The morning sunlight was pale and cold as it stretched across the mountain pass, a stark contrast to the warmth it should have offered. The air felt thinner here, laced with a faint bitterness that lingered in the throat, as though warning them of what lay ahead.
Astarion adjusted his stride to keep pace with Ashara, his boots crunching on the rocky dirt beneath. Sparse shrubs clung stubbornly to the ground, their branches brittle and bare, and every so often, they passed patches of land corrupted by dark black slime, the vegetation around them rotting and twisted into grotesque shapes.
Astarion cast a glance over his shoulder. Onyx trudged behind them, head low, his massive paws barely stirring the dust. The direwolf's usual commanding presence was diminished to a pitiful sight, his ears flat against his skull and his eyes narrowed to slits with an almost comical expression of guilt. Astarion suppressed a chuckle, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the memory of the night before.
It had been quite the spectacle - Onyx, a creature of legends, reduced to a whimpering pup with his tail tucked between his legs while Ashara scolded him. Astarion had rarely seen her lose her composure so thoroughly, and it had been oddly amusing to watch. He still wasn't sure what had enraged her more: Onyx's earlier attack on him or the revelation that the her protector had concealed her divine heritage.
Ashara's reaction to the news itself had been surprisingly subdued. No wild displays of disbelief or tears, just a hardening of her resolve and a redirection of her anger toward the wolf who had withheld the truth. Her silence toward Onyx now was louder than any argument could have been.
Astarion cleared his throat, deliberately loud in the heavy quiet. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ashara, his tone light and conversational. "So, Onyx, where did Karlach and the others say they'd meet us?"
The wolf's ears perked slightly, and he quickened his pace to walk beside them, though his movements were tentative. "Crescent Bridge," he replied. "Unless the shadows have spread further, it should still be the nearest crossing before we reach the outskirts of the curse. Halsin was impatient to reach Moonrise Towers, and Karlach and Zevlor agreed to go ahead with him and wait for us there."
Astarion raised an eyebrow, an exaggerated gesture of curiosity. "I don't suppose you managed to talk the druid out of his glorious crusade, did you?"
Onyx tilted his massive head, his amber eyes briefly meeting Astarion's. "He saw the wisdom in focusing his efforts on lifting the curse from these lands first."
"Is that even possible?"
"I believe so," Onyx said simply, his tone carrying a weight of certainty that was difficult to dismiss.
"Did you hear that, Ashara?" Astarion turned his attention to her, his voice bright. "Our dear Onyx managed to steer Halsin away from a suicide mission. Isn't that nice?"
Ashara stopped abruptly, her boots kicking up a small cloud of dust as she spun to face them. Onyx straightened, his tail wagging slightly, hopeful for a thaw in her frosty demeanor. But her frown deepened as she crossed her arms.
"I'm surprised he didn't just grab Halsin by the scruff and threaten sense into him," she said, her voice edged with sarcasm. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and marched away, her dark braid swinging behind her like a whip.
Onyx's tail drooped immediately, the faint wag dying like a candle snuffed out. He let out a soft, pitiful whine and glanced at Astarion, whose smirk had softened into something almost sympathetic.
"Sorry, old boy," Astarion said with a theatrical sigh, patting the wolf lightly on the shoulder as they resumed walking. "Looks like you're still very much in the doghouse."
Onyx grumbled under his breath, his ears flicking back in annoyance. Astarion smiled to himself, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, but his gaze drifted ahead to Ashara. Her shoulders were stiff, her steps purposeful, as if she were trying to outrun the weight of everything she'd learned.
The ridge they stopped on jutted out precariously over a cliffside, offering a commanding yet oppressive view of the valley below. The haze blanketing the terrain seemed alive, shifting and writhing like a barrel of eels. Sickly green light seeped through the mist, illuminating the jagged forms of twisted trees that loomed like skeletal sentinels over the wasteland.
Beneath the gloom, warped, gnarled roots clawed their way out of the earth, as though trying to escape whatever poison festered in the soil. And in the distance, barely discernible through the choking fog, rose the outline of a castle - its towers crooked and fractured, as if the land itself had tried to swallow it whole.
