"How was the fight ? " Gale asked as he handed Alex the pint of beer, the room went quiet. All eyes turned to him, the weight of their anticipation palpable. Alex took a long swig, savoring the cool liquid, but the tension in the room remained unbroken. Everyone waited for him to recount the battle that had just ended.
“The survivors should’ve scattered by now,” Alex began, setting the pint down. His voice held a note of dissatisfaction. “But the Elder Brain escaped.” The disappointment in his words was clear.
“What a bummer,” Karlach muttered, leaning in with furrowed brows. Her frustration was mirrored in the flicker of her tail. But, as if brushing aside the gloom, her expression lit up with renewed excitement. “But come on, tell us—what was it like being a dragon?”
A chuckle slipped from Alex’s lips at Karlach’s childlike enthusiasm, the sparkle in her eyes reminding him of why he fought so hard—for moments like this, for the people who still believed. His hands glowed faintly as he raised them, summoning psionic energy that swirled and coalesced into a translucent surface above his head. The shimmering display began to play out the vivid memory of his titanic battle against the Absolute’s forces and the Elder Brain itself.
The room fell into a stunned silence, the projection flickering and showing every scale, every roar, every clash of power. The earth trembled under Alex’s draconic form, flames scorching the ground, his talons ripping through the enemy like paper. The Elder Brain’s psionic tendrils shot out, but Alex’s strength and will overwhelmed them, his power rippling through the battlefield like an unstoppable tide.
The group watched in awe, some of them almost forgetting to breathe.
Karlach’s jaw dropped. “That was pure carnage. I almost feel bad for them. Almost.” She grinned, punching the air lightly as if feeling a surge of energy herself.
"So much blood," Astarion whispered, his eyes locked onto the scene, biting his lip in thought. "Such... elegance, though. The way you tore through them—masterful," he added, clearly savoring every vicious detail.
Shadowheart, who had been unusually quiet, blinked as the illusion faded. Her eyes, were wide in astonishment.
Gale, leaning back, stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The sheer force you wielded as a dragon... No wonder the Elder Brain fled. It knew it stood no chance against you in that form . ”
Even Lae’zel, typically more composed, couldn’t suppress her admiration. The boy beside her clearly didn't at it tried to run from her grasp to Alex. "Truly, you could challenge empires themselves with that form."
Halsin, standing near the fire, crossed his arms, his deep voice cutting through the awe. “So much destruction , but at least we know that the army of the Absolute is gone for good.”
Jaheira, who had fought countless battles, gave a slow nod of agreement. “The ones behinde the Absolute are for sure trembling in their pants . "
Lump was sweating in silence. "I will be his slave for ever . " He murmured to himself.
The owl bear cub chirped, pawing at Scratch, seemingly as enraptured by the visual replay as the others, while Zevlor, surrounded by his tiefling comrades, watched with quiet intensity.
Alex, sensing the weight of their gazes, gave them a soft smile, his gaze sweeping across the room. These were his people, his family, and they had all fought their own battles to get here. "I was only as strong as the people I was fighting for," he said quietly, his words holding more power than any projection. "Without all of you, none of this would’ve been possible."
As the room absorbed his words, a new wave of appreciation passed over the group.
_______
As the celebration around them continued, Alfira quietly approached Alex, her usual lively demeanor noticeably absent. Her voice was soft, uncertain. "Can we talk... in private?" she asked, her eyes darting around nervously, as if the weight of her request was too heavy to bear in the open.
Alex gave her a gentle nod and followed her to an adjacent room, the noise of the party quickly fading behind them. When the door clicked shut, Alfira's composure cracked. She stood for a moment in silence, her gaze locked on him, but Alex could see her hands trembling, a sign of the inner turmoil raging within her.
"Did I die?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with fear and disbelief.
Alex met her gaze, his own heart heavy as he prepared himself for the truth. There was no point in lying. "Yes," he answered, his voice firm yet soft. "You died, Alfira. And I brought you back."
For a moment, it seemed like she was trying to comprehend the enormity of his words. Her eyes drifted to the floor, her fingers brushing against her arms as if the memories were crawling up her skin. "It was real then..." she murmured, more to herself than to him. "The nightmare... it wasn't just a dream." Her voice broke as the horrifying memories washed over her, the cold steel of a blade plunging into her, the overwhelming terror, and the silence—no one to hear her screams, no one to help.
Alex watched as she began to shake, tears welling up in her eyes. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her gently. The moment he did, Alfira broke, her tears falling freely now. She leaned into him, sobbing quietly, the weight of her death and resurrection finally breaking through her fragile facade.
After a long moment, as her sobs began to quiet, Alex asked softly, "Do you hate Tav for what he did?"
"I don't know," Alfira whispered through her tears. "He’s been through so much too… more than enough. I don’t know if I can hate him." Her voice was still shaky, but there was no anger, only a quiet sadness.
