《Here Be Dragons (Isekai into BG3 with Skyrim Dragonborn Powers)》


 Prologue: From The Frying Pan

    This was it, I thought. I did it. I finally did it.


    In the course of less than three weeks of intensive gaming, I have out-competed thousands of players for a new World Record -- the fastest 100% completion rate in the history of the Extended Edition Skyrim Full-Dive VR.


    The 2040s saw a golden era of gaming. 2044''s introduction of full-dive VR capsules combined with NeuraLink feedback and AI enhancement allowed players to experience full virtual reality that was quite close to the real thing. Many of the classic games -- Skyrim included -- have seen full VR remakes vastly larger and more beautiful than the original. The dedicated AI simulator faithfully reproduced the sights, sounds, and even tactile sensations while controlling the monsters and NPCs in a way that was so realistic, the player often felt like they were genuinely in another world.


    Now, standing at the top of the Throat of the World, my character was taking in the beauty of this classic Skyrim world for what was likely the last time... after all, there was simply nothing left to do!


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    My character was a Nord Vampire-Lord¡ªHarald Alrek, as I¡¯d named him. A towering, unstoppable force, an ¡°eternal ruler¡± in every sense. He clawed his way to the top of the Thieves¡¯ Guild, becoming a Nightingale and Guild Master. Took over the Dark Brotherhood, becoming Listener. Walked into the College of Winterhold and left as Archmage. He tore through Skyrim, fighting in the Civil War for the Nords, even going so far as to kill Ulfric Stormcloak and steal his throne¡ªjust to spite him, he finished the job with a simple iron spoon instead of his own blade. He crushed the Aldmeri Dominion in the Civil War Victory DLC, single-handedly destroying entire armies of the Elves and forcing them to withdraw from Skyrim forever. He sided with Serana, crushed the Dawnguard, and put an end to Harkon. Traveling to Solstheim, he briefly put up with Miraak¡¯s nonsense, before taking him down hard -- within his own dimensional lair no less -- to prove who the real Dragonborn was.


    Then, finally, came the final battle¡ªAlduin, the World-Eater -- truly an apocalyptic threat foretold to consume every soul in the world, and even the Gods themselves... yet another threat destroyed by his hand. Harald fulfilled his destiny, lived up to the prophecy, and saved not just Skyrim but the entire in-game universe.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    And what did he do after that? Ran errands for random townsfolk. Hunted down low-level bandits. Got stuck with meaningless, mind-numbing tasks. Every achievement -- no matter how small or insignificant -- was completed. Every herb harvested. Every meal cooked. Every potion crafted. Every corner of the map explored. Every dungeon cleared. Every Sweetroll (and every other bit of junk) stolen. Every bandit and monster slain. Every glitch and mechanic exploited to the maximum, until his skill and stat levels far exceeded the usual cap; until a casually forged or enchanted kitchen utensil could easily take down a Dragon (something he chose to do not only for the achievement challenge, but the sheer ridiculousness of the act).


    By the end of the challenge, every single skill, shout, spell, and ability has been acquired and mastered to its completion, and hundreds of Dragon souls were absorbed... yet, now that I was finished, the task felt meaningless. Empty.


    I shook my head just thinking about it. No wonder the Dragonborn would go mad¡ªno matter what they did, no matter how legendary the feats were, nothing ever really changed. I traveled from land to land, through frozen tundra, forests, swamps, and sharp mountain peaks.... and used the power of the Thu¡¯um, Vampiric Powers, and vast command of Forging, Alchemy, Archery, and Magic to crush every bit of opposition. Yet now, there was simply nothing left to do. Nothing left to accomplish. No-one left to impress.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    "And when his task was finally done, he stood alone at the Throat of the World¡ªthe last Dragonborn in an empty, endless land, with neither beast nor soul in sight. And so..."


    I mentally directed my Avatar forward, watching, in first person, as he took his final steps¡ª


    "The Legendary Dragonborn leapt from the Throat of the World¡­ and fell to his end."


    I closed my eyes and savored the spectacular sensation of falling -- which was truly exhilarating, feeling as though I went skydiving in the real world. The new NeuraLink interface provided realistic sensations of vertigo, rapid motion, and a refreshing breeze of cold air against my face. The mountain was tall, and my stats were mighty enough for a truly impressive leap -- and thus, the fall went on.


    And on.


    And on.


    And on, for quite awhile.


    And then the smell in the air changed to one of sulfur.


    And my world went white.

 Into The Fire!

    The air in Avernus shimmered with an oppressive heat that seemed to warp reality itself. The sky overhead was a tumultuous canvas, perpetually swirling with hues of ember-orange and bruised violet, casting a surreal glow over the desolate landscape. The atmosphere was thick with the acrid scent of scorched sulfur, each inhalation searing the lungs and serving as a cruel reminder of the realm''s infernal dominion.


    The ground underfoot was a treacherous expanse of jagged obsidian shards and razor-sharp quartz crystals, remnants of ancient volcanic upheavals. Traversing this terrain was perilous; each step threatened to slice through the toughest of boots, and the uneven surface made progress laborious. Scattered across the landscape were bubbling tar pits, their viscous surfaces occasionally belching noxious gases that added to the miasma permeating the air. Interspersed among these were lakes of molten lava, their fiery contents casting a hellish light that danced across the horizon. Salt flats, formed from the crystallized tears of the damned, stretched out in patches, their gleaming surfaces a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness.


    The oppressive environment was alive with sound. Distant, anguished screams echoed across the plains, mingling with guttural roars of unseen beasts locked in eternal torment. The cacophony was punctuated by the sporadic clash of steel, suggesting ceaseless battles waged just beyond the veil of sulfurous haze. Occasionally, the ground would tremble as massive fireballs, seemingly born from the churning sky, hurled themselves toward the surface, exploding upon impact and leaving smoldering craters as testament to their fury. These fiery projectiles were not random; they appeared to track movement, making any journey across Avernus a deadly gamble.


    However, not all forms of life found the environment hostile. Insects, for instance, positively thrived in this hellscape. Swarms of biting flies buzzed incessantly, their relentless assaults adding to the misery of any who dared traverse the land. Hellwasps, grotesque and oversized, flitted through the thick air, their nests hidden in the crevices of the tortured terrain. Stirges, bat-like creatures with bloodsucking proboscises, lurked in the shadows, ready to latch onto the unwary and drain their lifeblood.


    Dominating this particular section of the forsaken landscape was one of Zariel''s several palace complexes -- this one, a massive basalt citadel that spanned an area of at least five square miles. Its towering walls were a grotesque tapestry, festooned with the partially burned bodies -- and souls -- of those who had the misfortune of making the Archduchess their enemy. Many of these unfortunates were even still alive -- if one could call it that -- their agonized wails audible from up to a mile away, serving as a grim warning to all who approached. The citadel''s architecture was a testament to brutalist design, with high turrets reinforcing the formidable walls, each one manned by vigilant devils of various ranks. The fortress was in a constant state of reinforcement, with legions of infernal engineers laboring ceaselessly to erect new fortifications against the ever-present threat of invasion.


    The region surrounding the citadel was equally inhospitable. Within a mile of the fortress, ten-foot-high gouts of flame erupted from the ground at regular intervals, casting an eerie, flickering light that danced across the barren plains. A thick, acrid smoke enveloped the area, obscuring vision between 500 feet and two miles from the citadel, making navigation treacherous. The pervasive smell of charred flesh hung heavy in the air, and the faint sound of tormented screams could be perceived from up to nine miles away, creating an atmosphere of unrelenting dread.


    This was the first layer of the Nine Hells, Avernus¡ªa realm where despair was woven into the very fabric of existence, and where the landscape itself seemed to conspire against all who dared to tread upon its cursed soil.


    Karlach stood before the immense blackened doors of Zariel¡¯s throne room, her formidable silhouette casting an elongated shadow in the flickering glow of hellfire sconces. The oppressive air of the citadel pressed against her skin, thick with the scent of brimstone and the faint, lingering wails of the damned. Her skin, tinged with a permanent infernal glow, bore the scars of past battles, each mark a testament to the brutal existence she had been forced to endure. The infernal engine embedded within her chest hummed, pulsing with relentless energy¡ªa caged beast that granted her formidable power at a steep personal cost.


    Before the Hells claimed her, Karlach had been a warrior in Baldur¡¯s Gate, born to Pluck and Caerlack Cliffgate. She grew up in the Outer City, leading a modest but happy life despite the hardships. Her parents'' untimely deaths left her to navigate the city''s treacherous streets alone. In her struggle to survive, she found employment as a bodyguard for Enver Gortash, a rising figure in the city''s criminal and political circles. Initially lured by the promise of both respect and excellent pay, Karlach developed a deep admiration for Gortash, who entrusted her with his life and made her feel valued. However, this trust was unceremoniously betrayed when Gortash sold her to the archdevil Zariel, exchanging her life for the funds to further his ambitions. In Avernus, Zariel replaced Karlach''s heart with an infernal engine, transforming her into a soldier to fight in the Blood War. For ten. F**ucking. Years. She served as Zariel''s champion (toy soldier?) (plaything?). Her current existence defined by relentless combat and survival, and Karlach wasn''t terrible at what she did.


    Her fingers tightened around the haft of her battleaxe, a massive weapon of brutal craftsmanship. Its jagged edges were inscribed with infernal runes that pulsed in rhythm with her own heartbeat. The weight of the axe was familiar, a constant in the ever-shifting chaos of her existence. Each mission she undertook was a means to an end, a way to channel her rage and defiance against the forces that had torn her from her former life. Though freedom remained an elusive dream, the heat of battle provided a semblance of purpose, a reason to persist amidst the torment.


    Karlach knew better than to keep Zariel waiting, but still, she took a breath before going inside ¡ª a vestige of her mortal habits, a small act that connected her to the woman she once was. The person who had laughed with her parents, who had roamed the streets of Baldur¡¯s Gate with youthful exuberance, seemed like a distant memory. Yet, in these quiet moments, she clung to the fragments of her past, fueling the constantly simmering rage of her resolve to one day reclaim her freedom.


    As Karlach stepped into the grand corridor leading to Zariel''s throne, the oppressive heat of Avernus seemed to intensify, pressing against her infernal skin. The walls, carved from obsidian and adorned with tormented, writhing souls, reflected the flickering flames of the hellfire sconces, casting eerie shadows that danced malevolently. Each step she took echoed ominously, a reminder of the weight of her existence in this infernal hierarchy.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Midway down the corridor, a figure emerged from the shadows: Mizora, the cambion who served as one of Zariel''s most trusted agents. Mizora''s appearance was both alluring and intimidating. Her fiery-red hair, adorned with gold and ruby ornaments resembling a twisted tiara, was neatly tucked behind pointed ears. Pale blue skin contrasted sharply with her purple lips, and coal-black eyes with glowing red pupils bore into Karlach with a mix of amusement and disdain. Four elegantly curved horns protruded from her forehead, complementing the large, leathery wings that folded gracefully behind her, adding to her imposing presence. She wore a simple yet elegant blue dress cinched at the waist with a gilded belt, the fabric clinging to her form in a manner that was both tasteful and suggestive.


    Mizora''s lips curled into a sly, poisonous smile as she regarded Karlach. "Well, if it isn''t Zariel''s favorite pet, gracing us with her presence." Her voice was smooth, dripping with condescension.


    Karlach''s grip tightened around her battleaxe, the infernal runes pulsating in response to her simmering anger. "Mizora," she acknowledged curtly, striving to keep her voice steady.


    The cambion''s eyes gleamed with malicious delight. "Off to receive another special assignment, are we?" She stepped closer, her wings rustling softly. "It''s truly astonishing how low standards have fallen when a mere tiefling is entrusted with tasks of importance."


    Karlach met Mizora''s gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I serve as I''m commanded."


    Mizora chuckled, a melodious sound laced with venom. "Of course, ever the obedient soldier." She leaned in, her hot breath ticklling against Karlach''s ear. "Just remember, no matter how many missions you complete, you''ll always be a pawn in a game far beyond your comprehension."


    With that, Mizora stepped back, her wings unfurling slightly as if to emphasize her superiority. "Do try not to disappoint our mistress."


    As she sauntered away, the scent of brimstone lingering in her wake, Karlach exhaled slowly, the encounter leaving a bitter taste. The intricate web of court politics and the constant jockeying for favor among Zariel''s inner circle were at least as treacherous as the battles she faced on the front lines. In this hierarchy, her status as a tiefling¡ªa mere mortal tainted with infernal blood¡ªrendered her perpetually inferior in the eyes of true devils like Mizora.


    Steeling herself, Karlach continued down the corridor, each step a testament to her resilience. She had survived the torments of Avernus and the machinations of its denizens for this long; she would not be cowed by the likes of that Bitch.


    Zariel¡¯s throne loomed at the far end, a monstrous construction of jagged black iron, fused bone, and what looked like petrified celestial wings, each one frozen in a pose of agony. The structure seemed to pulse with malevolent energy, as though feeding off the despair of those who stood before it. Skulls of fallen warriors, some demonic, some angelic, had been grafted into its form, their hollow eye sockets flickering with residual embers of long-lost souls. The air around the throne crackled with raw power, distorting the space like the heat ripples rising from Avernus¡¯ scorched plains.


    The Archduchess of Avernus sat upon it, her very presence exuding a terrifying blend of celestial wrath and infernal dominion. Her once-lustrous golden armor had darkened, warped by the corruption of Hell¡¯s touch, but it still bore echoes of its former divine craftsmanship. Fiery veins pulsed through the metal, like lava flowing through the cracks of a dying world. The sword strapped at her side was no mere weapon¡ªit was an executioner¡¯s promise, humming with an energy that felt both holy and blasphemous.


    Once, Zariel had been a celestial of resplendent beauty, a champion of justice, a beacon of divine power. Now, she was something else entirely¡ªa being caught in the cruel balance between divinity and damnation, her presence a manifestation of war itself. Her wings, once pure and pristine, were now tattered remnants of what they had been, their edges charred and featherless, more akin to jagged banners of war than instruments of flight. And yet, even in their ruined state, they spread behind her like an impending storm, a lingering testament to her former glory.


    To stand before her was to feel the crushing weight of both Heaven¡¯s judgment and Hell¡¯s fury. The very air burned in her presence, suffused with an oppressive force that made it difficult to breathe. Every word, every motion, carried the gravity of an oath bound in blood and fire. Before Zariel, there was no room for hesitation, no space for weakness. Only unwavering obedience¡ªor annihilation.


    Karlach stepped forward and knelt in supplication, the sound of her armored boots and knees echoing off the obsidian walls. Around her, devils of varying ranks stood like sinister statues, their glowing eyes tracking her every movement.


    ¡°Karlach.¡± Zariel¡¯s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. ¡°You are to lead a mission.¡±


    The tiefling inclined her head in respect. ¡°What¡¯s the task, my lady?¡±


    Zariel¡¯s burning gaze fixed upon her. ¡°Something has happened in Tiamat¡¯s domain.¡±


    A hush settled over the room, even among creatures who thrived in chaos. The mention of Tiamat, the formidable dragon goddess imprisoned within Avernus, commanded attention.


    Zariel continued, her tone devoid of uncertainty. ¡°An explosion. Massive. A mushroom cloud visible from nearly every corner of Avernus. Worse, scrying magic fails us. Our diviners are blind to the event.¡± Zariel leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. ¡°I will not tolerate unknown variables that interfere in my Blood War. You will take a team of cambions and investigate. Report back with everything you find. I will find a way to turn whatever happened to my advantage. Or destroy it.¡±


    Suppressing the questions that bubbled within her, Karlach nodded once, firm. ¡°Yes, mistress. I¡¯ll get it done.¡±


    ¡°See that you do.¡± Zariel¡¯s voice carried the weight of command and the promise of consequences. ¡°Dismissed.¡±


    Turning on her heel, Karlach strode out, her mind already racing. This was an assignment fraught with danger¡ªsomething powerful enough to shake the very foundations of Avernus, something so immense that even Zariel¡¯s reach could not yet grasp it. Tiamat was no mere dragon, no common beast of scaled arrogance; she was a Lesser Goddess (emphasis on the Goddess) in her own right, bound in Avernus only through the will of greater forces. That anything, anything, could unleash such devastation in her domain was unthinkable. That it could do so without leaving a trace for Hell¡¯s greatest diviners to follow was nothing short of terrifying -- perhaps even to Zariel herself. Karlach wasn''t being sent to investigate because she was stronger, more trusted, or somehow more capable than the pure-blooded devils of Zariel''s court. This time, she was being sent because she was expendable.


    And yet, beneath the weight of grim acceptance ¡ª that this was almost certainly a scenario leading to a horrific death¡ªsomething flickered in Karlach¡¯s chest. Not hope, no, she wouldn¡¯t dare call it that. Hope was a fragile thing, something that broke when you needed it most. But maybe, just maybe, this mission would lead to something different. An unknown this big meant change, and change meant possibilities.


    She didn¡¯t let herself dwell on it. She couldn¡¯t. But, as she strode from Zariel¡¯s presence, the infernal heat rolling off her skin in waves, the tiniest ember of (not)hope inside her had ignited -- and refused to be extinguished.

 Awakening (Part 1)

    Pain. All-encompassing, bone-deep agony that radiated through every fiber of my being. I awoke gasping, my breath ragged, my body convulsing with the aftershocks of some incomprehensible torment. My skin burned, slick with blood and soot that reeked of sulfur, the acrid scent clawing its way down my throat with each inhale. My limbs ached, the sensation akin to molten lead having been poured into my very bones, solidifying into an ever-present, torturous weight. And my head¡ª


    Gods above, my head.


    It felt like something had burrowed into my skull, gnawed away at my brain, and then replaced the missing matter with writhing, flesh-eating maggots. Each pulse of pain sent white-hot shards of agony through my temples, turning every thought into an uphill battle against the onslaught of suffering. I groaned, shifting slightly, and realized with dawning horror that I was bound¡ªheavy iron chains wrapped around my wrists, my ankles, even my neck. Cold, black metal dug into my skin, enchanted sigils flaring to life at my slightest movement, whispering curses in a language that slithered along the edges of my mind.


    I tried to move, to take stock of my surroundings, but everything around me felt wrong. The walls, if they could even be called that, were slick and pulsing, living flesh stretching taut over an alien structure. A dim, bioluminescent glow illuminated the chamber in shades of violet and sickly blue, the light refracting off the glistening mucus that dripped from the ceiling in slow, viscous globs. The air was humid, dense, filled with the sickly-sweet scent of decay and something else¡ªsomething I couldn''t quite place.


    A wet, organic squelch echoed as I shifted again, and, due to latent, awakening Gamer''s instincts -- I realized that I recognized where I was.


    A Mindflayer pod.


    No. Nonononono. A nightmare. It had to be.


    Unbidden, panic surged, momentarily overriding the pain as I thrashed against my restraints. The chains rattled ominously, but they did not break. My breath came in shallow, frantic gasps, heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal. How did I get here? What had happened? Where was I before this?


    D????????????r??????????a??????????????g????????????o????????????????n????????????? ??????????????S????????o?????????u?????????????l????????????????? ???????????????????A????????b??????s?????????????????o?????????r????????????????b????????????e??????????d???????????


    Then, the memories hit. Like a dam bursting, an unrelenting flood of information crashed through my mind, a cacophony of knowledge and skill that wasn¡¯t mine¡ªat least, not in the way memories should be.


    I bent forward, choking on bile as my stomach twisted in protest. My body convulsed violently, and I vomited onto the fleshy floor, the acrid taste of stomach acid burning my throat. I tried to grasp onto something¡ªanything¡ªthat could make sense of what was happening. But instead of remembering a life, I was remembering... techniques. Knowledge. Mastery.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was pure skill memory. Not episodic memory, the recollection of past events, moments lived and experienced. No, this was something else. Pure semantic memory¡ªraw data, unmoored from personal history, poured into my mind with brutal force. I did not remember living, but, suddenly, I knew things. I knew how to move, how to fight, how to wield weapons with a mastery that should have taken lifetimes. I knew the properties of metals, the intricate recipes for potions that could reshape reality itself. I knew magic, its weave, its flow, how to bend the very Universe to my will.


    And this wasn¡¯t just any level of knowledge. This was... excessive. Impossible. My mind reeled as the truth and its implications sank in.


    I was in the body of my Skyrim character.


    The absurdity of the realization clashed violently with the visceral reality of my situation. But the knowledge was there, undeniable, seared into my skull like a new supernova in a dark night sky. Raw. Gargantuan. Undeniable. My character had been a walking impossibility, a being of limitless power twisted by glitches and exploits into something beyond even immortal comprehension. My Smithing skill alone had created common "iron daggers" capable of dealing five digit damage -- cleaving through Elder Dragons in a single swing. My alchemy had birthed potions that could render enemies immobile for weeks on end -- and I mean weeks of real world time, not the compressed time of the game. My spells could bend reality itself. My armor could withstand cataclysmic forces. And now, those skills¡ªthose impossibilities¡ªwere part of me.


    My breath steadied. The pain was still there, but something else was taking its place¡ªan intoxicating sensation of power. It coursed through my veins, vast and boundless, yet controlled. The agony in my muscles began to fade, replaced first by a cool numbness, then by something dangerously close to euphoria. I clenched my fists, feeling strength ripple through my frame, the once-overwhelming torment dulled to a mere whisper.


    And then, instinctively, I reached out¡ªnot with my hands, but with my mind.


    The menu was there, waiting for me like an eager puppy. I realized that is was there from the start; lingering at the edges of my consciousness, always ready to be accessed. I pulled it forth, and with a blink, the familiar interface materialized in the back of my mind.


    Stats¡ªcompletely, utterly broken. My health, stamina, and magicka were all displaying negative fifteen digit numbers due to stack overflow. My carrying capacity was... equally absurd. Entire armories worth of equipment, entire libraries of spell tomes, entire lives worth of gathered wealth lay within my inventory.


    I exhaled, flexing my fingers. I had access to everything I had ever collected. Every sword, every piece of armor, every ingredient, every artifact. My mind was able to touch it all -- my magnificent hoard, all there, waiting for me. Waiting to be used.


    But, first things first -- the chains. I simply willed them into my inventory, and, in an instant, they were gone, whisked away as effortlessly as discarding a wooden plate in Skyrim¡¯s UI. My wrists tingled where they had once been bound, but they were free.


    A casual tap from my hand, and the pod''s lid exploded outwards. Was I this strong in the game, or was this a function of translating my absurd stats into a real life avatar? This would require further testing. Now, to get cleaned up... a wave of destruction magic exited my body, incinerating every bit of filth covering me in a blink of an eye. A following wave of Illusion and restoration magic left me smelling as fresh as dew on the grass in the Swiss Alps. (Who needs soap, anyway?)


    Now, for the clothing.... My inventory contained countless outfits¡ªDaedric armors, forged with tormented souls and enchanted with world-defying magics that positively burned with unholy energy. Dragonscale gear that shimmered with draconic might. Ebony plate, Glass mail, Elven finery. All of them appeared on my body instantly with but a thought. But, after trying them all, I made a decision that felt almost instinctual. Shirtless. Silk pants and a lucky fishing hat.


    I straightened my imposing 6''4 Nordic frame, rolling my shoulders as I adjusted to the overwhelming reality of my new existence. This was no game. This was not some fleeting dream or simulation. I was here, in a Nautiloid, in this body, in this world.


    And now, it was time to find out what that meant.

 Awakening (part 2)

    The chamber around me pulsed with a disquieting vitality, its walls a seamless blend of organic tissue and alien architecture. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the sharp bite of ozone. Beneath my feet, the floor undulated subtly, as if the entire structure were a living, breathing entity. The dim, bioluminescent glow emanating from the walls cast eerie shadows, highlighting the intricate network of veins and arteries that crisscrossed the surfaces, pulsating in rhythm with an unseen heartbeat.


    The subtle tremors coursing through the chamber confirmed my suspicion: I was indeed aboard a Nautiloid, the bio-organic ship used by the Mind Flayer Empire. In the 2040s, virtual reality had evolved to unprecedented heights, allowing for fully immersive experiences in both remastered classics (like Skyrim!) as well as dynamically-generated, AI-managed campaigns within the Dungeons & Dragons multiverse. I myself had ventured through numerous such VR simulations, including, of course, confronting the eldritch horrors of mind flayer colonies as well as their dreaded ships. Yet, the visceral reality of this place¡ªthe moist warmth of the air, the faint, almost imperceptible whisper of the ship''s consciousness brushing against my mind¡ªwas far beyond any VR simulation I had ever experienced.


    As I surveyed the chamber, my gaze fell upon several pods identical to the one I had emerged from. Each was a grotesque blend of sinew and membrane, throbbing gently as if nurturing the life forms within. Approaching the nearest pod, I peered through its translucent casing and felt my breath catch. There, suspended in a viscous fluid, was Karlach¡ªthe fierce warrior tiefling from Baldur''s Gate 3 (is THAT where I was now? Well, this certainly narrowed things down a bit!). Her iconic muscular form was unmistakable, adorned with battle scars that told tales of countless skirmishes. One of her horns was conspicuously absent, a jagged stump remaining, and embedded in her chest was the famous infernal engine, its ominous glow casting flickering shadows across her serene face.


    Determination surged within me. Of course, I wouldn''t abandon her to the whims of fate! Who knows if my presence here altered things enough to doom her before she could even escape Avernus? And... what about the other BG3 characters... were they here as well? No matter, I would soon find out....


    Calmly approaching the pod, I didn''t bother to look for a seam or a latch, knowing I would find none. Instead, I directly plunged my hand through the outer chitin and into the membrane beyond. The sensation was surreal. I recalled reading something from the old Superman comics, where he described living in a "world made of cardboard." It was a monologue about the burden of his own strength, about the constant restraint he had to exercise in everything he did¡ªfrom shaking hands to opening doors¡ªlest he tear the world apart with an unintentional flex of his muscles. Before today, I never thought of Superman as a particularly relatable character...


    But this? This wasn¡¯t even cardboard.


    This was thinner. Weaker.


    I was now living in a world made of paper bags.


    There was almost no perceptible resistance. My fingers met the membrane of the pod, a peak material created by the genius of Mind Flayers'' organic technology, and it simply¡ªparted. it wasn''t like tearing fabric, or even wet parchment. No, it was more like dipping my hand into a basin of warm jelly, where the surface tension had simply given up the moment I touched it. The edges of the pod peeled back effortlessly, splitting with a wet, sucking sound as though the material itself had surrendered to my will.


    Gods, I hadn¡¯t even tried. I had expected resistance, had prepared for a fight against whatever esoteric biotech the mind flayers had used to construct this thing. Instead, I had casually torn through the lid of the pod like a child ripping open a particularly desirable Christmas present.


    Just how strong was I now?


    For all the power I had wielded in Skyrim, it had always been constrained by the game¡¯s limitations, bound by the quirks of its engine. But here¡ªhere there were no such restrictions. No prohibition on literally carrying an entire city''s worth of weight inside my inventory. No scripts to dictate what I could and could not break. This was my reality now. And the adjustment was more than a little shocking.


    The lid of the pod tore away with a wet, sucking sound, and Karlach''s unconscious form slumped forward, her weight collapsing into my arms.


    For a moment, I stood there, cradling her. The heat radiating from her infernal engine was palpable, a stark contrast to the cool dampness of the chamber. Her skin, marred with the evidence of her trials, was warm and surprisingly soft. Gently, I shook her, but she remained unresponsive, her breathing shallow and steady. Concern gnawed at me. I reached out, gently placing my hand against her cheek, and channeled an ever-so-subtle pulse of Restoration magic.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Her reaction was immediate and violent. Karlach''s eyes snapped open, blazing with fiery intensity, and she jerked upright, nearly knocking me off balance. Her gaze looked around wildly, like that of a cornered animal, before abruptly locking onto mine, a maelstrom of emotions flickering across her features¡ªconfusion, recognition, and a flicker of hope.


    "You?" Her voice was hoarse, tinged with disbelief.


    "Me." I offered a wry smile, spreading my arms in a gesture of mock grandiosity. "You can call me Harald."


    She blinked, processing my words. "Karlach," she replied, her voice gaining strength. "But... how did you¡ª"


    "Proper introductions will have to wait," I interjected gently, glancing around the chamber. "We need to reach the helm and ensure we''ve left the Hells behind. We were in Avernus, yes?"


    Before she could respond, a spike of something lanced through my skull. I winced, and in that instant, our minds connected. Visions flooded my consciousness: Karlach''s harrowing battles in the infernal landscapes of Avernus, her desperate yearning for freedom, the relentless pursuit by fiendish entities. Emotions intertwined with the images¡ªher fear, her hope, her indomitable will to survive.


    As the connection ebbed, I found her staring at me, eyes wide with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "You saw..."


    I nodded. "I did. And I promise, we''ll get through this together."


    She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Then let''s move, Soldier. Though... do you happen to know the way?"


    ...


    ...


    I did not, in fact, "know the way," but I had some ideas.


    I closed my eyes and cast Clairvoyance. In Skyrim, it was a mere gimmick¡ªa convenience spell that conjured an ethereal mist leading the player to their next objective marker. But here... here, in reality... I ... was not prepared for what was about to happen.


    The moment the spell activated, my consciousness exploded outward. In an instant, I felt everything¡ªan omniscient torrent of sensation, knowledge, and sheer raw awareness flooding my mind like an unstoppable tidal wave. The Nautiloid''s vast, labyrinthine corridors unfolded in my mind''s eye -- twisted and spiraled in their grotesque, alien symmetry, a fusion of pulsing organic flesh and rigid, glistening metals, exuding a presence that was neither dead nor alive. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting in an unsettling rhythm, their surfaces slick with mucus-like ichor that dripped from them in slow, deliberate strands.


    Everywhere, I sensed the skittering of Intellect Devourers, their grotesque, brain-like bodies pulsating with latent hunger as they slithered and scuttled across the ship¡¯s membranous flooring, their hooked claws clicking rhythmically like some nightmarish metronome. The silent, gliding forms of Mind Flayers drifted through the corridors, their elongated, cephalopod-like heads turning in unison as they communicated in eerie, voiceless whispers¡ªmurmurs that coiled through my mind like tendrils of smoke, their echoes slipping past my defenses, seeking, probing.


    I saw the trapped prisoners as they writhed in their grotesque, pod-like prisons, their bodies twitching as though gripped by feverish nightmares, minds barely tethered to reality, their thoughts tangled in a suffocating web of psychic domination. Some screamed, though their mouths never moved; their agony, their fear, their despair was projected outward, an unending chorus of suffering reverberating through the ship¡¯s very structure.


    On the top deck, Lae''zel battled furiously, her gleaming silver blade slicing through the chitinous horrors and tiny - but nasty -- hellish imps that swarmed her, her face locked in a grim, unrelenting focus. In a chamber not far from the Helm, Shadowheart pounded against the inside of her own pod, her fists bruising against the fleshy walls as she fought to free herself, her expression a mixture of terror and defiance. Much further away, in the shadowed recesses of the ship, I glimpsed Gale and Wyll¡ªboth somehow having escaped their own pods, but stranded in opposite corners of the Nautiloid, their paths fraught with danger, they were much too distant for me to reach in time. The ship was alive with struggle, each soul caught in the desperate dance between survival and doom.


    Beyond the Nautiloid, my awareness stretched even further. The chaotic, war-torn skies of Avernus opened before me in a vast panorama of fire and carnage, where pursuing Githyanki warriors, clad in gleaming armor, hurtled forward atop snarling red dragons with dogged persistence. Their swords shimmered with psionic energy, their battle-cries lost beneath the roaring maelstrom of battle as they closed the distance with the ship with terrifying speed, their hatred for the Illithid burning brighter than the flames of Hell itself.


    But my awareness did not stop there. It surged outward, beyond the ship, beyond the battle, expanding across the tormented expanse of Avernus itself¡ªa world suffocated by agony and flame. Suddenly, I felt the jagged obsidian spires jutted from the cracked, blistered ground; bathed in the rivers of molten fire carving their way through landscapes of torment; smelled the air thick with acrid smoke; heard the wails of the eternally damned, their twisted forms shackled in chains that shimmered with infernal runes. My awareness expanded towards the sky churning with an unholy mixture of burning clouds and streaks of hellfire, mixing in the oppressive glow of an ever-present blood-red sun, merging with the nightmarish shadows across the landscape...


    And still, my perception continued to stretch¡ªmiles upon miles, further than I had ever thought possible, until the very limits of my consciousness brushed against the fringes of things best left unknown and unknowable. I should have been overwhelmed, my mind torn apart by the sheer immensity of what I was perceiving. And yet... I remained whole. My will, my self, held firm against the raging tide of perception, refusing to break, refusing to bow.


    With sheer force of determination, I wrestled the spell back under control, redirecting its torrent of knowledge inward, funneling it toward my singular goal. Before my eyes, an ethereal path materialized¡ªa shimmering, luminous trail leading forward, guiding me through the madness of this vessel.


    "Of course! Follow me. This way!"

 Meeting Laezel

    As we moved through the Nautiloid¡¯s winding corridors, the grotesque walls continued to pulsate and glisten, an eerie reminder that we were inside something living, something alien. Karlach walked beside me, her every motion confident and purposeful, despite the oppressive strangeness surrounding us. I couldn¡¯t help but marvel at how effortlessly we communicated.


    How was this possible?


    The initial memory dump had left me with an absurd arsenal of languages¡ªover a dozen tongues from Tamriel alone, including the guttural hissing of Argonian, the lilting syllables of Khajiit, and all manner of Mer dialects. On top of that, several variations of Daedric and Aedric were now second nature to me, and I could even decipher the ancient, twisting runes of the Dov with perfect clarity. Yet, none of these bore any resemblance to Faer?n¡¯s ¡°Common¡± tongue. And it was certainly not English.


    Yet, here I was, understanding every word Karlach spoke as if I had been speaking it my whole life. The realization gnawed at me. Was it some sort of magic? An inherent gift from the parasite in my skull? A trait imbued by my passage into this reality? It was a question that would need answering, but not here, not now. Not while we were quite literally in Hell. I pushed the thought aside for later investigation.


    Instead, I turned my attention to something more immediately relevant¡ªKarlach¡¯s equipment.


    ¡°Do we have time to enhance your gear?¡± I mused aloud, though part of me already knew the answer.


    She shot me a skeptical glance. ¡°You offering me a makeover, Soldier?¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    But as quickly as the thought had come, I dismissed it. There were too many unknowns. Unlike in the game, time was not an abstract resource to be ignored at my whim¡ªthis ship could crash at any moment, and we had no idea how much time remained. We could hardly afford to stop for a full gear swap while the threat of catastrophic mission failure loomed overhead.


    More than that, I still didn¡¯t fully understand how my best weapons translated to this world. Many of the blades in my inventory were beyond absurd¡ªdamage numbers so high they were effectively meaningless, likely capable of splitting atoms if the physics of this place followed my old world¡¯s logic. Some, if I was being entirely honest, might be capable of cutting space itself. Handing out weapons of that caliber willy-nilly, before I had a firm grasp of their effects in this world, was reckless at best and suicidal at worst.


    Still, there was a middle ground to explore. I had perfectly good base-game Skyrim weapons, relics that would have been considered formidable but not necessarily world-breaking. A perfect candidate stood out in my mind¡ªthe Drainblood Battleaxe.


    A weapon of spectral nature, it had an ethereal quality that set it apart from mundane steel. In Skyrim, it had been found deep in Labyrinthian, wielded by long-dead Draugr warriors¡ªremnants of an age long past. The axe itself was ghostly, translucent, its edges wreathed in a faint blue glow that pulsed in rhythm with an unseen, ancient force. Its wickedly curved blade was slightly longer than a standard war axe, tapering into a vicious hook that gleamed with the essence of the souls it had stolen. Even as I pictured it, my mind touched upon it within my inventory -- I could feel its cold power¡ª while not quite alive, this was a weapon that fed, draining the life force of its victims and using it to sustain its wielder.


    Perhaps Karlach might like it?


    ¡°Hey Karlach, let¡¯s slow down a second,¡± I said, stopping in my tracks.


    She turned, brow raised in mild amusement. ¡°What, tired already? And here, I assumed you had better stamina!¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Not quite. Just thought you might want to try out a new battleaxe.¡±


    Well, that got her attention. She tilted her head, smirking. ¡°You say the nicest things, you know that?¡± She gestured vaguely. ¡°Not that I¡¯d say no, but, unless I¡¯ve gone blind after whatever the Mind Flayers did to me, we¡¯re both walking around empty-handed. Where exactly are you gonna pull an axe from?¡±


    I smirked.


    And then, with a mere thought, the Drainblood Battleaxe materialized in my hand.


    Karlach¡¯s eyes widened as she took an involuntary step back. ¡°What the¡ª?!¡±


    The weapon shimmered, its translucent blade catching the dim bioluminescent light of the Nautiloid¡¯s grotesque halls. The faint purple-indigo glow pulsed hypnotically, as if the weapon itself was breathing. Tendrils of ethereal mist curled off its surface, dissipating into the air as I casually spun it with a practiced ease before tossing it to her.


    She caught it midair, though her grip faltered slightly under the unexpected weight -- or, rather, lack thereof. As she steadied herself, she took a few experimental swings. The blade cut through the air with a whispering hum, trailing ghostly afterimages in its wake.


    ¡°Damn,¡± she muttered, turning it over in her hands. ¡°This thing feels alive.¡±


    ¡°Well, you''re half right.¡± I folded my arms, watching as she adjusted to the weapon. ¡°It steals the life force of anything you cut with it. Keeps you on your feet longer.¡±


    Karlach¡¯s expression shifted into something resembling childlike wonder. She swung again, harder this time, and the air itself seemed to bend around the blade.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she grinned. ¡°I like this.¡±


    As we continued forward, the Nautiloid''s corridors stretched in an ever-twisting maze of unnatural geometry, where walls and floors seemed to shift subtly, the very architecture of the ship pulsing and rearranging itself as if alive. Organic filaments lined the passageways, throbbing softly with a sickly purple luminescence, giving the impression that we were walking through the veins of some colossal, otherworldly entity. The air was thick, damp, filled with the acrid scent of alien mucus and something metallic¡ªperhaps blood, perhaps something far worse.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    We passed dark alcoves where fleshy pods like the ones we had emerged from lined the walls, some cracked open and emptied, their previous occupants nowhere to be seen, others still sealed with dimly glowing veins of psionic energy coursing through them. I could see faint, twisted shadows of figures trapped inside, their distorted faces frozen in a silent agony, their consciousness hanging by a thread under the Mind Flayers'' dominion. These people were too far along in their Mind Flayer transformations and -- perhaps I was being selfish -- but I had no desire to experiment in seeing whether I could help them with our current time crunch.


    Occasionally, all manner of curiosities littered the space between¡ªIllithid tablets etched with cryptic, pulsating glyphs, which -- at least in the game -- transmitted knowledge directly into the reader''s mind. I also saw occasional strange mechanical devices fused with organic matter, their true function unknowable at a glance. Rather than step forward to investigate every time such an object drew my attention, I simply lifted a hand and willed them toward me. The familiar pulse of Telekinesis surged through my mind, and the items lifted from their resting places, hovering for a moment before gliding smoothly into my outstretched palm -- where, with a simple thought, they promptly disappeared into my arbitrarily large inventory.


    Ever curious, Karlach''s sharp eyes followed the process with wonder, but she remained silent, her only reaction a slight widening of her gaze, and her lips curving in quiet amusement. She could tell this was something beyond ordinary magic, even around these parts, but she seemed content to let me explain it in my own time.


    One by one, I collected anything that seemed remotely useful, the small thrill of acquisition tingling the awakening Gamer instincts in the back of my mind. As a true hoarder, kleptomaniac (ahem...completionist), and undisputed leader of the Skyrim Thieves Guild, I would definitely grab anything not nailed down... and, for that matter, probably a few things that were.


    At last, we reached the open air¡ªor what passed for it in the hellscape of Avernus. The burning sky stretched overhead, painted in sickly hues of ember and ash, the heavy scent of brimstone clinging to every breath. The deck of the Nautiloid was a battlefield, littered with corpses both alien and humanoid, viscera steaming in the oppressive heat.


    And then, as expected, she appeared.


    Lae''zel.


    Her form was rigid with discipline, every movement calculated as she strode toward me, silver greatsword in hand, her eyes burning with zealotry. "Abomination¡ªthis is your end."


    Karlach stiffened beside me, the battleaxe still humming with spectral energy in her grip, ready to lunge to my defense. But I lifted a hand, halting her. My gaze shifted back to Lae''zel, and the emotions I felt were... not fear. Not caution. But exasperation.


    Her stance was all wrong; her weight poorly distributed. This was... insulting!


    I sighed, resisting the urge to rub my temple. "Your stance is much too rigid, and you place way too much weight on your right leg. All your enemy has to do is enter your guard and¡ª"


    With an enraged snarl, she swung.


    Predictable.


    I moved smoothly, almost lazily. With a flick of my wrist, I brushed the flat of her blade aside and glided into her guard. My foot hooked her overburdened right leg, sweeping her balance, while my palm delivered an exceedingly gentle tap against her breastplate.


    She fell, but before she could hit the deck, I caught her by the forearm¡ªthe one gripping the sword, of course¡ªkeeping her from collapsing completely while simultaneously ensuring she had no leverage to counterattack. All of this had taken, perhaps, a second, something that felt agonizingly slow to me, but then, I was very careful in holding back to avoid injuring the poor girl.


    For the briefest of moments, I considered just how absurd my skillset had become. What was once dictated by game mechanics and dice rolls now flowed through me by instinct, more natural than even breathing. This was no mere combat training, but something on another level entirely.


    Lae''zel''s eyes widened in stunned disbelief. But before she could react further¡ªbefore she could even fully comprehend what had just happened¡ªour parasites connected, forcing an unbidden link between our minds.


    In that suspended heartbeat between action and reaction, our parasites intertwined, forging an unbidden psychic bridge between our minds. The world around us¡ªthe burning skies of Avernus, the cacophony of battle¡ªfaded into a muted backdrop as our consciousnesses collided.


    Lae''zel''s thoughts surged into me, a torrent of raw emotion and fragmented memories. I glimpsed the austere corridors of a githyanki creche, where she had been molded into a consummate warrior, her every step shadowed by the relentless expectations of her kin. Her life had been a crucible of discipline and combat, each victory a testament to her unyielding will, each failure a scar etched deep into her psyche.


    I felt her visceral fear and revulsion toward the mind flayers, the monsters she had been trained to despise and destroy. The irony of her current predicament¡ªa potential transformation into the very abomination she loathed¡ªgnawed at her core, fueling a desperate need to prove herself, to reclaim her honor. This mission was not just a matter of survival; it was a crucible to reaffirm her identity and worthiness among her people.


    Through her eyes, I saw myself not as an ally but as an enigma, a potential threat. Her initial aggression stemmed from a place of deep-seated mistrust, a defense mechanism honed by years of navigating the treacherous hierarchies of githyanki society. Yet, beneath that hardened exterior, there was a flicker of uncertainty, a questioning of the rigid doctrines she had been fed since birth.


    As our minds melded, I reached out, trying to convey a sense of trust, a reassurance that we were allies, not adversaries. Yet, I failed to take into account an important detail: all Gith had a measure of psychic ability -- and, unfortunately for Lae''zel, this time, her increased sensitivity did not prove to be a benefit. The connection did not remain narrow as was the case with Karlach. The moment it widened, Lae''zel, for lack of a better term, began falling into me¡ªher consciousness a mere raindrop getting lost in the vast, endless ocean of my own.


    I felt her struggle -- not physically, of course, but mentally -- as she clawed for purchase against the overwhelming tide of my being. Her psionic training, formidable by mortal standards, was nothing compared to the sheer weight of presence and power that now defined me. Completely unbidden, echoes of a thousand battles surged forth¡ªfire and frost, claw and wing, the deafening roar of dragons, the thrill of felling beasts whose very names had been lost to time. The reverberations of an eternity¡¯s worth of skills swelled up from the depths of my mind... it was all a maelstrom of power and memory she could not hope to withstand. Lae''zel''s mind reeled within mine, caught between defiance and awe, her thoughts -- and very sense of self -- threatening to scatter like Sakura petals in a storm.


    To my great embarrassment, for the briefest of moments, I considered letting her see more anyway¡ªto let her glimpse the full context of the situation we found ourselves in... But no, that would be entirely too much. I cared for her mental well-being just as much as the physical -- probably more so, in fact, as restoring a body was easy enough with magic. Acting with lightning speed, I decisively severed the link, pulling myself back, allowing Lae''zel to regain her footing in her own mind.


    She staggered away, breath coming in shallow bursts, her golden eyes locked onto mine in something between shock and¡ªwas that a flicker of fear? Or... was that a blush of arousal? The air between us had shifted, irrevocably altered. She knew now, on a level beyond words, that I was neither her enemy nor something she could ever hope to simply strike down. I saw her warring with herself, with the instincts drilled into her since childhood. This was beyond her training, beyond anything she had ever conceived possible. And yet, beneath it all, something deeper lingered. A tension. A question unspoken. The barest hint of fascination laced with apprehension, Lae''zel''s warrior¡¯s instincts now tempered with an uncertainty she did not yet know how to name.


    I exhaled, adjusting my stance to something deliberately casual. If Lae¡¯zel was reeling from what had just happened, I needed to at least act like everything was normal¡ªhoping she would adopt the same demeanor, at least until we escaped from Hell.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I said, keeping my voice calm, measured. ¡°If you want, I¡¯d be happy to give you some pointers on fighting later. But for now, you¡¯ve been infected by the Mind Flayers just like us. You¡¯re more than welcome to come with us to the Helm of this ship and tag along back to the Material Plane.¡±


    I glanced toward Karlach. ¡°By the way, this is Karlach.¡±


    Karlach gave a lopsided grin and lifted the spectral axe in greeting. ¡°Hey there, muscly. Gotta say, you put on one hell of a show just now.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel remained still, processing everything. I had no doubt she would have a lot to say later, but for now, she simply nodded stiffly. The air between us remained charged with something undefined, but at least she wasn¡¯t trying to kill me anymore.


    That was a start.

 The Thuum and Shadowheart

    And so, we moved on, following the directions granted by Clairvoyance to carefully navigate the upper deck.


    Karlach walked with an easy confidence, her new spectral battleaxe resting lightly against her shoulder, the faint mist curling off the blade in mesmerizing tendrils. Every so often, she would glance at me out of the corner of her eye, as if still trying to process exactly what I was. Still, when our eyes met, she smiled an easy, confident smile -- whatever she thought I was, definitely met with her approval. Lae¡¯zel remained silent, stalking behind me with a practiced warrior¡¯s gait, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her lingering wariness.


    Then, without warning, the air filled with the frenzied screeches of winged creatures. From the dark recesses above, a gargantuan cloud of hellish imps poured down in a chittering, screeching swarm. Each was a twisted thing of dark red sinew and claw, their small, leathery wings barely keeping them aloft as they descended upon us like starving vultures. Individually, they were no threat. But their sheer numbers turned them into a writhing tide of claws, fangs, and flame.


    I reacted instinctively. With a calm exhale, I prepared to unleash a Thu¡¯um. The ancient language of the dragons rose to my lips. In retrospect, I should have considered leaving such experimentation for later, for I barely got through the first syllable.


    ¡°Fus¡ª¡±


    To my enhanced perception, the world itself seemed to... hesitate, freezing and briefly going monochrome as the Word of Power continued to vibrate in the air, a sound that Did Not Belong in this reality. For the briefest of moments between instants, but also -- somehow -- for an endless, blind eternity, the sound hung there, suspended, as if the fabric of existence itself was unsure what to do with this new command.


    And then¡ª


    F?????????U??????????????S??????


    The World responded.


    Like an overly-enthusiastic guard beast, finally unleashed from its chain and eager to please its master, the single syllable erupted, amplified beyond what even I would have considered excessive.


    A shockwave ripped outward, a veritable tsunami of raw force that violently detonated through the top deck of the ship. The imps closest to me didn¡¯t just fly backward¡ªthey were pulverized. Bones shattered and organs pulped as the Imps'' fragile bodies came into contact with pure, unrelenting force. The further imps, those just outside the immediate cone of devastation, "merely" had their wings snapped, their bodies flung into one another in a tumbling chaos of shrieking flesh. Even those on the periphery were sent flying head-over-heels, deafened and in shock, like fish exposed to a dynamite blast, they lost their mobility to an uncontrolled tumble.


    The very walls of the Nautiloid quivered, even the ship''s giant tentacles flinching away in response to the impossible force I had just unleashed.


    ...


    I had, once again, miscalculated.


    ...


    Caught in the periphery of the blast, Lae¡¯zel stumbled. Her stance, stable and unyielding mere moments ago, faltered. She tilted backward, dangerously close to toppling over the edge into the abyss beyond the platform, her eyes widening in fear and panic.


    Without thinking, I reached out with my mind. My telekinesis seized the thick metal of her armor midair, halting her fall in an instant, while my other hand sent forth a burst of restorative magic to heal any damage I may have inadvertently caused. She hovered for half a heartbeat, utterly weightless, before I gently set her back onto stable footing.


    Lae¡¯zel stared at me, stunned. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. This process repeated two more times as the air between us crackled with something indescribable. The ship, and the very Hell surrounding us, seemed strangely quiet in the wake of the unleashed Thu¡¯um.


    After a few seconds, Karlach broke the tension by letting out a low whistle. ¡°Okay. Gotta say, Soldier¡­ that may have been a bit of an overkill.¡±


    I ran a hand through my hair sheepishly, exhaling slowly. ¡°That... doesn''t usually happen. I feel stronger since I woke up, and I really need to learn how to moderate the new strength.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel straightened, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off the momentary loss of composure. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but there was a new edge to it.


    ¡°You wield power you do not yet control.¡± She glanced at the last remnants of the imp swarm, their bodies twisted and broken. ¡°That is dangerous.¡±


    I calmly met her gaze, my own unreadable. ¡°Sorry about that -- new Universe; different rules. I promise I¡¯m working on it.¡±


    She gave a slow nod, then turned, motioning toward the path ahead. ¡°Then let us reach the Helm before you bring this ship down around us.¡±


    On the plus side, the Imps gave us a wide berth after the earlier demonstration of force. Unchallenged, we quickly ascended further into the Nautiloid, climbing rope-like organic tendrils that shifted unpleasantly under our weight, their slick surfaces pulsing like the living veins they probably were. The climb brought us to a familiar chamber at the ship¡¯s upper level, its walls lined with pulsating pods filled with writhing forms¡ªimmobilized thralls, their blank eyes staring outward, trapped in an existence neither alive nor dead.


    And then there was her.


    A pod at the center of the room contained a woman thrashing violently, her face twisted with frustration. The dim, bioluminescent light of the Nautiloid¡¯s grotesque interior cast shifting shadows across her pale skin, highlighting the contours of her high cheekbones and the delicate arch of her brows. Strands of deep black hair, almost blue in the unnatural lighting, floated around her face, half-matted to her skin by the disgusting moisture of the pod¡¯s organic interior. Her striking dark-violet eyes, wide with desperation, glowed faintly as they locked onto me, burning with a mixture of defiance and urgency.


    She was armored¡ªthough what she wore seemed more ceremonial than practical. Her dark leather-and-metal chestpiece was adorned with subtle engravings that hinted at a religious role. A silver pendant -- the sigil of Shar (way to be discrete, girl!) rested against her collarbone, gleaming dully under the pulsing lights of the chamber. The edges of her armor bore intricate filigree, once pristine, but now marred by the oozing organic residue of her imprisonment. The entire pod pulsed with an eerie, sickly luminescence, its flesh-like walls contracting around her as if eager to do unspeakable things to its captive.


    She pounded against the translucent membrane with all her might, her slender but toned arms straining against the fleshy prison. Her voice, though still somewhat composed, was beginning to show hints of desperation.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°By the Gods, Please! Please get me out of here!¡±


    I hesitated for only a moment before taking a calculated risk. Looking directly at her, I spoke her true name.


    The name that should not be known at this stage of the timeline -- buried, as it was, under multiple layers of memory loss and divine tampering. Shadowheart¡ªborn Jenevelle Hallowleaf¡ªwas not merely another prisoner of the Nautiloid. She was also a prisoner inside her own mind. Ostensibly a loyal disciple of Shar, though she didn¡¯t even realize the full extent of what that meant. A stolen child, raised within the oppressive walls of the hidden cloister dedicated to the Dark Lady. Stripped of her past and reforged in the doctrine of secrets and shadows. She was meant to be a tool, a weapon, but, most importantly, Shar''s vanity project created for the sole purpose of satisfying the Dark Lady''s egoistical and sadistic whims. Originally a Selunite child, the Sharran clergy had kidnapped and trained her for years. Directed by their wicked Goddess, they made her torture her own parents -- over and over again -- before repeatedly erasing those memories. They made her parents watch as she was slowly molded into a devout servant who would act on their orders without question, her faith seemingly unwavering even as she cast herself further into darkness. But despite all that indoctrination, something had always resisted. Some spark of light deep inside Shadowheart simply refused to die, no matter how many times the Darkness attempted to snuff it out. A hint of kindness to animals. An admiration for the beauty of a flower. A whisper of a life before Shar. A name she could no longer recall. A family she had lost to the schemes of gods and mortals alike.


    And now, here she was, trapped, pleading to be freed, oblivious to the truth that had been stolen from her.


    The weight of that knowledge weighed heavily upon my thoughts. This woman was a prisoner in more ways than one. She had been tortured, robbed of her identity, shaped into something unnatural... and her mind had been bound in ways few could hope to unravel. If she had any chance at reclaiming what was hers, it would not be through brute force, nor through simple revelations¡ªit would be a slow unraveling, the careful peeling back of layers of deception.


    Which meant my goal was clear: I had to help her. How soon she would accept that help... was another matter entirely.


    ¡°Jenevelle? Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll get you out right away.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel stiffened beside me, her mouth silently opening as if to object¡ªbut those words died in her throat as I strode forward and casually ripped through the pod¡¯s outer shell with my bare hands. The fleshy membrane peeled away just as easily as last time, the organic seal crumbling under my grip. With an indifferent flick, I tossed the lid aside, letting it clatter onto the floor.


    As the remnants of the pod sloughed away, Shadowheart lurched forward unexpectedly, her balance lost in the sudden release. Instinctively, I caught her, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist as she collapsed into my chest. Her armor was cool to the touch, despite the warmth radiating from her body, her breath ragged and uneven as she found herself momentarily overwhelmed by the situation.


    For a few seconds, neither of us moved. The pulsing glow of the Nautiloid¡¯s sickly bioluminescence cast strange shadows across her face, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead, the delicate curve of her features. Her body was tense, muscles coiled like a spring, as though she expected some unseen threat even now. Her fingers brushed against my forearm, hesitant, as though some deep, instinctual part of her recognized something she couldn''t quite name.


    Beneath the filth, she smelled of damp leather and the faintest traces of lilac and shadow, a contradiction as fitting as the woman herself. Her dark violet eyes searched mine, still clouded by lingering confusion, flickers of instinct and lost memories warring just beneath the surface. There was something vulnerable in the way she remained still, something at odds with the hardened edge she had been taught to wear like armor.


    And then, as if suddenly remembering herself, she stiffened, taking a half step back. She looked up at me, her expression uncertain, perhaps somewhat thrown off by the... unceremonious manner of her rescue, before her voice broke the charged silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but my name is Shadowheart. Do¡­ do you know me?¡±


    I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. ¡°My mistake,¡± I said smoothly, offering a small, knowing smile. ¡°You reminded me of someone I used to know.¡±


    She studied me warily, her dark eyes searching mine for something she couldn¡¯t quite name. But, before any of us could say more, something stirred between us. An unwelcome, foreign sensation pressed against my mind. Our parasites connected.


    The world around us faded, or perhaps it expanded¡ªit is difficult to describe with mere words where one sensation ended and another began. There was no forceful invasion, no jarring intrusion of thoughts the way one might expect from a foreign presence. Instead, or connection started slow, almost sensual -- making itself known like the deceptively gentle, warm undertow -- tropical water rising around the ankles, gradually pulling us deeper into an unfathomable sea.


    At first, I only allowed only the barest trickle of connection, ensuring the link remained narrow and tightly controlled, careful not to overwhelm her. Shadowheart''s mind was already extremely fragile¡ªlayers of memory loss and divine tampering had left horrific fractures in her psyche, and I knew instinctively that revealing too much too soon could shatter what little stability she had left. So I kept things tight, limiting the flood of information to something manageable and reassuring.


    My presence gently pressed against hers, wrapping around her mind like a protective embrace. I projected warmth, safety, a promise unspoken¡ªyou are not alone. In response, her mind shuddered, hesitating, as though unused to the idea of trusting anything that wasn¡¯t cold and calculating. I felt flickers of fear, confusion, but beneath them, something else¡ªhope. A part of her wanted to lean into the connection, to accept whatever answers might come from it.


    I showed her little, only fragments¡ªundefined glimpses of a world beyond her reach.


    A sunlit glade.


    A night sky alight with man-made wonders, untouched by mystic darkness.


    The forgotten laughter of a happy family.


    All fleeting sensations, nothing whole enough to be grasped, but enough -- hopefully -- to stir something deep inside her.


    And yet, Shadowheart resisted. There was a wall in her mind, built not by her own will, but by something older, something vast. The disgusting stink of Shar was everywhere, woven into her thoughts, permeating into her very sense of self. Even now, she clung to it, though not entirely by choice. I could feel the weight of that binding, the insidious darkness whispering in her thoughts, reminding her of what she was supposed to be. In the back of my mind, carefully away from the link, I allowed myself to truly hate Shar in that moment, quietly promising myself that such a violation would not go unanswered...


    Still, the link held. And for the first time, Shadowheart felt that she was not alone in that darkness.


    Then, something unexpected¡ªa flicker of recognition. Not of me, but of something familiar. A sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu, like remembering the shape of a face from a dream. Her mind instinctively recoiled, uncertain, teetering on the precipice of something she didn¡¯t understand.


    And so, I quickly pulled back, retreating just enough to let her breathe within her own mind. The warmth remained, the reassurance lingered, but I allowed the connection to loosen, the weight of my presence to lessen and retreat.


    The moment passed, and suddenly we were back on the Nautiloid, the chamber around us once again alive with the pulsing, sickly glow of the ship¡¯s grotesque interior. Shadowheart took a sharp breath, stepping further away from me, her expression unreadable, her hands flexing as if to ground herself in reality.


    She was shaken, but not broken. Something had changed between us, though she was not yet sure what. Perhaps, in time, she would come to understand. For now, she simply stared at me, wary yet undeniably affected by what had just transpired.


    An unimpressed voice broke the silence. Lae¡¯zel let out a sharp exhale, crossing her arms.


    "Perhaps you should have mated first before entangling your minds. Or is this what passes for courtship among your kind? Clutching each other in desperation while battle still looms?" Her tone was biting, but there was something else there¡ªan edge of something unspoken, something perhaps closer to¡­ jealousy?


    Shadowheart arched a brow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh, I¡¯m sorry. I thought your people just beat up their potential mates and let the strongest one walk away?" She flicked an invisible speck of dust from her glove. "I suppose, for a Gith brute like you, it''s hard to tell the difference between friend and foe when everyone in your tribe is always busy trying to hurt or kill each other.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s hands tightened around her sword in rage. Karlach quickly stepped between the two, letting out a loud laugh, clapping a hand against her hip.


    "Alright, alright, let¡¯s save the rivalries for later, yeah? While no one''s sprouting tentacles yet, we still need to get out of Avernus before things get really interesting."


    Shadowheart blinked. "Wait. Avernus? As in the First Layer of the Hells? That Avernus?"


    Karlach grinned wryly, crossing her arms. ¡°That¡¯s right! Welcome to Hell, sweetheart. Hope you packed light.¡±


    Shadowheart¡¯s expression twisted, realization dawning. ¡°I¡ª I didn¡¯t realize¡­¡± She exhaled sharply, steadying herself. ¡°No wonder everything feels¡­ wrong.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel huffed, turning on her heel and pointedly stalking forward. I loudly cleared my throat. ¡°Lae¡¯zel ¨C the Helm is actually that way.¡±


    She didn¡¯t have the decency to look embarrassed.


    Shadowheart let out a quiet sigh, rolling her eyes before falling into step beside me.


    In the momentary maneuver, her fingers twitched toward something within the wreckage of her ruined pod. Truly, her subterfuge was masterfully done, a mere flicker of movement¡ªsmall, deliberate. The Astral Prism. She seized the artifact swiftly, tucking it into her belt when she thought no one was looking.


    Except, I was paying attention. For a fraction of a second, our eyes met, and she knew I had seen.


    I said nothing, of course.


    For now.

 The Real Predator

    As we prepared to advance toward the Helm, I turned to my companions, considering the battles that likely awaited us.


    "Before we proceed," I began, "would either of you like a new weapon? Something more suited to the challenges ahead?"


    Karlach let out a chuckle, hefting her spectral battleaxe with an exaggerated flourish. "Oh, he''s serious," she said, amused by the skeptical looks Shadowheart and Lae''zel were giving me. "That''s how I got this thing! He just¡ªbam¡ªhanded it to me like it was nothing."


    Shadowheart frowned. "Handed it to you? But... where exactly did it come from?", she asked, pointing at my shirtless form. "Those muscles are quite large, but they aren''t well suited for obscuring hidden storage compartments."


    Lae''zel scoffed, arms crossed. "We have no time for nonsense. We must hurry and take control of this ship before we all turn into ghaik."


    Karlach grinned wider, her red eyes glinting with mischief. "I dunno what to tell you, but he asked if I wanted a new battleaxe, and then... poof! It was in my hands. You should humor him, trust me!"


    Shadowheart glanced at her current armament¡ªa standard-issue mace, worn from use and exposure. "Well, as long as you''re offering... I could certainly use something more... effective," she admitted, then smirked slightly. "Though if you''re just pulling weapons out of somewhere, I have to wonder what else you might be hiding."


    "Very well," I replied. Mentally reaching into the pleasantly absurd space of my inventory, I grasped a decent looking weapon and drew it forth into the material realm.


    In my hands materialized a Dragonbone Mace, which I promptly tossed over to Shadowheart. The weapon''s massive head, fashioned from the skeletal remains of a dragon, bore a menacing array of jagged protrusions designed to crush and pierce with equal measure. The bone gleamed with a pale, almost luminescent hue, etched with intricate patterns that hinted at ancient draconic smithing lore. The handle, wrapped in supple leather, provided a comfortable and secure grip. In fact, the Dragonbone Mace was the best un-enchanted mace weapon in all of base-game Skyrim. Although I didn''t forge this particular weapon myself, it would have had to be created by a Master Smith, since the minimum required smithing skill level to make it is level 100 (which also happens to be the maximum possible skill level obtainable without mods, cheats, or exploits). In other words, the masterpiece Shadowheart currently held in her hands represented the absolute peak of what a legendary mortal blacksmith could achieve.


    And, it would seem, she could appreciate it too. Shadowheart''s eyes widened slightly as she slowly moved the weapon around, testing its heft, and finding it surprisingly well-balanced.


    "Thank you," she said softly, her fingers tracing the elegant contours of the weapon.


    I then turned to Lae''zel. "And you, Lae''zel? Would you like a new weapon for the battle ahead?"


    Lae''zel''s posture stiffened, her pride evident. "Githyanki steel is superior to any human or elven forge," she declared, her hand resting confidently on the hilt of her sword.


