Mavari began, but the hero held up a hand.

                “A word, Mavari. Now. No,” she barked as Zevlor shifted forward, “I need a word with her alone.”

                Karlach noticed that, for a fraction of a second, the former Commander looked ill at ease. But his expression quickly turned to careful impassiveness, and he nodded. Lelith’s eyes moved back to Mavari’s as she jerked her head to the side.

                Mavari drew in a breath and stood, silently following without protest. The moment that Mavari had vacated her seat, Belleza plopped down in it instead. “So,” the old Tiefling began cheerfully. “You’ve come to rescue our pitiful lot, yes?”

                “What say you, my heart?”

                When they were headed back from Last Light Inn, Mira had been frustrated to the point she couldn’t speak. Recognizing the need to work out that frustration, he quietly had wild shaped into his bear form. Silently, Mira followed suit. They spent a couple hours charging through the wooded areas of New Reithwin until she had worn herself out. Once she had, Halsin carried the exhausted half-elf back to his home, and she was out like a light.

                He had let her sleep for as long as he could. Now, bleary eyed, she sat, a coffee mug in hand and a decision to be made. The wood elf gave her space, eyes watching her with careful concern. His hand rubbed gently up and down her spine.

                “Mmmph,” Mira sighed. “I don’t like what happened last night at all.”

                No, Halsin agreed silently, making a concerted effort not to let his expression change. Nor did I.

                “You know, I…” She hesitated. “I worried about Rhys being in such a public position, but Jael seemed to think hiding in plain sight was the best option for him.”

                Jael’s words rang in his head: Poppy was wise to call it to the High Harper’s attention. She won’t do anything to purposely piss off the Grand Dukes. “Due to your proximity to Lelith, I believe he will be protected. Jaheira highly respects the Ravengards and, more importantly, sees them as valuable allies. She will not risk damaging that relationship without good reason.”

                “That’s the part that worries me,” the younger druid admitted.

                Ah. Of course. He leaned in to kiss her temple. “Jaheira also thinks quite highly of you,” he added quietly, “though I imagine that’s of little comfort in this moment.”

                “You’re right.” She placed a hand on his knee and looked at him properly. “I’m…wary of her coming with us,” she admitted, “but I’m not sure we can say no.”

                “I have no trouble saying it.”

                “I get that, and I appreciate it, but propriety…”

                “Propriety,” he repeated, amused. “I’m not concerned with such things, my heart.”

                Mira squeezed his knee. “I don’t want anything to be made difficult for anyone by saying no.”

                “Mmm.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She instinctively leaned in. “It is admirable of you to be concerned for others, but I am concerned with your comfort.”

                She was silent for a moment as she contemplated, taking a long pull of her coffee. “…What if we agree to it on the condition that she doesn’t say or do anything weird, and then we leave her?”

                He huffed in amusement. “Weird,” he echoed.

                “You know, like…ask too many questions about my teammates or Rhys or my family.”

                “I think that’s a fair boundary,” he agreed. “I shall speak with her.”

                “Thank you…”

                “Of course.” He tipped her chin with a finger and lowered his lips to capture hers. “Finish getting ready. We’ll leave as soon as you are.”

                “I need you to start talking. Now.”

                Mavari ran her tongue over her lips before turning toward the Grand Duke. The purple skinned Tiefling was standing tall, arms crossed over her chest. Lelith was barely containing her anger. “Absolutely nothing I have said or done has put any of you in danger,” she began calmly.

                “Bullshit. What do you call half of our group rescuing you from demons?”

                “I had it covered,” Mavari insisted.

                “Of course you did.” Biting sarcasm oddly suited her. “I accept there’s only so much you can tell me about your patron. Fine. But what is this about a soothsayer? What are you up to?”

                “The…” Mavari huffed out a breath. “The demons I was sent to apprehend saw the pendant— that same pendant we talked about after the banquet—and said the soothsayer had the same one. They indicated that she was—well, I assume they meant she was here.”

                “A soothsayer,” Lelith repeated. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And a sorcerer. Why not? It’s downright normal in comparison.” She lifted her eyes and gave Mavari a critical look. “This is only because the demons said her name, correct? You’re not…seeking her out for your patron?”

                Rochefort trilled angrily on her shoulder. “Definitely not.”

                As though noticing him for the first time, Lelith glanced at the crow. “Oh, he’s blessed us with his presence, has he?” she asked drily. “How fortunate.” She tipped her chin upward. “Is he too cowardly to show his true form?” He fluttered his wings, agitated. She cocked an eyebrow. “My husband was in service to a cambion, demon. You don’t scare me.”

                “A cambion?” The crow, now speaking in Common, barked out a laugh. “Please. What’s a half-devil in comparison to a full-blooded demon?”

                “You certainly don’t scare me as a dainty little bird,” she mocked.

                The crow squawked at her before hopping off Mavari’s shoulder. In a swirl of magic, he grew, feathers molting to give way to purple skin, massive wings, and an impressive set of horns. Urich rose to his full height and looked down at Lelith with a crooked smile. “How’s this for impressive, Your Grace?” he goaded.

                “It’s not,” she said flatly. Urich made a face at her in response. “I need to set some ground rules with you, demon.”

                “Again?” He groaned. “What is with your paladins and needing boundaries, little crow? If the broken bird decides to get the bright idea—”

                “Renorash doesn’t care for him either, then.” Lelith looked to her to confirm.

                She hesitated. “Renorash has an…understanding with Urich,” she began. “He needed to establish it so all of us could safely co-exist in our camp.”

                “Boring,” Urich sighed.

                “Demon. You’re not going to harm any of the Tieflings in this encampment.”

                Urich snarled at her. “I’ll harm who I damn well please if they get in my way.”

                “You will not touch them,” she repeated, harsher. “We are getting these people to Baldur’s Gate safely. Am I understood?”

                “You’re not the boss of me.”

                “But she’s my boss,” Mavari reminded him, “and you need a living warlock.”

                “I’m your boss, too,” he grumbled childishly. “And I can bring you back from the dead.”

                “He…can?” Lelith gave Mavari a wary look.

                “It’s…” She winced. “Exaggerated.”

                “Ahh.” The paladin shook her head, evidently deciding not to question it. “Second,” she continued, blue eyes on Urich’s red ones: “Do not take Mavari away from the caravan for any reason. She’s not to be out of either my or Zevlor’s sight.”

                “Oh, come on,” Urich whined. “She’s my warlock.”

                “And, on this journey, she’s my charge,” Lelith said flatly. “It’s my responsibility to make sure she, too, is safe.”

                “This woman is a piece of shit,” he complained to Mavari in Abyssal.

                “Ah, thank you for the reminder.” Lelith narrowed her eyes. “No Abyssal.”

                “Oh, come on,” he loudly complained again. “Not you, too!”

                “Yes, me, too.” Her voice was cold. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it where I can see you and when I can understand you.” The purple skinned Tiefling looked to Mavari in a silent question.

                “Renorash made the same rule,” Mavari pointed out quietly.

                Lelith nodded. Then, she considered. “Demon,” she said slowly. “How familiar are you with the cambions?”

                “You set shitty rules on me and then ask for a favor?”

                “You’re lucky I don’t smite you where you stand.”

                “Fine.” Urich paused. “I have informants everywhere. What’s the name?”

                “Mizora.”

                “Mizora.” He barked a laugh. “She’s an ass kissing piece of shit. What about her?”

                “I need to know if she yet lives and her whereabouts.”

                “Fascinating.” He leered at her. “You know I don’t work like a devil, right?” Lelith stiffened. Urich lifted his chin toward the circle where the Tieflings remained seated. “You should ask your big ass friend over there about demons. We don’t take bargains. I do whatever best serves me. And I don’t feel particularly charitable toward you right now.”

                The paladin glared at him. Ignoring her, Urich turned to Mavari. “I still want to discuss your failure,” he insisted, “but apparently that has to wait.” He shot a glare to Lelith. In a whirl of energy, the incubus disappeared.

                “Your Grace,” Mavari began tentatively. The paladin looked miles away. “Your Grace,” she tried again, voice louder.

                Lelith shook herself out of it. “Sorry.” She gave a tight smile. “Let’s get back to the group.”

                Something was…off, but she wasn’t one to pry into anyone’s secrets. Silently, she followed Lelith back to the circle.

                The lovebirds were unhappy with her.

                Jaheira couldn’t blame them, of course. They were having a lovely time together when she and Harper Jerrick had to interrupt. But business was business, and, regardless of how fond she was of the pair, it didn’t change that a Harper’s work needed to be done.

                Asking to go with them to the Emerald Grove, however…that might have been pushing it. Halsin had been very strict with her that if Jaheira made Mira at all uncomfortable, they were leaving her to travel the rest of the way on her own.

                You can be cruel, Archdruid, she thought to herself as they ran, when it is necessary.

                Three horses galloped through the lands surrounding New Reithwin, eventually headed toward the mountain pass that would lead them closer to the Grove. Halsin, the most familiar with the territory, had taken the lead. He would pause and readjust their course as necessary, head on a constant swivel. Even with their speed, it would take a few days of travel to get to where they were headed. At the end of the first day of travel, they made camp.

                It was while she was seated on a log, nursing a cup of wine as she watched Halsin roast venison over the spit, that Mira lost her patience. The younger half-elf frowned at Jaheira. “Why do you keep staring at us?” she asked flatly.

                “My apologies, cub.” Jaheira’s lips curled. “Watching you is…a reminder, that’s all.”

                Halsin glanced over toward her at that, a look of recognition in his eyes. Mira frowned. “What do you mean?”

                “In many ways,” she began, “the two of you remind me of my husband and me when we were young.”

                “Young,” Halsin chortled.

                “You’re young at heart, bear,” Jaheira laughed.

                Mira’s expression softened. “You have a husband?”

                “Had. He has been gone…” She stopped to think. “Over one hundred and twenty years.”

                “Wh—” The young druid’s eyes went wide. She’d know, of course, the nature of half-elf lifespans and that this was highly plausible, but the number wasn’t insignificant. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

                Jaheira considered this. “Khalid is…still very important to me. I never have loved another like him, and—well, I’m not going to at my age.” She chuckled. “But, make no mistake, the harshest of my grieving was done a long time ago.”

                Mira considered. Perhaps she was doing the math in her head. “How long did you have together?”

                “Mmm. Over a decade, all told.”

                “That’s a long time to go without a companion,” Mira said slowly.

                “Oh, I have other companions, girl.” Jaheira waved a hand. “My fellow Harpers, for better or worse. Contacts in the city…” But contacts, coworkers, and subordinates were different than friends. Her companions from traveling with Gorion’s Ward were… “Minsc! I have Minsc!” That…didn’t even sound convincing to her ears. “And, ah, Lelith and the others.”

                Halsin chuckled. “Jaheira is not the best at keeping in touch for pleasure.”

                “That’s not true,” she argued, though it was, in fact, true. “Oh! And my children!”

                “You have children?” Mira’s eyes widened in surprise.

                “Adopted.” She smiled. “Rion, my oldest daughter, gives me the most grief. Looks a lot like you, truthfully.” Perhaps that’s why she was drawn to the younger druid. “Then Jord, my oldest son; Tate, my younger son; and Jhessem and Fig, my younger daughters.”

                “Quite the brood,” Halsin smiled. “All very spirited, too. You did well with them.”

                Jaheira didn’t know about that, but she quickly decided to change the subject.

                Later, as they were readying for bed, her mind wandered back to the subject of Khalid. Learning of the True Resurrection spell made her think often of him. True, she was still within the time frame where she could bring him back, but…hadn’t she come to terms with his death? The age difference would be too great by now, and she wouldn’t be able to come back from death. Besides, Khalid may not want to come back at this point.

                But she wondered if he’d be proud of her, and…well, that train of thought led elsewhere. Perhaps she needed to have a word with the Doomguide.

                Or, perhaps, she needed to revisit her stance on not taking another lover.

                “So. You’ve come to rescue our pitiful lot, yes?”

                Guex glanced around at the familiar faces, brow raised curiously. What a curious game this was, wasn’t it? By rights, the old Zevlor would have immediately spoken up on their behalf, but that was after…everything. And, perhaps, those who had been in the Gate would still look to him to provide the answer, but that would be a politically dangerous decision with the encampment and tensions running high.

                He found all of this delicious. They hadn’t had this much drama since Vatas loudly argued with Damays over survivability.

                In the end, it was Cerys who spoke up. (Damn. But smart.) “You all deserve a chance to live in safety like we do,” she began. “And a chance to get back your lives.”

                “Mmmm.” Belleza thumped her walking stick on the ground in thought. “Admirable. You could have simply abandoned your kin and moved on with your lives…”

                “That’s not an option,” Zevlor spoke quietly.

                “You have no right to say anything,” Okta spat at him.

                “Be quiet, you old windbag.” Okta’s eyes flared in anger. Belleza’s calm green ones turned in her direction.

                “I’ve every right to be upset.”

                Belleza bobbed her head. “I believe you do. However, do people not deserve to feel remorse for the pain they cause? Are they not granted the ability to atone for their past?”

                “I don’t appreciate the public lecture,” Okta warned her.

                “Mmm.” Belleza inclined her head. “As is your right.”

                Guex’s eyes were on Zevlor. The old Hellrider looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Good was his immediate thought. Let him be uncomfortable with what he brought upon us.

                “You have a right to your grief,” Cerys spoke, “and we have plenty of time for those conversations on the trip to come. Private conversations.”

                “I would say the issue of the Commander is a public issue,” Damays argued.

                “Especially if he’s going to be living with us,” Nymessa agreed. “Are we expected to play nice?”

                “I expect nothing,” Zevlor spoke, voice quiet but firm. “You are right to feel what you feel.”

                “Stop that,” Cerys scolded him.

                “Oh, on the contrary,” Guex drawled, “I’m quite enjoying the show.”

                “We’re talking in circles,” Cerys said firmly, “but it doesn’t change the fact that Zevlor is here, now, ready to safely escort you with the hero of the Gate and your kin. Lelith already promised you she’d strike him down if she caught a whiff of anything happening. What more do you want?” She waved a hand angrily. “He can’t bring back the dead.”

                “Nah,” Karlach piped up, picking her teeth with a claw, “but that Doomguide can, can’t she?”

                “Doomguide?” Surprisingly, it was Nerela who perked up at that. Nerela, who was the most loudly outspoken of all of them how much of a crock of shit the gods were. (Blasphemous, Ms. Okta would grumble.) “You have an in with one of Kelemvor’s darlings?”

                “Is that the scary drow lady?” Cal whispered to Lia, who promptly shushed him.

                “Oh, yeah,” Karlach beamed. “Jael! She’s the reason I came back.”

                Immediately, the camp erupted into chaos. Tieflings jumped to their feet, loudly demanding answers. Mugs of wine were knocked over, forgotten in the moment. It was then that Lelith and Mavari returned from their conversation.

                “SIT. DOWN.” Lelith’s voice brokered no argument. Immediately, the Tieflings obeyed. Some were wide eyed, while others looked embarrassed. “What in the hells happened here?”

                “I told ‘em about Jael,” Karlach noted, “and how she brought me back.”

                Guex picked up immediately on the way the two women’s demeanors shifted: Lelith’s face grew harder, while Mavari looked concerned and…sad? They exchanged a long look before Mavari dared to speak: “We need to…clarify some things, I think.”

                “What’s there to clarify?” cried Zae, holding her belly. Guex knew her mind would be on Kivak. “We can bring our loved ones back!”

                “We need to have a conversation about resurrection magic.” Lelith sounded…tired. The way that neither woman—nor anyone from the Baldur’s Gate group—tried to argue back against the encampment Tieflings made him take note.

                Belleza hummed low in her throat and banged her cane on the ground. “This should be entertaining. Gerson!” she barked. “Get up so the young lady can sit.”

                Gerson, who was sitting beside Nerela on Belleza’s other side, started. He immediately got up and clumsily offered Mavari his seat. She gave a nod of gratitude before sinking into it, though Guex didn’t miss the look exchanged between her and Zevlor. (What was the history there…? He intended to find out.) While she did, Lelith settled beside Nymessa. The hero leaned forward onto her elbows.

                “Resurrection magic,” she began, voice low. “There are a few spells a party can utilize. Revivify is the most common one, but that must be used within a minute of death and requires three hundred gold pieces’ worth of diamond.”

                “The druids have Reincarnate,” Mavari added, “though it isn’t a popular choice. It has to be used within a tenday, but the person comes back as another race entirely. That one uses a thousand gold pieces’ worth of oils or ointments.”

                “Right, so, neither of those are options for us.” Pandirna sat back on her palms. “Why do they matter?”

                “Spell components,” Rolan spoke. “Cantrips or low-level spells may only require verbal or somatic components, but powerful, potent magic requires something extra. They require materials to be consumed. For instance…” He leaned forward. “Casting a Plane Shift spell requires you to have a forked, metal rod valued at no less than two hundred fifty gold pieces. That rod also must be attuned to the plane you wish to travel to.”

                “What a curious example,” Belleza remarked cheerfully. “I wonder why you thought of that spell?” Guex saw Mavari shift uncomfortably.

                “That’s extremely specific.” Pandirna raised her brow.

                “Arguably,” Rolan returned, clearly in his element, “it has to be, or else every caster of a particular level of talent would be shifting planes indiscriminately. It’s fascinating, when you think about the—”

                “Anyway,” Pandirna cut him off. Rolan looked deflated. “These spells require material components.”

                Lelith nodded. “There is resurrection magic that is more powerful and has fewer restrictions,” she began, “but it also has a greater material component cost.”

                “For the Resurrection spell,” Mavari continued, “a person cannot have been dead for more than a century. They can’t be undead, and they can’t have died of old age. If the soul is free and willing, then the body returns to life. Any missing body parts are restored, and any mortal wounds are closed.”

                “Wonderful!” Chell clapped her hands. “That’s what we need, then. What are the material components for that?”

                “You need diamonds whose worth totals at least a thousand gold,” Mavari responded calmly.

                A hush fell over the group. “A thousand gold,” whispered Rikka. “For each person, I’m assuming.”

                “For each person,” Mavari confirmed, “and it requires some part of the body to be present.”

                “Eh?” Karlach scratched her cheek. “That doesn’t seem right. My body burned up, but I was brought back.”

                “Your spell was different,” Lelith informed her with a sigh. “Yours was True Resurrection.”

                “What’s the difference?” Damays questioned.

                “Unlike Resurrection, True Resurrection doesn’t require the body—only the name. It will create an entirely new body.” Mavari leaned forward. “Also, unlike Resurrection, it neutralizes any poisons or curses on the original body. This can be used on any creature that’s been dead for two hundred or fewer years, as long as the soul is willing.”

                “Yeah!” Karlach grinned. “Got me a brand new body, and this”—she tapped her heart, the one he knew Dammon had worked to fix—“is my own flesh and blood again.” She sounded so proud. Guex couldn’t help but smile at that.

                “But,” Lelith cut in, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

                “Why in the hells not?” Nerela leaned forward. “You have a Doomguide friend who can cast it already. They’ve got the means. What’s the catch?”

                “What’s the material cost?” Okta asked, voice cracking. It was the first time she had spoken since they started on this conversation topic.

                Lelith’s face was calm as she answered: “A sprinkle of holy water plus twenty-five thousand gold’s worth of diamonds.”

                Gerson fell backwards off his stump.

                “What!?” Nerela yelped. “That’s highway robbery!”

                “Do you understand how powerful that magic is?” Lelith argued. “The cleric is reconstructing someone’s body from nothing. That takes a lot out of a person physically on top of the fortitude required to cast it in the first place.”

                “It also,” Rolan supplied, lifting a finger, “does not account for what the cleric would charge in order to cast such a magical spell.”

                “They’d charge you on top of that?” Nerela made a face like she smelled something rancid.

                “I don’t see why that would bother you, Nerela,” Lakrissa snarked. “You’re always scheming for ways to scam people out of their money. Unless it’s the legitimacy of the practice that bothers you?”

                “Lakrissa,” Zevlor admonished, voice quiet but firm. The archer looked at him like she wanted to argue, then relented, sitting back. He lifted his head, looking questioningly at Mavari. The warlock shook her head in response.

                Ah, their own secret language, was it? It would be adorable if it weren’t Zevlor and if Guex weren’t dying to know what in the hells was going on.

                “So, we just have to raise the money, right?” Guex asked. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

                Pandirna shot a look at him. “Some of us haven’t seen twenty-five thousand gold in our lifetimes,” she argued, “let alone how hard it is to actually make it.”

                Guex scratched his cheek. Was it that hard? Sure, their time on the road may have shown that they had to scrape to get by, let alone their lives here…but neither of those had buildings and people and businesses and means. Surely, once they got to the Gate, it would be easy to find a job and get back to the lifestyle he was accustomed to in Elturel?

                Pandirna apparently read his mind. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” she groused.

                The rest of the group ignored him, as they often did when the subject came up. He brushed it off and listened to the conversation around him.

                “What of our kin’s bodies?” Rikka asked. “What happened to them?”

                “The heroes gathered the ones in the shadow lands and buried them at Last Light Inn,” Cerys spoke quietly. “We…were advised to burn them, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to…”

                “Why burn?” Zae wondered.

                “So they couldn’t be used by the necromancer,” Lelith said flatly. It was clear where she stood on the issue. “But at least they were buried where their bodies would be safe from him.”

                Guex shot up straight. Ikaron’s body was still intact-ish, then? So that would mean a lower cost to resurrect him… His eyes darted to Okta, whose own eyes were closed. A look of pain was clear on her features. The gears started turning in his head.

                “What about the others?” Zorru asked. “Yul, Ellyka, Cherish?”

                Who are they? Guex wondered.

                “Buried close to where we found all of them,” Lelith responded. “We wanted to return their bodies to the Grove, to rest with Kanon, but we were outvoted.”

                She didn’t need to clarify what she meant. The Tieflings were all aware of the heroes’ party, half of whom didn’t seem to care much about the Tieflings’ plight. Likely, the compromise of burying their bodies to begin with was hard enough.

                “And, lest you forget,” Belleza reminded the group, “the lady did reiterate the souls had to be willing.”

                “Of course they’d be willing,” scoffed Damays. “None of us wanted to die.”

                Cerys exchanged a long look with Zevlor. “No,” she agreed, “but our kin may have accepted their deaths.”

                “Like who?”

                “Asharak,” she spoke quietly. “He…fought so hard to protect the children. If I know—knew—him as well as I thought, I’d think he’d be resigned to his fate.”

                “But Asharak had a husband,” Rikka noted quietly. “They were supposed to meet in the city…”

                “A husband?” Cerys looked to Zevlor.

                “Dairow Vin,” Zevlor replied quietly. “I…believe he was with Arkis’s group. I will ask them.”

                “Surely he’d want to come back for his husband…?”

                “We can’t assume anyone’s intentions,” Pandirna sighed, “and it’s not like any of them died expecting they could come back.” The look on her face confirmed to Guex that she was thinking of Almara in that moment.

                “Isn’t there a way for us to, like…check?” Zae looked at Mavari desperately.

                Mavari pursed her lips. “Jael can and has on occasion communed with the dead,” she said slowly, “to ensure they’d want to return before spending the components and energy to cast a spell. But there’s something else you all need to consider.” She drew in a breath. “Jael is very strict about keeping the balance of life and death. There’s…every possibility she’s going to say no regardless of how much work you do, if she thinks it will upset that balance too much.”

                A hush fell over the camp at that. Okta was the first to break it, drawing in a slow breath. “I…need to retire for the evening,” she mumbled. She stood, the normally steady woman trembling.

                “Let me help you.” Chell shot to her feet.

                “I’m fine, you stupid girl,” Okta grumbled, but she didn’t push the eager younger Tiefling away. The two of them headed off toward her tent.

