The trees loomed tall, ancient, untouched. Their thick canopies stretched high overhead, filtering sunlight into golden patches on the mossy ground. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, fresh in a way that made the city feel like a distant thing.

  Sena walked ahead, her boots pressing soundlessly into the soft forest floor. The trail wasn’t well-worn, but she didn’t need a road to follow.

  She had been here before.

  Not since the nautiloid. Not since her search had been ripped from her hands, derailed by something so much bigger than herself. And now that she was back, she wasn’t sure she should be.

  If they were gone, if she had missed her chance—then what?

  She tightened her grip on the strap of her pack.

  Behind her, Gale’s boots crunched through fallen leaves, careful but not silent. Astarion, by contrast, moved with the ease of someone who had spent two centuries in the dark and had no intention of being clumsy now.

  Except now, he wasn’t in the dark.

  Sena flicked a glance over her shoulder, catching the way the sunlight dappled his pale skin. With the necklace resting at his throat, he walked in the sun like he had never lost it. The sight of him like this—unburdened, golden light catching in his curls, softening the sharpness of him—made something pull tight in her chest.

  She looked forward again before he could notice.

  They had been traveling for days, and though neither of them had asked what she was looking for, they weren’t oblivious.

  They had known her long enough to recognize when she was keeping something to herself. Which, admittedly, was often.

  And yet, they hadn’t pressed.

  Maybe they were waiting for her to explain on her own. Maybe they just knew she wouldn’t.

  She wasn’t sure if that made her grateful or just more aware of the fact that she had no idea why they were still here.

  They had won. The Absolute was gone. The world was moving on.

  So why hadn’t they? Why were they still following her?

  A sharp snap of a branch cut through the quiet, and Gale let out a soft curse under his breath.

  Sena smirked. “For someone who claims to be quite the adventurer, you step like a man who’s never left a library.”

  “In my defense,” Gale replied smoothly, “most libraries are significantly less cluttered with roots and hidden death traps.”

  Astarion hummed, his tone infuriatingly smug. “Oh, I don’t know, some of those Waterdeep scholars can be rather ruthless. I’m sure the occasional tome has taken a man down before.”

  Gale sighed. “Yes, yes, very amusing.”

  Sena shook her head, suppressing a smirk.

  The banter had become as natural as breathing. It filled the silences, made them feel less like there was something heavy waiting to be acknowledged. And she was grateful for it.

  Because the truth was, she didn’t know if she was leading them anywhere at all.

  What if there was nothing left to find—if they had truly disappeared without a trace?

  “I do hope there’s treasure at the end of this little quest of yours,” Astarion continued. “Something worth dragging us through endless miles of trees and mud.”

  Sena didn’t look back. “No treasure.”

  “Shame. Though I suppose the real prize was the friends we made along the way.”

  Gale let out a soft chuckle. “If you say that with any more sarcasm, I might start taking offense.”

  Astarion shot him a devilish wink. “Oh, darling, you know I save all my best sarcasm just for you.”

  Sena shook her head, but didn’t comment.

  That, apparently, was enough to draw attention.

  Astarion clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he studied her. “You know,” he mused, “you’re being awfully guarded again. It’s almost nostalgic.”

  Sena arched a brow but kept walking. “Nostalgic?”

  “At least she tolerates us now,” Gale chimed in, turning toward Astarion. “Do you remember when she refused to sleep that first week? Insisted she would keep watch for herself?”

  Astarion let out a low, knowing sigh. “She acted like we’d gouge her eyes out as soon as she closed them. As if I’d be so messy.”

  Sena finally cut in. “Strange men following a couple of girls through the wilderness? Can’t imagine why I was suspicious.”

  Astarion held up a hand. “Fair point. But if I recall, you didn’t even trust poor Gale here, and he practically introduced himself with a monologue.”

  “Exactly,” she deadpanned. “Too charming. Seemed like a trap.”

  Gale sighed, shaking his head.

  Sena’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something lighter crossing her face. “It got easier once we picked up Lae’zel, though. Figured if either of you tried anything, she’d get to you first.”

  Astarion barked out a short laugh. “Oh, that is painfully accurate. Thank the gods she was too preoccupied with Shadowheart to gut us in our sleep.”

  Gale gestured between them. “And now look at us. All friends.”

