The salt-laced wind whipped across the bluff, clawing at my sodden silk pants and my favorite fishing hat plastered to my skull, its brim flapping like a wounded bird. Dawn still bled gold over the cliffs, igniting the ruin’s broken arches in a blaze of fire and shadow, but that warmth couldn’t touch the ice pooling in my gut. I stood rigid, the Clairvoyance spell’s tendrils still tingling in the back of my mind, its failure a bitter sting behind my eyes. I’d cast the spell with a great deal of both power and precision—searched directly for Shadowheart and Lae’zel’s presences -- but there was simply… nothing for the spell matrix to latch onto, when I tried to lock on to them. I saw only a void, vast and unyielding, like the spell had plunged into a sea of black ink and drowned.

“They are gone,” I said the words aloud now, the sounds grinding out in a low Nord growl rumbling in my chest. My fists tightened, nails biting into my palms as the wind snatched at my voice, hurling it toward the sea crashing below.

Karlach shifted beside me, somehow understanding what I meant immediately, without elaboration. “Gone?” she echoed, her voice rough as gravel, edged with a flicker of disbelief, her tail flicking sand with a sharp snap. “Do you mean, they wandered off, or…?” She trailed off, searching my expression, her usual grin faltering like a flame caught in a draft.

I turned to Karlach, my gaze hard as dragonbone. “No. I mean Gone. My spell couldn’t find them—couldn’t even sense them. It’s like they’ve been erased from existence.” My tone was hard, but beneath it, fear was a serpent sinking fangs into my ribs. Not fear for myself, of course. In truth, I have grown quite fond of both women. Their characters were compelling enough that, even when BG3 was only a game, I would invariably try to preserve both Shadowheart and Lae'zel's lives, avoiding any scenario where either got hurt or killed. After I've met them in reality? After I’ve had a chance to get to know them as people? To read their thoughts? I’ve promised myself that I would use my newfound power to help them. Abandoning either was unthinkable to me now.

I would make sure both of them survived.

At any cost.

Gale’s voice piped up, dissonantly bright and inquisitive, slicing through the tension like a scholar’s quill through parchment. “Fascinating! That was some kind of divination spell, yes? But, I felt no resonance in the Weave—how peculiar!” He walked closer, robes swishing, his staff tapping the sand in a restless rhythm, dark eyes glinting with a relentless curiosity.

I loved Gale’s character to death, and understood his fascination with new magic, but his sense of timing could really use some work.

I wheeled on him, my patience fraying like a rope stretched to snapping. “Gale. My…. apologies, but this is really not the time for comparing notes on the finer points of spellcasting. My friends are missing. I told them not to go into that ruin, but suspect they did anyway.” I jabbed a finger toward the jagged stone maw ahead, its arches looming like the ribs of some ancient beast half-buried in moss and time. “The problem is, they are no longer there. Or anywhere at all that's in range of my divination magic. Karlach and I absolutely need to go find them – right away. Are you in or out?”

He blinked, then squared his shoulders, a spark of resolve flaring in his soft features. “In, naturally!” he said, voice ringing with enthusiasm, his limp erased by my earlier magic. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on seeing your unique brand of magic in action! And… that is to say… of course, I would be happy to help you find your friends as well! Lead the way, Harald—I’ll be at your side.” He adjusted his robe with a flourish, staff steady now, his eagerness almost endearing.

Astarion slithered forward, crimson eyes gleaming with predatory glee, his voice a silken drawl laced with venom. “Oh, a rescue mission? How positively thrilling!” he purred, pale hands flexing as if craving a dagger’s hilt. “Count me in, Darling. Solitude’s dreadfully dull, and I’d hate to miss the fun of all of my new friends getting skewered without me.” His smirk was a razor, slicing through the unease, and he tossed his silver hair back with a theatrical flick, every bit the bastard one would expect.

