Onyx froze, his golden eyes wide with disbelief as Astarion plunged into the Frostfire. The flames flared and crackled, their icy plumes licking at the vampire's pale skin before swallowing him whole. For a moment, Onyx could do nothing but stare, stunned by the reckless audacity of the act. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he sprang into motion, his powerful limbs propelling him forward.
The Frostfire met him with a biting intensity, the unnatural chill clawing at his fur and searing his senses. He burst through the barrier, landing heavily on the other side, where chaos awaited him.
Astarion was dragging Rolan backward, his boots scraping against the frosted ground. The tiefling writhed in his grasp, his face a mask of rage and despair as he cried out, "Let me die, gods dammit!"
Rolan twisted violently, breaking free of Astarion's hold and staggering to his feet. Before he could take another step toward the dark, Astarion tackled him with surprising ferocity, driving him into the ground. He wrenched the tiefling's arm behind his back, his voice sharp and furious. "Not bloody likely!"
Onyx's attention flicked past them as a dark shape detached itself from the shadows. The figure lingered at the edge of the protective glow cast by the Frostfire, flinching back as it drew nearer. Whatever it was, it was closing in, and the struggling men were inching dangerously far from the ring of light.
With a low growl, Onyx surged forward. He seized Rolan by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him upright with a single, powerful motion. The tiefling flailed, his protests muffled by the sound of the wind and the hiss of the Frostfire. Onyx turned, muscles bunching beneath his fur, and hurled Rolan bodily back through the barrier.
Astarion, still on the ground, glanced up at him with a crooked grin, breathless but amused. "Well, that's one way to do it."
The wolf offered no reply, merely jerking his head toward the barrier. Astarion scrambled to his feet, and together they leapt back through the flames, landing safely on the other side.
Frost clung to Astarion's hair and shoulders, and his breath misted in the air as he straightened and brushed himself down. Onyx shook himself, his thick fur shedding ice crystals in a shimmering spray.
Rolan lay on the ground, coughing and shivering violently, his rage undiminished despite his condition. He pushed himself to his feet unsteadily, his gaze fixed once more on the barrier. With a defiant snarl, he lunged toward it again, only to be stopped short by Onyx stepping in front of him. The wolf's lips curled back, exposing sharp teeth as a low, warning growl rumbled from his chest.
"Out of my way!" Rolan snapped, his eyes blazing. "You can't stop me forever."
Astarion, still catching his breath, leaned against a nearby fencepost, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, but it will be so much fun to try."
Rolan's face twisted in frustration. He raised his hands, summoning a crackling Firebolt that he hurled directly at Onyx's face. The flames burst against the wolf's head in a brilliant flash, but Onyx didn't so much as flinch, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the tiefling. The fire dissipated harmlessly, leaving Rolan momentarily stunned.
Rolan's shock was brief, his expression hardening as he stepped back. "Alright, fire resistant. Let's see how you handle lightning."
Onyx took a deliberate step forward, his voice low and steady. "I was created from the soul of a god. Your paltry magic cannot harm me."
Rolan opened his mouth to retort, but Astarion pushed off the post and cut him off, his tone sharp and impatient. "Will you just stop and think for a moment, you obstinate fool! What's the point of throwing your life away for nothing - when you could throw it away while getting revenge?"
Onyx flattened his ears, his tail swishing with annoyance. "That's not exactly the right way to handle this, Astarion…"
Astarion waved him off, his tone growing more persuasive. "I beg to differ. You heard him - he's clearly going to keep doing this. So I say, let him."
He turned to Rolan, his crimson eyes gleaming as he pressed his point. "However, before you do, why not redirect some of that righteous anger toward the people who actually deserve it? A certain white dragonborn comes to mind…"
The mention of Durge seemed to pierce through Rolan's haze of rage. The electricity at his fingertips fizzled out as he hesitated, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I wouldn't even know where to start looking for him."
Astarion's smirk returned, sharp and predatory. "Ah, well then, aren't you glad you didn't succeed in your assassination attempt? Because I happen to know exactly where he… probably is."
Onyx's ears perked up at the mention of Rolan's attempt on Astarion's life, but he pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the wizard. Rolan's rigid posture loosened slightly, his anger replaced by the faintest spark of hope.
"Where?" Rolan asked, his voice tinged with both suspicion and curiosity.
"Moonrise Towers," Astarion said smoothly. "He took my… friends, captive. Karlach, Halsin, and - you remember Zevlor, don't you?"
Rolan's eyes widened, the anger melting into shock. "Karlach and Zevlor are still alive? Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?!"
Astarion threw up his hands in exasperation. "You came at me swinging a sword! Between dodging arrows and getting stabbed, it slipped my mind."
Rolan's face twisted in a mixture of guilt and frustration, but he said nothing. Onyx glanced between them, his gaze lingering on Astarion. Despite the callous edge to his approach, the tactic was working. Rolan's fiery defiance gave way to a quiet determination, the prospect of revenge motivating him in a way nothing else could.
"You'll lead me there?" Rolan asked, his voice steadier now.