    An unfortunate answer -- but an expected one. Oh, Lae''zel -- if only you knew what good Skyforge Steel was capable of... But I nodded, respecting her choice. "As you wish."


    As we steeled ourselves for the challenges that awaited at the Helm, the air grew thick with anticipation. The Nautiloid''s grotesque architecture pulsed around us, its organic walls alive with a sickly, rhythmic throb. Each step we took resonated with the ship''s unsettling heartbeat, a constant reminder of the alien entity that now held us captive.


    Upon reaching the Helm through a round, fleshy "doorway" bearing an uncanny resemblance to a certain circular body part, we were met with a scene of utter chaos and carnage. The chamber was vast, its ceiling arching high above, adorned with pulsating veins that cast an eerie, bioluminescent glow. At the center of this macabre theater, two formidable figures clashed in a violent ballet: Commander Zhalk, a towering Cambion with two enormous horns wreathed in hellfire, and the Illithid Captain, its tentacled visage alien and unreadable.


    Zhalk''s presence was imposing; his crimson skin glistened with infernal energy, muscles rippling beneath armor forged in the deepest pits of Avernus. His eyes burned with a malevolent intensity, reflecting the flames that danced along the blade of his greatsword¡ªthe Everburn Blade. While nothing impressive by my standards, it looked to be a decent enough enchanted blade that emitted a constant, searing heat, its edge leaving trails of fire with each swing. The very air around it shimmered, distorting from the high temperatures.


    The Illithid Captain, with its elongated limbs and eldritch, cephalopodic head, countered Zhalk''s brute strength with expert psionic prowess. Waves of psychic energy emanated from the creature, distorting the space between them, causing the very fabric of reality to waver. Their duel was a clash of titans, each strike and counterstrike sending shockwaves through the chamber, rattling the very bones of the ship.


    All around them, the Helm was a maelstrom of activity. Numerous lesser devils¡ªimps and hellsboars¡ªscurried about, their guttural snarls and screeches adding to the cacophony. Mind flayer thralls, their eyes vacant and devoid of will, moved with eerie synchronicity with each other and nearby intellect devourers, attempting to repel the infernal invaders. The scent of sulfur and burnt flesh permeated the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.


    As we entered, Commander Zhalk''s gaze flickered toward us, his infernal eyes narrowing with something more than recognition. For a fraction of a second, there was calculation¡ªan assessment of the situation, of how the tides had shifted.


    "Well, well," he rumbled between swings, his voice thick with condescension and fire. "Karlach, it seems you''ve managed to escape on your own; though Zariel is sure to punish you for the mess you''ve made. Come, help me kill this thing, and let''s get ba..." his burning gaze locked onto me, something akin to shock flashing across his face. "You? ....But¡­ how are you here? The Suppression Chains..."


    Karlach¡¯s grip on her battleaxe tightened, her jaw clenching. "Zhalk," she spat in rage, her voice laced with fire. "I''m sorry to disappoint you, but I''m not going back to Zariel." She took off at a run, charging directly at the Zhalk and the Illithid. "I am never going back!", she shouted.


    Zhalk¡¯s laugh was a crackling inferno, reverberating through the chamber. "Loyalty, Karlach. Something you will never understand. I was sent to retrieve you¡ªto bring you home to the chains you are so thanklessly trying to throw away. And, of course¡ª" his gaze slid back to me, flames licking at his teeth as he sneered, "to secure this thing. Do not worry, stranger, your time will co..!"


    I didn''t let Zhalk finish his monologue, of course. Instead, I decided to close the distance myself -- and, as it turns out, I was fast.


    In the blink of an eye, I was behind both the Illithid and Zhalk, with only the wind and a crisp "pop" of the broken sound barrier heralding my passage. Feeling the surge of raw, unfiltered power coursing through my being, my face split in a bloodthirsty grin worthy of a battle maniac.


    "I cast Fist."


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Zhalk''s eyes barely had time to widen before my fist met his chest. The moment my blow connected, the creature''s entire torso exploded in a visceral eruption of bone, muscle, and burning ichor. Karlach was just in time to get covered with a face-full of devil guts. The remnants of the cambion''s upper body splattered across the Nautiloid¡¯s grotesque floor and walls, painting them in a gruesome tapestry of fire and gore.


    A moment of stunned silence gripped the battlefield, but only for an instant. The imps, hell-boars, and two other cambions, hesitated, while the Illithid thralls -- ever efficient -- tried to capitalize. Unfortunately for them, I was already moving.


    I spun, driving an elbow into the grotesque visage of the Illithid Captain, its skull shattering like fragile glass before a fountain of mind flayer brains and purple ichor mixed with the Cambion blood mist in the air in a smelly, macabre shower. I charged an imp next, and my leg shot out, kicking the creature and turning it into an improvised projectile. It slammed into two of its kin with a sickening crunch of broken limbs and hellish blood. Raising both hands, I wove together threads of destruction magic¡ªmotes of lightning and frost flowed between my fingertips before I unleashed a barrage of crackling energy and giant icicles into the hellish swarm.


    More bodies fell quickly, charred and pierced through with spear-sized chunks of ice. I vaulted over a lunging hellsboar, gripping its tusks mid-air and twisting sharply¡ªits head snapping off with a grotesque pop. Landing smoothly, I extended both hands, summoning a torrent of flame that roared forth like a dragon¡¯s breath, rapidly reducing a half-dozen enemies to smoldering husks despite their innate fire resistance.


    The battlefield was chaos, but I was a storm within it, a blur of fists, lightning, ice, and fury. In the eye of this storm, I was content ¨C even happy. This was what I have been unknowingly craving ever since connecting with my character¡¯s skill memories. This was where I belonged.


    One by one, my enemies fell¡ªeach blow, from strike and spell alike, flowing together seamlessly, a beautiful symphony of destruction in which I reveled. Alas, and all too soon, the combat ended just as abruptly as it began, as I ran out of bodies to brutally dismember. The chamber quickly transitioned from a battlefield to a graveyard.


    The Helm became still and silent.


    The shattered remains of Zhalk smoldered weakly. The Illithid Captain was reduced to a grotesque heap of ichor and psionic residue. The devils, the thralls, the Mind Flayers¡­ every creature that had dared stand in our way¡ªwas now a corpse. The only remaining movement in the room, other than us, came from the ship itself, its organic walls pulsing and writhing, its biomechanical nerves and veins struggling to heal the destruction we had wrought.


    Without a word, I stretched out my hand.


    Telekinesis flared to life, an unseen force sweeping across the battlefield like a storm wind, rapidly ransacking the fallen. Weapons wrenched themselves from limp fingers. Pieces of gold and enchanted trinkets lifted into the air. Scrolls, amulets, even Zhalk¡¯s flaming greatsword¡ªanything and everything of value was seized in a matter of moments, the artifacts and baubles spiraling around me before unceremoniously disappearing into my inventory without so much as a whisper.


    Shadowheart, still gripping her new Dragonbone Mace, exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "You don¡¯t waste time, do you?" she murmured. She took a moment to wipe imp blood from her cheek, eyes flickering between me and the carnage I had wrought. Her lips parted slightly, somewhere between awe and caution, before she settled on a smirk. "Remind me to stay on your good side. I rather like my insides, well, on the inside."


    Karlach, still liberally spattered with Zhalk¡¯s remains, let out a low whistle, shaking her head in admiration. "Gods above, Soldier... that was incredible. Next time, though, can you please try to aim better? This fucker left a bad taste even while alive, and I¡¯d rather not get a face-full of devil guts again."


    Lae¡¯zel was... shaking and breathing quite hard. She wiped a streak of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, her golden eyes flickering over me with something unreadable. As was seemingly becoming a habit for the poor githanki girl since we met, she opened her mouth, trying to say something.... but only succeeded in making a low sound that caught in the back of her throat. She quickly turned away from me, her posture unusually rigid.


    Shadowheart stepped forward, glancing at the battered control console near the front of the Helm. "If this ship still functions, we should use it to get out of here," she suggested, running her hand over the strange, fleshy interface. "With the Mind Flayers dead, we may be able to steer it ourselves."


    I nodded. "Do it."


    She pressed her hands to the console, fingers hesitating over the writhing tendrils that pulsed above the surface like living veins before she connected one of the "nerves." The Helm''s console hummed contentedly, its eerie, organic mechanisms reacting to her touch. A faint glow rippled through the ship¡¯s structure, a low, droning hum filling the chamber as the Nautiloid responded, awakening to our command. If the game was any guide, "thrumming" the connected nerves should get us out of here!


    Then, a sound¡ªa deep, reverberating noise that was not of the ship, nor of anything natural. A tremor ran through the Helm, the very air trembling as an immense force approached. The glow of the console flickered, as if in fear.


    The wall above the console was torn apart.


    A deafening roar split the air, a bellow so deep it could be felt in one''s bones. The armored plating and sinew of the Nautiloid¡¯s hull ripped open like paper, and, in its place, a vast maw filled with short sword-length teeth pushed through the wreckage. A monstrous head, covered in thick, crimson scales that shimmered with molten intensity, forced its way into the Helm chamber, its golden, reptilian eyes burning with the raw fury of an apex predator.


    A Red Dragon.


    The sheer size of it was staggering. Its head alone dwarfed the control console, smoke curling from its nostrils, the heat emanating from its form warping the air itself. The creature¡¯s vast wings loomed outside, their shadow engulfing what remained of the ship¡¯s interior, casting us in an oppressive darkness broken only by the glow of its simmering breath.


    For a heartbeat, everything was still.


    ***


    Lae¡¯zel


    ***


    Lae¡¯zel had lived her entire life in the presence of power. From the moment she could lift a blade, she had been trained to wield it with precision, to carve her way through the weak, to prove herself worthy of Vlaakith¡¯s favor. She had fought and bled alongside Gith warriors, had cleaved through monsters, lesser races, and traitors alike. And above all, she had stood in the presence of dragons¡ªthe majestic steeds of her people¡¯s conquest.


    She had frequently seen the burning majesty of Red Dragons up close, had felt their heat singe the air as they took flight, their massive wings kicking up storms of dust and fire. Once, as a misguided youth, for a fleeting instant, she dared to meet the gaze of an Elder Wyrm¡ªa beast so ancient and immense that to look into its eyes was to stare into the abyss itself. In retrospect, she was lucky to have survived the experience; that moment had been the closest she had ever come to knowing true, primal terror.


    Until she met him.


    When she approached him on the Nautiloid''s upper deck, she had been so arrogant, so certain of her own victory. He looked strong, yes, but she had faced many strong warriors before. Strength alone meant nothing without discipline, without a honed technique and the will to dominate. Yet, in a blink of an eye, she had been rendered harmless, swept aside as though she were an untrained novice. The speed, the precision, the utter ease with which he had handled her had left her stunned, infuriated¡ªand indeed, aroused --- in equal measure.


    And then their minds had connected.


    Through their ghaik parasites, she had seen into some of his thoughts, into the boundless ocean of his mind. She had expected resistance, rage, the desperate, flailing defenses of one untrained in psionics. Instead, her mind, her very sense of self, had nearly been consumed. Swallowed whole by the sheer enormity of him. His memories did not unfold in neat order, did not present themselves as the thoughts of a mere mortal. They were vast, tangled, endless. She had glimpsed moments of battle, of monstrous foes brought low with impossible ease. She had seen armies crumble beneath his hands. She had felt, for the first time, what it meant to be truly insignificant.


    The Elder Wyrm encounter of her childhood had terrified her. But, compared to him? She would gladly stare a hundred Elder Wyrms in the eye rather than go through that experience again.


    And yet, it was not only terror that gripped her. As she had pulled herself free from his mind, gasping as though she had been drowning, she had felt something else¡ªsomething that sent heat surging beneath her skin, that made her fingers twitch against her blade. There was admiration. There was fascination. There was the undeniable thrill of knowing she stood in the presence of someone far greater than herself.


    And then, she had watched him fight.


    She had had the pleasure of encountering several Gish -- warriors who could competently wield both blade and spell -- in her lifetime, but never like this. He moved faster than thought, his strikes weaving seamlessly between destruction and precision. One moment, he was crushing a demon¡¯s skull with his bare hands; the next, he was conjuring a storm of frost and lightning that obliterated his foes in an instant. His body was a weapon, his magic an extension of his will... And the way he moved ... there were no wasted movements whatsoever! Every motion had a purpose. Every strike, whether a physical blow or magical attack, flowed seemlessly into the next. He was not just absurdly powerful. No, the power she saw was honed to a lethal edge over untold periods of harsh training.


    In short, what she saw.


    Was.


    Perfection.


    Now, as she watched him calmly stand before the Red Dragon, as the others panicked or prepared to run or fight...


    Lae¡¯zel knew the truth.


    The real predator in the room wasn''t the Dragon.


    It was the warrior standing in front of her, currently looking that Dragon dead in the eye.


    It seems the Dragon had sensed this truth as well, for, as it met Harald''s gaze, it suddenly stilled. Its massive form, poised for destruction, faltered. It did not snarl, did not bare its fangs in fury. Instead, it froze in place, like a disobedient child caught sneaking about after hours, or stealing sweets from a warlord¡¯s table.


    Lae¡¯zel had spent all of her life around Red Dragons. She knew their arrogance, their boundless wrath. She had never seen one hesitate.


    Harald calmly took a step forward.


    The Red Dragon flinched.


    The others could hardly believe their eyes. A beast that could destroy an entire village in a single breath¡ªa terror to all realms¡ªwas recoiling. Its massive, clawed foot shifted backward, its nostrils flaring in visible distress as if scenting a predator greater than itself. Its immense wings twitched, as though preparing to retreat.


    He spoke.


    "Fuck. Off."


    The words were simple, but the air around them reverberated with the presence of something deeper, something ancient.


    As the fanged monstrosity expeditiously retreated, Lae¡¯zel remarked to herself that she had never seen a Dragon move so fast.

 The Landing (part 1)

    The Red Dragon¡¯s departure left a deafening silence in its wake, broken only by the distant groans of the Nautiloid¡¯s failing structure. The bio-ship, on fire in multiple areas, shuddered violently, its semi-organic walls pulsating erratically as if it was writhing in pain. Shadowheart, her expression set in grim determination, reached out and plucked the control nerves, sending a ripple of energy through the Helm.


    For a fraction of a second, everything seemed still.


    Then, the Nautiloid lurched sideways as reality itself fractured.


    A brilliant spatial rift of violet and silver colored light split the air around us, consuming the ship in its entirety. I barely had time to brace before we were flung into the void¡ªa realm of swirling colors, where the regular laws of space and time became a mere suggestion. What was probably the Astral Sea stretched infinitely in every direction, an endless expanse of shimmering nebulae and drifting islands of stone. Tendrils of luminescent mist coiled around the ship, drawn to the dying vessel like scavengers circling a wounded beast.


    The sensation was disorienting to say the least. The concept of Gravity was subjective and meaningless here, while time as we knew it also ceased to exist. I felt weightless, my limbs un-moored from the constraints of standard physics. My mind, somehow sharper than it had ever been, recognized the moment for what it was¡ªa brief passage between planes, the Nautiloid tearing through the fabric of the universe, desperately seeking its destination.


    The ship bucked again, a high-pitched keening reverberating through its corridors. I could feel the ship''s death struggles, the way a body feels the final pangs of a mortal wound. The battle had taken too much of a toll -- even if we knew how to pilot this thing, I somehow knew -- with certainty -- that landing intact was out of the question.


    Then¡ªanother violent jolt. A force like a giant¡¯s hand gripping my chest. The swirling brilliance of the Astral Sea vanished, and with it, the fleeting sensation of weightlessness. I felt... smaller. Somehow diminished by the experience.


    Through the impromptu "window" of the torn wall, I watched as we now glided through the sky of a more familiar world: Faer?n¡¯s dusky twilight was visible through the torn walls, the coastal vista below us vast and indifferent to our impending demise. Below, the land stretched in breathtaking detail¡ª though, I saw nothing resembling a soft landing zone. The Nautiloid, a ruin of torn organelles and shattered metal, was slowly picking up speed. More fires erupted across its body, burning the eldritch flesh-like hull and unknown alloys with unnatural hues, their light painting the evening sky with streaks of violet and green. To any casual observer from below, we must have looked magnificent¡ªa celestial phenomenon, a falling star blazing with ethereal fire, carving a trail of otherworldly light through the dark, pre-dawn sky. We were a thing of beauty... if one did not know better.


    Naturally, for all the grandeur of our ride down, I was now acutely aware of its status as a burning wreck... A very dangerous burning wreck that was truly challenging my determination to protect my new companions from bodily harm.


    Out of all the nearly endless, arbitrarily large contents of my Skyrim inventory, was it too much to ask for a single damn parachute!? How was I going to protect everyone from the impact?


    Merely trusting the Astral Prism was a fool''s gamble. Naturally, in the game, none of the major characters perished in the initial crash¡ªsafeguarded, as they were, by the convenient, unseen hands of narrative necessity otherwise known as Plot Armor... But this was no scripted adventure, but reality -- and real life didn''t have preordained outcomes. With current life-and-death stakes, while I wasn''t at all worried about my own survival... I simply could not afford to take chances with the survival of my companions. The mere thought of watching Karlach¡¯s infernal glow flicker and fade, of seeing Lae¡¯zel¡¯s indomitable fire snuffed out, or watching Shadowheart¡¯s piercing gaze become glassy and lifeless¡ª


    No. Unacceptable.


    I would not allow it.


    And... it would seem that I wasn''t the only one who realized the sudden gravity (heh) of our predicament.


    Stepping up to my side, Karlach let out a dry, mirthless laugh. "Well, Soldier, this is a hell of a way to go. Always thought I''d die on the battlefield, not falling ass-first out of the sky."


    Lae¡¯zel, too, stepped closer, her movements fluid yet weighted, like a predator navigating uncertain terrain. The flickering light of the ship¡¯s fires danced across her face, casting long shadows that exaggerated the sharp, almost sculptural contours of her predatory features¡ªthe high cheekbones, the imperious brow, the unyielding set of her jaw. Her golden eyes, reflective like molten metal, narrowed as she gazed out of the torn hull, watching the land below rushing up to meet us with cruel inevitability.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Her fingers flexed around the hilt of her sword, an old instinct, a need for control in the face of chaos. "At least I shall not die as a filthy ghaik," she murmured, voice steady but threaded with something brittle, something raw. "I refuse to perish in their thrall, twisted into something unclean. If we must fall, let us do so with honor, as warriors, not as mindless husks."


    Shadowheart, too, stepped close, exhaling sharply as her lips pressed together. Her hands trembled, just barely, before she clenched them into tight fists against her chest, as though holding something precious that the world was trying to pry from her fingers. The dim, flickering light of the fires cast an ethereal glow upon her face, highlighting the deep contours of her features¡ªelegant, yet hardened by the weight of burdens she had carried alone for too long, yet now could not even remember.


    Her dark violet eyes, like pools of storm-laden water, flickered between resignation and defiance, a struggle that played out across her delicate features. Strands of her raven-black hair whipped in the wind of our descent, the silken tresses catching the dying light of the ship¡¯s destruction in a way that made them almost shimmer. Here and now, she looked otherworldly: a lone shadow standing defiant against the oncoming doom.


    Her lips parted slightly, perhaps to whisper a final benediction to her Dark Goddess... but no words came. Instead, she turned her gaze toward me, her expression unreadable, yet filled with something raw and unspoken. A flicker of hope? Of trust? Or merely the quiet acceptance of fate?


    The ship shuddered again, a violent lurch throwing embers into the swirling air. Below, the earth loomed¡ªvast, beautiful, and utterly indifferent to our plight. The wind carried with it the scents of burning flesh mixed with the electric tang of something not meant to exist in this world.


    I raised a hand, cutting through the tension. "We¡¯re not dead yet. And I have an idea."


    As one, the team all turned to me, waiting.


    Without further hesitation, I reached into my inventory and decisively pulled out one of my ''good'' Skyforge Steel daggers¡ªone of the ones I had been hesitant to use or hand out for fear of accidental harm and, more importantly, due to possible... "catastrophic interactions" with local physics. The blade itself¡ªwhile beautifully crafted¡ªlooked, in every sense, utterly unremarkable. Its steel surface bore the telltale signs of fine Steel Smithing, sturdy and reliable, yet devoid of too much unnecessary ornamentation. This was a weapon meant for utility, not for show. The handle was wrapped in rather plain leather, the grip comfortable but unassuming, designed for the pragmatic warrior who valued function over aesthetics. There was no gleam of enchantment, no hum of magic in the air¡ªonly simple, solid, well-tempered metal forged by skilled hands. It was, to any observer, just another dagger¡ªnothing more, nothing less.


    And yet, initial appearances could be quite deceiving. Handling the blade with extreme care, I used telekinesis to -- very slowly -- pass it off to Lae''zel.


    "Cut a circular platform from the floor. Make it large enough for all of us to stand on."


    She frowned. "A platform? What? But--"


    Then, she noticed it.


    As the blade moved through the air, it left behind a thin black line where the edge had passed. As it turns out, my earlier concerns weren''t unjustified: the damn thing wasn¡¯t just slicing through matter¡ªit was cutting space itself. For a breathless moment, the edges of the cut seemed to shimmer, before it quickly, mercifully, sealed itself just as quickly as it had formed.


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s eyes widened slightly as she stepped back, glancing at the weapon in her grip with shock. "This¡­ is no ordinary blade."


    "Nope," I agreed, shaking my head. "I would have preferred to avoid experimenting with such things until we were somewhere safe and not plummeting to our deaths -- but, right now, we really need something capable of cutting through that floor. And time is of the essence. Now, get to it, Lae''zel!"


    Snapping out of her shock, Lae''zel, remembering her warrior training, quickly began cutting through the floor. The Nautiloid''s reinforced hull provided no resistance whatsoever -- and, in just a few seconds, I was able to seize the resulting hovering platform with my Telekinesis.


    "Now, everyone¡ªstep on. We¡¯re not going down with the ship."


    One by one, the group followed me, stepping onto our very own improvised airship made of Nautiloid hull. Not taking any chances, Lae''zel gently handed the blade back to me, watching warily as the dangerous artifact disappeared back into my storage space. With careful precision, I lifted us away from the bridge of the crashing Nautiloid, just as the ship''s final death throes sent it hurtling in a wide downward spiral.


    Liberated from the flaming eldritch wreck, we drifted in the refreshing, predawn Sword Coast air, and watched as what was left of the Nautiloid continued its descent toward the distant, rocky coastline below. The ship''s flames trailed behind it like banners, the last embers of the great battle that had torn the gargantuan structure apart. The moment stretched, suspended between destruction and survival, between what had been and what was yet to come.


    The gentle ocean breeze around us mixed the refreshing scents of the sea with the foreign smells of charred flesh and ozone, while the rising sun on the horizon painted the sky with delicate strokes of pink and gold. For the first time since this madness began, I felt fully in control.


    We were flying.


    It was beautiful.

 Interlude: The Lich Queens Dominion

    The throne room of Susurrus, Vlaakith¡¯s palace in Tu¡¯narath, sprawled across the Astral Plane like a wound carved into the timeless void. Its walls rose impossibly high, forged from obsidian so dark it seemed to drink the faint silver light that bled through the crystalline skylights overhead, their jagged edges refracting the glow into fractured shards that danced across the chamber. The stone was not smooth but rough-hewn, its surface pocked with fissures and protrusions, as though the palace had been ripped from the corpse of some ancient, petrified deity¡ªa fitting foundation for a godhood-obsessed queen who thrived on death¡¯s embrace. The air hung heavy, stagnant, suffused with a metallic tang that clung to the tongue like rust, a bitter residue of blood both old and fresh. It mingled with the acrid bite of brimstone wafting from the braziers lining the chamber, their iron frames twisted into grotesque shapes¡ªclawed hands, gaping maws, eyeless faces frozen in silent screams. The flames within burned an unnatural violet, their light pulsing erratically, casting flickering shadows that slithered across the walls like living things, illuminating the macabre tapestry woven into the very architecture.


    Skulls adorned every surface¡ªthousands upon thousands, cemented into the obsidian with a precision that spoke of obsessive, almost ritualistic care. Some were small, delicate, the brittle remnants of mortal foes whose names had long faded into obscurity; others were massive, draconic, their hollow sockets still smoldering with embers of long-extinguished rage, the air around them faintly warm as if their spirits lingered in defiance. Between them hung the bodies¡ªor what remained of them. Fleshless husks, their bones charred and twisted into unnatural angles, dangled from iron chains that swayed gently in an unfelt breeze, their links rusted and pitted with age. Some still twitched, preserved in a mockery of life by Vlaakith¡¯s necromantic whims, their sinews creaking as they shifted, their faint moans a constant undertone to the palace¡¯s oppressive silence¡ªa chorus of despair that never ceased, never faded. The floor beneath was no less grim: a mosaic of salt flats and blackened quartz, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the grotesque splendor above in distorted, nightmarish hues. Each step upon it echoed with a sharp, crystalline chime, a sound that reverberated through the vastness like the tolling of a funeral bell, its pitch shifting subtly with every impact as if the stone itself mourned.


    The chamber stretched wide, its edges lost to shadow, giving the impression of an endless abyss contained within walls. The ceiling, high and vaulted, glistened with veins that doubled as skylights: ornate works of silver crystal that pulsed faintly, like the arteries of some colossal, dormant beast. Their light was cold, sterile, bathing the room in a silvery glow that clashed with the warm violet of the braziers, creating a dissonance that unsettled the eye. Alcoves lined the walls, shadowy recesses where statues of Githyanki warriors stood frozen in mid-strike¡ªsome carved from obsidian, others from the bones of fallen enemies, their surfaces polished to a glassy sheen. Their eyes, inlaid with rubies, gleamed in the flickering light, watching, judging, as if the spirits of the slain had been bound within them to serve as eternal sentinels. The air carried whispers¡ªbarely audible, a susurrus of voices too faint to discern, yet too persistent to ignore. They seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, from the skulls, from the chained husks, a tapestry of sound that wove despair into the very fabric of the room.


    At the chamber¡¯s heart loomed the throne itself: a monstrous thing of fused iron and bone that seemed to pulse with a malevolent will. Its backrest was a lattice of petrified angelic wings¡ªstolen from celestials felled in ages past¡ªtheir calcified feathers now protruded into jagged spurs that gleamed faintly in the violet light, their tips sharp enough to draw blood at a touch. The iron frame was blackened, warped, as if forged in the fires of a dying star, its surface etched with tir¡¯su runes that glowed faintly when the light struck them just so¡ªsymbols of dominion, of unbreakable will. Skulls of demons and warriors alike ringed its base, their eye sockets aglow with crimson pinpricks, as if the souls within still watched, still judged, their silent vigil a testament to the queen who had claimed them. The air around it shimmered with heat and power, a distortion that warped the edges of reality, making the throne appear both solid and ephemeral, a seat woven from the threads of despair itself. Tendrils of faint mist coiled from its base, rising like the breath of a sleeping beast, dissipating into the heavy air only to reform moments later.


    Upon this throne sat Vlaakith CLVII, current Lich-Queen and (Self-Proclaimed) Goddess of the Githyanki, her presence -- a storm of cold authority cloaked in an eerie, unnatural stillness. To the casual observer, she was a Githyanki warrior in her prime¡ªtall and wiry, her yellow skin taut over sharp bones, her features angular and fierce, a vision of predatory grace. Her armor gleamed silver, its plates meticulously crafted, hugging her form like a second skin, each curve etched with tir¡¯su runes that pulsed faintly with an inner light¡ªsigils of power, of command. Her hair, a cascade of silver-white, was bound tightly behind her head in a warrior¡¯s braid, its ends brushing the nape of her neck, framing a face that could have been carved from amber¡ªhigh cheekbones, a predatory jaw, eyes like molten gold that shimmered with a piercing intensity. She was striking, regal, an example of Gith¡¯s ideal preserved in flawless form, her posture erect, her hands rested lightly on the throne¡¯s arms.


    And yet, there was something wrong, something that clawed at the edges of perception, a subtle dissonance that betrayed the illusion. She did not blink. Her golden eyes stared unyielding, unsoftened by the flicker of life, their gaze fixed and unrelenting, as if they could pierce through flesh and bone to the soul beneath. Her chest did not rise or fall; her breath, if she ever took any, was an absent thing, a forgotten habit of the living she no longer bothered to emulate. Her hands, splayed against the throne¡¯s iron arms, remained locked in place, fingers rigid, unmoving, their yellow skin unmarred by the creases or calluses of use. It was as if the glamors that cloaked her lich¡¯s form wove a mask that was too perfect, too still¡ªshe was a statue masquerading as flesh, caught in a moment of eternal pause. Even her lips, thin and sharp, remained a taut line, devoid of the subtle shifts that marked mortal expression. She forgot how to live, forgot to mimic the rhythms of life, and in that absence lay the unnerving truth: this was no living being, but a thing that had clawed its way beyond death¡¯s grasp.


    A sword rested at her side¡ªnot sheathed, but impaled into the throne¡¯s base, its blade was a jagged shard of blackened steel that wept a thin trickle of ichor onto the floor, the dark liquid pooling in shallow grooves etched into the quartz. The weapon hummed, a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the chamber, a sound that was both a hymn and a threat, its pitch shifting subtly as if alive with malice.


    The silence of the throne room was thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant whispers of the damned walls and the soft clink of chains as an occasional reanimated body shifted in its unending torment. Vlaakith¡¯s stillness was absolute, her gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond the chamber¡¯s walls, her mind a labyrinth of control and suspicion. The air around her crackled faintly, a subtle discharge of power that would have made the hairs on one¡¯s neck rise. The violet flames of the braziers flickered in rhythm with her presence, their light dimming and flaring as if responding to an unseen pulse, casting her in a glow that made her skin shimmer faintly¡ªlike amber lit from within, yet cold to the touch.


    And then, the silence was shattered.


    The great doors at the far end of the chamber groaned open, their infernal iron hinges screeching like the cries of the damned, the sound echoing through the vastness with a harsh, grating edge that set the teeth on edge. A figure strode forth, her steps deliberate, her armored boots ringing against the quartz floor with a rhythm that seemed to mock the throne¡¯s oppressive stillness, each chime a sharp counterpoint to the moans of the husks above. Kith¡¯rak Veylith, one of Vlaakith¡¯s most cunning agents, was a tall, wiry Githyanki, her yellow skin marked with the scars of countless battles¡ªthin, white lines that crisscrossed her arms and neck, a map of survival etched into her flesh. Her armor was sleek, utilitarian, its silver plates etched with the tir¡¯su runes denoting her rank, their faint glow pulsing in time with her steps. Her eyes glowed a pale amber, sharp and unyielding, like the edge of a blade catching the light, and her silver sword hung at her hip, currently polished to a flawless shine that belied the blood it frequently drew from her enemies. Veylith carried no fear in her posture, her shoulders squared, her gait steady, but there was a tension in the set of her jaw, a subtle tightness that betrayed the weight of her news.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Vlaakith¡¯s head turned slowly, unnaturally -- a purely mechanical pivot devoid of mortal grace, her golden eyes locking onto Veylith with an intensity that could pierce souls. The motion was deliberate, predatory, her neck tilting just enough to align her gaze, but her shoulders remained still, her torso still rigid as stone. The air grew heavier, the braziers flaring brighter as the Queen¡¯s attention sharpened, though her expression remained a mask¡ªunblinking, unmoving, her lips a thin slash across her face. Veylith stopped a dozen paces from the throne, dropping to one knee with a grace that belied the urgency in her bearing, her armor clinking softly as she settled. Her voice, when it came, was steady but edged with something raw¡ªsomething that made the shadows in the room seem to lean closer, their edges sharpening as if drawn to her words.


    ¡°My Queen,¡± she began, her words cutting through the stillness like a blade, each syllable crisp and deliberate. ¡°I bring tidings from the Planes. Tidings¡­ of fracture.¡±


    Vlaakith did not respond, her silence a void that demanded filling. Her fingers, rigid against the throne, did not twitch; her chest remained still. Her golden eyes bore into Veylith, unblinking, their glow intensifying slightly, a faint shimmer that made the air between them ripple. Veylith took a breath, the sound harsh in the deathly quiet of the chamber, and pressed on, her voice gaining speed as the weight of her report spilled forth.


    ¡°The Dragon Goddess is silent.¡±


    The words hung in the air, heavy as a falling blade, their echo lingering in the vastness of the chamber. Vlaakith¡¯s gaze flared, her golden eyes glowing brighter for a fraction of a second, the only sign of life in her motionless form¡ªa brief spark that illuminated the amber planes of her face, casting sharp shadows beneath her cheekbones. Her lips remained sealed, her face an unyielding mask, but the air around her thickened with palpable anger, the braziers¡¯ flames licking higher, their violet light painting the walls in streaks of bruised purple. Veylith continued, her voice steady despite the weight of her revelation, her hands resting on her bent knee, fingers flexing slightly as if to ground herself.


    ¡°Tiamat¡¯s clerics are powerless. Their prayers echo into nothing, their altars cold as ash, the incense unlit, the offerings untouched. In Tu¡¯narath¡¯s forges, the smiths whisper of rituals failing¡ªflames that once burned with Her blessing now flicker and die, leaving the steel brittle, the edges dull. The older Red Dragons grow restless. Qudenos and his kin still bear our riders ¨C for now ¨C but their obedience frays. The Elder Wyrms¡ªXarathis, Veymora, Karathax¡ªare making demands. They speak of hoards doubled, of regular tribute in gold and souls beyond what Gith promised, of pacts forged anew with each of them alone. The Kith¡¯raki report unrest in Githmir¡ªriders hesitate before their mounts, their hands lingering on their blades, fearing betrayal from the beasts they once commanded without thought. Without Tiamat¡¯s will to bind the Dragons, their greed awakens, and they are no longer content with the chains of Gith¡¯s pact.¡±


    Veylith¡¯s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles whitening against the dark leather of her gloves, the faint creak of the material audible in the stillness. Her amber eyes flicked upward, meeting Vlaakith¡¯s unblinking stare for a heartbeat before dropping again, her voice lowering as she pressed on. ¡°Worse still, a prophecy stirs among the cr¨¨ches. Our Seers¡ªthe Blind Savants who stared too long into the astral currents¡ªclaim Gith herself yet lives, that she walks the Planes once more. They say her return is foretold in the shifting silver tides, in the way the void bends and twists beyond our walls. Warriors now murmur her name in the barracks, their voices low, their eyes turning away from your throne. Some openly question if Tiamat¡¯s silence heralds Gith¡¯s foretold awakening, if she now comes to reclaim what is hers¡ªwhat you have held in her stead. And¡­. there have been Omens, my Queen.¡±


    The throne room seemed to contract, the air growing denser, hotter, as Vlaakith¡¯s power coiled around the room like a serpent, invisible but palpable, pressing against the skin like a storm about to break. Her voice, when it finally emerged, was a low, resonant hiss, each syllable deliberate, untouched by the rhythm of breath, its tone cutting through the chamber like a blade of ice.


    ¡°Omens?¡±


    The word was a single, sharp note, a lash of power that cracked through the air, silencing the distant moans of the husks, stilling the faint swaying of the chains. Veylith flinched, a barely perceptible shudder that rippled through her frame, but she held her ground, her knee pressed firmly against the quartz, her head bowed lower. Her voice remained steady, though an edge of strain crept into it, a thread of tension that wound tighter with each word. A bead of sweat slowly rolled down her bowed forehead.


    ¡°Yes, my Queen. In Xamvadi¡¯m, a clutch of dragon eggs cracked open under the watch of the breeders, revealing nothing but rot, their shells crumbling to dust in their hands, the air thick with the stench of decay. The silver blades of our knights dull without cause, their edges fading as if the forge forgets its craft, the metal flaking away like ash in the wind. Your authority wanes, my Queen, eroded by whispers and omens, by the greed of the wyrms and the tales of the seers.¡±


    Vlaakith rose, her movements slow, mechanical, each motion a deliberate act devoid of the fluidity of life. The scrape of her armor against the throne was a sound like the grinding of bones, a harsh, grating rasp that echoed through the chamber, setting the chains above to trembling. Her aura flared into visibility, casting jagged shadows that stretched across the walls, but her face remained still¡ªtoo still¡ªher eyes unblinking, her lips a taut line that did not quiver. The sword at her side pulsed, its ichor flowing faster, pooling at her feet in a thin, glistening stream that spread across the quartz like spilled ink, its surface shimmering faintly in the violet light. Her hands lifted, fingers splayed rigid, unmoving, as if the act of flexing them were a forgotten gesture.


    ¡°Whispers,¡± she snarled, the word a lash of power that cracked through the air, silencing the wails once more, the force of it sending a ripple through the braziers¡¯ flames, their violet tongues flaring upward to lick the ceiling. ¡°Tiamat tests my dominion, and my own people dare to falter? Gith¡¯s return is a lie¡ªa tale spun by weaklings who fear my rule, who cling to clouds rather than steel.¡±


    Veylith bowed her head even lower, her braid brushing the floor, her demeanor steady despite the Queen¡¯s wrath, though her hands trembled faintly where they rested on her knee.


    Vlaakith¡¯s gaze burned, her golden eyes flaring like twin suns, though her body remained a statue¡ªunmoving, unbreathing, a predator caught in its own trap. The braziers flared higher, their violet flames licking the crystalline ceiling, casting wild shadows that danced across the walls, the skulls, the chained husks. The air grew so thick, it pressed against Veylith¡¯s skin, heavy with the weight of her Queen¡¯s power, the faint crackle of it audible as it arced between her armor¡¯s plates.


    Vlaakith felt it now¡ªthe threads of her empire fraying, the loyalty she had painstakingly forged through decades of fear and steel slipping through her grasp like sand. The Dragons, once her mightiest weapon, now turned their greedy eyes upon her dominion, their demands a blade at her throat. Her warriors, once unyielding, whispered of a savior long lost, their faith in HER shaken by mere omens and divine silence. Her power, her absolute dominion, teetered on the edge of erosion, and she would not abide it¡ªnot while she yet ruled, not while her will still held the Planes in its grasp.


    ¡°Summon the Inquisitors,¡± she commanded, her voice a blade of ice, each word precise, devoid of life¡¯s warmth, cutting through the chamber with a clarity that silenced even the whispers of the walls. ¡°Purge the cr¨¨ches of the filth¡ªrip the blaspheming tongues from the Seers, let their blood drown their prophecies. Send full war parties to remind the wyrms of their place. They will learn to be content, or they shall perish. I will forge new chains if I must, but they will not defy me. This Empire is mine, and MINE ALONE.¡±


    Vlaakith now floated fully off the ground in a maelstrom of power, her amber eyes gleaming with rage, her posture unnaturally straight Veylith¡¯s armor clinked softly as she stood up ¨C as quickly as decorum allowed without running away outright.


    ¡°As you command, my Queen.¡±


    The doors groaned shut behind her, their screeching hinges fading into the distance, and Vlaakith sank back into her throne, her descent as stiff and mechanical as her rise. The chamber¡¯s silence descended once more, thick and oppressive, broken only by the faint moans of the husks and the soft drip of ichor from her sword. But it was not the silence of triumph¡ªit was the silence of a Queen watching her dominion crack, of a ruler who felt the weight of her crown grow more precarious with each whispered doubt. The violet flames dimmed, their light retreating to a faint flicker, casting her back into shadow¡ªa figure of amber and silver, still as death, her unblinking eyes staring into the void.


    In the depths of her undead mind, a single, unspoken thought lingered, cold and unyielding.


    I will not fall.

 The Landing (part 2)

    I stand at the center of the jagged disc Lae¡¯zel carved from the Nautiloid¡¯s hull, my bare feet gripping its slick, fleshy surface as it drifts downward through the Sword Coast¡¯s predawn sky. The hum of my telekinesis pulses beneath me, a steady vibration I can feel in my bones, keeping this grotesque slab of alien meat and metal aloft in a mockery of flight. The air¡¯s now cool and crisp, a salty breeze rolling up from the waves below, tugging at my silk pants and the brim of my favorite fishing hat. It tastes of the sea¡ªbriny, sharp, with a hint of pine from the nearby cliffs¡ªand it¡¯s far more to my liking than the sulfur and blood I¡¯ve been choking on lately. The platform¡¯s edges are rough, glistening with the ship¡¯s leftover ichor, but it holds steady enough under my will, a makeshift airship (Air¡­raft? Air-dinghy?) carrying us through this early dawn calm.


    The sky stretches out above me, vast and endless, painted in colors that ¨C thanks to light and chemical pollution -- I¡¯d only ever seen through a VR headset back in the 2040s. The western horizon still clings to the last scraps of night¡ªdeep indigo streaked with bruised violet¡ªwhile the east now ignites with the sunrise¡¯s first blush, pinks and golds spilling across the clouds like spilled paint. The stars are fading, those stubborn little bastards winking out one by one as the dawn creeps up, bathing everything in a soft, warm glow. Below, the sea catches the light, turning into a shimmering mess of molten amber and silver foam, waves rolling in lazy rhythms against the rocky shore.


    I¡¯ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.


    For a moment, I just let myself take it in; Faer?n¡¯s beauty hitting me square in the chest, raw and real in a way Skyrim¡¯s VR vistas could never hope to be.


    I glance around at the others, these characters I¡¯d only known through a screen until a few hours ago, now flesh and blood beside me. Karlach, still drenched in crusted blood and Zhalk guts, is leaning against the disc¡¯s edge, her arms crossed like she¡¯s daring the world to interrupt this peace. The gifted spectral Drainblood Battleaxe still rests on her shoulder, its ghostly glow pulsing faintly, casting a warm light across her red-tinged skin. The scars on her arms and neck catch the dawn, a roadmap of hellish years I likely can¡¯t even imagine, and her infernal engine hums softly in her chest, a flicker of increasingly hot fire against the cool air. The wind pulls at her dark hair, loosening strands from its messy tie, and she tilts her head back, eyes closed, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips. She looks¡­ content. Free. The brimstone scent that clings to her mixes with the salt, and her tail flicks lazily behind her, brushing the platform with a soft, and not at all unpleasant, thump-thump. ¡°Yeah, Soldier,¡± she says, cracking one eye open to catch me looking. ¡°Beats the Hell out of Avernus. Never thought I¡¯d ever get to see a sunrise like this again¡ªno Blood War, no devils¡­. You¡¯re a miracle worker, you know that?¡± Her laugh is warm, rough, and it hits my soul like a mug of mead on a cozy night by the fire.


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s a pace away, standing like she¡¯s ready to leap into battle, though her shoulders are looser than I¡¯ve seen them. Her silver armor gleams in the sunrise, catching the pinks and golds, turning it into something almost alive. Those golden eyes of hers¡ªsharp, predatory¡ªsweep the horizon, unblinking, drinking in every detail like she¡¯s memorizing it for some Githyanki war manual. The breeze lifts her short, dark hair, showing off the hard lines of her face¡ªhigh cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, faint scars marking her as a warrior born. Her hands rest on her sword¡¯s hilt, fingers twitching like they¡¯re itching for a fight, but she doesn¡¯t draw it, just lets the moment sit. ¡°It is¡­ adequate,¡± she says, her voice clipped but softer than usual, her gaze flicking to me. ¡°The Planes hold greater vistas, but this has a certain¡­ presence about it. A¡­ resonance I did not expect.¡± I catch the slow rhythm of her breath¡ªdeliberate, like she¡¯s forcing herself to feel this. She¡¯s a storm held in check, and I can¡¯t help but admire her composure.


    Shadowheart is kneeling near the edge, her knees pressed into the disc¡¯s slick surface, hands resting on her thighs. The Dragonbone Mace lies beside her, its pale, jagged head faintly reflecting the dawn light, the draconic etchings understated but eye-catching at the same time (damn, I looted some great stuff back in Skyrim). Her dark ceremonial armor¡¯s scuffed, smeared with impish blood and Nautiloid gunk, clinging to her slender frame, and that silver Shar pendant glints at her collarbone, a quiet rebellion against the sunrise¡¯s purity. Her equally soiled, raven-black hair whips in the breeze, floating around her face like shadows come alive, framing pale skin and those deep violet eyes¡ªstormy, haunted, reflecting the golden waves below. She looks out at the sea, and there¡¯s something soft and fragile flickering in her gaze. The breeze carries a whiff of lilac and leather off her, a scent that doesn¡¯t belong in this chaos, and it twists something in my gut. ¡°It¡¯s almost too much,¡± she murmurs, voice so soft I barely catch it over the waves. ¡°But¡­ yes. Beautiful.¡± Her fingers brush that pendant, then still, and her eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, before she quickly forces herself to look away. ¡°Thank you¡­ for getting me out of that pod. For saving us from the ship. I¡­ will not forget this.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    We¡¯re dropping lower now, the sound of the waves swelling¡ªa steady crash and sigh that fills the air, soothing the jagged edges of my nerves. The sea¡¯s a golden mess below, rippling with the wind, whitecaps smashing against the rocks in sprays of foam that catch the light like diamonds. Gulls scream overhead, their wings flashing white against the sky, their cries cutting through the breeze¡ªsharp, mournful, grounding me in this moment. The cliffs loom closer, rugged and moss-stained, crowned with dark pines swaying in the dawn, their earthy musk mixing with the salt and mist. The air¡¯s cooler down here, the sun¡¯s warmth battling the sea¡¯s chill, and I can taste the salt on my lips, feel the mist kissing my skin¡ªreal, tangible, and endlessly more engaging than VR sim bullshit.


    Then my eyes catch something along the coast¡ªa medieval-looking crumbling ruin, half-swallowed by the cliffs. Stone arches jut out of it like broken ribs, its walls are pocked with age and salt. My Gamer brain kicks in, and I realize that I know this place¡ªthat¡¯s gotta be where Withers hangs out before meeting the player¡¯s group. This is the perfect spot to touch down and say hello! I shift my focus, willing the disc to angle toward the structure, aiming for the flat stretch of roof still clinging to the ruin¡¯s top. ¡°Hang on,¡± I mutter, guiding us in, the hum of my power deepening as we descend straight for it.


    The Bandits¡¯ POV


    Down below, in the dusty guts of the crypt, Gimblebock the Blade hunched over a rickety table, squinting at a lanceboard carved from driftwood and bone. The ruin¡¯s air was damp, musty, thick with the smell of mildew and old stone, the kind of place that made your boots stick to the floor. Lanterns flickered on the walls, casting jittery shadows across the cracked arches and the piles of loot his crew had dragged over¡ªrusted goblets, a dented helm, some moldy scrolls they¡¯d probably sell for a copper each. His gang¡ªsix greasy, hard-bitten thugs¡ªlounged around the rooftop, picking at their nails or arguing over a chipped dagger¡¯s worth. Taman, a wiry man with a patchy beard and a chipped front tooth, was mid-move, his grimy finger hovering over a pawn shaped like a lopsided skull.


    ¡°Oi, Bock, you¡¯re rubbish at this,¡± he grumbled, smirking at the gnome across from him. ¡°It¡¯s checkmate in three, ya oaf. Pay up¡ªtwo silvers, now.¡±


    Gimblebock growled, scratching his scalp, his squinting eyes narrowing at the pieces. ¡°Ain¡¯t no checkmate, Tam. You¡¯se cheatin¡¯ again, ya sneaky git¡ª¡±


    A shadow fell over the board.


    Taman froze, his finger still on the pawn, as the light dimmed¡ªlike a cloud had swallowed the sun. But it wasn¡¯t a cloud. The shadow grew, sharp-edged, unnatural, and a low hum vibrated through the crypt, rattling the table, sending the lance pieces skittering. He looked up, squinting, and his jaw dropped. A slab of¡­ something¡ªfleshy, metallic, dripping with gods-know-what¡ªhovered right above them, blotting out the dawn. It was big, bigger than his tent, and it was landing, settling onto the roof with a wet, squelching thud that shook dust up from the ancient stones.


    ¡°What in the Nine Hells¡ª¡± Gimblebock yelped, leaping to his feet, his chair clattering over. His crew scrambled up, hands fumbling for swords and clubs, eyes wide as saucers. Then they appeared¡ªfour figures stepping off the disc, and Gimblebock¡¯s bladder nearly gave out.


    The leader was a giant¡ª a six-foot-four wall of muscle, shirtless, and caked head-to-toe in someone¡¯s blood, the black-red muck dripping off him like he¡¯d recently bathed in it. His pants and fishing hat were absurdly out of place, but the power rolling off him wasn¡¯t funny¡ªhis terrifying eyes, ice-blue and piercing, locked onto Gimblebock like he was sizing up a snack. Beside him, a tiefling woman with a glowing chest, blood, and ¨C was that guts? (he swallowed the encroaching bile) ¨C tangled in her hair hefted a ghostly axe that shimmered like death itself, grinning like she¡¯d just won a bar fight. There were also a Githyanki in silver armor with an enormous, sharp-looking sword and stare that could peel flesh, and a woman in dark armor clutching a bone mace that looked like it could crack an Ogre¡¯s skull, her violet eyes glinting with something Gimblebock didn¡¯t want to name. The air hummed with raw and heavy power, while the disc behind them pulsed¡­ and bled purplish green goo like it was alive.


    Gimblebock¡¯s dagger trembled in his hand, his bravado evaporating. ¡°Uh¡­ we was just¡­ leavin¡¯!¡± he stammered, voice cracking. ¡°No trouble here, sirs¡ªer, lords and ladies¡ªer, whatever you are! Just a bit o¡¯ lanceboard, see?¡± He kicked the board under the table, sweat beading on his brow.


    The giant stepped forward, blood splattering the stone, and his voice rumbled low like distant thunder. ¡°Leave. Now.¡±


    This time, Gimblebock bladder did give out, and he didn¡¯t need telling twice. ¡°Right you are! Pack it up, lads¡ªmove!¡± His crew bolted, tripping over each other, loot forgotten, sprinting for the exit like rats from a sinking ship. Taman lagged just long enough to snatch his own dagger, then legged it, muttering prayers to any god listening. Whatever those freaks were, he wanted no part of them.

 Blood and Brine

    The bandits¡¯ frantic footsteps fade into the distance, their panicked muttering swallowed by the crash of waves against the rocky shore below. I stand on the edge of the ruin¡¯s weathered ¨C but solid -- roof. The morning sun climbs higher, its golden light spilling across the ruin¡¯s broken arches and moss-stained stones, casting long dawn shadows that stretch toward the wilderness to the west. The air¡¯s thick with salt and the faint, earthy tang of wet rock, a welcome reprieve from the stench of demon blood still clotting my skin.


    I realize that I¡¯m an absolute mess¡ªhalf-dried black-red muck is dripping from my arms, streaked across my chest, even matting my hair beneath this (admittedly ridiculous) fishing hat. Karlach¡¯s no better, Cambion guts tangled in her hair like some grisly trophy, her red skin glistening with sweat and ichor under the dawn¡¯s glow.


    I turn to the group, wiping a smear of blood from my jaw with the back of my hand ¨C but succeeding only in smearing my face further with the muck.


    ¡°Alright, everyone, listen up. Shadowheart, Lae¡¯zel¡ªgo and scout the immediate area. Check the perimeter, see what¡¯s around, but don¡¯t go far. Karlach and I need to wash this crap off in the ocean before it crusts over worse than it already has. When we¡¯re back, you two can take your turn while we set up a proper camp here.¡± I pause, catching the faint twitch in Lae¡¯zel¡¯s jaw and the way Shadowheart¡¯s violet eyes narrow slightly. ¡°Oh, and do try not to kill each other while we¡¯re gone,¡± I add, my voice only half-joking¡ªbecause, as someone who has played both classic and VR versions of Baldur¡¯s Gate 3 more than a few times, I know that Act 1 can turn into a bloodbath between these two faster than you can say ¡°Astral Sphere.¡± As I turn to leave, I gesture absently toward the ruin beneath us. ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t go poking around in there without me either¡ªmight be a powerful lich sleeping inside.¡±


    Shadowheart¡¯s brow arches, her lips parting in a mix of disbelief and curiosity, while Lae¡¯zel¡¯s golden eyes widen a fraction, her hand tightening on her sword. I ignore them, for now.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, hot stuff. Ocean¡¯s calling.¡± I don¡¯t look back, but I can feel their incredulous stares boring into me as I stride off the roof, Karlach falling in beside me with a low chuckle.


    ¡°Hot stuff, huh?¡± she teases, her tail flicking playfully as we pick our way down the cliffside path toward the shore.


    ¡°Am I wrong?¡± I playfully respond.


    The descent¡¯s quick, and, soon enough, a trail of rocky sand is crunching under my feet and salt spray is misting my skin as we hit the beach. The sea stretches out before us, a shimmering expanse of gold and blue, waves lapping at the pebbled shore with a rhythmic hiss. I wade in first, the refreshingly chilled water attacking my ankles, then my thighs, washing away the disgusting grime in dark, swirling tendrils. Karlach follows, and damn if it isn¡¯t a sight worth savoring.


    She steps into the surf with a swagger, her muscular frame cutting through the waves like she owns them. The water laps against her red skin, glistening in the sunlight, turning her into a living flame against the sea¡¯s cool embrace. The infernal engine in her chest pulses, a fierce orange glow that dances across the waves, steam rising where it meets the water, curling into the air like a lover¡¯s sigh. Her dark hair, matted with guts, loosens under the tide¡¯s pull, strands floating free, slick and glossy, framing her face in wild, untamed waves. She ducks under, resurfacing with a gasp, water streaming down her neck, her shoulders, tracing the contours of her biceps and the swell of her chest¡ªstrong, fierce, and undeniably feminine. Her tail slashes freely through the surf, sending droplets flying, each one catching the sun like a spark. She grins, sharp and bright, shaking her head to fling the last of the filth away, and I can¡¯t help but stare, caught by the raw, fiery beauty of her, all power and defiance wrapped in that devilish charm.


    ¡°Gods, that feels good,¡± she says, voice rough with relief, splashing water over her arms. ¡°I¡­ I never thought I would see the ocean again. I still can¡¯t believe we made it¡­ Now, if only this damned blood would wash off faster, it would be perfect!¡±


    I vigorously scrub at my own skin, the demon blood peeling off in clumps, sinking into the sea like ink. ¡°Yeah, well, we were a walking horror show. Had to try to get this off before it starts stinking worse than a draugr¡¯s crypt.¡± I dunk my head, letting the cold shock rinse the last of the crusty muck from my hair, then surface, shaking water from my eyes.


    ¡°So, Karlach,¡± I say, keeping my tone casual as I wade closer, ¡°I woke up naked, covered in soot, and wrapped in those¡­ what¡¯d Zhalk call ¡®em? Suppression Chains? You wouldn¡¯t know anything about that, would you?¡±


    She freezes mid-splash, her grin faltering, and there¡¯s a flicker of guilt in those red eyes¡ªquick, but I catch it. She straightens, water dripping from her chin, and rubs the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. ¡°Alright, fine. You wanna know about the chains? It¡¯s tied to a job I got from Zariel¡ªthat¡¯s my old boss, the Archduchess of Avernus, first layer of the Hells. She¡¯s a fallen angel, real nasty piece of work¡ªused to be all holy and righteous, fighting demons in the Blood War, ¡®til she got obsessed with winning at any cost. Fell so hard she turned into a devil herself, horns, wings, the whole deal. Rules Avernus now, commands legions of devils, and doesn¡¯t take kindly to failure.¡±


    Karlach grimaces, continuing to splash water over her arms as if trying to wash off her recent memories. ¡°Me, I didn¡¯t sign up for her army by choice. Grew up in Baldur¡¯s Gate, Outer City¡ªrough place, but I had folks, a life. Then when I was just a kid, my parents died. Had to do what I could, fend for myself. When I was barely sixteen¡ªthis bastard Gortash, some slime I worked for as a bodyguard, sold me out. Traded me to Zariel for a sack of gold to fund his schemes. Next thing I know, I¡¯m in Avernus, heart ripped out, replaced with this damned infernal engine.¡± She taps her chest, where the glow pulses hot and angry. ¡°Been her soldier ever since¡ªten years of fighting, bleeding, doing her dirty work. No way out ¡®til that tentacled ship snatched me.¡±


    She takes a breath, eyes flicking away like she¡¯s ashamed to meet mine. ¡°Anyway, this job¡ªshe sent me and a crew to check out Tiamat¡¯s domain. You know, Tiamat? The Dragon Goddess, five heads, real terror, locked up in Avernus? Zariel got word of a massive explosion down there¡ªmushroom cloud big enough to see from her citadel, scrying magic failing, the works. Figured something big went down, and she doesn¡¯t like unknowns screwing with her war plans.¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°And so, she sent you?¡± I asked, starting to piece things together.


    She nodded. ¡°Yes. She sent me and a team of Devils to poke around, report back. That¡¯s where we found you¡ªright in the middle of it. A crater where Tiamat¡¯s lair used to be, huge, smoking, gold melted into puddles, artifacts smashed to bits, and you¡ªbuck naked, covered in soot, just lying there like you¡¯d dropped out of the sky. No Tiamat, no Dragons, no clerics, no nothing¡ªjust you and a whole lotta questions. The Devils couldn¡¯t wake you, figured you were dead at first, but then you twitched, and they just about lost their damn minds.¡±


    She paused, gathering her thoughts. ¡°We all thought you might know something¡ªmaybe even caused whatever happened.¡± She shivers, her voice going softer.


    ¡°Please understand. Zariel¡­ she doesn¡¯t like loose ends, and nobody wanted her wrath if the mission went tits-up, so they slapped the strongest Infernal Iron suppression chains they had on you. Enchanted devil stuff, meant to keep you locked down tight. Plan was to haul you back to her fortress¡­ interrogate you, figure out what the hells happened.¡±


    I stare at her, the pieces clicking into place, my mind racing back to that white-hot flash after I leapt from the Throat of the World.


    I still couldn¡¯t remember anything afterwards.


    ¡°And then?¡±


    She grimaces, kicking at the water. ¡°Then that tentacle show appeared. Swooped in, snatched me and a bunch of others¡ªincluding your unconscious ass¡ªbefore we could blink. I think Zhalk threw together a quick ¡®rescue effort¡¯ to get us back, probably to save his own hide from Zariel¡¯s temper. You know the rest¡ªwoke up in a pod, broke out, punched his face into next week.¡±


    She trails off, her grin fading completely, and she looks at me, guilt etched into every line of her face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Harald. I didn¡¯t¡ªlook, I was just following orders, yeah? Didn¡¯t know you then, didn¡¯t know what you¡¯d turn out to be. If I¡¯d¡ª¡±


    Her words cut off abruptly, and I see it¡ªthe glow in her chest flaring brighter, too bright. Her skin ignites, literal flames licking up her arms, her shoulders, her hair sizzling where it meets the water. The sea around her hisses, steam billowing in great clouds as the waves start to bubble, boiling on contact with her. She gasps, clutching at her chest, her eyes wide with panic. ¡°Shit¡ªtoo much¡ªengine¡¯s overheating¡ª¡±


    Acting without thought, I lunge forward, water splashing around me. My arms wrap around her, pulling her close, her fiery skin pressed against my chest, and I feel the inferno raging through her¡ªprobably hot enough to melt copper, wild and uncontrolled. Instinct kicks in, and I channel restoration magic through my hands, gentle waves of it pulsing into her back, white-golden light shimmering faintly where my fingers grip her skin. The water around us boils even harder, a roiling froth of bubbles and steam, sizzling against me¡ªbut, I notice that it doesn¡¯t hurt. In fact, it feels¡­ pleasantly warm, soothing, like sinking into a jacuzzi hot tub back home, jets on full blast, the heat massaging my muscles instead of scorching them.


    I blink, caught off guard. My Skyrim character was tough, sure¡ªand my health total was entirely unreasonable¡­ but, as a Vampire, I don¡¯t remember him ever shrugging off fire like this. Flame resistance this high? That was definitely new.


    I squash the thought down for later consideration. It didn¡¯t matter. Right now, at this moment, Karlach¡¯s pain is all that matters to me. She¡¯s trembling in my arms, her breath ragged, and I tighten my grip, letting the magic flow deeper, willing it to ease whatever''s tearing through her.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± I mutter, reaching into my inventory with a flicker of thought. My hand closes around a Potion of Resist Fire¡ªone of the base game ones, nothing crazy, just enough to take the edge off. I pull it out, a small vial of shimmering red liquid glinting in the sunlight, pop the cork, and press it into her shaking hands. ¡°Quick. Drink this!¡±


    She doesn¡¯t hesitate, trusting me absolutely ¨C chugging it down in one go, the potion disappearing in a gulp. The effect is immediate. Her skin¡¯s still burning, flames dancing across her arms, but the tension in her face softens, the grimace of pain fading into something closer to relief. The orange glow in her chest dims just a fraction, the fire licking less wildly, though the water around us keeps bubbling, steam curling up in thick clouds. She exhales, a shaky laugh escaping her lips, and leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder for a few moments.


    ¡°Gods,¡± she rasps, voice rough but steadier now. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re just standing here, hugging me, in boiling water¡ªand you¡¯re not even flinching! How are you not on fire right now?¡± Her amber eyes lift to mine, wide with wonder, searching my face like I¡¯m some kind of puzzle she can¡¯t crack.


    I grin, keeping my arms around her, the warmth of her fire blending with the sea¡¯s churn in a way that¡¯s oddly comforting. ¡°Beats me,¡± I say, shrugging lightly. ¡°Guess I¡¯m less flammable than I look. But I¡¯ve got a hunch¡ªyour engine wasn¡¯t built for this place. The Material Plane¡¯s got different rules than Avernus. Physical laws, magical laws¡ªthey don¡¯t line up the same. Down there, it probably ran smoothly, fueled by all that infernal energy. Up here?¡± I nod at the steam rising around us. ¡°It¡¯s like a dragon in a tiny cage¡ªtoo big, too wild for the space. It will keeps overheating when you push it too hard, or feel strong emotions.¡±


    She pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands resting on my arms, flames still flickering faintly across her skin but no longer roaring. ¡°You think it¡¯s¡­ broken? Because of this plane?¡± There¡¯s a tremor in her voice¡ªnot fear, exactly, but something close, a crack in her usual bravado.


    ¡°Not¡­ broken, exactly¡± I say, meeting her gaze, keeping my tone firm. ¡°Just¡­ out of its element. Don¡¯t worry, Karlach. I¡¯ll get it fixed¡ªor better yet, ripped out¡ªas soon as we have a few free hours. Promise.¡±


    And I mean it. Every word. She¡¯s been through enough¡ªZariel¡¯s chains, Gortash¡¯s betrayal, a decade of literal hell. I¡¯ve got the power to break her free of this damn engine, and I¡¯ll definitely do it. It¡¯s not even a question.


    Her eyes soften, the guilt from earlier melting into something warmer, something trusting. She nods, slow and deliberate, like she¡¯s letting my words sink in, believing them¡ªbelieving me. ¡°You¡¯re somethin¡¯ else, Soldier,¡± she murmurs, a faint grin tugging at her lips. ¡°Never met anyone who¡¯d willingly dive into boiling water just to hold me together. Guess I owe you one.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t owe me shit,¡± I counter, loosening my grip as the flames on her skin flicker down to embers, the water calming to a simmer. ¡°We¡¯re friends now. And friends don¡¯t let friends get barbecued alive. That¡¯s how it works!¡±


    She chuckles, stepping back fully, the sea lapping at her waist as the steam clears. Her tail flicks through the waves, sending up a playful splash, and she runs a hand through her wet hair, shaking off the last of the tension. ¡°Fair enough. Let¡¯s get outta here before Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel turn that crypt into a battlefield¡ªor wake up your lich friend.¡± She pauses. ¡°You were joking about the Lich, right? Right?¡±


    I give her my best enigmatic smile, earning a playful splash in return.

