Chapter Text
The forest clearing was bathed in the eerie luminescence of pre-dawn, when Astarion, Ashara and Onyx returned to the ritual site, five spectral wolves trailing behind them.
A faint mist curled around their ankles like restless spirits as Ashara dropped to one knee, her head bowed low, her ebony hair spilling over her shoulders like a cascade of black silk. Her voice, steady but reverent, carried through the silence. "Lord Fenrir, the hunt is complete. I return thy power and thank thee for thy favor."
The runes around the carved circle began to glow, and once again Fenrir's haunting visage appeared in the centre, wreathed in smoke and a cold flickering light as his voice echoed through the air.
"Thou hast done well. Vengeance has been wrought and souls laid to rest."
One by one, the spectral wolves stepped into the swirling smoke pouring from the rockface, their translucent forms dissipating like mist under the morning sun. Their departure was elegant and final, a wordless goodbye. Astarion's crimson eyes tracked them, captivated. The pull was primal, a nagging desire he couldn't quite suppress.
Before he could think better of it, he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground. He raised a hand, his pale fingers trembling slightly as he asked loudly, "I don't suppose you'd consider letting one or two of those stick around, would you?"
The air froze, as if the forest itself had taken a sharp breath. Fenrir's glowing eyes snapped to him, their intensity like twin suns bearing down on his head. Astarion swallowed hard, his instinct to flee warring with his determination to stand his ground.
In front of him, Ashara stood and twisted her head to hiss, "What are you doing?"
Ignoring her, Astarion took another step forward. His movements were measured, calculated to appear confident despite the fluttering in his stomach. He offered Fenrir his most charming smile, the one that had gotten him out of trouble - and into worse trouble - countless times. "It's just that they're quite handy in a fight," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the departing wolves, "and I have a rather powerful individual on my tail that I need protection from."
Onyx, standing silently beside him, tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing. "We have already promised you protection."
"Yes, yes, I know," Astarion replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But it never hurts to have a backup plan. Besides, I can't stay in your shadows forever, relying on you two like some coddled fledgling."
His crimson eyes flicked back to Fenrir, who hadn't moved but somehow radiated an increasing intensity. "So, Fenrir... do you mind if I call you Fenrir? 'My Lord' has always left a rather bitter taste in my mouth." He tilted his head, his tone sliding into a disarming casualness. "How does one go about earning your favor - specifically, the spectral hounds-of-death variety?"
The clearing fell silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves above. Fenrir's skull tilted slightly, the smoke around it swirling in lazy circles as if it were considering him. Ashara groaned quietly and covered her face with one hand, her shoulders slumping in mortification.
Finally, Fenrir spoke, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to come from the depths of the earth. "Onyx..."
Onyx flattened his ears against his head and gave Astarion a look of pure reproach that seemed to say 'now you've done it', before turning to face Fenrir.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Who is this upstart pup?"
Astarion made an indignant sound in his throat, but Onyx's response came quickly, measured and deliberate. "Astarion of Baldur's Gate. He is... a vampire spawn newly escaped from his sire. Ashara offered him temporary sanctuary within our pack."
Astarion noted the slight pause before Onyx admitted what he was, and his brows furrowed in irritation. So even here, the truth of his nature warranted caution. Fenrir's gaze returned to him, and though the skull lacked flesh, Astarion swore it narrowed its non-existent eyelids.
"I see..." Fenrir said, his tone inscrutable.
Astarion's lip curled, his irritation surfacing before he could stop it, mingling with the sting of old wounds. "Let me guess. Being a vampire automatically disqualifies me from earning your so-called favor, doesn't it?" His voice was bitter now, his mask slipping just enough to reveal the cracks beneath. "Stupid of me to think you'd be any different from any of the other gods I've begged for help."
Ashara's hand dropped, her sharp gaze flicking to him with an odd mix of curiosity and sympathy. Astarion cursed himself silently for revealing more than he intended.