  Sena huffed. “Right. And you two only turned out to be a vampire and a magic time bomb.”

  She shook her head, but the words left her with a rare smile.

  As they walked, the forest’s stillness suddenly shifted. Sena’s steps slowed, her sharp eyes darting to the underbrush.

  Then it came—a guttural snarl, raw and vicious, ripping through the quiet. Her hand snapped to the hilt of her dagger as a group of hulking figures emerged from the shadows, their twisted forms illuminated by the dappled sunlight. Gnolls.

  “Charming creatures,” Astarion muttered, already gripping his dagger. “Why must it always be gnolls? Could we not, just once, be ambushed by something less… grotesque?”

  Sena darted forward first. She sidestepped the gnoll’s swinging club and slashed upward with her dagger, tearing through its shoulder. The creature howled, staggering back.

  Astarion moved like a shadow, his obsidian dagger glinting as it pierced the side of another gnoll. “Careful, darling,” he called out to Sena, his voice light despite the chaos. “If you take them all down yourself, I’ll start to feel useless.”

  Sena smirked as she dodged another strike.

  Gale, standing slightly behind them, extended his staff. A wave of fire burst from its tip, engulfing the gnoll closest to him with a Fire Bolt. The creature shrieked, collapsing into a smoldering heap.

  As another gnoll charged, Sena ducked low, twisting gracefully beneath its swing. She drove her dagger deep into its gut, the blade sinking effortlessly into flesh. Blood sprayed across her arms, warm and slick, and for a moment she felt the familiar intense heat bloom within her chest. It spread through her veins like a pulsing current, an electrifying heartbeat that seemed to resonate with her dagger.

  For a brief, disorienting second, she thought she saw the blade glow—a faint, crimson sheen reflecting in the blood-soaked light.

  Gale’s voice snapped her back. “Behind you!”

  Sena spun just in time to see another gnoll lunging toward her. Before she could react, Gale was there, his staff already alight with swirling energy. He thrust it forward, and a burst of thundering force exploded outward, striking the gnoll square in the chest. The creature staggered, its momentum broken, and with a flick of his wrist, Gale followed up with a sharp forceful blast that sent it crashing to the ground.

  The final gnoll roared in fury, charging toward them, but Sena and Astarion moved in unison. Their daggers flashed like twin reflections, each strike calculated. Sena darted low, her blade cutting deep across the gnoll’s side with a grace that bordered on effortless. The creature reared back, swinging wildly, but Astarion was already there, slipping to the opposite side with uncanny speed. His dagger drove cleanly into its exposed ribs, the two rogues moving in a deadly, synchronized dance of steel and shadow.

  Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, their instincts perfectly aligned. As the gnoll swung in one final, desperate arc, Sena ducked beneath it, her dagger carving a clean line across its throat. Blood sprayed outward, vivid against the forest’s dim light, as the creature collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

  Gore splattered onto Gale’s boots. He looked down at them, his expression one of resigned disappointment. “I liked these boots.”

  “Shame,” Astarion quipped, cleaning his blade with an air of mock solemnity. “I liked them too.”

  The forest fell silent again, save for the rasp of their breathing. Sena wiped her blade on her sleeve. A wave of black hair fell loose from her bun, brushing against her cheek. She pushed it back with the back of her hand, leaving a faint smudge of blood along her temple.

  Astarion turned toward her, his crimson gaze narrowing as he slid his dagger back into place. He stepped lightly around the fallen gnoll, tilting his head as he studied Sena. “You alright, darling? You froze for a moment back there. Very unlike you.”

  “I’m fine,” Sena said quickly, too quickly. She turned away, brushing the blood off her arms, though Astarion’s eyes lingered on her a beat longer.

  “Well,” Gale said after a pause, adjusting his staff and glancing toward the horizon. “Shall we continue? I’d rather not be ambushed by something worse before nightfall.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Sena glanced back, as she nodded, “Let’s go.”

  The trees were thinning.

  Sena barely noticed at first, too focused on marking her path, dragging the edge of her dagger against bark in swift strokes. Notches in the wood, a breadcrumb trail back—just in case. She stopped every so often, tilting her head, listening.

  She unfolded her map, tracing a careful line through the inked trees. Another section explored. Another dead end.

