Ashara's consciousness surfaced like a swimmer breaking through dark waters, her awareness sluggish and tinged with pain. Her eyelids felt like lead as she forced them open.
The first thing she registered was the coppery tang of blood coating her tongue, thick and nauseating. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, each pulse sending sharp spikes of pain through her skull. When she forced her eyes open, darkness greeted her - vast and oppressive.
The chamber stretched around her, seemingly infinite, its stillness heavy and suffocating. Violet lanterns floated along the edges of her vision, their cold light glinting against smooth purple marble walls. She could make out no door, no windows.
Though certain she remained in the Gauntlet, this room was unfamiliar - a dead, featureless void that felt forgotten and timeless.
She tried to move, but her limbs were unnaturally heavy, her arms pulled taut and suspended. Blinking through the haze, she realized why. Tendrils made of the same swirling, dark purple energy that had dragged her here coiled around her wrists like serpents.
The energy pulsed like living veins, each throb matching her shallow breaths. She strained against them, muscles trembling, but they didn't give. Instead, the tendrils tightened, their texture shifting like oil slicks, both solid and ethereal.
Ashara swallowed thickly, her voice cracking as it broke the silence. "Hello? Is anyone out there?"
The words hung in the air, unanswered, until - faint and distant -she heard it. A rustle of fabric, almost imperceptible, but enough to send her heart racing. She twisted in place, eyes darting toward the sound, but the darkness remained impenetrable even to her elven eyes.
"What do you want from me?" Her voice trembled despite her efforts to steady it.
A reply came, deep and melodic, its resonance like the toll of an ancient gong. "What I've always wanted from you, Daughter of Fenrir."
Ashara's blood turned to ice. That voice. Something about it pricked at the edges of her memory. The air grew heavier, the faint tang of ozone crackling around her.
From the shadows emerged a figure, his appearance so sudden it stole her breath. He moved with a fluidity that seemed effortless, his presence cold and overwhelming.
A golden elf, impossibly tall and slender, his blonde hair flowing to his waist like a river of light. The robe he wore shimmered with threads of flame, embroidered rubies catching the faint light like dying embers.
His eyes - dark green and vivid, like malachite polished to perfection - held no warmth. They swept over her, detached and clinical, as though dissecting her with a single glance. He gripped a gold staff crowned with a flame-shaped decoration, and even standing still, he radiated an aura of power, like a mountain looming over an unworthy world.
Ashara's breath hitched. Recognition clawed at her chest, cold dread tightening like winter frost around her heart. There was only one being this could possibly be.
"Bâlorak," she whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a curse.
He inclined his head in a shallow bow, his expression unreadable. "Of course. Who else would dare to chain the scion of a god?"
Bâlorak strode forward, his steps echoing faintly in the chamber. When he was close enough, he extended the tip of his staff under her chin, tilting her head upward. His gaze swept over her, taking in every detail as though appraising a flawed artifact.
After a moment, he spoke, his tone sharp with disappointment. "Hmmm... you're not quite ready yet. You have yet to unlock your full potential."
With a sharp motion, he pulled back the staff and tapped it against the floor. The sound rang out like a judge's gavel. "No matter, there are ways we can remedy that."
The tendrils around her wrists pulsed brighter, their glow searing against her skin. Pain lanced through her body, starting in her arms and rippling outward in agonizing waves. She clenched her teeth, her breath hissing between them as she struggled to contain the scream clawing at her throat.
"If you think you can break me with pain, guess again," she snarled, her voice low and defiant despite the agony.
Bâlorak waved a hand, dismissive and unconcerned. "No, no, we tried that already - one of the first methods, in fact. But I've found I quite enjoy the sight of you in agony."
His lips curled ever so slightly, a stilted imitation of a smile. For the first time, Ashara saw a flicker of emotion in his expression, but it was colder than ice - pure malice, calculated and deliberate.
The tendrils flared again, their energy searing her skin. Ashara's scream tore free, raw and unbidden, echoing in the chamber. She felt her form begin to shift, the beast within rising instinctively to protect her. Muscles rippled under her skin, her senses sharpening, but as the transformation began, a new sensation gripped her - a terrible, nauseating drain.
Her strength ebbed, pouring from her like water from a cracked vessel. The tendrils seemed to drink her energy, growing brighter with each passing moment. Gasping, she forced the shift to halt, the drain easing slightly.
Her chest heaved, sweat dripping from her brow as realization set in. The wolf - her divine inheritance - was what he sought. And he would stop at nothing to take it.
A thick leather-bound tome materialized in Bâlorak's hands, its weight appearing to draw a faint ripple in the air. The edges of its cover were worn, though the embossed symbols glowed faintly with an otherworldly light.
Bâlorak opened it with a single, elegant motion, the pages releasing a soft crackle as though they had not been disturbed for centuries. His eyes scanned the contents, their vivid green glow tracing the arcane text with clinical detachment.
"Previous studies show that pain and fear for your own life are inefficient motivators for you," he murmured, his voice carrying the cadence of someone cataloging a particularly dull observation. He turned a page with deliberate care, the sound sharp in the oppressive silence. "So, perhaps we should try something new this time."
Ashara strained against the tendrils that bound her, their pulse now a low, mocking thrum. Her heart pounded, anger warring with fear as she forced her voice to steady. "Why are you doing this?"
He stopped mid-motion, one pale, slender finger resting on the page. Slowly, he raised his head, his gaze flicking to hers with what might have been mild surprise. "Ah, that's right," he said, his tone as if addressing a particularly slow student. "I keep forgetting this is all new for you, isn't it?" His lips twitched, but no smile formed. "Well, allow me to explain. The powers that Fenrir bestowed upon you are of great value to—"
Ashara's voice cut through his monologue, sharp and dismissive. "I've already figured that part out. The energy-draining beams were a bit of a clue. And I'm not interested in the fine details of your master plan. Just the endgame."
Her words hung in the air, defiant yet measured, but her pulse quickened. She watched his reaction carefully, hoping to provoke him - or at least unbalance him.
Bâlorak blinked, his head tilting in a precise motion, like a bird appraising an unfamiliar object. For a moment, he simply studied her, his features inscrutable.
"Curious," he said at last, his tone even but faintly intrigued. He closed the tome with a resounding thud, letting the sound linger. "You sound almost like the vampire. Has he been giving this iteration of you lessons in bravado?"
