Ishta wandered the spongy, bioluminescent pathways of the Myconid colony, her boots sinking slightly into the soft terrain with each step. The fungal tendrils pulsed faintly beneath her, as if alive and breathing in unison with the melodic hum of the colony's symphony. The harmonies vibrated through her bones, a gentle, alien cadence that both calmed and unnerved her.

Around her, glowing fungal creatures moved with slow, deliberate grace - vague, humanoid masses shaped by spores and decay. Their phosphorescence bathed the cavern in an otherworldly glow, their forms barely distinguishable from the towering mushrooms that sheltered their home. She paused to observe them, noting the almost ritualistic precision with which they tended to their enigmatic tasks. What do they do all day? she wondered.

Her gaze snagged on a cluster of reanimated Duergar corpses, their desiccated forms riddled with fungal growths that pulsed faintly in time with the colony's music. Vacant eyes stared out from twisted faces, and she felt a shiver crawl up her spine like cold fingers.

Her stomach churned as a horrifying thought struck her: what if Astarion had never been found? What if the cave-in had claimed him before they could pull him free, leaving his body a lifeless vessel for spores? She could almost see him as one of these creatures, his crimson eyes dulled to empty sockets, his grace twisted into a clumsy shuffle.

The vision spun in her mind, so vivid it stole her breath. She swayed on her feet, her heart racing like a trapped bird's. Reaching out blindly, her hand found the jagged surface of a stalagmite, its rough texture grounding her as she gasped for air.

"Get a hold of yourself," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice trembling. She forced air into her lungs, one ragged breath at a time, and shook her head violently, as if to dislodge the grisly image. "He's fine. He's alive."

Forcing her thoughts away from the specter of loss, she took a steadying breath and let her eyes roam her surroundings. The cavern stretched endlessly, its walls a tapestry of glowing moss and strange flora.

Something caught her eye - a carefully cultivated patch of plants, their alien beauty arranged in chaotic harmony. Bright, otherworldly hues of blue, purple, and green glistened under the faint light, each plant uniquely twisted and vibrant. Kneeling among them was a figure in flowing blue robes, bent low over a peculiar, thorny bloom and muttering softly.

Curiosity nudged her forward. As she approached, the figure straightened, revealing the crimson-skinned face of a Hobgoblin. Ishta blinked, startled by the unexpected sight. His features were sharp but softened by an amiable grin as he turned to greet her.

"Ah, a visitor!" His voice was warm, his tone laced with genuine delight. "You're a welcome sight. But let us honor the customs of our fungal hosts, shall we?"

He closed his eyes, and Ishta felt a peculiar tingle spread through her mind - a telepathic connection forming. It was not unlike the sensation she'd experienced when speaking to the Myconid Sovereign, though the Hobgoblin's mental touch was lighter, more inquisitive.

"Blurg," the Hobgoblin introduced himself, the telepathic connection smooth and practiced. "Scholar and proud member of the Society of Brilliance, at your service."

A moment later, he winced, his hand twitching toward his temple. "Or perhaps not," he admitted aloud. "Your mind is far more complex than that of the fungi."

Ishta raised a brow, her lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. "Not many people have accused me of being 'complex' before."

Blurg's grin widened, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light.

She crossed her arms, tilting her head in curiosity. "I don't think I've heard of the Society of Brilliance, though..."

"That is understandable," he said, gesturing grandly. "We are small in number and rarely stay in one place for long."

Ishta hesitated before speaking again. "This might sound... bigoted, but I haven't met many Hobgoblins who weren't trying to kill me - or enslaved by people who were."

Blurg spread his hands wide in mock surrender, his grin unfaltering. "Then allow me to be among the few exceptions. It's true, many of my kin suffer in this place, but I've managed to carve out a niche for myself. My intellect has granted me freedom, and my research aims to secure it for others as well."

"That's a worthy cause," Ishta said softly, her tone colored by genuine respect. "My ancestors were slaves once too. I genuinely hope you succeed."

Blurg dipped his head, his expression softening. "Your words mean more than you know. It is for such aspirations that I study the Myconids. But tell me, why have you come to this peculiar corner of the Underdark?"

Ishta's posture stiffened slightly, her guard raising reflexively. "I'm searching for a way to reach Grymforge - and from there, the Shadow-cursed Lands."

Blurg's jovial demeanor faltered. "Why would you willingly seek such a wretched place?"

She considered her words carefully. Revealing too much would invite questions she wasn't ready to answer. "I'm investigating kidnappings. People across Faerûn are being taken to Moonrise Towers. Some return with... modifications."

"Modifications?"

Ishta nodded, her jaw tightening. "They're implanted with Illithid tadpoles - altered ones. They don't cause ceremorphosis right away. Instead, they lie dormant, waiting to be triggered. I suspect it's part of a plan to create a cult - or an army."

Blurg's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Fascinating. Do you have access to any of these... victims? My associate and I would be most interested in studying them."

Her wariness sharpened. "What would you do to them?"

Blurg's smile returned, though tempered with sincerity. "Question them, primarily. Omellum - my friend - may even be able to help them."

Ishta hesitated, weighing his words. Finally, she let out a resigned breath. "As long as you're not planning to dissect me, I suppose I don't mind telling you - I'm one of them."

"Omeluum!"

Blurg's mental shout ricocheted through Ishta's thoughts like a clanging bell and she winced slightly.

The reply was swift, an exasperated voice brushing against her mind with an edge of impatience. "I hope this is important, Blurg. My zurkhwood samples require constant attention."

Blurg, unperturbed, shot back eagerly, "It is! This adventurer has an illithid tadpole in her head. But she hasn't turned."

The mental link buzzed with sudden curiosity. "No ceremorphosis? That's impossible! But intriguing."

Before Ishta could process the exchange, Blurg added with an almost apologetic tone, "Oh, I should probably mention that Omeluum is... well, here he is now."

