A dark, tentacle sprouted from Alex’s shoulder, moving toward Shadowheart. Its movements were slow, deliberate, like a serpent stalking its prey.
"What are you planning to do?" Gale’s voice broke the silence, curiosity tinged with concern. Despite the unsettling scene, he was now certain that Zeus meant no harm.
"I’m going to reach into her mind," Alex explained calmly. "I’ll try to release her memories, the ones that have been locked away."
Gale nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Do it, then," he said quietly, turning his gaze away. The others followed suit, giving Alex the space he needed.
The tentacle moved toward Shadowheart's eye, slipping behind it to access her brain. The process was eerily smooth, like a dream unfolding.
"There it is," Alex thought, feeling the unmistakable hum of magic coating certain areas of her brain.
As the tendril touched one of these enchanted regions, a memory flickered to life in Alex’s mind. He saw a young Shadowheart, no more than twelve years old, standing in the darkness of a dense forest. The night air was thick with tension. A small cut marred her right cheek, and her wide eyes darted around, fear evident in every breath. She was lost, alone, terrified.
From the shadows, a large gray wolf emerged, its glowing eyes locked on the girl. Slowly, it stalked toward her, baring its sharp canines. Shadowheart backed away, her small body trembling as she bumped into something solid—someone, cloaked in dark robes, a white mask obscuring her face. The symbol of Shar, a black disc encircled in purple, gleamed on her forehead.
Shar devotees emerged from the darkness, spears drawn, encircling the wolf like specters. The wolf growled, snapping its jaws in a desperate attempt to scare them off, but the devotees didn’t flinch. Even when the wolf lunged, they remained still. The one Shadowheart had bumped into knelt beside her, forcing the terrified girl to avert her eyes.
With a swift strike, the devotees ended the wolf’s life.
The memory flickered as the masked devotee turned to Shadowheart, asking her name. But then—darkness. There was no name, no past, no indication of how she had gotten there in the first place. But what Shadowheart did know, deeply and without question, was that the devotees had saved her. They had taken her in, given her a home with Shar.
But Alex wasn’t satisfied. He dug deeper, using the power of the orb within him and the sussur tree to consume the magic . The magic began to unravel, and as it did, the memory replayed with a stark and horrifying shift.
The wolf hadn’t been trying to attack Shadowheart—it had been protecting her.
As the image twisted, the wolf's form shifted, morphing into an injured elven man. His features, though worn with pain and fatigue, bore a striking resemblance to Shadowheart. He crawled toward her, desperate to reach his daughter, but before he could move more than a few feet, a devotee’s spear pierced his back, ending his life.
This man had been Shadowheart’s father, and she had witnessed his murder. Shar’s followers had taken her in, yes, but they had also wiped her past, erasing everything she had been before they found her.
A common rite among followers of Selûne was to send their children into the woods as a test of faith, guiding them back home by the light of the moon. Shadowheart’s rite had gone terribly wrong, and her life had been forever altered.
As Alex delved deeper, he unsealed more memories, but many were fragmented, erased, leaving only blank spaces in her mind. Yet one stood out, burned into her consciousness.
Shadowheart, older now, stood in the dark halls of a temple dedicated to Shar. She was an initiate, cloistered among the other followers. She was upset—Alex could feel her frustration, though the reason was unclear. The others around her were mocking her, taunting her name as if she weren’t worthy of it.
Among the initiates was another—a tiefling boy with short horns and purple hair. His face was kind, and though the memory was clouded, Alex could sense that this boy, Rennald, had been her friend. He had tried to comfort her, to lift her spirits. But just as Shadowheart began to find solace in his words, the memory shattered like a broken reel of film, cutting off abruptly, leaving Alex in silence.
Alex withdrew the tentacle, the connection severed, but the weight of what he had seen lingered in the air. Shadowheart's life, her memories, had been carefully manipulated—twisted into something unrecognizable. The truth, the pain, the loss—it had all been buried beneath layers of Shar’s influence.
"Did you succeed?" Wyll's voice cut through the thick silence, his gaze fixed on Alex. Karlach sat next to him, her fiery fire visible in her eyes, smoldering with a mix of concern and anger.
Alex nodded, his expression grave. "Shadowheart was once a follower of Selûne, but she was taken—molded by the followers of Shar into something new. A tool for their goddess."
Wyll’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face tensing with barely suppressed rage. "Pieces of shite," Karlach muttered under her breath, the inferno within her voice burning with anger.
Gale’s gaze softened as he looked at Shadowheart’s sleeping form, his heart heavy with the weight of her stolen past. "Poor Shadowheart," he whispered, the sadness in his voice a quiet echo of the tragedy that had unfolded.