I… resisted the urge to reflexively deck him in his smug face, recognizing that, beneath the callous and carefree mask Astarion put on lay a traumatized youth who'd undergone hundreds of years of abuse. It was, frankly, surprising the guy was still as sane as he was... But, my understanding of Astarion's psychology and reasons for his behavior didn't mean I enjoyed his rudeness and lack of tact. No matter -- I had to find the girls first; figuring out what to do about a mentally scarred Vampire Spawn can probably wait until later in the week.

“Keep up, then,” I growled out, already moving, boots crunching pebbles as I stormed toward the ruin. Karlach’s heat shadowed me closely, a steady blaze I could feel from several feet away; Gale’s staff clicked in time with his steps, while Astarion’s presence was a whisper, trailing like a ghost.

The crypt's atmosphere hit me like a slap—the musty air was thick with the reek of mildew and ancient rot that left a sour tang coating on my throat. Darkness swallowed us, broken only by the occasional beam of light filtering through a crack in the crumbling ceiling, casting eerie shadows across equally worn sarcophagi.

The stone coffins’ lids gaped open or else lay shattered entirely, jagged stone teeth framing hollow insides—ancient skeletons sprawled out in chaotic heaps, ribs splintered, skulls cracked, bones tangled like lovers caught in a final, desperate embrace. One near me, a hulking frame, clutched a rusted axe head lodged in its sternum; another’s skull grinned through a web of fractures, teeth scattered like dice on the quartz-streaked floor. I preliminarily hypothesized that this must have been a powerful warriors’ crypt – or, at least, one belonging to a noble or wealthy family that could afford to keep many warriors on retainer. The silence was suffocating—there was no skittering vermin, no dripping water—just a stillness that pressed against my ears, heavy and... ominous.

Karlach’s engine hummed beside me, a low growl in the gloom, her spectral axe was trailing wisps of mist that danced around her scarred, red skin. Gale muttered something about searching for “necromantic echoes,” his staff’s faint glow probing the shadows, while Astarion lingered back, red eyes glinting as he scanned the debris—he may have been hunting for loot or looking for traps; I cared not which – as long as he didn’t get in my way.

My own senses strained for any sign of Shadowheart or Lae’zel — and I wondered how the former would react if I told her that I could easily distinguish faint traces of her passage – by smell alone -- even in a musty crypt like this one. Knowing her, it would probably be some kind of smart-ass comment – her character always did have an interesting sense of humor. I really hoped it wasn’t too late to hear it firsthand.

They had indeed been here—I knew it—but where did they go? It was like the earth had devoured them whole.

Should I attempt an unstructured Clairvoyance again, trying to replicate what I accidentally achieved in Avernus? I inwardly shuddered a little just thinking about it -- as useful as that particular variation of the spell is, suddenly becoming intimately aware of every single detail, down to the grain of dust, within a radius of several hundred miles... wasn't my idea of a good time, no matter how robust my new mind seemed to be. If good, old-fashioned investigation failed to uncover anything, I would definitely risk my sanity for the girls -- but it was certainly not my first choice. Besides, based on the glimpses I've caught in Avernus, the old adage -- "if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you" -- may very well be literally true in this Universe.

“It's too damn quiet,” I muttered, my voice bouncing off the walls, rough and low. “I know they came through here… But something’s not adding up.”

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Karlach edged closer, her heat a comforting pulse, her tail brushing the floor with a soft scrape. “You think they’re still down here somewhere?” Her tone was tight, worry etching lines around her molten eyes, her usual bravado dimmed.

“No,” I said, jaw clenching. “Definitely not. Or I would have found them already. That’s what worries me.”

The air noticeably thickened as we pressed deeper, dust particles swirling in faint clouds with every step—gray, powdery motes that shimmered in the light filtering from the cracks in the ceiling, coating my tongue with a gritty, ashen taste that was probably even older than the ancient bones around us. The sarcophagi bore the scars of looting—carvings gouged, gemstones pried free, the remains inside stripped of anything vaguely valuable—leaving behind nothing but cracked stone and the skeletons’ silent accusations. Here, a shattered urn slumped in a corner, its clay dusted gray, whatever it once held long gone. There, an empty coffin: the skeleton shaken out unceremoniously in order to scour the inside for burial artifacts.