                Guex watched her go, his mind going a million miles an hour. As the others started to murmur and stand around him, he couldn’t stop rotating the idea in his head that Ikaron could come back to life. It would make Ms. Okta happy, and he…well, he had his own selfish reasons for wanting the man to come back. Was it possible that the spark he swore was between them at the Tiefling party could turn into something more…?

                “My,” Belleza beamed, “we’ve learned a lot tonight, haven’t we?”

Chapter Text

                It was now or never, in her eyes. As the group was dispersing for the night, Lia jogged to Rikka’s side. “Hey,” she called softly, touching the other woman’s shoulder.

                Rikka started a little before turning toward her. Red eyes widened slightly before she offered a small smile. “Did you need something, Lia?” she asked politely.

                Well, this was off to a great start. Lia cleared her throat. “Can we just…talk?” Smooth. “I mean, it’s been a long time since we saw each other, and I wondered if we could just…catch up.”

                Rikka tilted her head to the side. “You know,” she commented, “I’ve got half a bottle of Blackstaff in my tent. Would be nice to not have to carry it with us when we leave. Want to help me polish it off?”

                Inwardly, Lia did a victory dance. Outwardly, she tried to say please or sure, but what came out was, “Plure!”

                The shorter woman gave her an amused look. “Plure,” she repeated before taking her hand. Lia’s heart started to thud in her chest. She wasn’t as hopeless with relationships as Rolan was, but, truthfully, she wasn’t much better. Of all of them, Cal, the youngest, had the most experience…which was embarrassing to admit. She willed herself to stop shaking as Rikka entered the tent before her, beckoning her inside.

                It was as cozy as one could make a tent with what little supplies they had. Empty bottles and jugs were placed purposefully, some filled with dried flowers and herbs. A bundle of sticks was fashioned together with grass to look like a person, leaning between a couple bottles. “Go ahead and get comfy,” Rikka commented, looking through her things. “Aha!” Victoriously, she plucked out the bottle and a couple glasses. She flashed Lia a smile and started pouring generously. “So,” she began conversationally, “tell me about Baldur’s Gate. What’s it like?”

                “A lot different than Elturel,” Lia admitted. “A little less…rigid, in some ways. More dangerous in others, but that’s getting better with the hero and her husband as Grand Dukes. The, uh, city is run mostly by four people that are all called the Grand Dukes of something or another. The two of them advocate hard for us, which helps.”

                “Did your brother end up in his apprenticeship, then?” Rikka wondered.

                “Ah…” Lia winced. “That’s…well, Lorroakan ended up being a complete jackass. Wouldn’t let us stay in his fancy tower, which I told Rolan he wouldn’t, but then we couldn’t even see Rolan most days. And then we stopped seeing him at all until Lelith and her friends stepped in…” She huffed out a breath, looking into her wine.

                “I’m sorry,” Rikka apologized. “I didn’t mean to be invasive.”

                “No, it’s…” Lia winced. “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t know. Anyway, the hero and”—how did one describe Dame Aylin?—“and her friend killed Lorroakan. On the plus side,” her smile brightened, “the tower became Rolan’s. We have the most fantastic home in the Gate. Cal and I have been helping in the store since.”

                “Really?” The purple haired woman tipped her head. “I thought you were going to try to become a Flaming Fist. Change your mind?”

                “Eh…” Lia scratched the back of her scalp. “Yeah. The Fists were assholes to us in the city. I mean, not all of them are bad, but enough of them were corrupt that I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore.”

                Rikka made a noise in her throat and nodded. “You have time to figure it out.”

                “Yeah…” This seemed like a natural place for her to float an idea by the woman, but she was keenly aware whom the conversation had mostly concerned. Lia cleared her throat. “But what about you?” She gestured to the tent. “You’ve made this place cozy.”

                “We do what we have to so we can keep sane. You should see Guex’s tent.” Rikka smiled, but there was a sadness there. “Frankly, it’s kind of a miracle we’re even still here. We were in pretty bad shape when we got here, but, amongst the sixteen of us who made it, we were able to patch each other up pretty well. Honestly…” She sighed. “It got really bad. But Elturel’s Tieflings are nothing if not survivors, right?” She gave a forced grin, but it then turned genuine. “I’m glad you came.”

                For a moment, her heart leapt into her throat, but then Lia realized that Rikka meant the group and not specifically her. “Of course,” she responded with a nod. “We can’t leave our kin to suffer after everything.”

                “I’m grateful. We’re all grateful, even if not all of us will show it.” There was an awkward silence as they both drank deeply from their glasses.

                Lia steeled herself. It was now or never, wasn’t it? “Hey, Rikka?”

                “Hey, yeah?”

                “I never…” Damn, this was hard. “I feel like I missed my chance with you, back in the Grove. By the time we started talking, we were just about to leave for the road, and…”

                “And Asharak kept me pretty busy with watching the kids.” Rikka sounded amused. “I understand, Lia. Why do you think I asked you back to my tent?”

                Her heart pounded hard against her ribcage. Rikka paused before reaching toward Lia’s face. “Come here.”

                Jaheira’s animal messenger arrived in the form of a blackbird. At least this time it wasn’t a rat. Oh, he certainly understood how useful rats were serving as messengers and informants for the druid High Harper, but it always made him slightly unsettled to be approached by one. Watch over things in my stead, the message said. I will be away for some time. Keep an eye out for anything particularly unusual.

                The last time he was meant to look for something unusual, doppelgangers had infiltrated the Harpers. Geraldus winced and breathed slowly through the sudden spike of anxiety. It had been a long time, and a lot of hard therapy, but he suspected nothing would ever fully heal the trauma from when the Absolute wrought havoc in the city.

                Trauma is part of the job description, he grumbled to himself. Inhaling deeply, he slipped out of bed. A little reconnaissance, then? Perhaps it was worth taking a long walk around Lower City. Living in Wyrm’s Crossing meant he had a solid idea of the goings on at any given point—whether Mamzell had new talent or there was trouble at the Flophouse—and he felt reasonably confident that most trouble within the Gate started in Lower City.

                He looked at his usual blue armor long and hard, then turned instead to a set of leather armor. He was never fully comfortable without protective gear—not anymore—but at least the leather set could looked a little less formal. Tucking his long hair into a cap, he gave himself a final once over before heading out of his tiny apartment.

                He scoured Lower City for hours discreetly, pretending to be interested in all manner of things—Figaro’s latest fashions, the latest scuffle at the Blushing Mermaid (though he heard it was under new management and generally more subdued), the latest headlines in the Gazette. He grabbed food from street vendors and kept his eyes ever vigilant for anything strange.

                Things seemed…very calm. Normal. That should have been a relief, but Geraldus was not one to trust things that seemed too good. Not anymore. Jaheira would tell him that his instincts were good, and that not trusting things was—

                —he jolted upright. What was that? Without thinking, he turned and started bolting in the direction he swore he saw the flash of red. The flash was fast, but he was faster. And he soon spotted the Tiefling kid—couldn’t be any older than, what, eleven, twelve?—sprinting ahead of him.

                “Stop!” he called. The kid promptly lifted a hand in the air, and…

                …well. He wished he could say that was an unfamiliar gesture.

                But the kid was wily, and they led him on a wild goose chase through the alleys. By the time he lost sight of them, he was near the forge, panting heavily.

                Damn. Something to keep an eye out for, then.

                Geraldus glanced up to the Tiefling man who ran the forge—Dammon, his name was—and gave a polite nod. Dammon nodded back before turning his attention to the pretty Tiefling woman and the kids around her. Could that Tiefling kid have…?

                No, he was positive they hadn’t. Sighing, he decided that was enough for one day and headed home.

                “This is boring,” Umi grumbled. “Can we go now?”

                “Umi,” Alfira scolded. “Mr. Dammon was very kind to show us all how the forge works.”

                “I know how his forge works.” Umi crossed his arms. “You had him show us in the Grove, remember?”

                Dammon watched as the bard looked briefly stricken before expertly recovering herself. “I thought it would be beneficial for you to see what it was like in a real forge.”

                “Hey, Umi,” Mattis interrupted. “Bex said she was going to have those little cakes you like today. Why don’t we go see if they’re ready?”

                “I love the little cakes!” Mirkon cheered. “I can fit so many in my mouth at one time!”

                “Boys,” Alfira tried, but they were already scampering off. Little Silfy paused, placing a hand on her arm. Alfira covered it with her own.

                “I thought it was interesting,” Silfy reassured the bard softly. “Thank you, Miss Alfira.” With a shy smile, she followed the other kids.

                Alfira sighed, slumping against the half wall. Dammon settled in beside her. “Baby-sitting’s not going well?”

                “It’s so hard,” she blurted immediately. “The kids are rightfully upset with me for leaving them, and now I can’t catch a break. Umi hates me.”

                “I don’t think he hates you,” Dammon reassured her. “He’s just…hurt. Besides, not everyone’s going to be interested in smithing.”

                “I just thought…” She drew in a breath. “If they could see what some of the adults were doing, then maybe they could start to get interested in things that weren’t picking pockets.”

                He hummed in thought. “Maybe the issue is they’re all together. They feed off each other’s energy.”

                “That’s an excellent point,” she admitted. “But I’m only one person. How am I supposed to take care of them individually?”

                “You’re not going to solve every problem in a day, Fira.” Dammon stretched his legs in front of him. “Umi will come around, I think. Just prove to him you’re not leaving again.”

                She laughed weakly. “How am I supposed to do that? You know what?” She held up her hands. “Complaining isn’t going to solve anything. Let’s just…talk about something else for a while.”

                “Sure. You want to come inside?” He gestured toward the house. “Forge will survive for a break.”

                Alfira drew in a slow breath. “Right. Okay.” She stood a second after him, following him into the house he rented from Helsik. Dammon set about brewing some coffee as she settled at the table, quietly considering.

                “How are things with you and Karlach?” Alfira asked, glancing around the space. Dammon winced. Adept as she was, she hadn’t missed that wince, and she chewed on her lower lip. “Oh, no. I’m stepping in it with everyone today, aren’t I?”

                “It’s fine, I…” Dammon sighed. He wondered if he should add something stronger to the coffee, but… No, not a good idea. “I think I’m going to end things when she gets back from her mission.”

                “What!?” Alfira’s jaw dropped. “Why? I thought you were…”

                “I did, too.” He rubbed his face and breathed. “I built up an unrealistic expectation of her and the relationship. I didn’t even think about the possibility she might not feel the way I did.”

                “I’m so sorry, Dammon.”

                “Don’t be.” He shook his head. “I’m…okay with it. I’m just glad she gets a second chance.” And, as the words left his lips, he realized that they were absolutely true. Karlach got another chance, and he—well, he was able to get his answers, wasn’t he? It wasn’t ideal, but he’d rather this than either of them force their way into something they weren’t feeling. “What about you and Lakrissa?”

                “Lakrissa and I are great.” Alfira smiled brightly, but her own smile faded. “She’s done so much for me, and I…well, you saw how fast she volunteered for the mission. I think she’s feeling kind of lost.”

                “I’m not sure I follow,” Dammon admitted.

                “I think maybe she thinks going along will help her figure out what she wants to do.” Alfira wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee set in front of her. “Help clear her head, help out our people, things like that. She’s been great about giving me a hand with the school, but it’s my dream, not hers.”

                “She doesn’t want to set up a tattoo parlor here?” Dammon joked.

                Alfira laughed. “Perhaps. We haven’t talked about it. Bet she could make a killing if she did.”

                “Lakrissa’s a sharp woman, Alfira,” Dammon reassured her. “She’ll figure it out in no time.”

                The bard nodded slowly. They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment before Alfira introduced the next topic of conversation.

                “We’re leaving!” Zevlor called to the group, and, if the rush of memories he felt were any indication, everyone else must be feeling them, too.

                But Cal was nothing if not a positive force, and so he took it upon himself to make sure everyone in their travel party was feeling good. There were too many of them to travel in the carts, let alone with the supplies they were bringing, and so most of them had to walk. It would take longer to get back because of this, according to Lelith, and they’d likely have to take more breaks, but they were ready.

                Because everyone else would be walking, Zevlor and Lelith agreed to walk alongside their horses, allowing others to ride horseback. The group agreed to let the kids go first, with Rikka up front to help interpret for Doni.

                They thought they were being slick, but Cal caught the quick smooch that Rikka shared with his sister before jogging up to the front of the group. Seeing it made him grin. It was about time Lia found someone.

                “Have a good night last night?” he couldn’t resist goading her.

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lia insisted with a sniff.

                “I mean, it was hard not to hear the—”

                Lia whacked his arm and walked off. Cal cackled and turned his attention back to packing the carts. The mysterious old Tiefling woman got in one cart that would be driven by Guex for now, while Okta and Zae slipped into the back of the other one that Zorru was driving. The rest of them would be walking.

                As they departed, the mood was a mixture of somber and excited as the encampment was further and further behind them. After about half an hour or so, he heard someone hurry beside him. “Cal, was it?”

                He glanced to his side. “Gerson the Bent,” he intoned, tipping an imaginary hat.

                “You remembered!” Gerson laughed.

                “What’s the story behind the name, anyway?”

                “Ah, I’d be happy to share, but…perhaps for another time.” Gerson offered a lopsided grin. “More curious about the city, friend. What kind of jobs are there for people like us.”

                Cal grinned back. “How do you feel about construction…?”

                As he chatted with Gerson, he took a glance around, noticing that Rolan and Cerys were walking side by side. He swore he saw them brush hands, but—maybe that was his imagination. His smile widened a little more before returning to the conversation.

                Whatever was happening with Rolan, his siblings deserved happiness. Seeing even a hint of that made his mood soar.

                The moment the familiar gate was in sight, Halsin reverted into his wood elf form. “We’ve arrived,” he announced.

                “You sound unhappy, Archdruid,” Jaheira commented, stepping up beside him. “Bad memories?”

                Halsin pursed his lips. He felt Mira’s hand slip into his and squeezed tightly. “Complicated memories, perhaps.”

                “Ah. I know that feeling too well.” She looked up at the gate, then to the other two druids. “Do you need a moment?”

                “No,” he spoke, though the way his stomach flipped said otherwise. “Let us meet with our fellow druids.” One final squeeze, and he let Mira’s hand drop to stride forward as though his heart weren’t pounding with trepidation.

                He hoped coming back wasn’t a mistake.

Chapter Text

                As the trio strode through toward the gate, he could see Jeorna atop the wall, watching for new arrivals. When her eyes fell on them, they widened before she quickly opened the structure for their entrance. As soon as they had made it inside, he heard the flutter of wings then watched as a nearly breathless Jeorna shifted back into her human form from the wild shaped raven.

                “Archdruid,” she greeted. “We didn’t expect you would…” Something in that statement as her voice trailed off made something in him twinge. She cleared her throat. “I’m pleased to see you,” she tried again.

                “And I you, Jeorna.” He offered her as warm a smile as he could muster. “You look well.”

                “Thank you, Archdruid. I am.” She hesitated, glancing behind him. “Your, ah…”

                “Jaheira,” the High Harper supplied behind him. “Circle of the Land. Halsin and I met while he was traveling with the paladin Lelith.”

                “Mira,” his partner supplied timidly, “Circle of Stars.”

                “Oh.” Jeorna sounded surprised, looked at Halsin in confusion, and then apparently decided against whatever she was about to say. “Of course. If you follow the path, you’ll find where everyone has set up camp. Feel free to go wherever…”

                “Thank you,” he spoke to her kindly. He gestured for the other two to follow him, and they moved deeper into the Grove. With each step further, he found the anxiety rising in his. Jeorna was one druid, but how would the others react? Eventually, Francesca had stopped sending word. Was Kagha still a problem…? He had to imagine things were at least decent, but…

                There was Arron at his post. His eyebrows lifted as he saw the group. “Archdruid, you…” He hesitated upon seeing Jaheira and Mira with him and gave a tentative nod. Well, Arron had always been a more peculiar sort. He tried not to let it bother him.

                “Has anyone set up in the cave that Zevlor used?” he asked Arron.

                “Ah…no, Archdruid.”

                “Are we able to camp there?”

                “Well…” Arron hesitated. “I guess so.”

                “Very well,” he said amicably. “We shall, then. Thank you.”

                Arron gave another nod before turning away. Halsin squashed his feelings as he led the women down the path that gave a more direct route to the space. Once outside the stone doors, he glanced to the side briefly, noticing that the structures the Tieflings had made close to a year ago still stood. Further investigation would wait until later.

                Inside the cave he went, noticing with surprise how little this area had been touched in the time since he had left. The rows of books were still here, as were leftover crates and barrels. “Curious,” he mused. “Zevlor left behind more than I thought.”

                “You said Zevlor used this space?” Mira asked, finally finding her voice again.

                Halsin nodded mutely, settling on the stone desk. The memories were coming back of a time when a scared, hungry, desperate group of refugees came to his notice, led by a weary Hellrider… “I made the decision to let the Tieflings stay here,” he recalled. “They had been cast out and were facing harsh struggles on the road. The least I could do was provide food and shelter.” He gestured toward the stone door. “You’ll see as we head further in. The druids stayed mostly in the Inner Sanctum beneath us. Those structures out there, the Tieflings constructed and slept there. In here served as Zevlor’s office and where he stayed.”

                He remembered conversations with the commander in this very office, with the loyal Tilses never too far away. How naïve he had been about everything at the time, thinking that his fellow druids would be open to housing refugees! But even he was aware of tensions brewing…and he left to pursue the lead concerning Moonrise Towers anyway, allowing Kagha to poison the well.

                I wonder if Francesca had made any headway with her, he mused. He surely hadn’t. Perhaps another voice of reason would. But the fact that the cave looked untouched for months told him what he needed to know.

                Mira walked behind him, inspecting the spines. “I can see him pacing back and forth, reading his books or pouring over a map.” She smiled. “I’m glad that things are…better now.”

                “Are you okay?” Jaheira asked, crossing her arms.

                Halsin paused. Was he okay? He could lie for the sake of being polite, but he also was not one who was prone to lying. “I am,” he began slowly, “uncertain of how my circle will react to my presence.”

                Jaheira made a noise in her throat. “Based on the two we met, I can see why.”

                He didn’t know how to answer that. Instead, he looked at the books. “Perhaps we should take some back with us. If Zevlor doesn’t want them, we could put them in New Reithwin’s library.”

                “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mira agreed quietly.

                The trio took the time to set up their beds before heading out into the Grove proper. Halsin noticed as they moved through it how little the Hollow had changed—the structures that the Tieflings built were still standing but repurposed to the druids’ needs. Right now, they appeared to be housing members of different druidic circles, each wonderful and eclectic in their own right.

                Mira hesitated. “I don’t see my family yet,” she admitted. There was something else there that lingered unsaid.

                “If they’ve arrived,” Halsin spoke gently, “they may be by the Sacred Pool.”

                His partner looked anxious but nodded mutely as she followed along. In silence, they passed by more groups until they reached the stairs that led to the area where he had spent most of his time in the Grove. Here, large groups of druids were gathered, talking amongst themselves, making introductions with one another.

                “Lovely,” Jaheira muttered. She raised her hands defensively. “I know, I know. No one forced me to come.”

                Despite his nerves, Halsin allowed a light laugh. “Try to play well with the other children, High Harper.”

                “Ah,” Jaheira responded, her eyes moving over Halsin’s shoulder, “the Enclave leader approaches.”

                Mira’s face went pale as she turned toward where Jaheira was looking. Halsin, too, turned. He would recognize James Nightsong anywhere, though he was older since last they met. Salt and pepper hair, tall and broad, and those piercing green eyes that his daughter inherited. He strode confidently toward the group, extending a hand to him first. “Archdruid Halsin,” he began. “I hear a thank you is in order. And for you, High Harper.”

                “Whatever for?” Halsin laughed, shaking James’s hand.

                “For helping save Faerun, for one.” He shook Jaheira’s hand next. “And for eliminating Reithwin of its hundred-year curse.”

                “Ahh…” He gave a small smile. “It was my duty to heal the land. I could not do less.”

                “The Archdruid is humble, James,” Jaheira remarked. “He didn’t rest until he had completed his goal.”

                “Admirable,” James admitted. The human man turned toward his daughter. “Mira.”

                “Hi, Dad.”

                “Haven’t heard from you in over a year, and all I get is a hi, Dad?” It could have been stern, but, to Halsin’s ears, the man sounded amused. He held open his arms. “Come here, sweetheart.” Mira hesitated but then practically threw herself against her dad in a hug. He squeezed back tightly. “Your mother will be thrilled to see you,” he whispered.

                “Jerrick said everyone was coming,” she murmured back.

                “Ah, the elephant in the room.” He pulled back, looking to the elder druids. “Do you mind if I steal Mira away?”

                “By all means,” Jaheira encouraged. “Go, spend time with your family.”

                “I agree.” Halsin smiled at both Nightsongs. “We’ll catch up later. Perhaps you would be able to introduce me?”

                “O-of course!” Mira agreed, looking a little wide eyed. The two of them left.

                “Halsin.” Jaheira nodded over his other shoulder. “Looks like you have some catching up to do, as well. Go. Don’t worry about me.”

                He glanced over his shoulder to notice a smiling Francesca approach. The woman’s rich, dark skin was practically glowing—she had always been gorgeous. He smiled at the elf before addressing Jaheira. “All right. I’ll catch up with you later.”

                “Go, go.” She made a shooing motion.

                Halsin turned and held out his hands to Francesca. “First Druid,” he greeted pleasantly.

                Her mother’s cry of delight rang out through the air. Faralei Nightsong ran to her approaching daughter and practically crushed her in a hug. “Look at you,” she gushed, “my baby.”

                “Hi Mom,” Mira greeted sheepishly, hugging her mother back. Not for the first time, she was kicking herself for not contacting her family more often. Of course, visiting had been off the table with Rhys’s reincarnation, but… She leaned back and smiled. “How have you been?”

                “Much better,” Faralei confirmed. “I’m in the family home more these days, and I’m much happier for it.”

                “That’s wonderful, Mom,” Mira enthused. She resisted the urge to steal a glance at her father—the whole reason the family moved away from their comfortable High Forest dwelling was because he had taken a position with the Emerald Enclave. Faralei absolutely despised being in the city but tolerated it (barely) for the sake of her family. She and Mira would sneak out to the woods constantly. But she hadn’t fully wanted to leave the family, especially with the kids being so young when they moved there. If she was back now, then—

                “Mira,” her sister’s voice chimed in. She felt a press of a cup to her palm. “Fairy wine. The Circle of the Shepherds brought a bunch with them.”

                That was as close to a hello as she was going to get. “Thanks, Alanna.” Mira glanced over at her sister. A year older, the two of them may have passed as twins if not for Alanna’s fair hair she inherited from their mother. Though, at one point, they practically were. Now, well… “How’s, ah, the Enclave?”

                “Managing,” was Alanna’s curt response.

                “Are you still mad at me for leaving?” Mira asked, frowning. “It’s been five years, Alanna…”

                “Drink your wine,” her older sister commanded, and Mira winced. That…was a yes. Inhaling slowly, she swallowed a mouthful of wine, absolutely pleased with the sweetness on her tongue. “Jerrick said you’ve been busy,” Alanna continued.

                Mira practically choked on her wine. She could imagine a great many things that Jerrick could have said, but what would have fallen under confidential Harper work and what was the family needs to know about this? “He did?”

                “Sure did,” Jerrick added cheerfully. Here, with his family, he was significantly more relaxed than he had been last she saw him. He slung his arms around both sister’s shoulders. “The family didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Mir.”

                Mira swallowed hard. “I…”

                “And an Archdruid, nevertheless,” her father chimed in teasingly, handing a mug to Jerrick. “Halsin is a good man. I approve.”

                “Dad.” Mira covered her face with her hand, her cheeks burning already.

                “No need to be ashamed, sweetheart,” Faralei cooed, smoothing a hand over her daughter’s hair. “You’ll make wonderful children.”