Fenrir's reply, when it came, was unexpected. "It is not thy nature that precludes thee, vampire. Rather, thy impudence."
Astarion blinked, surprised. "Oh," he said, then tilted his head and offered a sly, disarming smile. "So... you're saying I have a shot at being one of your 'faithful few' if I'm a good boy then?"
Ashara's palm slapped against her face with a sound so loud it echoed. Onyx exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as though praying for patience.
The weight of Fenrir's gaze didn't waver, and the silence stretched for an agonizing moment before the wolf god spoke again, his tone heavy with skepticism. "While not impossible... thou wouldst be the first of thy kind to gain my favor."
Astarion's grin widened, reckless. "Well... I'm always up for a challenge."
Onyx opened his eyes and sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Astarion... now would be a good time to stop talking."
Before Astarion could reply, Ashara grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "That's enough," she whispered, her voice urgent. "We need to go. Now."
He resisted, turning his head to glance at her with a raised brow. "I'm not done yet."
"Yes, you are," she snapped, heaving at his arm. "The message runes have a time limit."
"Do they?"
Her grip tightened, her voice rising in frustration. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never spoken to him this long before."
As she hauled him backward, he twisted to shout one last time to Fenrir. "We'll talk later, darling. Can't wait to discuss terms and conditions!"
Ashara squeaked, horrified. "You can't just call an all-powerful wolf god 'darling'!"
He leaned closer to her as they retreated, his grin positively wicked. "I don't see any lightning bolts coming to smite me, so I'd say he probably liked it."
Fenrir's voice rumbled one last time, sending a shiver through the clearing. "Onyx... remain here. I desire to have words with thee."
Astarion raised a brow, feigning innocence. "Oh dear... Do you think he's in trouble for letting riff-raff into the pack?"
Ashara paused and frowned, perplexed. "What are riff-raff?"
Astarion rolled his eyes, his tone dripping condescension. "It's another word for people who are disreputable or undesirable, darling. The lowest in society."
Her brow furrowed, genuine confusion evident. "Then why are you calling yourself that?"
For a moment, her earnestness struck him silent. He blinked, his heart skipping uncomfortably. Quickly, he masked it with a haughty smile. "Sorry, I forgot sarcasm was lost on you. If anything, I've improved the quality of your pack substantially."
Ashara's irritation returned in full force as she resumed pulling him away. "Whatever. Onyx can handle himself. Let's go."
Astarion relented, chuckling softly to himself as she dragged him into the forest shadows.
—◇—
Onyx stood motionless, his amber eyes fixed on the spot where Ashara and Astarion had disappeared into the dark embrace of the forest. The faint rustle of leaves marked their fading presence, and with it, Onyx felt the weight of his solitude grow heavier. He resisted the urge to follow, knowing that duty demanded his presence here.
They had left him to face Fenrir's ire, and he couldn't help but envy the vampire's carefree attitude as he had been dragged away.
He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he turned to face the glowing skull. The smoke swirling around it seemed thicker now, charged with a menacing energy that made the fur along his back prickle. His ears flattened instinctively as he lowered his gaze in deference.
Fenrir's voice rumbled, low and foreboding, like an earthquake building beneath the surface. "Onyx, my faithful servant. My most trusted soulshard and defender of all I hold dear..."
The words, though ostensibly kind, struck Onyx with the weight of a predator circling its prey. He winced internally, recognizing the ominous prelude. Fenrir's praises often foreshadowed a reckoning.
The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. Onyx's ears flicked back nervously, and his tail instinctively tucked between his legs. The glowing skull flared, its ethereal light carving stark shadows across the clearing. When Fenrir spoke again, his voice was thunderous, shaking the very air around them.
"Why, in all the bloody nine hells, is my daughter running around with a gods-damned vampire spawn?!"
The reverberation of Fenrir's outrage rattled Onyx's teeth and he swallowed hard, carefully lowering himself into a seated position. He curled his tail neatly around his paws, presenting an appearance of calm he did not feel.