Truly, human (or was it gnome?) greed knew nothing sacred.

My gaze swept across the chaos, before something in the back of my mind started ringing alarm bells: the dust wasn’t just settling—it was moving, drawn to the air currents swirling around Karlach’s heat like iron filings to a magnet. Even now, her skin’s flames licked up her arms in playful tendrils, steam hissing off her damp hair, and the air around her thickened even more, motes of dust tightening into a hazy veil. Memory jolted me—some VR documentary about the dangers of dust explosions in flour and woodworking mills.

This crypt… was a potential tinderbox, and Karlach was the spark!

“Shit—everyone, stand still!” I barked, the echo sharp and urgent, my feet scraping on the rough stone floor.

Karlach froze, axe mist curling tighter. “What’s wrong, Soldier?” she asked, voice steady but full of trust, her eyes locked on mine.

I didn’t waste breath replying. The dust here was incredibly dense, and it was everywhere—coating the bones and the stone, hanging thickly in the air itself—a centuries-old shroud waiting to flare. Was it some kind of clever, alchemical trap? A particularly volatile burial item? A failsafe to prevent anyone from following in the girls' footsteps? I didn't particularly care at the moment. All I knew was: Karlach’s heat may very well be able to light it up. Would it roast my newly found, and very flammable companions (Astarion especially) before they could blink? I couldn’t take that chance – losing track of Shadowheart and Lae’zel was bad enough.

“Hold very, very still, and hold your breaths for a second” I said, planting my feet wide, the others tensing behind me. I focused, allowing my awareness to lock onto every mote of the surrounding dust. My implanted memories of Alteration magic skills had me act on autopilot. I felt power build up behind my navel, raw and dense, but tightly controlled, and then -- I channeled it all into my foot and stomped down. Hard.

The ripple of magicka and raw intent shook the crypt. The wave of pure, focused Alteration expanded from my foot, a tidal surge of will that seized billions of dust particle and penetrated the essence of their metaphysical being. In the barest of instants, the dust changed as I forcibly twisted its nature from powder to liquid. Water erupted all across the chamber -- a sudden, filthy flood that was as intentional as it was… unpleasant. Ancient sarcophagi now gleamed wetly, muddy rivulets streaking their cracks; skeletons glistened, ribcages pooling with newly acquired grime, the warrior’s axe head was now drowning in rust-tinged slop. The floor had turned slick and slippery, black obsidian shining darkly under a thin, reeking film, and fresh droplets pattered from the sodden moss on the ceiling above, a steady plink-plink cutting the silence. The air shifted, now thick with the wet slobber of earth and decay. The stench of it clawed up my nose and clung there.

“Ugh. Yuck” I grunted, shaking crypt-muck off my foot, the silk pants now a sodden, ruined mess against my legs. The room was now a muddy, cold, sticky, and foul -- but, I hoped, entirely non-flammable – disaster. Karlach’s flames now hissed harmlessly against the damp, and, while steam still rose from her in faint curls, I could see no sparks to catch aflame.

Gale gaped, his staff sunk in a newly made puddle, muttering, “Transmutation on that scale… without a focus? Extraordinary…”

Astarion flicked grime off his sleeve, nose wrinkling. “Simply delightful,” he sneered. “You’ve certainly improved the décor of the place. But, next time, Darling, perhaps… you can avoid swamp spells? I hate getting muck in my hair!”

I ignored them both, eyes once again roving the -- now dripping -- crypt. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are still gone, and this moist mess hasn’t yet coughed up any clues.

I try to pay careful attention to the surroounding. The crypt is still a dank, oppressive place. My bare feet squelch through shallow puddles, the obsidian floor slick beneath me. The air reeks of wet stone and rot. Everything here is shrouded in gloom, a monotonous palette of grays and blacks—except… for one spot!