  She had found an old text years ago—half-rotted, ink fading, the kind of thing someone else would’ve dismissed. But buried between its brittle pages was a mention of a fortress, hidden in the High Forest.

  This is where they’d be—or at least, this is where they should have been.

  She exhaled sharply through her nose and kept walking.

  The sun was sinking now, stretching shadows long across the earth, bathing the sky in soft hues of gold and rose. Gale glanced up, assessing the light.

  “Perhaps we should make camp soon,” he suggested. “Not all of us can see in the dark, after all.”

  Sena’s eyes still scanning the trees, her fingers tapping impatiently against the hilt of her dagger.

  Gale, ever practical, had already started looking for a flat patch of ground, when—

  Something caught her attention. A hum.

  Not a sound exactly, but a vibration, something thrumming beneath her skin—beneath the world itself.

  Sena froze mid-step, her breath stilling. The sensation resonated through her mind like a distant pulse.

  “I can feel it,” Gale said suddenly, noticing Sena’s posture. “There’s magic here. The weave is faint, frayed at the edges, but undeniable.”

  Astarion slowed beside her, his usual ease giving way to something more cautious. His hand hovered near his dagger, ready.

  The hum deepened, warm and sharp all at once. It wasn’t just a sound anymore—it was a pull.

  Her pulse quickened.

  She turned her head slightly, as if pinpointing the source, but it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  They don’t hear it.

  She glanced at Gale—he could sense the magic, feel the threads of the Weave. Astarion felt the charge, the unnatural weight in the air.

  But this? This was different.

  As she pressed forward quickly, ruins emerged—suddenly and then all at once. A shadowed silhouette against the last light of the sun. The bones of something ancient, half-buried in moss and overgrowth. Its jagged remains jutted upward, reaching like broken fingers through the canopy.

  “Charming,” Astarion muttered, arms crossed as he eyed the ruins. “Ancient ruins with lingering magic. Truly, we’re masters of avoiding trouble.”

  Sena wasn’t listening anymore.

  The hum had settled in her chest now. Her feet were moving before she fully registered it, stepping past the others, going deeper. Toward the pull.

  As she stepped forward, the ruins stretched open before her, revealing their silent wounds.

  The path had once been grand—she could tell by the width, the way the stone beneath her boots was smoother here, worn down by centuries of footfall. What was left of the entrance loomed overhead, its archway fractured but still holding against time.

  Ivy snaked through the cracks in the stone, creeping along the skeletal remains of the walls, swallowing what had once been a fortress.

  Her eyes flicked over the broken defenses—collapsed barricades, shattered arrow slits hollowed out like empty eyes. The battle that had been fought here was long over, and time had claimed whatever remained.

  But not everything.

  Her gaze darted, cataloging the details in quick, meticulous flashes. The way the outer walls had caved inward, suggesting they weren’t breached from the outside, but from within. The scorch marks, old but still visible, a testament to some spell long spent.

  Even in ruin, the place still felt like it had something to protect.

  She adjusted the strap of her pack, stepping lightly over the fallen debris. Her mind mapped the space as she moved—height, angles, shadows. Escape routes. She’d done this so many times, in so many places, but this was different.

  This place was important.

  She could feel it.

  Then, just beyond a stretch of broken stone—

  Something caught her eye.

  A carving, barely visible in the dim light.

  She stepped closer, brushing her fingers against the jagged edges of the wall, stone crumbling beneath her touch.

  An “S.”

  It was elegant, curling into itself like woven vines. Swallowed by moss, but unmistakable.

  Her blood turned cold.

  This is it.

  For the first time since she’d started this search, the realization didn’t bring relief. It brought something else—something jagged and uneasy.

  But they’re not here now.

  Sena’s throat tightened. She had spent so long chasing ghosts, following scraps of knowledge just to find ruins .

  Her vision blurred.

  Not from frustration. Not from anger.

  From memory.

  The ruins faded, dissolving into the edges of her mind. She was somewhere else.

  Cold stone beneath her back. The metallic tang of blood in the air.

  Fingers wrapped around her throat.

  The dagger above her— his dagger, his blade, his voice.

  “This is your purpose.”

  The whispers surged around her—low and rhythmic, words she had tried to forget, words that still crawled under her skin.