Clearing his throat, he spoke with measured tones. "She demonstrated a compassionate impulse and rescued Astarion from a cruel fate. He sought her protection and has been traveling with us ever since. The vampire has proved himself a useful - if somewhat disruptive - companion."
"I don't care." Fenrir's growl cut through the air like a blade. "Get rid of him."
Onyx hesitated, his mind racing for a tactful response. "Ashara seems to have taken a liking to him..."
"She's not having a vampire as a companion!" Fenrir snapped, his tone edged with incredulity. "Get her a hook horror or something else less... less...whatever that was back there."
Onyx's lips twitched, but he quickly suppressed the smile. "She has made her choice, my lord."
A sharp, pointed glare burned through the glowing orbs of Fenrir's skull. "He hasn't bitten her, has he?"
"No," Onyx replied quickly. "He has only fed on me so far."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Onyx dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Understood, my lord. But I do not believe Astarion poses any danger to Ashara. He seems... content to simply aid us in exchange for safety."
Fenrir scoffed, the mist swirling violently in response. "Maybe not a physical danger, but vampires are cruel, selfish, power-hungry opportunists. If he ever finds out what she is, or figures out her connection to me—"
"He won't," Onyx interjected firmly. "She doesn't even know herself. The secret of her birth is still only known to the Fenris Guard."
Fenrir's presence seemed to still, the oppressive weight of his gaze easing fractionally. "Still... I don't want my daughter being corrupted by a creature like that."
Onyx hesitated before speaking, his voice thoughtful. "My intuition tells me that this vampire has the potential to evolve beyond his nature, given the right environment. It may be that Ashara will influence him far more than he will her."
The massive skull tilted slightly, as if considering his words. "Hmm... the possibility is intriguing. And I suppose, even if he turns around and stabs her in the back, at least she will have had a valuable lesson on the duplicity of mortals and the sting of betrayal."
Onyx's jaw tightened at the callous remark, but he kept his expression neutral.
"So..." he ventured cautiously, "Astarion can stay?"
Fenrir huffed, the sound reverberating like a distant avalanche. "Yes, yes, fine. She can keep the spawn. But I want regular updates on the situation. And if he bites her even once, he goes. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Onyx replied with a nod.
A long silence followed, and Onyx's fur prickled with unease. He wasn't sure if more was expected of him. Fenrir finally broke the quiet, his tone thoughtful. "Onyx. Do you think the archaic syntax and having people address me as 'my lord' these days is a bit... much?"
Onyx's ears flicked forward in surprise, and he blinked rapidly, scrambling for an appropriate response. "Lord is a title of respect that even mortals use among nobility. However, the common tongue has... shifted somewhat in the last thousand or so years."
Fenrir's spectral glow dimmed slightly as he seemed to ponder the observation. "Hmmm..."
Onyx tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Why do you ask?"
Fenrir's voice grew abrupt, almost curt. "No reason. From now on, you can occasionally address me as sir."
Onyx's jaw opened, then closed, his thoughts a jumble of disbelief and bemusement. Finally, he settled for a cautious, "As you wish... sir."
The god gave an approving grunt before dismissing him with a flicker of light. Onyx stood slowly, the tension in his muscles easing as the oppressive presence began to fade, replaced with an almost anticlimactic silence. With a shake of his fur and a resigned sigh, he turned toward the forest, wondering - not for the first time - how he could have been born from the essence of a being so... erratic.
—♤—
Ashara descended the crumbling stone steps to the lower levels of the ruined blacksmith's shop, each footfall echoing in the quiet space. The firewood bundle in her arms was unwieldy, its rough bark biting into her fingers, leaving them numb and tingling. Her shoulders ached from the weight, but she pressed on, her mind half-focused on the task and half-wandering back to the earlier events.