Astarion smirked, his fangs glinting. "Of course. I'd be delighted."
The tension of the moment was sliced cleanly in two by Jaheira's voice, sharp and commanding, cutting through the cold air like a blade. "Would somebody care to explain just what exactly is going on out here?"
Onyx winced at her tone, his ears flicking backward momentarily. He sighed, his breath visible in the chill, and turned to face her. The firelight from the Frostfire barrier played across her features, highlighting the sharp lines of her face.
"Just a couple of young pups," he said with a low growl, "making mistakes and hopefully learning from them."
Astarion, still brushing frost from his sleeves, chimed in with an exaggerated air. "Oh, I've definitely learned not to jump through a flaming wall. How about you, Rolan?"
Rolan glared at him, his lips curling in annoyance, but the fight had gone out of him. After a long pause, he muttered under his breath, "For now, at least."
Jaheira's boots crunched against the frozen ground as she strode forward. In a single, swift movement, her hand darted out and seized Rolan by the ear. He yelped, stooping awkwardly as she pulled him closer.
Her eyes bored into his, her voice low and angry. "You want to drown your sorrows? Fine. You want to take your own life? That's one less dead weight for me to carry. But if you ever endanger a child's life again—"
Rolan, despite his obvious discomfort, managed a defiant scowl. "Save it. I've already been threatened by the vampire over that."
Onyx caught the brief flicker of surprise that crossed Jaheira's face as her gaze darted toward Astarion. She released Rolan's ear and straightened, fixing the vampire with a sharp, scrutinizing look. "Is that so?"
Astarion shifted uncomfortably, brushing imaginary lint from his collar as if it might shield him from her piercing stare. He finally spoke, his tone deliberately casual. "If I'm going to infiltrate Moonrise, I'll need all the help I can get. Ashara may be death incarnate in her wolf form, but let's face it - her usual appearance and social anxiety don't exactly scream 'evil cult member'."
He gestured toward Rolan with a flourish. "Meanwhile, our dear Rolan not only has a talent for spellcasting, but also the innate arrogance needed to convincingly pull off such a deception."
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. "You want the man who tried to kill you on your team?"
Astarion shrugged, a faint smirk returning to his face. "It seems to be how I meet most of my allies these days. Apparently, being threatened is the new hello."
Jaheira's lips twitched into the faintest hint of amusement before she turned back to Rolan, pointing a warning finger at his chest. "Two of my Harpers died bringing you through the shadows to this place. They valued your life enough to sacrifice their own. Do not defile their memory by throwing their sacrifice back in their faces."
Rolan's shoulders slumped, the defiance in his eyes dimming. He nodded silently, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Satisfied, Jaheira turned and began walking back toward the inn. As she passed Onyx, she stopped abruptly, pivoting on her heel to face him. "And you," she said with a pointed glare. "Your pups need to be housebroken - they're making a mess. I have no intention of cleaning it up."
Onyx sighed deeply, his tail flicking in mild annoyance as he watched her stride back toward the inn. The light from the Frostfire caught the hilts of her twin scimitars, casting brief flashes of silver as she disappeared into the doorway.
The silence that followed was heavy but short-lived. Astarion broke the quiet, his voice light with curiosity. "How exactly did the two of you meet?"
Onyx glanced at him, his golden eyes contemplative. "I met her when she was a young woman living in the forests of Tethyr. I was visiting the druid enclave she called home. We ended up traveling together for a time while I waited for Ashara to… recover."
Rolan rubbed at his ear. "Was she always so… harsh?"
Onyx's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Jaheira has always been headstrong and opinionated. But time and loss have sharpened her tongue and jaded her outlook on life. Something, perhaps, you both understand all too well."
Astarion and Rolan exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of distaste and reluctant recognition. Onyx's amusement grew as he caught the subtle wince they both shared. For all their differences, it seemed the two had finally found a commonality, though neither appeared particularly thrilled about it.
Ashara woke with a start, her hand instinctively reaching out, searching for the comforting presence of Astarion beside her. Her fingers brushed only cool, rumpled covers. Panic bloomed in her chest like a fast-growing weed as she bolted upright, her breath hitching. The room was still and dim, the golden light of a single candle revealing the truth. She was alone.
The cloak she'd fallen asleep in slipped slightly from her shoulders, and she froze as she remembered her state of undress beneath it. Her hands clutched the fabric tightly, pulling it around her like a shield. The faint, familiar scent of Astarion lingered: bergamot, rosemary and the faint, woody undertone of aged brandy.
Ashara pressed her face into the folds of the cloak, the subtle fragrance calming the chaos within her. Astarion's scent was as refined and enigmatic as the man himself - why those particular notes, she wondered. Was it intentional? A preference? A lingering piece of his old life?
Feeling a little steadier, she slid off the bed, her bare feet brushing the worn wooden floor. The cloak trailed behind her as she stepped lightly across the room, her curiosity piqued by the assortment of objects scattered across Isobel's shelves and tables. Jars of herbs and tinctures lined the surfaces, their labels faded and handwritten. Trinkets and relics glinted in the candlelight - delicate chains, polished stones, small carvings. She picked up a glass vial filled with an iridescent liquid, tilting it back and forth to watch the light play across its surface.