They stood there in silence, Alfira pulling strength from his embrace before she gently pushed away. "Can you come with me to his room?" she asked, her voice still soft but more resolute. "I need to talk to him, but I don’t think I can do it alone."
Alex nodded. "Lead the way."
They walked quietly to the small room that had once served as barracks for the Absolute forces. Inside, Tav sat at the edge of the bed, staring down at the stone floor. His figure was slumped, his gaze distant. When he heard footsteps approaching, he lifted his head, his eyes lighting up slightly when he saw Alex—only for that flicker of light to extinguish into dread as he noticed Alfira by his side.
“How are you feeling?” Alex asked, his eyes scanning Tav's worn face. He could see the weight of guilt pressing down on the half-dragon.
"I’m..." Tav started, but his voice faltered. He glanced at Alfira, and then quickly looked away, his shame almost tangible. His hands clenched tightly into fists, claws digging into his own palms, drawing blood.
Alfira stood in the doorway, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at Tav. He seemed so broken, so haunted. She didn’t know what to feel—anger, sadness, fear. All those emotions swirled inside her, but seeing him like this, she couldn’t hate him. He was suffering too.
"Do you regret killing me?" Alfira finally asked, her voice fragile but determined.
Tav's body tensed, his fists tightening even more. His knuckles were white as blood trickled between his claws. "Yes," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I regret it every moment. I... I hate myself for it." His head dropped again, his whole frame shaking under the weight of his confession. "I don’t deserve to live after what I did."
Alfira hesitated, her hand trembling at her side, but Alex’s warm touch on her shoulder steadied her. Drawing in a deep breath, she walked forward and sat next to Tav on the bed. He flinched as she neared him, his body stiff with shame.
“I’m so sorry, Alfira,” Tav choked out, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you. I should’ve died back on that damned mindflayer ship.”
Alfira gently placed her hand on Tav’s shoulder, and he flinched again, clearly not expecting any kindness from her.
"Why are you... being kind to me?" Tav asked, his voice thick with guilt. "I don’t deserve it."
Alfira let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know," she admitted. "It just feels... like the right thing to do. We’ve both suffered because of forces beyond our control. And maybe... maybe this is how I heal."
Tav blinked, his eyes filling with moisture. "You’re too kind," he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion.
"This is just who I am," Alfira responded softly, offering him a weak but genuine smile.
Tav stared at her, lost for words. Slowly, a swirl of psionic energy formed in his hand, shaping itself into a delicate, ethereal flower. He extended it to Alfira, his hands shaking as he offered the gift. "I don’t have the right words, but... thank you."
Alfira accepted the flower, feeling a wave of calm wash over her as she held it. "Thank you," she said quietly, her heart feeling lighter. She stood up, wiping away the last traces of her tears. "We should talk more later, but... this took more from me than I thought." She smiled weakly, her steps lighter now as she left the room, the ethereal flower glowing softly in her hand.
As soon as she was gone, Tav’s shoulders slumped once more. "I wonder how many people like her I’ve killed?" he muttered bitterly, his voice thick with remorse.
Alex quietly sat down next to him. "I wonder that from time to time too."
Tav turned to look at him, confusion in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Alex took a deep breath, his mind swirling with memories of all the lives he had taken, all the battles he had fought. "I’ve killed more people than I can count," he admitted, his voice heavy. "Maybe even more than the Absolute. Not all of them were evil... most were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Tav’s gaze dropped to the floor as Alex’s words sunk in. "Then how do you live with the guilt?" he asked softly.
"By trying to do good now," Alex said, his voice steady. "It won’t bring back the ones I’ve killed, but it helps me find peace knowing I’m doing what I can to protect the people who are still here. That’s how I live with it."
Tav sat in silence for a moment, processing Alex’s words. After a long pause, Alex stood up, extending a hand. "Come with me to the party."
Tav hesitated, shaking his head. "I... I can’t. I don’t belong there. Not after everything."
"You can’t isolate yourself," Alex replied, his voice gentle but firm. "The people we love—they keep us anchored. They’re the ones who pull us back when we’re falling into the abyss. Don’t cut yourself off from them."
After a moment of hesitation, Tav sighed and nodded. "Alright."
Together, they walked back to the hall where the party was still in full swing. The music paused as Tav and Alex entered, all eyes turning toward them. The tension was thick, but Alex waved his hand, signaling for the celebration to continue. The music picked up again, and slowly, the weight in the room lifted.
They made their way to the makeshift bar, where Alex handed Tav a pint of ale. As the half-dragon took a hesitant sip, Alex began recounting their latest adventures, telling him about the githyanki creche, their escape from Vlaakith’s forces, and the restoration of the cursed forest. Slowly, Tav began to relax, Alex’s presence a comforting balm to his frayed nerves.