Ishta turned just as a figure emerged from the haze of glowing spores. Her breath hitched. The figure levitated smoothly across the ground, gliding effortlessly as though gravity were a mere suggestion, the hem of his robe brushing the fungal undergrowth like smoke trailing over water. She couldn't mistake the telltale features - long, sinuous tentacles framing a gaunt face and pale, lidless eyes. A Mindflayer.

Her hand flew to her belt, fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger. Panic prickled at her scalp, and she silently cursed herself for leaving her better weapons behind.

Blurg raised a hand, his gesture a silent plea for patience. She froze, every nerve screaming at her to act, but the serenity in Omeluum's voice as he spoke into her mind stalled her. "Are you seeking to have the tadpole extracted?"

Her lip curled instinctively, a mix of fear and frustration clawing at her composure. "I was," she replied tightly, her voice strained, "and then I saw you. Now I'm just wondering how much more madness I can take."

Ishta glanced around. The Myconids carried on with their tranquil rhythms, their luminescent forms unperturbed by the Illithid's presence. No one ran screaming. No spores filled the air in alarm. The colony, serene as ever, gave her no cause for fear - at least not immediate fear. She allowed herself a slow breath, loosening the grip on her dagger, though her hand remained resting on its hilt.

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied Omeluum. "Since no one here seems to be panicking," she muttered,"and I still seem to be in control of my own thoughts - mostly - I'll settle for keeping my hand on this dagger instead of drawing it." She cast an irritated glance at Blurg. "It would've been nice to know your friend here was a Mindflayer ahead of time."

Omeluum inclined his head slightly, the motion deliberate and calm. "While I respect that your opinion of my kind may not change, your restraint on this occasion is appreciated. I have severed my ties to the elder brain. I no longer serve the Grand Design."

Ishta's gaze sharpened. "How does a Mindflayer just walk away from a colony?" she asked, the skepticism in her tone cutting.

His tentacles shifted slightly, but his tone remained serene. "I was born with an affinity for the arcane, a gift my people regard with disdain. That magic gave me the strength to resist the elder brain's domination. Day by day, I fought its control, my wizardry fortifying my will. When the bond finally shattered, I fled before my colony could exact punishment for my defection."

Ishta crossed her arms, her fingers tapping absently against her elbow. "So, are the tales of slavering, brain-lusting mind flayers exaggerated?" Her tone was sharp, though there was a flicker of dry humor beneath it. "I'm assuming you still have to feed on sentient beings, correct?"

"In the beginning, I made arrangements with a lich. Our symbiosis was... mutually beneficial. He required souls, and I required brains. Eventually, our ambitions diverged. I sought to better the world; he preferred to watch it decay. We parted ways. Now, I only feed on those whose actions oppose the Society's goals. I cannot deny my nature, but I seek to minimize its impact."

Ishta exhaled slowly, her shoulders lowering as her tension eased. "Fair enough. We all make do with what we've got, I suppose." She paused, a flicker of amusement touching her lips. "I've been feeding a vampire with my own blood, so I'm not exactly in a position to judge. I've also killed many who harm the innocent and spread violence and misery. If doing the same is what sustains you..." She gestured vaguely, the rest left unspoken.

Omellum inclined his head again. "Perhaps the peoples of the Underdark will be less inclined to violence if they comprehend the cost, yes?"

"Perhaps," she said with a wry smile. "But I doubt you'll be short on snacks anytime soon."

Though his alien face remained inscrutable, something about the way his tentacles shifted suggested amusement. "Now, if you'll permit it, friend - open your mind to me. Let us see what lurks within."

A shiver traced her spine, but Ishta nodded reluctantly. Closing her eyes, she focused on letting her defenses drop, a strange vulnerability she didn't fully trust but allowed nonetheless.

The intrusion was immediate. Omeluum's presence brushed against her mind like cold silk, searching, peeling back layers of thought and memory. She felt the tadpole stir, a malignant presence growing larger, sharper, alive in ways that sent a shudder through her very core. It pulsed, almost smug, as though it recognized their scrutiny and reveled in its dominance.

"This is most unusual," Omeluum observed, his mental tone clinical but tinged with unease. "The incubation period should be complete, as should your transformation. But the larva is infused with strange magic. It appears to be in some form of stasis."

Her throat tightened. "What happens if that stasis breaks?"

"I can only theorise, but I suspect your transformation would be both agonising and instantaneous."

Blurg's voice interjected with a dry edge. "I thought it was always agonizing, Omeluum."

The Illithid's mental tone grew faintly exasperated. "Well, yes, but that wasn't my point."

Ishta ground her teeth. "Can you extract it?"

"No. It appears to be shielded from physical and magical influence. And even without the shield, the extraction would involve severe cranial trauma."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Wonderful. And I'm guessing it's not the kind of trauma a decent healing spell can fix?"

"One can only heal so much of their own brain tissue." Omeluum's tone carried a faint note of apology. "But I have... an idea."

Blurg's sarcastic chuckle was immediate. "Oh? Perhaps I should start taking notes."

Unperturbed, Omeluum continued. "There is a tincture I can create, derived from specific mushrooms. It may allow me to bypass the stasis and establish communication with the larva. From there, we might uncover the truth of its purpose."

Ishta hesitated. The thought of gathering obscure fungi for an experimental potion wasn't high on her list of priorities. But if it meant answers...

"All right," she said at last. "Tell me what to look for."

The grotto's camp hummed with subdued activity as Ishta approached, her steps slowing as she observed her companions. Plates clinked softly as they finished a midday meal, the faint smell of roasted mushrooms and savory broth mingling with the damp, earthy air. Her gaze swept over the group, noting the familiar motions of cleaning up - hands brushing crumbs from laps, a laugh here or there - but one figure was conspicuously absent.

Karlach spotted her first, rising from her seat near the fire and walking over with a deliberate stride. Her usual infectious grin was absent, replaced by a look of concern that deepened the lines of her brow.

"Hey, soldier," Karlach said, her voice low enough to avoid drawing the others' attention. "It's probably nothing, but Astarion still hasn't left his tent."