Her gaze landed on a tall wardrobe near the corner, and she approached it hesitantly. The doors creaked faintly as she pulled them open, revealing an array of clothing. Her fingers brushed over soft, silken fabrics and sturdy leathers until she froze, captivated by the gleam of a silver gown hanging near the back.
She carefully pulled it out, holding it up to the light. The material shimmered like moonlight on water, delicate and flowing. She admired its beauty, her fingertips trailing over the intricate embroidery along the bodice. On impulse, she stepped to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, holding the gown against herself.
Her reflection stared back at her, a strange mixture of familiarity and foreignness. The dress was beautiful, no doubt, but it felt alien draped over her figure. She tilted her head, studying the way the light caught the fabric, her thoughts drifting as she tried to imagine herself wearing it.
"Do you think I would look pretty wearing this?" Ashara asked suddenly, sensing the presence behind her.
Onyx's reflection appeared in the mirror, his golden eyes watching her with a bemused tilt of his head. He stepped forward into the room to sit beside her, sniffing at the silvery fabric curiously. "It's not very practical for fighting in," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Ashara glanced down at the gown, her fingers smoothing over the silky fabric. "No, I suppose not…" she murmured. Then, with a faint note of wistfulness, she added, "But if I wasn't fighting?"
Onyx's ears twitched, and he let out a small huff. "It's not the sort of thing to wear around camp either," he remarked dryly. "You'd get it dirty doing chores."
Her lips tightened, a flicker of frustration sparking within her. She suspected Onyx understood her meaning perfectly and was choosing to toy with her, as he so often did when she ventured into unfamiliar emotional territory. "I know," she said softly. "I was just wondering what it might feel like to be… pretty."
Onyx's ears flicked back briefly, his response cautious. "Any particular reason why?"
Ashara hesitated, her mind swirling with half-formed thoughts she couldn't quite articulate. Instead of answering directly, another question escaped her lips, one that surprised even herself. "Do you think… Astarion might like it if I wore something like this?"
Onyx's ears pinned back fully, his expression unreadable but unmistakably tense. "I'm not sure why you think his opinion on how you look matters all that much," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Ashara hugged the dress tighter, her cheeks warming slightly. "I'm not sure why it matters to me either… but I… I just feel like I want to look nice for him."
For the first time, Onyx looked genuinely uncomfortable. His gaze shifted, and he muttered, almost to himself, "I think… I need a drink."
"There's water in the basin over there," Ashara offered, her brow furrowing.
"I need something stronger," he deadpanned.
Ashara sighed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Onyx, stop being a… a dad for once and just answer my question."
The wolf exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of her question was more than he'd bargained for.
"Yes, Ashara," he said finally, his voice gentler. "You would look very pretty in that dress, and I'm quite certain Astarion would agree with me. However," he added, his tone regaining its usual practicality, "it isn't yours, and we have a dangerous mission ahead of us. You'll need clothing that's more durable. So, put it down and get dressed in whatever armor you haven't yet torn to pieces by transforming."
Ashara's lips pressed into a thin line as she turned back to the mirror, the dress still held against her. She knew Onyx was right, but his pragmatic response left her feeling hollow. With a reluctant sigh, she returned the dress to the wardrobe, her movements slow and deliberate. The moment felt fleeting, a fragile whisper of a life she didn't know how to reach.
Turning her attention to a nearby dresser, she pulled open the drawers to find a selection of clean undergarments and simple, practical clothing. Pulling out a plain tunic and a pair of well-worn leggings, Ashara quickly dressed, muttering under her breath, "I hope she doesn't mind me taking these too much."
A faint sigh escaped her as she glanced down at her clothes. It felt like such a futile effort, knowing they would likely meet the same fate as all her others during her next transformation. Her shape-shifting was as destructive to fabric as fire was to parchment, a fact Ashara rued every time she had to replace another set of garments.
She made a mental note to stock up on clothing. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for druids - their wildshape abilities didn't leave them scrambling for replacement outfits. Was it something about their enchanted armor? The way their magic intertwined with nature itself? The thought sparked a flicker of curiosity, and she resolved to ask Jaheira about it later.
With Astarion's cloak draped loosely over her shoulders, she headed for the door. Onyx rose silently to follow, his golden eyes watchful as they descended the stairs to the main hall. The warm glow of the hearth greeted them, casting shifting patterns of light across the room.
The hum of conversation hit her first - a low murmur that grew louder as they approached. The sight of so many people gathered in one place sent a spike of anxiety racing through her chest. She halted abruptly on the steps, her breath catching as her body went rigid. Her eyes darted across the room, hyper-aware of the way conversations stilled and heads turned toward her. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating, like a thousand tiny needles pressing into her skin.
Onyx rumbled softly at her side, his deep voice a calm counterpoint to her rising panic. "Deep breaths, Ashara. They don't mean you harm."
