The streets of Baldur’s Gate were alive with noise, though it wasn’t the joyous hum of celebration that many had imagined. Instead, the sounds were raw and weary—the cries of the wounded, the clash of rebuilding efforts, and the occasional raucous cheer when someone remembered that the city had survived at all. The battle against the Nether Brain was over, the infection quelled, but victory had come at a price.

  Sena slipped through the crowd, a shadow among the weary. She had spent years learning how to move unseen—how to be small, forgettable. But now, in a city that had survived the unimaginable, no one was looking. Their eyes were turned inward, to the ruins of their homes and the ghosts that lingered in the aftermath.

  She stopped near the edge of a crumbled fountain, the scent of damp stone and ash thick in the air. Her fingers found the hilt of her dagger, running over the smooth metal, the familiar catch of the ruby-like stone against her thumb grounding her.

  Amidst the ruin, she saw something unexpected—hope.

  It flickered in the weary smiles of the Baldurians, in the way they pulled each other from the rubble. Seeing the city free and watching its people rebuild, she felt something unfamiliar.

  Not longing. Not belonging. But… something.

  Her gaze drifted eastward, to the hill beyond the city, where an estate loomed in the distance, familiar and unforgotten.

  She could go there now. If they were still here. She could walk up those steps, through those doors…

  But they were gone.

  The manor stood empty. No chains. No voices in the dark. No monsters waiting in the halls.

  A familiar voice broke her thoughts.

  “So, this is it then?”

  Sena turned. Shadowheart stood a few paces away, the golden light soft against her face. Exhaustion lingered in the tight set of her shoulders, her white hair slightly disheveled—a quiet reminder of everything they had endured. But there was something different about her now. Less like the woman who had once wielded Shar’s darkness and more like someone stepping, slowly, into something new.

  “You’re staying.” Sena didn’t need to ask.

  Shadowheart nodded, her gaze drifting toward the broken streets. “There’s so much to rebuild. So many lives to mend. I feel… I feel like I can help here. Like I should.”

  A young boy passed by, clutching a bundle of blankets in his arms, his mother walking beside him with a satchel slung over her shoulder. She murmured something, brushing a bit of ash from his cheek. He adjusted his grip and kept walking.

  Sena watched them for a moment before exhaling softly.

  “It suits you,” she said at last.

  Shadowheart turned to look at her again.

  “And you?” Shadowheart asked. “Where will you go?”

  Sena’s thumb pressed against the gem of her dagger. “Forward.” Then, after a beat, a small, self-deprecating smirk. “Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll figure out where that leads.”

  Shadowheart studied her for a moment but nodded. She didn’t press.

  Sena had never told her about her past, yet there was always an understanding in Shadowheart’s eyes. They had been alike once, their lives shaped by unseen hands, bound to paths they hadn’t chosen. Maybe that was why Sena had grown closest to her.

  But Shadowheart had found her way forward, stepping into the light, no longer weighed down by what had been. Here, she could rebuild—not just the city, but herself.

  Sena was still in the dark, unsure if the light had ever been meant for her. And she felt the distance between them.

  Then, as if coming to a decision, Shadowheart stepped forward and pulled her into an unexpected hug.

  “Be safe,” she murmured, holding her tight.

  Sena froze, just for a second. She wasn’t used to this—not from Shadowheart, not from anyone.

  But she didn’t pull away.

  She was used to hard goodbyes, but at least this one wasn’t forever.

  She hesitated, then gave a small nod, allowing herself to lean into it.

  “You too, Shadowheart.”

  The next few days passed in a blur of farewells and lingering uncertainty. Lae’zel, ever the warrior, departed first, her mission clear: to carve her place among the githyanki free of Vlaakith’s control. Karlach and Wyll were next. Karlach, unable to remain in the material plane without her infernal engine consuming her, made the impossible choice to return to the Hells. Wyll, true to his word and his heart, vowed to follow her, bound by loyalty and love. Their farewells were bittersweet, the promise of their bond unbroken even in the face of damnation.

  Astarion lingered one evening, standing apart from the others as the group dwindled, waiting for Sena. He looked lost, unsure how to move forward after the climactic end to Cazador’s tyranny but refusing the path of ascension.

  He tried to joke—something about how he was better suited for nightlife—but Sena caught the flicker of something behind his words. A loneliness he hadn’t yet figured out how to outrun.

  She hesitated, fingers toying with the loose wrappings on her wrist before she forced herself to speak. “You don’t have to stay.”

  Astarion gave her a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his crimson eyes. “Oh, but I do. I need… time, I think. To figure out who I am now, without him looming over me.” His gaze flicked toward the ruined cityscape, voice softening. “And Baldur’s Gate, for all its filth, feels familiar. The shadows and I, well, we’ve always been close companions.”