The mention of Astarion sent a jolt of cold terror through her chest. Her body went rigid, her breath hitching. She masked the spike of fear as best she could, but her fingers curled into fists where the tendrils allowed her movement. "Astarion..." she said, her voice low and tight. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"
The corners of Bâlorak's mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile but enough to send a chill down her spine. He turned his attention back to the energy beams pulsing around her. The beams pulsed brighter under his gaze, their glow throwing jagged shadows across the chamber's smooth marble walls. For a moment, he appeared lost in thought, his head cocked slightly, his expression contemplative.
Bâlorak turned back to her, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that felt like a scalpel slicing through her defenses. "Perhaps..." he murmured, his voice soft and disturbingly thoughtful, "sorrow?"
Ashara's stomach twisted at the word. She didn't understand his intent, but the chilling finality in his tone struck a nerve. She forced her expression to remain defiant, but her heart pounded violently in her chest.
Bâlorak raised his staff, its surface catching the dim light and sending fractured reflections across the chamber walls.
"Please excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back."
Before Ashara could respond, he vanished in a brilliant flash of gold light. The air where he had stood shimmered faintly for a moment, then stilled. The silence that followed was deafening.
Ashara's breaths came shallow and quick, her chest rising and falling as she stared at the empty space he left behind. Fear coiled tighter in her gut, her pulse a drumbeat of rising panic. She twisted her wrists against the tendrils that bound her, their pulsing energy biting into her skin. Her muscles screamed with effort, but the restraints refused to yield.
The waiting was unbearable. Each second stretched into an eternity as her mind spiraled. Her thoughts churned, desperate and chaotic. She reached for fragments of memories - anything that could help her understand Bâlorak's methods, his weaknesses - but her past lives remained an infuriating void. How was she supposed to defeat someone so ancient, so calculated?
A pang of longing struck her, sudden and fierce. Onyx. The wolf's steadfast presence, his unwavering loyalty, felt like a distant dream. A single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a cold line against her skin before falling soundlessly to the floor.
The golden light flared again, breaking the silence, and Bâlorak reappeared as effortlessly as he had vanished. He stood tall and composed, but there was a sharpness to his features now, a flicker of annoyance. In one hand, he held a knife, the blade slick with fresh blood that dripped in slow, deliberate drops onto the pristine marble floor. His other hand was tucked behind his back, hidden from view.
"Well," he said, his tone clipped and irritated, "that was unnecessarily messy. Such a violent little pet you had there."
Ashara's heart stopped. Her gaze locked on the bloodied blade, then darted to the arm concealed behind his back. A sickening dread coiled in her stomach, twisting tighter with every passing second.
"What did you—" Her voice cracked, trembling as she forced the words out.
Bâlorak's lips curled in a faint, detached smile as he brought his concealed hand forward and tossed something across the floor.
The object hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled, leaving a faint smear of blood in its wake. Ashara's stomach lurched, her mind screaming at her not to look, but she couldn't stop herself.
Time seemed to freeze. The severed head lay still, its silver curls matted with blood, crimson eyes staring lifelessly into the void. Ashara's breath caught in her throat, the scream ripping free before she could stop it.
"Astarion!" The name tore from her lips, raw and broken, as if by naming him she could undo the horror before her.
Bâlorak tilted his head, his expression one of detached curiosity. "Interesting," he murmured, as though taking notes on her reaction.
Ashara's legs buckled, and she collapsed as far as the tendrils allowed. Her eyes remained fixed on Astarion's face, her mind rejecting the reality of what lay before her. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be him.
Bâlorak's expression shifted ever so slightly, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his otherwise cold demeanor. "I'll just let this simmer for a while," he said, and without another word, he vanished in another burst of golden light.
The tendrils around Ashara's wrists slackened, their energy dimming, and she crumpled forward onto the floor. Her hands hit the marble, palms slick with sweat, and she crawled toward the severed head, each movement heavy with disbelief.
When she reached the head, her trembling fingers hovered just above Astarion's cheek. His skin was cold, lifeless, and the sensation shattered whatever fragile control she had clung to. A sob erupted from her chest, sharp and guttural, and she threw her head back with a scream that echoed through the chamber like a dying animal.
Her body convulsed as waves of grief consumed her, her tears falling freely now. She curled into herself, her arms wrapping tightly around her middle as though trying to hold herself together.
But it wasn't enough. The emotions surged, unstoppable and overwhelming. Her breathing turned erratic, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She clawed at her arms, her nails raking across her skin until blood welled beneath her fingers. Her hands shot to her hair, tugging at it violently as she rocked back and forth, the pain doing little to drown out the agony in her soul.
The violet light flickered weakly as if the tendrils themselves recoiled from her overwhelming anguish. But Ashara was beyond noticing. Her cries echoed endlessly in the chamber, a sound of pure, unrelenting despair.
Astarion's fingers pressed against the invisible wall separating him from Ashara, the faint hum of energy beneath his palms a cruel reminder of the barrier he couldn't breach. He leaned forward, his crimson eyes fixed on her trembling form as Ashara's tears streamed freely, carving pale tracks through the grime on her face.
Her fingers raked across her arms, leaving angry red welts that blossomed into beads of blood. She pulled at her hair in violent fits, her body writhing as though consumed by an inner torment too vast for her mortal frame to contain.
Astarion could feel her pain as if it were a blade twisting in his own chest, each gasp and choke wrenching something vital out of him. He pressed harder against the barrier, his fingers curling into claws, frustration and helplessness boiling within him. His throat tightened as he fought against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, an ache building behind them like a storm held just at bay. He swallowed hard, his fangs biting into his lower lip as he struggled to make sense of what he was witnessing.
He hadn't moved since Bâlorak had tossed that grotesque imitation of his head at her feet. Time had slowed to a crawl as the scene played out in excruciating detail - the sickening thud, Ashara's scream, her fingers trembling as they reached for his likeness.
He hadn't expected this. Sadness, yes. A solemn nod to the loss of an ally, perhaps even a friend. But this? This was the grief of someone who had lost a piece of themselves. And it wasn't feigned or manipulative - it was utterly, painfully real. It was... love.