"Well…" Astarion drawled, sweeping his arm dramatically toward the blighted landscape. "It certainly lives up to its name."
Ashara said nothing. She stepped closer to the ridge and peered down into the abyss below. The wind tugged at her cloak, the fabric rippling like an angry tide, but she remained as still as the stones beneath her boots. Astarion studied her in silence, his crimson eyes narrowing. What thoughts were coursing through that enigmatic mind of hers? Was she afraid? Angry? Resigned? Her expression betrayed nothing, though the slight furrow of her brow hinted at the storm roiling beneath.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint creaking of the wooden stairways and rope bridges that clung to the side of the cliff, offering an unsteady route to the valley below.
The silence stretched, brittle and tense. Astarion finally broke it with his usual dry wit. "What are the odds of meeting my delightful former traveling companions down there?"
Onyx padded closer, his massive form casting a shadow over the crumbling edge of the ridge. "Quite high," he growled. "If they're headed for—"
Ashara whirled around so quickly that her cloak snapped like a whip. "Onyx."
The wolf immediately straightened, his ears pricking. "Yes?"
"I want to speak with Fenrir."
Onyx hesitated, his paws shifting on the loose stones. "I'm not sure that is a good idea."
"Why not?" Ashara's voice was scathing, her anger simmering just below the surface as she took a step closer. "He's my father, isn't he? Surely he wouldn't refuse an audience with his daughter."
Astarion leaned casually against a nearby rock, his expression one of detached amusement. He secretly agreed with Onyx; nothing good would come from a meeting like this, not while Ashara was practically glowing with righteous fury. Still, part of him - the part that loved chaos for its own sake - wanted to see it unfold.
"Yes," he said with a grin that was all fangs. "Why wouldn't daddy want to speak to her? It's not like he's been keeping secrets - oh wait…"
Onyx shot him a glare that could have wilted a tree. "You're not helping."
"Wasn't trying to," Astarion replied, brushing a nonexistent speck of dirt from his sleeve. "Do carry on."
Ashara ignored their exchange, stepping closer to Onyx. Her movements were deliberate, every step exuding a quiet intensity that made the wolf shift uneasily. "No ritual," she demanded. "No pretenses. I want direct communication with him."
Onyx exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Fenrir may not be what you are expecting."
Her expression didn't waver. "I'm not expecting anything from a god who played me for a fool. I just want to talk to him."
Onyx studied her for a long moment, his golden eyes searching hers for something he clearly didn't find. At last, he bowed his head, his voice low and resigned. "As you wish. Follow me."
The grass beneath their feet grew thinner as Onyx led them away from the ridge, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel-streaked incline. A cold breeze ruffled the wolf's dark fur as he paused at the crest of the hill, his eyes scanning the area with focused intensity. The world around them seemed muted, as if the encroaching shadow had sapped the vibrancy from the earth itself.
Onyx's gaze settled on a cluster of weathered stones partially buried in the dirt. He padded over to the largest one, his massive paws pressing lightly against the earth. "Carve the runes here," he said, motioning with a tilt of his snout to the largest slab.
Ashara narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering across her face. Without a word, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a blunted dagger, its handle worn from use. The blade caught the weak light as she bent toward the stone, the sound of metal scratching against rock filling the silence.
Astarion stepped closer to Onyx, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Why don't you want her talking to him?"
Onyx's ears twitched, and he lowered his voice. "Fenrir is… complicated," he admitted. His eyes remained fixed on Ashara as he spoke. "When he fractured his soul to create the Fenris Guard, he gave up much of who he was to breathe life and free will into us. His strength, wisdom, and compassion now reside in the bodies of my brethren. What remains trapped in the wastelands of Cania is… broken."
Astarion tilted his head, the revelation piquing his interest. "Broken how, exactly?"
Onyx opened his mouth to respond, but Ashara stood abruptly, her hand poised to cut across her palm with the dagger.
"No need for a blood offering," Onyx said quickly, stepping toward her. "That was just so he'd recognize your scent and prepare himself to greet you."
Ashara froze mid-motion, her expression darkening as her gaze snapped to Onyx. "You mean to tell me," she began, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone, "that I've been cutting my hand all this time for no good reason?"