  Sena’s grip tightened on her wrist. She wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t have to do this alone. But she wasn’t sure she believed that herself. Some battles had to be fought in solitude. She of all people should understand.

  “If you start brooding on rooftops, I expect a full report.”

  Astarion’s mouth twitched. “Oh, naturally. Complete with dramatic sighing.”

  A breath of a smile touched her lips, but it faded just as quickly.

  He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t look at me like that, darling. I’ll be fine.”

  Sena’s eyes flicked away instinctively.

  Then, swallowing, she met his eyes again. “Take care of yourself, Astarion.” Her voice was steady, even as something inside her pulled tight.

  His smirk softened. “And you, wherever it is you’re running off to.”

  She didn’t correct him. She wasn’t running. Not exactly.

  Their goodbye was quiet. As Sena walked away, she forced herself not to turn back. Not until she was almost at the city’s edge.

  When she finally glanced over her shoulder, Astarion was still there, his silhouette sharp against the crumbling walls, watching her go.

  Baldur’s Gate was emptying of the people she had fought beside, leaving only echoes of shared battles and the weight of their farewells.

  But one voice followed her still.

  “You have that look again,” Gale murmured as he approached, stopping just beside her at the docks. “Like you’re already halfway gone.”

  His robes were neatly mended, but there was something in his face—something worn, something knowing. He had always been good at reading her, and Sena had never quite decided whether that was a blessing or an inconvenience.

  She didn’t look at him right away. Her boot hung over the edge of the dock, bouncing to send gentle ripples across the water. Moonlight caught on the shifting surface, breaking apart in silver shards before reforming.

  “Are you staying?”

  Gale sighed, tilting his head toward the horizon. “For now. But Waterdeep calls.” He gave her a sidelong glance, as if gauging her reaction. “I think you’d like it. It has an undeniable charm—rich history, breathtaking architecture… an absolutely insufferable number of wizards.”

  Sena huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “And here I thought you’d sworn yourself to a life of reckless heroics.”

  “A calculated pause is a far cry from retirement, you know.” Gale smirked. “Besides, Waterdeep has certain luxuries our little adventure severely lacked. An uninterrupted meal. A warm bed. A proper bath—perhaps even one that doesn’t involve scrubbing off layers of dried blood in a river?”

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  Sena snorted. “You sound personally offended.”

  “I am,” he shot back. “There were times I suspected your armor was held together entirely by grime and sheer stubbornness.”

  “Efficient, really.”

  Gale sighed dramatically. “Yes, well, I’m sure Waterdeep’s finest bathhouses will be honored to take on the challenge that is you .”

  She smirked, shaking her head, but the humor faded when she caught the way he was watching her now—not teasing, just knowing.

  “You’re tired, Sena,” he said, quieter this time. “Even if you won’t admit it.”

  She hesitated, stilling her foot tapping on the water below. She hadn’t let herself think about rest—hadn’t dared to, not when her mission remained unfinished.

  They were still out there.

  She had told herself that once the dust settled, she’d go back and finish what she started. But the dust had settled, and she was still here, exhausted in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix.

  She glanced at Gale, studying the way he watched her—patient, unhurried, as if he already knew the answer but would wait for her to say it. He always had been too kind to her.

  But she was still unsure.

  “What exactly am I supposed to do there?”

  Gale shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Wander. Breathe. Get lost in something other than a fight. And when you’re ready—when your mind is clear—you’ll know what to do next.”

  Sena looked toward the horizon, listening to the hum of the bustling docks, the steady crash of waves against stone. The thought of staying in Baldur’s Gate made her skin itch, but the thought of leaving—to rest, to let herself stop running just for a moment—made something tighten in her chest.

  She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of indecision.

  “Alright,” she murmured, nodding once. “Lead the way.”

  Waterdeep was breathtaking in a way that unsettled Sena. It was a city of glittering towers and bustling streets, its spires catching the sunlight and reflecting it like pillars of crystal.

  Gale had taken it upon himself to show her everything—the sprawling libraries, the crowded marketplaces bursting with color, the gardens hidden away in temple courtyards where the air smelled of lavender and lilies. It was the kind of city where a person could lose themselves in books and quiet conversations, where the past felt distant enough to be ignored.

  She should have felt something standing here, in a place so different from Baldur’s Gate. But her thoughts kept drifting—back to a parting smirk that hadn’t quite reached Astarion’s eyes, back to the weight in his voice when he said he’d be fine returning to his old life in darkness.

  He wasn’t. She knew that.