Ishta's chest tightened at the words, her eyes darting instinctively toward the canvas structure at the edge of the camp. The tent sat like a shadow, its folds sagging slightly under the weight of the still air. "Do you think I should go check on him?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Karlach rubbed the back of her neck, her tail flicking lightly against the rocky ground. "I dunno. He might just want some space. But then again, after everything that happened, being alone could be the last thing he needs. There's a storm brewing in him right now, and either it will break or he will."

Ishta chewed her bottom lip, weighing her options. After a beat, she straightened. "You're in charge of the group today, Karlach. I need you to lead a scavenging expedition to that tower we spied yesterday. There are some ingredients I need for an experiment I've been... roped into. It might help suppress the tadpole."

Karlach tilted her head but gave an accepting nod. "You got it, boss."

Quickly, Ishta filled Karlach in on the details of her encounter with Omeluum and Blurg, making sure to emphasize the importance of discretion - especially where Lae'zel was concerned. Karlach's laughter was low and brief. "Yeah, let's not poke that hornet's nest."

The tiefling turned to rally the others, her voice ringing out with brisk commands. Halsin offered to join, his calm baritone mentioning his familiarity with Underdark flora. Though there were a few questioning glances thrown in Ishta's direction, the group seemed to accept the change in plans, filing out of camp with an air of determination.

Once they were gone, the grotto fell into a stillness that felt heavier than it should as she made her way to Astarion's tent. Pausing outside, she strained her ears, listening. His breathing was audible, rapid and shallow, a rhythm that set her on edge. Her hand hovered near the flap. "Astarion?" she called gently. "Can I come in for a moment?"

The silence that followed stretched unbearably thin. She debated leaving, respecting his space, but the memory of his taut, haunted expression the night before urged her forward. Muttering an apology under her breath, she pushed the flap aside.

Inside, the air was heavy, and the scent of damp earth mingled with the faint copper tang of blood. Astarion lay on his side, almost exactly how she had left him hours earlier, his body drawn up tightly. His hands gripped the bedding as if it were his last tether to reality.

"Astarion," Ishta said softly, kneeling beside him. When he didn't respond, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. His muscles were rigid beneath her touch, trembling faintly like a coiled spring about to snap. Leaning closer, she saw his face - eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched. Each rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed the tempest raging inside him.

Her throat tightened at the sight. She'd seen this before - in herself, in others. He was trapped in his own mind, reliving horrors that refused to release their grip. She withdrew her hand, determination hardening her features.

Sliding out of the tent, she made for Gale's. Scratch padded after her, his curious eyes tracking her every move. The wizard's collection of scrolls was neatly arranged in a box near the entrance. She rifled through them until her fingers closed on one marked with the familiar sigils of Ray of Frost.

Back at Astarion's tent, she quickly cast the spell over a bowl of water, freezing it solid. Using the tip of her dagger, she chipped away at the ice, wrapping the shards in a cloth. Sitting on the bed beside him, she pressed the makeshift ice pack around the back of his neck and just beneath his ears.

The reaction was immediate - a shudder wracked his frame, and a sharp gasp broke from his lips. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, before he slowly turned to look over his shoulder at her.

Recognition dawned, his crimson gaze softening as he struggled to push himself upright. "Ishta..."

His disheveled appearance struck her. The grime and blood from the cave-in still clung to his skin, and the sharp lines of exhaustion carved shadows beneath his eyes.

"Have you slept at all?" she asked softly.

Astarion ran a hand through his tangled hair, wincing as his fingers grazed a bruise. "No," he admitted, his voice raw. "Every time I tried, I..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

The silence in the tent stretched like the stillness before a storm, broken only by the faint sounds of Scratch's quiet breathing outside. Ishta studied Astarion's face, his usual sharp confidence dulled by the weight of memory. His crimson eyes, though now focused on her, carried a shadowed intensity, as if haunted by something just out of reach. She could feel the storm within him, the raw edges of fear and exhaustion clawing for dominance.

Her voice, when it came, was soft yet steady, the tone of someone opening an old wound. "I couldn't sleep for weeks after I was trapped in an underwater cave once. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there. The water was rising, lapping at my chin, cold and relentless. I thought every breath I took would be my last."

Astarion's gaze shifted, something flickering in his expression - curiosity, perhaps, or a faint kindling of connection. "How did you escape?"

She gave a small, bittersweet smile. "I didn't - at least, not on my own. I screamed myself hoarse, thinking no one would hear me. But the man I was traveling with at the time did. He pulled me out, right before the tide rose high enough to drown me. If he hadn't... well, I wouldn't be sitting here with you now."

Astarion's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, though his eyes remained distant. "I suppose I should thank him, then."

"Unfortunately, that won't be possible," Ishta said with a wry smile. "Unless you know a way to travel between alternate dimensions."

He blinked, his brows furrowing. "I beg your pardon?"

Ishta'a smile widened, amusement softening her expression. "Long story. Years ago, I was hunting a wizard who thought himself clever enough to meddle with time. His spell went wrong - wildly wrong - and I ended up in an alternate reality. A timeline where history played out... differently."

Astarion stared at her, his lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, he shook his head. "I'm not even going to pretend I understood a word of that."

She huffed a small laugh. "Trust me, it makes my head hurt too, and I lived it. The strangest part was meeting a hero from Neverwinter who helped me return to this reality. He had my brother's face. His name, too - Cullen."

Astarion's brows knit together in disbelief. "Your brother?"

"Well, not exactly." She leaned back, bracing her hands on the cot. "It wasn't my brother. Just... a version of him, one that didn't know me. In that world, he wasn't who I remembered. He was a warrior instead of the scholar I knew. It was like meeting someone familiar and alien all at once."

Astarion's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as he tried to unravel the implications. "How is that even possible?"

She shrugged, her fingers idly tracing a seam in her trousers. "Your guess is as good as mine. But I think... maybe there are versions of existence where the same soul's life takes different paths. Maybe we're all scattered across countless realities, each playing out a different story."

His gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers curling into the straps of his armour. "So somewhere out there... there's a version of me that Cazador never found? Never turned into this?"