The realization sat like a stone in his gut. Love? No, it couldn't be. He hadn't seduced her, hadn't even truly tried yet. She wasn't supposed to care about him like this, not without the lies, the charm, the careful manipulation that had worked so flawlessly on others.
For a moment, Astarion wondered what it would feel like to deserve that kind of love. The thought came unbidden, slipping past his defenses before he could stop it. He shook his head sharply, as if to dislodge it, but the weight of it lingered.
To his right, Bâlorak stood motionless, his presence as cold and detached as ever. The sorcerer's golden hair shimmered faintly in the light of the dome, his green eyes trained on Ashara with the dispassionate focus of a scholar observing an experiment. Astarion's gaze flicked toward him, his lip curling in a snarl.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Astarion said, his voice low and venomous.
Bâlorak didn't respond. He didn't even glance Astarion's way. It was as though Astarion didn't exist, a mere ghost trapped in this accursed energy dome.
He remembered the moment he'd woken in this chamber, the disorienting swirl of purple energy still fresh in his mind. He'd barely had time to register Ashara lying unconscious nearby before Bâlorak's towering form had come into focus. The elf had stood over her with an expression of serene detachment, his golden robes shimmering faintly in the dim light.
When Bâlorak's hand reached out, lifting Ashara as though she weighed nothing, Astarion's instincts had kicked in. He had drawn his blade in a heartbeat, his feet carrying him forward in a blur of motion.
It hadn't mattered. His sword had rebounded harmlessly off the field of energy encasing Bâlorak, sending him staggering back. He'd tried again, and again, his attacks growing more desperate with each failed attempt. Bâlorak hadn't even acknowledged him, his indifference a deeper insult than any taunt could have been.
When the dome had been erected and Astarion forcibly teleported within it, he had been left to watch as Bâlorak hoisted Ashara into the air like a puppet, binding her with those accursed tendrils. His helplessness had burned then, but now it threatened to consume him entirely.
Astarion's nails bit into his palms as his fists clenched. He couldn't bear to look at Ashara anymore - her broken cries, the blood staining her arms, the despair radiating from her every movement. But he couldn't look away either.
His voice dropped, cracking under the weight of his anguish. "Ashara... please. Don't do this to yourself."
Astarion closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the image of her. But her sobs still reached him, faint and agonizing, and when he opened his eyes again, the tears he'd fought so hard to suppress glistened on his cheeks.
His gaze locked onto the imitation of his severed head. The craftsmanship of it turned his stomach - a pale, lifeless mimicry of himself, smeared in blood, its curls matted and limp. He shuddered, though the motion was almost imperceptible. So, this was how he'd looked in death. Not quite the noble visage he might have preferred - nor the way he envisioned satisfying his curiosity about his appearance.
When Bâlorak had first conjured the grotesque effigy, Astarion had laughed. The sorcerer had stood over a lump of raw, unrecognizable flesh, muttering incantations that twisted and reshaped it with every syllable. Astarion had sneered, arms folded across his chest as he watched the process.
"A waste of your precious energy," he'd said, his voice laced with disdain. "She won't break over me. You've miscalculated."
Now, as Ashara's screams echoed through the chamber, he bit back the bitter irony clawing at his throat.
Bâlorak's voice broke through his thoughts, smooth and detached. "It would appear your assurance that your death would not adversely affect her is incorrect."
Astarion's lips curled into a scowl as he tore his gaze from the doppelgänger. "Believe me," he said, his voice cold, though a flicker of unease lingered beneath it, "I'm as surprised as you."
Bâlorak tilted his head slightly, his golden hair catching the eerie violet light of the chamber. His lips twitched - not quite a smile, more a faint tightening at the corners.
"However," the sorcerer murmured, his tone more introspective than conversational, "grief has yet to turn to rage. If results are not forthcoming soon, I may have to resort to different methods."
"What are you hoping to achieve with all these theatrics?" Astarion snapped, his voice sharp as he stepped closer.
Bâlorak turned his back on him, his robes billowing out slightly as he moved. With a flick of his wrist, a set of glowing runes materialized in the air before him, their light casting intricate, shifting patterns against the chamber walls. He leaned closer, examining them, his fingers tracing invisible lines as he hummed a discordant tune under his breath.
Astarion ground his teeth, stepping closer to the barrier that separated him from Ashara. "You need her to transform before you can drain her power," he said, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "And I'm guessing just asking nicely hasn't worked well for you in the past?"
Bâlorak didn't look up from his work, though his head bobbed slightly, acknowledging the question. "The subject has proved unusually stubborn in that regard, yes," he said, his voice as measured as ever as his fingers flicked through the runes, shifting their arrangement as he continued. "Extreme emotions override her control. However, it is a delicate balance between triggering a shift and provoking her too far."
Astarion smirked, his fangs catching the faint light as he folded his arms across his chest. "You mean you overplay your hand and she breaks free, sending you scurrying for the hills with your tail between your legs?"
The runes flickered briefly, a subtle tremor passing through them as Bâlorak's hand froze mid-motion. Slowly, he raised his staff in a single, deliberate gesture. Pain ignited in Astarion's chest, radiating outward in searing waves that stole his breath and forced him to the floor. His vision blurred, dark spots clouding the edges as he gasped for air.
"A strategic retreat," Bâlorak said calmly, his voice steady as Astarion convulsed, "has often been required."
Gritting his teeth, Astarion forced himself to rise. His legs trembled beneath him, his breathing ragged, but he refused to stay down. He lifted his head, crimson eyes blazing with defiance. "Touched a nerve, I see," he spat.
Bâlorak finally turned, his green eyes gleaming. "It would be wise for you to refrain from provoking me, spawn," he said, his tone calm yet edged with menace. "Lest I exchange the flesh construct for the genuine article."
Astarion held his ground, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He knew he was powerless here, but that didn't mean he had to make it easy for Bâlorak. If nothing else, he would be a thorn in the sorcerer's side until his last breath - or until he found a way to rip that smug expression off his face.
"I'll keep that in mind," Astarion muttered. But inwardly, his thoughts churned. He needed to find a way out of this - before Bâlorak's patience ran out, and Ashara's suffering became something irreversible.
He turned back to her, anxiety sinking deeper into his bones. She hadn't moved much, save for her trembling fingers now hovering near the severed head's cheek again. Her touch was gentle, reverent, as though she were afraid it might shatter. Another sob escaped her lips, soft and broken. Astarion winced, unable to look away, as if he were bound to her in this moment of devastation.