                “Mom!” Was it too soon for her to go home? Jerrick was cackling. She smacked her palm against his stomach. “This is your fault!”

                “Maybe you shouldn’t have arrived with the archdruid if you wanted to be discrete,” Alanna remarked dryly. “All eyes are on him as the former First Druid of this circle.”

                “All of you are the worst,” Mira complained. Jerrick and their father exchanged amused looks. Despite it being at her expense, it was nice to see her dad look relaxed.

                “Speaking of circles,” James spoke, “is yours here?”

                Mira straightened. “Ah, no. But she—it’s based in Ten Towns, so the circle had a way to travel.”

                “I see,” James mused. “Very well. When it arrives, I’d very much like to make some introductions.”

                She gave a slow nod in response, though a feeling of dread was forming in her stomach, and she wasn’t sure why…

                “Now that we’re all here,” James spoke, looking at each family member in turn, “I’d like us to go for a run together later. It’s been far too long. Invite the archdruid,” he added, nodding to Mira. “It would be a good way to get to know him.”

                Everything seemed to be spinning, but Mira nodded anyway, ever the agreeable daughter.

                “First Druid.”

                “Archdruid,” Francesca said pleasantly, taking Halsin’s hands. They kissed each other’s cheeks in greeting. “I must confess, I was not sure you’d come.”

                “A sentiment I’ve heard expressed a few times,” he admitted, allowing some self-deprecating weariness into his tone. “Might we catch up, friend?”

                “Of course. Would you join me downstairs?”

                Halsin took a brief moment to take stock of where his fellow travelers were—Jaheira was nowhere to be seen, Mira was with her family. The latter made his chest swell, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. She was safe and with people who loved her, which was the important thing. Taking a slow breath, he followed Francesca into the Inner Sanctum. Here, for now, they were alone.

                “I stressed to the others that they needed to be social with our guests,” Francesca explained. “It truly was my excuse to keep this place quiet when I needed private conversation.”

                “Wise,” he quipped. “I am surprised Marcoryl and Loic agreed.”

                “They have quickly learned not to cross me,” Francesca responded lightly, though there was an edge to her tone. He nodded slowly. Of course, he knew that she would be up to the task when he suggested she take leadership of the Grove in his absence. But it sounded like she was able to accomplish what he could not, and he tried not to feel funny about that. “Can I offer you a drink? Fairy wine. One of the circles brought it with them, and I fear we will miss our chance to try it if we don’t drink it now.”

                “One glass won’t hurt, I think.”

                “One glass.” Both watched in silence as she poured two glasses of wine, sliding one to Halsin. “To you, Archdruid, and your successful return to the Emerald Grove.”

                “And to you, First Druid,” he returned pleasantly, “for your great leadership.” They clinked their glasses before each took a swallow. The sweetness hit his tongue immediately as he detected the floral notes and honey in the drink. Immediately, he realized the wisdom in limiting himself to one glass.

                “So, tell me, Halsin,” Francesca began, swirling her own drink. “I hear you’ve helped rebuild Reithwin. How has that gone for you?”

                Halsin smiled and began to tell Francesca about the rebuilt town—repurposing Moonrise Towers into apartments, then using the structures that existed in the town to build more homes and businesses. Though he had originally intended for it to function more as a commune, it became apparent quickly that interacting with the world outside their town would require more of an economy than he had wished. It ended up being much more comfortable for many of the citizens there, as well. So, they did have their own businesses to support the people, but a bartering culture was heavily encouraged amongst New Reithwin citizens. “We’ve managed to marry modernity with nature in a way that works for everyone,” he said finally.

                “That’s wonderful, Halsin.” Francesca smiled. “And you are its leader?”

                “I suppose some would say so,” he admitted, “though I’d like to think of myself as more of a…wise advisor, as it were. The people can govern themselves very well, for the most part.”

                “I am glad.” She looked at him. “You will disagree, but you are a natural born leader, Halsin.”

                He whuffed a laugh. “Being talented at something and having the desire to do that same thing are two entirely separate beasts, First Druid.”

                “True enough,” she agreed, inclining her head. “I wonder, will you be starting a circle in New Reithwin? You have a lot to teach future generations of druid, you know…”

                He paused. “It had not occurred to me,” he admitted. “I…need some time separated from my duties, to do something different.” A hundred years of leading the Grove, in a position he didn’t particularly enjoy, nor did he feel like he was good at it. At least, the reactions of his fellow druids certainly indicated such—unless his mind was so caught up with what happened at the end that he blinded himself to reality. Still… “I will not say never, but I will say not any time soon.” After all, he was, by most people’s standards, immortal—he had all the time in the world to start his own circle later in his life.

                “I suppose that makes sense,” Francesca nodded. “If you had, it would have seemed like you ran away from this one to start another.”

                Halsin winced. “Straight to the point, I see.”

                “I am known for my directness,” she responded cheerfully.

                “But, speaking of circles…” He glanced to her. “How have things been here?”

                “Well,” Francesca said with a nod. “It took a bit for the group to get used to a change in leadership styles, but we have started to work out the bumps. Kagha…” She considered her words. “Those who had been influenced by Kagha’s ideologies were a little harder to convince, but most have started to come around.”

                “And Kagha herself?”

                “She’s…” Francesca sighed. “Bitter, still. She resents me, I think. But, at the very least, she listens. That’s as much as any of us could hope for at this point, I fear.”

                “Indeed.” He mused. “I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I had stayed. I think,” he conceded, “things turned out the way they were meant to, in the end.”

                “Agreed.” Francesca clinked her glass against his again. “Best not to dwell on the past, Halsin.”

                “You’re right.” But, being here, in the Inner Sanctum, started to feel…stifling. He stood. “Thank you for the conversation, First Druid. I should find my partner…”

                “Of course.” Francesca nodded and smiled. “It was nice to catch up. I hope we can talk some more after we’ve concluded our business.”

                He gave her a silent smile and a nod before heading back to the sacred pool. His eyes scanned the space, noticing that it had started to thin out. It made it easier to see Mira approaching him with a smile. Immediately, he felt more at ease. “There you are, my heart.” He leaned down as she lifted onto her toes to give her a friendly kiss. “How is your family?”

                “They’re good,” she said, pink tinting her cheeks. “They want to go on a run when it gets dark, and they want you to join us.”

                “A run?”

                She nodded. “The pack…”

                That told him all he needed to know. Smiling, Halsin kissed her forehead. “I would love to join.”

                “Great!” She exhaled. “Great,” she repeated. “Ah, someone said dinner is ready in the Hollow. Want to grab some food and take it easy until then? The crowd is…overwhelming.”

                “That sounds like a lovely idea to me,” he rumbled in response. Letting his fingers lace with hers, he led her toward the Hollow.

                Seeing the different druid circles gathered was fascinating. Though raised in a druid enclave, she hadn’t spent much time around other druids since, and that had been over—well, it was the earliest part of her life, anyway. Being around them now was fascinating. Though she was part of a Circle of the Land, she recognized that particular circle’s ideology was much more widespread than some of the others, and even within itself was eclectic pending on what area of Toril it originated.

                But seeing the other druidic circles in front of her was quite educational. The druids of the Emerald Grove were of the Circle of the Moon, focusing less on their druidic spells and more on their natural ability to assume animal shapes. That much was clear from the first meeting with Halsin—Jaheira preferred using her connection to plants and manifesting her magic around them, whereas Halsin was more in tune with his animalistic side.

                As she moved through the sacred pool area back to the Hollow, she was ever observant as she watched and spoke with different druids on her way toward where the food was meant to be served. The Circle of Spores was the most obvious of all of them, with their green and brown robes and wide brimmed hats. From their clothes grew mushrooms of various types and sizes, with moss running down the sides. She noticed that some of the other druids were giving them a wide berth, but Jaheira herself was amused by them. They seemed wholly unconcerned with what everyone else was thinking. That was admirable.

                The Circle of Wildfire druids, though—they were the ones that made Jaheira’s brow raise. All of them were scantily clad, likely a byproduct of the fire spirits that accompanied them, but those clothes did not burn despite the constant flames around them. Each of them seemed impossibly attractive—well-toned, carrying a devil may care attitude. Was there a fire genasi amongst their numbers? She filed that information away for later.

                The Circle of the Shepherds druids were dressed in elaborate woven robes and seemed to be the friendliest with the rest of the druids. They were the ones who provided the Fairy Wine everyone was drinking, after all. They were almost ethereal as they interacted with their fellow druids, the animal spirits moving around them as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

                The oddest of the bunch to her estimation were the Circle of Dreams. And it wasn’t so much that they were odd as they were…very different to the rest of them. While every other druid seemed rooted in something that occurred naturally on the Material Plane, the Dreams druids were entirely different—more fey-like in nature. There was a mischievous quality about them, and, as a woman who learned over a century ago to be cautious around everything, it gave her pause. The magic was…different. Perhaps not necessarily bad, but enough to warrant concern.

                There was one circle that wasn’t yet represented, though, outside of her traveling companion. Where was the Circle of Stars…?

                As though on cue, the trunk of a nearby tree cracked open to reveal a passage. Through it came someone walking with an elaborately carved cane. Jaheira quietly took in her appearance. An older woman, hair white and tied back in a severe bun, human. She had blue-grey eyes and a stern expression. On her form were elaborate dark blue robes that seemed to change hues as the light hit them. The woman was stooped with age but carried herself with an air of grace.

                “You made it just in time,” Jaheira greeted as the woman looked around. “Can I assist you?”

                The woman’s eyes fell on Jaheira. She gave a small, almost imperceptive nod. “Where am I to stay?” she asked, voice soft but powerful.

                “I’ll help you,” the High Harper offered. “My name is Jaheira. Circle of the Land.”

                “Clara,” the woman provided with a nod. “Circle of Stars.”

                “Ah, you’re the last to arrive, I think,” Jaheira confirmed. She looked behind as the Tree Walk spell faded. “Are you expecting others?”

                “No.” Clara brushed past Jaheira into the Hollow proper.

                “Ah.” She had…questions, but Clara didn’t care to slow down. Jaheira instead walked to keep up and at least direct her where to go. But she couldn’t help but feel like something was…off with the woman. Every movement looked like she was cleverly concealing some sort of pain.

                Quietly, Jaheira filed the observation away to ask Mira later.

                At nightfall, they met at the gate. The Nightsong clan was already gathered when Mira and Halsin approached. He followed her lead on how she wanted to interact around her family and was pleased when, rather than drop his hand, she held it tighter. That was a good sign.

                The family’s eyes were on the pair as they approached, and Halsin, careful to keep an easy smile on his face, took in each of their reactions quietly: Jerrick’s own easy smile, seeming much more relaxed than he had been only a few nights prior. A half-elf woman who he presumed was Alanna looking more wary and—perhaps there was a twinge of jealousy there? Curious, that. In contrast, Mira’s elven mother looked thrilled, while James gave a neutral nod in their direction.

                “Are we ready?” James asked as the pair approached.

                “Ready,” Mira confirmed quietly. Her eyes met her sister’s, and she dropped his hand. Pity. He’d have to ask about that later.

                “I’m ready.” He met James’s eyes. “I will follow your lead.”

                The human’s gaze remained trained on Halsin before he gave a slow nod. There was a hint of a smile on his lips. James was undoubtedly aware of how familiar Halsin was with these woods, but the elf man was deferring to him as the patriarch of his clan. It was the correct call. “Let’s go,” he spoke, moving toward the entrance.

                Once the six druids had passed through the gate, James led the way, wild shaping into a wolf form, followed by his wife, older daughter, and son. Mira squeezed Halsin’s hand before she also took a wolf form, and he followed shortly after.

                James glanced back at his family before he started padding forward. Halsin noticed how naturally the family fell into formation—Faralei at his right flank, Alanna at his left, the two younger children behind. Halsin, as the newcomer, took his place at the rear, behind and between Mira and Jerrick. Mira glanced back at him and nodded—the correct call again.

                The father started them off with a quick walk to warm up before he took off in a run. The rest of them followed suit. The pack alpha was an excellent navigator. As they ran through familiar lands, Halsin let himself shut off his brain and just follow.

                It felt nice, to be in a group of druids and to let someone else be in charge. To be able to run and enjoy himself without the pressure of making decisions.

                After an hour or so of running, James slowed to a trot, climbing atop a plateau that overlooked the environs. He stood at the cliff’s edge and threw back his head, howling.

                Mira was first to join him, and Halsin quickly followed her lead. The others soon joined. His heart soared as he heard the harmony of their howls, glad that they allowed him to be a part of this. Soon enough, their howls were joined by others in the distance—no doubt other druids who had the same idea.

                They would rest here for a bit before heading back. As Halsin observed the family—Jerrick and Mira roughhousing, Alanna seated primly beside her father, Faralei relaxing and watching her children—he realized that he felt at home, and he felt at peace. When was the last time he had this feeling around other druids…?

                He’d settle next to Faralei and take a rest, feeling grateful and humble for a life he didn’t think he’d ever get to experience.

Chapter Text

                Halsin was momentarily disoriented when he woke from his trance. He had to remind himself where he was. Waking up in the Emerald Grove again was already an adjustment, but doing so in a cave that was not the one he had slept in for a hundred years was entirely different.

                His partner mumbled in her sleep and snuggled further into his side, burying her face against his chest. The wood elf breathed slowly, gently stroking her hair. The Grove, he reminded himself. In Zevlor’s old office. We’re to find out why all the druids have been called here. The sun was filtering through an opening near the top of the cave—the area Jaheira claimed for her own—and he recognized it was time for them to get moving.

                “Mira,” he murmured, brushing his large fingers against her cheek.

                “No,” she grumbled, snuggling in closer. His lips quirked. The half-elf was proving to be difficult to wake in the mornings, but he found it more amusing than aggravating. Halsin leaned down to kiss the top of her head and gently rolled her onto her back. For a moment, she clung to his waist tightly, protesting in her sleep, but she relented soon enough. When Halsin pulled away, her eyes opened with a frown—he presumed she was upset that her source of warmth went away. “Hey…”

                “Good morning,” he greeted her teasingly.

                “It can’t be morning already.” She rubbed her green eyes with a yawn.

                “We were running until late.” He offered her his hand, gently pulling her into a seated position. “I…enjoyed myself.”

                “Did you?” She smiled. “Good. We…haven’t done that in a while. I mean, I haven’t run with my family for years. But we’ve been running as a pack since we were little.” Mira leaned in to rest her forehead against his cheek briefly. “I’m glad you could share it with us. I’m…more surprised Dad offered to let you come with us.”

                He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

                She nodded and gave a short, light laugh. “It took him half a year to invite Alanna’s partner along with us, and they’re married.”

                “I suppose it has something to do with my status as an archdruid,” Halsin mused. Or his being a former circle leader. But, certainly, he and Mira were still in the early stages of a relationship. Though proper romantic relationships were still a bit confusing for him, he’d only need to compare it to Zevlor’s slow crawl into dating his partner to realize this was a big step very early on. Still, perhaps now wasn’t the time to get too hung up on the details. He inhaled slowly. “We should get ready. I heard they wanted to start proceedings as close to dawn as they could.”

                Mira nodded mutely. As the two of them got ready, Jaheira descended the stairs, already looking fresh and ready to tackle the day. “Ah, lovebirds,” she called. “Are you ready for this?”

                “Truthfully, High Harper,” Halsin answered, “I have little idea what to expect.”

                “Nor do I,” she admitted, “but a day of meetings has never treated me well before. Mira, your archdruid arrived last night.”

                “What?” He wasn’t facing her, but he heard the stutter in her voice. When Halsin turned, Mira’s face had paled. “I wasn’t aware she—”

                “She wished to rest,” Jaheira noted, “but I am curious. Where is the rest of your circle?”

                Her words from days prior rang in his mind: “As far as I knew, there were only two of us, and Clara lived separately from civilization for a reason. My master. I…haven’t seen her in years.” Halsin frowned and walked to Mira, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked at it mutely before nodding, gathering her courage.

                “There isn’t a circle, High Harper,” she spoke quietly. “My archdruid being here is…a bit of a surprise.”

                Jaheira’s face was carefully impassive, but there was a flash of something in her eyes. Was it…sympathy? Pity? It was gone too fast for him to tell. “I see.” There was another moment where he thought she was going to continue, but, instead, Jaheira changed topics. “Let’s get this day over with, shall we? They are gathering for breakfast in the same spot as yesterday.”

                Halsin let his hand slip to Mira’s to squeeze it briefly, reassuringly. She held his tightly. He gave her a warm smile before they followed Jaheira out of the cave.

                They had seen the individual circles milling about the Hollow, but something about seeing all of them crowded in one place was overwhelming. Knowing that their number only represented a small fraction (she assumed) of the druids in each circle was daunting. But Mira, steaming mug of tea in hand, followed her companions to the meeting.

                Her father stood, tall and calm, waiting for everyone to settle. In his Emerald Enclave robes, he looked very stately. She immediately felt intimidated by him, as though their bonding the previous night didn’t matter in the face of who they both were in druidic society.

                “Mira,” a familiar voice called. It was quiet but powerful—and it was one she knew better than to disobey. She felt Halsin squeeze her hand in silent reassurance as she turned toward the voice.

                There she was. Clara, her druidic master, looked every bit as severe as she remembered. The tight bun, the cool expression, eyes that watched everything like a hawk. The human woman regarded her from where she was provided with a seat, banging the butt of her cane against the ground once. Aldon’s work, she realized. When she and Renorash left Ten Towns, she asked two people to keep an eye on Clara for her: Speaker Nimsy Huddle of Lonelywood, where Clara’s hut was located, and their former teammate, now the town speaker of Good Mead. He agreed. Mira was aware that Aldon had been carving her a walking stick when they left, but seeing it in person was another thing entirely. It was almost as elaborate as the quarterstaff that he had carved for her…

                Mira avoided the blush that crept to her cheeks. The last thing she needed was for Clara to notice her being silly and scold her. She cleared her throat. “It’s wonderful to see you, Archdruid,” she greeted. “How are the towns?”

                “Managing.” Clara banged her walking stick on the ground again. “Sit.”

                Panic rose in her chest. She glanced at Halsin. “We’ll catch up after the meeting.”

                “Of course.” As Mira settled on the ground beside Clara, he smiled at the older woman. “Archdruid Clara. I am the archdruid Halsin.”

                “Your reputation precedes you, Halsin.” Clara offered a hand to shake. Mira noticed a flash of something in Halsin’s eyes as he took it, but that moment passed, as well. What was going on…? “I should like to speak with you later, once the frivolities are done. High Harper.” She nodded toward Jaheira.

                “Archdruid,” Jaheira returned in kind.

                Clara made a shooing motion with her hand, and Mira’s traveling companions left. She didn’t track where they went, instead turning her gaze toward Clara. The woman would not tolerate her attention divided.

                “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

                Clara raised a hand to shush her. “I told you when you took up with your first adventuring party that you needed to get out and see the world, girl. I care not that you’re living your life as long as you keep growing in your abilities.” Blue-grey eyes glanced at her. “Have you been keeping up with your star map?”

                “Yes, Archdruid.”

                “Good.” Clara looked out at the gathered druids. As she moved, her robes flowed almost as though they were liquid. “Mira,” she began, “there is something I must discuss with you.”

                There was that panic rising in her chest again. “Oh?” she asked, swallowing down said nerves.

                Clara nodded. “Recently,” she began, “it has become clear that…”

                “That’s everyone, then,” Mira heard her father call. “Let us begin with introductions.”

                Whatever Clara was going to say, she looked as though she weren’t going to continue that thought now. Dread settled low in Mira’s belly. What had her druidic master been trying to tell her…?

                He despised these meetings. He had when he was required to attend them regularly, and he had when he was to run them. But Halsin recognized their importance—somewhat—and that all eyes were on him given his history with the hosting circle. Thus, though reluctant, he would play his part.

                “Halsin,” Francesca called, “sit with us.”

                He hesitated momentarily. Would that be the proper course? He did give up his leadership status, and Francesca, though First Druid, had not yet reached archdruid status herself. Would it be a faux pas for him to sit with them…? He felt Jaheira’s fingers at his back, pushing him.

                You do not know my hesitation, Jaheira, he mentally chided her, but he pushed the thought from his mind. He could see Kagha’s scowl out of the corner of his eye and tried to ignore it as he smiled at Francesca, taking a seat beside her. Jaheira followed, settling in next to him.

                “Let us begin with introductions,” James was saying. “Each Archdruid will introduce themselves and will be speaking on behalf of their respective circles.” Looking around, Halsin realized that each circle had situated themselves in their respective groups. “If that circle has no ruling archdruid, then their representative leadership will speak. Archdruid Halsin, High Harper,” he added, gesturing to where the two of them were seated, “you also have permission to speak freely.”

                He noded in gratitude at the man before James turned his attention back to the group. “I am James Nightsong, Winterstalker of the Waterdeep chapter of the Emerald Enclave. In addition to being your Enclave representative, I am here to represent the Circle of the Land alongside my family.” It was being the representative that secured his attendance and gave his voice weight that he did not have without having achieved archdruid status himself. Halsin noticed Faralei, Alanna, and Jerrick seated near him in silent support. He wondered how long it would take others to connect the dots that James had another child who was part of another circle. If anyone had, no one dared vocalize it.

                James nodded immediately to his right, where the Circle of Wildfire was seated. A fire genasi man stood tall and proud, his hair flickering atop his head like a candle’s flame. “Archdruid Pyr’rah of the Circle of Wildfire,” he spoke, baritone voice carrying across the pool. There was a beautiful but dangerous air about him, Halsin noted, as though one wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of his temper. But, as an archdruid, he certainly would be well accustomed to the political game and expectations, so the wood elf was not going to concern himself with it much.

                Seated immediately next to their group were an eclectic group of druids. A gangly human man whose robes looked too big for his body stood, giving a little wave. “Hi there. Archdruid Morelo, Circle of Spores.” There was a slight stutter to his voice, but he seemed at ease as he took his seat again.

                Next stood a halfling woman who gave a similar gentle energy as Morelo. “Archdruid Gaea, Circle of the Shepherds. Lovely to see you all.” Halsin caught how her eyes slid toward Archdruid Pyr’rah and had a feeling those two circles might end up butting heads a bit throughout the meeting. One representative to speak, indeed. This would be chaos without it.

                When it came to her turn, he noticed that Clara did not stand. Instead, the human woman lifted her chin and sat as straight as she could, leaning her hands on the cane in front of her as though to challenge anyone who was upset about her decision. “Archdruid Clara,” she spoke, voice quiet but powerful. “Circle of Stars.” There were some murmurs after her introduction, but a bang of the cane against the ground quieted them.

                The satyr woman at the front of the next circle rose gracefully, giving a flourish with her hand. “Archdruid Chapparal,” she greeted, “Circle of Dreams. The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

                That one, he realized, could be trouble.

                Finally, the introductions had reached the hosting circle. He heard Francesca draw in a breath before she stood. “First Druid Francesca,” she spoke, “Circle of the Moon.”

                Halsin rose beside her, ignoring the whispers that accompanied his appearance. “Archdruid Halsin. Guest of the Circle of the Moon.”

                Jaheira lifted a hand beside him but also did not stand. “High Harper Jaheira. Circle of the Land.”

                “Thank you all.” The Winterstalker waited for the leaders to be seated. “The Emerald Enclave has called you here today, as representatives of your individual druidic branches, in response to the rapid changes happening around the Sword Coast in recent years.” He nodded to Clara. “The end of the Frostmaiden’s eternal winter. Elturel descending into the Hells. The Absolute cult”—at that, he looked to Halsin and Jaheira—”and, now, a dragon native to another plane attacking the Grand Dukes’ estate in Baldur’s Gate.” At that, he looked to his daughter. More murmuring rose from the collective druids. James hushed the crowd. “Simply put—the balance is off in Faerun. As druids, it is our duty to maintain that balance. What action are we taking moving forward?”