Her heart ached at the quiet desperation in his voice, the way he clung to the thought like a drowning man to driftwood. "Maybe," she said softly. "And maybe there's an Ishta who was never captured by Haro'kon. Maybe she never became a monster hunter at all."

He sighed, his hand moving absently to his neck, where the ghost of Cazador's bite lingered. "I'm not sure if I find the idea comforting or infuriating."

"Tell me about it."

For a while, the only sound was their breathing, quiet and steady in the dim tent. The silence settled like a heavy cloak, but it wasn't oppressive. It gave them space to wrestle with the weight of what-ifs.

Ishta finally shook herself free of the thoughts. She sat straighter, her voice brisk and light. "Anyway, enough brooding over alternate realities. We've got enough on our plate here and now."

She turned to him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "So, when the others get back, are you up for a little jaunt to an ancient Sharran refuge?"

Astarion arched a brow, the faintest hint of his usual sardonic wit returning. "Sounds delightful. I'm sure Shadowheart will be positively giddy to play tour guide."

Ishta stood, her face blooming into a grin. "Most likely."

As she turned toward the exit, his voice stopped her. "Ishta..."

She looked back, her brow lifting in quiet curiosity. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. For a moment, it seemed he might say something, but then he shook his head and waved her off with an almost embarrassed motion. "Never mind. It will keep."

Her brow furrowed, the curiosity in her eyes deepening, but she didn't press him. Instead, she gave him a small nod, her voice light. "All right. I'll hold you to that."

With one last glance, she stepped out of the tent, leaving Astarion alone with the echo of his unspoken words.

In the gloom of a high stone passageway that cut through a cliffside, the group stood before a wall of crumbled stone that blocked their path. The uneven rocks rose like an impassable wave, jagged edges catching the faint light of their torches. Gale, standing just behind Ishta, adjusted his staff and squinted at the blockade.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" he asked, his tone more skeptical than accusatory.

Ishta nodded, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Positive. This is the route to the lake that the Sovereign showed me in his mind. I'm guessing it's been some time since he traveled it himself, though. This looks like it's been here a while."

She knelt beside a narrow gap near the base of the rockfall, peering through the opening. The hole was barely wide enough for someone Karlach to squeeze through. From her vantage point, she could see a faint glimmer of light on the other side. It wasn't far - just a few meters - but it would be tight.

For a moment, her pulse quickened, a phantom memory rising unbidden: wriggling through debris, the grit of stone against her skin, the suffocating weight of dust as she clawed her way toward Astarion beneath the cave-in. She pushed the thought down, exhaling sharply, and began to crawl through.

A wry smile flitted across her face as the sight of faintly glowing fungi growing from the walls sparked the memory of Omeluum's failed experiment. His tincture had proven to have the opposite effect, making the parasite in her head even stronger. If she had been a more suspicious person, Ishta would have thought he had done it on purpose, but the expressions of regret and apology had seemed genuine enough.

The cold stone pressed against her shoulders as Ishta inched forward, each movement deliberate and careful. On the other side, she stood and dusted herself off, studying the landscape. A path wound down through a series of cliffs, jagged and uneven, leading to the shores of a vast underground lake. The water shimmered faintly, reflecting the eerie bioluminescent light of the cavern.

Somewhere out in that lake, lay their destination - Grymforge - and with it, a possible path to the Shadow-cursed lands. With a quiet huff at the realization of how far they still had to travel, Ishta turned back to the tunnel. Crawling back through was quicker, her body moving almost instinctively. She rose on the other side and addressed the group.

"We'll need to crawl through here," she said, motioning toward the gap. "The path continues on the other side."

Shadowheart frowned, crossing her arms. "Is there no other way around?"

"There might be," Ishta admitted, glancing back at the rocks. "But I don't want to waste any more time trying to find one."

Karlach stepped closer, her voice dropping to a discreet murmur. "We might have to. I don't think Astarion's up for this."

Ishta followed Karlach's gaze and immediately understood. Astarion stood stiffly apart from the group, his eyes locked on the narrow hole like it was a yawning chasm. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, his body rigid.

She moved to his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The moment she touched him, he flinched, his head snapping toward her with a look of startled alarm.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, her tone soft but steady.

His eyes darted toward the others, noticing their subtle glances. His mask slid into place with a speed that almost hurt to watch, and he shrugged her hand off with a forced laugh. "Of course I'm fine," he said sharply. "Just lost in thought for a moment. Now, are we heading to Grymforge or standing around like petrified Drow all day?"

Ishta's heart sank at the return of his defensive walls. She bit back the sting of disappointment and turned to the others, her voice brisk. "You heard him. Let's move."

Wyll crouched down first, slipping through the hole with surprising ease. Shadowheart followed, her movements graceful despite the awkward crawl. Lae'zel went next, muttering something sharp under her breath about the indignity of such a route. Gale paused, adjusting his robes before disappearing into the narrow passage.

Halsin lingered, his broad shoulders tense as he turned to Astarion with a courteous bow. "After you."

For a moment, Astarion froze, his smirk faltering before snapping back into place. "Oh no, I insist," he said with mock grandeur, sweeping his hand theatrically. "Age before beauty."

Halsin glanced at Ishta, his expression quietly questioning. She gave a subtle nod, and the druid inclined his head before crouching and making his way through the gap. The rocks scraped against his frame, and he muttered something under his breath, though it was too faint for her to catch.

Ishta's focus snapped back to Astarion as he approached the tunnel. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Karlach exchanged a look with her and stepped forward, her voice deliberately casual. "Me next. I'll light the way for you."

Before Astarion could protest, she scrambled into the hole, her bulky frame just managing to squeeze through. The golden light spilling from her back filled the passage, banishing its shadowed depths.

Ishta took a step closer to Astarion, her voice laced with a teasing edge. "Your turn. Or would you prefer the view of my arse?"

Astarion's lips twitched faintly, but the quip she expected didn't come. Instead, he shook his head with a weary smile. "Tempting, but no. I'll go next."

She frowned slightly, concern flickering through her. Astarion never missed a chance for a sly remark. His silence only made her worry grow.