Astarion caught the almost imperceptible gulp from Onyx and the way his tail tucked tighter between his legs. "Yes," Onyx admitted, his voice soft, almost apologetic. "It isn't a standard requirement of the ritual."
Astarion tutted, crossing his arms and fixing Onyx with a reproachful look. "Shame on you," he said, his tone brimming with faux indignation. "Making the poor girl mutilate herself like that. Tsk, tsk."
Onyx huffed in irritation, his hackles rising slightly. "It wasn't my idea."
Ashara's fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles whitening as she stalked toward Onyx. Her steps were slow but deliberate, each one crackling against the dry grass like a spark about to ignite. "Get Fenrir here," she demanded. "Now."
The massive wolf whined softly, but he obediently stepped forward and sat in front of the marked stone. Closing his eyes, he spoke in a low voice that seemed to resonate through the ground itself. "Fenrir, Lord of the Wild Hunt, your servant Onyx requests an audience with you."
Just as before, the surface of the stone rippled like disturbed water, and a thick, otherworldly blue smoke began to seep from its surface. The accompanying frost spread outward, curling along the ground and freezing blades of grass in its path. Astarion felt the chill seep into his bones, along with a new understanding. This was the very air of Cania, the eighth hell, bleeding into their world like an open wound.
A gentle pressure on his arm startled him, and he glanced down to find Ashara's hand slipping into his. Her fingers were cold, her grip firm but trembling, and Astarion caught the flicker of apprehension in her eyes as she nervously plucked at the fur lining of her leather cuirass. For a moment, his usual facade faltered, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
The smoke thickened, and from within its swirling depths emerged the visage of Fenrir. His voice boomed, each word reverberating through the air. "Onyx? Why have you summoned me? I sincerely hope it's to inform me that insolent vampire tripped and fell in a sinkhole."
Astarion straightened, indignation flaring in his chest. His lips parted for a sharp retort, but Ashara's audible gasp cut through his thoughts. He glanced at her, noting the furious gleam in her eyes. She tightened her grip on his hand, her anger palpable, and stormed toward the portal, practically dragging him along.
"No, he didn't," she snapped, her voice like the crack of a whip. "And I don't appreciate the two of you being so unkind towards my friend."
Astarion blinked, once again taken aback by her fierce defense of him. A warmth bloomed in his chest, chasing away the icy air. He stared at her, a rare sense of admiration flickering in his crimson eyes as she all but trembled with rage.
Fenrir's gaze snapped to them, his glowing eyes widening in recognition His voice faltered, startled. "Ashara? What the bloody hells is she—" He coughed, quickly shifting to a more formal tone. "Ahem… Greetings, my faithful servant. Doth thou request the might of Fenrir to aid thee in battle once again?"
Astarion felt his earlier indignation melt into something far lighter. Mischief danced in his eyes as he stepped forward, clapping his hands together mockingly. "Oh, bravo! Truly, a marvelous performance. But I'm afraid the jig is up, Fenrir."
Onyx growled low in his throat, his voice strained. "Astarion, don't make this worse."
Fenrir's glowing eyes locked onto him, pupils narrowing. "What are you talking about, spawn?"
Ashara didn't hesitate, stepping closer to the portal. "His name is Astarion," she said sharply, "and he's talking about you hiding the fact that I'm your daughter!"
The silence that followed was deafening. Fenrir's glowing eyes flickered, his jaw snapping shut with a harsh click. A single word escaped him, quiet and utterly dismayed. "Shit…"
And with that, his image blinked out, leaving the three of them standing in the cold, frostbitten air.
Ashara turned to Onyx, her expression a whirlwind of emotions - confusion, frustration, disbelief. Her voice trembled with incredulity as she gestured toward the rune-carved stone. "That's it?! That's all I get?"
Onyx flinched as though her words were physical blows. His golden eyes softened, and he lowered his head, a picture of guilt and submission. "I warned you this wasn't a good idea," he murmured, his voice thick with regret.
Her expression twisted in frustration, and she backed away, shaking her head. "I don't believe this," she muttered, her voice trembling. Her hands clenched at her sides as she stumbled a few steps, looking lost in the growing shadows.