 Defiant (Shadow)Heart

    The sea breeze carries Harald¡¯s voice as he strides off the ruin¡¯s weathered roof, Karlach at his side, their silhouettes shrinking against the golden dawn. ¡°Ocean¡¯s calling,¡± he says, casual as you please. I stand near the edge of the stone, arms crossed, the Dragonbone Mace heavy at my side, its jagged weight a strange comfort against the chaos swirling in my mind. His parting words linger¡ªdon¡¯t go poking around in there without me, might be a powerful lich sleeping inside¡ªdelivered with that infuriating nonchalance, as if dropping the possibility of a lich were no more remarkable than mentioning the weather.


    Who is that man? I''ve asked myself this countless times since the Nautiloid, and I''m no closer to an answer. A man¡ªor something more¡ªplucked from nowhere, shirtless and smeared with demon blood, wielding power that defies all common sense. I saw him tear through that ship like a storm, rescuing me from the pod with his bare hands. I saw him move faster than thought, fists shattering devils, magic cast at lightning speeds without a hint of incantations¡­ an adult Red Dragon fleeing at his command. I saw him command an arsenal of weapons, as he casually offered me what I know -- deep in my heart -- is the finest mace I have ever seen! I saw him pull out a dagger of an impossible sharpness ¨C what must have been a legendary divine artifact ¨C from thin air, like it was nothing at all. And now, here he stands, casually jesting with Karlach, parading around in that absurd fishing hat like it''s some crown. It is¡­. Somehow infuriating.


    My fingers brush the pendant at my chest, Shar¡¯s silver sigil cool against my skin, grounding me. My mission¡ªretrieve the Astral Prism, deliver it to the cloister¡ªshould be my focus. It¡¯s all that matters, all the Dark Lady demands. Yet Harald¡¯s presence gnaws at me, like an annoying splinter in my thoughts. He saw me snag the Prism from the pod¡¯s wreckage, our eyes locking for that fleeting moment, and he said nothing. Does he know what it is? What I am? Or is he simply a fool, blundering through this mess, albeit one far too powerful to care?


    The memory of our minds brushing¡ªof his warmth seeping into me, a sunlit glade and peaceful, godless sky flickering behind my eyes¡ªstirs something I can¡¯t name. Our link felt¡­ comforting. Gentle. Deliberate, like he was offering something I¡¯ve never known. Was it a lie wrapped in a veneer of kindness? Was he merely seeking to lower my guard? I clench my jaw, pushing the sensation down, but it lingers, warm and insistent, a ghost of light in the dark corners of my mind.


    And then there¡¯s the name he called me¡ªJenevelle. It slipped from his lips back on the Nautiloid, casual yet pointed. The sound of it hit me like a half-remembered dream, a shiver of d¨¦j¨¤ vu that rippled through me, unsettling and familiar all at once. Did he know me from before? How could he?


    My past is a void to me, a black expanse erased by the cloister¡¯s rites before this mission began. They took my memories¡ªnearly everything¡ªleaving only Shar¡¯s will to fill the gaps. Shadowheart is who I am now, a name I have chosen for myself, forged in her service, honed by her shadows. But Jenevelle¡­ it echoes in my skull, a whisper against the silence, tugging at threads I didn¡¯t know existed.


    A wave of vertigo follows a shocking suspicion. Could I really have forgotten my own name?


    The idea feels absurd, and yet¡­ it clings to me, a nagging suspicion I can¡¯t shake. I didn¡¯t believe Harald¡¯s excuse for a second ¨C he knows something. But what? What does he see when he looks at me? Does he sense the fractures beneath my mask, the pieces I¡¯ve lost to the Dark Lady¡¯s altar? My chest tightens, a flicker of panic I refuse to name, and I press my palm harder against the pendant, willing Shar¡¯s cold clarity to drown it out.


    Her cold whispers coil tighter in my skull, a familiar hiss that wraps around my thoughts like thorns¡ªtrust is a blade turned inward, independence is your shield. I¡¯ve survived the cloister¡¯s shadows, the years of training that stripped me bare and rebuilt me in her image. Endless nights in those damp, stone halls, the air heavy with incense, my hands bloodied by tasks I can no longer recall.


    Shar¡¯s whispers aren¡¯t as comforting as they once were. They do not quell the nagging doubts. I¡­ I was a child once¡­ wasn¡¯t I? Before the cloister, before Shar¡ªthere must have been something else, someone else.


    Did I ever have a family? I try to remember the faces blurred by time and divine will. But every time I reach for them, the void yawns wider, and Shar¡¯s presence grows colder, sharper, cutting away the questions.


    I don¡¯t need Harald¡ªor anyone. I¡¯ve walked alone through darkness thicker than this, and I¡¯ll do it again.


    And yet¡­ here I am, tethered to this group, to him, by a parasite and a promise I didn¡¯t ask for, a chain I can¡¯t break.


    My hand twitches, a sudden, searing pain lancing through it, and I stifle a gasp. The Mark¡ªa purple scar thick with Lady Shar¡¯s presence¡ªflares to life, a jagged wound etched into my hand, glowing faintly with a sickly purple light. I¡¯ve wondered where it came from or its intended purpose. Was this some sort of rite of passage? A test by my Lady, meant to train or temper me? Sometimes, the pain seems to be guiding me ¨C at other times, it feels purposeless; random.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    And yet, now, at this moment, I am certain that it¡¯s not just pain: it¡¯s a warning, a punishment rendered upon my flesh ¨C and mind -- by the Dark Lady herself. The agony pulses in time with my heartbeat, sharp and electric, like needles driven through my skin, twisting deeper with every breath. I clench my fist, biting my lip to keep from crying out, the taste of freshly drawn blood sharp on my tongue.


    Jenevelle.


    The name dances behind my eyes again, and the pain spikes, a white-hot lash that steals my breath, and it is all I can do to keep from falling to my knees.


    Did I know that name once? Was it mine? Shar¡¯s whispers turn to a screech¡ªforget, obey, serve¡ªand I force the thoughts down with some effort, burying them beneath layers of discipline, of faith.


    The mark ebbs, a dull throb lingering in my hand, a reminder of My Lady¡¯s guidance. I straighten, shaking off the tremor, my gaze drifting to the ruin¡¯s shadowed entrance below.


    Harald¡¯s warning rings in my ears¡ªdon¡¯t go in there without me¡ªbut it only fuels the restless fire in my chest. He doesn¡¯t command me. I¡¯m no pawn in his game, no matter how many dragons he frightens away or how many devils he crushes. My fingers tighten around the mace¡¯s handle, its weight grounding me, and I get ready to take a step toward the entrance, defiance burning away the last of my hesitation.


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s voice cuts through my reverie, sharp as her blade. ¡°Tsk¡¯va. You stand there, lost in your brooding, while the Kwe¡¯vhar has given us a task.¡± She¡¯s a pace away, her silver armor glinting in the sunrise, her golden eyes fixed on me with that irritating mix of disdain and expectation. Her posture¡¯s rigid, a warrior¡¯s stance, but there¡¯s a subtle shift in it¡ªless hostility, and more¡­ deference?


    Not to me, of course.


    To Him.


    I tilt my head, frowning. ¡°Kwe¡¯vhar? What¡¯s that supposed to mean, Gith?¡±


    She straightens, her chin lifting with pride. ¡°It is a title among my people¡ª¡®Storm of Blades,¡¯ one, who carves victory from the impossible. Harald has proven himself such. He felled the ghaik captain in single combat, crushed the devil commander Zhalk in a single blow, sent a Red Dragon fleeing with a mere word! I have seen gish¡¯kai wield blade and spell, but none are like him. His strength is¡­¡± She pauses, searching for a right word, her lips curling slightly. ¡°Unmatched. For now, his orders hold weight. We scout, as he commands.¡±


    I blink, caught off guard. Lae¡¯zel, the Githyanki warrior who¡¯d sooner gut me than glance my way, respects Harald? It seems almost laughable¡ªexcept it isn¡¯t. I saw it too. The way he moved. The raw power in every strike. The ease with which he dismantled our enemies.


    Still, her sudden deference prickles at me, a thorn under my skin. ¡°So, you¡¯re his loyal hound now?¡± I say, voice edged with mockery. ¡°Following orders like a good little soldier?¡±


    Her eyes narrow, a flash of anger sparking in their depths. ¡°I follow strength, not weakness. You would do well to snap out of your daze and move, priestess. The perimeter will not scout itself.¡±


    I bristle, my grip tightening on the mace¡¯s handle. Priestess. The word¡¯s meant as a jab, a reminder of the role she thinks defines me¡ªmy Lady¡¯s servant ¨C and nothing more. She¡¯s not wrong, but I¡¯ll be damned if I let her prod me around like some obedient acolyte.


    Harald¡¯s warning echoes again¡ªdon¡¯t go in there¡ªand something in me twists, defiant. If we¡¯re setting up camp here, shouldn¡¯t we know what¡¯s inside? A lich, he said. A ridiculous jest (or was it, given everything else we¡¯ve been through?). Either way, I¡¯m not waiting for him to play hero again, swaggering back from the sea with that¡­ Karlach on his arm, all grins and camaraderie.


    The image stings me more than it should¡ªKarlach¡¯s carefree laugh, his easy trust in her. I¡¯ve never learned to swim, never had the chance to in the cloister¡¯s dark halls, and the thought of them down there, together, churns a bitter knot in my chest.


    Jealousy? No, that¡¯s absurd!


    Annoyance, that¡¯s what this is.


    I¡¯ll prove I don¡¯t need his warnings¡ªor his protection.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I snap, turning toward the ruin¡¯s shadowed entrance, a jagged maw of stone beneath the roof, leading into the darkness. ¡°But I¡¯m not traipsing around the bushes like some two-bit ranger. If there¡¯s danger here, it¡¯s in there! I¡¯ll go and clear it myself.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, her grip iron-hard. ¡°Tchk. You defy his words? He said to wait.¡±


    I yank my arm free, glaring at her. ¡°I¡¯m not his pet, Gith. Remember that. If we¡¯re camping here, I¡¯d rather know what¡¯s lurking below than sit on my hands waiting for him to save the day. You can go scout yourself, or stand guard up here if you¡¯re so eager to please your¡­ Kwe¡¯vhar.¡±


    Her lips press into a thin line¡ªa rare tell of frustration. ¡°You are reckless, istika. You may die in there, and I do not want to explain your foolishness to him.¡± She hesitates, then growls low in her throat. ¡°Fine. I will follow¡ªonly to ensure you do not ruin his plans with your corpse.¡±


    I smirk, turning away. ¡°How noble of you.¡± My boots crunch against the stone as I descend the crumbling steps into what looks like a temple ¨C or crypt ¨C the air growing cooler, damper, the light fading to a dim, flickering glow from the walls. For a moment, I think I can feel some residual magic, or a fading Divine presence ¨C then, the sensation fades. Perhaps it was merely my imagination. Lae¡¯zel¡¯s footsteps echo behind me, steady and deliberate, her sword half-drawn, ready for whatever we might find.


    The interior opens into a cavernous chamber, its ceiling lost to shadow, its walls lined with cracked sarcophagi and faded carvings. The air¡¯s thick with what feels like centuries-old dust that clings to the back of my throat. My heart beats faster¡ªnot fear, I tell myself, but anticipation. Shar¡¯s presence hums faintly in my mind, a cold comfort, urging me forward. If there¡¯s danger here, I¡¯ll face it. I¡¯m more than a tool, more than a shadow trailing Harald¡¯s light. The Astral Prism, tucked against my hip, pulses faintly, a reminder of my purpose¡ªone he can¡¯t take from me, no matter how many dragons he cowers.


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s voice cuts through the silence, low and tense. ¡°This place reeks of death. Keep your wits, or I will leave you to it.¡±


    I don¡¯t reply, my eyes scanning the darkness, the mace¡¯s weight steady in my grip. Let¡¯s see what secrets this ruin hides¡ªand if Harald¡¯s warning held any truth.

 Lost in the Dawn

    Pebbles crunch pleasantly under my bare feet as Karlach and I trudge up the sandy path from the beach. The morning sun is climbing higher now, painting the cliffs in warm gold colors. A light breeze is tugging at my damp silk pants and the silly fishing hat that''s still perched on my head. The air is crisp and invigorating, salt mingling with pine and damp earth, the ocean¡¯s briny tang dancing pleasantly on my tongue. Karlach is beside me, her vivid, warm presence like a lighthouse piercing the morning chill. Her dark red skin catches the sun in fiery glints that ripple across her form like molten flames. Steam curls off her in soft, gentle clouds, wisping upward where the sea¡¯s last clinging droplets finally surrender to her infernal heat. The resulting mist surrounds her like a halo; and, occasionally, when the angle of the morning sun hits just right, I can spot a hint of a rainbow around her head. Her musky scent titillates my enhanced Vampiric senses: it is... unique, reminding me of a blend of fine tobacco and saltpeter ¨C and I can¡¯t help but grin like a loon, knowing that this is a blaze I would stumble into willingly, any day of the week.


    Her tail gently brushes my calf: a quick, accidental graze as she adjusts her stride, and I feel the warmth of it linger¡ªa soft jolt against the chill of my damp clothes, a fleeting caress that sends a shiver of excitement racing up my spine. ¡°Careful there,¡± I say, glancing her way with a half-smirk, my voice rough with the husky Nord growl. ¡°You¡¯re liable to trip a man up with that thing¡ªunless¡­ that¡¯s the plan?¡±


    She arches a brow, her amber eyes catching mine for a heartbeat, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths, warm with pure-hearted teasing. ¡°Plan? Oh, Soldier, if I wanted you flat on your back, I¡¯d hardly need my tail to do it,¡± she quips, her own voice a low, playful hum that rolls over me like the echo of a distant forge. She steps closer, her heat brushing my arm like a passing flame -- then, I feel a wave of warmth of an entirely different kind, as she flicks her tail again: this time, it wraps around my shin with a deliberate slowness, a sinuous coil that lingers just long enough to make my pulse jump¡­ before slipping away.


    I laugh, a low rumble that shakes my chest, sidestepping just enough to keep her guessing, the sandy pebbles crunching under my weight with a satisfying grind. ¡°Fair point. But you¡¯re making it damn tempting to test that theory¡ªreckon I¡¯d enjoy the fall?¡± My tone¡¯s light, but there¡¯s an edge to it, a dare wrapped in jest, and I can practically feel the air between us crackle with something subtle, a spark of possibility that, while unplanned ¨C is not at all unwelcome.


    She grins, sharp and teasing, and tilts her head, wet hair spilling over her shoulder alluringly, glistening like a flaming ruby in the morning¡¯s warm sunlight. Before she can reply, a sound cuts through the breeze¡ªlaughter, bright and sharp, echoing from the trail to the southwest.


    Now that I manage to pay attention to something other than Karlach, I see them instantly: two figures trudge toward the ruins across the grassy bluff.


    One¡¯s pale as frost, silver hair glinting like a blade in the sunlight¡ª this is, undoubtedly, Astarion. The Vampire Spawn is a very tragic BG3 character ¨C enslaved by the Vampire Lord Cazador Szarr, he was controlled almost like a puppet, made to do horrific things and to suffer unspeakable, hellish torments¡­ for something like two hundred years. The key choices in this character''s arc allow the player to decide whether Astarion ultimately usurps Cazador ¨C thus taking his place and continuing the cycle of torture and abuse upon others ¨C or whether he manages to instead transcend his trauma and move on ¨C thereby achieving healing and some semblance of emotional peace, albeit at a cost of power and no longer being able to walk in the Sun.


    Astarion¡¯s lean frame slinks with a feline grace even as he props up¡­ one of my favorite characters, Gale of Waterdeep! The wizard limps beside him, staff clutched in one hand, his dark robe shredded at the knee, sweat beading on his brow under the tousled mop of his hair. Gale is a man of contrasts¡ªbrilliant, yet burdened, a genius who had everything a Wizarding Prodigy could have asked for, and more! At one point being in a relationship with Mystra ¨C the goddess of magic ¨C herself¡­ Gale was brought low by excessive ambition and hubris. He foolishly tampered with a Netherese orb, a shard of cursed, ancient power now lodged in his chest, a portable natural disaster that hungers for rare magic to keep it sated, lest it explode violently in a blast comparable to a small nuke. Still, Gale is a gentleman to a fault and a fountain of wit with some of the best dialogue lines in the game -- and here he is, in the flesh¡ªlimping but alive!


    The two are quite a spectacle to behold¡ªGale is waving his free arm around like a conductor¡¯s baton, apparently mid-story, while Astarion is howling with laughter like an old drinking buddy after a fifth ale.


    ¡°¡ªand then I told him, ¡®Good sir, if you think that¡¯s a Phoenix egg, I¡¯ve got a mule named Archmage Elminster to trade you!¡¯¡±


    The duo explode with laughter once again!


    I glance at Karlach, who is genuinely smiling at the duo. ¡°Looks like we may not be the only survivors,¡± she mutters, her voice a mix of amusement and something softer¡ªrelief. Her amber eyes narrow as she studies the duo, certainly strangers to her -- but strangers walking away from the same hellish wreck that spat us out. ¡°Crash leftovers, you think? Poor bastards could use a hand.¡±


    ¡°Gotta be,¡± I reply, my grin widening as I take them in. That limp¡¯s nagging at me¡ªGale¡¯s visibly favoring his leg hard, and Astarion¡¯s arm loops under his shoulder, steady but casual, a support that feels much too natural for the vampire spawn¡¯s prickly edge. Back in the game, Astarion was a cynic¡¯s cynic¡ªtrust was a coin he¡¯d hoard, his centuries under Cazador¡¯s brutal lash were a chain of betrayal that left him wary of any hand not holding a blade. Charismatic and likable as Gale naturally is, I wondered what he might have done to earn such a warm treatment. Was it a last second shielding spell protecting Astarion from falling debris? A narrow rescue in a fight with one of the Nautiloid¡¯s fleshy abominations? Or, perhaps, a well-timed use of a feather fall scroll?


    They are around ten paces out when Astarion¡¯s voice finally slithers through the air, smooth as velvet, with a razor¡¯s edge. ¡°Well, well, look what the tide dragged in¡ªa towering brute and his... fiery friend!¡± he calls, his tone dripping with mock cheer, his free hand flourishing in a theatrical sweep, a rogue¡¯s flair undimmed by the crash. His red eyes¡ªsharp as garnets, glinting with a predator¡¯s gleam¡ªflick between us, landing on Karlach¡¯s steaming form with a raised brow, like he¡¯s calculating the chances of successfully testing her heat against his own cold blood. ¡°Other survivors, I hope? Or... are we interrupting a seaside tryst?¡±


    Gale straightens as best he can, wincing as he shifts his weight off Astarion, brushing sweat-slicked hair from his brow with a trembling hand, his smile polite but strained, etched with exhaustion that creases his scholarly face. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you both. I¡¯m Gale of Waterdeep, and this is Astarion, of Baldur¡¯s Gate. We¡¯ve just crawled from a rather unpleasant shipwreck¡ªmind flayers, tentacles, the usual fare. You wouldn¡¯t happen to be¡­ fellow escapees, would you?¡± His words carry a cautious hope, a wizard¡¯s mind probing for allies or threats. His staff is steadying him as he leans against it, and I notice the runes on its tip subtly powering up in case diplomacy fails, their outlines glinting faintly in the dawn.


    Karlach chuckles disarmingly, her tail flicking sand with a playful snap as she crosses her arms, her heat once again radiating like a forge stoked high. ¡°Escapees would be right. It¡¯s great to meet you both¡ªname¡¯s Karlach,¡± she says, her voice a gravelly mix of grit and goodwill, her amber eyes softening as she studies them. ¡°Need a hand?¡±


    I nod, my grin holding as I step forward slowly, the sand cool and rough under my feet, the breeze tugging at my damp hat with a faint whistle. ¡°Harald,¡± I say, keeping things simple. ¡°And yes, we¡¯re from that wreck too. You two look like you¡¯ve got quite a story¡ªand mind flayer souvenirs in the noggin too, I¡¯m guessing?¡±


    Before they can answer, a jolt stabs behind my eyes. Once again, my tadpole squirms, alive and wriggling; a cold, slithering thing coiling through my mind, and, suddenly, I feel them:


    Karlach¡¯s fiery pulse, Astarion¡¯s cool, coiled sharpness, and Gale¡¯s restless hum of intellect and curiosity all press against my mind at once. Fortunately, I¡¯ve gotten good at controlling telepathic links after the recent experiences with Lae¡¯zel and -- especially -- Shadowheart. I gently shove a feeling of solidarity towards the duo before tapering out the link. There¡¯s no reason to show them too much just yet.


    Karlach staggers half a step before I reflexively steady her with my arm (earning a raised eyebrow from Astarion, since Karlach¡¯s skin is visibly hot enough to brew coffee). ¡°Bloody worms,¡± Karlach grumbles beside me, rubbing her temple with a grimace, her fingers pressing hard against her red skin, her tail lashing the sand in a sharp arc that kicks up a dusty plume. ¡°Can¡¯t even meet new folks without ¡®em thrashing around in our heads¡ªrude little bastards.¡±


    Astarion smirks, easing the wizard onto a nearby boulder with an easy grace that belies his thin frame. ¡°Yes, charming little beasties, aren¡¯t they?¡± he drawls, his voice sickly sweet, his red eyes flicking to Karlach with a glint of amusement. He seems to be sizing her up, like a cat eyeing a stove with a particularly tasty treat at the top, wondering if the reward is worth risking a singe.


    ¡°Speaking of charm,¡± I interject, nodding toward the wizard¡¯s limp, ¡°Gale, was it? Would you like me to heal that injury for you?¡±


    My voice and attitude are calm, casual ¨C and Gale¡¯s pain-filled face lights up with a smile, bright despite the sweat streaking his brow, his dark eyes glinting with gratitude. ¡°Oh, yes, please, my good man. My thanks! Would it be fair to assume you¡¯re a Druid then?¡± He gives me a once-over, his gaze lingering on my bare chest and dense musculature, then frowns, his gaze flicking to the soggy fishing hat still perched on my head. ¡°Or, rather, is it Cleric?¡± There¡¯s a spark of curiosity in his tone, I can see his sharp scholar¡¯s mind already spinning, working overtime trying to figure me out¡ªprobably picturing me chanting to some nature spirit or bowing to a divine altar.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Neither, actually¡ªbut I do know a bit of Restoration magic,¡± I reply, letting the warm, familiar rush spill from my palm, knitting Gale¡¯s torn leg back together in an instant. The spell doesn¡¯t stop there, of course ¨C rather, the raw tide of magic flows up his frame; easing the bruised and fractured ribs swelling under his robe; removing the lactic acid buildup from his muscles; erasing every little ache, pain, and discomfort; and even fixing his slightly-deteriorated eyesight. I see the tension in Gale¡¯s shoulders melting away like snow under a noonday sun.


    Karlach snorts loudly behind me, her tail flicking sand as she mutters something I don¡¯t quite catch¡ªprobably a jab at my showboating.


    As Gale stares back at me, wide-eyed and gaping like a fish, I realize that I haven¡¯t quite thought through what I just said, and who I said it to.


    Restoration magic.


    I mentioned it like it¡¯s a well-known field of study, but Gale¡¯s face tells a different story.


    Suddenly, I realize exactly why he¡¯s looking at me like I¡¯ve just grown tentacles while dancing the Macarena.


    Gale¡¯s no novice. According to his BG3 backstory, he was a once-in-a-thousand-year magical prodigy -- an Archmage even, before the incident with the cursed Orb that saw Mystra cut him loose. Gale was a wizard who was close to the goddess of magic herself. He had visited Elysium. His mind was a library of arcane lore stretching back centuries.


    And he¡¯d know¡ªbetter than most¡ªthat healing spells simply don¡¯t exist in the arcane playbook of the DnD setting. Sure, you¡¯ve got your ninth-level Wish, a reality-warping sledgehammer that can yank someone back  from death¡¯s door... and even beyond. Then, of course, there are the Vampiric tricks, like siphoning life force from some poor sod to patch yourself up. The reverse was possible too¡ªif you were willing to bleed away your own essence to mend an ally.


    But clean, pure-play healing? That was divine turf¡ªClerics channeling gods¡¯ grace, Druids tapping nature¡¯s pulse, spells like Cure Wounds or Healing Word fueled by the powers of faith or the wild.


    DnD¡¯s arcane magic was capable of bending the elements of reality: it can conjure fire, pierce space, and even twists minds¡ª what it doesn¡¯t do, however, is heal someone without an additional cost. Gale has never seen a healer who wasn¡¯t a Druid or Cleric¡ªhell, he¡¯d probably bet his spellbook it wasn¡¯t even possible¡ªthat is, until I strolled up and turned his entire world upside down with a flick of my wrist.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    I¡¯ve really, really got to be more careful about doing things like that.


    ¡°Um, your leg should be good now!¡± I say, forcing my voice into a false cheer.


    Gale blinks, snapping his jaw shut, but his eyes stay wide, darting over me again¡ªtaking in my bare chest, the damp silk pants, the fishing hat¡ªlike he¡¯s trying to rewrite a scroll of first impressions in his head. He tests his weight on the newly-healed limb, and stands straight, the wince gone, his robe swaying freely as he rises from the boulder, staff still gripped tight -- but no longer as a crutch.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned to the Nine Hells and back again,¡± he mutters, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief, rich with that scholarly lilt as he stares at me. ¡°Restoration magic, you say? But there¡¯s not a whisper of Divine essence, and no Druidic pulse either¡­. That¡¯s¡ªforgive me, my good man, but that¡¯s simply extraordinary¡ªunheard of, even!¡± His hands twitch, like he¡¯s itching to pull out a quill and begin scribbling notes right here on the bluff. His eyes glint with an unparallelled enthusiasm¡­ and a hunger for new knowledge. ¡°I¡¯ve never encountered such a thing. How in Mystra¡¯s name did you come by such a spell? An ancient Netherese tome? A mentor? A¡­ quirk of fate?¡± His tone¡¯s eager now, almost pleading, his hands gesturing like he¡¯s sketching the spell in the air, the scholar in him fully awake despite the crash¡¯s toll.


    Astarion chuckles, a low, wicked sound that slinks through the air, his pale hands flexing as he leans back against the boulder, his silver hair catching the light in a shimmering arc. ¡°Oh, Darling,¡± he says, his voice an overly smooth silk over hard steel, his red eyes glinting as he looks me up and down¡ªhe¡¯s already clocking me as trouble worth watching. ¡°Healing with a snap of his fingers, and mysterious to boot¡ªI¡¯d hate to miss the encore when you pull a rabbit from that soggy hat next.¡± His smirk¡¯s a taunt, but there¡¯s a flicker in his gaze¡ªwariness, calculation¡ªa rogue filing away a card for later play.


    ¡°Oh, you know¡­ I picked up a little here and there ¨C but the full story¡¯s a long one, best saved for a campfire and some ale,¡± I smile disarmingly. ¡°Given the¡­ souvenirs in our heads, I think it only makes sense to travel together ¨C don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    Gale¡¯s eyes light up with enthusiasm, the awe and hunger still simmering beneath a spark of practical relief, and he nods with an eagerness that nearly gives him a concussion. ¡°Oh, absolutely¡ªI¡¯d be a fool to disagree,¡± he exclaims. ¡°Traveling together is not just the sensible thing¡ªit¡¯s imperative! These tadpoles are no trifling matter, and I¡¯d wager none of us fancy sprouting tentacles by week¡¯s end. A specialist in a proper city would be our best bet¡ªsomeone versed in the arcane or the esoteric, capable of prying these wretched things from our skulls before they take root.¡± His words tumble out quickly, a scholar¡¯s mind racing ahead, already mapping out a plan, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of hope and calculation.


    I grin back, the sandy pebbles cool and gritty under my bare feet as I shift my stance. ¡°Good call¡ªI recon Baldur¡¯s Gate¡¯s the spot, then,¡± I say, tossing the thought out like it¡¯s the obvious play for us. ¡°Big city, plenty of healers. Maybe, if we¡¯re lucky, an expert Cleric or two who know mind flayer tricks¡ªoughta have someone who can sort us out.¡±


    I¡¯m banking on it like I¡¯m still in Baldur¡¯s Gate 3, script intact.


    Unfortunately, it seems I¡¯m in for a rude awakening.


    Gale freezes mid-gesture, his staff clattering faintly against the boulder as his hands still, his dark eyes widening like I¡¯ve just suggested we shoulld stroll back into Avernus for afternoon tea. His mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again as he lets out a nervous, disbelieving laugh.


    ¡°Baldur¡¯s Gate?¡± he exclaims, his voice spiking with sheer incredulity. ¡°My good man, we were lucky¡ªnay, blessed beyond all reason¡ªto even be able to claw our way out of the Hells on that wreck! Have you any idea¡­ Why, the sheer statistical improbability of us re-entering the Material Plane anywhere close to where we started¡ªit¡¯s¡­ astronomical, a cosmic jest at best! No, no¡ªI¡¯m quite certain we¡¯re not even in Faer?n anymore. I¡¯d stake my spellbook on it, in fact, and I¡¯ll have you know that¡¯s a tome of no small worth!¡±


    Gale pauses and squints skyward, his gaze locking on a gull wheeling overhead, its cry a guttural bark slicing through the breeze, its wings flashing silvery-white against the azure expanse. ¡°If I¡¯m not mistaken, that¡¯s a Moon Gull¡ªnative to the Moonshae Isles, a remote chain north-west of Waterdeep. We¡¯re most definitely nowhere near Baldur¡¯s Gate at the moment.¡±


    The words slam into me with a brutal realization, the cool pebbles suddenly unsteady under my soles. The Moonshae Isles? My breath catches, panic threatening to claw up my throat as my mind reels¡ªback to the ocean I¡¯d just waded through not an hour ago, its salt still stinging my lips.


    A gods-dammed river is supposed to hug Withers ruin.


    I¡­


    I¡¯m such an idiot.


    The realization sinks into my bones like ice through a cracked door during a blizzard, chilling me despite the dawn¡¯s golden warmth creeping across the bluff.


    Gale¡¯s right, of course¡ªthe Nautiloid¡¯s plunge through the Astral Sea, that violet rift tearing us from Avernus¡¯ grip -- it could¡¯ve spat us out literally anywhere. That we even made it back to the Material Plane in one piece was a miracle in itself. I¡­ I didn¡¯t want to think about it. I¡¯d clung to Baldur¡¯s Gate 3¡¯s plot like scripture ¨C saw what I wanted to see.


    But the Moonshae Isles?


    Lore flickers through my mind, dredged up from half-forgotten memories of old Forgotten Realms campaigns. We¡¯re on an archipelago northwest of Waterdeep, a wild and untamed land, a land of druids, Norse raiders, ancient mysteries, and the occasional portal to the Feywild. My every assumption has been thrown out of the window, and I now realize that I¡¯m in a game I don¡¯t quite know how to play anymore.


    Suddenly, Karlach is there, her comforting heat a steady presence beside me, and I catch her glance¡ªconcern deepening those amber eyes, her grin faltering as she reads the storm brewing on my face, her fingers flexing like she¡¯s ready to grab me or throttle whatever has me so spooked. ¡°What¡¯s eating you, Soldier?¡± she asks, her voice a grave thread of worry laced with that fierce edge, her stance shifting as if braced for a fight she can¡¯t yet see, flames and steam curling off her in tight, ominous wisps that shimmer dangerously in the dawn¡¯s gold.


    I blink, my throat dry as I force a false composure back into my voice. ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± I mutter, the words scraping out like gravel, my bare feet digging into the sand as I pivot toward the ruin, its shadowed maw glaring back like a challenge¡ªor a damn mockery. ¡°I¡¯m an idiot, Karlach. We swam in that ocean, and I didn¡¯t even consider that it wasn¡¯t a river.¡± My hands clench into fists as I stare at the nearby unfamiliar cliffs, their jagged faces etched with shadows I can¡¯t read, looming like silent judges over a world that¡¯s flipped my mental script upside down.


    For the first time since waking up in this new world, I genuinely consider how to proceed.


    We must get to Moonrise Towers and Baldur¡¯s Gate as soon as possible, of course ¨C this whole world, and maybe even the local Universe, is certainly doomed otherwise. The good news is, we should still have some time before shit really starts to hit the fan. Depending on which island we ended up on, we may even be able to hire a fast ship to sail back¡­


    Damn, I really am an idiot, aren¡¯t I? Instead of being concerned with looking cool in front of the ladies by intimidating those scavengers ¨C I could have known all of this all along if I¡¯d just... bothered talking to them like a human being.


    Well, what¡¯s done was done ¨C fortunately, with Clairvoyance as an option, I don¡¯t exactly need to ask for directions. The spell snaps out of me roughly, without warning, a brutally powerful surge of magicka shackled tightly to my single-minded determination to track down Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers being the only remaining member of the game''s main cast still unaccounted for.


    I feel a certain strain as the tightly-focused spell fizzles in the distance ¨C my instincts tell me that Wyll is on the same plane, but is likely much too far away to lock onto¡­ unless I decide to throw all caution to the wind and  shove much, much more power into the spell matrix.


    In retrospect, this was to be expected. After all, Wyll¡¯s Warlock Patron ¨C Mizora ¨C is a devil based in Avernus. She would have certainly sensed her pet''s arrival on the mind-flayer ship. Given Mizora¡¯s apparent obsession with Wyll, it¡¯s not too far-fetched to assume she would have taken the first opportunity to teleport him to safety.


    I sigh knowingly. If we don¡¯t get to Wyll in a reasonable timeframe, the Absolute, a magically-enhanced Elder Brain controlling the modified tadpoles, will surely corrupt his mind ¨C just as it did with Minthara, the charming Drow noble I might now never meet, as our situation diverges from BG3¡¯s (heh) Grand Design.


    My next step is to turn my awareness upon Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel, to verify their locations and well-being¡­


    And my face instantly drains of all remaining color.


    ¡­


    ...


    They are gone.

 Colors in the Dark

    The salt-laced wind whipped across the bluff, clawing at my sodden silk pants and my favorite fishing hat plastered to my skull, its brim flapping like a wounded bird. Dawn still bled gold over the cliffs, igniting the ruin¡¯s broken arches in a blaze of fire and shadow, but that warmth couldn¡¯t touch the ice pooling in my gut. I stood rigid, the Clairvoyance spell¡¯s tendrils still tingling in the back of my mind, its failure a bitter sting behind my eyes. I¡¯d cast the spell with a great deal of both power and precision¡ªsearched directly for Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel¡¯s presences -- but there was simply¡­ nothing for the spell matrix to latch onto, when I tried to lock on to them. I saw only a void, vast and unyielding, like the spell had plunged into a sea of black ink and drowned.


    ¡°They are gone,¡± I said the words aloud now, the sounds grinding out in a low Nord growl rumbling in my chest. My fists tightened, nails biting into my palms as the wind snatched at my voice, hurling it toward the sea crashing below.


    Karlach shifted beside me, somehow understanding what I meant immediately, without elaboration. ¡°Gone?¡± she echoed, her voice rough as gravel, edged with a flicker of disbelief, her tail flicking sand with a sharp snap. ¡°Do you mean, they wandered off, or¡­?¡± She trailed off, searching my expression, her usual grin faltering like a flame caught in a draft.


    I turned to Karlach, my gaze hard as dragonbone. ¡°No. I mean Gone. My spell couldn¡¯t find them¡ªcouldn¡¯t even sense them. It¡¯s like they¡¯ve been erased from existence.¡± My tone was hard, but beneath it, fear was a serpent sinking fangs into my ribs. Not fear for myself, of course. In truth, I have grown quite fond of both women. Their characters were compelling enough that, even when BG3 was only a game, I would invariably try to preserve both Shadowheart and Lae''zel''s lives, avoiding any scenario where either got hurt or killed. After I''ve met them in reality? After I¡¯ve had a chance to get to know them as people? To read their thoughts? I¡¯ve promised myself that I would use my newfound power to help them. Abandoning either was unthinkable to me now.


    I would make sure both of them survived.


    At any cost.


    Gale¡¯s voice piped up, dissonantly bright and inquisitive, slicing through the tension like a scholar¡¯s quill through parchment. ¡°Fascinating! That was some kind of divination spell, yes? But, I felt no resonance in the Weave¡ªhow peculiar!¡± He walked closer, robes swishing, his staff tapping the sand in a restless rhythm, dark eyes glinting with a relentless curiosity.


    I loved Gale¡¯s character to death, and understood his fascination with new magic, but his sense of timing could really use some work.


    I wheeled on him, my patience fraying like a rope stretched to snapping. ¡°Gale. My¡­. apologies, but this is really not the time for comparing notes on the finer points of spellcasting. My friends are missing. I told them not to go into that ruin, but suspect they did anyway.¡± I jabbed a finger toward the jagged stone maw ahead, its arches looming like the ribs of some ancient beast half-buried in moss and time. ¡°The problem is, they are no longer there. Or anywhere at all that''s in range of my divination magic. Karlach and I absolutely need to go find them ¨C right away. Are you in or out?¡±


    He blinked, then squared his shoulders, a spark of resolve flaring in his soft features. ¡°In, naturally!¡± he said, voice ringing with enthusiasm, his limp erased by my earlier magic. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of missing out on seeing your unique brand of magic in action! And¡­ that is to say¡­ of course, I would be happy to help you find your friends as well! Lead the way, Harald¡ªI¡¯ll be at your side.¡± He adjusted his robe with a flourish, staff steady now, his eagerness almost endearing.


    Astarion slithered forward, crimson eyes gleaming with predatory glee, his voice a silken drawl laced with venom. ¡°Oh, a rescue mission? How positively thrilling!¡± he purred, pale hands flexing as if craving a dagger¡¯s hilt. ¡°Count me in, Darling. Solitude¡¯s dreadfully dull, and I¡¯d hate to miss the fun of all of my new friends getting skewered without me.¡± His smirk was a razor, slicing through the unease, and he tossed his silver hair back with a theatrical flick, every bit the bastard one would expect.


    I¡­ resisted the urge to reflexively deck him in his smug face, recognizing that, beneath the callous and carefree mask Astarion put on lay a traumatized youth who''d undergone hundreds of years of abuse. It was, frankly, surprising the guy was still as sane as he was... But, my understanding of Astarion''s psychology and reasons for his behavior didn''t mean I enjoyed his rudeness and lack of tact. No matter -- I had to find the girls first; figuring out what to do about a mentally scarred Vampire Spawn can probably wait until later in the week.


    ¡°Keep up, then,¡± I growled out, already moving, boots crunching pebbles as I stormed toward the ruin. Karlach¡¯s heat shadowed me closely, a steady blaze I could feel from several feet away; Gale¡¯s staff clicked in time with his steps, while Astarion¡¯s presence was a whisper, trailing like a ghost.


    The crypt''s atmosphere hit me like a slap¡ªthe musty air was thick with the reek of mildew and ancient rot that left a sour tang coating on my throat. Darkness swallowed us, broken only by the occasional beam of light filtering through a crack in the crumbling ceiling, casting eerie shadows across equally worn sarcophagi.


    The stone coffins¡¯ lids gaped open or else lay shattered entirely, jagged stone teeth framing hollow insides¡ªancient skeletons sprawled out in chaotic heaps, ribs splintered, skulls cracked, bones tangled like lovers caught in a final, desperate embrace. One near me, a hulking frame, clutched a rusted axe head lodged in its sternum; another¡¯s skull grinned through a web of fractures, teeth scattered like dice on the quartz-streaked floor. I preliminarily hypothesized that this must have been a powerful warriors¡¯ crypt ¨C or, at least, one belonging to a noble or wealthy family that could afford to keep many warriors on retainer. The silence was suffocating¡ªthere was no skittering vermin, no dripping water¡ªjust a stillness that pressed against my ears, heavy and... ominous.


    Karlach¡¯s engine hummed beside me, a low growl in the gloom, her spectral axe was trailing wisps of mist that danced around her scarred, red skin. Gale muttered something about searching for ¡°necromantic echoes,¡± his staff¡¯s faint glow probing the shadows, while Astarion lingered back, red eyes glinting as he scanned the debris¡ªhe may have been hunting for loot or looking for traps; I cared not which ¨C as long as he didn¡¯t get in my way.


    My own senses strained for any sign of Shadowheart or Lae¡¯zel ¡ª and I wondered how the former would react if I told her that I could easily distinguish faint traces of her passage ¨C by smell alone -- even in a musty crypt like this one. Knowing her, it would probably be some kind of smart-ass comment ¨C her character always did have an interesting sense of humor. I really hoped it wasn¡¯t too late to hear it firsthand.


    They had indeed been here¡ªI knew it¡ªbut where did they go? It was like the earth had devoured them whole.


    Should I attempt an unstructured Clairvoyance again, trying to replicate what I accidentally achieved in Avernus? I inwardly shuddered a little just thinking about it -- as useful as that particular variation of the spell is, suddenly becoming intimately aware of every single detail, down to the grain of dust, within a radius of several hundred miles... wasn''t my idea of a good time, no matter how robust my new mind seemed to be. If good, old-fashioned investigation failed to uncover anything, I would definitely risk my sanity for the girls -- but it was certainly not my first choice. Besides, based on the glimpses I''ve caught in Avernus, the old adage -- "if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you" -- may very well be literally true in this Universe.


    ¡°It''s too damn quiet,¡± I muttered, my voice bouncing off the walls, rough and low. ¡°I know they came through here¡­ But something¡¯s not adding up.¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Karlach edged closer, her heat a comforting pulse, her tail brushing the floor with a soft scrape. ¡°You think they¡¯re still down here somewhere?¡± Her tone was tight, worry etching lines around her molten eyes, her usual bravado dimmed.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, jaw clenching. ¡°Definitely not. Or I would have found them already. That¡¯s what worries me.¡±


    The air noticeably thickened as we pressed deeper, dust particles swirling in faint clouds with every step¡ªgray, powdery motes that shimmered in the light filtering from the cracks in the ceiling, coating my tongue with a gritty, ashen taste that was probably even older than the ancient bones around us. The sarcophagi bore the scars of looting¡ªcarvings gouged, gemstones pried free, the remains inside stripped of anything vaguely valuable¡ªleaving behind nothing but cracked stone and the skeletons¡¯ silent accusations. Here, a shattered urn slumped in a corner, its clay dusted gray, whatever it once held long gone. There, an empty coffin: the skeleton shaken out unceremoniously in order to scour the inside for burial artifacts.


    Truly, human (or was it gnome?) greed knew nothing sacred.


    My gaze swept across the chaos, before something in the back of my mind started ringing alarm bells: the dust wasn¡¯t just settling¡ªit was moving, drawn to the air currents swirling around Karlach¡¯s heat like iron filings to a magnet. Even now, her skin¡¯s flames licked up her arms in playful tendrils, steam hissing off her damp hair, and the air around her thickened even more, motes of dust tightening into a hazy veil. Memory jolted me¡ªsome VR documentary about the dangers of dust explosions in flour and woodworking mills.


    This crypt¡­ was a potential tinderbox, and Karlach was the spark!


    ¡°Shit¡ªeveryone, stand still!¡± I barked, the echo sharp and urgent, my feet scraping on the rough stone floor.


    Karlach froze, axe mist curling tighter. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Soldier?¡± she asked, voice steady but full of trust, her eyes locked on mine.


    I didn¡¯t waste breath replying. The dust here was incredibly dense, and it was everywhere¡ªcoating the bones and the stone, hanging thickly in the air itself¡ªa centuries-old shroud waiting to flare. Was it some kind of clever, alchemical trap? A particularly volatile burial item? A failsafe to prevent anyone from following in the girls'' footsteps? I didn''t particularly care at the moment. All I knew was: Karlach¡¯s heat may very well be able to light it up. Would it roast my newly found, and very flammable companions (Astarion especially) before they could blink? I couldn¡¯t take that chance ¨C losing track of Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel was bad enough.


    ¡°Hold very, very still, and hold your breaths for a second¡± I said, planting my feet wide, the others tensing behind me. I focused, allowing my awareness to lock onto every mote of the surrounding dust. My implanted memories of Alteration magic skills had me act on autopilot. I felt power build up behind my navel, raw and dense, but tightly controlled, and then -- I channeled it all into my foot and stomped down. Hard.


    The ripple of magicka and raw intent shook the crypt. The wave of pure, focused Alteration expanded from my foot, a tidal surge of will that seized billions of dust particle and penetrated the essence of their metaphysical being. In the barest of instants, the dust changed as I forcibly twisted its nature from powder to liquid. Water erupted all across the chamber -- a sudden, filthy flood that was as intentional as it was¡­ unpleasant. Ancient sarcophagi now gleamed wetly, muddy rivulets streaking their cracks; skeletons glistened, ribcages pooling with newly acquired grime, the warrior¡¯s axe head was now drowning in rust-tinged slop. The floor had turned slick and slippery, black obsidian shining darkly under a thin, reeking film, and fresh droplets pattered from the sodden moss on the ceiling above, a steady plink-plink cutting the silence. The air shifted, now thick with the wet slobber of earth and decay. The stench of it clawed up my nose and clung there.


    ¡°Ugh. Yuck¡± I grunted, shaking crypt-muck off my foot, the silk pants now a sodden, ruined mess against my legs. The room was now a muddy, cold, sticky, and foul -- but, I hoped, entirely non-flammable ¨C disaster. Karlach¡¯s flames now hissed harmlessly against the damp, and, while steam still rose from her in faint curls, I could see no sparks to catch aflame.


    Gale gaped, his staff sunk in a newly made puddle, muttering, ¡°Transmutation on that scale¡­ without a focus? Extraordinary¡­¡±


    Astarion flicked grime off his sleeve, nose wrinkling. ¡°Simply delightful,¡± he sneered. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly improved the d¨¦cor of the place. But, next time, Darling, perhaps¡­ you can avoid swamp spells? I hate getting muck in my hair!¡±


    I ignored them both, eyes once again roving the -- now dripping -- crypt. Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel are still gone, and this moist mess hasn¡¯t yet coughed up any clues.


    I try to pay careful attention to the surroounding. The crypt is still a dank, oppressive place. My bare feet squelch through shallow puddles, the obsidian floor slick beneath me. The air reeks of wet stone and rot. Everything here is shrouded in gloom, a monotonous palette of grays and blacks¡ªexcept¡­ for one spot!


    Ha! I knew we would find something if we looked carefully enough! Now that I¡¯ve noticed it, my enhanced eyes snag on it instantly: a distant corner of the crypt that simply doesn¡¯t quite fit in with the rest of the place. It¡¯s not brighter, per say -- not exactly, but it is, somehow, more¡­ vibrant. The colors in that particular corner are deeper, richer, like they¡¯ve got a pulse of their own, and they stand out in the dim light where everything else just fades into monochrome shadow. How did I fail to notice it earlier?


    As I approach, the epicenter of the unusual area comes into focus: it is an enormous sarcophagus, at least half again as large as the others around the chamber. It is an impressive construction, more a small monument than a large coffin; its heavy stone bulk is covered with intricate and detailed carvings which, while not feeling magical in the least, evidence some truly impressive (and probably expensive) stone-working artistry. At its base, mushrooms sprout in defiant clusters¡ªand not the drab gray or brown fungi choking the rest of this place either. No, these ones offer vivid bursts of color. There are deep blues, rich purples, a few startling pinks -- and some even glow with a faint bioluminescence, their caps emitting a soft, mysterious light, like tiny pixie lanterns. These fungi provide the only real vibrancy in this otherwise grayscale tomb, a splash of colorful life amid the death and decay.


    And it¡¯s impossible to ignore.


    I pause, my gut tightening. Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel¡ªthey¡¯d have almost certainly noticed this too. They would have definitely poked around ¨C if not to investigate the brighter colors, then certainly to check out the larger coffin!


    I step closer, the damp air cooling around me, and I notice the sarcophagus¡¯s lid¡ªit¡¯s been moved -- recently. Someone¡¯s indeed been here.


    Leaning over the open coffin, I peer inside. As expected, there is a skeleton within: an ancient, crumbling thing, its bones yellowed with age. In its bony grip is a piece of parchment so old that it¡¯s turned the color of spoiled cream, the ink fading into meaningless smudges. Would I even be able to understand this world¡¯s writing? I suppose that it didn¡¯t matter at the moment -- whatever ink once existed has long since faded away; one touch, and that letter would crumble to dust. Disappointing, and quite useless to the investigation.


    Beside the parchment, nestled against the skeleton¡¯s ribs, is a lute¡ªor rather, what¡¯s left of one. It was definitely a masterpiece once upon a time. The instrument¡¯s wood, now warped and splitting, bears intricate artistic depictions of vines and flowers, with faint glints of gold leaf inlay still clinging to its body. This instrument must have belonged to a very wealthy collector ¨C or else, a skilled master. Was this the resting place of a famous Bard, perhaps? But sadly, time has ravaged the delicate piece of art beyond repair. The strings have snapped long ago; the neck is warped and twisted beyond repair; and those strange glowing mushrooms have claimed the rest of it¡ªmycelium threading through the cracks in the wood, their luminescent caps sprouting from the soundhole in an almost mocking manner.


    My fingers hover over it, a hum buzzing against my skin¡ªnot quite sound, not quite magic, but¡­ I realize that I feel something. This is the only lead we have ¨C and I would bet my fishing hat that the girls'' curiosity would have gotten the better of them here.


    ¡°Harald, no¡ªwait!¡± Gale¡¯s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and almost panicked, but I don¡¯t listen to him. My fingertips deliberately brush the lute¡¯s rotted wood where the strings would have been -- and the crypt around us blooms with motion. A whirlwind of color and sound explodes around me, swallowing everything in its path. Blues, purples, pinks, and golds spiral through the air, a blinding storm of light that pulses with the mushrooms¡¯ glow. A deep, resonant hum shakes the ground, rattling my teeth, and the air crackles with energy¡ªthe smells of fresh summer rain, ozone, and crushed flowers flooding my senses. Karlach closes in and holds onto my shoulder while the chaos clings to our group, the kaleidoscope twisting in tighter ¨C and I realize that it¡¯s dragging all of us into¡­ somewhere. I hear Karlach shout, Gale¡¯s cry, Astarion¡¯s sharp curse, but they¡¯re distant, muffled by the roar in my ears. The lute¡¯s pull is relentless, the whirlwind engulfing everyone near me, the crypt¡¯s walls blurring into indistinct streaks as the room drops away.


    The world shifts around us in an instant. I have absolutely no idea what I¡¯ve just gotten us into¡­ but, I feel inexplicably optimistic about the experience. Everything will be just fine. We''ll get in, get the girls out of -- wherever they ended up -- and get out.


    How bad could it be?

 Party Crashers (part 1)

    We definitely weren¡¯t in Kansas anymore.


    It takes me a second to adjust to the change. One moment, the damp chill of the crypt pressed against my skin, the lute¡¯s non-existent strings humming faintly in my mind; the next -- a warm, fragrant breeze washed over me, carrying scents and sounds so vivid, so real, that they hit like a physical force. My eyes snap open, blinking against a sudden flood of color and light that make the crypt¡¯s gloom seem like a distant dream.


    My bare feet sink into a thick carpet of bioluminescent, indigo-colored moss. It is pleasantly soft and springy, each step releasing faint puffs of glittering spores that caught the dim sunlight streaming through the canopy above. The air shimmers with them, a haze of tiny, glowing motes that danced like fireflies in the golden glow -- and I realize with a blink that actual fireflies, as well as what look to be tiny pixies, are joining them in a consummate, carefree dance through the air.


    I inhale deeply, and my head reels¡ªjasmine mingled with honeysuckle, undercut by sweeter tones, like ripe berries crushed underfoot. The scents of life would have been strong here, even to normal people. To me, with my enhanced senses, the smells are intoxicating, almost overwhelming, and I feel a strange tug at the edges of my mind, as if the very atmosphere of this place wanted to pull me deeper into its embrace. For a fleeting instant, I want nothing more than to stay here. Forever.


    The rest of the forest is equally magical -- pulsing with a vitality that defies common sense. Ancient trees tower overhead, their gnarled trunks twisting into shapes that suggested faces frozen mid-expression¡ªsome laughing, some weeping. Their leaves shimmer with an inner light of their own, shifting through hues of emerald, gold, and sapphire in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Vines hang from their branches like living curtains, studded with flowers more beautiful than any tropical flower I¡¯ve ever seen back on Earth; they open and close slowly as if breathing, their petals glistening with dew that sparkles with fiery rainbows like tiny diamonds. Every rustle of the leaves seems to carry whispers, a chorus of secrets just beyond comprehension, while the distant babble of a brook seems to weave faint laughter into its melody (but, of course, it could very well be actual laughter, since all kinds of water fae and spirits may be responsible for such a thing).


    The air itself hums with latent power, a subtle vibration that prickles against my skin and raises the hairs on my arms. In the distance, will-o¡¯-the-wisps dart between the trees, their ghostly lights flickering in patterns that tease at meaning¡ªin a language I can''t quite grasp. The woods themselves seem aware of our presence.


    Watching.


    And then, there is the music. It drifts through the forest like a faint whisper. The sound is distant, inhuman, softened by the thick canopy of ancient trees and the glowing mushrooms that faintly illuminate our surroundings. Deep, resonant drums carried the farthest, their steady rhythm echoing through the towering oaks and willows, a primal pulse that mingled with the rustling leaves and the murmur of unseen streams. Each beat feels like a subtle nudge, a far-off heartbeat urging us onward.


    Higher notes¡ªethereal flutes and lutes¡ªfollowed, but they are faint, their melodies fragmented and ghostly, as if the wind itself struggled to carry them this far. The music twists through the magical air with an otherworldly edge. Alongside it, I can faintly make out what might be the muffled sounds of laughter and shouts, their sharpness dulled by distance, blending into a low hum of manic energy that hinted at revelry still out of sight.


    The forest itself seems to respond. The branches overhead sway faintly, apparently keeping time with the drums, and the air buzzes with a subtle undercurrent of magic that prickles against the skin.


    Someone in the distance is having one hell of a party.


    I turn to my companions, their faces reflecting the a mix of awe and unease. Karlach is rooted in place, her amber eyes wide, her tail twitching as she scanned the surroundings. Her usual grin is gone, replaced by a cautious, childlike wonder, her massive frame absolutely dwarfed by the towering trees. After escaping a decade of literal hell, I would image that suddenly finding herself in the middle of an enchanted forest would be jarring to say the least. Let alone enchanted trees, does Karlach even remember what regular trees look like up close, after all those years stuck in Avernus? Has she ever even seen a regular, unenchanted old growth tree while growing up in Baldur''s Gate?


    Astarion isn''t doing much better -- the Vampire Spawn looks even more stunned than I initially felt, his enhanced vampiric senses must be getting absolutely hammered with all of the available stimuli. His stance looks guarded, his red eyes narrowed -- as though he is expecting the beauty around us to peel back and reveal a maw of hungry fangs.


    Gale, on the other hand, seems to have kept his composure quite well. I suppose that, for someone who has been to Elysium -- a heaven-like plane associated with Mystra -- enchanted forests wouldn''t present quite the same levels of shock. He was capable of speech, at the very least.


    ¡°By Mystra¡¯s weave,¡± Gale murmured, his voice hushed with reverence. He took a tentative step forward, his robes brushing against a cluster of glowing mushrooms that pulsed faintly in response. ¡°This¡­ this is the Feywild? Or one of the Fey associated planes, at any rate. I suspected that lute might have some fey enchantment woven into it, but¡ª¡± He cut himself off, spinning to face me with a sheepish grimace. ¡°I should¡¯ve warned you earlier not to touch it. Fey magic is an unpredictable, capricious thing, and now look where it¡¯s flung us.¡±


    I arched a brow, a wry smile tugging at my lips. I would definitely have touched the lute regardless of any warnings. It was literally our only lead to find the girls!


    Astarion snorted, flicking a speck of glittering pollen from his sleeve with exaggerated disdain. ¡°Oh, yes, let¡¯s all thank Gale for his impeccable timing. Still, I¡¯ll admit¡ªthis beats another moldy crypt.¡± He tilted his head, his smirk sharpening. ¡°Though I¡¯d wager this place is far more likely to kill us. It¡¯s a bit¡­ much, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Karlach shifted in place, her boots sinking into the moss with a soft squelch. ¡°Beautiful, sure. But it¡¯s giving me the creeps. Feels like the whole forest is staring at us.¡± She glanced at me, her expression hardening into something resolute. ¡°What¡¯s the play, Soldier? We didn¡¯t exactly pack for a stroll through fairyland." She pauses, looking at me pointedly. "Or... did we? Do you have any forest supplies in that... space of yours?¡±


    Gale perks up, looking interested in seeing more unusual magic, while I smirk back at her.


    "Oh, Hot Stuff, with me close by, you won''t have to pack for anything ever again. I''ve got you."


    (Note: https://krembruleed.tumblr.com/post/750742786924478464/height-comparison-chart-based-on-the-in-game</a>)


    I took a moment to size her up. At 6¡¯4¡±, I was no small figure, but Karlach matched me stride for stride¡ªa barbarian hewn from muscle and fire, her shoulders straining against the battered leather armor she wore like it was a too-tight skin she longed to shed. Our heights aligned near-perfectly, and a spark of inspiration flared. The Skyrim armors I forged for myself and my companions -- like the Glass Armor I''m considering -- might just fit her. They might be a touch loose around the waist, but should be close enough to serve.


    ¡°Here, try this on,¡± I said, my tone gruff but edged with anticipation. ¡°Might be a bit roomy in spots, but it should do the job.¡± With a flicker of intent, I willed the armor into being from my inventory. Some of my finest work in-game, the masterpiece materialized before her in a shimmer of light. This Glass Armor was a marvel, born from Skyrim¡¯s rarest volcanic glass¡ªmalachite, alive with a hypnotic swirl of green so deep it felt like staring into a forest¡¯s molten heart. Its surface wasn¡¯t static; it moved, faint veins of emerald pulsing beneath a smoky translucence, as if the glass breathed with a will of its own. The breastplate curved like a wave frozen mid-crash, its edges honed to a lethal sheen that caught the light and threw it back in jagged slivers. Pauldrons rose in graceful, tapering arcs, their tips gleaming like polished jade, while the bracers hugged the forearms with a segmented elegance, flexing as if alive. The greaves clung sleek and unyielding, their glassy shimmer shifting with each step, and the boots¡ªlight as a sigh¡ªended in reinforced toes that sparkled like enchanted pools under a noonday sun. (For a moment, I lamented that there could be no matching helm at the moment -- owing to Karlach''s... horny problem. In the future, I would have to make one custom-fitted to accommodate those horns of hers).


    But the beauty of this piece was only half the story. Beneath the seemingly delicate form, this armor was a veritable fortress of enchantment, layered with magic I¡¯d pushed well past Skyrim¡¯s limits, bending the rules until they sang. I¡¯d woven in protections so potent, they thrummed beneath the surface like a heartbeat. The armor included over 100% resistance enchantments to Magic, Frost, Flame, Shock, and Poison, and was tipped off with a Waterbreathing enchantment -- for no reason other than I was able to include one. This Armor was designed for a singular noble purpose: keeping my Skyrim followers alive while they walked behind me in the most... extreme and unforgiving of environments. And now, I hoped that it would prove its value in this new world.


    Karlach let out a low whistle, her eyes widening as she stepped closer to her prize. Her calloused fingers brushed the breastplate¡¯s edge with a delicate touch, and the glass answered with a faint hum, its glow rippling across her red skin, mingling with the wisps of steam curling from her infernal heat. ¡°Gods, Soldier,¡± she rasped, her voice thick with something raw¡ªadmiration, perhaps, but laced with a quieter awe she¡¯d never voice outright. ¡°This is¡­ unreal.¡± She lifted the chestpiece, testing its weight¡ªimpossibly light for its strength¡ªand a grin broke across her face, sharp and wild, like a predator tasting freedom. ¡°Loose or not, I¡¯ll make it dance. Where in the world did you manage to find something like this?"


    I crossed my arms, a smirk tugging at my lips as she began to don the armor. Each piece settled onto her frame with a surprisingly snug fit, as if it had been forged with her in mind all along. ¡°Find? Karlach, you wound me! I made it myself!¡± I said, my voice rough with pride. ¡°Both the glass smithing and the enchanting are my work. As for the latter... let¡¯s just say no effort was spared. Frost, fire, lightning, poison, magic, even drowning¡ªyou should be completely safe from all of these things. In fact, you don''t have to worry about getting hurt while wearing this -- not unless it''s from something really exotic.


    She ran a finger along the armor''s smooth, greenish surface, then looked up at me, her voice catching slightly. ¡°I¡­ Soldier, I can¡¯t accept something like this! What about you? You¡¯re out here risking your neck too!¡±


    I gave her a lopsided grin, waving off her concern. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, Hot Stuff. I¡¯ve got my own.¡±


    With a casual flick of my mind, I summoned an identical set of Glass Armor from my inventory. It materialized around me in a shimmer of enchantment, each piece snapping into place with a faint, crystalline chime. The boots grounded me first, then the greaves hugged my legs, the cuirass wrapped my torso, pauldrons settled on my shoulders, and bracers encased my forearms¡ªall of it gleaming with that volcanic glass sheen, minus the helmet, of course. The dirty silk pants I¡¯d been sporting vanished in an instant, replaced by the sleek, reflective leg armor that caught the surroundings'' vibrant light in a dazzling dance of colors.


    And there, atop my head, still sat my lucky fishing hat¡ªa weathered, floppy thing that looked absurdly out of place atop the formidable ensemble. I adjusted it with a smirk, letting it tilt just so.


    Karlach blinked, then let out a bark of laughter, her whole frame shaking with it. ¡°By the hells, Soldier, you¡¯re a sight! That hat¡ªseriously? You¡¯re keeping it with all that?¡±


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°The Hat Stays On,¡± I playfully shot back, tipping the brim at her. ¡°Sentimental value. Plus, it keeps the sun out of my eyes.¡±


    Astarion¡¯s voice sliced through the air, sharp and smooth as a dagger¡¯s edge. ¡°Oh, how charming¡ªdecking her out like some knight in glittering glory.¡± He leaned against an ancient tree, his smirk a practiced mask, but a flicker in his crimson eyes betrayed him¡ªenvy, thin and cutting, lurking beneath the sarcasm. ¡°Tell me, Darling, do I get a set too, or is this a private little tailoring session?¡± He tossed his silver hair with a flourish, burying the sting under disdain, but it lingered in the air like a ghost.


    "You do, actually." I tell our resident Vampire Spawn. "As does Gale, and anyone else who travels with us. I just have the one size with me at the moment, but I''ll be more than happy to make a new custom set for everyone... after we rescue my friends and get a few free nights."


    Astarion looked at me in disbelief, not having expected such a blunt and generous response. His smirk twitched, faltering for a moment as he processed my words, his return quip seemingly caught in his throat.


    "But, for now, I do have a couple high-quality unenchanted robes for you and Gale. They aren''t exactly top of the line Glass Armor, but they are a damned sight better than the torn, mindflayer gunk covered clothes you''re currently wearing!" I quickly pass a pair of silk robes -- modeled after the Telvanni Robe -- over to Gale and Astarion.