He knelt by the tunnel, his movements slow and deliberate, and took a deep, steadying breath before crawling in. Ishta followed close behind, her ears trained on the sound of his breathing. At first, he moved steadily, though his breath came quicker with every inch.

Halfway through, he stopped.

Ishta's heart sank. She could see his shoulders trembling slightly, his chest heaving with shallow, rapid breaths.

"Astarion," she said quietly, the name barely a whisper in the tight space. She reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly near his ankle. "You're okay. Just a little further. You've got this."

His voice came back, hoarse and strained. "I... I know. Just... give me a moment."

For a moment, his ragged breathing slowed, but then it spiked again, quick and shallow, each breath like a sharp intake of panic. Suddenly, he began backing up, his movements frantic. His voice, raw and cracking, echoed in the narrow passage. "I can't... I can't do this. I need to get out."

Ishta felt her pulse quicken as his panic spilled into the air like a tangible force. She inched forward, her voice firm but steady. "You'll be out soon. Just keep moving forward. You're almost there."

But he froze, his body trembling, locked in place as if paralyzed. She saw his muscles tighten, every fiber of him screaming to retreat. It was as though he were battling invisible chains. She knew this paralysis, the way the mind could betray even the strongest will.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Her heart pounded as she assessed the situation. Then, making a quick decision, she shifted her body to one side of him, wriggling into the tight space. Turning onto her back, the jagged walls scraped against her arms as she slid diagonally beneath his arms and chest until her head was directly below his.

Astarion's face hovered above hers, his eyes clenched shut, his breathing a sharp rasp. She reached up with both hands, cupping his face firmly between her palms. "Astarion," she called, her voice sharpening with command. "Look at me."

His eyes snapped open, wild and glistening with fear. The sight sent a brief shiver down her spine, as the memory of the last time she had been in this position rose unbidden into her mind. But she swallowed the flicker of fear and held his gaze, unwavering.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Get me out of here."

Her grip on his face tightened slightly, anchoring him. "I will," she said, her voice soft but insistent. "The exit is just a few feet away. All you have to do is crawl a little further."

Astarion shook his head violently, sweat streaking down his temple. "I can't..." His voice faltered as his eyes squeezed shut again. His muscles locked, and she saw him retreating inward, the panic pulling him under like a riptide.

Ishta's stomach dropped. If he disappeared into himself, there would be no coaxing him forward. Tilting her head back, she shouted down the tunnel. "Halsin! I need a hand here!"

Moments later, the druid's broad figure reappeared, half-crawling back into the tunnel. His calloused hands found hers, and he began pulling her out. The tunnel walls scraped against her back, but she didn't flinch. Her focus was on the vampire frozen behind her.

As she emerged, Ishta rolled over and scrambled to her feet, brushing dirt from her arms. She turned to Halsin, urgency sparking in her tone. "He's frozen up. You'll have to drag him out by the collar. He won't like it, but there's no other way."

Halsin's gaze softened with understanding, and he nodded once before crawling back into the tunnel.

There was a muffled shout, followed by the sound of resistance - a scuffle of knees against stone, sharp breaths, and the occasional hiss of protest. Halsin emerged moments later, crawling backward with Astarion writhing and thrashing in his grasp.

The moment Astarion was clear of the tunnel, he tore free of Halsin's hold with a rough shove. His voice was a whip crack, loud and raw. "Get off me!"

The others turned toward the commotion, their faces a mix of confusion and concern. Astarion's chest heaved, his eyes wild as they darted between the group. "What are you all staring at?!" he snapped, his voice trembling with anger and humiliation.

Guilty looks spread through the group like a ripple. One by one, they looked away, finding sudden interest in the mossy rocks or the faintly glowing fungi around them.

Halsin took a step forward, his tone measured and calm as he placed a hand on Astarion's shoulder. "I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to be so rough with you."

The apology was met with a sharp crack. Astarion's fist collided with Halsin's jaw, the sound reverberating through the tunnel's opening as he yelled, "I said get off me!"

Gasps of shock rippled through the group as Halsin staggered back a step, surprise flashing across his face.

Astarion froze, his eyes widening in shock as he looked at his hand, then at Halsin. His voice came out broken, trembling. "Halsin... I... I'm sorry."

Halsin rubbed his jaw, his tone as gentle as the evening tide. "No need to apologize. I should not have invaded your space that way."

But Astarion's gaze darted to Ishta, his eyes searching hers. Her expression was steady, her concern etched deep but free of judgment. The shame hit him like a tidal wave, and his face crumpled. He whispered one last, "I'm sorry," before spinning on his heel and bolting into the shadows.

Ishta watched him go, the urge to chase him surging like wildfire in her chest. But she stayed rooted, her mind warring with itself. He needed space - at least for now.

She turned to the group, her voice firm despite the ache in her throat. "We're stopping here for the night." Her tone left no room for argument as she continued. "Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin - set up camp and sort out a meal. Lae'zel, Wyll, Karlach - scout the perimeter. Check for anything that might pose a threat."

There were nods of understanding, the group moving to their tasks with quiet efficiency. As Karlach passed her, the Tiefling murmured, her voice low and heavy, "Looks like bad weather today."

Ishta met her gaze, giving her a small, sad nod. "It does," she agreed softly.

The moment the others turned away, she exhaled, her composure faltering for a brief instant. Gathering herself, she stepped toward the direction Astarion had fled, her steps quiet but determined.

As she followed Astarion's trail, the faint scuff marks of his hurried retreat led her to a cluster of fallen boulders. She found him sat on a shelf of rock, his elbows braced on his knees, head bowed as if the weight of the entire Underdark rested on his shoulders. The air around him felt charged with an unspoken tension that crackled like static.

As she approached, he glanced up briefly, just long enough for her to catch the redness rimming his eyes. The sight twisted something in her chest, but before she could say anything, he quickly turned his face away, wiping at it roughly with the heel of his hand. The gesture was sharp, almost angry, as if trying to erase his vulnerability.

She climbed up onto the ledge beside him, her voice soft but deliberate. "Astarion—"

Before she could finish, he surged to his feet, his movements abrupt and defensive. He turned his back to her, his shoulders stiff as he spoke, bitterness dripping from every word. "I hope everyone enjoyed the show."