Onyx padded just behind her, his steps soft and deliberate, a steady presence at her back. Ashara glanced over her shoulder, her curiosity simmering beneath her fatigue. She wondered what Fenrir had said to him after she and Astarion had been dismissed.
Onyx had been tight-lipped since their reunion, his amber eyes giving nothing away. He would speak when he was ready - he always did - but that didn't stop the questions from bubbling in her mind. She couldn't shake the suspicion it had something to do with Astarion. Her lips quirked into a small smile at the thought of the vampire's brazen defiance before Fenrir.
The audacity of it still amazed her. Even now, hours later, she found herself torn between mortification and admiration. She hadn't known many people - her sheltered life ensured that - but she couldn't recall ever meeting someone quite like him. There was an unpredictability to Astarion, a sharp-edged humor that danced on the edge of danger. For someone like her, who had lived a life of cautious restraint, his reckless charm was exhilarating.
The first of the lower levels opened before her, the faint light from above casting the sleeping forms of her companions in soft relief. Karlach lay curled on the stone floor, the fiery core in her chest casting a warm, golden glow that flickered faintly, painting her scarred features in light. It gave her an almost celestial appearance, despite the rough bedroll tangled around her legs.
Nearby, Mirkon was bundled tightly in his own bedroll, his small frame trembling slightly even in sleep. Ashara's chest tightened at the sight of him, his face still streaked with the tears he had shed after she and Zevlor had gently broken the news of Mol's death.
Zevlor lay closest to the hearth, his face pale and lined with exhaustion. His treatment at the hands of the goblins had left him battered, and though the worst of his wounds had been tended, he still carried the weight of his ordeal. The hearth fire flickered, its embers casting soft shadows that danced along the cracked stone walls. Though morning light filtered weakly through the cracks above, the room remained dim, a haven of quiet amid the chaos of the past night.
Descending to the lowest level, Ashara stepped into the forge room. The air here was cooler but carried the dry, comforting scent of stone and soot. A massive forge loomed at one end, its brick sides darkened by years of use. Setting down the firewood with a soft thud, she began stacking the logs into the forge's maw, her movements methodical. She retrieved a flint and steel from the nearby workbench and coaxed a spark into life, feeding it carefully until the coals began to glow. The warmth spread slowly, curling around her like a gentle embrace.
Onyx settled beside the forge, his massive frame curling against the warm bricks. He exhaled a contented sigh, his golden eyes half-lidded as he watched her work. The rhythmic crackling of the fire filled the silence as Ashara retrieved cuts of meat from a bundle she had prepared earlier, laying them on metal sheets she had scavenged from the workbenches. The sizzle of meat hitting hot metal was a welcome sound, one that began to ease the tension knotted in her shoulders.
Her gaze drifted toward the far corner of the room, where Astarion's tent was pitched against the stone wall. Even though they were indoors, he had insisted on his own space, his social energy tempered by a quiet need for control over his surroundings.
Despite only knowing him for a day, Ashara had come to expect his curious presence whenever she worked, his sharp eyes watching her with a guarded interest. Yet the tent remained still, its flap closed, and no sardonic quip or teasing comment emerged to break the quiet.
She frowned slightly, the prickle of unease creeping up her spine. While it was likely he was simply sleeping, Ashara couldn't ignore the feeling coiling in her chest. Her instincts rarely led her astray, and currently they were whispering that something was not quite right with the energy around her.
Her eyes drifted toward his tent again, its fabric hanging ominously still. She hesitated, her hands faltering in their work. "Astarion?" she called out softly, almost apologetically. "Are you still awake?"
No response.
Her unease sharpened and she rose, dusting her hands on her thighs, and crossed the short distance to his tent. She paused outside, her hand brushing against the edge of the canvas. "Astarion?" Her voice was louder this time, but still gentle, a thread of concern weaving through the syllables.
Ashara frowned, lingering for a moment longer, her hands unconsciously clenching into fists at her sides. She was about to turn away when a faint, pitiful sound reached her ears - a whimper. Her heart jolted.