“Wow,” Tav said after hearing the stories. “It sounds like I missed a lot... Now I understand why everyone looks up to you.”
Alex chuckled softly, clapping a hand on Tav’s shoulder. "Don’t worry. There are plenty more adventures ahead."
Before Tav could respond, Karlach’s voice boomed from across the room. "Hey, Alex!" she shouted, a mischievous grin on her face as she stood next to a massive wooden barrel. "I want my revenge!"
Alex smiled, squeezing Tav’s shoulder. "Go enjoy the party," Tav said, offering a small but genuine smile. "And... thanks for everything."
With that, Alex left Tav at the bar and headed toward Karlach, his heart a little lighter knowing that, at least for tonight, they had all found some peace.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
__________________
Alex made his way toward the massive barrel of ale that Karlach had prepared for their little drinking contest. A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes as he reached into his vest and pulled out a small vial.
"Crack open the lid," he instructed, moving closer to the barrel, a smile tugging at his lips. His mind briefly flashed back to the lessons he'd learned from Thisobald, the eccentric brewer with knowledge of concoctions strong enough to put down a dragon. 'Let’s put that knowledge to good use,' Alex thought, chuckling to himself.
The crowd of adventurers and Harpers watched with wide-eyed curiosity as Alex uncorked the vial. "Everyone here," Alex warned, raising his voice just enough to cut through the noise, "don’t drink from this barrel. This stuff is strong enough to kill a troll. You’ve been warned."
"For the gods, I feel drunk just smelling it!" a Harper exclaimed from the side, holding his nose and swaying slightly.
Alex gave the concoction a swirl before pouring it into the barrel. The liquid mixed with the ale, forming a faint, ominous smoke that drifted from the top of the open barrel. Grabbing two nearby cups, Alex filled them both to the brim and handed one to Karlach, who stood grinning like a woman about to go to war.
"You ready?" Alex asked, holding up his cup with a smirk.
Karlach grinned, her eyes gleaming. "Born ready!" she said, giving him a thumbs up. The room grew quieter, the spectators leaning in to watch this legendary drinking battle unfold.
Both of them raised their cups and, without hesitation, downed the first round. The ale burned going down, far more potent than anything they’d ever tasted before. Alex’s eyes watered slightly, but he kept his composure. Karlach, however, let out a booming laugh that filled the room. "Holy shit! This stuff is strong!"
The crowd erupted in laughter as cup after cup was drained, each round making it clearer that this battle was tipping in Alex’s favor. Karlach, despite her best efforts, was beginning to sway, her words slurring between hiccups.
"You... hic... little bastard," Karlach slurred, pointing a shaky finger at Alex. "How... how the fuck can you drink so much?" Her eyes were glazed over, but there was a twinkle of admiration behind the drunken haze. "You know what... hic... fuck it. You win."
With that, Karlach stood up and stumbled around, her gaze landing on Wyll, who was watching the spectacle with a raised brow. Without warning, she marched over to him, lifted him into her arms like he weighed nothing, and carried him off like a princess abducted by her knight.
"Well... let’s hope Wyll survives the night," Astarion quipped, sipping from his glass and smirking as he cozied up with the tipsy elf he’d been flirting with in the corner.
Alex chuckled and took another sip of the mysterious brew, feeling the warmth spread through his body. The room was still alive with music, laughter, and the joyful chaos of the celebration. He spotted Alfira nearby, her gaze lingering on him. Without a second thought, he grabbed a lute resting nearby and approached her, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
"Want to sing together?" Alex asked, holding up the lute as if offering her a challenge.
Alfira’s face lit up with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling as she nodded. "Always," she said softly.
With a flick of his wrist, Alex summoned Phalar Aluve, the sword shimmering with an ethereal glow. Cracks like intricate spiderwebs covered its surface, the faint hum of magic vibrating through the air. Gale, raised an eyebrow and gave the sword an inspecting glance. 'Those cracks weren't there before .'
But it wasn’t just a weapon tonight. As Alex held the sword, it began to hum—softly at first, then louder, filling the room with a hauntingly beautiful melody. The sword itself sang, harmonizing with the strumming of the lute as Alex played a few notes, setting the rhythm.
Alfira joined in, her voice pure and melodic, blending perfectly with the song. Together, their voices rose, filling the hall with music that was far more than a mere performance. The sword, the lute, and their voices created a sound so profound that it seemed to touch something deep within everyone present. Even those who had been dancing or chatting paused to listen, their eyes shining with wonder.
The song carried emotions that words alone could not convey—joy, sorrow, love, loss. It spoke of their battles, their pain, their triumphs, and the bonds they had forged through it all. As Alex and Alfira sang together, the ethereal sound of Phalar Aluve seemed to weave a connection between them and everyone in the room.