"They're worried about you," she replied calmly, her tone even, though her gaze remained fixed on his tense posture.

"Oh, I'm sure they are." His laugh was sharp and hollow, more a bark than anything resembling humor. "Worried I'm finally showing my true colors."

Ishta frowned, stepping closer. "No. Worried about how you're feeling."

He scoffed, a sound laced with disbelief. "Oh, please. As if any of them give a damn about me. I'm surprised Shadowheart hasn't already used this to prove her point - that I'm nothing but a dangerous, unstable monster that can't be trusted."

His words hit hard, but Ishta held her ground, stepping closer. "I think you'll find they don't see you like that at all, Astarion."

He spun around to face her, his movements sharp and his voice rising. "Well, they certainly don't put any effort into making me feel welcome, do they?"

Before she could respond, he launched into an imitation of their companions, his tone dripping with mockery. "Oh, Astarion, how's the rat diet going? Astarion, if you miss the sun so much, why don't you return topside? You could use the color. Oh look, Astarion, a leech - friend of yours?"

Each line grew more agitated, his words cutting the air like blades, but Ishta knew his anger wasn't just about their companions - it was about something much deeper. She bit back the urge to argue and forced herself to stay silent. He needed to vent, and she wouldn't rob him of the chance, even if it stung to listen.

A torrent of emotions erupted from Astarion's lips with a rawness that shook him to his core. It was as if every resentment, every slight, and every buried agony of his two hundred years had suddenly been unearthed and unleashed upon the one person who least deserved it.

A small voice inside his mind begged him to stop before he broke something precious that could never be repaired, but it was drowned out by the thunderous roar of his anguish.

He took a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as he turned away again, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I notice they don't make quips about you and your... nature," he said, his tone quieter but no less cutting. "But silly me, I'm forgetting - you're only part vampire."

Turning back to Ishta, Astarion met her gaze with a defiance he didn't feel. "You can pass as perfectly normal the rest of the time. You don't make them... uncomfortable."

His accusation was met with silence. Ishta's expression was unreadable, her golden eyes glimmering in the dim light, reflecting an almost ethereal glow. The suffocating stillness between them only fueled his desperation for some kind of response, anything to make sense of the chaos raging inside him.

"Say something, gods damn it!" he spat, his voice cracking. He clenched his fists and took an impulsive step towards her, as if physical proximity could compel a reaction from her. "You always have something to say, don't you? Always know what's right, always—"

He faltered, the words dying in his throat as Ishta moved closer. Before he could comprehend what was happening, her arms were around him. Time seemed to stand still as shock rendered him immobile. Stammering in disbelief, Astarion asked, "W-what are you doing?"

"I'm hugging you. It's what people do when they see a friend going through a hard time," Ishta murmured softly, her breath warm on his neck.

Friend. There was that word again. But in this moment, it resonated differently. He had expected anger, a rebuke, or even a harsh retort, but the unexpected warmth of her embrace seeped into him, breaking through the dark clouds of pain in his mind.

For a moment, Astarion remained stiff in her arms, his instincts urging him to pull away, to reject the compassion he felt unworthy of. But then the tension in his body eased as he surrendered to the need to be comforted.

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his own arms and wrapped them around her in return. The heat of her body against his, the gentle pressure of her arms, it all felt so unfamiliar yet achingly right. Letting out a shuddering breath, Astarion felt the anger drain out of him, leaving behind only deep sorrow and guilt.

He could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, and it broke something inside him. The dam holding back his stress crumbled, and tears began to flow freely down his cheeks. Burying his face in her shoulder, he sobbed silently as everything came crashing down on him like a wave.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Astarion allowed himself to be completely vulnerable. He clung to Ishta, desperate to hold on to this fragile moment of peace, this fleeting connection that felt more real than anything he'd experienced in centuries.

As the intense emotions within Astarion began to settle, his heavy breathing slowed and fell into harmony with hers. Sensing the change in him, Ishta gently pulled back, her gaze searching his face for any sign of distress. "Are you alright now?" she asked, her voice gentle and full of concern.

Astarion met her unwavering golden eyes, and wished with all his heart that they held the same depth of love he felt towards her. "Not really," he admitted, his voice raw and quiet. "But I will be."

Ishta nodded, a small, understanding smile on her lips. As she began to pull away, Astarion reluctantly released his hold on her, longing to prolong the contact but not wanting to push his luck. As she stepped back, she kept one hand on his arm, her touch a grounding presence. Her gaze never left him, still filled with that unfathomable warmth, and he gave her a small tentative smile.

As her hand finally left his arm, Astarion felt a strange emptiness settle over him, as if something vital had been taken away. He lowered his gaze, ready to apologize for his outburst, but was stopped by Ishta's raised hand.

"No, don't. You needed to let that all out and I'm grateful you did it with me - someone who understands," she said firmly.

"But you didn't deserve that, I—" Astarion began, feeling guilty for burdening her with his frustrations.

"I'm serious, Astarion. You don't owe me an apology or an explanation," Ishta interrupted. "Sometimes we just need to vent to someone, and honestly, I've been expecting this for a while now."

Her admission caught him off guard, "You... you have?"

Ishta nodded, her gaze softening. "You've been carrying so much on your own. Take it from someone who knows - no one should have to hold all that pain inside."

"Thank you," Astarion murmured softly, finally meeting her gaze again. The simple words were not enough to convey the depth of gratitude he felt, but they were the best he had.

"You're welcome," she smiled gently back at him. "And remember, I'm here for you, whenever you want to talk or even vent."

"I... I'll try to remember that."

Ishta took another step closer, her voice softening. "The others might not understand you yet, but that doesn't mean they don't care. People like Gale, Shadowheart, and even Wyll - they've all been through things that make them cautious. That doesn't mean they see you as a monster."

Astarion let out a shaky breath. "I wish I could believe that," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"You don't have to believe it right now. But maybe give them a chance to prove it to you."