She swallowed hard, her wide eyes scanning the room, desperate for something - or someone - familiar. Then her eyes found him: A pair of ruby irises that pierced through the noise like a lighthouse in a storm. Astarion was watching her, a faint crease of concern between his brows as he stepped toward the stairs.
Relief flooded her, her chest loosening enough to allow a shaky exhale. The rest of the room faded into the periphery as her focus narrowed solely on him. She descended the last few steps, her feet finding solid ground beneath her.
"There you are," Astarion said, waving her over with a smooth, fluid motion. His voice carried the familiar cadence of teasing, though a thread of warmth softened the words. "We were just talking about you."
His use of the word we gave her pause, and she noticed the tiefling man standing just behind him. He was wiping dried blood from his face with a cloth, his expression guarded but not unfriendly. Ashara's brow furrowed slightly, the question in her eyes clear as she glanced back at Astarion.
"I've been recruiting," he explained with mock pomp. "Say hello to our new spellcaster."
Ashara's gaze flicked to the tiefling, her wariness surfacing despite Astarion's flippant tone. "Hello…"
The tiefling stepped forward and dipped into a formal bow, his movements polished despite his disheveled appearance. "My name is Rolan," he said with formal precision. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady."
Ashara blinked, caught off guard by his deference. "I'm not a lady," she said quickly, a touch of embarrassment creeping into her tone. "I'm just… Ashara."
"Just Ashara," Astarion echoed, his head tilting as a smirk played at his lips. "I don't think you've ever been just anything in your life."
Ashara felt a flicker of warmth rise to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, fiddling with the hem of her tunic to busy her hands. Astarion's smirk widened slightly, but he said nothing more, letting the moment settle between them.
Rolan, meanwhile, straightened from his bow, his sharp eyes darting between Ashara and Astarion with mild curiosity. "That wildshape of yours is truly impressive. I've never heard of such a formidable beast among druidic capabilities before."
Ashara opened her mouth to correct him. "I'm not a—"
Astarion's sudden, exaggerated coughing fit stopped her short. She turned to him, concern flickering in her eyes, but the warning glint in his gaze made her hesitate. Catching on, she pivoted back to Rolan, her voice carefully neutral.
"I'm… not allowed to talk about it outside of my enclave," she said quickly.
Rolan looked mildly disappointed but nodded, his expression still respectful. "I understand. I won't pry. However, it was remarkable - you are remarkable."
Her lips parted in surprise at his sincerity, but she managed a small, shy smile. "Thank you."
Astarion's eyes flicked between the two of them, narrowing slightly. A faint frown tugged at his lips before he slipped an arm around Ashara's shoulders in casual gesture. "Well, now that introductions are over," he said breezily, steering her towards a side room, "Ashara and I need to have a more in-depth conversation with Jaheira about our mission."
Rolan stepped forward, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Shouldn't I come along too?"
"No, no," Astarion replied smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm quite capable of passing on the required information. In the meantime, why don't you and Onyx see if you can find us some disguises? Something that screams 'cultist chic,' perhaps."
Rolan's gaze lingered, his expression skeptical but resigned. "Fine," he muttered, turning toward Onyx. The wolf gave Astarion a pointed look before following the disgruntled tiefling with a faint look of amusement.
As Astarion guided her into the side room, Ashara tilted her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Do you usually recruit people by punching them in the face?"
He raised an eyebrow, his tone deceptively innocent. "Who said I was the one who punched him?"
"Your bleeding knuckles did," Ashara replied dryly, arching a brow as she glanced pointedly at his hands.
Astarion followed her gaze and let out a faint hum, flexing his fingers as if noticing the damage for the first time. "Oh…" He shrugged with a nonchalance that only he could muster. "For the record, it was actually my elbow that did the damage to his nose. Though, in my defense, he rather asked for it when he stabbed me."
Ashara froze mid-step, her body going rigid as his words registered. Her breath hitched, and she turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "He did what?"
Her gaze swept over him, scanning his form until she spotted it - a small spot of blood darkening the fabric of his shirt just below his ribs. Without thinking, she reached for his shirt, her fingers brushing the hem as she started to lift it. "Let me see."
Before she could move further, Astarion's hands shot out, gripping her wrists with startling strength. She winced, startled by the suddenness of the motion. Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and she saw something flicker across his face - a flash of fear, raw and unguarded, before his expression smoothed. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before his fingers slowly loosened their hold.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with regret. "Gut reaction."
Ashara hesitated for a moment, then carefully pulled up his shirt, her heart clenching as her eyes fell on the angry, jagged scar beneath his ribs. The skin was freshly healed, faintly shimmering with the residue of magical mending, but she could tell at once that it had been deep. Too deep. A pang of rage flared hot and fierce in her chest.
Her jaw tightened, and before she could think better of it, she spun on her heel, heading back toward the main room. "I'm going to kill him," she declared, her voice low and steely.