Her ear pressed against the fabric, and she strained to listen. Heavy, labored breaths, interspersed with gasps of pain, made her stomach knot.
"Astarion, I'm coming in - please don't be mad at me." Her words tumbled out in a rush as she pushed open the flap.
The scene inside struck her like a physical blow. Astarion was on the ground, his pale hands clutching his head, his body curled in on itself. Sweat dripped from his brow, glistening in the dim light as he shivered violently.
His head snapped up at the intrusion, panic flashing in his crimson eyes. In an instant, a dagger materialized in his hand, trembling but still aimed directly at her. He pressed himself back against the tent wall, his voice a venomous snarl. "Stay back!"
"Astarion..." Her voice faltered at the raw fear in his eyes. She stepped forward, hands raised in a calming gesture, but he flinched, the blade jerking in her direction.
"You're not killing me - not yet," he rasped, his voice trembling but edged with defiance. "There's still time... there has to be."
He doubled over suddenly, a violent cough racking his body. Ashara stepped forward instinctively, but the blade in his hand jerked toward her, a feeble threat. Flecks of blood spattered the ground, and when Astarion pulled his hand from his lips, his crimson eyes fixated on the smear of red staining his pale fingers.
"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "This can't be happening. Not again... not now."
Ashara's breath caught, the sight of his terror sparking off her own fears. "Astarion, please - what's happening?"
He coughed again, his strength faltering, though he still clutched the dagger. His hand trembled violently as he jabbed it toward her once more. "I said stay back!" he hissed. "I'm not... I'm not letting this happen. I'll bargain, beg, sell my soul if I must - but I won't let this thing take me."
His outburst collapsed into another fit of coughing, the weapon slipping from his grip. Ashara moved instinctively, snatching the dagger before he could recover. Astarion reached for it with a desperate lunge, but his strength failed him, and he crumpled back against the tent wall.
"Go on, then," he spat bitterly, his voice laced with despair. "Get it over with."
Ashara tucked the dagger into the waistband of her trousers and knelt cautiously, her hands open and unthreatening. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me what's happening. Let me help."
Astarion let out a hollow laugh, the sound sharp and cutting. "Help? What do you think you can do? Isn't it obvious? I'm turning." His voice cracked, and his gaze flickered away, as if admitting the truth was more painful than the affliction itself. "This happened before... it was stopped. But unless you've got another Githyanki relic hidden away, you'll shortly be sharing this tent with a mindflayer."
Ashara's stomach twisted. She turned sharply and yelled out of the tent, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Onyx! Get over here now!"
A shuffle of movement, a low growl, and Onyx's massive frame filled the entrance. His sharp gaze swept over the scene, settling on Astarion's crumpled figure. The vampire shrank back even further, his breaths ragged.
"The transformation is starting!" Ashara's voice cracked with desperation as she turned to Onyx. "Please, we have to help him."
Onyx growled low in his throat. "Ashara, step away from him."
"No," she snapped, defiance hardening her tone. "There has to be a way to stop this."
Onyx's piercing eyes locked onto Astarion, who clutched his head and groaned, another tremor wracking his body. The wolf's ears flicked forward, and he closed his eyes, his expression twisting with concentration.
"The tadpole..." Onyx rumbled after a moment, his voice resonant with grim authority. "It's responding to a telepathic command from something ancient. Powerful. It's trying to trigger ceremorphosis."
Ashara's breath caught, her chest tightening as she glanced between the two. "Can you stop it?"
Onyx's eyes opened slowly, gleaming with resolve. "I might be able to block the voice."
A faint spark of hope flickered in Astarion's eyes as he stood, but before the words could fully leave his lips, another violent coughing fit overtook him. He doubled over, clutching his chest, and gasped for air. The sound was raw, each breath scraping like broken glass in his throat.
"Whatever you plan to do, now might be a good ti—" His voice broke mid-sentence, and his eyes rolled back as his body went slack, crumpling forward with all the grace of a marionette whose strings had been severed.