  The breath in her chest turned shallow.

  Not real, not real, not real—

  “Sena.”

  A voice cut through the haze, pulling her back.

  Astarion.

  The ruins came rushing back into view—the cold air, the dim light, the weight of her dagger against her hip.

  “Let’s keep moving.”

  She forced the words out before she could think too hard.

  Gale and Astarion exchanged a glance—one of those silent, unreadable ones.

  She didn’t care.

  She needed to keep moving.

  The ruins grew darker as they pushed forward, the air colder, heavier. The ringing in her ears only grew louder.

  Every step forward felt like walking through something unseen—something watching.

  Her dagger radiated heat against her hip, a slow burn that spread through the leather, curling up her arm. She ran her fingers along the hilt, expecting the usual grounding sensation, but the warmth was different this time. Stronger and restless.

  Her jaw tightened. She kept moving.

  They rounded a corner—

  And there it was.

  A chest.

  Sena barely heard the way Gale sucked in a breath as they stepped closer, or the way Astarion’s footsteps slowed.

  It was untouched by time, too clean, out of place against the decayed stone and creeping moss.

  A whisper of arcane energy shimmered across its surface, barely perceptible—until the runes pulsed.

  Faint, red markings glowed along the lid in a slow, rhythmic pattern, barely visible but undeniably alive. Like a heartbeat.

  It had to be theirs.

  Gale was already stepping forward, his brows furrowed in thought. “Fascinating,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as he studied the runes. “This isn’t just a lock—it’s a binding spell. Ancient. Deeply personal. It won’t open for just anyone.”

  His gaze flicked to Sena.

  “It responds to connection,” he continued, voice more careful now. “An innate link.”

  Sena barely registered the words because in that moment, her dagger burned at her hip. Not just warm—Hot. When she looked down, she saw it glowing .

  Crimson light bled from the edges of her dagger.

  The moment her fingers curled around the hilt, the heat surged up her arm, searing like a brand. But she didn’t let go.

  “Your dagger,” Astarion said, his gaze shifting from her to the chest, which now seemed to glow just as brightly. “This is tied to you, isn’t it?”

  Sena’s grip tightened.

  “It’s…” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know.”

  A lie.

  She did know.

  She knew it in the way her pulse matched the rhythm of the runes, the way the dagger vibrated in her grip, the way it almost demanded her forward.

  As she stepped closer, the light from the blade flared brighter, hotter.

  The chest called to her.

  She had to open it.

  Astarion shifted, glancing between her and Gale. “Should we be concerned that she looks about two seconds away from setting herself on fire?”

  Gale’s expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched toward his staff. “Sena,” he said slowly. “If we don’t know what this is, it’s best not to—”

  She was close now.

  “Sena,” Astarion said sharply. “Don’t—”

  Too late.

  She pressed the dagger to the seal.

  The reaction was instant.

  Light exploded outward—searing, blinding.

  The heat rushed through her veins, setting every nerve alight, a violent pulse of something ancient and waiting and knowing.

  The force nearly knocked her off her feet.

  Astarion swore, stumbling back, his dagger flashing into his hand. “What the fuck was that?”

  Gale’s staff crackled with arcane energy, a barrier shimmering briefly in the air before fading. He turned sharply toward Sena.

  “Sena, are you alright?” His voice was urgent, edged with real concern.

  Sena blinked hard, trying to steady herself. The glow had faded, the runes gone, but her pulse was still hammering in her throat.

  She barely registered how Astarion and Gale were both staring at her now.

  Not just at her, but at the dagger in her grip. The crimson light along its edge was dying down, retreating like an ember flickering out.

  Astarion’s gaze flicked between her, the dagger, and the chest. “You are aware that was possibly the worst thing you could have done, right?”

  Gale crouched closer to her. “Sena?”

  She had to look inside, another step forward.

  Astarion moved instinctively, shifting to block her. “Alright, no. That’s enough. What’s inside?”

  Sena’s fingers curled at her sides. “I don’t know.”

  Astarion narrowed his eyes. “I don’t buy that.”

  Sena’s eyes were locked onto the chest. Seeing that she wasn’t going to respond, Gale sighed. “But you still want to open it?”

  “I need to.”

  Astarion scoffed. “Right, because unlocking it worked out so well.”