Astarion's eyes widened, and he darted forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her back with surprising urgency. "No need for that, darling," he said hastily. "He's also the one who patched me back up again."
She frowned, her anger morphing into confusion. "What exactly did I miss while I was asleep?"
"I'll fill you in later," Astarion replied with a faint smirk, clearly more amused by the situation than he had any right to be. His expression shifted as someone entered the room, and he straightened slightly. "Right now, we have something more important to discuss. Don't we, Jaheira?"
Ashara turned, her gaze falling on the druid who stood in the doorway. Jaheira's expression was as sharp as her tone. "Nice of you to join us," she said dryly as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.
Standing before them with her arms folded, her piercing green eyes shifted to Ashara. "And thank you for not eating me. Ending up as wolf shit is not the way I envision going out."
Ashara blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, to her own surprise, a laugh bubbled up from her chest, spilling out despite her efforts to stifle it. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide as she looked at Jaheira, uncertain of how the older woman would react.
To her relief, Jaheira's expression softened ever so slightly. It wasn't quite a smile, but there was a faint glint of amusement in her eyes. The stern warrior Ashara had been expecting seemed to recede just enough to reveal a glimmer of something warmer.
Composing herself, Ashara stepped forward, her voice steady but tinged with a tentative warmth. "Let's start over, shall we? I'm Ashara, of High Forest."
For a moment, Jaheira simply regarded her, her sharp gaze unreadable. Then, after a brief pause, she extended her hand. "Jaheira, High Harper of Baldur's Gate," she said, her tone formal but not unfriendly. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Their hands met in a firm shake, and Ashara felt a flicker of respect beneath the weight of Jaheira's grip. For the first time since entering the room, she allowed herself to relax just a little.
"I'll get right down to it," Jaheira began, her voice firm and businesslike. "How long will this Frostfire barrier of yours last?"
Ashara hesitated, her fingers brushing unconsciously against the edge of her tunic. "Considering I didn't even know I could create it in the first place…" she admitted, her voice trailing off. "I haven't a clue."
Jaheira's expression darkened with irritation, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Then it would be wiser if you stayed behind to maintain it," she said curtly. "While Astarion, Onyx, and the drunk wizard head to Moonrise."
The suggestion hit Ashara like a slap, her protest immediate and sharp. "I'm not letting Astarion face the cult alone!"
Jaheira didn't miss a beat. "I just said he won't be going alone."
Ashara shook her head vehemently, her heart pounding as she turned to Astarion. "No. I promised you I would help you find and kill Durge. If he's in that place, I want to be there with you."
For a moment, Astarion's expression softened, his eyes searching hers. Then his lips curved into a faint, almost bittersweet smile, quickly replaced by his usual flippancy. "Your concern for me is touching, darling. Truly. But I actually agree with Jaheira on this."
Ashara blinked in surprise. "What?"
He tilted his head slightly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing wine. "You're… well, let's call it what it is - you're not a convincing liar. And you have certain… emotional control issues that might draw unwanted attention."
Ashara's jaw tightened, the words stinging more than she cared to admit. "I can keep the wolf in check."
Astarion stepped closer, his crimson eyes boring into hers, their intensity pinning her in place. "Really?" His voice was softer now but laced with steel. "So you'd be able to stand there silently or, gods forbid, laugh along while some cultist boasts about how many children they've slaughtered? How many people they've raped?"
Ashara's face paled, the words cutting into her like shards of ice. She swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea rising in her throat.
"I've had two centuries to perfect the art of pretending," Astarion continued, his tone almost clinical. "Two centuries of listening to those kinds of conversations from Cazador's guests. I even learned to praise and fawn over those sick bastards." His voice tightened, the edges of old wounds seeping into his words.
He leaned closer, his gaze relentless. "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you could do the same?"
Her heart thundered in her chest as her resolve wavered. She wanted to look away, to retreat from the intensity of his challenge - but she didn't. Instead, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and met his gaze head-on. "Yes," she said, her voice steady despite the storm swirling inside her.
Astarion studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head. "I could almost believe you… but you're still not a convincing liar."
Ashara clenched her fists at her sides, forcing down the frustration that bubbled beneath her skin. She exhaled sharply. "Then let me at least go with you as far as the outskirts of Moonrise Towers," she said, her voice tight but determined. "There are still plenty of dangers between here and there that don't require deception - just a sharp blade."
Before Astarion could respond, Jaheira interjected, her tone cutting. "And what happens if the Frostfire goes out while you're gone? Are we supposed to just sit and twiddle our thumbs while the shadows consume us?"
Ashara turned sharply toward Jaheira, her patience thinning. "If I find a way to protect Last Light without needing my presence, will you allow me to leave?"
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. "Of course," she said, her tone almost mocking. "But I'm curious what you think you can do that a Cleric of Selûne could not."
The seed of an idea bloomed in Ashara's mind, and a faint smile curved her lips. "Funny you should mention Selûne," she said, her voice calm but tinged with an edge of mischief. "Apparently, she and I go way back. I have a feeling she owes me a favor."