Onyx stepped toward her, his movements cautious and deliberate. He extended his head, the gesture both apologetic and comforting, but the moment his muzzle brushed her arm, she shoved him away with more force than Astarion would have expected. "Don't touch me!" she spat. "You're just as bad as him. You knew this whole time."
Onyx faltered, his head dropping further. "Ashara… please."
But she wasn't listening. Her breathing grew labored, her chest rising and falling with erratic force. She turned away, her hands trembling as they tugged at her hair and rubbed at the skin of her hands. The motion was frantic, compulsive, as though she could scrub away the turmoil bubbling inside her. Astarion watched her, feeling the weight of her unraveling emotions crashing like waves against the shore.
Suddenly, Ashara broke into a sprint, her feet pounding against the uneven path as she disappeared down the incline. Onyx's ears shot up in alarm, and with a desperate whine, he bolted after her, leaving Astarion standing awkwardly at the crest of the hill.
For a brief moment, he considered letting the two of them sort it out. But as he glanced down at the runes, now cold and lifeless, guilt prickled at the edges of his conscience. With a resigned sigh, he followed after them.
He found them beside a small clump of spindly trees. Ashara sat hunched beside a twisted stump, while Onyx stood a few paces away, his body tense and uncertain, watching her with a helplessness that seemed alien for such a formidable creature.
Ashara's arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her frame shaking as she rocked back and forth. Her breathing had spiraled into frantic, shallow gasps that turned into broken sobs, each one catching painfully in her throat.
Onyx moved toward her again, his body radiating distress. "Ashara," he pleaded, his voice gentle but urgent. But the moment he neared, she shoved him away. "Leave me alone!" she screamed, her voice raw and trembling.
The sound tore through the air, reverberating against the twisted landscape. Onyx recoiled, his ears flattening, his tail tucked low. His whole body seemed to crumple in despair as he whined softly, looking utterly lost. He turned his gaze to Astarion, his golden eyes locking onto the vampire with a desperate plea. "Help her."
Astarion froze, momentarily taken aback. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked, his tone more defensive than he intended. He gestured toward Ashara, who was now clawing at her arms, her breathing growing more erratic. "You're her protector."
Onyx took a step closer, his massive form almost hunched as he implored, "Just do what I did for you. Comfort her. Talk to her. Please."
The look in the wolf's eyes - raw and earnest - coupled with the sound of Ashara's choked sobs, broke through Astarion's reluctance. He sighed heavily and knelt beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
The moment his touch registered she jerked, her head snapping up as her hand raised instinctively. Astarion flinched, bracing for a blow, but it never came. Instead, she hesitated, her hand falling limp as her forehead dropped to rest against her knees. Her fingers fisted in her hair, her breaths devolving into strained, painful wheezes.
Forgetting his usual theatrics, Astarion lowered himself fully to the ground beside Ashara. With a gentleness that surprised even him, he slid his arms around her quaking form and pulled her closer. She tensed at first, but as his hand moved softly through her hair and his voice murmured soothing words, her resistance began to wane.
"Breathe," he whispered, his voice low and steady. "Just follow me. In… and out." He pressed his chest against her back, allowing her to feel the rhythm of his slow, deliberate breaths. Bit by bit, the frantic wheezing began to ease. Her breathing slowed, the sharp gasps replaced by deep, shuddering inhales.
Her hands, which had been clutching at herself, moved to curl around him. Her arms wrapped tightly against his back, her grip almost desperate. Astarion returned the embrace just as firmly, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head.
As the tension in Ashara's frame softened, Astarion sighed. "You're exhausting, you know," he grumbled, not unkindly. "But I suppose you're worth the trouble."
He glanced up, his crimson eyes meeting Onyx's golden gaze. The wolf was watching them intently, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked between Ashara and Astarion, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them - a fragile understanding born of shared concern.
Onyx lingered a moment longer, his head lowering as if weighed down by the gravity of the situation. Then, with a soft murmur, he said, "I will go and try to speak to Fenrir."