                “Are we required to take any action, Winterstalker?” Chapparal tilted her head to the side, twisting a lock of her long hair around a finger. “As I recall, every single one of those issues was solved by a group of adventurers. Isn’t it their job?”

                “I agree with Archdruid Chapparal,” Pyr’rah stated firmly. “These matters have a way of popping up unexpectedly. What are you suggesting we do?”

                “Surely you aren’t so daft to realize that nearly every one of those events was resolved because a druid helped,” Clara said drolly.

                “Was not the dragon from the Feywild?” wondered Archdruid Gaea. There was a particular glint in her eye as she looked to the satyr, and Halsin realized that the woman was far shrewder than she let on. “You should be concerned, Archdruid Chapparal.”

                “A Moonstone dragon,” Jaheira responded with a nod. “Adult. Brought to the Material Plane against her will. Do you not think that’s cause for some concern, esteemed archdruids?”

                Halsin cleared his throat to keep from laughing.

                “Involving ourselves in others’ business doesn’t end well for any of us,” he heard Kagha say from behind him. She rose and scowled at the group. “This Grove faced destruction because the hellspawn drew the goblins’ attention to us.”

                “Sit down, Kagha,” Francesca ordered.

                But the redhead clenched her fists and remained standing. She tipped her chin. “The more that society moves toward modernity, the more corrupt it becomes. Nature weeps for a return to simplicity. We must remain separate to honor it.”

                “Sit down, Kagha,” Francesca ordered again, voice more forceful as the crowd buzzed. This time, the redheaded druid reluctantly sat.

                “Kagha,” spoke Archdruid Morel, contemplative, “that sounds an awful lot like shadow druid rhetoric to me.”

                That simple statement made the Sacred Pool explode in conversation. Halsin could feel Francesca’s humiliation rolling off her in waves. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. Kagha falling prey to the wrong crowd was on him. The First Druid had only inherited the problem and shouldn’t fault herself for that.

                “Winterstalker,” called Pyr’rah above the raised voices. “I believe the Moon druid brings up a valid point. Why don’t we simply let the people in the cities deal with their own problems?”

                “Shadow druid rhetoric is not simply leave them alone,” Morel contested quietly. “Shadow druid rhetoric is destroy everything that doesn’t align with your vision.”

                That quieted the crowds. It was Archdruid Chapparal who cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, I’m in favor of remaining separate. We need to preserve our circles.”

                “Are you preserving them by playing hermit?” Clara questioned, an edge to her voice.

                “Again,” Kagha spoke, “we would not have been a target for the goblins if our former archdruid hadn’t taken in the Tieflings—”

                “Speak through your leader,” James reminded her, steel edging his voice. “The next time you speak out of turn, Kagha, we are ejecting you from this meeting.”

                Halsin rose. “What Kagha says is also not true,” he spoke calmly. “The Absolute would have moved on our Grove regardless of whether we sheltered the Tieflings or not. The Tieflings were largely civilians ejected from their home and, thus, would pose no threat to the cult. They were targeting us due to our power.” And, perhaps, specifically his. Halsin looked around the group with a frown. “Would you turn away a desperate, hurting people so callously? Are we not to care for all of nature’s creatures?”

                “Correct.” Gaea’s voice was quiet but powerful. “You made the right call to give them shelter, Archdruid Halsin. The rest of you…” She gave the Circle of the Moon a withering look. “You should be ashamed of yourselves for how you treated them. Hellspawn, really. They cannot help the circumstances of their birth.”

                Marcoryl gave a derisive snort. Pyr’rah shot him a withering glare. “You know,” he mused, “Tieflings can become druids, as well. Our circle has several, though we asked them to stay behind knowing how this circle responded to them.” He turned his glare to the Circle of the Moon at large. “You would do well to embrace all people who choose our path, not just the ones who meet some arbitrary standard you hold. It doesn’t escape my notice that there are no half-orcs or dragonborn amongst your number, either, let alone any other race.”

                Francesca shot a frown behind her to warn the circle to remain quiet. Halsin glanced back as he sat. Nettie and Rath looked ashamed, but many of the other circle members…well, Francesca would be having conversations with them later, he was sure. The First Druid turned back to the meeting at large. “It is my hope that we are able to expand the circle, to help diversify our members,” she said diplomatically. “I would be thrilled to discuss the issue privately with the other leaders to see how I can best achieve this.”

                “Clever,” Jaheira whispered to Halsin. “Addressing the difficulties within the circle without publicly speaking against them.” He nodded in agreement.

                “May I have the floor?”

                “Go ahead, Archdruid Clara,” the Winterstalker agreed, nodding toward the Stars druid.

                Clara rose to her feet. The movement was shaky, but she stood as tall and proud as she could. Her piercing gave fell on the Moon druids. “Circle of the Moon,” she spoke firmly. “No, all of you.” She gestured to the group as a wide. “When we become so exclusionary unto ourselves as to whom we allow in our circles, as to whom we interact with, we are the ones who lose in the end.”

                Chapparal opened her mouth to speak, but Clara held up a hand, effectively silencing the satyr. “Do you know why there are only two members of the Circle of Stars?” she questioned. “My hubris caused what interest there was in my circle to turn away. Further isolating myself didn’t bring more members. Were it not for your circle, Archdruid Morel”—she gestured toward the Spores druids—“my Mira would have never found her way to me.”

                Morel nodded in acknowledgment, looking contemplative again.

                “Being exclusionary is what kills us,” she continued. “And, despite those among us having expanded lifespans, none of us are immune to the world’s maladies. We’d do well to…change. Adapt with the world.”

                “Hear, hear!” Archdruid Gaea cheered.

                Halsin could see Mira’s lips moving. Clara nodded and looked to James. “Winterstalker, I need a break.”

                James blinked but recovered quickly. “Very well. Let us take half an hour to recuperate and then come back.”

                “Understood. With me, Mira.”

                Halsin watched as master and apprentice were the first to leave the Sacred Pool, every movement of the Stars archdruid looking as though she were disguising pain. He furrowed his brow, but Francesca’s hand on his arm drew his attention away.

                They walked for quite a while to get to a secluded area of the Hollow. Mira frowned as she watched Clara move, realizing now that they were together how much the woman struggled. The last time that she had seen the woman before she and Renorash traveled south, Clara had needed the cane, but now it looked as though it physically hurt the woman to move. “Are you…?”

                “Don’t,” Clara chided softly. So Mira kept quiet and kept following. Once they reached their destination, Clara slowly lowered herself on a rock. “Sit with me, Mira.”

                “Yes, Archdruid.” Carefully, she sat next to Clara. That feeling of dread grew in her belly again.

                Clara took a moment. “I fear that I’ve failed you, Mira.”

                “You didn’t,” Mira spoke softly. “You’ve taught me so much, and I’m getting stronger every day.”

                Her mentor shook her head. “I was…selfish,” she admitted. “I was ready to give up the ways of our circle entirely until you came to my door. And, even after you went out into the world, still I didn’t try to expand it. And, now, I…”

                Mira swallowed. “Clara?”

                Clara’s eyes met hers, and she looked…sad and tired. “Take my hand, Mira.” Without hesitation, Mira wrapped both her hands around Clara’s. The woman squeezed. “I said in the meeting that none of us were immune to the world’s maladies, no matter how long our lives are. I am…” She paused, looking toward the sky. “I’m dying, Mira.”

                Mira recoiled as though she were slapped. “What?”

                “Dying,” she repeated. “I haven’t been feeling like myself for some time. Nimsy eventually called for Mishann from the House of the Morninglord in Bryn Shander. She said…” Clara closed her eyes. “My body is attacking itself. We are not sure how much longer I have, but I would assume less time than I would like.”

                “Clara?” she asked again, voice tiny.

                “I’m sorry to tell you like this, my girl.” Clara squeezed Mira’s hand tightly. “I have…lived for a very long time. I still should have decades, but nature has other plans for me. A punishment, perhaps.”

                “Don’t say that, Clara,” Mira pleaded. “We can…we can heal this, surely?”

                “Some things even our magic can’t heal.” Clara smiled sadly. “I regret that the future of the circle is going to fall firmly on your shoulders, and I haven’t done enough to prepare you how to lead. I should have done more to alleviate the pressure…” The human made a noise in her throat. “This is too much at once.”

                “No, no,” Mira insisted, although the actual answer was of course it’s too much at once.

                “Don’t try to appease me, girl.” Clara squeezed her hand again. “I would…like to teach you what I can, before my time expires. But I cannot do that in Icewind Dale.”

                Mira’s mouth felt dry. When she spoke, it was as though she were outside her body, watching the conversation happen without her. “You would hate the Gate. But…perhaps New Reithwin?”

                “New Reithwin?”

                She nodded. “Archdruid Halsin has been rebuilding the area after it was destroyed in a Sharran curse. I think it would be more comfortable for you.”

                “Is that where you live?”

                She was quiet for a long time. “I would like to,” she admitted, trying not to think further of those implications.

                “Then,” Clara smiled at her, “we shall talk of moving me to New Reithwin after we sort out these other circles, hmm?”

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                Clara patted her hand before she shakily rose to her feet. “Come. They will want to resume shortly, I’m sure.”

                Mira mutely rose to her feet to follow her druidic master. The anxiety was burbling in her chest, and she badly needed to talk to someone about it before she had a breakdown. Maybe she could steal Halsin after the business was concluded for the day. She was certain he wouldn’t mind Clara moving to his town, but…

                The druids reconvened, though it took a moment for them to settle. Halsin watched as the Winterstalker called them to order again, and the chatter died down. James scanned the group. “Now that we’ve had some time to collect ourselves, let’s return to the topic at hand. While I understand the hesitancy to get involved in affairs that don’t align with our own circles’ views, we must accept that the path forward is not to shun modernity but to see how we can work with it. The question then becomes how.”

                “I believe we’ve started to achieve this in New Reithwin, Winterstalker,” Halsin began. “We have reused much of the material that was there in our rebuilding efforts, but we are choosing to leave the rest as natural as we can.”

                “Interesting,” James mused. “Do you plan to start a circle there?”

                “No,” Halsin said firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mira shifting and filed that away for later. “But I will not discourage others who may wish to do so.”

                “Very well.” James nodded at him. “What of the rest of you?”

                “The Circle of Dreams will remain separate,” Archdruid Chapparal stated firmly. “We don’t need to worry about our—” A voice cried out from behind her. She glanced behind to see a wolf moving very quickly behind the Circle of the Moon toward where the Nightsong family sat. Halsin recognized Jak, Jerrick’s animal companion, as he dropped something into the young Harper’s palm. Jerrick scratched Jak’s ears before handing the item over to his father.

                “What is this?” he questioned, holding up the item. “It feels…potent.”

                “Mira,” Jaheira spoke. “That’s like the amulet your friend found, yes?” Halsin immediately straightened.

                “Mira,” James spoke, looking to his daughter. “Explain.”

                She cleared her throat. “It’s an amulet that contains the Plane Shift spell, sir. It’s potentially the third that I’ve seen.” She paused. “We think someone with an amulet like that was responsible for the Moonstone dragon in Upper City.”

                A low roar rose amongst the druids. What did this mean? Why did a Dreams druid have it? Halsin noticed that Archdruid Chapparal looked genuinely surprised and concerned. He was about to raise the question when Mira let out a sharp gasp, holding the side of her head as if listening.

                “What is it, m—Miss Nightsong?” he questioned her, stopping before he spoke with too much familiarity.

                “There’s…” Mira frowned. “There’s another dragon in Baldur’s Gate.”

                The Sacred Pool exploded in shouting.

Chapter Text

                Two days of travel were under their belts now with relatively low trouble. Small favors for that.

                Pandirna was a very, very observant woman. While they trekked onward to Baldur’s Gate, she kept a close eye on everyone. Ever since Elturel—ever since Almara’s death, really—she was much more paranoid. Her eyes watched like a hawk on the road to the Grove, in the Grove, between the Grove and the Shadow Cursed Lands, and then after the attack, when their group found their way to their little encampment. Everything could kill them, and everything attempted to do so—she wasn’t about to take her chances.

                It was interesting the way that the two groups danced around each other, even though they were almost all from the same place. Thus far, there weren’t many attempts to blend the groups. She wasn’t sure she could blame anyone for that, really. None of their group wanted to talk to Zevlor, which meant that they tended to give his partner a wide berth, too. Said partner was strange about Belleza and so avoided any place where the older old woman was (not that she could necessarily blame her for this). Rolan being so exclusionary before meant that many of them weren’t keen on trying to approach him now, though his siblings were friendly—Cal, in particular, had made it his mission to talk to everyone. Lakrissa, too, was being very friendly—but Pandirna seemed to recall that she always was good at striking up conversations with anyone. Since reuniting, she and Nymessa frequently were together, heads bent close and giggling.

                Rikka seemed to be enjoying Lia’s company. Pandirna had more than once witnessed their hands and tails linking together and felt a twinge of jealousy. She missed that closeness, but she wasn’t sure if she were ready to open herself up to someone else. Should she try when she got to the Gate…? The idea made her want to gag with anxiety.

                Speaking of the Gate, though… Her eyes fell on Guex next. That conversation that they had the other night about bringing Tieflings back to life had bothered her. Particularly, it concerned her to know what Guex’s goal was. If she knew the man, she knew where his head was going to be about it, and she needed to cut this off now before it got too late.

                Pandirna jogged to catch up until she was next to him. “Hey.” She tapped the back of her hand against his arm. “I need to talk to you.”

                “Certainly, friend.” His eyes slid to her, questioning.

                “What’s your angle?”

                Guex blinked. “My angle?”

                She elbowed him now. “You know what I mean. That whole talk of resurrection or whatever. You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed.

                “You’re such a shitty liar, Guex.” She eyeballed him with a frown. “You’re absolutely trying to figure out how to bring Ikaron back.” He stiffened. “See!?”

                “Well,” he retorted, taking his usual defensive tone with her, “wouldn’t you want to bring Almara back if you had the chance?”

                That stabbed her heart in a way she wasn’t expecting. Pandirna snarled at him. He held his hands up defensively, but, unlike usual, he didn’t cower to her. Instead, he was steadfast. She took a calming breath before hissing out her answer: “Do you know how Almara died, Guex?” He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head mutely. “She was killed in Avernus by demons. There’s no way they didn’t take her soul back to the Abyss.”

                He stiffened. “There’s always a chance that—”

                “No, Guex.” She forced a smile full of fang. “There’s not.”

                He was quiet for a long moment as he considered her words. “Well, I…I have to try. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

                “No,” she agreed, “none of them did. But, Guex, Ikaron’s not the only who died unfairly in all of this.” She gave him a critical look. “I know what you’re doing.”

                He stiffened. “I want to bring him back for Ms. Okta,” he argued.

                “I don’t think you should be making any decisions for Okta.” Pandirna frowned at him. “Poor woman lost her only family”—that they knew of—“and has had to come to terms with that. If anyone has a claim to whether he comes back, it’s her.”

                “You don’t think she wants to see her son again?”

                “I know you, Guex.” She gave him a plain look. “You’re only bringing up Okta’s feelings to justify your own.”

                He glowered at her. “I am not.”

                “When you lie, your eyebrow twitches.”

                “It does not!” He immediately brought a hand to his eyebrow.

                “You idiot.” Pandirna lightly shoved his shoulder again. She softened a bit. “Look, Guex…I know you had a thing for Ikaron, but…”

                “We had a connection,” Guex insisted.

                “A connection you never talked to him about?”

                “Well…” Guex floundered. “I was going to…”

                “Going to and did are two different things.” She pursed her lips. “I feel for you. I do. But do you think it’s worth going through all this trouble to bring back someone when you don’t know if he reciprocates your feelings?”

                “He will,” Guex insisted quietly. “He has to.”

                “…okay, that’s a problem in itself.” Pandirna gave him a worried look. “Look, just…actually think about this, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt, and this seems like the perfect opportunity for your heart to shatter in a million pieces.”

                “I’m fine, Pandirna.” He gave her a steely look. “I’ll bring Ikaron back, and we’ll have a beautiful life in the Gate together. You’ll see.”

                His eyebrow twitched.

                “Where I can see you, demon!” Lelith barked. Urich gave her an exaggerated bow. “And speak in Common!”

                “Yes, dear,” he sneered at her. He placed a hand at Mavari’s back, guiding her toward a corner of the Tieflings’ camp. And, because he was aware that the broken bird’s eyes were on them, too, he may have brushed his hand along her backside.

                “Quit it,” Mavari complained.

                “Oh, my. Aren’t you feisty this evening?”

                His warlock frowned at him. “What do you want, Urich?”

                What he wanted was to get rid of the paladins, but circumstances regrettably dictated that he played nice. Instead, he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek like a lover, gently cupping her cheek. Mavari gave him an exasperated look. Fifteen years together, and she knew his game. She’d know that he was doing this primarily to show Lelith and Zevlor exactly to whom she belonged. “You,” he began, “have been doing a poor job.”

                She stiffened. “I have not,” she groused.

                “Don’t play stupid with me, little crow.” The smile he flashed her was feral. “Your work with the demons was sloppy. It’s not like you to let yourself get caught so easily, nor to not be able to get out of dodge by yourself.”

                Mavari turned her face away from his touch. “I had it handled.”

                “Sure you did.”

                “I was working on it.” She glowered at him, and—oh, he loved when she got that defiant look in her eyes. It made it more fun to push her. “You didn’t give me time to—”

                “So would you have gotten the information I wanted before or after all your appendages were sliced off?” he asked casually. Her lips curled into a snarl. Urich started to pet her hair, hoping that the gesture pissed off the broken bird. “The old man is dulling your senses.”

                “No, he isn’t,” she insisted stiffly.

                “Isn’t he?” Urich laughed coldly. “You did a more effective job when you had no one to live for, little crow.” She stiffened beneath his touch. He knew he hit a sore spot, and he didn’t care. He leaned his face toward hers. “Get rid of him.”

                “What?”

                “Get rid of him,” Urich repeated. “He’s making you weak.”

                “Urich,” she growled in warning. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me for fifteen years with no complaint. I have one bad mission, and you’re going to issue an ultimatum?”

                “Get rid of him,” Urich repeated, “and, while you’re at it, get rid of the old bitch.”

                Mavari blinked at him. “Why?”

                Because she’s going to ruin everything that I worked so hard on, he snapped at her mentally. But Urich played his cards close to his chest. “I don’t trust her.”

                Mavari contemplated him quietly. “The maurezhi called her a soothsayer.” Urich growled. His warlock considered quietly before looking at him. “She said I have sorcery in my blood.”

                “She’s a godsdamned liar, little crow.”

                The Tiefling’s eyes furrowed at him. “Why did you hide this from me? You told me I had no power without you.”

                “You don’t,” Urich snapped at her. There was a waver to his voice that he immediately hated—Mavari wasn’t the only one getting weak.

                “You’re afraid of her,” Mavari realized out loud. “Is that it? You want her gone because you’re afraid of her?”

                “I’m not afraid of anyone,” he snarled at her, wings flaring.

                “Demon,” Lelith called. He glanced over to see the paladin already standing, her hand on the hilt of Crownkeeper.

                “I’m playing nice,” he snapped, wrapping an arm around Mavari. “See?” He held her cheeks between his fingers and thumb. “Nice.”

                “It’s fine, Your Grace,” Mavari attempted between smooshed lips.

                Lelith relaxed, giving him a critical look. Urich looked back to Mavari and gave a cruel smile. “Get rid of the dodo,” he hissed at her, “and get rid of the broken bird. You have until the next full moon, or there will be consequences.”

                As he teleported away, he noticed the pained look on his warlock’s face and felt a surge of pride. Good.

                Zevlor frowned at the demon’s disappearing form. He wanted very badly to intervene on Mavari’s behalf, but not knowing the consequences of what might happen if he had made him stay back. But his fingers were twitching on the hilt of his longsword with every intimate gesture Urich made, sure that the demon was trying to piss him off.

                Keep calm, he reminded himself. He had to, if he wanted to find a way to help free her from the incubus’s contract. The wrong move could potentially send her soul straight to the Abyss.

                He watched like a hawk as the demon disappeared, then as Mavari walked toward him. The expression on her face was…worrisome. Wordlessly, he opened his arms toward her. She hesitated for a moment, causing his heart to clench, before she practically threw herself into his embrace. “Dear,” he murmured, hugging her tightly. She made a helpless noise in her throat, burying her face into his chest. Another pang to the heart. “What did…?”

                “I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbled. “Not right now.” Breathing slowly, she lifted her face, meeting his orange eyes with her own. “I want you to move in,” she insisted suddenly. “As soon as we get back to the Gate.”

                He instinctively, defensively, tensed, before he willed himself to react. “You…do.” Not wanting to give the wrong impression, he leaned his head down to kiss her forehead. “Are you sure? That is a big step.” Was it too soon?

                “I’m very sure.” She craned her neck so that she could kiss his lips instead. It surprised him, but the kiss was gentle, brief, and he was all too willing to return it. “We can talk logistics later, I just…I want you close, okay?”

                It certainly solved several problems for him—where he’d stay once the Hellriders left the temple, for one—but he had many questions for his partner. Still, he sensed, now was not the time to ask them. Smiling at her, he gently scraped his claws along her scalp. “Of course, my dear.”

                “Thank you, love,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his and closing her eyes.

                Love. The word caught him off guard. Did she…? Did he? The affirmative answer came immediately. And, as his hands encircled her, he held her just a bit tighter.

                A cough broke him from the moment. “Sorry to interrupt, Commander,” Cerys apologized. “Could we borrow the two of you? We want to talk about the children…”

                “Of course, Cerys.” Zevlor kissed Mavari’s forehead before reluctantly pulling away from her. She slid her hand into his as they moved toward where a few of their kin were already gathered.

                The future was looking a little brighter already.

                While the rest of their kin set up camp, a small group gathered to discuss what was going to happen with the children. Karlach offered to entertain Doni and Gan while Rikka was meeting with the group and thus far was doing an excellent job at keeping the boys distracted. That meant the rest of them would be able to discuss without too much trouble.

                Cerys took it upon herself to fetch the lovebirds but felt immediately awkward interrupting. In the time she had seen the two together, Cerys hadn’t known either of them to be overly physically affectionate where others could see them. It threw her off. Moreover, a strange feeling burbled in her chest. Was that…jealousy? Certainly not of either of them, but…okay, fine, it was something she wanted for herself. Badly, if she were really honest. For the longest time, she had wanted the fairy tale romance, the supportive partner, to be whisked off her feet. As she got older, she realized that this was unrealistic, and she set her goals elsewhere. These days, she felt like she’d be happy having a stable, motivated partner who seemed to have their life somewhat together.

                Would she have that in Rolan, she wondered? Her eyes fell on the wizard where he sat, quietly speaking with Rikka. She immediately chastised herself for her heart beating just a little faster. Ridiculous when they hadn’t even properly dated, and half the time she was still cross with him, but…

                …but he turned his eyes to her and offered a warm smile. Rolan gestured her to sit next to him. Shit. Cerys nodded curtly and settled easily onto the log beside him, careful not to actually touch him in the process.

                She glanced around the gathered circle. Zevlor and Mavari were taking their seats. Lelith was here, naturally—the hero would have to be a part of this conversation. Rikka, as Doni’s de facto caretaker. Rolan, of course, and her. She was a little surprised that Okta joined them for this, figuring she would be too angry with the paladins, but here she was regardless. With her was not Guex, as one might expect, but instead Damays. Her fellow scout gave a polite nod to Cerys as he tapped his fingers on his knee with a light frown. She realized this was the first time she had seen him without Nymessa nearby.

                Okta must have been the real power behind the encampment, and she must have trusted Damays’s judgment over Guex’s for this. Just as well, she supposed.

                “Let’s begin,” Lelith said with a nod toward the younger Tiefling.

