Chapter Text

It’s been a while since we emerged victorious from the battle against the Elder Brain. Since then, I’ve been traveling with Astarion, searching for a cure for his vampirism or, failing that, a way to let him walk under the sun once more. We have been taking our time with this quest, since we have all the time we need. After all, Astarion is immortal, and I’m an elf, so thankfully, time is on our side.

In any case, it’s comforting to know we’re not alone in this search. Gale, from Waterdeep, has pledged to conduct his own research to help us while also fulfilling his duties as a teacher. His support is invaluable.

For now, we’re preparing for our next journey. We’ve been packing enough provisions to last at least a week and collecting as much gold as possible to restock supplies. I’ve been crafting healing potions and others that might be useful in case something unexpected happens.

“Darling, where’s Scratch’s ball?” I heard Astarion ask, as it was an essential item we had to bring along.

“Did you check if Scratch’s chewing on it?” I replied, not losing focus on the potion I was making. I was nearly done. I heard Astarion walk away, probably to find Scratch and see if the dog had the ball.

Once I finished the potion, I placed it carefully in a bag designated for potions. Afterward, I pulled out our map to determine our next destination.

The map showed several locations crossed out with a giant “X”—places we’ve visited in search of a magical item or spell that could allow Astarion to walk under the sun. So far, we’ve explored Baldur’s Gate (of course), The Cloakwood, Candlekeep, Wood of Sharp Teeth, Elturgard, and Reaching Woods.

When we visited Candlekeep, we managed to obtain crucial information—though it cost us the book The Necromancy of Thay. But it was worth it. Among the volumes we examined there, we discovered the existence of a magical item that could protect Astarion from sunlight and let him walk during the day: The Ring of the Sunwalker.

I sighed as I stared at the map, frustration gnawing at me. Although we now knew the object existed, the problem was finding it. Where could it be? Hidden in a wizard’s tower? The Underdark? Deep in an ancient forest?

I couldn’t help but wonder, Am I doing enough? We clung to hope, especially after learning such an artifact existed, but what were the odds of finding it? Faerûn was vast…

“Ah, there you are, you little thief!” Astarion exclaimed, holding Scratch’s ball with a theatrically triumphant expression. “I tell you, darling, this dog could steal a king’s throne if he wanted to.”

He said this because Scratch had recently been bringing items into the house that were clearly not ours. It started with small, insignificant things—a bone with scraps of meat, a stolen boot—but then Scratch began showing up with small bags of jewels and gold coins. I was beginning to suspect Astarion was teaching him these tricks, though I had no proof.

“You mean because he takes after you?” I teased, not looking away from the map. “If Scratch picked up this habit of hoarding things and hiding them, it’s because he learned it from someone.”

“Oh, please. My style is more about quality than quantity,” he retorted. “I’d say he reminds me more of you. For some reason, you always end up collecting every trinket whenever we travel.”

“And I’ll remind you that thanks to that, we’ve never been short on gold,” I shot back. Astarion was about to reply, but we were interrupted by a knock at the door. We exchanged confused looks—no one was expected.

I opened the door to find a weary-looking courier handing me a bundle of letters. I tipped him for his trouble and shut the door. Glancing at the senders, I started reading aloud.

“Karlach and Wyll, Shadowheart, and Gale…” I listed the names as I sifted through the letters. When I glanced up, Astarion was playing with Scratch, the dog tugging at the ball in his hands.

“A letter from Gale?” Astarion asked. “Well, don’t just stand there. Open it. He might have an update on the ring.”

As soon as we discovered the ring’s existence, we immediately informed Gale, hoping he could help us find it faster.

“‘Dear friends, I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I am pleased to inform you that, thanks to some contacts of mine, I’ve located the Ring of the Sunwalker. Please meet me in Waterdeep to discuss this matter in person, as its importance cannot be overstated. With fond regards, your friend Gale.’” I read the letter aloud, then handed it to Astarion so he could verify its contents himself.

While Astarion reread the letter, I skimmed the others. Shadowheart updated us on her journey and mentioned heading to Waterdeep to visit Gale, meaning we would likely cross paths. Karlach and Wyll shared good news—they were nearly done repairing Karlach’s engine, so she might soon leave Avernus behind.

“Well, darling, let’s finish packing. As soon as night fell, we set off for Waterdeep, leaving daylight behind us.” I smiled at Astarion, who seemed genuinely excited. At last, we had a real lead and wouldn’t be wandering aimlessly anymore.

And so, without further delay, we finished packing. The moment night blanketed the sky, we set out for Waterdeep, leaving the sunlight far behind.

The journey began peacefully, the moon casting a faint glow over the road while Scratch trotted cheerfully beside us. Astarion seemed more animated than usual—even for him—and he couldn’t stop talking about how thrilling it was to finally have a clear direction.

“Do you realize this might be the last time we ever do this?” he said, turning his head to me with that mischievous smile he wore whenever he was genuinely excited.

“Do what? Travel across Faerûn together, or me finally stopping my habit of picking up every little trinket we find?” I teased, to which he responded with a light laugh.

“No, I mean, the last time we have to worry about the sun during our travels. Imagine—being able to take a simple walk during the day, or having an actual date in Baldur’s Gate. No more living this nocturnal life, fearing that I might turn to ashes at any moment.”

His tone was light, but I could hear the longing beneath his words. His eyes glimmered with an emotion that almost hurt to witness—so much hope, so much he dared not say aloud.

The road twisted through hills and forests, the crunch of our boots and Scratch’s paws echoing in the silent night. As the air grew colder and the trees loomed like dark giants on either side of the path, we pressed on, the horizon threatening to brighten with the first hints of dawn.

Finally, we reached a clearing large enough to set up camp. Astarion moved quickly and precisely, ensuring the tent’s thick cloths were securely in place to shield him from the sun’s rays as they began to peek over the horizon.

“Well, darling, this is where I abandon you for the day,” he said as he settled inside the tent, pulling the heavy curtains shut. “Enjoy your day with Scratch. I’ll be here, dreaming of aged wine and feasts I’ll likely never taste again.”

“Rest well. I’ll handle everything,” I said with a smile. Despite his playful tone, I knew how much he despised his dependence on daytime shelter.

With Astarion resting, I kept myself busy with small tasks: preparing lunch, reinforcing the tent ropes, and ensuring the path ahead to Waterdeep was clear of potential dangers. I even managed to rest and enter a trance for a couple of hours. As always, Scratch faithfully accompanied me, his tail wagging as he explored the campsite.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in golden and pink hues, I prepared to light the campfire. However, a sudden shift in the air put me on alert. It was subtle—the temperature dropped slightly, and a strange, uneasy sensation crawled down my spine. My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my sword. Although I’m a sorceress, I had learned to wield at least one weapon during our adventure with the tadpoles in our heads. It had been nearly a year since that ordeal. I wouldn’t call myself a swordmaster, but I could defend myself, thanks to Lae’zel, who had been my mentor in the art of the blade.

Scratch growled softly, his posture tense.

“Relax, little sorceress. I’m not here to cause trouble… not yet.”

That voice—I’d recognize it anywhere. Smooth as silk but with a dangerous edge, it belonged to Raphael. His figure emerged from the forest shadows, the moonlight illuminating his fiendish features.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice firm as I tried to suppress the slight shiver his presence always elicited.

“I’ve come for a chat—just you and me, my little mouse.” He glanced toward the tent. “Let’s find somewhere more private. Your vampiric beau doesn’t need to know about this.”

The tent’s flap moved, and Astarion emerged as if summoned, looking as immaculate as ever despite the journey. His smile was calm, but his gaze was sharp.

“What a dramatic entrance,” he remarked, leaning casually against the tent post. “Are you a fan, or are you just lost?”

Raphael chuckled, a sound that reverberated like a taut string plucked in the air.

“Always so charming, Astarion. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Astarion’s reaction was almost imperceptible, but I caught it—his jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before his smile returned.

“Oh, of course. Every vampire adores unexpected reunions with their… how shall I put it? Former acquaintances?”

“What do you want, Raphael?” I demanded impatiently.

“As I said, this is a matter I’d like to discuss privately with you.” Raphael directed his full attention to me.

Before Astarion or I could reply, Raphael snapped his fingers, and in an instant, I was transported to the House of Hope. The oppressive air of the place remained unchanged: dark luxury barely concealing the lurking dangers in every shadow. Before me, Raphael stood with his serpentine smile, clearly pleased with his dramatic entrance.

“Perfect. Now that we have privacy, let me propose something…” he began, gesturing toward a plush red velvet sofa. “Please, take a seat.” His tone was hospitable, but his gaze was devoid of warmth.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” I said, crossing my arms. “Take me back to Astarion. Now.”

Raphael tilted his head, amused, as if I’d just told a delightful joke.

“But, dear, wouldn’t you prefer to cure your lover’s vampirism instead of chasing a magical trinket that might merely grant him a fraction of what he’s lost?” He emphasized the word might.

I opened my eyes wide in surprise. His comment disarmed me, freezing my blood for a moment as my arms slowly dropped to my sides. Cure vampirism? The words echoed in my mind like an impossible promise. Slowly, I sat down on the sofa, unable to mask my shock.

“Did you say… cure vampirism?” I asked, still in disbelief.

“I knew you’d be interested…” Raphael sat across from me with the grace of a predator stalking its prey, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You know, I was somewhat disappointed when you refused my offer in the past…”

I interrupted him immediately.

“Oh, you mean the deal where you offered me the Orphic Hammer in exchange for the Crown of Karsus so you could become the master of Avernus?” I asked, my tone deadly serious. “Yeah, the right choice was to refuse it. We defeated the Elder Brain, after all.”

“That’s true. You defeated the Elder Brain,” Raphael admitted, a faint smile on his lips. “I won’t lie—I thought you and your merry band of beasts would fail miserably and die. But, as always, you never cease to surprise me.”

“They’re not ‘beasts.’ They’re my friends,” I corrected him, defending them without hesitation. “And defeating the Elder Brain was a team effort. It wasn’t something I did alone.”

Raphael smiled again, as if my response was precisely what he had anticipated.

“Your friends, of course. But don’t fool yourself, dear. Without you, they would’ve been mere corpses on the battlefield. You’re the thread holding that patchwork quilt together. Don’t feign modesty.”

I glared at him, hating how he belittled my friends after everything we had accomplished together.

“I’ll say it again—don’t refer to them that way. Without them, we never could’ve defeated the Elder Brain.”

“Sure, because a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a devil-turned-warlock, a Githyanki, a constantly flaming tiefling, and a wizard on the verge of exploding at any moment clearly aren’t beasts. They’re the ideal elite army to save the world,” Raphael said, listing my friends’ perceived flaws with mocking disdain. “Don’t sell yourself short, dear. That motley crew would never have survived without your guidance. Don’t deny yourself credit for that victory.”

I knew exactly what Raphael was trying to do with his sweet words, but when I thought about it, I couldn’t entirely dismiss his point. On one of our first nights together, Shadowheart and Lae’zel had nearly killed each other. Perhaps there was some truth in the devil’s words, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“If you’re going to talk about beasts and oddities, you might as well include me,” I shot back, referring to my draconic lineage—the source of my magic.

Raphael chuckled, a deep sound that echoed through the House of Hope like the strings of a harp being plucked.

“Of course, my dear, exceptional creature. A unique jewel in a world of mediocrity. And precisely because of that, I’m offering you this opportunity—a cure for your beloved vampire. But, of course, not without a price.”

I looked at him with suspicion.

“And here it is. What do you want in exchange for this supposed cure? Do you want me to kill another of your enemies like we did in the Shadow-Cursed Lands? Or are you asking for the fragments of the Crown of Karsus?”

Raphael laughed again, a sinister amusement in his voice.

“Nothing of the sort, little mouse,” he said, his smile widening. “What I want… is your service. Temporarily, of course.”

“No. Absolutely not,” I said firmly, standing up. My hands trembled slightly, but my voice did not waver. “I’m not going to make the same mistake as Wyll. If you expect me to sell my soul, Raphael, you’ve picked the wrong person.”

Raphael laughed again, this time deeper, the sound reverberating like a funeral hymn throughout the House of Hope. His grin grew wider, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth that failed to mask his predatory nature.

“Oh, Tav!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “Are you really comparing me to that charlatan Mizora? Such a blatant insult.”

I held my ground, my gaze unyielding.

“Aren’t all devils the same? Empty promises wrapped in gold, designed to enslave those foolish enough to trust you.”

Raphael sighed theatrically, as if pained by my words.

“Dear, dear Tav, is that truly what you think? That I’m as vulgar as Mizora, with her petty tricks and fine print hidden among smoke and mirrors?” He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a nearly offensive sincerity. “We are not the same. Unlike that poor excuse for an infernal lawyer, my terms are crystal clear. Every contract I offer is fair and explicit. What you see is what you get.”

“And Wyll?” I interrupted, crossing my arms. “Mizora promised him a deal and betrayed him. Now he’s bound to her, turned into something he never wanted to be. What guarantee do I have that you won’t do the same to me?”

Raphael shook his head like a disappointed teacher addressing an ignorant student.

“Wyll didn’t fail to uphold his contract by choice; Mizora tricked him, manipulated him, and left him to suffer the consequences. I, on the other hand, never do that,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious, more grave. “Every word of my agreements is written clearly—no tricks, no ambiguities. If you choose to accept my offer, I assure you, you won’t end up transformed into a devil or enslaved to my will. My punishment, should you decide to break the deal, would be fair… and proportional.”

“Proportional?” I asked, my distrust evident in my voice. “What does that even mean, Raphael?”

He smiled again, though this time his expression lacked mockery.

“It means that the consequences will be clearly stipulated. No forced transformations, no tragic fate like Wyll’s. Simply… you’d fulfill your part of the deal, or you’d pay a reasonable price. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Sure, because a devil’s word is always reliable,” I said sarcastically, but he merely shrugged.

“Not reliable, dear, but consistent. And in this case, I can offer you something no one else can: the cure for Astarion. A real opportunity to restore what was taken from him centuries ago. Think about it, Tav. Isn’t it worth at least considering what I’m putting on the table?”

His words sent a shiver through me, but I forced myself to maintain my composure. I couldn’t let his promises break my resolve… or could I?

Raphael leaned back in his chair, his satisfaction almost palpable, as if he were already savoring his victory.

“Ah, Tav… You’ve heard what I’ve said so far, but there’s something else—something that might intrigue you even more,” he said, his voice softening, becoming more alluring, as if he were revealing a secret. “Facing my army would be… interesting, wouldn’t it? A challenge worthy of your talents. But beyond that, our alliance would serve a much greater purpose.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What purpose?” I asked, almost involuntarily.

Raphael’s smile widened, the kind of smile I’d come to recognize as the prelude to something significant.

“If you fight by my side—if you choose to join my army to conquer Avernus—you wouldn’t just be helping me,” he said, his words laden with a disturbing certainty. “Together, sooner or later, we would face Zariel’s armies. And believe me, my dear Tav, it would be a battle we both yearn to win.”

“Do you seriously think I’d fight alongside you just to face Zariel?” I replied, my voice laced with incredulity but tinged with curiosity.

Raphael nodded solemnly.

“Not just that… If you join me and we manage to defeat Zariel, not only would you free Astarion from his vampirism with the cure I hold,” his gaze grew more piercing, almost as if he could see my mind racing, “but we would also free Wyll from Mizora’s grasp and Karlach from her eternal persecution. Three birds with one stone, my dear Tav. Three lives we could save, three fates we could change.”

My thoughts were spinning, and though I tried to remain calm, my mind churned with possibilities. Not just Astarion, but also Wyll and Karlach? A chance to free them from their cursed destinies? All thanks to an alliance with Raphael?

“Are you serious?” I asked, a mix of distrust and astonishment in my voice. “Ending Zariel and Mizora for good?”

Raphael nodded, his tone grave and resolute.

“Exactly. A deal that benefits everyone, Tav. Can you see the opportunity I’m offering you? Three lives we can redeem, and all the answers you seek for your people. Wouldn’t you do it for them? And if you decide to join my cause, when the time comes, you and I will be the ones to strike the final blow.” His eyes gleamed with malice but also with something that felt like a promise, as if he were already planning how to achieve that victory.

The idea of freeing my friends, of seeing them released from the chains that bound them to these infernal forces, was tempting. But how could I trust Raphael? How could I believe his word was worth more than Mizora’s deceit?

“Three birds with one stone, huh?” I repeated, as if weighing his proposal. “And what happens if things go wrong? If we don’t win? Or if some of your conditions change halfway through?”

Raphael smiled, his confidence unshaken.

“If you fail to uphold the deal, the consequences are clear. But trust me, dear Tav, I am not Mizora. I don’t play with tricks or deceptions. My offer is straightforward and fair. You decide whether to accept the risk, and if you do, you could achieve far more than just a simple cure for Astarion. You’d have the chance to change the fate of your friends—and mine as well.”

I stared at Raphael, caught between mistrust and curiosity. The temptation was real. But I knew that accepting would mean stepping into the unknown. And yet, to free them… that was the key. Perhaps the only way to save them all.

“What if I accept your deal?” I finally asked, my voice steady but still tinged with uncertainty. “What guarantees do you offer beyond what you’ve already said?”

Raphael leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to seal the agreement.

“What I can guarantee, dear Tav, is that at the end of the day, you’ll gain far more than you imagine. And trust me, there will be no contracts that trap you or anything of the sort… unless you yourself decide to break the agreement.”

His words lingered in the air as I weighed the implications. Joining Raphael wasn’t just a risk—it might be the only chance to free Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach, giving them a real shot at a future. But could I truly trust him?

“I have another question,” I said, pausing before giving my final answer. “Why do you want me in your army?”

“Oh, Tav!” Raphael exclaimed with a grin. “Are there any other heroines of Baldur’s Gate here with us? I know your skills; they’re exceptional. You’re a powerful sorceress, and that was proven in the battle against the Elder Brain. Of course, you still have much to learn about your magic, but those are lessons you’ll only gain through experience. And tell me—what better experience than that earned in battle?” He paused briefly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alongside someone like me, you could master your magic to perfection, and who knows? Perhaps even learn a new trick or two.”

Raphael’s offer was incredibly tempting, almost as if I were gaining far more than I stood to lose. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the irony. I had rejected his previous deal without hesitation to free Orpheus and save the world, but now I found myself wavering over whether to accept, for Astarion’s benefit and that of my friends, at the cost of helping Raphael gain total control over Avernus—something that could potentially endanger the world I lived in.

I had never considered myself a hero. I’ve always seen the world in shades of gray, where decisions are rarely black or white. The only act of heroism I’ve ever done was saving Baldur’s Gate, and even then, it wasn’t a selfless act—it was simply a way to rid myself of that damned tadpole in my head.

I’m not a fool. I know making a deal with a devil is dangerous, but I can’t help but see the irony of how I saved the world only to consider putting it at risk again to cure the love of my life and free my friends from their chains to Zariel.

“My answer is no, Raphael,” I said finally. “I won’t risk making a deal with a devil knowing the dangers it entails.”

Raphael shrugged, snapping his fingers to summon a rolled-up scroll into his hand.

“Don’t be so hasty in giving me an answer. Here, I’ll leave you the written contract so you can read the terms and conditions carefully, in case you wish to reconsider later,” he said, handing me the scroll. I stared at him, confused—was he really giving me the chance to study his contract?

“I know what you’re thinking. I know you, little mouse. So I came prepared for this… If you decide to reconsider after reading it, you can call me.”

I didn’t get the chance to reply; with another snap of his fingers, he transported me back to our campsite, where Astarion and Scratch were anxiously waiting for me

Chapter Text

After about four weeks of traveling on foot, we finally arrived in Waterdeep. The city’s towering walls rose before us, and the bustling energy surrounded us the moment we passed through the gates.

Nightlife in Waterdeep was busier than I had expected. Magical lanterns cast a soft, constant glow over the main streets, while the dark alleys were shrouded in deep, menacing shadows. In the wealthier neighborhoods, windows gleamed with candelabras and lamps, showcasing the social activities of nobles. In contrast, the poorer districts were lit by torches and oil lamps, their flickering shadows heightening the sense of danger.

But even the constant threat of danger didn’t dampen the city’s nightlife. We passed a few brothels and merchants shouting their wares. From the taverns came laughter, songs, and the rowdy noise of drunks, along with the melodies of lutes or flutes. Adventurers rolled dice, coins clinking as bets were placed, all while surrounded by the mouthwatering scent of food.

On our way to meet Gale, we saw other adventurers and spellcasters wrapped in cloaks adorned with glowing runes. Occasionally, subtle currents of magic emanated from places like Blackstaff Tower.

I still hadn’t read the terms and conditions Raphael had given me, but I told myself it didn’t matter—I wouldn’t accept his deal… or so I kept repeating to myself. However, curiosity was slowly eating away at me.

As expected, Astarion didn’t take long to ask about the devil. His tone was casual at first, but his gaze said otherwise. I’d been avoiding his questions, telling him it wasn’t anything we needed to worry about. But the truth was… I wasn’t sure whether I should tell him or not.

“Darling, why don’t you tell me what really happened?” he asked again, this time stopping in his tracks. His expression was serious, and it was clear he was genuinely worried about me. “I find it hard to believe Raphael appeared just to exchange pleasantries.”

He crossed his arms as he said this, a gesture that might seem haughty in any other situation but was clearly laced with concern in his eyes.

I sighed, lowering my gaze to the cobblestones. I couldn’t keep dodging the topic forever; sooner or later, I would have to tell him.

“I’ll tell you everything, love. I promise,” I said, attempting to offer him a reassuring smile, though even I could feel how forced it was. “Let’s just get to Gale’s tower first. Once we’re settled in, we’ll talk.”

His gaze remained fixed on me, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, I thought he might insist. But finally, he let out a theatrical sigh and let his arms drop to his sides.

“Very well, dear. But I expect you to keep your word. I’m not especially patient when something worries me… and you always worry me more than you should.”

Though his tone was light, I didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice at the end. I was aware of Astarion’s concern—logical, given how long I’d been avoiding the topic since everything happened.

The rest of the way to Gale’s tower felt longer than it actually was. The silence between us was unusual. Astarion walked beside me with his natural grace, but his hands remained clasped behind his back—a gesture he only used when he was truly frustrated.

Scratch trotted ahead of us, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed at every corner. I tried distracting myself by watching him, though the weight of the conversation still loomed over me.

“Waterdeep is even more chaotic than I remembered…” I murmured, more to break the silence than for any other reason.

Astarion raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. I knew he was waiting for me to keep my promise, and for the first time in a long while, even the noise of the city felt small compared to the weight of his gaze.

When we finally reached Gale’s tower, the magical currents emanating from it were unmistakable. Even someone without an affinity for magic could sense the pulsing energy that surrounded the place. The runes etched into the tower’s walls glowed faintly, almost as if they were alive.

“Well, here we are,” I said with a forced smile, stopping in front of the door. “Ready to see what Gale has for us?”

Astarion tilted his head slightly, his smile returning to his face like a carefully placed mask.

“Of course, darling. Always ready for the magical surprises of our dear wizard. Though I hope this time they don’t involve an explosion.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though the nervous tension still gnawed at me. I knocked on the door, and it opened with a soft hum, revealing Gale standing in the doorway with that warm, curious look he always wore.

“Welcome!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide in a grand gesture. “Come in, come in. We have much to discuss.”

We didn’t hesitate to step inside. Gale guided us kindly to a cozy sitting area, where a large velvet sofa and two plush armchairs surrounded a polished wooden table. A soft glow from an enchanted lamp floating above filled the room.

I sank into the sofa, Scratch curling up at my feet, while Astarion sat beside me, his posture relaxed but his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the room as if searching for something hidden. Gale, of course, seemed oblivious to this, busy pouring tea from a teapot that appeared to heat itself with a spell.

“Well then,” Gale began with a warm smile that lit up his face as he sat across from us. “First of all, thank you for coming so quickly. I know the journey from Baldur’s Gate to here is no small feat, and I hope it wasn’t too exhausting.”

“Did you find information about the ring?” I asked, getting straight to the point. The excitement and hope in my voice were more urgent than I intended, but I didn’t care.

Gale nodded, his eyes shining with that particular excitement only a wizard feels when talking about arcane discoveries.

“Yes, thanks to the book you managed to ‘acquire’ from Candlekeep,” he said, emphasizing the word with an amused smile. “I was able to study the volume in greater detail, and what I discovered is fascinating.”

Astarion and I exchanged expectant looks, eager to hear what he had learned.

“It turns out the ring isn’t as far away as I initially thought,” Gale continued, pulling out a map. He marked a spot near Neverwinter with an “X.” “Near the Neverwinter Wood, there’s a castle. After investigating and consulting a few contacts, I discovered it was once a stronghold for a noble family before being taken over by a vampire lord…”

I interrupted him.

“Cragmaw Castle,” I said, naming the place. I was familiar with it from personal experience.

“Exactly,” Gale said with a smile. “It was quite difficult to gather information, as only the locals seem to know of its existence. Fortunately, a good friend of mine from that region provided the necessary details.”

“If I’m not mistaken, that place is currently occupied by goblins…” I said thoughtfully. “It’ll be problematic to gain access.”

“Problematic? Please, love. We wiped out an entire goblin camp when we rescued Halsin. What are a few more goblins?” Astarion said confidently.

“The problem is that it’s not just a camp. Besides, we infiltrated the previous one because the goblins worshipped the Absolute, and we poisoned their food,” I reminded him, recalling the early days of our journey, when we were desperate to cure ourselves of the tadpoles. “The goblins occupying Cragmaw Castle are far more numerous than those at the Selûnite temple.”

“You’re worrying too much about simple goblins,” Astarion said, completely unconcerned. “We defeated the Elder Brain and an army of mind flayers. We can handle some goblins.”

“Don’t underestimate our enemies, Astarion,” I countered, crossing my arms. “The goblins at Cragmaw aren’t just any group—they’re organized. This won’t be as simple as you think.”

Gale cleared his throat softly, trying to ease the tension. “Anyway…” he interjected. “My source told me that the vampire who once lived in the castle was a collector of magical artifacts. There’s an 80% chance the ring is there.”

Astarion wasn’t paying full attention, still focused on debating with me.

“Besides, how are you so sure those goblins are well-organized?” Astarion asked. “And even if they are, I insist—they’re just goblins.”

“That’s not important,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “We should focus on planning our strategy and on the details about the ring. Gale, please continue.”

“Well, as I was saying, it’s very likely the ring is there,” Gale continued. “According to my research, the ring was created by the Sun Elves…”

I couldn’t help but interrupt him again.

“Ugh, Sun Elves,” I muttered with distaste. While elves generally got along, that particular subrace was especially arrogant, believing themselves superior even among other elves. I couldn’t stand them. “Sorry, continue.”

“As you know, the ring has the power to protect its wearer from sunlight damage, allowing vampires or drow to walk under the sun without issue,” Gale explained. “At first, I wondered why the Sun Elves would create such an artifact. Fortunately, the answer lies in love.”

“Love? Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?” Astarion asked, now fully paying attention to Gale, though I still felt his occasional glance at me.

“That ring was created because one of the Sun Elves fell in love with a drow. He crafted the ring specifically for her,” Gale explained. “Unfortunately, the couple’s fate remains unknown. It’s said the elf was exiled because his kin disapproved of the relationship. Personally, I like to believe they found happiness together.”

“In any case, the ring eventually ended up in the hands of the vampire who once resided in Cragmaw Castle,” Gale concluded.

“Well, now that we know the story of the ring, darling, could you explain how you seem to know so much about that place?” Astarion asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

I had never spoken about my past in Neverwinter, not even to Astarion. It wasn’t something that brought me joy. It wasn’t that I was deliberately hiding it, but it was a part of my life I preferred to leave buried.

“It’s not important,” I repeated, using the same words I had earlier.

“Tav,” Gale spoke now, his tone more serious than usual. “If you have any kind of connection to Cragmaw or Neverwinter, it’s crucial for us to know. We don’t want to stumble into any surprises there.”

Their pressing made me tense. I didn’t like being cornered into talking about things I had tried so hard to forget.

“It’s nothing to worry about. I assure you,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady. “You,” I pointed at Gale, “hid your little ‘boom-orb’ problem from us for a good while, and you—” I turned to Astarion— “kept it a secret that you were a vampire spawn.” My tone was more accusatory than I intended. “I don’t think either of you is in a position to criticize me for keeping something to myself.”

I could feel my frustration mounting. I didn’t know how to redirect the conversation. I felt like a trapped animal.

Gale and Astarion exchanged glances. They didn’t seem angry but rather confused by my reaction, which only prompted them to press harder for answers.

“You can’t compare our situations. Back then, we barely knew each other,” Astarion countered, defending himself.

“Besides, you can trust us. We’re your friends, and Astarion is your partner,” Gale added, attempting to soften the approach.

“Oh, darling, how many more secrets are you hiding?” Astarion interjected, his tone sharp.

“The only thing that matters right now is preparing for the journey. Those goblins settled in the castle will be a problem,” I said, trying to deflect.

“And I insist—how are you so certain of that?” Astarion pressed.

I felt my breathing quicken as my mind was assaulted by memories I had long tried to suppress: the goblins surrounding me, the sight of them killing my friend while I could do nothing, the stench of blood in the air, and the overwhelming fear. It was as if I were small again.

The only reason I hadn’t shared their fate was because, in that desperate moment of survival, my magic manifested for the first time. It bought me just enough time to attempt an escape. Eventually, a group of adult adventurers arrived and pulled me out of that nightmare.

I had tried so hard not to blame myself for what happened. I was just a child—there wasn’t much I could have done. But the guilt had never left me, not since that day.

Gale and Astarion moved closer to me, whether to comfort or press me further, I wasn’t sure. Either way, it only made things worse. My tension was palpable, and Scratch, sensing it, let out a low growl of warning, halting them in their tracks.

“Scratch, no,” I reprimanded the dog, trying to hold myself together, though it was becoming a futile effort. Was I having a panic attack?

Astarion crossed his arms, his piercing gaze digging into me like daggers.

“Come on, darling.” He said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve been playing this little game for weeks. First, you avoid talking about that devil, and now this. I wonder what else you’re hiding. Perhaps I’ll find out you’ve made a pact with Bhaal or that you’re the long-lost heir to some forgotten throne?”

A chill ran down my spine. My breathing became erratic, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

Gale, sensing the rising tension, raised his hands in a calming gesture.

“Astarion, I don’t think pressuring her is the best way to handle this. We all have our own pace for dealing with… difficult things.”

Astarion let out a dry laugh, not taking his eyes off me.

“Oh, please, Gale. We’ve faced mind flayers, cultists, and vengeful gods, but we can’t discuss an old goblin castle without falling apart? Fascinating!”

“Astarion…” Gale sighed, trying to sound patient. “Pushing her won’t help.”

“I’m not pushing anything. I’m just asking for answers,” Astarion retorted, his playful smile replaced by an expression of frustration. “And I think we deserve them after weeks of evasiveness. Don’t you agree?”

I swallowed hard, avoiding both their gazes as the pressure in my chest continued to build.

“It’s not important,” I muttered weakly.

Astarion leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with dangerous intensity.

“Oh, darling… if it weren’t important, you wouldn’t be this tense. Go on, surprise us! It’s about time!”

Gale shot him a warning look but didn’t intervene this time. He knew I’d have to face the situation eventually.

I close my eyes for a moment, my mind is invaded by memories I’ve tried to bury for years. Cold sweat beads on my forehead, and my heart hammers in my chest. Finally, I let out a shaky sigh and look up.

“I'm sure of it because I barely made it out alive!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking slightly. Gale and Astarion fall silent, the look of surprise on their faces evident.

I avert my gaze and wrap my arms around myself, as if that could keep the memories at bay.

“I grew up in Neverwinter—I’m not from Baldur’s Gate. When I was a child, I was exploring with my friends, and we stumbled upon that castle by accident. That’s when my magic manifested for the first time.”

My voice softened, though the tension in my posture remained. I averted my gaze, unable to face their reactions.

"I grew up in Neverwinter; I’m not originally from Baldur’s Gate. When I was a child, I was exploring with my friends, and we stumbled upon that castle by accident. That was when my magical powers manifested for the first time."

My voice softened, but the tension in my posture remained. I lowered my gaze, unable to face my friends’ expressions.

Astarion studied me with a sharp look, crossing his arms as if restraining himself.

“Darling, every time I think I finally know everything about you, I discover there’s more. And believe me, I know a thing or two about well-kept secrets,” he said. His tone was sweet, but the edge in his words was unmistakable. “First, you avoid the conversation about Raphael for weeks, and now this. Should I be worried that I’ll eventually find out you’ve made a deal with some dark deity?”

Now that I was a bit calmer, I could think clearly. The sharpness in his words was evident, but I could throw it back at him with twice the venom.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m sure that once we’re done with Raphael, you’ll find something else to be upset with me about. It’s truly an impressive talent!” I said with an innocent smile and a raised eyebrow, letting the irony drip from every word.

For a moment, surprise flashed across his face before he masked it with one of his perfectly calculated smiles. “Well, darling, you know I always strive to keep us entertained.”

“One moment—what does Raphael have to do with any of this?” Gale asked, clearly confused. Astarion and I exchanged glances briefly. What was supposed to be a private conversation with Astarion was apparently no longer going to be so private.

“Would you mind pouring me some more tea?” I asked Gale. I was going to need a bit of tea to calm my nerves before explaining everything.

Chapter Text

Once the tension had settled and I had calmed down, I told Astarion and Gale everything about Raphael's offer. I also left the scroll with the terms and conditions that the devil had given me in case they wanted to take a look, even though I hadn’t done so yet. The scroll looked harmless at first glance; however, the golden letters adorning its cover seemed to glow with a light of their own, and the air around it felt heavier, as if something invisible was watching us. The guys simply stared at the scroll; neither of them dared to touch it. Since neither of them wanted to take a look, I ended up putting it away again.

I let out a sigh, feeling a weight lift from my chest as the words left my mouth. However, when I finished, Astarion's gaze—filled with a mix of frustration and concern—made me feel a pang of guilt.

"Don't you even think about accepting that deal," Astarion finally spoke, irritation evident in his voice. "It doesn't matter if he offers you a cure for vampirism, immortality, or all the wealth in the world. It’s not worth it if the price to pay is putting your soul at risk."

The look Astarion gave me at that moment broke something inside me; I could see the genuine concern in his eyes. Before I could say anything, he spoke again.

"I know what it means to be chained; I know perfectly well what it’s like to live under slavery." His voice was firm but carried a slight tremor, betraying something deeper. He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. "Believe me when I say that I don't want that for you. I don't want you to sacrifice your soul to free me from vampirism—it's not worth it."

"This isn't just any contract," Gale interjected. "A cure for vampirism and freedom for Karlach and Wyll? It sounds too good to be true," he said thoughtfully, as if analyzing the whole situation. "Raphael isn't someone who leaves loose ends. Even if it seems straightforward at first glance, you must assume there's something hidden between the lines. Devils thrive on ambiguity."

"I know, believe me, I know," I finally said. "I won’t accept the deal. Besides, there's the ring—we’re not without alternatives." I took a sip from my tea cup; it was delicious, a blend of apple and orange with a hint of cinnamon.

"Alright, it’s quite late now. Settle into your room; Shadowheart should arrive tomorrow. I’d like Tav to accompany me to meet her," the wizard said, pausing briefly to glance at Astarion before continuing with an awkward smile. "Of course, it would be delightful if Astarion could join us too, but, well… you know, the sun." Gale spoke quickly, a bit nervously, as if afraid Astarion might feel excluded.

After everything that had happened, Astarion and I finally settled into our room. The bed was more comfortable than I expected, with soft sheets that felt like silk, and a light scent of lavender floated in the air. As I lay down, it felt like I was being enveloped by a cloud. Had I ever been in a bed more comfortable than this?

I had taken a quick look at the room before entering, specifically making sure that the windows were covered with thick curtains to prevent sunlight from seeping in once morning arrived. As expected, Gale had already thought of everything.

"Wow..." I murmured, closing my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to forget everything—if only for a few seconds.

Astarion collapsed next to me, his usual elegance undone by exhaustion.

"I have to admit, our wizard has quite the taste for quality," he added, letting out a sigh, though his tone still carried his characteristic sarcastic humor. But his relaxation didn’t last long; he sat up quickly, as if something was weighing on him.

"I want to apologize." His voice had a tone I rarely heard from him—a mix of vulnerability and regret.

I decided to sit up as well, crossing my legs on the bed so I could look at him better. The soft glow of the oil lamp illuminated his face, revealing an expression he rarely showed—guilt.

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked softly, searching his eyes.

"For pressuring you like that earlier..." he began, lowering his gaze while playing with a fold in the sheets. "I was upset because you’ve been avoiding the topic of Raphael for a while, but I didn’t mean to cause you that panic attack. I’m sorry..." His words were sincere; I could hear a slight tremor hidden in his voice.

I reached out, gently caressing his cheek. I noticed how he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch, seeking the comfort my gesture offered. His skin was cold to the touch, but the moment felt warm, intimate.

"It’s okay, love. I know it wasn’t your intention," I whispered softly. I looked at him with tenderness, letting my smile reassure him. "I owe you an apology too..." I lowered my gaze slightly, taking his hand in mine. "I should have told you everything from the beginning. I didn’t want to worry you, but I only made it worse by keeping it from you."

Astarion let out a small sigh and squeezed my hand lightly.

"Well, darling," he said with a hint of his usual humor, "I suppose we're both learning to be better at this communication thing. Maybe next time you’ll tell me before the stress takes even more years off my un-life."

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in the air finally dissipating a little.

"I promise, next time I won’t keep things to myself. Although, with any luck, there won’t be a next time with Raphael," I said.

Astarion let out a soft laugh, but his gaze remained filled with something deeper—a concern that wouldn’t fade easily.

"Please, Tav… don’t do anything that puts you in danger, not even for me." There it was again—the worry in his voice.

I moved closer and rested my forehead against his, letting the moment speak for itself.

"Now, about your past in Neverwinter…" he spoke softly. "I won’t force you to tell me anything if you’re not ready. I’ll respect whatever decision you make."

I let out a sigh before speaking. "I’ll tell you, mostly because I don’t want you to feel like I’m hiding things from you," I confessed. "But that conversation will have to wait until tomorrow—I’ve had enough emotions for one night."

"Alright, as long as you’re comfortable talking about it," Astarion said.

We turned off the oil lamp and entered our trance; after all, there was a lot to do tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Shortly after dawn, I set out with Gale to buy the necessary supplies for our journey to Neverwinter, setting aside enough gold to stock up on potions and scrolls that might come in handy.

"I suppose Shadowheart will be joining us," I mentioned, assuming that her visit meant she would be part of the adventure.

As we walked through the cobbled streets of Waterdeep, the shouts of merchants and the clinking of coins created a chaotic symphony. The air was filled with mixed scents—exotic spices, freshly tanned leather, and the unmistakable salty aroma of the sea breeze that always seemed to seep into the city.

"Yes, that's correct. I informed her in a letter about the same things I told you and asked if she wanted to join us. Her cleric skills could come in handy—it never hurts to be prepared for any... inconvenience," Gale explained.

"Are we traveling on foot, horseback, or by ship?" I asked, doing mental calculations. "On foot, it would take around 10-12 days without interruptions. However, if we manage to get horses, it would take a maximum of 6 days. Now, if we can afford a ship, it would only take 3 or 4 days." I explained to Gale. Honestly, I wasn't eager to travel on foot again, considering the journey from Baldur's Gate had taken at least 30 nights.

"While I could afford a ship, I think it might be... problematic," he finally said, with the tone of someone reluctant to be the bearer of bad news.

"Problematic?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, considering that Shadowheart will probably bring her owlbear along, the chances of them letting it board are... let's say, complicated," he responded with a half-smile, shrugging. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on, with my charisma and persuasion skills, I'm sure I can work something out," I said with a touch of arrogance in my voice. My persuasion skills had saved our skins more than once, especially during our journey from the nautiloid.

Gale opened his mouth, probably to argue, but the sound of a commotion ahead interrupted our conversation. People were gathering, while several guards hurried towards the center of the chaos.

I frowned. "Tell me, Gale, what were the odds of letting an owlbear in without causing a scene?"

He gave me an awkward look, adjusting his cloak. "Well... I thought that maybe, with a little patience and diplomacy..."

"Sure, because negotiating with armed men in front of a giant bear is always so easy. Come on, wizard. Let’s check this out."

We hurried toward the source of the commotion, and my worst fears were confirmed.

In the center of the crowd stood Shadowheart, her characteristic proud and defiant posture intact, accompanied by the owlbear. The creature's feathers were bristling, and it emitted a low growl that rumbled like thunder, while its claws scraped slightly against the cobblestones. Shadowheart held her shield firmly, more in a defensive stance than an aggressive one.

"Let us through!" Shadowheart shouted. "We were invited by Archmage Gale of Waterdeep!" She was trying to explain to the guards, who, though visibly tense, seemed to avoid making any sudden moves.

"I'm sorry, miss. You're more than welcome, but I'm afraid your... companion cannot enter," explained the captain of the guards in the most polite tone possible. It was evident he was trying to avoid any confrontation.

Shadowheart let out an exasperated sigh, but her expression remained firm. "Didn't you hear me?" she said, her tone sharpening. "We were invited. The owlbear included."

The captain swallowed nervously, glancing at the owlbear, which, despite being still, was an imposing presence.

"Shadowheart, darling," I intervened as I made my way through the crowd with Gale behind me. "I love how you always make such... memorable entrances."

She shot me a look that I couldn't quite decipher—relief or reproach.

"Tav, Gale. Would you mind explaining to these gentlemen that my owlbear isn't a threat?"

Gale stepped forward with a diplomatic smile. "Captain, I can personally guarantee that both Miss Shadowheart and her companion are under my invitation. There will be no issues during their stay in Waterdeep."

The captain hesitated but finally nodded. "Alright. But if anything happens, it will be your responsibility, Archmage."

"You have my word," Gale responded calmly before turning to Shadowheart with a friendly smile. "I'm glad to see you again."

Shadowheart relaxed slightly, though her expression still held some irritation.

"Thank you. Although, honestly, I was expecting a less complicated welcome."

"This is Waterdeep. Complications are part of the package," I replied with a playful smile as I briefly stroked the owlbear's feathers, which finally let out a low growl before relaxing. "I missed you too," I added cheerfully, still petting the creature.

With the tension dissipating, we headed toward Gale's tower, where Astarion was waiting for us. Along the way, I mentioned to Gale that I wanted to share my past in Neverwinter with the group. They were right last night; we don't want any surprises when we get there.

Gale's tower welcomed us with its characteristic warmth. The runes on the walls glowed softly, and the air was filled with the scent of spices and old books. Astarion, as always, was perfectly settled into one of the velvet armchairs, holding a wine glass he had undoubtedly found while we were out.

"Finally!" Astarion exclaimed, raising his glass in our direction. "How was the public chaos? Did you manage to convince those dull guards that our dear Shadowheart isn’t planning an invasion?" Apparently, the commotion had reached even here.

Scratch, with his usual curiosity and energy, dashed to the center of the room, where the owlbear had already settled comfortably next to Shadowheart.

As soon as they saw each other, the two creatures reunited immediately. Scratch barked happily, circling around the owlbear, which let out a deep growl that, far from being intimidating, had an almost playful tone. Without wasting any time, they began rolling on the floor in what seemed like a friendly wrestling match.

The tower glowed with a warm magical light as we all settled in the main hall. Scratch and the owlbear continued their "friendly battle," their playful growls and barks filling the space. Despite their boundless energy, it was the perfect contrast to the tension that would soon take hold.

Gale, always the gracious host, served tea and placed a few snacks on the central table. Shadowheart, reclining in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other, watched the animals with a slight smile, while Astarion swirled the wine in his glass with a distracted air. Everyone waited in silence for me to speak.

I took a deep breath, my eyes scanning each of them. I knew that to move forward, they needed to understand why I was so insistent on being prepared for Cragmaw Castle. This group had been with me through the toughest situations, and although sharing my past made me nervous, I felt I owed it to them.

"There's something I need to tell you before we leave for Neverwinter," I began, not looking directly at them. I felt their gazes on me, expectant. I cleared my throat and continued, "I never talked about my past in Neverwinter because... I preferred to leave it behind. But considering where we're going, it's only fair that you know."

I paused, taking a sip of the tea Gale had served. The warmth of the liquid helped calm my nerves.

“Wait, your past in Neverwinter? What did I miss?” Shadowheart asked, clearly confused.

“Oh, right! You're behind on the news!” Astarion said with an amused tone. “It turns out our dear sorceress is originally from Neverwinter, but well, I suppose we'll get more details now.”

I cleared my throat, trying not to sound too nervous.

“You already know I'm not originally from Baldur's Gate. My home is in Neverwinter.” I paused, waiting for a reaction. Shadowheart's gaze softened slightly, while Gale nodded as if recalling last night’s conversation. “My family... well, they're part of the city's nobility.”

“You? Nobility?” Astarion interjected, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “Oh, darling, this is getting far more interesting than I expected. Is there a castle waiting for you? A lost lineage, perhaps?”

“Please, Astarion,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “There’s no lost lineage or castle. My family is... respectable, yes, but also strict. My childhood was a mix of good moments and many rules.”

“And what made you leave it all to come to Baldur's Gate?” Shadowheart asked, now more serious.

I sighed, feeling the discomfort settle in my chest.

“It's complicated.” I glanced at Scratch, who looked back at me as if sensing I needed support. “When I was twelve, my magic manifested for the first time. But it wasn’t something happy or controlled. It was... desperate.” I swallowed, feeling my voice threatening to break. “My friends and I got lost in the forest near Cragmaw Castle. The goblins found us before we could escape.”

The room grew heavy with silence. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for what came next.

“My friends didn’t survive.” The words left my lips faster than I expected, as if I needed to rip them out. “The goblins captured them, and... well, you know how goblins are. I tried to run, but they caught me. Just when they were about to get me, something inside me exploded. My magic, my draconic lineage... It manifested with a burst of fire that barely allowed me to escape.”

Shadowheart frowned, clearly affected. Astarion had stopped smiling, and Gale nodded slowly, as if now better understanding my reaction last night.

“Some adventurers found me while I was trying to flee. They saved me and took me back to Neverwinter. But after that... I couldn’t stay. So I went as far away as I could, to Baldur's Gate.”

“That explains a lot,” Gale murmured, his tone more thoughtful than inquisitive.

Astarion finally broke the silence. “Darling, I think we all know what it's like to be haunted by the past,” he said, taking my hands and looking at me with that tender expression he reserved only for me. “Don't be afraid to share these things with me. You know I support you, no matter what.”

I smiled. “I know, but I never really wanted to talk about it,” I admitted sincerely. “Now, I think we should focus on preparations. If we’re taking a ship, I'll need all my persuasion to convince the captain to accept our feathered friend.” I quickly changed the subject.

“And I hope you won’t use draconic fire for that,” Astarion quipped, regaining his usual sarcasm.

“Only if absolutely necessary,” I replied with a smile, feeling the tension in my chest finally start to ease.

“Alright, trusting in Tav's persuasion skills, we’ll set sail once the sun sets. I know of a ship leaving for Neverwinter tonight. I suggest that if you still need anything, you get it now,” Gale said to end the conversation. “And Astarion, needless to say, if you need anything, any of us can go buy it for you.”

“That won’t be necessary, I have everything covered,” Astarion replied. “Besides, when we arrived, we noticed the night market is just as varied as the daytime one, so it won't be a problem if we forget something before we leave.”

“Alright then, I'll go ahead and book our spots on the ship,” Gale said before turning around and leaving before I could say anything.

“Well, I suppose he won’t mention the owlbear when he makes the reservation,” I said, mentally preparing myself to persuade the captain once we were about to board. But there’s nothing a pretty face, sweet words, and a little gold can’t accomplish.

Chapter Text

The bustling port of Waterdeep was overwhelming, even for someone accustomed to the chaos of Baldur’s Gate. The shouts of sailors, the constant crashing of waves against the docks, and the creaking of ropes being tightened created a chaotic yet familiar symphony. We made our way to the schooner Gale had reserved—a sturdy and well-equipped vessel that seemed perfect for our mission.

The captain, a burly man with a gray beard and a stern expression permanently shaped by the salt of the sea, greeted us at the dock. His eyes instantly narrowed when he saw the owlbear trotting calmly behind Shadowheart.

"What is that?" the captain asked, pointing a calloused finger at the owlbear. "I'm not letting that thing on my ship." His tone was firm, as if the decision had already been made.

Gale, always the diplomat, stepped forward, using his most reasonable tone. "Captain, I assure you that the owlbear is perfectly trained and will cause no trouble during the voyage. Besides, we're willing to cover any inconvenience that may arise."

The captain snorted disdainfully, crossing his arms firmly. "I don't care how much you pay. That thing could tear the ship apart if it gets scared. My crew already has enough to handle with the winds and tides—we don't need more problems."

I saw the tension in Gale's shoulders and his hesitation to insist further, so I stepped forward, letting my presence and a calm smile make the first impression.

"Captain, I must say I completely understand your position." My tone was soft, almost conspiratorial, as I walked toward him with grace. "A man as experienced as you knows that a ship needs balance and order, and the last thing I would want is something that might jeopardize your impeccable reputation." I paused briefly, letting the word "impeccable" linger in the air.

The captain raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still skeptical.

"Now, let me tell you something about this owlbear," I continued, leaning slightly closer and lowering my voice as if confiding a secret. "This noble creature is not just any wild beast. It has been with us since it was a cub and has witnessed dangers that few men could endure. Its calm demeanor here, amidst the noise and chaos, is no coincidence but the result of careful training and, I would say, an exceptional character."

I gestured towards the owlbear, which sat quietly next to Shadowheart, watching the waves like a seasoned sailor.

"Look for yourself, captain. It doesn’t even flinch with all this noise. Can you say the same for your men when the storms hit?" My smile widened slightly, just enough to soften the edge of my words.

The captain let out a small grunt, his gaze shifting between the owlbear and me. I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, and I knew it was time to strike the final blow.

"Besides, a man of your maritime expertise knows that adventurers like us always have a plan. If, in the unlikely event something were to happen—which I assure you it won’t—we will handle it ourselves. My companion Gale here can confirm that we are more than capable of managing any situation."

With a smooth motion, I pulled out a small pouch of coins and placed it gently in his hand. But I didn’t let his fingers close around it without first brushing mine lightly against his, ensuring he felt my warm and reassuring touch.