Astarion nodded silently, his sharp gaze following the wolf as he padded up the hill, each step deliberate and heavy. He didn't say anything, but the sight of Onyx retreating into the thickening gloom stirred a mixture of curiosity and unease within him.
Ashara stirred in his arms, her body softening against him as her grip loosened slightly. Her breath escaped in a weary sigh, brushing against his collarbone. "I've spent nearly all my life wondering who my real parents are," she began, her voice quiet and raw. "I tried to imagine all sorts of explanations as to why I was abandoned. It never occurred to me that I simply wasn't wanted."
Astarion felt his chest tighten at the bitterness in her words. He hesitated, wracking his mind for something - anything - to say. Two centuries of existence should have prepared him for moments like this, yet he felt completely out of his depth. Come on, Astarion. You've navigated two hundred years worth of egos and emotions; surely you can manage this.
"I'm sure that's not true," he said at last, his voice measured, though his own uncertainty made him choose his words carefully. "When Onyx… had a chat with me—"
Ashara cut him off sharply, her tone cold. "You mean when he threatened you."
"Yes," Astarion replied with a wry smile. "That too. But afterward, he told me there are beings out there who want your power for themselves. Maybe it was for your own protection?"
She tilted her head back slightly, enough for him to see the flicker of disbelief in her eyes. "Fenrir left me in the middle of nowhere as a helpless newborn for my protection?" Her voice dripped with scorn, each word sharp and cutting. "Brilliant reasoning. Why didn't he do one better and put me on an ogre's dinner table with an apple in my mouth?"
Astarion couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him, though he quickly tried to stifle it. "I think you've been spending too much time in my company, darling. You're starting to sound like me."
Ashara blinked, momentarily startled, before a breathy laugh broke through her frustration. She tilted her head to look up at him, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "I like how you talk. I may not always pick up on the sarcasm, but it's fun trying to."
Astarion raised an elegant brow, his tone dry as he replied, "In that case, I'm no doubt sure to provide you with endless entertainment."
Her smile softened, and she let her head rest once more on his shoulder. Another sigh escaped her, this one laden with weariness rather than anger. "I don't understand why Onyx kept this a secret from me," she murmured. "He knew how much I wanted to find my real parents after… after Brenen died."
Her voice caught on the last word, and Astarion felt her body tense against his. Guessing that she was speaking of her adoptive father, he acted quickly, his hand threading into her hair. He began to gently massage her scalp and the nape of her neck in soothing, rhythmic motions.
The tension in her shoulders began to melt, and she let out a soft, almost involuntary hum of pleasure. Her breaths evened out, the emotions that had been building subsiding.
"That's making my head feel all tingly," she admitted quietly, her voice almost shy. "It's nice. I like it."
Astarion's lips quirked into a teasing smirk. "Hmm… I can tell. If you had a tail, you'd be wagging it right now."
Ashara laughed softly, the sound lightening the oppressive air around them. She shifted in his arms, her body relaxing fully against his, stirring something unexpected in him - a rare sense of satisfaction.
Then an idea struck him. He pulled back slightly to look at her, his expression thoughtful. "You're a sort of Ranger aren't you? Do you have a spell in your particular brand of magic that's similar to Pass Without Trace?"
Ashara tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "Yes," she said. "I call it Hunter's Grace. Why?"
Astarion's smirk deepened, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "If you want answers, then let's get them. Onyx has gone to speak with Fenrir again. I say we ought to follow him and listen in on that conversation. Don't you?"
Her body stiffened slightly, and she sat up straight, determination lighting up her features. "I do," she said firmly. "Let's go."
Astarion rose smoothly to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. She took it without hesitation, her grip firm. Together, they moved quietly back up the hill, the twisted landscape around them cloaked in an unnatural stillness. The only sounds were their muted footsteps and the distant rustle of the wind, carrying with it the faintest whispers of shadowy secrets.
The air around the cluster of stones felt colder than before, as if the frost from Fenrir's last summoning had lingered to mark his presence. Onyx sat before the carved runes, his massive paws resting heavily on the frozen ground. He watched patiently as the jagged symbols began to glow faintly, crackling with life as Fenrir's visage materialized once more, his glowing eyes pulsing with agitation. Onyx could sense the tension radiating from him before he even spoke.