"That's not me..." he whispered, his voice catching. His fingers dug into the barrier as if he could tear it down with sheer will.
Then something shifted.
Ashara's brow furrowed slightly, tears streaking down her cheeks. With her other hand, she reached out, this time slower, exploring the contours of the illusion's face. Her fingers traced the jaw, the slope of the nose, pausing briefly at the hollow curve of the eyes.
Her frown deepened as her fingers mapped the face with the same careful precision he remembered that night by the fire, her voice soft as she described him. Her fingers had moved like they were tracing constellations, her focus unwavering as if committing his likeness to memory. That same attentiveness lingered now in her movements, though her touch trembled with grief and disbelief.
For the briefest moment, her movements stilled, her head tilting slightly. Astarion's breath caught, his crimson eyes locked on her as hope flared in his chest. She knew. Somewhere deep inside, she knew.
"That's right," he whispered, his voice low and urgent. He pressed his palms harder against the barrier, fingers splayed. "Figure it out. That's not me, Ashara. I'm right here... I'm alive."
Astarion's eyes flicked to the Balorak, his lip curling in silent disgust. He was so insufferably smug, so convinced of his own superiority. He hadn't noticed Ashara starting to pull herself together, hadn't felt the shift in her demeanor - a spark trying to reignite.
Ashara sat up straighter, her expression hardening into something sharper. Her fingers paused against the illusion's face, her eyes narrowing. For the first time, she looked at it not with grief, but suspicion.
Astarion sagged against the barrier, relief flooding through him. "That's my girl," he murmured, the faintest smile breaking across his face, soft and unguarded.
Ashara staggered to her feet, her breaths ragged and uneven, each one shuddering through her frame. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her knuckles white as her gaze fell on the writhing tendrils still wrapped around her wrists. The violet energy pulsed faintly, tightening as if in response to her defiance.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, her body taut with concentration. A faint blue glow began to emanate from her hands, soft at first but quickly intensifying. The air around her shifted as the temperature in the chamber dropped sharply, a brittle chill that sent faint wisps of frost spreading along the floor.
The glow brightened as she gripped the tendrils, her fingers digging into their oily, writhing surface. The ice came next, creeping upwards like a living thing. Frost crackled as it spread, encasing the energy restraints in crystalline cold.
From his place behind the barrier, Astarion straightened, the sight igniting a flicker of hope in his chest. She was fighting back. And it was working. His lips curled into a grin, but the triumph in his eyes dimmed as Bâlorak appeared beside him, his movements fluid and unhurried.
"Hmm..." the sorcerer murmured, his gaze fixed on Ashara with an almost bored detachment. "This is an unfortunate development."
Astarion's grin sharpened, his crimson eyes glinting with mockery. "I'd pick up your skirts and start running if I were you."
Bâlorak didn't respond immediately. His chin tilted downward slightly, his fingers brushing against it in a contemplative gesture. The ice continued to climb the tendrils, crackling audibly as it consumed the restraints. "Anger has been achieved," he said, almost absently. "But it is too controlled and focused."
Astarion rolled his eyes, feigning nonchalance, though his fingers twitched where they rested against the barrier. "Yes, I'd say she's quite pissed about the little trick you played on her," he said, his voice dry.
Bâlorak turned toward him then, and Astarion's breath hitched. Those green eyes, vivid and cold, fixed on him with an intensity that pinned him in place.
For the first time, he noticed the pupils were slitted, almost reptilian and Astarion felt a chill skitter down his spine. A realization began to form, a dreadful, creeping suspicion that he couldn't yet articulate. Something ancient, primal, and terrifying lay behind that gaze.
Before he could dwell on it, Ashara let out a cry of anger. She lunged forward, the ice spreading faster now, splintering and cracking with every pulse of her glowing hands. With a sound like breaking glass, the tendrils shattered, sending shards of jagged ice flying in every direction. Some fragments bounced harmlessly off the barrier, their sharp edges glinting in the cold light.
Astarion's eyes darted to her face, and his grin returned when he saw the realization dawn in her expression. Her gaze locked on the barrier, her head tilting slightly as she quickly crossed over to it. Her lips curved into a small, triumphant smile as her hand pressed firmly against the energy field.
Astarion raised his own hand, pressing it against the other side of the barrier where hers rested. The faint hum of the wall vibrated beneath his palm, and though she couldn't see him, he willed her to feel his presence, to know he was there. His lips parted, a silent word on the tip of his tongue, but before he could speak, the moment was broken.
"I see a more traditional method is required," Bâlorak remarked. The sorcerer's lips twitched into what might have been amusement - or perhaps disdain.
Before Astarion could react, he felt an iron grip close around the back of his neck. The sorcerer's fingers were impossibly strong, cold as the ice still scattered across the floor. Astarion stiffened, his breath catching as he tried to twist away, but the pressure only increased.
"Stand perfectly still," Bâlorak commanded, his voice low and cold, "or I will be forced to snap your neck."
For a fleeting moment, Astarion's defiance wavered. His jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply through his nose, his body rigid beneath Bâlorak's hand. "Fine," he said, his voice low and caustic. "But you'd better pray she doesn't get to you first."
Bâlorak's grip pulled him back from the barrier towards the centre of the dome. His fists clenched at his sides, his crimson eyes burning with a fury he refused to let fade. Whatever was coming next, he would be ready.
Ashara's fingers trembled as they pressed against the now-flickering barrier. The energy beneath her touch pulsed erratically, like a dying heartbeat. She hardened her jaw, her breath hissing through clenched teeth as the anger simmering inside her began to boil.
This was it - this had to be where Bâlorak had hidden Astarion. The thought of the sorcerer's cruel trick, of that grotesque illusion meant to break her, sent her rage burning hotter, sharper. She drew her hand back, icy blue light flaring to life along her arm, frost creeping over her fingers like living armor.
Her fist clenched tight, knuckles straining under the pressure, and she drove it forward with all her might. The impact rippled through the barrier, spiderweb cracks blooming outward, refracting the faint violet light of the chamber.
Encouraged, she struck again. Shards of frost splintered with each blow, the cracks widening and spreading until the barrier groaned under the strain. One more. The thought reverberated through her mind, and she delivered a final, bone-shaking punch.