    Then, as Astarion changed, Gale stepped forward, his dark eyes narrowed with scholarly intensity. ¡°Harald,¡± he began, his voice low but brimming with curiosity, ¡°I can tell something is there¡ªpowerful, intricate, woven into the very essence of this armor. But I feel nothing in the Weave. No echoes, no resonance. How is that possible?¡± He tilted his head, fingers brushing the air as if searching for the familiar threads of Mystra¡¯s magic. ¡°Everything I know suggests magic in this world is bound to the Weave¡ªor, for the initiated, Shar¡¯s Shadow Weave -- the Dark Goddess'' would be alternative to Mystra''s blessings. But, Harald, just what in the blazes... is this?¡±


    I shrugged, offering him a lopsided grin as I leaned casually against a tree. ¡°Oh, Gale, there''s a very simple explanation. You see, my method of enchanting uses a primordial energy called Magicka. Neither Mystra¡¯s Weave nor Shar¡¯s Shadow Weave are involved in any way. It¡¯s¡­ its own thing. Untethered. Free.¡± I paused, then added lightly, ¡°Oh, don''t look at me like that. Everything will be okay¡ªI promise. I¡¯ll teach you!¡±


    Gale¡¯s jaw slackened, his eyes widening as he felt the world he thought he knew flip upside down. ¡°You¡¯ll.... teach me?¡± he repeated, his voice a hushed mix of awe and disbelief. ¡°Just like that? Harald, don''t you realize what this means? This, what you''ve discovered here... wizards guard their breakthroughs with secrecy bordering on paranoia¡ªmajor arcane discoveries are hoarded, hidden away. You barely even know me... and you¡¯d share this¡­ revelation with me so freely?¡±


    ¡°Why ever not?¡± I said, my tone sharpening as I straightened, the levity giving way to something fiercer. ¡°Let me tell you something, Gale. I... despise the fact that wizards in this world are reliant on the whims of some goddess¡ªhowever benevolent she may be¡ªto perform magic. Mystra¡¯s Weave might be a wonder, but it¡¯s ultimately a chain, Gale. A gilded and shiny chain, perhaps, but a chain nonetheless. Should you wish it, in time, we can build a better future. One where magic needn''t be borrowed or begged for any longer. One where the destiny of the intelligent races will be placed in their own hands, and built from the ground up: by the people and for the people. The likes of Mystra are outdated relics best left in the past; let the petty gods keep their so-called heavens. You and I, Gale: we''ll make an Elysium of our very own -- right here on the Material Plane. In time, it is the gods that shall look upon our works in envy.¡±


    My bold declaration settled between us, heavy with intent, a quiet rebellion against the foundations of Gale¡¯s world. He fell silent, his brow creasing as he stared at me, then down at the staff in his hands. His fingers tightened around it, tracing the familiar carvings as if grounding himself in the known while my words tugged at something deeper. I could see it in his eyes¡ªthe spark of resonance, the flicker of a mind that had spent years bowing to Mystra now daring to imagine an ambition beyond her reach. He didn¡¯t speak, but the thoughtful tilt of his head told me the idea had taken root.


    Astarion broke the stillness with a theatrical sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. ¡°Well, that¡¯s all very stirring, Darling, but can we save the magical reform manifestos for after we¡¯ve dealt with your little rescue mission? Some of us prefer our revolutions with a side of survival.¡±


    I chuckled, nodding as I turned back to the path ahead. ¡°Fair enough. Let¡¯s go take a look around -- that party I''m hearing seems like a good place to start.¡±


    ++


    We¡¯d only gone a few paces along a winding trail when something zipped out from the undergrowth¡ªa flicker of light almost too quick to track. My hand almost moved to intercept on its own accord, before I relaxed.


    Then, we were met with the welcoming committee: a pixie -- an adorable little thing -- barely the size of my pinkie, hovering on wings that shimmered like dragonfly scales in the sun. She was dressed in a tasteful, makeshift tunic made from loose petals woven with spider silk. Her skin glowed faintly, like moonlight trapped under glass, and her golden hair floated around her like a halo. She grinned at me, all sharp teeth and sharper mischief.


    Her voice chimed out in a playful rhyme:


    ¡°Well met, you travelers bold and grand,


    Who tread the paths of fey-born land.


    I¡¯m Sylvie, swift, a sprite so spry,


    But heed me now, before we fly:


    No steel nor blade may come along,


    Or hosts shall sing a wrathful song.¡±


    Astarion froze, his hand hovering near his dagger. ¡°No weapons? Is the little insect saying we¡¯re to stroll around this place defenseless?¡±


    Sylvie¡¯s wings buzzed as she bobbed in the air.


    ¡°Trust is law in revel¡¯s keep,


    Break it not, lest peril leap.¡±


    Karlach grinned at the little one. ¡°Oh Gods, she''s adorable. What do you think, oh feareless leader? Shall we disarm like our guide asks?¡±


    I nod confidently. "Of course! It wouldn''t do to show poor manners. Especially where the Fae are concerned."


    Gale nods along beside me. "Right you are. The Fae can be dangerous, but they do have to follow rules. If hospitality applies to us, then, in theory, we should be fine if we play along." He tilts his head, eyes alight with curiosity. ¡°But that music¡ªsomething tells me it¡¯s no ordinary tune. What¡¯s its source, Sylvie?¡±


    The pixie twirled, her laughter a cascade of bells.


    ¡°After years of three by three,


    The Fey convene in revelry.


    The Grand Revel, a fest so rare,


    Where music soars through magic air.¡±


    The air shimmered with the Feywild¡¯s strange magic as Sylvie finished her explanation, her words hanging like a melody. Gale¡¯s eyes widened, his breath catching as he stammered, ¡°No way¡­ it¡¯s real? But¡­ How did...?¡±


    I raised my eyebrow in curiosity. ¡°Do you recognize what¡¯s happening, Gale?¡±


    He turned to me, his hands gesturing as if trying to pluck sense from the air. ¡°It''s the Grand Revel¡ªI thought it was a just myth. A bedtime story Bards tell each other to fabricate epic stories for a heightened sense of self-importance. But it¡¯s actually real? And we managed to stumble upon it from a random crypt of all places? Which, in turn, we would never have even looked twice upon, had we not entered the Material Plane in a nearly random location using a Mind-Flayer ship escaping Avernus...? Forgive me, it''s all just so... Unbelievable.¡±


    His voice crackled with awe, his scholarly mind already racing to unpack the revelation.


    Karlach leaned forward, her arms crossed and a grin tugging at her lips. ¡°So, it''s a fancy Fey party of some kind? What do you know about it, Gale?¡±


    Gale took a deep breath, steadying himself as his gaze grew distant, lost in half-remembered lore. ¡°Well... there are several variations of the story, but they all agree on one thing: every nine years, the Fae hold a huge banquet, at the end of which is a bardic contest of epic proportions. That contest is by invitation only, by the way¡ªonly the best of the best are said to be invited, and the fae that find and invite the most skilled performers are handsomely rewarded by the Courts. The contestants play original music to try to impress the judges. Those who win the judges'' favor can ask for fantastical boons¡ªfame, power, riches -- the fey can grant all of that and more. Problem is, the judges aren''t easily impressed by mere mortal crafts. Those whose performance is deemed subpar must stay and serve the fey until the next contest -- in repayment for the Grand Ravel''s generous hospitality.¡± His words flowed with the enthusiasm of a man who¡¯d spent years dreaming of such tales, now standing in their reality.


    A silence settled, broken only by the faint hum of the strange winds that abound in this place. Then, Gale¡¯s brow furrowed, his fingers tapping absently against his staff as he thought for a moment. ¡°You know, I¡¯ll bet that parchment and lute we found were an invitation to participate,¡± he said, his voice brightening with realization. ¡°But the Bard in that crypt must have died before he could take part. That would explain how we got here¡ªthe invitation¡¯s magic must have lingered, pulling us through!" He shakes his head. "Though... the chances of any of us touching that lute at a time coinciding with the Grand Revel were beyond astronomical.¡±


    I nodded, the pieces falling into place. ¡°So, we¡¯re here by accident, caught up in some long-dead Bard¡¯s unfinished business.¡±


    Karlach chuckled, flexing her shoulders. ¡°Well, I say we make it our business now. This sounds like a party worth crashing!¡±


    Astarion smirked, twirling a dagger lazily. ¡°Oh, I''m all for it -- as long as I¡¯m not the one strumming for my supper. Nine years of Fey servitude wouldn''t suit my complexion.¡±


    I smile at that. None of the core companions were Bards by default, so, expecting them to know their way around musical instruments -- and at a world-class level to boot -- would be quite the tall order. And, speaking of companions.


    "Sylvie. Did you happen to see anyone else come through here before us? It would have been two women -- one, a cleric with dark hair. Another, a githyanki warrior?"


    Sylvie dipped closer, her gaze sweeping over us.


    ¡°Through this path, none came before,


    No souls have crossed this hidden door.


    You alone now tread this way,


    First to seek the revel¡¯s play.


    But, through the woods where shadows play,


    A myriad paths do wind away.


    And in this wood''s enchanted air


    Your friends, perhaps, have wandered there?


    Yet I can guide you to the tune,


    Beneath the stars and silver moon¡ª


    If you will grant a gift to me,


    A token fair, a rarity.


    A piece of sweet, or three to share,


    For mortal sweets are rich and rare.


    And guide you thence, I¡¯ll play my part,


    With pixie guile and a true heart.¡±


    I considered her words. Pixies loved sweets, and a deal could bind her to us¡ªat least for a time. This could be a very good thing. Although pixies were at the bottom of the Fey food chain, their magic wasn''t to be underestimated -- after all, a big plot point of Act 2 was the ability to navigate the Shadow Curse using artifacts called Moon Lanterns, which were powered by pixie magic. If I could somehow draw this Sylvie into a more long-term deal... A plan began to form in my mind.


    In my hand, I materialized a sweetroll -- an iconic Skyrim dessert slightly larger than my fist. Sylvie''s eyes widened in anticipation.


    "This is called a sweetroll -- a dessert that is out of this world. I can guarantee that you''ve never tasted the like. So, here''s my proposal, little one." I hold up three fingers. ¡°Three sweetrolls for your service, guidance, and protection lasting three days... and for as long thereafter as the sweetrolls remain beneficial to you.¡±


    Sylvie was beyond excited to take that deal. She clapped her tiny hands, wings flaring.


    ¡°A bargain sweet, a pact so fine,


    For three days hence, my aid is thine.


    And while your rolls my joy sustain,


    I¡¯ll guard you through this wild domain.¡±


    Her grin faltered briefly, that warning glint returning.


    ¡°But mind the rule, I spoke it true,


    No weapons bared, or woe to you.¡±


    I smiled, glancing at my companions. The Fey thrived on rules and deals¡ªbreaking their customs could cost us more than a fight... but those deals also cut both ways. As long as we played by the Fey''s rules, we should be perfectly safe. In fact...


    ¡°Of course, Sylvie. We shall sheath our blades. You may taste your prize if you wish.¡±


    She beamed, darting upwards with a flourish, before diving directly into the Sweetroll. She practically inhaled a good quarter of it before -- with an audible eep, she suddenly fell down, comatose -- my telekinesis quickly catching her before she hit the ground.


    Karlach frowned at me, angrily. "Soldier, you.... surely didn''t poison the poor little thing, did you? You wouldn''t do that, right?"


    Gale, too, looked ready to say something, before I raised a hand to explain. A quick peek with a diagnostic spell confirmed my suspicions.


    "It''s OK, guys. The pixie isn''t dead -- she''s just... well... really, really full at the moment. You see, I happen to be an accomplished Alchemist. When I cooked that particular dessert, I imbued it with a rather powerful restoration effect."


    I do a quick status check on the remaining Sweetroll, and see a window with familiar information.


    Item: Sweet Roll (Legendary)


    Weight: 0.1


    Value: -1509825678


    Effects: Regenerates 1257023759% Health for 5329872576 seconds.


    "Though, that restoration effect is both good and bad news for our new friend. You see, if it works as intended... Sylvie here will derive benefits from her treats for just a bit longer than a mere three days."


    "How... much longer?" Gale asks, in morbid fascination.


    I smile back with a shrug.


    I don''t particularly trust Fae, and couldn''t pass up the opportunity to test the effects of my more powerful consumables on living beings. Sylvie will soon awaken with a powerful regeneration ability -- or she won''t, and, by analyzing what went wrong, I''ll know more about my creations'' interactions with the natural laws of this world. And, if she does awaken, our group would get a useful Fae servant, bound to us for quite awhile. It was truly a no loss scenario; a little heartless, perhaps -- but real life is no game. And I have no intention of playing fairly.

 Party Crashers (part 2)

    The forest path unfurled before us like a living thing, a serpentine trail of velvety moss and dappled shadow that throbbed with the enchanted forest''s untamed pulse. Every step felt like a negotiation with the land itself, the air humming with a restless energy that prickled my skin. I glanced down at the soft pouch dangling from my belt¡ªa makeshift cradle I¡¯d fished from my inventory earlier, its enchanted silk supple, yet sturdy. Inside, Sylvie lay blissfully unaware, her tiny pixie form curled into a ball of delicate limbs and gossamer wings. She¡¯d gorged herself on the sweetroll, the treat -- and its absurdly overpowered restoration effect -- overwhelming her fragile metabolism, and now she slept off the indulgence. Nestled among the pouch¡¯s frostbite spider silk lining, she looked almost too comfortable. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each exhale a faint, melodic snore that blended with the distant trill of the forest. Occasionally, her wings twitched, iridescent veins catching the dim light filtering through the canopy, and a tiny hand clutched at the fabric as if dreaming of flight.


    ¡°Still out cold,¡± I murmured, adjusting the pouch so it rested securely against my hip.


    Karlach snorted beside me, her tail flicking with amusement. ¡°Lightweight,¡± she said, her voice a low rumble. ¡°Not even one pastry, and she¡¯s done for.¡±


    The Forest, however, cared little for Sylvie¡¯s nap or our banter. Space here was a trickster, a kaleidoscope of warped perceptions that mocked mortal logic. The path ahead shimmered and bent, stretching into an endless tunnel one moment, then snapping back to a mere handful of steps the next. The distant roar of music¡ªwild, intoxicating, and threaded with laughter¡ªtaunted us, its source shifting with every breath. It echoed from the left, then the right, then above, as if the trees themselves were playing a game of misdirection. Straight lines curved without warning; landmarks¡ªa gnarled oak, a cluster of glowing mushrooms¡ªreappeared behind us as often as ahead.


    ¡°This place is a bloody maze,¡± Karlach growled, her clawed hands flexing as if itching to punch through the illusion.


    It seems Sylvie was right to offer her help as a guide -- no ordinary mortal could navigate these twisting paths. A good thing, then, that I could cheat my way through.


    Closing my eyes, I summoned the familiar pull Clairvoyance, letting it coil through my mind like a silver thread. A luminous filament sparked into existence, visible only to me¡ªa shimmering guide that snaked through the air, weaving between trees and over roots. It pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow, tugging me toward the revelry¡¯s heart through the most efficient possible path; penetrating the forest''s illusory tricks with contemptable ease. ¡°Follow me,¡± I said, stepping forward -- then carefully hoping twice to the left before doubling back, -- "and step exactly where I do. If we get separated out here, finding everyone again will be a real pain."


    The thread in my mind led us onward efficiently, but progress seemed anything but linear. The forest toyed with us, forcing sharp turns where the path seemed straight, doubling us back through thickets we¡¯d seemingly already passed. At one point, we circled the same pond three times¡ªbefore the thread veered sharply left, pulling us through a curtain of vines. Karlach cursed under her breath as brambles snagged her armor, while Astarion sidestepped with feline grace, smirking at her plight. Gale muttered theories about dimensional folds, his voice fading into the hum of the forest as I focused on the spell¡¯s guidance. The thread was our lifeline, a beacon in this shifting labyrinth, and I clung to it as the music grew louder, its rhythm sinking into my bones.


    Gradually, the forest itself began to transform as we pressed deeper. Trees stretched every skyward, their bark twisting into sinuous shapes¡ªhere a lithe figure frozen mid-dance, there a face locked in a silent moan. Vines draped like silken curtains, studded with blossoms that pulsed faintly, petals unfurling to release a scent of honeyed wine and musk. The air thickened, heavy with promise, and every breath carried the tang of overripe fruit, the bite of spice, the primal undertone of sweat and desire. It was a sensory assault, intoxicating and disorienting, and I felt my pulse quicken despite myself.


    Through gaps in the foliage, the revelry teased us with fleeting glimpses. Beside a sunlit pool, a cluster of nymphs bathed, their laughter a cascade of silver bells. Water sheeted off their supple bodies, glistening over skin that shimmered like polished opal¡ªpale blues, soft pinks, and deep golds blending in the water-reflected light. One reclined against the bank,


    <sexy stuff>


    her legs parted as rivulets traced the contours of her thighs, pooling in the hollows of her hips. Her breasts rose with each breath, full and taut, nipples pebbled from the chill as she tipped her head back, letting a companion pour a stream of water from a shell onto her chest. The liquid ran in glistening trails, and she sighed¡ªa sound so rich with pleasure it seemed to stroke the air itself¡ªwhile her hands slid lazily over her curves, inviting every gaze to follow. (Which Gale''s gaze most definitely did -- before he put that legendary Wizard''s concentration to use and forcibly re-focused on following me.)


    Further on, a satyr lounged against a tree, his furred legs sprawled as he coaxed a haunting melody from a bone flute. His chest gleamed with sweat, dark curls matting against bronzed skin, and his eyes¡ªhalf-lidded with mischief¡ªtracked the fey drawn to his song. A dryad swayed before him, her body a tapestry of smooth bark and tender flesh, her hair a cascade of ivy that brushed his thighs as she leaned closer. Her fingers danced along his jaw, then lower, tugging at the scrap of cloth slung low on his hips. He grinned, teeth flashing, and shifted to give her better access, the flute¡¯s tune unbroken even as she pressed her lips to his throat, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. The music wove a spell, a thread of sound that wrapped around my senses, tugging at something deep and primal.


    The path twisted again, and we brushed past a procession of Eladrin Elves bearing lanterns¡ªorbs of glass that flickered with flames in hues of violet and amber. Their faces were flushed with ecstasy, lips parted as they chanted in a lilting tongue that shivered down my spine. One, a lithe figure with hair like spun copper, caught my eye. Her toga clung to her like a second skin, sheer silk outlining the swell of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the shadowed cleft between her thighs. She stepped closer, her scent¡ªjasmine and smoke¡ªwashing over me as she purred, ¡°Come and dance with us, mortal! Lose yourself until the world forgets you.¡± Her voice was a caress, her fingers grazing my arm, and for a fleeting moment, I considered it. But the Clairvoyance thread pulsed, sharp and insistent, and I shook my head. ¡°Sorry love, maybe next time!¡± I said, stepping back. She laughed, a sound that lingered like perfume as we moved on.


    </sexy stuff>


    At last, the forest relented, parting to reveal the revelry¡¯s core¡ªan expanse so vast it defied the space we¡¯d crossed to reach it. The clearing sprawled beneath a bright, rainbow-clouded sky, its edges lost to a haze of color and motion. The ground was a lush carpet of emerald grass, slick with dew that mirrored the heavens above in countless tiny prisms. Flowers erupted in wild abandon¡ªroses with petals that wept crimson tears, lilies veined with molten gold, orchids unfurling to expose cores that glistened with nectar, their fragrance a heady mix of sweetness and sin. The aroma curled into my lungs, a drug that sparked heat in my veins, urging my heart to match the drums¡¯ relentless beat.


    <more sexy stuff>


    Fey of all shapes and sizes filled the glade, a swirling tide of unnatural beauty and excess that dazzled and overwhelmed. Satyrs with curling horns and sinewed legs chased nymphs through the throng, their hooves pounding the earth in a rhythm that shook the ground. One caught his prey¡ªa nymph with skin like burnished copper¡ªand pinned her against a tree with a growl that rumbled through the air. Her hair streamed like liquid flame, garlands of ivy slipping from her shoulders as he pressed against her, his hands tearing away what little covered her. Her breasts heaved as she arched into him, full and flushed, and her thighs parted to cradle his hips. Their kiss was a clash of hunger, lips bruising, tongues tangling, and his fingers dug into her flesh, leaving faint marks as he thrust against her -- not at all mindful of his audience -- the tree groaning under their fervor.


    Nearby, three dryads entwined in a dance of limbs and sighs, their bodies a symphony of texture¡ªbark smooth as satin, skin warm and yielding. Two flanked a third, their hands roaming with deliberate grace: one traced the arch of her spine, nails grazing the swell of her ass, while the other slipped between her thighs, coaxing a gasp that trembled on the air. Their lips met in a slow, sensual collision, tongues sliding together as sap glistened on their skin, dripping in amber beads to the grass below. Pixies¡ªtiny, glowing kin to Sylvie¡ªdarted above, laughing and showering them with dust that shimmered like starlight. The dryads collectively shuddered, their bodies writhing in a pulsing rhythm only they could hear.


    </more sexy stuff>


    All around us, the gathering was a banquet of indulgence, not just of flesh but of every sense. Tables sprouted from the earth, their wood alive and twisting, laden with platters of luminous fruit¡ªgrapes swollen to bursting, strawberries that stained fingers red, peaches splitting to spill nectar that glowed like molten silver. Fey tore into them with abandon, juice cascading down chins, pooling on bare chests, soaking into silks that clung like wet paint. A silver-haired elf reclined atop a table, his tunic discarded as he bit into a peach, letting the liquid drip onto the nymph sprawled beneath him.


    <sexy stuff> She writhed as he traced its path with his tongue, lapping from her navel to the peak of her breast, her moans rising as he pinned her wrists and claimed her with slow, deliberate greed. </sexy stuff>


    Wine flowed in torrents, poured from decanters that sang with crystalline voices¡ªruby, sapphire, gold¡ªsplashing into goblets, over hands, across bodies locked in embrace. A satyr tipped a horn to his lips, the excess streaming down his chest as he stumbled into a ring of dancers. They spun around a bonfire that roared with unnatural flames¡ªemerald and indigo tongues licking the sky, fed by herbs that thickened the air with a smoky, euphoric haze. A fey with antlers and skin painted in glowing runes stripped bare, her curves glistening as she leapt into the fire. The flames parted, cradling her, licking her thighs and breasts without harm, and she danced within them, her ecstatic cries piercing the chaos as the blaze worshiped her flesh.


    The crowd surged and parted as we neared the center, revealing a dais of living wood, its surface a lattice of roses and ivy that pulsed with faint light. Atop it stood a crescent table, its edges aglow with golden fire, and five figures presided¡ªbeings of such potency that the air noticeably bent around them, their presence a siren call that silenced my thoughts. These were the architects of this madness, the judges of the Grand Revel, and their sheer presence was a force that demanded reverence.


    The host sat at the center, a wildfire in fey form. His frame was lean yet taut, draped in a crimson tunic that hung open to reveal a chest dusted with dark, curling hair. Cloven hooves gleamed like obsidian beneath the table, and the braids of his wild hair were strung with bells that chimed with every tilt of his head. His mane of chestnut hair tumbled wild and tangled, woven with feathers and beads, and his eyes burned with a manic green flame, pupils slit like a beast¡¯s. A lute lay across his lap, its strings trembling with unspoken notes, and his grin¡ªsharp-toothed and feral¡ªpromised chaos. He leaned forward, laughter rolling from him like thunder, stirring the crowd into a frenzy of cheers and motion.


    Beside him lounged a woman whose beauty was a blade, cutting through the haze with radiant precision. Her dress was... literally made of liquid sunlight, a golden sheath that flowed over her like a living thing, shifting to tease the eye¡ªnow baring the curve of a breast, now the sweep of a thigh, then veiling it in a flicker of translucent quasi-modesty. Her skin glowed ivory, her hair a cascade of molten gold that shimmered past her hips, and her emerald eyes swept the glade with a queen¡¯s pride. She reclined with effortless grace, her fingers¡ªlong and pearl-tipped¡ªtracing the rim of a goblet, her every movement a promise of delight.


    To his left loomed a giant of primal might, his bare chest a map of scars and muscle, tanned to deep bronze. A kilt of green leather hung low, fringed with bones that clattered softly, and antlers¡ªbroad and branching¡ªcrowned his head, laden with trophies of claw and fang. His black hair fell in silver-streaked tangles, his amber eyes glowed with a hunter¡¯s focus, and a wolf-headed staff rested in his grip. At his feet, a dire boar snorted, its tusks gleaming, a mirror to his untamed power.


    On the host¡¯s right sat a woman of vibrant chaos, her gown a swirl of silk¡ªscarlet, sapphire, amber¡ªthat danced with her every sway. It clung to her curves, sheer enough to outline every line, and her rosy-gold skin sparkled with glitter. Copper curls tumbled free, chiming with tiny bells, and her sky-blue eyes glittered with wild joy. She leaned forward, her crimson lips parted in a warm smile full of gleeful abandon. Her laughter reminded me of a brisk Spring morning.


    At the table¡¯s other end perched the last figure, her diminutive form radiating an ethereal beauty that seemed to draw the very light of the surroundings toward her. Standing at around 4¡¯6¡± tall, she appeared as a demure, slim nymph, her delicate frame cloaked in an aura of quiet enchantment. Her luminous, pale green skin shimmered faintly, reminiscent of dew-kissed leaves, while her deep emerald hair flowed in cascading waves, interwoven with living strands of ivy that rustled softly as they brushed the table¡¯s edge. Her large, luminous eyes¡ªa captivating swirl of violet and gold¡ªgazed out over the revelry with serene detachment, their depths hinting at ancient wisdom and subtle power. A faint, knowing smile played upon her full, unpainted lips, balancing innocence with an enigmatic allure. Her attire was as minimal as it was tantalizing, consisting solely of gossamer garments no larger than handkerchiefs, their sheer fabric offering only the barest nod to modesty. One delicate scrap of what was -- probably -- some sort of spider silk draped loosely across her chest, shifting with each breath to reveal or conceal the gentle curve of her form, while another rested low on her hips, leaving the smooth expanse of her thighs and the graceful dip of her waist fully exposed to the warm, enchanted air. Barefooted, her slender feet rested lightly on the dais, adorned with tiny silver toe rings that caught the light with every subtle movement. A circlet of white roses -- complete with thorns -- adorned her brow, its white blossoms glowing softly, framing her face with a faint halo that enhanced her otherworldly presence.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The five presided over a table strewn with excess¡ªgoblets, glowing fruit, instruments humming with latent song. The host raised a hand, bells jangling, and the crowd roared, a tide of adoration crashing against the dais.


    +++


    A few minutes later, as we tried to get our bearings, the world continued to pulse around me like a living heartbeat, its magic a relentless tide that flooded my senses and tugged at the edges of my sanity. The Five''s presence still loomed at the high table, their presence a weight that pressed against my chest, making every breath feel borrowed. All around us, the Grand Revel unfurled in a riot of sound and color, a spectacle that dwarfed anything I¡¯d ever witnessed, even in the hyper-real VR sims of the 2040s. The air was alive with laughter, but that sound was both joyous and edged with something... feral, something that didn¡¯t care if we lived or died.


    Beside me, Gale shifted uneasily, his scholarly poise cracking like thin ice. His hands fidgeted with the collar of his robe, and his dark eyes flicked from one judge to the next, wide with a mix of awe and dread. ¡°By the Weave,¡± he muttered, his voice nearly lost in the revel¡¯s cacophony.


    ¡°They¡¯re all here. All of them.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± I asked, forcing my tone to stay level despite the knot tightening in my gut. In the words of Doc. Brown, Gale was someone who has "seen some serious shit," having a sexual relationship with a Greater Deity included ¡ª and if he was this shaken, we were in deeper trouble than I¡¯d thought.


    Gale swallowed hard, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing as he nodded toward the figure at the table¡¯s center. ¡°That right there has to be Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools. An archfey---ancient beyond measure, far older than recorded history. Chaotic, unpredictable, and very, very dangerous. They call him the oldest of all fey, the very incarnation of Music itself. His voice, his laughter¡ªit¡¯s said to shape reality, Harald. He¡¯s a primal force, a storm given flesh and sound.¡±


    My senses concurred with Gale''s assessment -- although I''ve never met him, our host -- Hyrsam -- gave me the most dangerous feeling of the five beings at the High Table. Now that I thought about it, was it his realm we were currently in? That would certainly explain a number of things.


    Gale¡¯s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, urgent and strained. ¡°To his right: that¡¯s Titania, Queen of the Summer Court. The mightiest of the Seelie fey¡ªlegends say she emerged when the first light kissed the Feywild¡¯s soil.


    Titania was a vision that hit me like a physical blow. Her dress -- if one could call it that -- flowed over her like liquid sunlight, a cascade of gold that shimmered and shifted with every movement. Her golden hair spilled down her back in waves that caught the light like a halo, and her emerald eyes swept the crowd with a regal calm that belied the power coiled within her. She was beauty made manifest, but her gaze held an unnatural, unyielding edge¡ªa promise that her grace could turn to ruin in an instant.


    ¡°Beside her,¡± Gale went on, ¡°is surely Oberon, the Green Lord. Titania''s consort. A primal warrior, master of the Feywild¡¯s beasts -- of all beasts, even. His strength is unmatched¡ªsome say he¡¯s wrestled dragons and won. Some Druidic Circles worship him as a God.¡±


    Oberon¡¯s sheer presence dominated his seat. He indeed looked like he could uproot the glade with a flick of his wrist. Was he stronger then myself? Perhaps this... wasn''t the most productive of questions to ask at the moment.


    Gale¡¯s whisper grew fainter, as if the act of naming them sapped his strength. ¡°There, to Hyrsam¡¯s left, that¡¯s Lliira -- you know, the Goddess of Joy? She''s not a fey, but a deity from Faer?n. I actually met her Avatar once, when... well, never mind that now. She¡¯s celebration incarnate¡ªa peaceful and kind Goddess, but one that''s strictly against violence. Her blessing of this Revel... is truly something significant.¡±


    I knew who Lliira was, of course -- genuinely kind, joyful, and honorable to a fault, she was, by far, my favorite goddess of the Dungeons and Dragons pantheon -- and one of the few divines I actually respected in this shithole of a multiverse.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Gale said, nodding to the table¡¯s end, ¡°Verenestra, the Oak Grove Nymph. Titania''s daughter and an archfey of beauty and nature. A mistress of all kinds of illusions, her charm¡¯s said to be able to bend even the strongest of minds.¡±


    Verenestra was... really attractive, I suppose, I one was into short women -- but she, for all her... cuteness... didn''t quite have either Titania''s unnatural allure, nor Lliira''s pure-hearted charm. Besides, she looked almost comical next to my 6''4 frame. I suspected a lot of her supposed attractiveness was due to her skills with illusions more than anything else. Did she develop those skills due to feeling self-conscious next to Titania? I supposed it was quite likely.


    I let out a slow breath, the realization of the depth of the shit that was our situation beginning to sink in like a sewer maintenance worker into an uncleaned pipe. Four archfey¡ªHyrsam, Titania, Oberon, Verenestra¡ªeach wielding the power of a god, plus Lliira, an actual deity. Here, in the heart of their strength, the distinction between Lesser and Greater Deity was a meaningless semantic quibble when the very air twisted to their desires. To be frank, violence simply wasn¡¯t an option¡ªfirst, from a purely practical standpoint, it¡¯d be like challenging a hurricane.... Well, five hurricanes, each with its own brand of devastation. Yes, I still had a few "aces" up my sleeves, but, even if I were confident of winning the resulting fight (or, at least, escaping from it alive) -- which I definitely wasn''t -- I would never willingly risk harm to any of my companions. Nor would I want to hurt Lliira -- the sweet and pure goddess definitely didn''t deserve such harsh treatment.


    No. There would be no forcing our way through this mess. Our only hope -- other than a possible stealth route -- was to navigate our hosts'' rules, and pray they found us amusing enough to let us go.


    No pressure.


    My mind spun back to the VR games I¡¯d sunk countless hours into during the 2040s¡ªsims like Godslayer: Rift, where I¡¯d faced down deities and titans with a sword in one hand and a spell in the other. Back then, I¡¯d thrived on the thrill of it: the rush of outsmarting an AI god with a perfectly timed dodge, the satisfaction of a combo that shattered a boss¡¯s health bar. Throughout the years, I¡¯d been the Dragonborn, the Nerevarine, the Chosen One, and many other variations on that Main Character theme¡ªtitles earned through blood and cunning, all within the safe confines of a headset and haptic suit. But this? This was no sim. There was no logout option, no save file to fall back on if I screwed up. The Fey magic was real, visceral¡ªI could feel it in the way the ground vibrated under my boots, in the way the music wormed into my skull and tugged at my thoughts. One wrong move here, and I wouldn¡¯t just lose a life; I¡¯d lose everything¡ªmy freedom, my companions, maybe even my soul.


    And yet, despite everything, that old gamer instinct in the back of my mind still reared up, stubborn and reckless. A part of me¡ªthe part forged in Skyrim¡¯s frozen wastes, where every dragon was a challenge to be met head-on¡ªitched to draw my blade and fight anyway. Even now, I could almost hear the roar of my Dragonborn shout, Fus Ro Dah, echoing through the glade, scattering pixies and toppling tables. In those games, violence wasn''t just the answer: it was the question, and the answer was usually an enthusiastic YES. Hit hard. Hit fast. Keep swinging until the enemy fell.


    Come on, you can take ''em!


    I... forcibly pushed my fighting spirit down and got my mind back on track. Discretion and Diplomacy, not violence, were called for here. No matter; I¡¯d adapt¡ªplay their game, abuse the hell out of their rules, and find a way out. That¡¯s what a Gamer did, after all: improvise, survive, win.


    ¡°Gale,¡± I said, keeping my voice low, ¡°tell me there¡¯s a way out of this that doesn¡¯t end with us licking their boots.¡±


    He grimaced, tugging at his beard with nervous fingers. ¡°If there is, I can¡¯t see it. We¡¯re guests in their domain. Our best shot is to play along and hope they don¡¯t decide we''d serve better as decorations¡ªor worse.¡±


    Before I could argue, the Revel lurched into a new phase. Hyrsam leapt to the bells in his hair jangling like a mad chorus, and flung his arms wide.


    ¡°Revelers!¡± His voice cut through the din, bright and jagged, a blade of sound that silenced the crowd. ¡°Behold¡ªtwo who dared scorn our sacred laws!¡±


    The ground shuddered, and the crowd parted like a tide. Vines erupted from the earth, writhing and twisting with a life of their own, their tips glistening with green sap that smelled of pine and iron. They coiled into two wooden cages, bars pulsing as if alive, and inside them, bound and defiant.... were Lae¡¯zel and Shadowheart.


    Lae¡¯zel thrashed against her bonds like a cornered beast¡ªthe living wood around her tightened with every struggle, creaking ominously. Her armor was scuffed and dented, her sword nowhere in sight, and her yellow-green eyes blazed with a fury that could¡¯ve melted steel.


    Beside her, Shadowheart knelt, thorny cords lashed around her wrists, drawing her arms backwards in a painful-looking strappado, the thorns digging cruelly into the skin, her dark hair spilling over her face like a shroud. She looked... drained, her skin pale against the black of her cleric¡¯s garb, but her jaw was set, her defiance unbroken.


    The crowd jeered, a mix of glee and mock indignation rippling through them¡ªsatyrs stomping their hooves, pixies buzzing with shrill laughter.


    Hyrsam¡¯s grin sharpened, predatory and gleeful. ¡°This gith dared to enter our glade armed, her blade bared¡ªa grievous insult to our hospitality!¡± He swept a hand toward Shadowheart, his tone dripping with exaggerated sorrow. ¡°And this one¡ªa disciple of Shar, the Lady of Loss herself¡ªslunk among us as a spy, forbidden in our realms by ancient decree!¡±


    Murmurs and gasps swept the fey. Some shrank back, clutching their goblets as if Shadowheart¡¯s mere presence might taint them; others leaned closer, eyes glinting with curiosity.


    My chest tightened. Lae¡¯zel¡¯s warrior nature, or maybe pride, have kept her weapon drawn¡ªbecause of course they did. And Shadowheart¡¯s current devotion to Shar, the primordial goddess of darkness, marked her as an intruder in this realm of light and revelry.


    And yet, I would never leave them to their fate -- in fact, my body was already stepping forward before I even consciously made the decision.


    The judges¡¯ gazes quickly focused on me, their scrutiny a physical weight that sank into my bones. The crowd fell silent, and I squared my shoulders, facing the high table with as much courage as I could muster -- preparing to put that Speechcraft skill to good use.


    Predictably, Hyrsam beat me to the punch.


    His eyes flared with delight, and he clapped his hands like a child unwrapping a gift. ¡°Oh, a Little Godling graces our gathering! Welcome, new friend¡ªto what do we owe this pleasure?¡± He leaned forward, his grin widening into something feral. ¡°Oh, but do mine eyes deceive me¡ªyou¡¯re not here to spectate, but... to compete? How deliciously¡­ unexpected!¡±


    The word compete slammed into me like a brick, confirming Gale''s hypothesis. Still, maybe I could still salvage the situation with a little diplomacy?


    ¡°Great hosts,¡± I said, my voice steady but laced with respect, ¡°I am Harald, drawn here after accidentally encountering and touching a certain enchanted lute on the material plane. These..." I sweep theatrically towards the two caged ladies "are my dear friends and companions, and they are equally here by chance. Although they can be foolish, stubborn, and lack diplomatic tact, they are not malicious. I''m quite certain they did not mean to needlessly offend our esteemed hosts. Please, allow me to negotiate for their release -- I trust that we could agree on a suitable compensation for any harm they have caused, after which we all, perhaps... could humbly take our leave?¡±


    Hyrsam tilted his head, exchanging a knowing glance with Titania. The latter''s sunlight-dress shifted, revealing a fleeting glimpse of her perfect form as she leaned forward, her voice a purr of silk over steel. ¡°Oh, Little Godling, we sympathize with your plight, truly. But there are rules in play here that even we must obey. The old ways decree that Elion the Bard¡ªor his designated successor¡ªmust compete. The invitation was accepted when you knowingly touched his lute and crossed our threshold. One of your number must perform.¡±


    I took a moment to consider her assertion, but, in my heart, I already knew there was no dodging this. We were ensnared, and the only way out was through.


    ¡°Very well,¡± I said, meeting teh Five''s gazes head-on. ¡°I accept. I¡¯ll take part in your contest.¡±


    Hyrsam¡¯s happy laughter erupted, sharp and wild, a sound that shivered through the glade like breaking glass. ¡°Marvelous! Oh, this is simply delightful! You¡¯re just in time for the final round, too! It''s tomorrow night, beneath the full moon. Mingle with our guests, partake of the festivities, sleep where you please¡ªyou¡¯re perfectly safe here while the Grand Revel lasts. An attendant shall notify you when your turn comes!¡±


    Relief flickered through me, brittle and fleeting, overshadowed by the weight of what I¡¯d committed to. But, Lae¡¯zel and Shadowheart were still trapped. ¡°Great hosts,¡± I said, dipping into a respectful bow, ¡°As these ones are a part of my group, I humbly ask that they be released into my care. I¡¯ll ensure they abide by your rules and shall accept full responsibility for their actions.¡±


    Hyrsam waved a hand, almost dismissive. The vines unraveled with a wet, slithering sound, retreating into the earth like snakes fleeing light. Lae¡¯zel stumbled free, catching herself with a warrior¡¯s grace, her fists clenched. Shadowheart slumped, her strength sapped, and I lunged forward, catching her as she fell into my arms.


    Her eyes met mine, an exhausted delirium shadowed by a glint of dark humor. ¡°We¡¯ve really got to stop meeting like this,¡± she murmured, remembering a faint echo of our first meeting on the Nautiloid when I¡¯d freed her from that pod.


    I grinned, gently cradling her while sending forth waves of restoration magic.


    ¡°I always expected you would fall for me, Shadowheart. I just didn''t expect it would be quite so soon -- or quite so often!¡± I quipped while helping her up.


    She rolled her eyes at my silliness, but I was sure I could spot a faint hint of a smile. "At least those big arms of yours seem good at catching me."


    She opened her mouth to say something else, but the moment was broken by the approaching Hurricane Lae''zel, her expression a tempest of both gratitude and fury.


    ¡°You¡¯ve freed us, but at what cost? I heard what they said about this being a Bardic contest. In case you''ve forgotten, none of us are bards. Can you even play an instrument? Tsk, it would have been more prudent to leave us to our fates than to risk a rescue against such odds."


    The crowd¡¯s focus drifted back to the revel, music swelling anew, as I considered Lae''zel''s statement. "Perhaps you''re right -- but remember this: I don''t abandon friends in need, no matter what "the odds" might be.... and don''t write those odds off just yet -- my musical skills might just surprise you!" I added with a wink.


    Astarion sauntered up, smirking. ¡°Well, it¡¯ll be a spectacle, at least. I simply adore a good performance.¡±


    Karlach cracked her knuckles, grinning wide. ¡°I¡¯ll be your loudest cheerleader, Soldier. Might even dance!¡±


    I shook my head, a faint smile breaking through. Karlach''s positive attitude was infectious. I would find a way to get us through this.


    After all, this was just another game.


    And I... was THE Gamer.

 Unexpected Meetings

    With Lae¡¯zel and Shadowheart freed, the revel stretched before us¡ªa day and night to endure until the contest. The judges returned to their pursuits: Hyrsam plucking jagged, chaotic tunes from his lute, each note a thread that tugged at the air; Titania sipping wine that glowed like dawn, her lips leaving faint traces of light on the rim; Oberon tossing scraps to his boar, its grunts echoing like distant thunder; Lliira spinning with fey in a whirlwind of color, her laughter a contagion that spread through the crowd; Verenestra watching us with a calm, unreadable stare, her ivy rustling faintly.


    I guided Shadowheart to a mossy bench, her steps faltering. ¡°How are you holding up?,¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, brushing hair from her face with a trembling hand.


    I kicked myself inwardly for my stupidity. She probably <i>was </i>fine ¨C physically, at least, as my magic had seen to that. Psychologically, though? <i>Three</i>


    near-death experiences in as many hours ¨C on three different planes of existence no less ¨C were most likely taking their toll on her sanity. Still, now wasn¡¯t the time to push the matter.


    I nodded and turned to Lae¡¯zel, who paced like a predator denied its kill. ¡°How about you, Lae¡¯zel?¡±


    ¡°Disarmed and shamed,¡± she spat. ¡°We should never have gone into that crypt. I should never have let myself be captured like this.¡±


    I thought this was an amusing sentiment, considering that, in the game, she let herself get captured by a simple trap and a couple of tiefling civilians.


    ¡°We¡¯re past that.¡± I replied flatly. ¡°I don¡¯t blame either of you. And Lae¡¯zel, although you are a formidable warrior, realistically, you couldn¡¯t hope to oppose the forces commanded by even a single archfey ¨C let alone five of them. Let¡¯s focus on the future. Do not worry -- we¡¯ll all get out of here, then get the tadpoles fixed up and you¡¯ll be back with your people in no time.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel glared, but gave a grudging nod.


    The party churned around us, relentless. Satyrs thrust goblets of wine at me, their eyes gleaming with sly intent; I waved them off absently. Pixies swooped overhead, trailing glitter that prickled my skin like static. It smelled of dew and something darker, a mystery I couldn¡¯t name ¨C perhaps the real secret behind fey revelry was of a more¡­ pharmaceutical variety?


    Gale plopped beside me, his demeanor thoughtful, almost nostalgic. ¡°This place¡ªthe magic here is incredible! Sophisticated, but still very¡­ raw. Untamed. I could spend <i>decades</i> unraveling it.¡±


    ¡°I know what you mean.¡± I responded ¨C and I really meant that. The Feywild ¨C or whatever derivative demi-plane we found ourselves on ¨C really was a feast for the senses. If we didn¡¯t have more pressing concerns, I wouldn¡¯t have minded exploring the forest -- and maybe a nymph or three -- along the way.


    ¡°Perhaps we can return later, after we get the business with the tadpoles sorted out.¡±


    He sighed, wistful. ¡°A shame we can¡¯t stay.¡±


    The chaos of the party was overwhelming, and we needed a respite¡ªa place to regroup and prepare for the contest ahead. I scanned the glade, my gaze settling upon a path leading away from the chaos, nestled between ancient oaks whose gnarled branches intertwined to form a natural canopy overhead. This was <i>definitely </i>a pathway made by design, for the benefit of those present. Did it lead to a suitable resting area? I thought it quite likely ¨C and it was time to find out!


    ¡°Come, follow me ¨C I think I know where to go.¡±


    ++


    The pathway was definitely artificial ¨C much too perfect to come into existence by chance. Large Old Growth trees rose around us, their bark a molten silver, their branches heavy with leaves that glowed faintly¡ªsapphire, amber, and a deep crimson that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ground beneath our boots was a carpet of moss, lush and yielding, exhaling tiny motes of light with every step, as if the earth itself breathed magic into the air. I resisted the urge to take my glass boots off ¨C this moss must feel <i>amazing </i>on bare skin! The scent was intoxicating too¡ªsomething reminiscent of jasmine braided with the damp richness of soil.


    The sounds of the distant revelry spilled through the trees¡ªwild laughter, the skitter of hooves, the clink of goblets¡ªbut here, in the relative seclusion of the path, those sounds softened, muffled by the moss and old oaks¡¯ leaves, leaving only faint whispers.


    ¡°Well, is looks like we found some of the other¡­ <i>contestants</i>,¡± Astarion remarked as we approached what seemed like a cozy clearing-turned-staging-area -- which held quite a few aspiring performers.


    Near the edge, a tall human male commanded attention with a dramatic and theatrical demeanor. His doublet blazed with loud crimson and gold colors, and audacious, golden stylized runes ¨C likely signifying gaudy artistic nonsense than actual arcane prowess -- flickered along his cuffs. In his hands rested a lute of polished ebony wood, its curves inlaid with gemstones¡ªrubies, sapphires, emeralds -- all speaking of wealth, success, and sophistication. He strummed a jaunty tune, fingers flickering over strings with confidence and precision. A collection of scantily-clad Nymph ¡°groupies¡± orbited him in a chorus of giggles and gasps as he tossed his head back and roared with mirth.


    Across the way, what looked to be a Seldarine Drow knelt. A flute of white wood ¨C or, perhaps, bone ¨C rested in her palms, its simplicity belying the power of its sound. She pressed it to her lips, coaxing forth a soft and haunting melody, notes rippling outward like rings on a still pond. Definitely an enchanted instrument, I thought. Around the Drow, too, lingered a small band of fey onlookers¡ªwatching with hushed reverence. She spared them a curt nod. ¡°The fey crave sorrow,¡± she muttered to herself, as we passed, her subsequent tune deepening as if to answer her own call.


    Deeper into the area, atop a fallen log, a dwarf sprawled with the solidity of stone, his tunic was a deep, earthen brown, with leather and steel rivets glinting at his belt. Before him sat a pair of drums, their hides taut over rune-etched frames, and his thick, meaty fingers beat a rhythm that rolled like thunder across the clearing. The ground quivered faintly, as if answering his call, while his entourage¡ªmore bearded and boisterous dwarves, there in support of their idol¡ªraised tankards and roared in time, their stomping boots a heartbeat beneath the song. ¡°Sing or drink, everyone, don¡¯t just stand there!¡± he bellowed, his demeanor a spark that lit the air with warmth.


    In a less confident contrast, I spotted a kobold hunched near the area¡¯s opposite edge. He was quite out of place here. His mottled scales had seen better days, and were further dulled by a tattered cloak stitched with what looked like fungal hides. His undoubtedly self-made lute, if one could even call it that, was a crude thing¡ªmere bone and sinew lashed together in some unholy approximation a proper musical instrument¡­and yet, he squeaked a tune that was earnest and high, tales of survival hissed out with a jagged accent. A duo of his kin scurried at his heels, rattling pipes and drums, their own yips were a nervous echo. He bobbed his head low, eyes darting, his voice a timid chatter.


    ¡°Good song, yes? Please like song!¡± he pleaded, his smallness a fragile note amid the grandeur of the other aspirants.


    As we passed his motley group, I considered that what I saw here was probably <i>really </i>impressive for a kobold who grew up in poor conditions. Perhaps he would overcome the odds and win the patronage of one of the spectating fey lords? I inwardly wished the little fellow good luck.


    Then, as we walked deeper in, I heard something that gave me a true shock ¨C a song I never expected to hear in this place.


    (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjEpw4O-WNI</a>)


    <i>Alduin''s wings, they did darken the sky</i>


    <i>His roar fury''s fire and his scales sharpened scythes</i>


    <i>Men ran and they cowered and they fought and they died</i>


    <i>They burned and they bled as they issued their cries</i>


    No. There was absolutely no way! It was an impossible melody, a tune not of this Universe.


    And yet¡­


    <i>Dovahkiin Dovahkiin naal ok zin los vahriin</i>


    <i>Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal</i>


    <i>Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan</i>


    <i>Dovahkiin fah hin kogaan mu draal</i>


    The sound came from an all too familiar tiefling woman.


    She strummed her lute softly, hesitantly, the impossible melody continuing to drift forth.


    <i>We need saviors to free us from Alduin''s rage </i>


    <i>Heroes on the field of this new war to wage </i>


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    <i>And if Alduin wins man is gone from this world </i>


    <i>Lost in the shadow of the black wings unfurled</i>


    Her voice wavered, tender and raw, each word a fragile offering sung with eyes shut tight. She stood alone, shoulders curled inward, her song a thread of longing that trembled in the air, dwarfed by the polished power of the melody she played.


    <i>But then came the Tongues on that terrible day </i>


    <i>Steadfast as winter, they entered the fray </i>


    <i>And all heard the music of Alduin''s doom </i>


    <i>The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering Thu''um</i>


    I stood rooted, the song¡¯s familiarity sinking into me like a stone into still water. How could <i>she</i> be here? How could she know <i>that </i>song? Did it have anything to do with what brought me to this place? I <i>had </i>to ask her ¨C had to find out!


    <i>And so the Tongues freed us from Alduin''s rage </i>


    <i>Gave the gift of the Voice, ushered in a new Age </i>


    <i>If Alduin is eternal, then eternity''s done </i>


    <i>For his story is over and the dragons... are gone</i>


    The final note quivered, a single, perfect thread stretched taut before it snapped into silence. Alfira ¨C the iconic tiefling bard from the Druid¡¯s Grove of Act 1 ¨C exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping as her eyes fluttered open, revealing a flicker of fear and hope in her amber gaze. She clutched her lute closer, her knuckles whitening against the wood, and scanned the clearing with shallow breaths, as if waiting for the weight of judgment to crash down upon her.


    ¡°That is <i>some</i> tune.¡± Gale remarked next to me ¡°Though, I can¡¯t say that I¡¯ve ever heard of this Alduin before.¡±


    ¡°It is a story from another time and place,¡± I replied, shaking my head. ¡°A world far, far away from this one. I wonder where she could have heard such a thing.¡±


    The stillness held for a heartbeat, then two, before it was shattered by a sharp, nasal voice that cut through the grove like a blade through silk.


    ¡°<i>Pffft. </i>Oh <i>please</i>, is <i>that</i> the best you can do?¡±


    The tall human from earlier blundered his way over to us, his crimson-and-gold tunic clashing garishly with the grove¡¯s subtle beauty.


    ¡°A timid little ditty like that won¡¯t impress the fey. You¡¯re wasting your time¡ªand ours, frankly. You should just give up!¡±


    His entourage, two gnomes in equally gaudy outfits ¨C servants, perhaps ¨C snickered behind him, their laughter a grating echo in the stillness. One of them jeered, ¡°Stick ta tavern corners, <i>girl</i>. This here contest¡¯s fer <i>legends</i>, not whimpering amateurs.¡±


    Alfira flinched as if struck, her fingers tightening on her lute, the fragile confidence she¡¯d mustered crumbling beneath the weight of their mockery. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red, and her tail curled inward, wrapping around her leg as if to shield herself. She shrank back against the silver oak, her gaze dropping to the moss beneath her feet, her breath hitching in her throat.


    The nearby spectators shifted uncomfortably, some averting their eyes, others murmuring under their breath in quiet dissent. The insult hung in the air like a sour note as the man left, his servants¡¯ laughter trailing behind as he strutted away, his crimson cloak swirling dramatically with each step.


    What an arsehole.


    I took a step forward, the moss exhaling its glowing dust beneath my boots, and crossed the clearing to stand before Alfira. She looked up as I approached, her amber eyes wide with surprise, a faint sheen of unshed tears catching the twilight. ¡°Pay them no mind ¨C they¡¯re just jealous and probably insecure with such strong competition. That was absolutely beautiful!¡± I said gently, my voice cutting through the lingering tension like a soft breeze.


    Her lips parted, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she ducked her head. ¡°T-thank you,¡± she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and uncertain. ¡°I¡­ I wasn¡¯t sure if it was good enough. Not here, not with them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s <i>more</i> than good enough,¡± I replied, offering a reassuring smile. ¡°Where did you learn such a pretty ballad? Did you write it yourself?¡±


    She hesitated, her fingers tracing the worn wood of her lute as if seeking comfort in its familiarity. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± she said at last, her gaze distant, lost in some inner shadow. ¡°It came to me in a dream¡ªthe melody, words, all of it. It was like a memory from another life. I don¡¯t even know why I chose it¡­ it just¡­ felt right?¡±


    I nodded, thoughtfully. ¡°Well, it is a gorgeous song all the same. I¡¯m Harald ¨C and these fine ladies and gentlemen are my companions. Here, we have Gale of Waterdeep ¨C the famous wizard extraordinaire, Astarion of Baldur¡¯s Gate, Shadowheart the Cleric, Great Warrior of the Githyanki, Lae¡¯zel of K¡¯liir, and last ¨C but certainly not least ¨C Karlach, also of Baldur¡¯s Gate. I¡¯m sure we are all very happy to make your acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°Charmed, <i>Darling</i>,¡± Astarion purred in confirmation, while Karlach waved at her warmly.


    The tiefling bard blushed harder, a cute purplish sheen appearing on her cheeks.


    ¡°I¡¯m Alfira. It¡¯s very nice to meet you all! Are¡­you all here to compete as well? I heard mention of Baldur¡¯s Gate ¨C I¡­ was actually traveling there before Auntie Ethel¡­ well, before I was invited here. It¡¯s been so crazy for the last few days! I¡¯ve tried talking to a couple of the other contestants, but they are all so competitive! Everyone seems to have an entourage, and they all know what¡¯s going on, and I¡¯m here by myself and don¡¯t know anyone¡­¡±


    She trailed off, the pent up frustrations and excitement both rising to the surface. Then, taking a slower breath and steadying herself, she continued. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for babbling on like this, it¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s so nice to <i>finally </i>speak to someone ¨C and some of you are from my region too!¡±


    ¡°Oh, there¡¯s no need to apologize,¡± I smiled reassuringly, ¡°I understand completely! Us contestants need to stick together ¨C and Baldurians doubly so! We were actually thinking about heading for Baldur¡¯s Gate before getting pulled in here. I¡¯ll tell you what, Alfira¡­ why don¡¯t you camp with us for the day ¨C and, after this whole business with the Revel¡¯s contest is concluded, we could all head out together?¡±


    Alfira looked deeply into my eyes for any sign of deception before smiling warmly. ¡°I¡­ would like that.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, the more the merrier!¡± Gale interjected with a smile of his own. ¡°Besides, we could use a consultant of the Bardic variety ¨C the thing is, none of us are exactly <i>Bards</i> by profession¡­¡±


    I chuckled at Alfira¡¯s incredulous look as Gale caught her up on our ¨C utterly unbelievable ¨C adventures so far, my eyes already searching the branching trail ahead for a suitable campsite.


    ++


    We¡¯ve trekked along a side path for a few dozen more minutes before running into something I thought suitable ¨C a secluded but spacious area near a stream.


    ¡°Look there -- that might be <i>perfect</i>.¡±


    My new friends shuffled forward, clustering around me to peer where I pointed. There, framed between two ancient trees whose gnarled branches intertwined like lovers¡¯ hands, lay a clearing that seemed to glow with its own soft light, a sanctuary carved from the Revel''s chaos. At its heart, a <i>gorgeous</i> waterfall spilled down a tumble of moss-clad stones, its waters catching the alien sun overhead in a dance of iridescent hues¡ªblues, greens, and silvers that shifted like a living prism. The cascade plunged into a pool so clear that it mirrored the sky¡¯s queer kaleidoscope, its surface rippling gently with each drop. Around the water¡¯s edge, lush moss spread like a velvet carpet, speckled with clusters of exotic flowers that pulsed with bioluminescent light¡ªshades of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst that I was <i>certain </i>Karlach and Shadowheart would appreciate. The space was generous too, open enough for us all to sprawl out comfortably, yet hemmed in by the trees and the waterfall¡¯s rocky wall, offering a sense of shelter I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d been craving.


    Alfira gasped beside me, her breath hitching as she took it in. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s like something out of a song,¡± she whispered, her fingers tightening on her lute as if she could already hear the melody taking shape.


    I nodded, stepping forward to get a better look, my practical mind already assessing the spot even as its beauty sank into me. ¡°Indeed, but it¡¯s more than just pretty,¡± I replied. ¡°The waterfall¡¯s a natural wall on one side, and these trees give us cover. Plenty of room to spread out, too. I know we all appreciate at least a little privacy.¡±


    The others murmured their assent, each drinking in the scene through their own lenses. The clearing seemed to call to us, its storybook-like tranquility a balm after the literal hell we recently went through. The waterfall¡¯s gentle roar filled the air, its mist kissing my face pleasantly as I drew closer, blending with the floral perfume of those glowing blooms.


    ¡°This is it,¡± I said firmly, turning to face the group. ¡°We¡¯ll camp here.¡±


    They didn¡¯t need coaxing. They fanned out across the clearing, claiming their favorite patches of moss-covered ground with a weary eagerness. For a moment, I stood there, letting the scene settle into my bones: the faint glow of the flora, the cool dampness in the air, the promise of a calm and safe few moments ¨C time enough to think and, hopefully, even solve some of our problems.


    But, as I watched the group start to settle in, a thought struck me, sparking a flicker of mischief in my chest. Why settle for <i>roughing it</i> when I had so much more to offer? I turned inward, my mind brushing against the vast expanse of my inventory¡ªa hoard that rivaled a small city¡¯s worth of goods, tucked away in a pocket of space only I could reach.


    Forget sleeping on <i>moss</i>! I had <i>proper</i> beds, with plush mattresses and carved frames that graced the bedrooms of Skyrim¡¯s wealthiest nobles. Wooden wardrobes, polished to a gleam, ready to hold our gear. Luxurious dishes and cutlery¡ªgold and silver, no less¡ªfit for a royal feast.


    And that was just the start.


    There were several full sets of crafting gear straight out of a hoarder¡¯s wildest dreams: an Arcane Enchanter; an entire Alchemy lab, well-stocked with distilling equipment, vials and herbs; a complete <i>Smithy</i>¡ªforge, tanning rack, grindstone, and all! There was a cooking spit, too, along with food enough to feed a small army, and alcohol enough to drown a tavern of adventurers many times over. And the gods only knew what else was tucked in there ¨C at some point, I¡¯ve honestly stopped keeping track of it all¡­


    I turned to the group, a mischievous grin tugging at my mouth. ¡°You all might want to stand back for this,¡± I said, waving them off with a casual flick of my hand. Our newer companions blinked at me, curiosity etching their faces, while Karlach just crossed her arms and smirked, clearly in on the joke ¨C though, I doubted even she could anticipate the volume of <i>stuff</i>


    I was about to unleash.


    I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, focusing, then swept my hand through the air. Immediately, the clearing came alive with <i>motion</i>


    as I summoned my hoard with a surge of telekinesis.


    First came the tents¡ªgrand, enchanted things I¡¯ve ¡°liberated¡± from the Altmer Invasion DLC, their fabric shimmering like liquid moonlight as they unfurled into place. Next, the King (and Emperor!) sized beds materialized, their frames settling onto the moss with barely a sound, pillows fluffed and ready. The desks, chairs, and actual wooden <i>wardrobes</i> followed, the latter¡¯s doors swinging open briefly to reveal their empty depths before snapping decisively shut ¨C I would have to make my camp mates some clothing in their size, or otherwise¡­ liberate some later. Two full-length noble dining tables plopped down next, adorned with gleaming silver and Glass dishes that sparkled in the waterfall¡¯s reflected light. A few seconds of concentration, and I filled both tables to the brim with the most appetizing food and drink base game Skyrim had to offer. Next, the portable cooking spit appeared, complete with its own firepit, pots and spices clinking into place, while my Smithy organized itself in a chosen corner¡ªthe forge flaring briefly to life before settling into an idle flicker. The Arcane Enchanter and Potions lab blinked into existence last, their faint magical hum blending with the otherworldly pulse of this place.


    Alfira¡¯s jaw <i>dropped</i>, her lute nearly slipping from her grasp as she gaped at the transformation. Astarion, usually composed full of sarcastic wit, stood frozen, the last semblance of his decorum shattered as his eyes darted from the beds to the forge and back again. Even Gale, who has socialized with actual gods ¨C seemed shocked.


    Karlach, meanwhile, just chuckled, her smirk widening as she glanced at their stunned faces. ¡°Relax everyone,¡± she drawled, her voice warm with amusement. ¡°This isn¡¯t even the weirdest thing he¡¯s done <i>today</i>. Stick around¡ªyou¡¯ll see there¡¯s much more where that came from.¡±


    I laughed under my breath, a swell of satisfaction warming me as I took in their reactions.


    ¡°Welcome, friends¡­ to our home away from home,¡± I said, gesturing theatrically to the now-lavish campsite. ¡°Let¡¯s settle in and make the most of it.¡±

 Rock-y Beginnings

    The Feywild¡¯s soft afternoon light draped our campsite in a gentle, ethereal sheen, the enchanted tent casting a warm glow over the long dining table where we sat. The table groaned under the weight of a feast: golden platters piled with roasted meats, bowls of glistening fruit, and silver goblets brimming with the finest Cyrodiil wine. The air hummed with the scent of herbs and the faint, sweet tang of bioluminescent flowers dotting the clearing. Nearby, the waterfall¡¯s steady rush mingled with the crackle of the campfire, while the clatter of utensils and bursts of laughter filled the space. Alfira sat to my left, nibbling on a pear as she recounted a tale, her lute propped beside her. Astarion lounged across from me, smirking over his goblet, while Karlach¡¯s booming laugh punctuated the air. Shadowheart and Lae¡¯zel traded quiet barbs, their voices a soft undercurrent. Sylvie was still sleeping ¨C her tiny fairy form tucked comfortably into the lavish bed I¡¯d ¡°liberated¡± from the Emperor during a certain Dark Brotherhood quest.


    I speared a piece of venison with my fork, lifting it to my mouth as I half-listened to the chatter. The meat was tender, savory, but my thoughts kept drifting.  Setting my fork down, I leaned back in my chair, letting my mind settle. I let my focus sink inward. A faint prickle brushed my consciousness, and, with a slow blink, the familiar game interface shimmered into view, hovering just above the table like a ghostly veil, visible only to myself. Its familiar tabs glowed softly: <b>Character, Inventory</b>, <b>Skills</b>, <b>Magic</b>, <b>Map</b>. My stats blinked in the corner¡ª<b>Health</b>, <b>Magicka</b>, <b>Stamina</b>¡ªall seemed full to the brim, a small comfort amid the unknown.


    The interface was still there, still mine. I haven¡¯t had time to properly inspect it in the Nautiloid, and a lot has happened since then. But, now that I thoroughly scanned the menu, something caught my eye¡ªa brand new tab, its text warped and twitching, like a smudge of ink bleeding across a page. The letters danced in my vision, refusing to settle into anything in particular, their edges pulsing with a strange, restless energy that clashed with the interface¡¯s orderly design.