"Is she gone?" Fenrir barked, his voice strained.
Onyx inclined his head slightly, his tone calm and measured. "We are alone, my Lord."
"Good." The wolf god let out a visible sigh of relief before his voice rose again. "Hells, Onyx, it's barely been two decades! How did she find out this time?"
"The same way she usually does," Onyx said, his tone tinged with resignation. "Someone pointed out her resemblance to you."
Fenrir's expression twisted in frustration, his teeth glinting as he growled, "Dammit! I told you to get rid of the vampire!"
Onyx's ears twitched, and he resisted the urge to sigh. "You said he could stay…"
Fenrir's agitation faltered for a moment. "Oh… did I?" He paused, his eyes flickering as if trying to recall. "Damn... so I did."
The shift in Fenrir's demeanor sent a ripple of unease through Onyx. He had never been comfortable seeing his creator like this - subdued, unsure, and all too mortal. "Are you alright?" Onyx asked, his voice softening despite himself.
Fenrir's gaze dropped, his presence seeming smaller in his resignation. "Yes," he said after a pause, though the word carried no conviction. "It's just… it never gets any easier does it. You'd think after all this time I'd be more prepared for this moment. But every time I see the accusation in her eyes… I choke."
Onyx tilted his head slightly, his keen ears catching the faintest rustle of movement somewhere behind him. His muscles tensed, and he subtly shifted his weight, his senses sharpening. Someone was watching. He didn't need to turn around to guess who it was.
Focusing back on Fenrir, he kept his voice calm. "Perhaps you should at least try to talk to her," he said carefully. "I think given time, she will understand."
A heavy silence followed, the kind that settled deep into the bones. Fenrir's glowing eyes dimmed slightly as he finally replied, his tone hollow and resigned. "I can't do this, Onyx. I can't be what she needs me to be - that's why I created you, for pity's sake."
Onyx's chest tightened at the words, but he didn't let it show. He steadied himself, his voice quieter now. "You may have poured all your love for Ashara into me, but that doesn't mean you don't still care for her. Please, Fenrir. Reach out to her. Show her who you are."
Fenrir let out a long, ragged sigh, his form flickering faintly in the smoke. "Who I am," he said bitterly, "is a shattered relic of a forgotten age. I can never leave this prison, and Mephistopheles has all but completely drained what's left of my power. What kind of relationship do I have to offer, that you haven't already given her?"
Onyx's tail lowered, the words striking him harder than he cared to admit. He had suspected for some time that Fenrir was losing his will to fight, that the centuries spent caged and tormented by his own demons had eroded the once-mighty god's spirit. But hearing it confirmed stung in a way that felt personal, as if some vital thread between them had frayed.
Fenrir broke the silence, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "Now she's aware of the truth, it will only be a matter of time before the rest of her powers awaken. The Golden Heretic will come for her again."
Onyx's muscles tensed, his claws instinctively flexing against the frozen ground. "I will be ready," he vowed. His voice held firm conviction, a promise he would not break. "In the meantime, what do you want me to tell Ashara about you?"
Fenrir's expression grew distant, his head bowing slightly. "What does it matter…" he muttered. "She'll forget all this ever happened if she winds up fighting Bâlorak again."
Onyx's jaw tightened. He hated that Fenrir spoke of Ashara as though she were a pawn in some cosmic game, doomed to lose herself. "There is always a chance," he said slowly, "that she will be strong enough to maintain control of her powers this time."
Fenrir's eyes flicked toward him, faintly glimmering with something that might have been hope - or a cruel echo of it. "If she does," he said, his voice barely above a growl, "then perhaps I will do as you suggest. Perhaps I will try to connect with her." He hesitated, the weight of the admission almost visible. "Until then… let me continue to simply be the cold, distant presence I've always been."
Onyx lowered his head, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. "I think you are making a mistake," he said quietly. "But I will abide by your decision."
Fenrir said nothing, his image flickering slightly in the smoke. Onyx waited, his breath visible in the icy air, but the great wolf did not speak again. Slowly, his visage began to fade, the cold mist receding back into the stone.