                It occurred to her that she was the youngest member of this conversation, and Cerys tried not to feel like she didn’t belong. She knew she belonged. With that thought firmly in mind, she inhaled deeply, exhaled, and smiled at the group. “I wanted to talk about the children,” she began. “Seeing Doni and Gan solidified that we need to come up with a plan.”

                “You said several of them survived the trip?” Damays asked. He spoke calmly, deferentially. She appreciated it.

                “Correct,” Cerys confirmed. “Mattis, Silfy, Umi, Ide, and Mirkon.”

                “And Mol and Arabella,” Lelith chimed in.

                “And Mol and Arabella,” Cerys agreed. She felt a pang of guilt for not having kept track of either girl, but Rolan’s subtle hand on her back, the briefest of touches, brought her back to reality. She had to wrangle enough Tieflings; perhaps she needed to be less hard on herself.

                “Where are they now?” Damays questioned.

                “My team and I made a safe place for them to stay in the basement of my house,” Mavari chimed in. Okta gave her a critical look. Mavari shook her head. “It’s not ideal, but it gets them off the street. I…couldn’t let them go to an orphanage, nor would they willingly go.”

                “There is a temple where the Hellrider veterans have been volunteering since our arrival,” Zevlor began. “But that was also not an option.” He didn’t need to elaborate as to why.

                “Hellrider veterans,” Okta repeated, turning her look onto Zevlor.

                The Commander nodded. “Five of us. We plan to continue our service with the Grand Duke.” His eyes slid to Lelith’s, who nodded with a smile.

                “I see.” Something in Okta’s tone was…curious. Cerys wanted to question it, but Okta pressed forward. “None of the survivors took them?”

                “Cerys was watching them as much as she could while they were in Rivington,” Mavari noted, nodding at the younger woman. “She and I had a lot of conversations concerning them. I…am the product of what happens when kids are left to fend for themselves, and I didn’t want them to grow up like that.”

                “I see.” Okta gave her a long look before turning back to the group at large. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but she instead took a calming breath. “What of Mol and Arabella?”

                “Arabella is studying with the wizard Elminster,” Lelith provided. “She…gained powers when she touched the druids’ idol. He’s assisting her in learning how to harness that power.”

                “Of course she did,” Damays said under his breath.

                “Quiet,” Okta snapped at him. “And Mol?”

                Lelith made a face. “The last I saw Mol, she was angry at me because I got her out of a contract with a devil—”

                “What!?” Zevlor barked.

                Lelith held up her hands. “She made it wanting to protect her kids, according to her. For the record, I tried to stop her, but I get the impression no one tells Mol what to do.”

                “You were right for that,” Mavari reassured the paladin. Lelith’s eyes slid to her briefly in acknowledgment before turning away.

                “Mol was with Nine-Fingers Keene and the Guild,” the purple skinned Tiefling continued. “Wanted to work her way up to eventually run the thing. I don’t know if she’s still there. Who was in charge of checking in with the Guild, Mavari?”

                “Arlo,” the adventurer confirmed. “I don’t recall him mentioning a Tiefling child. It’s possible she made herself scarce when he came around, but I can ask.”

                “Do, please.” She tipped her head. “She hasn’t come around the basement?”

                “Not as far as I’m aware,” Mavari replied, “but I don’t know that the kids would tell me if that were the case, either. I can ask when we’re done here.”

                “Do you have a sending stone with them?” Lelith sounded curious.

                “The journals,” Rolan spoke. “You got them to talk to the kids, didn’t you?”

                “I did.” Mavari leaned back onto her palms and nodded to Rolan. “Rolan here enchanted two pairs of journals for me. It’s mostly how I communicate with the kids to see what they need, or if they need to talk to someone, and we’re not physically in the same space. It’s been a good compromise. They can speak with an adult and not feel so threatened. But,” she conceded, “that’s also not a long-term solution.”

                “The kids trust you, then,” Rikka observed. Mavari nodded. She drew in a breath. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea for Doni. I’d…” She fingered the material of her shirt. “I’d like to see him talk to a professional,” she admitted. “I’m doing what I can, but there’s only so much help I can give him. And I don’t know how accessible that help will be without the gold to back it up. I think he’d like to see the other kids again, but…”

                “The children being in the basement isn’t a long-term solution,” Mavari repeated. “But we’re back to where we started. Where do they go?”

                They quieted again, looking at each other in silence. Cerys could sense Mavari’s frustration. Just when she was about to speak up, Okta raised her voice. “I would adopt one of the children.”

                “Really?” Damays sounded perplexed. “Are you alright with that?”

                Okta nodded. “I…a child won’t replace Ikaron, but I…” She blew out a low breath. “I think it would help. I want to be able to give one of them a good home.”

                “Okay,” Cerys agreed, feeling relieved. “So that’s one out of nine. Eight?” She looked to Lelith. “Assuming Arabella stays with the wizard.”

                “Make that seven,” Lelith remarked. “No one’s telling Mol what to do.”

                Seven, then. So, they still would need to account for six of the kids. Cerys considered before glancing toward Mavari. “I think we have to face the possibility we’ll need to build an orphanage, but, maybe, if it’s run by other Tieflings…”

                “I…” She looked to Zevlor helplessly. He pursed his lips at her but said nothing. “What about some sort of safe house? If we build one for Tieflings to stay while working to afford their own homes, then it would feel like the kids are being included, not othered. A separate room for their safety, though.”

                “That could work,” Zevlor mused. “This group will need a place to stay.”

                “I would be willing to offer the Tower as a temporary living quarters,” Rolan offered, then reiterated: “Temporary.”

                “That works,” Lelith nodded. “We can put Cal and a crew on building the safe house first, then work on the rest of it.”

                “If…” Rolan paused again. “If one of the children shows a proclivity toward magic, I suppose I wouldn’t mind taking on an apprentice.”

                “Really?” Cerys blurted out.

                “Really?” Lelith echoed, raising a brow. “Are you ready to, what with…?”

                “I’m ready,” Rolan agreed, though he didn’t sound entirely confident in that answer.

                Lelith gave him a long look before nodding. “Regarding the kids, I’ll speak with Wyll and see what we can offer for assistance on the Grand Duke side.”

                “Thank you,” Cerys whispered.

                “The conversation is a good start,” she confirmed. “I am sure there will be more to come.” The Grand Duke, it seemed, considered the conversation done for the night.

                “Well, then.” Okta brushed her hands on her skirt and stood. “I suppose I should start on dinner, then.”

                “Thank you, Okta,” Lelith spoke, nodding toward the woman as she left. She stood next, clapping a hand onto the scout’s shoulder. “And thank you, Cerys. This was important.”

                “Your Grace,” Cerys responded, nodding politely.

                Things would get better for all of them.

                The next day, the Tieflings were all at the very least cordial with one another, though many had grown more friendly with one another. There was more intermingling, which explained in part why Zorru had enlisted Mavari to help him check on the oxen. However, in the process of doing so, she cried out, clutching her head.

                And, as soon as she had, Lelith’s attention immediately snapped to her. “What’s wrong?”

                Mavari’s face turned pale. She swallowed. “Another dragon attack on the Gate, Your Grace.”

                Another? Lelith scowled. “We need to get there now.”

                “And do what?” Rolan questioned. “I can get up to eight of you there, but what are you going to do with everyone else?”

                “He’s right,” Zevlor spoke. “We would be leaving our kin here to rush back to the Gate.” A frown etched his face. “I will not abandon them again.”

                His oath may not allow him to, Lelith realized. And her own oath was…shit. What was she supposed to do!? She was meant to protect the Gate from her enemies no matter what. “I…”

                “These people are your duty, as well, Lelith,” Zevlor spoke gently, as though he read her mind.

                She sucked in a breath. “You’re right,” she admitted. “But I…”

                “When we left,” Mavari began, “we did so knowing that we were leaving the Gate in trusted hands. I don’t like not being there, either, but, by the time we’d get there, it could be too late.”

                “You have good people, Lelith,” Zevlor added softly. “Trust them.”

                Trust them. Gods, she felt like she was abandoning the Gate. Lelith steeled herself and nodded. “Very well. Let’s get going. You,” she added to Mavari, “travel up front with us. Keep me informed.”

                “Yes, Your Grace.”

                Miraculously, her oath stayed intact. Small favors, she supposed. Still…she hoped they had a home to return to after this.

Chapter Text

                A part of him felt like a fool for doing this. Headed down below Wyrm’s Rock, back to where they were meant to find their salvation against the Absolute, only to find the remains of the great Ansur instead? Only to see that the great bronze dragon, the one who was meant to protect Baldur’s Gate once before leaving, was long dead? What was he hoping to find down here? He knew whatever remained of the dragon was gone, felled by his team and himself many months ago. And, yet, he felt drawn to the spot, as though something down here would be the answer he desperately needed…

                Wyll should have asked Minsc to accompany him. Astarion, maybe. Lelith would strangle him if she knew that he came down here on his own. It felt imperative that he did, even if she may not see it the same way. Still, Wyll was not unprepared. Should the need arise to escape quickly, he had plenty of potions and scrolls with him to accomplish a fast getaway.

                And thus he moved through familiar chambers, remembering the trials that Baldur created, to the open door leading to Ansur’s final resting place, in search of answers to questions that eluded him.

                The giant skeletal remains were right where they were left. Grand Duke Ravengard breathed in, breathed out, and moved forward to confront the intense pull he felt toward those remains.

                “Son of the Gate,” he heard resonate in his mind. He froze where he stood, beholding the great dragon’s skeleton. “Wyll Ravengard. Grand Duke of the Wyrm, Heart of the Gate. Quite the title to live up to, is it not?”

                “It is,” Wyll confirmed. How was Ansur communicating with him? He desperately inspected the remains for any sign of life. But, whatever was happening, there weren’t traces of magic visible in the air, and the dragon didn’t possess his body like it had Lelith’s in order to speak. Could he even be sure that what he was hearing was accurate? That, he wasn’t sure. It was possible he was hallucinating this entire interaction.

                As though he had spoken that fear out loud, he heard a chuckle reverberating in his head. “You are not hallucinating, Heart of the Gate. My spirit has not left this place.” A pause. “I’ve been waiting on your return for a while.”

                “You have?” Wyll questioned, perplexed.

                “Yes.” He felt a flutter around him. “Were it not for…other interference, I would have spoken with you sooner.”

                Other interference? “You mean Mizora,” Wyll spoke flatly. It wasn’t a question.

                “I do. The lady cambion proved…difficult.” There was a pause. “I no longer feel her presence. You’ve killed her?”

                The idea of killing Mizora was…well, quite a bit more appealing than he’d like to admit, really, but he shook his head. “No. But we were able to break my contract.” It almost cost him his father, if they hadn’t managed to save him. And Mizora tried her damnedest to kill him anyway, enraged that her plan didn’t work out the way she wanted. “She is…no longer a concern.” Was that true? Hadn’t Mizora threatened that she’d come after his father someday, anyway? A retribution for him standing up to her abuse?

                He needed to talk to Lelith. Though Mizora hadn’t shown her face since, he thought it was only a matter of time. If they needed to find a way to keep his father safe, then… Well, Ulder would scoff at his concern. It was true that his father carried a much higher respect for his son than he had before, but the man was stubborn and would insist he was more than capable of defending himself. His father, however, didn’t know Mizora like Wyll did. He was not about to take his chances with her.

                “Nevertheless,” Ansur spoke, “she is gone now. And, thus, I can make you my offer.”

                His…offer? Wyll’s eyes widened as an ethereal form settled over Ansur’s bones. The ghostly figure rose, towering over him, and he had a vision of how impressive the dragon must have looked in his prime. Ansur’s apparition looked down at him.

                “Great Duke of the Wyrm, Heart of the Gate,” Ansur rumbled. “Your title suits you. There is a great courage about you. You stand in defiance of gods and men for what is right and just. You care for your people above all else. Admirable traits for a fine warrior. And,” he continued, lowering his gigantic head, “you did so knowing that it meant you would lose your abilities.”

                Wyll breathed out slowly. “Yes.” His heart began pounding in his chest as he beheld the ghostly apparition.

                “Allow my power to become your power,” Ansur beseeched. “Although I will never be what I once was, I find in you a worthy ally. Allow me to serve you, Grand Duke, and help you prove that title of yours.”

                “How?” Wyll wondered. What did the bronze dragon have planned?

                Ansur dipped his head. “To serve you, I will take on a new form—a different one—and together may we defend the Gate.”

                In a flash of light, Wyll noticed that the ephemeral body took shape before shrinking into something quite a bit smaller. Once the light faded, a bronze drake stood before him, cocking his head to the side. “Oh,” he gasped, falling to his knees.

                “Rise, Drakewarden,” the voice echoed in his head, “our first fight together is about to begin.”

                “What do you mean?” he questioned.

                “Let us return to the surface, and you may see for yourself.”

                Wyll nodded curtly as he stood. “How should I refer to you?” he wondered. “I am assuming we are to keep your true name separate…”

                Ansur rumbled, considering. “Aeros,” he decided. “Refer to me as Aeros, Drakewarden.”

                “As you command. Let’s go…partner.”

                And, together with Aeros, Wyll hurried to the surface.

                “I thought we were supposed to be getting flooded with mission requests,” Torinn complained.

                “You don’t know how this stuff works, babe.”

                The pair were seated on the patio of the Blushing Mermaid over brunch. Out of Lyric’s sight, Arlo leaned against the railing, feet propped on the table. Torinn was bent over a big plate, inhaling its contents, while Arlo sat back with a coffee. His eyes, as always, were ever vigilant around them.

                “I mean,” Torinn began around a mouthful of eggs, “I didn’t hold out much hope for the patriars, but I thought for sure someone there would take a chance on us, especially after we killed that dragon.”

                “Most of the civilians were gone at that point. They probably think Lelith and her crew got rid of it instead.”

                “Bright ray of sunshine, babe.” At those words, the human contemplated his dragonborn husband, brow furrowed. Torinn continued: “Maybe they need one more thing to really sell us. You know the ultra-rich don’t give a shit about anything unless it personally affects them. Like how they didn’t care about that Gortash guy until their family members were killed by him?”

                “You got that right.” Not just the rich, though, Arlo thought. A lot of people didn’t care about what was happening until suddenly they were affected, and then they cared a lot. It was the way of the world, whether any of them liked it or not. Idly, he traced circles on the mug with his thumb. Nevertheless, it felt like something was brewing, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. “Something will come up eventually, and we can prove ourselves yet again when that moment happens. Until then, all we can do is keep on top of our game and wait.” And, in his case, do work on the Quiet Eye’s behalf, but that was neither here nor there.

                “I hate waiting,” Torinn grumbled.

                “I know, babe.” He took another long pull from his mug before a shape caught his eye. Arlo nearly choked on his coffee. Instinctively, his feet slammed to the ground as the mug clattered to the table. “What the fuck!?”

                “What’s—” Torinn’s eyes followed the line of Arlo’s sight. His own eyes went wide. “What the fuck!?”

                Flying over their heads was, unmistakenly, an adult blue dragon. The electricity crackled dangerously around it as it roared. Fortunately, the beast appeared to be heading outside the city, but the way it swooped over buildings, its belly just barely missing their peaks, didn’t bode well for any of them. Small favors that the creature was an adult and not older.

                Without hesitation, Arlo slammed his hand over his ear. “Dragon in the Gate!” he snapped over the group sending stone. “Headed north of the city. Everyone get to the Mermaid, now!”

                “We have a bigger problem,” Renorash snapped irritably.

                “Babe,” Torinn warned. His husband pointed to the street. Out of every crevice emerged blue wyrmlings, and they began to flood the streets.

                “Fuck,” Arlo groaned.

                “Everyone, stay on the line and get out to defend the Gate now,” Renorash ordered. “Get help if you can. We cannot let the Gate fall again!”

                “Let’s go,” Arlo commanded. Torinn nodded. Both pushed back from the table. Torinn immediately vaulted over the railing, while Arlo let loose an arrow to strike through a wyrmling’s skull. Then, he quickly followed.

                Never a dull moment in the Gate. Then again, they asked for action…

                “We cannot let the Gate fall again!”

                Renorash let his hand drop from where the stone was embedded behind his ear. He turned toward Kyarra with a nod. “Let’s go.”

                “I’m coming with you,” Gemwin insisted, hefting her axe.

                “No, Gemma.” Renorash, blood pumping in his ears, forced his voice to be more gentle as he spoke, offering her a small smile. “You need to sit this one out.”

                “Horseshit,” the dwarf woman scoffed. “I can take these babies out blindfolded!”

                “We know, Gemma,” Kyarra said softly, “but you have to keep the baby in mind.”

                And your bum knee, Renorash added silently, but he decided it wiser to not bring that up. It usually ended poorly for him.

                Gemma jerked back as though she were slapped. And she looked like she was ready to fight them for it before she finally relented. “Fine,” she sighed, “but neither of you get yourselves killed.”

                “Don’t worry, my love,” Renorash nodded, hand on the hilt of his sword. “We’ve got this covered.” Nodding to Kyarra again, the two of them rushed out the door.

                Time to take out the trash.

                “How are there so many?” Kyarra wondered, looking frustrated.

                “I don’t know.” The half-orc thinned his lips. “But we can answer that question once we’ve managed to cut them down.”

                “You got it, hun.”

                Swords aloft, they began to cut through the wyrmlings. Renorash’s strikes, one after the other, were clean and calculated, while Kyarra, always the show off, would leap off one to lash at another. With speed, they began moving through their Lower City streets, following the wyrmlings where they could. But, no matter what they did, the numbers never seemed to thin…

                “There’s no end to them!” Kyarra gasped.

                There wasn’t, and that made Renorash’s stomach curdle. A flash of magic made him instinctively jump back, and he swallowed down a gasp. He’d recognize that potent Fireball spell anywhere, watching as it took out a large group in front of them. His head snapped to the side. “Counsellor,” he greeted, as a seriouis looking Florrick, flanked by three Flaming Fist, lowered her hands.

                “Gauntlet Kelk,” she greeted in return, nodding in acknowledgment. “Glad to see you out here fighting for the Gate.”

                “Of course,” he responded, “it’s my family’s home.” Kyarra coughed politely behind him. He ignored her. “Do you know what’s causing this?”

                Florrick shook her head. “No, but I’m positive we’re about to. Fist Rion?”

                “Yes, ma’am?” A half-elf woman who had a surprising resemblance to Mira saluted her.

                “Take Fist Carver and Fist Daveth and head toward Wyrm’s Rock.”

                “Yes, ma’am!” She saluted again as the three Fists bolted off toward the bridge.

                Florrick watched them go briefly before her attention was again on Renorash. “Would you permit me to join you, Gauntlet Kelk?”

                “Only if you start calling him Renorash instead of his old title,” Kyarra butted in.

                Renorash glanced back at her briefly but relented. He inclined his head, regarding Florrick. “You heard the woman, Counsellor.”

                Florrick nodded curtly. “Let’s go.”

                The three of them headed further into the district. “Arlo said they were at the Mermaid,” Renorash began, “but I doubt they stayed there long. Our focus needs to be cutting down the wyrmlings where we can. We need to assume that they have that area covered and work elsewhere.”

                “Agreed,” Florrick chimed in.

                “What in the Hells is that?” Kyarra asked, pointing in the distance. They couldn’t see what, but something was mowing through wyrmlings with enough force to send them flying into the air cartoonishly.

                Renorash groaned. “Lyric.”

                When the call came over the sending stone about the dragon, Lyric was getting ready to join her teammates. But, before she could, someone upstairs called out about the wyrmlings. Instantly, Lyric shifted gears. Taking in a deep breath, she shouted to the bar: “I need everyone who is capable to help fight the baby dragons, and I need the biggest, burliest of you with me! A free round of shots for everyone who fights!” She had a brilliant idea…

                That explained why, minutes later, she was perched on the shoulders of a massive Minotaur man, singing operatic scales as inspiration, as a group of five massive patrons and employees started mowing through the wyrmlings. It was the quickest, most effective way to cut down their number, after all. Was it the best in terms of keeping their surroundings intact…?

                Eh. That was a future Lyric problem.

                “Go, go, go!” she cheered. “Raya, you’re amazing!”

                Raya grunted her response. She split another wyrmlings’ skull open with her greataxe.

                “Should we try to head north?” she asked over the sending stone. “That’s where the thing was going, right?”

                “If you can make your way there, do so,” Renorash ordered. “But don’t try to take it on without help!”

                “Right-o, Bossman!” she chirped. “Strife, head that away!”

                “Yes, Miss Lyric,” the Minotaur grunted. Scraping his hoof against the ground, he charged north, sending more wyrmlings hurtling to their doom.

                “What is this?” Wyll demanded under his breath. The minute he crossed the bridge into Lower City, he saw them—the flood of wyrmlings that littered the streets.

                “A problem to be solved,” Aeros rumbled beside him. The drake pawed at the ground and growled low. “Let us commemorate our new partnership by protecting our home.”

                “A sound idea,” he agreed. Lifting his bow, he let loose an arrow at a wyrmling, piercing and going straight through its neck. A second found purchase in a wyrmling’s eye, but he sensed he would have to fight them more directly to make a bigger impact. Steeling himself, he withdrew the shortswords that he now carried, courtesy of Minsc’s lessons. It would be much quicker to thin their numbers this way.

                “Why are there so many?” he grumbled. Aeros didn’t reply, instead choosing to tear out the neck of another wyrmling without hesitation. Wyll pursed his lips and kept going.

                “Your Grace!” called a familiar voice. An arrow shot through the wyrmling in front of him. Wyll dared to look, spotting a trio of Harpers rushing toward him. Leading them was Harper Geraldus. He vaguely recognized the Tiefling Harper beside him, and was the other one…?

                “Jord?” a female voice cried.

                “Rion?” the other Harper yelped back.

                “I thought you were headed toward Figaro’s!”

                “Change of plans, why are you here!?”

                Ah, Wyll realized suddenly. Jaheira’s kids. He cleared his throat. “What is going on?” he asked loudly, hoping to interrupt whatever argument was happening.

                The two froze before looking sheepish, but they relaxed their stances all the same. It was Geraldus, though, who spoke. “Your Grace,” he began. “There were reports of a blue dragon flying above the city. It looked to be headed north, outside of city limits, but then the wyrmlings appeared in its wake…”

                “Its hatchlings, most likely,” Aeros warned.

                Thank you, Ansur. “Likely these are the dragons’ children,” Wyll voiced out loud. “I’m going to head north, then. Thin out their numbers as best you can. Geraldus, can you cover me?”

                “Yes, sir.” Geraldus gave a sharp salute.

                “The rest of you…” Wyll glanced around. “Godspeed.”

                “And to you, Your Grace.”

                In his attempts to get north of the city, Wyll purposely traversed roads where there would be fewer wyrmlings, but he and Geraldus still needed to cut several of them down. His mind was running a mile a minute. If he were going to take down an adult blue dragon, he would need a team.

                Cataclysm. He’d need Cataclysm. But how did he get in touch with them…?

                Jael was the first to arrive north of the city, which had not surprised her at all. Rhys and her clerics had bought her the chance to slip away, to be able to take down the big threat along with her team, though said team remained annoyingly absent.

                “Where are you?” she demanded into the sending stone.

                “Trying!” Torinn snapped at her. “There’s so many of these fuckers!”

                “Try harder,” Jael snapped back.

                “We’re coming back to the Gate,” Mira stated over the stone. “Where should we head?”

                Good. Someone dependable. Jael briefly gave her directions. “If you have company, I recommend letting them take care of the wyrmlings before joining us.”

                “Right, got it.”

                “I’m almost there,” Renorash spoke. “Kya and Florrick will take care of the little guys while we take on the big one.”

                Jael considered. Six of them should be enough to take on the adult dragon, assuming they all got there in time. Unfortunately, the dragon was not likely to wait overlong for them to arrive. The drow inhaled through her nose and turned toward where the dragon was meant to be. Was it suicide to head toward it by herself?