"And, of course, we want to compensate you for any inconvenience this might cause. A man of your experience and leadership deserves to be valued." My words came out with calculated sweetness, laced with a touch of admiration.

The captain frowned, but his fingers slowly curled around the pouch. He looked at me for a few interminable seconds before finally sighing.

"Fine. But let me make it clear—if that thing causes any trouble, I'll throw you all overboard, no exceptions."

"That’s more than fair, captain," I said with a triumphant smile, tilting my head slightly in a respectful gesture. "I greatly appreciate your trust. I’m sure you won’t regret it."

Gale, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of awe and relief, quickly intervened before the captain could change his mind.

"Captain, thank you for your understanding. We’ll keep everything under control, I promise."

As we boarded the ship, Astarion approached me from behind, murmuring in a teasing tone.

"Darling, I must admit, that was quite a show watching you work. If you ever decide to leave adventuring, you could make a fortune as a diplomat. Or an actress, perhaps."

I shot him an amused glance as we climbed aboard.

"It’s a natural talent," I replied with a wink.

Once aboard, the group began settling in. The owlbear quickly found a spot on the deck where it could watch the sea, while Scratch, always curious, sniffed every corner of the ship.

"I never thought we’d end up traveling together again," Shadowheart commented, approaching me as she gazed at the waves. "But I must admit, I'm intrigued by all this. What exactly are we looking for in Neverwinter?" she asked, as Gale had only shared limited details with her.

I knew this conversation would come eventually. I looked toward the horizon, letting the sound of the waves give me a moment to gather my thoughts.

"A ring," I finally replied. "Something that could change everything for Astarion." "And that gives me an alternative so I don't have to give in to Raphael's deal," I thought to myself, placing a hand on the satchel where the devil's scroll rested.

Shadowheart frowned, waiting for me to elaborate. I decided that, at least for now, we wouldn't get into details. The journey would be long, and there would be time to talk later.

"If all goes well, it will allow him to walk under the sun," I answered, though my friend seemed to sense I wasn't telling her everything. I wondered if the others had already mentioned Raphael to her.

Shadowheart seemed to accept my response, though her gaze remained inquisitive. We stood in silence, watching as the port of Waterdeep slowly disappeared into the distance while the ship ventured into the open sea.

"Darling." I felt arms wrap around me from behind. "You must be exhausted; you haven't had proper rest since we left Baldur's Gate," he said, his tone laced with concern.

"You're wrong. I slept perfectly last night," I replied, recalling the comfortable bed in Gale's tower.

"Yes, one single night in the entire past month," he retorted. "Go rest, love. You deserve it."

I finally let out a sigh, giving in to his request. I bid Shadowheart farewell and gave Astarion a quick kiss before heading to my cabin.

Once inside, I lay down on my bed. I must admit, I’ve never been a big fan of ships.

I glanced at my bag, where the contract's terms and conditions were safely tucked away. I'd be lying if I said my curiosity wasn’t killing me more and more each day. I had resisted the temptation to read the scroll since Raphael handed it to me, but I felt I was about to give in.

Make no mistake, I have no intention of signing that damned contract—I’m just curious about its contents.

I locked my cabin door, ensuring some privacy. Opening my bag, I took out the scroll and held it in my hands.

Once again, I lay down on the bed, feeling the gentle sway of the ship beneath me. I’ve never been fond of ships; the constant movement always makes me feel a little off balance. But this discomfort paled in comparison to the weight I felt on my chest.

My gaze drifted to the bag resting in the corner of the room, and I felt something burn inside me—a mix of curiosity and revulsion. I knew what was inside, what I had been avoiding since Raphael handed it to me. That damned scroll.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn’t considered reading it before. In fact, moments like this made my mind rationalize it. "I’m not signing it," I kept telling myself. "I just want to know what it says. It’s just information, nothing more. Know your enemy, so to speak."

I let out a heavy sigh, as if I could exhale the tension gripping my chest. Slowly, I sat up, and without realizing it, my feet carried me to the bag. My fingers brushed against the rough fabric before carefully opening it. There it was, deceptively simple, with golden letters that seemed to glow with their own light, pulsing faintly, almost calling to me.

"It’s just a scroll," I told myself, though my inner voice grew less convincing with each word. I locked the door, ensuring no interruptions. The isolation of the cabin gave me a false sense of security, as if I could face this alone without the outside world reaching me.

I took the scroll in my hands. The touch of the parchment was warm, almost comforting, which only heightened my unease. The beauty of the scroll was almost insulting, as if Raphael knew exactly how to make it tempting.

The air in the cabin grew heavier, as though Raphael’s essence had seeped into the parchment. A faint scent of sulfur, mixed with something sickly sweet, filled my senses. For a moment, I had the unsettling feeling of being watched from the shadows, even though I knew I was alone.

I slowly unrolled the scroll, the soft crackling of the paper echoing in the small room. The first line captured my attention instantly, written in a hand so precise it seemed inhuman. For a moment, I thought the entire contract would be in Infernal, a false sense of security Raphael had planned, but to my surprise, it was written in Common. The words seemed to dance on the surface, as if they had a life of their own, and a shiver ran down my spine.

The contract's words were a work of art. Each line was written with such impeccable calligraphy that it looked like the work of a master artisan. But despite its beauty, the content was as cold and calculated as one would expect from a devil.

SERVICE AND MUTUAL OFFERING CONTRACT

In the eyes of the signee and the grantor, Raphael, heir to Mephistopheles and rightful owner of the House of Hope, the following clauses are agreed upon, granting unparalleled power and opportunities in exchange for loyal service.

Preamble: For those who wish to alter the very fabric of reality: this document grants access to the most coveted spell among mortals and gods alike: Wish. A single word uttered under its power can transform the unattainable into the possible. A definitive cure for vampirism is within your grasp. Freedom for those who are chained, redemption for those who are trapped. But every gift comes with a price.

Terms and Benefits for the Bearer:

• The gift of the Wish spell: The grantor, Raphael, commits to providing the bearer with a unique scroll containing the Wish spell. This may be used to cure the vampirism of the individual known as Astarion or for any purpose the bearer deems fit within the spell's limits. 

• Note: The spell will be delivered to the bearer to be used personally or by a third party competent in the magical arts.

• Guaranteed protection by Raphael: During the agreed period of service, the grantor guarantees the bearer’s survival under any circumstance involving physical, magical, or extraplanar harm, including threats from Avernus itself. This protection extends to safeguarding against premature death or attacks from any hostile entity.

• Possibility of early release: Should the grantor achieve his goal of consolidating control over Avernus before the service period ends, the bearer will be immediately released from all contractual obligations.

Obligations of the Signee:

• Duration of Service: The bearer agrees to serve Raphael for no less than 200 years, dedicating their abilities as a sorcerer to military, strategic, and magical tasks to facilitate the conquest and absolute rule over Avernus.

• Consequences of Noncompliance: Failure to fulfill any of the stipulated obligations will result in the extension of the service period indefinitely, condemning the signee to serve the grantor for eternity. Any act of betrayal, sabotage, or direct or indirect harm towards Raphael will result in the immediate condemnation of the signee as an eternal prisoner in the House of Hope, under conditions dictated solely by the grantor.

General Clauses:

• Irrevocability: This contract is binding and irrevocable once signed. It cannot be annulled by magical, divine, or extraplanar means without the express consent of the grantor, Raphael.

• Interpretation of the Contract: All clauses, terms, and benefits of this contract are subject to the exclusive interpretation of the grantor, Raphael.

• Renunciation of Free Will: The signee agrees that, during the service period, all strategic and operational decisions will rest solely with the grantor.

He who signs this document will not only embrace power but also the responsibility that comes with it. With the cure for vampirism within your reach, the fate of those you love lies in your hands. There are no shortcuts in the devil’s game, but there are opportunities that may never come again.

Signee: ______________  

Grantor: Raphael, Owner of the House of Hope.

My heart skipped a beat. The 'Wish' spell. Raphael hadn't lied, not entirely. This scroll had the power to give Astarion what he longed for the most: the ability to walk under the sun, to live a life free from the vampirism that had tormented him for centuries. Just one spell, and his suffering would end.

When I read the word 'vampirism,' my mind flooded with memories of when we had the tadpole—how Astarion could, for the first time in years, enjoy the warmth of the sun on his skin, how happy he was. Nothing will erase the image from my memory of when we defeated the Elder Brain and Astarion began to burn under the sun. My heart shattered at that precise moment. Or the countless times I saw the sadness in his eyes when I had to leave during the day, while he was confined to our home.

As I continued reading, I couldn't ignore how Raphael stipulated that I would serve him for 200 years. The phrase seemed so casual, as if it were no big deal. But for Raphael, of course, it wasn’t. For a devil who lived for eons, 200 years were but a fleeting moment. For me... well, it wasn't insignificant, but it wasn't impossible either. Elves live long lives. I couldn't help but think it was some kind of joke on his part—200 years under Cazador Szarr's yoke, and now I would have to serve Raphael for 200 years to free Astarion from his vampiric curse. Despite this, I kept reading, knowing devils never leave loose ends.

I clenched my teeth as I reread that line. 'Indefinite extension.' Raphael left no room for error. If for any reason I failed to fulfill my part of the deal, I wouldn’t just lose my freedom—I’d be trapped under his command forever. And then came the darkest part.

'Any act of betrayal, sabotage, or direct or indirect harm towards Raphael will result in the immediate condemnation of the signee as an eternal prisoner in the House of Hope, under conditions dictated solely by the grantor.'

The House of Hope. That place Raphael had transformed into his own domain, where souls were at his mercy. The thought of being trapped there, defenseless, in the hands of that devil... a shiver ran down my spine. This contract was a trap, a gilded cage wrapped in tempting promises.

I continued reading, searching for any guarantees regarding my friends—Karlach and Wyll—as Raphael had insinuated. But I found nothing. Raphael had said that if we defeated Zariel, they would be free. But those words were not written here. There were no guarantees, no mention of their names or safety. Everything depended on trusting his word. And Raphael was not someone to trust.

My thoughts turned to Wyll. His pact with Zariel meant that if I accepted this contract, I might have to face him eventually. Could I fight Wyll, knowing his soul was already condemned? And what if we lost Karlach or him in the process? This contract assured me of nothing. It was a dangerous game, and I was merely a piece on the board.

I clenched my fists tightly, letting the scroll fall onto the bed. My breathing was heavy, and my heart pounded in my chest. How could I even consider this? But at the same time, how could I not? Everything Raphael offered was real—a cure for Astarion, a chance to save Karlach and Wyll. But the consequences were just as real.

Still, I know I can't sign it, no matter how tempting it is. What wouldn’t I give to see Astarion smile again, basking in the sun's rays? But then I think of Wyll and Karlach. How could I sacrifice my freedom when theirs isn't guaranteed? Especially Wyll—after all, he’s the one bound by Mizora's contract.

I buried my face in my hands, closing my eyes tightly as I tried to calm myself. The room felt smaller, more oppressive. Raphael knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to tempt me, how to push me to my limits.

'I can't sign this. It would be my doom,' I whispered to myself, as if saying it out loud would convince me. But the truth was that a small part of me was already considering the possibilities. I couldn’t help it. Raphael had played his hand masterfully.

A chilling thought crossed my mind—what if Raphael had already anticipated that I would do this? What if merely reading these words was already falling into his trap?

I froze. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, feeling the scroll tremble slightly in my hands. I rolled it up tightly and shoved it back into my bag, my heart hammering in my chest. There was something dangerous about that paper, something beyond the words written on it.

I lay down once more, trying to steady my breathing, but the words kept dancing in my mind, like a persistent echo. I hadn’t signed anything, but I still felt like I had taken a step into something I shouldn’t have.

Chapter Text

The night sky was clear, and the moon shone with an intensity that bathed the port of Neverwinter in a pale, cold light. The schooner glided silently toward the dock, its sails fluttering gently in the sea breeze. The usual bustle of the port had diminished considerably at this hour, with only a few workers unloading goods under the dim light of oil lamps.

Astarion emerged from the ship's shadows, his cloak covering most of his face. The darkness of the night provided the protection he needed to move freely, but he didn't seem entirely comfortable. His eyes moved cautiously, scanning every corner of the dock as if expecting danger to lurk in the shadows.

"At least we arrived at the right time," he commented, adjusting his cloak as he stepped off the ship with his characteristic feline grace.

"Perfect. Now we don’t have to worry about making a scene with the sun," I replied, glancing around the empty port. The feeling of returning to my hometown, even if just in passing, unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

Shadowheart carried the luggage with Gale’s help, while the owlbear and Scratch walked behind us, both surprisingly calm despite the unfamiliar surroundings.

Despite the quietness of the port, the furtive glances of the few passersby made it clear that our little caravan did not go unnoticed. An owlbear and a dog traveling together were not exactly a common sight, but at least they hadn’t caused any trouble... yet.

"At least no one has screamed 'monster' yet, which is already progress," Astarion remarked in a low voice, an ironic smile on his lips as he adjusted his cloak to shield himself from the occasional oil lamps.

"Which means we should find lodging before someone takes too much interest in us." I replied, keeping my hood low to conceal my face.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but observe my surroundings. Every corner of this city held memories, mostly good ones. A small wave of nostalgia washed over me. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had been too immature to leave Neverwinter behind just because of what had happened in the castle.

I let out a small, incredulous laugh at the thought. Of course, I had been immature—I was only twenty years old when I left. I was just a child, now that I think about it. How did my parents even allow me to leave on my own at such a young age?

"I never thought I’d set foot here again... and certainly not under these circumstances," I murmured, more to myself than to the group.

Gale, always perceptive, shot me a sidelong glance. "I know, Tav. But we have a clear objective now, and if we play our cards right, we’ll be out of here before you get too uncomfortable."

"And where exactly are we going?" Shadowheart interjected, looking at the cobbled streets stretching beyond the dock.

"It depends on whether we find decent lodging or if we prefer to set up camp outside the city. We don’t know how safe the outskirts are... or how expensive a decent roof might be here," I responded, vaguely recalling Neverwinter’s layout and its busiest areas.

"My vote is for an inn, darling. I’m not thrilled about the idea of sleeping in the open with so much... local wildlife," Astarion added with a slight grimace.

The group nodded in agreement, and with our luggage secured and the night still young, we began making our way into the city. The streets were quiet, but Neverwinter's atmosphere was unmistakable: a balance between majesty and decay, with stone buildings that spoke of past glory and dark corners promising trouble for those who were not careful.

I opted to keep my hood up to hide my hair color. It wasn’t common to see an elf with pink hair, which would make it easy for my family—or someone working for them—to recognize me. I wasn’t on bad terms with them; on the contrary, they supported me when I decided to leave. But since we were only passing through, I didn’t want to spend more time here than necessary. Knowing them, they would probably insist that we stay with them. While that would save us the trouble of finding lodging, I didn’t want to cause any inconvenience. Besides, I wasn't sure how they would react to the fact that my partner was a vampire.

The nearest inn was a cozy two-story building, with warm light spilling from its windows and a slightly crooked but legible wooden sign that read "The Hammer and the Moon." As soon as we crossed the door, the aroma of hot stew and burning wood enveloped us. There were few patrons—mostly humans and dwarves—chatting in low voices or focused on their meals.

Shadowheart opted to stay outside with Scratch and the owlbear, so Astarion, Gale, and I entered the establishment.

A dwarf with light brown hair and a well-kept beard stood behind the counter, pouring a mug of ale for a customer. His hands moved deftly, and his eyes shone with youthful energy that belied his age. When he finished, he looked up at us, and I noticed a flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

"Welcome to 'The Hammer and the Moon.' How can I help you?" he asked in a deep but friendly voice.

Hunched under my hood, I approached the counter. However, as I spoke, a strand of my hair slipped out of its hiding place. The dwarf squinted, his expression shifting from professional courtesy to astonishment.

"Wait a minute... By Moradin's beard, it can't be! Tav? Is that you?" His voice rose slightly, drawing the attention of some patrons.

I sighed, resigned, and slowly removed my hood, letting my hair fall to the sides of my face. His surprised expression quickly turned into a broad, genuine smile.

"HA! You're just like when you left! Though, of course, I don’t know what I expected. You're an elf, after all. But damn, it’s like time hasn't touched you!" he laughed, stepping around the counter to get closer.

"Hello, Deryn," I said with a smile, though I could feel the curious gazes of the rest of my group.

"When did you get back? What are you doing here? I thought you had left Neverwinter forever" he asked, crossing his arms but keeping his friendly tone.

Astarion intervened before I could respond. "Oh, darling, it seems you were quite the celebrity around here. How many more will recognize you while we're in this city?" he remarked with his usual sarcasm, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Gale quickly added with a smile, "Seems keeping your identity hidden will be more complicated than you thought, Tav."

Deryn glanced at Astarion, then at the rest of the group, before turning back to me. "Your friends?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. We're just passing through and looking for a place to stay for a few days. We'd prefer something discreet," I said, avoiding unnecessary details.

"Well, for you and your friends, only the best," he said, lightly tapping the counter with his palm. "I still remember all the mischief we used to get into when we were kids. It’s good to see you again, Tav."

I smiled slightly. Although I had left Neverwinter so many years ago, it was comforting to see that some memories remained intact. But I also knew this could complicate things if I wasn’t careful. For now, at least, I had a roof over my head, and that was enough.

"Oh! Almost forgot," I said, nodding toward the outside. "We have an owlbear with us, and a dog too. Would it be a problem if they stayed in the stable?"

Deryn peeked outside, where Shadowheart stood with the two animals. His face held a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Before he could say anything, I quickly spoke.

"The lady outside is my friend, Shadowheart; the dog is Scratch, and the owlbear... well, it doesn’t have an official name." I introduced my companions. "Don't worry about the owlbear, it's calm and won’t cause trouble, you have my word."

"Well, I trust your word. They can use the stable—but only if you have a beer with me to catch up," he said, filling two mugs of ale.

"Deal," I said with a smile, accepting the mug.

Before I could say anything else, I felt Astarion’s presence behind me. With his usual mix of sarcasm and elegance, he leaned in slightly, eyeing the mug Deryn was already filling.

"How charming, Tav. It seems your old friend has a very special interest in spending time with you," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though his eyes, playful as they were, held a hint of something else—territoriality, masked as jest.

"Astarion," I sighed, shooting him a look I hoped was clear enough to avoid a sharper comment. "It’s just a beer between friends. Don’t start."

He raised his hands in exaggerated innocence, a playful smile on his lips.

Deryn, raising an eyebrow, looked Astarion up and down as if evaluating him with a mix of curiosity and mild suspicion. Finally, he let out a forced chuckle.

"And who's this? Your guard dog? I thought elves only cared about their trees and flawless hair."

Astarion raised an eyebrow slowly, his expression freezing for a brief moment before an ironic smile spread across his face.

"Oh, dear dwarf friend, it’s a pleasure to see your wit is as towering as your stature," he said sweetly, though the sharpness in his words was unmistakable. "And for your information, I’m much more than a mere elven decoration." He stepped forward slightly, leaning just enough towards Deryn. "Though I must admit, you... smell as if you've been in the company of your beloved ales for too long. Is that part of the dwarven charm, or simply... personal neglect?"

Deryn’s smile remained, but his eyes flickered with a hint of discomfort before he forced another laugh.

"Ha, well, it seems you have an elf with a bit of bite, Tav. At least not all of your kind are so... delicate."

"Astarion is not mine," I clarified, shooting both of them a quick look to prevent the conversation from escalating. Then I turned back to Deryn with a firm smile. "And he's right; you should watch your jokes. They’re not always as charming as you think."

Astarion straightened with his typical elegance, shooting me a satisfied look before adding lightly, "How lucky you are, Tav, to have such... memorable friends." Then he turned on his heels and walked over to Gale and Shadowheart. "Come on, let's give her space to enjoy her adorable old friend."

Deryn looked at me, somewhat surprised, before bursting into one of his characteristic laughs. I suppose he hadn't expected Astarion's response.

"He’s got a strong character, I'll give him that. Though I didn’t expect you to bring such... interesting company."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Deryn, you should learn when not to joke about certain things. Not everyone has the patience I do for your comments." I took a sip from my mug, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

We sat at a table in the back of the inn, away from the other patrons, and I raised my mug, clinking it gently against his. The sound resonated with a comforting echo, and the aroma of hops and barley filled the air as I took my first sip. The beer was strong, with a sweet touch that reminded me of the days of my youth when we shared laughter and dreams in this very city.

"So, tell me, Tav," Deryn leaned his elbows on the table, looking at me with genuine interest. "What have you been up to all these years? When you left, I thought I’d never see you again. What have you been doing all this time?"

I took another sip, letting the liquid calm the slight tension I felt in my chest. I stared at the foam in my mug, reflecting on how to summarize an adventure that had changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.

"It's a long story. But... I suppose I could start from the beginning," I lowered my voice slightly, ensuring we wouldn’t be overheard by curious ears. "It all began with a nautiloid."

Deryn’s reaction was immediate—confusion, disbelief, and a slight touch of amusement.

"A... what?" he asked, tilting his head.

"A nautiloid. A mind flayer ship," I explained, watching his confusion deepen. "I was trapped inside, with a tadpole in my head that was inserted in a rather unfriendly way," I said, pointing to my eye, where the tadpole had entered.

He set his mug down lightly on the table, staring at me as if I had just told him the moon had fallen from the sky. "Are you telling me that... you, Tav, survived a tadpole?" He paused briefly. "I've heard many stories about that, but I didn’t think it was all true. You know how bards are; each one has their own version of events." I couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Volo.

"Not only did I survive. I defeated it." My voice carried a tinge of pride, though also humility. The images of everything we had faced—the Emperor, the Elder Brain, the creche, the Underdark—were still fresh in my mind.

Deryn let out a brief, incredulous laugh. "By Moradin, what kind of mess did you get yourself into?"

"A big one, I assure you," I replied, smiling as I recounted in more detail how we escaped the nautiloid, arrived at the Emerald Grove, and faced the dangers of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

There was something therapeutic about telling the story to someone who hadn’t been there, someone who could listen without the same memories weighing on them. Deryn listened attentively, occasionally interrupting with questions or surprised exclamations.

I even shared a few details that, while not crucial to defeating the Elder Brain, were amusing. For example, when we tricked Esther and gave her an owlbear egg, passing it off as a Githyanki egg and kept her money, or when in the Underdark we met a Kuo-Toa tribe where we became their god after killing a fey creature pretending to be a deity.

"And then... we reached the Elder Brain." My voice lowered a bit, becoming more serious as I described the final battle. "It was the hardest fight of our lives. But we did it. The brain was destroyed, and we were all free... or at least, as free as one can be after something like that." I shrugged.

Deryn raised an eyebrow as he continued processing the story. "A tadpole, an Elder Brain... By Moradin, Tav, that sounds like something straight out of legend."

He lifted his beer to his lips, but suddenly paused, his eyes widening slightly as if something had just clicked in his mind.

"Wait." He set the mug down with a soft thud on the table, looking at me with a mix of disbelief and awe. "You... you’re that sorceress. The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. The one who defeated the mind flayers and saved Faerûn from an invasion."

His tone was low, but the intensity in his voice and gaze made me suddenly feel as if the entire inn had fallen silent, even though the murmurs and laughter of the other patrons still filled the air.

"I... Well, I didn’t do it alone," I responded with a touch of discomfort, bringing the mug to my lips to try to hide my nervousness.

Deryn let out a brief, incredulous laugh. "By Moradin's beard! And here I thought you were exaggerating about the tadpole." He leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. "How did I not realize it sooner? The description fits perfectly. An elven sorceress with unusual hair, leading a group of adventurers against the mind flayers. And it's you, Tav."

"Please, Deryn, don't make a big deal out of this," I said, my tone almost pleading as I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "I didn't come here for everyone to know who I am."

"I know, I know." He raised his hands in a calming gesture, though his smile still shone. "But damn, Tav, this is incredible. You went from being the girl who got into trouble with me to being... well, a legend."

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "I don't feel like a legend, believe me."

Deryn took another sip of his beer, looking at me with a mix of pride and admiration. "Well, you should. Because not everyone gets to say they grew up being friends with the savior of Faerûn." His tone was light, but there was genuine warmth in his words that made me relax a little.

For a moment, I forgot everything that had brought us here: the ring, Raphael, the contract in my bag. All that remained was a conversation between two old friends, sharing memories and new stories on a quiet night in Neverwinter.

For an instant, I let the warm atmosphere of the inn envelop me. The flickering light of the oil lamps, the laughter and murmurs of the other patrons blending with the crackling fire in the hearth. I felt strangely at peace, as if the constant pressure I'd felt since leaving Baldur's Gate had lifted, if only for a few minutes.

However, the feeling was fleeting. My mind drifted back to the contract tucked away in my bag and the weight of the decision I knew I would eventually have to make. Being recognized as a hero didn't make the invisible chains around my spirit any lighter.

"Maybe..." I murmured, more to myself than to Deryn. "Maybe coming back to Neverwinter isn't as bad as I thought."

Deryn raised his mug and clinked it against mine with a broad smile.

"Well, if anyone can face the past and move forward, it's you, Tav. Now, tell me more. I'm sure this story has more twists and strange creatures than you've let on."

"We can leave that for another time," I said with a smile before taking another sip of beer. "I need to know if you can give me some information." I changed my expression to a more serious one.

"Of course, anything for you," said my friend.

"What's the situation at Cragmaw Castle?" I asked, feeling the air around me grow heavier.

Deryn blinked, clearly surprised by the mention of the place. For a moment, his usual smile faded, and a wrinkle of concern crossed his brow.

Cragmaw Castle was already little known among the locals; it became slightly more well-known after the incident I was involved in at the age of twelve, which led to a ban on venturing too deep into the Neverwinter woods at the time. I don't know if the ban is still in place.

In any case, that event happened decades ago, so I assume the topic is unknown to most of the population here unless they lived through that era. It's probably something only the oldest humans, some elves living here, and other longer-lived races might remember.

Deryn wasn't with us that time in the forest, so he was spared the tragedy that occurred there. He was one of the first people I told about what happened. Of course, my parents found out through the adventurers who saved me, and that's why the ban was imposed in the first place. But I was reluctant to talk about it for a long time, at least until I told Deryn. He supported me a lot during that time.

"Cragmaw Castle?" he repeated, his tone lower. He looked around the inn, as if afraid someone might overhear us, though no one was paying attention. "It's been years since I've heard about that place. After... well, after what happened, no one dared to go near it."

The implicit mention of my past in the castle hit me like a blast of cold air. I lowered my gaze to my mug, turning it between my hands.

"Is there anything you know about what's happening there now?" I insisted, forcing myself to keep my voice steady.

Deryn sighed, resting his elbows on the table.

"To be honest, people don’t talk much about the castle anymore. The ban was lifted decades ago, though few dare to go near it. But I’ve heard rumors... whispers from merchants and hunters. They say the place is still inhabited, but not by anything good."

The warmth of the inn seemed to fade as I listened to his words. My mind drifted back to the echoes of screams, the metallic stench of blood, and the paralyzing terror I had felt in my childhood.

"Goblins?" I asked.

Deryn nodded in affirmation.

"Yes, the same Cragmaw tribe from decades ago. However, that's not all." I watched him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "They're just rumors, but it's said there's a powerful wizard manipulating that tribe."

My body tensed at those words.

"A wizard?" I asked, my voice low but filled with curiosity and alarm.

Deryn nodded again, leaning in a bit closer to me, as if to ensure no one else could hear.

"They say the wizard controlling the goblins isn't human or an ordinary mage... but a drow. I don't know how much of it is true, but if it is, we're talking about someone with dangerous talent and ambition. Some call him 'The Black Spider.' Does that ring a bell?"

I frowned as I quickly searched my memory for that nickname.

"I'm afraid it doesn't sound familiar," I finally said.

"Well, they're just rumors, after all," Deryn said after a brief pause. "It could all be made up to scare people."

The mug in my hands suddenly felt heavier, as if each word he spoke added an invisible weight.

"Rumors always have some truth to them," I whispered while reflecting on this information. "But hey, I faced an army of mind flayers, gods' chosen, and even Myrkul himself. I think my group and I can handle a simple wizard," I said, downplaying the situation.

I placed the now-empty mug on the table as I stood up.

"Well, we'll have more time to chat later. I need to get back to my friends. How much do I owe you for the beer and lodging?" I asked, ready to pull out my coin pouch.

"Owe me? You owe me a ton of beers with Atala and Khemed to reminisce about the old times, but don't worry, I could never charge you for lodging, let alone the beer," he said with a laugh.

I smiled at the mention of my old friends; it had been a long time since I thought about them.

“Are they still alive? “ I asked surprised, after all humans had short lives.

“Ah yes, they're still alive, now they're just cranky old men, but they're still standing.” Deryn said. “They finally got married.”

”Ha!” I burst out laughing. “ Really? After always arguing? “ I asked incredulously.

“ That's right! but well, let them tell you the story themselves when the 4 of us get together for a drink, it better be soon, they don't have much left, after all their lives are shorter than ours. “

“I'll keep that in mind, maybe when I finish what I'm currently doing I'll have some time to get us all together.” I paused. “ Thanks for the beer Deryn, see you. “ I said ready to turn and leave, but Deryn stopped me.

“ Tav. “ He called my name, I turned to look at him. “ I don't know what brings you back to Cragmaw Castle, but be careful, that place has taken enough out of you, I don't want anything to happen to you. “ He said with concern.

“ Don't worry, I'll be fine. “ I said while smiling. “ Goodbye, Deryn. “ Finally I walked to the second floor, where the rooms were.

Chapter Text

The room was shrouded in soft dimness, illuminated only by the warm glow of an oil lamp on the table. After so many nights on dusty roads, though the place couldn't compare to Gale's tower chambers, the simple fact of having a mattress to sleep on was a luxury. The sheets smelled of lavender and fresh wood, and the creak of the wooden floor beneath my boots was a reminder that, at least for tonight, we were safe.

Astarion leaned against the window frame, his cloak still draped over his shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the cobbled streets of Neverwinter, watching as the evening mist began to envelop the buildings like a veil. His posture seemed relaxed, but I knew that facade too well to believe it entirely.

I carefully closed the door behind me, leaving behind the bustle of the inn and the distant laughter from the first floor. Astarion didn’t turn his head, but his voice broke the silence.

“So... Deryn seems quite charming. Very willing to offer you beers and memories from the past, wouldn’t you say?” Though his tone was light, there was an unmistakable edge to his words, a mix of sarcasm and something deeper I couldn’t immediately identify.

I removed my cloak and placed it over a chair, crossing my arms as I looked at him.

“Is this an interrogation or are you just jealous?” I asked with a teasing smile, though my heart beat a little faster than normal. I knew Astarion could be territorial in subtle ways, but this time his tone carried a different weight.

He finally turned to me, his eyes glowing with that red hue that always seemed to intensify under dim light.

“Jealous, my dear, isn’t exactly the word. Let’s say I’m curious. After all, it’s not every day I discover that my companion and eternal love has old friends who seem very... eager to catch up.” His smile was as sharp as a knife, but his eyes betrayed something softer: vulnerability.

I walked over to him, leaning slightly on the nearby table. The room was so quiet I could hear the faint creak of the wood beneath my weight.

“Deryn is an old friend, that’s all. Someone who was there for me when I needed it, and nothing more,” my voice was soft but firm. “Does that put you at ease, or do you want me to swear it under some deity?” I added, trying to ease the tension with a touch of humor.

Astarion let out a short laugh, tilting his head as he looked at me with a mix of amusement and resignation.

“It’s not that, Tav.” He paused, searching for the right words, something unusual for him. “It’s just... I’m not used to seeing this side of you. The person you were before our paths crossed. It’s like a world that doesn’t include me, and that’s... strange.”

His words took me by surprise. There was something disarming about his honesty, a reminder that behind his sarcastic and self-assured facade, Astarion was still grappling with his own fears.

I took a step closer to him, placing my hand gently on his.

“Astarion... that world doesn’t exist anymore. Everything I am now, everything I’ve lived through, has led me to this moment, here, with you.” I looked him directly in the eyes, hoping he understood the depth of my words. “Deryn is a part of the past, but you are my present. And, I hope, my future too.”

“Do you regret leaving Neverwinter?” he asked out of nowhere, his question catching me off guard.

“I must admit I was quite immature to leave my home for the reasons I did,” I began to answer. “But no, because if I hadn’t left here, I wouldn’t have been abducted by the mind flayers, which means I never would have met you,” I said sincerely. “If I were given the choice, I would walk the same steps over and over again, if it means meeting you once more.”

For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten. His lips curved into a smile, this time without sarcasm or mockery, just a faint touch of relief.

“You have a very effective way of calming my anxieties, my dear,” his tone was soft, almost a whisper. “I suppose I should learn to trust that no one else could ever match me, right?” he added with a hint of his characteristic humor, though this time without its usual sharpness.

“Exactly.” I returned his smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “Now, we should get some rest. Tomorrow we have a long journey ahead, and I think we both know goblins aren’t exactly the best hosts.”

Astarion nodded, but before he could move, he leaned slightly toward me, leaving a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Goodnight, my dear. Don’t let the goblins creep into your dreams.”

I smiled as he moved toward the bed we had agreed to share that night. Though the shadows of the challenges we faced still loomed in my mind, at that moment, the warmth of his presence made them feel a little more distant.

I removed the last remnants of my gear and let myself fall beside him, allowing the calm of the room and the steady rhythm of his breathing to lull me to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, the faint light of dawn filtered through the room’s curtains. The fresh morning air carried a slight scent of dampness and old wood. For a moment, I allowed myself to stay there, but the reality of our mission pushed me to get up.

Shadowheart was already waiting for me in the inn’s main hall, adjusting the straps of her gear with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to accompany her.

“Ready to explore?” she asked without looking up from her task.

I nodded, fastening my cloak while gathering my weapons. “More than ready. If we can get ahead and ensure there are no surprises in the forest, our chances will increase considerably.”

“Are you sure goblins are our only problem?” she replied with a raised eyebrow, reminding me of the rumors Deryn had shared the night before.

“According to Deryn, there are rumors of a possible drow mage behind all this,” I said, proceeding to recount the details my friend had told me.

“I see...” Shadowheart said as she processed the information. “They’re just rumors, but it wouldn’t hurt to stay alert in case they’re true.”

It didn’t take us long to finish preparing and head out toward the forest to begin our exploration and investigation.

The forest breeze gently swayed the tree branches, releasing the whisper of leaves that, combined with the birdsong and the crunch of branches beneath our feet, composed a soothing melody. Shadowheart walked a few steps ahead of me, her movements fluid and stealthy as always. Despite the apparent calm of the forest, we were both alert, our eyes scanning for any signs of traps or movement.

“Do you think we’ll find anything useful before nightfall?” Shadowheart asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was calm, but it carried that pragmatic curiosity that so often defined her.

“I hope so. If we can find a way to ambush them or prevent them from reinforcing their position, we’ll have a significant advantage,” I replied, pushing aside a low-hanging branch blocking our path. “And if we don’t find anything, at least we’ll know what to expect.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes until Shadowheart stopped and turned to me.

“So, how do you feel about being back in Neverwinter?” she asked, her gaze direct and curious.

I knew the question would come sooner or later, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer. I exhaled deeply, letting my thoughts settle before speaking.

“To be honest, it’s been... strange. At first, I didn’t want to come back. I thought all I’d find here were painful memories. But in the end...” My voice softened, and a small smile appeared on my lips. “I’m glad I did. Seeing Deryn reminded me that not everything I left behind was bad.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, as if expecting more.

“Just that?” she inquired, her tone almost teasing.

“Alright, I admit it,” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe I was a bit immature to let what happened at Cragmaw overshadow all the good memories of my life here. It was easier to run away than to face what I had lost. I was 20 years old, Shadowheart. For elves, I hadn’t even reached adulthood.”

She nodded but said nothing, letting my words hang in the air. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating dancing patterns on the ground as we moved forward.

“Deryn said something to me this morning before we left,” I continued, my voice lower. “‘Good luck with your mission. Say hello to your parents for me, who’ve been waiting for news from you these past 90 years.’” I paused, letting the words sink in. “I hadn’t thought much about them, you know? I guess I assumed they hadn’t thought much about me either. But now...” My voice broke slightly. “Maybe it’s time to visit them, if only to close that chapter of my life.”

Shadowheart observed me with a gentle expression, something rare for her.

“You know no one else can make that decision for you. But if it helps, I think it would be good for you. Sometimes, facing the past is the only way to move forward.”

I nodded, grateful for her honesty. We continued moving in silence, but my mind was far from goblins or traps. I remembered the laughter in my home, the nights by the fire, the stories my father told about his own adventures. There was so much I had left behind, so much I had locked away in a mental box and thrown into the river of my memory.

Suddenly, Shadowheart crouched, pointing to something on the ground. I stepped closer, following the direction of her finger. It was a clear trail: small, scattered footprints zigzagging between the trees.

“Goblins,” she whispered. Her voice carried that sharp precision she used when she was completely focused.

I knelt to examine the trail more closely. The footprints were fresh, probably from that very morning. There were at least half a dozen, maybe more, heading toward a rocky formation barely visible through the trees.

“We can follow them and see where they lead, but without getting too close,” Shadowheart proposed. “If we can figure out their movement pattern, we could set up an ambush tonight.”

I nodded, refocusing on the present. As we followed the trail, I realized something: returning to Neverwinter didn’t just mean facing my past. It was also an opportunity to prove to myself how much I had grown since then. I wasn’t the same scared child. Now I was an adventurer, a leader, someone capable of standing against even the gods.

The forest seemed darker as we ventured deeper into its depths, but this time I didn’t feel fear. I had faced horrors far greater than anything the goblins could throw at me. And this time, I wasn’t alone.

Shadowheart and I exchanged a glance, a silent communication that could only form after so many battles together. We moved forward, our shadows shifting among the trees like a harbinger of what was to come.

Chapter Text

After our productive exploration during the day, we returned to the inn to inform the others about what we had discovered. Once that was done, we began preparing to set out for the castle during the night. We decided to leave Scratch and the Owlbear in the inn’s stable.

The full moon bathed Cragmaw Castle in a spectral light, its crumbling towers casting jagged shadows over the surrounding forest. From our position in the underbrush, the castle looked like a sleeping giant, waiting to be awakened by chaos. Goblins patrolled the perimeter with torches, their coarse voices echoing into the night as they exchanged grunts and laughter. The smell of smoke and charred meat lingered in the air, evidence of their makeshift camp near the entrance.

I crouched behind a fallen log, the rest of the group in formation around me. Astarion was to my right, his eyes scanning the goblins’ movements with feline precision, his fingers idly playing with a dagger. Shadowheart was to my left, adjusting her shield and whispering a prayer to Selûne. Gale was a few meters behind, carefully inspecting the runes on a scroll he had unfurled.

“There are more of them than we expected,” Astarion murmured, his voice barely audible. “But not too many for us, of course. Though I do wonder if any of them will be worth the challenge.”

“Don’t underestimate goblins. They’re cowards by nature, but in groups, they can be lethal,” I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on the castle. There was something unsettling about the way the torches danced along the walls, as if the fire had a will of its own.

“What’s the plan?” Shadowheart asked quietly, breaking the tension.

I took a moment to assess the situation. We had spent the day studying their movement patterns, observing the patrols and the flow of activity in the camp. We knew goblins were disorganized, but their numbers and the castle’s terrain gave them a natural advantage.

“We’ll divide their attention,” I said finally, pointing to the castle’s two flanks. “Shadowheart and I will draw their focus at the main entrance. Gale, you’ll stay in the rear, ready to support us with magic if things go sideways. Astarion, you’ll infiltrate the eastern side and take out the lookouts before they can raise the alarm.”

The night breeze seemed to hold its breath as we prepared to execute the plan. Each of us moved to our positions with stealth, the forest shadows cloaking us like a protective shroud. The goblins’ torches cast an erratic glow, briefly illuminating their grotesque faces as they patrolled the castle’s perimeter.

Astarion was the first to break away from the group, slipping toward the castle’s eastern side like a phantom. His steps were silent, and his figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the undergrowth.

“Do you think he’ll handle it without trouble?” Shadowheart murmured, keeping her tone low as she positioned herself beside me.

“If anyone can, it’s him,” I replied, though I couldn’t stop a flicker of concern from creeping into my voice.

From our vantage point, we watched as a goblin armed with a spear and wearing an oversized helmet paused to scratch his head while yawning. It was the last thing he did before a dagger silenced him forever. Astarion’s figure briefly appeared behind him, dragging the body into the shadows before vanishing again.

“One down,” I muttered, more to myself than to Shadowheart.

We continued observing as Astarion methodically dispatched the sentries on the eastern flank, his movements precise and lethal. Each fallen goblin was removed from sight before they could raise the alarm.

Eventually, Gale approached from his position in the rear, his staff glowing faintly under the moonlight.

“Ready to provide a distraction if needed. How’s everything going?” he asked in a whisper.

“Astarion is clearing the eastern perimeter. Once he’s done, we’ll move to the main entrance to deal with the rest,” I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the castle.

A muffled cry from the ramparts signaled another fallen goblin. Moments later, Astarion emerged from the shadows, signaling for us to approach.

“The east is clear. The few left were so distracted with their nonsense they didn’t even see the end coming,” he said with a satisfied smile, wiping his dagger on the damp grass.

“Perfect. Now it’s our turn,” I replied, glancing at Shadowheart and Gale.

We moved cautiously, skirting the perimeter until we reached the main entrance. Three goblins sat around a makeshift campfire, laughing loudly as one of them gestured wildly, likely recounting some ridiculous tale.

“You and I will take the sides. Gale, be ready to take out anyone who tries to run,” I whispered to Shadowheart, motioning to the right flank while I took the left.

We approached them with precision, weapons at the ready. Astarion remained in the shadows, his bow drawn in case anything went awry.

The tension in the air was palpable as we closed in on the goblins. Shadowheart moved first, striking the nearest one with her mace. The impact was solid, and the goblin fell before it could make a sound.

I took advantage of the confusion, delivering a swift blow to the second goblin, my sword piercing through it before it could react. The third tried to rise, but a burst of magical energy from Gale struck it down before it could scream.

Silence returned to the area, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“Too easy,” Astarion remarked as he joined us, eyeing the goblin bodies.

“Don’t get cocky yet. This was just the beginning,” I replied, wiping my sword before turning to the group. “Let’s keep moving.”

With the perimeter cleared, we approached the castle gates. Its imposing structure, weathered by time, looked even more intimidating under the moonlight. The next few hours would determine whether our plan succeeded or if Cragmaw would once again become the place where everything went wrong.

“It’s time to go in,” I said firmly, pushing the partially open doors.

The massive doors of Cragmaw Castle creaked open, revealing a dark corridor steeped in the stench of dampness and rancid meat. The once-majestic walls were now covered in mold and cracks, while tattered banners of the Cragmaw tribe hung, a reminder of their decay.

We noticed some markings on the walls—drow symbols—which seemed to confirm the rumors Deryn had told me about “The Black Spider,” the supposed drow wizard.

We moved silently, our shadows stretching with each torch that lit the narrow hallways. The distant echoes of guttural voices and goblin laughter resonated from deep within the castle. Astarion led the way, his figure blending seamlessly with the shadows, while Shadowheart and I followed closely, with Gale bringing up the rear.

“The throne room should be at the end of this corridor, assuming the goblins are still using the old layout we observed from outside,” I whispered.

As we advanced, the sounds grew clearer: fragmented goblin conversations and a rumbling that suggested a heated argument. Shadowheart raised a hand, signaling us to stop.

“Listen,” she whispered, tilting her head slightly forward.

We fell silent, focusing on the voices.

“Nezznar has no authority here!” growled a deep, rough voice that echoed forcefully through the chamber. “This is my castle, my tribe! If he wants something, he’ll have to pay more!”

Another voice responded, this one higher-pitched, likely belonging to one of the goblins: “But, King Grol, The Black Spider gave us the weapons and food. He said he’d protect us if we did what he asked...”

The sound of something heavy slamming against wood cut off the goblin mid-sentence, followed by a shriek.

“Shut up!” roared the same rough voice. “That drow is nothing but a manipulator. If he turns on me, I’ll find another way to secure our power. No one controls the Cragmaw but me.”

We exchanged quick glances. Gale raised an eyebrow, whispering just loud enough to be heard:

“It seems our friend King Grol isn’t exactly fond of his ‘ally.’”

“This could work to our advantage. If they’re divided, it’ll be easier to deal with them,” I replied, weighing the information.

We crept closer to the entrance of the throne room, where a pair of poorly armed goblins stood guard. Astarion gestured with his hand, silently asking for permission to handle them. I nodded, and before the goblins could notice us, they fell with surgical precision, their bodies dragged into the shadows by Astarion.

With the entrance cleared, we positioned ourselves at the edge of the slightly ajar door, peering into the room.

King Grol, an imposing bugbear with disheveled black fur and scars crisscrossing his face, sat on an improvised throne made of bones and splintered wood. His enormous mace rested beside him as he gestured furiously at a group of goblins and hobgoblins. Near his throne, a particularly small goblin, dressed in robes adorned with feathers, seemed to be trying to calm him, though his tone was nervous.

“No one tells me what to do! That drow may think he controls everything, but he’s just a tool. If he shows up here again, maybe I’ll teach him a lesson myself if he keeps up that arrogant behavior,” Grol growled, leaning forward with a cruel smile.

I turned to the group, whispering quickly:

“It’s clear he doesn’t trust Nezznar. This could play to our favor. If we take out King Grol, we’ll completely destabilize the goblins and eliminate Nezznar’s influence in this region.”

Shadowheart frowned. “But we could also use him. If Grol hates Nezznar, maybe we could extract information from him before taking him down.”

“The question is whether he’d be willing to talk or if he’ll attack us the moment he sees us,” Gale added in a whisper.

Astarion, casually cleaning his dagger, murmured with a sly smile:

“Well, we can always try... and if it fails, who says we can’t solve it the hard way?”

I nodded, making a decision. “First, let’s take out the goblins in the room. Once we’re alone with Grol, we’ll decide how to proceed.”

We prepared for the assault, each taking position around the entrance. Shadowheart raised her shield while Gale began muttering a spell under his breath.

The castle would soon descend into utter chaos.

Chapter Text

The throne room was engulfed in chaotic commotion. The goblins chattered among themselves, their shrill voices blending with the low grunts of the hobgoblins flanking King Grol. From our hidden position, we could feel the tension in the air, a mix of disorganization and forced authority that perfectly reflected the state of his leadership.

Astarion was the first to move. With lethal elegance, he slid toward one of the more isolated goblins, his figure vanishing into the shadows. Seconds later, a muffled scream marked the fall of the first victim. Shadowheart and I exchanged a quick glance before moving toward the opposite flank, our weapons ready.

Gale remained behind, his staff glowing faintly as he channeled a spell. A hobgoblin lifted his head, sensing something unusual, but before he could alert the others, a bolt of magical energy struck his chest, sending him to the ground with a dull thud.

Chaos erupted. The goblins screamed in alarm at the sight of their fallen comrades, but their reaction was disorganized, lacking a clear leader to direct them. Shadowheart blocked a hobgoblin’s attack with her shield, striking him with her mace in a fluid motion that left him unconscious. I moved toward the center of the room, my sword tracing deadly arcs as I cut down the goblins attempting to flee.

“INTRUDERS!” roared King Grol, rising abruptly. His imposing figure eclipsed the torchlight as he grabbed his enormous mace and slammed it against the ground with force, demanding order among his people.

But it was too late. By the time Grol managed to impose some control, only he and a small goblin in feathered robes remained, the latter slowly backing into a corner, trembling in fear.

“What kind of cowards are you?” Grol bellowed, casting a furious glare at the goblin. His attention then shifted to us, and a cruel smile crept onto his face. “Do you think you can come here and challenge King Grol? Go ahead, try it! I’ll crush you like the rats you are!”

We positioned ourselves around the room, forming a semicircle to surround him. Astarion, as always, maintained his mocking smile while twirling one of his daggers. Shadowheart raised her shield, ready for any attack, while Gale positioned himself at the rear, his hands glowing with magical energy.

“King Grol,” my voice cut through the silence, firm and controlled. “We don’t want to drag this out longer than necessary. If you cooperate, you might walk out of this alive. Otherwise...” I let the implied threat finish the sentence.

The bugbear laughed, a deep, menacing sound that echoed through the room.

“Cooperate? With you? NEVER! I’m no pawn like that cursed drow who thinks he can order me around. I am the true king here!”

My focus sharpened at his words. The mention of Nezznar was the opportunity we needed.

“If you hate the drow so much, then you have a reason to help us. We want the same thing as you: to eliminate him.”

Grol’s smile wavered for a moment, his gaze assessing us. There was doubt in his eyes, but also defiance.

“And what do I get out of it?” he spat, his hands tightening around his mace.

I exchanged a quick look with Shadowheart, who nodded almost imperceptibly. We decided to take the gamble.

“Your freedom, for starters. And your life. But we’ll also make sure Nezznar stops manipulating you. Because, let’s be honest, right now you’re just a means to his ends.” My words were direct, my tone cold.

Grol’s expression shifted, and I could see the internal struggle on his face. Finally, he let out a low growl, as if accepting that he was in a precarious position.

“Fine. I’ll talk. But you’d better keep your word.” His gaze was full of resentment, but there was something else—a spark of desperation.

I gestured for my group to stay alert as I stepped closer to his makeshift throne.

“Where is Nezznar?” I asked calmly, my hand still resting on my sword’s hilt.

Grol scoffed, crossing his massive arms.

“That traitor is here, hiding in his quarters, always surrounded by those magical trinkets he collects. He thinks the castle is his just because he gave me a bit of gold and empty promises.”

“And the Ring of the Sunwalker?” Shadowheart interrupted, her tone tense. “Do you know anything about it?”

“I don’t know anything about that ring. But if it’s here, he has it. That drow keeps everything valuable close.” Grol growled, fixing his gaze on us. “Are you satisfied now? Or will you keep threatening me?”

I looked at my group, quickly assessing our options. With the information on Nezznar and the ring, we were closer to our goal. But something in Grol’s attitude made me doubt—he wasn’t being completely honest.

I kept my expression neutral, though I felt the tension in my team. Astarion was ready, dagger in hand, while Shadowheart kept her shield up. Gale, ever the observer, held his staff slightly raised, as if waiting for a signal.

Deryn had taught me something when we were young: Liars always think they’re smarter than you, but their arrogance betrays them. King Grol thought himself clever, but he had no idea what was really happening.