    An ice-cold shiver ran down my spine. The interface was the one thing I had counted on being incorruptible. Immutable. It seems that was a foolish assumption in retrospect, as whatever brought me here had other ideas.


    My brow furrowed, a piece of bread forgotten in my hand. Curiosity gnawed at me, tempered with caution and a hint of terror ¨C but, who was I kidding? I couldn¡¯t resist.


    With a subtle tilt of my head, I mentally *tapped* the corrupted tab.


    A new window unfurled in my mind, its borders ragged like torn fabric. Five listings stared back: four were very helpfully labeled <b>?????</b>, and the final one loudly stated: <b>The Dragonborn ????</b>. The strings of question marks wriggled like worms, seemingly unsettled, while the writing stood out, bolder, more solid -- yet incomplete. My breath hitched. <i>The Dragonborn</i>. That was me. My title from the game, forged in shouts and battles. Here, though, it dangled like a half-asked question.


    I mentally tapped it, then swiped, willing it to expand. Nothing. The text sat frozen, unyielding. I tried the others¡ªthe question marks¡ªtoo, for good measure, but they were sealed shut, no response, no glow. Frustration and fear coiled in my chest. Was it something tied to the tadpole, that faint squirm behind my eye? Somehow, I doubted it. The changes must have been related to whatever happened to me ¨C the real me ¨C to whatever caused me to merge with my Skyrim character. And, if whatever brought me here, whatever gave me these powers, had <i>changed </i>the interface, then there was no telling what else may have been changed.


    I really, <i>really </i>wasn¡¯t fond of where <i>that </i>particular line of reasoning could lead.


    My fingers tightened around my goblet, leaving faint indentations in the metal. Karlach¡¯s laugh, loud and bright, jolted me back to reality. I blinked, the corrupted tab wavering away as my focus slipped. No one had noticed¡ªAlfira was humming now, Astarion swirling his wine with a lazy grin. I let out a sharp breath, rubbing my brow. That corrupted tab unsettled me, a splinter I couldn¡¯t dig out ¨C but, I realized that the tab could wait¡ªtomorrow night¡¯s challenge, on the other hand, could not.


    My mind drifted back to <i>Skyrim</i>, the VR world where I¡¯d spent countless hours bending mechanics to my will. There was a gimmick in that game¡ªa pure vanity feature¡ªwhere you could pick up a lute or drum and ¡°play¡± it. There was no dedicated <i>skill</i> for it -- just a flashy animation. But the real trick I was thinking of was in the custom soundtrack option. I¡¯d linked my entire ¨C enormous -- music library into that game, turning every dragon fight into its own cinematic masterpiece. Could¡­ that work here?


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I pulled up my mental menu again. <b>Options</b>. There it was, right where it¡¯s always been. I scrolled down deeper, and¡ª<b>Music</b>. My breath caught as the interface fully unfolded: my music library, vast and sprawling, every song I¡¯d ever collected, was staring back at me. Metal, rock, classical, techno, movie soundtracks, even Tuvan throat-singing¡ªa vast arsenal of sound was at my command.


    A shit-eating grin split my face.


    I didn¡¯t need to play like a bard; I could <i>cheat</i> like a Dragonborn. Although the people of this world had fairly advanced musical instruments like violins, they weren¡¯t terribly advanced in musical theory at all ¨C if I were to guess, they were still at the equivalent of late medieval or, perhaps, <i>very </i>early baroque era. With a little illusion magic, I could pipe the music straight into the air, if not directly into the audience¡¯s heads.


    <i>They</i>¡¯d hear what <i>I </i>heard. In real time. And I¡¯d blow. Their. Medieval. Minds.


    But first, I needed an instrument¡ªsomething worthy of the plan brewing in my skull.


    I shot to my feet, startling Alfira into dropping her sweetroll. ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± I muttered, already halfway to the forge I¡¯d conjured earlier that day. The others glanced up, spoons pausing mid-bite.


    Gale tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes. ¡°Relax,¡± I said, cutting him off with a wave. ¡°I have an idea for the contest ¨C it won¡¯t take long.¡± My hands itched to get started, the forge¡¯s embers calling me like an old friend.


    The group exchanged skeptical looks, but I was already gone, lost in the rhythm of creation.


    I¡¯d forged blades and armor in <i>Skyrim</i>, but the skill download I received made me a <i>supernaturally </i>good Arcane Smith ¨C and an unparallelled enchanter to boot. This time, I¡¯d craft something entirely new, something this multiverse had never seen before¡ªan electric guitar, a true beast of sound to channel my music library¡¯s power. It had to fit the Fey¡¯s vibe, of course, something dark and mystical, yet bold enough to stand out ¨C I was giving them all a show, after all! Ebony ore was to be my base¡ªdeep, black, and humming with energy, hauled from the mines¡¯ depths in my VR days. I¡¯d use enchanted Silver for the strings, pure and resonant, to cut through silence like a blade. And¡­ I was thinking about pure gold for the runes¡ªmelted-down directly from the ore in my inventory¡ªbecause this wasn¡¯t just a <i>tool</i> I was making; it was a statement.


    The forge roared as I fed it, heat washing over me in waves. I tossed the ebony ore into the crucible, watching it liquefy into a pool of midnight. Then, hammer in hand, I shaped it, each strike a pulse in the air. As quickly as thought, the body of my masterpiece took form¡ªsleek, angular, its surface gleaming like wet obsidian. The neck was next, slender and strong, capped with a headstock I etched with silver filigree for flair. The strings came after, six silver threads stretched taut, their tension singing with potential. Then came the runes¡ªI poured molten gold into the grooves I¡¯d carved, tracing patterns of power that glowed faintly as they cooled.


    This wasn¡¯t just a guitar, not just a musical instrument; it was a <i>weapon</i> of sound, forged with the precision of a warrior and the soul of a trickster.


    Looking up from my work, I noticed that another Skyrim mechanic seemed to have made it in with me ¨C for, although I vividly remembered working on every detail of the instrument, no time at all seems to have gone by from when I first began my work. It was as if I had stepped away to an eternity between instants and emerged with a fully completed work product ¨C an amazing mechanic that was full of possibilities, and which I would definitely be <i>abusing</i>


    later¡­


    For now, I stepped back, chest heaving with pride, and fully took in my Magnum Opus: ebony dark as the void; silver strings glinting like moonlight; gold runes pulsing with a faint, arcane shimmer; a black netch-leather strap. It was <i>beautiful</i>¡ªdangerous, even. I plucked a string, and the note rang out, sharp and clear, echoing through the clearing like a challenge.


    It was time to test it out. Gently picking up the instrument, I took it back to the table, my companions looking on in awe. I mentally thought of playing a few cords of the <i>Bohemian Rhapsody</i> -- Queen¡¯s masterpiece, bold, layered, and perfect for a trial run.


    (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEigunICA4w</a>)


    The opening chords kicked in, thrumming in my skull, and I strummed along ¨C utterly effortlessly, fingers finding the frets by instinct as if I was born playing the instrument. It seems that, to do this much with a single instrument, illusion magic wasn¡¯t even necessary! The guitar¡¯s voice erupted, enhanced beyond all reason by the runes, filling the air with a gentle melody amplified by an undercurrent of potential electric fire.


    Shadowheart stirred from her spot, eyes glinting as she walked herself next to me. ¡°Impressive,¡± she purred, her voice dripping with mischief. ¡°You¡¯re better with your fingers than I would¡¯ve thought.¡±


    Karlach, mid-sip of wine, choked at that, spraying a fine mist as she doubled over laughing. ¡°Gods, Shadowheart!¡± she wheezed, wiping her chin.


    I smirked, letting the final note linger. ¡°Thanks. See, Lae¡¯zel?¡± I called to the githyanki, who sat with a scowl. ¡°Don¡¯t count me out yet¡ªI may be no bard, but I¡¯ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s eyes flicked up, narrowing. ¡°Tricks,¡± she snorted, though her expression faltered for a heartbeat. ¡°Prove their worth, then.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I will,¡± I said, slinging the guitar over my shoulder.


    The contest was tomorrow night, and, with my library and ¨C perhaps -- a touch of illusion, I¡¯d give the Fey a show they couldn¡¯t ignore. Let the competing bards strum their lutes¡ªI¡¯d bring the <i>thunder</i>.

 Interlude -- Gods Favorite Princess

    The night draped the ridiculously lavish camp in a stillness so profound it felt alive, a living hush broken only by my fire¡¯s soft crackle as it gnawed at the logs I¡¯d fed it earlier. The flames leapt and twisted, painting the clearing in hues of gold and shadow, their restless glow clashing with the unearthly radiance of the surrounding flora. Beyond the fire¡¯s reach, the forest pulsed with magic¡ªsilver-barked trees drank deep of the moonlight, their leaves shimmering with a faint, rhythmic luminescence, as if breathing in time with some unseen heartbeat. The air hung cool and crisp, laced with the damp scent of moss and the fleeting sweetness of blossoms that thrived only in this strange, enchanted realm. A waterfall murmured close by, its song threading through the night like a silver ribbon ¨C its noise gently lulling my exhausted mind to rest. The scene was beautiful, serene, far more peaceful than anything I remembered (which, admittedly, wasn¡¯t saying much at the moment).


    It should have soothed the soul.


    Instead, my mind churned, restless as the flames before me.


    I purposefully avoided the comfortable bed and chairs and perched on a gnarled root instead, its jagged edges biting painfully into my thighs¡ªa tether to the tangible when my thoughts veered toward the abyss. My hands lay idle in my lap, fingers brushing the flawless, unblemished white skin of my writs that had earlier been bound by those cursed vines, the fey¡¯s thorny shackles that had cruelly forced their way into my flesh, sapping my blood, my strength, my will. I¡¯d been certain then that it was my end¡ªtrapped, bleeding out in despair, the cold weight of surrender pressing down on me.


    Until <i>he</i> came.


    Harald.


    Like some hero torn from a naive children''s story, he¡¯d carved through the chaos with that unflinching calm of his. Negotiating with our captors. Hauling me back from the brink. Healing me.


    Again.


    How many times has he saved me now? Twice? Three times? Four? I¡¯d began to lose track, and that gnawed at me, each rescue a thread of obligation stitching itself tighter around my pride. The fire snapped, a spark spiraling upward into the dark, and my thoughts spiraled with it.


    I exhaled sharply. I owed him¡ªan apology for ignoring his request of not going into the crypt. For getting us into this situation in the first place. I needed to thank him properly for this latest deliverance, and for those that came before. I¡¯d tried to talk to him during the day, but the words stuck in my throat, as if admitting them would crack something vital within me.


    It certainly didn¡¯t help that the <i>insufferable </i>man kept distracting me by repeatedly doing the <i>impossible</i>. I couldn¡¯t shake the memory of earlier today, when Harald had stood by the forge, crafting that instrument. The whole process defied logic and common sense. For a split second, I thought I had felt the world move in a blur, a shimmer of motion too fast for mortal eyes, as if <i>time itself </i>bowed to his command. One heartbeat, there was nothing there¡ªjust scraps of that strange black ore, some silver strings, a gleam of molten gold¡ªand the next¡­ it was done. He''d made some strange sort of -- not-lute -- sleek and obsidian-dark, its curves catching the firelight like a fragment of captured night. He¡¯d plucked a single string, and the note made my breath catch. It wasn¡¯t just sound; it was a <i>force</i>, vibrating deep in my <i>soul</i>, stirring echoes of something I couldn¡¯t name.


    And then¡ªgods help me¡ªhe¡¯d laughed like a maniac and unleashed that impossible skill upon all of us. With the same bewildering speed, he¡¯d crafted entire wardrobes ¨C casual clothes, armor, enchanted jewelry -- all of it laid out before us like offerings at an altar. I¡¯d watched, half-dazed, as his form flickered, a half-mirage of <i>not-motion</i> and memory, and then, everything was just... there. Tunics and cloaks of unearthly weave, armor so finely wrought it seemed to hum with latent power ¨C then enchanted over the top, so that the hum of magic became even more pronounced, and the world itself seemed to cry out at the impossibility of it all.


    Mere moments. That¡¯s all it took.


    Seconds to create gear that should¡¯ve taken weeks. Months.


    <i>Lifetimes</i>.


    I looked down upon a stylish leather outfit I¡¯d worn a moment earlier. The materials of it gleamed unnaturally, the leather supple yet unyielding, every piece <i>perfect</i> in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.


    <i>What is this?</i>


    I tugged at the hem of my sleeve, frowning into the fire.


    The gear wasn¡¯t the half of it. Later, he¡¯d played that... <i>guitar</i> of his for all of us, and the music¡ªgods, the music¡ªhad unravelled me. <i>¡°I¡¯m no bard,¡± </i>he said. A lie, surely, or the closest thing to one. The notes spilled from his fingers with a mastery that mocked his words, a cascade of <i>harmonies</i> so potent, they seemed to weave the air itself into something tangible. It was¡­ like nothing I¡¯d ever heard before. It was something beyond <i>skill</i>. Beyond <i>magic</i>. Beyond reason itself. It spoke to my <i>soul</i>, raw and alive, threading through me like a thread through a needle. The melody coiled around my heart, tugging loose feelings I¡¯d buried so deeply, I hadn¡¯t realized I could still feel them. The feeling lingered, haunting me even now, as I stared into the flames of my campfire. How could he claim no bardic gift and wield music like that? It was <i>maddening</i>.


    My head tilted, eyes narrowing as I traced the shadows.


    Who <i>was</i>


    Harald, really?


    I couldn¡¯t help but recall the way he casually ripped through my mindflayer pod with his bare hands; the way he made that Cambion commander <i>explode</i>


    with a punch, spilling blood and guts all over a charging Karlach; the way he had made an adult <i>Red Dragon </i>back away with a <i>word</i>; that <i>impossible </i>knife that sliced through space itself; and the way he calmly levitated everyone to safety from the crashing ship¡­


    What the archfey had called him as I sat bound, bleeding out in that cage.


    Was I traveling¡­ with a god?


    No, surely not.


    As a cleric, I knew divine energy well¡ªShar¡¯s touch was etched into my bones at this point¡ªand, while I could have sworn that I indeed felt something <i>similar </i>from Harald¡­ Whatever he wielded today¡­ it felt different to me. Broader. <i>Wilder</i>. Something thrummed in the air around him, a current I couldn¡¯t grasp, a meaning without substance -- yet also substance without meaning¡­ Something¡­ <i>Greater</i>. Some <i>otherness </i>that made my pulse quicken and my mind reel.


    Was he a famous hero whose name I¡¯d forgotten, lost in the fog of my Shar-sacrificed memories? A demigod -- perhaps, a scion of some celestial lineage masquerading as one of us? The thought bordered on absurd, yet it clung to me. What if he were a forgotten deity of crafting, a hidden force born of hammer and flame? Or¡ªmy lips quirked at the notion¡ªa secret bastard child of Mystra and Gond, magic and craftsmanship fused in his blood? It would explain the impossible smithing and enchanting speed, the way he bent reality to his will.


    Or maybe he was something else entirely¡ªan explorer from a distant, yet-undiscovered plane, wielding arts beyond our ken. I shook my head, the ideas tangling like thorns. None of them fit, not quite. It didn¡¯t help that my past was currently a patchwork of ghosts and shadows, more than half my life carved away and offered to Shar for the secrecy of this mission¡ªa price I¡¯d paid willingly, or so I told myself. But it left me blind, grasping at guesses when I tried to pin him down. Was he a legend I¡¯d once known? A myth made flesh? I had no answers, only questions that multiplied like weeds.


    A dull ache bloomed behind my eyes, a steady throb that ¨C for once -- had absolutely nothing to do with Shar¡¯s currently fey-suppressed whispers, nor the tadpole¡¯s squirming presence. I pressed my fingers to my temples, willing it to ease.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    <i>Enough.</i>


    I couldn¡¯t keep speculating like this, chasing my own tail through a maze of what-ifs. I needed truth, and there was only one way to find it.


    I rose, brushing dirt from my palms, the decision anchoring itself in my chest like a stone sinking into still water. Apologize. Thank him. Ask him¡ªpoint-blank¡ªwho, or <i>what</i>, he was. And ask what he knew about me ¨C for I didn¡¯t believe for an instant that him calling me that name ¨C <i>Jenevelle</i> (I shivered despite myself) ¨C was a mere slip of the tongue.


    Whatever he was, whatever he knew, I¡¯d uncover it. I had to.


    And, if he opposed Lady Shar or her mission ¨C I had to find a way to deal with that too.


    I stood at the edge of our camp across from His tent, hesitating in the shadows, a quiet observer wrapped in comforting darkness. My awareness drifted to my new enchanted leather armor. Harald¡¯s gift. The weight of it felt reassuring, substantial¡ªyet unnerving in its implication. Nothing was ever given freely -- not in the cloister of Shar, not in the back alleys of Baldur¡¯s Gate. In my experience, ¡°gifts¡± were always veiled demands, favors to be repaid, loyalty bought rather than earned. Yet Harald had offered that <i>masterwork </i>up casually, without any immediate demands or conditions, and that unsettled me deeply.


    I felt my fingers tracing Shar¡¯s silver pendant, cold against my skin, a cold reminder of who I was supposed to be. Devotion, secrecy, duty. They had been my pillars¡ªunyielding, steadfast. But lately, something was shifting beneath those familiar certainties. Harald¡¯s inexplicable kindness, his casual disregard for the rules I¡¯d lived by, chipped at the foundation of my training. It was dangerous. Yet somehow, I was inexplicably drawn to it ¨C perhaps, I feared, the way a moth circles a flame despite knowing the burn that awaits.


    Harald sat quietly by his own fire, his back to me, broad shoulders outlined in flickering amber light. That ridiculous fishing hat still rested jauntily atop his head, looking entirely absurd -- and yet oddly reassuring. The ease he radiated baffled me¡ªhow could someone so powerful, someone clearly burdened by responsibilities far heavier than my own, wear such foolishness openly, without shame or hesitation?


    I noticed that he held something small, gleaming strangely in the firelight¡ªwith a jolt of shock, I realized that I recognized it. It was <i><b>that</b></i>


    blade from the Nautiloid, the ¨C likely divine ¨C artifact so impossibly sharp that it cut through reality itself, leaving jagged black edges suspended in the air with every casual wave. My stomach knotted uneasily as Harald positioned the blade carefully against the skin of his smallest toe.


    I watched, frozen in incredulity, as he pressed down, hard enough for blood to well and spurt crimson onto the mossy earth¡ªbut, to my utter disbelief, the blade penetrated no further. The flesh refused to yield beneath the impossibly sharp edge. Harald frowned deeply, seemingly more annoyed than pained, and pushed harder. Yet more blood flowed out, but the joint stubbornly held firm.


    The sheer absurdity of the situation snapped through my shock, breaking my careful composure before I could rein it back. I stepped forward without thinking, blurting out,


    ¡°I never took you for a follower of Loviatar, Harald. Self-mutilation before bed doesn¡¯t seem like your style.¡±


    The instant the words left my mouth, heat rushed into my cheeks, embarrassment clawing up my spine. What in the <i>Hells</i> was I saying? This wasn¡¯t how I intended this conversation to start!


    It was supposed to be measured, careful¡ªserious.


    Harald turned to me slowly, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine, amusement flickering beneath their calm surface. ¡°Loviatar, hmm?¡± he mused, his lips curving slightly in a faint, rueful smile. ¡°I¡­ suppose this must look ridiculous. But there <i>is </i>a purpose, I assure you.¡±


    I crossed my arms instinctively, feeling off-balance as I tried to mask my embarrassment by raising an eyebrow. ¡°And what possible purpose could that be? Practicing your pain tolerance?¡±


    Harald chuckled softly, allowing the strange blade to disappear back to -- wherever he pulled things from. He watched me for a moment, as though weighing how much truth I could handle.


    ¡°It¡¯s for Karlach,¡± he finally said, his voice growing softer, thoughtful. ¡°That glowing thing in her chest? It¡¯s called an Infernal Engine. And, now that we¡¯re out of the Hells, it¡¯s slowly killing her ¨C cooking her alive, in fact. I have¡­ several ways to fix it. The easiest and most straightforward one is to simply rip it out, then regenerate her original heart, but...¡± He paused, glancing down at his foot with frustration. ¡°I can¡¯t simply assume that the rules of the world here would allow that. So, I¡¯m testing the limits, starting with regrowing something¡­ less vital."


    He paused, almost sheepish now, shrugging slightly.


    "It had to be me, of course. We don¡¯t exactly have <i>volunteers </i>for this, and I wasn¡¯t going to risk anyone else¡­ Now, if only this <i>stupid body of mine </i>would just <i>cooperate</i>¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°But, please, ignore my petty self-mutilation problems. What can I do for you on this fine evening, Shadowheart?¡±


    Off balance once again by the sheer absurdity that was Harald, I tried to rally myself back on topic, my fingers tightening involuntarily into a fist.


    ¡°I wanted¡­ to thank you,¡± I said carefully, forcing out words that felt foreign and cumbersome. ¡°For¡­ coming after us. You warned us not to enter the crypt without you. And yet, when I did¡­ you followed anyway. You risked yourself to save us¡ªagain. You¡­ didn¡¯t have to.¡±


    Harald¡¯s lips curled into a small, easy smile, his eyes steady and impossibly kind. ¡°Did you <i>really</i> think I¡¯d abandon you so easily?¡± he asked simply, without pretense.


    I opened my mouth to respond, but the honest answer died unspoken on my lips. Yes, actually¡ªI did fully expect that. Experience had taught me to expect nothing else. Loyalty was bought, trust easily betrayed. In Shar''s dark embrace, I was raised to trust <i>no one</i>.


    But Harald was different, defying expectations at every turn. It was unsettling, maddening even, how effortlessly he dismantled every suspicion I tried so hard to cling to.


    ¡°I¡­ wouldn¡¯t have blamed you if you did,¡± I murmured finally, voice tight with tension. ¡°I acted foolishly. I defied your advice. And you went after me ¨C after us ¨C anyway. Lae¡¯zel and I¡­ we¡¯re strangers to you. You owe us nothing. So¡­ why?¡±


    He merely shook his head slowly, eyes reflecting firelight in ways that made them seem even clearer, deeper, more knowing. ¡°We¡¯re all bound in this together. Mistakes happen,¡± he replied gently, almost casually dismissive of my confession. ¡°And besides, I don¡¯t leave anyone behind.¡±


    A pang of frustration surged through me, sharp and painful. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be this <i>simple</i>. People weren¡¯t supposed to go out of their way to help others so easily. And yet, I thought with a growing feeling of something I couldn¡¯t quite name -- I was now talking to a madman who was literally willing to <i>mutilate himself </i>with a divine artifact on the off-chance it <i>might</i> help heal a stranger.


    Perhaps Harald¡­ really didn¡¯t want anything in return for his interventions and gifts? Perhaps¡­ he really, genuinely, just wanted to help?


    What an absolute <i>lunatic</i>, I thought with a growing smile.


    I had originally wanted to ask him what he was, what he wanted with the mere mortals he traveled with¡­ but such questions faded into the back of my mind, as a more prominent one took their place.


    ¡°Back there, on the Nautiloid. You called me something¡­ ¡± I continued abruptly, unable to hide the edge creeping into my voice. ¡°You called me Jenevelle.¡±


    Harald¡¯s reaction was subtle¡ªjust the faintest hesitation, the briefest flicker of something guarded behind those calm blue eyes. He paused for a few heartbeats, then, he sighed, visibly slumping.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you will simply let that go now,¡± he murmured lightly, looking toward the darkened woods beyond. ¡°I refuse to lie to your face, Shadowheart. But please understand: sometimes, a convenient and simple lie can be better than a complex truth.¡±


    He turned to me then, looking deeply into my eyes in a way that made my heart skip a beat.


    ¡°So, I will ask you now ¨C which would you rather have me provide? The simple lie, or the truth you may not be ready to hear?¡±


    My heart twisted oddly in my chest, frustration mingling with curiosity and confusion. He admitted to holding something back, deliberately, but why? Anger flared briefly in me, the familiar defensiveness rising instinctively. Yet, beneath that immediate reaction, something else stirred¡ªa quiet yearning, an unsettling curiosity. The name "Jenevelle" felt as if it belonged somewhere deep inside me, buried beneath years of Shar¡¯s shadows and forgotten memories.


    "That name¡­ it felt familiar," I whispered, barely audible even to my own ears. "But every time I try to grasp it, it slips further away."


    Harald watched me closely, his gaze softening in understanding. "Maybe it¡¯s something you need to uncover yourself," he said gently, choosing each word carefully, deliberately.


    "I will try to help you, of course -- if I can. Find me when you are ready to learn more."


    I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I felt a rush of conflicted emotions. Shar had always been my guide, my sanctuary, my strength. Questioning her was unthinkable. Yet here, in this quiet moment beside Harald, with his calm certainty and gentle reassurance, I felt myself teetering at the edge of an unfamiliar precipice, peering into a darkness that felt altogether different from what I was used to¡ªless comforting, yet, perhaps, more truthful.


    Shar¡¯s pendant pressed sharply against my skin, a cold reminder of my duties, my devotion, my purpose. Yet, even as I held tightly onto the thoughts of my mission, something else¡ªan indescribable feeling¡ªbegan to weave itself subtly into my heart.


    "Thank you," I said finally, softly, the words barely audible, heavy with sincerity yet still guarded. "For¡­ everything."


    Harald gave me a quiet nod, respectful and patient. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready, I¡¯ll be there for you.¡±


    I turned slowly, retreating into the darkness toward my ridiculously comfortable-looking bed. Behind me, the fire continued to burn gently, a beacon offering warmth and understanding. I held tightly to Shar¡¯s pendant, trying to drown out the unfamiliar feelings threatening to overwhelm me. I wasn''t yet ready to hear what Harald had to say¡ªbut perhaps, someday¡­


    I didn¡¯t let myself finish that thought.


    But, as I drifted off to sleep, the strange new feeling in my stomach remained.

 Enchantments, Embarrassments, and Broken Hearts

    I woke to the irritating sensation of someone repeatedly poking my shoulder. I groaned, hoping it wasn''t a sign of yet another existential crisis for the group¡ªhonestly, three of those per week seemed more than enough in my book. Although my body was in peak physical condition, my mind was quite exhausted -- probably due to the insane crafting spree I embarked upon yesterday.


    In fact, after my conversation with Shadowheart, realizing that untested regeneration was a dead end for now, I''d settled upon a more mechanical solution for Karlach. To that end, I spent the better part of last night figuring out how to properly enchant and tune Karlach''s new infernal heart replacement. Unfortunately, that particular project had taken me a <i>little</i> longer than anticipated¡­ I was indeed a supernaturally good enchanter and blacksmith, but, even my unnatural advantages had limits when it came to crafting something entirely unfamiliar ¨C like an artificial heart. After thoroughly mapping out Karlach¡¯s existing ¡°hardware¡± with Clairvoyance, then going back into the ¡°zone between moments¡± (I shall call it the ZBM!) after entering the smithing menu, it took me several subjective <i>months</i>


    of non-stop work to finally make a product I was completely happy with. I¡¯ve only finished and finally gotten to bed about an hour before dawn¡­ and now, one could imagine my irritation at my ¡°beauty sleep¡± getting so rudely interrupted.


    And yet, the incessant <i>poking</i> continued. Finally cracking open an eye, I found Gale peering down at me with a puzzled -- yet intrigued -- expression on his face, while Karlach hovered just behind him, barely restraining laughter.


    "Harald, my good man! I must say," Gale began slowly, clearing his throat, "your way with new company is¡­ <i>most </i>unconventional."


    Karlach snickered, nudging Gale aside. "Rise and shine, lover-boy! Had a fun night seducing the local wildlife, huh?"


    Confused, I rubbed sleep from my eyes. "Karlach, Gale, what are you talking abou--" I froze mid-sentence as my brain finally registered the <i>warmth</i> beside me.


    Ever so slowly, dreading what I might find, I turned my head to look beside me.


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    It was worse than I thought.


    Sylvie¡ªpreviously a tiny, mischievous pixie¡ªwas tiny no longer. Instead, the figure that now lay curled up beside me was a <i>far</i> larger and <i>considerably </i>more naked version of our fey guide.


    And she. Was. Breathtaking.


    Her silvery hair flowed like molten moonlight, cascading in shimmering waves over her delicate shoulders and pooling around her like a silken sea. Soft, impossibly smooth, slender limbs stretched gracefully beneath the sheets, highlighting curves that were certainly not present in her previous, pixie-sized form. Her ethereal skin glowed gently, as though touched by starlight itself, and her long lashes fluttered softly with each peaceful breath. Her perfectly symmetrical features seemed sculpted by a master artisan, each subtle line and curve crafted to the kind of impossible perfection no human could ever achieve. The sheets barely covered her modesty, draped loosely over her figure and accentuating, rather than obscuring, her newfound form. Her dragonfly-like, gossamer wings were nowhere to be seen at the moment ¨C although, whether that was because they were merely hidden away or no longer existed, I couldn¡¯t begin to guess. She was scrunching her nose cutely in her sleep, occasionally twitching, perhaps dreaming of flight.


    Karlach chuckled warmly, giving Gale a wink. "Soooo¡­. Harald. Care to explain to us how a nude fairy ended up your bed? Or do you always seduce the local pixie population?"


    I raised my hands, mortified. "Karlach, I swear, I have <i>no idea</i> what happened."


    She smirked, patting my shoulder sympathetically. "Oh, of <i>course</i> not, Soldier! You just <i>accidentally</i> seduced a pixie, turned her human-sized, then slept with her overnight. Really, it could happen to anyone!"


    Before I could find words¡ªor even coherent thoughts¡ªSylvie herself stirred softly. She stretched her arms overhead, yawning cutely, before slowly opening her eyes. Vivid, glowing blue irises ¨C the same shade as my own -- sparkled with sleepy confusion as she met my gaze, blinking slowly.


    <i>Morning''s here, so wake I must¡ª</i>


    <i>Wait, you¡¯re all too small, what''s all the fuss? </i>


    Sylvie mumbled in her melodic voice, a sound reminding me of being home and jingling bells on Christmas morning, before her gaze suddenly sharpened, eyes widening dramatically as she realized <i>something</i>


    was profoundly off. She sat up suddenly, looking down at herself in astonishment, her eyes wide and curious. Slowly, she examined her hand, flexing her fingers, before her eyes drifted¡­ lower. A radiant smile broke across her face.


    "I''m... I''m <i>big</i>! <i>Really</i> big! Harald, look at me¡ªthis is <i>amazing</i>!"


    Without a second thought for modesty, she tossed aside the sheet and launched herself forward, wrapping her arms enthusiastically around my neck, completely oblivious to her <i>very</i> exposed form.


    I froze instantly, face burning crimson. Gale politely turned away with an awkward cough, studiously examining the nearest tree root. Karlach, meanwhile, doubled over into a roaring laughter.


    "By Mystra''s grace," Gale muttered quietly, "I never thought I would witness a fae evolution firsthand ¨C truly remarkable! Although¡­perhaps conjuring some attire might be prudent, Harald?"


    "Oh! Clothes!" Sylvie finally seemed to realize her predicament but remained entirely unapologetic, simply tightening her embrace around me even further. "I suppose clothing might be useful, eventually." She pulled back slightly, beaming up at me warmly. "Harald, I¡­ <i>thank you</i>! This is <i>incredible</i>!"


    "You''re¡­ welcome?" I replied weakly, feeling my face burn hotter as I awkwardly patted her shoulder.


    Karlach interjected, grinning mischievously. "You should make some clothing soon -- can''t have the poor girl freezing. Or are you enjoying the view too much, Harald?"


    I rubbed my temples, sighing heavily. "Why do I feel like I''m never going to live this down?"


    Karlach grinned wickedly. "Because you won''t!"


    ***


    It didn¡¯t take long for the group to gather at breakfast, though I was admittedly slower than usual to join them, still reeling from the shocking start to my morning. Sylvie had refused to let go of my arm, practically glued to my side as we moved to sit at the dining table, her silvery hair now neatly cascading down her back and shoulders, a new robe draped casually around her slender figure. Despite ¨C or, perhaps, because of -- her new-found circumstances, Sylvie seemed far more interested in nestling closer to me than doing anything else.


    Karlach immediately noticed our arrival and burst into hearty laughter, nearly choking on her drink. "Gods above, Harald, did you need to conjure glue remover too?"


    I rolled my eyes, face warming slightly as Sylvie merely snuggled closer, sticking her tongue out at Karlach -- utterly unashamed. Gale suppressed a smile, trying¡ªand failing¡ªto hide his own amusement.


    Shadowheart and Lae''zel, seated roughly across from us, shared an oddly synchronized scowl¡ªone clearly meant to appear indifferent, yet edged with something suspiciously resembling envy. Shadowheart pretended to be deeply interested in her food, stabbing her breakfast as if it had personally offended her, while Lae''zel seemed intent on staring at the waterfall just past my head, jaw rigid, expression steely. Still, they occasionally cast pointed glances in our direction. Suddenly noticing each-other¡¯s reactions after a minute of this byplay, Shadowheart and Lae''zel exchanged sharp glances and simultaneously turned away, cheeks faintly tinged.


    I noticed Astarion sitting quietly at the far end of the table, visibly uncomfortable as he pushed food around his plate without eating. Smiling knowingly, I discretely summoned a carafe filled with fresh human blood from my inventory and telekinetically slid it toward him with a wink.


    Astarion''s eyes widened in momentary shock, his typically composed demeanor slipping as he stared first at the carafe, then at me, as if questioning how I had possibly known his secret. After a tense moment, he regained control, offered a cautious nod of gratitude, and poured himself a small, elegant glass, sipping on his breakfast thoughtfully.


    Then, Gale pointedly cleared his throat. "If I might offer some clarity¡­. As I explained to Karlach already before we woke Harald this morning, it appears that Sylvie here has undergone an extraordinary evolution overnight."


    "Evolution?" Sylvie asked, intrigued, briefly distracted from cuddling my arm.


    Gale nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Among the fae, hierarchy and power are fluid concepts. Pixies are minor fae, typically spending their days being playful and harmless. But as they age¡ªor, more significantly, as they slowly accumulate magic through time and advantageous bargains¡ªthey can grow in power significantly, thus ascending the fae hierarchy. Nymphs, sidhe, even fey nobles and archfey¡ªnot all of them come into being as they are; some grew into their stations from lesser forms, with each potential evolution signifying ever greater status and magical prowess."


    "Fey <i>nobles</i>," Shadowheart echoed skeptically, clearly displeased with this development. "You¡¯re suggesting she''s become something <i>that</i> powerful?"


    "Precisely," Gale said calmly, unfazed by the quiet tension at the table. "<i>Greater</i> fae are exceedingly rare and attain their ranks through either centuries of absorbing ambient magic or by making particularly potent bargains. It seems Sylvie here, quite remarkably, managed to accomplish one or both of those things in a single day."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "So, Harald¡¯s cooking was good enough to bump a pixie up the fae hierarchy? That''s one <i>hell </i>of a sugar high, Soldier!" Karlach joked.


    I sighed heavily, feeling the blush return with full force. Sylvie giggled softly, leaning even closer, apparently enjoying both the attention and my discomfort.


    "Regardless of how it happened," Sylvie declared cheerfully, "You should know that I''m <i>very</i>


    happy. And," she added, shooting a playful glance and a wink at Shadowheart and Lae''zel, "I plan to <i>fully</i> enjoy every moment of my new form."


    Karlach laughed outright, delighted at the increasingly frustrated expressions across from us. "Oh, this is going to be fun! Pass the sweetrolls, Gale!¡±


    ***


    After breakfast concluded, I finally managed to gently extricate myself from Sylvie''s affectionate grasp, though she pouted adorably as I did so. Her newfound size and deceptive strength made escaping her embrace a notably challenging¡ªbut, admittedly, enjoyable¡ªexperience.


    "Sylvie," I suggested with a soft, reassuring smile, "maybe you could scout the Revel for us? Check out the local atmosphere, see what kind of competition we might expect come nightfall?"


    The fairy¡¯s eyes brightened instantly, excitement replacing her playful pout. "Of course, Harald! I''ll scout every shadow and corner. You''ll know <i>everything</i> there is to know before the sun sets." With a final lingering glance and a cheerful wave, she promptly turned into a burst of rainbow colors, quickly vanishing into the sunlight.


    As she disappeared, I turned my attention back to Karlach, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "Karlach, can we talk privately for a moment?"


    The red-skinned barbarian looked up at me, a brief flicker of curiosity crossing her expressive face before nodding. "Of course, Harald. Lead the way."


    Together, we stepped away from the others and walked in companionable silence toward a scenic overlook by the nearby waterfall. The rhythmic crashing of water echoed gently around us, a calming backdrop to the importance of our conversation. The soothing water noises stirred recent memories in me. I vividly recalled how Karlach and I had swum together in the ocean, the cool water rapidly turning to steam against her heated skin, creating clouds of mist that enveloped us both. I remembered holding her tightly amidst that swirling haze, feeling her warmth against me as the waves lapped gently around us. The memory lingered vividly, and, for a few seconds, I allowed myself the quiet daydream that, someday soon, we''d swim together again¡ªthis time without the fear or consequence of her fiery curse.


    Stopping at the edge of the overlook, I carefully retrieved the enchanted heart I''d crafted from my inventory, revealing it to her with gentle reverence. The heart was an intricate masterpiece of dark, polished Daedric ore, glowing faintly with a mesmerizing crimson pulse. Each carefully etched rune gleamed softly, carrying the weight of meticulous enchantment designed to ¨C among other things -- perfectly regulate heat and manage blood flow. It took me several subjective <i>months</i>


    of nonstop work in ZBM space to finally craft it ¨C and, by Akatosh, I was proud of what I¡¯d accomplished.


    Karlach¡¯s breath caught softly, her eyes widening in awe and disbelief as she stared at the artifact. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out, brushing against its smooth, engraved surface as though afraid it might vanish if she pressed too hard.


    "Harald," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "is this¡­ what I think it is? I¡­ don''t know what to say."


    I offered her a reassuring smile. "There¡¯s good news and bad news. Which would you like first?¡±


    She looked at me like I¡¯d grown a second head. ¡°The <i>good </i>news, <i>obviously</i>!¡¯


    I nodded in acquiescence. ¡°The good news is, once installed, this enchanted heart will completely eliminate your danger of overheating. You''ll be <i>safe</i>, Karlach.¡±


    Her eyes shone brightly, relief washing over her features like a wave. A deep, unspoken yearning filled her gaze¡ªa yearning that revealed just how much she''d silently endured. For over a decade, Karlach had lived in a state of near constant stress, her body painfully aflame with each strong emotion she experienced. Joy, excitement, fear, anger¡ªany and every intense feeling had been shadowed by a helping of searing internal pain, a cruel punishment inflicted by the experimental, and <i>very</i> unstable, infernal engine prototype that kept her alive, yet constantly on the brink of destruction.


    To finally have the possibility of <i>feeling</i> without an accompanying rush of punishing heat, of experiencing simple joys like laughter and excitement without risking getting cooked from within, was more than she''d dared to dream. The hope of touching someone without fear of scorching them or causing harm, to hold someone close, to embrace or be embraced¡ªit was an overwhelming and exhilarating promise of a life she''d long believed impossible for her.


    The realization that, not only did she manage to escape Avernus, but she could very well live free ¨C truly free, even of the damned Infernal Engine ¨C was overwhelming for Karlach. Her expressive face softened deeply, and tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged me then; it was the hot, sizzling, desperate hug of a prisoner who had finally reunited with a loved one after receiving clemency from death row. I held her gently, rubbing her back as she slowly cried into my shoulder, allowing her to fully release the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Finally pulling away after several minutes, Karlach swallowed visibly, her voice reduced to a gentle whisper, soft and vulnerable, ¡°And¡­ the bad news?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t yet found a safe method of regenerating your original heart,¡± I admitted gently, seeing the disappointment flicker across her face. ¡°It will take more time and research.¡±


    Karlach exhaled softly, her shoulders dipping slightly in quiet acceptance. ¡°No getting my old heart back, huh?¡±


    ¡°Eventually ¨C but not <i>just </i>yet," I corrected gently, ¡°don¡¯t you worry, though -- this replacement is actually <i>far</i>


    superior in some ways. For instance, it oxygenates your blood, meaning you¡¯ll no longer need to breathe. You won¡¯t have to worry about drowning or choking ever again.¡±


    She tilted her head, confusion mixing with fascination in her fiery gaze. ¡°<i>Oxy</i>-what-now?¡±


    I chuckled softly. ¡°It keeps your blood fresh and healthy without needing air. Think of it like¡­ magic breathing.¡±


    Karlach laughed, the tension visibly easing from her shoulders. ¡°Magic breathing¡ªI like the sound of that!¡±


    Her smile faded slightly as a hint of worry returned. ¡°But swapping out my old engine¡­ won¡¯t I bleed out immediately when we disconnect it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve planned for that,¡± I assured her firmly, projecting as much confidence as I could muster. ¡°I have a¡­ certain spell I can use to move swiftly, and my restoration magic can replenish your blood far faster than you¡¯ll lose it. And we have plenty of healing potions as backup, too. You¡¯ll be <i>perfectly</i> safe¡ªI promise.¡±


    She took a deep, steadying breath, her gaze locked onto mine as trust blossomed openly across her features.


    ¡°You know what, Harald? I believe you. Completely. If anyone could manage such an impossible-sounding thing, it¡¯s definitely you. How soon can we do it?¡±


    Karlach¡¯s heartfelt trust warmed me, and I gently squeezed her shoulder. ¡°Any time you like ¨C even right now. I just give me a couple minutes to make sure my¡­ speed spell¡­ works correctly.¡±


    She nodded decisively, strength and determination flooding back into her expression.


    ¡°Alright, then, Soldier. Let¡¯s do this thing!¡±


    ***


    There was one preparatory step left to do before the surgery. After my conversation with Karlach, I found a tranquil area right next to the waterfall, intent on mastering an important element of my upcoming plan¡ªthe ¡°Time Slow¡± dragon shout. After all, while I am an amazing smith, a transcendent Archmage, and a sublime enchanter, I wouldn¡¯t ¨C exactly ¨C call myself a heart surgeon. Even after thoroughly studying Karlach¡¯s engine with <i>Clairvoyance</i>, while I felt confident that I could <i>disconnect</i> her existing device without issue, installing the new engine ¨C while she was alive and bleeding out ¨C would prove a challenge. Without precise control, the delicate procedure to replace Karlach''s heart risked turning¡­ unpleasant, to say the least.


    I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes as I centered the inner light of my soul, summoning the ancient draconic words from within. Each syllable resonated deeply, reverberating through my bones, <b><i>demanding </i></b>for the world to obey.


    <b><i>Tiid Klo Ul!</i></b>


    As before, the words hung in the air in a time between time, as if the Universe didn¡¯t <i>quite </i>know what to make of them. Until¡­


    T???????????????????????????????????????????i???????????????i?????????????????????????????????????????????????d???????????????? ?????????????????????????????


    K?????????????????????????????????l?????????????????????????????????????????????????????o?????? ?????????????????????????????????????????????


    U???????????i???????????????


    Instantly, reality around me stretched and slowed, transforming into an elegant tableau frozen in time. Nearby, the liquid droplets from the waterfall ceased their downward plunge, hanging motionless in mid-air, tiny globes of liquid crystal illuminated brilliantly by sunlight. Each droplet refracted the golden rays, creating breathtaking arcs of vibrant rainbow colors.


    Taking an experimental step forward, I marveled at how effortlessly I moved through this timeless realm. The air felt luxurious, thick and rich as velvet, caressing my skin in slow-motion waves. My enhanced senses could vividly perceive every detail of this singular frozen moment¡ªdust particles suspended serenely, the flying butterflies caught in their mating dances, the intricate textures of the suspended droplets, even minute ripples frozen upon the water''s surface¡ªall of it stood out in hyper-real clarity, sharp and perfectly preserved.


    Fascination consumed me as the world began to blur gently around the edges. The colors blended into ribbons of liquid light, each hue trailing into the next like watercolor paints swirling gracefully through clear water. It was breathtakingly beautiful and strangely peaceful.


    Then, an oppressive silence descended, absolute and profound. It was only then I realized that I must have far surpassed the speed of sound. In awe, I waved my hand experimentally, noticing with astonishment subtle ripples of compressed air radiating from my movements. Each gesture created faintly visible waves of air pressure, shimmering briefly before dissipating into nothingness. I marveled momentarily at these ghostly echoes of my motion, tangible evidence of my newfound relative velocity.


    Then apprehension gripped me ¨C followed closely by panic.


    ¡°Oh <i>shit</i>,¡± I breathed soundlessly, dread tightening in my chest. ¡°It''s not stopping!¡±


    And indeed, it seemed that I was continuing to accelerate even further relative to the world. My surroundings grew increasingly dim. Colors slowly drained away, the vibrant hues fading into muted greys and blues. A strange blue luminescence flickered along my skin, a ghostly glow I quickly identified as Cherenkov radiation¡ªconfirmation that I was now moving faster than <i>light itself </i>could propagate through the air around me. The air, once silky and luxurious, became thick and viscous, pulling at my limbs with every movement as though the universe itself protested my intrusion into realms forbidden by natural law.


    ¡°No. Stop!¡± I shouted inwardly, mentally clawing at the runaway power of the Shout. ¡°<i>Stop</i>, damn you!¡±


    With a monumental effort of will, I exerted all of my mental strength, pressing fiercely against the relentless and unforgiving momentum currently gripping my physical form. My Shout momentarily resisted ¨C before, mercifully, relenting.


    Mundane reality returned with a gut-wrenching jolt. Colors surged back first, then sound returned in a deafening rush, and I stumbled forward, gasping, nearly losing my footing as the sudden resurgence of sensory input threatened to overwhelm me.


    What.


    The.


    <i>Fuck</i>.


    Was.


    That?


    For a long, breathless moment, I stood trembling with adrenaline, bathed in reassuring sunlight and soothed by the familiar roar of the waterfall. Each sensation was now precious, grounding me firmly in a reality I¡¯d nearly lost.


    Taking a shaky breath, I swallowed hard, casting wary eyes around me. My heartbeat gradually slowed. That was¡­ a fairly terrifying experience.


    And yet¡­


    And yet, I¡¯ve proven that I could control the Shout¡¯s power. With practice, I may yet achieve finesse! But, for now, perhaps a partial Shout would do?


    Squaring my shoulders and mustering my will, I half-whispered:


    <b><i>Tiid</i></b>


    And the world around me slowed once again -- but far gentler this time.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile. Today, Karlach would be getting a new heart at last.

 Interlude: Sylvies Shadows

    The morning sun, filtered through the impossibly vibrant leaves of the Feywild, painted the forest trail in shifting patterns of emerald and gold. Sylvie stretched, the silk robe Harald gave her pooling around her like captured moonlight. It was still so <i>strange</i>, this¡­ bigness. Her limbs extended further than she remembered, her fingers, once delicate as flower petals, now had a substantial length and strength. She flexed them, marveling at the subtle play of light on her newly formed nails, each one a beautiful, opalescent curve.A giggle escaped her lips, a sound deeper and richer than the tinkling chime she was used to. It resonated within her chest, a vibration that felt both unfamiliar and exhilarating. Standing, she felt a sense of groundedness she¡¯d never experienced as a pixie. Her feet, no longer mere points, pressed firmly into the mossy earth, a sensation that sent a shiver of <i>delight </i>through her.


    She tried to flit, to perform the effortless, dizzying dances that had defined her pixie existence. But her larger form was¡­ resistant. Instead of a graceful arc, she managed a slightly clumsy hop, her feet thudding softly on the moss. A cute pout formed on her lips, quickly replaced by a determined grin. ¡°Well, that won¡¯t do,¡± she murmured to herself. ¡°New body, new tricks!¡±


    As she stepped out further into the woods, the world seemed¡­ deeper, more detailed. Her senses seemed significantly sharper, and were tuned differently than before. The scent of exotic blossoms, once a delicate perfume, now filled her senses with an almost overwhelming sweetness.


    Should she socialize with, and question some of the other fae? ¡°What a great idea!¡± she thought, as she started towards the main revel area.


    As she walked, she noticed other pixies flitting about, seemingly oblivious to her change. They zipped past her without a care in the world, their tiny wings a blur of motion, their laughter like the ringing of tiny bells. They didn¡¯t seem to recognize or even notice her at all. Sylvie watched them, a pang of something akin to nostalgia tugging at her heart.


    That used to be her!


    Carefree. Light. Unnoticed by the larger world.


    A bit further on, she passed a group of slightly larger fey ¨C sprites, she thought ¨C gathered around a cluster of luminous mushrooms. As she approached, they glanced at her, their chatter abruptly ceasing. They offered quick, nervous nods, their eyes widening slightly as they took in her form. There was no open disrespect, but their deference felt¡­ hollow, devoid of genuine warmth. It was as if they were acknowledging her presence out of a sense of fear or obligation, not genuine recognition. They didn¡¯t seem to make the connection between her and Harald; they simply sensed she was stronger than them, and that power was something to be wary of.


    Sylvie tried to smile, to offer a friendly greeting, but the words felt awkward in her new throat. ¡°Hello,¡± she managed, her voice sounding deeper and far more resonant than she intended.


    The sprites offered a chorus of hurried ¡°Greetings,¡± their voices tight with a politeness that bordered on fear. They quickly resumed their conversation, their eyes darting towards her occasionally, their voices hushed and strained. Sylvie frowned slightly. This wasn¡¯t the easy camaraderie she was used to.


    As she ventured further, the revel grew louder, more chaotic. Satyrs danced with nymphs, their laughter echoing through the trees. Gremlins haggled over strange trinkets, their voices a cacophony of barters and boasts. Sylvie, in her larger form, found it harder to navigate the throng. She bumped into an Eladrin Elf, his brows bristling in surprise.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± she said, her voice resonating  in the crowded space.


    The Elf¡¯s eyes widened as he looked <i>up</i> at her eyes. He didn¡¯t seem angry, but there was a flicker of unease in his gaze. ¡°No harm done,¡± he mumbled respectfully, quickly moving away, his glass of enchanted wine sloshing precariously.


    Sylvie sighed internally. It was becoming increasingly clear that her new size had changed everything. She was no longer invisible to the world, but she wasn¡¯t exactly welcome either. She wasn¡¯t used to her new station; didn¡¯t know how to carry herself; didn¡¯t really know anyone she could trust. She¡­ no longer knew how to fit in.


    She wandered towards a quieter part of the enchanted woods, a small grove where a group of upper class fey were gathered. They made for impressive figures ¨C two satyrs with thick, gnarled horns and muscular builds, and an oread with sharp, predatory eyes and a long, flowing mane of earth-colored hair. They were laughing and joking, their voices rough and boisterous. The satyrs slapped each other on the back, their movements exuding a sense of confidence and perhaps a hint of arrogance. The oread leaned against a moss-covered boulder, her gaze sweeping across the area with an air of detached amusement. Their clothing, a mix of woven vines, polished stones, and intricately carved wooden adornments, spoke of status and a connection to the deeper, wilder magic of the Feywild. They exuded an aura of power and self-assurance that was both intriguing and slightly intimidating to Sylvie.


    Drawn by their energy, she approached the group hesitantly. She missed the easy camaraderie of the pixies, the feeling of belonging. Perhaps these fey would be more accepting of her? She hoped that their elevated status would mean they were more understanding and less prone to the petty squabbles she sometimes witnessed among the lesser fey. The pixies, while fun-loving, could also be quite cliquish, and Sylvie had always yearned for a sense of connection with someone older and wiser, someone who possessed a greater understanding of the world.


    ¡°Hello,¡± she said, her voice still carrying a hint of nervousness.


    The satyrs and the oread turned to her, their laughter dying down abruptly. Their expressions shifted from amusement to something colder, more calculating. They looked her up and down, their eyes lingering on her bare feet and the robe she wore.


    ¡°Well now, what¡¯s this then? A <i>stray</i>, lost in the woods?¡±


    The others chuckled, their laughter harsh and mocking. The oread stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. ¡°Lost? Or perhaps she¡¯s just trying to find someone to¡­ <i>play</i> with?¡±


    Sylvie¡¯s cheeks flushed despite herself. She didn¡¯t understand their insinuations, but their tone was unmistakable. It was mean, laced with hostility, with a disdain that cut deeper than any physical blow.


    ¡°I¡­ I was just exploring,¡± she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.


    ¡°Exploring, were you?¡± the other satyr sneered, taking a step closer. ¡°Or perhaps you¡¯re looking for a handout? Trying to use that pretty face to get something you don¡¯t <i>deserve</i>?¡±


    Tears welled up in Sylvie¡¯s eyes. She didn¡¯t understand why they were being so mean! She had never been treated like this before. The other pixies teased, sure, but it was always in good fun, never with this venomous edge!


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything wrong,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling.


    ¡°Oh, we know <i>exactly</i> what you''ve done,¡± the oread hissed, her voice like the rustling of dry rocks. ¡°I can smell <i>him</i> all over you. You latched onto that Godling, didn¡¯t you? Used your¡­ <i>feminine wiles</i> to gain power you didn¡¯t earn.¡± The oread¡¯s words dripped with a venomous certainty, as if she possessed some secret knowledge of Sylvie¡¯s intentions. She stepped closer, more than a head shorter than Sylvie, but her sharp eyes still glinted with a predatory light.


    The words stung like acid. Sylvie didn¡¯t understand why they were attacking her, but their words hinted at a raw spot of insecurity she didn¡¯t even know she had.


    Suddenly, she felt a surge of anger -- a hot, unfamiliar emotion that bubbled up inside her, overwhelming her usual cheerfulness.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª" she began, but the satyr cut her off, his voice a low growl.


    ¡°It¡¯s clear you seek to elevate yourself. You aspire to a station beyond your merits. You think that by associating with... <i>him</i>, you can somehow bypass the natural order of things? That you can skip the steps, the trials, the <i>years</i> of proving yourself that the rest of us have endured?¡±


    He took another step closer, his muscular figure far heavier (though not <i>quite </i>taller) than Sylvie¡¯s. His gaze raked over her, taking in her trembling form, the tears streaming down her face, the sheer vulnerability she exuded. He seemed to relish in her discomfort, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. ¡°You think gaining a little power makes you our <i>equal</i>, little stray? You. Are. Nothing! You are Vermin. Filth beneath my feet. And the world has a way of dealing with those who overreach.¡±


    The tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. She felt small and vulnerable, despite her larger size. She wanted to shrink back, to disappear, to return to the safety of her pixie form.


    But then, something <i>shifted</i> within her. The anger, fueled by their cruelty and her own righteous hurt, coalesced into something¡­ different. It wasn¡¯t quite the playful magic of the pixies, tied to nature and whimsy. It was something darker, something far more potent, something¡­ <i>hungry</i>.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Unbidden, a surge of power erupted from Sylvie: a violent storm, a tempest of raw energy that lashed out at the world around her. The temperature in the grove plummeted, and a bone-chilling wind whipped through the trees, causing the luminous flowers to flicker and dim. Cracks snaked across the mossy ground, widening into fissures that seemed to pulse with phantom colors that weren''t quite<i>..</i><i>. real</i>.


    Black, thorny vines emerged from the ground around the group; they twisted and writhed, growing with unnatural speed, their points glistening with a viscous, dark fluid. They didn¡¯t just tear through the surroundings; no, they seemed to deliberately seek out living things to pierce. The satyrs and the oread cried out as the thorns lashed at them, tearing through their clothes and flesh, leaving behind bleeding wounds.


    One particularly thick vine snaked towards the closest satyr, its thorns elongating into cruel, hooked barbs. It wrapped around his leg, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. He scrabbled at the vine, his fingers slipping on its slick surface, his face contorted in agony as the thorns dug deeper into his flesh. His cries echoed through the grove, a horrifying symphony of pain and fear.


    The oread, her face pale with terror, tried to flee, but the thorns seemed to anticipate her movements. They erupted from the ground in front of her, forming an impenetrable wall of black spikes. She turned to run in the other direction, but the same thing happened. She was trapped, surrounded by the writhing, bloodthirsty thorns.


    Sylvie watched in horror as the scene unfolded before her. She could feel the power continuously surging from her, but she felt like a mere observer, no longer in control. The satyrs¡¯ and the oread¡¯s screams echoed in her ears, mingling with the cracking of the earth and the whistling of the cold wind. She had never intended for any of this to happen. She had only wanted them to stop their taunts. But her new power had taken on a life of its own, twisting her anger and hurt into a living nightmare.


    She stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. The sight of the satyr dangling helplessly in the air, the oread trapped and bleeding, filled her with a profound sense of dread. This power was <i>hers</i>¡­ wasn¡¯t it? It was coming from <i>within</i> her. But she didn¡¯t understand it, couldn¡¯t direct it. She never had <i>this much</i> power before, and control was proving difficult; illusive.


    Focusing with all her might, Sylvie tried to retract the vines. It was like trying to rein in a wild animal, but slowly, haltingly, the thorns began to recede. The satyr dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, landing in a heap of tangled vines. The wall of thorns blocking the oread parted, creating a narrow opening.


    The trio didn¡¯t wait for an invitation. They scrambled away from Sylvie as fast as their bodies would allow, their faces etched with pure, unadulterated terror. They didn¡¯t even spare a glance back, their only thought to escape.


    ¡°I-I''m so sorry! I didn¡¯t mean to--¡± Sylvie called out after them, her voice trembling and choked with tears. But her words were lost in the wind, swallowed by the sounds of their desperate flight. She could barely contain her sobs, her chest heaving with the effort.


    Despite her fear and distress, Sylvie knew she couldn¡¯t stay here. She had to keep moving, keep trying to gather information as directed. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she focused her will, drawing upon the familiar magic of the pixies. Her form shimmered, then vanished entirely, leaving no trace of her presence behind.


    The grove was silent once more, the only evidence of the recent chaos being the torn earth and the lingering scent of something unnatural.


    But the silence didn¡¯t last long. A rustling in the nearby bushes heralded the arrival of another fey.


    The new figure stepped into the grove with a regal bearing, her movements fluid and graceful, yet carrying an air of authority that commanded attention. She was tall for a Fey, with a posture that spoke of noble lineage and countless years spent navigating the intricate web of Fey politics. Her face was stern, framed by a cascade of shimmering, auburn hair that cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned the surroundings with an intensity that seemed to penetrate the very essence of the grove. They were the color of a stormy sea, reflecting a keen intellect and an unwavering resolve. She was clad in a gown of looked like woven moonlight, the fabric shifting and shimmering with every step she took. It was adorned with intricate patterns of silver thread, depicting scenes of ancient Feywild battles and forgotten deities. A delicate circlet of woven starlight rested upon her brow, further emphasizing her status.


    Lady Myrianth had felt a disturbance, a ripple in the usually harmonious flow of magic that permeated this Plane. It was a sensation akin to a discordant note in a beautiful symphony, jarring and unsettling. She had been attending a small, intimate gathering of her own nearby, when the tremor of sheer <i>terror</i> reached her. Someone close by was genuinely <i>afraid for their life</i> ¡ª and this shouldn¡¯t be the case in this place of joy and revelry.


    Driven by a sense of foreboding, she had excused herself from her own gathering, her apologies brief and formal. She had traversed the distance with a speed that belied her elegant appearance, her mind racing with unanswered questions and growing unease.


    As she entered the grove, her keen senses immediately registered the aftermath of what was clearly a clash. The air crackled with residual energy of some kind ¡ª felt very faint, but was still perceptible to someone of her great skill. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, took in every detail. The torn earth, the twisted and broken flowers, the faint traces of a viscous, dark fluid that stained the mossy ground. Her gaze lingered on the deep fissures that scarred the earth.


    A knot of unease tightened in her stomach.


    Halting in the center of the damaged grove, she closed her eyes, focusing her senses. She reached out with her awareness, seeking to unravel the mystery of what occurred here.


    What she found sent a shiver of fear down her spine.


    There were clearly remnants of¡­ <i>some</i> kind of magic here ¡ª but what she felt was¡­ alien; unlike anything she had ever encountered in all her centuries of existence. It was not of Mystra¡¯s Weave, nor the dark and disgusting Shadow-weave of the Lady of Loss. No, this felt¡­ chaotic, untamed, and utterly unpredictable; it tasted ancient, yet somehow disturbingly new, as if it belonged to a realm far removed from the Feywild.


    It seemed powerful, yes, but that wasn¡¯t what concerned her. There were <i>many</i> powerful beings in the Feywild: dragon-kin, archfey, minor deities, and ancient spirits whose power easily dwarfed her own. She had even faced some of them before, stood her ground, and emerged unscathed.


    No, what terrified her was the <i>impossibility</i> of what she was seeing.


    Lord Hyrsam¡¯s Decrees.


    Not mere wards or enchantments; they were fundamental laws woven into the very fabric of this plane of existence. They prevented the manifestation of all unauthorized, hostile magic; snuffed out <i>any</i> power deemed undesirable by the Hosts. They ensured that the Revels remained a sanctuary, a place where overt violence was forbidden.


    And yet, here was undeniable proof that those wards had been breached. Shattered. Defiled.


    Or rather¡­


    ¡­Bypassed and ignored entirely?


    The implications of this were staggering. The foundations of her world, the very principles and assumptions that have underlain her existence, suddenly seemed fragile, vulnerable.


    A wave of nausea washed over her, and she had to fight to maintain her composure. Her face, usually a mask of regal serenity, paled visibly. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She wanted to flee, to turn and run as far as she could from this place of violated sanctity. But she was a Fey Lady, a guardian of the ancient ways. She had a duty to investigate, to understand.


    ¡­


    Didn¡¯t she?


    ...


    Yet, the fear was overwhelming. It whispered insidious doubts in her mind, painting vivid images of a world where the Feywild was no longer a safe haven but a battleground for forces beyond her comprehension. Did she <i>truly</i>


    wish to risk her existence to confront whatever did this?


    She opened her eyes, her gaze darting nervously around the grove, as if expecting some unseen horror to leap out from the shadows. The enchanted wood, once a place of beauty and tranquility, now seemed menacing, tainted by the unsanctioned power that had been unleashed.


    Myrianth knew she should stay. She should examine the scene more closely, gather more information, try to piece together what had happened. But her instincts, honed over centuries of survival, were screaming at her to leave. To get as far away from this place as possible, for nothing good could come from getting involved with powers that could ignore the Old Laws.


    She made her decision.


    It was not a decision she was proud of, but it was a decision born of self-preservation. She was a Fey Lady, not a martyr. She had her own court to protect, her own interests to safeguard. She could not afford to be reckless. This Plane was Lord Hyrsam¡¯s domain. Let whatever chaos happened here be <i>his</i>, or Lady Titania¡¯s, problem.


    With a swirl of her iridescent cloak, Lady Myrianth turned and vanished, leaving the ravaged grove behind. One of the Archfey could handle this; she wanted no part of it.


    The departure of the Fey Lady left a void in the grove, a stillness that was almost as unsettling as the chaos that had preceded it. For a long moment, the only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. Then, life began to stir once more.


    The earth itself seemed to breathe a collective sigh. The cracks and fissures that had scarred its surface began to knit themselves back together, the edges drawing closer and closer until they met in a seamless join. It was as if the very ground was a living thing, capable of mending its own wounds.