Both Astarion and Jaheira turned to look at her simultaneously, their expressions a study in contrasts. Jaheira's was hard-edged and skeptical, while Astarion's held a flicker of bemusement, his brow quirking in curiosity.
Ashara didn't wait for their responses. She pivoted on her heel and strode out of the room, her determination propelling her forward. As she passed Rolan in the hallway - his arms laden with a mismatched assortment of clothing - she shot him a venomous glare. The tiefling blinked in confusion, pausing mid-step to watch her storm by.
The air was heavy with tension as Jaheira and Astarion followed her up the stairs to Isobel's room. The balcony doors were open, a cool breeze wafting into the space. Ashara stepped out, her gaze sweeping over the setup Isobel had left behind: four mirrors positioned in a circle around a cluster of candles, their flames flickering in the faint wind. A small table was pushed against the railing, an incense burner resting atop it. The scent of lavender and sage still lingered faintly in the air. The setup seemed purposeful, ritualistic.
Ashara approached the table, her fingertips trailing lightly over the smooth wood as she studied the arrangement. The air around her felt heavy, charged with an energy she couldn't quite define. She hesitated for a moment, unsure where to begin.
She sensed Astarion's presence before he spoke, his voice low and tinged with dry amusement. "Do you actually know how to contact a moon goddess?"
Ashara muttered under her breath without looking at him, "Nope."
"Wonderful," he replied with an exaggerated sigh.
Suppressing a flicker of irritation, she straightened and turned to face him and Jaheira. "I need to concentrate in silence," she announced firmly. "Can both of you please leave and shut the doors?"
The two exchanged skeptical glances, Jaheira raising an eyebrow while Astarion's lips twitched in amusement. But, to her relief, they both stepped out of the room without argument. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Ashara alone with the quiet hum of the night.
The sudden quiet pressed down on her, broken only by the faint crackle of the candle flames and the distant whisper of the wind. She lit the incense burner with a steady hand, watching as tendrils of fragrant smoke coiled upward. Lifting her gaze to the moon, she let her eyes trace the ethereal band of asteroids trailing behind it - the Tears of Selûne, their faint glow like scattered pearls against the darkness.
"Selûne," she began, her voice quiet but steady, "I don't know if you'll remember me or not, seeing as I was just a baby when we met - and I'm sorry that I don't remember you at all. My memory is…" Ashara faltered, her throat tightening briefly. "It's a bit broken. But the people in this place need your help. Isobel, one of your clerics, has been kidnapped, and I want to help get her back. The barrier she made is gone, and I need your help to remake it - just until we can bring her home. Please."
She paused, her words hanging in the air. The silence stretched, deep and unyielding. Ashara's chest tightened, a knot of embarrassment and futility tangling inside her. What was I expecting? A goddess to just show up?
Her frustration flared, hot and sudden, and tears pricked her eyes. She swiped at them angrily, her voice trembling as she bowed her head. "Even though I don't remember her, my mother Lûnaris was one of your faithful," she pleaded. "If she meant anything to you, if she had your favor… please, answer me."
The stillness deepened, a hollow ache pressing against her ribs. Anger bubbled to the surface, raw and unrestrained. She turned to the sky, her voice rising in a shout that carried the weight of years of pain. "My mother trusted you to protect me, but you let Mystryl kidnap me and use me as a bargaining chip to imprison my father. You owe me at least one favor for that!"
Her voice echoed into the night, swallowed by the void. Nothing answered. No whisper of divine presence, no glimmer of acknowledgment. Just the stars staring down indifferently.
Ashara slumped against the railing, defeated. Wiping her face with a trembling hand, she turned back toward the room, her shoulders sagging. As her eyes swept over one of the mirrors, she froze, a startled yelp escaping her lips as she stumbled backwards in shock.
A middle-aged woman gazed back at her from the glass, a faint smile playing on her lips. The woman's features were soft and maternal - plump yet graceful, with streaks of silver running through dark hair and wide lime-green eyes that seemed to glow faintly. She wore a simple silvery-grey dress, the fabric shifting like moonlight across water.
"Such a demanding little pup," the woman murmured, her voice warm and tinged with laughter.
Ashara blinked rapidly, her mind struggling to catch up. "Who… who are you?"
The woman's smile deepened, her head tilting slightly. "Don't you know? You were calling my name just now."
Ashara's jaw slackened as realization struck. "Wait… you're Selûne?"
The woman nodded, the streaks of grey in her hair momentarily catching the light like threads of pure quicksilver.
Ashara collected herself with difficulty, her eyes narrowing in doubt. "You don't look like the statues."
Selûne chuckled, the sound like the chiming of bells in the breeze. "Oh? Were you expecting something more like this?"
Her form rippled like water disturbed by a stone, shifting seamlessly into a new figure. Now she appeared as a dusky-skinned woman of impossible beauty, her wide, radiant lime-green eyes captivating. Her long ivory hair cascaded like a river of silk, and her pure white gown sparkled with crystalline flecks that seemed to catch and hold the starlight.