“You know,” I began, stepping toward him calmly, letting my sword hang loosely in my hand, “I appreciate you telling us all this. You’ve been... very helpful.”

Grol laughed, a guttural and mocking sound.

“Of course I was. Now, leave me alone. You have your information, I have my throne. We all win.”

I lifted my gaze to him, letting a cold smile slip onto my lips.

“Except not all of us are going to win.”

His laughter cut off abruptly, his expression shifting from mockery to confusion, quickly followed by a spark of realization.

“What are you—?”

I didn’t give him time to finish. In a swift motion, I lifted my sword and plunged it into his side, slipping between the plates of his makeshift armor. As I did, I mentally thanked Lae’zel for teaching me how to wield a sword. His roar of pain echoed through the room, but my team was already prepared.

Shadowheart stepped forward with her shield, smashing it into his face to keep him off balance. Astarion, with agile precision, slid behind him, driving his dagger into the base of his neck. Gale, from his position, raised a magical barrier at the door to ensure no other goblins could enter if they heard the commotion.

Despite his size and strength, King Grol fell to his knees, gasping as his blood pooled on the stone floor. His eyes searched for mine, filled with fury and, finally, fear.

“You could have let me live...” he groaned, his voice barely a whisper.

I tilted my head, looking at him coldly.

“Perhaps. But you never let those who crossed your path live. This is justice, Grol, though I doubt you can understand it.”

His body collapsed with a heavy thud, and silence returned to the room.

Shadowheart slowly lowered her shield, her eyes meeting mine.

"You never planned to let him live, did you?" she asked, though her tone was not accusatory.

I shook my head, wiping my sword on one of the filthy tapestries hanging near the throne.

"No. Someone like him will always be a problem. It's better to make sure he won't be one for anyone else."

Astarion chuckled under his breath, calmly wiping his dagger clean.

"Well, I must admit I admire your pragmatism. Although, darling, you could have given me a heads-up. I could have saved myself the trouble of cleaning my dagger twice."

I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond. Deep down, I knew I had made the right decision. Grol was nothing more than an obstacle, a broken tool Nezznar had used to his advantage.

Gale lowered his staff, dispelling the magical barrier as he stepped toward the lifeless bugbear.

"I suppose it’s up to us now to finish the job. If Nezznar is here, I doubt he’ll just wait around for us."

"Then let’s not give him the chance to escape," I said, my voice firm as I strode toward the throne room’s back door.

As we prepared to move forward, I couldn't shake the feeling that the castle was beginning to close in around us. Nezznar was here somewhere, and each step brought us closer to our confrontation.

As we advanced through the castle, we eliminated every goblin we encountered. I had no intention of leaving any of them alive. In doing so, I was doing a favor for the merchants and adventurers who passed through these lands—once we were done, they would no longer have to worry about the Cragmaw tribe.

Eliminating this drow was also part of my plan. If he truly was the one manipulating the goblins, leaving him free would be a grave mistake. Who knows what other trouble he could cause?

I wasn’t yet sure if we would attempt a "friendly" conversation with him to gather more information about the ring, or if we would jump straight into battle. I supposed that was something we would decide in the moment.

Chapter Text

The air inside the room was thick with the scent of incense and the melted wax of several candles arranged throughout the chamber. Unlike the rest of the castle—neglected and filthy—this place had a calculated order. Maps and scrolls were spread across a large dark wooden table, alongside vials containing strange ingredients and small crystals emitting a faint glow.

And in the center of it all, as if he had not a single care in the world, Nezznar sat, holding a wine goblet with an irritating calm. His dark fabric armor contrasted against his bluish-gray skin, and his white hair cascaded neatly over his shoulders. His eyes glowed with amusement as he watched us enter.

“Well, well…” he exhaled in feigned surprise, twirling the goblet elegantly between his fingers. “Took you longer than I expected. I must say, I overestimated your efficiency.”

Astarion crossed his arms, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“Oh, how kind. And here we thought you wouldn’t welcome us with open arms.”

Nezznar chuckled softly and set the goblet on the table with a measured movement.

“Of course, I was expecting you. I’m not foolish enough to ignore what was happening outside. Grol’s death was… rather noisy.” His smile widened with self-satisfaction. “And I must say, you did me a favor by getting rid of him. A clumsy brute who thought himself more than he truly was.”

Shadowheart tightened her grip on her mace.

“If you already know why we’re here, spare us the conversation. We’re not known for our patience.”

Nezznar sighed, placing a hand on his chest in an exaggerated gesture.

“So impatient. The heroes of Baldur’s Gate and their need to solve everything with violence. Wouldn’t you be interested in a civilized conversation, perhaps?”

“You know what interests us?” My voice cut through the air coldly. “The Ring of the Sunwalker. You have it, don’t you?”

The drow leaned forward, intertwining his fingers atop the table.

“Perhaps. But I wonder… what would you do for it?” His gaze slowly slid over each of us, studying us with malicious pleasure.

Astarion smiled, his fangs subtly exposed.

“Oh, dear, don’t misunderstand. We’re not here to negotiate. We’re here to take what we want. And you only get to choose how painful the process will be.”

The glint in Nezznar’s eyes shifted slightly, but his smile didn’t waver.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice laced with magic.

And in a blink, he vanished.

What followed was almost instinctual. Gale muttered a spell to detect magic, Shadowheart raised her shield, and Astarion spun on his heels with daggers ready. But I didn’t panic.

Because I could see him.

The artificial eye Volo had given me glowed briefly as Nezznar’s spectrally invisible form moved toward the corner of the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I growled, swinging my sword in his direction and slashing through the air just in front of his chest.

The impact was immediate. Nezznar gasped as the blade grazed his side, and instantly, his invisibility dissipated. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“How…?”

Astarion clicked his tongue.

“Oh, dear, did you really think you could escape so easily? How disappointing.”

Gale smirked, his staff crackling with energy.

“I’d say we can now have a more… civilized discussion. But I think we’ve moved past that point, haven’t we?”

Nezznar gritted his teeth, clutching the shallow wound on his side.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

I lifted my sword, my gaze icy.

“Neither do you.”

Nezznar still held his composure, though the gleam in his eyes was no longer amusement but frantic calculation.

“Listen, listen…” He raised his hands with a tense smile. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘This drow is just another obstacle, another enemy to cut down.’ But think carefully. I’m not a simple fool like King Grol. I can be useful.”

“Useful?” Astarion raised an eyebrow in evident skepticism.

“Yes, useful.” Nezznar straightened, clinging to his pride. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’m not a minor player in this game. If you kill me, you’ll be eliminating the only person who truly understands what’s moving in the shadows.”

“Yes, yes, greater threats, conspiracies in the dark, blah, blah, blah. Are you going to say something we haven’t heard before?” Gale waved a hand dismissively. “Look, friend, we’ve defeated an immortal fanatic, a murderous lunatic, and a tyrant with a god complex. You’ll have to try harder to impress us.”

Nezznar narrowed his eyes, reassessing us.

“Perhaps I underestimated your experience, but you still don’t see the full picture,” he said, his voice as slippery as poison. “The drow do not forget. They do not forgive. If you eliminate me, my people will know. And Faerûn is not large enough to hide from them.”

Shadowheart tilted her head in feigned curiosity.

“You know, there’s something all the ones we’ve killed had in common.”

Gale grinned slyly.

“They all thought they were invincible.”

Astarion let out a mocking laugh.

“Ketheric thought his immortality made him untouchable. Orin believed her madness made her unpredictable. And Gortash… oh, he thought he always had the upper hand. Until he lost it.”

Nezznar clicked his tongue, irritated.

“I am not like them!” he snapped. “I wasn’t defeated!”

“Yet.” My voice cut the air coldly.

I channeled my magic, letting energy build in my hands as a silent warning. But instead of backing down, Nezznar tried one last move.

“We can make a deal! We can work together!” His voice was urgent, his eyes gleaming with feverish intensity. “Think of what we could accomplish! You need power. I have it. Let me live, and I’ll share it with you!”

Astarion chuckled softly, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“Oh, dear. Do you really think anyone in this room needs your power?”

Desperation finally flickered in Nezznar’s eyes.

“Don’t force me to do this! If I die, you’ll be sealing your own fate! I swear—”

I didn’t let him finish.

With a swift motion, I unleashed a burst of fire, bathing the room in a crimson glow

Nezznar reacted instantly, raising a magical barrier that absorbed part of the impact, yet he still staggered. His gaze filled with fury.

"Very well! If I cannot convince you… I will make you kneel before me!"

And with those words, the room erupted into a whirlwind of dark magic.

The shadows in the chamber seemed to stretch and twist as Nezznar raised both hands, channeling his power. A burst of dark magic surged from his fingers, forming tendrils of shadowy energy that swirled around us.

"Watch out!" Gale shouted, raising his staff to invoke an arcane shield.

The shadows crashed against the magical barrier, writhing as if alive. Astarion moved swiftly, narrowly dodging a tendril of energy that tried to snare his ankle. Shadowheart, her shield raised, blocked another blast of magic before launching into the attack.

"He’s not the first to try something like this!" she roared, channeling a burst of radiant light that made Nezznar hiss in pain.

The drow recoiled, his fangs clenched in a grimace of fury.

"Do you have any idea what you’re doing?! My death will be the beginning of your downfall!"

"No, it will be the end of yours," I replied coldly, raising both hands to summon an orb of fire.

The incandescent sphere shot across the room and exploded with a feral roar. Nezznar raised another magical barrier just in time, but the force of the blast sent him crashing into his desk.

Astarion seized the distraction, slipping into the shadows and reappearing right behind Nezznar.

"Oh, dear… don’t forget you’re not alone in this dance."

His dagger sank into the drow’s side. Nezznar let out a grunt of agony, but before Astarion could land another strike, a blast of dark energy sent him flying backward, slamming into a bookshelf.

"Astarion!" I called out, watching the vampire groan as he got up, shaking off the wood splinters and dust.

"I’m fine. Just… ugh, I hate wizards."

Nezznar was breathing heavily, but the arrogance hadn’t left his face. His trembling hand clenched around a ring on his finger.

"You have no idea what you’re meddling with…" he rasped, his eyes glowing with a magical light.

I didn’t give him the chance to do anything else.

I extended a hand and conjured a lightning bolt that snaked across the room like a blue serpent. The magic struck Nezznar square in the chest, making him scream as the energy coursed through him violently. His body arched, his muscles seizing before he finally collapsed to his knees.

His breath was ragged, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury.

"No… this is not… possible…"

I stepped forward slowly, sword in one hand, a spell in the other.

"It is."

Without giving him a chance to spring another trap, I unleashed one final burst of fire. The flames consumed him for an instant before dissipating, leaving his skin charred and his eyes lifeless.

Nezznar, The Black Spider, fell to the ground, dead.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackling remnants of magic in the air.

Astarion approached with a dramatic sigh, gazing at the body with little concern.

"Well, that was a satisfying ending. Did anyone else feel he talked too much?"

"We all did," Shadowheart replied, before frowning at the corpse. "Now, let’s find the ring."

My gaze slid to Nezznar’s hand.

There it was.

A simple ring, appearing as an ordinary iron band adorned with a blood-red ruby, ancient inscriptions etched along its surface.

I knelt and carefully slid it off the drow’s finger. Instantly, a faint vibration tingled in my palm, a magical energy creeping across my skin.

"Is this it…?" Gale murmured, stepping closer for a better look.

"It seems so," I whispered, my fingers closing around the ring.

Astarion held the ring with a mix of disbelief and fascination. His fingers turned it delicately, as if reluctant to rush, as if fearing the moment would shatter upon putting it on.

"Will it work?" he muttered, more to himself than to us.

Shadowheart crossed her arms, watching him cautiously. Gale observed the ring with curiosity but said nothing.

"There’s only one way to find out," I responded.

In a couple of hours, the sun would begin to rise. We decided to return to the inn and wait for dawn there—it seemed the most fitting choice.

We walked back in silence. No goblins left standing, no enemies lurking in the shadows. We had what we came for. Then why did I feel so uneasy?

On the way back, Astarion remained silent, but his expression had changed. Less mocking, less defensive. His red eyes shimmered with something he rarely showed—genuine hope.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, my chest tightening with a mix of excitement and nerves. I couldn’t imagine what this meant for him. After everything he had suffered, was he finally close to freedom?

I couldn’t let anything go wrong.

Everything had been too easy. No, not easy. But… something didn’t add up. Nezznar hadn’t truly tried to flee, nor had he fought with all his strength. Or maybe we had just grown used to facing truly powerful foes? Yes, maybe that was it. Nezznar thought himself stronger than he actually was.

I shook my head. "It’s just my imagination," I thought. The ring will work. It has to.

Chapter Text

We arrived at the inn without much trouble, the warmth of the place enveloping us as soon as we crossed the door. The scent of wood and melted wax replaced the stench of blood and dust from the castle. Even though it was still early morning, a few candles remained lit at the bar, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The entire group followed us into the room where Astarion and I were staying; no one wanted to miss this moment.

Gale collapsed into a chair with a tired sigh, while Shadowheart leaned her shield against the wall and crossed her arms. Astarion remained silent, staring at the ring on his finger with an unreadable expression.

“Well, I hope no one intends to sleep,” Astarion said with a soft laugh, though the tension in his posture betrayed his feigned nonchalance.

“We’re here for you,” I assured him, meeting his gaze with a calm smile.

Astarion held my gaze for a moment before looking away toward the window, where the night still stretched on with no sign of dawn.

The hours passed with exasperating slowness. Every so often, Gale and I peeked through the thick curtains to see if the sun had risen, but the night still ruled the sky. Astarion never took his eyes off the ring, turning it between his fingers absentmindedly. The anticipation weighed heavily on him, and though he said nothing, his anxiety showed in the way his leg moved slightly, in the faint tremor of his breath when he thought no one was watching.

Finally, the first rays of sunlight illuminated the morning, casting a soft golden light on the horizon.

“It’s time,” Gale murmured solemnly, approaching the window. Carefully, he pulled back the curtain, allowing a small beam of sunlight to filter into the room.

Astarion remained still. He looked at the light with a mixture of longing and fear. We all held our breath as he slowly lifted his hand, moving it toward the glow.

For a moment, he hesitated.

His hand trembled slightly before crossing the threshold of the shadow.

The air seemed to freeze.

One second. Two.

There was no pain, no smoke, no screams. Just the sunlight caressing his pale skin without harm.

“It worked…” Astarion whispered, his voice laden with awe.

Relief washed over us. Shadowheart let out a nearly imperceptible sigh, and Gale smiled, leaning forward as if analyzing the ring’s magic. My heart pounded with renewed hope.

“Astarion…” I whispered, emotion welling up.

But just as hope was settling in, Astarion let out a scream of agony.

We all flinched. He pulled his hand away from the light in a desperate motion, accidentally knocking against the back of a chair. His fingers trembled, his skin blackened by a searing burn.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

Astarion stared at his hand, his expression a mix of disbelief and despair.

“No…” he murmured, his voice breaking.

Shadowheart immediately stepped forward with her healing magic, but the wound had already healed before she could even cast a spell. Still, the damage was done.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The way his lips parted as if searching for words he couldn’t find. The way he clenched his teeth in frustration before looking away from us all.

“The ring isn’t fake…” I whispered. “But it’s not enough.”

Gale frowned, examining the ring seriously.

“It’s a powerful artifact, but it wasn’t designed to completely protect a vampire from sunlight. It may reduce the damage, maybe give you a few seconds… but it doesn’t make you immune.”

Astarion let out a bitter laugh.

“So it just gives me the chance to die more slowly. Wonderful.”

I stepped closer, wanting to touch him, but stopped when I saw the tension in his body.

“Astarion…”

He closed his eyes for a moment before shaking himself, forcing a carefree smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Well. It wouldn’t be the first time hope shattered before my eyes.” His tone was light, but his voice trembled on the last word.

No one knew what to say.

And I felt an emptiness settle in my chest.

Because this was it. Our last option.

And it had failed.

I had failed Astarion.

The silence in the room was heavy, thick with emotions no one knew how to express. Astarion said nothing else. He simply stood there, staring at his hand, at the traces of regenerated skin where there had once been a burn.

Then, without looking up, without even glancing at us, he yanked the ring off his finger and let it drop onto the table. The sound of metal against wood seemed louder than it should have been, an echo of the disappointment we all shared.

“I need to be alone.” His voice was tense, restrained, almost a whisper.

“Astarion…” I tried, stepping toward him.

He shook his head, still not looking at me.

“Please.”

It was just two words, but in his tone, there was something unyielding. Something that said insisting would only make things worse.

We left the room to give him the space he asked for. I stood in the hallway for a few minutes, staring at the closed door of our room, the place where Astarion was now.

And then, my legs suddenly unable to hold me, I collapsed into the nearest chair.

Guilt hit me with the force of an arrow to the chest.

This had been my idea.

I was the one who found information about the ring in Candlekeep. I was the one who convinced him this could work. I was the one who made him believe there was a way out.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to suppress the tightness in my chest, the sting in my eyes, the tremor in my fingers.

“This is my fault,” I murmured, my voice breaking more than I would have liked.

“No.” Shadowheart’s firm voice cut through the air. “It’s not.”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I looked up, I saw Shadowheart watching me seriously, but without judgment.

“You couldn’t have known,” she continued. “We thought this was the answer. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I was the one who gave him hope,” I whispered, feeling a lump form in my throat.

Gale leaned against the table, crossing his arms with a sigh.

“Giving someone hope isn’t a sin, Tav. Sometimes, hope is all we have.”

I pressed my lips together, lowering my gaze.

“But now he’s lost it.”

Astarion had stopped believing in many things, but all this time, he had believed in me. That I would find a way. That his life wouldn’t always be a curse.

But now… what did he have left?

The room fell into silence for a moment. Then, Astarion’s expression before he left resurfaced in my mind. His composed face, his measured voice, but his eyes… those eyes filled with something he was desperately trying to contain.

Pain.

Rage.

Hopelessness.

I can’t leave him alone for too long.

I sighed, placing a hand on my chest, trying to ease the tightness.

"I should go talk to him."

"Give him a moment," Shadowheart crossed her arms. "He needs to process this. We can’t rush what he’s feeling."

"I know," I whispered. "But I don’t want him to sink into it."

Gale straightened and shook his head with a faint, tired smile.

"Tav, you won’t help anyone if you sit here drowning in guilt."

"Gale’s right." Shadowheart placed a hand on her hip, frowning at me. "The best thing we can do now is give him space."

"But…"

"No buts." Gale interrupted firmly. "Come have breakfast with us. Get something warm, let your mind breathe for a bit."

"I’m not hungry," I replied quietly.

"Then come downstairs and pretend you are," Gale retorted, his tone light but laden with meaning.

I pressed my lips together, the pressure in my chest growing.

"I don’t want to leave in case he needs me."

Shadowheart sighed and shook her head.

"If Astarion wanted you with him right now, he wouldn’t have asked to be alone. Give him what he needs, Tav. And you need to breathe too."

I glanced at the door Astarion had gone through. A part of me still wanted to run after him.

But they were right.

Finally, I exhaled and stood up heavily.

"Alright. But I won’t stay long."

Gale smiled approvingly as he opened the door.

"That’s all we ask."

I let them guide me to the inn’s first floor, where the scent of freshly baked bread and coffee filled the air.

But in the back of my mind, my concern remained anchored to Astarion.

And what I would do when I finally went to find him.

The tables were empty; not many people were around in the morning. It seemed most only showed up at night for drinks. We sat at the bar, where Deryn was pouring a cup of coffee.

"How did it go?" Deryn asked. He knew about our journey to Cragmaw, though I had never told him the reason for it. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Gale, Shadowheart, and I exchanged glances. I didn’t answer immediately. I simply shook my head and lowered my gaze to the bar, tracing invisible lines on the wood with my fingers.

Deryn frowned but asked no further questions. Instead, he placed a cup of coffee and a plate of fresh toast in front of each of us.

"I’m sorry, Tav," he said softly, genuinely. "I don’t know what you were searching for, but I hope you find it someday."

I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the cup in my hands. The scent of coffee was comforting, but not enough to ease the tightness in my chest.

"We were looking for a way for my partner to walk under the sun," I confessed quietly, barely realizing I had spoken until the words were already in the air.

Deryn raised his eyebrows, confused.

"Your partner…?"

"The white-haired elf who was with me when we arrived," I interrupted before he could ask further. "He’s a vampire."

A brief silence followed.

Deryn looked at me with surprise but without judgment. In Faerûn, vampires were seen as despicable creatures, threats to be eradicated without question. But he didn’t react with horror or disapproval.

"A vampire, huh?" he finally murmured, leaning on the bar.

"I’m searching for a cure… or at least a way for him to walk under the sun without pain," I continued, my voice subdued, feeling the need to explain something most would find unthinkable.

Deryn exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin as he processed my words. Then, he shook his head with a faint, melancholic smile.

"I’m sorry, Tav. I wish I could help."

I pressed my lips together, nodding without saying anything else.

Silence settled between us, only interrupted by the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional murmur of a half-asleep patron.

Deryn was the one who finally broke it.

"Your family," he said suddenly, his tone thoughtful.

I looked up, frowning.

"What?"

"Your family," he repeated, placing both hands on the bar. "If anyone can help you with this, it’s your father. Everyone in Neverwinter knows how powerful he is. A sorcerer of his caliber must know more about magic than any of us could imagine."

His comment caught me off guard.

"Deryn, I don’t know if…"

"Think about it," he interrupted gently. "Who better to help you than someone with his knowledge? If anyone can find a solution, it’s him."

My hands tightened around the cup.

Yes, my father was an incredibly powerful sorcerer, perhaps one of the strongest in Neverwinter. But he was also… intense. Protective. Excessive in everything he did, especially when it came to his family.

And if he discovers that Astarion is a vampire, how would he react?

I clenched my jaw, feeling the weight of the idea settle on my shoulders.

Deryn must have noticed my hesitation because his tone softened.

"Look, I’m not saying you should tell him everything right away. But at least seek his advice without revealing too much. You never know what solution he might offer."

Shadowheart, who had remained silent until now, placed a hand on the table and spoke calmly.

"Deryn’s right. You lose nothing by asking."

Gale nodded, watching me intently.

"Considering everything we’ve tried, turning to someone with his power might be our best option."

I remained silent.

My father—I hadn’t seen him in so many years.

Was this a good idea?

I felt a pressure in my chest, a mix of anxiety and doubt. But alongside them, there was also a spark of hope.

Because, at the end of the day, what else could I do?

I sighed, setting the cup down on the bar.

"I’ll think about it" I finally murmured.

Deryn smiled, giving me a light tap on the arm, just like when we were kids.

"That’s all I ask" he said with a grin.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just a matter of thinking about it. It was about finding the courage to do it.

"Excuse me" I said, standing up. "I’m going to check on Astarion." I headed towards the second floor before anyone could stop me—I didn’t want to leave him alone for too long.

As I climbed the stairs to our room, the weight of my conversation with Deryn lingered in my mind, but my concern for Astarion overshadowed everything. I knew him well enough to know that his way of dealing with pain was to retreat, to isolate himself in his silence. And that was the last thing he needed right now.

I stopped in front of the door, raising my hand to knock, but I hesitated. What would I say? What could I say to make this easier?

I pressed my lips together and, finally, knocked softly on the wood.

"Love, it’s me. May I come in?" I asked in a calm voice.

A long silence followed. Long enough that my heartbeat quickened. I was about to turn away, ready to respect his wish to be alone, when his voice finally came through.

"Come in."

He didn’t sound angry or cold, but there was no emotion in his tone either. I took a breath before turning the handle and pushing the door open.

The room was nearly dark, illuminated only by the dim candlelight on the table. Astarion sat at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor.

The ring lay discarded on the table, abandoned as if it were nothing more than a worthless piece of metal.

I carefully closed the door behind me, feeling as if I were walking on glass.

"How do you feel?" I asked, approaching him slowly.

Astarion let out a short, humorless laugh.

"How do you think I feel?" he whispered, rubbing his temple with two fingers. "But don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to throw myself out the window or spiral into self-pity. I’m…" He paused, searching for the right words. "I won’t say I’m fine, but I’m not worse off than I expected."

I sat beside him on the bed, though he didn’t look at me.

"Astarion…"

"It was never a certainty," he interrupted, his voice firmer but not harsh. "I knew there was a chance it wouldn’t work. I allowed myself to hope, yes… but this isn’t the first time a hope has faded. It won’t be the last."

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I didn’t want to push him either.

"So, what now?" I asked softly.

Astarion finally looked at me, his red eyes glowing in the candlelight.

"I won’t give up. I won’t sit idly by and accept this as my final fate." He smiled faintly, though there was sadness in his expression. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned with you, it’s that there’s always another way."

I looked at him with a glimmer of hope.

"Maybe you’re right," I said gently. "Maybe there is another way."

His smile vanished instantly.

"No."

I frowned.

"What?"

Astarion stood from the bed and looked at me with intensity.

"You’re not going to say what I think you’re about to say." His voice was serious, as if he thought I was about to suggest the worst thing imaginable.

"Astarion…"

"No." He cut me off, his tone sharper, his gaze burning with a mix of anger and desperation. "Don’t bring up that damned contract, Tav."

I fell silent.

He took a step forward, his jaw clenched.

"You won’t do it. You’re not signing that pact with Raphael."

"That’s not what I meant…" I tried to explain, but he interrupted me again.

"Oh, really?!" His laugh was bitter, incredulous. "Then tell me, Tav, what other ‘way’ have you miraculously discovered in such a short time for me to walk under the sun?"

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped. He wasn’t going to listen until he got what he wanted, and I think I knew where this conversation was headed.

Astarion extended his hand.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"The contract," he demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Give it to me now."

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the parchment inside my bag.

I didn’t want to hand it over.

Not because I intended to sign it right then… but because a part of me feared that, in a moment of weakness, that option might become the only way out.

But Astarion knew me too well. He knew that if I had no other choice, I would sign that contract for him.

"Tav." His voice was softer now, almost pleading. "Give it to me. I don’t want you doing something foolish."

I clenched my teeth, but finally, I reached into my bag and pulled out the parchment.

Astarion took it quickly, holding it as if it were a dangerous poison.

"I’ll keep it" he said firmly. "Somewhere you won’t find it."

I didn’t protest. I just looked at him, tired and resigned.

Astarion sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…" His voice softened. "I didn’t want to be like this with you. But if it ever happens… if you ever sign that contract…" He looked at me with pain in his eyes. "I wouldn’t be able to bear it."

The knot in my throat grew tighter.

I leaned into him, resting my forehead against his chest.

"I wasn’t going to."

I felt his arm wrap around me tightly, as if he needed to make sure I was really there.

We stayed like that for a moment.

Finally, I sighed.

"What I was going to say… is that there may be another way. But it has nothing to do with Raphael."

Astarion tensed slightly before tilting his head toward me.

"What are you talking about?"

I pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"My family."

He frowned.

"Your family?"

"My father is probably the most powerful sorcerer in Neverwinter. If there’s anyone in this world who might have an artifact or knowledge that could help us… it’s him."

Astarion didn’t respond immediately. His expression shifted from confusion to contemplation and, finally, to skepticism.

"And you think he’ll just give you that information if you ask?"

I pressed my lips together.

"I don’t know."

He narrowed his eyes, analyzing the idea.

"Does he know you’re with a vampire?"

"No," I admitted. "And that’s what worries me."

Astarion let out a thoughtful sound, crossing his arms.

"So… are you willing to take that risk?"

I sighed.

"I don’t know. But I don’t want to give up."

We stayed in silence, both of us processing the possibility.

Finally, Astarion smirked.

"Well… at least it doesn’t involve Raphael. So, for now, I’ll accept it."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile too.

It was a start.

And even though I was afraid of what my family might do, there was one thing I knew for certain: For Astarion, I was willing to risk everything.

Chapter Text

I decided it would be best to go to my parents’ house alone first, to get a sense of the situation and see how well—or how badly—this could turn out. So, I’m mentally preparing myself before heading out.

Should I arrive unannounced, or ask Deryn to deliver a letter to my brother, letting him know I’m coming home?

After pacing around the room and thinking it over, I settled on a letter. Arriving unannounced would be rude—my mother would certainly say it’s inappropriate behavior. Though, of course, I know my father and brother wouldn’t mind. They’d be happy to see me regardless.

I spent more time than I’d like to admit sitting in front of a blank parchment, my quill hovering over the ink without touching it. What was I supposed to write after ninety years? “Hello, family, I’m back. By the way, do you have anything that could help my vampire boyfriend?”

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment before forcing myself to begin.

Dear Caelan,

I know it’s been many years since we last saw each other, and you probably have a thousand questions for me. I’d like to answer them all in person.

I’m in Neverwinter, and I’d like to come home tonight. I know my visit might be unexpected, but I wanted to let you know first. I don’t want Mom or Dad to hear from someone else and decide I’m being “dramatic” with a sudden appearance.

If you can, let them know I’ll be arriving at dusk. I’m not expecting a grand reception or emotional speeches—I just want to talk.

See you soon.

Your beloved sister,
Tav

Once I had folded and sealed the letter, I held it in my hands for a few seconds before standing up and heading downstairs. Deryn was behind the bar, absentmindedly cleaning a mug.

“Deryn, I need a favor.”

He looked at me with curiosity, setting the mug aside.

“Of course. What is it?”

I slid the letter across the counter toward him.

“Can you make sure my brother gets this? I don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Deryn took the letter and held it carefully, as if he could feel the weight of what it meant.

“I will. Do you want me to tell him anything else when I give it to him?”

I shook my head.

“No, the letter is enough. Thanks, Deryn.”

He nodded and tucked the parchment away solemnly. Then, he tilted his head slightly—that look he got when he was about to say something I wouldn’t like.

“You’re going alone?”

My jaw tightened. I knew where this was going.

“Yes. I just want to get a feel for things before bringing the whole group along.”

“Well, that’s not happening.”

Astarion’s voice cut in before Deryn could reply. I turned to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“If you think we’re going to let you face your noble elven family alone after all these years of absence, you’re mistaken, darling.”

“Astarion…”

“He’s right.” Shadowheart stepped closer, crossing her arms. “We’re not letting you go alone. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Gale, who had been silent until now, took a sip of his coffee before calmly adding:

“Considering that your father is one of the most powerful sorcerers in the region and that they haven’t seen you in a century, I’d say having reinforcements is a rather sensible idea.”

I sighed and ran a hand down my face, frustrated.

“I don’t want this to turn into a confrontation. I don’t want this to be some ‘heroic expedition.’ I just want to talk to my family.”

“And what makes you think they won’t see it as a confrontation?” Shadowheart asked seriously. “You don’t know how they’ll react to seeing you. Maybe everything will be fine, but if it isn’t… I’d rather be there.”

“Same here.” Astarion stepped closer, his voice softer this time. “I’m not saying this because I think you can’t handle it. I’m saying it because I don’t want you to face this alone if you don’t have to.”

I sighed, exasperated. They clearly had the wrong impression of my family. I couldn’t blame them—I hadn’t talked about them much. It was true that they might not welcome me with open arms at first. I’d likely get scolded for not writing in ninety years.

“…Fine. But let me do the talking.”

“Of course” Gale said with a smile. “We’ll just be there to make sure they don’t turn your return into a political spectacle.”

Astarion clicked his tongue in amusement.

“Oh, and since when does nobility do anything else?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Oh, I’m sure my father will do that anyway” I muttered.

“I can’t wait to meet him. I’m sure he’ll be delightful. ” Astarion tilted his head with a mocking grin. “After all, what noble elf doesn’t love having a vampire in the family?”

Shadowheart let out a low chuckle while Gale sighed in resignation.

“Just… behave” I asked, though I had little hope he actually would.

Astarion placed a hand over his chest in mock offense.

“Darling, how little you think of me! I am always charming.”

Deryn, who had been watching the conversation in silence, smiled in amusement before picking up the letter.

“Well, now I’ll definitely make sure Caelan gets this. And that he’s prepared.”

“Tell him not to make a fuss” I sighed.

“Tav, it’s Caelan,” Deryn smirked. “Of course he’s going to make a fuss.”

I covered my face with a hand as the others chuckled softly.

Just before Deryn left with the letter, I stopped him for a moment.

“Deryn.” He looked at me expectantly. “Tell Caelan I won’t be coming alone. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises by showing up with company unannounced.”

It was better to let them know rather than risk any shocks—since, clearly, the group was coming with me no matter what.

Well… there was no turning back now. But when I left, they had said I would always be welcome if I wanted to return.

After all, they’re my family.

The hours passed more slowly than I would have liked. When Deryn returned, he said the letter had been delivered and that Caelan was overjoyed. They would be waiting for me at dusk.

Once the sun had set, we said our goodbyes to Deryn and set out for the house where I grew up. Of course, we didn’t forget Scratch and the Owlbear.

Chapter Text

The Moonshadow mansion remained just as I remembered it. Immense, elegant, and with an imposing presence that demanded respect. Enchanted lights floated around the entrance, illuminating the stained glass windows with subtle reflections of color. The doors, made of dark wood with golden elven engravings, opened before I could knock.

A servant greeted us with a slight bow of his head.

"The Moonshadow family awaits you."

I clenched my fists, feeling a mixture of anxiety and nostalgia as I crossed the threshold. Nothing had changed, yet everything felt different.

And then I saw him.

Caelan.

His pink hair, just like mine, was slightly longer, falling to his shoulders in soft waves. His face reflected the same astonishment as mine, though with a spark of mischief he had never lost. His eyes scanned me from head to toe before forming a half-smile.

"Ninety years and not a single damn letter" he said with exaggerated drama before shaking his head. "But well, here you are."

The air left my lungs when he pulled me into a tight, unreserved embrace. For a moment, I clung to him with the same intensity, feeling as though all that time apart had vanished in an instant.

"I missed you" I murmured against his shoulder.

"And I missed you, idiot." He pulled away slightly but kept his hands on my arms as if afraid I might disappear. Suddenly, he noticed my eye, or to be specific, the prosthesis Volo gave me.  "What happened to your eye?" He asked worriedly, I just sighed.

"Long story..."

Then, his gaze shifted to my companions, his tone regaining its lightness. "And these must be my dear sister’s famous friends?"

My brother looked them over, scrutinizing them as if searching for flaws.

"Oh, what an interesting selection…" His eyes landed on Astarion, and I could see the glint of evaluation in his expression.

Astarion, of course, didn’t back down. He met his gaze with a charming but calculating smile.

"And you must be the overprotective brother. How curious, I expected someone more…" he raised an eyebrow. "Imposing."

Caelan smirked slyly.

"And I expected someone with a better skin tone" my brother remarked, referencing Astarion’s pale complexion.

Before the conversation could continue, a resounding voice filled the grand hall.

"Ah, my lost daughter has returned! Has the world ceased to be enough for you, Tavaryan? Or is it that, after all, home always calls?"

My stomach tightened.

Vaerion Moonshadow descended with theatrical grace from the grand marble staircase, his pristine robes of dark and gold hues billowing with each step. His presence was magnetic, his smile sharp yet genuine.

"Ninety years, my love! Ninety! Do you know how many wizards and sorcerers have tried to challenge me in that time? None succeeded! But you, dear, have accomplished the impossible: keeping me in suspense with your absence."

He placed a hand over his chest with feigned anguish.

"And not even a letter for the greatest sorcerer Faerûn has ever seen. What will people say?" my father asked, maintaining his melodramatic tone.

Astarion whispered near my ear with amusement.

"Oh yes. He is exactly as I imagined."

Vaerion reached me and, with a charming gesture, took my face in his hands, examining me with a glint of pride and amusement in his eyes.

"Let me see you." His gloved fingers brushed my chin. "You are still the same, but there’s something in your eyes… You’ve lived much, little one."

I sighed wearily.

"You have no idea."

Vaerion held my gaze a second longer before releasing me and turning to my companions. His smile widened as he settled on Astarion.

"And you…" His tone shifted slightly. Not hostile, but assessing. "The famous vampire."

I immediately tensed. I had mentioned nothing about Astarion in my letter, nor had I told Deryn to bring it up.

"How do you know…?"

Vaerion chuckled softly, his expression almost indulgent.

"Darling, I know everything. Did you really think I wasn’t aware of what happened in Baldur’s Gate? Of the Absolute, the invasion, the fall of the Three, and the heroes who saved the city…?"

His gaze gleamed with satisfaction.

"My daughter among them, of course. No news spreads faster than that which involves the Moonshadow prodigy."

I pressed my lips together. Of course. Information traveled fast, and if anyone had access to every rumor, it was him.

Vaerion looked at Astarion again, with the same air of someone evaluating an intriguing work of art.

"A vampire. Such a fascinating choice. We all had our rebellious phases, but this is a classic."

Astarion, naturally, was unfazed.

"What can I say? I have high standards."

Vaerion laughed heartily.

"Ah, at least he has charm. That’s a point in his favor."

Shadowheart let out a quiet chuckle while Gale observed the interaction with evident interest.

Finally, Vaerion snapped his fingers, and the light in the hall seemed to intensify slightly.

"Well, enough formalities at the door. Come. We have much to discuss."

Eleonora Moonshadow watched us from the top of the staircase. Her posture was poised, arms crossed elegantly, and her gaze, though containing a hint of warmth, was marked by careful evaluation.

She had remained silent until now, but at last, she spoke, and as usual, only to reprimand my father and brother.

"Stop being so rude to Tavaryan’s guests," she said seriously. "And in case you haven’t noticed, the vampire is not the only one who came with our daughter." She directed her gaze at my father. "Vaerion, give them a proper welcome and bring them to the grand hall."

Vaerion glanced at Eleonora, looking much like a child being scolded.

"Yes, dear."

Once settled in the grand hall, the servants brought us appetizers to lighten the atmosphere. I was searching for the right words to say when my mother spoke first.

"Tavaryan, stop slouching and sit like a lady," she scolded. "I believe you spent enough time in this family to know how to sit properly."

I sighed and obeyed, though I could feel the resentment in her words. I had no desire to argue, so I adjusted my posture.

Vaerion, who had been leisurely sipping his wine, rested an elbow on his chair’s armrest and smiled in a relaxed manner.

"Ninety years away and you still remember how to sit? I’m impressed, my love. I thought by now you’d have forgotten even how to hold a fork."

Shadowheart lowered her head with a hidden smile, while Astarion let out a quiet chuckle.

"Well, if she hadn’t forgotten before, she surely will now," Caelan murmured, nudging me lightly.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"Are you going to keep this up all night, or can we talk about why I’m here?"

My father waved a dismissive hand, but his smile did not fade.

"Oh, please, Tavaryan. Let me enjoy this moment." He placed a hand on his chest in one of his usual theatrical exaggerations. "Do you know how many decades I spent wondering if you had forgotten about us? Imagine my surprise when I discovered you were still alive and—gods!—you even made friends. Not only that, but a diverse and fascinating group! And here I thought you were hiding in some cave with wild wolves."

I pressed my lips together, feeling a pang of guilt in my chest. As mocking as his tone was, I could sense the slight edge of resentment in his words.

Vaerion set his wine glass down on the table and rested his chin on his hand, his smile remaining, though his eyes turned more serious.

"So, daughter," my father spoke. "What brings you back home? We learned a lot about you—not from you, of course! But we learned about you nonetheless." He said in his usual theatrical tone.

I sighed. "Before I tell you the reason for my visit, may I ask why you assume I was the one who defeated the Absolute?"

"My dear daughter, an elf with pink hair who wields magic? Tell me, how many of our kind have you seen in the past century that match that description?"

Before I could respond, Gale stepped forward.

"I have a question, esteemed Lord Moonshadow." My father looked at him with curiosity.

"What is it, young man?"

"As you say, it is uncommon for elves to have such… peculiar hair color." Gale spoke, doing his best not to sound impolite. "May I ask where it comes from? I can't help but notice that both Tav and her brother have it, yet neither you nor your wife share this color."

It was a fair curiosity. After all, my mother had silver hair, and my father had presented himself with dark brown hair. My father merely looked at him and smiled in response.

"Who else but me?" he answered. My friends looked confused as my father continued. "It’s all thanks to this magnificent artifact!" He then proceeded to remove one of his rings. In that instant, his hair changed from dark brown to a pink shade similar to mine. "A ring that allows you to change the color and appearance of your hair at will!"

My father stood from his seat and approached Gale, taking his hand before he could react. With a swift movement, he slipped the ring onto Gale’s finger and twisted it.

Instantly, Gale’s hair turned pink.

There was a brief silence as everyone processed what had just happened.

And then Astarion burst into laughter.

"Oh, Gale, darling" he said between chuckles. "I believe this is your best look yet. Don't get me wrong, the brown had its charm, but this… oh, this is art."

"Vaerion" my mother called my father's attention.

"Yes, dear." Immediately, he removed the ring from Gale and put it back on himself, returning his hair to dark brown. He then sat down again, looking like a child who had just been scolded.

"Alright, back to the matter at hand" my mother continued. "I believe Tavaryan was about to tell us the reason for her visit." She gave me a warm look, signaling for me to speak, but not before shooting a warning glance at my father and brother to ensure they wouldn’t interrupt.

"Thank you, Mother." I sighed, trying to calm myself. At least the worst had passed—who would have thought they already knew about Astarion's vampirism? "I’m here because I’d like you to help me with something, Father." I looked at my father with pleading eyes. "I need something that can cure Astarion’s vampirism or at least allow him to walk in the sun. Please." My voice was more desperate than I had expected.

Vaerion, who had already raised his wine glass to his lips, stopped mid-motion. Slowly, he lowered the glass and looked at me with a pensive expression, as if analyzing each of my words.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, with absolute confidence, he smiled.

"Oh, my dear, if that is what you want, then consider it done. A vampire walking in the sun? Bah, trivial. I have done far more complicated things in my youth." He waved a hand, as if talking about something as simple as changing the curtains in the living room.

For an instant, I felt immense relief.

But then, his smile took on a different nuance.

"Although… are you sure it’s worth it?" he added, his tone seemingly innocent but carefully calculated.

I pressed my lips together.

"What do you mean by that?"

Vaerion leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with theatrical elegance.

"Oh, dear, we all had our phases. Some choose melancholic poetry, others dye their hair black, and you… well, you chose a vampire. It will pass."

His smile was both charming and mocking.

I felt Astarion tense beside me.

"Oh, how reassuring. How delightful to know I’m just a fleeting whim" Astarion smiled with the same charming falsehood as my father, reclining in his seat as if he didn’t care at all. But I knew that look. His eyes gleamed with restrained irritation.

"It’s not a phase, Father." My voice was firm, though I felt a lump forming in my throat. "I’m asking for your help seriously."

Vaerion narrowed his eyes slightly, his smile diminishing just a fraction.

"Tavaryan, my dear…" His tone dropped to something more serious. "Are you certain about what you’re asking? Is this truly what you want?"

"Yes" I answered without hesitation.

He held my gaze for a few seconds before sighing dramatically and raising his hands.

"Well, well, if my princess wants it, then she shall have it." He placed a hand on his chest as if he were accepting a great burden with dignity. "But let it be clear that I do this for you, not for him."

I rolled my eyes but felt a small sense of relief nonetheless.

Astarion, for his part, clicked his tongue.

"Oh, how generous. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay such an act of kindness."

Vaerion ignored the remark with a mocking smile.

"Marvelous! Now, onto the important matter." He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me, Tavaryan, do you want a temporary solution or a permanent one?"

My heart raced.

"Permanent?" I asked, unsure of my father’s reaction.

Vaerion narrowed his eyes with amusement.

"Then so be it!" my father declared.

But just as he seemed about to reveal something significant, a sudden noise interrupted the conversation.

A commotion of panting, scuffling, and what could only be described as overwhelming enthusiasm echoed from the outer garden. Everyone’s attention turned to the windows as a loud "WOOF!" was followed by a deep, heavy snort from outside.

Vaerion blinked.

"What in the Nine Hells was that?"

Caelan, sipping from his glass, peeked out with curiosity and let out a hearty laugh.

"Oh, this should be interesting."

My father stood gracefully but with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He walked to the window, and the moment he saw what was happening outside, his expression shifted from surprise to almost childlike excitement.

"By the gods! It cannot be!" he exclaimed, throwing the window wide open. "An owlbear playing with a dog? This is glorious!"

Shadowheart and Gale exchanged amused looks while Astarion simply sighed in resignation.

"Are we really doing this now?" the vampire muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But Vaerion was far too enthralled by the scene to pay him any mind.

"It’s domesticated! Tavaryan, tell me this is yours!" He turned to me, pointing eagerly at the owlbear, which was currently rolling across the grass while Scratch bounded around it. "I don’t know how you managed this, but I shouldn’t be surprised! Only MY daughter could accomplish such a feat!"

I pressed a hand to my forehead, exhaling a sigh.

"Yes, Father. It’s ours, though it’s under Shadowheart’s care now."

Vaerion let out a delighted laugh. "Can I keep it?"

"No."

"Can I at least grant it a noble title?"

"No!"

Vaerion sighed dramatically, crossing his arms while gazing longingly at the owlbear.

"Bah, what a waste" he said with exaggerated disappointment. "It would have made a marvelous Guardian of the Grand Hall. Think of the elegance, the prestige… the class!" My father sighed theatrically, but his playful smile made it clear he was merely jesting.

"Father." I called his attention before he could continue rambling about noble titles for animals. "Don’t you have anything in your collection of magical artifacts that could help with Astarion’s vampirism?"

My father raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Oh, what an interesting question." He placed a hand on his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. "I have artifacts that turn water into wine, summon rain indoors, change hair color—" he cast a knowing glance at Gale, who still looked baffled from the earlier demonstration "—but curing vampirism… hmm."

Shadowheart let out a low sigh.

"He’s enjoying this too much."

"He always does" Caelan responded, rolling his eyes in resignation.

Vaerion suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with a radiant smile. "Tomorrow, we shall explore my glorious collection of artifacts and mystical relics. Who knows? Perhaps among my countless treasures, something useful awaits."

Astarion narrowed his eyes.

"Is this a subtle attempt to show off your collection?"

Vaerion gave him an innocent smile.

"Darling, if I wanted to show off, you’d know."

"Oh, I already do," the vampire replied with a smirk.

Vaerion laughed, clearly entertained by the exchange.

"In any case, dear, you have my help. If there is anything in my power that might be of use, we will find it."

I smiled with relief.

"Thank you, Father."

He waved a dismissive hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course, my love. If my little princess wants something, how could I deny her? Though I still think you could ask for something more interesting… I don’t know, perhaps a crown, an entire kingdom, a floating mansion. But well, if you prefer saving your vampire, so be it."

Astarion smiled, his fangs slightly exposed.

"How kind. Truly, I’m touched to the core."

"Oh, don’t misunderstand me, dear." Vaerion rested an elbow on his chair’s armrest, tilting his head with amusement. "I do this for her, not for you."

Astarion rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t entirely fade.

Eleonora, who had been observing the conversation with her usual serene expression, finally spoke.

"It’s late, and if you plan to examine the collection of artifacts tomorrow, you should rest."

Vaerion stood gracefully, snapping his fingers. Immediately, two servants entered the room and bowed.

"My dear guests, our attendants will show you to your rooms. You may rest in complete comfort." He turned to me and Astarion. "Tavaryan, of course, you and your… companion… will stay in your old room."

I noted the slight pause before the word “companion” but chose not to comment on it.

"Thank you" I replied instead.

"Oh, and before everyone leaves…" I hesitated slightly before stepping closer to my father. "I’d like to ask you one more favor."

Vaerion raised an intrigued eyebrow.

"Anything, my dear."

"I need you to secure the mansion so that no sunlight enters any room where Astarion might be. I don’t want to take any risks."

My father looked at me in brief surprise before smirking.

"See? Now you’re starting to think like a Moonshadow."

"Does that mean you’ll do it?"

Vaerion sighed dramatically.

"I suppose it wouldn’t be very hospitable to let your boyfriend turn to ash inside my home. Yes, yes, I will ensure not a single ray of sunlight touches him while he’s here. Although…" He turned to Astarion with a sly grin. "Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a room in the basement? It would be more authentic, don’t you think?"

Astarion returned the smile with equal sarcasm.

"Oh, don’t worry. I’ve slept in crypts more comfortable than most noble estates. But I do appreciate the consideration."

Vaerion let out a hearty laugh and patted Caelan on the shoulder.

"See, son? Now this is the kind of humor I appreciate."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment or not" Astarion murmured.

Eleonora sighed, rubbing her temple.

"Vaerion, stop bothering our guest and let everyone retire."

"Yes, dear."

With that, the servants guided everyone to their respective rooms. Shadowheart and Gale were given luxuriously furnished guest rooms, while Astarion and I made our way to my old bedroom.

Before entering, I turned and saw my father still watching me from the entrance of the grand hall, his expression difficult to read.

"Good night, Tavaryan."

"Good night, Father."

I stepped into the room with Astarion, closing the door behind us.

Tonight was going to be a long one.

Chapter Text

The sound of the door closing behind us left the room in an almost reverent silence. For a moment, I just stood there, taking in the space I hadn't set foot in for ninety years.

Nothing had changed.

It was as if time had frozen within these four walls, as if my father had preserved every detail on purpose, waiting for my return. The enormous canopy bed was still there, its enchanted fabrics subtly shifting in design and color. The desk remained cluttered with old scrolls, magical ink, and artifacts I had collected in my youth, waiting to be used someday. The bookshelves, packed with tomes, artifacts, and ancient weapons, stood exactly as I remembered them—a shrine to my obsession with all things "useful."

The space was vast, with a high vaulted ceiling adorned with elven runes that glowed softly in the dim light. A large floating chandelier, embedded with enchanted crystals, illuminated the room with a warm, comforting glow.

Dark, elegant tones dominated the decor, with gold and silver accents reflecting my family’s noble lineage. Velvet curtains cascaded to the floor, framing an enormous window overlooking the mansion’s gardens. However, per my recent request, the windows had been sealed with an opacity enchantment to block even the slightest ray of sunlight. I assumed this spell had been cast throughout the entire estate.

Astarion, of course, wasted no time in exploring.

"Darling…" he said in a tone of disbelief as he scanned the room. "I think I’ve just discovered the true definition of extravagance." He emphasized the last word.

His fingers traced the edge of an enchanted glass case protecting a collection of daggers, tilting his head to examine them with interest. His gaze then drifted over the bookshelves, the jewelry boxes filled with magical trinkets, the small inactive automatons tucked into the corners.

