The forest smelled of damp moss and decaying leaves, its stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. Sena led the trio, her sharp eyes scanning the path ahead, her hand always ready to grab the dagger strapped to her belt. They were deep in the forests of Jaedite, a place she hadn’t set foot in for nearly a year—not since she’d been abducted by the nautiloid and thrust into a battle against the Absolute. Back then, she had been chasing whispers, scraps of old intel that suggested a long-forgotten fortress might be hidden somewhere near these woods. She had barely begun her search before it was interrupted. Now, she was picking up where she’d left off, though the memory of her previous failures gnawed at her.
Behind her, Gale’s robes swished as he navigated the uneven terrain, while Astarion walked with the kind of careless grace that suggested he was merely strolling through a noble’s garden.
It had been awhile since any of them had spoken.
“I must say,” Gale finally ventured, breaking the silence, “you’re remarkably adept at dragging two grown men into the wilderness while saying so little. A feat few have accomplished, I assure you.”
Sena glanced back, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a ghost of a smile. “You make it sound like I’m holding you hostage.”
“Well, aren’t you?” Astarion chimed in, his voice lilting with mock indignation. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a proper bath? My poor hair is positively weeping.” He ran a hand through his pale curls for emphasis, though they gleamed as pristine as ever. “At least tell us there’s something worthwhile at the end of this little trek. Treasure, perhaps?”
Sena turned back to the path, shaking her head with an exasperated chuckle. “No, no treasure, I’m sorry to disappoint. But I did tell you both I could do this on my own.”
“Ah, but then who would protect you from all the dangers of this dreary forest?” Astarion asked. “Gale’s spells are useful, I suppose, but you’d miss me terribly, wouldn’t you?”
Sena threw a glance over her shoulder. “You’re right, Astarion. Life without your endless commentary would be unbearable.”
Gale let out a soft laugh. “Well, they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps we should test the theory?”
Astarion rolled his eyes with an exaggerated scoff.
Sena laughed too, shaking her head as she turned back to the path. Despite their constant banter, she knew the boys had grown to genuinely care for one another. The trials they had faced would have been impossible without the connection they now shared, even if none of them would admit it outright.
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.”
“You’ll manage,” Sena shot back, her voice steady 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.
“Thanks,” Sena said quietly, her voice steady, though her mind lingered on the strange sensation that had just faded.
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.
Astarion’s eyes lingered on her a beat longer, his expression unreadable.
“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.”
Sena glanced back, as she nodded, “Let’s go.”
----------------------------------------
The forest began to thin slightly, the thick canopy above letting in slivers of golden light as the trio pressed on. The air was cooler now, the faint rustle of leaves and occasional birdcall accompanying the steady crunch of their footsteps.
“You know,” Astarion began, his voice breaking the silence, “it’s almost impressive how tight-lipped you’ve been. We’ve followed you halfway across Faerûn, and yet you’ve shared so little about this grand ‘quest’ of yours. And I’m starting to grow tired of the endless philosophical ramblings of a certain wizard.”
Gale glanced at him, brow raised. “That’s a bold critique coming from someone who once monologued for a full hour about the horror of cheap wine.”
“That was an important conversation,” Astarion shot back. “Unlike the endless lectures on weave manipulation and the ethics of godly intervention.”
Sena glanced over her shoulder briefly. “And yet here you both are. Still following me.”
“Ah, yes,” Astarion said with mock solemnity. “Despite the lack of clear direction, the cryptic silences, and the looming air of doom, I remain. Truly, I must be mad.”
“Or grateful,” Gale interjected with a knowing smile.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Astarion’s smirk faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Grateful is such a strong word. Perhaps I simply enjoy the entertainment.”
Gale chuckled softly, brushing a stray leaf off his sleeve. “Well, I stayed because, while I do enjoy your company—and I do—I also owe you a great deal. Helping me stabilize the orb was no small thing, and you had every reason to walk away. But you didn’t. For that, I owe you more than words can repay.”
Sena glanced back briefly, her gaze softening for a moment. “Well I couldn’t really have you blow us all up.”
Gale laughed, his tone light but warm. “And how selfless that was,” he teased gently, though the warmth in his eyes remained genuine.
“Ah, yes, how heroic,” Astarion cut in, though his tone was less barbed than usual. “But let’s not forget who else here has endured your stubborn resolve.” He tilted his head toward Sena, his ruby eyes narrowing slightly. “And why you decided to go hunting down a certain ancient necklace.”
Sena’s pace remain unchanged. “You needed it.”
“And that’s all it took?” Astarion asked, his voice quieter now, almost curious.