Ashara lunged, catching him just before he hit the ground. The unexpected weight sent her stumbling back a step, her arms tightening instinctively around his limp form. The heat radiating from his fevered skin and the slight tremors shaking his frame sent a wave of dread coursing through her.
Her gaze darted to Onyx. "Did you do that?"
Onyx nodded, his golden eyes half-lidded as though in deep concentration. "Yes. He's agitated and fear makes him talk too much. I need to focus, and his body needs rest."
Ashara frowned, shifting Astarion's limp form. "You could've warned me," she muttered under her breath as she half-lifted, half-dragged him toward the bedroll shoved against the tent wall. His shivering made the task harder, his body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. With care, she lowered him onto the thin mattress, adjusting his arms and smoothing the fabric of his shirt where it clung to his damp skin.
For a moment, she knelt over him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Sweat gleamed on his brow, catching the faint light like dew on a fragile web.
A knot of worry tightened in her chest. Despite only knowing him for such a short amount of time - and despite his barbed remarks, his maddening self-assuredness - she had already grown to like this strange vampire.
Shaking herself free of her thoughts, Ashara rose and slipped outside, her movements brisk and purposeful as she grabbed a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. When she returned, she settled on the edge of the bedroll and carefully began dabbing at the sweat beading on his forehead.
His damp curls clung stubbornly to his face, and as she smoothed them back, her gaze fell to the puncture marks on his neck - twin crescents etched deep into his skin, faintly puckered. The savagery of them twisted her stomach. She could almost hear the snap of teeth breaking flesh, the guttural snarl of hunger, and Astarion's cry of pain. Her fingers brushed against the marks, unthinking, and she flinched at the thought of what he must have endured.
The thought of him being forced into such a transformation - violently reshaped into something unnatural - sent a wave of sorrow coursing through her. No wonder he feared the mindflayer tadpole's grasp. He had already lost his humanity once.
A rustle drew her attention, and Ashara glanced up to find Onyx watching her intently. His eyes, fierce yet filled with an uncanny understanding, locked onto hers.
"Why did he think I wanted to kill him?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with frustration and sadness. "After the kindness we've shown him, why is he still so... scared?"
Onyx shifted closer, his massive form crouching to fit within the tent. He settled beside her, his muzzle brushing her shoulder in a gentle nuzzle. "Do you remember that fox we found trapped in a snare a few winters back?"
Ashara's lips curved in a faint smile. "I remember it bit me after I freed it."
Onyx huffed, a sound that was part laugh, part sigh. "And that proves my point. Your intention was to help it, but it was so blinded by pain and fear that it couldn't see you as anything other than a threat."
She shook her head, recalling the fox's wild eyes and its trembling body. "It was snapping at me in one breath and screaming in terror in the next. Every time I tried to soothe it, it acted like I was trying to murder it. Even when I used magic to speak to it, it took ages for it to trust me."
Onyx tilted his head toward Astarion, his gaze thoughtful. "Remind you of anyone?"
Ashara let out a soft laugh, tinged with melancholy. "As a matter of fact, it does."
Her expression sobered as she glanced back at Onyx "But he's not an animal. I thought people were supposed to be more intelligent and reasonable than beasts."
Onyx huffed another quiet laugh. "That is somewhat debatable, but generally speaking they usually are. However, certain circumstances can strip a person down to their rawest self. Pain and fear don't leave room for logic or trust. They replace it with survival. And if someone's instincts have been shaped by cruelty, then fear becomes their foundation, driving every thought, every action."
Ashara sighed, her fingers stilling for a moment on the cloth. "People are complicated."
"Indeed they are." Onyx's tone held both amusement and weariness.
His expression turned serious, his voice taking on a weighty cadence. "Astarion is no longer in immediate danger. I've managed to create a barrier around his mind, shielding it from the voice that was commanding the tadpole. For now, he is safe."