  She had tried before—combed through old records, listened to every rumor of a cure, of something, anything that might make the night less of a prison for him. Halsin had said it was impossible. Withers had been cryptic as ever. But Sena had never known how to let things go, least of all when it came to the people she cared about.

  So she kept searching.

  She threw herself into Waterdeep’s libraries, losing hours at a time in the smell of parchment and candle wax. She traced her fingers over faded ink and brittle pages, chasing half-legends and forgotten relics.

  And, eventually, Gale noticed.

  “You’re relentless,” Gale murmured from the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. His tone was light, but his eyes flickered over the scattered books, the half-burned candle, the sheer number of open tomes surrounding her. “Should I be concerned that you’re planning to resurrect a long-dead god?”

  Sena didn’t look up, flipping another page. “Not a god.”

  Gale exhaled through his nose, stepping further into the room. “Then what, exactly?”

  For a moment, she considered brushing him off—he hadn’t asked before, and she hadn’t offered. But Gale wasn’t stupid. If she dodged, he’d only grow more curious.

  Her fingers stilled on the parchment. “A cure.”

  Something in Gale’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. “For Astarion.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sena didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t deny it either. That was answer enough.

  Gale studied her in silence for a beat too long, his gaze lingering on her, unreadable. Finally, he let out a breath. “I suppose it’s fitting that he has someone willing to chase impossible things for him.”

  The words were neutral, but there was something else beneath them, something Sena couldn’t quite name. It made her pause just long enough for him to notice, and that—more than anything—made her pull her focus back to the book in her lap.

  She turned the page. “Are you here to help or just to wax poetic about lost causes?”

  Gale let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Very well, then.” He grabbed a book off the nearest pile, flipping it open. “Let’s see what we can find.”

  Hours passed, marked only by the scratching of pages and the occasional clearing of a throat. The library was silent save for the rustle of parchment, the flickering of candlelight casting long shadows against the walls.

  Sena was cross-legged on the floor, knee pressed against an open text, when Gale slowly lowered a heavy tome onto the bench beside her.

  She frowned at the shift in his posture, the way he tapped two fingers against the cover.

  “This might interest you,” he said, voice quieter now.

  Sena eyed him warily before reaching for the book, her fingers brushing over the worn leather. The illustration was enough to make her breath catch—a locket, intricate metalwork curling around a golden crystal, its veins of magic etched through the casing like roots.

  “The Necklace of Azrisol,” Gale supplied. “A relic predating Lathander himself. Created to sever a soul’s connection to the sun.”

  Sena’s stomach twisted. “A curse.”

  “A prison, more like,” Gale corrected. “For most, it meant never feeling the warmth of sunlight again. But for Astarion…” He trailed off, letting her make the connection herself.

  A curse. A salvation.

  The irony of it settled like a weight in her chest. The gods—or whoever had made this—had intended it as punishment. But to Astarion, it would be freedom.

  “This could help him,” she said, more to herself than to Gale.

  Gale watched her, then exhaled. “If it still exists.”

  She didn’t look away from the book. “It has to.”

  The decision settled like a stone in her stomach. She couldn’t wait.

  Sena stood abruptly, reaching for her pack and slinging it over her shoulder before Gale could even process the movement.

  He blinked. “I assume that means you’re leaving immediately?”

  “I’m going to Baldur’s Gate.” She tightened the strap on her pack. “I’m going to tell him. Then we’ll find it.”

  Gale let out a soft breath, watching her—not with surprise, not with disapproval, but something else entirely.

  “Of course,” he said easily, as if he had already come to the conclusion before she had, reaching for his pack as well. “Let’s get going then.”

  Sena stilled. “You don’t have to.”

  Gale chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, there it is. That enduring belief that you must always do things alone. Tell me, how’s that working out for you?”

  Sena narrowed her eyes.

  “Look,” Gale continued, his tone shifting to something lighter. “You’ll need someone to decipher ancient scripts, unearth forgotten magical secrets, and—on occasion—provide devastatingly witty commentary to keep you entertained. Really, I’m doing you a service.”

  Sena gave him a flat look.

  “And here I thought you were just looking for an excuse to lecture me about the Weave for six straight hours.”

  Gale pressed a hand to his chest. “Sena, please, give me some credit—at least eight hours.”

  A breath of a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

  Gale’s grin widened, bright with satisfaction.

  “There it is,” he said, smug. “A rare sighting of the elusive Sena smile. I knew it existed.”

  She shook her head, exhaling through her nose, but the tension in her chest had eased, just a little.

  She adjusted the strap of her pack. “Just try to keep up, wizard.”