"I can’t tell if I’m in a bedroom or a museum."

I walked to my desk, running my fingertips over the dark wooden surface, feeling the faint tingle of protective runes my father had undoubtedly reinforced in my absence. It was hard to believe. Had he really left everything untouched?

"It’s as if I never left…" I murmured, still in awe.

Astarion wandered slowly, his crimson eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the room. His fingers brushed the canopy bed, the fabric shifting in color beneath his touch.

"Let me guess…" he mused with amusement. "Another gift from your father?"

I let out a soft laugh as he ran a hand over the enchanted fabric.

"Of course. ‘I can’t allow my daughter to sleep in something boring,’ his exact words."

Astarion let out an exaggerated sigh and continued exploring. His eyes landed on the shelves filled with magical artifacts and peculiar objects.

"Were you always the type to collect ‘useful’ things you never actually used?" he asked, picking up a small vial filled with a glowing liquid.

I shrugged.

"More or less." I took the vial from him, gazing at it with nostalgia. "Though I’d say my father encouraged the habit. If he found something he thought would interest me, he simply added it to my collection."

Astarion continued his inspection until something caught his eye in the corner of the room—a portrait.

He approached it and observed in silence. It was me, still a child, dressed in elegant finery, with Vaerion standing behind me, one hand proudly resting on my shoulder. The image radiated nobility and a father’s unmistakable favoritism for his daughter.

"Well, this isn’t pretentious at all," Astarion remarked with a smirk, though his tone carried genuine amusement.

I crossed my arms, smiling in resignation.

"He’s always had a flair for the dramatic. But yes, I suppose this makes it clear I was daddy’s little girl."

Just then, a soft murmur in Elvish echoed from the other side of the room.

Astarion’s head snapped toward the sound, frowning.

"Did you hear that?"

I blinked and followed the noise until I found myself in front of a full-length mirror radiating a golden glow.

"Oh, no…" I whispered, but it was too late.

"What magnificent poise, what a captivating presence…" the mirror cooed in a seductive voice the moment it sensed my presence.

Astarion raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue.

"Well, at least someone in this house has good taste."

I couldn’t help but press a hand to my face, suppressing a laugh.

"My father gave it to me when I was a child. According to him, ‘self-esteem is essential, my love.’"

Astarion studied his reflection… or rather, the lack of it. However, the mirror didn’t seem to need to see him to lavish praise.

"Ah, what an enigmatic creature… surely the epitome of forbidden beauty" it whispered again.

Astarion let out a laugh and turned to me.

"Well, well, I must admit your father thinks of everything."

I shook my head as he leaned against the bed with a smile. Instantly, the fabric changed to a soft violet hue, reflecting the nostalgia I felt in that moment. I stood there, taking in the room, the gifts, the memories… it felt strange. As if I had never left.

On the desk shelf, a small crystal butterfly fluttered suddenly, glowing with a faint blue light. Apparently, it still remembered its owner.

"It seems like this place has been waiting for you," Astarion remarked quietly.

I gently stroked the butterfly before exhaling a sigh.

"Yes… it seems so."

Astarion wandered the room with open curiosity, running his fingers over book spines, examining each artifact placed carefully in enchanted glass cases. Every now and then, he raised an eyebrow or let out a quiet whistle of admiration.

"I must admit, this is… much grander than I expected," he said, stopping in front of the four-poster bed. The canopy shimmered in a soft silvery blue, reflecting my calm mood, yet hints of violet remained from my lingering nostalgia. He ran a hand over the magical fabric with interest. "No wonder your father ensured your room remained untouched. It feels like a shrine dedicated to his favorite daughter."

I crossed my arms, observing the room with a mixture of awe and sentimentality. No matter how much time had passed, my father had preserved everything exactly as I left it. If anything, the room seemed even more luxurious than before.

"My father has always been… excessive when it comes to me," I admitted with a nostalgic smile.

Astarion continued exploring, stopping at a vanity where several jewelry boxes were elegantly stacked. He opened one, revealing enchanted rings, some embedded with gems pulsing with magical energy.

"Let me guess, also gifts from dear old dad?" he asked playfully.

I nodded.

"Oh, of course. If he could, he would have adorned me in magical jewels from head to toe. According to him, elegance and power go hand in hand."

Astarion chuckled and kept inspecting the room until something else caught his attention.

"And this?" he asked, approaching a small shelf tucked into a corner, lined with meticulously arranged wine bottles. The labels marked them as rare and of exceptional quality—some of the finest in Faerûn.

I frowned, stepping closer with curiosity. That shelf hadn’t been there when I left.

"Let me guess…" I murmured, running my fingers over the bottles before spotting a folded note among them. I unfolded it and immediately recognized my father’s elegant handwriting.

"For our beloved daughter,

Time passes, but fine wine only gets better with the years. If you ever choose to return home, we would love to share a glass with you.

With love, Mom and Dad."

I felt a lump in my throat as I read the note. I sensed Astarion’s gaze—he had been watching me silently. Leaning against the bookshelf, he wore a knowing smile.

"Well, I must admit your parents have excellent taste." He picked up one of the bottles, inspecting it. "This must be worth a fortune."

I carefully placed the note back on the shelf and let out a sigh, feeling an unexpected warmth in my chest.

"This is so typical of them," I murmured with a melancholic smile.

Astarion tilted his head, his expression softening.

"Perhaps we should give them that moment, don’t you think?" he suggested, holding up the bottle with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "After all, it would be a shame for such exceptional wines to go to waste without toasting to your triumphant return."

Before I could respond, something else caught my attention. In the corner of my desk, a refined wooden chest with a security enchantment glowed faintly as I approached. I recognized it immediately.

"This… is from my mother," I whispered, placing my hand on the lid. Instantly, the enchantment reacted, and the chest unlocked with a soft click.

Inside, a set of impeccably forged elven daggers rested on dark velvet. They were both beautiful and lethal, their blades etched with subtle runes. Beside them lay a brief yet meaningful letter:

"No matter how much time passes, you will always be my daughter. This is a gift for when you return home."

I exhaled softly, feeling a weight in my chest I hadn’t realized was there. Astarion leaned in to observe the daggers and let out an impressed whistle.

"Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this." He arched a brow at me. "Your mother? The same woman who looked like she was about to disintegrate me with a glance the moment she saw me?"

I let out a quiet laugh.

"Yes, that very same." I traced a finger along one of the dagger’s edges, admiring the craftsmanship. "My mother isn’t one to express her emotions easily, but when she does… well, this says it all."

Astarion studied my expression before smiling.

"Then I’d say this is her way of saying ‘welcome home.’"

Before I could respond, I noticed another wrapped package on my desk. I recognized it instantly from the messy handwriting on the attached note.

"If you ever decide to return, make sure to unpack this first. With love, your best and most handsome brother."

I let out a laugh as Astarion rolled his eyes.

"Of course he signed it that way," the vampire muttered in amusement.

I opened the package and found a protective amulet clearly designed to synchronize with my magic—something only someone who knew me as well as Caelan could have prepared.

I fell silent for a moment before smiling and holding the amulet between my fingers.

"My brother always knows what I need, even before I do."

Astarion regarded me softly before shaking his head with a playful smile.

"Well, I must say, your family has quite a charming way of showing affection. Expensive gifts, protective spells, fine wines… It almost makes me reconsider my stance on nobility."

I chuckled and snatched the bottle from his hands.

"Tomorrow," I said, a sparkle in my eyes. "First, I want to sleep in my princess bed again."

Astarion watched as I fell onto the enormous bed, the magical canopy fabric shifting to a warm and comforting hue. His smile widened before he moved closer, sitting beside me.

"You’re right," he murmured. "Rest, my love. Tomorrow is another day… and a fine wine awaits us."

Astarion entered his trance not long after we lay down. He looked so at peace while resting that I found it endearing. As for me, I couldn’t sleep—I felt strangely restless. So I decided to head down to the kitchen; perhaps something sweet would help me relax.

I walked through the mansion’s silent corridors, feeling small amidst its vastness. No matter how many years had passed, the walls still held echoes of my childhood, of simpler times. When I reached the kitchen, a soft magical light illuminated the space, reflecting off silver and crystal utensils.

I headed to the pantry, vaguely hoping to find cake or candied fruits. But the moment I opened the wooden door, a shiver ran down my spine.

The atmosphere shifted.

The mansion’s comforting warmth slowly dissipated, as if something were draining the heat from the space. The air grew denser, laced with a strange scent—a mix of sulfur and exquisite perfume, sweet yet sickly.

The sound of my own footsteps seemed to fade.

I stopped, my heartbeat quickening. A deep, primal instinct told me I was not alone.

And then, the voice.

"Oh, Tav… How delightful to find you here, lost in the nostalgia of your home."

My jaw tensed.

I turned slowly, and there he was, leaning casually against the marble kitchen counter, that familiar serpentine smile curving his lips. His attire was immaculate as always, his crimson cape falling with an almost theatrical elegance. The glow of the magical lamps seemed to favor him, casting calculated shadows across his face.

Raphael.

The devil tilted his head, as if evaluating me with infinite amusement.

"You don’t seem very surprised to see me, little mouse. It makes me think that, perhaps, you were expecting me." His voice was velvety, smooth like a poisoned caress.

"Expecting you?" I responded coldly. "The last thing I want in my kitchen is an uninvited guest."

He laughed, a low, almost charming sound.

"So sharp-tongued. But tell me, Tav… do you truly consider me unwelcome? After all, I always appear when you need me most." He straightened and began walking through the kitchen with a casual air, gloved fingers trailing along the edge of the counter, as if inspecting the place.

I remained silent.

Raphael smirked at my lack of response.

"Ah, but of course. I suppose after that… how shall I put it? That little mishap at Cragmaw Castle, it’s only natural that you’re in a foul mood."

My stomach turns.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, dear…" His tone is almost sympathetic, but his eyes gleam with malice. "Don’t lie to me. I know your journey for the Sunwalker’s Ring was an absolute failure." He lifts a hand and snaps his fingers. In the air, a golden shimmer takes shape for a brief moment—the outline of a ring. Our ring. Then, like dust, it vanishes.

I clench my fists.

"It didn’t work, did it?" Raphael continues, feigning an expression of pity. "You held it in your hands, and yet, it was useless."

"We’ll find another way."

"Another way?" He places a hand over his chest as if my words have wounded him. "Oh, Tav, it pains me that you’re still in denial. Let’s be realistic. If an object blessed by the very sun elves themselves couldn’t save your beloved… what could?"

My jaw tightens, but I don’t falter.

He smiles. He knows he’s struck a nerve.

"It’s frustrating, isn’t it? You spent weeks, maybe months, chasing something that led you straight to a dead end. And tell me, Tav, how did your precious Astarion take the news?" He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Could he hide the disappointment on his face, or was it as heartbreaking as I imagine?"

"Shut your mouth." My voice is sharp with anger. I won’t let him speak about Astarion like that.

"Oh, of course, of course. We don’t want to talk about that. Then let’s discuss another little problem."

Raphael steps away from the table and begins pacing slowly through the kitchen, like a predator savoring the fear of its prey.

"Here you are, in your father’s house, the great sorcerer of the region. A man so wise, so powerful… And what exactly has he done for you?"

My hands grip the countertop tightly.

"Leave him out of this."

Raphael smirks, satisfied.

"Oh, but how could I not mention him?" He turns to me, arms outstretched. "He is a legendary sorcerer! The brightest mind in Faerûn. A man who can reshape reality with a mere gesture. And yet… here you are. With a problem even he cannot solve."

My breathing quickens.

"It’s not a matter of power. It’s a matter of time."

"Time, you say." Raphael clicks his tongue. "And how much time are you willing to waste on illusions? A century? Two? Because, dear, we can play this little fantasy as long as you like, but at the end of the day… you still have no solution."

I hate him. I hate him because every word is a knife digging into my insecurities.

Raphael steps closer, his presence overwhelming.

"Let’s be honest, Tav. If he, with all his power, hasn’t found a way to save Astarion, what makes you think he ever will?"

"We just arrived tonight. It’s only logical that my father doesn’t have an immediate answer to the problem," I respond.

"Poor Tavaryan. There isn’t a single place in Faerûn where people have ever cared about vampires," he mocks. "There is nothing and no one with the answer to your problem—except me." He finishes the sentence with that air of superiority he so adores.

I open my mouth to reply, but then…

A new presence fills the kitchen.

I don’t hear it. There are no footsteps, no door creaking open.

I feel it in the air.

The warmth returns all at once, but not as before. It’s heavier, more intense. As if the entire room is reacting to someone’s arrival.

And Raphael senses it too.

I see it in the subtle tightening of his expression, in the way his posture shifts ever so slightly.

Then, a voice breaks through the air.

"I sensed a strange magic while I was in trance…"

My stomach tightens.

"And now I recognize the stench. That pestilence that only comes from the Hells."

I turn.

Vaerion stands at the entrance of the kitchen, his silhouette illuminated by the dim magical light.

But this is not the father I know.

His eyes, usually warm, burn with a piercing intensity. His posture is firm, rigid, devoid of his usual relaxed demeanor. The energy around him swirls, and for the first time in my life, my father looks like a true threat.

Raphael smiles, but his eyes betray him.

He has noticed it too.

My father takes a step forward, his voice resonating with absolute coldness.

"You are not welcome in this house, devil. Get out."

His tone is so chilling that even I momentarily forget that he is my father.

The silence in the kitchen thickens, as if the air itself is waiting to see who will make the first move.

Raphael, his smile unfaltering, slowly turns toward my father. His expression remains unchanged—confident, relaxed, as if the presence of one of the most powerful sorcerers in Faerûn does nothing to dampen his evening. But I watch him closely and see beyond the facade.

He’s assessing the situation.

He’s not afraid, but he’s not foolish either.

"Oh, Lord Moonshadow," he finally says, his tone as smooth as a merchant caught in hostile territory. "There’s no need for such hostility. I merely came to visit an old friend. I must say, hospitality here is rather lacking."

Vaerion doesn’t respond immediately. He remains at the kitchen entrance, eyes locked onto the devil, his posture relaxed yet dangerous. The magic in the room feels alive, as if the mansion itself reacts to his presence.

When he finally speaks, his tone is so icy that the room’s temperature seems to drop.

"An old friend, you say…" Vaerion lets the words hang with disdain, his gaze flickering briefly to me before returning to Raphael. "How curious. Because all I see is a devil lurking in my home."

Raphael grins, unaffected by the hostility.

"Lurking? What an ugly word. I prefer to call it… an unexpected visit."

"Oh, of course." Vaerion tilts his head slightly, his tone dripping with venom. "Because devils are known to visit people out of sheer courtesy. What’s next, Raphael? Are you going to tell me you simply wanted to share a glass of wine and reminisce about old times with my daughter?"

Raphael lets out a soft chuckle, but I notice the slightest tension in his jaw.

"You’re right. It’s not every day one gets the pleasure of conversing with the family of a dear acquaintance. I thought it would be impolite not to introduce myself."

"A dear acquaintance, you say…" Vaerion crosses his arms. "Which tells me you’ve been meddling in my daughter’s life for quite some time."

Raphael smirks.

"Oh, just long enough for her to see that my offer is the best option."

Vaerion does not laugh.

He does not change his expression.

He does not show the slightest sign of disturbance.

He simply takes a step forward.

And the entire kitchen exhales magic.

"Don’t listen to him, Tavaryan," he says coldly, not taking his eyes off Raphael. "He’s just jealous because you actually know what a father’s love is."

Silence.

For the first time, Raphael’s smile falters.

"Unlike him."

The devil narrows his eyes, his aura rippling with barely contained tension.

"Tell me, Raphael… when was the last time Mephistopheles didn’t treat you like a dog?" This time, my father’s tone shifts from threatening to mocking.

The devil's smile disappears, although it was only for a second.

The flames of the magical lamps flicker violently.

The air thickens, charged as if something is about to explode.

"Watch your words, sorcerer," Raphael spits, his voice losing its usual seductive quality, turning rougher, darker.

But barely a blink later, his composure returns. His smile reappears as if it had never left. As if his brief lapse of anger had never occurred.

"Ah, but how rude of me…" he mocks, softening his tone with a theatrical sigh. "It would be so inconvenient for two gentlemen like us to resort to cheap insults."

Vaerion doesn’t respond. He only watches him.

Raphael flashes his most charming smile before turning to me.

"But tell me, Tav…" His voice drips with that seductive, venomous tone once more. "What will you do when not even Daddy can save you?"

My breath catches.

"When the one you love is on the verge of collapse…" He pauses, savoring every second of my reaction. "Who will you turn to then?"

A lump forms in my throat.

I can’t answer.

Raphael smirks in satisfaction.

"Poor unfortunate soul…" he whispers, almost like a breath against my ear. "Who will you run to when not even Daddy can help you this time?"

And then, as if he had never been there, he vanishes.

No smoke, no infernal glow—just a sudden emptiness where his presence once stood.

The kitchen falls into silence.

For a moment, I can only hear my own ragged breathing.

Vaerion remains motionless.

Then, with the staff in his hand—one I hadn’t even noticed until now—he lifts it and taps it lightly against the floor. Instantly, the air in the mansion vibrates.

An invisible wave of magic pulses through the walls, sealing the house with dense, absolute power. It is swift, efficient. Lethal.

For someone like him, protecting his home is but a simple gesture.

"Only beginners recite their spells," he mutters, more to himself than to me.

Then, his gaze lands on me. And this time, it’s not the legendary sorcerer looking at me. It’s my father.

"Start talking." His tone isn’t angry, but it leaves no room for excuses. "You’re going to need a very good explanation for this, young lady."

He wants answers.

I can’t help but avert my gaze, because now I don’t just have to tell him about Raphael.

I have to explain why a devil calls me his ‘old friend.’

Chapter Text

The air in the mansion vibrated with the magic of the protective spell, rousing everyone with a sudden chill, as if a silent thunderclap had shaken the very foundations of the place.

One by one, the doors to the rooms opened. Gale was the first to step out, his brow furrowed and magic crackling at his fingertips out of sheer instinct. Shadowheart appeared soon after, still disoriented by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Caelan, who was not easily roused from sleep, was already on the stairs, his hair disheveled and his expression alarmed.

Astarion moved with uncommon speed for someone who had just emerged from a trance. The dense sensation of magic and the absence of Tav in bed were enough to snap his mind into full awareness. He asked no questions, he simply moved.

By the time they all reached the kitchen, the scene before them brought them to an abrupt halt.

Tav stood facing Vaerion, her shoulders tense, her eyes gleaming with restrained emotion. Her father wasn’t yelling, but his tone carried an icy edge.

For the first time in her life, Vaerion was scolding her.

“What were you thinking, Tavaryan?”

His voice echoed in the kitchen like an undeniable verdict. There was no trace of his usual warmth, nor of the indulgence with which he always treated her. Tav felt the knot in her throat tighten. She wanted to respond, but her tongue felt heavy.

The weight of her father’s gaze alone was enough to make her shrink, but the worst part was the audience now watching. Everyone was there, witnessing it.

Caelan narrowed his eyes in confusion. Their father rarely used that tone with anyone, let alone Tav.

Astarion, his jaw still tight from the rush of adrenaline, noticed the way Tav barely blinked, as if holding onto her composure with everything she had. He knew her well enough to see that she was on the verge of tears.

But Tav wouldn’t cry.

Not with everyone watching.

Shadowheart and Gale exchanged a glance of disbelief. Something serious must have happened for Vaerion to react this way.

Eleonora appeared behind them, her brow furrowed and her gaze sharp, quickly assessing the situation. She said nothing, but her eyes moved between her husband and daughter, searching for answers.

“Does anyone want to explain what the hell happened here?” Caelan finally asked, his tone more defiant than he intended.

Vaerion didn’t even look at him.

“Return to your rooms,” he ordered.

It wasn’t a shout. It didn’t need to be. His voice carried the authority of someone who did not give options.

Caelan’s frown deepened.

“Excuse me?”

“The magic we felt…” Gale interjected, his sharp gaze landing on Vaerion. “That was your spell, wasn’t it? What did you cast it against?”

“That is not your concern,” Vaerion replied smoothly, unwavering. “I told you to go back to your rooms.”

The silence in the kitchen grew heavier.

Astarion crossed his arms but didn’t move an inch.

“I don’t know about you, but when a sorcerer casts a protection spell in the middle of the night, I consider that my concern.”

Shadowheart nodded, her hand still resting on her weapon.

“If there’s a danger in this house, we need to know about it.”

“There is no danger,” Vaerion answered immediately, his tone dry and clipped.

“Then tell me why Tav looks like she’s about to break,” Astarion blurted out without thinking, his voice sharp with a mix of concern and anger.

Tav felt her blood freeze in her veins.

No. Don’t say it.

She didn’t want anyone commenting on how she felt. She didn’t want anyone to notice.

But Astarion already had.

Vaerion, however, didn’t react to the accusation. He simply narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin.

“I will not repeat myself,” his voice became firmer, more threatening. “Return to your rooms. Now.”

A chill ran down Caelan’s spine. He had never heard his father use that tone before.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, Eleonora stepped forward, placing herself between her husband and the rest. Her eyes locked onto Vaerion’s.

“What is happening?”

Vaerion exhaled slowly, and his tone shifted. The coldness didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened—only for her.

“We need to talk. As a family.”

The emphasis on the last word was enough to make it clear: this was not for the others.

Astarion clenched his teeth. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Tav in the middle of what was clearly a family storm, but he also knew that if he challenged Vaerion now, it would only make things worse for her.

Caelan looked at his mother, seeking confirmation that this was okay. Eleonora didn’t meet his gaze, but the stiffness in her posture told him that this was serious.

And then, Vaerion looked at the others.

He only looked.

He didn’t need to say anything else.

The threat in his gaze was enough.

One by one, the others began to withdraw. Gale was the first to move, casting one last inquisitive glance before turning with a sigh. Shadowheart, though reluctant, followed soon after.

Caelan didn’t move, and neither did Astarion.

But in the end, both decided to leave. Only Tav, Eleonora, and Vaerion remained in the kitchen. The silence became unbearable.

And then, in a low but firm voice, Vaerion said:

“Start talking.” He stared at her, waiting for answers. “Why did that devil seem to know you so well?”

The silence that followed the others’ departure weighed heavily on Tav’s shoulders. She knew what was coming.

Vaerion watched her with the same intensity a predator uses to analyze its prey. His gaze, sharp as a blade, held no trace of the usual warmth with which he always treated her. It was cold, inquisitive, demanding answers without the need to raise his voice.

Eleonora, on the other hand, wasn’t angry, but she was worried. Her eyes, though stern, reflected something deeper: disappointment. And somehow, that hurt more than anger.

Tav felt her mouth go dry. Her breathing was shallow, as if her own body resisted speaking. But there was no escape, and she knew it.

“Raphael called me an ‘old friend’ because… because this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with him,” she confessed, fear lacing her words.

Vaerion didn’t react immediately, but the magic in the kitchen seemed to hum with his contained tension.

“Continue,” he ordered, his voice as sharp as a blade.

Tav felt her throat tighten. She had never been afraid of her father… until now.

"It happened in the Shadowlands," Tav began, her voice tense. "We were looking for a way into Moonrise Towers and… I needed help deciphering Astarion’s scars."

Eleonora frowned. "Astarion’s scars?"

"His master… his owner," Tav corrected herself, feeling a knot of anger tighten in her stomach. "He carved markings into him for a reason. I wanted to know what they meant. But at that moment, there was no one who could translate them."

Vaerion didn’t look away from her, but a shadow briefly crossed his eyes.

"Raphael appeared… and offered me a solution. He could translate them. In exchange, I had to kill an Orthon hiding in Shar’s temple."

Eleonora inhaled sharply. "You accepted an infernal contract for that?" she asked, struggling to maintain her composure. The sharpness in her voice struck Tav like a blade.

"It wasn’t a contract," she hurried to clarify. "It was an agreement. A direct trade. I didn’t sell my soul, I didn’t promise anything beyond that."

Vaerion continued to stare at her, unblinking.

"Continue."

Tav felt her chest tighten. She had never had to justify herself to her father like this before.

"Later, Raphael appeared again. In Baldur’s Gate. He offered me the Orphic Hammer in exchange for the Crown of Karsus."

For the first time, Vaerion reacted.

"The Crown of Karsus?" His tone was so dangerously sharp that a shiver ran down Tav’s spine.

"I refused," she clarified quickly.

Silence.

Eleonora let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment as if trying to compose her thoughts.

"And now?" Vaerion asked.

Tav clenched her fists. Here came the worst part.

"Some time ago… Raphael made me a new offer. A real contract."

The atmosphere turned oppressive.

Eleonora stiffened.

Vaerion let out a slow, deep sigh, placing both hands on the table with deliberate calm.

"What did he offer you?"

Tav felt her throat close up.

"The ultimate cure for Astarion’s vampirism."

Her mother went completely still.

"Also… the freedom of Wyll and Karlach, my friends who are trapped in the Hells. No tricks. No hidden consequences."

Vaerion showed no visible reaction. He knew who Wyll was, but he hadn’t been aware that young Ravengard was in the Hells. Ulder had never mentioned it.

"And the price?"

Tav felt nauseous.

"Two hundred years of service in his army. To take over the Hells."

Eleonora’s breathing became irregular.

Vaerion, however, remained utterly silent.

Finally, he exhaled a dry sigh, devoid of humor.

"Of course. Of course."

Tav’s stomach churned.

"I haven’t accepted," she rushed to say. "I’m not going to accept."

Vaerion looked at her with an expression Tav couldn’t read.

"You won’t?" he asked, with a dangerously calm tone. "Or just not yet?" His gaze was scrutinizing her, analyzing every aspect of his daughter.

The weight of his words hit Tav like a dagger.

"I’m not selling my soul to Raphael."

"It’s not about your soul. It’s about your will."

Vaerion’s eyes hardened.

"How long do you think it will take before you start to doubt? Before Raphael returns with a new offer, with a new incentive, with more honeyed words to make his deal seem… reasonable?"

Tav felt her father’s pressure settle like an unbearable weight on her shoulders.

"I know what I’m doing," she answered, though she didn’t truly feel it.

Vaerion let out a low, bitter laugh.

"No, Tavaryan. You don’t."

"I defeated the Elder Brain, I fought against gods!" Tav snapped, her voice breaking against her will. "I’m not some naive child who doesn’t know what she’s doing! I’m sure I can handle Raphael—it’s not the first time he’s meddled in my life."

This time, Eleonora spoke, her voice sharp.

"Do you know what happens when you start accepting favors from a devil, Tav?"

Tav looked away.

"They make you depend on them. First a small favor, then something bigger. And before you know it, you can’t move without their shadow looming over you."

Vaerion nodded slowly.

"Raphael has already proven he can give you what you want. He’s just waiting for you to need it badly enough to offer yourself willingly."

Tav felt the weight of every word.

Vaerion watched her in silence for a few moments before speaking one last time.

"From now on, you will not speak to Raphael again. If he appears, you come directly to me."

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was an order.

Tav felt the tension in her muscles. She didn’t respond, only nodded weakly.

Vaerion exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, then made a simple gesture with his hand. Another wave of magic surged through the mansion—a reinforcement over the previous spell.

Eleonora remained silent, but her mind was working rapidly.

Tav felt exhaustion press down on her, and she had no desire to continue this conversation, at least not right now. Taking advantage of the moment of silence, she retreated to her room.

When he was alone with Eleonora, Vaerion exhaled and ran a hand over his forehead.

How was it possible that his daughter was even considering a contract with a devil for that vampire? the elf thought.

His jaw clenched. Was he really that important to her?

Eleonora watched him, as if she had read his thoughts.

"Vaerion…"

He closed his eyes.

"I need to think."

And with that, the weight of silence fell between them.

Chapter Text

Tav walked slowly through the halls of Moonshadow Manor, her mind still clouded by the conversation with her father. The oppressive feeling in her chest wouldn’t fade, and with each step she took, Vaerion’s words continued to echo in her head.

Raphael has already proven he can give you what you want. He’s just waiting for you to need it badly enough to offer yourself willingly.

She clenched her fists. No, she couldn’t dwell on that now. She just wanted to get to her room and forget, even if only for a few hours, the weight of the night.

When she pushed the door open, Astarion was already there, waiting for her.

"Finally," he murmured, arms crossed as he leaned against the window ledge, which was covered by an enchantment. His tone was light, but the concern in his gaze gave him away. "Did Vaerion let you out alive, or am I still dreaming?"

Tav let out a humorless chuckle and closed the door behind her.

"I’m not sure," she answered with a sigh, letting herself collapse onto the bed. The magical fabric of the canopy shifted to a soft violet with dark hues, reflecting the storm of emotions within her.

Astarion watched her for a moment before moving closer and sitting beside her.

"Tav…" he began gently. "What happened down there?"

She ran a hand over her face, trying to organize her thoughts, but the tightness in her chest only grew.

"It was the first time my father scolded me," she admitted quietly, as if saying it out loud made it more real.

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

"Well, considering I’ve seen him treat you like the most precious jewel in the universe, I suppose it must have felt like an emotional earthquake," he commented with an attempt at levity, though his gaze remained intent.

Tav sighed and looked away.

"It’s not just that," she murmured. "I feel like… all of this has been a waste of time."

Astarion tilted his head.

"What are you talking about?"

She pressed her lips together before standing up, unable to sit still. She crossed her arms and began pacing the room.

"I was the one who found information about the ring in Candlekeep. I was the one who convinced everyone that this was our best chance. And in the end, it was all for nothing. We wasted time in Cragmaw when we could have been searching for something else. Something that would actually work." She stopped and looked at him, her eyes shining with frustration. "What if Raphael is right? What if he’s the only one who can give you what you need?"

Astarion observed her in silence for a moment before standing up and approaching her. Gently, he took her face in his hands, making her meet his gaze.

"Listen to me, Tav. This isn’t your fault," he said firmly. "You did this for me. Because you believed there was a possibility, and that’s more than anyone has ever done." His thumb traced a soft circle on her cheek. "And I’m not going to let you carry this as if you made some unforgivable mistake."

Tav felt her throat tighten. She lowered her gaze, unable to hold the intensity of his eyes.

"But… what if there really is no other way?" she whispered. "I don’t want our only option to be him."

Astarion rested his forehead against hers and sighed.

"I don’t want that either. But Tav, we can’t fall into his game."

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his closeness calm her. The tension in her body eased just slightly.

"Then we have to keep looking," she murmured.

Astarion gave a small smile.

"And that’s exactly what we’ll do. Together."

Tav exhaled slowly and nodded, finding a bit of solace in those words. Maybe Raphael wasn’t entirely right. Maybe there was still something left to discover.

Tomorrow, they would go through her father’s collection of artifacts.

And maybe, just maybe, they would find a new hope.

The next day, the group of adventurers followed Vaerion through a side corridor of the manor until they reached a grand room whose dark wooden doors were decorated with intricate arcane engravings. When Vaerion opened them with a dramatic gesture, a subtle but undeniable magical energy filled the air, as if the very space contained too much history within it.

The room was enormous, with towering bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, scrolls wrapped in velvet ribbons, and chests sealed with magic, their purpose known only to Vaerion. Artifacts of all kinds were displayed in enchanted cases, some floating slightly in the air, radiating a faint ethereal glow. In one corner, a wand crackled randomly, as if trying to cast a spell on its own. An ornate mirror murmured in an unintelligible language, reflecting images that didn’t match the room.

"Welcome to my modest collection," Vaerion announced with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, spreading his arms as if presenting a grand spectacle. "Here, I store centuries of knowledge, power, and… well, also some things I found pretty and decided to keep."

"I’m not surprised," Tav muttered, crossing her arms as she scanned the room. "I’d bet you don’t even know what half of these things do."

Vaerion placed a hand on his chest in feigned indignation.

"Tavaryan, please! Of course I know… most of the time." He snapped his fingers, and a floating orb flickered with a blue light. "And when I don’t, I just assume that one day, I’ll find out."

"So this room is just a fancy attic full of unidentified magical junk?" Astarion interjected, raising an eyebrow as he cautiously observed a dagger with a twisted hilt inside one of the display cases.

"No, no, no. ‘Attic’ sounds so… vulgar." Vaerion waved a hand dismissively. "I prefer ‘treasure chamber.’"

Caelan sighed, leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed.

"Call it whatever you want, Father, but we all know this is just an excessive hoard of things you never use."

"It’s knowledge, my boy!" Vaerion dramatically ran a hand through his hair. "And today, that knowledge will serve us in finding something to help our dear vampire."

Astarion rolled his eyes with a sarcastic smile. "How generous."

Meanwhile, Gale had already begun browsing the shelves with bright eyes, muttering to himself as he read the titles of some tomes. Shadowheart, on the other hand, wore a skeptical expression, examining the artifacts as if expecting one of them to explode at any moment.

The tension of the previous night seemed completely erased from Vaerion’s demeanor. Last night, his voice had been as sharp as ice. Today, he spoke with the enthusiasm of a child showing off his favorite toys.

Vaerion was in his element, surrounded by shelves overflowing with magical artifacts of all kinds and origins. His expression was that of a child in a toy store, and his excitement was so infectious it was almost contagious.

"Attention, attention!" Vaerion extended his arms dramatically, holding up a necklace with a glowing crystal at its center. "This, my dear spectators, is an amulet of mental immunity. With this, not even the most potent domination spell can affect you."

Shadowheart observed the necklace with a slight nod, impressed. Gale stepped closer with interest, evaluating the artifact.

"That is actually useful," Astarion admitted, crossing his arms.

"Oh, but wait!" Vaerion carelessly dropped the amulet into Shadowheart's hands and, with equal enthusiasm, pulled out a golden ring with arcane inscriptions. "And here we have its counterpart: the ring of mental domination."

"The what?" Caelan blinked, stunned.

"Exactly what you heard, dear son." Vaerion twirled the ring between his fingers. "Whoever wears it can, under certain conditions, control another’s will. And before anyone gets scandalized—" he raised a finger to halt any protests "—I tested it on Caelan when he was little, and there were no permanent side effects."

"You did what?!" Caelan exclaimed, staring at his father in disbelief.

"Oh, don’t exaggerate. I needed someone to test it on. I only made you dance for ten minutes. It was adorable." Vaerion smiled fondly before continuing with his showcase. "Now then, what else do we have here…?"

He pulled out a small gold earring and held it up with reverence.

"This artifact greatly enhances hearing. You’ll be able to hear the faintest whispers, the most distant footsteps, even the heartbeat of those nearby!"

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Darling, I have vampire senses. I already hear everyone’s heartbeat in this room without the need for a magical earring."

Vaerion clicked his tongue. "Bah, what a waste of talent. Moving on to… the oddities." With a mischievous smile, he pulled out what appeared to be a simple flask of water. "This, my friends, turns water into wine."

"Isn’t that just a minor transmutation spell?" Gale asked skeptically.

"Yes, but this one does it with elegance." Vaerion winked. "And it’s vintage."

Without missing a beat, he took out a small wooden box adorned with silver details and placed it on a table with dramatic flair.

"This box, if opened once a day, provides a sweet treat."

Shadowheart looked at it incredulously. "That’s all it does?"

"But it always varies! One day, it could be elven biscuits, another day an exotic delicacy from the south… You never know what you’ll get!" Vaerion raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. "An artifact of infinite wonder."

Caelan sighed, running a hand over his face. "Father, by the gods…"

"And now, something more practical!" Vaerion ignored his son’s exasperation and pulled out an ordinary-looking broom.

Gale tilted his head, intrigued. "A magical broom? Does it fly?"

"No!" Vaerion beamed with satisfaction. "It teleports you inside the nearest container you can fit into."

A stunned silence followed.

"What?" Astarion asked slowly.

"Exactly what you heard. Activate it and POOF—you appear inside a jar, a chest, a cupboard… whatever’s closest. There’s no guarantee there’ll be an exit, so… use it wisely."

Shadowheart shook her head, speechless.

"Moving on," Vaerion continued, unfazed. "Here we have enchanted boots. They let you walk on ceilings."

"Oh, those actually sound useful," Tav said, surprised.

"Only on ceilings. Not on walls." Vaerion grinned.

The group immediately looked disappointed.

"Fine, what else? Ah!" Vaerion pulled out a sturdy-looking staff. "The immovable rod. Activate its rune, and it won’t budge. No matter how much force you use, it stays in place."

Astarion sighed. "And if you activate it in midair… does it just float there?"

"Precisely."

"Gods…" Caelan groaned, rubbing his temples.

Vaerion spread his arms wide with a broad grin. "As you can see, I don’t just collect powerful objects but also the marvels of everyday life. You never know when you might need to turn water into wine."

Tav rubbed her forehead but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Of course, Father. As always, your logic is flawless."

"Exactly, my dear!" Vaerion winked at her. "Now, what else do we have here? Let’s keep exploring!"

The group exchanged glances and, with resigned amusement, continued sorting through the collection, uncertain whether they would find a truly useful artifact or simply another absurd oddity.

“Oh, this is one of my favorites!” Vaerion exclaimed, pulling out a black leather book with golden details. He held it reverently and opened it. Instantly, a sarcastic voice resonated from its pages.

“Oh, great! Another idiot who thinks they can read! Let’s see how long your patience lasts before you slam this damn book shut!”

Vaerion let out a hearty laugh and snapped the book shut.

“An enchanted book that insults its reader. Wonderful for building character,” he commented with a smirk.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. “And does this have any actual useful purpose?”

“Depends on what you consider useful, dear,” Vaerion replied with an enchanting smile.

He continued rummaging and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a shimmering liquid.

“Ah, this one is interesting! A potion that doubles the drinker’s speed… but every time you use it, you shrink to half your size for an hour.”

“So, if I use it multiple times…?” Gale asked, curious yet skeptical.

“Exactly!” Vaerion snapped his fingers. “You could end up the size of a mouse. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Astarion let out a sigh. “Don’t you have anything that doesn’t come with a punishment disguised as a benefit?”

Before Vaerion could pull out more artifacts, Tav sighed and shot him a warning look.

“Dad, we’re looking for something to help Astarion.”

Vaerion placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “But, my dear! Going through all of this, we might find something useful. Sometimes, even I overlook things!”

“Or you just want to show off your collection,” Astarion muttered.

Vaerion smiled without denying it and continued searching enthusiastically. Meanwhile, Shadowheart, who had been inspecting one of the display cases, picked up a small hand mirror with a silver frame adorned with subtle runes.

“And this?” she asked, turning it in her hands. “What does it do?”

Vaerion paused and narrowed his eyes, studying it.

“Mmm… I sense magic in it, but I never figured out what it does. I found it in an antique market years ago and added it to my collection.”

“You never tested its function?” Gale asked incredulously, eyeing the mirror with interest.

Vaerion chuckled lightly and shrugged.

“Oh, of course I tried. I spent weeks experimenting with it, testing different spells, exposing it to various types of light, even seeing if it reacted to blood, but nothing. It’s frustrating, I admit. But it must do something, because its magic is palpable.”

Shadowheart held it up cautiously, looking at her own reflection in the polished surface.

“It looks like an ordinary mirror…” she commented, tilting her head slightly.

Astarion, who had remained on the sidelines until now, extended his hand naturally.

“Let me see it.”

Shadowheart passed him the mirror, and the moment Astarion held it, the air in the room seemed to still.

Because, for the first time in two hundred years, he saw his reflection.

Silence fell.

Astarion froze, his red eyes wide as his own face stared back at him. Instinctively, he touched his cheek, and his reflection mimicked the movement. His fingers traced his jawline, the curve of his neck, the fall of his white hair.

“By the gods…” he whispered.

The rest of the group watched in astonishment. Gale stepped forward, frowning with fascination.

“Interesting…”

Tav felt her heart pound.

“Astarion… can you see yourself?” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might break the moment.

Astarion swallowed hard before slowly nodding, his gaze never leaving the mirror.

“Yes.” His voice trembled slightly. “I can see myself.”

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes, analyzing the object.

“It must have been created by or for a vampire. There’s no other explanation.”

“This…” Tav felt a lump form in her throat. “This means that… someone cared about vampires.”

Astarion slowly lowered the mirror, his expression difficult to decipher.

“Raphael told you that no one in Faerûn had ever tried to do anything for us… that no one cared,” he said, turning to Tav with a spark of restrained emotion. “But this proves otherwise.”

Vaerion, who had been watching with casual interest until now, suddenly straightened, his eyes widening in shock.

“What? You can see yourself?” he exclaimed, his tone shifting from nonchalant to fascinated in an instant.

Astarion, still holding the mirror, nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving his reflection.

“Yes… for the first time in centuries.”

Vaerion narrowed his eyes and, without warning, lunged forward.

“Give me that!”

Astarion reacted immediately, pulling the mirror away instinctively.

“Hey, wait!”

But Vaerion wasn’t willing to back down so easily.

“You have no idea how valuable this object could be! I need to examine it!”

“And I need to keep looking at myself!” Astarion protested, twisting to keep the mirror out of reach.

The rest of the group watched with a mix of amusement and bewilderment as the two began to circle the room in an absurd game of cat and mouse.

“Astarion, hand it over,” Vaerion said in a falsely patient tone, still trying to grab it.

“Not a chance! This is my reflection, and I plan to enjoy it for more than five seconds!”

“Tavaryan, tell your boyfriend to stop acting like a child!”

“Dad, stop acting like a child yourself!” Tav sighed in exasperation.

“I am a man who thirsts for knowledge! You can’t blame me for wanting to study it!” Vaerion protested with dignity.

Shadowheart covered her face, stifling a laugh, while Gale observed the exchange with absolute delight.

“Well… this took an unexpected turn,” Gale murmured, crossing his arms.

Finally, Astarion managed to slip behind Tav, using her as a shield.

“Tav, say something!”

Tav looked between her father and Astarion, then sighed.

“Dad…”

Vaerion narrowed his eyes, still reaching for the mirror.

“Yes, my love?”

“Let him enjoy his reflection for a while.”

Vaerion huffed, crossing his arms in visible annoyance.

“Hmph. But after that, you give it to me.”

Astarion raised an amused eyebrow.

“I’ll consider it.”

Vaerion scowled but finally let out a huff and stepped back.

“Bah, such sentimentality,” he muttered, though a slight smile played on his lips.

Satisfied, Astarion turned his attention back to the mirror, ignoring Vaerion’s eager gaze, which clearly indicated he was already plotting how to get his hands on it later.

Meanwhile, Tav simply shook her head.

Today was turning out to be more chaotic than expected.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since we discovered the mirror among my father's belongings. In the end, Astarion had to hand it over so my father could study it. Who knows? Maybe he’ll figure out what makes it reflect Astarion’s image.

In the meantime, we haven’t been wasting time. We’ve been researching everything related to vampires, and when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING—local myths, vampires living along the Sword Coast, books mentioning vampirism, anything that might be useful.

The study was steeped in tense silence, only broken by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated sigh. Books, scrolls, and ancient tomes were scattered across the table—some open to promising sections, others discarded after proving useless.

“This is absurd.” Astarion muttered, shutting a book with more force than necessary. “Everything I find is about how to kill us or avoid us, but not a single clue about how to cure us.”

Gale, flipping through a dusty manuscript, clicked his tongue. “Most studies on vampires aren’t written with the intent to help them,” he said without looking up. “People fear what they don’t understand, and vampires have been a threat to humanity for centuries.”

Shadowheart, skimming another tome, let out a dry laugh. “This one says that if a vampire crosses a river, they lose their powers,” she read aloud in disbelief. ‘Running water is the natural enemy of the undead.’”

I raised an eyebrow at the conversation. “And what are they supposed to do when it rains?” Shadowheart asked.

“I suppose we melt like wet cats” Astarion murmured sarcastically, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes, feeling fatigue creeping in. We had been going through texts for days and hadn’t found anything truly useful.

“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” Gale suddenly said, resting his elbows on the table. “If we want to find a cure, instead of searching for how to eliminate vampirism, we should investigate how it began.”

“You mean the origin of vampirism?” Shadowheart asked, setting her book aside.

“Exactly. If we find its original cause, maybe we can find a way to reverse it.”

I fell into thought. It made sense. For many diseases, understanding their origin was key to finding a cure. But…

“Vampirism isn’t just a disease,” I said softly. “It’s a curse. A fundamental change in a person’s essence. I doubt the answer is in just one book.”

“But it’s a starting point,” Gale insisted. “If there’s any record of the origin of vampirism or the first vampires, it could be incredibly useful.”

Astarion didn’t say anything, but I noticed the tension in his jaw. I knew he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“We can divide the search,” Shadowheart suggested. “Some of us keep looking through books, others gather stories about the first vampires.”

I nodded slowly. “Let’s do that.”

But before continuing, I needed a break.

I stood up and stretched my sore arms. “I’m going to check on my father and the mirror,” I said. “Don’t go finding the cure without me.”

Astarion looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded.

I left the study, feeling my tired eyes. I had been too absorbed in the research.

When I reached my father’s laboratory, I found him exactly as expected—surrounded by scrolls, magical tools, and floating artifacts, examining the mirror with a concentrated expression. Vaerion looked completely serene, with no sign of frustration, as if he already knew the answer and was simply enjoying the process.

“Any progress?” I asked, crossing my arms at the doorway.

My father looked up and smiled with his usual confidence. “Tavaryan, dear, have I ever failed at anything?”

“Well, if you ask Mom…”

“We will ignore that possibility.”

I stepped closer to the mirror, which still shone with a faint silver light on the table. “So, what did you discover?”

Vaerion rested his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers. “I’ve spent hours experimenting with it. I tried deciphering its runes, analyzing its magical structure, even checking if it contained some enchanted consciousness. And while I don’t have a definitive answer yet, there’s something I can tell you for sure…”

I leaned in slightly, waiting for his next words.

“This mirror is no ordinary object. Its magic is intertwined with the essence of a vampire.”

I blinked. “Does that mean it was created by a vampire?”

“Most likely, darling,” my father answered without much concern. “It’s possible that the vampire who created this mirror was a powerful wizard or sorcerer. I can’t find any other explanation.”

I leaned on the table, watching the shifting reflections on the mirror’s surface. I knew my father could solve practically any arcane puzzle, and for a moment, I allowed that certainty to comfort me.

But my mind quickly drifted back to Astarion.

“I know you don’t care about his well-being,” I said quietly, not looking away from the mirror, “but I think Astarion is more frustrated than he lets on.”

Vaerion stopped examining his scrolls and gave me a fleeting glance before returning to his notes, seemingly indifferent.

“Mm.” He made a vague sound before sighing. “Well, what did you expect? He pinned all his hopes on an impossible solution. He clings to any lead, any hint of an answer. It’s no surprise he feels this way.”

I felt a slight lump in my throat. “And that’s what worries me,” I admitted. “If we find nothing, if we end up with no answers, what will happen to him?”

Vaerion looked up again, evaluating me with the same precision he used to dissect his spells. I had seen that look before. The one that analyzed me, searching for a crack in my confidence.

“Don’t worry about that, Tavaryan,” he said, his voice softer than usual but still carrying that unshakable certainty. “I promised to investigate it, and I will. If there’s anything in this world that can give him the answer he seeks, I will find it.”

I looked at him in silence, trying to hold onto his words.

“And if there isn’t?”

Vaerion paused, then gave me a condescending smile, filled with the absolute confidence of someone who had never known defeat.

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous. There’s always an answer.”

And for a moment, I wanted to believe him.

Vaerion narrowed his eyes as he studied me, as if analyzing every subtle tension in my features. Then, with a theatrical sigh, he leaned back in his chair and waved a hand dismissively.

“I can’t focus on my studies with you standing there worrying,” he said indulgently. “Why don’t you go for a walk with Caelan? It will do you good to clear your mind.”

“Dad, I don’t have time for walks.”

“Tavaryan, darling, let me tell you something about arcane research,” he propped an elbow on the desk and looked at me with a smug smile. “Sometimes, the best way to find an answer is to stop looking for it for a moment.”

I frowned, but I didn’t have time to protest.

"Tav! "Caelan's voice rang from the doorway, as if he had been listening to the conversation. When I turned, my brother greeted me with his usual carefree smile. "I was just about to come find you. Come on, let's go out for a bit. It'll do you good."

I crossed my arms, hesitating. "Honestly, I don't think" I couldn't even finish speaking.

"Oh, come on" he interrupted me with his usual ease in refusing to take 'no' for an answer. " We've barely had time to catch up, and I don't want to wait another ninety years to talk to you again after you leave."

I let out a sigh and glanced sideways at my father. Vaerion was smiling in satisfaction, as if everything had gone exactly as he had planned.

"Don't look to Dad for support. I'm on his side this time "Caelan said, crossing his arms.

"Were you spying on us? "I asked. "Your interruption seemed a little too 'convenient'."

"And what would be so wrong if I was? "My brother replied. "You can't spend all day buried in books; that's what Dad is for.

I knew I wasn't going to win this argument.

"Fine "I finally conceded. "But only for a little while."

Caelan grinned in triumph and motioned for me to follow him.

"Of course, sister. Just for a little while. "

And with that, we left the room, leaving my father to his studies and me with the distinct feeling that I had just been manipulated.

Chapter Text

The air in Neverwinter was fresh and clean, with a gentle breeze making the leaves dance around us. We walked without a clear direction, though it was obvious Caelan intended for this to last longer than "a little while."

"You know, sister, you're making it seem like going out for some fresh air is a punishment," he said teasingly, stretching with nonchalance.

I rolled my eyes. "It's not a punishment. I just think there are more important things to do."

Caelan let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, yes, of course. Because spending more time hunched over those books until you go blind is definitely going to help you."

I couldn't help but smile slightly. He had always been like this, finding ways to make me lower my guard even in the tensest moments.

"You know, if Lae’zel were here, I’m sure you would have enjoyed training with her," I said with amusement.

Caelan raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Lae’zel? Who’s that?"

"A githyanki I traveled with. One of the best warriors I’ve ever seen in my life. She loves combat and sword discipline. I think you two would have gotten along."

Caelan let out a laugh. "Oh, then I’m sure I would’ve liked her. So, tell me, where is she now?"

"Leading a rebellion against her queen," I answered casually.

My brother blinked a couple of times before shaking his head in disbelief. "Of course, she is," he chuckled. "Only my sister would surround herself with people dealing with problems of this magnitude."

"Oh, I’m sorry if I don’t seek out friends with dull lives."

"Please, Tav, you attract chaos the way Dad attracts useless magical artifacts," he replied with a smirk.

I let out an involuntary laugh. I couldn’t argue with that.

A comfortable silence settled between us, the kind of pause that didn’t need words.