Ashara let out a shaky breath of relief but caught the somber edge to his tone. "What is it?" she pressed.
Onyx hesitated, then spoke. "The tadpole... it's unusual. There are traces of arcane tampering, enhancements beyond its normal purpose of ceremorphosis. It's been altered to serve a greater purpose."
Ashara frowned. "Do you think this has to do with the Moonrise Towers that the goblins mentioned?"
"It's a possibility," Onyx admitted. His gaze darkened, thoughtful. "I suspect there's a far greater scheme at play here - something more intricate than just another cult."
Ashara's jaw tightened. "Then we'll need to uncover what's going on. For Astarion's sake... and everyone else's."
Her gaze drifted back to Astarion's face, the sharp edges of his features now softened by the stillness of unconsciousness. Despite the tension hanging thick in the tent, a wave of tender concern washed over her. She reached out almost without thinking, and began stroking his head, her fingers brushing through his curls, untangling them gently.
"Ashara, stop that." Onyx's voice cut through the moment, sharp and commanding.
She flinched, her hand retreating as if burned. "Sorry!" she stammered, her cheeks flushing with guilt. "I just wanted to—."
"I know you mean well," he interrupted, his voice softer but still firm. "But there is a line between actions that are necessary to care for him, and those that are not. It is not your place to act in a way he would not welcome if he was awake."
Ashara swallowed hard, glancing back down at Astarion's pale face. The tender gesture that had felt so natural now seemed misplaced, invasive even. "You're right," she murmured, her tone tinged with regret. "I wasn't thinking."
"I know," Onyx said, his gaze steady. "But trust is fragile, especially with someone like him. Do not break it by crossing his boundaries."
Just then, Astarion stirred, his movements sluggish, as though surfacing from the depths of a murky pool. His eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, his crimson eyes darted between Ashara and Onyx. Fear ignited in his gaze, sharp and immediate. His hands flew to his face, feeling for something unseen.
Relief softened his features when he found nothing amiss, but confusion quickly replaced it, knitting his brow. "What happened?" His voice was hoarse, trembling with residual fear. "How am I still...?"
"Onyx put up a mental barrier around you," Ashara explained gently. "Whatever was trying to command your parasite can't reach you anymore."
Astarion's brows furrowed, his gaze flicking to Onyx. "He can do that?" There was incredulity in his tone, the sharp edge of disbelief cutting through his words.
Onyx inclined his head with measured calm. "I can, though the barrier will need to be reinforced periodically."
Astarion's eyes flicked to the bowl of water and the damp cloth in Ashara's hands. His face twisted into a smirk, laced with mischief. "Mopping my fevered brow, were you? How perfectly romantic."
Ashara blinked, her brow scrunching in genuine puzzlement. "How is wiping sweat off your head romantic?"
Astarion opened his mouth, clearly ready to elaborate, but stopped himself mid-thought. He snapped his mouth shut and let out a theatrical sigh. "Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."
Ashara's gaze flicked to Onyx, who had turned his head and was now scratching furiously at an imaginary itch near his ear. Her eyes darted between the two, suspicion prickling at the edges of her thoughts. She felt a strange sense of self-consciousness, as if there was a joke she'd missed entirely. Brushing it off, she rolled her eyes and pressed on.
"It wouldn't kill you to thank Onyx for saving your life you know."
Astarion tilted his head, a sly grin curling at the corners of his lips. "It might," he quipped. "I've no idea what else he's capable of, and I'm not sure I want to take the risk."
Without thinking, Ashara reached out and dropped the damp cloth onto his face. A muffled chuckle escaped from beneath the fabric as he pulled it off and sat up, his movements slower than usual, but more stable. He turned to Onyx with a half-smile that somehow managed to look both contrite and insincere.
"I am, of course, eternally grateful that you took the initiative to protect yourself from a potential mindflayer."
Ashara frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's not why we helped you," she said, her tone carrying an edge of irritation.