                “You,” a voice said, somewhat surprised. “Doomguide Tarrlok.”

                Her red eyes looked behind her, noticing Lelith’s husband. His outfit was splattered with blood. “Grand Duke Ravengard,” she responded with a polite nod. Her eyes flicked toward the figure behind him. “And…?”

                “Harper Geraldus,” the half-elf said by way of introduction.

                “Is this all we have?” Wyll questioned, brow furrowed.

                “My teammates are on the way, but I am unclear as to when they’re getting here.”

                Wyll nodded slowly. “We’ll have to make due with what we have for now.” He placed a hand on his drake’s—when did he get a drake?—head and glanced past her. “Are we ready?”

                “Ready,” Jael confirmed.

                “Ready,” Geraldus echoed, sounding less confident.

                Jael touched her finger to the sending stone. “We’re going in. Join us as soon as you can.”

                “Be there shortly,” Arlo responded curtly.

                “Coming,” Lyric sang, and something in that was unsettling…

                “We keep it at a distance as much as we can for now,” Wyll stated. “We can change tactics once our allies arrive.”

                “Yes, Your Grace.”

                “Let’s move,” Wyll ordered, and forward the trio went.

                There were three of them.

                Three of them he could count on to strategize against a damned adult dragon. It was a small favor that the dragon wasn’t older, and, yet, he still worried about the odds. Wyll was rapidly regaining his strength and fighting prowess, thanks to Minsc’s “lessons,” but he didn’t feel confident in his abilities quite yet. He knew that Jael was very powerful—being in the favor of the God of Death was a huge boon in itself—but he didn’t know how practiced a fighter Geraldus was. Being a member of the Harpers meant he had to have some prowess; was it enough to stand toe to toe with a dragon? He had helped take down quite a few wyrmlings, but…

                The instinct to keep it at a distance was a good one, he thought. Carefully, the three crept forward, inching toward where the dragon had landed, not wanting to alert it to their presence before they were ready to launch their attack. Aeros skulked quietly behind them, silent for the first time since Ansur had assumed the form.

                As they approached, it struck Wyll how…calm the dragon was. The beast was seated as though waiting for something. Wyll glanced to his companions and made a silent gesture of approach before Jael suddenly gripped his hand.

                “Whatever surprise you were intending to launch,” she whispered harshly, “it’s about to get ruined.”

                “What?” Wyll hissed back, surprised.

                Less than a second later, the sound of a small stampede filled the air. Wyll was flummoxed as he watched five giant combatants fly by them with a tiny blue blur perched on a large minotaur’s shoulders.

                “Lyric,” Jael growled.

                “Move!” barked another voice. Wyll noticed not far behind them were other faces in Cataclysm he remembered—the paladin, the fighter, and the ranger. They sped by without physically acknowledging the group, though the fact that Jael bolted after them indicated they were in some form of contact.

                Wyll mutely looked to Geraldus, who returned the gaze with a wide-eyed one of his own. “So much for careful planning.”

                “Adventurers have a tendency of throwing a wrench into everything,” Geraldus agreed sympathetically.

                Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about numbers now. Hoisting himself to his feet, Wyll gestured for Geraldus to follow him. Both of them sprinted forward to join Cataclysm in the battle.

                Wyll was too far away to hear specifics of what the dragon was saying to the group—only low, threatening growls, but he did notice how easily its claw swiped away the charging fivesome. Lyric, at the last second, dove from the minotaur’s shoulders out of the way, landing hard on the ground and rolling with the momentum. The genasi got up gingerly, looking worse for wear, but the familiar glow of magic surrounded her to heal her injuries.

                The dragon’s head twisted toward the dragonborn, and Torinn was entirely still. When he turned his head, though, normally pink eyes were glowing a deep, unsettling purple.

                “A Dominate spell?” Geraldus wondered aloud.

                “It seems likely,” Wyll agreed, watching as the dragonborn lifted his axe against Arlo. It was enough they had to contend with all those wyrmlings along with who he assumed was the parent, but now they needed to worry about one of their own, a powerful one of their own, attacking the rest of them?

                Things were not looking good. But Wyll knew that any moment could turn the tides, and even the smallest misstep could cost them greatly. He focused on his breathing as he advanced, attempting to clear his mind of distraction.

                “Mighty warrior! Have you lost your honor!?” …ah. Minsc had found his way to the battle. The berserker came out of nowhere, charging at Torinn. He tackled the dragonborn to the ground. “Allow me to be your opponent as a warrior of similar size!”

                That was one problem solved, but it left them a person (well, two people) down from taking down the dragon until the spell dissipated. And, truthfully, they could use someone on the front line, but they—

                Oh, Hells. What was that?

                The form of a second dragon filled the sky. Wyll’s heart dropped into his stomach as he saw the red color, knowing that reds were the most vicious of all. Two dragons attacking at the same time would be—

                Wait. There was a figure riding on the back of that red dragon. The figure had armor that glistened in the sun, making it hard to tell whom it was, but, when said figure turned toward him, he knew exactly who it was.

                Wyll’s jaw dropped. “Lae’zel!”

                Lae’zel, gone seven months in the name of liberating her people from Vlaakith, gone seven months fighting in the Astral Plane. Despite her young age, she was making instrumental changes for her people, and now she was back in the Material Plane. That deadly sword she carried was an ill omen for the blue dragon, indeed.

                From the back of her mount, Lae’zel leaped, that same massive sword held aloft. With a war cry, she thrust it down onto the beast’s neck. The dragon roared and attempted to wheel on her, but Lae’zel kicked off its side and out of dodge, landing easily next to Renorash.

                Without a second thought, Wyll rushed forward, eyes darting between the dragon and his friend. Aeros followed. “Welcome back, Lae’zel,” he greeted, nocking an arrow. With careful precision, Wyll shot it into the dragon’s knee joint, making it howl in pain.

                “It is good to fight alongside you once again,” Lae’zel greeted him in turn. “I suspect you have questions.”

                “Many, but now is not the time.” He glanced to the side. Minsc was still wrestling with Torinn, who looked like he was trying to strangle the berserker. “Let’s do this.”

                Lae’zel nodded firmly before turning back toward the creature. She took a running leap to strike at the beast again, this time landing on its back to stab the sword there. When the dragon yowled, she jumped off to the other side to flank the creature. That gave Renorash an opening to strike himself. Blade glowing with divine energy, his attack came complete with a powerful smite.

                “We’re doing it!” Lyric cheered. She turned toward Wyll and stretched out a palm. He felt a rush of energy surge through him as he darted forward to slash with his blades, Aeros close behind.

                “Impudent little insects!” the dragon howled. “I will end you all!” It reared back its head and let loose a stream of lightning at all of them.

                None of them were quite fast enough to evade the breath attack. The scent of singed skin and clothing was nauseating. Fortunately, relief came quickly as a familiar warm feeling surrounded him. His mind went to Shadowheart, but it was not that half-elf that joined them. Instead, Mira, the party’s druid, rushed forward, her form already glowing like a starry night sky. Floating beside her was an ethereal chalice, and…Wyll had questions, but, again, now was not the time to ask.

                “I’ve got your backs,” she reassured them.

                “Get off me and start attacking the actual threat!” Evidently, whatever happened had loosened the spell on Torinn, and he was angry. The dragonborn planted a firm boot in the middle of the berserker’s chest sent him stumbling backward. He then leaped to his feet and glowered at the creature, hissing an insult in Draconic that Wyll would never repeat in polite company. Reaching for his greataxe, he charged forward, bellowing loudly.

                “Wait for Minsc!” Minsc quickly scrambled to his feet to follow suit.

                “We’ve almost got it!” Renorash was admirably cool under pressure. “Everyone, concentrate your attacks on the dragon!” He charged forward again. His comrades followed, readying weapons and spells with everything they had for one final assault.

                The flurry of melee strikes and magical blasts following the order was something to behold. The killing blow came courtesy, fittingly, of Torinn’s greataxe. The enraged dragon let out one final scream of pained fury before it collapsed to the ground, dead.

                “We did it!” Wyll felt a rush of relief. He looked to Geraldus first, who appeared stunned in the best way possible, before his attention turned toward the others. In the aftermath of a tough battle, he would have thought his fellow fighters would be relieved or proud of what they had accomplished. But, instead, he noticed that none of Cataclysm was smiling.

                Something was wrong. Very wrong. They were all staring at Torinn, who was deathly still. Upon closer inspection, he could see the slight tremble in the man’s arms, fists clenched, that grew slowly more intense until he was shaking. An angry scream burbled from Torinn’s throat, and the dragonborn threw down his weapon, letting out another string of curses in Draconic that Wyll wouldn’t repeat in polite company.

                “Torinn,” began Mira worriedly.

                “Don’t,” Torinn warned her. “Don’t say a fucking thing.”

                “Babe,” Arlo tried.

                “Not you, either,” snarled the dragonborn. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

                “Torinn!” Renorash snapped.

                Torinn snarled and shoved Renorash hard. “I said to leave me the fuck alone!”

                The paladin’s eyes flashed as he shoved Torinn back. “What is your godsdamned problem!?” Torinn’s nostrils flared. His hand formed into a fist. Before he could throw a punch, though, he thought better of it and walked away. “Torinn,” Renorash barked.

                “Leave him,” Jael warned quietly.

                Renorash paused. “You know what this is about.” It wasn’t a question. Jael lifted her chin. “You’re not going to tell us.”

                “No,” she responded calmly. “I’m not.”

                Renorash breathed out and looked to Arlo. “Do you know?”

                Arlo shook his head, looking haunted. He slowly drew in his breath. “I’ll…need to take some of the dragon, then…”

                “Tchk!” Lae’zel took the opportunity to interrupt whatever was happening. Wyll was immediately, immensely grateful for this. Whatever was going on with the adventuring party, it was not any of the rest of their business, and she seemed keen to distract them from it. The githyanki walked around from the other side of the dragon. “A battle well fought. You are all fine warriors.” Her eyes took in the tense expressions around her. They ultimately fell on Arlo. She lifted her chin slightly. “Might I assist you in harvesting the corpse, ra’stil?”

                “Minsc shall assist, as well!” Minsc chimed in. “Boo says it is quicker work with additional capable hands!”

                Arlo nodded mutely and headed toward Lae’zel. Wyll took in the others around him, eyes falling on Mira and Lyric as they huddled close together. He closed his eyes to gather himself momentarily. He may not be the Grand Duke that Cataclysm was used to working with, but he was still a Grand Duke, and they needed a supportive leader now.

                “While they work on that,” he began, “let’s compare notes on the wyrmlings.”

Chapter Text

                Mavari was aware that Lelith’s eyes were on her.

                They had decided to let Mavari ride atop Flash while she listened to the Cataclysm sending stone—it would allow her to better concentrate on what she was hearing. There was a long stretch of silence—she estimated they had come together to fight then deal with the aftermath. But not knowing was gnawing at her, so, after a few more moments, Mavari lifted a hand to the stone. “What’s going on?”

                “Sooo, good news,” Lyric’s voice chirped. The Tiefling knew immediately from her tone that she was faking positivity. “The dragon’s dead and everyone’s alive!” She added a tiny: “Whoo…”

                “And?” Mavari questioned.

                “And…it was a blue dragon!”

                “And?”

                “And there were like millions of wyrmlings running around the Gate that a bunch of us came together and—”

                “Lyric,” Mavari interjected. “What happened that you’re trying to hide from me?”

                “Nothing,” the bard insisted a little too quickly.

                “Lyric!”

                “Okay, fine, Torinn got, like, mind controlled or whatever, and then he got pissed and walked away from us, and now everyone’s—”

                Her blood ran cold. Alarm bells were blaring in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of the questions that came to mind—not without ruining Torinn’s trust in her. Mavari inhaled deeply, racking her brain for how best to respond, but her thoughts were cut off by their cleric.

                “The six of us took down the dragon,” Jael, voice calm, spoke, “along with the Grand Duke of the Wyrm, a Harper, Minsc of Rashemen, and their githyanki companion.”

                “Blue dragon,” Mavari repeated to Lelith. “Defeated by your husband, Cataclysm, a Harper, Minsc, and…your githyanki companion?”

                “Lae’zel?” Lelith straightened. “She’s returned?”

                Mavari didn’t know how to respond to that, but Jael spoke in her ear again: “Many came out to take care of the dragon’s wyrmlings in the streets. We are headed back into the city to assess the situation. The actual battle took place north of city limits, so we’re hoping the damage to the city proper is minimal.”

                “Wyrmlings in the streets,” Mavari dictated. “Dragon was fought outside of city limits, but they’re on their way to assess damage to the Gate. Lot of people stepped up to take care of the wyrmlings.”

                “I see.” Lelith pursed her lips.

                “How’s Grand Duke Wyll holding up?”

                “He’s doing well. He’s a capable and caring leader.”

                Mavari nodded and thanked her before turning her attention back to Lelith. “Sounds like Wyll did a good job. I—”

                “Mavari.” That time, it didn’t come through the sending stone. She recognized a private Sending spell from Jael any day. Mavari paused. “You have likely already pieced together what happened to Torinn. The dragon was not the same one, but it seems to be related somehow.”

                Shit. She breathed through the panic rising in her chest before responding. “Did it mention her name at all? It had to be in service to the Maelstrom, right? I hope this isn’t foreshadowing to something bigger.”

                Mavari waited several moments but didn’t receive a message back. It was likely Jael ran out of the energy to cast another Sending spell, and she wouldn’t risk talking about this over the team’s stone. She exhaled and looked toward Lelith. “I think we’re going to end up having several conversations once we’re back,” she began, “but, for now, we can make our way home knowing things are in good hands.”

                Lelith nodded, though there was a look of trepidation on her face. Mavari couldn’t blame her—she sensed the paladin was not comfortable with situations where she wasn’t in control. Still, they faced forward and rode in silence until the caravan’s next stop.

                The cleanup crew arrived shortly after Arlo and Lae’zel had finished taking what each of them wanted from the dragon and Cataclysm took their leave. Wyll resisted the urge to rub his temples, instead focusing his nervous energy on cleaning his short swords. “What should we do with this one, sir?” one of the cleaners pressed, eyeballing the dragon’s corpse.

                Wyll considered for a moment. “I want its scales,” he decided. “Once you have them, deliver them to my estate. As for the rest, proceed as we did last time.” They could at least try to get some good out of the attack.

                “Yes, sir.” The crew saluted him and got to work.

                “What of the wyrmlings?” Wyll turned and contemplated Florrick as she and his father approached him. Both had blood splatters on their clothing—they must have done quite a bit of cleanup work themselves. “Their bodies are littering the city.”

                A part of him was curious why the two Grand Dukes were asking him this when both had more experience governing than he did, but he assumed it was a sign of respect. They were meant to be equals, after all. Still, he felt that the diplomatic answer would be to ask for their opinion. “What do you think, Father?”

                Ulder considered his answer. “Let the people know that the bodies are free to whomever wishes to take them,” he decided. “Some of ours have already picked at the corpses. Whatever isn’t taken in two hours’ time, we’ll have disposed.”

                “Such a shame,” Wyll sighed. “That amount of meat could feed the city for a long time, if we had the time and resources to harvest all of it.” Let alone the storage to be able to keep the meat. What they got from the dragon alone would truly be enough. Perhaps he should take some dragon meat for their family. Certainly, there would be plenty to fill empty bellies in the Gate. It would be more wasteful to toss the remains, wouldn’t it?

                His father nodded in agreement. “A shame.” He frowned as he beheld the giant dragon’s carcass. “A second dragon attacking the city in a month. I suppose it is too much to ask for things to be quiet around here.”

                “We had six months, at least,” Florrick offered, “but you’re right. It doesn’t bode well.”

                None of them said the quiet part out loud—that they knew better than to assume anything around Baldur’s Gate would ever be quiet.

                “It would be best to be proactive about this,” Wyll remarked. “When Lelith returns, we can discuss our next steps.”

                His fellow Grand Dukes nodded in agreement, and then the three of them fell silent. As though she had been waiting for the opportunity to interrupt, Lae’zel approached the trio. She nodded deferentially to the other two Grand Dukes before turning her attention to Wyll. “It is good to see you, ra’stil. When may I be able to speak with you privately?”

                Wyll felt a rush of relief. He badly needed some time to connect with an old friend. Still… He turned to Florrick and his father. “Have we concluded our business?”

                “Go, my son,” Ulder granted with a smile, nodding toward Lae’zel. “You have done more than enough for the city this day.”

                “We’ll take it from here,” Florrick added. With a respectful salute, both elder Grand Dukes took their leave.

                Wyll watched them go before he turned his attention to his githyanki friend. He offered her a broad smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Lae’zel,” he greeted her.

                She tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps you should get your eye checked, Wyll. I cannot imagine it is comfortable. Can you see properly?”

                “Oh, no, it…” He paused. Perhaps idioms were not the most important thing to discuss with the woman at this time. Wyll chuckled. “Perhaps I should,” he said instead. “Would you care to walk with me, my friend?”

                Lae’zel nodded once as they fell into step. He had nearly forgotten her usual quick clip, but she adjusted quickly to his slower pace—for now. He imagined it was only a matter of time before she was moving them along faster.

                “I have to admit,” he began, “I was not expecting to see you back in Faerun so soon.”

                Her lips twisted. “Nor did I,” she admitted, “but my people made efficient work of Vlaakith. My part is done, ra’stil. Now is the time for Orpheus’s duty.”

                Quietly, Wyll wondered if letting Orpheus live was a wise decision on his wife’s part. Though Orpheus was different than other mindflayers, he was, at the end of the day, still a mindflayer. Even the prince had recognized that, one day, he would turn. What protocols were being put in place to take care of him when that day came? Who would lead the githyanki then? Would they fall into the same trap they’d had before? A concern left to the gith, and, yet, he couldn’t help but worry of what was to come.

                “Besides,” she continued, “I have unfinished business here in Baldur’s Gate. I should like to attend to it before I decide what my next step will be.”

                “I think that is wise.” Though, Wyll was curious. She had wanted to be a warrior her entire life—born and raised into it. What could have called her to the Gate to change her mind?

                …well. He had one inkling, but he wasn’t sure Lae’zel had realized it herself.

                She tipped her head. “Those warriors that fought the dragon with us,” she began. “What are their names?”

                “Oh, they call themselves Cataclysm.” Lae’zel shot him an alarmed look. He chuckled. “Some adventurers choose to name their collective group for simplicity’s sake. We were advised not to ask about theirs.”

                “Cataclysm,” she repeated. “Strange. Why did we never have a name?”

                He tipped his head. “You’re right,” he admitted. “For a group that was so fond of titles, we never did come up with one for our collective selves. Perhaps it never occurred to us?” Or, he thought, most of us didn’t think we’d stick around as long as we had. “Should we come up with a name now?”

                “Hmm,” Lae’zel mused. She shot him a wicked look. “How about Istiks?”

                “Hey!” He laughed.

                Her expression turned solemn again. “I would like to speak with this…Cataclysm.”

                “Ahh.” He nodded. “We will need to go to the Blushing Mermaid, then.”

                “Is not the Blushing Mermaid the spot where the pirate woman was gutted like a fish?”

                He coughed politely. “It’s under new management.” A beat. “Cataclysm owns it, actually. They use it as their home base.”

                “Wonderful. Let us go to the Blushing Mermaid and meet with this Cataclysm, then.” And there it was, Lae’zel’s quickened pace, despite the fact that she didn’t know how to navigate the Upper City streets. “You will introduce me.”

                “Of course,” he agreed readily.

                “Where are the others?” she questioned. He noted how casual she tried to sound, finding it very curious. Perhaps she did realize that—well, he’d certainly find out soon if that were the case. But Wyll obliged as he began to update Lae’zel on their teammates’ lives since they were together.

                “Do we really need this many wyrmling carcasses?” asked Renorash, furrowing his brow.

                “Yes,” Lyric insisted. “We’ll run specials with dragon meat. It’ll make a killing, and we will save on supplier costs!”

                “It’s going to stink up the downstairs,” complained Arlo.

                “Not if the crew works fast, it won’t.” Lyric whistled to get a crew member’s attention and tossed them a bag of gold. “Do a thorough job cleaning those corpses, and we’ll talk bonuses, kay?”

                “Yes, Miss Lyric,” they nodded enthusiastically before hurrying downstairs.

                “Besides,” Lyric continued, waving a hand, “we can harvest the scales for armor, right?”

                “The entire Gate’s going to be covered in blue scale mail.” Kyarra’s eyes slid to her husband’s. “Should we have gotten one for Gemma?”

                “If I know our wife,” he muttered, “she’s already dragged three into the house for her own use.”

                “I wonder if wyrmling meat tastes different,” Lyric mused.

                “Compared to what?”

                “Well, I mean…veal is more tender than beef, right? What if it’s the same for dragons of different ages?”

                “It is,” confirmed Halsin, “and meat from different types of dragons vary, as well. I would advise against eating green dragon, however.” He and Mira wandered up to the bar hand in hand, having just arrived in time to overhear the present conversation. “Though I do not anticipate many of your customers will have had the opportunity to tell the difference before now.” He sighed heavily. “What a waste of life. All those children…”

                “Blue wyrmlings bent on destruction, Archdruid,” Arlo reminded him. “If we didn’t kill them, how many people would they have killed?”

                Halsin shook his head sadly. “Be that as it may, it feels as though this should have been avoidable. I understand this is not the normal territory for a blue dragon.”

                “It’s not,” Arlo agreed. “They’re usually drawn to deserts and are extremely territorial. If one had been in the area, we would have known well before now.”

                “So, something again brought the blue dragon here, most likely.” Renorash rubbed his chin. “And whatever it was also was powerful enough to bring its eggs.”

                “You know who we should talk to about this,” Lyric piped up. “We need to pick a wizard’s brain.”

                “Poppy?” Mira suggested.

                “That Tiefling wizard Mavari’s friends with?” Arlo considered.

                “I mean, they’re not bad options, but…” She leaned forward on her elbows. “We need to talk to Gale Dekarios.”

                “That’s a fantastic idea, Lyric,” praised Halsin. She beamed. “Gale is the most accomplished wizard I know. If anyone will have an idea how this was achieved, it would be him.”

                “Poppy will be very cross with you if we don’t at least try to ask her,” Mira warned.

                “Yeah, yeah, let her be mad.” Lyric waved a hand dismissively, not concerned at all with the gnome’s feelings. “Besides, I haven’t been to Waterdeep in forever.”

                Mira froze. But it was Arlo who spoke for her: “We shouldn’t go anywhere until Mavari and Torinn are back.”

                “He’s still not back, huh?” Lyric looked sympathetic. Arlo shook his head, and, for the first time in a long time, he looked worried. That was unusual for the gloomstalker. “Don’t worry, Arlo. I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.

                Arlo grunted. “Are you going to give us drinks or what?”

                “Oh, yeah.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay! Who wants what?”

                “I see your meeting didn’t last long,” Rion commented sarcastically.

                “Oh, don’t start with me, girl,” Jaheira grumbed. But, naturally, she had done a little too good of a job teaching her daughter how to question everything, because the look that transpired between her eldest daughter and son indicated that this conversation was going to go on for a while. “I was there long enough,” she continued. “But an emergency here warranted my attention.”

                Here being the Gate, and, more specifically, her home. Though they could have gone to the Blushing Mermaid at the open invitation, the tense conversation that was sure to follow was better had in private when nosy eyes and ears couldn’t glean whatever information they wanted from the trio.

                “You’ll never be able to leave, Mother,” Jord quipped lightly. “Any time Baldur’s Gate is in trouble, you’re not too far behind attempting to save it.”

                “We had things covered,” Rion added, narrowing her eyes at the elder half-elf. Jaheira pretended not to notice her around her wine glass. “Look at me, Mother!” The High Harper, though she wanted to be cantankerous, met her daughter’s eyes. “You can’t just shirk whatever duty you deem unimportant in the name of something better.”