A burst of golden light erupted outward, illuminating the chamber in blinding brilliance. Ashara shielded her eyes with her arm, the shockwave rattling through her body. When the light faded, her chest swelled with triumph - but it was fleeting. Her gaze fell on the figure standing just beyond the broken wall, and the elation curdled into dread.
Bâlorak stood just beyond the ruined barrier, unbothered and pristine, as though the chaos hadn't touched him. His golden robes caught the remaining light, shimmering faintly like molten metal. His hand, however, was wrapped tightly around Astarion's neck.
Her heart stuttered. Astarion dangled from Bâlorak's grip, his boots scraping against the floor in a futile attempt to find purchase. His crimson eyes locked onto hers, sharp and clear despite the strain that flushed his face.
Ashara froze as fear slithered up her spine like a cold hand. But she forced herself to hold her ground, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Let him go."
Bâlorak's head tilted, his expression detached, as though appraising her demand. "Gladly," he said, his tone smooth and dispassionate. "Once you comply with my request."
Ashara's gaze darted to Astarion. Somehow, even now, he found a way to smirk. "I'm a little disappointed it took you so long to figure out that dreadful illusion wasn't me," he rasped, his voice strained but tinged with humor. "Surely I'm a lot more handsome than that thing?"
Her lips twitched in a tense smile, her throat tightening at his forced bravado. "Shock blinded me for a moment."
The moment of levity was brief. Bâlorak's grip tightened around Astarion's neck, and the vampire winced, his body jolting in pain. Ashara's muscles tensed, her instincts screaming to act, but fear rooted her in place.
"I am not in the habit of being ignored," Bâlorak said. His emerald eyes met hers, their slitted pupils narrowing with menace. "Please do not force me to eliminate my bargaining tool prematurely."
Her fists clenched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, even as her pulse raced. "What do you want?" The words came out sharper than she intended.
Bâlorak sighed, a long, exaggerated breath that bristled with condescension. "Must I repeat myself?" he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "This iteration of you is remarkably lacking in intelligence."
Before Ashara could respond, he shifted his grip on Astarion. With an almost casual motion, he lifted the vampire higher, dangling him fully off the ground. Astarion's hands clawed at Bâlorak's fingers, his struggles growing weaker as his breaths came in choking gasps.
"I will simplify this for you," Bâlorak continued, his voice calm yet suffused with deadly intent. "Transmute this feeble body of yours into your demigod form, and sit quietly while I drain your essence. If you do not comply, I will wrench this disgusting creature's head from his shoulders. And I assure you, it will be no illusion this time."
Ashara's blood roared in her ears. Her gaze locked on Astarion as he struggled against the iron grip around his neck. His lips moved faintly, forming words she couldn't hear, but his meaning was clear: Don't.
Her breath hitched. The wolf within her stirred, growling low and feral, its presence pushing against her control. Her magic pulsed at her fingertips, aching to be unleashed, but she didn't move. She couldn't. Every second dragged like an eternity, the weight of the sorcerer's ultimatum pressing down on her.
Bâlorak's expression tightened, his mouth a thin, disapproving line. His eyes narrowed further as he regarded Ashara's hesitation. Without warning, his grip on Astarion's neck shifted, and a sharp, choked cry tore from the vampire's throat. The sound hit Ashara like a physical blow, her heart seizing as tears pricked at her eyes.
"No!" she cried, her voice raw with desperation. Her hands shot forward as if to reach for him, though the distance made it futile. "Stop! Please... don't hurt him! I'll do it - I'll do whatever you want. Just please, let him go."
Bâlorak's lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile. He released his grip, letting Astarion fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. The vampire's body hit the cold marble with a dull thud, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to push himself upright. Beside him, Bâlorak raised his staff, the air around him shimmering as purple tendrils of magic materialized.
The tendrils lashed out, coiling around Astarion's wrists and neck. He flinched as they tightened, their pulsing energy digging into his pale skin. Before Ashara could react, similar tendrils lashed out toward her. They wrapped around her limbs and torso with a speed and strength that left no room to dodge. She struggled, her muscles straining, but the moment she pulled against them, Astarion let out another cry of pain, his body jolting as though struck.
"Stop!" she yelled, freezing in place. Her chest heaved as she locked eyes with Bâlorak, her voice trembling with fury and fear. "Leave him alone!"
The sorcerer's calm, dispassionate gaze settled on her. "I am not the one causing him pain - you are," he said, his tone flat and almost bored. "This magic now binds you to each other. Every time you resist, the spawn will suffer."
Ashara's breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts as she stared at Astarion helplessly. Tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto the marble floor beneath her. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."
Astarion barked a laugh, though it was laced with pain. "Me?" he rasped, his fangs glinting as he forced a weak smirk. "For gods' sake, stop worrying about me and fight this bastard!"
Her voice trembled as she shook her head, her tears falling faster. "I can't... he'll hurt you."
Astarion's lips curled into a snarl as he gritted his teeth. "You honestly think he'll let me live once he's through with you? I've endured worse," he growled. "Believe me."
Bâlorak's expression didn't change, though a faint flicker of amusement played in his cold green eyes. Without a word, he raised his staff, and the purple tendrils coiled around Astarion began to glow. His body convulsed violently as the energy burned into him, and a scream tore from his throat. His back arched against the tendrils, his hands clawing at the air as agony consumed him.
"Stop it!" Ashara screamed, her voice raw and shaking. "Please, stop! You're killing him!"
The glow faded, and Astarion slumped forward, his head hanging limply as his breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. Sweat and tears mingled on his face, and his hands twitched weakly at his sides. Slowly, he lifted his head, his crimson eyes glassy with pain. "Maybe not..." he murmured, his voice faint and hoarse, before his head dropped again, his body going utterly still.
Ashara's sobs broke free, sharp and uncontrollable. Her chest heaved as she fought for air, her heart shattering at the sight of Astarion's limp form. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she reached deep within herself, calling to the beast that lay dormant beneath her skin. A low growl rumbled in her chest as her form shifted, her body contorting into the massive frame of her wolf form.
The tendrils reacted immediately, tightening around her like living chains. They dragged her to the floor, forcing her massive paws to splay out beneath her. More tendrils snaked around her muzzle, clamping her jaws shut.