“Yes,” Sena said simply.
Astarion blinked, his smirk softening as he tilted his head slightly. “You know, that’s quite the habit you have, saving those of us who are entirely unworthy of it.”
“You’re welcome,” Sena replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though she didn’t look back.
Gale gave a small laugh, his tone light but knowing. “If it helps, she’s just as stubborn when it comes to her own goals. We’re still here, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Astarion said, his voice brightening with mock amusement. “The great mystery.”
The sun was beginning to sink below the treetops, painting the sky in soft hues of gold and rose. Gale glanced upward. “Perhaps we should make camp soon,” he suggested. “Not all of us can see in the dark, after all.”
They were about to stop, Gale already scanning the area for a flat patch of ground, when Sena’s hears caught something.
It started subtly, a faint hum that seemed to pulse beneath the surface of the world. She froze mid-step, her brow furrowing as the sound resonated in her mind, soft but insistent, like a distant vibration.
“I can feel it,” Gale said softly, noticing Sena’s sudden stillness. He extended a hand into the still air, his expression sharpening. “There’s magic here. The weave is faint, but it lingers—old, frayed at the edges, but undeniable.”
Astarion slowed. “It’s almost like… a charge in the air.” His hand hovered near his dagger, his easy composure shifting into something more cautious.
Sena said nothing, her attention locked on the hum in her ears. She turned her head slightly, as if trying to pinpoint its source, but it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The others didn’t react to the sound—only to the magic they could sense. This was something else, something only she could hear.
Through the trees ahead, a structure emerged, dim and crumbling in the twilight. The ruins rose like the bones of some ancient beast, their jagged edges overtaken by creeping vines and moss. A faint shimmer rippled across the ruins like a mirage, barely perceptible but impossible to ignore.
Gale stepped closer, his fingers flexing as he tested the air. “There’s a barrier,” he murmured. “Arcane, and faint, but not entirely broken.”
“Charming,” Astarion muttered, looking out in front of him. “Ancient ruins with lingering magic. Truly, we’re masters of avoiding trouble.”
The hum in Sena’s ears deepened, growing warmer, sharper. It wasn’t just a sound anymore—it was a pull, a thread tightening in her chest, drawing her forward. Her pulse quickened, though she couldn’t have said why. She stepped past the others, her eyes fixed on the shadowed entrance to the ruins.
Gale’s voice was concerned. “What is it, Sena?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. She didn’t look back, her attention locked on the ruins. “But we… need to go further.”
The air thickened as they moved closer, the faint shimmer of a barrier brushing against their senses like an unseen veil. Shadows stretched across the ground in the fading light, and the towering stone walls ahead bore deep cracks and scars from centuries of wear. The magic that lingered in the air grew stronger with each step, pressing down on them like a living presence.
Sena paused, her eyes catching on something etched into the stone ahead. It was faint, nearly swallowed by time and nature, but unmistakable—the intricate, curling form of an “S.” The lines were elegant, interwoven with faint patterns of vines and symbols. Her breathing quickened as the ringing in her ears sharpened, no longer just a faint hum but a piercing vibration that seemed to burrow into her skull. They’ve been here.
The ruins faded from view, dissolving into the edges of her mind. In their place came a memory, vivid and all-consuming. She wasn’t in the ruins anymore—she was back on that cold stone altar, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood. His hands gripped her throat, pinning her down. The dagger gleamed in his hand, its blade catching the dim light as whispers rose all around her—low and rhythmic, in a language that clawed at her mind.
“ This is your purpose, ” his voice echoed.
The memory was so clear, so close, she could almost feel the weight of the dagger above her chest again. She blinked hard, trying to will the vision away. The sigil loomed before her, and the pull deep within her chest grew stronger, impossible to ignore.
“Sena,” Astarion’s voice broke through. She barely heard him over the noise in her head.
Sena didn’t answer immediately, her focus locked on the sigil as her pulse quickened. “Let’s keep moving.”
Gale and Astarion exchanged a brief glance, a silent exchange of concern and curiosity. They followed as she pressed deeper into the ruins, her pace quickening as though something unseen was guiding her.
The ruins grew darker as they descended further, the air colder and heavier. The ringing in Sena’s ears grew louder with each step, now almost a physical pressure. The walls seemed to pulse faintly with residual magic, and her dagger felt warm against her side, the leather of her sheath unable to dull the heat.
They rounded a corner, and there it was: an ornate chest resting in the center of a small, crumbling chamber. An arcane seal glowed faintly on the chest’s lid, a complex lattice of runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
This is it.