As the eerie silence of the valley settled once more, Onyx turned his head slightly, his golden eyes narrowing as he addressed the unseen presence he knew had been listening.
"You can come out now," he said, his voice low but commanding.
Astarion stepped out from behind the jagged rock, his posture straight and deliberate. Ashara followed closely, her movements less composed, her shoulders tight and her gaze fixed on Onyx. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes shimmered with a blend of sadness and reproach.
Onyx's sharp gaze drifted briefly to Astarion's hand resting lightly on the small of her back. A faint bristle ran through his fur, but he suppressed the reaction with an inward sigh. After all, he had encouraged Astarion to stay close to her, to be a source of comfort. It wasn't fair to begrudge the vampire for doing exactly what was asked of him.
Astarion's voice, usually laced with flippant charm, emerged quieter this time, almost cold. The seriousness in his tone was jarring, a rare moment where he seemed to truly grasp the gravity of the situation. "I think you owe Ashara an explanation," he said, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "A full one."
Onyx met Astarion's gaze evenly, then exhaled a long breath. "Leave us, please. I need a moment alone with Ashara."
Astarion's lips twitched downward in disappointment, but he began to turn away - until Ashara stiffened beside him. "No," she said firmly, her voice quivering with an undertone of defiance. "If something is coming for me, then Astarion could be in danger too. He has a right to know the risks. I don't want to keep secrets from him anymore."
Onyx's gaze shifted to Astarion, catching the brief flash of guilt that crossed the vampire's face. A sharp pang of irritation flared in his chest. He knew very well that Astarion was hiding plenty of secrets from Ashara. Yet, he noted with reluctant approval, at least the vampire had the decency to feel bad about it. Onyx allowed himself a brief huff of acknowledgment.
"Very well," Onyx said after a beat, his voice softening.
Lowering himself onto the grass, Onyx settled into a relaxed yet attentive position, his tail curling loosely around his body. He waited expectantly as Ashara hesitated, then relented with a small sigh and sank down opposite him. Astarion lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable, before lowering himself beside her.
The moment he did, Ashara slipped her arm through his, leaning slightly into his shoulder. Onyx raised an eyebrow at the gesture, but chose to hold his tongue. Astarion shot him an almost wary look, but when Onyx made no comment, he relaxed. Onyx couldn't help but feel intrigued at how close a bond the two had evidently formed.
"Many thousands of years ago—" Onyx began, his voice steady.
Ashara cut him off almost immediately, her voice sharp with impatience. "What did Fenrir mean when he said he created you for me?"
Onyx's tail flicked in irritation, brushing against the grass. "I was just about to explain that," he growled. "Let me finish."
Ashara ducked her head slightly. "Sorry."
Before Onyx could continue, Astarion interjected, his tone laced with curiosity. "How old is Ashara, really?"
Onyx opened his mouth to respond, but Ashara leaned forward slightly, her brows furrowed. "Actually, that's a good question. If you're over eight hundred years old, then how could you have been created for me?"
"Couldn't it be that you're over eight hundred years old yourself?" Astarion suggested, his tone light with amusement. "Fenrir did mention something about you forgetting things."
Ashara turned her gaze toward him, her expression a mixture of unease and sudden intrigue. "Would that make me older than you?" she asked. "I just realised, I never actually asked how old you are."
Astarion smirked, tilting his head slightly as if to appraise her. "By about six hundred years, yes," he replied with a touch of smugness. "Though evidently, you didn't acquire the wisdom that's supposed to come with age."
Onyx's head snapped back and forth between the two of them, his patience wearing thin as they batted their questions and comments back and forth. Their conversation, though tinged with humor, grated against the seriousness of the moment. His ears pinned back, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. "Do you want to hear this story or not?"
The sharpness in his voice had the intended effect. Both Ashara and Astarion froze mid-retort, their expressions morphing into something resembling sheepishness. They looked at him with wide, chastised eyes, like children caught misbehaving.
Satisfied with the silence, Onyx let out a slow breath. "Good," he muttered. "Now, as I was saying—many thousands of years ago…"
Ashara cut him off again, her voice rising in disbelief. "Am I really that old?"
"Oh, for Selûne's sake!"