"I don't know if I can," he admitted, his voice hollow.

She nodded, stepping back to give him space. "Then take the time you need. We're setting up camp here for the night, so feel free to join us whenever you are ready."

As Ishta turned to leave, she glanced back at him, her figure framed by the jagged rocks and faint, flickering light as she gently urged him, "From now on, don't try so hard to push us all away. You're not alone anymore, Astarion."

His lips twitched into something that might have been a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see," he said quietly.

Ishta gave him one last lingering look, before turning and heading down the path to where the others were busy pitching tents.

Astarion's eyes never left her back as she walked away, and the pounding of his heart seemed to match the rhythm of her stride. Closing his eyes, he breathed a soft sigh and felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly into the start of an involuntary smile.

He would never cease to be amazed at the depths of Ishta's patience. She had simply stood and let him take out all his anger and frustration on her, without judgment or retaliation. As much as he felt guilty about his outburst, the memory of her arms around him had left him with a deep feeling of contentment.

"Damn, I wish she'd hug me like that - or at all, to be honest."

Karlach's voice shattered his introspection and he spun round to see her leaning up against a rock behind him, watching Ishta join Halsin in setting up the campfire.

Where in the hells did she come from... did she hear everything? Astarion panicked, the contentment vanishing.

"This isn't a good time, Karlach," he muttered, his eyes flickering with annoyance.

Karlach scrambled up onto the ledge, her hands kicking up a cloud of dust which Astairon wafted away in irritation.

"Oh, I don't know," Karlach retorted, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, "you were looking pretty happy just now."

She nimbly hopped up onto a wide boulder

and sat atop it with her legs dangling down, gently drumming her heels against the granite surface. Even seated, the Tiefling Barbarian still slightly towered above Astarion and he looked up at her with a frown on his face. The light from a nearby mushroom mingled with the glow from her engine and illuminated her yellow eyes as she leaned back against the rock-face behind her.

"I'm surprised you've never tried your luck with her," Karlach gestured in the direction of the campfire. "She threw cold water on me - well, more like spat it in surprise - but maybe short, pale, and brooding is more her thing?" She chuckled, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Astarion's expression darkened, and he crossed his arms defensively. "I have no desire to go down that route with Ishta, thank you very much. And neither does she," he informed her tersely, the haunting memory of his recent mistake reinforcing his convictions of that fact. "Now go away."

"You're kidding, right?" Karlach's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You've flirted with practically everyone in the group at some point or another, but the one person who actually might like you enough to sleep with you - besides me maybe, but that's a whole other issue - you won't even ask? What's the problem? You do like her... right?"

Astarion clenched his jaw, feeling his frustration rise. He glanced around the area, mentally looking for an escape route. "Karlach," he said, his voice tinged with both irritation and a hint of desperation, "I say this with the greatest possible respect - mainly because I know you can rip my head clean off with one hand - but will you kindly please just bugger off!"

Karlach ignored his outburst, leaning closer and lowering her voice conspiratorially. "What do you have to lose? If you're already so convinced that she'll reject you, then finding out for sure isn't going to change anything, is it?"

Astarion's shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a weary sigh. "Karlach, it's precisely because I like her that I don't want to 'try my luck' with her."

What are you doing? Don't engage with her!

"OK, now I'm confused," Karlach admitted, tilting her head to the side.

"What a surprise," Astarion remarked acerbically.

Karlach crossed her arms and gave him an expectant look, the metal on rings on her chest armour clinking together softly. "Then explain it to me, smartass," she challenged.

"Why should I?" Astarion asked defensively, his eyes narrowing. He glanced down at the boulder to stare at the intricate growths on it's surface, trying to avoid meeting Karlach's gaze.

Walk away, right now.

"Because Ishta isn't the only friend you have, whether you like it or not." Karlach shrugged, her demeanour softening slightly. "Besides, who else are you gonna talk to?"

Astarion glanced up in surprise, her words giving him pause. He let out another sigh, this one tinged with resignation. He could feel Karlach's persistence chipping away at his defences, her friendly manner disarming him despite his best efforts.

"You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Nope," Karlach grinned, her teeth flashing in the dim light.

He turned and started to walk away, but halted when Karlach chuckled, "Coward."

Bristling, he turned round and stood staring at the teasing grin on her face. His features softened slightly and he reached up to rub his eyes in resigned frustration. Ishta had told him to give the others a chance - now seemed as good a time as any to take her advice.

"Alright fine, let's talk shall we? Like two chambermaids sharing gossip. It's not as if I have anything else to do," he smiled patronisingly while climbing up to sit a prudent distance from Karlach.

"Look," Astarion began, his voice quieter now, more introspective. "I spent two hundred years seducing people and luring them back to Cazador. It's something I had to do in order to survive, whether I wanted to or not. Now for the first time in centuries, I find myself in the baffling position where I didn't have to bed someone just to gain their favour and trust."

Stop talking!

"Ishta offered her protection and friendship without demanding anything in return except that I respect her leadership," he continued. "No one has ever done that for me before. She's... special. And I don't want to view her as just another target or conquest."

Karlach's eyes widened in realization. "Holy shit... you like her, don't you?"

"I already said that, didn't I?" Astarion replied testily.

"No, I mean you like like her, like really like her," Karlach prodded, leaning in closer.

"What? No, I just... well maybe a little," Astarion admitted, his voice faltering. He felt exposed, like the shadows around him were pulling back to reveal secrets he wasn't ready to share.

Shut up. Shut up right now!

"Ha! I knew it!" Karlach laughed, clapping her hands together. "I knew you were starting to get actual honest feelings for her. I could tell by the way you've been looking at her lately."

"And how is that, pray tell?" Astarion inquired coolly, his irritation barely masking his curiosity.

"Like you want to spend all day wrapped in her arms. Like just the sight of her makes your slow, undead heart beat fast enough to make you remember what it felt like to be mortal," Karlach said, her voice surprisingly gentle.

Astarion raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you found the time between slaughtering devils and demons in Avernus to take poetry lessons?" His tone was scathing but Karlach just shook her head.