Ashara's jaw dropped again, but she quickly snapped it shut, folding her arms as she leaned against the railing with forced nonchalance. "I think I prefer the other you more."
Selûne's laugh was warm and genuine as her form shimmered again, returning to the matronly figure. "Very well, moonchild," she said, her tone gentle. She folded her hands in front of her. "This was the form that nursed you, after all."
Ashara's breath caught at the revelation. Her gaze softened, and for the first time, she allowed herself to hope. "You remember me?"
Selûne nodded, her lime-green eyes glowing softly with an affection that felt as vast and endless as the night sky. "Of course I do, little one," the goddess said, her tone warm yet tinged with sadness. "I only regret that I was unable to help your mother further before she died."
The words struck a nerve, and Ashara's expression hardened, her bitterness bubbling to the surface. "You mean before she sacrificed herself to save your precious pantheon," she said, her voice sharp and scathing.
The matronly goddess straightened slightly, her tone taking on a quiet, reproving edge. "Do not speak lightly of events you have no recollection of, child," she said, her voice steady and kind, though it carried the weight of her authority. "The memory of your mother is a cherished one to me. Her courage inspired many that day - and it is the reason why I stand before you now."
Ashara's defiance crumbled beneath the quiet rebuke, shame washing over her like cold water. Her shoulders sagged, and she hung her head, mumbling, "Sorry."
The quiet was broken by a familiar voice, its deep timbre startling her. "As well you should be, Ashara."
She spun around to see Onyx standing in the doorway. Behind him, Jaheira, Astarion, and even Rolan stood frozen, their faces a mix of shock and disbelief as they took in the radiant figure in the mirror.
Jaheira's reaction was immediate and decisive. The druid dropped to her knees, bowing her head with solemn respect. Rolan hesitated for only a moment before following her lead, his expression one of awe.
Astarion, however, remained standing, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stared at the mirror. His lips curled into a cold, bitter smile as he began to walk forward, his movements slow and deliberate. "Centuries," he said, his voice low but sharp. "I spend centuries in slavery, hoping - praying - for divine intervention. Nothing. Not a whisper. Not a sign. Then, mindflayers kidnap me, and suddenly two deities show up in a single week." His smile widened, but there was no humor in it. "Isn't that just—"
Before he could finish, Selûne raised her hand in a swift, fluid motion. Astarion was immediately engulfed in a blinding white light, the glow so intense that Ashara had to shield her eyes. When it faded, he was gone.
Ashara gasped, her body lurching forward instinctively toward the now-empty space where he had stood. Her voice broke into a scream as she whirled back to the mirror, her eyes blazing with fury. "What did you do to him?!"
Selûne remained calm, unperturbed by Ashara's outburst. Her serene gaze met Ashara's fiery one with unshakable composure. "A vampire cannot stand in the presence of a goddess," she said simply, as if explaining a basic truth of the world.
Ashara's anger boiled over, her fists clenching as she took a step closer to the mirror. "If you've hurt him—"
Onyx quickly stepped between her and the mirror, his broad frame blocking her path. "Ashara," he said firmly, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "Calm yourself. Now."
She froze, her breath catching at the uncharacteristic sharpness in his tone. Onyx's gaze softened slightly as he continued, his voice lower but no less authoritative. "That was simply a teleportation spell. Astarion would have been seriously hurt by Selûne's radiant aura if he had taken another step."
Ashara blinked, her anger faltering as his words sank in. The fire in her chest cooled rapidly, leaving behind only a wave of embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she took a small step back, mumbling, "Oh…"
Onyx turned back to the mirror, bowing his head deeply as he addressed Selûne. "Allow me to beg forgiveness on Ashara's behalf," he said solemnly. "She greatly values the life of this vampire."
Selûne's gaze shifted to Onyx, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "No forgiveness is needed. Her anger comes from a place of loyalty and love. It is a fire that burns bright within her - it will serve her well, but only if she learns to temper it with wisdom."
Ashara swallowed, the sting of the goddess's words settling deep in her chest. "Where did you send him?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"To the other side of the inn," Selûne replied with a faint smile. "He is unharmed - though it would be wise for him to learn respect in the future."
Ashara exhaled shakily, relief washing over her. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling foolish for her outburst but unwilling to apologize again. Instead, she turned her focus back to the task at hand. "The barrier," she said, her voice steadying. "Can you help me restore it?"
Selûne's expression softened further, and she nodded. "Yes, moonchild. But it will require a token of your devotion. Are you willing to give it?"
Ashara hesitated, her fingers brushing absently against the scar on her palm, the faint lines a reminder of countless sacrifices made before. "What kind of token?" she asked cautiously, her voice low.
Instead of answering directly, Selûne turned her glowing gaze to Onyx. Her eyes brightened, their light illuminating the room with an ethereal glow that seemed to bypass the physical world entirely. Onyx stiffened and his ears flicked forward, his golden eyes narrowing briefly before he flattened his ears and bowed low.
"It would be my honor," he said solemnly.