Alex took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to do next. "Now, I will enter her mindscape," he declared, his voice filled with quiet resolve. The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation as everyone waited for what was to come.
The world around Alex warped and twisted. He found himself standing in the midst of a dark temple, the atmosphere heavy with an oppressive gloom. The only light came from flickering candles that cast long, eerie shadows on the walls. The temple was silent, save for the faint echo of his footsteps as he walked forward.
Before him stood a massive statue of Shar, the goddess of darkness and loss. The statue loomed over the temple, its cold, stone eyes seeming to watch every movement, every breath. At the feet of the statue knelt Shadowheart, her form small and fragile in the dim light. She was looking up at the statue, her eyes wide with a reverence that bordered on worship. She seemed lost, completely absorbed in the presence of the dark goddess, her awe palpable in the air around her.
"Shadowheart," Alex called out gently as he approached her, his voice filled with a tenderness he rarely showed. He moved to stand beside her, close enough to feel the chill radiating from the statue.
But Shadowheart didn’t respond. She remained still, her gaze fixed on the statue of Shar, as if Alex’s words hadn’t even reached her. She was trapped in her own mind, consumed by the darkness that had been forced upon her.
"Shadowheart," Alex repeated, his voice firmer this time, laced with a deep sense of urgency. He knelt down beside her, trying to meet her gaze, but her eyes remained glued to the statue, lost in its shadow.
The silence in the temple was deafening, the darkness around them seeming to close in, thickening like a shroud. Alex could feel the weight of the manipulation that had shaped her, the layers of Shar’s influence that had wrapped around her soul, squeezing the light out of it.
Reaching out, Alex gently touched her arm. "Shadowheart, you don’t belong here. This isn’t who you are."
For a brief moment, her eyes flickered, a tiny spark of recognition flaring up, but it was quickly smothered by the overwhelming presence of Shar. The darkness was deep, relentless, and it had a powerful hold on her.
Alex watched her, knowing that the battle she was fighting within herself was one of the hardest she had ever faced. The pain, the loss, the manipulation—it was all too much for one person to bear. But he wasn’t going to give up on her. He couldn’t.
"You were taken from the light, but it’s still within you, Shadowheart," Alex whispered, his voice carrying the weight of his own pain and loss. "Shar may have twisted your past, but she can’t erase who you truly are. You’re more than just a tool for her—you’re a person, with your own thoughts, your own feelings. Don’t let her take that away from you."
For a fleeting moment, Alex caught a glimmer of recognition in Shadowheart's eyes, but it was quickly consumed by a surge of dark fury.
"Get away from me, you white witch believer!" she screamed, her voice trembling with rage as she shoved him backward. The force of her rejection rippled through the mindscape, causing the shadows to twist and writhe, distorting the temple. Alex could feel the weight of her pain pressing down on him, a burden that made it harder to move. Shadows coiled around his limbs, binding him in place as the statue of Shar slowly turned its gaze toward him, cold and merciless.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Struggling to free himself, Alex realized his strength here was limited—this was her mind , her torment. Shar’s statue raised its hand with eerie grace, conjuring a dark spear that floated toward Shadowheart. She gripped it tightly, her eyes blazing with blind faith, a tool wielded by a god of darkness.
"In Lady Shar’s name!" Shadowheart roared, lifting the spear high, her entire being focused on him as she prepared to strike. The shadows hissed, growing thicker, suffocating. But just as the spear descended, Alex unleashed a blast of raw energy, shattering the darkness around them. The force knocked Shadowheart back, sending the spear clattering to the floor.
In this battle of minds, his strength was limited, but his willpower was not. Summoning a blade from his thoughts, Alex leaped toward the towering statue, knowing that if he could destroy this representation of Shar’s hold on Shadowheart, it would weaken her faith in the dark goddess. But before his strike could land, the statue’s enormous short sword lashed out, swatting him aside like a mere insect.
The temple around them began to crumble, the floor cracking apart, revealing a vast, endless void beneath. Alex gritted his teeth, feeling his mind slipping. "Then let's see if this works," he muttered to himself, as his form shimmered, shifting into that of an elf—a man Shadowheart would recognize instantly.
“Dad?” Shadowheart’s voice faltered, her body stiffening, her grip loosening on the spear. For a moment, the rage in her eyes flickered, replaced by confusion and deep sorrow.
"It’s a lie," Shar's voice cooed, sweet and hypnotic, echoing through the void. "Your parents abandoned you."