                “I do not shirk duty,” she argued automatically.

                “Do not,” Rion growled, “even start with me.”

                And Jaheira didn’t, because she was well aware of what one of those duties Rion mentioned might be. Instead, she sighed. “Do you need topped off?”

                Rion stared at her for a long moment. “Fine.” She nudged her glass forward.

                “How long will you keep doing this, Mother?” Jord questioned calmly. “You deserve the chance to rest sometime.”

                Jaheira whuffed a laugh. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, Jord.”

                “Sooner than later at this rate,” Rion muttered coolly.

                Again, Jaheira ignored her. “I can’t sit still, anyway.”

                “You always tend to be running from something,” Jord noted wistfully. “It would be nice to see you accept things for how they are and learn how to enjoy life.”

                She had to swallow some wine quickly to avoid the immediate balking reaction. “I enjoy life just fine.”

                She really didn’t like the way her kids exchanged glances again.

                Jael was a late arriving to the Blushing Mermaid. Surprisingly, Rhys elected to join her. When she questioned this, he rubbed his temple and sighed, “Parliament’s going to be a nightmare tomorrow, so I might as well drink to cope with it.”

                Well, she wasn’t sure that was the correct answer, but she wasn’t going to dissuade him from his decision. When they arrived, she noticed that none of her teammates were gathered by the bar as she anticipated. Had they gone downstairs? Stalwart, dependable Tabi glanced at her and inclined her head toward the stairs. “The peanut gallery’s upstairs. You want your usuals?”

                “Please,” Jael agreed. Two glasses of wine later, and they headed up stairs and to the right into the private room. Her eyes immediately took inventory of the inhabitants: Lyric, Mira, Halsin, Kyarra, Renorash, Arlo. Thus far, they seemed at worst pleasantly buzzed as a collective, and so she wasn’t overly concerned. She nodded to her husband before settling on floor pillow with the group.

                “Welcome to the circle of misery,” Lyric sang.

                “Don’t be so dramatic,” Jael said dryly.

                “Um, hello, I’m the bard. What am I supposed to be?”

                “Pardon the interruption, but might we join you?”

                Jael glanced up at the familiar voice and, though her face didn’t register it, was surprised to see Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard standing there. Beside him was a githyanki woman who looked familiar. The one whose projection was at the resurrection ritual, she realized. “Your Grace,” she began.

                “Don’t stand on my behalf,” Wyll chuckled, causing both Mira and Lyric, both who had started, to fall onto their backsides a little hard. “I’m not here on business. And,” he added, smiling at Jael, “call me Wyll.”

                “Wyll,” Halsin greeted warmly, clearly sensing that the rest of the group was a bit too starstruck to do anything at the moment. “Lae’zel. It is good to see you in the flesh. Am I to assume your mission was successful?”

                “Archdruid.” Lae’zel nodded to him. “Yes. Vlaakith has been vanquished, and my people are instilling new leadership in her place. My task as Mla'ghir is complete.”

                “I see.” Something in his tone had caught Jael’s interest. Halsin seemed…dubious? She understood why he would be, if that were indeed the case. Her own military past taught her that it was unwise to leave a situation so shortly after successfully defeating an enemy. It left it open and vulnerable to the enemy taking over. Halsin must have recognized this as well—walking away may have left Lae’zel’s people in a bad state.

                The githyanki tipped her head. “I do not leave them without protection, Archdruid. Kith’rak Voss is there by Orpheus’s side. His blade can and will act as is required.”

                Something in that statement seemed heavy, but Halsin nodded, gesturing toward the empty pillows. “Please, sit. Join us.”

                “We have wine and ale here,” Lyric chirped, remembering herself, “but we can get you anything you’d like!”

                “I’ll have an ale,” Wyll responded, smiling at her. “Lae’zel?”

                “It has been some time since I’ve had wine,” she admitted. “I would like a glass, I think.”

                “Red or white?” Arlo asked, reaching for the bottles.

                “Who drinks white wine?”

                Halsin cleared his throat comically. Mira glanced over at him and grinned. He easily wrapped his arm around her to draw her to his side, where she settled comfortably.

                Once the two newcomers had their drinks, Wyll looked around those gathered. “I suspect we will all need to talk next steps, but, for now, I’d like to revel with the group of brave heroes that helped save Baldur’s Gate.” He raised his glass. “To new allies and friendships!”

                The group cheered and lifted their own glasses, then they all drank together. Jael privately smiled to herself. It seemed Baldur’s Gate was in good hands.

                “What kind of dance is that?” Lia laughed. “You look like a chicken.”

                Their trip that day had been mostly uneventful. Their leaders were a bit subdued, but, from what Mavari had said, it sounded like her teammates and the people of the Gate had handily taken care of the dragon earlier. There was, naturally, some unrest surrounding this—of course the newly recovered Tieflings were apprehensive about heading toward danger—but Lelith was quick to assure them that any problems were handled swiftly and effectively. Karlach, perhaps unhelpfully, pointed out their trip to Avernus, and that had caused a bit of a sullen acceptance from the group.

                But, now, they had set up camp for the night. After dinner was finished and cleaned up, the Tieflings dispersed to relax as they would. At this hour, Doni and Gan were (supposedly) asleep. Some of the rest of their number retired to their tents to do the same, some doing so to prepare for their watch shifts. Others chose to relax on their own, away from the group. Four of them—Lia, Rikka, Guex, and Cal—were not slated for watch duty at all and decided to relax around the fire, chatting and drinking.

                Presently, Lia was leaning back against Rikka’s chest as the potter wrapped her arms around the archer. They were watching as Guex demonstrated some sort of dance by himself and, in her opinion, made himself look ridiculous doing so.

                “Of course it looks wrong with only one person dancing,” Guex scoffed, waving off her criticism. “The waltz is a dance meant for two. One of you is welcome to join me.”

                “Sorry,” Rikka noted cheerfully, “I’m a little stuck.”

                “Sorry,” Lia replied with equal cheer, “I’m the reason she’s stuck.”

                “Don’t look at me,” Cal said, lifting his hands. “I can’t dance.” (That was a complete lie, but Lia wasn’t going to give her brother away.)

                “Well, I…” Guex floundered. Lia noted with amusement how put out he looked by this. He glanced to the side as someone walked past. “You, Zevlor’s girl!”

                “I have a name,” Mavari said dryly.

                “Can you dance?”

                Mavari shot Lia a questioning look. The ranger held her hands up in a what can you do gesture. She suspected Guex was going to make himself a nuisance until he got the answer he wanted. “I can dance. Why?”

                “Come help me show these rapscallions how it’s done.” The man shot a glare at the reclining trio.

                “Rapscallions, huh?” Mavari smirked. “Fine.” She pivoted and headed toward Guex.

                “Mavari’s going to show you up, Guex,” Lia teased.

                “Mavari,” Guex spoke grandly, ignoring Lia but now at least using her name. “A waltz, if you please, madam.” He held up his arms in the ready position. She shook her head and took the position with him. Humming under his breath, Guex started to guide her through the steps, but…

                “Guex is in the lead position,” Rikka commented. “Why are you trying to back lead?”

                “Back lead?” Guex asked, sounding offended.

                “Because he’s a half-step behind count,” Mavari retorted flatly.

                “Half-step behind count!?” He looked ready to throw a fit.

                “You have an idea of what you’re doing in terms of movement,” the woman explained, “but your sense of rhythm leaves something to be desired.”

                “I beg your pardon!?” Guex looked like he didn’t know whether to shout or cry.

                “Guex,” Zevlor spoke calmly. Somehow over the course of the dance, he had appeared and was presently quietly standing off to the side, arms crossed. He was observing the situation quietly. “May I…?”

                The young man gave a derisive sniff. “Fine.” He stepped back from Mavari and gestured for Zevlor to take his place. The Commander came forward and smiled at his partner, giving her a grand bow. Mavari returned it with a curtsy. The two of them took the proper stance and moved elegantly across the space. Whereas she tried to take control of the situation with Guex, Mavari didn’t fight against Zevlor’s lead, instead allowing him to guide her beautifully threw the movements. Their eyes remained locked on one another as they were lost in the moment and each other, smiling serenely.

                “Whoa,” Rikka breathed. Lia had to agree.

                As though remembering where they were and who they were surrounded by, the moment ended, and the group applauded politely. Mavari smiled at them before she threaded her fingers with Zevlor’s. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said demurely. “Thank you for the dance,” she added to Guex. Nodding to the group, it was her turn to lead Zevlor, presumably headed toward their tent.

                “Shit,” Rikka laughed. “Okay, fine. They’re a beautiful couple.”

                Lia nodded and looked up at her girlfriend. “Aren’t they? Think it’s good for him to have someone like her around. They’re good for each other, really.”

                “It’s sweet,” Rikka agreed. “Makes him seem more…untouchable, if that makes sense.”

                “It does.” They saw the infallible Hellrider fall months ago, shattering the illusion of the invincible commander. Now, as that image was being rebuilt, they got to see him being a person with feelings. It did a lot of good for the Tieflings. And, though those in the Gate had longer to adjust to this, it was nice to see even just one of the Tieflings from the encampment coming around to accepting him.

                “I still can’t believe anyone would sleep with the old man,” Guex complained.

                Lia threw her shoe at him.

Chapter Text

                By this point, Mattis knew the streets of Lower City like the back of his hand. Upper City? Well, he was working on it. It was considerably harder for a Tiefling kid to wander amongst the rich without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Sure, Lelith lived there, but most Tieflings were only seen there if they were part of the help. He might have been fond of testing the limits, but he wasn’t stupid.

                Especially not now. Mattis felt a huge responsibility for the other kids, especially after everything they had been through. He hadn’t quite forgiven the adults for abandoning them like they did, but he was a professional. He could quietly resent them while smiling in their faces as easily as he could breathe. But forget that it happened? No. That, he never would.

                Once, in a moment of weakness, he had commandeered the journal for himself, writing out his frustrations to Mavari. He wrote about how he resented the adults for leaving them behind. He expressed how angry he was at Zevlor for putting them in that position, but eventually acknowledging how he wouldn’t have let them be abandoned like that. And there was anger, so much anger, for the fact that his parents’ deaths put him and Silfy in this position.

                Mavari responded almost immediately after he finished writing, too. In it, she reassured him that his feelings were valid, and that she didn’t hold his anger against him. She said she understood what it felt like to feel unwanted by the adults meant to protect them, and she confided that she never knew her parents. She revealed that she grew up taking care of herself but that, as long as she was around, she was going to keep an eye out for the kids.

                He tore out those pages, telling himself it was so the others didn’t see their conversation, but the truth was he wanted to keep them for himself. And Mattis looked back on the pages more than he’d like to admit. Over the months, Mavari was the one adult who had earned his respect. He felt…strangely safe with her.

                He knew that was stupid. Adults couldn’t be trusted. And, yet, he liked her. And Silfy absolutely adored her. But—

                —he whirled around as something whizzed past his ear. In rapid succession, he was pushed against the wall, his back connecting hard against the brick. Mattis stifled a cry and reached for a dagger he filched from Mavari, instinctively lifting it to his assailant’s neck. Almost immediately, he felt the tip of a blade against his cheek.

                “If you’re smart,” Mol told him smugly, “you’ll drop that sorry excuse of a weapon.” Mattis swallowed hard, but he opened his palm. The dagger clattered to the ground. “Good.” She stepped back, twirling her own knife with deft fingers before sheathing it. “You’ve lost your touch, Mattis.”

                He made a face at her and quickly scooped to retrieve the dagger. “Is that why you wanted to meet with me?” he groused, tucking it away. “To gloat?”

                “Of course not, stupid.” She hoisted herself up on a crate. “Sit down, will you?” In this back alley, they were unlikely to be interrupted. However, as she withdrew a small package from her pocket, her eyes did not stop scanning their surroundings. Mol held the bag out toward him. “Take one.” When he didn’t move, she slid her eyes toward him. “Oh, come on. They’re not poisoned or anything.”

                Mattis leveled a look at her before he reached into the bag to withdraw a cookie. Mol nodded in approval before grabbing one herself. Still, he waited for her to take a bite before he would eat his, irritated that the damn thing was…not as good as what Bex made, but it wasn’t bad.

                “What do you want, Mol?” he asked plainly.

                She snapped off another bite of cookie. “What, I can’t want to catch up? I haven’t seen you in months.”

                “Yeah?” Mattis scowled at her. “Whose fault is that?”

                “Come off it, Mattis, that’s not something to say to an old friend,” she crowed. “Especially not one who has a business proposal for you.”

                That was it? Nothing about why she left them alone for so long? Mattis nudged away the bag of cookies. Still…he was curious. “What’s that?”

                “I’ve made a name for myself within the Guild,” she said proudly. “I’ve got my own men and everything.”

                Mattis was well aware of what the Guild was. The hero was said to have worked with them, and he knew that the Cataclysm member in black would head down to their base frequently. They said Nine-Fingers Keene was the real power in Baldur’s Gate, but he also heard how much her forces had been decimated thanks to the Stone Lord months ago. Having to resort to hiring agents from another group? It wasn’t promising. Still, he entertained Mol with a tilt of the head. “And?”

                “Guy named Osgur Hallorn in the Upper City,” she began, “used to employ kids like us. Old bag got himself killed by the Stone Lord, and so Nine-Fingers took us into the Guild. Now I’m in charge. We gather intel and relieve people of their things. It’s what I trained all of you to do, isn’t it?” Mol beamed at him. “You’d be perfect as our master of coin.”

                Oh, she had a way of selling it to make it sound appealing. And a part of Mattis was intrigued, but a larger part of him was…angry. Yes, she was offering him what he wanted, but at what cost? “What’s the catch?” he asked bluntly.

                “There’s no catch,” Mol said smoothly. A little too smoothly.

                “You want something,” Mattis accused. “I’m not stupid.”

                Mol paused for a moment before pocketing the cookies. “Information,” she spoke calmly. “I need everything you can give me on that Cataclysm group.”

                Mattis clenched his jaw. “What?”

                She leaned back on her palms. “You and the kids have been living in the basement of their house for how long now? Surely, you’ve seen something. I know the hero is parading them around like the premiere adventuring group. I want to know why.”

                “And,” Mattis asked coolly, “who put you up to this?”

                “You think someone put me up to this?” She feigned innocence.

                “You don’t care about anything unless you benefit from it.”

                “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mol shot a look at him. “Everything I’ve been doing has been to take care of my kids.”

                That set him off. “Really? Is that why you completely ignored us since we got here?”

                “I had to set a foundation.” Mol was trying to sound calm, but there was a tinge of anger to her tone. She didn’t like being challenged. “I couldn’t bring you into something until I knew you’d flourish.”

                “Bullshit.” Mattis glowered at her. “If we didn’t have the basement, we’d still be on the streets.” Or worse.

                “And aren’t you so lucky that an adult saved you,” Mol said dryly. “I bet you think she really cares, don’t you?”

                “I know she does,” Mattis heard himself say. He immediately recognized two things: one, that he firmly knew it to be true, and two, that Mol was going to exploit this weakness immediately.

                “Adults only care about themselves,” Mol snarled. “I am the reason you all made it this far. I am the one who will protect you.”

                “You’re the one who abandoned us as soon as it was convenient,” Mattis snarled right back. “I was the one who protected the kids because you left.”

                “I’m back now.”

                “Forget it, Mol.” He jumped off the crate. “Whatever you have to sell, I’m not interested.”

                Mol let him get several steps away before she called, “You know, it would be a real shame if something happened to—”

                He whirled around, pointing at her. “Don’t,” he warned angrily. “The kids have a roof over their heads. The kids get food regularly. They’re happy.” Well, mostly. “Don’t you dare ruin this for them because you want to make a name for yourself.”

                Mol’s smile turned cruel. “Sure,” she replied, waving a hand. “It’s only a matter of time before old Zev ruins things for you again, isn’t it? How long until your new mommy kicks you out so she can have alone time with him?”

                Mattis’s blood ran cold. He spat out a curse in Infernal at her before turning to walk away as quickly as he could. Mol’s cold laugh echoed in the alley behind him.

                The Grove erupted into loud chaos when Mira revealed a dragon was attacking Baldur’s Gate. Immediately, she insisted she had to be there to help. Halsin and Jaheira were quick to join her. And, when they made their exit, things went downhill fast. Was it that the druids felt like they had to behave with the heroes in their midst, or was it the fact that there was another attack? Jerrick couldn’t be sure exactly, but the majority ruled that they were going to keep their circles separate from whatever was happening with “the outsiders.” He could tell from the subtle clench of his father’s jaw that he was unhappy with how things unfolded, but what could he do? He was outnumbered.

                The Enclave would potentially be very upset with him for this. That was his father’s cross to bear.

                The Harper let out a low, steady sigh before he stood. The amulet felt as though it were burning a hole in his pocket. After Mira’s quick departure, his dad had given it to him for safe keeping. Whatever secrets it held, he claimed, were better suited to be discovered by the Harpers than the Enclave. Jerrick suspected his father wanted to simply wash his hands of the affair but wasn’t going to say as much aloud.

                As he stood, a blue jay swooped and landed on his shoulder. The creature sang cheerfully before it whispered in his ear in Mira’s voice: “Help Clara with whatever she needs. Please.” Once the message was delivered, the bird flew off as quickly as it had arrived. He resisted the urge to sigh, but he felt a bit guilty over what had happened in New Reithwin, so he felt like he owed it to her to comply.

                To find wherever Clara went, then.

                “Jerrick,” he heard his oldest sister call. Jerrick paused as Alanna rushed up to join him, giving him a single nod of acknowledgment. He returned it.

                “What do you make of all this?” she asked, tilting her head toward the Sacred Pool behind them.

                “Honestly?” Jerrick sighed. “I think Mira’s master had a point. Some of those circles seem more willing to let the practice go extinct than dare to associate with anyone outside of it. It’s stupid.”

                “I agree. We’re…different.” She wasn’t wrong about that, either. James, Alanna, and Jerrick all took to city life relatively easily. It was their mother and Mira who struggled with it. Maybe that was why she was now the most powerful of the three of them in her druidic abilities. Once, he had been told he had the most natural talents—he knew Alanna had surpassed him a while ago, and now it was confirmed Mira surpassed both of them. Was that because she forged her own path? Followed her own way when they followed the family’s way? True that Jerrick did eventually buck tradition by joining the Harpers, but it wasn’t until after Mira had left to find herself first. “I wonder if it’s wishful thinking to feel like we were getting somewhere.”

                “Probably,” Jerrick admitted. He gave her a long look. “Mira asked me to look after her archdruid. The one in her circle, I mean, not Halsin. You don’t have to help.”

                “No,” Alanna said quietly. “I mean, I do. It feels like the least I can do, with…” She waved a hand. She didn’t have to elaborate—Jerrick knew. His sisters were once inseparable. Alanna was still carrying the guilt of their bond crumbling. “Besides, Dad’s going to the hut for a few days, and I’ve been told we’re not allowed.”

                …ah. Their parents’ new arrangement worked strangely well for them. Jerrick snorted but walked with her in silence otherwise.

                It didn’t take them long to find Clara. The woman was seated at her camp site, listening intently to a bird. Another Animal Messenger, Jerrick realized. As they approached her, Clara glanced their way and let the blue jay fly off. “Ah. Mira’s siblings. Jerrick and Alanna, yes?”

                “Yes, ma’am,” Alanna said deferentially, bowing respectfully.

                Jerrick, too, bowed. “Mira asked us to assist you however we can,” he began.

                Clara nodded slowly. “Good. You will be escorting me back to my home in Ten Towns.” She paused. “Getting there will not be a problem. But I will need assistance once I arrive.”

                The siblings glanced at each other. “What do you mean?”

                “Packing,” Clara said simply. Slowly, she rose to her feet. “I will not be staying in the Dale. Archdruid Halsin has graciously offered me a home in New Reithwin for my remaining days, and I am taking it.”

                The siblings exchanged glances. They were going to be helping her move? And why? What did she mean by remaining days?

                “Oh, pish. Don’t give me that look.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I have Bags of Holding for a reason. Transporting my things will not be a problem. I simply need the assistance packing.”

                Jerrick shrugged at Alanna. This wasn’t what he had been expecting, but it didn’t exactly sound hard. Besides, he was...curious about this Circle of Stars. Maybe this was his opportunity to learn? Silently, they watched as Clara opened a portal in a nearby tree. Once she entered, they were quick to follow her.

                Off to Icewind Dale, he supposed.

                These new Tieflings were quite fascinating. But, then, she knew they would be, didn’t she?

                The group had made sure that she was comfortable in the back of one of the carts, and Belleza was grateful. Though she was not quite so frail as they would like to believe, it was true that she was slower moving than the rest of them—or, rather, that she let them think she was. But it was all part of the grand illusion, wasn’t it?

                She knew overhearing everyone speak that they were almost to Baldur’s Gate, and she was eager to see what waited for her in the city. Oh, Belleza had ideas, all right. She made a point to share those ideas with the others whenever she could bend an ear.

                “I should like to have a temple in the city, I think,” she mused to Cal, whom they said would be spearheading the reconstruction efforts.

                “Sure,” Cal nodded, although she got the impression that he had no idea where to even begin.

                Belleza patted his (very nicely muscled) arm appreciatively. “Never you mind, sweetling. I’ll give you guidance once we find the perfect place for it.”

                “A temple to what?” Okta questioned, glaring at her. “You haven’t breathed a word about any of the gods, you old crone.”

                Belleza hummed in amused consideration—a gesture she knew would annoy the monk. Okta sniffed derisively and stalked off. The hoofed woman nodded and turned her head. “Boy!” she hollered. “My hooves need work!”

                “Coming, madam!” Guex called in response, hurrying toward her.

                She settled on a stump and lifted a foot as he set to work. This work, she knew, was much easier when the recipient was standing, but her bones were tired, and Guex was ever so accommodating with his work. “You really are quite good at this, you know,” she pointed out once he was nearly complete.

                Guex snorted as he polished her hooves. “I’m the only one you haven’t chased off the work, you mean.”

                “Because you’re the best one.” Once he had finished, she kicked her feet a little (carefully, so as not to whack him in the face) to admire his handiwork. “You should consider becoming a farrier in the city.”

                “Should I?” He considered it. “I supposed I was rather hoping I could—”

                “It’s honest work, and it’s not something a lot of people do, let alone successfully,” Belleza said firmly. “Would you not rather see people with hooves come to you than have to go to someone who treats animal hooves? Do you not think that humiliating? Would you not like to give them an entire experience?”

                Guex considered this harder. “Services to help with claws and hooves,” he mused. “Make them feel special. Perhaps I could offer drinks along with my services?”

                “Perhaps,” Belleza encouraged.

                He nodded and stood, turning to one of the Baldur’s Gate group. “Lakrissa! You said Bex and Danis run their own café…?”

                She smiled to herself. This new district would do wonderful things for their kin. She happily kicked her hooves again and was ready to stand before she felt a tingling sensation. Someone else was wished to chat with her, hmmm? Belleza instead sat back and looked up as the incubus’s warlock approached her.

                “Ahh, my dear,” Belleza mused. “I’ve been expecting you.”

                “I need to speak with you,” Mavari said flatly.

                “Of course. But first…” The sorceress snapped her fingers.

                Mavari gasped. “What did you do? It’s…quiet.”

                “You want to speak, and your patron wants to listen,” she said serenely. “I made it so he can’t, at least, for a short amount of time.”

                The younger Tiefling frowned at her but settled in, kneeling in front of the elderly woman. “You mentioned I have sorcerer’s blood,” she began. “What do you mean by that?”

                Belleza smiled. “Just that, my dear,” she replied sweetly. “You have sorcery in your bloodline. If I had to venture a guess, I would say on your mother’s side.”

                “How can you tell?” Mavari blurted out.

                “I have my ways.” Belleza tented her fingers.