Ashara's heart skipped a beat, dread creeping into her chest. She stepped toward him, her brows knitting with concern. "What? What did she say to you?"
Onyx turned to her, his large head lowering to nuzzle her shoulder with a tenderness that only deepened her unease. "I will not be joining you on this quest, Ashara," he said softly. "I must remain here, to protect the people in this sanctuary."
Ashara's world tilted, her breath catching in her throat. "No… no," she stammered, stepping back as if distance could undo his words. "I need you beside me. We're a pack."
Onyx sat back on his haunches, his gaze steady and unwavering as it met hers. "I am not the only one in your pack anymore," he said softly. "Astarion will help you, as will the others. You must learn to lead them - and trust in your own power."
Her throat tightened as emotions flooded her, words failing her. She struggled to form a response, but nothing came. Instead, her eyes burned with unshed tears as she stared at him, her chest heaving.
Onyx nuzzled her one last time, the gesture filled with a deep and quiet affection. Then, with a grace that belied his massive size, he turned and stepped toward the mirror. Ashara's throat tightened as she watched him lie down in front of the shimmering surface, his dark fur gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
He extended his head and Selûne leaned forward, her body passing fluidly through the mirror as though it were water. She kissed the wolf's forehead, her lips brushing the fur lightly, a silver glow blooming where her touch landed.
Onyx's tail wagged once, slowly, and a soft, contented sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes. Selûne smiled gently, her form retreating back into the glass, rippling like liquid mercury until only Ashara's reflection remained.
Her voice broke through the silence, sharp and frantic. "Onyx, what is happening?"
Onyx didn't respond. Instead, he rose with deliberate calm, his movements carrying an air of finality that made Ashara's stomach twist. He padded to the edge of the balcony, stepping into the circle of candles that surrounded the ceremonial space. His golden eyes turned upward, fixing on the moon, its light casting him in a spectral glow.
Ashara watched helplessly as he tilted his head back, and a long, mournful howl tore from his throat. The sound was haunting, laced with an aching beauty that sent shivers cascading down her spine. It rose and fell in undulating waves, carrying with it the weight of something ancient and sacred.
As the final notes of the howl faded into silence, a soft, silver glow began to spread from the spot where Selûne had kissed him. The light moved like liquid, cascading over his dark fur in streams of shimmering mercury. Ashara's breath hitched, her feet rooted to the ground as she watched, her mind struggling to process what was happening.
"Onyx…" Ashara whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the growing energy.
Before she could take another step, the silver overtook him completely, encasing his form in a shell of glimmering metal. In mere moments, Onyx stood frozen, a solid silver statue caught mid-howl. His body radiated a quiet power, the details of his fur, his muscles, and even the faint tilt of his ears captured with eerie precision. The sight stole the air from Ashara's lungs, and her knees threatened to buckle.
Before she could approach him, a sudden ripple of energy burst outward from Onyx's statue-like form. It moved with a soundless force, sweeping through the inn and beyond, dissipating the Frostfire barrier in an instant. In its place, a protective dome of moonlight unfurled, encasing the grounds of the sanctuary in the same silvery glow that had greeted them when they first arrived.
Ashara stumbled forward, her hands trembling as they hovered near the statue. "Onyx…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the barrier. She pressed her hands against the cold, smooth silver, her forehead resting against it as her tears fell freely. "You didn't have to do this…"
Behind her, Jaheira spoke softly, her voice filled with reverence. "He has ensured the safety of everyone here, Ashara. Now it is up to us to ensure he does not remain this way for eternity."
Ashara didn't turn. Her fingers curled against the statue, her nails scraping lightly as though she could somehow undo the transformation through sheer willpower. "He's my family," she said hoarsely. "How am I supposed to do this without him?"
A familiar voice cut through the thick haze of her grief, cool and composed. "With us by your side, naturally."
Ashara turned sharply, her eyes still wet but blazing with emotion. Astarion stood in the doorway, Rolan just behind him. His posture was calm, his eyes sharp and unwavering as they met hers. "You seem to keep forgetting you're not alone in this," he said, closing the distance between them.
As soon as he reached her, he pulled her into a firm, steadying embrace. Ashara gripped him tightly, her nails catching the fabric of his shirt as she buried her face against his chest. Her breaths came in shuddering waves, the weight of responsibility pressing down like a collapsing sky.
She drew in a deep breath, letting his scent and sound of his slow heartbeat center her. The weight didn't vanish, but it ebbed just enough for her to find her footing again. Determination sparked within her, igniting like embers catching a breeze. She straightened, pulling back from his embrace but lingering close enough to draw strength from his presence. Her gaze met his, hard and unwavering now, the fire in her eyes reflected in his.
"I'm going to get our friends and Isobel back," she said, her voice firm, each word punctuated with unshakable purpose. "And I'm going to destroy this cult. Once and for all. Are you with me?"
Astarion studied her for a moment, his lips quirking into a sharp grin. Whatever he saw in her eyes was enough to stoke his own sense of purpose. "Darling," he said smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement, "I thought you'd never ask."