The mindscape trembled, Shadowheart’s hands shaking as they reached for the comfort of Shar’s deception. But Alex could feel the truth buried within her, the buried pain she had tried so long to suppress.
“She’s in pain,” Alex thought, as he split his consciousness—one part of his mind remaining in her twisted dreamscape, the other looking outward. Outside her body, the symbol on her hand glowed violently, bathing the room in a sinister purple light. Her body convulsed as the curse tightened its grip.
“What’s happening to her?” Karlach’s voice cut through, full of worry.
Alex remained silent, focused. His chest opened, revealing the orb embedded within him. “This is a strong curse, but not strong enough,” he said, his voice calm but resolute, as he absorbed the curse's power, siphoning away its malevolent magic.
"Will she be alright?" Gale asked, concern lacing his voice.
Alex nodded quietly, stepping back as the tremors within Shadowheart's mind began to subside.
Inside the fractured mindscape, Shadowheart knelt to the floor , her resolve hardening. The spear that had fallen at her feet now glinted in the fading light. She picked it up and turned her gaze toward the towering statue of Shar and then to her father .
"You are an illusion . You are trying to take me from my Lady embrace . ! " Shadowheart said , her decision made as she moved toward her father.
But before she could act, her father twisted in agony. A spear’s tip pierced his chest, his eyes widening with shock. Shadowheart gasped, her breath catching in her throat as she watched her father’s body collapse to the ground, the dark spear still embedded in his flesh. Revealing a Shar devotee that quickly faded in the shadows.
"Father!" Shadowheart’s scream echoed through the void as she rushed to his side, her hands trembling as they reached for him. She cradled his head in her lap, her tears falling onto his bloodstained robes.
“My daughter... I’m sorry. I tried to save you,” her father whispered, his voice barely audible before his eyes fluttered shut. His body stilled, leaving Shadowheart alone in the unbearable silence of her grief.
She sat there, motionless, her gaze fixed on the lifeless form of the man she had longed for her entire life. “Father is dead…” she murmured, the words barely a breath, as if saying them aloud made them real. Her eyes narrowed, and a storm of emotion welled up within her—grief, guilt, and fury all coalescing into one.
“Because of you!” she screamed, her voice cracking as she snatched the spear from the ground and hurled it with all her might at the statue of Shar. The weapon flew through the air with a deafening crack, striking the dark stone. The impact was earth-shattering, sending fissures through the statue’s surface. The cracks spread like veins, deep and jagged, as pieces of the statue began to crumble and fall, the once-imposing figure of Shar reduced to a pile of rubble.
The darkness began to recede as a soft, silvery light emerged, bathing the void in a serene glow. A moon appeared overhead, its gentle radiance pushing away the shadows. The infinite void transformed into a starlit night sky, peaceful and endless, the stars twinkling above like a promise of hope.
But Shadowheart barely noticed the change. Her focus remained on the figure of her father, who now appeared whole, his wounds gone. He smiled at her, the warmth of his presence filling her heart.
Slowly, cautiously, Shadowheart took a step toward him, then another. She feared that if she moved too quickly, he might disappear, like a fading dream. But he didn’t vanish. He was there, real and solid. She reached him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, feeling his warmth, his love, spread through her once more.
They stood there, locked in that embrace for what felt like eternity, as Shadowheart let go of years of pain, of loneliness. When she finally pulled away, her father’s form began to fade, revealing Zeus beneath the illusion.
Yet, Shadowheart did not feel anger or betrayal. Instead, she wiped away a small tear from the corner of her eye and whispered, “Thank you.”
The stars above shimmered, and one by one, they began to descend, drifting toward them like glowing fireflies. They danced around Shadowheart and Alex, swirling in the air before gathering in one spot. There, the light grew brighter, molding into a new shape. When the light dimmed, it revealed a beautifully ornate mirror, its surface cracked and fractured, as though shattered and painstakingly pieced back together.
The mirror floated gently into Shadowheart’s trembling hands. She stared at it for a moment, awestruck by its beauty, then whispered, “Thank you for showing me how to be whole again.”
The world of her mind shifted, and Alex found himself back in the real world, where Shadowheart was slowly opening her eyes.
She didn’t stand immediately. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
“Are you alright, Shadowheart?” Karlach asked gently.
“I’m fine,” Shadowheart replied quietly, her voice steady as she slowly rose to her feet. She walked to the corner of the room, and just as to one from her mind, a mirror appeared in her hand. She pointed it at a broken piece of furniture, and purple energy flowed from the mirror, wrapping around the object. Within moments, the furniture was restored, looking as though it had never been damaged.