She let out a pitiful whine, the sound filled with sorrow and fear, but she didn't dare move. Her glowing eyes stayed fixed on Astarion, her gaze unwavering even as she felt the tendrils begin to drain her energy. The pull was slow but insidious, a creeping numbness that spread through her body.
Bâlorak stepped closer, his robes brushing against the floor as he regarded her with a look of detached satisfaction. "Like father, like daughter," he mused, his voice dripping with contempt. "Fenrir allowed attachment to a lesser being cloud his judgment and weaken him. It is fortunate for me, that you appear to suffer from the same disease."
Ashara growled low, her eyes narrowing, but the tendrils holding her jaws tightened further, silencing her.
Bâlorak turned his attention back to Astarion. He stood over him, his long, slender fingers curling into the vampire's hair. Lifting Astarion's head up, he studied the pale face, tilting it as though examining a specimen.
"What a curious emotion love is," Bâlorak murmured, his green eyes glinting with cold fascination. "It serves no functional purpose, and yet it can be one of the most powerful driving forces mortals possess."
Bâlorak's words struck Ashara like an arrow in her chest, reverberating through her and leaving her breathless. Her mind reeled. Was that what this feeling was?
Love?
The question sent her spiraling inward, pulling at the tangled threads of emotion twisting in her chest. Yet the more she considered it, the more undeniable the answer became.
This bold, sometimes infuriating vampire had somehow woven himself into the fabric of her being. In a matter of weeks, this stranger who had once pressed a dagger to her throat had become the most important person in her life, second only to Onyx.
Her pulse quickened as memories flashed through her mind - his fierce defiance against the chains of his past, the way he stood unbroken despite everything that had been done to him. She admired his strength, but it was his rare moments of gentleness that had drawn her to him. The quiet moments when his walls came down, and she saw the warmth he so carefully hid beneath that sharp, gilded mask.
He had seen her, truly seen her, even at her most terrifying, and instead of recoiling, he'd stayed at her side. She thought of the way he teased her naivety, yet still sought to help her navigate a world she didn't fully understand.
Astarion had lit a spark in her soul, something she hadn't thought possible. Now, the thought of losing him, of that light snuffed out forever, was unbearable.
Her throat tightened as the realization hit, and for a moment, the room blurred around her. It was love. Fierce, terrifying, undeniable.
Bâlorak had called her weak. He had called Fenrir weak. But in this moment, Ashara knew with a bone-deep certainty that her father's so-called weakness had been his greatest strength. Love was not a weakness. It was the raw, unstoppable force that pushed her now, that made her want to rip apart the heavens and hells alike to save Astarion. She clung to that spark, fanning it into something larger, something defiant.
Ashara closed her eyes, drawing a slow breath. The tendrils binding her bit into her fur, their energy draining her strength with every heartbeat, but she reached past the pain. Her mind stretched downward, through the temple's cold stone, deeper into the earth.
This might be Shar's domain, her dark power steeped in every shadow, but beneath it lay something older. Something primal. The land itself - the heartbeat of the wild, Fenrir's dominion long before the gods of Faerûn ever walked this plane.
Her thoughts whispered into that vast, ancient power. "Fenrir, Lord of the Wild Hunt. Hear my plea. Give me the strength to break the chains that bind me. Lend me your might."
For a moment, there was only silence, vast and unbroken. Then, a faint voice brushed against her mind, like the whisper of leaves in a distant forest. "Be brave, Ashara. You are not alone. Hold on just a little longer, my dearest daughter."
A surge of warmth flooded her chest, an energy unlike anything she had felt before. It roared through her veins like the crash of waves against cliffs, rekindling her strength. Her glowing eyes snapped open, their cold light burning brighter than ever.
She met Astarion's gaze and her breath hitched - his crimson eyes, weary but open, were locked onto hers. Relief flooded through her, and she shifted her focus to Bâlorak.
He stood over Astarion, his hand still tangled in the vampire's hair, but something in his posture had changed. His shoulders stiffened, and his head tilted slightly, as though listening to an unseen whisper. Slowly, he turned toward Ashara, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"What have you done?" he hissed, his tone low and sharp. His mouth opened as if to speak further, but the words died on his tongue as a sound interrupted him - a long, mournful howl that echoed through the chamber, low and haunting. The sound sent shivers racing down Ashara's spine, but not from fear. She knew that call. She would recognize it anywhere.
Onyx.
Ashara raised her head, her ears pricking forward, and for the first time since this nightmare began, a thrill of exhilaration coursed through her. The great wolf's call reverberated through the chamber, shaking the very stones beneath her feet. It was a promise, a warning, a battle cry. He was coming - and woe betide any who stood in his way.
The sound of the howl sent a jolt through Astarion's body, a fierce, unrelenting spark that momentarily chased away the haze of pain. His heart soared, a flicker of hope reigniting within him. The world seemed to shift around that sound, its primal, resonant energy vibrating through the chamber's oppressive stillness. Bâlorak's grip on Astarion's hair loosened as the sorcerer turned, his sharp gaze snapping toward the shadows.
Astarion followed his line of sight, his breath hitching as faint blue light began to bleed into the edges of the chamber. It wasn't the cold, oppressive glow of the sorcerer's magic but something wilder, older, and it grew brighter with every passing moment. His eyes widened as the light took form, and his jaw dropped.
Countless spectral wolves emerged from the shadows, their translucent bodies shimmering like mist under moonlight. They moved as one, their glowing eyes locked onto Bâlorak with unyielding malice. Their jaws hung open, snarls frozen on their ghostly faces, each step silent but heavy with intent. The chamber seemed to pulse with their hatred, the air thick with a feral, electric charge.
Bâlorak's composure wavered for the first time, his slitted eyes narrowing as he took a step back. The confidence in his posture cracked, and as he shifted his staff slightly, a bolt of lightning struck the floor where he had stood moments before.
The shockwave of light illuminated the chamber in blinding brilliance, and Astarion's weak grin broke through his pain as he called out hoarsely, "For pity's sake, aim, Rolan!"
A familiar voice answered, far too cheerful for the chaos unfolding. "Go to hell, Astarion," came the tiefling's reply, his tone laced with mockery as he stepped from the shadows. Rolan moved with deliberate confidence, his dark robes swirling around him as the spectral wolves flanked him on either side, their blue light making him look almost otherworldly.