Ha! I knew we would find something if we looked carefully enough! Now that I’ve noticed it, my enhanced eyes snag on it instantly: a distant corner of the crypt that simply doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the place. It’s not brighter, per say -- not exactly, but it is, somehow, more… vibrant. The colors in that particular corner are deeper, richer, like they’ve got a pulse of their own, and they stand out in the dim light where everything else just fades into monochrome shadow. How did I fail to notice it earlier?

As I approach, the epicenter of the unusual area comes into focus: it is an enormous sarcophagus, at least half again as large as the others around the chamber. It is an impressive construction, more a small monument than a large coffin; its heavy stone bulk is covered with intricate and detailed carvings which, while not feeling magical in the least, evidence some truly impressive (and probably expensive) stone-working artistry. At its base, mushrooms sprout in defiant clusters—and not the drab gray or brown fungi choking the rest of this place either. No, these ones offer vivid bursts of color. There are deep blues, rich purples, a few startling pinks -- and some even glow with a faint bioluminescence, their caps emitting a soft, mysterious light, like tiny pixie lanterns. These fungi provide the only real vibrancy in this otherwise grayscale tomb, a splash of colorful life amid the death and decay.

And it’s impossible to ignore.

I pause, my gut tightening. Shadowheart and Lae’zel—they’d have almost certainly noticed this too. They would have definitely poked around – if not to investigate the brighter colors, then certainly to check out the larger coffin!

I step closer, the damp air cooling around me, and I notice the sarcophagus’s lid—it’s been moved -- recently. Someone’s indeed been here.

Leaning over the open coffin, I peer inside. As expected, there is a skeleton within: an ancient, crumbling thing, its bones yellowed with age. In its bony grip is a piece of parchment so old that it’s turned the color of spoiled cream, the ink fading into meaningless smudges. Would I even be able to understand this world’s writing? I suppose that it didn’t matter at the moment -- whatever ink once existed has long since faded away; one touch, and that letter would crumble to dust. Disappointing, and quite useless to the investigation.

Beside the parchment, nestled against the skeleton’s ribs, is a lute—or rather, what’s left of one. It was definitely a masterpiece once upon a time. The instrument’s wood, now warped and splitting, bears intricate artistic depictions of vines and flowers, with faint glints of gold leaf inlay still clinging to its body. This instrument must have belonged to a very wealthy collector – or else, a skilled master. Was this the resting place of a famous Bard, perhaps? But sadly, time has ravaged the delicate piece of art beyond repair. The strings have snapped long ago; the neck is warped and twisted beyond repair; and those strange glowing mushrooms have claimed the rest of it—mycelium threading through the cracks in the wood, their luminescent caps sprouting from the soundhole in an almost mocking manner.

My fingers hover over it, a hum buzzing against my skin—not quite sound, not quite magic, but… I realize that I feel something. This is the only lead we have – and I would bet my fishing hat that the girls' curiosity would have gotten the better of them here.

“Harald, no—wait!” Gale’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and almost panicked, but I don’t listen to him. My fingertips deliberately brush the lute’s rotted wood where the strings would have been -- and the crypt around us blooms with motion. A whirlwind of color and sound explodes around me, swallowing everything in its path. Blues, purples, pinks, and golds spiral through the air, a blinding storm of light that pulses with the mushrooms’ glow. A deep, resonant hum shakes the ground, rattling my teeth, and the air crackles with energy—the smells of fresh summer rain, ozone, and crushed flowers flooding my senses. Karlach closes in and holds onto my shoulder while the chaos clings to our group, the kaleidoscope twisting in tighter – and I realize that it’s dragging all of us into… somewhere. I hear Karlach shout, Gale’s cry, Astarion’s sharp curse, but they’re distant, muffled by the roar in my ears. The lute’s pull is relentless, the whirlwind engulfing everyone near me, the crypt’s walls blurring into indistinct streaks as the room drops away.

The world shifts around us in an instant. I have absolutely no idea what I’ve just gotten us into… but, I feel inexplicably optimistic about the experience. Everything will be just fine. We'll get in, get the girls out of -- wherever they ended up -- and get out.

How bad could it be?