But the strain took its toll. Shadowheart’s legs wobbled, and she buckled under the weight of it all. Karlach was quick to catch her, steadying her with strong arms.
“Be careful,” Karlach said softly as she guided Shadowheart to a chair, ensuring she could rest.
Alex watched in silence, knowing that her journey was far from over but at least she was headed in the right direction.
___
The room Alex found himself in reeked of decay, a thick stench of urine and feces hanging in the air, turning his stomach as the oppressive darkness pressed in from every corner. The atmosphere was suffocating, a twisted mixture of rot and dread . His eyes moved around the gloom, settling on a figure curled up in the corner—Astarion, shackled, broken, and trembling. His pale body, once graceful, was now marred by deep lacerations, blood pooling beneath him. His neck, wrists, and ankles were bound by iron chains that clanked against the stone floor with each shuddering breath he took, the sound a sickening reminder of his captivity.
A man stood over him, his cruel red eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. His features were sharp, aristocratic, with an air of nobility corrupted by centuries of depravity. He wore rich, elegant clothes that seemed so out of place in this pit of torment, but his posture, his smile, made it clear he thrived in this environment. In his hand, he held a long whip, each crack of it slicing through the air like a thunderclap. The whip tore into Astarion’s flesh with a sickening thwack, leaving trails of blood and jagged wounds in its wake.
At man's side, a skeletal figure cackled with glee, basking in the sounds of Astarion's suffering as though it were a sweet symphony.
"Little vermin," The man hissed, his voice smooth but dripping with cruelty, "you think you can escape me? Escape Cazador Szzar?" His grin widened, the pleasure in his words unmistakable. "Oh, I will take my time breaking you. Shaping you to my liking. You’ll beg to serve me when I’m done."
Astarion whimpered, his body trembling with pain, too weak to fight, too broken to respond. His eyes were vacant.
"Can I partake, Master?" The skeleton asked, his voice a hollow rasp as he leaned forward eagerly, his bony hands twitching with anticipation.
Cazador smirked, never stopping the rhythm of his whip. "Godey, bored with the other spawns already?"
"Oh, of course not, but Astarion's screams," Godey crooned, his empty eye sockets fixed on the elf's trembling form, "they’re a melody that soothes my soul."
At that moment, Alex could no longer bear the sight. "Astarion!" he shouted, his voice a desperate cry cutting through the madness.
But Astarion didn’t respond. His eyes remained empty, as though he hadn’t heard him at all. The chains, the torment—they had consumed him, hollowed him out.
Cazador turned then, his eyes locking onto Alex. His smile faded, replaced by something darker, more venomous. "And who are you?" he sneered, his tone filled with contempt. "Another piece of filth to add to my collection?"
With a lazy wave of his hand, iron shackles burst from the shadows, snapping onto Alex's wrists and ankles with a metallic clink, yanking him forward and spreading his limbs apart. The cold, unyielding iron bit into his armor, holding him in place like a trapped animal. No matter how hard he struggled, the chains only tightened.
"Godey, this one is yours," Cazador said with a cruel smirk before turning back to Astarion, resuming the brutal rhythm of the whip against the elf’s already ravaged back.
The skeleton chuckled, an eerie, hollow sound that seemed to echo from the depths of hell itself. Godey approached Alex, his skeletal fingers trailing over a serrated dagger that seemed to hum with malice. His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring every moment of anticipation.
"Let’s make this… exquisite," Godey whispered with delight as he brought the dagger to Alex’s chest, the sharp, jagged edges pressing against his flesh. In a torturously slow motion, Godey began to carve, tracing a circular pattern around Alex’s chest. The pain was immediate, white-hot, as the blade dug into his flesh and trough his armor, drawing blood with each stroke. It shouldn’t have been able to hurt him—not in the real world—but here, in this twisted nightmare, his pain was real. Every agonizing second stretched into eternity.
The serrated blade dug deeper, the blood flowing freely now. He could feel the tendrils of darkness wrapping around his mind, threatening to overwhelm him, to drown him in this sea of torment. The mocking laughter of Cazador and Godey filled his mind, the sound twisting the air into something foul.
"You will bleed for me," Godey whispered, his voice dripping with twisted satisfaction. "You will scream for me, just like the rest of them."
But Alex refused to give him the satisfaction. His vision blurring as waves of pain pulsed through his body. His muscles tensed, as the blood flowed down his chest in rivulets. He could feel his strength slipping away with every moment that passed, every drop of blood that stained the cold, stone floor.
And through it all, Astarion’s cries echoed, filling the room with a haunting, desperate melody.