Bâlorak's staff snapped upward, its golden tip glowing with gathering power as he aimed it toward Rolan. Before the sorcerer could unleash his spell, three crimson bolts of energy struck him in rapid succession, slamming into his back with crackling force. The sorcerer staggered forward, his grip on the staff faltering.
Astarion twisted his head to follow the origin of the attack, his breath catching as he spotted Gale standing at the far end of the chamber, his hands raised, arcane energy shimmering around them. The wizard's expression was grim, his eyes fixed on Bâlorak with unwavering focus as he prepared for another strike.
The sorcerer whirled, his malachite eyes blazing with fury, but before he could retaliate, a crossbow bolt sliced through the air, ricocheting off the energy field surrounding him. The deflection sent sparks dancing through the chamber, and Astarion's gaze darted toward the source. The bolt had come from the opposite corner, but before he could identify the shooter, a bloodcurdling battle cry rang out.
Astarion's head snapped back toward the center of the chamber, his throat tightening as a one-armed tiefling, wreathed in flame, charged into view atop a massive direwolf. His breath hitched, and he almost sobbed in relief as he whipered, "Karlach, you magnificent beast of a woman."
Onyx was a radiant beacon, his once-grey fur now a glistening silvery white, as if he had been dipped in liquid moonlight. His fangs gleamed as he lunged forward, carrying Karlach with ferocious speed. She raised her battle axe high, the flames licking along its edge casting wild shadows across the walls.
Bâlorak barely had time to react before the axe connected. The impact sent him flying, his body crashing into the far wall with a resounding crack. His staff clattered to the floor, the golden tip dimming momentarily as he slumped against the stone.
The energy tendrils binding Astarion's wrists and neck flickered, their grip weakening for a heartbeat. He gasped, the sudden slack allowing him to straighten slightly. Glancing toward Ashara, his chest tightened at the sight of her still pinned.
Her glowing eyes were locked on Onyx, and though her body trembled with exhaustion, her tail wagged faintly against the stone as she watched him spin to face Bâlorak once more.
Onyx growled low, his fur bristling as he planted his massive paws firmly, ready for another charge. Karlach leapt from his back, her flaming hair casting wild shadows across the chamber. She landed heavily beside the wolf, her battle axe still gleaming with power as she squared off against the sorcerer.
Bâlorak rose to his feet, his golden robes scorched and his composure frayed. His green eyes burned with fury, though the faintest flicker of unease passed over his face. He picked up his staff, its golden head flaring with renewed light as he faced the growing force arrayed against him.
The air in the chamber crackled with tension as the battle erupted. Onyx lunged toward Bâlorak, his powerful frame a blur of motion. Karlach followed close behind, flames licking at her armor and battle axe as she charged with a guttural roar. Around them, the spectral wolves surged like a tide, their ghostly forms closing in on the sorcerer from all sides.
Bâlorak's staff swept upward, and a shield of golden energy flared to life around him, the brilliance of it blinding as it deflected the first wave of attacks. Onyx's claws raked across the barrier, sparks flying from the impact, while Karlach's axe struck with bone-rattling force. The sorcerer grimaced, muttering an incantation under his breath, and the shield pulsed outward, throwing them both back momentarily.
The spectral wolves pressed the assault. They darted and leapt, ghostly jaws snapping at the barrier with relentless precision. Bâlorak thrust his staff downward, and bolts of crackling energy exploded from its tip, striking the wolves with unerring accuracy. One after another, the spectral forms dissipated with mournful howls, their shimmering essence fading into the air.
Behind the chaos, Gale and Rolan sprinted toward Astarion and Ashara. Rolan paused briefly, casting a protective ward around them, while Gale knelt beside Astarion, his face etched with concern.
"Are you all right?" Gale asked, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of worry.
Astarion forced a smirk, though his body felt like it might give out at any moment. "Aside from feeling like I've just been doused in grease and set on fire? Just peachy, thanks for asking."
Gale's lips twitched into a small smile as he placed a reassuring hand on Astarion's shoulder. "Don't worry, my friend. We'll get you both out of here."
Astarion raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. "Bit presumptuous of you to assume we're friends now, isn't it?"
The words landed with a weight he hadn't intended. Gale's expression faltered, and he withdrew his hand quickly, his confidence slipping. "Of c-course," he stammered. "Forgive me. I let my enthusiasm at seeing you both alive get the better of me."
Astarion groaned, exasperation coloring his voice as he shifted uncomfortably against the magic binding him. "Gale, at this point I'm practically ready to call you my blood brother if you can just get these blasted arcane chains off me and Ashara."
Gale blinked, then nodded, his hands moving to inspect the glowing tendrils that coiled around Astarion's wrists and neck. As his gaze shifted to Ashara, Astarion continued, his tone sharper. "The tendrils are draining her powers, but she's too afraid to fight back. If she resists, the magic punishes me instead."
Gale frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "Do you know how the tendrils are conjured?"
Astarion inclined his head toward the raging battle behind them. "I think it's his staff."
Gale's eyes followed the gesture, locking onto Bâlorak, who stood at the center of the chaos. The sorcerer's staff glowed with golden light, and as Karlach's axe came down again, he conjured a towering wall of flame that roared to life, cutting off her advance. Onyx skidded to a halt, his growl low and menacing as the heat shimmered in the air between them.
The air around Gale and Rolan crackled with raw energy as they rejoined the fight, their spells rippling through the chamber like the first strikes of a storm.
Gale's hands glowed with swirling blue light as he slowed his stride, chanting in a steady, commanding tone. A shimmer in the air coalesced into the form of a massive water elemental, its liquid body swirling with tidal force. With a roar that echoed like crashing waves, the elemental surged toward Bâlorak, its powerful arms slamming against the wall of flames the sorcerer had raised. Steam rose as gaps appeared in the barrier, allowing Karlach to charge forward.
Rolan followed closely, his eyes glowing with electric intensity. With a sharp motion, he raised his hands, and a concussive wave of sound and force exploded outward from him. The thunderwave struck Bâlorak's mage armor, shattering it with a deafening crack. The sorcerer was thrown back against the far wall, his body colliding with a sickening thud.
Gale capitalized on the opening. With a guttural cry, he raised his arms, and the ground beneath Bâlorak rumbled ominously. Massive slabs of stone ripped free from the floor, surging upward in a cascade to pin the sorcerer against the wall. The weight of the stone pressed him in place, his staff falling from his grip and clattering to the floor.