And then I remembered.

Caelan and I discovered our powers three years apart. Even though he had awakened his magic at an early age, he had never been interested in cultivating it. For my brother, the sword and combat were his true passions. No matter how much our father insisted on training him, Caelan never showed real enthusiasm for sorcery.

I, on the other hand…

Mine came late, but the moment I felt magic in my veins, I knew I wanted to learn more. I wanted to master it, understand it, control it. And Dad noticed.

Maybe that’s why I became his favorite. Not just because I was his "little princess," but because we shared the same fascination for magic. Though, unlike him, my reasons were different. For my father, arcane knowledge was an end in itself, an infinite field of discovery and power. For me, at first, learning to control my abilities was a matter of survival.

After what happened at Cragmaw Castle, I swore I would never feel helpless again. I wanted to understand my magic, shape it to my will so that no one could take control of my fate. But over time… well, magic stopped being just a shield and became something more. An art, a part of me. And though I never fully shared my father’s perspective, I can’t deny that, in the end, I grew to love magic almost as much as he did.

Caelan never complained. He never showed resentment. But now, seeing his relaxed expression as we walked, I wondered if he had ever felt like our father and I shared something he was left out of.

I bit my lip, wanting to ask him… but he was faster in breaking the silence.

"I missed you, you know?"

I stopped.

He kept his gaze ahead, as if afraid that looking at me directly would make his words feel too heavy.

"When you left, I thought I’d hear from you after a year, maybe two. But the years passed, and I heard nothing from you. No letters, no messages, nothing."

I felt a lump in my throat.

"Caelan, I…"

"I’m not angry," he interrupted, finally turning to me with a melancholic smile. "But it hurt. Not because I didn’t understand your decision, but because… you’re my sister. My only sister."

I swallowed hard. I knew my parents had been waiting for me, but hearing this from Caelan… it felt different.

"It wasn’t easy for me either," I admitted softly. "There were so many times I wanted to write to you, but… I felt that if I did, it would be harder not to come back."

Caelan studied me for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"I get it. But now that you’re back, I hope you don’t plan on disappearing for another ninety years."

I gave him a sad smile. "I won’t."

We walked in silence for a while, heading toward the outskirts of the city. Every now and then, the sound of market vendors drifted through the breeze, but the farther we went, the more the noise faded.

Then Caelan spoke again, his tone much more serious than before.

"You know? Mom and Dad weren’t the same after you left."

My steps faltered, but he kept walking as if he hadn’t noticed my reaction.

"What do you mean?" I asked, though deep down, I feared the answer.

"Well…" Caelan sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dad found a way to distract himself."

I frowned. "Distract himself?"

"Yeah. By collecting more and more magical artifacts." He gestured broadly, as if encompassing the entirety of Vaerion’s absurd collection in a single motion. "He always liked collecting, but after you left… he turned it into something else."

"More artifacts?" I repeated in disbelief. "How is it even possible that he has more?"

Caelan smirked wryly. "Oh, he managed. At first, I thought he was just exaggerating his usual behavior, but then I noticed a pattern. Many of the objects he acquired… were things he knew you would have been interested in."

A lump began to form in my throat.

"Dad…" I whispered, more to myself than to my brother.

Caelan spoke in a lower tone than usual, as if confessing a secret he had kept for too long. His voice, normally carefree and teasing, now carried a serious, almost melancholic undertone.

"Every time he found something ‘interesting,’ he stored it in your room. As if he was waiting for you to come back and see them one day. As if leaving you gifts in that empty room would somehow make your absence hurt less."

He paused, exhaling softly, and when he spoke again, his tone was even more subdued.

"I saw him more than once, you know?" Caelan continued. "Dad. Sitting on your bed, just... staring into nothing. Sometimes, he looked at the door, as if he were expecting you to walk in at any moment."

I felt the air grow heavier around me.

"He never saw me. He was so lost in his own world that he didn’t notice I was watching. And I think that if he had, he would have snapped back into his usual eccentricity in an instant, acting like nothing was wrong. Like everything was fine."

Caelan let out a small, humorless chuckle, but his gaze remained distant, lost in the memories.

"But it wasn’t fine, Tav. He was just trying to drown himself in distractions so he wouldn’t have to feel it, but I saw it."

My throat tightened. I couldn’t find the right words to respond.

I lowered my gaze, feeling an unfamiliar weight settle on my shoulders. Suddenly, the shelf full of wines didn’t seem like just a whim, the reinforced protection runes weren’t just a precaution, the untouched bed wasn’t simple nostalgia… even the new artifacts I had only noticed when searching my room for something useful for Astarion’s research.

Everything took on a new meaning.

The image of my father, the great and eccentric Vaerion Moonshadow, leaving offerings in an empty room, collecting artifacts as if that could fill the void I left… it was unbearable.

Caelan glanced at me before continuing.

"And Mom…"

I immediately looked up.

"What about her?"

He hesitated before answering, as if carefully choosing his words.

"Mom never showed it. You know how she is. But… it affected her a lot."

"I always saw her as so… stoic."

"She is. But before you left, she was also affectionate, in her own way." Caelan’s voice lowered slightly, as if recalling something distant. "After the first few years without hearing from you, she changed. She became stricter, more closed off."

"What do you mean?"

"At first, she thought it would just take you some time to find your path and then you’d write. Every time the courier arrived, I saw her look at him with a certain hope… and each time there was no letter from you, I saw her disappointment grow."

My breathing became a bit heavier.

"I never thought that…"

"I didn’t fully understand it either until I found something in her room," Caelan continued. "A letter. It was tucked away in her desk, but she never sent it. It was for you."

I stopped in my tracks.

"What did it say?"

Caelan shrugged.

"I didn’t read it. It wasn’t my place. But I think it was her way of talking to you when she couldn’t do it for real."

I felt a knot form in my stomach, and the words caught in my throat. No matter how much I wanted to say something, I simply couldn’t.

"The only thing Mom and Dad ever heard about you was when you defeated the Absolute in Baldur’s Gate," Caelan said with a touch of irony. "And that was thanks to Dad’s contacts, not because you wrote to them."

The silence between us was heavy. The guilt, suffocating.

I knew my departure would affect them. I knew it could hurt them. But I had never imagined the real extent of what my absence meant to them.

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

"I guess I have a lot to make up for with them."

Caelan gave me a soft smile.

"They’re not mad at you, Tav. They just missed you."

I nodded, though the pang in my chest didn’t completely fade.

Noticing my discomfort, he shifted the mood with a mischievous grin.

"But anyway, enough drama for today. Do you want to keep walking, or should I carry you like when we were kids?"

I scoffed and shoved his arm.

"Don’t even think about it."

Caelan laughed, and the atmosphere, though still heavy with emotion, lightened a little.

The crunch of dry leaves under our feet was the only sound in the forest. The cool breeze carried the scent of damp wood and earth, a welcome contrast to the bustle of Neverwinter. Caelan walked beside me, more relaxed than before, as if our stroll was actually succeeding in clearing my mind.

"See? That wasn’t so bad," he teased, nudging me lightly with his elbow.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

"Don’t celebrate just yet. This is still a kidnapping."

Caelan chuckled, but his laughter faded as quickly as it came.

A chill ran down my spine.

The forest felt… different. As if the air had suddenly thickened.

Caelan noticed it too. He stopped abruptly, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword.

And then, a familiar voice broke the silence.

"Ah, how touching. A devoted brother looking after his dear sister. I love seeing such… strong family bonds."

The tone was soft, almost melodic, but the mockery was unmistakable.

My blood ran cold.

Raphael.

Caelan moved in an instant, positioning himself in front of me, his body tense like a wolf ready to strike.

"Whatever you want, devil, you can get lost. You’re not laying a single claw on my sister."

Raphael, elegantly dressed as always, appeared leaning against a tree, his face painted with pure amusement.

"Oh, how charming. But tell me, Tavaryan, do you really need someone to speak for you?"

Caelan clenched his teeth, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"Stay away from her."

Raphael sighed and stepped away from the tree with a relaxed movement, as if my brother’s hostility was nothing more than a game to him.

"So protective… so loyal… tell me, Tavaryan, what does it feel like to have someone like that? I wonder… could you say the same about Astarion?"

I tensed.

"Shut your mouth."

Raphael raised his hands in an innocent gesture.

"Don’t worry, dear. I’m not here to make you an offer… at least not today."

"Then tell me what you want and leave."

"Oh, how impatient. And here I thought you had learned to enjoy our little chats."

Caelan was losing patience. I knew him well enough to notice the slight tremor in his fingers, the restrained fury in his clenched jaw.

But Raphael wasn’t here for him.

"Why don’t we take a walk?" Raphael suggested with a polite smile. "Just you and me, without unnecessary interference."

Caelan stepped forward, drawing his sword in one fluid motion.

"Not in a million years."

Raphael looked at him with a falsely sympathetic expression. "How troublesome. But I suppose diplomacy has never been a warrior’s strong suit."

And before I could react, he snapped his fingers.

The world around me vanished into a swirl of shadows and flames.

The last thing I saw before disappearing was the fury in my brother’s eyes.

And then, the forest was gone.

When the darkness lifted, I found myself in a completely different place.

The House of Hope.

The air was stifling, heavy with the echo of whispers and broken promises. Crimson candles cast a dim light, stretching elongated shadows across the walls. The same table as always was set, with crystal goblets and wine as dark as blood.

And, of course, Raphael was comfortably seated on his throne, a goblet in hand, watching me with the calm of a predator that knows its prey has no escape.

I crossed my arms, feeling the rage burning in my chest. "Send me back to the forest. Now."

"Oh, Tavaryan, how cruel. Can’t we enjoy a moment of conversation?" Raphael said, his tone amused. "I was waiting for you to step out of your home for a bit, since thanks to your father, I can no longer enter without an invitation." He referred to Vaerion’s protection spell.

"I didn’t come here willingly."

"But you are here, and that’s what matters." Raphael swirled his goblet lazily before taking a sip. "Don’t worry, your dear brother is perfectly fine. A bit irritated, perhaps, but unharmed."

Ignoring his condescending tone, I glared at him. "What do you want?"

Raphael smiled.

"Oh, this isn’t about what I want, but about what you need."

A book appeared, floating in the air before landing softly on the table.

"History of the Blood Counts" I read quietly.

My heart pounded faster.

"I have been watching your… desperation" Raphael continued. "And it moves me, truly. I can’t help but feel… generous."

"You never do anything without a hidden motive. Why help me?"

I gritted my teeth but stepped closer to the book. I picked it up cautiously, feeling the weight of the leather cover in my hands. The history of the most influential vampires in Faerûn, their customs, their deeds… at first glance, it seemed like a simple compilation with no great use. But Raphael never did anything without purpose.

And that was what worried me the most.

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the tome.

"I already told you, I’m a generous soul." Raphael smiled with false modesty, raising his goblet as if toasting his own nobility.

The tone of his voice unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. As if he already knew how this would play out. As if he were just waiting for me to reach the same conclusion on my own.

"I don’t believe you." I lifted my gaze, locking eyes with him. "You always want something in return. Always."

Raphael let out a soft chuckle, as if my persistence amused him.

"You’re right, of course. But tell me, Tavaryan… if I had asked for something, if I had given you a price, would you have taken this book?"

I frowned.

"No."

"Exactly." Raphael snapped his fingers, and the candle flames flared higher. "Not every soul needs to be pushed into the abyss; sometimes, all it takes is a little nudge in the right direction and they fall on their own."

His tone sent a chill through me.

I looked at the book again, my fingertips tracing the golden embossing of the title.

This wasn’t just generosity. This wasn’t just a whim.

Raphael was betting on something.

But what?

"Do you really expect me to believe that you’re helping me without any hidden agenda?" I snapped, my distrust burning in my chest.

Raphael smiled as if I had just asked the most naïve question in the world.

"Darling, I’m not helping you. I’m simply giving you something you could find on your own… given enough time, of course." He leaned back in his throne, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "But time is a luxury, isn’t it? And sometimes, learning the truth too late can be just as tragic as never learning it at all."

My grip on the book tightened.

That was his game.

He wasn’t forcing me, he wasn’t pressuring me to sign his contract. He was just dropping a key piece in my path, waiting for my desperation to do the rest.

Raphael wasn’t in a hurry.

He knew time would work in his favor.

I swallowed hard and shut the book with a sharp snap.

"If you think this will make me reconsider your deal, you’re wasting your time."

Raphael smiled broadly, that infuriating confidence making my blood boil.

"Good luck, Tavaryan. I hope you find what you’re looking for… though you know as well as I do that we don’t always like the answers we find."

A shiver ran through me.

Raphael snapped his fingers, and before I could respond, the House of Hope faded around me.

In the next blink, I was back in the forest.

Caelan was exactly where I had left him, sword raised and fury burning in his expression. The moment he saw me reappear, he turned immediately.

"Tav! Are you okay? What did that bastard do to you?"

I pressed my lips together, still clutching the book tightly.

"I’m fine…" I murmured, but my mind was still in the House of Hope, in Raphael’s gaze, in the dangerous game I had just stepped into.

Caelan eyed me warily before glancing down at the book.

"What’s that?"

I held it against my chest, as if it were a loaded weapon.

"A clue. And I don’t know if it’s a gift… or a trap."

Chapter Text

It took some effort, but I finally got Caelan to swear that he wouldn’t tell our parents about this. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to keep something like this from them, but in the end, he understood my point: if they found out about this book, they would destroy it before we even had a chance to figure out if it was useful or not.

On the way back to the mansion, I felt the weight of the book in my hands as if it were a real burden. Was I doing the right thing? This wasn’t the first time we had dealt with Raphael, but this time… it felt different. He hadn’t pressured me, he hadn’t tempted me with his offer. He had simply placed the piece in front of me, waiting for me to make the move.

Once back home, I headed straight to the grand library—the place where we had spent the last few days, buried in scrolls and dusty tomes, searching for answers for Astarion.

I don’t plan on letting my parents know about this book just yet. Not until I’m sure it’s not just another of the devil’s traps. But I do want to share it with the group. They’ve never questioned my decisions, even when they disagreed with me. They trust me.

And I need to trust someone.

Once inside the library, I closed the doors behind me with a dull thud that echoed through the silent hall. The wood creaked slightly with the movement, and for a moment, I felt the weight of my own decision.

We never closed the doors.

The air immediately felt heavier. There was no need to say anything for the others to notice that something was off. Gale, who had a scroll in his hands, stopped reading and looked at me with a slightly furrowed brow. Astarion, leaning against a bookshelf with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes in curiosity. Shadowheart, however, was the first to speak.

"Tell me, please, that you got that book legally and didn’t steal it." Her tone was a mix of sarcasm and resignation, but her eyes reflected genuine suspicion.

It took me a second to realize that my expression probably gave away more than I wanted.

I let out a sigh.

"I wish it were that simple."

That only seemed to increase the tension in the air. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes, Gale set his scroll aside with a measured movement, and Astarion subtly straightened, no longer leaning against the bookshelf as if already anticipating something.

Without saying another word, I walked over to the table and placed the book on the surface with almost reverent care. The aged leather of the cover reflected the dim light of the library, and for a moment, no one moved.

Gale was the first to react. He took the book with both hands and began flipping through it with a critical expression, his eyes scanning the pages with analytical interest. Shadowheart and Astarion moved closer to glance over his shoulder, the tension palpable in every gesture.

And then, I spoke the truth:

"Raphael gave it to me."

The air seemed to grow denser.

Everyone’s gaze snapped to me instantly. I couldn’t tell if it was surprise, disbelief, or something deeper, but the silence that followed my words was more telling than any immediate reaction.

"For all the damned gods!" Astarion exclaimed, running a hand over his face in exasperation. "I can’t believe that every time we lose sight of you for a few minutes, something happens with Raphael."

He made a broad gesture with his hands, as if pointing out the absurdity of the situation.

"Although, I suppose I should stop being surprised by now. That devil has been chasing you like a starving hound for over a month now." His tone was a mix of annoyance and resignation, but there was also a hint of concern hidden beneath his usual dramatics.

"And he just gave it to you?" Shadowheart asked, crossing her arms and eyeing the book with evident distrust. "Or did he try to convince you to sign that contract again?"

"Yes, he just gave it to me," I began to explain, running my fingers over the book’s cover as if still trying to decipher Raphael’s true purpose. "According to him, he was feeling ‘generous.’"

Gale narrowed his eyes, contemplating in silence, while Astarion let out a sarcastic huff.

"Although…" I continued, my brows furrowing, "the way he spoke to me at that moment was like someone who already knows the answers we’re looking for. As if he were enjoying watching us get closer to something he already understands."

"What exactly did he say?" Gale asked, now more intrigued.

I took a breath before answering.

"‘Good luck, Tavaryan. I hope you find what you’re looking for… though you know as well as I do that we don’t always like the answers we uncover.’"

The silence returned to the room.

No one spoke immediately, but the tension was tangible. Because, even if none of us wanted to admit it, there was an uncomfortable truth in Raphael’s words.

What was it that he already knew, and we didn’t?

"What’s the plan, boss?" Gale was the first to break the silence.

I straightened, looking at the book with determination before answering.

"First of all, we study and analyze this book." I slid my fingertips over the leather cover with resolve. "Every word, every image… we need to examine every detail in depth. We can’t afford to overlook anything."

Astarion let out a scoff and crossed his arms, still watching the book with distrust. Shadowheart gave a slight nod, while Gale rested his elbows on the table, deep in thought.

The silence that had settled in the library after my words was interrupted by a soft but firm knock on the door.

We all turned our heads at the same time, the reflex of those who had spent too much time buried in books, their minds immersed in ancient enigmas and answers that refused to be found.

When the door opened, it took me a second to process the figure standing at the threshold.

Eleonora.

Her flawless posture, her perfectly arranged dress in subdued tones, her serene yet unreadable expression. She was the image of composure, but even so, something in the way her eyes searched for mine made me sit up straighter in my seat.

"Tavaryan, can we talk?"

Her voice carried no harshness, no authority. It wasn’t an order, but it wasn’t a simple request either.

The entire group subtly tensed. Gale lowered his gaze to the book still in his hands, pretending to read, but his muscles were slightly stiff. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes just a bit, assessing the situation. Astarion, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his raised eyebrow of disbelief.

But no one said anything.

My mother rarely asked to speak in private. Not because she didn’t care, but because that simply wasn’t her way of doing things.

And yet, here she was.

I swallowed and stood up.

"Of course," I answered, suddenly feeling the weight of all the eyes on my back.

I passed by Astarion, who only gave me a warning look—not because he thought Eleonora would harm me, but because he simply didn’t trust what this conversation might mean for me. It was as if he was silently telling me, "Be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt."

I closed the door behind me with a soft click, and as the sound faded into the hallway, I felt the air shift.

Neither of us spoke as we walked.

Eleonora didn’t either.

The echo of our footsteps resonated in sync against the marble walls, and though the atmosphere wasn’t hostile, it wasn’t entirely comfortable either.

It was as if we were both weighing our words before even speaking them.

From the corner of my eye, I observed my mother. She kept her gaze forward, maintaining the same elegant posture she always had, but there was something… contained within her.

I didn’t remember her like this.

When I was a child, Eleonora had a firm yet warm presence. She was strict, yes, but there was always a glimmer of something more in her eyes—something I couldn’t quite see now.

Had I imagined it? Or had she simply changed over time?

I wet my lips, wanting to say something—anything to break the tension—but before I could find the right words, we reached her room.

Eleonora opened the door and gestured for me to enter first.

For a moment, I hesitated.

There was a strange feeling in stepping into my mother’s room after so long. Something almost sacred about another person’s personal space, especially someone like Eleonora.

But I didn’t stop.

As I crossed the threshold, the subtle scent of jasmine and wood enveloped me, a familiar fragrance that, in some way, transported me to another time.

The room was as orderly and pristine as I remembered. Almost as if time had stood still.

Eleonora closed the door behind us and walked to a small table by the window, where two elegantly carved chairs awaited.

"Sit," she said softly.

I obeyed without question, suddenly feeling like a child again.

My mother took a moment before sitting across from me. Not because she hesitated, but because she seemed to be carefully choosing how to begin the conversation.

And for the first time in a long while… I realized that she was nervous too.

My mother’s room was exactly as I remembered it: impeccable, meticulously arranged down to the last detail. The light from the enchanted lamps cast a soft glow over the dark wooden furniture, and the air was filled with the subtle scent of jasmine—the same perfume she used when I was a child.

Eleonora moved gracefully to her vanity, where she calmly removed a pair of black lace gloves she had been wearing. She said nothing at first, and neither did I. I simply watched in silence as she sat on the small sofa near the fireplace, crossing her legs with her usual elegant poise.

For a moment, I thought she might regret calling me here, that she would remain silent as she had so many times in the past when words felt too heavy. But finally, she exhaled softly and gestured for me to sit across from her.

"I haven’t had the chance to speak with you in private since you returned."

Her voice was calm, without reproach, but there was a hint of restraint in her tone, as if she were carefully selecting her words.

I sat with a straight back, suddenly feeling smaller than I should.

"I know," I replied quietly. "I assumed that… maybe you didn’t know what to say to me."

Eleonora clasped her hands in her lap and nodded slowly.

"I didn’t." Her confession was honest, direct. But then, after a brief pause, she added, "I’m not sure I do even now."

Something in her tone hit me harder than I expected. Not because it was cold, but because, for the first time in a long time, I saw something in her eyes that she rarely showed: doubt.

Eleonora Moonshadow, the woman of ice, the impeccable lady who never lost her composure… was doubting.

"Tavaryan… have you been well?"

I swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in my throat. It was such a simple question, but the way she asked it…

It wasn’t just polite conversation. It wasn’t casual small talk. It was her way of saying, "I spent years wondering if you were okay, and I never got an answer."

I lowered my gaze for a moment, giving myself a second to collect my thoughts before responding.

"I’ve had difficult moments," I admitted, "but I’ve also had happy ones. I think, overall… yes, I’ve been well."

Eleonora nodded, as if analyzing my words, but she didn’t reply immediately.

"Are you happy?"

The question caught me off guard.

I lifted my gaze and found her watching me intently, with that look of hers that always seemed to see beyond what I was saying.

"I am," I said sincerely. "Not always, but… I am."

For a moment, Eleonora looked relieved, but then her expression hardened again.

"I’m glad to hear that."

Her voice remained serene, but I could already see the cracks beneath the surface.

I saw her avert her gaze for a moment, as if searching for the right words, as if what she was about to say cost her more than she wanted to admit.
"When you left," she began, her voice quieter, "I thought it was going to be temporary. That eventually, we’d hear from you. That maybe you’d write to tell us you were okay. But the years passed… and we heard nothing."

I lowered my gaze, feeling guilt sink into my chest like a stone.
"Mom, I…"
"No, let me finish." She softened her tone when she noticed my discomfort, but her gaze remained firm. "I don’t blame you for leaving. But your absence affected us more than you think."

A shiver ran through me.

I knew my departure had been hard on them. Caelan had already told me as much. But hearing it directly from my mother…

Eleonora sighed and leaned slightly against the armrest of the couch, her posture still impeccable, but with a subtle tension in her shoulders.
"I wrote letters," she confessed, and my heart clenched. "I never sent them… but I wrote them."

My head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Letters?"

She nodded, her expression growing a little more distant.
"Every now and then… when I felt like I couldn’t bear your absence anymore, I wrote. About trivial things, about how much I missed you… I even asked if you were eating well, if you were taking care of yourself."

My throat tightened.

I imagined her, sitting on this very couch, quill in hand, writing words that would never reach their destination.
"I kept them. I don’t know why. Maybe it was my way of feeling like I could still talk to you, even if only on paper."

I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what.

My mother wasn’t someone who showed her emotions easily. She had always been strict, always kept her distance. But now…

Now, I saw her for what she truly was. A mother who had lost her daughter for almost a century and who, even if she never said it out loud, had missed her more than she could bear.

My fingers curled over my lap.
"I’m sorry," I whispered.

Eleonora blinked, as if my words had caught her off guard.
"For what?"
"For leaving. For not writing." I swallowed hard. "I didn’t leave because I wanted to push you away… I didn’t leave because you did something wrong. I left because I was afraid."

Eleonora didn’t respond right away.

She just looked at me, watching me as if she could see right through me.
"I know."

And somehow, that only made the weight of my guilt sink deeper.

"I always thought that if I came back, I wouldn’t have a place here anymore. That you would have moved on without me."

Eleonora slowly shook her head.
"You never stopped having a place here, Tavaryan."

The emotion in her voice, though restrained, cut through me like a dagger.

I took a deep breath, feeling a burning in my eyes that I fought to keep at bay.

I knew I still had a lot to process. I knew I still had a lot to make up for.

But in this moment, for the first time in a long time, I felt like a daughter speaking with her mother.

And that… that meant more than I could put into words.

The silence that followed felt heavier than any spoken word.

Eleonora looked away for a moment, as if gathering the courage to say what came next. Then, with a serene movement, she stood up and walked toward a small table by the window. Resting on it was a wooden box, adorned with silver engravings.

She opened it carefully and took out a small envelope.
"These are some of the letters I wrote," she said quietly, holding them delicately between her fingers. "I won’t give them to you, because I don’t think it’s necessary… but I want you to know they exist."

I stared at the letters, a lump forming in my throat.

For a moment, I was overwhelmed by the urge to take them, to read every word my mother had poured onto those pages over the years. But at the same time, something inside me understood that I didn’t need to.

I didn’t have to read them to know what they said.

I didn’t have to see them to know how much she had missed me.

"Thank you for telling me," I said quietly.

Eleonora nodded solemnly and put the letters back in the box before returning to her seat.

I took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.
"Mom… was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

Eleonora remained silent for a moment, as if choosing her words with great care.

"I want you to stay."

My heart stopped for a second.

I blinked, unable to hide my surprise.
"St—stay?"

"Here. In the mansion. With us."

The firmness in her voice left no room for doubt. It wasn’t just a suggestion, nor a courtesy. It was something she truly wanted.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a little girl again.
"Mom, I…"

"I don’t want to lose you again, Tavaryan."

There was something in her voice—something I had rarely heard in her. Vulnerability.

She leaned slightly toward me, hands clasped over her lap.
"If you still wish to travel, I will understand. If you decide this is not your home, I will understand that too. But I want you to know that, if you want it, this house will always be yours."

My breathing felt heavy.

Because I did want it.

I wanted to stay.

I had always thought that if I returned, I would find a home that no longer belonged to me. That my parents had moved on without me, that my absence had left a hole too deep to fill. But now…

Now, I realized that void had been waiting for me all this time.

"Astarion is welcome too."

The statement pulled me from my thoughts.

Eleonora was watching me with the same serenity as always, but there was something more in her gaze. Something that told me this offer wasn’t just for me.
"If he is part of your life, then he is part of ours."

I felt my heart pound harder.

It was such a simple thing to say, yet it meant so much.

"Mom…"

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I leaned forward and embraced her.

For a moment, Eleonora remained still, as if I had caught her off guard. But then, with the same composed elegance she always carried, she wrapped her arms around me and placed a hand on my back.

It wasn’t an effusive or desperate embrace. It wasn’t an impulsive gesture.

It was firm. Sincere.

The kind of embrace that made me realize just how much I had missed it.

"I’ll think about it," I whispered against her shoulder. "I promise."

Eleonora didn’t answer right away, but her hand moved gently along my back—a subtle gesture, yet full of warmth.

"That’s enough for now."

Chapter Text

The mansion's library had become our world.

Day after day, week after week, we spent countless hours buried in books and scrolls, chasing answers amid faded ink and forgotten tales. At first, enthusiasm kept us going, the hope of finding something useful driving us to read tirelessly. But as the days passed and the pile of discarded books grew, fatigue began to take its toll.

The grand tables were covered in open texts—some with pages marked by hurried annotations, others surrounded by scattered notes. There were maps, ancient glyphs that Gale attempted to decipher, accounts of vampires who once ruled different territories, chronicles of wars fought in the shadows, and treaties on the most influential clans in history.

But the piece that allowed us to connect everything together was not found in any of those books.

It was the one Raphael had given me.

History of the Blood Counts.

A vast compendium, filled with details about the most influential vampires to have ever existed in Faerûn—from clan leaders to solitary lords of the night who once terrorized entire kingdoms. As we studied it, we realized something peculiar: all of these vampires had one thing in common.

"They all descend from the same bloodline" Gale murmured, running a finger over a yellowed page. "It doesn’t matter if they ruled in Thay, Cormyr, or the wildlands of the north—every one of these vampires shares a common ancestor."

I leaned over the table, reading some of the names aloud:

"Strahd von Zarovich… Zhengyi the Necromancer… Kazavon… Malagant… All of them…"

"All of them come from the same origin" Shadowheart concluded, crossing her arms. "From a single vampire."

Astarion leaned forward in his seat, his jaw tightening.

"The original vampire."

The air in the library grew heavier. It was the first time we had uncovered something concrete—something beyond myths and superstitions.

"We’ve seen mentions of him in other texts… ‘The First’ ‘The Bearer of the Curse’…" Gale traced his fingers along the page’s edge, deep in thought. "But this book…" He tapped the worn leather cover lightly. "This is the only one that suggests something more. As if someone wanted this piece of history to be lost."

I ran my fingertips over the page and read aloud:

‘It is said that the first of the vampires was not born with the curse, but claimed it in his quest for immortality. He was once a mortal devoted to a dark deity, but his desire to transcend his humanity led him to make an irreversible pact. Thus, the lineage of the night was born, which in time spread across all of Faerûn, fragmenting into different bloodlines.’

No one spoke for a moment. It was too much to process all at once.

Astarion braced himself against the table with both hands, staring intently at the page as if he could extract more answers just by looking at it.

"So it all began with a single man…" he murmured, a mix of disbelief and bitterness in his voice.

"Now the question is—what happened to him?" Gale asked.

That discovery had been days ago, and since then, we had thrown ourselves even deeper into our research. And yet, despite our efforts, we remained in the same place. Aside from that brief fragment about the origin of vampirism, we had found nothing more.

The mansion's library quickly became a battleground against our own desperation. The shelves were in disarray, books left open and scrolls piled high on the tables. The air smelled of old paper and fresh ink from the notes we were accumulating. Empty tea and coffee cups littered the space, remnants of sleepless nights where information blurred together with exhaustion.

Our routine became monotonous yet relentless.

Shadowheart immersed herself in religious texts, searching for any mention of vampires in the scriptures of dark gods. She gathered references on necromancy and the sins of those who defied death. Sometimes, I would see her frowning, flipping through pages with an expression that wavered between skepticism and discomfort. As a cleric of Selûne, delving into records that spoke of pacts with shadowy deities and divine curses did not sit well with her.

Gale dedicated his time to analyzing the magical nature of vampirism. His notes were filled with theories on how the curse might be woven into the very essence of its victims. He reviewed treatises on arcane transformations, searching for any indication that the curse could be reversed. More than once, I heard him murmuring to himself while making calculations in the air with his magic.

Astarion, on the other hand, focused on historical accounts. If anyone knew the history of vampires, it was him. He carefully selected the oldest documents—the ones that spoke of powerful clans and vampires who once ruled from the shadows. But the more he read, the more frustrated he became. He didn’t say much about it, but every time he slid a book into the growing pile of discarded texts, his expression darkened.

And me… I tried to ensure we didn’t lose ourselves in the details.

I coordinated our findings, linking information from one book to another, marking references to other texts that might give us answers. But as the days passed, my own frustration began to grow.

It didn’t matter how many pages we read, how many treatises we analyzed. There were no clear answers.

The weeks stretched on in a haze of words and empty promises.

We had found mentions of legendary vampires, accounts of their conquests and tragedies. We had read about their weaknesses, their rituals, and customs. But nothing that truly brought us closer to a cure.

And the worst part was the creeping suspicion that Raphael had given us this information knowing that, sooner or later, we would hit a dead end.

It was as if he had cast the bait and was now waiting for desperation to do the rest.

"This is useless" Astarion muttered one night, shutting a book with more force than necessary. His voice was laced with frustration. "Everything I find is about how to hunt us, how to kill us, how to fear us. But not a single damned word on how to free us from this."

"Not yet" Gale replied, though he sounded just as exhausted as the rest of us.

Astarion scoffed and ran his hands over his face.

"We've spent weeks on this, and all we have is a collection of useless data. Do you honestly believe that if a cure existed, no one would have tried it before?"

I didn’t answer immediately. I knew that part of his frustration came from fear. The more we researched, the more it seemed like we were searching for something impossible.

And I felt it too.

I ran a hand over my face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into every muscle of my body. "Just… let's keep looking. There has to be something."

Astarion watched me in silence for a moment. His jaw tightened as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he shook his head and returned to his reading.

We sank back into our work, into the monotony of turning pages and taking notes.

But deep down, doubt had begun to take root in all of us.

And somewhere, Raphael was probably smiling.

Aside from that damned tome, we had found no other useful information. Or at least, that was true until now.

As I wandered through the shelves, immersed in the silent majesty of the library, I noticed something strange. I had walked farther than should have been possible, turning down aisles that seemed to repeat themselves and yet always discovering new sections filled with dusty books. What I first believed to be a simple labyrinth of bookshelves soon revealed itself as something far more unsettling.

"This… has no end" I murmured to myself, pausing for a moment to take in my surroundings.

Just minutes ago, the group had spread out across the visible areas, unaware of the true magnitude of this place. But now, walking alone between towering shelves of dark wood, I began to suspect that the library was not what it seemed. Vaerion must have enchanted it, expanding it with arcane magic beyond what physical space should allow.

The aisles stretched as far as the eye could see, the flickering lights of floating chandeliers casting a golden glow into the gloom. In the distance, among the shadows, a few loose pages fluttered as if they had a life of their own.

And that was when I saw it.

At the very top of a towering bookshelf that loomed like a gothic spire, a worn-looking book seemed to call to me. At first glance, it was nothing special, yet something deep inside told me I had to reach it. I followed my instincts.

Focusing, I spoke the spell. " Iube te volare. "

I felt the magic wrap around me, lifting me gently from the ground. I ascended past shelves filled with titles whose worn spines spoke of centuries past until my fingers brushed against the rough cover of the mysterious book.

This book appeared to be far older than the one Raphael had given us.

It rested among the dust and shadows as if it had waited centuries to be found. Its blackened leather cover was cracked with age, yet it still held a faint, dull sheen, as if magic itself had preserved it from total decay. Intricate embossed engravings wound across its surface, forming arcane patterns I could barely understand, and in the center, a bronze lock—corroded but still functional—guarded its pages with a mechanism that seemed to demand more than just a key to be opened.

The edges of the pages were frayed and yellowed, marked with stains that spoke of ancient hands that had held it before me. Small, worn gemstone inlays—perhaps once radiant rubies—adorned the book’s corners, giving it an air of forgotten royalty, of forbidden knowledge accessible only to a select few.

The moment my fingers grazed its surface, a shiver ran down my spine.

It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. It was the certainty that this book was important.

Something in its presence awakened an echo deep within me, a silent call that clung to my chest and my mind. I didn’t know how I knew, but this book held answers. Without needing to open it, I knew I had to take it, that I had to study it. It was an instinct as primal as hunger, as undeniable as the certainty that the sun would rise at dawn.

I clutched the tome tightly, with the same devotion as a lost traveler clinging to the promise of water in the desert.

I hurried back toward the main area. For a moment, I thought I might get lost, but the library’s very structure seemed to shift to guide me toward my destination. My father truly thought of everything…

Upon my return, I noticed that Gale was nowhere to be seen. He had likely realized the peculiar nature of this library as well, so I didn’t dwell on it.

I sat at the table in the center of the room, unlocked the book’s clasp with the Knock spell, and proceeded to read.

The sound of turning pages had become as familiar as a heartbeat. Every crisp sheet, every fragment of text, every illustration blurred by the passage of time… everything had led us to this moment.

And then, finally, we found his name.

"Vlad von Carstein…" I read softly, feeling the weight of the name on my tongue.

Astarion leaned in closer, his scarlet eyes fixed on the worn letters on the page.

"So this is the origin of everything…"

No one spoke at first. The library, usually filled with whispers and the scratch of quills on parchment, fell into absolute silence.

Shadowheart was the first to react, sliding her fingers over the page as if to reassure herself that the name wouldn’t vanish.

"Vlad von Carstein… His name doesn’t appear in any modern text. It’s as if history tried to erase him."

I bit my lip.

"Which means someone made a conscious effort to make his legacy disappear."

Astarion clicked his tongue.

"Or perhaps the centuries simply buried him. Not all vampires seek immortality for their names—some just want to survive."

I shook my head.

"I don’t know. A vampire of this caliber… The first vampire. You don’t just vanish from history without help."

I ran my fingertips over the text and continued reading aloud:

‘Vlad von Carstein was not born with the curse of the night. He was a mortal, a devoted cleric of a dark deity. He sought immortality not through mortal power but by pleading with his god for a miracle. But the blessings of dark gods are rarely what they seem…’

Shadowheart frowned.

"Does it mention the name of that god?"

I shook my head, quickly flipping through the next pages.

"No… It only says, ‘a forgotten god, whose name has been lost to darkness.’"

Astarion let out a sarcastic sigh.

"Of course it does. How convenient."
I felt a pang of frustration as well. If we knew which god was responsible for this, perhaps we could find more clues in their scriptures, in their cult… but if not even their name had survived time, then it was a dead end.

I continued reading aloud:

"Unlike modern vampires, Vlad von Carstein retained something that the others lost over the centuries. His flesh did not wither with death, his powers were not bound by the same weaknesses. He did not fear sunlight, nor silver, nor holy water. And, above all, he could give life to his own progeny."

The book trembled slightly in my hands.

"Give life…?"

Shadowheart took the page and turned it toward her.

"It says that the vampires created by Vlad von Carstein were born as fully formed vampires. They were not spawn, not dhampir. They were… entirely new creatures."

Astarion frowned.

"That’s impossible. Vampires cannot conceive naturally."

"Not modern ones," I murmured. "But he could."

We fell into silence.

The weight of this revelation was overwhelming.

"Then…" Astarion wet his lips. "If he was the first, his blood…"

Shadowheart crossed her arms and nodded.

"Could be the key."

My fingers tightened around the edges of the book.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Shadowheart exhaled, the spark of a theory forming in her gaze.

"Whenever a cure for a curse is sought, the blood of the origin can sometimes be the key to reversing it. If his blood was the source of the curse… perhaps it could also be the way to break it."

My heart pounded in my chest.

"But there’s a problem," Shadowheart murmured, her brow furrowed. "We have no idea if Vlad von Carstein is still alive."

Astarion leaned on the table with a bitter smile.

"Well, considering no one has heard his name in centuries, anyone want to bet that he’s dead?"

A heavy silence settled over us.

The pieces were beginning to come together.

Vlad von Carstein’s blood could be the key to a cure.

But if he was dead, if his lineage had vanished, then the cure might never be possible.

And just as Raphael had said… we don’t always like the answers we find.

The silence that followed our revelation was thick, heavy with uncertainty and unspoken thoughts. Vlad von Carstein… the first vampire.

The first bearer of the curse.

The possible origin of a cure.

But also a figure lost to history, someone who might no longer exist.

Astarion was the first to break the stillness, his voice low but firm.

"Well, now with this information about this ‘original vampire’ and his supposed lineage… this makes more sense with what I found here."

With a slow gesture, he slid a book from among the texts he had been reviewing in my absence. Its cover was simple, without ornate embellishments or gilded inscriptions, but the leather binding was cracked with age.

"It’s not a treatise or a biography," he explained, tapping the cover lightly. "It’s… a fable."

I frowned.

"A fable?"

"A myth, if you prefer," Shadowheart interjected, taking the book and flipping through its pages with curiosity. "A story that has been passed down for generations in certain parts of Faerûn."

I leaned over the table as Shadowheart read in a low voice until her eyes stopped on a particular passage.

"Here it is," she murmured. "‘The Tale of the Mirror of Oblivion.’"

The title sent a shiver down my spine.

Astarion crossed his arms.

"Listen to this."

Shadowheart cleared her throat and began to read:

"Centuries ago, when the gods still walked among mortals and the shadows whispered secrets to those who wished to hear them, there existed a vampire who feared neither light nor silver. A direct child of the First Blood, gifted with abilities no other possessed. But his greatest treasure was not his strength nor his immortality, but an object that never left his side: a mirror, dark as a moonless night, forged not of glass or silver, but from a fragment of his own essence."

My fingers tensed on the table.

"A fragment of his essence…"

Shadowheart continued reading:

"This mirror did not reflect light, nor shadows. Its spell was simple and powerful: it allowed any bearer of the curse to see their reflection in it, regardless of nature’s laws."

Astarion froze.

"What did you say?"

Shadowheart reread the line aloud.

"Any bearer of the curse will be able to use it."

We exchanged glances.

"That matches perfectly with the mirror we found among your father’s belongings, doesn’t it?" Astarion broke the silence.

I nodded slowly.

"If it was truly created by a vampire of the first generation, that would explain why you can see yourself in it."

Shadowheart ran her fingers over the page, thoughtful.

"But if this myth is true, then the mirror is not just an enchanted object… it’s a part of its creator."

Astarion let out a sarcastic laugh.

"So I’ve been looking at myself in the remains of a corpse this whole time. How charming."

I ignored his tone as my mind raced.

If the mirror contained a fragment of an original vampire’s essence… could it be used as a substitute for his blood?

It was madness.

But it was also the closest we had come to finding an answer.

"We could use it," I murmured, barely realizing I had spoken aloud.

Shadowheart looked at me cautiously.

"Use it?"

"If his essence is still trapped in that mirror… maybe we could extract it."

Astarion narrowed his eyes.

"That sounds dangerously similar to our idea about the original vampire’s blood."

"And that’s why it’s the most promising lead we’ve found so far," I replied firmly. "We don’t know if Vlad von Carstein is still alive, we don’t know if we’ll ever find him, but this mirror… we have it here, in the mansion. It’s tangible. It’s a real clue."

Shadowheart exhaled slowly.

"If this is true, then your father might be able to help us understand how to extract its essence without causing… unintended consequences."

"Exactly. He’s the only person who could tell us if this is viable."

Astarion looked away, his expression growing darker.

"And what if it’s not?"

I didn’t have an immediate answer.

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the conversation.

"Apologies for the delay." Gale’s voice echoed through the library as he entered, his robe slightly disheveled and his brow furrowed. "This mansion has too many hallways… but, in my defense, I got lost for a very good reason."

We turned toward him.

"What did you find?" Shadowheart asked, raising an eyebrow.

Instead of responding immediately, Gale placed a book on the table with deliberate care.

My stomach tightened at the sight of the cover. It was a dark leather tome, its edges worn but surprisingly well-preserved. It had no title, but the moment my eyes settled on it, a shiver ran down my spine.

Astarion was the first to speak.

"Please tell me that’s not what I think it is…"

Gale ran a hand over the book’s surface, almost reverently.

"I found it in a secluded section of the library, on a shelf that seemed to have been magically reinforced. It’s a journal… and from what I could gather from the first few pages, it belongs to Raphael."

Silence fell over the room.

We exchanged glances.

"Wait, wait, wait." Astarion raised a hand, incredulous. "Are you telling me that my father-in-law is in possession of Raphael’s personal journal?"

My mind was racing.

I recalled the confrontation in the kitchen—how my father knew exactly who Raphael was without any introduction. How he didn’t hesitate to strike where it hurt the most, digging into the wound of his relationship with Mephistopheles.

At the time, I had attributed it to the intuition of an experienced sorcerer. But now…

Now, I wasn’t so sure.

"How in the hell did he get it?" I asked quietly.

Gale shrugged.

"That’s the big question, isn’t it?"

Astarion let out a scoff.

"Oh, I’m sure we can guess. Vaerion isn’t exactly someone who follows conventional rules."

Shadowheart crossed her arms.

"Regardless of how he obtained it, this raises another issue… just how much does your father really know about Raphael?"

The question hung in the air.

I had no answer.

"I’ll have to ask him," I finally said. "But not now."

The journal remained on the table, a silent presence that didn’t belong here.

I stared at it for a moment longer before taking a deep breath and shaking my head.

"Right now, the mirror is our priority." I clutched the book to my chest, holding onto the idea that it might contain an answer. "I’m going to talk to my father."

I gathered History of the Blood Counts , the book Astarion had found, and the one I had discovered in the halls. If my father had left that last tome in the library, there was a good chance he had long forgotten it was there. If I was lucky, I could pass off Raphael’s journal as just another forgotten piece of his collection, avoiding too many uncomfortable questions.

I also took the text on the mirror.

If there was even the slightest chance that it contained something useful… we needed to know.

I hoped everything would go well.

But with my father, nothing was ever that simple.

Chapter Text

My father's laboratory had always been a place of meticulously organized chaos. Crystals floated in the air with a faint glow, scrolls covered the tables in messy piles, and the scent of arcane incense lingered in every corner of the room. Yet, amidst all that disorder, Vaerion remained utterly serene, gazing at the mirror with the fascination of a scholar who had just uncovered a new mystery.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching him in silence for a moment before clearing my throat.

"Any progress?" I asked.

My father looked up with an amused smile.

"There is always progress, Tavaryan. The real question is whether it's the kind you were expecting."

I stepped into the room, feeling the subtle hum of magic woven into the air. Carefully, I set the books I had been carrying down on the table beside the mirror, making sure they were visible.

Vaerion arched a brow, picking up the first tome with curiosity.

“ ‘History of the Blood Counts’... Where did you get this?”

"It's a book I found in the library," I answered casually, hoping he wouldn't notice that one of them came from Raphael. "We've been studying it for weeks, and there's something I think you should see."

I sat across from him, running my hand over the worn covers of the books before opening them to the key sections.

"We've been searching for answers in multiple sources" I said, pointing to the first book. "In this one, we found the earliest mention of vampirism’s origins. It speaks of a cleric who sought immortality and was instead cursed. He was the first of his kind, and his lineage spread across all of Faerûn."

Vaerion nodded slightly, flipping through the pages with interest.

"That aligns with some ancient theories… but tell me, how does this connect to the mirror?"

I smiled with quiet satisfaction before opening the second book.

"This one speaks of a vampire created directly from the original lineage. He did not share the same weaknesses as modern vampires and could sire offspring naturally. But more importantly…" I slid my finger over a passage. "He possessed a mirror made from a fragment of his own essence."

My father looked up, this time with genuine interest.

"A fragment of his essence?" he repeated thoughtfully.

"Exactly. And if this mirror contains the essence of an original vampire… don’t you think we could use it?"

Vaerion rested his elbows on the table, drumming his fingers against his chin as he processed the information. Then, slowly, his smile widened, like a puzzle finally clicking into place in his mind.

"You’re brilliant, Tavaryan."

His approval caught me off guard. It wasn’t that I doubted my own ideas, but seeing recognition in my father’s eyes was always rare—and valuable.

"If your sources are correct," he continued, "this could be viable. I can’t promise anything yet, but it’s worth trying. And if anyone can extract that essence without destroying the mirror in the process…" He leaned back, exuding absolute confidence in his own ability. "It’s me."

I took a deep breath, feeling a small spark of hope in my chest.

"So… you’ll do it?"

Vaerion smirked, a near-challenging glint in his eyes."Of course. This will be a fascinating challenge."

The weeks passed more slowly than I would have liked. Research had become an unbreakable cycle—wake up, study ancient texts, compare notes, debate theories, collapse from exhaustion, sleep for barely a few hours, and start again. The library was a carefully contained mess, a maze of open books, scattered scrolls, and empty tea or coffee cups forgotten in corners where fatigue had overtaken us. We had decided to keep researching, not so much in hopes of finding something new, but simply to pass the time. With luck, it would keep my mind occupied and stop me from overthinking. Of course, the others refused to let me do this alone, joining me despite my insistence that it wasn’t necessary.

Since my conversation with my father, I had clung to the belief that he would find a solution. If anyone could do it, it was him. But time moved forward without any concrete answers, and with each passing day, the certainty of his success felt less and less solid. At first, his confident attitude had filled me with hope. But now… now the silence was killing me.

Despite our exhaustion, we kept working, though frustration weighed heavily on all of us. Shadowheart focused on religious texts, searching for any trace of divine intervention in the creation of vampirism. Gale poured over arcane theories, trying to understand the curse from a structural perspective—analyzing it as a magical formula that could be unraveled. Astarion… he tried to keep himself busy, but his patience was wearing thin.

But if anyone was truly at their limit, it was me.

I didn’t show it openly—or at least, I tried not to. I stuck to my routine, to my determination, to my usual stubbornness. But my mind wouldn’t stop screaming at me. What if all of this was in vain? What if there was no cure? What if it all led to a dead end? I didn’t want to think about that. I couldn’t afford to think about that. But the fear coiled tightly around my chest, a serpent squeezing a little harder with each passing day.

And then, one night, Astarion noticed.

We were in the library, silently pouring over texts. The soft glow of enchanted lamps cast gentle shadows on the shelves, and the air smelled of old paper and dried ink. I turned the page of a book without even reading it, my thoughts too tangled in anxiety to focus on the words.

"Tav." His voice broke the silence gently.

I didn’t respond immediately. I blinked, realizing I had been staring at the same line for too long.

“What?” I murmured, not lifting my eyes from the book.

Astarion let out a quiet sigh and closed his own book with a soft thud. He leaned toward me, resting an arm on the table as he studied me carefully.

“You need to breathe” he said in a low voice.

I frowned, pretending not to understand.

“I am breathing.”

“No, you’re not.” He shook his head, a small, lopsided smile on his lips, but there was no teasing in his tone. Only patience. “Or at least, not the way you should be.”

I pressed my lips together and looked away, pretending to focus on the text. But I couldn’t fool him. He knew me too well.

“Tav…” His voice was even softer now as he reached out, covering my hand with his own. “I know you’re at your breaking point.”

I swallowed hard but didn’t answer. My entire body was tense, as if admitting it would be enough to make me completely fall apart.

“You can’t keep going like this” he continued. “Trust your father. He’ll figure it out.”

I shot him a skeptical look.

“You, telling me to trust someone?” I tried to joke, but my voice came out rough.

Astarion smiled, but there was no mockery in his expression. Only a warmth he didn’t always allow himself to show.

“Not always, but in this case…” He squeezed my hand slightly. “It wouldn’t do either of us any good to fall into despair, would it? You were always the one who stayed strong for me. Now it’s my turn.”

My chest tightened, and for a moment, I thought I might break. I felt a burning behind my eyes, a surge of emotion threatening to slip out of my control. But I took a deep breath and nodded, clinging to his words like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

“…Alright” I whispered.