    The twisted, broken flowers, their petals still glistening with the residue of the strange new energy, slowly began to unfurl. Their colors, momentarily dulled by the chaotic magic, gradually returned to, and then even exceeded their former brilliance. They reached happily towards the morning sunlight, their delicate forms swaying gently in the breeze, as if celebrating their return to life.


    Even the air itself seemed to undergo a transformation. The sharp, acrid scent of ozone, a lingering reminder of the raw power that had been unleashed, began to dissipate, replaced by the sweet, earthy fragrance of the surrounding flora. The oppressive atmosphere that had hung heavy over the grove began to lift, replaced by a sense of lightness and tranquility.


    The land absorbed and fed upon the new energy, not erasing it, but joining with it, integrating with it¡­ and it rejoiced in that process! This was a merging of two separate, but ultimately compatible things ¡ª a feeling not unlike putting ketchup on French fries for the first time. The wild magic of the plane eagerly reached out, restoring the natural order.


    And it was fast.


    Soon enough, the flowers and moss regrew with an almost preternatural speed, their colors seemingly even more vibrant than before. The earth sealed completely, becoming whole once more, the scars of the recent conflict erased as if they had never been. The grove was, if anything, teeming with a sense of vitality.


    Some traces of the conflict lingered. A faint impression of violence still hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the raw fear that had been felt in this place. And, if one looked <i>very</i> closely, one might still find a few scattered droplets of fey blood, shimmering like tiny, opalescent jewels, clinging to the underside of a leaf or nestled amongst the roots of a flower¡­


    Until even those droplets sank into the earth, and the grove became quiet and peaceful once more.

 The Wizard From Waterdeep

    The midday sun, a radiant disc in the cerulean expanse above, cast dappled shadows across the verdant Feywild clearing. Gale, ever the contemplative mage, found himself lost in a labyrinth of thought, his mind a whirlwind of recent revelations and burgeoning possibilities. He was reflecting on the extraordinary individual who had so unexpectedly entered his life.


    Harald.


    Gale had witnessed firsthand the breadth of magical talent the world had to offer. He had studied in the ancient libraries of Candlekeep, traded spells with archmages in Waterdeep, and, in his younger, more impetuous days, even dared delve into forgotten lore in a shadowed corner of the Underdark. He had encountered mages of prodigious skill, individuals capable of manipulating the Weave with breathtaking finesse, weaving spells of staggering complexity and power. Elminster Aumar, the Sage of Shadowdale, was a name that often came to mind ¨C a mage of legendary status, whose power was spoken of in hushed whispers and awestruck tones.


    Initially, Gale had placed Harald in a similar category ¨C that of a highly-skilled eccentric. His magical feats, while undeniably impressive, had seemed, at first glance, to fall within the realm of possibility, albeit possibility present only at the very upper echelons of Wizard society. The conjuration of enchanted armors and sumptuous feasts, replete with exotic delicacies and vintage wines, was a spectacle to be sure, a testament to Harald¡¯s mastery of evocation and conjuration ¨C or, alternatively, of sufficiently deep pockets able to afford the required spatial storage artifacts¡­ But such feats, while rare, were far from unheard of. Powerful mages, with access to the deeper currents of the Weave, could and did achieve similar results.


    But then came the crafting.


    The time-bending.


    That was the moment when the scales fell from Gale¡¯s eyes; when the comfortable assumptions he had held about the nature of magic, and about Harald himself, began to crumble. To manipulate the flow of <i>time itself</i>, even on a localized scale, was an act that only a select few could manage. It was a feat that lay far beyond the reach of all but the most powerful of archmages, a power that whispered of divine intervention, of forces beyond the mortal ken. Gale had only ever heard of such levels of time manipulation being attributed to the strongest of Fey Lords, who were said to perform such feats within their own private demiplanes, outside the normal constraints of time and space. Even <i>they</i> were thought to be able to affect time only in limited ways.


    Yet, Harald had laughed in the face of common sense, compressing hours into mere moments with a flick of his wrist, without even a murmured incantation to go along with the impossibility.


    And the results of that accelerated labor were, in themselves, breathtaking.


    The armor and clothing that Harald produced were not merely functional; they were works of art, shimmering with an otherworldly beauty and imbued with enchantments of staggering complexity. The materials seemed to shift and change, adapting to the wearer¡¯s form and movements, glowing with an inner light of hellishly complex enchantments that pulsed with latent power. Gale, despite his extensive knowledge of the Weave, could detect no seams, no flaws, no hint of the process by which those artifacts had been created. It was as if they had simply¡­ come into being, whole and <i>perfect</i> in ways no mortal craftsman could hope to manage. The very air around them hummed with barely contained power!


    And then, after his crafting spree was complete, Harald had demonstrated his newly created musical instrument, and that music... It was indescribable, unlike anything Gale had ever heard before!


    It was then that the first tendrils of a truly audacious theory began to snake their way into Gale¡¯s consciousness.


    Demigod.


    Perhaps, the offspring of a god or goddess?


    It was a notion that, in any other circumstance, he would have dismissed as fanciful, the product of an overactive imagination. But the undeniable evidence, circumstantial though it may have been, was mounting. The sheer scope of Harald¡¯s power, the ease with which he manipulated unknown energies, the casual way he seemed to bend the rules of reality to his will ¨C all of it pointed to a heritage beyond the mortal realm.


    An even more daring, and more personally unsettling, thought flickered at the edge of Gale¡¯s mind.


    Mystra.


    The Goddess of Magic.


    His former lover.


    Could Harald possibly be¡­


    <i>Her</i> son?


    The very idea sent a shiver down his spine, a complex cocktail of awe, trepidation, and a lingering, bittersweet nostalgia. He wondered, with a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability, how Mystra¡¯s offspring might perceive his past relationship, if indeed they were aware of it. Would Harald view Gale with resentment, as the mortal who had once been intimate with his divine mother? Would he know of Gale¡¯s existence at all?


    Would he even care?


    Gale quickly banished the thought from his mind, dismissing it as conjecture, a flight of fancy born of his own lingering feelings for the Goddess of Magic. It was too early to speculate, he told himself. Too early to draw any conclusions. He needed more information, more evidence, before he could even begin to entertain such a possibility.


    His thoughts returned to the armor he was gifted with, to the intricate, otherworldly enchantments that adorned each piece. Gale, despite his extensive knowledge of the Weave, could make neither heads nor tails of the magic that permeated the armor. It was utterly foreign to him, operating on principles that defied everything he had ever learned about magical theory. The armor itself appeared to be crafted from some kind of volcanic glass, yet it was light as a feather and extraordinarily durable, shimmering with enchantments that Gale could <i>see</i>, yet couldn¡¯t begin to unravel or understand. Harald had called it his ¡°standard tank set.¡±


    <i>¡­Standard?</i> What a jest!


    The word grated on his very being. How could Harald use such a <i>pedestrian</i> term? In all of his years studying the arcane, Gale had never encountered anything remotely comparable to what he now wore. ¡°Standard¡± implied something mass-produced, easily replaceable, and possessing ¨Cperhaps-- of only rudimentary enchantments.


    These armor pieces?


    These were artifacts of unimaginable power and most intricate craftsmanship! To even dare suggest that the set was anything less than unique, a treasure beyond measure ¡ª was absurd! The sheer <i>temerity</i> of the word grated on Gale¡¯s sensibilities, highlighting the vast gulf between Harald¡¯s perception of his own creations and the awe-struck wonder they inspired in him.


    The armor set in question, with which Harald parted so casually, allegedly offered nothing less than <i>complete immunity</i> to fire, ice, lightning, poison, and drowning, along with having a general magic resistance... And all of that was further paired with an equally ¡°standard¡± ring, which, as Harald explained, would continuously restore both the wearer¡¯s health <i>and</i> stamina, making them virtually tireless and incredibly resilient.


    <i>This</i> was something Harald could create in moments and he considered it to be... Mundane? Commonplace? What utter madness!


    Despite his incomprehension of the method of creation, Gale could still sense the sheer complexity of the work, the meticulous care and boundless power that had been poured into every single rune, every exposed surface, every shimmering thread of energy. If the group¡¯s enchanted gifts did even <i>half</i> of what Harald claimed they could do¡­


    Priceless.


    That was the only word that even came close to describing these items.


    He didn¡¯t mean that merely in terms of monetary worth, either, although they <i>would </i>undoubtedly fetch sums beyond the wildest dreams of even the wealthiest of people. No, they were priceless in a more fundamental sense, as the kinds of objects that would never <i>willingly</i> be sold, <i>anywhere</i>. As artifacts of immense strategic significance. Kingdoms would happily go to war over such artifacts. Entire armies would be sacrificed in a heartbeat for a mere <i>chance</i> of possessing them. These were the kind of treasures that legends were made of, the kind of relics that could shift the balance of power in the world.


    And Harald had made them himself.


    In mere moments.


    As if crafting such wonders was a mere hobby for him.


    That fact, more than any other, cemented Gale¡¯s conviction: Harald was either a demigod, a particularly potent (and, likely, absolutely ancient) Fey Lord, or otherwise someone so far advanced beyond the mortal level of crafting ability that the distinction between mortality and divinity became meaningless.


    Gale briefly considered the possibility of Harald being an actual god, walking the material realms in disguise for sheer amusement, but he reluctantly dismissed the idea. Ao, the Overgod, strongly discouraged direct divine intervention in mortal affairs¡­ The possibility, at least for the moment, still seemed unlikely.


    Gale¡¯s musings were interrupted by a shift in the activity around him. He watched as Harald turned his attention to Karlach, the sweet tiefling woman whose Avernus-installed Infernal Engine in lieu of a heart had been a constant source of pain and suffering.


    Harald was clad in his own set of the so-called ¡°standard¡± Glass Armor¡­ and, on his head, still sat a preposterously large straw fishing hat, adorned with an array of colorful lures and bobbers that jangled with every movement. It was, without a doubt, the most ridiculous headwear Gale had ever seen, and yet, on Harald, it somehow managed to look¡­ almost regal. Slowly, almost gingerly, Harald removed the hat from his head and pointedly cracked his knuckles. Then, with a gentle touch, and a blur of impossibly fast movements that seemed to compress the very flow of time, he began to replace the unstable device in Karlach¡¯s chest with a brand new, custom-made, intricately enchanted artificial heart.


    Gale¡¯s breath hitched in his throat. He had witnessed incredible feats of magical skill in his life, including seeing a True Resurrection spell completely restore an Adventurer¡¯s disintegrated body¡­ but this¡­ this was something arguably even <i>more</i> impressive. The sheer precision of Harald¡¯s movements, the way he manipulated the energies of life and fire in front of their eyes, was breathtaking.


    The infernal device in Karlach¡¯s chest radiated a great deal of heat, a palpable wave of energy that scorched the air around it. Gale, even from a distance, could feel its oppressive presence ¡ª it was like standing next to a blast furnace, the burning intensity of it spoke of the Hells themselves. Yet, Harald handled it with his bare hands, his expression serene, his touch as gentle as if he were cradling a newborn babe. He didn¡¯t even flinch as he casually disconnected it, showing no sign of discomfort, no reaction to the infernal heat that would have undoubtedly sent any mortal mage scrambling for protection. At this point, Gale was past surprise. He simply accepted that Harald operated on a different level of existence.


    The switch was swift, almost impossibly so. One moment, Karlach was wracked with extreme discomfort, her Infernal Engine pulsing precariously with an unstable, malevolent energy. The next, Harald had seamlessly integrated her new heart, and a wave of palpable and absolute relief washed over the tiefling¡¯s face.


    Karlach, freed from her torment, immediately erupted in a joyous display of affection. She launched herself at the nearest members of the group, her powerful arms wrapping around Astarion and Shadowheart in a crushing embrace. Astarion, to his credit, seemed only mildly put out by the sudden onslaught of tiefling enthusiasm, offering a wry smirk and a half-hearted grumble about personal space. Shadowheart, on the other hand, seemed genuinely touched by the favorable resolution of Karlach¡¯s situation, a small smile gracing her lips as she returned the hug, albeit with slightly less fervor.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    As the commotion subsided, Harald turned to Gale, a wide, inviting smile on his face.


    ¡°Well, now that¡¯s done,¡± Harald said with a shrug, his voice casual and warm. ¡°Let¡¯s take a short break ¨C after lunch, everyone, please meet me back here for an important discussion.¡±


    ***


    And, by Mystra¡¯s perky bosom, was Harald¡¯s discussion important!


    ¡°Does anyone want to learn about how to do magic without accessing the Weave? I¡¯d be happy to teach anyone who wants to know more!¡±


    Gale¡¯s heart leapt at the prospect. An entirely new system of magic? A path to power beyond the confines of the Weave? It was an offer of knowledge beyond his wildest dreams, a chance to expand his understanding of the arcane in ways he had never believed possible ¨C even (or, perhaps, especially) when he was still a Chosen of the Goddess of Magic.


    Gale eagerly stepped forward, his eyes shining with anticipation.


    Alfira, having joined the group with some nervous hesitation, also took a tentative step forward, gently voicing her own interest. Gale was quite fond of the gentle bard, and was pleased by her apparent academic curiosity.


    His new friend from the Nautiloid, Astarion, who had been observing the exchange with a characteristically enigmatic expression, appeared both surprised and¡­ subdued. The usual glint of mischievous amusement in his eyes was muted, replaced by a flicker of something that Gale couldn¡¯t quite place. Apprehension? Curiosity? Fear? Astarion was clearly intrigued, but there was an underlying tension in his posture, a wariness that suggested he was not entirely convinced of Harald¡¯s motives. Yet, despite his reservations, Astarion inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment of his willingness to listen. (And in truth, Gale understood Astarion¡¯s concerns ¨C but, how could he turn back now? This was, after all, his chance to learn about <i>new magic</i>! Harald¡¯s motives be damned, Gale wouldn¡¯t think twice about giving up his left arm, eye, AND leg for such an opportunity!)


    Karlach, her face still radiant with the joy of her newfound freedom, shook her head with a good-natured chuckle. ¡°Magic was never really my thing, Soldier¡± she admitted, her voice rough but warm. ¡°I prefer a good axe and a roaring battle. But I don¡¯t mind listening in. You never know, I might just learn something useful.¡±


    Shadowheart, apparently a devout cleric, hesitated. Her faith in Shar (and wasn¡¯t THAT particular revelation a fun surprise!) was a cornerstone of her being, and the idea of delving into a system of magic that was wholly separate from the divine was¡­ probably unsettling for her. Gale saw her brow furrow in conflict, her gaze shifting not too subtly between Harald and the divine symbol of Shar that adorned her chest.


    It was Lae¡¯zel who broke the silence. Gale hasn¡¯t spent too much time around the enigmatic githyanki warrior, but it was still quite a surprise when she stepped forward without hesitation. Her expression was composed, her posture rigid and alert, but there was a spark of fierce determination in her bearing. ¡°If there is a path to power,¡± she stated, her voice sharp and unwavering, ¡°I would learn it from you, <i>Kwe¡¯vhar</i>.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s¡­ unexpectedly open mind seemed to sway Shadowheart. The cleric glanced at the githyanki, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She straightened her own shoulders, her internal conflict still evident, but her decision was made. ¡°Very well,¡± she said, her voice cool but firm. ¡°I am willing to learn more.¡±


    Harald smiled, his expression one of genuine pleasure. ¡°Excellent,¡± he said. ¡°Then let us begin.¡± He gestured for the group to gather around him upon the soft moss, his eyes sparkling with an almost childlike enthusiasm.


    ¡°The system of magic I am about to introduce to you,¡± he began, his voice deep and resonant, ¡°is unlike anything you¡¯ve ever heard of or seen before. It is fundamentally different from the Weave, and draws upon a source of energy that is not native to any plane we¡¯ve visited thus far, an enigmatic force I call¡­ Magicka.¡±


    He paused, letting the word hang in the air, allowing its unfamiliar cadence to settle in their minds. ¡°Now, unlike the Weave,¡± he continued, ¡°Magicka is not something granted to you by the grace of a deity like the Goddess of Magic, nor is it mediated by the existing threads of magic that permeate the world around you. No. Ideally, Magicka is freely absorbed from the environment and made your own, or else, even <i>generated</i> within your own body. It is a reliable source of power that belongs exclusively to you ¨C and you alone -- beholden to nothing and no one else. In my experience, any person ¨C regardless of their race, background, or station in life ¨C has the ability to metabolize and use this power at least to some degree.¡±


    Gale frowned, his mind already racing with questions. ¡°But¡­ how is that possible?¡± he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. ¡°Forgive me for my skepticism, Harald, but I¡¯ve never heard of this¡­ Magicka before. If Magicka is not native to the world and isn¡¯t present in the environment, how, then, can we possibly absorb it? How do we learn to manipulate a force that we aren¡¯t aware of, and cannot even perceive?¡±


    Harald nodded, anticipating the question. ¡°Ah. That is a valid point, Gale,¡± he said. ¡°And it brings us to the first, and, perhaps, most challenging, aspect of this initial lesson. You are, of course correct, Gale: in the current realm, in this particular¡­ juncture of reality, Magicka doesn¡¯t appear to be readily available in the environment. It is, in fact¡­ wholly absent. Therefore, absorption from the outside is out of the question. Instead, the only way for you to reliably access this power¡­ is learning to convert your own life force into Magicka.¡±


    ¡°Of <i>course </i>there was a catch,¡± Astarion loudly muttered, while a collective series of gasps rippled through the group.


    The idea of converting life force, the very essence of one¡¯s health and being, into magical energy, was a dark and daunting one. In Gale¡¯s experience, only the Infernal, the Demonic, the Undead, as well as the most insane and power-hungry of wizards, have ever attempted spells and rituals that did such things.


    ¡°Do not be alarmed,¡± Harald reassured them, his voice gentle but firm. ¡°The process, as I will teach it to you, is quite safe. You will not be draining your life force to the point of exhaustion. In fact, the very first spell I will teach you, a mere novice-level spell called Equilibrium, is designed to help you maintain a balance between your life force and your Magicka, helping ensure survival in dangerous situations.¡±


    He paused, his gaze sweeping over the group, meeting each of their eyes in turn. ¡°And, of course, your enchanted rings should also help restore your life force quite rapidly, further reducing any danger. I <i>do</i>


    understand that this is a new and unfamiliar concept for many of you. You are being asked to manipulate energies that you have never even perceived before. You have no frame of reference, no understanding of what Magicka even <i>feels</i>


    like, how it behaves, nor how it can be controlled.¡±


    Harald¡¯s gaze settled on Gale. ¡°Gale, I can see you have more questions. What are they?¡±


    Gale, after a moment of silence, finally found his voice.


    ¡°Yes¡­life force? I understand the concept of it, in a general sense. But, Harald, I don¡¯t know how to directly manipulate my <i>life force </i>either! How will we know if we¡¯re doing it right? And what would happen if we made a mistake while attempting it?¡±


    ¡°All excellent questions.¡± Harald said. ¡°This brings us to an¡­ interesting aspect of our current situation.¡± He gestured to his eye, to the place where the illithid tadpole lay embedded within the brain.


    ¡°Other than Alfira here, we all carry¡­ passengers,¡± Harald said delicately, ¡°which, while potentially dangerous, also grant us certain¡­ unique abilities ¨C at least, for the moment. We have already experienced one of those abilities in a limited form of telepathy, a connection between our minds when we met.¡±


    He smiled. ¡°This is a connection we can turn to our advantage. I can use it to connect directly to your minds. I can try to show you what Magicka feels like based on my <i>own </i>memories. My <i>own </i>experience. I can guide you through the process of converting life force in real time, giving you direct experience with this new form of magic. You could master this power in record time¡­ provided, of course, that you trust me enough to be willing to open your minds to me.¡±


    Astarion¡¯s eyes widened, his hand instinctively moving to his temple. He looked decidedly uneasy at the prospect of opening his mind to <i>anyone</i>, especially Harald.


    Gale, on the other hand, felt a surge of excitement. The idea of experiencing magic in such a direct, visceral way was exhilarating. He had spent his entire life studying the arcane from the outside, poring over ancient texts and deciphering complex formulae. Now, he had the opportunity of a <i>lifetime</i>! A chance to experience a new magic from within, to be taught by a master of the craft in ways most academy instructors couldn¡¯t even dream of!


    ¡°I am willing,¡± Gale said without hesitation, his voice filled with eager anticipation.


    Karlach, despite her earlier reservations about magic, nodded in agreement. ¡°I trust you, Soldier. If it¡¯ll help me understand what you¡¯re all going on about,¡± she said with a grin, ¡°I¡¯m in!¡±


    Lae¡¯zel, as always, was quite pragmatic. ¡°My people have inherent telepathic abilities, and you have seen into my mind once already. If it grants me strength,¡± she stated simply, ¡°then proceed.¡±


    Shadowheart, after a moment of contemplation, shook her head slowly. Her expression was still conflicted, but her curiosity seemed outweighed by caution. ¡°I am sorry,¡± she said. ¡°But I find such a teaching method¡­ <i>far </i>too invasive for my liking.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Harald said, his smile reassuring. ¡°This method is entirely voluntary. Though, you should know that the offer will remain on the table. There <i>are</i> also more traditional and <i>hands-on </i>ways to teach this¡­ but such methods are considerably inferior to a direct mental link.¡±


    Harald then looked pointedly at Alfira -- dear, sweet Alfira, who had joined group with a tentative smile and a lute clutched tightly in her hands. She had no tadpole, of course, and therefore couldn¡¯t participate in Harald¡¯s proposed telepathic lesson. This, Gale knew, would present a unique challenge for Harald, a challenge that the enigmatic mage seemed to be taking in stride.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Harald began, his voice clear and resonant, ¡°since our teaching method need to be¡­ adjusted for you, Alfira, why don¡¯t we begin with you? Humor me for a moment, and put your lute down please.¡±


    Alfira, looking slightly bewildered at being singled out, carefully placed her lute on the soft moss.


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t be alarmed. I will send a very small, controlled trickle of my own Magicka into your body and will try to guide the conversion process directly. You will be perfectly safe at all times. All you have to do is pay attention, and try to memorize and copy what I am doing. Now, are you ready?¡± She nodded, hesitantly.


    ¡°Very well, please close your eyes,¡± Harald instructed, placing a gentle hand on her back. A soft, golden light emanated from his touch, spreading across her shoulders and down her spine.


    ¡°Try to relax. Take a deep breath,¡± Harald continued, his voice a soothing whisper, "and <i>feel</i> the energy within you. Follow the flow of my magic. Let it reveal the life force that sustains you.¡±


    Alfira closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Gale watched her intently, wondering what she could possibly be experiencing.


    ¡°Imagine,¡± Harald continued, his voice soft and guiding, ¡°that you are a tree. A strong, ancient tree, with roots that reach deep into the earth. Feel the sap rising within you, the vital energy flowing from the roots to the branches, nourishing every leaf, every flower¡­. Feel your lifeblood travel all throughout your body. Yes¡­ yes, that¡¯s it! Now¡­ focus on that feeling. Follow my lead as we direct it. We are going to shape your life force like a sculptor shapes clay. Concentrate! <i>Feel</i> the energy inside you. Now¡­ try to copy me as we change it together.¡±


    Alfira¡¯s breathing deepened, her chest rising and falling with deliberate rhythm. Her tail twitched faintly, curling around her legs as she sank deeper into concentration. A soft hum vibrated in the air, the first sign of the energy she was tapping into. The golden light from Harald¡¯s hand spread, threading down her torso and pooling at her stomach. Her lips parted, a quiet gasp slipping out as her body tensed.


    Then, suddenly, the energy <i>surged</i>. Alfira¡¯s head tipped back, a sharp, shuddering cry escaping her throat as her entire frame convulsed with an overwhelming release¡ªan unmistakable, orgasmic reaction that rippled through her like a shockwave. Her eyes flew open, glowing with a brilliant, unearthly light, and her body arched, trembling as a blue and gold aura erupted around her.


    The camp went still and dead silent, the only sound Alfira¡¯s ragged breathing as she slumped forward, catching herself on her hands. Her whole body glowed softly now, the wild energy settling into a steady shimmer¡ªa sign she¡¯d succeeded in converting some of her life force into raw Magicka.


    Karlach¡¯s booming laugh shattered the silence, her own tail whipping with delight as she clapped a hand on her thigh. ¡°Bloody hells, Alfira! You really did something there!¡± Her grin flashed wide, teeth glinting, though her voice softened as she stepped closer. ¡°You good, though? That looked¡­ intense.¡±


    Shadowheart crossed her arms, eyebrow arched, her lips curling into a deeply unamused grimace ¨C clearly, she wasn¡¯t a fan of the implications of Harald¡¯s earlier offer to teach her.


    Astarion leaned back with a theatrical flourish, his sly grin twitching for a moment before sharpening. ¡°Oh, my,¡± he purred, his tone dripping with mischief. ¡°Harald, you didn¡¯t mention there were <i>side effects</i>


    to your lessons.¡± His eyes flickered from Alfira to Harald, a hint of unease beneath the tease.


    Gale¡¯s own mouth hung wide open, his face flushing a brilliant crimson. ¡°I¡ªwell¡ªthat¡¯s certainly one way to channel energy,¡± he stammered, tugging at his collar, his eyes darting anywhere but Alfira. ¡°Harald, is this¡­ typical of the process?¡±


    Harald remained unshaken, his hand steady on Alfira¡¯s shoulder as his own golden light faded. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ uncommon, but not unheard of,¡± he said, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. ¡°The act of manipulating one¡¯s own life force is a¡­ <i>unique </i>and <i>delicate</i> process. That first conversion can overwhelm the senses, especially for the untrained. I¡¯m sure it will pass with practice.¡± His eyes deliberately met ours, portraying the image of an unflappable and professional instructor.


    Alfira lifted her head, her cheeks flushed with a mix of triumph and embarrassment. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t expect¡­ <i>that</i>,¡± she whispered, her voice trembling as she hugged her arms to her chest, avoiding our stares. ¡°Did it work, at least?¡±


    Harald¡¯s smile was warm, steadying. ¡°Look down at yourself, Alfira. You¡¯re <i>glowing</i>.¡±


    And, by the Gods, she <i>was</i>.


    Alfira¡¯s lithe form was awash in a soft, golden radiance that seemed to bloom from deep within her soul. Her Azure skin shimmered with an internal light that seemed to trace her every curve like a lover¡¯s tender touch. Glowing sweat glistened on her brow, tiny droplets catching the internal light of her body like scattered diamonds.


    Her eyes blazed with flecks of golden fire. The glow enveloping her pulsed faintly, seemingly in sync with her racing heartbeat, a living rhythm that bound the newly created magic to her very essence¡ªintimate, raw, and breathtakingly <i>alive</i>. The very air around Alfira thrummed with energy, the radiance making her resemble a newly-born celestial forged in the crucible of her own power.


    ¡°Incredible,¡± Gale murmured, unable to contain his awe.


    Alfira, with no prior knowledge of magic, with no apparent special connection to the Weave, was manipulating raw magical energy as if she was born to do it. It was a testament to Harald¡¯s skill as a teacher ¨C or, perhaps, to the supposed universally accessible nature of the so-called ¡°Magicka.¡±


    And Gale couldn¡¯t wait to take that new power for himself.

 Finita La Comedia (Part 1)

    The late afternoon sun, a molten gold orb sinking towards the horizon, cast long, dancing shadows across our camp. I leaned against a moss-covered boulder, its surface cool and damp beneath my touch, a faint smile playing on my lips. The impromptu magic lesson had concluded, and the others were milling about, slowly returning to themselves. The air was thick with the heady scent of wildflowers and damp earth, a symphony of natural perfumes that only the Feywild could offer.


    It was moments like these, surrounded by the raw, untamed beauty of this realm, that I felt most at peace.


    One could even say that I was¡­ happy.


    To witness the spark of understanding ignite in my new friends¡¯ eyes, to touch their very minds, to guide them towards enhancing and realizing their potential¡­ it gave me a deep sense of fulfillment unlike anything else I¡¯ve done so far.


    My gaze swept over my new students.


    Alfira, her face flushed with exhilaration, was beaming, her eyes sparkling with both power and newfound wonder. Her growth, in particular, was a beautiful thing to behold. It was clear she had a rare talent for shaping energy, a talent that went far beyond the norm. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was a quirk of her heritage¡ªher apparent Mephistopheles tiefling lineage¡ªor simply an exceptional natural gift. In the initial ¡°skill download¡± I''d received, common teaching methodologies for every school of magic available in Skyrim were included -- giving me a solid idea of what was considered a "normal" rate of growth by the standards of Tamriel¡¯s mage academy students¡­


    I could say, with confidence, that Alfira had surpassed that baseline by at <i>least</i> two orders of magnitude. Alfira was truly something <i>exceptional</i>, and I was genuinely looking forward to seeing her progress ¡ª and (despite Karlach¡¯s teasing) this was decisively <i>not</i> because Alfira¡¯s body tended to have¡­ ¡°interesting¡± reactions to magicka manipulation.


    And then there was Karlach. Her usual boisterous energy and the incredible happiness she felt at finally getting rid of the Infernal Engine were now tempered with a strange pensiveness. Her brow was furrowed, and her gaze kept flicking towards her hands, to where she could still feel the thrumming of Magicka beneath her skin. There was a new hunger in her eyes, a yearning that went beyond mere curiosity. I suspected that the raw, untamed power of Magicka resonated with something deep within her, something primal and untamed. While she wasn''t anywhere close to Alfira''s level of talent, she still had an uncannily powerful affinity for flame ¡ª hardly surprising, given her particular history. She would surely become a Destruction magic powerhouse in the future... provided, of course, that I was there to help her master the basics. The thought of Karlach incinerating her enemies using giant tornadoes of fire magic, wielding those destructive forces with the same unbridled enthusiasm she brought to everything else... made me smile.


    Gale, surprisingly, was the most subdued of the group. The normally loquacious mage was unusually quiet, his brow furrowed in concentration. He ran a hand through his meticulously styled hair, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. His initial attempts at manipulating Magicka had proven¡­ adequate.


    Perhaps <i>competent</i>, even¡­ by Tamriel¡¯s standards.


    But, for someone of his prodigious talent, for someone used to being labeled a once-in-a-thousand-year genius, for a former Chosen of Mystra, it was clear that he expected¡­ <i>more </i>of himself. Gale was, after all, a master of the Weave and a former Archmage in his own right. The thought of this new form of magic, so intuitive and visceral for both Alfira and Karlach, eluding the likes of <i>him</i>¡­ must have been vexing to say the least.


    I made a mental note to offer him some additional guidance later; Gale¡¯s pride was clearly wounded, but his potential was undeniable. I¡¯m sure he would get the process eventually... and besides, it was very possible that a certain cursed orb was somehow interfering with his Magicka manipulation abilities. I made a mental note to think of some solutions to that particular problem; after all, we wouldn¡¯t want the poor man blowing up on us.


    Shadowheart and Astarion had both politely declined my offers to teach them.


    Shadowheart, with a carefully neutral expression, had cited her devotion to Shar, stating that her faith provided her with all the magic she needed. But, I sensed a deeper unease there, a wariness of delving into a power that lay outside the purview of her goddess. Currently, Shar was the only thing that gave Shadowheart¡¯s life <i>meaning,</i> and it was also the only thing she knew.


    Back in my ¡°Ordinary Earthling¡± days -- which already felt so very distant -- I remembered reading a short story by Albert Camus called "The Guest." It''s about a man who is forced to decide the fate of an Arab prisoner: either escorting him to a distant prison, thus delivering him to certain death, or giving him a chance to flee and join a nomad tribe out in the desert. The choice is left in the prisoner¡¯s hands. The prisoner, terrified of the unknown, ultimately chooses to go to the prison ¨C where he would almost certainly be executed.


    That story''s point, as I understood it, was that most people ¡ª especially when isolated and left without well-meaning social support ¡ª will tend to choose what they <i>know</i> over the <i>unknown</i>, even when that <i>unknown</i>


    is their best chance for improving their situation¡­ and, even when staying with what they <i>know</i>


    is likely to <i>literally</i> <i>kill them</i>.


    Shar''s church took advantage of that particular psychological vulnerability to the extreme: by systematically manipulating the memories of her worshipers, Shar ensures that she was the <i>only</i> thing they ¡°know,¡± the sole anchor in their lives, and the only source of meaning and identity¡­ accordingly, those firmly within Shar¡¯s grasp would almost never be able to leave their circumstances of their own accord.


    It is an absolutely brilliant, if disgusting and diabolical, strategy.


    Astarion had simply stated that he had no aptitude or interest in my magic, though his pale face and the way his gaze flickered over me betrayed a more complex reaction. I suspected that his ¡°disinterest¡± stemmed from a deep-seated fear of losing what little control he still had over himself, of becoming even more vulnerable than he already was. Our current situation probably wasn¡¯t helping ¡ª and I wasn¡¯t sure how I could possibly reassure him.


    My thoughts drifted to the future, to the world beyond this immediate crisis. Magicka was the birthright of every living being, a limitless source of power that was not dependent upon the whims of the divine. The possibilities¡­ were endless.


    Once this business with the Elder Brain was concluded, once the world was safe (or as safe as I could make it), I resolved to establish a place of learning. A sect, a school, an academy¡­ a sanctuary where anyone, regardless of their background or beliefs, could come to learn the ways of Magicka. I ¡ª and, eventually, my students ¡ª would teach the newcomers to tap into the power within, to shape their destinies with their own two hands. I imagined a place filled with eager students, their faces alight with the same wonder I had seen in Alfira''s eyes today. A place where the ancient secrets of the universe were not hoarded by a select few, but shared freely with all who sought them.


    It was an ambitious dream, perhaps, but one that felt¡­ right.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I thought to myself, ¡°once we get Gale healed and up to speed, I¡¯m sure he would be <i>thrilled</i> to help me build something lasting. And, if my knowledge of magic were combined with the knowledge of modern science¡­ well¡­ those Netherese floating towers Gale admired so much will seem quaint in comparison to what we could build together.¡±


    My daydreams about impenetrable Underdark Strongholds, Inter-dimensional Outposts, and Orbital Habitats were interrupted by a soft voice.


    "Harald?"


    I turned to see Sylvie standing a few feet away, her brow furrowed with a delicate sadness. The fading light of the Feywild sunset painted her features in soft hues, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbone and the slight tremble of her lips. Her usual vibrant energy was subdued, replaced by a vulnerability that tugged at my heart. At six foot one, she was unusually tall for most Fae, but now, slumping as she was, she seemed far smaller and more fragile in her apparent depression.


    "Sylvie," I said gently, stepping towards her. "What is it, sweetheart?"


    She took a hesitant step closer, her gaze fixed on the ground.


    "I¡­ I heard that the winning contestants would be leaving soon," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves.


    I nodded, my heart aching at the sight of her distress.


    "It''s¡­ complicated," I said, choosing my words carefully. "There are things I need to do, responsibilities I can''t ignore."


    Her tear-filled eyes flickered up to meet mine; they were filled with a mixture of sadness and¡­ a hint of desperation.


    "But¡­ but what about me?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "I¡­ don''t really fit in here anymore. Not like before. The other Fae¡­ they look at me differently. They either ignore me, are envious, or¡­ even <i>afraid</i> of me! They¡­ they don¡¯t understand!"


    I reached out, taking her hand in mine. Her skin was smooth and soft, like silk crossed with pure moonlight.


    "Sylvie," I said, my voice firm but gentle, ¡°you''re not alone. And you¡¯ll always have a place with me, for as long as you want it.¡±


    Her eyes widened, and a single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. ¡°Really?¡± she whispered, her voice filled with a fragile hope.


    ¡°Really, really,¡± I confirmed, squeezing her hand reassuringly.


    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome to come with me, Sylvie. Wherever I go, you can travel with me. I won¡¯t abandon you. I promise.¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    A radiant smile bloomed on her face, chasing away the shadows of sadness. She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly, her body trembling with relief.


    "Oh, Harald," she murmured, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"


    I held her close, stroking her silver hair, feeling a surge of protectiveness wash over me. She seemed so small, so vulnerable, and yet so fiercely loyal. I felt a little bad for subjecting her to that sweetroll experiment earlier, and, now that she evolved away from her pixie state, I couldn''t imagine leaving her behind.


    As she pulled away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling, she suddenly seemed to remember something.


    ¡°Oh!¡± she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. ¡°I almost forgot! The main event of the Revel! You and Alfira are scheduled to go last, you know. They said it was to build suspense, but, I think they just wanted to give everyone else a chance to¡­ well, not embarrass themselves. For some reason, everyone is convinced that you will either be absolutely <i>terrible</i>


    or else play something <i>really special</i>. They are even making bets on it!¡±


    I chuckled, amused by her bluntness. "And what of the other performances?" I asked.


    Sylvie wrinkled her nose. "Honestly? They were¡­ underwhelming. Most of it is just the same old kinds of songs, just done a bit differently. There are lots of flowery words and dramatic gestures, but¡­ not much substance. Compared to what I heard from you earlier?¡±


    She looked deeply into my eyes.


    ¡°You''ll win, Harald. Easily. Your music¡­ I¡¯ve never heard <i>anything</i>


    like it before. It''s like¡­¡± she paused to find the right words ¡°like starlight given voice!¡±


    Her praise warmed me, but I knew better than to let it inflate my ego. The Fae were notoriously dramatic, and their opinions were often as fickle as the wind.


    "And what of Alfira?" I asked, curious. "You¡¯ve heard her practice too, right? What did you think of her music?"


    Sylvie''s expression softened.


    "Oh, Alfira is wonderful too! That ''Tale of the Tongues'' of hers¡­ it was so moving! I think she''ll win the patronage of at least one of the Judges ¡ª Lady Lliira is sure to love that story!"


    I smiled, pleased for Alfira. After all, unlike my cheating Dragonborn ass, she was a <i>true</i> artist, who deserved all the accolades she received.


    The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violet and gold, when we finally made our way towards the Revel. The air crackled with anticipation, the music and laughter of the Fae a distant, alluring siren''s call.


    The other contestants were waiting for us at the edge of the staging area clearing, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns that hung from the ancient trees. As we saw them in the distance, I noticed Astarion detach himself from the core of our group, his pale face unusually serious. He gestured for me to hang back, his gaze darting nervously towards the others, as if he was afraid of being overheard.


    I exchanged a questioning look with Sylvie, who simply shrugged, her expression curious. With a silent nod, I allowed the others to continue on, while I followed Astarion to a secluded spot beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient oak.


    He stood with his back to me for a moment, his shoulders hunched, his posture radiating a palpable tension. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes were filled with a complex mixture of gratitude, suspicion, and a raw, naked fear that made my heart ache.


    "I wanted to say thank you," he said, his voice low and hoarse, "for being discreet about my¡­ special condition. I¡¯m not used to such consideration."


    I inclined my head, acknowledging his gratitude.


    "You''re welcome, Astarion. It was the least I could do."


    He hesitated, his gaze searching mine.


    "But¡­ why?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between us, heavy with unspoken doubts. "Why are you helping us? Helping <i>me</i>? The food, the shelter, the¡­ gifted magic items? The magic <i>lessons</i>¡­? It doesn''t make any sense. <i>None</i> of this makes any sense. We''re strangers to you!"


    His words were like a knife twisting in my gut. I knew, intellectually, that his distrust was a survival mechanism, a defense against a world that had taught him to expect nothing but cruelty and betrayal. But hearing him articulate his suspicions so bluntly¡­ it still stung.


    I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.


    "We''re all in this together, Astarion," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "We¡¯ve all been through the Mind Flayer abduction, after all. We are all trying to overcome the challenges we¡¯ve found ourselves in¡­ And I''m helping you because¡­ well, because it''s the right thing to do! Because you deserve to be helped. Because everyone deserves a chance."


    He scoffed at me, a harsh, bitter sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "The ''<i>right thing to do</i>''?" he repeated, his voice dripping with a cynicism so profound it seemed to poison the very air around us.


    He took a step closer, his pale, red eyes glittering with suspicion and <i>disgust</i>, his gaze boring into mine like twin daggers. "Is that <i>really</i> all it is? Do you <i>really</i> expect me to believe that? A being of your¡­ power¡­ just so <i>happens</i> to stumble upon a group of poor lost souls and decides to play the benevolent savior out of the goodness of his heart? Come <i>on</i>. Spare me the platitudes. There has to be more to it than that...¡±


    ¡°¡­<i>There always is</i>.¡±


    His hissing voice, though barely a whisper, cracked with a raw intensity that sent another shiver down my spine.


    He stalked around me, his movements fluid and predatory, like a cornered animal. The fading light of the Feywild seemed to dim, casting long, distorted shadows that danced with his every step. The air crackled with a palpable tension, thick with unspoken accusations and a desperate, gnawing fear.


    "Don¡¯t play coy with me," he continued, his voice like the rasp of dry leaves. "I''ve survived for centuries by being perceptive. By seeing the angles. And you, my enigmatic benefactor, have <i>angles</i>. You reek of them."


    He stopped directly in front of me, so close I could feel the faint chill radiating from his skin. "You speak like a Saint, but we both know there are no Saints present here."


    He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a bare murmur. "Gale told me everything, you know. The tadpoles," he said, the word hanging in the air between us, heavy with unspoken dread. "They should have begun turning us by now. We should be well on our way to becoming mind flayers. But I have yet to begin growing tentacles. It must be because of <i>you</i>. What did you do? <i>What do you want with me?</i>"


    His eyes widened maniacally, and, for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of genuine terror in their depths ¡ª he was afraid of me, I realized ¡ª afraid of what I may have done or planned to do.


    Afraid of what he had allowed himself to voice aloud.


    Afraid of the consequences of that speech.


    Yet, still, despite himself, Astarion pressed on.


    "Are we just puppets in your play?" he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Your new <i>slaves</i>? Fodder for some twisted experiment? Your tools? Your weapons? What is it you want from us? <i>Tell me! Please!</i>"


    The directness of his accusations took me aback. I had known, on some level, that Astarion was suspicious, that he would be wary of my motives. But I hadn''t expected him to voice his concerns so openly. The sheer intensity of his distrust was like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily speechless.


    I realized, with a jolt of unpleasant surprise, that, from Astarion¡¯s perspective, his fears were perfectly justified ¨C reasonable, even. He had no benefits of hindsight, nor the knowledge of the BG3¡¯s plot. I had openly demonstrated far too much power for it to be casually ignored. I had intervened in everyone¡¯s lives in ways that were both obvious and dramatic. And the tadpoles¡­ the fact that they <i>hadn''t</i> transformed anyone yet was indeed a significant detail. From his perspective, it was a natural logical leap to assume that <i>I</i> was somehow responsible for that protection; that I was manipulating everyone for my own inscrutable purposes. I could practically read his thoughts now: <i>He''s strong enough to stop the Mind Flayer transformation. Strong enough, perhaps, to have caused that abduction in the first place? For what purpose?</i>


    Yes, Astarion was justifiably terrified. I could see it in the way his hands trembled, in the way his eyes darted around, searching for an escape route that wasn''t there. He was afraid of me. Afraid of my power. Afraid of what I might do to him, now that he had all but accused me of being the Devil himself. And yet, despite his fear, he stood his ground, his gaze locked on mine, demanding answers. It was¡­ an interesting contrast ¡ª and one I had no idea how to resolve at the moment.


    "Astarion," I said, my voice low and steady, trying to convey the sincerity of my words. "I swear to you, I have no intention of harming you or anyone else. I''m <i>not </i>going to enslave you. I''m <i>not</i> playing any games. My purpose is to help you. All of you. That is the truth."


    He searched my face, his expression one of pure disbelief with, perhaps, just a hint of desperate hope.


    I continued before I could lose my nerve.


    ¡°Indeed, I would be lying if I said that I didn¡¯t know more about what''s happening -- and I <i>will</i> tell everyone in the group of my thoughts on the matter, in due time. However, for right now, know this: there are no <i>strings </i>attached to any of my help. You,  or anyone else for that matter, will be quite free to leave my company after we exit this Revel ¨C though, I wouldn''t recommend <i>that</i> particular option in your case, Astarion."


    Here, I paused, letting my words sink in. I needed him to understand the gravity of his situation, to see that my offer, while perhaps unsettling, was the best ¨C and only ¨C viable path forward.


    "Let''s put your cards on the table, shall we?" I continued, my voice firm and unwavering. "Face it. You don''t have any good options available to you, Astarion. That tadpole in your head? It risks turning you into a Mind Flayer ¨C a dreadful fate indeed, and one that is <i>very</i>


    likely for you should you choose to leave the group. On the other hand, <i>when</i>


    I find a way to safely remove those things ¨C something I fully plan on figuring out sooner rather than later ¨C outright removal may not be desirable for you either, due to the risk of falling back under the thrall of your old Master immediately afterwards. I trust <i>that</i> is not an appealing prospect either?"


    Astarion''s face contorted in a mask of disgust and revulsion at the thought. His eyes darted around, as if he was physically recoiling from the very idea of being under his former master''s complete control once more.


    I pressed the point further.


    "I want to help you, Astarion. I <i>will</i> help you -- if you let me. But, to do that, you need to learn to show some trust. Take a leap of faith. I know it''s not something you''re¡­ likely inclined to do. But, understand ¨C this is the best I can offer you right now."


    Astarion''s reaction was a complex mix of emotions. He visibly hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the ground, his internal struggle evident. Finally, he spoke, his voice a reluctant, raspy murmur. "A leap of faith, you say? Faith in <i>you</i>?<i>¡±</i> He gave a bitter chuckle.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had the best of experiences with <i>faith</i>, Harald. All the gods in existence¡­ I had prayed to every single one I knew of. Every. Single. One. <i>Do you understand?</i> In my own way, of course. I couldn¡¯t go to any temples, you see ¡ª those of the undead persuasion are not exactly <i>welcome</i> in such places¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­But, I was nothing if not <i>sincere</i>. I would whisper my pleas in the dead of night, offering the gods whatever scraps of devotion a broken slave could muster. I had begged them for help, for the release of my chains, for the release of <i>death</i>, even¡­ I had spent decades pleading for someone, <i>anyone</i>, to notice my suffering."


    He paused, his voice cracking with a raw, visceral pain that spoke volumes about the horrors he had endured. When he continued, his words were laced with a venomous fury that made my skin crawl.


    "And where were they, I ask you? Where were the shining beacons of <i>faith</i> and divine mercy when I was being flayed alive for sport? Where were their <i>gentle hands</i> when I was locked and chained in a coffin, buried in the cold, suffocating earth, unable to see, unable to move¡­ for <i>months</i>


    on end? Their silence¡­ the <i>damned</i> silence¡­


    ¡­it was deafening."


    His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, the words hanging in the air like a curse.


    "So don''t talk to me about <i>faith</i>, Harald. Don''t you <i>dare</i> preach to me about trust in things unseen. I tried trusting in the gods once. All it got me was centuries of agony, torment, and the gnawing certainty that I was utterly, irrevocably <i>alone</i> in this world.¡±


    ¡°¡­But¡­¡± He paused, his gaze searching mine with a newfound intensity.


    "But I also understand that I don''t have a choice right now. Not if I want to survive¡­¡±


    ¡°...And, for what it''s worth," he added, his voice softening slightly, "I¡¯ll admit that you''ve done more for me in these past two days than any of those so-called gods have in two <i>hundred</i> years. So, I''m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt¡­


    ¡­For now."

 Finita La Comedia (Part 2)

    Our little heart-to-heart done, Astarion and I walked to rejoin the group, the lingering tension of our earlier conversation still hanging between us like an unfinished melody. As we approached, my attention was immediately drawn to Alfira, who stood a short distance away, engaged in what appeared to be a rather¡­ <i>fraught</i> discussion.


    The cute Bard''s brow was furrowed with worry, a stark contrast to the joyous abandon that characterized most of the Fae around us, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, the knuckles bone-white. She was speaking to a figure who, even in this gathering of outlandish beings, managed to stand out with an unsettling aura of wrongness.


    The old woman in question stood across from the nervous tiefling, her slightly hunched form casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the flickering lantern lights. Her face bore deep wrinkles, etched like a weathered map across pale skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her small, sunken eyes glimmered with a cold, piercing sharpness, dark pools that offered no comfort. Strands of grey, stringy hair had slipped free from a loose bun, clinging damply to her forehead, lending her a disheveled air that only deepened her unsettling presence. Her thin, cracked lips twisted into a smile¡ªhalf-kind, half-mocking¡ªbut the warmth never <i>quite</i>


    reached her gaze.


    She wore a long, dark dress that draped loosely over her gaunt frame, its faded embroidery catching the light in faint glimmers, a whisper of a time when it might have been grand and fashionable. The fabric shifted as she leaned forward, her stooped posture making her seem both frail and looming all at once. Her hands, gnarled and bony, rested on a tall, mushroom-circled tree stump, long yellowed nails tapping softly against the wood with each slow, deliberate motion, a sound that visibly grated on the tiefling¡¯s nerves.


    As she spoke, her voice flowed in a low, soothing hum; yet, beneath it lurked something darker. Her movements unfolded with a careful precision, each gesture seemingly designed to unsettle. She edged closer, a crooked smile stretching just a touch wider than would have been natural for a human face, her stillness carrying the weight of a predator sizing up its quarry.


    I sighed internally as I recognized our surprise visitor.


    This¡­ was Auntie Ethel.


    The Green Hag and frequent antagonist (or, if you happened to play an evil SOB, a possible ally) from the Baldur¡¯s Gate 3 game. A being of incomparable evil and cruelty, Ethel delighted in deceiving others into entering "deals" with her that tended to end <i>very </i>badly for her customers.


    As I watched the interaction from afar, I could hear snippets of the duo''s conversation, though the general hubbub of the Revel made it difficult to process every word from the current distance. Ethel''s voice, when it reached me, was like the rustling of dry leaves: a low, grating sound that repulsed me on some instinctual level,  making me  want to slap the bitch into a red mist.


    My empty hand twitched at the thought.


    "...the <i>payment</i>, my little songbird," she was saying, her voice alight with a saccharine sweetness that did nothing to mask the predatory gleam in her eyes. "We did have an agreement, did we not? A <i>promise</i> is a promise, after all. Such a pretty voice you have too¡­ it would be a shame for you to... default on our little arrangement."


    Alfira''s face tightened further, her discomfort palpable. "I¡­ I will follow through on what we agreed upon, Auntie," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I just¡­ I need some time. The Revel isn''t over yet. I still have a chance to win the patronage."


    Ethel''s smile widened, revealing those disturbingly sharp teeth. "Time is a precious commodity, my dear. And promises¡­ promises are not to be broken lightly. Especially not with <i>me</i>."


    The hag reached out, her long, spindly fingers, tipped with nails that resembled sharpened claws, trailing along Alfira''s arm with a disturbingly possessive gesture. Alfira flinched, pulling away slightly, her eyes darting around as if searching for an escape.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I felt my blood nearly boil in an ocean of red-hot <i>rage </i>-- how <i>dare </i>that... abomination... touch what was <strike></strike>? I felt myself getting ready to step in and slap some sense into the Hag, the Archfey''s non-violence rules be damned.


    ...


    Sylvie beat me to it.


    The newly-ascended ex-pixie wobbled slightly as she approached, hovering across the ground towards the pair. Her cheeks were flushed, and her silver hair slightly askew. Her usually bright eyes were just a <i>bit</i>


    glazed over, and there was a dusting of what looked suspiciously like bread crumbs around her mouth.


    "Oh, whatshh tith, then?" she slurred, her voice slightly louder than intended, drawing the attention of a few nearby Fae. ¡°Heyyy, you,¡± Sylvie half-shouted, pointing a wobbly finger at a dumbfounded Ethel. ¡°Why¡¯re you¡­" She paused to burp loudly before continuing. "Why¡¯re ya hasslin¡¯ my friend Alfira? She¡¯s a good bard, y¡¯know. Not some¡­ stinky hag¡¯s plaything.¡±


    Sylvie was, without a doubt, more than a little intoxicated at the moment... on her share of the magical sweetrolls, no doubt.


    Gods, I hoped she didn¡¯t eat <i>all </i>of them at once.


    Ethel¡¯s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a sneer as she fully turned to face the interruption. ¡°And who might you be, petal?¡± she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, though a flicker of irritation danced beneath it.


    ...


    Ethel¡¯s sneer faltered, however, as she took a closer look at Sylvie. The hag¡¯s sunken eyes widened comically, and ¡ª even through the glamour of her human form ¡ª her face paled three shades, her skin taking on a sickly, ashen hue. Her gnarled hands twitched at her sides, and she took an involuntary step back.


    ¡°I¡­ I see,¡± Ethel stammered, her voice losing its earlier confidence. ¡°My¡­ apologies, I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ to intrude. Please excuse me, as I have¡­ other matters to attend to!¡± With a hasty nod, she turned on her heel and scurried away, her long dress trailing behind her like a shadow fleeing the light.


    Sylvie turned to Alfira with a lopsided grin. ¡°See? Told ya I¡¯d protect you.¡±


    Alfira managed a weak smile, though her eyes still held a trace of fear.


    ¡°Thank you, Sylvie. I¡­ I appreciate it. Though¡­I have a feeling this isn''t the last I''ve seen of her.¡±


    I stepped forward, my brow furrowed with concern as I glanced between Alfira and the retreating hag.


    ¡°Alfira, what was that about? What did she want from you?¡±


    Alfira sighed, running a hand through her hair.


    "It''s¡­ a bit of a long story," she said, her voice subdued. "But¡­ she''s right. We did have an¡­ agreement."


    She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground.


    "When I was¡­ when my Master, Lihala, died, I was devastated. Lost. I didn''t know what to do. I felt like¡­ like my music had died with her too. Like I had no purpose anymore."


    She paused, taking a deep breath.


    "Ethel¡­ she approached me. She knew about my Master, told me a story about how she was supposed to perform here, at the Revel.¡±


    Alfira took another deep breath to steady herself before continuing.


    ¡°Ethel suggested that I should take her place. That it would be a way to honor her memory. To keep her music alive. She was the one who¡­ invited me here."


    "And... the payment she mentioned?" I prompted gently.


    Alfira grimaced. "She¡­ she said that, in return for the invitation, I¡¯d... owe her something. We never agreed on what, exactly. Just¡­ a favor. I accepted. That¡¯s how I ended up here, at this Revel.¡±


    I frowned, my protective instincts kicking into high gear. "You''ve got to be kidding me! An <i>unspecified</i> favor? Alfira, do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Have you <i>any</i> idea what she <i>is?</i>"


    Alfira shook her head sadly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that, Harald. I <i>know</i> how this sounds. But, please understand, I was in a bad place then. I wasn''t thinking clearly. I just wanted... a chance to sing again. To feel that connection to my music, to my Master¡­ one last time."


    Sylvie, who had been listening with rapt attention, suddenly perked up.


    "Yeah!" she exclaimed, her voice still slightly slurred. "That sounds like a bad deal! You shouldn''t make deals with smelly hags! They''re sneaky, and stinky, and¡­ and they <i>eat babies</i>!" Sylvie nodded sagely.


    I couldn''t help but chuckle at Sylvie''s drunken vehemence, though I shared her concerns about the situation. I made a mental note to have a serious conversation with the cute fey about the dangers of consuming unspecified amounts of highly magical substances¡­ at a later time.


    My gaze followed Ethel''s retreating form. She had stopped a short distance away and was now engaged in a hushed conversation with the obnoxious red-and-gold dressed bard who had so rudely bullied Alfira a day earlier. The bard, with his smug smirk and arrogant posture, seemed to be eating up whatever Ethel was saying, nodding along with an obsequious eagerness.


    As we watched, Ethel glanced in our direction, her yellow eyes meeting Alfira¡¯s across the clearing. A cruel, knowing smile twisted her lips, and she raised a hand, her long, claw-like fingers waggling in a mockingly cheerful wave. Then, she turned back to the bard, her head bent conspiratorially, before finally moving away and disappearing into the swirling crowd.

 Finita La Comedia (Part 3)

    The energy of the Revel had shifted, the earlier chaotic exuberance now coalescing into a focused anticipation. The crowd, a riotous tapestry of fantastical beings, began to gravitate towards the grand stage.The stage itself was a marvel, a colossal platform crafted from interwoven branches of ancient trees, their silver-barked surfaces shimmering with phosphorescent moss. It pulsed with a soft, ethereal light, casting an otherworldly glow upon the clearing. The air thrummed with a palpable sense of magic, raising the hairs on my arms and filling my lungs with the scent of ozone and wild blossoms.


    As we joined the flow of the crowd, the cacophony of individual conversations began to subside, replaced by a hush that fell over the gathering like a velvet curtain. All eyes were now fixed on the elevated platform, where Hyrsam, resplendent in his horny glory, stood to address the expectant audience.


    His voice, amplified by some unseen magic, boomed across the clearing, rich and resonant as the deepest notes of a celestial choir. "Friends. Honored Guests. Children of the Feywild!" he proclaimed, his gaze sweeping over the assembled multitude.


    "The moment you have all been waiting for has arrived. The culmination of our grand celebration! The competition of the greatest of bards, where skill and artistry will vie for the patronage of  the Seelie Court, the Goddess of Joy herself... and, well, <i>me</i>!"


    He beamed over the enthusiastic crowd, which erupted into wild cheers. Gently raising his hand to quiet them down, he continued theatrically.


    "The winners of this contest shall obtain boons beyond a mortal¡¯s wildest dreams; rewards of fame and fortune that shall echo throughout history! But, let the stakes be known: those who are judged to have failed in their artistic duty will remain in our service until the next Grand Revel, in another nine years!"


    Another deafening cheer erupted from the crowd, a wave of sound that washed over us, a symphony of whistles, applause, and the ululating cries of a thousand different voices. It was a sound that vibrated not just in the ears, but in the very bones, a primal chorus that spoke of unbridled passion and blissful chaos. The cheers were a cacophony of different voices, high-pitched giggles of pixies, deep bellows of treants, the trilling calls of fae birds, and the guttural growls of unseen beasts from the darker parts of the Feywild. It was a wave of pure, unadulterated enthusiasm tinged with cruelty, a tidal wave that threatened to sweep us off our feet and carry us away in its current.


    It was quite clear that these beings didn¡¯t care about who won or lost. Tonight, the mortals were here for their <i>entertainment</i> ¡ª and those who failed to entertain would pay dearly for the privilege.


    Hyrsam raised a hand, his gesture silencing the crowd with an almost supernatural swiftness.


    "We shall now hear from those brave souls who have dared to bare their hearts and souls before us," he continued, his voice softening with a hint of paternal pride. "Let us listen with open minds and open hearts, and may the best among them win our favor!"


    We watched attentively as the competing bards were called onto the stage one by one.


    The first performer was a diminutive gnome with a lute crafted from polished rosewood. His fingers, surprisingly nimble, danced across the strings, weaving a melody that was both intricate and melancholic. The tune spoke of lost love and forgotten forests, of fading starlight and the ephemeral nature of beauty. His voice, a high, clear tenor, carried the weight of ages, each note imbued with a profound sense of longing.


    Then came a tall, graceful elf, who sang a classic adventure ballad, her voice soaring and pure, like a nightingale in ecstasy. She accompanied herself on an expensive-looking enchanted harp, its strings shimmering with an inner radiance, each note a tiny explosion of pure magical energy.


    Next came the group of the three kobolds we saw practicing earlier, their scales gleaming under the lanterns and emerging moonlight as they launched into a surprisingly well-coordinated percussion piece. They used an assortment of instruments fashioned from hollowed-out logs, stretched animal hides, and clusters of rattling seed pods. Their music was raw, energetic, and <i>certainly</i>


    original: a tribal rhythm that pulsed with a primal vitality. They chanted in their guttural language, their voices a mix of growls, chirps, and hisses, creating a sound that was both alien and¡­ strangely compelling.


    ¡°Good job, little guys!¡± I thought to myself.


    Each performance was unique, a testament to the diverse talents and artistic traditions of the invited bards. Each invitee was the Each bard poured their heart and soul into their music, striving to capture the essence of beauty, sorrow, joy, and longing, and to weave it into a tapestry of sound. And the crowd responded in kind, their cheers and applause a reflection of the deep emotional connection forged between performer and listener.


    Sylvie and Karlach were practically vibrating with excitement. The two seemed to be having the time of their lives, grinning from ear to ear, eyes wide with childlike wonder as they took in the spectacle, cheering the performers enthusiastically.


    Astarion observed the proceedings with a more refined air. His posture was elegant and composed, a smirk playing on his lips. While he seemed to appreciate the skill of the performers, his gaze was distant, as if his mind was many miles away. Still, he occasionally tapped his foot, and one long-fingered hand occasionally moved in sync with the music. Gale, who stood next to him, seemed equally lost in thought -- though, that was because he seemed more interested in analyzing the flow of magic in the clearing than listening to the performers themselves.


    Lae''zel, predictably, remained stoic and impassive. Her gaze was fixed on the stage, but her expression was unreadable. Whether she was impressed or indifferent with the performances¡­ was impossible to tell. Her body was rigid, her muscles coiled and ready, as if she expected a fight to break out at any moment.


    Shadowheart, standing slightly apart from the rest of the group, watched the performances with a mixed expression. There was a flicker of genuine appreciation in her eyes, but also a hint of sadness. Some of the more melancholic tunes seemed to resonate with her own troubled past, and she often bowed her head in a quasi-prayer that, I suspected, would go unanswered.


    Alfira, of course, was among the most invested. Her earlier fear had been replaced by an excited determination. Her eyes shone with admiration for her fellow bards, and she seemed to be studying their techniques with an intense focus, occasionally mouthing the words to the songs.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± I whispered to her. ¡°Just do your best with that ballad of yours; I know it will be enough!¡±


    She blushed cutely, nodding in appreciation.


    And then, it was the turn of the obnoxious bard from yesterday. Lysander.


    He strutted onto the stage with an exaggerated swagger as if he owned the place, his gaudy red-and-gold outfit shimmering under the stage lanterns and the light of the full moon overhead. His lute was held with an almost arrogant flourish. His smirk was wide and self-satisfied, his eyes gleaming with a predatory confidence that made my skin crawl.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    There was an unnatural stillness about him, as if he were a puppet controlled by unseen strings.


    He took a deep breath, his chest expanding dramatically, and then he began to play.


    The first few notes were¡­ familiar.


    Unsettlingly so.


    A chill crept down my spine, a sense of dread tightening its icy grip around my heart.


    Then, the melody became unmistakable.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Alduin¡¯s wings, they did darken the sky,</i></b>


    <b><i>His roar fury''s fire, and his scales sharpened scythes.</i></b>


    ¡­


    That <i>motherfucker</i>.


    It was "The Tale of the Tongues."


    <i>Alfira''s</i> song.


    My blood ran cold and hot at the same time, as I felt a surge of fury so intense it threatened to consume me. Every muscle in my body tensed, my hands clenching into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms.


    I glanced at Alfira. Her eyes, wide and stricken, were fixed on Lysander with a look of utter disbelief mixed with a slowly dawning horror. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her body trembled, as if she had been struck a physical blow. All the color had drained from her face, leaving her skin ashen and pale.


    This was a cruel, calculated act; a violation of the deepest kind. To steal someone''s song was to steal a piece of their soul, to rob them of their voice, their identity, their very essence. And to do it on <i>this</i> stage, in front of this audience, with so much at stake¡­


    It was an act of unimaginable malice.


    Was this Ethel''s doing? It seemed likely.


    The thought of that hag''s involvement, her long, clawed fingers pulling the strings from the shadows, made my fury burn even hotter.


    I wanted to storm the stage. To rip that lute from the smug bastard¡¯s hands and smash it to splinters. To drag him off the platform and¡­


    ¡­


    But I forced myself to remain still.