"I'll take that," Gale muttered, darting forward and snatching it up.
The golden glow dimmed slightly as Gale turned and sprinted back toward Astarion and Ashara, clutching the staff tightly.
Behind him, the stones imprisoning Bâlorak began to crack. The sorcerer's furious incantations filled the air, his power growing as Onyx and Karlach pressed their advantage, keeping him occupied.
Gale skidded to a halt beside Astarion, his breathing uneven as he studied the staff. Its surface glowed faintly, the intricate carvings along its length pulsing with dormant energy.
"Now's not the time to admire craftsmanship, Gale," Astarion snapped, his voice cutting through the noise of battle. "And don't you dare eat it."
Gale's brow furrowed, his focus unbroken. "This is an ancient and powerful artifact..." he murmured, half to himself. "To use it safely, I'd need to attune to it first."
Astarion's voice rose, sharp with urgency. "We don't have time for that!"
Gale's eyes flicked to Ashara, her glowing gaze locked on Astarion even as she shuddered under the tendrils' draining magic. Concern darkened his expression, and he gave a slight nod. "You're right. We don't have time."
Taking a steadying breath, Gale raised the staff. He pointed it at Astarion, his voice strong as he chanted an invocation. Golden light burst from the staff with blinding intensity, and Gale's head snapped back, a cry of pain escaping his lips. The force of the spell sent him collapsing to the ground, blood streaming from his nose and ears as the tendrils around Astarion flickered, then vanished entirely.
Astarion stumbled forward, his hands immediately reaching for the wizard. "Gale!" he exclaimed, his voice tight with panic. He knelt beside him, gripping his shoulders. Blood streaked Gale's pale skin, but a wry smile tugged at his lips.
"That's why it's not a good idea to use an unattuned artifact," he rasped.
"Will you be all right?" Astarion asked, his tone softer now, the sharp edges replaced with genuine concern.
Gale nodded, though his breaths were shallow. "Just a few burst blood vessels and a headache for the next few days. I'll be fine."
Astarion hesitated, then grasped Gale's shoulder firmly. His crimson eyes met Gale's, and his voice dropped, heavy with sincerity. "Thank you... my friend."
Gale's smile widened slightly, but Astarion had already turned his attention to Ashara. She remained bound, her eyes locked on his as he moved closer. "I'm free, Ashara," he said, his voice steady as he gazed into her eyes. "You can fight back now."
Her head trembled, and she nudged him gently, the gesture filled with exhaustion and relief. Astarion leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her muzzle. "Beat the living daylights out of him for me, darling won't you?" he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
A soft voice brushed against his mind, and he froze, his breath catching. "I'm scared," it whispered.
He pulled back, his crimson eyes widening as he met her glowing gaze. "Why?" he asked, the question escaping before he could think. He didn't question how he could hear her now - only that he could.
"I don't want to forget you," the voice whispered again, heavy with sadness.
Astarion's chest tightened, his breath shaking as he exhaled. "Then don't lose control," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "You won't forget me, Ashara. I won't let you."
A triumphant roar echoed through the chaos, and Astarion whipped around, his eyes locking onto Karlach. She stood tall and proud, her flaming axe poised inches from Bâlorak's throat. The sorcerer knelt before her, his once-pristine robes torn and bloodied.
Blood dripped steadily from his nose, staining the marble beneath him in dark rivulets. His face twisted with fury as he dabbed at the crimson streak with trembling fingers, his slitted green eyes narrowing when he saw the blood.
"Enough!" he snarled, his voice like the crack of a thunderclap.
The air around him shifted, thick with burgeoning power. Before Astarion could shout a warning, a burst of golden energy erupted from Bâlorak's body. The shockwave surged outward in a blinding explosion of light, the force of it slamming into everyone like a physical blow.
Astarion raised his arms to shield his face, but it was like standing in the heart of an inferno. The impact knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling across the cold marble floor. His back hit hard, driving the breath from his lungs.
For a moment, all was silent. Astarion groaned as he pushed himself onto his elbows, blinking rapidly to clear his blurred vision. His head throbbed, his ears ringing from the sheer force of the blast. He turned his gaze toward the center of the chamber - and his heart plummeted.
Where Bâlorak had knelt moments ago, a massive, awe-inspiring form now dominated the room. Astarion's breath caught in his throat as he took in the creature before him.
It's body glistened like molten gold, each scale catching the light and throwing it back in blinding brilliance. Its serpentine form coiled in midair, its movements impossibly graceful for something so enormous.
Crimson frills framed its elongated neck and the edges of its massive body, rippling like liquid fire as they undulated. The creature's wings, vast and elegant, spread outward with an otherworldly grace, their translucent membranes catching the faintest gleam of light.
Astarion's gaze caught on its head - a sharp, angular visage with ridged horns that curved back like the blades of a scythe. Its malachite-green eyes blazed with malice, slitted pupils narrowing as it surveyed the room with undisguised contempt. Smoke curled lazily from its flared nostrils, its long jaws parting to reveal rows of dagger-sharp teeth, each one glinting like ivory polished to a deadly sheen.
Astarion's stomach sank further as the creature's voice erupted, deep and thunderous, rattling the walls and sending small shards of stone crumbling from the ceiling.
"Miserable insects! You dare defy me?!" The Gold Dragon reared its head back, its frilled neck expanding with the motion. "I am Bâlorak the Golden Heretic, and you shall bow before the superior being!"
The words, laced with raw, unbridled arrogance, rolled over Astarion like a wave. His hands curled into fists as he pulled himself to his feet, his body aching from the blast.
He glanced around, noting that Karlach, too, was struggling upright, her axe still in hand, her expression one of fierce determination despite the awe flickering in her fiery eyes. Onyx stood beside her, his silvery coat bristling, a low, guttural growl emanating from his throat as his luminous eyes fixed on Bâlorak.
Astarion's gaze returned to the dragon, his mind racing. The sheer size of it, the raw energy radiating from its form - it was unlike anything he had ever faced. Letting out a tired sigh he pulled out his sword and glanced back at Ashara, a rueful grin curling on his lips.
"Darling... now might be a good time to dig deep and unleash your inner demigod. Otherwise, we are all well and truly fu—"