He didn’t say anything else. He just held my gaze for a long moment before releasing my hand with one last reassuring squeeze.

That small gesture was enough to make me feel a little less alone.

But the despair was still there, lurking. And with every day that passed without answers, it became harder to ignore.

Finally, the day arrived.

My father summoned us to the library. It had taken longer than he initially thought. I should feel relieved—I want to feel relieved—but for some reason, I can’t.

The candlelight cast flickering shadows on the stone walls as the group gathered. The table was clear, an unusual sight given the chaos of the past few weeks. Even the cups of cold coffee and the frantic notes on scattered scrolls had disappeared, as if someone wanted to ensure there were no distractions from what was about to be said.

My father stood at the head of the table, holding a scroll in his hands, his gaze fixed on the notes he had prepared. There was no trace of his usual eccentricity—no theatrical remarks, no self-assured smiles. Only seriousness. Something in his expression made the air in my lungs feel heavier.

“I have found a way” he finally announced, his voice steady but calm.

For a moment, no one spoke. No one even breathed. Only the distant crackling of the fire in the hearth broke the tense silence settling over the room.

My heart lurched.

For weeks, I had been waiting for these words. I had dreamed of this moment. And yet, now that it had arrived, something inside me resisted feeling relieved.

“The way?” Astarion echoed cautiously. His fingers interlocked in his lap, tense, as if he already suspected the answer wouldn’t be one he liked.

Vaerion nodded, placing both hands on the table as his gaze swept over each of us before continuing.

“The mirror contains the essence of an original vampire, just as we suspected. Its magical structure not only holds the reflection of those cursed with vampirism, but it also retains a part of its creator. It is possible to extract that essence and channel it to reverse the vampiric transformation.”

I held my breath.

This was the answer we had been searching for so relentlessly. The confirmation that there was a real, tangible possibility. And yet, the way my father said it—the barely concealed tension in his stance… something was wrong.

“But…” Gale interjected, crossing his arms with suspicion. “If it were that simple, we wouldn’t be having this meeting.”

My father exhaled softly, his expression unreadable.

“I never said it was simple.” His voice carried a measured, calculated calm as he leaned slightly into the light. With precise movements, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small glass vial.

The dim light of the room made its surface shimmer with unsettling reflections, revealing the liquid inside: dark, dense, with an almost viscous consistency. It moved unnaturally slowly, as if it was more than just a liquid… as if it had a will of its own.

This wasn’t just a potion. It was something else . Something infused with ancient, forbidden power. Something that was never meant to be tampered with.

Vaerion held it with the same care an alchemist would use to handle a lethal poison, tilting it subtly between his fingers. Every slight motion made the liquid catch the light, but its glow was dim, almost sinister, as if the very essence within it resisted being examined.

“This” he continued, his tone laced with both satisfaction and exhaustion, “is the result of my experiments. The essence has been successfully distilled.”

He turned the vial once more, watching as the liquid reacted in almost imperceptible ways, as if it were alive.

“Integrating the mirror’s essence was no easy task. It cost me more than I expected, but in the end, it was achieved.”

The words hung in the air like a sentence.

He didn’t tell us how much it had cost him.

He didn’t tell us what risks he had taken, what lines he had crossed.

“However, the cure is not yet complete.” His gaze sharpened as he studied our reactions. “It requires a catalyst—a stabilizing element that will allow the essence to fuse with Astarion’s structure. Only then will the potion be ready.”

“A catalyst?” Shadowheart asked, her brow furrowed with suspicion.

Vaerion stared at her.

“Blood.”

The word hit like a punch to the chest. A shiver ran down my spine.

“Whose?” My voice was weaker than I would have liked.

“The affected one” Vaerion cast a brief glance at Astarion  “and another of his kind.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“Another elf?” I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

“Yes” my father confirmed, and before I could respond, he raised a hand “And I have already taken care of it. I will not allow you to be involved in this process, Tavaryan. I used my own blood.”

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or more fear. My father always had a plan, always had a solution… and that was what terrified me. Because one question remained.

“If the essence of the original vampire is so powerful…” Gale leaned over the table, his tone more calculating “what guarantees that this will work?”

Vaerion remained silent for a second too long.

”Nothing.”

The air froze.

“Nothing?” Astarion’s voice was filled with disbelief.

My father looked at him directly, his gaze unyielding.

“It’s an experimental process. We are manipulating something that has never been reversed. We are playing with the very essence of a living being, with a curse imposed by a god whose name has been lost to history.”

My stomach sank.

“We are defying divine will.” Vaerion held up the vial, his dark gaze reflected in the glass “We don’t know how Astarion’s body will respond to the cure… because, in essence, it is not a cure.”

Gale narrowed his eyes.

“Then what is it?”

Vaerion let out a slow sigh, and when he spoke, his voice carried a gravity that made me feel as if the ground was crumbling beneath my feet.

“It is a rewriting.”

No one breathed.

“We are forcing his nature to change, rebuilding what it means to be a vampire from its very core.” His fingers tightened around the vial  “All of this isn’t just about breaking the curse. It’s about reshaping it. Twisting it in a direction never before explored.”

Shadowheart squeezed her eyes shut.

“We’re playing with fire.”

“No.” Vaerion shook his head slowly “We are playing with something worse. With the punishment of a god.”

The weight of his words crushed me.

“Then…” I felt my own voice tremble “if something goes wrong…”

Vaerion inhaled slowly, as if carefully choosing his words.

“If it doesn’t work, Astarion will not have a second chance. His entire existence will vanish, his essence consumed completely.”

Silence fell.

Shadowheart pressed her lips together, her eyes darkened by the weight of the revelation. Gale looked away, rubbing his forehead as if trying to calculate a logical way out. Astarion remained still, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers clenched against the table, the way his red eyes seemed to have dimmed.

Something inside me shattered.

“No.” The word escaped before I could hold it back.

My father frowned.

“Tav…”

“No” I repeated, firmer this time. I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped against the stone floor. My pulse pounded in my ears “I will not allow this.”

“Tavaryan…”

“I won’t risk him!” My voice cracked with fury and fear. I felt it in every fiber of my being “It’s a fifty percent chance that he dies! That he disappears completely! That’s not a cure, it’s a gamble with his life!”

“I understand” Vaerion said with a calmness that made me want to scream “but it is the best option we have.”

“No” I said again, my fists clenched “It’s not the best option. It’s the fastest option. The most desperate one. And I won’t allow it.”

Astarion stood slowly and placed a hand on my arm. His touch was gentle, as if trying to soothe me. But he couldn’t. Not when every part of me was screaming that this was wrong.

If this failed, Astarion would die.

No.

I would not allow it.

I became lost in my thoughts for a while, not even realizing that Gale had started arguing with my father while Shadowheart bombarded him with sharp-toned questions. I fixed my gaze on Astarion—he was staring into the distance, his hand no longer on my arm, as if he were lost in his mind, unaware of what was happening around him.

A thousand thoughts ran through my mind, but I was certain of only one thing: I would not risk Astarion’s life. Not when there was another way.

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. The discussion continued at the table, with Gale questioning my father’s calculations, Shadowheart standing with her arms crossed and a deep frown, and Astarion completely silent, his eyes fixed on the vial that contained the distilled essence of the vampire who had created the mirror.

This was the perfect moment.

I stood up slowly, saying nothing. No one seemed to notice, too absorbed in the conversation. My father debated with Gale about the arcane possibilities of the process, and Shadowheart fired questions about the stability of the essence. Astarion didn’t intervene. He remained lost in thought, his gaze unfocused, his mind surely flooded with things he couldn’t put into words.

I slid my feet carefully, stepping away from the table without making a sound. My heart pounded against my ribs as I crossed the room with calculated movements. I knew I had little time.

Once outside, I closed the library door softly and quickened my pace through the mansion’s hallways. My breathing was heavy, but I couldn’t afford to hesitate now. I climbed the stairs and made my way to my room.

My hands trembled as I turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The room was bathed in quiet dimness, with moonlight filtering through the window. Everything was in its place—the unmade bed, various books stacked on the nightstand, and Astarion’s cloak, folded with meticulous care over the chair.

I knew he had hidden the contract. I knew he had done it to protect me from myself.

But that no longer mattered.

I approached his personal chest, the place where he kept his most valuable possessions. I ran my hands over the wood, feeling every groove before opening it with a faint creak. Inside, there were clothes, a few arrows, his favorite dagger… and at the bottom, carefully wrapped in dark cloth, the contract.

My pulse skyrocketed the moment I saw it.

There it was—the damned contract.

I held it in my hands, and though I knew it was just parchment and ink, its weight felt like a stone pressing down on my shoulders. Heavier than the last time I had seen it. As if the fate sealed within it had begun to take shape, tightening its grip around me.

The golden details shimmered with an almost hypnotic glow under the dim light of the room, the intricate patterns shifting subtly with every blink. If I didn’t know what it meant, if I didn’t understand the poison woven into every word, I might have thought it was beautiful. But beauty in Raphael’s things always had a purpose. It was always a trap.

I knew what this meant. I knew that once I did this, there would be no turning back.

But if the alternative was losing Astarion forever…

I took a trembling breath, feeling my own resolve settle around me like a shield.

I didn’t hesitate any longer.

I clutched the contract against my chest, as if doing so could make my decision feel more certain, as if it could shield me from the fear.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment.

It’s time to call Raphael.

Chapter Text

With a sweep of my hand, I sealed my bedroom door with magic. I felt the spell’s vibration spreading through the wood as a sigil formed—faint, almost imperceptible, but it would be enough. My magic was nothing compared to my father’s power, but I was certain this would at least buy me some time when Vaerion sensed Raphael’s presence.

Because he would sense it.

It was inevitable.

I took a deep breath, feeling the faint tingling of magic in my fingers, the frantic pulse of my own heart hammering in my ears. If my assumptions were correct, the protective spell my father cast against Raphael shouldn’t be a problem. Knowing him, he likely designed it under the assumption that any appearance from the devil would be an intrusion, a violation of his home and authority.

He never considered that I would be the one to invite him in.

My fingers tensed.

I never considered it either.

Not once, in my worst sleepless nights, in my darkest moments, had I ever thought I would reach this point. That I would be standing in my own room, setting the stage for a deal with a devil.

And yet, here I was.

I pictured my father’s face when he found out what I had done. The disappointment, the quiet fury that wouldn’t need shouting to be devastating. He would speak to me in that tone—the one that made even the most powerful tremble. The same tone he had used on me for the first time that night in the kitchen.

And now… now it wouldn’t just be a reprimand.

I carefully unrolled the parchment, and the moment I did, I felt the air in the room shift. That sulfuric scent was there.

Raphael knew what I was doing.

“Raphael.” I spoke into the air, hoping he could hear me. “I’m ready to sign the contract.”

I waited, but there was no answer.

“Raphael!” I raised my voice slightly. “Can’t you hear me? I’m right here, served on a silver platter!”

Again, nothing.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

And for the first time in a long while, I hesitated.

Had I lost my chance to sign with him?

Had he changed his mind?

Or was it my father’s spell, blocking him?

The thought hit me like a punch. Vaerion might have thought of this, might have anticipated that I…

“Oh, dear…”

The air grew thick, the temperature oscillating between sweltering heat and biting cold within seconds.

A low, melodic chuckle, dripping with malice, echoed through the room.

“So impatient.”

I turned immediately—and there he was.

Raphael.

Leaning against my bedroom wall as if he had always belonged there, his crimson cape draping over his shoulders with perfect elegance. His golden eyes gleamed with smug amusement as he watched me, his lazy smile that of a predator who already had its prey ensnared.

“If you wanted me so badly, little mouse, you only had to say it with a little more passion .”

My breath caught.

There was no turning back.

He had come to seal the deal.

With a snap of his fingers, a black-inked quill floated between us, suspended in the air with an almost mocking elegance. Raphael watched me with the satisfaction of a predator who knew its prey was about to surrender.

But before I reached for it, I took a step back.

It was now or never.

“Before I sign” my voice rang firm in the room.

Raphael’s golden eyes gleamed with renewed interest. He said nothing, but the curve of his smile remained expectant.

“I want to renegotiate the contract.”

The silence that followed was almost more unsettling than any taunt or retort he could have given me. Raphael tilted his head, as if weighing whether he should feel amused or annoyed by my audacity.

“When you offered me this deal, you said you would also free Karlach and Wyll.” I gestured to the parchment before me, its text glowing with an arcane shimmer. “But their names are nowhere to be found. I want you to modify it and guarantee their freedom.”

Raphael opened his mouth, but I raised a hand before he could say a word.

“And furthermore…” I locked eyes with him. “You will not force me to harm Wyll.”

The smile on his face didn’t vanish, but his fingers drummed against his arm in a slow, calculating rhythm.

“You know as well as I do that his pact with Mizora puts him in a complicated position.” I took a deep breath, steadying the tremor in my voice. “The chances of us clashing are high, and I want your guarantee that you will never manipulate the situation to make that happen. You will ensure his safety.”

Raphael studied me in silence, his smile still there, though his eyes narrowed just a fraction.

But I wasn’t done.

“And Karlach.” My voice did not waver. “You won’t just free her from Avernus. I want you to fix her infernal engine.”

This time, the silence stretched longer.

Raphael’s smile remained, but it sharpened .

“How demanding, little mouse.” His tone was velvet, but his words dripped with measured patience. “Anything else? Shall I bring you tea and biscuits along with the contract?”

I clenched my jaw.

“If you can , I don’t see why not.”

His chuckle was low, resonating in the room like an enchanted echo.

“Adorable.”

Raphael flicked his wrist, and the parchment floated in the air, rewriting itself in golden ink, new lines appearing with elegant precision across its surface.

“Very well. Wyll and Karlach will be freed, you and Wyll shall not face each other, and our dear fire-hearted warrior will have her engine restored.” His eyes gleamed with venomous amusement. “Anything else, my sweet Tav? Or are you finally ready to fulfill your part?”

I looked at the contract, my heart pounding in my chest.

I proceeded to read it carefully, making sure I didn’t miss a single detail.

SERVICE AND MUTUAL OFFERING CONTRACT

In the eyes of the signer and the grantor, Raphael, heir of Mephistopheles and rightful owner of the House of Hope, the following clauses are agreed upon, granting power and unparalleled opportunities in exchange for loyal service.

Preamble: For those who wish to alter the very fabric of reality: this document grants access to the most coveted spell among mortals and gods alike: Wish. A single word uttered under its power can transform the unattainable into the possible. A definitive cure for vampirism is within your grasp. Freedom for those who are chained, redemption for those who are trapped. But every gift comes with a price.

Terms and Benefits for the Bearer

1. The Gift of the "Wish" Spell

The grantor, Raphael , agrees to provide the bearer with a unique scroll containing the Wish spell. This may be used to cure the vampirism of the individual known as Astarion or for any other purpose the bearer deems appropriate within the spell's limitations.

Note: The spell will be given to the bearer for use either by themselves or by a third party proficient in the arcane arts.

2. Guaranteed Protection by Raphael

For the duration of the agreed service period, the grantor ensures the bearer’s survival under any circumstances involving physical, magical, or extraplanar harm , including threats originating from the Hells themselves.

This protection extends to safeguarding against premature death or attacks from any hostile entity.

3. Possibility of Early Release

Should the grantor successfully solidify his absolute control over the Hells before the service period concludes, the bearer shall be immediately released from all contractual obligations .

4. Guaranteed Release of Karlach and Wyll

The grantor, Raphael , agrees to release the individuals known as Karlach and Wyll from any infernal binding that holds them within the Hells or under the dominion of any demonic or infernal entity .

5. Restoration of Karlach’s Infernal Engine

The grantor, Raphael , agrees to provide the necessary means and resources to permanently repair Karlach’s infernal engine , ensuring its stability and function without risk of collapse or exploitation.

6. Exclusion of Combat Against Wyll

The grantor, Raphael , agrees not to manipulate, force, or create circumstances that would lead the bearer to engage in combat against the individual known as Wyll , under any circumstances.

Obligations of the Signer

1. Duration of Service

• The bearer of the contract agrees to serve Raphael for no less than 200 years, dedicating their abilities as a sorcerer to military, strategic, and arcane tasks in order to facilitate the conquest and absolute rule over the Hells.

2. Consequences of Breach

• Should the bearer fail to uphold any of their stipulated obligations, the service period shall be extended indefinitely, condemning the signer to eternal servitude under the grantor.
  
  

• Any act of betrayal, sabotage, or harm—direct or indirect—against Raphael will result in the immediate condemnation of the signer as an eternal prisoner within the House of Hope, under conditions dictated solely by the grantor.

General Clauses

1. Irrevocability

This contract is binding and irrevocable once signed. It cannot be nullified by magical or extraplanar means without the express consent of the grantor, Raphael .

2. Interpretation of the Contract

All clauses, terms, and benefits of this contract are subject to the exclusive interpretation of the grantor, Raphael .

3. Renunciation of Free Will

The signer acknowledges that, for the duration of their service , all strategic and operational decisions shall rest solely with the grantor, Raphael .

Final Declaration

Those who sign this document shall not only embrace power but also the responsibility that comes with it.

With the cure for vampirism at your fingertips, the fate of those you love rests in your hands . There are no shortcuts in the devil’s game, but there are opportunities that will never come again .

 Signatures

Signer: ________________________
Grantor: Raphael, Owner of the House of Hope

My eyes scanned the parchment from top to bottom once more, memorizing every word, every clause. The golden ink shimmered with an ethereal glow, as if the contract itself was eager to be signed.

No hidden traps.

Everything I asked for is here.

And yet…

“Tick, tock.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“Tick, tock, little mouse.”

Raphael tilted his head, watching me with the same mocking patience as always, but now with a hint of urgency hidden beneath his melodic tone. His fingers glided over the lapel of his coat, as if he were killing time, waiting for me to do the same.

And then I felt it.

The vibration in the air.

The wave of magic rippling through the mansion like an angry heartbeat.

Vaerion had felt it.

The protection spell hadn’t stopped Raphael because I had invited him in, but the moment his presence manifested inside the house, my father’s magic reacted like a wounded animal. And if my father knew…

The loud bang outside my door confirmed my thoughts.

“Tavaryan!”

Vaerion’s voice sliced through the wood like a blade.

“Open the door. Now.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

It wasn’t a request.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was an order.

Before I could react, another blow shook the door, this time accompanied by several more voices.

“Tav! What the hell are you doing in there?!”

Astarion’s voice mingled with the sound of fists pounding against the wood, his tone sharpened by worry.

“Open up, right now!”

Shadowheart, more insistent than ever.

“Tavaryan! Open the damn door!”

It was my mother’s voice—she had probably arrived because of all this commotion. Of course, it hadn’t taken her long to figure out what this was about.

Amidst the uproar, I heard Gale’s voice.

“I can try to dispel it, but the spell Tav cast has merged with Vaerion’s magic… it will take me a moment.”

He hesitated.

“Though, it could be dangerous. Since it’s draconic bloodline magic, who knows what might happen if I try to force it.”

“What’s going on?”

Caelan spoke, his voice echoing with hurried footsteps in the hallway. He hadn’t been here from the start—he had come from his room, drawn by the commotion.

The clamor grew louder, voices overlapping, demanding answers, demanding me.

Raphael clicked his tongue with an amused smile, shaking his head with an air that was almost… disappointed.

“My poor Tav… your family doesn’t trust you, do they?”

His eyes gleamed with pure mockery.

“Look at them, so desperate to save you from a decision you’ve already made.”

The pounding on the door continued, the noise escalating with every passing second.

I knew that if Vaerion wished, he could break the magical barrier in an instant.

He was simply giving me the chance to open it myself.

But I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

My gaze fell back to the contract.

The parchment floated before me, the quill suspended in the air, waiting, expectant.

My fingers trembled.

“Tick, tock.”

Raphael let out a theatrical sigh, leaning in with a predatory smile.

“Make up your mind, little mouse. Time is running out.”

The commotion outside intensified, the pounding reverberating with barely contained fury.

And then, my father’s voice tore through the magical barrier like a roar.

“Step aside! I’m breaking the door down with my magic!”

My heart stopped.

No time.

Without another second of hesitation, my fingers closed around the floating quill, feeling the cold black ink at its tip.

The quill was lighter than I expected. Too easy to hold.

Too easy to use.

With a final breath, I slid the quill across the parchment.

The ink spilled onto the paper with an almost supernatural fluidity, sinking into every stroke of my name as if the signature had always been destined to be there.

And the instant the last letter was written, the golden ink of the contract erupted in a scarlet glow.

The seal was made.

Raphael smiled with a satisfaction that made my stomach turn.

“Just in time!” he exclaimed with false cheer.

My door exploded into a rain of splinters and arcane flames.

The roar of my father’s magic filled the room as Vaerion stormed in, his eyes blazing with pure fury. Eleonora followed him, then Caelan, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Gale.

They all froze at the sight before them.

The quill still floated in the air.

The ink on the parchment still shimmered with infernal magic.

And Raphael was watching me with the smile of a devil who had gotten exactly what he wanted.

“No.”

Vaerion’s voice was a deadly whisper. His magic vibrated in the air, threatening.

Astarion stepped forward, fangs bared, scarlet eyes reflecting restrained terror.

“Tav… what did you do?”

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

I knew what I had done.

I knew what it meant.

Raphael turned on his heels with theatrical grace, spreading his hands like a pleased host.

“Ah, what a delight! The family, reunited at last.”

He snapped his fingers and, as if he had prepared it all from the beginning, an exact copy of the contract appeared in his hand. With almost insulting elegance, he rolled it up and extended it toward Vaerion with a mocking smile.

“Here you go, protective father. You’ll want to read this.”

Vaerion didn’t move.

His eyes, once warm despite their severity, were now cold and calculating, weighing every option.

His pupils analyzed me with surgical precision—not with anger, but with something else I couldn’t quite decipher.

Was he disappointed?
Or was he, deep down, desperately searching for a way to save me from this?

Raphael sighed and tossed the parchment toward him. It floated through the air before landing gently in his hands.

“And to show there are no hard feelings, here is your reward.”

Another scroll appeared in his other hand, this one wrapped in golden energy.

The Wish scroll.

Astarion’s cure.

Raphael let it fall onto the table as if it were worthless.

"After all, I am a devil of my word."

Astarion stared at the scroll, but he didn’t move. He didn’t reach out to touch it, nor did he lean in to inspect it closely. His expression was a contained whirlwind, a silent battle between disbelief, rage, and something deeper—something broken.

Vaerion unrolled the contract with steady hands, his eyes skimming each clause with a cold, calculated speed. The tension in his jaw grew more evident with every line he read. When he finally looked up, Raphael was already waiting, his grin triumphant.

"I'm guessing you're now considering burning me to ashes." Raphael shrugged with an air of indifference. "But before you do anything rash, allow me to remind you of a small detail."

He raised a finger, pointing to a specific line in the contract.

"Any act of betrayal, sabotage, or direct or indirect harm towards Raphael shall result in the immediate condemnation of the signee as an eternal prisoner in the House of Hope, under the conditions dictated solely by the grantor."

Vaerion didn't blink, but the magic in the air became suffocating.

"Furthermore…" Raphael continued with delight "All clauses, terms, and benefits of this contract shall be subject to the exclusive interpretation of the grantor, Raphael."

His grin widened.

"Which means that if any of you attempt to attack me, I could consider it an 'act of betrayal' and invoke my right to claim Tav immediately."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Shadowheart clenched her fists.

"Manipulative bastard."

"Oh, darling, of course I am." Raphael winked at her. "Well then, little mouse! Time to go!"

Panic shot through my chest. I had assumed I would have time. That Raphael would let me say my goodbyes, that he would take his time before taking me.

I was wrong.

Raphael turned to me, and his smile widened—his expression told me everything I needed to know.

"I hope you didn’t have plans for the evening, little mouse."

His shadow stretched in an instant, wrapping around us in a crimson glow. I felt the infernal heat engulf my skin, the demonic energy closing in around me like a fist dragging me away with no escape.

"NO!" Astarion’s voice rang out, filled with a desperation I had never heard before.

The last thing I saw before the flames swallowed me was his face—his crimson eyes wide open, his expression torn between fury, terror, and a silent plea he would never get the chance to voice.

Then, everything became fire.

Chapter Text

The hellfire vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The demonic energy dissipated, leaving behind a suffocating emptiness. The embers that had burned on the wooden floor were extinguished, and with them, Tav’s figure was gone. Tav’s room, which moments ago had been the stage for a storm of rage, despair, and unleashed magic, fell into a deathly silence.

No one moved.
No one breathed.

It was as if the world itself had stopped upon losing her.

Astarion was the first to break. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees with a dull thud against the floor. His trembling hands grasped at nothing, trying to reach for something that was no longer there. His mind was trapped in absolute denial.

No.
This couldn’t be real.
This couldn’t have happened.

Not after everything he had endured, after everything he had fought for. His freedom, his future, his heart… all of it had vanished in an instant.

Astarion’s crimson eyes were wide open, reflecting a void impossible to fill. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Only one thought pounded relentlessly in his mind, over and over: He took her. He took her because of me.

Eleonora remained frozen, her lips slightly parted as if trying to speak. But no words came out. Her hands, once steady and controlled, trembled with a weakness no one had ever seen before. Her legs gave way, and she sank into the nearest chair, covering her face with her hands as her breathing turned erratic.

The woman who had always been the pillar of the family shattered in silence, her shoulders shaking with quiet, broken sobs.

Her daughter.
Her little girl.
Was gone.

Caelan stood, petrified. His mind couldn’t process it. He had arrived late to the argument, without fully understanding what was happening, and now his sister was gone. He blinked several times, waiting for the image before him to change—for Tav to be there again, with her stubborn smile and defiant gaze.

But the empty air before him mocked his hope.

Guilt crashed into his chest like a brutal wave. I should have done something. I should have stopped her.

Gale and Shadowheart remained still, their gazes locked on the place where Tav had been. Shadowheart hugged herself, her expression hardened, but her eyes betraying the storm raging inside her. Gale closed his eyes for a brief moment, his mind processing the magnitude of the disaster. The magic in the air still hummed with the energy Raphael had left behind, an echo of his victory.

And then, Vaerion spoke.

A single whisper.

"No."

His voice was barely a murmur, but the venom in his tone was enough to freeze the entire room. His expression, normally serene and calculated, was now a whirlwind of emotions. His magic vibrated in the air—pulsing, chaotic.

He wasn’t grieving.

He was furious.

His gaze landed on Astarion like a predator who had found its prey.

The silence in Tav’s room was suffocating, so dense it seemed to consume the little air that remained. Raphael’s presence had vanished, taking Tav with him, leaving behind a void that no spell could ever fill.

But Vaerion didn’t linger in that emptiness. He did not allow himself sadness, he did not allow himself despair.

No. Those were luxuries he could not afford.

His body trembled, but not from pain.

It was rage. Raw, uncontrollable, searing rage.

His eyes locked onto Astarion, and his entire world narrowed down to him.

He did not see a broken man, someone who had just lost the most important thing in his life.

No.

All he saw was the reason his daughter was gone.

Before anyone could react, his magic erupted in a blinding flash.

With a single motion of his hand, an invisible force wrapped around Astarion, lifting him into the air as if he weighed nothing.

He had no time to defend himself, no time to even register what was happening before his back slammed into the wall with a sickening crack.

"YOU!"

Vaerion’s voice thundered through the room, shaking with fury that had been caged for far too long.

"This is all your fault!"

Astarion tried to breathe, but the invisible pressure around his throat tightened. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All he could do was stare at Vaerion with narrowed eyes as his vision began to blur from the lack of air.

Vaerion stepped forward slowly, each step carrying the weight of his unrelenting power.

"My daughter was free." His voice was as sharp as ice. "My daughter had a future. She had a life. But then you came along. You and your cursed vampirism!"

Every word was a lash, every syllable laced with venom that could never be purged.

"She sold her soul for you." Vaerion spat the final word with pure disdain. "And now she is in the Hells because you were not strong enough to protect her!"

Astarion struggled, but it was useless.

Vaerion’s magic was crushing, a force that wrapped around him like an unbreakable chain.

"I should never have let you near her. I should never have allowed you into this house." Vaerion raised his other hand, a sphere of incandescent energy forming in his palm. "But I am going to correct that mistake."

Astarion felt his heart stop for a second.

This wasn’t just rage.

This wasn’t just pain.

Vaerion was going to kill him.

Vaerion clenched his teeth, his magic crackling in the air like wildfire, consuming itself in its own fury. His hands trembled, his instincts screaming at him to end it—to rid himself of the source of all his suffering.

But then, another voice cut through the room.

"Enough!"

Gale stepped into the scene, his hands already alight with arcane energy. A golden burst of magic illuminated the room as the wizard extended his arms, casting a counterspell.

The air vibrated with pure magic, thick with fury, desperation, and imminent danger.

The arcane light still flickered in Gale’s hands as his spell dissipated, leaving a trail of golden energy in the air.

Astarion crashed to the floor with a heavy thud.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, sending him into a violent coughing fit. He clutched his throat, feeling the invisible mark left by the force that had nearly choked him.

The weight of Vaerion’s magic still lingered on him, even though it no longer held him in the air.

Vaerion turned, his burning gaze falling on Gale.

"Are you going to stand in my way too?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

Gale did not move an inch.

Gale’s heart pounded in his chest, but his stance remained firm, his fingers still glowing with magical energy. He wasn’t sure how much power he had to face a sorcerer of Vaerion’s caliber, but that didn’t matter.

He couldn’t let him kill him.

"I won’t let you kill him."

The words were simple, but their weight was a challenge in itself.

A challenge that Vaerion did not take kindly to.

His expression darkened further. Sparks of his magic crackled in the air, skimming his skin with the same intensity as a storm barely held at bay.

Gale could feel the arcane pressure in the room, but he wouldn’t back down. Even though he wasn’t sure if he could defeat Vaerion if a battle broke out, he was certain of one thing: he was Mystra’s chosen for a reason. He had become an archmage through his own merit and power—that had to count for something.

But then, a chill ran down his spine.

It was subtle, barely a ripple in the air, like the brush of an unseen presence against his consciousness.

There were no grand gestures, no whispered incantations to betray the spell.

But Gale recognized it instantly.

Detect Thoughts.

Vaerion had slipped into the surface of his mind.

The wizard gritted his teeth and raised his mental defenses, but not fast enough. It was already too late.

Vaerion wasn’t delving deep—he didn’t need to.

He only wanted a glimpse of what was inside Gale’s head. And that was enough.

A barely perceptible smile crossed the elder sorcerer’s face.

"You are strong, Mystra’s chosen," Vaerion said, his voice as cold as ice. "But I am stronger. And I have more experience."

The weight of his words fell like a slab of stone.

It wasn’t an empty threat.
It wasn’t arrogance.
It was a fact.

Gale felt a knot tighten in his throat.

He had met many powerful mages in his lifetime, had studied under some of the greatest scholars in Faerûn. But he had never felt anything like this.

Vaerion’s magic wasn’t just powerful—it was ancient.

Refined by centuries of study, shaped by an understanding that surpassed mortal limitations.

And the most unsettling part of all… was that he wasn’t even using his full strength.

Vaerion had yet to show what he was truly capable of.

The tension in the room became unbearable. Gale knew he couldn’t back down. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

"Tavaryan would NEVER forgive you!" Shadowheart’s voice rang out, stepping between Astarion and Vaerion, her shield gleaming with Selûne’s blessing. Her stance was unwavering, her eyes blazing with determination.

"You can hate him all you want, but if you do this, if you harm him, you will have condemned any chance of Tav ever looking you in the eyes again when we bring her back."

The determination in Shadowheart’s gaze was undeniable. She wouldn’t hesitate to strike Vaerion down if he made a single wrong move.

Vaerion clenched his jaw, his fist still wrapped in dark, seething energy.

"You don’t understand," he growled through gritted teeth. "You don’t understand what it means to lose her AGAIN. You will NEVER understand."

Cold sweat trickled down Gale’s back, but he didn’t step away.

"And you don’t understand what it would mean for her to return and find out that you murdered the man she gave up her freedom for" Gale said, his voice harder than it had been in a long time.

"Think, Vaerion. I know you’re furious. But THINK."

The air in the room was thick, charged with restrained magic and uncontainable fury.

Vaerion’s gaze remained locked on Astarion, as if sheer willpower alone could reduce him to ashes.

The vampire was still on the floor, one hand pressed against his chest, struggling to breathe. But he didn’t look away from the sorcerer.

Astarion could still feel the invisible pressure of Vaerion’s magic around his throat, even after he had been released. His breaths were a disjointed mess of ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling violently as he fought to reclaim the air that had been stolen from him.

But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his soul.

He had seen desperation before.

He had heard it in the screams of his victims, in the pleas of those who had begged for their lives when Cazador ordered him to kill.

He had seen it in his own reflection, in the endless centuries of servitude.

But this… this was different.

Vaerion’s fury was a storm that could not be contained. A devouring fire with him as its sole target.

There was nothing left of the imposing and calculated figure Astarion had seen before.

This was not a protective father.

This was not a man of reason.

This was a man who had just lost his daughter.

And Astarion was the spark that had ignited his wrath. A part of him understood Vaerion’s reaction. How could he not?

He felt it himself. The void, the indescribable horror of realizing that Tav was gone. That Avernus had claimed her.

But there was a difference between them.

Vaerion had power. He could unleash his grief in the form of magic, in the form of destruction. He could turn his loss into fury, into retribution. He could point to someone, call them guilty, and make them bleed for it.

Astarion, on the other hand, could only drown in his own helplessness.

Because Vaerion was right, Tavaryan had sold her soul for him. And now, she was in hell.

The weight of that truth was unbearable.

His mind repeated it like a curse, like a condemnation that would never let him go.

It didn’t matter how many times he tried to justify it. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to hold onto the idea that she had made her choice on her own.

Because deep down, he knew—if Tav hadn’t loved him, if she hadn’t believed in a future for them both, she never would have even considered signing that damned contract.

And now… she was lost.

Vaerion’s magic crackled again, and for a second, Astarion truly believed he was going to die.

That the sorcerer was actually going to do it.

That everything would end in that moment, and maybe, that would be better. But then, Gale and Shadowheart intervened. Gale’s magic pushed against Vaerion’s, a fragile yet firm resistance. Shadowheart’s voice rang out with an urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

They were protecting him.

Astarion felt his head hit the ground with a dull thud as the pressure lifted, but his mind hadn’t caught up yet. His vision was blurry, his entire body felt as though it had been drained of all remaining strength.

And then, he spoke.

He didn’t know where his voice came from, or why he did it. Maybe because he had nothing left to lose.

"Kill me if you want" Astarion managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was tired, yet still defiant. "But that won’t bring Tav back."

Vaerion clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ground against each other, while his magic crackled in the air like embers glowing red-hot, dancing to the rhythm of his barely contained fury. The energy around him vibrated with a latent danger, distorting the space with its sheer intensity.

His hands trembled—not from weakness, but from the fierce battle between his reason and the primal urge to unleash all his wrath upon the cause of his suffering. His breathing was erratic, his vision clouded by a murderous rage that threatened to consume him entirely.

But just as the edge of his self-control began to crumble, a new voice shattered the suffocating silence in the room, stopping him in his tracks.

Caelan had remained completely silent until that moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, helplessness… but above all, fear.

He had never seen his father like this. Never had he felt that tremor in his magic, that desperation hidden beneath the rage.

Vaerion had always been the unshakable pillar of the family, the sorcerer who controlled every situation with terrifying composure.

But now… now he was seeing something entirely different.

Caelan saw the dark energy flickering around his father’s palm, crackling with the same chaos as an uncontrolled wildfire. He looked at Astarion, who could barely hold himself up, one hand clutching his chest, his breathing unsteady.

And in that moment, a certainty hit him like a dagger to the gut.

If no one stopped this, Vaerion was going to kill him.

And if he did…

If he did, Tav would never forgive them.

Caelan felt his body tense. He didn’t like Astarion. He had never fully trusted him. But that didn’t matter now.

What mattered was Tav.

"Dad, stop."

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough to cut through the tension in the air.

Vaerion barely spared him a glance, but Caelan could feel the fury boiling within him—the frustration of a father on the brink of collapse.

But he didn’t back down.

"This isn’t what Tav would want," he continued, stepping forward. "I know you’re furious. I am too. But killing him… that won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back. It will only make her hate us all when she returns."

Vaerion didn’t answer immediately. The air around him still pulsed with magic, but something in his eyes hardened.

"Enough, Vaerion."

Eleonora’s voice cut through the air like a blade—cold, firm, undeniable.

Vaerion turned sharply, finding her standing in the room.

Eleonora had risen from the chair where she had been mourning her daughter’s loss. The traces of tears still lingered on her face, yet somehow, she had found the strength she needed to calm herself—to intervene before this spiraled even further out of control.

"Eleonora, stay out of this," Vaerion growled, his magic still surging around him.

But she didn’t move away.

Instead, she stepped forward, her eyes glimmering with a mix of sorrow and unwavering determination.

"Do you really think killing him will make us feel better? That revenge will bring our daughter back?" she asked, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

"Mom’s right…" Caelan added. "I don’t like Astarion much either, but Tav would never forgive us if we harmed him."

Vaerion didn’t respond immediately. His breathing was uneven, his mind a storm of emotions.

Eleonora stepped closer.

"Can’t you see that Astarion is shattered too?" she said firmly. "Do you think Tavaryan would ever forgive you if she found out you killed the man she sacrificed her freedom for?"

Vaerion closed his eyes tightly, as if those words had struck him harder than any spell ever could.

"You can’t do this," Eleonora insisted, her voice barely trembling. "You can’t make this mistake. If you do, we will never recover from it. We’ve already lost Tav once… we can’t lose her even more when she returns and learns what you’ve done."

Vaerion opened his eyes, and for the first time, the fury in them began to fade.

His expression twisted, as if the weight of his own actions was finally settling in his chest.

"I don’t want to lose her… not again," he whispered, his voice finally breaking.

Eleonora saw the crack in his armor and struck the final blow.

"Then don’t do something that will make her hate you forever."

The energy surrounding Vaerion began to dissipate, like a storm finally yielding to the dawn.

His shoulders slumped, and for the first time since Tav had disappeared into the infernal flames, Vaerion no longer looked like an invincible titan.

He looked like a father—broken.

With one last tremor in his hands, he withdrew his magic completely.

Astarion collapsed forward with a strangled gasp, catching himself against Shadowheart, who rushed to support him. Gale let out a slow breath of relief but didn’t lower his guard entirely.

Eleonora, however, took another step forward—until she stood right in front of her husband.

And then, without warning, she embraced him.

Vaerion went rigid, stunned by the contact.

But only for a moment.

Seconds later, his resistance crumbled.

His arms wrapped around Eleonora with desperation, clinging to her as if she were the only thing keeping him standing.

He buried his face in her shoulder, and though no sound escaped him, Eleonora felt the warmth of his silent tears soaking into her clothes.

"We will get her back" she whispered, an unbreakable promise in her words. "We will bring our daughter home."

The room was silent. No one dared to interrupt. No one wanted to break the fragile thread that kept Vaerion tethered to sanity.

Astarion, still struggling to breathe, watched the scene unfold with the crushing weight of guilt pressing against his chest.

But even he understood, this was not the moment for words.

Chapter Text

(Year 1105 DR)

The salty sea breeze wove through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, slipping between the alleyways like a whisper of forgotten secrets. It carried with it the acrid scent of the port—a mix of spices, fresh fish, and the inevitable dampness that clung to the city’s ancient stone. The street lamps flickered in the night breeze, casting restless shadows over the damp cobblestones as the city continued its orchestrated chaos.

Baldur’s Gate never slept. Merchants closed their deals with ink-stained hands, thieves prowled like predators among the crowds, and nobles moved with their chins held high, ignoring the filth and danger lurking in every corner.

Amidst the whirlwind of activity, two figures moved with the ease of those who knew how to navigate any environment.

Vaerion Moonshadow walked with effortless elegance, his hands clasped behind his back, the hem of his black robe rippling with each step. His sharp gaze scrutinized every corner with the precision of a scholar and the boldness of a thief, analyzing his surroundings with the refined instincts of someone who had lived in both worlds.

Beside him, Eleonora Moonshadow glided through the crowd with the same grace she carried in noble halls, but with a different spark in her eyes. Here, far from banquets and political intrigue, her restless spirit could finally breathe. The shadow of etiquette no longer bound her—here, she was free.

Since their wedding, this was the first time they shared an adventure together. Vaerion still hadn’t fully adjusted to noble life—the rules, the diplomacy, the appearances—but Eleonora had been his guiding light in that foreign world, leading him with her unshakable resolve and sharp wit. He, who had once been a wandering sorcerer without ties, was now a man of prestige. And though he loved his wife, he missed the uncertainty of the road, the thrill of the unknown.

This city, with its raw and dangerous nature, rekindled something within him. Something told him tonight would be interesting.

"Don’t look at me like that" Vaerion murmured without even turning his head. "I know you’re up to something."

Eleonora let out a soft laugh, a quiet murmur in the city’s symphony.

"Me? Up to something? How unfair of you" she replied with feigned innocence, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her.

Vaerion exhaled a short, amused breath. He knew that look. Ever since he had met her, Eleonora had always been fascinated by the hidden, by what lurked behind elegant facades and carefully measured words. And if her intuition told her that something interesting lay ahead, she was probably right.

"Well?" he asked, his tone resigned but amused. "What has caught your attention this time?"

Eleonora didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she lifted her chin slightly, subtly motioning for him to look in a specific direction.

Vaerion followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow.

A few meters away, nestled in the shadows of the ancient architecture, stood a peculiar building. It wasn’t the largest or the most ostentatious, but it had presence. Its towering iron doors were flanked by stone gargoyles, their hollow eyes silently judging the oblivious passersby.

But what stood out the most was the dark plaque above the entrance.

The Devil’s Bargain.

Vaerion tilted his head, reading the words slowly before a sly smile curved his lips.

"Subtle" he remarked with a dry chuckle.

"Too much, I’d say" Eleonora murmured, her gaze fixed on the building. "But look at it closely. No guards. Not even a doorman. Since when does a place like this leave its entrance so unprotected?"

Vaerion narrowed his eyes. Something about that absence of security felt… wrong.

The lack of protection was more alarming than a hundred soldiers stationed at the entrance.

"Let me guess…" Vaerion turned to his wife with a lopsided smile. "You want to go inside?"

Eleonora finally looked away from the building to meet his gaze. Her smile was small, almost imperceptible, but brimming with danger.

"Since you’ve known me, have I ever turned down an opportunity like this?"

Vaerion let out a quiet laugh, already anticipating what was to come.

"No, my love" he murmured, a mix of resignation and contained excitement. "You never have."

Eleonora intertwined her arm with his and gently pulled him forward.

"Then let’s not start now."

With calculated movements, they approached the building. Eleonora slipped ahead, scanning their surroundings with the precision of a shadow. No one was watching. No sign of guards. No visible traps. As if that threshold had been left waiting to be crossed.

Vaerion raised an eyebrow, eyeing the entrance with suspicion.

"This is too easy."

Eleonora smirked, never taking her eyes off the door.

"Perhaps no one has been bold enough to try."

Vaerion let out a low chuckle.

"Are you saying we’re the only ones smart enough to notice this?"

"No" she replied with a playful glint in her eyes. "But we are the only ones reckless enough to take advantage of it."

Vaerion shot her a knowing look.

There was something thrilling about this—the shared risk, the way they moved in perfect sync without needing words. It had always been like this. From the first time he had seen her, surrounded by aristocrats and dull suitors, he had known she was different. Not because of her beauty, but because her mind was always one step ahead, her calculating gaze studying him with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

The same look she was giving him now, expectant.

Vaerion extended a hand and pushed the door open. To his surprise, it offered no resistance, swinging inward with a slow, echoing creak.

Eleonora tilted her head with a smirk.

"Oh, yes. This is definitely a trap."

Vaerion’s smile widened.

"Welcome to another mystery, my dear."

Without another word, they stepped inside.

The shadows swallowed them effortlessly, as if the building had been waiting for them for centuries.

The Devil’s Bargain loomed over the city, its dark façade and carved gargoyles seeming to watch anyone who passed too close. At first glance, it appeared to be just another establishment in Baldur’s Gate—a place where adventurers bartered for artifacts of questionable origin.

But Vaerion and Eleonora knew it was more than just a business.

They had heard the rumors, the whispered stories exchanged among merchants and smugglers.

This place was an entryway to something far greater.

The interior was a contradiction—opulent yet decayed. Despite the dim lighting, the gleam of golden chandeliers was unmistakable, casting light over crimson tapestries and richly carved wooden furniture. A faint scent of incense drifted through the air, mingling with something else—something metallic, barely perceptible, like the lingering trace of rusted iron.

Behind them, the door closed with a soft creak.

"Cozy" Vaerion murmured, running his fingers over the back of an ornate chair.

Eleonora, however, was already focused on something else. A few meters away, a man in a dark robe was completely absorbed in the pages of a thick leather-bound book. His eyes moved quickly from one line to the next, utterly engrossed, never once looking up—not even when they entered.

Vaerion observed the scene with disbelief.

"He’s not even pretending to be alert."

Eleonora tilted her head in curiosity.

"Or maybe he simply doesn’t care who comes in here."

They exchanged a glance. This was far too suspicious.

Vaerion gave her a subtle nod, and Eleonora moved first, as swift as a shadow. Her steps were a whisper against the wooden floor, checking the corners with the precision of someone who had learned how to move unseen long before she learned to dance in noble halls.

Vaerion followed moments later, his magic dampening the sound of his movements until he was nothing but a ghostly echo. The man at the reception desk didn’t even blink.

With a subtle gesture, Eleonora pointed toward the staircase at the end of the hall. Narrow and steep, its worn steps threatened to betray any careless movement.

Vaerion watched as she ascended with ease, and for a fleeting moment, he was reminded of the first time he had seen her move like that—one night in Neverwinter, atop the roof of a tavern, slipping past guards with the same effortless grace she now displayed on the stairs. That night, he had wondered if he would ever be able to catch up to her. Today, she was the one waiting for him.

When they reached the landing, they found a single door, slightly ajar, allowing a dim red light to spill through the gap.

The moment they crossed the threshold, they saw it.

A room adorned with dark symbols covered the walls, inscribed with demonic script. The runes pulsed faintly under the flickering glow of blackened candles.

At the center of the floor, a ritual circle had been drawn, enclosing a star of dried blood, its surface cracked as if the wood had absorbed it over time. The air was thick with latent energy, as if the room itself held a secret on the verge of awakening.

But what caught their attention the most was the table in the corner.

Carefully arranged atop it were several objects of undeniable significance:
— An ancient skull, its cracks revealing the weight of time.
— A golden coin marked with the seal of Mammon, the Lord of Avarice.
— A diamond, its hypnotic gleam reflecting the dim red light.
— A bowl of aromatic incense, still releasing wisps of smoke.
— A shard of infernal marble, its black surface streaked with crimson veins.

Vaerion leaned over the table, picking up the coin and rolling it between his fingers, studying it with curiosity.

"No security. No magical traps. Do they really think no one would try to use this?"

Eleonora raised an eyebrow as she flipped through a folded note placed beside the objects.

"They didn’t even bother to hide the instructions," she said incredulously. "Listen to this:"

"The skull: Place it at the tip of the star closest to the altar.
The Coin of Mammon: Place it on the next point to the right of the skull.
The diamond: Moving clockwise, skip one point after the coin and place the diamond in the next.
The incense: Position it at the next star point after the diamond.
The infernal marble: It must be placed precisely at the center of the star.
If the materials are arranged in this exact manner, the portal to Hell shall open. "

Vaerion let out a sharp breath of amusement.

"This is insulting. Do they really believe no one has taken advantage of such negligence?"

Eleonora smirked, picking up the diamond and twirling it between her fingers.

"Well, love, since we’re already here… why not see what’s on the other side?"

Vaerion inhaled, a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"Who am I to waste such an opportunity?"

With a single, silent agreement, they began placing the objects according to the instructions.

Each piece fit into place perfectly, as if the ritual had been waiting all this time to be completed.

The moment the infernal marble was set at the center, the floor trembled with an ancient, dark energy.

The air grew heavier, charged with silent expectation.

A crimson glow erupted at the heart of the star, expanding outward until it formed an oval of shimmering light—a portal radiating heat and the unmistakable scent of metal.

The portal was open.

The darkness of the Hells wrapped around them like a smothering shroud, but the structure they had stepped into felt… stable.

It wasn’t the searing chaos one imagined when thinking of the Nine Hells. There were no rivers of magma, no wailing souls echoing through the air.

This was something entirely different.

Vaerion narrowed his eyes, scanning their surroundings with the sharp gaze of a man accustomed to unraveling mysteries.

Before them, walls of polished black marble stretched high, gleaming under the crimson glow of floating candelabras that swayed in an unseen breeze. Gothic columns twisted toward a ceiling adorned with shadowed frescoes, painted figures in blood-colored hues telling stories they did not recognize.

A palace. A fortress. A sanctuary.

They didn’t yet know what this place was, but one thing was certain: it did not fit the typical image of Hell.

"I wasn’t expecting infernal hospitality" Eleonora murmured, instinctively drawing a dagger.

Vaerion gave her a lopsided grin.

"What if this was a mistake? Perhaps the gods gave us the wrong ticket, and we’ve ended up in the estate of a noble with exceptionally poor taste."

Eleonora huffed, though her eyes remained sharp.

"If that’s the case, their lack of security is appalling."

She was right. The absence of guards was unsettling.

Any structure of this magnitude—especially one in the Hells—should have been swarming with demons, ever watchful. But here, there was nothing. No whispers in the shadows, no shifting figures lurking in the dark.

Vaerion ran his fingers over the surface of a table adorned with gold filigree. Dust. Not much, but enough to suggest that this place was not under constant watch.

"This isn’t just any infernal stronghold…" he murmured, his mind piecing together the puzzle. "There’s wealth here… and abandonment."

Eleonora scanned the dark corridors, her brow furrowing.

"If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when a place like this is empty, it means one of two things: either it’s a trap, or its owner is too arrogant to worry about intruders."

Vaerion smirked.

"I wonder which it is."

With a confidence bordering on recklessness, they pressed forward.

If no one was stopping them, why waste the opportunity?

The echo of their footsteps bounced against the black marble as they opened doors and searched rooms—each more lavish than the last.

Tables carved with arcane symbols, display cases filled with artifacts of unknown origin, armor inlaid with cursed gemstones.

Eleonora ran her fingers over a golden reliquary embedded with rubies, assessing its worth with the practiced eye of someone who knew exactly how much it would fetch on the black market.

"This person has far too much money and far too little common sense" she murmured with amusement.

Vaerion merely opened his enchanted satchel, letting the objects float inside.

"No sense in wasting opportunities."

They continued forward until they found a chamber unlike the others.

It was more discreet, lacking the ostentatious grandeur of the previous rooms, yet the air inside was heavier, filled with something beyond mere infernal magic.

At the center of the room, a dark wooden table was covered in scattered manuscripts, inkwells, and quills with tips still stained red. The scent of aged parchment mingled with a faint trace of sulfur.

Eleonora, always drawn more to secrets than riches, approached the bookshelf at the far end of the room, where a row of thick, worn tomes lay waiting in the dim light.

Her fingers traced the spines with patience, stopping at a black leather-bound volume, its cover embossed with a symbol that almost resembled a signature.

"This looks like a journal..." she murmured, carefully pulling it from the shelf and flipping through a few pages.

Vaerion stepped closer, curiosity stirring within him.

"Let’s see what secrets our absent host has left behind."

As he read, his brow furrowed. The crimson ink described boundless ambition, meticulously crafted strategies, and a deep-seated contempt for one person in particular.

"…Nothing in this plane is worthy of my legacy. Only weakness is inherited by those who cling to the past. I will not be one of them. I will not repeat their mistakes..."

Vaerion lifted his gaze from the journal, his mind quickly piecing things together.

"This place…" he murmured, a spark of realization in his voice. "It’s called the House of Hope."

Eleonora blinked, caught off guard by the certainty in his words.

"And what does that mean?"

Vaerion closed the journal—but not before reading the name scrawled at the top of the first page.

Raphael.

A slow, amused smile crept onto his lips.

"It means we’ve walked into the home of a devil."

Eleonora raised an eyebrow.

"And how exactly do you know that?"

Vaerion drummed his fingers against the journal’s cover, amusement and fascination flickering in his expression.

"Because this isn’t just any demon’s journal. It belongs to a devil who is very, very full of himself."

His gaze returned to the book in his hands. Raphael had written about his ambition, his hunger for power, and his utter disdain for his own father—Mephistopheles.

Vaerion let out a thoughtful hum.

"Interesting… very interesting."

Eleonora sighed, crossing her arms as she regarded her husband with a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

"We don’t have time to read his diary like it’s some tragic romance novel. Grab what you can and let’s leave before someone notices we’re here."

But Vaerion had already made up his mind.

"I’m taking it."

Before Eleonora could protest, the sorcerer casually slipped the journal into his enchanted satchel, as effortlessly as one might pocket a souvenir.

"Really?" she muttered, arching a brow at him.

Vaerion smirked.

"Oh, come on. How many people can say they’ve stolen from the son of an archdevil? This is history in the making, my love."

Eleonora scoffed, though the ghost of a smile threatened to surface on her lips.

"When Raphael finds out, he’s going to hunt you down and burn you to ashes."

Vaerion merely shrugged, tucking another artifact into his bag without a shred of concern.

"Let him try. That could be fun."

She shook her head but didn’t argue further. There was no time to scold him for his inflated sense of pride.

Her hands moved quickly and efficiently, gathering only the essentials—enchanted gems, scrolls containing summoning spells, and a few rings that still held traces of residual magic. Vaerion could amuse himself with diaries all he wanted, but Eleonora preferred to take things that were actually useful.

The silence in the fortress remained unsettling. No echoing footsteps, no lurking presence.

As if the House of Hope was asleep.

Or worse… as if it was so confident, it didn’t fear intruders at all.

Vaerion snapped his satchel shut, satisfied with his loot.

"Alright, time to go."

Eleonora nodded, though her stance remained tense.

"I don’t like this. It was too easy."

Vaerion shot her a smirk.

"Does it bother you that it wasn’t more of a challenge?"

"It bothers me that it wasn’t more dangerous."

The sorcerer chuckled.

"If you want, I can throw a fireball before we leave. Maybe that will liven things up."

Eleonora nudged his arm, not missing a step as they retraced their path.

Everything remained unnervingly still. No alarms had been triggered, no shadows moved against them.

It was absurd.

They were walking through a devil’s domain, stolen artifacts weighing down their packs, and yet—nothing. No sign that anyone was even paying attention.

Too easy.

Vaerion frowned.

No.

Something wasn’t right.

As Eleonora finished securing the last of the valuables, stuffing them deftly into her bag, Vaerion felt something.

A subtle pull at the edge of his awareness.

A silent beckoning that sent a chill down his spine.

His frown deepened, and he turned his head slowly. He wasn’t sure what had made him look, only that he had to.

Beyond the rows of aged manuscripts and dark leather-bound tomes, perched on the highest shelf of a towering bookcase, sat a single, solitary book.

At first glance, it seemed no different from the rest.

And yet, something about its presence made it impossible to ignore.

Vaerion narrowed his eyes, magic stirring in his veins.

This was no ordinary book.

Ignoring the sound of Eleonora securing her gear, he raised a hand and murmured an incantation under his breath.

" Iube te volare ."

Arcane energy swirled around him in a soft, ethereal hum, lifting him effortlessly into the air.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, as if the very walls of the House of Hope were holding their breath.

He ascended between the towering shelves, passing books whose worn spines spoke of centuries past, until his fingers finally brushed against the rough cover of the mysterious tome.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

It was the certainty that this book was important.

It lay there among the dust and shadows as if it had been waiting centuries to be found.

Its blackened leather cover was cracked with age, yet still held a dull sheen, as though magic itself had preserved it from decay. Intricate, raised carvings curled across its surface, forming arcane patterns he could barely comprehend.

And at its center—

A bronze lock. Corroded with time, but still intact, guarding its pages with a mechanism that seemed to demand more than a simple key.

The edges of the pages were frayed and yellowed, stained by hands long gone. Small gemstones—perhaps rubies, once vibrant but now dulled with time—were embedded in its corners, lending it an air of forgotten royalty, of forbidden knowledge accessible only to a select few.

Vaerion held it firmly, descending slowly until his feet touched the ground.

"Vaerion."

Eleonora was watching him, her brow furrowed, her gaze fixed on the book he held.

"What the hell is that?"

Vaerion ran his thumb over the cover, eyes lingering on the lock that protected its contents.

"I don’t know" he admitted quietly. "But I’m going to find out."

Eleonora didn’t argue.

She knew that once her husband found something that sparked his curiosity, there was no force in the planes that could pull him away from it.

Vaerion slipped the book into his enchanted satchel, right alongside Raphael’s journal and the other artifacts they had stolen.

────≪•◦⚜◦•≫────

The night wind rustled through the treetops, whispering through the foliage with an almost melodic cadence. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting elongated shadows over the ground covered in dry leaves. A few meters from the river, where the waters reflected the silvery glow of the night sky, a makeshift camp flickered faintly under the firelight.

Vaerion reclined against a fallen log, watching as Eleonora patiently sharpened one of her daggers. Her expression was calm, but he knew her too well to believe her mind wasn’t constantly analyzing every detail. Despite the success of their journey, the thrill of their incursion into the House of Hope a few days ago, and the loot they had collected, the tension in her shoulders had yet to fade completely.

"You're still thinking about it" he remarked, amusement lacing his voice.

Eleonora didn’t look up, but a small smile curved her lips.

"Thinking about what, exactly? The fact that we broke into a devil’s home and got out alive? Or the fact that it was absurdly easy?"

Vaerion let out a short chuckle, tilting his head back.

"Easy is the right word. Too easy. As if Raphael never considered that someone might have the audacity to break into his house."

Eleonora huffed softly in agreement.

"That kind of arrogance only ever leads to an undignified end."

Vaerion twirled a twig between his fingers, watching the fire crackle. Since that day in the House of Hope, his mind hadn’t stopped turning over Raphael’s negligence. How could someone with such power be so careless? He had learned something fundamental from that visit—never trust blindly in the invulnerability of one’s domain. From that moment on, he vowed never to leave his own home so exposed. His collection of artifacts would be impenetrable. His secrets, untouchable.

But the tranquility of the night shattered in an instant.

A different breeze swept through the clearing, unnaturally cold. The fire sputtered violently, its flames flickering erratically, casting chaotic shadows across the trees. Eleonora tensed immediately, dagger still in hand. Vaerion felt the shift in the air’s energy and rose to his feet with deliberate calm—though his senses were sharp, poised for action.

"Well, well… what a surprise to find you so relaxed after what you’ve done."

The voice slithered through the clearing, smooth as silk, laced with venomous amusement.

From the shadows, a figure emerged with the effortless grace of a predator who had been patiently waiting for the perfect moment.

Raphael.

His immaculate posture contrasted with the ominous aura surrounding him, his golden eyes gleaming with dangerous intent, and his smile… his smile was that of a man who was about to make someone pay their debt.

Eleonora and Vaerion didn’t react immediately. Not out of fear, but because both of them were assessing the situation, searching for the best way to handle it.

"You do have a flair for theatrics" Vaerion finally said, crossing his arms. "But I must say, I expected you to take a bit longer to find us."

Raphael tilted his head, feigning interest.

"Oh, don’t underestimate me. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reviewing the mess you left in my home. Did you really think you could walk into MY house, loot my possessions, and simply walk away without consequence?"

Eleonora rolled her eyes.

"To be honest, yes."

The devil’s eyes burned with barely contained fury. The temperature in the clearing seemed to rise, and a hum of raw magic vibrated in the air.

"You’ve made a fatal mistake" he murmured, his voice now devoid of humor. "And I am not one to forgive easily."

Vaerion smiled calmly.

"Then come take back what we stole, Raphael. If you can."

Raphael narrowed his eyes, his smirk never losing that infuriating air of superiority. To him, Vaerion and Eleonora were nothing more than mortals with misplaced audacity. Thieves who had gotten far too lucky.

"I must admit, your boldness is… peculiar" the devil said, his tone exasperatingly casual. "Not many can claim to have escaped the House of Hope alive. Even fewer can boast of stealing from its master."

Vaerion stood his ground, his fingers barely a movement away from casting a spell at any moment. He didn’t need to see Eleonora to know she was equally ready, daggers in hand, already identifying the best openings to exploit.

"If you had better security" Vaerion said, his voice thick with arrogance, "maybe you wouldn’t be here whining about it."

Raphael’s eyes flashed dangerously.

He wasn’t used to being challenged like this—especially not by a mere mortal. But instead of anger, he let out a soft, mocking laugh.

The air vibrated with raw energy as Raphael’s smirk deepened, his golden gaze alight with a blend of fury and amusement.

"I admire your arrogance, sorcerer. But misplaced confidence tends to end in tragedy."

In the blink of an eye, he vanished.

A crimson flicker marked where he had stood, leaving behind the scent of sulfur and the sensation of the very air being torn apart.

Vaerion was already prepared. He didn’t need to see him to know the devil would strike from the shadows.

His lips formed a single word in Draconic, and in an instant, a Globe of Invulnerability exploded around him in a brilliant blue shimmer.

Just as Raphael reappeared behind him, his infernal claws wreathed in black fire, the barrier absorbed the impact. Sparks of energy crackled through the shield as the devil’s attack clashed against pure magic.

"Tch, quick, I’ll give you that." Raphael muttered, snapping his fingers.

The ground beneath them rumbled and cracked, flames erupting with scorching intensity as the devil conjured Fire Storm.

Eleonora rolled swiftly, narrowly avoiding a tongue of fire that nearly engulfed her. In a fluid motion, she flung a dagger coated in infernal venom straight at Raphael’s throat.

But the blade halted mere inches from his skin, suspended in midair by an invisible Arcane Shield.

Raphael chuckled with delight as the dagger clattered uselessly to the ground.

"Oh, this is adorable. You actually think you stand a chance!" he mocked.

Vaerion held his ground, but tension coiled in his muscles beneath his cloak. He knew Raphael wouldn’t be easy to defeat, and though the devil’s arrogance was his greatest weakness, it also made him unpredictable.

Raphael didn’t wait any longer.

His eyes burned with an infernal glow as he raised both hands, chanting in a guttural tone. A torrent of black fire surged from his palms, rushing toward Vaerion and Eleonora with devastating force.

Vaerion barely managed to raise another magical barrier in time, but the impact was so powerful it forced him back.

Beside him, Eleonora tumbled to the ground, shielding her face as a fragment of the explosion grazed her arm, leaving a deep burn.

"Eleonora!" Vaerion called out, his focus wavering for just a fraction of a second.

A mistake.

Raphael was upon him instantly, moving with terrifying speed, his claws slashing through the air.

One razor-sharp nail cut through Vaerion’s armor, carving a deep wound into his side.

Vaerion hissed in pain, staggering back, his teeth clenched.

"Oh, sorcerer, I expected you to be faster." Raphael taunted, licking his lips as he watched the blood spill.

Vaerion didn’t answer, but his eyes burned with fury. The wound seared, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Eleonora pushed herself up, gripping her dagger tightly. Her burned arm trembled slightly, but her expression was fierce.

"Vaerion, stay focused" she growled.

The sorcerer nodded, clenching his fists. Magic surged through his body with renewed determination. Vaerion didn’t hesitate. His gaze turned lethal as he raised both hands and spoke with precise arcane command:

"Prismatic Spray."

A burst of multicolored energy erupted from his palms, expanding into a torrent of pure magic. Eight beams of blinding light streaked through the air in a cone of destruction, each vibrating with a different power.

Raphael barely had time to react before the searing magic enveloped him.

The first ray, a blazing red, exploded against his chest in a violent eruption of infernal fire. A second later, a surge of orange acid poured over his skin, sizzling as it ate away at his elegant attire. A yellow lightning bolt crashed down from the sky with a deafening roar, sending violent spasms through his body.

The devil growled in pain, staggering, but it wasn’t over.

A green beam, laced with venom, wrapped around him in a toxic mist that seeped into his lungs. Before he could catch his breath, a torrent of blue frost engulfed him entirely, freezing parts of his skin with a chilling snap.

But the worst came with the final flashes.

An indigo glow latched onto him instantly, its magic binding his limbs like invisible chains. Raphael’s flesh began to harden, losing color, turning to… stone.

"Damn you!" he snarled, resisting with all his might.

Yet before he could break free, the last beam, a deep violet, burst before his eyes. A furious roar died in his throat as his vision went black. Reality itself seemed to distort around him as his body was momentarily dragged between dimensions, oscillating between the Hells and the Material Plane.

When the multicolored radiance finally faded, Raphael crashed into a withered tree, splitting it in two from the force of the impact. His body hit the devastated ground, his once-impeccable attire now torn, his skin marred with burns, cuts, and a thin trail of black blood dripping from his lips.

With effort, he pushed himself up, his breathing ragged.

And for the first time in his existence, the devil felt a flicker of… respect.

"Enough games."

With a snarl, he stretched out his hands and invoked "Power Word Kill." A vortex of shadow surged toward Vaerion, aiming to snuff out his life in a single breath.

But before the magic could reach him, the draconic sorcerer flicked his wrist, dissipating it effortlessly with a "Counterspell" spoken with utter calm.

Raphael hissed, momentarily stunned. Vaerion seized the moment, his eyes flashing with ancient power. With a grand, commanding gesture, he extended his arms and conjured "Disintegrate."

A sickly green ray of pure destructive energy shot from his hand, slicing through the air like death’s scythe.

Raphael barely managed to evade it. The beam grazed his shoulder, and a searing agony tore through him as a chunk of his flesh evaporated into arcane dust.

The devil fell to his knees, his breath labored. His chest heaved with fury and humiliation. His wings unfurled behind him, scorched and tattered from battle. Vaerion, showing not a trace of exhaustion, merely watched him with a mocking smile.

"I thought devils were harder to kill," he murmured.

Raphael wiped the blood from his lips, his golden eyes burning with resentment.

"Don’t forget this, elf" his voice was deeper now, carrying an ominous undercurrent of a veiled threat. "There is no greater sin in Hell than the humiliation of a devil."

Vaerion tilted his head slightly, feigning contemplation.

"Then I’ll make sure to remind you of it the next time we meet."

Raphael hissed, and with one last burst of infernal magic, vanished in a crimson blaze.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

Eleonora, still gripping her dagger, stepped beside Vaerion and raised an eyebrow.

"You do realize you just made an enemy in the Hells, right?"

Vaerion shrugged with a grin.

"And? He won’t be the first or the last."

Eleonora sighed, but couldn’t suppress a small smile.

The echoes of battle still lingered in the air, but for now, victory was theirs.

For now.

────≪•◦⚜◦•≫────

(Year 1384 DR)

The Moonshadow mansion overflowed with joy. Music and laughter filled the halls as the family celebrated the birth of Vaerion and Eleonora’s children. Despite the complications of the pregnancy, everything had turned out well. Eleonora had brought two beautiful babies into the world: a girl and a boy. One day, one of them would inherit the Moonshadow legacy, but for now, they were just two innocent souls cradled in their mother’s arms.

In the peaceful nursery, Eleonora held them tenderly, rocking them gently as she hummed a soft lullaby. The pale moonlight filtered through the tall windows, enveloping her in a silver glow as her children slept peacefully, unaware of the world that would one day be theirs.

Vaerion stepped into the doorway but did not enter immediately. He lingered there, watching in silence. Less than a week had passed since their birth, and though he had been there to see them come into the world, this was only his second time holding them.

Since the night he had first cradled his children, his days had been consumed by preparations—meetings with other nobles, organizing the presentation ceremony, ensuring that everything was flawless for those who would come to meet the new heirs of House Moonshadow. One duty after another had kept him away from them.

And now, seeing them again, he felt his world come to a halt.

His gaze fell upon the tiny girl Eleonora held in her left arm, nestled against her chest. So small, so fragile, with those faint wisps of pink hair barely visible. And when her little eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, he saw a flicker of magic in them—a spark that made him hold his breath.

In that moment, the sorcerer who had spent centuries perfecting his craft, the relentless strategist, the cold and calculating noble… crumbled completely.

He stepped forward slowly, measuredly, as if afraid to disturb the tranquility of the room. Eleonora lifted her gaze with a knowing smile, wordlessly extending the baby girl toward him. Vaerion hesitated for only a fraction of a second before accepting the small bundle into his arms.

And then, the world vanished.

The mansion, the waiting guests in the Grand Hall—none of it mattered. There was no lineage, no bloodlines, no noble intrigues. There was only her. His daughter. His little princess.

He had never believed in gods, but in that moment, he felt touched by something divine.

"Tavaryan…" he whispered her name in reverence, his voice almost trembling.

He tightened his arms slightly, as if afraid she might disappear at any moment. For days, he had been fulfilling his duties, ensuring his family's future was secure, but now he understood how much he had missed in the process. He had distanced himself from the only thing that truly mattered.

Eleonora watched fondly as Vaerion gazed at their daughter, as if he had just discovered the greatest treasure in the world. Because to him, that was exactly what she was.

After long moments, Vaerion took a deep breath, regaining some composure. His eyes shifted to Eleonora… and then to the other baby still resting in her arms.

The boy.

Caelan.

Vaerion blinked, as if just now processing the obvious. He had been so utterly captivated by his daughter that, for a moment, he had forgotten there were two. And there was his son, just as small as his sister, with a serene face and tiny fists curled in a peaceful gesture.

Carefully, he returned Tavaryan to Eleonora and, with the same reverence with which he had taken his daughter, he took his son into his arms.

Caelan stirred slightly, his tiny mouth twitching in a sleepy frown before his little eyes opened. Eyes of the same color as Vaerion’s.

The sorcerer’s heart skipped a beat.

"Look at you" he murmured in quiet awe, brushing a fingertip over his son’s soft cheek.

The baby, of course, understood nothing. He simply stared at him for a moment before making a small sound, a barely audible coo… and then reached out one tiny hand, wrapping his fingers around Vaerion’s.

And that was the moment the sorcerer knew, without a doubt, that he was completely lost.

That these small beings in his arms were his entire world.

Emotion swelled in his chest in a way he hadn’t expected, like a tide rising beyond his control. The guilt of having been absent these first days struck him hard. His son and daughter had been here all along, waiting for him, and he had allowed his responsibilities to keep him away.

Not anymore.

He would never take his eyes off them again.

Eleonora, seeing the devotion in his eyes, smiled gently.

"You have two beautiful children, Vaerion" she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. "Two little miracles."

Vaerion closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to absorb the feeling of holding his children in his arms. Etching into his memory the warmth of their tiny bodies, the soft scent of them, the life that pulsed within each of them.

When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with determination.

"My love" he finally said, his voice softer than usual. "It’s time to present the children to the other nobles. They’re waiting in the Grand Hall."

But even as he spoke, he did not look away from Tavaryan. And deep inside, he knew he would do anything for her. Anything.

The mansion’s lights shone like trapped stars in crystal, reflecting off the marble columns and stained glass windows that cast soft colors upon the floor. Outside, the night breeze carried the distant melody of music drifting from the Grand Hall, where nobles eagerly awaited the presentation of House Moonshadow’s heirs.

In the private chamber, where serenity still reigned, Eleonora finished adjusting the delicate garments of their children, ensuring that every detail was perfect.

Vaerion stood beside her, utterly silent. But his eyes said everything.

" You, my beautiful princess… " he thought as his fingers gently stroked Tavaryan’s wisps of pink hair—the tiny girl who barely opened her eyes yet had already stolen his heart. " You are my entire world… "

He turned to his son and felt the same devotion as he gazed at Caelan, who met his eyes with an unusual seriousness for a newborn, those same eyes he saw in the mirror every day.

" And you, my little warrior… my blood, my pride. I will protect you from all harm. "

Then, looking at them both, he thought " I will protect you both. I will set the world ablaze if anything ever happens to either of you. "

Eleonora, beside him, shared his emotion without needing words.

"It’s time" she murmured with a smile, gently adjusting a small blanket over Tavaryan.

"Look at her…" Vaerion barely managed to speak, staring at his daughter in awe. "She’s enchanting."

Eleonora let out a soft laugh.

"And you, my love, look more nervous than in your worst battle."

Vaerion averted his gaze with a small smile but did not deny it.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment.

"My lord, my lady" a servant’s voice called respectfully. "Everyone is waiting in the Grand Hall."

Vaerion took a deep breath.

"Then it is time."

Eleonora gracefully took Tavaryan into her arms, while Vaerion held Caelan with the same care one would give to a fragment of their own soul. And, as the music rose gently from the floor below, the two began to walk.

Tonight, the Moonshadow family would present their heirs to the world.

The tall stained-glass windows of the Grand Hall cast multicolored reflections upon the polished marble, illuminating the room with an ethereal glow. The music, lively and vibrant just moments ago, gradually faded as the guests took notice of their hosts' presence on the main balcony.

The murmurs ceased entirely when Vaerion and Eleonora made their appearance.

The Lord of Neverwinter, accompanied by his retinue, rose to his feet in a gesture of respect. The nobles who had been engaged in conversation, toasting with glasses of wine, or gracefully dancing came to an abrupt halt. The musicians let their bows rest lightly upon the strings, the last note lingering in the air before giving way to absolute silence.

Everyone was waiting.

Vaerion, imposing in stature and solemn in expression, held his son firmly in his arms, while Eleonora, with her natural grace, cradled their daughter tenderly. From their elevated position, they gazed down at the expectant crowd.

The air was thick with anticipation.

Vaerion took a step forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen” his voice carried the weight of someone accustomed to being heard “friends and allies of House Moonshadow. Today, in your presence and that of our esteemed guest, the Lord of Neverwinter, I have the honor of presenting to you my children.”

He turned slightly, his gaze softening as he inclined his head toward the infant in his arms.

“This is my son, Caelan Moonshadow.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, a wave of contained approval sweeping across the hall.

Then, Eleonora stepped forward with the same elegance, lifting little Tavaryan with delicate care, holding her with serene pride.

“And this…” Vaerion continued, his gaze filled with silent devotion “this is my daughter, Tavaryan Moonshadow.”

Applause thundered through the hall, first measured, then with growing enthusiasm. Glasses were raised in toasts, and smiles illuminated the faces of the attendees. The noble world was ruthless, filled with intrigue and ambition, but in that moment, all bowed to the future of House Moonshadow.

The Lord of Neverwinter stepped forward, raising his glass toward the balcony.

“A prosperous future for House Moonshadow” he proclaimed solemnly. “May their heirs grow strong and wise, and may their legacy endure for generations.”

Another round of applause surged through the hall, louder this time, marking the end of the presentation.

Vaerion, with a slight nod, extended his arm in a gracious gesture.

“Enjoy the evening.”

And with those words, the music rose once more, conversations rekindled, and the atmosphere of celebration resumed its natural course.

From the balcony, Vaerion and Eleonora observed the splendor of the Grand Hall, still holding their children. The festivities continued, but for them, this moment was intimate—just for their family.

Vaerion leaned down toward his son, his voice barely a whisper.

“This is your home, my children. I hope you will be happy here.”

Eleonora looked at her tiny daughter, then at the vast hall illuminated by resplendent chandeliers and family banners waving high above.

“All that you see will one day be yours.”

Caelan let out a small sound, as if responding, and Vaerion smiled with quiet pride. Tavaryan, nestled in her mother’s arms, yawned with the purest tranquility.

Eleonora chuckled softly.

“They don’t seem very impressed.”

Vaerion sighed, but warmth shone in his eyes.

“They have a lifetime to understand.”

And with the moon shining upon them, with their children in their arms, the lords of House Moonshadow allowed themselves, for a moment, to simply exist in the happiness of the present.

The music and voices continued to echo through the Grand Hall, but from the private terrace, the clamor felt distant, softened by the night breeze.

Vaerion and Eleonora had momentarily withdrawn from the event, allowing the attendants to take the little ones to rest after the ceremony. Now, alone beneath the silver moonlight, they shared a moment of calm.

Eleonora exhaled softly, leaning against the balcony railing as she gazed out over the vast Moonshadow estate.

“We’re not the same anymore, are we?” she murmured, a quiet melancholy in her voice.

Vaerion ran a hand along her back in a reassuring gesture but did not respond immediately. He didn’t need to. They both knew the truth. The life they had lived until now… was over.

“No more running through narrow alleyways in the dead of night” Eleonora continued with a nostalgic smile. “No more infiltrations, no more unnecessary challenges. No more… adventures.”

She said it with practiced lightness, but Vaerion, who knew her better than anyone, sensed the ache beneath her words.

“No” he agreed softly. “Now, we have something far more valuable to protect.”

Eleonora nodded slowly, a quiet determination settling in her chest like a steady flame. She looked toward the room where Tavaryan and Caelan slept—so small, so innocent—and knew with absolute certainty that she would never fail them.

The Eleonora who had slipped through shadows with a playful grin, who laughed in the face of danger and thrived on the adrenaline of the unknown… that Eleonora had to disappear.

Vaerion watched her in silence, reading every thought reflected in her expression.

“You say that like it weighs on you” he asked gently.

Eleonora turned to him, a flicker of her old self glinting in her eyes.

“A little” she admitted. “Do you have any idea how many years it took me to perfect my lockpicking skills?”

Vaerion let out a short, amused breath.

“Far too many for someone who was supposed to be a respectable noble.”

“‘Supposed to be’” she echoed, feigning offense. “You know I was never exactly what they expected of me.”

Vaerion studied her with fondness, seeing the woman who had traveled the world by his side, who shared nights beneath the stars and laughed at the absurdity of nobility.

But now, that adventurous spark in her gaze was giving way to something greater.

Eleonora sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

“But I can’t be that person anymore” she said, her voice softer now. “I have two little ones who depend on me. I can’t take risks like before. I can’t keep hiding behind my double life—the flawless noble and the rogue who still stole just for the thrill of it.”

Vaerion wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her with the same steadiness he always had.

“You’ll never regret this” he said with absolute certainty.

Eleonora looked up at him with a half-smile.

“How are you so sure?”

Vaerion brushed his fingers along her cheek with a tenderness only she knew from him.

“Because I know you. You are many things, Eleonora, but above all else, you protect what you love. And now, you have something greater to protect.”

Eleonora closed her eyes for a moment, letting those words settle in her chest.

“I suppose that means I’m officially retiring from the life of adventure” she said, with playful resignation. “The closet rogue hangs up her tools.”

Vaerion chuckled.

“You’ll never stop being that person, but now you’ll have to be it in a different way.”

“Like a respectable mother and role model?”

“Something like that” Vaerion smirked. “Though I doubt you’ll resist teaching Tavaryan a trick or two when she grows up.”

Eleonora let out a bright laugh.

“Oh, gods help us if our daughter inherits my love for adrenaline.”

Vaerion pretended to consider it.

“And if she also inherits my talent for magic…”

They fell into a momentary silence, looking at each other with the same understanding they had always shared.

Finally, Eleonora sighed with a smile.

“We’re in for a very different life.”

Vaerion tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her a little closer.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Eleonora returned his smile before resting her head against his shoulder once more, savoring the moment.

It was the end of an era for them. But also, the beginning of another.

And for the first time in her life, Eleonora felt no yearning for the unknown.

Because the most important thing was right here, at her side.

And in that instant, with the moonlight bathing her silhouette, with determination settling in her heart and mind, the Eleonora of old faded away.

In her place, the Eleonora the world would come to know was born.

Steady. Commanding. Unyielding. Unshakable

────≪•◦⚜◦•≫────

(Year 1492 DR)

Somewhere in Faerûn, long after, a group of adventurers marched steadily toward the Emerald Grove, their objective clear: find a way to remove the tadpole nesting in their brains before it was too late.

"We can't stop every time some poor soul in distress asks for help" the pale elf protested with a theatrical sigh, addressing the one who had, unintentionally, become the leader of the group. "At this rate, we'll end up becoming the saviors of the entire damned continent."

"I hate to admit it, but Astarion has a point" the half-elf interjected, crossing her arms with a skeptical expression. "The refugees are not our problem."

"T sk … We are wasting time with these unnecessary distractions" the githyanki spat with visible disdain. "We should focus on finding the Crèche , only my people can cleanse us of this aberration."

The pink-haired elf, who had walked in silence until then, came to an abrupt stop. She exhaled with forced patience before turning to face the group, her gaze already heavy with exhaustion.

"Do you really think I agreed to help the refugees out of sheer altruism?" Her voice, though calm, carried a noticeable edge of irritation. "Tell me, do you think that once we rescue Halsin—the so-called expert on our condition—he'll be in the mood to help us if we arrive to find his Grove in the middle of a civil war and bodies scattered everywhere?"

Silence was the only answer.

"I never asked to be the leader of this group" she continued, speaking like someone who had had this conversation far too many times already. "You put me in charge because you can’t even decide between fruit or meat for dinner without arguing for hours. So, if you disagree with my decision, you're free to go back to camp and help Gale with lunch. But if you're going to follow me, I don’t want to hear another complaint about the choices I make along the way. Are we clear?"

Her gaze swept over each of them, daring them to contradict her.

Astarion sighed dramatically but did not argue. The githyanki huffed, annoyed, but didn’t insist. The half-elf, though not entirely convinced, offered no resistance either.

"Good" the sorceress finally said, turning away without waiting for further response. "Let’s go. I want to see if Arron will buy the things we found in the Blighted Village."

"Would anyone in their right mind actually buy all the junk you’ve collected?" Astarion asked.

Shadowheart scoffed, crossing her arms with a smirk as she walked beside the sorceress.

"Well, considering you're carrying more silverware and plates than any one person could ever need in a lifetime, maybe we should start worrying" she remarked dryly, though a glint of amusement flickered in her eyes.

Astarion let out a soft laugh and added with mock concern, "Oh, but think about it, Shadowheart. Perhaps Tav plans to establish herself as the next great merchant of stolen trinkets. ‘Tav’s Emporium: Trinkets, Mysterious Artifacts, and Stolen Cutlery.’ " He made a dramatic gesture with his hands, as if advertising an imaginary shop.

The sorceress glanced at them out of the corner of her eye but didn’t break her stride.

"One man’s trash is another man’s treasure," she responded with absolute seriousness—though a barely perceptible smile tugged at her lips.

And with that, the group followed her, because even if they didn’t all agree with her reasoning, they knew that, for now, following Tavaryan was their best chance of survival.

What they didn’t know was that from the shadows, someone was watching their every move—attentively, carefully, and with a particular interest in the group's leader.

"Interesting…" Raphael murmured, his lips curving into a serpentine smile as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. His voice dripped with amusement and anticipation, like a player who had just discovered a new piece on his board. "So, Vaerion’s daughter has gotten herself into trouble… This will be fascinating ."

Chapter Text

The hellfire still burned in my retinas when the pressure of the teleportation vanished. The change was immediate: the suffocating heat of the Hells engulfed me, dense energy vibrated in the air, and a faint scent of sulfur mixed with the perfume of exotic spices. I didn’t need to look around to know where I was. The House of Hope.

The black and gold marble gleamed under the crimson light of the floating lamps. Tall, glassless windows opened to a dark sky, where red storms roared in the distance. Obsidian columns carved with infernal symbols stood majestically, and in the center of the grand hall, a throne of metallic thorns patiently awaited its master.

Raphael sighed in satisfaction as he adjusted the collar of his crimson coat. His triumphant smile had never been so wide.

“Ah, the sweet sensation of a well-sealed contract” his eyes slid toward me with amusement. “Welcome to your new home, little mouse.”

My body was tense. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to do something—anything—but I couldn’t. The contract was already signed. This was inevitable.

“Home,” I repeated bitterly, crossing my arms. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Raphael let out a light laugh and turned with a theatrical flourish, spreading his arms.

“Time is a valuable resource, dear. And as a responsible host, I must fulfill my part of the deal immediately. We wouldn’t want you to think I’ve deceived you.”

He snapped his fingers.

In the blink of an eye, two figures appeared in the hall.

Wyll and Karlach.

Wyll fell to his knees, coughing from the sudden invocation, while Karlach landed with feline steadiness. Her eyes still burned with the same intensity as always, but her posture was relaxed, cautiously analyzing the situation.

Both of them looked confused. And who could blame them? Just moments ago, they had been fighting imps.

Her amber eyes landed on me, blinking in recognition.

“Well, this is certainly a change of plans” Karlach murmured, tilting her head.

Wyll, still recovering, looked up with a mix of confusion and alarm. His expression hardened the moment he saw Raphael.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Karlach shot her companion a quick glance before turning her attention back to Raphael.

“You know, if you wanted to invite me to your home, you could have done it in a less dramatic way” she said with a lopsided grin, though her tone was as sharp as a dagger.

Raphael returned the smile, equally pleased.

“Ah, dear Karlach, always so pragmatic. But you see, your presence here is not by whim. It’s for security.”

Wyll frowned in suspicion.

“Security?” he spat. “If you think I’m going to believe that—”

“Oh, but you should” Raphael interrupted effortlessly. “After all, Mizora and Zariel have been looking for you both. And since the contract Tav signed requires me to keep you safe, what better place than here?”

Karlach crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

“What do you mean, ‘the contract Tav signed’?” she asked, her tone clearly angry.

The tension in the room became suffocating. Wyll clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists. Then, his gaze landed on me.

“Tav… tell me you didn’t…”

My stomach sank. Guilt coiled in my chest like a venomous snake.

“I did” I whispered. “I signed it.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Wyll closed his eyes tightly, as if hoping that by reopening them, all of this would disappear. Karlach, on the other hand, took a step toward me, her gaze blazing.

“What the hell did you do, soldier?”

I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat.

“You signed a contract with a devil?” Karlach continued, her voice rising in disbelief. “Tav, seriously? Did you learn NOTHING from what happened to Wyll?!”

She paused briefly before adding,

“No offense, Wyll.”

Wyll let out a heavy sigh.

“None taken, Karlach, because she’s right.”

He turned to me, his expression a mix of fury and disappointment.

“How could you do this? What made you think getting involved with a devil was a good idea?”

My heart pounded in my ears.

“I didn’t have another choice…”

Karlach let out a bitter laugh.

“There’s always another choice, Tav. Always.”

“Not this time,” I retorted, my voice rough. “Not when Astarion’s life was at stake.”

Wyll clenched his fists, but his tone was more measured, heavy with bitter exhaustion.

“And what makes you think Raphael is the solution to anything? Do you think he’ll give you what you want without demanding more than you’re willing to give?”

“I know exactly what it’s going to cost me,” I said, though the words burned in my throat.

Karlach shook her head in disbelief.

“You have no idea what you just did, soldier.”

“They weren’t supposed to be here!” I snapped, frustration spilling over. “This doesn’t involve you!”

“It doesn’t involve us?” Karlach repeated, letting out a dry laugh. “You brought us here the moment you put your name on that damn contract!”

“It wasn’t my intention…”

“But here we are,” Wyll growled through gritted teeth. “And now Raphael has exactly what he wanted.”

The three of us stood in tense confrontation, the weight of reality hanging over us like a sword ready to fall.

“This wasn’t part of the deal!” I spat, turning toward Raphael. “You were supposed to guarantee their safety and make sure I didn’t have to fight Wyll! Not bring them here as if they were part of the damn agreement!”

Raphael smiled calmly, tilting his head with feigned innocence.

“But dear, what better way to ensure their safety than by bringing them directly into my domain?” His tone was light, almost mocking, as if all of this were a minor inconvenience.

Before I could respond, he snapped his fingers.

Wyll vanished.

My heart stopped for a second.

“Where is he?” I demanded, my voice trembling with both rage and fear.

Raphael sighed with feigned patience, as if explaining something obvious to a stubborn child.

“Oh, don’t worry, little mouse. He’ll just be in a cell… for a while.”

Karlach was the first to react, her eyes blazing with pure fury.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” she roared, stepping forward as if she was about to tear him apart.

But Raphael merely shrugged, his smile never fading.

The tension in the room was suffocating. And the worst part was that, deep down, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him.

Raphael clicked his tongue with feigned exasperation.

“Oh, little mouse, do you really think I would do anything without a good reason?”

He began walking around me slowly, savoring every second of the control he held over the situation. Karlach clenched her fists, ready to lunge at him at any moment.

“The reason your dear friend is in a cell is quite simple” Raphael continued, with the ease of someone explaining a game to a child. “Mizora wants him, and if Mizora wants him, then Zariel has an interest in him as well. And what better way to lure a fly than with the right honey?”

My lips pressed into a thin, tense line.

"You mean you're using Wyll as bait?"

Raphael smiled, satisfied.

"Exactly. But, dear, think about it. As long as Wyll is in my possession, Mizora won't be able to ignore him. If she sets foot in my house without permission, that gives me absolute rights to… let's say, permanently resolve that little inconvenience."

Karlach let out a harsh laugh, devoid of any humor.

"So you're basically waiting for Mizora to do something stupid so you can kill her."

"What a sharp mind you have, my dear Karlach," Raphael replied with an exaggerated bow. "I knew I liked you."

"And if Mizora doesn't fall for the trap, then what?" I asked, feeling each word catch in my throat.

Raphael shrugged.

"Then Wyll will remain under my… how shall I put it? Supervision. Not for long, of course. Just until we make sure he’s free of any undesirable influences. Trust me, he's better off here than running around the Hells with a target on his back."

I looked at Karlach, searching for support, but she only returned a hard stare, filled with restrained frustration.

"This is insane" she muttered.

"It is," I admitted in a low voice, feeling the weight of the contract chaining me even further. "But we don’t have another choice."

Karlach clenched her jaw but didn't argue.

Raphael watched the scene unfold with obvious satisfaction before turning his attention to Karlach, scanning her from head to toe with almost analytical interest.

"Speaking of you, dear Karlach…" he said lightly. "You’re welcome to stay here as my guest, of course. After all, it’ll be easier for our dear Tavaryan to focus if she has someone familiar around."

Karlach narrowed her eyes.

"And if I’d rather go to the cell with Wyll?"

Raphael smiled.

"Oh, I wouldn’t be the one to stop you. But let’s be honest… dungeons aren’t nearly as comfortable as my hospitality."

"What's the catch?" Karlach snapped, crossing her arms.

"There is no catch, except for one very simple condition," Raphael raised a finger. "You cannot leave the House of Hope. If you do, Zariel will know where you are, and well…" He smiled with feigned sadness. "I don’t think your return would be met with hugs and kisses."

Karlach said nothing, but her expression said it all.

"Take your time to think about it" Raphael said in a silky voice. "But not too much."

He turned his attention back to me, his smile widening.

"And you, little mouse, I think it's time for you to get familiar with your new home. Ready for a tour?"

────≪•◦⚜◦•≫────

Tav clenched her fists tightly, trying to keep her composure as Raphael’s satisfied smile lodged itself in her mind like a burning thorn.

"Come now, little mouse" the cambion insisted lightly. "Don’t be so shy, we have so much to see."

She took a deep breath, feeling the Hellish air fill her lungs with its scorching, suffocating heat. She knew arguing wouldn't change anything. The contract was signed. Wyll was trapped. Karlach was on the verge of fury. And Raphael… Raphael was enjoying every second of it.

Without another word, Tav took a step forward, following him with a sharp gaze. Raphael smiled, pleased.

"That’s more like it" he purred. "Come, little mouse. I want to show you what you’ve won."

Karlach scoffed behind them, crossing her arms. Tav felt her friend's gaze on her, but she didn’t dare turn around. She wasn’t sure if she could bear to look her in the eyes.

Raphael led her through corridors adorned with infernal sculptures and dark tapestries that seemed to shift with a life of their own. The House of Hope was both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. With every step, she could feel the magic clinging to the walls, the echoes of countless souls trapped in contracts with Raphael.

"I must admit, I’m excited, dear." Raphael said, not bothering to look at her. "It’s not every day I acquire such an exceptional talent for my ranks. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, my armies are filled with formidable warriors, but they are… predictable."

He stopped in front of a massive black metal door, placing a hand on the surface, where incandescent runes pulsed.

"You, on the other hand, are… unpredictable."

The doors groaned open, revealing a terrace that stretched into the horizon. Tav stepped forward cautiously, and the sight before her stole her breath.

Before her, the Hells unfolded in all their chaotic splendor. Rivers of fire burned like incandescent veins, snaking through cracked and desolate lands. The air vibrated with oppressive heat, thick with ash and the distant echo of screams lost in eternity. On the horizon, colossal fortresses rose like the fangs of a sleeping beast, ominous and defiant. But none of that impacted her as much as the vision that lay just beyond the House of Hope.

An army.

Endless legions of infernals, corrupted paladins, and chained souls stood in perfect formation. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural light, reflecting the fire of the Hells and the dark magic binding them to their fate. A deafening silence reigned among them, as if the very depths of Hell were holding their breath at her arrival.

Raphael, with a theatrical flourish, extended a hand toward the vast horde.

"Your new domain."

A cold shiver ran down Tav’s spine, despite the hellish heat. The word engraved itself into her mind like an inescapable sentence.

"I’m not a leader of armies" she whispered, though her voice came out firmer than she expected.

Raphael let out a deep laugh, the echo of his amusement lost in the vastness of the Hells.

"Oh, but you are, little mouse. You have been since the day you managed to keep your strange, dysfunctional group alive through the Absolute. From the moment you defied the gods without hesitation. What you see here is not a burden, it’s a promotion."

Tav tore her gaze away from the infernal landscape and focused back on him.

"This isn’t what I wanted."

Raphael tilted his head with a satisfied smile, his eyes glinting with amusement and something deeper… certainty.

"Ah, but it’s what you have. And trust me, you could have ended up with a far worse fate."

"I don’t see how this is any better" Tav retorted dryly, not taking her eyes off the army.

Raphael made a gesture of false regret.

"Oh, dear, if you only knew how many wretches have ended up as mere bargaining chips, mindless slaves, or broken playthings for other devils, you would understand just how generous I’ve been with you. But no, here you are—free of chains and with a purpose."

Tav narrowed her eyes.

"I’m not free."

"Oh, but you are," Raphael turned to her with a sly smile. "You have more power than you ever imagined, an army at your disposal, and the chance to make history. The only question is… what will you do with it?"

Tav clenched her jaw, feeling the weight of the contract wrapping around her like an invisible shackle.

"Survive" she finally said.

Raphael grinned with delight.

"Ah, there it is. The spirit I so enjoy in you. Welcome to your new life, Tavaryan. I hope you enjoy it… as much as I will."

Chapter Text

A few hours had passed since Raphael had shown me, from the balcony, the legions I was supposed to command. I was still trying to process it. All of this still felt like too much.

To clear my head, I had been exploring the House of Hope, searching for something to catch my interest. Raphael had said this was my new home, so I supposed I could move freely. So far, he hadn’t mentioned any restricted areas, so until he stopped me himself, I would keep exploring.

I hadn’t spoken to Karlach yet. I hadn’t even seen her since I started wandering around. I figured she was with Wyll, keeping him company in that damned cell.

Wyll…

The helplessness clenched my chest like an iron fist. Watching him disappear in the blink of an eye, unable to do anything, had filled me with rage. But I had known what I was getting into when I signed that contract.

And as much as I hated to admit it, Raphael had been right.

"The reason your dear friend is in a cell is quite simple," Raphael had said, with the ease of someone explaining a game to a child. "Mizora wants him, and if Mizora wants him, Zariel has an interest in him as well. And what better way to lure a fly than with the right kind of honey?"

That was exactly what he had said.

And the worst part was that his logic was flawless.

After wandering for a while, I found myself in a room unlike any of the others. Not only was it well guarded, but a protective magical barrier surrounded it.

That was unusual.

I scanned the room, analyzing the details, when I noticed someone nearby. A servant of Raphael? A debtor? I didn’t know, and honestly, I didn’t really care. But if anyone had answers, it was him.

I approached without hesitation.

"Excuse me" I called out. "What is this room? Why is it protected?"

The man looked me up and down with an analytical expression, as if trying to assess who I was and what I was doing there. Before I could ask him what his problem was, his face suddenly lit up.

"Oh! You must be Lady Tavaryan Moonshadow!"

I frowned, slightly confused by his reaction, but nodded.

"Yes… Why?"

“Wonderful, really wonderful!”  he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "We haven’t had someone so important in quite some time."

His sudden excitement caught me off guard. What was that supposed to mean?

"My name is Greg, and I am at your service" he added, giving an exaggerated bow.

I stared at him, now more confused than before.

"…What?"

Greg held the bow for a few seconds longer than necessary, as if expecting some kind of recognition for his dramatics. When he realized I was only looking at him incredulously, he cleared his throat and quickly straightened up.

"Ah, yes, pardon my enthusiasm, Lady Moonshadow." He smoothed out his clothes, which looked far too elegant for someone in his position. "I have been personally assigned by the great Lord Raphael to assist you with anything you may need during your stay at the House of Hope."

I eyed him skeptically.

"Assist me?"

"Exactly!" Greg nodded eagerly, puffing out his chest with pride. "You may consider me your personal aide, your loyal servant, your right hand… well, maybe not that much, but I will be here to ensure that your stay is as comfortable and pleasant as possible."

Something about his overly servile tone made me raise an eyebrow.

"And to keep an eye on me?"

Greg froze for an instant. His smile didn’t fade, but the way his eyes flickered nervously from side to side was confirmation enough that I had hit the mark.

"Lady Moonshadow! What a ridiculous idea!" he said with a nervous laugh. "It’s not surveillance, it’s… uh… supervision. Yes! Supervision. A security measure to ensure your well-being. And Lord Raphael’s peace of mind, of course."

"Uh-huh."

His nervousness was so obvious that I wondered if Raphael had chosen him as a spy or as entertainment. Probably both.

Greg seemed to notice my skeptical look and hurriedly changed the subject, gesturing grandly toward the protected door.

"But back to your original question… this room contains documents and artifacts of great importance to Lord Raphael. It is a personal archive, so to speak. Not just anyone is allowed in!" He straightened with an air of self-importance.

"But can I enter?"

Greg hesitated, his expression torn between duty and self-preservation.

"…Well, Lord Raphael hasn’t explicitly said that you can’t enter, but… um… perhaps it would be wise to wait for his authorization first." His smile was that of a man who really didn’t want to be fired—literally.

I smirked.

"Then I’ll come back later."

Greg let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

"Of course! Now, if you’ll allow me, I would love to show you the many wonders of the House of Hope. There is a dining hall of exquisite quality, luxurious baths, and even a private theater—Ah! And most importantly, the kitchen is open at all hours, should you wish to—"

"Do you have a map of the house?"

Greg blinked, as if the question had genuinely caught him off guard.

"Uh… well, there aren’t any official maps, but I know every corner of this place like the back of my hand. I could personally guide you, of course. It would be an honor!"

I sighed. It seemed Greg was going to be glued to my side from now on.

"Alright, Greg. Impress me."

His face lit up.

"Oh, my lady won’t regret it! I promise this will be the best tour you’ve ever had in the Hells! Well, perhaps the only one, but that just makes it all the more special, doesn’t it?"

I ran a hand down my face.

This was going to be long.

Greg gave me a very thorough tour of the House of Hope, making sure to describe every corner with overwhelming enthusiasm. To my surprise, he even led me to Raphael’s private quarters. There, he explained that Raphael had left instructions for me to feel free to use his Restoration Bath whenever I felt exhausted or needed to heal a physical wound.

From what I gathered, the bath possessed magical properties capable of curing anything, no matter how severe. Who would’ve thought? Something told me such a powerful artifact had to come with some kind of catch, but for now, I let it go.

During my brief stay in Raphael’s chambers, I also met Harleep, his personal incubus. He wasted no time in shamelessly flirting with me, which was as uncomfortable as it was predictable. I ignored him completely and left.

After wandering for a while, I finally decided to go to the prison within the House of Hope. I needed to talk to Karlach and Wyll, to explain the reason behind my contract with Raphael and, hopefully, ease some of the storm of emotions they were surely feeling.

Of course, Greg followed me like my own shadow. I had tried to shake him off several times, but it was impossible. He never took his eyes off me, not for a second, as if Raphael had given him strict orders to monitor my every move.

When I arrived at the prison, I found Wyll’s cell. To my surprise, he wasn’t chained or subjected to any kind of torture. He was simply locked up, which, given the circumstances, was a relief. I had expected something much worse.

Just outside the cell, Karlach was sitting on the ground, arms crossed, a grim expression on her face. She was speaking to Wyll in a low voice, but I caught part of their conversation as I approached.

"I don’t get it, Soldier..." Karlach murmured, shaking her head. "Tav isn’t stupid. But this… this doesn’t make any sense."

Wyll let out a heavy sigh, leaning his back against the cell wall.

"There has to be a reason… something we don’t know. But if she thinks she can convince us that this was a good idea, she’s going to have to explain it really well."

I stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. I knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy.

"Hey…" I greeted Karlach and Wyll timidly. They both turned to look at me immediately. "I know you’re angry with me for getting you caught up in this situation, but let me explain—"

So I told them everything.

I told Karlach and Wyll about how, in the past two years after defeating the Absolute, Astarion and I had searched relentlessly for a cure to his vampirism, or at least a way for him to walk under the sun. I recounted our journey in search of the Ring of the Sun Walker, how we believed it would be the solution, only to discover that it didn’t work.

Karlach frowned, her fists clenching against her knees. I could see the tension in her jaw, the frustration of not being able to do anything tangible to change what I was saying. Wyll, on the other hand, watched me in silence, his expression hardening with each word, as if he were trying to process everything at once.

I told them about the moment Raphael appeared with his offer: the Scroll of Wish, capable of curing Astarion’s vampirism permanently, in exchange for me joining his army to conquer the Hells for at least two hundred years. Additionally, Raphael promised to permanently repair Karlach’s Infernal Engine and free Wyll from his pact with Mizora.

Karlach let out an incredulous huff and ran a hand over her face, clearly frustrated. Wyll shook his head, and for a moment, he seemed about to say something but stopped, as if he couldn’t find the right words.

I also told them about our arrival in Neverwinter, when my noble heritage was revealed and how my father helped us in our search for a cure for Astarion. However, the only solution he managed to develop was so dangerous that it put Astarion’s life at risk, so I made the decision to sign the contract with Raphael.

Karlach stared at me, her expression a mix of anger and something that almost looked like sadness. Wyll pressed his lips into a thin line, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the cell bars. Neither of them seemed able to accept what I had just told them, but they couldn’t ignore it either.

I explained how Raphael hadn’t given me time to say goodbye to Astarion, Gale, Shadowheart, or my family. As soon as I signed, he dragged me to the Hells without warning—though not before gloating to Vaerion about how the contract’s terms and conditions kept them all bound, preventing them from helping me in any way.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. Karlach gritted her teeth, her breathing heavy. Wyll lowered his head, exhaling slowly, as if trying to keep his composure. I knew they needed time to process it, but I also knew this conversation wasn’t over yet.

Karlach was the first to break the silence, her voice filled with disbelief and anger.

"Two hundred years, Tav? Seriously?" Her tone was a mix of frustration and desperation. "How could you think this was a good idea? How?! "

Wyll straightened and looked at me, his expression grave.

"Tav, I understand that you wanted to help Astarion. Really, I do. But… selling yourself to Raphael? To the devil who practically hounded us to hand him Karsus’s crown?" His voice was low, controlled, but I could feel the disappointment in every word.

"And what did you expect me to do?" My own voice hardened involuntarily. "Let Astarion keep suffering? Let Karlach be stuck in the Hells forever because they couldn’t fix the engine? Let you stay bound to Mizora forever?"

Karlach shot to her feet, her gaze burning with fury.

"We would have found another way! There’s always another way, Tav! Always!"

Wyll let out a sigh, running a hand over his face.

"Maybe, but now it’s done" he said with resignation. "What matters now is what you’re going to do with it."

Karlach clenched her fists and let out a sharp exhale before shaking her head.

I was about to respond when an unexpected sound interrupted the tense moment. A soft sniffle, followed by a loud nose-blowing.

We all turned at once.

Greg, who had been listening to everything while keeping his distance, was now wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, visibly moved.

"Such a touching story, Lady Moonshadow!" he said between sobs, his voice trembling.

Karlach and Wyll stared at him as if they had just noticed his existence for the first time. Wyll frowned, and Karlach let out a disbelieving snort.

"Who the hell is this?" Karlach asked, looking at Greg like he had just materialized out of thin air.

Greg straightened up with pride and dramatically wiped his tears away.

"Just a humble servant, a witness to the tragedy and sacrifice of our brave heroine!" he exclaimed theatrically. "Your story is worthy of the greatest tales in the Hells—a drama of love, loss, and destiny! If only I knew how to write poetry, Lady Moonshadow, I would dedicate an ode to your bravery!"

I ran a hand down my face.

This was going to take even longer than I expected.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Karlach and Wyll’s anger began to fade. Begrudgingly, they accepted that there was nothing they could do to change the situation, and though the frustration remained, at least now we could talk without every conversation turning into a heated argument.

I used that time to have a proper conversation with Raphael. To my surprise, he allowed me access to his personal archive, with the only condition that I wouldn’t steal any artifacts. In that place, I discovered a vast collection of books, reports, and documents detailing the political and military situation in the Hells.

I’ve spent days buried in its contents, trying to better understand the chaos I’ve gotten myself into.

"Tavaryan."

Raphael’s voice interrupted my concentration, pulling me from my reading. When I looked up, I saw him standing in the doorway, watching me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Have you spent all these days buried in books?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded silently.

Raphael let out a theatrical sigh and took a few steps toward me.

"You should be doing something more productive. Time is gold, little mouse." His smile widened, a glint of malice flashing in his eyes. "Why don’t you take a break and go familiarize yourself with the legions under your command?"

I involuntarily frowned. The idea didn’t appeal to me at all.

Raphael tilted his head upon noticing my reaction, his tone turning slightly more firm.

"Let me put it another way." His eyes gleamed with that dangerous air of superiority so natural to him. "You will go meet your soldiers. After all, it would be embarrassing for you to march into battle without knowing who you’re leading."

I sighed internally. I knew arguing would be pointless.

This was going to be a headache.

Raphael led me outside the House of Hope, where a vast encampment stretched across the rocky terrain of the Hells. Columns of smoke rose in the distance, mingling with the crimson glow of the sky. The heat was suffocating, but I ignored it as I took in the countless figures gathering before us.

The legions.

Hundreds of soldiers stood in irregular lines. Some remained rigid, others barely paid attention, murmuring among themselves or standing with arms crossed, their expressions indifferent. There were three types of warriors among them: the corrupted paladins, the souls bound to Raphael’s contracts, and the infernals. The latter were the majority and, judging by the way they looked at me, also the most problematic.

Raphael stepped forward and spread his arms theatrically.

"My soldiers!" His voice boomed with power, forcing everyone to pay attention. "Today, I present to you your new leader. This is Tavaryan Moonshadow, the mortal who has sealed a pact with me. From now on, you will answer to her as you would to me. She will be the one to lead you to victory!"

A murmur rippled through the soldiers. Some seemed to accept it with indifference, but the infernals and some corrupted paladins didn’t bother hiding their disdain. A devil with twisted horns and glowing eyes snorted in contempt, crossing his arms.

"A mortal?" he scoffed. "This must be a joke."

"It must be a test" another infernal replied to his companion with a mocking grin. "There’s no way such a fragile being is worthy of commanding us."

Their reaction didn’t surprise me.

Raphael, who had heard the murmurs, only smiled with arrogance.

"I would advise you not to underestimate Tavaryan" he said smoothly, though there was a sharp edge to his tone. "Those who do may come to regret it."

The first infernal let out a rough laugh.

"We’ll see about that."

Raphael gave me one last look before turning elegantly.

"Well, little mouse, this is your army. Get to know them well." His smirk widened with amusement. "See you later."

And with that, he vanished in a crimson flash, leaving me alone before the legions.

The bound souls looked at me with something resembling respect, but the paladins and infernals didn’t bother to hide their disdain. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Alright" I said, looking at them directly. "Since I’ll be in command, why don’t we start by getting to know each other?"

A tense silence followed my words before a low, deep chuckle broke the moment.

This was going to be more difficult than I thought.

The laughter came from an imposing infernal, red-skinned with thick horns, who looked at me with open mockery.

"And what exactly are you supposed to do, little mortal? Give us orders?" he sneered. "Maybe you could start by fetching us some wine and serving as decoration in the caravan."

Some of the corrupted paladins laughed at his remark, while others simply watched with skepticism.

I crossed my arms and kept my expression firm.

"I’m not here to serve you anything. I’m here to make sure you know who’s in charge."

The infernal narrowed his eyes, his grin fading slightly.

"You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that" he muttered. "But that doesn’t make you worthy."

The bound souls watched me closely—some with genuine curiosity, others with a kind of resignation.

"And what would make me worthy, then?" I asked calmly.

The infernal stepped closer, invading my space with his suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his skin was intense, as if the very air bowed to his infernal essence.

"Prove you deserve to be here" he whispered, his voice low and raspy, laced with an unspoken challenge.

I clenched my fists tightly. I had expected a provocation like this. I knew the infernals wouldn’t accept my leadership without questioning it, without trying to break me in the cruelest way possible. But if they thought they could intimidate me, they were dead wrong.

I didn’t even spare them a glance. Instead of playing into their game, I continued walking through the camp. I could feel their gazes burning into my back, the murmurs of disappointment from some when they realized I hadn’t reacted as they expected. But I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my resolve waver.

As I moved forward, the infernals’ mocking whispers faded, giving way to a different kind of silence.

Among the bound souls, I found something different—not mockery, but a mix of curiosity, exhaustion, and a faint spark of hope. Some watched me with dull eyes, resigned to their fate, but others… deep in their gaze, something human remained.

I stopped next to a small group. One of them, a man with a face marked by scars and worn-out armor, scrutinized me cautiously. His eyes reflected a life of struggle and loss.

"How did you end up here?" I asked bluntly.

The man sighed, crossing his arms with resignation.

"I sold my soul to save my wife. Raphael kept his end of the deal… but now I’m here, serving him until the end of time."

A hardened-looking elf beside him nodded.

"Some sold their souls for love, others for ambition. We all ended up the same."

I observed them in silence. Their stories weren’t new to me. But here, in this place where despair was the only certainty, they felt rawer, more final.

Then, the air shifted.

The pressure became suffocating. A stench of sulfur, burnt flesh, and hot metal overwhelmed my senses, wrapping me in a wave of palpable hostility.

I didn’t need to turn around to know what was coming. I had seen this before, in other places. In seedy taverns, in dark alleys, in Cazador’s dungeons... And now, in the depths of the Hells.

A group of infernals was approaching, their footsteps slow and deliberate against the scorched rock. Their grins, filled with sharp teeth and pure malice, made it clear that they weren’t here to welcome me.

The infernals surrounded me, their monstrous figures forming an oppressive circle around me. The searing ground beneath my feet radiated an unbearable heat, but I ignored it, standing firm despite the growing threat. My hands remained relaxed at my sides, but I could feel the magic swirling in my veins, ready to be unleashed

"So this is our great leader?" The rough voice of a devil with obsidian-black skin rang out mockingly. His glowing eyes burned into me like smoldering embers. "Seeing you up close, you hardly seem any different from any other mortal who has begged for their life here."

The murmurs turned into stifled laughter. A taller infernal, with thick, twisted horns, let out a contemptuous snort.

"Let’s fight her" he suggested, a sadistic amusement in his voice. "It’ll be entertaining to see how long she lasts before we tear off each limb."

Another licked his lips with a forked tongue, a perverse purr escaping him.

"Why just fight?" he said, his pupils dilated with excitement. "There are much more interesting ways to make her beg."

A third stepped closer than necessary, his putrid breath brushing against my cheek as he slid a sharp claw along my neck in a mockingly gentle caress.

"Maybe we should let her scream first, so everyone can hear her" he whispered. "Do you think Raphael will come running to save you, little mouse? Or will he just join in on the fun?"

Laughter erupted among the group, their weapons striking the ground in a deafening, thunderous rhythm.

One of them moved first. He disappeared in a burst of flames and reappeared behind me in the blink of an eye. Before I could react, I felt a burning grip around my wrist, his scalding skin searing into mine.

"Let’s see how fast you can run, little mouse" he whispered, leaning far too close to my ear.

Another approached from the side, his deformed mouth twisted into a wicked grin.

"How will you scream when we break you?" he purred with delight. "Maybe Raphael will scold us afterward... but it’ll be worth it."

A rough, cruel hand tangled in my hair, yanking it back forcefully, making me lift my head. My neck arched sharply from the violence of the pull, bringing me face to face with another one of them, his twisted grin revealing teeth as sharp as blades.

"It’s always fun when they try to fight back first" he murmured with sick delight. "They scream, they kick, they curse… and then, when they realize there’s no escape, they beg. How do you think your pleas will sound, princess?"

The murmurs turned into a grotesque chorus of suggestions. Some spoke of breaking my bones one by one, of peeling my skin with red-hot claws. Others described, in morbid enthusiasm, how they would make me suffer, how long I would last before my pride and dignity shattered completely.

"Don’t damage her too much." one of them said in a mockingly condescending tone. "Raphael wants her functional , after all. But who knows, maybe even he would rather see her broken."

More laughter. More taunts. More hands creeping too close.

I took a deep breath, my stomach twisting in disgust. Fury boiled inside me, burning like a wildfire.

It wasn’t fear I felt. No.

It was rage.

Pure, distilled rage in its most lethal form.

An infernal slid his claws over the fabric of my clothes, pulling hard enough to tear them slightly.

That was the last straw.

Without a second thought, I let my magic explode.

A shockwave erupted from my body, a blast of raw energy surging in all directions. The infernals were thrown backward with brutal force, crashing into the ground or slamming against other ranks of soldiers. The air filled with roars of surprise and pain as the impact of my spell sent dust and rocks flying through the scorched earth of the Hells.

Some tried to get up immediately, growling in frustration and fury, but I didn’t give them the chance. Before they could regroup, I snapped my fingers, and a portal opened at my feet.

In the blink of an eye, darkness enveloped me, and I vanished in a flash of magic.

By the time the dust settled, I was already gone.

I had returned to the House of Hope.

I fell to my knees, my breath ragged and my heart pounding wildly in my chest. An involuntary tremor ran through my arms, and I clenched my fists against the ground, trying to anchor myself to reality.

For the first time in a long while, I felt fear.

Not the fleeting fear of an unexpected ambush or the kind that comes from walking into battle without knowing your enemy. No.

This was something else.

A deeper, more visceral fear.

One that froze the blood and clung to the bones like venom.

I had dealt with scum before. Humans, orcs, city criminals, predators disguised as merchants or nobles. And all of them had learned, in due time, how dangerous it was to underestimate me.

But this… this was different.

This wasn’t the surface, where a well-placed knife or a precisely cast spell could end a problem before it spiraled.

This wasn’t Neverwinter, Waterdeep, or Baldur’s Gate, where the threat of retaliation could keep even the vilest of bastards in check.

This was Avernus.

And in Avernus, the rules were different.

There was no diplomacy here, not as I knew it. There was no concept of "reasoning" with those who only responded to power and brutality. If I hesitated, if I showed weakness , I was dead.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.

I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

I couldn’t afford to be afraid.

Because if they didn’t respect me… If they didn’t fear me…

I wouldn’t live long enough to get a second chance.

Raphael had been clear in the contract: he would protect me from an early death. But I knew that, in this place, there were fates far worse than death.

Eternity in Avernus could be an unimaginable punishment if I ended up in the wrong hands.

The adrenaline started to fade, leaving behind the sharp, stinging pain in my skin. The burn on my wrist pulsed with a searing ache, a cruel reminder of my "soldiers’" true nature. Without wasting time, I made my way to the Restoration Bath in Raphael’s chambers.

As I submerged my hand in the enchanted water, a cooling relief spread over my skin, washing away the pain instantly. The magic of the bath worked quickly, sealing the wound without a trace of the assault.

At least, not on my body.

In my mind, the mark remained.

I left the room in silence, walking through the halls of the House of Hope until I reached the quarters that had been assigned to me. I felt the weight of Greg’s constant gaze, my personal servant, following my every move. He made an admirable effort to stay in the background, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

Despite the exhaustion beginning to settle in my bones, I couldn’t afford to rest.

I couldn’t let fear or humiliation take root in my spirit.

I changed quickly, discarding the garments stained with the stench of Avernus and the encounter with those infernal bastards.

And then, I made my decision.

If I let too much time pass after what happened today, I would lose my chance to establish my authority. I couldn’t give them the luxury of forgetting what had happened. I couldn’t allow my absence to fuel their disdain.

I had to respond.

Quickly.

With force.

If I didn’t do it now, I never would.

With the same teleportation spell I had used to escape, I returned to the camp in a blink.

My sudden reappearance sent a ripple through the atmosphere. Some eyes lifted in surprise, others with dark expectation. I knew what that kind of "excitement" in the infernals’ eyes meant—it wasn’t respect, nor fear.

It was mockery.

It was anticipation.

They thought they had won.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

I scanned the crowd, searching for the faces of those bastards who had dared to lay hands on me. I found them quickly. They were still reveling among themselves, their coarse, guttural laughter filling the air like an unpleasant echo.

Talking with enthusiasm about the atrocities they planned to inflict on me, as if I were nothing more than entertainment.

As if I weren’t standing right there.

But I was standing there.

My fingers tightened around the hilt of a discarded sword on the ground. It wasn’t the best—its edge was slightly dulled—but that didn’t matter. I didn’t need it for precision.

I needed it for punishment.

I stepped forward with purpose, the weight of the weapon balancing in my grip as raw energy pulsed through my veins. My target was clear: The infernal who had led the attack—the one who had burned my wrist with his grip. The strongest of the group. The most confident.

Perfect.

I’m no expert like Lae’zel—I don’t have her innate skill or her relentless brutality. But I am a sorcerer. And when sword and magic combine, they can create something far more devastating than any simple strike.

I would make sure they knew it. I would make sure they understood they had made a mistake.

One they would never forget.

The sword felt heavier in my hand than I expected. Not because I had never wielded one before, but because it had never been my main weapon. Even so, I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now.

The infernal’s eyes gleamed with cruel disdain as he saw me raise the sword. His deep, rumbling laughter echoed through the camp, a taunt that spread among the soldiers.

“Do you really think you can beat me with that, little mouse?” His voice dripped with venom. “Or are you just trying to make this more fun for me?”

The other infernals laughed, slamming their weapons against the ground in a deafening rhythm, as if marking the countdown to my defeat. I knew what they were waiting for—for me to fail, to hesitate. To give them a reason to tear me apart.

I wouldn’t give them that pleasure.

I took a deep breath and adjusted my grip. I didn’t have to overpower him with brute force. I didn’t have to match his size or his strength. I had something he didn’t: intelligence, speed, and something that would make his pride boil with rage.

Magic.

The infernal moved first, his obsidian blade slicing through the air with a deadly whistle. I rolled to the side just in time, feeling the scorching heat of his blade graze past me. He gave me no respite. The moment my feet touched the ground, he was already upon me again—a whirlwind of strikes designed to destroy me.

“Come on, little one,” he growled between attacks. “ Fight. Or do you only know how to run?”

I gritted my teeth. I stayed on the ground a second longer than necessary, feigning vulnerability.

Waiting.

And when he lunged at me, intent on crushing me beneath his boot, I cast Misty Step and vanished in a cloud of smoke before he could reach me.

I reappeared behind him, sword in hand, and spun on my heels with all the strength I could muster, aiming to carve into his side. But the infernal was fast. He turned at the last second and blocked my strike with ease, his grin widening when he realized my attack wasn’t strong enough to wound him.

“That was cute ” he mocked. “But if you really want to hurt me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

The ground trembled as he launched his next assault. I didn’t have time to fully dodge—his fist slammed into my stomach with the force of a warhammer. The air ripped from my lungs in a sharp gasp, and my body folded involuntarily from the impact.

But I didn’t fall.

My legs trembled, but I stayed upright. And when I lifted my gaze, I saw exactly what I wanted to see.

The infernal had expected me to collapse. He had expected to see me broken, gasping on the ground. He wasn’t used to his prey standing after a blow like that.

His expression twisted into a mix of amusement and frustration.

“Interesting…” he murmured, licking his lips with his forked tongue. “Maybe you’re not just a fragile little doll after all. Shame you’ll end up broken anyway.”

I spat blood to the side and smirked.

“If that’s all you’ve got… you’re about to disappoint me.”

The infernal growled and charged at me with renewed fury.

But this time, I was ready.

His blade whistled through the air in a lethal arc. I rolled aside at the last moment, feeling the edge brush past my hair. Adrenaline ignited my veins—fear was there, but I used it, twisted it into something more.

He wanted a spectacle, didn’t he?

Then let’s give him one.

I blocked his next attack with my sword, but the force drove me back. I couldn’t match his raw strength, but I didn’t have to. I knew I was faster. I shifted again with Misty Step, reappearing behind him in a blink. I slashed at his side, but his infernal armor deflected the blade.

“Fast, but not fast enough …” he laughed, turning to crush me with another brutal swing.

I raised a hand instinctively. Arcane Shield absorbed the impact, but the force still made me stumble.

Think, Tav. Find his rhythm.

The infernal advanced with heavy steps, his mocking grin gleaming under the crimson glow of battle.

“Come on, little elf. Fight. ” His voice dripped with contempt. “Let’s see if you can entertain me!”

The clash of metal echoed between us. Each time I dodged or deflected his strikes, his frustration grew. His attacks became more aggressive, more desperate.

“Let’s see how you handle this! ” he roared, lunging at me with renewed fury. “You have no idea the mistake you made by coming here, little princess! ”

Little princess. Little elf. Little mouse.

I’m done.

Done with his condescending nicknames, done with being underestimated. No matter how many times I prove myself, there’s always someone who thinks they can trample over me.

But he’s wrong.

I hate bullies—I despise them. I’ve met enough of their kind to know how vile they are, and here in the Hells, they’re a thousand times worse.

I’m going to teach this damned mutt exactly who’s in charge here.

I’m going to show him why Raphael put me in command.

He wants entertainment?

Fine.

I’ll show him how this little elf is going to give him the beating of his life.

“When I’m done with you, there won’t be a single trace of you left to break!” he shouted with enthusiasm, and I could see that filthy anticipation in his eyes.

I gritted my teeth and raised my sword—but this time, with something more. My magic vibrated through the steel, a promise of destruction. The air around me crackled as I extended my other hand and cast Prismatic Spray.

The explosion of light was blinding.

Eight multicolored rays erupted from my palm, engulfing the battlefield in a whirlwind of pure energy. Fiery embers scorched his skin, acid sizzled as it corroded his armor, a beam of ice slammed into his chest, making his flesh crack like shattered crystal. The infernal staggered, growling in pain, his wings flapping desperately as the magic consumed him.

I didn’t let him recover.

I lunged at him, my sword glowing with the same arcane brilliance as my spell. Magic crackled around it, reinforcing every strike with lethal power. I swung the weapon with renewed confidence, every slash driven by fury and precision.

Internally, I thanked my father for teaching me that spell.

The infernal managed to recover just enough to block me, but this time, I was in control. His movements were slower. He carried himself with the confidence of a predator that had never been challenged—but now, I was inside his guard.

His arrogance was his weakness.

“Damn you!” he roared.

I stepped back just as he tried to grab me. With my boot, I stomped on his hand—the same one he had dared to touch me with moments ago. I crushed it with force, and I could swear I felt his bones give way beneath my heel.

“Did that hurt?” My voice was icy, mocking.

He roared and charged at me in blind fury.

And that was his downfall.

I cast Misty Step again, reappearing at his side. This time, I gave him no chance to react. My blade found its mark, piercing through his ribs. His black blood sizzled as it hit the ground.

The infernal collapsed onto one knee, his breath ragged. His hateful gaze flickered with disbelief.

“No… this isn’t… possible…”

I pointed my sword at him. My breath was heavy, the heat of battle still vibrating through my skin, but my stance remained firm.

I was no longer his prey.

“Get up, infernal.” My voice was a blade of tempered steel, cold as ice. “Or die on your knees.”

Silence fell like a heavy stone. The infernals and the corrupted paladins who had witnessed the fight murmured among themselves, unable to process what they had just seen. Their faces, once filled with mockery and disdain, now reflected a mixture of respect, disbelief… and fear.

The blood of my opponent dripped onto the burning ground.

He didn’t dare move.

His body trembled—not with rage anymore, but with the certainty that death loomed over him at the tip of my sword.

I took a step forward, letting the echo of my boots resound through the training grounds. I let the weight of my victory sink into every single one of them before I spoke.

“The next one who dares to disrespect me or lay a hand on me won’t have it as easy as this one.” My voice was a sharp whisper, like the edge of a blade. “One wrong move, and you’re done. One word that I don’t approve of, and you’re done. Understood?”

The air became heavier, thick with tension.

No one dared to respond immediately.

Only the distant crackling of infernal fire and the shaky breaths of the soldiers filled the silence. Then, a murmur of fearful affirmations rippled through them. I saw in their faces the absolute realization of an undeniable truth:

I was not their toy.

I was not their entertainment.

I was their leader.

A strange sensation crawled over my skin. Someone was watching me. I turned, searching for the source of that piercing gaze.

Raphael.

From the high balcony, his amber eyes were locked on me. There was no mockery in his expression. No sarcasm, no cruel amusement in his usual smirk.

No.

What I saw on his face was something else. Pride? Satisfaction? I didn’t know. But what I did know was that he had never given that look to anyone before.

And now, it was directed at me.

Chapter Text

Ever since that day with the legions, I’ve been focusing on training harder with the sword. Even though I won the fight against that infernal, I realized I have a lot to improve. It wasn’t a clean victory, it wasn’t an easy one, and what unsettles me the most is that if it had lasted just a little longer… perhaps the outcome would have been different.

I’ve spent days replaying every second of the fight in my head—the moments I was too slow, the mistakes in my stance, the openings I left without realizing. And while I managed to overpower him, I know it was more thanks to wit and magic than actual swordsmanship. I can’t allow myself to rely so much on my arcane power. Here, in the Hells, strength alone isn’t enough. You have to be lethal. You have to inspire fear in the eyes of those who dare to challenge you.

I asked Greg if there was a room in the House of Hope that could be converted into a training area. I don’t feel comfortable training in front of the legions yet. I can still feel their eyes on me, can still hear the muffled laughter of those who had been waiting for me to fail. I won’t give them any more reason to mock me. The next time I stand before them, there will be no margin for error.

“A training hall?” Greg blinked several times, as if trying to process the request. “Why, of course, Miss Moonshadow! We can adorn it with dragon-hide carpets, decorative statues, obsidian mirrors so you can admire your stance as you train—”

“Greg.” I cut him off, massaging my temple, “I just need a functional space. Not an infernal ballroom. ”

“Oh…” Greg looked genuinely disappointed, but he quickly perked up again. “Well, if you insist on something simple, I’ll see what I can do. Though, if I may say so, a touch of elegance never hurts.”

I ignored him. All I care about right now is getting better. Because next time someone challenges me, the thought of doubting will never even cross their mind.

Greg had my request ready in less than a day, so I’ve been training ever since. At first, it was frustrating. I knew exactly what I needed to correct, but my body was slow to respond the way I wanted. More than once, I ended up on the ground, breathless and muscles burning from the effort.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way Raphael looked at me that day. I haven’t seen him lately to ask what it meant. But I assume it was… what? Satisfaction at seeing me put that infernal in his place? Or is he simply watching from a distance, measuring how much further I can grow?

I don’t know which answer unsettles me more.

And as if my thoughts had summoned him, I felt a presence in the room.

Raphael made no effort to announce himself right away, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Finally, his voice slipped through the air like sweet poison.

“Little mouse, I must say, you’ve surprised me.” His tone was relaxed, almost amused, as he lazily glanced around the room. “That little performance in the training grounds… a true work of art. I’m certain none of my soldiers will ever forget that day.”

I slowly sheathed my sword, keeping my guard up. Raphael placed a hand over his chest in mock humility.

“I’ll admit, even I didn’t expect something quite so… memorable. The way you made him kneel…” His smirk widened smugly. “ So moving. I’m sure they’re all wondering how long it will take before you make them bow as well.”

“I don’t care about making them bow” I replied firmly, crossing my arms. “I just want their respect.”

Raphael chuckled softly, as if my words amused him.

“Oh, darling. In the Hells, respect and submission are practically the same thing.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But no matter, you’ll come to understand soon enough.”

I held his gaze, waiting for him to get to the point. He hadn’t come here just to congratulate me.

And I was right.

“I’ve been watching you” he said suddenly, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Ever since that day in the training grounds… I’ve seen how you struggle to improve. And I must admit, it is… pathetic. ”

I frowned.

“Pathetic?”

Raphael sighed with feigned resignation.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, little mouse. Your effort is charming, but training alone won’t get you anywhere.” He took a step closer, tilting his head with that signature sly smile of his. “Which is why I’ve decided to offer you my help.”

I eyed him warily.

“You? Training me in swordplay?” I asked, incredulous.

“Exactly.” Raphael’s grin widened, that mischievous gleam in his eyes making it impossible to tell just how serious he was. “After all, it would be such a shame if my dear champion wasn’t up to expectations.”

“Why do you care if I improve?” I asked cautiously. I knew Raphael never did anything without a reason.

His smile sharpened.

“Because, little mouse, I’ve put you in charge of a good number of my legions. And they will obey your orders as if they were my own. If they see you as weak, if you fail… that would reflect poorly on me. And I simply can’t allow that. I’m only protecting my reputation. ”

I studied him, trying to decipher if there was something more behind his offer. But with Raphael, it was impossible to be sure. Still… I knew he was right. As much as I hated to admit it, if I wanted to survive in this place, I had to get better.

“…Fine” I said at last. “Train me.”

Raphael’s smile turned downright predatory.

“Oh, little mouse. You’re going to regret saying that.”

The training began immediately. Raphael wasted no time on warnings or unnecessary explanations. The moment I accepted his offer, he snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the room shifted.

The dark stone walls stretched outward, creating a vast, open space, and the floor smoothed over, gleaming like polished marble. Weapons lined the walls—swords, spears, daggers… but Raphael didn’t spare them a single glance. His eyes were locked on me.

“Begin” he ordered simply.

I didn’t wait for further instructions. I drew my sword and lunged.

But before I could even take a full step, Raphael moved.

Too fast.

His hand caught my wrist in an instant, immobilizing me with laughable ease.

“Too predictable.” His tone was almost bored. “You charge in without thinking, without measuring your distance. You’re handing me your next move.”

I gritted my teeth and yanked myself free, stepping back. I tried again, this time watching my footwork more carefully, but Raphael barely had to react—he simply lifted a single finger and redirected my blade like it was nothing.

“Faster” he chided, his smirk deepening. “Or is this really the best you can do?”

Something inside me snapped.

I channeled my magic, letting a surge of energy ripple through me, boosting my speed. I lunged again—

But Raphael was already waiting for it.

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue in amusement. “If you depend so much on magic, you’ll never improve.”

Suddenly, the air around me shifted. It became heavy. And in the blink of an eye, my magic was gone. Like it had never been there at all.

Raphael watched me with obvious satisfaction.

“See? If you only rely on this—” he waved a hand dismissively, as if magic was nothing more than a minor inconvenience “—someone stronger will take it from you. And then what will you do?”

I clenched my fists. But I couldn’t deny it. He was right.

I took a deep breath and attacked again —this time, without magic. My body moved on instinct, pushing forward with the raw strength of my legs. I aimed at unpredictable angles, shifting my stance at the last second.

For the first time, Raphael had to dodge instead of effortlessly parrying.

“That’s better.” His voice almost sounded… pleased.

We continued like that for what felt like hours. Every mistake was punished with a correction, every flaw in my stance was picked apart with insulting ease. Raphael never lost his arrogant smirk, but he also never stopped pushing me to my absolute limit.

But something bothered me.

A lot.

I stopped, panting, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Then, I glared at him.

“You know what’s funny?” I muttered. “We’ve been at this for hours, and not once have you actually attacked me.”

Raphael arched a brow, amused.

“Do you really think you’re ready for that, little mouse?”

“How would I know if you won’t even try ? ” I shot back, frustration bubbling over. “All you do is dodge, correct, criticize, but never fight me. Is it because you actually think I’m incapable… or because you’re afraid I might make you break a sweat?”

Raphael threw his head back and laughed. A deep, genuine laugh.

“Oh, little mouse, how adorable. ” He leaned forward slightly, that razor-sharp smile appearing—the one that always came before his mind games. “If only you knew how far you are from making me sweat…”

I gritted my teeth.

But before I could respond, he lifted a hand—cutting me off.

“Listen closely.” His tone turned serious. “I’m not attacking you because you’re not ready yet. If I had to fight you seriously right now, you’d be on the ground in less than a heartbeat. And trust me—” his eyes gleamed, sharp and certain, “—you wouldn’t even see the hit coming.”

My pride wanted to argue. But my logic forced me to shut up. Because, deep down, I knew he was right.

“But don’t worry.” Raphael tilted his head, watching me with a dangerous smile. “Before you realize it, I will start attacking. And that —” his grin widened, sharp as a blade “—will be the real training.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t look away. I knew he wasn’t joking.

“Oh, by the way, little mouse…” he added, that ever-present mocking glint in his eyes. “Have you noticed how long you’ve been here?”

My expression must have given me away, because his smile stretched wider.

“It’s been two weeks since you arrived in the Hells” he continued, arms crossing over his chest as he devoured my reaction with satisfaction. “Two weeks since you signed that contract.” His voice dripped with amusement, his gaze that of a predator toying with its prey. “So tell me—do you feel like you’ve adapted already? Or are you just beginning to understand what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

I took a slow, deep breath, forcing myself not to take the bait. I knew he was trying to shake me, knew he wanted to see how far he could push me before I broke.

But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I haven’t tried to break the contract, and I haven’t looked for a way to run.” I squared my shoulders. “That should answer your question.”

For a split second, something flickered in Raphael’s eyes—something that almost looked like… entertainment?

By the time I finally stopped, my breath ragged, my muscles burning , Raphael simply crossed his arms.

“Not bad for a first day” he admitted. “But you still have a long way to go, little mouse.”

I held his gaze. Tired as I was, I wouldn’t back down.

“Then we continue tomorrow . ”

Raphael’s grin sharpened, and for just a moment, I swore I saw a flicker of genuine interest in his expression.

“I like that attitude.”

And with that, he vanished in a crimson flash.

I let out a long sigh, running a hand over my forehead, feeling the sweat and exhaustion weighing down my body. I couldn’t deny it—training had been brutal. But it was necessary. I still had so much to improve.

I decided the best thing to do was take a bath in Raphael’s Restoration Pool. Not only would it cleanse me, but it would rejuvenate my body, soothing every aching muscle and preparing me for what was coming next.

After all, I still had to check in with Karlach and Wyll.

Karlach had been spending most of her time with Wyll, keeping him company in his cell—even though Raphael had allowed her to stay as a guest in the House of Hope. I couldn’t blame her. For Wyll, being locked up with nothing to do must have been hell—even for someone already in the Hells.

I sank into the warm water, letting the heat and magic do their work. A shiver of relief ran through me as I felt its restorative effects take hold, washing away exhaustion and soothing even the smallest ache in my muscles. I let my eyes close for just a moment, savoring the sensation.

“I definitely need to study this bath when I have time,” I muttered to myself. “If I can replicate it at home, Astarion will never want to leave it.”

I let out a small laugh at the thought, allowing, for just a moment, the tension of battle and training to melt away completely.

As soon as I finished, Greg appeared with a fresh set of perfectly folded clothes, placing them on a nearby bench with his usual dramatic enthusiasm.

“Here you are, Lady Moonshadow! Fresh garments, worthy of your station! I made sure they were as comfortable as possible. Although—” he leaned in slightly, his expression turning conspiratorial—“I could also acquire something more elegant, if you prefer. Perhaps an outfit befitting the great commander of the Hells?”

I shot him an exasperated look as I pulled on my clothes.

“Greg, I just need something functional.”

“As you wish…” he sighed with theatrical disappointment, though the playful glint in his eyes remained.

Dressed and ready, I headed straight for the prison wing.

To my surprise, Karlach and Wyll were sitting on the ground—completely engrossed in a game of cards.

Karlach frowned at her hand, clearly frustrated, while Wyll wore a triumphant smirk.

“Hey.” I greeted as I sat down beside Karlach, glancing at the cards in her hands.

Karlach let out a dramatic huff.

“Hey, soldier.” she replied, eyes still locked on her deck. “Good to see you, but right now, I’m in a life-or-death situation.”

Wyll smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Karlach. You have two options—surrender or accept your inevitable defeat.”

Karlach growled, glaring at her cards as if she could set them on fire with sheer willpower. I leaned in slightly.

“Need help?”

She turned to me with exaggerated despair.

“Can you make Wyll have a mysterious accident? Nothing too serious, just enough to let me win.”

“I can hear you” Wyll cut in, shuffling his deck with amusement.

I couldn’t help but laugh. For a moment, it was easy to forget where we were and everything that had led us here.

“So, what news do you bring?” Wyll asked, setting his cards down on their makeshift table.

“Well, today Raphael trained me.” I started, leaning back against the wall. “Apparently, he’s been watching me ever since I beat the hell out of that infernal in my legion. Says my attempt to improve is ‘adorable’—but pathetic.”

Karlach scoffed, clearly offended on my behalf.

“Pathetic? Oh, sure, like he could do any better…” she muttered sarcastically, crossing her arms.

“Well… actually, he can” I admitted, recalling just how humiliating it had been to realize how far I was from his level. “According to him, training alone won’t get me anywhere, so he’s decided to personally train me with a sword.”

Wyll and Karlach exchanged a glance. They didn’t need to say anything— the tension in their expressions said enough. They didn’t like the idea of Raphael being my teacher, but they also didn’t seem ready to argue about it.

“And what do you think?” Wyll finally asked. “Do you trust what he’s teaching you?”

I shrugged.

“Not like I have many options, do I?” I sighed. “Besides, he is good at what he does. I’m not going to turn down the chance to get better just because it’s him.”

Karlach grimaced, but didn’t push it. Wyll, however, shifted the conversation to something far more serious.

“And what about Mizora? Any news?”

I shook my head.

“She hasn’t taken the bait. No sign of her yet.”

Wyll frowned, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, a pensive look on his face.

“That doesn’t sit right with me. If Mizora hasn’t shown up yet, it means she’s planning something. And when Mizora plans something, it’s never good for anyone.”

Karlach slammed a fist against the table, frustrated.

“Damn it! What the hell is she waiting for? Is she just enjoying making us sweat?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she suspects it’s a trap” I said, crossing my arms. “But if there’s one thing we know about Mizora, it’s that she can’t resist an opportunity that benefits her. It’s just a matter of time.”

Silence settled over us for a few seconds. Then, Karlach let out a deep sigh and shot me a more curious look.

“So… what’s training with Raphael like? Is he as insufferable as I imagine?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Worse.”

Karlach burst into laughter, while Wyll shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The conversation flowed naturally after that. We talked about everything and nothing, as if, for a moment, we could pretend we weren’t trapped in this place—as if we could just enjoy each other’s company.

I spent the rest of the day talking with my friends, finally allowing myself to lower my guard for the first time in what felt like forever.

Despite everything—despite being stuck in this place—their presence made the burden easier to bear.

If Raphael had brought them here to tie me even more to this contract…

Maybe he had made a mistake.

Because as long as they were with me, I wouldn’t feel alone.

Chapter Text

The Moonshadow mansion was steeped in palpable sorrow. Tavaryan’s absence—dragged to the Hells with no hope of return—had left a void impossible to ignore.

For the past two weeks, Vaerion, Gale, and Astarion had obsessively studied Raphael’s contract, scrutinizing it from every possible angle, searching for even the smallest loophole. Astarion, with his past experience as a magistrate, analyzed every clause, hoping to uncover a legal technicality. Meanwhile, Vaerion and Gale explored any possible magical means to break the contract.

But time kept slipping away, and every page reviewed, every spell tested, only reinforced the bitter truth: Tavaryan was trapped in the Hells, and there was nothing they could do to bring her back.

Astarion let the parchment fall onto the table with frustration, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“This is a godsdamned trap. Raphael tied up every loose end. There’s no way out—not even a technicality we can exploit.”

Vaerion, brow furrowed, ran a hand through his hair, visibly exasperated.

“There’s always a way. We just have to keep looking.”

“And how much longer are we going to keep looking?” Gale interjected, his tone weary. “We’ve examined every line, every symbol, every possible magical connection. Raphael didn’t leave a single crack. No deal with a devil can be broken without consequences. We know this—we just refuse to accept it.”

Astarion clenched his teeth and slammed his fist against the table.

“I won’t accept it. I can’t accept it. We are not just sitting here doing nothing. If we have to go to the Hells ourselves, then that’s what we’ll do. But we are not leaving her there.”

Vaerion studied him in silence for a moment. Before all this, he had seen Astarion as a frivolous, selfish man—someone who cared for no one but himself. But now, watching him consumed by desperation, refusing to give up, made him rethink that judgment. Astarion wasn’t who he had assumed. He was willing to do anything for Tav. And though Vaerion hated to admit it… he was starting to respect him for it.

“I’m not saying we should give up” Vaerion said, his voice calmer now. “But the reality is, right now, we have no way to reach her. And if we act recklessly, we’ll only end up making things worse for her.”

Gale nodded, crossing his arms.

“We can’t act out of desperation. That’s exactly what Raphael would want. We need to think clearly. Until we find a real opportunity, the only thing we can do is wait—and strengthen ourselves for when the moment comes.”

Silence settled over the room, the weight of helplessness pressing down on each of them. But giving up was not an option.

“Sooner or later, Tavaryan will return” Vaerion finally said, his voice resolute. “And when she does… Raphael will pay for this.”

The air in the room grew even heavier as Gale, with his measured but firm tone, brought up the one topic they had all avoided since the day Tavaryan was taken to the Hells.

“When are we going to use the Wish scroll to cure Astarion?” he asked.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Astarion let out a bitter laugh—one devoid of humor.

“Funny that you bring that up. Considering that very same scroll is the reason Tav isn’t here with us anymore.”

His words were laced with venom, but not toward Gale—not even toward Raphael.

It was all directed at himself.

He sank into a nearby chair, staring at the table as if the grain of the wood held the answers he so desperately needed. His fingers intertwined, clenching tightly as a horrible sensation coiled in his chest.

To be cured of vampirism… That had been his goal for so long. The promise of sunlight, the freedom from this hunger that had chained him for centuries.

But now, with the opportunity right in front of him, the thought felt… empty.

Meaningless.

By the gods…

Tav had sacrificed herself to save him.

HIM.

Not the group, not the world, not some noble cause or a city in peril. No.

She had given up everything—her life, her future, her very existence—for him.

How the hell was he supposed to accept that?

How could he ever even consider going through with the Wish when the person who had risked everything for him was gone?

What was the point of walking in the sunlight if she wasn’t there to stand beside him?

What was the point of ridding himself of this insatiable hunger if she wouldn’t be there to share his first real meal in centuries?

What the hell was the point of freedom—

If Tavaryan wasn’t there to celebrate it with him?

Reality struck him with ruthless brutality.

He had always been someone who avoided commitments—labels, titles, long-term promises. He had never wanted to call it a relationship because he had always believed that kind of bond was nothing more than chains disguised as affection.

But now… now that he had lost her, he realized how utterly stupid he had been.

If he could trade places with her, he would do it without hesitation.

He would rather live an eternity chained, enslaved, suffering under the yoke of another master if it meant bringing her back.

He would rather burn in the Hells, devoured by the very devils that surely surrounded her now.

He would rather be reduced to ashes if it meant undoing what had happened.

Nothing he had ever wanted mattered without her.

Nothing he had ever desired was worth it if she wasn’t there.

Astarion felt his vision blur. His eyes—always so sharp, so full of mockery or defiance—now reflected only despair.

Why hadn’t he realized sooner how much of a fool he was?

She was his sun.

And now, all that remained was darkness.

He swallowed hard, feeling an impossible knot in his throat. He would give anything to hear her laugh just one more time. To see her looking at him with that fiery defiance in her gaze. To feel her warm hands on his lifeless skin.

The Wish scroll was still there, lying on the table. An object of infinite power, capable of reshaping reality itself with a single spell. Capable of granting him what he had always wanted.

But she was no longer here.

And that made it utterly useless.

If the gods were fair, he should have been the one bound to that damn contract with Raphael.

Not her.

She was light, strength—everything he had never been.

And now, she was trapped in a place where only suffering existed, while he was still here, breathing, walking, existing—

As if he had ever deserved this chance.

His jaw clenched, his gaze darkening with a resolve he had never felt before.

"I don’t want the damn scroll." His voice was low, but firm. He lifted his gaze, meeting Gale’s and Vaerion’s eyes—his own filled with an unyielding determination.

"Not without Tav."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with unbearable tension.

Gale frowned, his jaw tightening as he looked at Astarion like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"Do you even realize how absurd that sounds?" His tone, at first measured, began to harden. "Tavaryan sacrificed everything for that scroll. Everything, Astarion. Her freedom, her future… her life. The least you could do is not throw that sacrifice away."

Astarion narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening.

"You think I don’t know that?" he growled, slamming both hands on the table. "You think I don’t spend every second thinking about what she did for me? That it doesn’t torment me knowing she’s trapped in the Hells because she wanted to save me? Do you really think I can just accept this cure knowing she paid for it with her own soul?!"

Gale took a slow breath, as if trying to contain his frustration.

"That’s exactly why you have to use it" he insisted. "Tav didn’t do this so you could drown in guilt. She didn’t sign that contract with Raphael so you could now reject what she gave you through her sacrifice. If you don’t use the scroll, if you keep clinging to this ridiculous idea that you don’t deserve it, then you’ll have truly made everything she did for nothing."

Astarion slammed his fist against the table, his breath ragged with barely contained anger.

"This should never have happened! She shouldn’t have made that deal in the first place! I never wanted this, Gale!"

"But she did!" Gale shot back with just as much intensity. "And now you have a choice! You can either honor her decision or you can waste the only miracle she managed to get for you!"

Astarion fell silent for a moment, but his eyes still burned with fury and pain.

"I don’t want her miracle if it means she had to disappear for it," he whispered, his voice barely a thread of sound. "I can’t… just move on like this is what she would have wanted. Because I know it’s not."

Gale exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"You are insufferably stubborn…"

"Enough."

Vaerion’s voice cut through the air like a blade, immediately silencing both men.

Both Astarion and Gale turned toward him. Until now, the sorcerer had remained silent, watching their argument with a deep frown and narrowed eyes—like he had been carefully measuring every word, every reaction.

Vaerion crossed his arms, his expression stern and imposing.

" This isn’t something you’ll solve by yelling at each other" he said coldly. "Tavaryan isn’t here. But we are. Do you really think she’d want to see you two fighting?"

The air in the room remained thick with tension. Astarion glared at Gale, his gaze still defiant, but Vaerion’s intervention had cooled the argument just enough to stop either of them from raising their voices again.

Gale sighed, running a hand over his face, trying to steady himself.

"Just… think about it, Astarion." he said, his voice calmer. "You don’t have to decide now, but don’t reject something Tav fought so desperately to give you."

Astarion didn’t respond. He merely averted his gaze, his expression hard but his mind storming with emotions.

Vaerion looked at them both with sharp scrutiny before ending the conversation with finality.

"Get some rest." he ordered. "Tomorrow, we keep searching for a solution. And I won’t tolerate any more pointless arguments."

Without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving Gale and Astarion in heavy silence, each lost in thoughts neither was ready to confront.

Meanwhile, in the garden of the Moonshadow estate, the night breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves with a melancholic murmur. Under the silver light of the moon, Eleonora sat on one of the swings, her gaze lost in some distant point beyond the tangible world. Her posture was serene, but her expression carried a profound sorrow, one that had settled in her chest for the past two weeks.

Beside her, Rasca and the Owlbear cub remained restless. Tav and Astarion’s faithful hound rested his muzzle on Eleonora’s lap, letting out quiet sighs, as if trying to comfort her. His dark eyes watched her with a mix of concern and unwavering loyalty, unable to understand why his mistress wasn’t there, why the air in the estate felt so heavy with grief.

During the first days after Tav’s disappearance, Rasca had searched every corner of the mansion—sniffing the floors, the doors, her room, even the clothes she had left behind. He had run through the hallways, wagging his tail in the hope of finding her, waiting for her to appear at any moment with a smile and a gentle pat on his head. But as the days passed with no sign of her, his energy faded. Finally, he settled beside Eleonora, as if he had come to understand that she would not be returning soon, that the only thing left to do was wait.

The Owlbear cub, now Shadowheart’s companion, also seemed uneasy. It stayed close, its large eyes blinking with uncertainty as it tilted its head from side to side, looking between Eleonora and Rasca, as if waiting for some signal that would explain the sorrow hanging over the mansion.

A few steps away, Shadowheart and Caelan stood in silence, keeping vigil. Shadowheart, arms crossed and brow furrowed, cast hesitant glances at Eleonora, torn between giving her space or trying to speak to her. Caelan, on the other hand, stood with his hands in his pockets, his face serious but with a quiet tension behind his gaze. He, too, had spent weeks trying to find the right words for his mother, but none of them ever felt enough.

Eleonora finally lifted a hand and gently stroked Rasca’s head. The dog let out a soft sound, curling even closer, seeking the warmth and familiarity of his missing mistress. The Owlbear did the same, emitting a low, guttural noise as it nestled beside her.

"They miss her too…" Shadowheart murmured, breaking the silence at last.

Eleonora closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a trembling sigh. She didn’t reply, but her other hand settled on Rasca’s fur, squeezing gently with quiet affection. No matter how strong she tried to be, her daughter was gone, and with each passing day, the weight of her absence became harder to bear.

The sound of water cascading over the flowers broke the stillness of the Moonshadow estate’s garden. Under the moonlight, two figures worked in silence, tending to the grounds with meticulous care. But despite their tasks, their hushed voices slipped between the murmurs of the night wind.

"Did you hear what happened to the young lady?" the human man whispered while watering the roses, his tone feigning indifference.

The half-elf beside him sighed, lowering his gaze to the vines he was carefully adjusting.

"Yes, I heard… It’s a tragedy, for the family and for the entire house. I’ve never seen Lady Eleonora so devastated, not even when the young mistress left for her first adventure…"

The human scoffed, his tone bordering on mockery.

"I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. She got herself into this mess, didn’t she? Signing a pact with a devil… What a stupid idea! If you ask me, from the things I’ve heard, the young mistress was never very sensible to begin with."

His colleague shot him a warning glance, but the human didn’t even notice.

"What did the Lord and Lady expect? It’s their fault for raising such a spoiled child! How can anyone in their right mind sign a deal with a devil? That’s the kind of stupidity you expect from a commoner, not the heir to a noble house."

The half-elf shot him a second warning look, standing up slightly.