  “Oh, my dear rogue,” Gale said, falling into step beside her. “We’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what I’m capable of.”

  The search for the Necklace of Azrisol was harder than any of them had anticipated.

  Sena, Gale, and Astarion followed a trail of obscure texts, half-burned maps, and reluctant scholars who gave answers only when properly motivated—by coin, persuasion, or in one case, the not-so-subtle promise of a knife in the dark.

  Each lead brought them deeper into forgotten history, peeling back layers of time until they finally uncovered the location—an ancient crypt buried beneath the ruins of a monastery.

  Of course, it had to be a crypt.

  The air inside was thick with dust, decay, and the quiet press of something unseen. Their footsteps echoed too loudly in the vast, hollow silence.

  The crypt had been sealed with curses and forgotten wards, just as the rumors had warned. The deeper they went, the more it felt like the place remembered intruders.

  They encountered riddles carved into the stone, corridors that twisted into themselves, and mechanisms built to keep trespassers lost until the earth swallowed them whole.

  Sena led, sharp-eyed and silent, tracing her fingers along the ancient stone, spotting the traps before they could spring. Gale stayed close, murmuring incantations under his breath, weaving magic around them when the air grew too cold, too heavy. Astarion moved in the shadows, slipping between danger like he was made for it.

  They moved like they had before—different now as just three—but familiar.

  They knew how to be together. How to let silence fill the spaces where trust had already been built.

  When they reached the heart of the tomb, the chamber felt different.

  Not just old—watchful.

  The Necklace of Azrisol rested on a pedestal, its golden crystal pulsing faintly, illuminating the darkness like a dying ember.

  Sena took a step forward, and the room shuddered.

  The air turned sharp, biting at her skin like frost. The torches lining the walls flickered, dimmed. The weight of the crypt settled heavier on her shoulders, as if the dead themselves resisted her presence.

  She ignored it. She had seen worse.

  Her fingers closed around the artifact, and the moment she did—the tension broke.

  The magic coiled through the chamber unraveled, a thousand years of stillness shifting as though some unseen thing had finally relented.

  She exhaled.

  It was done.

  The night air outside was sharp against her skin after the stagnant cold of the crypt.

  Sena turned, the weight of the necklace heavy in her palm, and without ceremony, she handed it to Astarion.

  He didn’t move at first. Just… stared at it.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she was used to. Not careful. Not guarded. Just quiet.

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  His crimson eyes lifted to meet hers. Something in them made the words linger.

  Sena held his gaze.

  “I know.”

  Sena stood at the edge of the cliff, the cold mountain air threading through the loose strands of her hair. The monastery ruins loomed behind them, ancient stone swallowed by time, the crypt beneath it now silent once more.

  She had what she came for.

  But there was still more to do.

  Gale and Astarion flanked her, both watching her with quiet expectation—not pushing, not demanding answers, just waiting.

  “So,” Gale said at last, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

  Sena exhaled slowly, her gaze locked on the horizon, where the sky met the distant road below. “I’m going to finish what I started.”

  Astarion hummed, crossing his arms. “Ah, secrets and dramatic proclamations—how very you .” His smirk sharpened as he tilted his head toward her. “Are we meant to play a guessing game, or will you actually tell us where you’re running off to next?”

  Sena glanced at him, then at Gale. They had followed her here without question. Helped her when she hadn’t even asked.

  She shifted her pack higher on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  “When we get there,” Gale corrected easily.

  Astarion let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “She does this, you know. This whole brooding lone wolf act.” He gestured vaguely toward her. “It’s exhausting, really.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Gale said, grinning as he crossed his arms. “I’m always telling her that.”

  Sena rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Are you two quite finished?”

  Astarion smirked. “Not even close.”

  Gale shot her a look, one brow arched. “You’re not getting rid of us, Sena. Not now.”

  She hesitated—not because she doubted them, but because she didn’t know how to hold onto people who stayed.

  Astarion stretched his arms above his head with an exaggerated groan. “Fine. I suppose I’ll grace this little quest with my presence. Wouldn’t want you two getting yourselves killed without me.”

  She paused, shifting her weight, fingers tugging idly at the loose straps on her wrist wraps. Then, without quite meeting their eyes, she glanced between them and muttered, “Thanks.”

  It wasn’t much. It wasn’t easy. But it was honest.

  Astarion arched a brow, looking deeply amused. “Well, that was painful for you.”

  She huffed, shaking her head, but the tension in her chest had eased, just a little.

  Walking down the mountain already, she called over her shoulder. “Come on. I’m not going to wait for you.”

  “Of course not,” Gale said, falling into step beside her with Astarion. “That would be far too cooperative.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile.

  They walked on, together.