Gale stepped forward, his staff at the ready. His brows furrowed as he studied the seal. “Fascinating,” he murmured, crouching slightly to examine it closer. “This is no ordinary lock. It’s a binding spell, ancient and deeply personal. This isn’t something you open with brute force.” He glanced back at Sena. “It responds to connection—an innate link.”
Sena stepped closer, the ringing in her ears now deafening. The pull was undeniable, like an invisible thread drawing her forward. Her dagger, warming even hotter against her side, began to glow faintly as she neared the chest, its surface radiating a soft crimson light.
She froze, her breath catching as she looked down at the weapon.
“Your dagger,” Astarion said, his tone serious. “Whatever this is, it’s connected to you, isn’t it?”
Sena’s grip tightened on the hilt, and heat spread up her arm. The tremor in her hand betraying her calm facade. “It’s… I don’t know. I’ve never felt it like this before.”
The faint crimson light emanating from the blade flared brighter, but it was the ruby stone embedded in the hilt that burned the brightest. The pull grew stronger, insistent, as though the dagger itself was urging her forward.
She stepped closer to the chest, the weapon vibrating faintly in her grip. “It’s pulling me,” she muttered, almost to herself.
As if guided by instinct, she placed the blade against the arcane seal. The reaction was immediate. The runes flared to life, a brilliant burst of crimson light flooding the chamber. The warmth from the dagger surged, sending a fiery jolt through Sena’s arm, almost painful.
The glow faded, and the chest clicked open with a sharp, metallic sound. The ringing in Sena’s ears stopped instantly, leaving a sudden and disorienting silence in its wake.
Sena lowered her dagger slowly, the faint glow fading from its surface as the strange warmth receded from her arm. Her chest tightened as her fingers brushed the edge of the chest.
Sena’s hand hovered over the lid. Then, with a deep breath, she pushed it open.
At the center of the chest lay a medallion—crafted of dark, tarnished metal with a blood-red crystal embedded in its heart. Surrounding the medallion were several scrolls, their parchment aged and brittle, marked with arcane symbols and language that was unrecognizable. Amid the scrolls lay a small envelope, sealed with wax bearing the same curling sigil of an “S” she had seen carved into the stone.
Sena reached out, her fingers brushing the medallion first. A strange energy hummed through her fingertips as the blood-red crystal glinted ominously.
Gale leaned in slightly, “Be careful Sena. Whatever that is, it’s powerful,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the medallion. “There’s no mistaking the magic in that. Old, potent, and deeply tied to power.”
Sena nodded absently, her focus locked on the object in her hand. “I know. I can feel it.” Her voice wavered, caught between awe and dread. She set it down carefully and picked up the letter, her pulse quickening as her eyes fell on the wax seal.
“Well?” Astarion prompted, his tone sharper now. “Don’t keep us waiting.”
Sena glanced at him briefly before breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. The handwriting was elegant, the ink dark:
To those who serve the blood and seek the altar,
The blood remembers what was lost.
It calls to what was stolen.
Use the crimson key, and the blood will bring you home.
In Her name.
A
Sena’s grip on the letter tightened as the edges of her mind pulled her back to that altar, the weight of stone beneath her, the whispers, the blade. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus on the present, but her hands still trembled as she slipped the letter into her pack.
“Sena,” Gale’s voice broke the silence, edged with worry. “What did it say?”
“You’re shaking,” Astarion observed sharply, his crimson gaze narrowing as he moved to her other side.
Sena swallowed, her throat dry. Her fair skin looked even paler in the fading light.
“It’s his,” she said finally, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it. “My dagger. The medallion, the scrolls, the letter—it’s all from him.”
“Him,” Astarion repeated, his tone devoid of mockery. “And who, exactly, is ‘him’?”
Sena didn’t answer immediately. She looked at her blade, her reflection staring back at her in its polished surface. For a moment, it wasn’t her own face she saw, but the terrified girl she had been four years ago, pinned to that altar, helpless. Her nails dug into her fists as she forced herself to breathe.
“Sena,” Gale said softly, his voice breaking through the haze of memory. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening. ”
She closed her eyes.
“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Gale and Astarion could see the crack in her usually steady facade, the fear she hadn’t managed to hide. She turned toward the exit, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the straps of her pack.
“Let’s make camp,” she said, her voice steadier now. “You deserve to know the truth. And I’ll tell you everything.”
The words hung in the air, weighty and final. As they stepped out of the ruins and back into the forest, the eerie silence of the chamber behind them felt like a reminder: whatever they were about to hear, it was only the beginning.