  Gale was still watching her. “Whatever this is, it’s clearly tied to you. And we have no idea if it’s safe.”

  “I don’t care if it’s safe.”

  The words left her too fast, too raw.

  Astarion’s expression flickered—not his usual amusement, not irritation. Something else.

  Gale let out a slow breath. “Sena—”

  “I need to see what’s inside.”

  That was the difference.

  Not want.

  Need.

  Because if they weren’t here, if all she had left were these ruins, this chest—

  She had to know.

  She glanced between them.

  Astarion’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he lifted a hand in mock surrender. “Fine. Go on, then. But if a devil jumps out, I am not dealing with it.”

  Gale’s brows were still furrowed with concern, but said nothing.

  She turned back to the chest, her hands brushing the edge of the lid.

  She took a breath—then pushed it open.

  Inside, nestled among aged scrolls and a singular envelope, sat a medallion.

  Astarion peered over her shoulder. “Well, that’s a little anticlimactic.”

  Sena barely heard him. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else.

  Recognition hit her as she stared at the medallion. A blood-red crystal sat at its heart against the dark metal, jagged as though something had been trapped inside.

  “Powerful magic,” Gale murmured, stepping closer. “It’s… dormant. But not dead. Be careful.”

  Before she could stop herself, she reached down to pick it up, her fingers curling around it.

  “I know,” she murmured.

  Gale seemed like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself. He didn’t look reassured.

  Instead, he turned his focus to the scrolls, carefully lifting one from the chest.

  The parchment crackled with age, its ink—

  “Is that blood?” Astarion asked.

  Sena finally looked up.

  Gale’s brow furrowed as he turned the parchment, watching as the red markings seemed to shift.

  “Could be.” He shook his head. “Definitely infused with magic. This isn’t Infernal. Or any script I recognize.” His eyes darkened. “Whatever it is, it’s encrypted.”

  Sena’s gaze lingered on the symbols. They didn’t just shift—they changed.

  “What’s the letter?” Astarion asked, gesturing back toward the chest.

  Sena hesitated, then set the medallion down carefully.

  Picking up the envelope now, her fingers brushed against the wax seal pressed into its surface.

  She already knew what she’d see before she turned it over. The same curling ‘S’ etched into the walls of the ruins.

  Sena swallowed.

  Her fingers slid beneath the wax, breaking the seal.

  The parchment unfolded easily, the ink dark, crisp.

  To those who serve the blood and seek the altar

  The crimson key shall guide you home

  The blood remembers what was lost

  It calls to what was stolen

  What was servered must be made whole

  What was taken must be returned

  In Her name

  A

  The letter blurred before her eyes.

  A.

  Her fingers dug into the parchment, crumpling the edges.

  A.

  She had imagined this moment so many times.

  What she’d do when she found proof— actual proof —that he was still out there.

  For years, she had been chasing shadows, whispers, the echo of his voice in her nightmares.

  And now, here it was, right in front of her.

  A confirmation.

  He was still out there.

  Her hands began to tremble.

  The letter blurred, the words warping into something older, familiar, carved into her bones.

  The blood remembers what was lost.

  Her mind wasn’t here anymore, it was there .

  The night she ran.

  Blood streaked her hands, sticky between her fingers.

  She had been barefoot, stumbling, lungs burning.

  It calls to what was stolen.

  The only thing she took, the only thing she had. His dagger, glowing in her hand as she ran to the woods—

  A sharp pulse in her skull, like something splitting open.

  Her breath turned shallow, ragged, painful.

  Not here. Not now.

  But her body didn’t listen.

  The edges of the ruins blurred.

  The walls closed in.

  Then—a hand on her arm.

  She flinched so violently she nearly lashed out.

  “Sena.”

  Gale.

  Not him.

  Gale’s grip was firm, steadying her. His face was tense, etched with worry.

  Astarion was watching too.

  Gale’s voice dropped to something softer. “Talk to us, please.” He begged, almost desperate. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Just breathe.

  In. Out.

  Slowly, the ruins came back into focus.

  The letter was still in her hand.

  The medallion still lay by her side.

  She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath.

  “Okay.”

  She lifted her gaze, but her hands still trembled.

  She had to force herself to say it.

  “I’ll tell you everything.”