                Mavari exhaled. “I never knew my parents,” she admitted slowly, “but I’ve…” She trailed off. Belleza waited expectantly. Whatever she was going to say, she changed her mind. “I don’t know why Urich doesn’t want me to know about my sorcery,” she decided, “but I want to know more about it myself. How do I go about doing that?”

                “My dear,” Belleza mused, “you will not find out anything about it so long as that demon is in your life.”

                Mavari jerked back. “What?”

                “Have you not come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want you to gain your own power?” Her voice was eerily calm. “You nurturing your innate sorcery would mean he has less power over you.” Mavari didn’t respond. Belleza leaned forward, giving her a plain look. “Ahh, I see. He’s given you an ultimatum.”

                The younger Tiefling jerked back again. “How did…?” She sighed, apparently answering her own question. “Yes. He did.”

                “You are uncertain about this ultimatum.” Mavari nodded mutely. “I have the means to help, if you’d want to grow in your sorcery, but we’ll need to be discrete.”

                Mavari straightened. “What do I need to do?”

                “Come find me once my temple is erected,” Belleza replied. “But, for now, you may want to distance yourself from me. My spell’s about done.”

                Mavari blinked at her once. After a breath, as though she were waiting to call the woman’s bluff, she excused herself. As she was walking away, Belleza saw the moment that the spell faded as the warlock gasped and grabbed the glowing sigil on her neck.

                Oh, yes. Everything was going accordingly.

                When the crow swooped in the window, Danis screamed, nearly dropping a full pot of coffee. Bex frowned at him and turned toward the counter, where the creature was strutting back and forth. “Oh, get out of here,” she complained, ready to shoo the thing off with a hand towel, but there was something tied to the creature’s leg. And, when it turned its head toward her, she saw the glowing green eyes.

                Those were familiar. They were the same eyes as the crows that Mavari summoned. Bex froze. Why would Mavari be contacting them? She thought Mavari hated them. An uncomfortable feeling roiled in her belly as she reached toward the crow. It inclined its head at her and cawed once, loudly, prompting her to shriek and snatch her hand back.

                The crow cackled and held up the foot with the paper tied to it. Bex gave it a critical look. Was the thing teasing her? She reached out to quickly untie the letter, then pulled it to her chest protectively. As soon as its foot was free, the crow extended its wings and bowed toward her before flying off.

                “What was that?” she muttered to herself.

                “Nothing to worry about, folks!” Danis quickly reassured their customers. He turned toward Bex and frowned. “What’s that?” he asked in a hushed tone.

                Mutely, she shook her head. Unfurling the letter, she scanned over contents. “It says that the group that went with Zorru is on their way back,” she spoke. “They were able to recover twelve of ours plus an additional Tiefling not originally from Elturel.”

                “Twelve,” Danis repeated in a hushed tone. “Oh. That’s good.”

                Her heart thumped in her chest. “Oh, Danis,” she sighed, feeling it swell with emotion. She turned toward him so that they could embrace each other tightly. After the horrors of the Shadow Cursed Lands, for a time, it felt hopeless that they’d ever see each other again. Then, once they reunited, it seemed the most they could hope for were those who had made it to Baldur’s Gate. But to know that twelve more of theirs had survived…

                Well, two and a half dozen Elturian Tieflings was still a fraction of what they had started with, but, between the ones who would be joining them and the ones that came with the other Hellriders, they might yet have a wonderful district for themselves in Baldur’s Gate.

                “They are said to be arriving tomorrow,” Bex added. She pulled back and set the note down so that she could wring her hands nervously instead. “The note doesn’t say who they rescued. Is it wrong of me to wish they had…?”

                Danis gave her a warm but sad smile. “Perhaps,” he spoke. “It may be quicker to remind ourselves who it wouldn’t be…”

                “You’re right,” she murmured. They all saw the bodies they buried at Last Light Inn. Ms. Okta was not among them, even if her son Ikaron was. Did she manage to survive, or did the cult take her, too…?

                Her beloved gave her a solemn look before nodding. “We should plan a welcome home party.”

                That caught her off guard. “Oh, Danis, that’s a wonderful idea, but we surely wouldn’t…”

                “We can close the shop tomorrow,” he offered. “Talk with Dammon and Alfira to figure out what kind of foods we can prepare. Offer your amazing desserts, but they’ll need something of substance after surviving off who knows what for however long.”

                She straightened. “Oh, Danis, you’re so clever!”

                He beamed bashfully. “We can see if the kids will decorate,” he continued enthusiastically. “It will be a wonderful way to welcome them home.”

                “Welcome them home,” Bex echoed. “Oh, Danis, you’re the sweetest, most considerate man!”

                The customers all knew well enough to avert their eyes when the Tiefling couple began kissing behind the counter. But that didn’t account for people who came into the store who were unfamiliar with the duo's behavior. Someone coughed politely, interrupting their moment. Bex pulled back first, Danis following her lips with his before he realized what was happening. “Hello,” she greeted formally. “May I help you?”

                Standing before her was a half-elf man with dark hair and sad blue eyes. He was wearing blue armor, similar in appearance to Zevlor’s, and glanced between them. “Hello,” he greeted softly. “I’ve been looking for a young Tiefling kid. Has one been by here?”

                Bex and Danis exchanged looks. Someone looking for one of the kids was a bad omen. The likelihood it was one of their kids was high, and Mavari would kill them if anything happened to them. “There’s a few children around these parts,” Danis responded. “You will need to be more specific.”

                “And,” Bex added, trying her best to mimic Mavari’s tough demeanor, “tell us why.”

                The half-elf gave them both an odd look. “I haven’t gotten a good look at them,” he began, “but, from what I can tell, they have red skin and are roughly…” He held a hand up in the air. “This tall?”

                The couple looked at each other again. Red skinned Tiefling child narrowed it down to three possible suspects: Mattis, Mirkon, and Umi. But the height that the man indicated was not tall enough for Mirkon, so that eliminated him as a possibility. Umi these days was less likely to run and more likely to confront. That left it at Mattis.

                …or was it possible that he saw Mol? Mol wasn’t underneath Mavari’s protection. Would they get in trouble if they said anything about her? She felt her beloved’s tail squeeze around hers and knew they were exactly in line with the other’s thoughts. They would not sell out one of their kin without good reason, no matter what.

                “Nobody comes to mind,” Bex lied smoothly. “But we can keep an eye out for you, Mister…?”

                “Geraldus, miss.” He offered her a tight smile. “Thanks for your help.”

                When Geraldus left, the couple bent their heads toward the other nervously. “How much of a problem do you think that man will be?” Bex whispered bluntly.

                “I surely don’t know,” Danis mused. But, for whatever just transpired, he seemed to get over it quickly. The man clapped his hands together. “So! What should we serve at the party, then?”

                Bex’s eyes lit up. Just like that, her worries dissipated. “I’ll send for Alfira and Dammon right away. This will be so fun.”

                “Are you certain of this, my heart?” Halsin’s hands slid expertly through her long hair. They stayed at the house last night, much to the surprise of Alfira when she came to retrieve the children. The bard quickly spluttered and averted her eyes when Halsin had strode out completely naked into the kitchen. Mira had promptly shooed him back into the bedroom to get decent. Still, the damage had been done, and she was only grateful the kids hadn’t come upstairs yet. She already was going to hear an earful about this from Mavari; it would be ten times worse if the kids were involved.

                Now that the Tieflings had left, and the druids had a chance to wake up properly, it was time to get ready for the day. Halsin had insisted on helping with her braid, and she was all too eager to agree. Thick fingers combing through her black locks felt soothing. So much so that she nearly forgot he had spoken to her.

                “My heart?” he repeated.

                She snapped back to reality. “Sorry,” she laughed. Then, Mira turned serious. “I am certain,” she murmured. “Jerrick will already be up there.” She hoped. “My guess is Alanna would have invited herself along, too. It’s…better if I see them alone, I think.” Mira paused. “Don’t get me wrong,” she quickly corrected herself. “They like you, I think.”

                “You think?” Halsin teased lightly.

                “Oh, stop it,” she grumbled. “They like you, but it’s been years since the three of us have been around each other at the same time. I think…it should just be them and me. If that makes sense.”

                “I shall trust you, then,” he said solemnly. “You know how to get in touch if you should require me.” His hands moved to braid the hair down her back. “I will be returning to New Reithwin to prepare a home for Clara. I anticipate it will be more comfortable for her stay there than in one of the huts.”

                “That’s a good idea.” She considered for a moment. “I will likely be spending more time in Reithwin, as well.”

                Halsin smiled, leaning in to kiss her shoulder. “I anticipated you might, my heart. You are welcome to live with me if you like.”

                Mira paused. Was this…too fast? The idea was certainly appealing, but, if she put it in comparison to Mavari and Zevlor, he still didn’t live with her, and they had been together much longer. Were they moving too fast? “Halsin,” she began cautiously. “I’m not against it, but let’s work our way up to it. I think I’d be more comfortable in one of the huts for a bit first. Maybe a small apartment.”

                He was, to his credit, not offended by this. Instead, Halsin smiled, kissing her shoulder again. “Of course.”

                “Thank you,” she whispered. “Feeling his hands trail along her upper arms, she drew in a slow breath. “Ready to go?”

                “Mmm.” He tipped her chin and captured her lips in a quick kiss. “Safe travels, my heart.”

                For Halsin, he was able to take advantage of one of the teleportation circles being established in the Blushing Mermaid’s basement to return to New Reithwin. Mira was not quite so lucky, but she did have her Tree Stride spell readily available.

                In order to move between locations via the trees, Mira had to be familiar with a tree to connect to it. Lonelywood, the town that was her home for a few years, was filled with them. But the one she had in mind was close to her druidic master’s home, tucked into the woods. As the portal yawned open, she stepped through.

                The first thing that struck her, even as the snow crunched beneath her feet, was how much warmer it was than last time. True, her then adventuring party knew it would take some time for Auril’s curse to dissipate in Ten Towns after the goddess's defeat, but it somehow still surprised her how the temperature now settled at “bearable cold” over “horribly frigid.” As she lifted her head toward Clara’s humble home, she noticed that light was glowing from all the windows. Her siblings must have beaten her there.

                She closed her eyes, taking a moment. It had been a long time since she’d been back to Ten Towns. Although “home” was somewhat of a flexible term for her, as someone who was used to picking up and moving where the team went or where her whims took her, this place was her home. And, now, with the move, it would be the last time she ever saw it.

                …perhaps she could ask the teammates who stayed behind in Ten Towns to look after it, if Clara didn’t have another idea for it. Surely, she shouldn’t just let it go to waste.

                Mira rolled her shoulders and inhaled deeply, walking toward the house. Carefully, she pushed the door open, and she felt her heart grow heavy. Beautiful built in shelves were half-empty as piles of books were on the floor. A Bag of Holding sat open beside them, presumably abandoned in the process of being packed. But there was no sign of Clara or her siblings, and that worried her.

                She cleared her throat. “Archdruid?” she called tentatively. “Are you here?”

                “Upstairs,” she heard Clara’s voice call back. Mira nodded and wandered up the stairs to Clara’s room. Though she had lived here for a few years, she had been in her archdruid’s bedchambers only a handful of times. As per usual, her eyes went up to the massive sky light above their heads, affording a beautiful view of the stars. It fascinated her then, and it fascinated her now.

                Clara was seated on the bed, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes slid toward Mira as she entered, giving her apprentice a nod of greeting. Across the room, Alanna was presently neatly packing clothes into another Bag of Holding.

                There wasn’t a need to be so careful with them given the nature of the bag, but she assumed that, even if Alanna were aware how the bag worked, she would still be meticulous out of respect for Clara. Knowing that, Mira swallowed down her immediate words and turned toward her archdruid. “I see my siblings have been taking good care of you,” she said gently.

                “Indeed,” Clara agreed. “I’ve had lovely conversations with both of them so far.”

                She wasn’t sure about her immediate reaction to that, but Mira ignored it rather than attempt to dissect it. “How can I help?”

                Clara considered. “Would you assist with the shelves downstairs? Your brother went to the Lucky Liar to bring me some moose knuckle stew and mead.”

                Mira offered a smile. “I remember a time when we had way too much of the stuff here,” she noted wistfully.

                “Yes, well…” Clara laughed. “It is most likely the last time that I partake in either. I will enjoy them.”

                Mira swallowed and nodded. “We’ll let you know when he is back,” she promised. Exchanging a glance with her sister, she headed down the spiral staircase (too treacherous for someone having the mobility issues Clara was having) before settling in to keep packing. Half an hour later, Jerrick returned with the stew. Upon his arrival, Clara had decided she had enough of people for the day and dismissed them all for the night, requesting they come back early the next morning.

                Jerrick waited until the three of them were out of earshot of Clara’s house to speak. “Is there somewhere we can stay?” Even if Clara had wished for them to stay, there wasn’t any room at her house. There barely was any room for Mira when she resided there to study with the woman.

                “There’s the Ramshackle,” Mira confirmed with a nod. At least, she hoped the Ramshackle was still an option. “My friends own it and should be able to get us a good price on a room.” Being a former teammate and partial owner could possible mean that good price meant free, but she wasn’t going to push her luck. “If they don’t have a room available, I’m sure we can get a room at the Eastside in Termalaine.” The Eastside would likely be more comfortable for the three of them, and the walk to the larger town was surely not as perilous as it was during the Everlasting Rime. Still, she preferred being close to Clara in an emergency.

                “The Ramshackle it is, then.”

                Though Clara’s home was in the wooded area, Lonelywood was small enough that it wouldn’t take long to get anywhere they wanted to go. Along the way, Mira pointed out a few locations—the Speaker’s house, the Lucky Liar, the Happy Scrimshander. Her siblings listened respectfully, but she realized very quickly she was doing all the talking. By the time they reached the Ramshackle, things had fallen completely silent. Mira gave up on conversation as she pushed open the double doors to the small inn, and she immediately felt a sense of home.

                On the small stage in the corner were two bards; one was playing the lute while the other played a flute. A fire roared in a grand fireplace with guests having an animated conversation in the seats around it. Since she was last here, they set up a small dining area with small, round tables. And, of course, the giant white moose head hung proudly above the mantel.

                “Welcome to the place I called home.” Mira swept her arms wide.

                “What’s with the moose?” Jerrick wondered.

                “Oh, that? It, ah, was terrorizing the people here. Speaker Nimsy asked us to take care of it, and one of my teammates really wanted to display the…”

                Alanna’s nose crinkled. Oh, dear. That was the wrong answer. For his part, Jerrick didn’t seem too bothered. “Where are we staying?”

                “Mir!” a cheerful voice called. A satyr popped up from behind the counter, spreading his arms wide. “Heyyyy, buddy! It’s been a while!” The satyr peered at her siblings as though scrutinizing them.

                “It’s good to see you, friend,” Mira greeted warmly. “Do you have any rooms available, by chance?”

                The satyr nodded. “Just the one, but it’s got a double bed. If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

                “We can share. What do I owe you? And…what’s for dinner?”

                A promise of a free room and three generous portions of stew and bread later, and the siblings had found their way to the room. The three of them shrugged out of their traveling clothes and into comfortable attire before settling on the bed. “So,” Alanna began. “You really have been making a name for yourself as an adventurer, huh?”

                “I have,” Mira nodded. “It’s been…quite the ride, but I’ve got good people in my corner. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

                “They treat you well?”

                “Oh, yes.” That earned an easy, genuine smile. “I’d trust them with my life, and they’d do the same with me.”

                “Good.” Alanna paused before she scooted next to her sister, curling into her. “I envy you,” she admitted. “Both of you.”

                “Really?” Mira blinked. “Why? I thought being part of the Enclave was your dream.”

                “It was,” she agreed, “but seeing the way that the circles reacted to Dad just…” She sighed. “I believe in what we’re doing. But it’s getting harder and harder to do it when we can’t reach a compromise.” Alanna was quiet for a moment. “I also think I should have…experienced more, before deciding that’s what I wanted to do.”

                “You’re not locked into staying there, you know,” Jerrick reminded her. “You can still forge your own path.”

                “Maybe,” Alanna mused. She shifted. “You know, Dad’s considering leaving the Enclave.”

                Mira nearly fell off the bed. “What? Why!?”

                “Think he’s tired of the bureaucracy. Life was simpler in High Forest. And Mom’s there most of the time now, anyway. He wants to be back with her.”

                “So they’re okay?” Mira questioned, relieved.

                Her siblings gave her a weird look. “Why wouldn’t they be?” Alanna asked.

                “Well, when a couple is separated…you know.”

                “I think Dad’s all too aware of his own mortality lately,” Jerrick contributed. “The three of us outliving him is one thing. Having a wife who is going to outlive all of us by hundreds of years is another story. He wants to enjoy his time with her.”

                “Whoa,” Mira murmured. Her father had always placed such an importance on the Enclave. To find out that he wanted to leave it was…well, it was a shock. “Good for Dad.”

                Alanna yawned. “Enough about Mom and Dad,” she declared. “I want to hear more about your adventures. Especially about how you met Halsin.”

                “No way,” Jerrick groaned. “You two can talk about romance when I’m asleep.”

                Mira tossed a pillow at him. “Just because you’re not ready to be tied down,” she teased.

                “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “I’ve got Jak! Who else do I need?”

                “Where is Jak?” Mira wondered.

                Jerrick winked at her before withdrawing a small purple amulet. “Found one of these on a mission. Turns out there’s a demiplane in this thing. Turns out this is a quick and easy way to keep Jak with me.” He swept a thumb across the trinket, and the wolf appeared in front of them. Letting out a happy yip, Jak clambered onto the bed.

                Alanna let out a shriek. Mira couldn’t help but laugh as her siblings started squabbling with each other. It felt…right, being with them like this. She wished the feeling could last forever.

Chapter Text

                After a tenday gone, they were finally back to the Gate.

                Zevlor felt a rush of pride as he and Lelith led his kin toward the city. This was what it should have been like before. This was what it would be like had the Absolute not intervened. The sense of relief, the happy conversations, the hushed awe of what was before them. As the group began walking through Rivington, he heard that murmuring increase in volume as Cerys pointed out where the Tieflings stayed before they were allowed past the first gate, the one that separated Rivington from Wyrm’s Crossing. Thanks to Lelith and Wyll’s efforts in particular, the refugee camp had shrunk considerably until it was no more.

                The farmland of Rivington felt a lot less dire these days.

                Behind him, he heard Karlach’s voice rise above the others. She was excitedly telling the group what it was like to grow up in Baldur’s Gate. (“Outer City! But not this part. The part that’s between Wyrm’s Rock and the Basilisk Gate! You’ll see for yourself, yeah?”) He turned his head toward Lelith and smiled at her. “You also grew up in the city, yes?”

                “Lower City,” she confirmed. “But I spent a lot of time in the forests outside of Outer City.”

                Her previous oath had been to Silvanus, so that made sense. He nodded. “Welcome back, Grand Duke Lelith.”

                Her smile widened as she looked forward. “We’ll need to leave the horses at Garynmor’s, but I think I can convince them to let us take the oxen through to at least Sorcerous Sundries.”

                “Very well.” He turned his attention forward, as well. What a change it was, traveling with her into the city over the Flaming Fist. His compatriots coming into Baldur’s Gate for the first time had argued with their contemporaries for his passage, though the half-orc insisted she’d smuggle him in if she had to. With Lelith, they gave no trouble to her nor the two dozen Tieflings with her.

                “Now, you’ll need to watch your pockets in Wyrm’s Crossing, yeah?” Though the group had quieted, Karlach still needed to lift her voice above the sounds of the crossing. “Place has the sort that won’t hesitate to try their luck on new arrivals.” The warning was effective as the Tieflings huddled together closer.

                “Karlach,” Lelith warned.

                “What?” She scratched the back of her neck. “Just trying to give them all the information, yeah?”

                “No one is going to push their luck with the hero present,” Lakrissa chimed in from the back.

                Lelith’s head swiveled. “I heard that.”

                “You’re the best,” Lakrissa sang in return.

                Lelith rolled her eyes and faced forward again. It was true, though. Most were giving their train a wide berth, and some were even bowing respectfully as the group passed. Lelith garnered quite a bit of respect in the Gate, and for good reason. One of their own rising to save the city, then lead it? She was an inspiration in more ways than one.

                Through Wyrm’s Crossing, then Wyrm’s Rock, until they arrived in Twin Songs. “Is this it?” Pandirna wondered out loud, glancing about them.

                “No,” Cal answered her, shaking his head. “We still have a bit to go. This is just continuing Outer City.”

                “How big is this place?”

                “Big enough they had no excuse not to let all of us past the first gate,” Lia grumbled. Cerys’s head swiveled toward her, offering a grateful smile.

                “We have a bit to go,” Zevlor confirmed.

                “Watch your coin purses,” Karlach added helpfully.

                Past Sow’s Foot, past Whitkeep, past Little Calimshan and Norchapel. By the time they reached Stonyeyes, he knew that the Tieflings were exhausted. He glanced to Lelith. “We should let them rest for a bit while we return the horses,” he spoke gently.

                Lelith glanced behind at the group. “You’re right,” she conceded. “It’s not far now, but we’ve not stopped since we got to Outer City. Karlach,” she called. “Keep an eye on everyone.”

                “Aye, aye, your lordship!” The barbarian gave an exaggerated salute.

                As the retinue moved off, Zevlor and Lelith headed toward Garynmor Stables. “You must have a lot of conflicted feelings right now,” the younger paladin began.

                “About?” he questioned. Lelith gestured behind them. “Ah, yes.” Zevlor considered his words. “I admit this is more in line with how I felt it would be once we got here. Although…” He glanced to where they had come from. “I doubt many of us would have made it into Lower City if things had turned out differently.

                Lelith tipped her head. “I want to argue with you about that,” she admitted, “but I know how much things changed when Wyll and I became Grand Dukes. A Tiefling district would have still grown, but likely not inside the city.”

                “No,” he confirmed. “Still, it feels good to see the hope in these people again.” Zevlor closed his eyes. A lot of conflicted feelings indeed.

                After a short rest, they were on their way again. Once they had cleared the Basilisk Gate, after the guards raised a little fuss about the oxen, Lelith lifted her voice. “We’ll get you to Sorcerous Sundries first,” she called back to the group. “Rolan can show you where you’ll be staying for the time being. Once you’ve had some time to settle, then we can talk about next steps.”

                “This is real, isn’t it?” Rikka breathed in wonderment. She clutched Lia’s arm. “We’re really here?”

                “I know,” Lia encouraged, beaming. “You can finally start up your pottery business again, and have a solid roof over your head.”

                “Tymora’s blessings,” Rikka sighed.

                “Finally!” Guex’s voice boomed over the rest. “Civilization. I need a bath.”

                “There’s a public bath house not too far from the shop,” Cal supplied helpfully. “Maybe we go there together after you get your rooms?”

                Guex made a face. “Does your tower not have bathing facilities?”

                “It does,” Rolan commented dryly, “but not enough for fifteen of us.”

                “Oh, very well.” The Tiefling made a show of rolling his eyes and waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll go to the public bathhouse.” For all of the bravado, though, he didn’t seem overly upset by the prospect.

                “Home,” Zae said dreamily, rubbing a hand on her belly.

                “Home,” Okta repeated. Her voice was a mixture of relieved, exhausted, and sad. Zevlor imagined she, too, was dealing with conflicted emotions.

                “Well, come on then.” Rolan marched to the front of the group, head held high. “I shall show you to your temporary home.”

                A short while later, they had arrived at the magical emporium. Outside, the most able bodied among them began unloading the carts. As soon as they entered, a halfling woman quickly hurried to Rolan’s side. “Sir,” she piped up, “a message for you.”

                “Yes, Marguerite? What is it?” He plucked the letter from her hands. “Cal, Lia, please show our guests to the tower portal. I’ll be there shortly.”

                “Can you return the carts and oxen?” Lelith asked, turning toward Lakrissa, Cerys, and Zorru.