    To breathe.


    To think.


    I knew that any rash action on my part would only make things worse. Perhaps I could survive fighting all of the fey present at once. The same, however, couldn¡¯t be said for my companions. Not to mention the danger my group would be in, any fight I started here would definitely disqualify Alfira, destroying any chance she had left, and would leave her even more vulnerable to Ethel''s ¡ª and every other fey¡¯s ¡ª continued machinations.


    No. I had to find a way to salvage this... <i>without</i>


    resorting to violence.


    But how?


    My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, of anger and protectiveness, of a desperate need to help the poor girl.


    Lysander continued to play, his smirk widening with every note. He seemed to relish Alfira''s pain, to feed on her despair. His performance was technically proficient. Flawless, even. But it lacked the heart, the passion, the raw emotional power that Alfira had poured into every single verse.


    It was a perfect, but hollow, imitation; a pale shadow of the original.


    Finally, the song ended.


    A smattering of applause rippled through the crowd, polite but subdued. Even the Fae, with their penchant for drama and spectacle, seemed to sense the wrongness of this performance.


    Lysander took a bow, his eyes fixed on Alfira. His smirk was triumphant, possessive, as if he had not only stolen her song but also her very being.


    Then, he turned and strode off the stage, disappearing into the shadows with a final, arrogant flourish.


    The murmurs of the crowd that followed added to the sense of unease and betrayal. I could feel Alfira''s despair like a physical presence, a suffocating weight that pressed down on us all.


    Suddenly, a small figure darted through the crowd, a pixie with iridescent wings and eyes like glittering emeralds. She zipped through the air with incredible speed, landing gracefully on Hyrsam''s shoulder. She whispered something into his ear, her voice too soft for anyone else to hear.


    Hyrsam''s reaction was¡­ telling. His brow shot up, his eyes widening in surprise. He glanced at Alfira, then at the retreating figure of Lysander, then back at Alfira again. A flicker of¡­ something that might have been pity crossed his face.


    Then, he just shrugged, chuckling in quiet amusement.


    "The next performer," Hyrsam announced, his voice regaining its booming resonance, "is Alfira."


    A collective gasp rose from the crowd. It was a sound of shock, confusion, and a dawning realization of the sheer cruelty of the situation. Many of the fey have made bets on the outcome of this contest. Some have heard Alfira practice her ballad and knew well the original author of Lysander¡¯s song.


    Nevertheless, what Lysander had done was -- apparently -- within the letter of the rules if not their spirit.


    Alfira still had to compete.


    The poor tiefling bard flinched as if she had been struck. Her eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape, but there was nowhere to go. She was trapped. Trapped in this waking nightmare, forced to face the consequences of a Faustian bargain she had made in foolish desperation.


    Her breathing became rapid and shallow, her chest heaving with each ragged inhale. She was hyperventilating, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.


    I knew I had to act, and fast.


    I stepped closer to her, my voice low and urgent. "Alfira," I said, my gaze locking onto hers. "Look at me. Can you hear me?"


    She nodded weakly, her eyes filled with tears.


    "Do you trust me?" I asked, my voice firm but gentle.


    She hesitated for a moment, her gaze searching mine, her expression a mixture of fear and desperation. Then, slowly, she nodded again.


    "Good," I said. "Then listen to me very carefully."


    I leaned in close, so that my words were for her ears alone. I whispered my idea, my plan, my gamble, into the darkness of her despair.


    Her eyes widened as she listened, a spark of something that might have been hope flickering within their depths. When I finished, she took a deep, shuddering breath, her expression a mixture of terror and determination.


    Hyrsam cleared his throat, his voice echoing across the clearing.


    "Alfira," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "It is your turn to perform. You may either take the stage, or forfeit your place in the competition."


    The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with finality. It was a choice between the impossible and the unthinkable. Between facing the humiliation of performing a song that had already been stolen, or losing everything she had worked for... and <i>still</i> owing an unspecified favor to a hag.


    Alfira straightened her shoulders, her chin lifting with a newfound resolve. Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but her gaze was steady, her voice surprisingly firm.


    "I¡­ I would like to delegate my turn," she announced, her voice trembling slightly but carrying across the hushed clearing, "to my representative."


    A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd.


    Hyrsam raised a questioning eyebrow, looking at Alfira, then at me.


    "Your¡­ representative?" he echoed, his voice laced with curiosity. "And who might that be?"


    Alfira took another deep breath, her gaze fixed on me with unwavering trust.


    "My agent in this competition" she declared, her voice growing stronger with each word, "is Harald."


    The crowd erupted in a cacophony of gasps, whispers, and murmurs. All eyes turned to me, their expressions a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a dawning sense of anticipation.


    The judges, four Archfey and a Goddess, exchanged glances. Titania, the Summer Queen herself, inclined her head in agreement, her consort, Oberon following her lead soon afterwards. Lliira, looking very distraught at what had been done to Alfira, quickly nodded as well.


    Hyrsam clapped his hands together with visible glee, his eyes sparkling with childlike excitement.


    ¡°How unexpected! Nay¡­ revolutionary! This¡­ truly is the most <i>fun</i> I¡¯d had at a Grand Revel in <i>centuries</i> ¡ª and we haven¡¯t even heard the grand finale yet!¡±


    A wide grin stretched across his face, revealing a set of surprisingly sharp teeth.


    "By all means," he boomed, his voice filled with amusement. "Let the Godling Harald play! <i>Three </i>pieces shall he perform for us this fine eve: one for the bard Alfira; one for himself; and one for the little Sharran under his protection."


    Hyrsam¡¯s voice slowly gathered strength until it became a booming thunder, further riling up the crowd.


    ¡°This night, we shall see if he is up to the task of entertaining us. This night, we shall see if the newcomer shall win our patronage ¡ª or else, if him, Alfira, and their entire group shall remain here, in <i>our</i> <i>esteemed service</i>.¡±


    The crowd erupted in a deafening roar, which gradually died down as I stepped forward, my Ebony guitar in hand, and began to walk slowly towards the stage.

 Heavy Metal Therapy (Part 1)

    (Gale''s POV)


    A hush fell over the crowd, thick and heavy with anticipation. It was a silence that crackled with unspoken energy, a void into which Harald stepped with an almost unnerving calm.


    I watched him from my vantage point near the edge of the stage, my senses heightened by the stress of the situation we found ourselves in. Harald moved with a deliberate grace, his footsteps soundless on the moss-covered platform. In any other situation, I would have admired his poise. Now, it bordered on terrifying.


    His body language was¡­ too composed. His shoulders were relaxed, his head held high, his expression serene.


    But the telepathic link we shared  sang a different tune.


    His true state of mind was a hurricane of suppressed fury. I could feel the barely contained tremors of his magic, the barely restrained pressure of his anger. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced from him. I realized with a jolt that I had never seen Harald angry before. What would a being of his level of power do when <i>truly </i>provoked? The thought of it made me recoil in instinctive fear.


    Harald reached the center of the stage, the strange enchanted instrument ¡ª a <i>guitar, </i>he called it ¡ª gleaming in the soft light, and turned to face the assembled crowd. For a long moment, he simply stood there, his gaze slowly sweeping across the assembled fey, as well as the other competitors. Then, his fingers settled on the guitar''s neck.


    The first sound was a low, guttural growl from the instrument ¡ª making me think of some unholy cross of a violin and an enormous war horn. It was a sound that seemed to vibrate not just in the air, but in the very earth beneath our feet. It was a sound that promised power, a hint of the storm to come. Then, a rapid series of notes -- a <i>thrill</i>, fast yet steady, like a slowly rising tempest, plucked so fast the sounds blurred together -- ripped through the silence.


    And then, my entire world began to tilt on its axis, for, while I thought I knew Harald¡¯s music from the couple demonstrations he had given us the day before¡­


    ¡­I now realized that I, in fact, knew <i>nothing</i>.


    From Harald''s back, two ghostly arms erupted, one hand gripping an identical, ethereal-looking guitar. The ghostly instrument shimmered with a faint, otherworldly light, its form shifting and swirling like captured starlight. There was a <i>substance</i> to the new instrument, a raw magical <i>presence</i> that defied explanation. I fancied myself something of an expert in the school of Illusion ¡ª and yet¡­


    Harald had interrupted my thoughts by promptly conjuring <i>another </i>set of arms with a <i>second</i> ghostly guitar.


    Then, yet <i>another set of arms ¡ª </i>with a <i>third. </i>


    My breath hitched in my throat. Even <i>I</i> had never seen anything like this, and Mystra had shown me some¡­ admittedly insane illusion magic in my time with her.


    The true shock here wasn''t the visual spectacle, it was the <i>sound</i> being produced.


    The four guitars, played in a perfect, impossible synchronicity, wove together a tapestry of sound so complex, so intricate, that it defied comprehension. It was a <i>harmony</i> borne from an impossible complexity, each note a separate voice, yet blending together into a single, overwhelming whole. And Harald was producing that harmony <i>by himself ¡ª </i>playing his song on <i></i>instruments simultaneously, all while seamlessly casting wide-scale illusion magic¡­ without an incantation, material components, or even gestures of any kind.


    I heard a sharp, strangled gasp from the Judges¡¯ table, turning to see Verenestra sputtering in a <i>most </i>undignified manner, a stream of wine trickling down her chin from the goblet she had just dropped. Her usually serene face was a mask of shock and disbelief. I knew Verenestra by reputation. She was known, even among the Archfey, as an unparalleled illusionist ¡ª with the corresponding ability to see through any and all illusions, no matter how subtle or complex. The fact that she was so utterly stunned meant that she couldn¡¯t see through Harald''s display.


    And the sound¡­ by Mystra, the sound!


    (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZuSaudKc68</a>)


    Imagine a blacksmith''s hammer, not striking metal, but moonlight. Imagine a storm of pure energy, crackling and arcing with every note. Imagine the raw, untamed power of the Feywild itself, channeled through sound alone.


    If you can imagine all of <i>that¡­ </i>you may get halfway close to what I was hearing.


    The melody was both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of emotions that left me breathless and disoriented. There were moments of delicate beauty, like moonlight filtering through a spider''s web, followed by passages of raw, untamed power, like a dragon''s roar echoing through a mountain pass. There were undercurrents of darkness and sorrow, a haunting melancholy that spoke of ancient secrets and forgotten tragedies ¡ª but the harmony made the experience <i>far </i>more grandiose than what any single instrument, however enchanted, could ever hope to produce.


    I had never heard anything like it. Not in Elysium. Not on any plane I¡¯d ever visited. Despite the fact that Harald had played a few songs for us earlier, <i>nothing</i> could have prepared me for this.


    For most of the assembled Fey, who had likely rarely heard anything more complex than a single lute or a harp, it must have been an experience akin to suddenly being transported to an Outer Plane of Elemental Chaos. Their faces were a study in shock and awe. Some were weeping openly. Others were frozen in place, their eyes wide and unblinking. Yet others were laughing hysterically while clawing at their own faces, their expressions an unholy mix of ecstasy and dread.


    It was a maelstrom of pure, untamed emotion.


    And then, the Plane itself began to react to the music.


    The moonlight overhead, instead of providing a soft and diffuse illumination, became bright and ¨C somehow ¨C impossibly sharp, bending and twisting in unnatural ways, focusing on Harald as if he were some heavenly general in control of their celestial energy. I felt the air palpably thicken with Magicka, becoming heavy and suffocating to my newly-attuned senses. The very ground beneath my feet resonated with the rhythm of the song, vibrating like a mystical heartbeat.


    It was as if the music was a force of nature, reshaping the world around us, bending reality to its will.


    It was beautiful.


    It was terrifying.


    It was, honestly, the most impressive thing I had ever heard.


    ++


    The final notes of the first piece faded, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. The assembled fey crowd seemed to hold its collective breath, suspended in awe.


    Hyrsam was practically bouncing on his throne, his eyes wide with unrestrained glee. He had a wide, toothy grin splitting his face, and seemed to be having the time of his life, his earlier boredom utterly banished by this spectacle. He let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy, a sound that echoed across the clearing.


    Verenestra, on the other hand, looked ¡ª for lack of a better pun ¡ª as if she had seen a ghost. Her face was pale, her usually impeccable composure shattered. Her hands trembled visibly, and her gaze darted around the stage, as if expecting yet more impossibilities to appear from thin air.


    Titania and Oberon, the Summer Queen and her Consort, looked visibly uncomfortable. They shifted in their seats, their regal bearing momentarily forgotten. Their expressions were a mix of fascination and unease, as if they were witnessing something beautiful and profane at the same time. Oberon''s usual swagger was gone, replaced by a wary look. Titania had a frown marring her perfect features, her eyes narrowed with apprehension.


    Lliira, the Goddess of Joy, was openly weeping. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren''t tears of sadness. They were tears of overwhelming emotion, of a joy so profound it bordered on pain. Her face was radiant, her expression a mixture of ecstasy and devastation. She clutched her chest, her sobs echoing softly in the stunned silence.


    Then, Harald <b><i>shouted.</i></b>


    ¡­And the stage erupted with¡­ <i>multiplication</i>.


    This time, Harald didn''t merely create extra arms. He created <i>copies of himself</i>.


    <i>Dozens</i> of them.


    One moment, there was Harald, standing alone in the center of the stage. The next, the massive stage platform became <i>covered</i> in Haralds, a ghostly army called forth to fight a battle of passion and sound. Each Harald clone held an instrument, some of which ¡ª like violins ¡ª I recognized, while many others were utterly alien to me: bizarre-looking contraptions of wood or metal that looked like they belonged in the workshop of a mad artificer more than on a bardic stage.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    My mind reeled.


    I had never seen anything like this before. Everyone knew that Bardic groups rarely exceeded four or five members, even in courtly performances. The idea of more than <i>eighty</i> musicians, all playing at once, was unprecedented. Revolutionary. It was a concept so audacious, so daring, that it defied comprehension.


    And then, the Army of Haralds began to play again.


    The resulting sound was¡­ <i>grandiose</i>.


    (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7f2SdZey-Y</a>)


    The new song was, somehow, both complex and deceptively simple, and was accompanied by a tidal wave of sheer <i>sound</i> that threatened to drown us all in its sheer magnificence.


    The melody itself was hauntingly beautiful, a melancholic yet powerful theme that spoke of loss and longing, of a love that transcended even death. It was a melody that tugged at the heartstrings, that stirred deep emotions within me.


    ¡­


    And then, Harald began to¡­ sing?


    ¡­But it wasn¡¯t singing as I understood it. It wasn''t the soaring tenor of the elf, or the melancholic baritone of the gnome.


    This was¡­ something else. Something primal. Something <i>dark</i>.


    It was¡­ a growl.


    A scream.


    A guttural <b><i>roar</i></b> that seemed to emanate not from Harald¡¯s throat, but from the very depths of his soul itself. It was a sound that, frankly, reminded me of Avernus ¡ª of the tortured screams of the damned, of the endless torment that echoed through the fiery plains of Hell we had recently escaped.


    But¡­ it wasn¡¯t quite the same.


    There was a strange dissonance to it, a discord that <i>shouldn¡¯t</i>


    have worked, that <i>should</i> have been jarring and unpleasant.


    But, somehow, it wasn¡¯t.


    When heard together with the harmony of eighty accompanying instruments, the song was instead¡­ compelling. Hauntingly so.


    The raw, visceral power of Harald¡¯s <b><i>growl</i></b>, combined with the ethereal beauty of the music, created an effect that was both unsettling and utterly mesmerizing. It felt like hearing an <i>angel</i> scream as it was being torn apart by internal grief, a sound that was both divine and demonic simultaneously. A paradox that defied logic and reason.


    As I listened, I found myself considering, with a growing sense of wonder, if the lyrics could have been about Harald himself.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Long been complacent with the hand I''ve been dealt</i></b>


    <b><i>Restless and weak from the life that I''ve built</i></b>


    <b><i>So I''ll journey afar, for there''s glory to find</i></b>


    <b><i>And I''ll fill out my entry in the annals of time</i></b>


    <b><i>Bid my farewell to the ones I love</i></b>


    <b><i>Their grief but a fleeting feeling</i></b>


    <b><i>For nature is calling, my heart compelled</i></b>


    <b><i>Every branch, every leaf has a story to tell</i></b>


    ¡­


    As the music washed over me, the words began to resonate with me on a deeply personal level. I thought of my own ambitions, of my relentless pursuit of arcane mastery, of my own insatiable thirst for adventure, knowledge, and power.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Fear is swirling within me</i></b>


    <b><i>A tightening grip on my heart </i></b>


    <b><i>In a world where nothing is certain</i></b>


    <b><i>The fear of failure looms large</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>O??????????????????O??????????????????????O?????????????O????????????????????????????A?????????????????A?????????????????A??????????????????????A?????????????????A????????????????H??????????????????H???????????????????H????????H?????????????????????????????H?????H????????????????????</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>No room for these doubts I''ll cast them far away</i></b>


    <b><i>And take up my father''s sword</i></b>


    <b><i>History favors the daring </i></b>


    <b><i>Only the brave will receive the eternal reward,</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b></b>


    <b><i>A???????????????A????????????A????????????A???????????????????????A?????????????????A????????????????A?????A????????????????????R????????????????R??????????????????R????????????R???????????????G??????????????????????G?????????????????H??????????????????H????????????H???????H????????????H???????????????????</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b></b>


    What a powerful insight! I realized that I, too, had always been driven by a fear of mediocrity, a fear of failing to live up to my potential. I had pushed myself relentlessly, striving for greatness, convinced that only those who dared to reach for the stars would be remembered.


    <b><i>Will you be here ready to guide me?</i></b>


    <b><i>When I must leave this dream behind me</i></b>


    <b><i>A beacon of hope, but fading away I have to let that light die, let it die</i></b>


    <b><i>Mother, father, sister I''m sorry for what I''ve done</i></b>


    <b><i>But the man I''ve become Is no longer content with comfort and home


    </i></b>


    <b><i>A????????????????????????????A??????????????????????A????????????A???????R?????????????????????????R???????????????????????R???????????????R?????????????????????G???????????G?????????????????H?????????????????????H?????????????????H????????????????????????H???????????????</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b><i>Cold is the wind that chills me down to my bones</i></b>


    <b><i>And cold is the knowledge that for this I abandoned my home</i></b>


    <b><i>Cold is my sorrow, like a knife in my chest</i></b>


    <b><i>And cold is the path that I chose</i></b>


    <b><i>For what worth can be found in glory in the lands that I roam</i></b>


    <b><i>Raise your eyes, case your gaze high, ah</i></b>


    <b><i>And forget your sorrows</i></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>Cold is the wind that chills me down to my bones</i></b>


    <b><i>And cold is the knowledge that for this I abandoned my home</i></b>


    <b><i>Cold is my sorrow, like a knife in my chest</i></b>


    <b><i>And cold is the path that I walk</i></b>


    <b><i>But I carry those memories close to my heart</i></b>


    <b><i>And remember them fondly when I gaze at</i></b>


    <b><i>The sun, the moon, the stars</i></b>


    <b><i>¡­</i></b>


    Had I been so focused on my own goals that I had neglected the simpler joys of life? I remembered my family. I had left them behind, chasing my dreams, convinced that my destiny lay elsewhere. Then, after I¡¯ve been cursed by the Orb and after Mystra abandoned me, I had decided not to return, for fear of putting them in danger.


    Had they grieved for me? Had my absence left a void in their lives? The thought filled me with a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. The lyrics had hit me like a physical blow, and I suddenly realized just how much I missed them all. My mother, with her gentle smile and unwavering support. My father, with his quiet strength and boundless wisdom. My Tressym familiar, Tara, with her infectious wit and unwavering loyalty.


    I had left them all behind, chasing dreams that now seemed¡­ hollow.


    ...


    My musings were broken as the music ¡ª suddenly ¡ª turned truly ominous. Harald¡¯s voice ¡ª already alight with the Screams of the Damned ¡ª somehow gained an even <b><i>more</i></b> sinister edge that made a cold shiver run down my spine.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Hide with me from the light, my child</i></b>


    <b><i>I''ll show you another way</i></b>


    <b><i>Burn away your sorrow</i></b>


    <b><i>In the cleansing fire of power,</i></b>


    <b> </b>


    As he sang (or, rather, roared out?) the lines, Harald struck a sinister ¡ª and rather over-the-top villainous pose ¡ª his body language evoking the image of a mad mage or cultist of some long-forgotten entity. Yet, his theatrics seemingly had their intended effect: many fey physically recoiled, and even Sylvie hid her face in Karlach¡¯s arms, occasionally peeking at the performance ¡ª only to once again hide in Karlach¡¯s embrace after hearing a particularly sinister-sounding harmony.


    The music steadily built up from a soft melody to a dramatic, <i>thrusting</i> crescendo, ultimately manifesting a wave of sound that physically vibrated the air itself.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Ba-dum</i></b>


    <b><i>¡­</i></b>


    <b><i>Ba-dum</i></b>


    The music now resembled a heartbeat; the very essence of the song was coalescing into a tangible force. Faster and faster the rhythm progressed until, as the final, soaring note reached its peak, Harald¡¯s entire body erupted in a blinding flash of light!


    It wasn¡¯t a gentle glow, but a raw, untamed radiance, like looking directly into the heart of the Elemental Plane of Fire. <i>Colors</i>, unlike any I had ever seen, exploded outwards, a chaotic symphony of vibrant hues that danced and swirled around him. It was as if he had become some kind of demented sun, a being of twisted energy and light, radiating power in every direction. The light pulsed and throbbed, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed and twisted across the faces of the stunned onlookers.


    Through all of that, Harald¡¯s relentless performance boldly continued.


    <i>¡­</i>


    <b><i>Colors swirling around me</i></b>


    <b><i>Shifting landscapes obey my every command</i></b>


    <b><i>But still I don''t possess the power to fill the emptiness!</i></b>


    <b><i>Swallow and take what you thought you were meant to be</i></b>


    <b><i>And reconcile it with who you are</i></b>


    <b><i>Another lesson learned in time, but oh, you''ll find</i></b>


    <b><i>You don''t know what you want until it''s gone!</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b></b>


    <b><i>W?????????????H???????????????????????????????O??????????????O????????????????????O???????????????????????????O???????????????A??????????????????????????A????????????????????A????????A???????????????A???????????????????????????A???????????????????????????A?????????????????????????????????!?????????????????????</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b><i>I hail to the Cosmic Masters</i></b>


    <b><i>I walk the astral plane</i></b>


    <b><i>And travel to distant worlds</i></b>


    <b><i>Time like a river flows</i></b>


    <b><i>The one thing I don''t have the power to change</i></b>


    <b><i>The only thing that matters</i></b>


    <b><i>Mother, father, sister</i></b>


    <b><i>I''m sorry for what I''ve done</i></b>


    <b><i>For the man I''ve become</i></b>


    <b><i>Finally knows the true power of home!</i></b>


    ¡­


    I had always believed that power was the ultimate goal, that arcane might was the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe. But now, listening to Harald¡¯s song, I wondered if I had been wrong. Was power truly worth the price of isolation? Was arcane mastery worth the loss of love?


    ...


    <b><i>A broken legacy </i></b>


    <b><i>A tale of tragedy </i></b>


    <b><i>Take heed my friends </i></b>


    <b><i>The path of pain isn''t always </i></b>


    <b><i>The means to the end you seek </i></b>


    <b><i>By moonlight and starlight </i></b>


    <b><i>I turn my gaze to the sky </i></b>


    <b><i>The sun, the moon, the stars </i></b>


    <b><i>Shine less brightly with you so far I never knew sorrow </i></b>


    <b><i>''Til you asked me to follow my heart </i></b>


    <b><i>Oh for all the tales I''ve told </i></b>


    <b><i>And these whispers of silver and gold I''d throw them all away </i></b>


    <b><i>To gaze on your face once more </i></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>One more time</i></b>


    <b></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>The sun, the moon, the stars</i></b>


    <b><i>Shine less brightly with you so far (with his burning brand he split the skies)</i></b>


    <b><i>I never knew sorrow </i></b>


    <b><i>''Til you asked me to follow my heart (and plucked out the stars, one by one)</i></b>


    <b><i>For all the tales I''ve told </i></b>


    <b><i>And these whispers of silver and gold (with an aching heart he cursed his name) </i></b>


    <b><i>I''d throw them all away </i></b>


    <b><i>To gaze on your face once more (and nothing would shine as bright as her again)</i></b>


    ...


    The song ended, leaving me breathless and shaken.


    It was more than just a performance.


    It was a confession. A lament. A warning. And it had struck a chord deep within my soul, forcing me to confront truths I had long tried to ignore.


    I realized, with a sudden, painful clarity, that I <i>missed</i>


    my family. I missed the warmth of their love, the comfort of their presence, the simple joys of home. I had been so focused on my own ambitions, so consumed by my pursuit of arcane mastery, that I had forgotten what truly mattered.


    I could see clearly now. Power and arcane might weren''t everything. They were tools, means to an end, but they weren''t an end in and of themselves. The true treasures in life were the connections we forged, the love we shared, the moments of joy and sorrow that made us ¡­ people.


    And I had almost lost sight of that.

 Heavy Metal Therapy (Part 2)

    (Shadowheart¡¯s POV)


    As I watch Harald ascend the stage to perform, Lysander¡¯s theft of Alfira¡¯s song flashes through my mind, bringing a sharp pang of sympathy¡ªone quickly smothered by my ingrained habits.


    Yet, the image lingers stubbornly. The devastation in Alfira¡¯s eyes, the sheer horror dawning on her face as her precious creation was cruelly torn from her grasp, was almost palpable. Her expression crumbled slowly, hope fading like the last dying embers of a once-bright flame. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes dimming with the crushing realization of betrayal, robbed not only of her song but of her very future. Watching her, I felt a strange fluttering in my chest¡ªuncomfortable, disquieting, a sensation that tightened around my heart, leaving me aching in altogether foreign ways.


    ¡°Lady Shar would not approve,¡± I remind myself sharply. I serve the <i>Goddess of Loss</i>, after all. Lysander¡¯s act could be said to be favored in the Dark Lady¡¯s eyes. Holy, even, in a way¡ªfor he had tried to strip Alfira of hope itself!


    And yet...


    I remember as Harald stepped confidently forward, taking charge of the situation, seeking to rescue someone in need, as was his wont. I remember as Harald calmly reassured Alfira; as he volunteered to take the bard¡¯s place in the competition. An entirely different kind of fluttering surges within me then, warm and urgent, making my stomach twist in an unfamiliar and wholly unsettling way.


    I shouldn¡¯t care about any of them. Not about Harald. Certainly not for Alfira. The only thing that should matter to me is the mission entrusted by Lady Shar. And yet, inexplicably, I find myself caring nonetheless, and far more deeply than I dare to openly admit. The realization leaves me feeling profoundly vulnerable and dangerously uncertain.


    Then, Harald begins to play.


    From the very first notes, my eyes flutter closed almost of their own accord, and my breath catches sharply in my throat. The music is so raw, so powerful, so utterly... different.


    I do not possess many memories of listening to music¡ªwhether this is because those memories were taken away for the sake of the mission, or simply because I hadn¡¯t listened to much music in the cloister... I do not know. And yet, I know in my heart that Harald¡¯s music... is unlike anything I had ever experienced. It resonates deep within me, threading its way through my very soul. Each note is both delicate and fierce, a tempest contained within the eerie, beautiful tones of his... <i>guitar</i>.


    My heart quickens inexplicably as the sound envelops me like a lover¡¯s caress, compelling me to feel emotions I¡¯d long thought sealed away. The music conjures visions¡ªfragments of memories tantalizingly close, yet elusive; a sense of <i>d¨¦j¨¤ vu</i> lingering just at the edge of consciousness. It feels like a word hovering just on the tip of my tongue; a strangely familiar scent one can¡¯t quite place; a fleeting taste reminiscent of something experienced in a half-forgotten dream.


    Each note stirs within me exhilaration mixed with apprehension, for I know these memories had been locked away from me with <i>deliberate</i>


    intent. I know Shar had withheld them for good reason¡ªand, one day soon, when I have completed my mission, My Lady will deem me worthy to have them returned. Yet now, under the spell of Harald¡¯s music, I find myself dangerously yearning for their release, despite knowing that such desires are perilously close to a betrayal of my faith. The music is beautiful in a way that leaves me trembling, and I am almost frightened by its power over me. I feel¡­ strangely vulnerable, exposed by the raw intensity of the experience.


    Then, something extraordinary happens. The moonlight itself shifts overhead, bending and refracting around Harald as if responding directly to his commands. The light dances around him like a living thing, silver beams weaving gracefully through the air in time with the melody, ethereal and enchanting.


    I am utterly enthralled¡ªcaught in a moment of pure, unfiltered awe¡ªbefore the realization strikes me hard and cold. This is <i>moonlight</i>, the domain of Sel?ne, the hated enemy of my faith.


    Shame and revulsion surge violently through me, and I tear my gaze away, disgusted at myself for finding anything associated with the Moon Witch beautiful, much less enchanting. How could I have allowed myself, even for a moment, to be drawn in by such... <i>heresy</i>?


    Yet, even as I berate myself fiercely, I feel the undeniable pull of Harald¡¯s music, relentless and irresistible, continuing to draw me in.


    Then, to my astonishment, Harald <i>multiplies</i> himself, his image splitting into countless illusory clones filling the entire stage, each clone wielding an instrument. They begin to play together, weaving a slower, but more grandiose ballad that resonates deeply within me. The lyrics speak of a man who had left his family behind in pursuit of adventure, fame, and phenomenal cosmic power, only to ultimately find emptiness and sorrow awaiting him:


    ¡­


    <b><i>Mother, father, sister </i></b>


    <b><i>I''m sorry for what I''ve done</i></b>


    <b><i>But the man I''ve become </i></b>


    <b><i>Is no longer content with comfort and home...</i></b>


    <i>¡­</i>


    The song¡¯s mournful words slip into my awareness quietly yet profoundly, evoking a deep, inexplicable ache within my heart¡ªas though I, too, had abandoned those closest to me.


    But¡­ how could that be?


    I had always been alone, an orphan with no family, save the cloister itself. I had no ties to betray... Or... did I?


    For some inexplicable reason, the song¡¯s sorrowful refrain of longing and regret for home and family feels painfully, <i>intimately</i>


    personal.


    I can¡¯t help but wonder if, perhaps, Harald himself is the subject of this tragic tale. He seems to understand its depths too well, performs it with such conviction and melancholy that it seems impossible not to believe the tale has some truth for him.


    ¡°What remarkable skill,¡± I think to myself, ¡°to be able to perform a Ballad with such profound emotion.¡±


    ¡­


    And yet, with Harald¡¯s next song, the convenient lies I had told myself are shattered with the subtlety of an angry Minotaur in a teahouse.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHmVmiPQyN4</a>


    The first thing I hear is the melody ¨C somehow even <i>more ominous</i> than the one I¡¯d just heard. Then comes a curious rhythm of the drums ¨C thrusting and energetic ¨C while, in the background, I can hear unearthly harmonies: full of sadness and lament, and yet also¡­ uplifting, somehow?


    The dissonance is jarring ¨C feeling like a puzzle that doesn¡¯t <i>quite </i>fit together.


    Like a cracked piece of pottery that can¡¯t <i>quite </i>be made whole again.


    ¡­


    Then, he sings the lyrics.


    And I am not prepared.


    ¡­


    <b><i>I cannot dream with me, </i></b>


    <b><i>I cannot laugh with me no more¡­</i></b>


    <b><i>And my face in the mirror </i></b>


    <b><i>Is too dark to see¡­</i></b>


    <b><i>I can¡¯t breathe with me, </i></b>


    <b><i>I can¡¯t see myself anymore¡­</i></b>


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡­


    The lyrics strike me ¨C almost physically ¨C like a blow of a Warhammer, shattering the walls built up inside my mind. I stagger back, my legs unsteady beneath me, the Revel¡¯s crowd spinning in a dizzying whirl of blurred colors. My chest heaves, each breath a struggle, and I press a hand to my heart, as I try to hold myself together by force of will alone.


    <b>¡­</b>


    <b><i>Because my face in the mirror </i></b>


    <b><i>Is too dark to see¡­</i></b>


    ¡­


    But the words <i>coil</i> around me, sinking into my very bones, their cadence a dirge that stirs something deep and unquiet within. I try to anchor myself in the present¡ªto the fey faces around me, glowing with enchantment; to the scent of moss and wine¡­ But the song is relentless. Each note tugs mercilessly at the frayed threads of my mind, unraveling the fragile tapestry that held it together.


    My vision fades, the Revel dissolving into an indistinct haze¡­ and then, I am no longer there, no longer present.


    ¡­


    I am a child again, small and trembling, standing in a room that is both vast and suffocating. The air is cold, heavy with the scent of incense and something darker¡ªblood, perhaps, or fear. My wrists burn, bound by coarse rope that bites into my skin as I twist against it. Figures loom behind me, their presence a weight I cannot shake, their faces lost to shadow.


    I hear a voice: a whisper, soft, yet unyielding, a sound that chills me more than the cold stone beneath my bare feet.


    ¡°Look into the mirror, child. See what you must become.¡±


    But, I don¡¯t want to look!


    I don¡¯t want to see!


    The mirror before me is a slab of darkness, its surface ¨C a void that drinks the light and gives nothing back.


    I thrash, my small body straining against the ropes, my voice rising in a desperate plea that echoes unanswered. ¡°No! Please, no!¡±


    But their hands are on me, iron-hard, pressing me forward until my nose nearly brushes the surface.


    I see nothing¡ªno reflection, no face¡ªjust an emptiness that yawns like a grave. Terror claws at my throat, and I scream, but the sound is swallowed by the mirror¡¯s depths.


    ¡°You will forget,¡± the voice intones, calm as death. ¡°You will become what Lady Shar demands.¡±


    The mirror pulses, and pain explodes in my skull¡ªblinding, hungry, a cold blade slicing through thought and memory alike. I scream again.


    And again.


    And again.


    Each cry weaker than the last, as the agony carves away pieces of me.


    In time, I feel the essence of my being, my very name, slip away like sand through my fingers, foreign and fleeting.


    They force me to look, over and over, until I no longer know why I resist, until the tears dry and the begging fades, leaving only a hollow shell behind.


    ¡­


    <b><i>Those scars remind me how I made you cry</i></b>


    <b><i>Your pain remains even if I die</i></b>


    ¡­


    Harald¡¯s voice drags me back to the present, a lifeline cast into the abyss. The Revel snaps back into focus¡ªthe fey swaying, entranced, their eyes gleaming like jewels¡ªbut the cold lingers, a frost that clings to my soul. My hands tremble, and I press them to my sides, willing them to still, but they defy me. The song presses on relentlessly, its words a mirror to the darkness I carry within.


    Another memory surges, pulling me under brutally like a riptide.


    ¡­


    I am older now, clad in the black robes of Shar¡¯s service, a temple initiate forged in shadow. Two figures lay before me, fully restrained, bound spread-eagle upon specially-designed tables; their faces are blurred in my mind as though I¡¯m looking at a painting smeared by a careless artist¡¯s hand. The room is dim, lit only by flickering purple candles that cast long, twisted shadows across the walls.


    The prisoners call out to me, their voices desperate and pleading.


    ¡°Jenevelle! Jenevelle, <i>please</i>! Don¡¯t do this!¡±


    But that name stirs nothing within. There is no recognition. No pity. I am Shadowheart, an instrument of the Lady of Loss, and <i>these</i> are Sel?nite <i>scum</i>: heretics who dare defy the Darkness.


    ¡°The night is young,¡± I say, my voice a cold, steady thing, stripped of warmth or mercy.


    ¡°You <i>will</i> break, Sel?nite. You will accept Lady Shar¡¯s judgment.¡±


    Gently, I lift the dagger, its acid-coated blade catching the candlelight in a wicked gleam. Their pleas grow frantic, a garbled chorus of fear, but I am unmoved. My hand does not falter as I carefully bring the blade down in long, shallow cuts¡ªjust as I had been taught. Once. Twice. Again and again, until their cries turn into hoarse whimpers and the air is slick with the smell of blood and their voided bladders.


    I feel¡­ nothing.


    No remorse. No guilt. I am Shar¡¯s instrument, and <i>this</i>


    is my purpose.


    The faces remain indistinct, lost to the fog of my shattered mind, but the weight of their suffering settles on me like a mantle I cannot shed.


    <b>¡­</b>


    <b><i>This is not the truth, this is not for real


    </i></b>


    <b><i>I don''t believe you ''cos you tell me lies</i></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>Everyone suffers and I am the cause (everyone suffers!)</i></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>Those closest to me are fading away</i></b>


    <b>¡­</b>


    <b><i>Have I ever been alive? (Not the truth!)</i></b>


    <b><i>Have I ever been alive? (You tell me lies!)</i></b>


    <b><i>Have I ever been alive? (Everyone suffers!)</i></b>


    <b> </b>


    <b><i>Have I ever been alive?</i></b>


    The lyrics wash over me, but I am unresponsive; lost in the darkness of my thoughts.


    After an unknown period of time that couldn¡¯t have been longer than a few minutes, I realize, with a jolt, that I am no longer standing. My knees had given way at some point, the soft moss of the Feywild cushioning my fall. My hands press against the ground, trembling, as the world tilts around me. Absently, I note that Harald blended the ending of his latest Ballad with some kind of soothing melody evoking the beauty of Elysium itself:


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mxn9cBKghK4</a>


    ¡­but the newly-uplifting harmonies can hardly quell the unease I now feel.


    A wetness trickles from my nose, warm and sticky, and I touch my face, expecting blood. But, when I draw my fingers away, they are smeared with thick, black streaks¡ªtar-like, heavy, dripping from my eyes and nose in rivulets that stain my skin. I stare at them, transfixed, as they glisten in the moonlight, only to hiss and evaporate into nothingness, leaving no trace but the lingering, searing pain in my soul.


    Questions grip me; disturbing doubts that have no easy answers.


    Who had I hurt?


    Who had I lost?


    My head throbs, a dull pulse that matches the rhythm of my heart, and I press my hands to my face, trying to stem the flow of those black tears. They come faster now, a flood of shadow that marks me, exposes me as the broken thing I had become.


    I look up, my vision swimming, and see Harald on the stage. His fingers dance across the strings, while his eyes are distant, as though he too got lost in his music¡¯s depths. The fey watch him ¨C and me ¨C in rapt silence, their faces a gallery of awe and unease.


    Just who was Jenevelle, I wonder? Why does that name ignite such reflexive¡­ <i>revulsion</i> in me, even now, when I can barely grasp its meaning? I want to scream, to tear at my own mind until the fog lifted, but I am trapped¡ªdrowning in shadows and half-formed memories I have no context for.


    <i>Have I ever been alive?!?</i>


    The song¡¯s final question hangs unanswered, a question I cannot escape. It claws at me, relentless, as I rise to my feet, unsteady, the moss still clinging to my knees like a plea to stay down. My nose still bleeds: a slow trickle of black that mingles with the ¡°tears¡± staining my cheeks, and my head pounds with the weight of all I had seen¡ªor thought I had seen. The world feels distant, unreal, a haze of noise and exquisite harmonies I can¡¯t be bothered to care about at the moment.


    One question cuts through it all, sharp and unyielding.


    Had I ever truly been <i>alive</i>? The thought twists in my gut, a blade I can¡¯t pull free.


    I now remember forgetting.


    Not a single moment, but a litany of them¡ªcold hands, dark rooms, the searing pain behind my eyes as pieces of me were forcibly and methodically carved away. As a child, I¡¯d been made to forget -- repeatedly, mercilessly. I can still hear the echo of my own screams, small and helpless, swallowed by that void Shar demanded.


    But¡­ what if it didn¡¯t end there? What if the practice of forgetting stretched beyond those early years, threading through my entire life¡­ like a silent poison? I¡¯d always told myself that I¡¯d grown into my current role, that I had chosen my path willingly. But now, standing here with that song still ringing in my ears, I am not so sure.


    I was on a mission for Shar, wasn¡¯t I? A sacred task, my memories sacrificed as an act of faith, a shield for operational security. That¡¯s what they¡¯d told me¡ªwhat I¡¯d told myself. I¡¯d clung to that story like a lifeline, proof of my absolute devotion.


    But what if it¡¯s a lie?


    What if I hadn¡¯t <i>given</i> <i>up </i>those memories after all? What if they¡¯d been <i>taken </i>from me¡ªripped from me by cloister mates, by the Mother Superior, by Shar herself ¨C without my consent?


    The thoughts are heresy of the highest order, but I can¡¯t stop myself from thinking them.


    <i>Possibilities</i> slither in my mind like serpents, cold and venomous. If the Sharrans could forcibly take my past once, who is to say they couldn¡¯t do it again? If the Mother Superior had lied, if she was the one who shaped me into this¡ªthis <i>persona</i> called Shadowheart¡ªwould I ever know? Would I¡­ even be able to tell the difference?


    My breath hitches, the black tar dripping faster than ever as a new question swells: <i>just how much of my life is a lie?</i> I try to summon the faces of my past once more¡ªbut they waver like a mirage.


    <i>Have I ever been alive?</i>


    The words spin through me again, and the world tilts, dizziness crashing over me like a wave. To be alive¡­ is to feel, to know, to <i>choose</i>. But, if my choices were pre-determined, my feelings forged, my memories a tapestry of lies¡ªwas I¡­ even a real person?


    The implications bear down on me, crushing, and I press my hands to my temples, trying, in vain, to hold my fracturing mind together.


    I can¡¯t endure it. I can¡¯t continue to drift in this fog. There has to be a way out¡ªa truth to seize.


    My gaze snaps back to the Army of Haralds on the stage, his main body¡¯s silhouette sharp against the lights. <i>He </i>knows¡ªI am certain of it now. The way he carries himself; the careful choice of his words ¨C and music; the flicker of recognition in his eyes every time he looks at me¡ªit all points to secrets he hold close. He <i>knows</i> about my past. About Shar. About¡­ <i>Jenevelle</i>.


    He has the answers, and I would have them. I will <i>make</i>


    him reveal what he knows, tear the truth from him if I had to. The resolve flares within me, fierce and unyielding, a sudden spark in the void. I stand taller, the dizziness receding as purpose takes root. The moss on my knees falls away, the bleeding stops, and I wipe the remnants of black tears from my face with the pristine, unblemished skin of my trembling hand. Harald will not escape me again. I will confront him, demand the truth, and claw back whatever fragments of myself remain.


    I will find out what he knows.


    No matter what it costs me.

 Re(ve)lations

    What the hell is happening to me?


    The thought hit me like a slap.


    I had expected my illusions to be just that ¨C mere visual flourishes, special effects to enhance the performance. I hadn¡¯t consciously <i>willed</i> each clone to have its own sentience, its own musicality. They should have been mere animations. Mirages without substance.


    And yet, here they were, acting independently, creating a musical tapestry of breathtaking complexity. Eighty-plus <i>individual consciousnesses</i>, all working in perfect...harmony... with each other. It felt like conducting an orchestra while playing the part of every musician at the same time¡­ except each musician was a virtuoso in their own right, improvising flawlessly within the framework of each song.


    And, they weren¡¯t just<i> playing music</i> either! They were <i>casting magic </i>on their own too ¨C adding flourishes to my visuals that, admittedly, looked amazing ¨C but that I never could have created so quickly on my own, no matter the absurd the level of my Illusion skills was.


    True parallel thinking was supposed to be incredibly rare. Even back home, with all our advancements in brain implant technologies, most people struggled to maintain more than five or six independent trains of thought at once. And yet, here I was, a one-man orchestra, juggling multiple melodies, harmonies, vocal projections, <i>and</i>


    intricate illusions, all without missing a beat. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly baffling.


    The music flowed through me, a torrent of pure, unadulterated <i>feeling</i>. I let myself go, lost in the intricate dance of sights and sounds. The world around me faded away, the faces of the audience, the glittering lights of the stage, the very boundaries of the Feywild itself dissolving into a swirling vortex of pure emotion.


    There was only the music, and I was one with it.


    Time slipped away.


    The fey were transfixed, their initial smugness replaced by wide-eyed awe. I barely noticed. My music became my entire world, the impossible symphony flowing forth from me like a river unbound.


    Then, near the end of the last song, I saw Shadowheart. She was on her knees at the edge of the crowd, hands pressed to her face. Black, tar-like streams oozed from her eyes, revealing her original, forest-green irises beneath. The disgusting torrents stainined her pale skin, before evaporating violently on contact with the moonlight.


    My stomach dropped.


    Shar¡¯s Shadowweave. It had to be. My first instinct was to stop, to drop everything and run to her, but I forced it down. My performance wasn¡¯t done yet. I had to finish. The armor and jewelry I gifted to Shadowheart glowed faintly with absurdly powerful Restoration enchantments¡ªFortify and Restore Health, Restore Stamina, Cure Disease ¨C all more than strong enough to keep her safe, even if she decided to go for a swim in an active volcano.


    She¡¯d be fine. She had to be.


    Still, the question gnawed at me: why was this happening? The song I was playing wasn¡¯t <i>especially</i>


    magical¡ªI¡¯d chosen it purely for its lyrics, hoping they¡¯d spark something in her, a memory Shar had buried. It surely couldn''t be the effect of the music alone?


    Or¡­ a crazier idea struck me. What if the enchantments themselves were responsible? They were, after all, designed to heal and purge corruption¡ªcould they be attacking Shar¡¯s magic, the Shadowweave that bound Shadowheart¡¯s mind?


    It seemed plausible, but¡­ why now? After all, she¡¯d been wearing the items for hours without so much as a twitch. I shoved the thought aside. This was no time for theories¡ªnot yet. The music demanded its ending.


    The final chord rose, a crescendo that shook the air, illusions bursting into a kaleidoscope of light before fading to nothing. My clones dissolved, leaving me alone with my guitar, its strings still trembling faintly in the moonlight.


    Silence fell upon the clearing, heavy and absolute.


    My chest heaved, sweat beading on my brow, as I scanned the crowd. Shadowheart was wiping her face now, the black streaks fading away entirely. She would be fine. I hoped.


    Then Hyrsam broke the stillness. He leapt to his feet, horns jangling, clapping with the glee of a child.


    ¡°Wondrous!¡± he shouted, his voice booming across the clearing.


    ¡°Stupendous! <i>Magnificent! </i>I haven¡¯t had this much fun in¡ª well, ever! Not in all the Revels thus far!¡±


    He turned theatrically to the assembled Fey, his eyes gleaming with a manic, almost feverish intensity.


    ¡°Tell me, honored guests¡± he roared, ¡°have <i>you</i> ever witnessed such a spectacle? Have you ever been so¡­ <i>moved</i> by a performance? Have you ever felt your very souls laid bare by the power of song?¡±


    A chorus of voices, hesitant at first, then growing in volume and fervor, answered him.


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Never!¡±


    ¡°It was transcendent!¡±


    ¡°I am <i>changed</i>!¡±


    Hyrsam <i>beamed</i>, his face splitting into a slightly-too-wide, toothy grin.


    ¡°And there you have it! The will of the Fey! The voice of the Revel! My friends, and fellow Judges¡± he declared, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, ¡°we have heard many a fine performance tonight! Many talented bards have graced this stage. But, let us be honest with ourselves. Let us speak the truth that beats within our hearts. After hearing <i>that</i>¡­ is there really any doubt? Is there any <i>question</i>? Regardless of whom else we may choose to sponsor, I think it''s clear who <i>this</i> Revel¡¯s true winner is!¡±


    A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd, a wave of sound that shook the very trees. The Fey, usually so jaded, so difficult to impress, were on their feet: clapping, stomping, whistling, their faces alight with an almost¡­ <i>religious</i> fervor.


    Then, Titania rose from her throne.


    The Summer Queen herself, usually a vision of serene beauty and regal composure, looked¡­ profoundly moved. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and serious, carrying a weight of authority that silenced the cheering crowd.


    ¡°Indeed, Lord Hyrsam is correct,¡± she said, her gaze sweeping across the assembled Fey.


    ¡°We have witnessed something tonight that <i>transcends</i>


    mere skill with an instrument. We have been gifted with a glimpse of <i>true</i>


    artistry, of a power that touches the very heart of existence. Even were we to grant Harald second place here and now¡­ after what we have all just heard, <i>none</i>


    others present here would <i>dare</i> to claim first.¡±


    Her gaze swept across the stage, settling on Lysander, who stood there pale and trembling, his recent smug arrogance utterly extinguished. He swallowed audibly, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing in his throat, and I felt a grim satisfaction settle in my chest.


    The crowd remained quiet as Titania spoke, a palpable sense of anticipation filling the air.


    ¡°Therefore,¡± she continued, her voice ringing with regal authority, ¡°We, the judges of this Grand Revel, acknowledge the¡­ unique experience displayed this night. And thus, the victor may name his Boon.¡±


    A hush fell over the clearing.


    I glanced at my companions. Astarion looked intrigued, a calculating glint in his eyes. Karlach and Sylvie were grinning widely, their expressions a mix of excitement and awe. Alfira''s eyes widened in surprise, a hopeful smile gracing her lips. Lae¡¯zel... remained as stoic as ever, her expression as composed as a marble statue, though I could sense a flicker of¡­ something, perhaps respect, in her usually hardened gaze. Shadowheart, however, remained standing slightly apart, her expression a million miles away, her gaze fixed on the ground.


    I stepped forward. I hadn¡¯t given much thought to what I would ask for if I won. My primary concern had always been getting everyone out of here safely, then helping Alfira, ensuring she wasn¡¯t punished for Ethel¡¯s and that Bastard¡¯s theft.


    But now¡­


    I met Titania¡¯s gaze, my mind racing. I could certainly ask for power, knowledge, immortality... But such primitive things simply didn¡¯t appealed to me. I already had <i>far </i>more power than I knew what to do with. Knowledge¡­ I could seek out ¨C that was part of the fun! And, as for immortality? Well... I had that already, didn¡¯t I?


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I considered what I remembered from the stories of bargains with the Fair Folk ¨C not many people realize this, but the word Eldritch is an Older Scottish pronunciation of Elvish; that is, something associated with the Fey. I would be an absolute <i>fool </i>to believe I could <i>out-bargain</i> these guys.


    No, it was far wiser to play things safe here.


    ¡°The only boon I require,¡± I said, my voice clear and firm, ¡°is safe passage, free from any further obligation -- for myself, Alfira here, and all other members of my group -- through a portal to a destination of my choosing.¡±


    A heavy silence settled over the clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the  hooting of some Fey creature in the nearby woods. Titania and Hyrsam exchanged a long look, their expressions unreadable.


    Then, Hyrsam threw back his head and exploded into laughter. It was a booming, joyous sound, filled with genuine amusement and¡­ a note of something else. Respect? Admiration, even?


    ¡°By the Moon!¡± he roared, wiping a tear from his eye. ¡°You truly are a <i>marvel</i>, Harald! I must say, in all my years, I have <i>never</i>


    encountered anyone quite like you! So clever, so¡­ refreshingly straightforward! And your commitment to your <i>freedom</i> is¡­ most commendable!¡±


    He gestured expansively with his arm.


    ¡°Your desire shall be honored, of course. I have always valued independence, and I would not <i>dream</i> of denying such a reasonable request to a most honored of guests! You and your companions shall indeed be granted safe passage, free from any and all obligations to us. You shall be able to depart through a Gate of your choice, at any time you so desire.¡± He paused here, grimacing, as if reluctant to voice a concern.


    ¡°Although¡­¡±


    Titania rose from her throne, her expression serene but with an undercurrent of something¡­ calculating?


    ¡°¡­Lord Hyrsam is, as always, correct," she said, her voice like the chiming of distant bells.


    ¡°But, you have given us all a gift of an immense value, Harald. Your performance was¡­ transformative. The Old Ways, and the rules of the Revel itself, <i>demand</i> that we offer something deemed to be of equal value in return.¡±


    She paused, her gaze sweeping over me with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.


    ¡°Or,¡± she added, her tone light-hearted, but with an unmistakable edge of steel, ¡°would you leave here empty-handed, and have us all be forever in your debt?¡±


    I felt Gale¡¯s presence in my mind, his voice a presence demanding attention.


    <i>Harald,</i> he said, his thoughts clear and precise. <i>You should know that</i> <i>Archfey <b>do not lie</b>. What she says aligns with what I know of fey bargains. Trust me, we do <b>not</b> want to end up on the bad side of the Summer Court. I <b>strongly </b>suggest we accept their gifts, whatever they might be. We can discuss the implications later.</i>


    He was right, of course. To sour relations with the Seelie Court, was a dangerous game I wasn¡¯t willing to play. It would be a shame to have gone through the trouble of winning this context only to earn the Fey''s enmity as the prize.


    I inclined my head in acceptance.


    ¡°I would be honored to accept your gifts, Honored Judges,¡± I said, my voice respectful.


    The tension in the clearing dissipated instantly, replaced by a renewed sense of¡­ relief. The Fey, it seemed, were pleased. The natural order of things had been restored. An agreed balance had been struck. And -- I mused -- perhaps they, too, had no desire to risk souring relations with  me.


    Lliira, her face alight with a wide, joyous smile, stepped forward first. ¡°Then, please allow me to be the first to congratulate you,¡± she said, her voice filled with warmth.


    ¡°As for the prize, I offer you -- <i>this</i>.¡±


    She gestured, and a beautiful, intricately carved horn appeared in her hands. It pulsed with a soft, golden light, and I could feel a faint hum of magic emanating from it.


    ¡°This is the Horn of Plenty,¡± Lliira explained. ¡°It is capable of filling itself with <i>any</i> non-magical mortal food or drink that you so desire¡­ without limit. It can even produce some of the less powerful alchemical concoctions, such as lesser health potions. The food and drink it provides is always of the highest quality. With it, you shall never be hungry, nor thirsty, again!¡±


    She paused, her smile widening.


    ¡°Furthermore, the Horn cannot be lost, nor stolen. Come midnight, it will always return to its rightful owner. Only by being given away willingly can it be passed to another wielder.¡±


    What an incredible gift! I accepted it with a bow, expressing my sincere gratitude.


    Verenestra stepped forward next, her expression thoughtful. She held out a full-face, shimmering mask, its surface shifting and swirling with an ever-changing array of colors and patterns.


    ¡°This,¡± she said, her voice soft and melodic, ¡°is the Mask of Many Faces. It is an artifact of illusion, allowing the wearer to disguise their appearance as anyone they desire, of any race or gender. You may change your form as many times as you wish, without limit. The resulting disguise is nearly perfect, fooling even the most discerning of eyes.¡± She paused, looking contemplative. ¡°Only the most powerful of beings should be able to see through it.¡±


    The mask was a masterpiece of illusion, a tool of significant versatility and power. While I, personally, had no use for such a thing, my companions were sure to appreciate it. I accepted it gladly, with thanks.


    Oberon, the Beast Lord and Consort of the Summer Queen, spoke next, his voice deep and resonant.


    ¡°My gift for you and yours is one of¡­ connection,¡± he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.


    ¡°From this day forward, you, Harald; all the members of your group; and all of your descendants up to seven generations removed¡­ shall be able to speak to any animal at will. Furthermore, no ordinary forest beast shall <i>ever </i>attack you, nor your descendants, unprovoked.¡±


    As I nodded in acceptance, my eyes were wide in surprise. This¡­ was a bit much, wasn¡¯t it? Did he truly enjoy the performance to such an extent? Just what was Oberon¡¯s game here?


    Titania herself stepped forward next, her gaze regal and commanding. Her presence filled the clearing, radiating an aura of ancient power and unwavering authority.


    ¡°My gift,¡± she said, her voice like the rustling of a summer breeze, ¡°is one of free passage. From this day forward, you, all the members of your group, and your descendants up to seven generations removed, shall be granted free and safe passage through the parts of the Feywild controlled by my Court, at any time you enter them. No Seelie Fae shall ever hinder your passage. Indeed, they shall even assist you, should you ask for it.¡±


    Her eyes gleamed with an almost predatory light.


    ¡°Be warned, however, that not all of the Feywild is under <i>my </i>control. The Unseelie Fey, the denizens of the Winter Court, are not bound by my decree.¡±


    Ah, so <i>that¡¯s</i> what their game was!


    The gifts, while a boon, would also imply a subtle alliance, a tacit declaration of our ties with the Seelie Court. And if such gifts could be sensed by others? Well¡­ they would likely mark us, indirectly, as allies of the Seelie Court -- and therefore, as potential enemies of the Unseelie. Frankly, something like this was <i>exactly</i> what I would expect from Titania: a double-edged, tricky gift that was both a blessing and a potential burden.


    But¡­ fuck it. Why not?


    ¡°Your generosity is¡­ overwhelming, Your Majesty,¡± I said, inclining my head in respect. ¡°We gratefully accept your gift.¡±


    Finally, Hyrsam stepped forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement.


    ¡°And now, it is my turn,¡± he boomed, his voice filled with childlike glee.


    ¡°Alas, I have nothing of <i>material</i> value to offer you at this moment. No enchanted artifacts, no potent spells, no¡­ <i>trinkets</i>.¡±


    He paused dramatically, his gaze sweeping over me with a mischievous grin.


    ¡°But, what I <i>can</i> offer you, young Godling, is something, perhaps, even more valuable.¡±


    His grin widened, revealing those surprisingly sharp teeth.


    ¡°I offer you not one, not two, but <i>three</i> open-ended favors, one for each song you played this night, to be called in by you -- or your designated successors -- at any time in the future. I, Hyrsam, Lord of the Revels, shall grant you <i>any</i> reasonable request, perform <i>any</i> task reasonably within my power¡­ thrice over. So shall it be witnessed! So shall it be done!¡±


    This time, my jaw almost <i>did </i>hit the ground.


    Three favors from an Archfey who was literally older than dirt.


    The possibilities were staggering. I couldn¡¯t even begin to fathom the potential uses for such a boon.


    Well, no, I could, actually. I was going to make <i>good </i>use of these boons.


    ¡°I am¡­ speechless, Lord Hyrsam,¡± I said, my voice filled with genuine awe. ¡°Your generosity is¡­ truly boundless.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, my boy, nonsense!¡± Hyrsam chuckled, clapping me on the back with a force that nearly sent me sprawling.


    ¡°You more than earned them! Your music¡­ your <i>art</i>¡­ it was more than just a performance. It was a¡­ <i>revelation</i>! You have reminded us all of the true power of music, the magic it holds, the joy it can bring¡­.¡±


    ¡°And,¡± he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ¡°if only you knew the extent of what you have truly done for me this night¡­ a mere <i>three </i>favors might well seem like a steal in comparison,¡± he said with a wink.


    A slow grin spread across my face.


    "Well, in that case," I said, my voice ringing with renewed energy, "in the spirit of brotherhood and cooperation between our peoples, how about a few Encore performances to honor our generous hosts, and the Summer Court?"


    A deafening roar erupted from the crowd, a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and stomping feet. The Fey, it seemed, were far from satiated. All of the judges, Titania and Hyrsam included, also seemed beyond pleased, their faces alight with an almost childlike glee.


    I raised my guitar, and the clearing fell silent once more, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.


    ¡°This first song,¡± I announced, my voice echoing through the enchanted space, ¡°is called ¡®The Springrise.¡¯¡±


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbkMuMAnqY8</a>


    Then I began to play. The music was melodic and uplifting, a song that spoke of renewal and rebirth. The lyrics, when they came, resonated deeply with all the Summer Fey present:


    <b><i>Burn away the winter''s frost, </i></b>


    <b><i>Cast down the veil of grief¡­ </i></b>


    <b></b>


    The crowd swayed to the music, their faces turning towards each other with blissful expressions.


    That first encore turned into another.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKdW3e8WRO4</a>


    Then another.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af0P6XEkI7Y</a>


    And another.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LV156bGRkV4</a>


    And <i>another</i>.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFNFfaWyH_o</a>


    I played for what must have been three more hours, lost in the sheer joy of creation ¡ª mostly in the Baroque and Classical music genres, but with the occasional dash of Classic Rock and Melodic Metal mixed in for flavor. All around us, the Fey danced, laughed, and <i>lived</i>


    like there was no tomorrow. The entire clearing became a whirlwind of music, movement, and uninhibited¡­ revelry.


    Finally, as the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky, the music began to wind down. The last notes faded into the morning mist, leaving behind a profound sense of peace and contentment.


    The parting applause we received as we left was <i>deafening</i>, a thunderous ovation that echoed through the ancient forest. The Fey, their faces flushed with joy and exhaustion, showered us with praise and gratitude, their voices filled with genuine emotion.


    At least for the moment, life was¡­ good.

 Meet The Druids

    The world dissolved around me as I stepped through the portal, and the experience was¡­ unexpectedly smooth. One moment, I was drowning in the riotous, overwhelming color and scent of the Feywild. The next? I was in blessed, <i>mundane</i> reality, though tinged now with the lingering memories and echoes of that vibrant otherworld.


    We emerged out onto the rocky soil of a riverside cliff, my lucky fishing hat in the perfect position to give me some shade for the coming sunrise. The ground felt real and boring beneath my feet, a welcome change from the springy, almost sentient earth of the Feywild. The air, no longer thick with magic, felt clean and¡­ ordinary in my lungs. The sky -- a pale, washed-out blue compared to the vibrant, luminous hues of the Fey realm -- stretched above me, vast, and, almost painfully, mundane. Gone were the alien geometries of the enchanted woods, the twisted space, the gravity-defying paths and the sense of being perpetually observed by unseen eyes. Here, the land lay flat and reassuring, a tapestry of green and brown stretching towards the horizon, a familiar, beloved vista.


    What you saw was what you got.


    Thinking back, I realized that I might miss the Feywild a little ¨C it was a stressful place, but hells if that Revel wasn¡¯t <i>fun</i>, in the end!


    ¡­


    Karlach was the first to break the silence. She threw her head back and let out a wild, joyous whoop, her tail whipping back and forth like a banner.


    ¡°Free! Finally, <i>fucking</i> free!¡± she bellowed, spinning in a circle with her arms flung wide. Her grin was blinding, her eyes alight with a happiness I hadn¡¯t seen since I¡¯d replaced her Infernal Engine. She bounded over to me, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.


    ¡°Harald, do you smell that? <i>Real air</i>! Gods, after that fey place, I thought I might never get to smell it again!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile back. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you like this, Karlach.¡±


    ¡°Damn right it is,¡± she laughed, giving me a playful shove before darting off to chase the wind along the cliff¡¯s edge.


    Not everyone shared her exuberance.


    Lae¡¯zel stepped forward, her boots crunching against the gravel as she fixed me with a stare sharp enough to cut steel. ¡°The <i>ghaik</i>


    parasites,¡± she said, her voice low and insistent. ¡°They remain. We must remove them, and my people can assist¡ªif we can reach them.¡± Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me. ¡°Unless¡­ <i>you</i> have a solution, Harald? You seem¡­ more than powerful enough to cure us.¡±


    She looked me in the eyes, almost daring me to deny her obvious conclusion. I met her gaze calmly, carefully weighing my words.


    ¡°Of course, I¡­ do have a plan,¡± I said carefully. ¡°Several plans, in fact. But, it¡¯ll take at least a few hours of experimentation to figure out if any of them will work.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel tilted her head, considering, then gave a curt, respectful nod.


    ¡°Very well. You have proven yourself capable, <i>Kwe''vhar</i>. I will await your word. But do not dawdle. Time is our enemy, and I¡­ <i>will not be ghaik.</i>¡±


    Having said her peace, she turned away, her posture rigid, already scanning the horizon as if plotting her next move.