"I'm not wrong though, am I?" Karlach asked, a raised eyebrow to mirror his accompanying her knowing smile.

Astarion remained silent, his expression contemplative. The truth of her words hung in the air, undeniable and unsettling. Had he really been so obvious?

"So," Karlach urged, nudging him lightly, "stop brooding around up here and go tell her how you feel."

"Watch it! Keep those flames of yours away from me."

"Sorry!"

Astarion hastily slid further away from the apologetic woman, brushing at his clothes and making tutting sounds as he noticed faint scorch marks. "Careful, Karlach. I quite like these clothes unburnt," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He felt a stab of guilt though, when he looked up and saw the genuine look of concern and sadness in the Tieflings eyes. He knew she hated to be reminded of the constant predicament her infernal engine placed her in.

"What makes you think Ishta would ever reciprocate any of these... feelings?" he relented, sighing in frustration.

Karlach shrugged, her demeanour becoming lighter again. "Because she cares about you. It's obvious to anyone who pays attention. And don't say it's just because she cares about everyone. That may be true, but she was an absolute mess while you were trapped in that cave."

Astarion looked away, staring into the distance. The thought of Ishta feeling something more towards him than just friendship was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"So, if there's a teeny, tiny, itty, bitty, little chance—

"This isn't helping," Astarion interrupted peevishly.

"That she might actually feel the same way about you," Karlach resumed. "Then isn't it worth taking that chance at finding happiness?"

Astarion couldn't help but glance back at Ishta, her silhouette illuminated by the firelight. He watched her laughing with Wyll and Gale as they pitched her tent, and the sight tugged at something deep within him, a longing he couldn't quite suppress. Was happiness even something he had any right to dream about?

Shaking his head, he turned back to Karlach, the flicker of a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I really despise you sometimes," he said, his tone laced with a playful edge.

She snorted, grinning at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Come on, Fangs, you know you love me really."

Astarion rolled his eyes theatrically. "Yes, Karlach, I positively adore you. You're like the big sister I never wanted."

Karlach barked out a short laugh, but her expression turned thoughtful as she tilted her head and asked, "So, is my little Vampire brother going to do anything about his feelings then?"

Astarion arched an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. "I don't know, is my big, combustible sister going to do anything about her feelings for a certain horny hero?"

Karlach's eyes widened, and a faint orange glow crept up her cheeks. "Huh? What are you talking about? I don't have any feelings for Wyll," she denied, her voice a bit too high-pitched to be convincing.

"Interesting that your thoughts immediately turned to Wyll. My description could just as easily have been Lae'zel," Astarion mused, his eyes narrowing with a teasing glint.

Karlach fumbled for words, her usual bravado slipping. "I'm not... he's not... I mean... has he said anything about me?" she asked, her eyes wide and her voice entreating.

Astarion leaned back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "We don't get the chance to chat over a pint very often. Differences in our preferred choice of beverage, you understand."

Karlach's shoulders slumped slightly, and she looked away. "It's just... he's different, you know? At first I was blown away by what he did for me with Mizora, and I thought wow, that's what a real hero is. I was a bit intimidated to be honest, I thought he would be this noble, selfless, paragon of virtue type and I didn't have a clue how I could repay someone like that. Then I got to know him and, well..."

"You found out he was a boring, lacklustre, stick-in-the-mud with as much intelligence as a drunk Kobold?" Astarion offered, his face deadpan.

Karlach glared at him, shaking her head. "I found out he's a nice guy. A really, really nice guy," she said earnestly, her gaze drifting to the ground as if searching for the right words. Her voice held a note of wonder, a rare softness that hinted at the depth of her feelings.

Astarion curled his lip in disgust, his eyes narrowing. "That's almost as bad. You know what they say about those," he said disdainfully.

"Yeah, yeah. You can mock all you want," Karlach waved at him dismissively, her hand cutting through the air with a frustrated flick. "It's just... I haven't met many of those in my life, you know?" She leaned back, her shoulders pressing into the rough stone of the rock behind her, as if seeking support from its solidity.

Astarion rolled his eyes dramatically, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Then why don't you take your own advice and go and say something to him? Right now, in fact, as far away from me as is infernally possible," he suggested, pointing to the furthest corner of the camp.

Karlach crossed her arms defiantly, her jaw setting in a stubborn line. "You first," she challenged, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"My, my, is the great and terrible 'Advocatus Diaboli' scared of talking to her crush?" Astarion smirked, his fangs glinting briefly in the fungal glow.

"I'm not scared of anything," Karlach shot back, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty. "Actually, that's not true - I'm scared of loads of things. But the point is, I'm not scared of this, unlike you." She jabbed a finger in his direction, her expression firm.

Astarion straightened, his posture rigid, the smirk fading from his lips. "I'm not scared either. I'm just waiting for the right opportunity," he countered, a touch of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

Karlach rolled her eyes, exasperation evident on her face. "You just missed the perfect one right back there!" she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly as she gestured toward the spot he and Ishta had stood.

Astarion sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So we are agreed then. Neither one of us is scared, and we are both going to just walk on over there and say something to the people we may or may not have feelings for?"

"Right," Karlach nodded firmly. She clenched her fists at her sides, as if trying to summon the courage she needed.

There was silence as the pair sat and stared contemplatively at the campfire and the rest of their companions. The soft hum of floating spores and subterranean wildlife filled the air, and Astarion could swear he heard a cricket chirping nearby.

"So... which of us is going to go first?" he asked after several minutes, turning to Karlach with an uncertain smile on his face.

"Not it!" Karlach burst out, leaping down from the ledge and bolting away into the darkness.

"Coward!" Astarion shouted after her indignantly, his voice tinged with amusement despite himself. He watched her retreating figure, a small smile tugging at his lips. The sound of Karlach's laugh was his only reply, a comforting melody that lingered in the air long after she had disappeared into the shadows.

For awhile, he simply sat and watched the activity around the campfire, his gaze never leaving Ishta for a second. Letting out a long, calming breath, he whispered to himself, "It's simple. All I have to do is walk up to her and say: Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk."