The forest smelled of damp moss and decaying leaves, its stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. Sena led the trio, her sharp eyes scanning the path ahead, her hand always ready to grab the dagger strapped to her belt. They were deep in the forests of Jaedite, a place she hadn’t set foot in for nearly a year—not since she’d been abducted by the nautiloid and thrust into a battle against the Absolute. Back then, she had been chasing whispers, scraps of old intel that suggested a long-forgotten fortress might be hidden somewhere near these woods. She had barely begun her search before it was interrupted. Now, she was picking up where she’d left off, though the memory of her previous failures gnawed at her.


    Behind her, Gale’s robes swished as he navigated the uneven terrain, while Astarion walked with the kind of careless grace that suggested he was merely strolling through a noble’s garden.


    It had been awhile since any of them had spoken.


    “I must say,” Gale finally ventured, breaking the silence, “you’re remarkably adept at dragging two grown men into the wilderness while saying so little. A feat few have accomplished, I assure you.”


    Sena glanced back, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a ghost of a smile. “You make it sound like I’m holding you hostage.”


    “Well, aren’t you?” Astarion chimed in, his voice lilting with mock indignation. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a proper bath? My poor hair is positively weeping.” He ran a hand through his pale curls for emphasis, though they gleamed as pristine as ever. “At least tell us there’s something worthwhile at the end of this little trek. Treasure, perhaps?”


    Sena turned back to the path, shaking her head with an exasperated chuckle. “No, no treasure, I’m sorry to disappoint. But I did tell you both I could do this on my own.”


    “Ah, but then who would protect you from all the dangers of this dreary forest?” Astarion asked. “Gale’s spells are useful, I suppose, but you’d miss me terribly, wouldn’t you?”


    Astarion rolled his eyes with an exaggerated scoff.


    Sena laughed too, shaking her head as she turned back to the path. Despite their constant banter, she knew the boys had grown to genuinely care for one another. The trials they had faced would have been impossible without the connection they now shared, even if none of them would admit it outright.


    The final gnoll roared in fury, charging toward them, but Sena and Astarion moved in unison. Their daggers flashed like twin reflections, each strike calculated. Sena darted low, her blade cutting deep across the gnoll’s side with a grace that bordered on effortless. The creature reared back, swinging wildly, but Astarion was already there, slipping to the opposite side with uncanny speed. His dagger drove cleanly into its exposed ribs, the two rogues moving in a deadly, synchronized dance of steel and shadow.


    Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, their instincts perfectly aligned. As the gnoll swung in one final, desperate arc, Sena ducked beneath it, her dagger carving a clean line across its throat. Blood sprayed outward, vivid against the forest’s dim light, as the creature collapsed lifelessly to the ground.


    <hr>


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Sena’s pace remain unchanged. “You needed it.”


    “And that’s all it took?” Astarion asked, his voice quieter now, almost curious.


    “Yes,” Sena said simply.


    Astarion blinked, his smirk softening as he tilted his head slightly. “You know, that’s quite the habit you have, saving those of us who are entirely unworthy of it.”


    “You’re welcome,” Sena replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though she didn’t look back.


    They’ve been here.


    The ruins faded from view, dissolving into the edges of her mind. In their place came a memory, vivid and all-consuming. She wasn’t in the ruins anymore—she was back on that cold stone altar, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood. His hands gripped her throat, pinning her down. The dagger gleamed in his hand, its blade catching the dim light as whispers rose all around her—low and rhythmic, in a language that clawed at her mind.


    This is it.


    Sena’s grip tightened on the hilt, and heat spread up her arm. The tremor in her hand betraying her calm facade. “It’s… I don’t know. I’ve never felt it like this before.”


    The faint crimson light emanating from the blade flared brighter, but it was the ruby stone embedded in the hilt that burned the brightest. The pull grew stronger, insistent, as though the dagger itself was urging her forward.


    She stepped closer to the chest, the weapon vibrating faintly in her grip. “It’s pulling me,” she muttered, almost to herself.


    At the center of the chest lay a medallion—crafted of dark, tarnished metal with a blood-red crystal embedded in its heart. Surrounding the medallion were several scrolls, their parchment aged and brittle, marked with arcane symbols and language that was unrecognizable. Amid the scrolls lay a small envelope, sealed with wax bearing the same curling sigil of an “S” she had seen carved into the stone.


    Sena nodded absently, her focus locked on the object in her hand. “I know. I can feel it.” Her voice wavered, caught between awe and dread. She set it down carefully and picked up the letter, her pulse quickening as her eyes fell on the wax seal.


    To those who serve the blood and seek the altar,


    The blood remembers what was lost.


    It calls to what was stolen.


    Use the crimson key, and the blood will bring you home.


    In Her name.


    A


    Him,” Astarion repeated, his tone devoid of mockery. “And who, exactly, is ‘him’?”