    Behind her, Astarion sauntered up, his smirk firmly in place.


    ¡°Oh, I <i>do</i> hope you can control those things, Harald,¡± he said, his tone light but edged with something serious. ¡°You see, while you were playing your little Encores, I had not one, but <i>two</i> charming Fey Ladies offer to keep me with them in the Feywild, forever. They promised to handle my tadpole problem, too!¡± He flashed a grin, fangs glinting. ¡°It was a little tempting, I¡¯ll admit, but I¡¯d rather <i>not</i> be indebted to them for eternity.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Let me guess, you¡¯d miss our fine company too much?¡±


    ¡°Oh, hardly,¡± he scoffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.


    Gale interjected with a thoughtful nod. ¡°Lord Hyrsam could certainly manage the tadpole problem, if it came to that,¡± he mused. ¡°But Astarion¡¯s right¡ªdeals with the Fey usually come with strings attached. Let¡¯s give Harald a chance first. We¡¯ve all seen what he can do.¡±


    I nodded, grateful for the vote of confidence.


    ¡°I¡¯ll definitely figure it out, Gale, I promise. I¡¯ll just need a little time to <i>properly</i> experiment.¡±


    Gale nodded sagely, no doubt remembering working on his own wizarding research projects.


    ¡­


    While the others spoke, Shadowheart lingered at the cliff¡¯s edge, her back to us. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her dark hair whipping in the wind. She stared out at the river, her jaw clenched, but, every so often, her eyes ¨C now of a pleasant, forest green color -- flicked toward me: brief, piercing glances that carried a weight I couldn¡¯t quite place.


    Was it <i>anger</i> I saw simmering there, beneath the surface?


    Though she hadn¡¯t said a word, I could vaguely feel that Shadowheart¡¯s mind was¡­ turbulent¡­ through our tadpole-induced link. I wanted to approach her, to ask what was eating at her, even to reach directly into her thoughts¡­ but the way she held herself now¡ªdistant, coiled¡ªtold me she wasn¡¯t ready to talk.


    ¡°Shadowheart?¡± I called softly, testing the waters.


    She didn¡¯t turn, didn¡¯t respond. Her shoulders merely stiffened a little at my voice, and that was answer enough. Whatever storm was brewing inside her now, I¡¯d have to wait it out.


    Amid all of the tension, Sylvie was a burst of light. The newly-ascended Fey Lady still acted very much like her former pixie self. She was rapidly zipping around the cliff, her new wings ¨C effortless projections of pure energy from her back ¨C were a blur of iridescent colors.


    ¡°Oh, wow! Look at that!¡± she shouted, pointing at a bird soaring overhead.


    She darted to a patch of wildflowers next, hovering over them with wide, gleaming eyes. ¡°And <i>that</i>! Everything¡¯s just¡­ so <i>real</i>


    here!¡±


    She spun in midair, giggling uncontrollably.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to the Material Plane before! It¡¯s <i>amazing</i>!¡±


    Karlach laughed, chasing after her.


    ¡°Whoa, slow down there, missy! You¡¯ll wear yourself out!¡±


    ¡°Never!¡± Sylvie shot back, zooming around Karlach in circles, giggling all the while.


    As I watched the two of them play around together, the tension slowly drained from my shoulders, a knot of anxiety I hadn¡¯t even realized was there finally loosening. My diamond-hard muscles, coiled tightly for what felt like an eternity, began to unclench. I scanned our surroundings, my gaze sweeping across the river-side cliffs, rolling hills, and the somewhat overgrown path that snaked its way towards the distant tree line.


    I had asked the Archfey to take us to the Sword Coast, over by the ruins of the Moonhaven village and the Druid Grove ¡ª to take Alfira back, perhaps have some <i>words </i>with Ethel, and to give me the chance to... settle a few other things from Act 1.


    And, my new buddy Hyrsam was as good as his word ¡ª at long last, we were <i>here</i>.


    The relief, however, was tempered by a gnawing uncertainty.


    Back in the Feywild, I had been focused on the immediate concerns: saving the captured Lae¡¯zel and Shadowheart, dealing with the evolved Sylvie, replacing Karlach¡¯s engine, then salvaging Alfira¡¯s situation¡­ navigating the Revel¡­ the gifts¡­ The whole experience was a little overwhelming; I simply hadn¡¯t allowed myself to truly consider the state of the world we had left behind. Now, the possibilities crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave.


    Firstly, just how long have we been gone?


    Days?


    <i>Weeks</i>?


    Time was a flexible concept when it came to the Fey, and, while I <i>hoped </i>the ratio with the real world was at least close to 1 to 1 in this case due to the Bardic contest, I still couldn¡¯t help but wonder.


    What if... it had been long enough for the worst to have happened?


    I pictured the Absolute winning.


    I pictured the Grove, the ancient trees twisted and blackened, their branches reaching in skeletal agony towards a smoke-choked sky.


    I imagined the Tiefling refugees ¨C men, women, and even children -- slaughtered, their vibrant energy extinguished, their hopes and dreams drowned in a tide of vicious goblin bodies.


    Or¡­ perhaps Kagha managed to complete the Rite of Thorns, sacrificing the Grove and the surrounding land to the Shadow Druids in the process?


    I had to know. I had to see for myself.


    ¡°Sylvie, can you disguise yourself as a human please? We need to check something out, and Fey aren¡¯t¡­ exactly common around these parts. I don¡¯t want to scare anyone.¡±


    Sylvie halted mid-flight, hovering with a tilt of her head. A mischievous sparkle danced in her eyes. ¡°A human, Harald? Oh, how terribly ordinary! Couldn¡¯t I be a <i>dragon</i> instead? Or, at least, a majestic owl?¡± Her voice trilled with pixie-like glee.


    Wait¡­ <i>could </i>she turn into a Dragon? It struck me that I still didn¡¯t know Sylvie¡¯s limits and never bothered asking her what she could do¡­ However, now wasn¡¯t the best time for such experiments.


    I chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. ¡°Tempting as that sounds, we need to blend in. Humans won¡¯t raise suspicion here.¡±


    With an exaggerated sigh, Sylvie¡¯s wings drooped theatrically.


    ¡°Very well, human it is. But don¡¯t blame me if I¡¯m rubbish at it¡ªI¡¯ve never been one before!¡±


    She descended gracefully, dismissing her projected wings in motes of iridescent light. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, and the air around her began to shimmer like a mirage.


    The transformation unfurled with fey elegance. Her delicate skin warmed to a soft, peachy tone ¨C still uncomfortably perfect in complexion, but far more human-like now. Her glowing silver-gold hair darkened and lengthened, becoming a cascade of rich chestnut waves that tumbled over her shoulders. Even the robe I made for her shifted, weaving itself into a deep green tunic and trousers, practical yet adorned with subtle, swirling embroidery that whispered of her true heritage.


    When she opened her eyes¡ªnow a striking emerald green¡ªshe blinked down at her new form, wiggling her limbs with delight.


    I stepped closer, inspecting her with a nod. ¡°That¡¯s incredible, Sylvie. You look entirely human. I¡¯m sure no one will suspect a thing!¡±


    Astarion, ever the sly rogue, arched an eyebrow. ¡°Quite the change, Darling. Though I¡¯ll miss those fetching wings of yours¡ªthey had <i>flair</i>.¡±


    Sylvie giggled, spinning in a circle to flaunt her disguise. ¡°Why, thank you!¡± She beamed at me, her human face alight with joy. ¡°Are we ready now, Harald? Shall we go to explore the Material Plane together?¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± I said. ¡°We¡¯ve hidden the Greater Fey of our group, but there¡¯s still¡­ Lae¡¯zel to consider.¡±


    Lae¡¯zel snapped her head toward me, her gaze sharp enough to cut. She didn¡¯t seem to like where I was going with this.


    I spoke to her calmly, keeping my voice steady but firm.


    ¡°Lae¡¯zel, we¡¯ll be nearing settled lands. Around here, people don¡¯t know Githyanki from monsters in bedtime tales. Your looks might spook them¡ªit could even spark a fight. I¡¯d rather not waste energy slicing through every fool who panics.¡±


    ¡°Let them try,¡± she shot back, defiance lacing every word. ¡°I am <i>Githyanki</i>. If they¡¯re too weak to face me without trembling, I¡¯ll carve that lesson into their flesh.¡±


    I gave a nod, acknowledging her fire. ¡°I know you could handle it. But this isn¡¯t about dodging trouble¡ªit¡¯s about being wise; about choosing our battles. There should be a Githyanki cr¨¨che a few days¡¯ of travel from here, which I¡¯d be happy to escort you to ¨C however, I would rather <i>not </i>have to brutally murder every passerby between here and there.¡±


    I paused, picking my next words like steps across a creaky bridge. ¡°The Mask of Many Faces can change that. It can make you look human, or maybe an elf. Something nobody would bat an eye at.¡±


    Her face tightened, pride flaring in her eyes. ¡°You would have me hide what I am? To wear a lie like some spineless coward?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, locking eyes with her, my tone solid. ¡°I¡¯m asking you to use every resource at your disposal -- like a hunter uses the shadows. Being wise doesn¡¯t erase who you are, Lae¡¯zel ¡ª it keeps your enemies off guard until you¡¯re ready to end them.¡±


    She halted, boots digging into the dirt as she squared up to me. ¡°My blood, my heritage¡ªthey are not some <i>trinket</i> to be so easily discarded,¡± she said, her voice dropping low, taut with tension. ¡°I am not ashamed of what I am. Githyanki do not bow to the fears of lesser creatures.¡±


    Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I could see Shadowheart rolling her eyes.


    I didn¡¯t flinch, holding Lae¡¯zel¡¯s stare.


    ¡°And I¡¯m not asking you to <i>bow</i>. I¡¯m asking you to be¡­ flexible. You¡¯re a warrior, Lae¡¯zel¡ªyour honor¡¯s in what you <i>actually do</i>, not in what others <i>see</i>. This mask hands us the upper hand, lets us choose our fights. That¡¯s <i>power</i>, not surrender.¡±


    A heavy silence settled, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind. Her jaw clenched, and I could almost see the gears turning in her mind¡ªher pride duking it out with her cold, practical side. At last, she let out a sharp huff through her nose. ¡°Tch. <i>Fine</i>. Pass it here.¡±


    I tipped my head in a small, approving gesture. Reaching into my inventory, I pulled out the Mask of Many Faces¡ªVerenestra¡¯s prize, a beautiful piece with an almost audible magical hum.


    ¡°Here. Just put it on, then think of the shape you want. Verenestra told me it should hold the new shape for as long as you¡¯ve got it on you. If you want to dismiss it, just think of returning to your original self.¡±


    She snatched the artifact from my hand, her fingers tracing the delicate edges. With a grudging breath, she pressed it to her face. The air rippled around her, and her Githyanki edges melted away. Lae¡¯zel¡¯s skin warmed to a soft beige, the sharp lines of her body softened into more standard human curves, and her eyes dulled to a deep brown. Her armor, too, faded into a plain traveler¡¯s cloak¡ªnothing fancy, just functional.


    Lae¡¯zel flexed her fingers, testing the change. ¡°It feels¡­ wrong,¡± she muttered, though that steel in her voice didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°You look like you fit in,¡± I said, stepping back to size her up. ¡°No one should look twice at you now.¡±


    Karlach spun around from up ahead, flashing a wide grin. ¡°Well, hells, Lae¡¯zel! That illusion really suits you -- you¡¯re almost <i>too</i>


    pretty!¡±


    Lae¡¯zel¡¯s new human eyes narrowed. ¡°Watch it, tiefling. Provoke me, and I¡¯ll show you the truth under this mask.¡±


    I nodded, waving us forward. ¡°Now, let¡¯s put on something a little less flashy for armor ¨C perhaps some steel chainmail or light leather sets like Shadowheart¡¯s ¨C then, we can move out.¡±


    ¡­


    The path wound through a copse of trees, the sunlight dappling through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. The leaves rustled in a gentle breeze, their sound a familiar whisper that usually brought me peace, but today only heightened my anxiety. The air was filled with innocuous forest sounds: the chirping of mundane birds, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant lowing of some large forest animal.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Everything seemed normal. Ordinary.


    But was it, actually? Or was this merely the deceptive calm before the storm?


    ¡­


    We walked for only a few minutes; and then -- the trees opened, and the pathway to the Grove lay before us.


    I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat.


    Everything seemed... fine!


    The enormous wooden gate was <i>wide open </i>to us. Beyond it, ancient trees stood tall and proud, their branches reaching towards the sky like gnarled, protective arms, their leaves a vibrant, healthy green. The glade was bathed in sunlight, the air filled with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth, the sweet fragrances of untouched nature.


    There was no smoke, no stench of death, no sign of any struggle or conflict of any kind.


    Relief, so profound it was almost painful, washed over me, leaving me trembling. I had been holding my breath, bracing myself for the apocalypse, for seeing the worst possible devastation, and... nothing bad had happened? The Grove stood there, calm as you please ¨C a beacon of peace and serenity in the world.


    Then, I saw something near the entrance: a figure in motion.


    Even from this distance, I could see and assess her body language, the manic eagerness in her stride. She moved with a speed that seemed almost unnatural, her demeanor radiating a palpable energy. She was literally <i>running</i>


    towards us, and her face... held an almost unsettling enthusiasm, like joy crossed with¡­ hunger?


    As she drew closer, details sharpened. Kagha indeed made for a striking figure, tall and commanding, with the grace of a predator. Her wood-elf heritage was evident in her pointed ears and her lithe physique. Her auburn hair, usually braided and severe in the game, flowed freely behind her as she ran, catching the sunlight and glowing like copper.


    Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, drinking in the sight of our group like a traveler ¨C lost, and dying of thirst -- would drink from a newly-discovered desert Oasis. Her gaze flickered over us, and a look of awe ¡ª almost reverence ¡ª crossed her face.


    Lae¡¯zel, ever suspicious, narrowed her eyes, her hand moving subtly towards the hilt of her blade ¡ª that wasn¡¯t actually there at the moment, for we didn¡¯t bother to re-arm after our arrival from the Revel¡­ and, I had yet to forge suitably deadly enchanted weapons for everyone.


    ¡°By the Oak Father,¡± Kagha breathed, her voice ringing with a strange, eager intensity, a note of almost desperate longing in its depths.


    ¡°You... you are touched by the Summer! I¡­ can feel¡­¡±


    Her gaze locked onto my body, her expression intense. She reached out slowly towards my face, her hand trembling slightly, as if drawn in by an invisible force, then, she abruptly pulled back, perhaps remembering herself.


    ¡°F-forgive me! It¡¯s just that¡­ the Green Lord¡¯s presence¡­ all of your blessings¡­¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a strange mixture of awe and longing. ¡°To my druidic senses, looking at all of you feels like staring into a group of Suns and Stars, walking together towards our humble enclave. I simply <i>had </i>to come out here and greet you myself!¡±


    I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.


    I¡­ suppose that answered my earlier musings about whether Titania and Oberon¡¯s blessings could be detected by others. Kagha, for one, could not only feel them, but even seemed eager to¡­ <i>bask</i> in our presence. Her eyes shone with an almost feverish intensity, and I saw a visible <i>flush</i>


    creep up her neck.


    ¡°Such profound power¡­ it is a sign! A true sign! The very air around you hums with nature¡¯s will!¡± She shook her head, a manic grin spreading across her face, a look that bordered on obsession.


    Astarion shifted beside me, his pale face an interesting mix of amusement and thinly veiled disgust.


    ¡°Well, this is certainly a new experience,¡± he drawled, his voice a silken murmur that carried surprisingly well in the charged atmosphere. ¡°Usually, <i>I''m</i> the one who makes people feel like they¡¯re about to be eaten.¡±


    He gave Kagha a sidelong glance, his red eyes gleaming with sardonic humor. ¡°Though, I suppose I can¡¯t blame her. We <i>are</i> quite the catch, aren¡¯t we, Darling?¡±


    I shot Astarion a warning look, but, before I could say anything, Kagha turned her attention back to us, her expression softening slightly, though the intense curiosity remained.


    ¡°Please forgive my¡­ enthusiasm,¡± she said, taking a deep breath and composing herself with an effort that was almost visible.


    ¡°I am Kagha, Second Druid of this Grove.¡± She inclined her head in a gesture that was both regal and welcoming, her gaze sweeping over us once more, lingering on each of us in turn.


    ¡°Please enter, and be welcome!¡±


    I hesitated for a moment ¡ª Kagha acting this way seemed quite out of character for her ¡ª but, that was precisely the reason why I <i>had </i>to find out what <i>else </i>was different from the game. Investigating the Grove was the obvious start.


    ¡°Thank you, Kagha,¡± I said, stepping forward. ¡°We are grateful for your hospitality. Please, allow me to introduce our group. This is¡­¡±


    ¡­


    As we slowly made our way inside the walls, Kagha was only all too eager to listen ¨C and to answer my own questions in turn:


    -- ¡°Tieflings?¡± she said, her brow furrowing slightly. ¡°Indeed, a group passed through here, on their way to Baldur¡¯s Gate. They encountered no trouble, and moved on after several days.¡±


    -- ¡°Goblins, you say? There are always a few of them around here and there, the pests that they are, but we¡¯ve encountered no organized patrols around these parts ¡ª certainly nothing close to a full-blown <i>horde </i>of them, praise be to the Oak Father!¡±


    -- ¡°Drow? Out of the Underdark? Surely you must be joking, Mr. Harald. What would the Drow possibly want with us?¡±


    -- ¡°Githyanki!?! Here? My word, I¡¯ve never even seen one of <i>them</i>


    before in my life! That¡¯s even more unbelievable than your Drow sighting story. And, you say there may be whole squads of them about? I don¡¯t see why there would be ¡ª we are but humble servants of nature, far from any populated settlements. We have nothing worth taking in a raid!¡±


    -- ¡°The <i>who?</i> Blade of<i>¡­ Frontiers</i>, you say? Isn¡¯t that some kind of folk hero that goes around fighting bandits and rescuing people all along the Sword Coast? I may have heard of him somewhere, but can¡¯t say that I¡¯ve ever seen or met him in person¡­ Shame, that ¨C we rarely get visitors here, and he sounds like someone interesting to talk to!¡±


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°And¡­ what of Halsin?¡± I asked, my voice hoarse, the word catching slightly in my throat.


    ¡°Halsin?¡± she echoed, a strange note in her voice.


    Then, her expression cleared, and a look of almost childlike eagerness replaced the intensity.


    ¡°Oh, of <i>course</i>, you must know Halsin! Why else would someone like <i>you</i> be visiting <i>here</i> if not to visit him? Yes, I¡¯ll take you right to him! He will be most eager to see you all, I¡¯m sure!¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ Halsin¡¯s <i>here</i>?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, though a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. ¡°At the Grove? Right now?¡±


    ¡°But, of course!¡± Kagha replied, her tone matter-of-fact, as if there was no other possibility. ¡°Where else would he be? He is the First Druid of this Grove, after all!¡±


    The implications of her words hit me like a physical blow. If Halsin was here¡­ if he hadn¡¯t been captured by the goblins¡­ then there was no telling what else had been changed! Everything I thought I knew about the ¡°proper¡± timeline of events had been irrevocably altered. Did the point of divergence begin with the Nautiloid¡¯s crash location? <i>Before </i>that? Was this even the same Universe to the game¡¯s to begin with?


    The more I tried to analyze the situation logically, the more worried I became by the implications. Was my game knowledge useful to me now, or rather, did it become a liability? Was there even a goblin army currently holed up at the ruined Selunite temple ¡ª or, did the Elder Brain re-assign those resources after it detected that the Astral Sphere, the ¡°weapon¡± capable of disrupting its communications, moved out of range? ¡­ What would the enemy do when it detected the field of that disruption within range once again? And¡­ what happened to Wyll? To Minthara? I had <i>so many </i>questions! It felt like I knew <i>just </i>enough to be dangerous ¡ª and it wasn¡¯t a great feeling at all. For now, I had to speak with Halsin, as soon as possible.


    The trail leading to the heart of the Grove was quite a bit longer ¨C and far more beautiful and complex ¨C than it was portrayed in the game. We twisted through a veritable verdant labyrinth, its edges blurred by sprawling ferns and clusters of tiny white blossoms that trembled in the breeze. The air hummed with life¡ªa chorus of birds trilled from the treetops, their notes sharp and fleeting, while the low, throaty croak of an occasional frog echoed from some hidden puddle. Leaves rustled overhead, stirred by the scampering of squirrels, their claws scrabbling against bark as they darted between branches. Somewhere deeper in the undergrowth, a deer¡¯s hooves snapped a twig, the sound crisp against the soft drone of insects weaving through the foliage. The scent of moss and rich, loamy soil hung heavy, laced with the faint tang of woodsmoke drifting from unseen hearths.


    I walked at the head of the group, the lucky fishing hat still sitting comfortably upon my head, my enchanted leather boots leaving faint impressions in the damp earth. Behind me, the group moved in a ragged line. Karlach¡¯s heavy tread was softer now, her eyes wide as she drank in the Grove¡¯s splendor, her tail flicking with quiet delight. Sylvie walked beside her, pausing to peer at a ladybug crawling along a leaf, her face lighting up with every new sight and sound. Lae¡¯zel prowled at the rear, her posture rigid, twitching at every chirp and rustle, her hand reflexively hovering near a blade she didn¡¯t currently carry. Astarion followed with his usual languid grace, though his sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity beneath his practiced disdain. And Shadowheart¡ªshe lagged behind, her arms lowered against her sides, her hands balled into fists, her steps dragging as if each one cost her something precious. Her dark hair hung in her face, a curtain she didn¡¯t bother to part, and her silence was a weight that pressed against me palpably.


    As we navigated the winding path, the Grove¡¯s lively sounds began to sharpen into something more¡ª<i>voices</i>, threading through the rustling leaves and chirping melodies. Our newfound ability to speak with animals, a parting gift from Oberon, brought the forest¡¯s inhabitants into focus. The creatures of the woods weren¡¯t just background noise to us -- not anymore. We could now understand them all -- any time we wished!


    A squirrel poked its head out from behind a thick oak trunk. Its bushy tail twitched nervously, and its voice came in a rapid, chittering burst.


    ¡°<i>You¡¯re not here for my stash, are you? Took me all week to hide those acorns¡ªdon¡¯t you dare go sniffing ¡®em out!</i>¡±


    Karlach chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender. ¡°No acorns on our menu, little friend. Your stash is safe from us.¡±


    The squirrel¡¯s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. ¡°<i>Hmph.</i>¡± It scampered higher up the tree, muttering under its breath about ¡°<i>greedy paws</i>¡± as it disappeared into the leaves.


    The animals¡¯ conversations wove themselves into the tapestry of the journey, each voice adding depth and context to the surroundings. True, the animals didn¡¯t usually have much of <i>substance </i>to say, but I couldn¡¯t deny that being able to understand them was an amazing experience!


    Then, Kagha slowed, pointing out a fork in the trail.


    ¡°Halsin¡¯s near,¡± she called over her shoulder, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. ¡°He¡¯ll be at the sacred pool¡ªit¡¯s at the Grove¡¯s heart. Come!¡±


    The trail widened into a clearing, and there he stood¡ªHalsin, the First Druid himself. Standing at 6¡¯7, he was an absolute <i>colossus</i> of an Elf, broad-shouldered and towering. His hair fell in a thick, unruly cascade of brown, framing a deceptively youthful face. His eyes, deep and steady, carried the weight of centuries, and his presence was a quiet force, as rooted as the oaks that encircled the space. At his side, a small fox nosed at the grass, its tail flicking, while a raven perched on a low branch nearby, tilting its head to watch us approach. A wild boar and a couple brown bears also lounged around the area ¨C though, whether these were true animals or wild-shaped druids, I didn¡¯t know.


    The sacred pool itself ¨C very clearly a <i>literal </i>pool, unlike in the game ¨C shimmered behind Halsin, its waters a mirror of blue and green, fed by a trickle of a stream that wound through the roots of a massive, moss-covered tree. An idol of Sylvanus stood on a short stone platform in the middle, projecting an aura that resonated pleasantly to my senses.


    Kagha surged forward, her hands clasped together as if she could barely contain herself. ¡°First Druid!¡± she cried, her voice ringing through the clearing. ¡°They¡¯re here¡ª!¡±


    Her eyes shone with fervor, her gestures wild as she waved toward us.


    Halsin turned to Kagha, his gaze settling on us with a calm, appraising weight. One thick eyebrow lifted¡ªa real, tangible arch that creased his forehead¡ªhis lips twitching faintly at his student¡¯s outburst.


    ¡°So I see,¡± he said, his voice a low rumble, warm and resonant like the creak of living wood. ¡°You¡¯ve brought in quite the procession, Kagha.¡± His tone was gentle, indulgent even, and it was clear he understood her excitement¡ªthough perhaps he found it a touch theatrical.


    Kagha flushed, bowing her head. ¡°They¡¯re extraordinary. I felt their presence the moment they neared the Grove¡¯s threshold.¡±


    Halsin¡¯s eyes slid to Sylvie, then me, then across the entire group, lingering on each of us in turn.


    ¡°Extraordinary indeed,¡± he murmured. ¡°Blessings from the Green Lord himself are no small thing. I can <i>feel</i> the Summer¡¯s touch upon you, friends.¡± He stepped closer, his boots sinking into the moss, the fox trailing at his heels.


    ¡°But I confess, I am puzzled. Why would such an illustrious group¡ªblessed by the Lord of Beasts himself¡ªseek out a humble Grove like ours? We have little of value; after all, we are but a speck in the wilderness, far from the grand paths of the world. There¡¯s nothing of note here for ones such as yourselves.¡±


    I met his gaze, my mind racing for an answer that balanced truth and caution.


    ¡°We are¡­ travelers,¡± I said at last. ¡°Our road has been long, and it¡¯s led us here. I¡¯ve heard whispers¡ªtroubles stirring, shadows moving across the land. We thought you might know something of it.¡±


    Halsin¡¯s brow furrowed, a shadow passing over his face.


    ¡°The land does murmur of unrest,¡± he admitted. ¡°I¡¯ve felt it in the roots, heard it in the wind. But come¡ªlet¡¯s not stand on ceremony. You¡¯re all welcome here, friends.¡± He gestured toward the pool, its surface rippling faintly as a leaf drifted across it.


    ¡°Please sit. Rest. And let us speak more.¡±


    As we settled down near the water¡¯s edge, Halsin¡¯s attention shifted. His gaze fell on Shadowheart, who stood apart, her back stiff, her eyes locked on the ground. Something softened in his expression¡ªa spark of intrigue, perhaps, or admiration. He approached her slowly, his massive frame casting a shadow across her smaller one.


    ¡°You are an interesting one.¡± he said, his voice dropping to a warm, coaxing timbre. ¡°I can sense a strength in you, a fire that burns even beneath such stillness. It¡¯s a rare thing¡ªand striking.¡± His lips curved into a faint, playful smile, his eyes tracing her form with a subtle, flirtatious glint. Normally, Shadowheart would have eaten it up¡ªHalsin was her type to a fault: tall, powerful, with muscles that could wrestle a bear and win. In another setting, she¡¯d have tossed her hair, flashed a coy grin, maybe even leaned into his orbit with a quip of her own.


    But not now.


    Her head didn¡¯t lift. Her shoulders didn¡¯t soften. She stared past Halsin, through him, her jaw clenched so tight the muscles twitched. The compliment was ignored entirely. After a beat, Halsin¡¯s smile faltered, his brow knitting with quiet concern. He glanced at me, a silent question in his eyes, but I shook my head. Not now.


    Sylvie broke the tension, hopping onto a smooth stone by the pool. ¡°This place is so much fun!¡± she exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful. ¡°I can hear the forest sing!¡±


    Halsin chuckled, the sound deep and rich. ¡°Indeed it does sing, in its way,¡± he said, turning to her. ¡°This Grove is alive, a haven where nature¡¯s voice is strong.¡±


    His gaze returned to me, sobering. ¡°But, I sense you have things to say. Come, then. Let us reason together.¡±


    Our subsequent conversation was¡­ illuminating.


    ¡­


    I suppose it all made perfect sense, in retrospect. Without the Nautiloid¡¯s wreck to paint a huge nearby target for the goblins, and with the Astral Sphere well out of Minthara¡¯s reach, none of the goblin leaders would have had a reason to search the entire area with a fine-tooth comb. Without the increase in local Absolutist cultist activity, it was possible that Minthara would never even have sent that True Soul Drow scout to look for the Grove¡­ or, perhaps that particular scout simply never got caught in this timeline? Without encountering the Drow True Soul, Halsin would never have tried to dissect his body, and would not have become particularly interested in researching the altered mind-flayer parasites. He would never have had any reason to leave the Grove, to go out scouting for himself¡­ and, of course, he would never have gotten captured by the goblins as a result.


    Still, even though things unfolded differently from the game, I tried to point Halsin ¨C in a subtle way ¨C towards considering the dangers he may yet face from the cult of the Absolute.


    His expression was thoughtful, his brow furrowed as he weighed my words.


    ¡°Mind Flayers,¡± he said at last, his voice deep and measured, ¡°are not exactly <i>common</i>, even in the shadowed depths of the Underdark. And, as far as I¡¯ve learned, those cursed with their parasites turn swiftly¡ªin mere days, not weeks. This¡­ Absolute cult you speak of is indeed troubling, but I¡¯ll not leap to any conclusions just yet.¡±


    He crossed his arms, the leather of his bracers creaking faintly.


    ¡°Still, I¡¯ll look into it. In the meantime, you and your companions are welcome to stay here in the Grove. Rest, recover. A few days under these boughs might well do you good.¡±


    I exhaled, a tension I hadn¡¯t realized I was holding slipping away.


    ¡°We appreciate that, Halsin. Truly.¡±


    He nodded, a faint warmth softening his stern features.


    ¡°The Grove shelters all who come here in peace. Kagha here will see you settled.¡±


    He gestured to the slender figure lingering nearby, her sharp eyes fixed on us¡ªon me¡ªwith an intensity that bordered on unsettling.


    Kagha practically bounded forward, her bare feet silent on the earth, her auburn hair bouncing with each step. ¡°It would be my absolute pleasure!¡± she exclaimed, her voice bright and brimming with passion as she lead us away.


    ¡­


    As we walked together for awhile, it became obvious that Kagha was nearly bursting at the seams with questions. I decided to stop torturing her with the silence.


    ¡°You have questions, Kagha? Please, ask them. I¡¯ll tell you what I can.¡±


    She clasped her hands together, her gaze locked on me like I was some rare artifact unearthed from the soil. ¡°I overheard you talking to Halsin¡ªdid you <i>really</i> meet Oberon and Titania? In the <i>flesh</i>? Please, you have to tell me -- what were they like? Did you see their Court?¡±


    She edged closer to me, her enthusiasm radiating off her in waves, and I swear I caught a glint in her eye that made me wonder if she was about to tackle me then and there.


    I took a half-step sideways, raising a hand to slow her barrage.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a long story,¡± I said, keeping my tone neutral. ¡°They were impressive, sure. But the Feywild¡¯s not all parties and glamour¡ªit¡¯s got teeth, Kagha. We might have had to remain behind in the Summer Court¡¯s service, but for certain¡­ special skills.¡±


    Her grin only widened, completely undaunted.


    ¡°Oh, I <i>knew</i> it! Dangerous and beautiful, just like the tales!¡± She rocked on her heels, barely containing herself.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got the perfect spot for you all¡ªhigh ground by the river. You¡¯ll <i>love</i> it. Come on!¡± Without waiting for a reply, she proceeded up the trail, beckoning me to follow with an eager wave.


    The group trailed after us, weaving through the Grove¡¯s winding paths. Kagha led us to the rising cliffs overlooking the river, where the land dipped gently toward the water¡¯s edge. The view truly was stunning: the river glittered like molten glass under the early afternoon sun, flanked by rolling hills cloaked in green. There was more than enough room to spread out.


    ¡°Here!¡± Kagha announced, spreading her arms wide. ¡°The best spot near the Grove. Private, but close enough to¡­ <i>join us</i>¡­ if you¡¯d like. And¡ª¡± She turned to me, her eyes sparkling. ¡°Maybe tonight, by the fire, you¡¯ll share a story about the Feywild with me? Please?¡±


    I managed a tight smile, dodging the full force of her eagerness.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± I said, keeping things vague. ¡°Thanks for showing us around, Kagha.¡±


    She beamed, lingering for a moment longer before reluctantly stepping back.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to settle in, then. But¡­ I¡¯ll be around, if you need anything!¡±


    With a final, hopeful glance, she slowly turned ready to head back down the path.


    Gale found a seat on a nearby log, pulling a book from his pack. ¡°A fine spot to catch up on some reading,¡± he mused. ¡°The ambiance is quite inspiring.¡±


    Shadowheart lingered at the cliff¡¯s edge, her arms crossed, staring out at the water with a frown. I couldn¡¯t read her, but the tightness in her posture spoke volumes. I let her be for now¡ªwe all needed space to breathe sometimes.


    As I began thinking about camp layout, a stray thought nagged at me. I glanced back at Kagha, who was just getting ready to leave.


    ¡°Hey, Kagha,¡± I called. ¡°There¡¯s no chance of Harpies around here, right? I¡¯ve heard they nest along rivers sometimes, singing fishermen to their doom and such?¡±


    She stopped short, looking at me as if trying to digest my question -- then burst into outright laughter¡ªa bright, incredulous sound that echoed through the trees.


    ¡°Harpies? <i>Here</i>?¡± She wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling. ¡°Oh, Harald, that¡¯s¡­ Why would we ever let a nest of <i>those</i>


    wretched things linger nearby? They¡¯d just prey on the fishermen, harass our initiates¡ªhonestly, how absurd! Why, if any were ever here, we¡¯d have driven them all out ages ago!¡± She shook her head, grinning like I¡¯d told the best joke she¡¯d heard all year.


    ¡°You all are perfectly safe here, I promise.¡±


    I forced a chuckle, scratching the back of my neck. ¡°Right. Just¡­ checking.¡±


    She winked at me, then waved as she departed. ¡°Rest well!¡±


    Kagha¡¯s laughter lingered in my mind as I watched her go.


    ¡­


    No harpy nests.


    Of <i>course</i> not.


    In the game, they¡¯d been a fun diversion¡ªan early quest to test the player¡¯s mettle.


    But here, in this living, breathing world, the druids would never tolerate such dangers so close to home. It hit me then, sharp and clear: game logic didn¡¯t always hold up in reality. The Grove here wasn¡¯t just a cool setting for scripted encounters¡ªit was a very real place, with <i>real</i> people, governed by its own rules.


    The plan for going forward was far from clear. My BG3 knowledge, once a guide, was starting to feel like a faulty map, more likely to lead me into trouble than show the way to the promised land.


    And yet, despite these challenges, I still managed a smile: after all, I was a Gamer with phenomenal magic powers and a brand new world to explore.


    ¡­


    I¡¯ve got this.

 Limitless

    The quiet hum of the Grove settled around me, a stark contrast to the sensory overload of the Feywild Revel. Kagha had departed, leaving our group to settle into the tranquil space she''d chosen for us by the river. Karlach and Sylvie were off exploring downstream, their laughter echoing faintly. Gale was engrossed in a book, Astarion observing with detached amusement. Lae''zel was pacing like a caged panther, and Shadowheart¡­ Shadowheart remained a storm cloud brooding at the cliff''s edge.In a rare occurrence since arriving in this reality, I felt a moment of relative calm. There was no <i>immediate</i> crisis demanding my attention, no devils needed punching, no archfey required placating. It was¡­ quiet. And, in that quiet, the questions I''d been pushing aside began to surface.


    My power. It felt immense, instinctual, an extension of my will. But¡­ much of what I was capable of remained a mystery to me. How did it truly <i>work</i>? The Time Slow shout I¡¯d tried earlier was absolutely <b><i>terrifying</i></b> ¡ªfor awhile, before I wrestled the resulting acceleration under control, I felt like it might rip reality itself apart.


    If, as I suspected, I was indeed stuck here for the long haul, I needed to understand the limits of what I could do in this world, before I accidentally broke something¡­ or someone.


    I stepped away from the group, traveling a couple of miles down the riverbank, where the water flowed swift and deep, its surface catching the afternoon sun in glittering ripples.


    Focusing inward, I reached for that familiar core of energy, the wellspring of Magicka that now felt as natural as breathing. I decided to start the testing with a school of magic I have yet to attempt in this new world: Conjuration. The art of pulling entities and objects from other planes of existence.


    In Tamriel, particularly as practiced by mages in Skyrim, Conjuration was largely synonymous with reaching into the chaotic, dangerous, yet power-filled realms of Oblivion. The theory, as I understood it intuitively from my skill download, was straightforward enough: use Magicka to momentarily weaken the veil between Mundus and Oblivion, create a conduit, lock onto the desired target ¨C be it a Daedra, an elemental spirit, or even the raw essence needed to form something like a Bound Weapon ¨C and then forcibly drag it through the planar breach, binding it to your will upon arrival.


    Simple. Brutal. Effective.


    Except for one <i>tiny </i>problem: this wasn¡¯t Mundus. There were no Planes of Oblivion here; no Daedric Princes vying for influence; no readily accessible planes filled with Atronachs or Dremora ripe for the summoning. The current multiverse operated under a very different cosmology, one I was only beginning to grasp. Oh, certainly, I intellectually knew about things like the Outer Planes, Inner Planes, Astral Seas¡­ dimensions aplenty could be targeted by me <i>in theory </i>¨C but, were they accessible via the methods compatible with my Conjuration knowledge? Could my Magicka punch through <i>these</i> specific dimensional membranes? And, if so, would I need to change anything in the magical structure of my spells to do that effectively?


    There was only one way to find out definitively.


    I focused, gathering Magicka, shaping my intent. It was time to assess whether my suspicions were accurate.


    <i>Summon Flame Atronach.</i>


    A familiar, reliable summon in Skyrim. I pictured its fiery form, felt my magicka going through the steps, trying to form the connection I <i>should</i> have been making across the planar void. I pushed my will outwards, attempting to pierce the veil, to establish that conduit to my target.


    The Magicka surged¡­ and then dissipated into nothing.


    It felt¡­ wrong.


    Utterly wrong.


    Like reaching out to grab something solid and finding only empty air. There was no resistance, no sense of a barrier being breached, no answering flicker of presence from the other side. It was like dialing a phone number that had never even existed. The spell matrix collapsed instantly, the carefully gathered Magicka dissolving uselessly into the ambient atmosphere.


    Unfortunate, but unsurprising.


    Let¡¯s try something else.


    <i>Bound Sword.</i>


    A simpler conjuration, pulling raw Daedric essence and shaping it into a blade. Again, I focused, gathering the energy, shaping the intent to form the familiar spectral weapon in my hand.


    And again¡­ nothing happened. The space where the sword should have materialized remained empty. I felt a faint <i>potential</i>, a sense of some kind of energy <i>almost</i> coalescing, but it lacked the necessary anchor, the connection to the Daedric essence my skill was used to working with. A ghost of <i>something</i>


    flickered in my hand for the barest of instants before dissolving like smoke.


    Hmm¡­ let¡¯s give it one more try.


    I''ll call something powerful, this time -- something unequivocally tied to Oblivion¡¯s structure, but also conceptually similar to certain... local entities.


    <i>Summon Spider Daedra</i>


    A potent summon from Mephala¡¯s realm. I gathered a significant amount of Magicka, focusing my will with fierce intensity, trying to tear open that gateway, picturing the tangled, web-like structure of the Spiral Skein, attempting to latch onto something within. For a second, I thought I felt some kind of response¡ªa faint, alien presence brushing against my mind, cold and chitinous. I felt a skittering sensation, like countless tiny legs scrambling just beyond the veil. There! The connection flickered, unstable, threatening to solidify... but then it started to dissolve. It was like trying to grab smoke; the potential for <i>something </i>was there, tangible for an instant, but it kept slipping through my grasp. I tried solving the problem by pushing more power into the spell, and it held -- for a brief, glorious moment, my Magicka straining against the void -- before it snapped back to me violently, dissipating with an almost audible <i>thump</i> in my mind, leaving behind a faint headache.


    I lowered my hand, exhaling slowly. It was clear now. My standard Skyrim-based Conjuration spells, mostly designed to reach into specific Oblivion planes or draw upon Daedric essence, wouldn¡¯t work here without substantial modifications. The spell targets simply didn''t exist in this reality ¨C or, at least, they weren¡¯t around in a way I knew how to access.


    And yet¡­ I still felt the <i>potential</i>. The core principles ¨C manipulating dimensional barriers, pulling energy or entities across ¨C felt fundamentally sound. My Magicka <i>could</i> theoretically interact with the local planar structure. The failures, then, weren¡¯t in the <i>method</i>, but rather in the <i>destination</i>.


    I had no map.


    I lacked intuitive knowledge about the layout of this universe¡¯s planes, didn''t understand the nature and structure of the barriers between them, didn''t know how to begin navigating them or targeting specific entities. Could I adapt my existing spells to do all of that?


    Maybe.


    Could I force a connection to, say, the Elemental Plane of Fire instead of the Deadlands and grab something <i>like</i> an Atronach?


    Perhaps.


    Could I substitute Shadowfell essence for Daedric essence to form a Bound Weapon?


    Theoretically possible.


    But, trying to reverse-engineer the entire process right now ¨C going in blind, fumbling around in the dimensional fabric without understanding the local rules¡­ felt incredibly dangerous. Who knew what I might accidentally contact, or what might follow me back through an improperly sealed gateway? And the sheer time investment that would likely be required for such trial-and-error experimentation¡­ it felt prohibitive, especially with the tadpole situation looming.


    No. Conjuration, while I would dearly love to keep experimenting with it, was a dead end for now. To make any substantial progress, I¡¯d need to observe <i>local</i>


    summoning magic at work. To see how sorcerers, wizards, or clerics here bridge the planar gaps. To understand the energies they use, the entities they contact, the incantations or rituals involved, the structure of their spells and the way they interacted with the dimensional membranes. Only then could I ¨C perhaps ¨C begin to adapt my own techniques¡­ or learn theirs.


    I sighed, rubbing my temples where the headache lingered faintly. Another aspect of my power required careful study and adaptation. It seemed my Skyrim omnipotence came with a hefty dose of needing to relearn the fundamentals in this new reality.


    For now, Conjuration would have to wait.


    Destruction magic, on the other hand, seemed like the most straightforward place to continue the tests. Flame, Frost, Shock¡ªthese were the cornerstones of any self-respecting Elder Scrolls mage''s repertoire.


    In an abundance of caution, I started small, thinking of fire¡ªnot a raging inferno, but a simple flame, the kind you might use to light a candle.


    Instantly, a tiny orange spark bloomed above my open palm. It hovered there, weightless, casting a warm, flickering glow on my skin. It felt¡­ tame.


    Obedient.


    I nudged it mentally, willing it to grow brighter, hotter. The flame swelled smoothly, intensifying from orange to a searing yellow-white, the air around it shimmering with heat. I felt no strain, no drain on my reserves¡ªit was effortless, more natural than even breathing.


    Curiosity sparked. Could I change its color? I pictured emerald green, the shade of the malachite used in Glass Armor. The flame shifted instantly, its edges turning a vibrant, almost liquid green, the core remaining a burning white. Then, I turned up the temperature even more, quickly producing first sapphire blue, then an amethyst purple. The fire obeyed my slightest whims, shifting hues like a chameleon, all the transitions seamless, instantaneous.


    A grin touched my lips. This was more than just casting some pre-coded ''Flames'' spell. This was direct elemental manipulation, pure control of destructive forces unbound by the rigid structures of Skyrim¡¯s spell system. Those spells, after all, were mere training wheels, guides for lesser mages. At my skill level? The elements <i>were</i> my will.


    Feeling bolder, I conjured a second flame, then a third, hovering above the same palm. I sent them dancing, weaving intricate patterns in the air¡ªspirals, figure eights, chasing each other like playful sprites. I juggled them mentally, passing them from hand to hand, making them shrink, swell, and change color in perfect synchrony.


    It was literal child¡¯s play.


    Enough thinking small.


    I turned my gaze skyward, towards the vast, empty blue. Drawing a deeper breath, I unleashed. It was not a structured spell, but a raw intent¡ª<b><i>fire</i></b>, vast and unrestrained. A torrent of incandescent flame erupted from my outstretched hands, roaring upwards and outwards like twin dragons taking flight. The streams merged into a pillar, a solid column of white-hot energy that punched through the very clouds in the sky, leaving shimmering heat trails in its wake. The roar of it filled the air, a sound of pure, unadulterated power¡­ and yet still, I felt no fatigue, no sense of reaching a limit.


    It felt like I could sustain this inferno indefinitely, feed it until it consumed everything in sight. The thought, unsettlingly casual, drifted through my mind: <i>I could probably</i> <i>burn down a small city with the same apparent effort it takes to swat a fly.</i> I let the pillar rage for a few heartbeats longer, marveling at the sheer scale of it, before cutting the flow as easily as snuffing a candle. The roar ceased, leaving only the gentle sounds of the river and the distant chatter of animals.


    Next, Frost. I extended a hand towards the river¡¯s surface.


    <b><i>Ice</i></b>.


    Not a clumsy ¡®Frostbite¡¯ spell spray, but distilled, controlled cold ¡ª pure order imposed upon the surrounding molecules through sheer effort of will. A patch of water directly beneath my hand instantly flash-froze, a perfect circle of opaque white spreading outwards, crackling softly. I pushed the cold deeper, thickening the ice, watching intricate frost patterns bloom across its surface like frozen lace. I shaped the ice next, raising jagged spires, smoothing it into a glassy pane, then shattering it with a thought, sending shards skittering across the water before they melted back into the flow.


    With another surge of will, I launched an expanding wave of absolute frost outwards from my position. The air itself seemed to still, shimmering with ice particles as the temperature plummeted instantly. The ground beneath my feet frosted over in intricate, fern-like patterns, spreading rapidly outwards. A nearby boulder, easily twice my height, cracked with a sharp, percussive report, unable to withstand the sudden change in temperature, a deep fissure splitting its surface.


    Raw power felt easy, almost reflexive. But what about finesse?


    I formed a block of ice in the air before me, denser and colder than any glacier. It radiated a chill that bit at the air, mist curling from its razor edges. Instead of shaping it into a weapon, I focused my intent, picturing Karlach¡ªher fierce grin, the powerful lines of her shoulders, the curve of her horns. My will flowed into the ice, not with force, but with precision. The block began to shift, melt, and refreeze simultaneously. Ice flowed like liquid glass under my mental touch, solidifying into new shapes in fractions of a second. Edges sharpened, surfaces smoothed, details emerged with impossible speed. Within moments, a life-sized statue of Karlach stood before me, rendered in breathtakingly clear ice. It captured her perfectly¡ªthe defiant set of her jaw, the intricate details of the Glass Armor I¡¯d made for her, even the faint, internal glow where her new heart pulsed, replicated by cleverly trapped bit of light within the ice. The afternoon sun struck it just right, refracting through the crystalline form into a dazzling display of rainbows.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    In another few instants, a second statue took form beside it. Shadowheart. Her image formed in my mind¡ªthe guarded posture, the subtle conflict in her eyes, the way her dark hair framed her face. Again, the ice obeyed, flowing and freezing under my command. The spirit of this sculpture was different¡ªmore delicate lines, capturing the intricate folds of the leather armor I¡¯d crafted, the slight downward curve of her lips, the tension in her stance. I even managed to replicate the Shar pendant peeking from her collar, a tiny detail rendered in frosted ice. The two statues stood side-by-side, Karlach -- bold and fiery even in ice, Shadowheart -- reserved and complex. The level of control I was displaying was exhilarating¡ªfar beyond merely casting spells, this was true <i>creation</i>, artistry powered by an unimaginable level of elemental mastery.


    I reluctantly resisted the urge to sing ¡°Let It Go¡± while building giant ice castles.


    Finally, there was Shock. This element always felt the most volatile, the most unpredictable in the game ¡ª as evidenced by spells like <i>Chain-Lightning</i>


    sometimes unintentionally hitting allies.


    I needn¡¯t have worried. Here, the lightning felt like an extension of my nervous system. I held out my fingers, thinking of static. Tiny blue sparks danced between my fingertips, snapping and crackling with contained energy. I let the energy build, then coalesce, forming a ball of raw lightning plasma that hummed with power, the air around it thick with the sharp scent of ozone.


    I directed it towards the river in front of me ¡ª not as a bolt, but as a net. Arcs of electricity leaped forth, spreading across the water¡¯s surface in a well-defined web of crackling blue-white energy. Fish leaped frantically, stunned by the discharge, their scales flashing in the sun. I focused, tightening the net, then dispersing it, the energy dissipating with a final, sharp crackle.


    I drew the power back next, shaping it <b><i>densely</i></b> into a solid construct: a single, blindingly bright spear of pure lightning.


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ea_4fQzdlCM</a>


    It coalesced in my grasp, a jagged shaft of solidified energy crackling with barely contained fury. It was bright to the point of being painful to look at, an incandescent core of blue-white intensity that dwarfed the surrounding sunlight with its brilliance. The air around it warped and sizzled, ozone stinging my nostrils, and the ground beneath my feet vibrated slightly with its power. The lance felt heavy, dense, alive with raw, untamed potential.


    With a surge of exhilaration, I hurled it towards the nearest set of clouds. The spear construct didn¡¯t just fly; it <b><i>tore</i></b> through the sky, ripping the air apart with impossible speed. It left behind a visible trail of ionized gas ¡ª a searing, incandescent wound, a white line against the canvas of the heavens. A delayed, cracking <b><i>boom</i></b>¡ªlike the world¡¯s largest whip snapping¡ªfollowed in its wake, the sound wave hitting me moments after seeing the visual streak.


    My improvised spell struck the distant, fluffy white cloud with surgical precision. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.


    Then, the cloud <i>detonated</i>.


    An explosion of light erupted, so blindingly intense it had me squint reflexively, washing out the world in pure, searing white. It wasn¡¯t just a flash; it was a miniature sun blooming miles away, instantly ionizing a massive chunk of the clouds and sending incandescent tendrils of super-heated plasma arcing outwards like solar flares.


    A moment later, the sound hit¡ªnot a simple thunderclap, but a deafening, rolling <i>roar</i>


    that shook the very earth beneath my feet, echoing off the hills and cliffs in a cascade of secondary vibrations that violently disturbed the river¡¯s surface. High above, the cloud bank roiled, vast sections of it simply <b><i>gone</i></b>, replaced by an expanding sphere of turbulent, multi-colored gas and lingering electrical discharges that flickered like dying nerves. Rings of pressure rippled outwards through the surrounding clouds, visible even from this distance. The sheer violence of the display gave me a moment¡¯s pause.


    I suppose, the shock test was¡­ successful? I made a mental note never to use <b><i>that</i></b>


    particular spell in close quarters, at least not when anyone I cared about was in sight.


    ¡­


    As the last echoes of thunder faded, another sensation tickled my awareness. A faint stirring of air around my body, a familiar feeling¡­


    In Skyrim, a lesser-known Destruction spell, called Whirlwind Cloak, allowed for the use of the very air itself in order to push opponents back or deflect projectiles. I¡¯ve not cast that spell since arriving in this world, and yet, now that I was actively reaching out with my senses, I felt something intriguing: a connection to the air itself.


    Could I¡­?


    I turned my focus to the river again, extending my will upon the atmosphere above it with the pure intent to <i>move it</i>. Several hundred yards out, the air above the water stirred, then whipped ¡ª faster, <i>faster</i>, pulling water upwards in a spray. A vortex formed, small at first, then rapidly growing¡ªa miniature tornado dancing on the river¡¯s surface, its funnel tight and perfectly controlled, churning the water into a frothing frenzy.


    It obeyed my mental commands like an eager puppy. I made it spin faster, slower, taller, wider. I moved it up and down the river like a toy boat.


    Then, the real fun began.


    I added the <b><i>Fire</i></b>.


    My tornado erupted in flames, a swirling column of fire and water battling for dominance. Steam hissed violently, obscuring the core, while tongues of orange and red licked outwards, consuming the water spray. It was a chaotic, beautiful spectacle.


    Then, I brought the <b><i>Frost</i></b>.


    The flames vanished, replaced by a vortex of razor-sharp ice shards and freezing mist. The water churned violently, freezing and shattering in a continuous cycle, the tornado glittering like a column of shattered diamonds, radiating a biting cold I could feel from where I stood.


    Finally, there was <b><i>Shock</i></b>.


    The ice melted quickly as arcs of lightning danced within the ionized whirlwind. The water itself seemed to crackle, glowing with an eerie blue light, the tornado was now a highly-concentrated thunderstorm, ozone sharp in the air, the roar of the wind punctuated by sharp cracks of electricity.


    With a final mental command, I let the elemental infusions fade, withdrawing my will from the vortex. The tornado collapsed almost instantly, the raging energies vanishing as if they had never been. The roar of wind, the hiss of steam, the crackle of lightning, the violent churning of water¡ªall ceased in less than a minute. An almost deafening silence descended upon the riverbank, the sudden stillness feeling heavier, more profound, than the preceding chaos. The air hung motionless, thick with the faint lingering scent of ozone and damp earth. The river¡¯s surface, moments before a frothing maelstrom, smoothed out rapidly, the last ripples fading until it once again reflected the (relatively) calm afternoon sky. The abrupt transition from elemental fury to mundane quiet was almost jarring, a stark reminder of the power I had just unleashed, and then dismissed, with barely a thought.


    I stood there for a long moment, the sheer, scale of my power washing over me. Flame, Frost, Shock, even the Wind itself¡­ I could manipulate all of them freely. The limits I¡¯d expected to find simply weren¡¯t there. It was intoxicating.


    And mildly terrifying.


    I considered testing Illusion next, but the thought felt almost redundant. The Grand Revel performance, with its eighty-odd illusory clones playing complex harmonies while simultaneously weaving intricate visual effects¡­ <i>that</i>


    felt like a more than sufficient field test. My control over illusions seemed as absolute and intuitive as my command over the elements ¡ª perhaps more so, even. My Illusion skills were far more advanced than the level of casting specific spells like ''Fury'' or ''Invisibility'' anymore; instead, I could directly shape perception, weaving light, shadow, and sound into a reflection of whatever reality I desired.


    Restoration, too, seemed¡­ functional.


    Perhaps even <i>too</i> functional, if my theory about what happened to Shadowheart was correct.


    The memory of her kneeling by the stage, black ooze streaming from her eyes and nose as Shar¡¯s magic was violently cleansed, sent a bitter pang of guilt through me. Had my enchantments, designed for healing and protection, inadvertently triggered that agonizing reaction? Had they identified Shar¡¯s mental tampering, and the curse on her hand, as hostile intrusions and purged them as the <i>filth</i> they were?


    It seemed plausible.


    The timing, coinciding with the emotionally charged lyrics of my song, suggested a connection. What occurred was unintentional on my part, a consequence I hadn¡¯t foreseen, but, alas, the damage¡ªor perhaps, the <i>healing</i>¡ªwas done. I could only hope Shadowheart wouldn¡¯t hate me for what I¡¯ve done, wouldn¡¯t see my intervention as an assault on her faith, twisted by lies though it might be. For now, further testing of Restoration felt¡­ distasteful to me.


    That still left Alteration ¨C the school of magic dedicated to manipulating the physical world, bending the laws of reality itself. In Skyrim, it was the most versatile school of magic, encompassing spells like ''Oakflesh'' for protection, ''Waterbreathing'', ''Detect Life'', ''Telekinesis'', and the transmutation of various base metals. In this world, unbound by game mechanics, what might it truly be capable of?


    I started the test with something simple: Detect Life. I closed my eyes, extending my senses outwards, focusing my will on perception. <i>Life. Show me life.</i>


    The world exploded behind my eyelids. Not with light, but with <i>presence</i>. Thousands upon thousands of faint, pulsing auras bloomed in my awareness simultaneously. I saw the slithering, sneaky aura of someone rapidly leaving the riverbank ¨C <i>was I being watched</i>, I wondered? I saw the bright, steady auras of my companions back at the camp: Karlach¡¯s -- a fierce bonfire, Gale¡¯s -- a complex, flickering weave, Astarion¡¯s -- a cold, sharp point of un-light, Lae¡¯zel¡¯s -- a disciplined, contained ember, Shadowheart¡¯s -- a confusing, shadowed storm warring with itself, Sylvie¡¯s -- a vibrant and <i>vast</i>


    rainbow shimmer, Alfira¡¯s -- a warm, melodic glow.


    Beyond them, the Grove pulsed ¨C I could perceive the steady, ancient light of Halsin and the other druids, the smaller sparks of initiates, the myriad lights of animals ¨C squirrels chattering in the trees, deer grazing in hidden meadows, fish darting through the river, birds soaring overhead. Each life was a distinct signature, a unique vibration in the tapestry of existence.


    But the spell didn¡¯t stop there. My perception plunged faster, further, and deeper than I intended. The sensitivity ramped up exponentially. The world suddenly became a roaring cacophony of life signals. Insects crawling beneath the bark, worms burrowing through the soil, moss clinging to rocks, fungi spreading unseen networks underground ¨C each registered, a billion tiny sparks igniting in my mind. My senses intensified further still, pushing past the macroscopic. I felt the thrumming energy of the trees and soil itself, the slow, ancient life force flowing within them. Then, I became painfully aware of smaller things ¨C the bits of algae blooming in the river water, microbes drifting in the air, bacteria teeming on every surface, including my own skin. The sheer volume of <i>life</i>


    present was overwhelming, a tidal wave of biological noise threatening to drown even <i>my</i> consciousness. It was like trying to pick out a single whisper in the middle of a stadium roaring during a championship final.


    <i>Dial it back!</i> I commanded inwardly, wrestling with the spell¡¯s runaway sensitivity, forcing my will upon it like grabbing the reins of a panicked horse.


    <i>Focus. Range: one mile. Threshold: mammals and birds only.</i>


    The cacophony receded instantly, the overwhelming noise collapsing into a manageable awareness. The distinct auras of larger creatures remained, clear and defined, while the deafening static of lesser life faded into a background hum.


    This was becoming a worrying pattern.


    Clairvoyance, Time Slow, and now Detect Life ¨C my powers seemed to possess a stupidly high default setting, a tendency to escalate far beyond my initial intent unless they were consciously throttled. Control. Learning <i>control</i> was becoming imperative.


    Shaking off the lingering mental static, I turned to the river.


    <b><i>Water Walking</i></b>.


    A simple thought, a gentle application of will beneath my feet. I stepped onto the water¡¯s surface. It held firm, yielding no more than solid ground, ripples spreading outwards from my boots. I took a few steps, gliding across the current with effortless ease. Another basic Alteration principle, mastered.


    <b><i>Water Breathing</i></b><i>.</i>


    I knelt, dipping my head beneath the surface. The water felt cool against my face. I took a breath. Cool, fresh air filled my lungs, drawn directly from the water itself. No strain, no panic, just the simple, magical act of breathing underwater as easily as breathing air. I surfaced, shaking droplets from my hair. Check.


    <b><i>Light</i></b>.


    Another fundamental. I held out my hand, picturing a soft, steady glow. A sphere of warm, golden light materialized above my palm, hovering obediently, casting gentle illumination on the riverbank. Candlelight, Magelight ¨C simple, reliable spells for any adventurer.


    But, could I do more with my light?


    I focused, willing the light to intensify, to narrow. The sphere compressed, sharpened, collapsing into a pencil-thin beam of coherent light ¨C white-hot and precise. I directed it at a floating leaf; a tiny hole instantly burned through it, smoke curling upwards. Interesting.


    I broadened the beam again, then played around with its nature.


    <i>Polarize.</i>


    The light shifted subtly, the way it reflected off the water changing, glare reducing.


    <i>Align the light waves into a laser.</i>


    <i>Spectrum shift. Infrared.</i>


    The visible light vanished, but I could <i>feel</i> a wave of pleasant heat radiating from my palm, warming the air.


    <i>Microwave.</i>


    Again, the light was invisible, but the effect was immediate. The surface of the river directly in front of my hand began to bubble and boil, steam erupting in thick clouds. A cooked fish floated belly-up moments later. The potential for weaponization was¡­ stark.


    What about X-Rays? <i>Gamma</i> Rays? Could I turn a simple light spell into a ray of delayed, invisible death? The thought was both thrilling and deeply disturbing. I dismissed the light entirely, the boiling ceasing instantly.


    Finally, Transmutation.


    Arguably the true heart of Alteration, the ability to reshape matter itself. I looked at the ice sculptures of Karlach and Shadowheart, then at the damp earth beneath my feet. I started with the ground, focusing on a patch of soil.


    <i>Iron.</i>


    The dull brown earth shimmered, darkened, then solidified, reforming into a patch of rough, pitted iron, cool to the touch.


    <i>Silver.</i>


    The iron gleamed, brightening, smoothing, transforming into lustrous, shining silver.


    <i>Gold.</i>


    The silver warmed, taking on the unmistakable rich, yellow hue of pure gold.


    <i>Ebony.</i>


    The gold darkened, hardening into the familiar volcanic glass-like substance, smooth and midnight-black.


    <i>Quicksilver.</i>


    The ebony seemed to melt, flowing into a pool of shimmering, liquid mercury that quivered on the ground.


    With each transformation, I felt¡­ a connection. Not just imposing my will, I felt that I was <i>communicating</i> with the matter itself. My knowledge of chemistry, physics, atomic structure from my old life seemed to provide a framework. A <i>language</i>. The atoms¡­ seemed to <i>whisper</i> to me, eager to rearrange themselves, pleased to become what I envisioned. Reality felt¡­ pliable. Malleable. Almost¡­ subservient?


    Could I create complex materials beyond the simple elements? I focused on the patch of quicksilver, picturing the hexagonal lattice of carbon atoms.


    <i>Graphene.</i>


    The liquid metal solidified, darkening to an impossible black, thinning into countless layers of an impossibly strong, single-atom-thick sheets of pure carbon.


    <i>Carbon Nanotubes.</i>


    The graphene sheet seemed to fold in on itself, forming microscopic, hollow cylinders -- atomic structures of incredible tensile strength.


    The ease of it was ludicrous.


    I turned back to the ice statues. They deserved a more permanent, fitting form. I thought of exotic matter, of the strange states predicted to exist under immense pressures, deep within gas giants.


    <i>Meta-Stable Ice X.</i>


    Or something like it.


    I poured my will into the crystalline figures. The ice seemed to compress inwards, density multiplying exponentially. It didn¡¯t melt; it <i>transformed</i>. The cloudy, slightly opaque quality vanished, replaced by absolute, diamond-like clarity. The statues became heavier than lead, denser than any known metal, yet remained perfectly transparent, refracting the sunlight with blinding brilliance, every facet impossibly sharp.


    They felt¡­ permanent. Stable at this temperature and pressure, an exotic state of water locked into existence by my will alone.


    I stepped back, looking from the shimmering, ultra-dense ice figures to the patch of carbon nanotubes on the ground. The sheer breadth of control Alteration offered was staggering. I was well beyond merely changing lead to gold now. I was rewriting the fundamental properties of matter, creating substances that, likely, have never existed here, all with nothing more than focused intent and a barest whisper of Magicka.


    The fundamental order of the world felt less like a set of immutable laws and more like a set of¡­ suggestions. Suggestions I could freely bend, rewrite, or even break entirely. The power was intoxicating, the potential mind-boggling.


    And, as I considered the implications, a nagging thought remained.


    I still hadn¡¯t found my limits.