Astarion arched an elegant brow, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Oh, isn't it? So, you're telling me the prospect of coming face to tentacle with a soulless monster played absolutely no part in your decision?"
She leaned closer, her gaze locking onto his with unyielding intensity. "No."
The honesty in her tone startled him. For a heartbeat, his smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and he leaned back, letting mockery coat his words like armor.
"Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought," he said, his voice laced with scorn. "Honestly, how have you survived this long with such poor self-preservation instincts?"
Ashara's face reddened, the warmth of anger rising like a tide. She stood abruptly, her movements jerky with frustration, and glared down at him.
"Stupid fox," she muttered under her breath as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the tent, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
As she stomped across the room, a thought struck Ashara with the force of a thunderclap, sending her heart racing. "Karlach!" she blurted, urgency sharpening her voice. "She's infected too!"
Onyx's head snapped toward her, his ears perking sharply. Without a word, he surged up the steps to the upper level, his powerful strides eating up the distance. Ashara hurried after him, her boots scuffing against the stone as she struggled to keep pace.
As they reached the top, the sight before them stopped them both in their tracks. Karlach was on her knees, clutching her head, flames licking dangerously high around her horns and shoulders. Zevlor stood over her, his face pale with concern, one arm wrapped protectively around the trembling form of Mirkon. The boy clung to his legs, his wide eyes brimming with fear.
Zevlor's gaze darted to Ashara and Onyx, relief breaking through the worry on his face. "I was just about to call you," he said, his voice tight.
Onyx didn't waste a second. He crossed the room in two great bounds, his immense form towering over Karlach. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes, his breath steadying into a slow, deliberate rhythm. Ashara stood back, watching as the air around Onyx seemed to hum with latent energy. Gradually, Karlach's flames began to subside, their once-chaotic flicker dimming to a soft, smoldering glow. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she sat back on her heels, her hand dropping limply to her side.
"Holy shit," Karlach breathed, her voice hoarse but alive with relief. "I thought I was done for then. Doesn't get any easier the second time round." She looked up at Onyx, a crooked, grateful smile spreading across her face. "I'm guessing I have you to thank for that, big guy."
Onyx nuzzled her shoulder in a gesture both reassuring and faintly amused. "Indeed. I am thankful to have reached you on time. You would not be nearly so endearing as a mindflayer."
Karlach barked a laugh, her flames flickering faintly with the motion. She turned her head and spotted Mirkon, still clinging to Zevlor. "It's okay, kid," she said, her voice softer now. "I'm alright. See? No squid parts here."
Mirkon nodded hesitantly but didn't let go of Zevlor, who exhaled deeply and muttered, "Thank the gods."
Ashara crossed her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "The gods had nothing to do with it."
Karlach smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Well... one of them kinda did, eh, Onyx?" She winked at the wolf, her grin widening.
Onyx lifted his head sharply, fixing Ashara with a glare that could have melted steel. "Just who haven't you told about me?"
Ashara shrugged, the corners of her mouth tugging downward in a guilty grimace. "Uh... it might have come up once or twice?"
Karlach, still catching her breath, leaned back on her hands with a thoughtful expression. "So... does this mean I'm stuck with you guys now? Not that I'm complaining, but I don't know where you stand on flaming, one-armed tieflings crashing the party."
Onyx tilted his head slightly, studying her with an intensity that made Ashara wonder what he saw beneath the surface. "You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish," he said finally. "Though you may change your mind when I inform you that I can remove that tadpole from your brain."
The room seemed to still as his words hung in the air. Karlach froze, her jaw going slack as she stared at him. "Are you serious?" she whispered, her voice caught somewhere between hope and disbelief.
Onyx inclined his head, his golden eyes calm and certain. "Entirely."
For a moment, silence hung in the air, thick with possibility. Karlach's flames flared again, this time in a burst of exhilaration. "Well, I'll be damned," she muttered, her voice breaking into a laugh. "Guess Fenrir's my new favorite god."