Gale, who had been watching with quiet awe, finally leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. Astarion, who had been so caught up in his own antics, found himself momentarily still, his usual smirk softened by the beauty of the song. Even Karlach , who was now above Wyll, stopped, listened with a smile that was both peaceful and content.
The music lingered in the air long after the final note had been played, the echoes of it felt in the hearts of all who heard it. Alex looked at Alfira, a soft smile on his lips. She smiled back, her eyes shimmering with the remnants of the emotions their song had stirred.
"That was beautiful," Alfira whispered, her voice filled with quiet awe.
Alex nodded, still holding Phalar Aluve as its light dimmed to a soft glow. "It’s about the song it carries—the story behind it."
____________
As the night wore on, the once vibrant party began to slowly die down. The music faded, and people gradually retreated to their beds, leaving only a few stragglers still awake. The air hung heavy with the warmth of the fire and the soft murmurs of late-night conversations. But Alex, still wide awake, scanned the room for a different kind of discussion, one that would get to the heart of the many questions still swirling in his mind. His eyes landed on Withers, the enigmatic skeletal figure sitting in the corner, watching the dwindling festivities with his eerie, unblinking gaze.
Despite his appearance—a walking corpse clothed in ancient robes—no one seemed to pay Withers much mind . He approached slowly, stopping just before the figure, whose hollow eyes seemed to brighten the moment Alex stood in front of him.
Without hesitation, Withers opened his mouth, his voice like a whisper carried on ancient winds. "The shadows yet feast. The Dead Three, united under cover of darkness. The balance shifts. There are depths to this alliance yet unplumbed. Consider, mortal: Do illithids possess souls?"
"They are soulless," he replied, his voice steady.
Withers nodded slightly, a skeletal hand tapping rhythmically against his bony knee. "Indeed. Mind flayers are soulless. Yet the Three amass an illithid army, void of apostolic souls that could imbue them with power. A flock without souls—yet to what end, mortal? This is the question thou must come to answer."
The gravity of Withers' words settled over Alex like a shroud, but it was nothing new. Alex had pondered this very question, ever since he first learned of the alliance between the Dead Three and the mind flayers. Why would gods who thrived on souls amass an army of the soulless? The thought left a cold weight in his chest.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Withers," Alex said after a moment. "Why are you still here, watching over us?"
Withers' response was simple, yet laden with purpose. "Where matters of balance are concerned, I am eternally called."
Alex nodded, knowing the figure before him had seen and known more than he ever could. "Can you tell me more about the Dead Three?"
Withers leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a raspy murmur. "Bane, Lord of Darkness. Bhaal, Lord of Murder. Myrkul, Lord of Bones. Once judged, ascended, then vanquished, as one and as three. The alliance is reforged, mortal. The planes thus quake, and the gods shudder."
Alex felt a chill run down his spine, but before he could respond, Withers’ form flickered, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from the room without another word.
Turning around, Alex spotted a familiar face: Wulbren, Barcus' friend. He had thought Wulbren had left after the evacuation, but it seemed he had lingered, watching the aftermath of their latest battles unfold. Barcus stood beside him with a knowing look, clearly understanding the unspoken tension that lingered between Alex and Wulbren.
Wulbren approached cautiously, shifting his weight as though the words he needed to say were heavy. "I owe you an apology," Wulbren began, his voice low.
Alex crossed his arms, his brow raised. "It’s Barcus you should apologize to. Your reunion in the Last Light was… strained."
Wulbren's eyes flickered with discomfort as he stammered slightly. He glanced away before speaking again. "Barcus and I… that's another matter. I’m dealing with you right now. I saw you as a means to escape, nothing more. But when the sky lit up—when I followed it here—I knew you were behind it. I apologize—for not seeing your true worth. And for being, quite frankly, rude at the Last Light."
"You were being an arsehole," Alex said plainly, though not without a hint of amusement in his tone.
Wulbren chuckled, though the sound was brittle. "Tough but fair. And that’s precisely why I want you by my side in Baldur’s Gate. The Ironhand Gnomes are going to save the city—and you can be a part of it."
Alex leaned in, intrigued but cautious. "If you want my help, I’m going to need more than that to go on."
Wulbren’s gaze hardened with determination. "The plan is what it’s always been—to bring the work and innovations of the Ironhand Gnomes to every corner of the realm. Problem is, Baldur’s Gate is sick. Once the pinnacle of greatness, it’s eating itself alive to keep from starving. Find me in the city—once you see what it’s become, you’ll know that I, and I alone, can stop it."
Barcus stepped forward, placing a hand on Wulbren’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity, but Wulbren shrugged it off, clearly uncomfortable with the contact. With a tense look, he walked away, leaving Alex and Barcus standing together.
Barcus sighed, shaking his head. "The others told us about your fight against Myrkul. All I can say is, I’m really impressed. But ... Wulbren and the Ironhand Gnomes… they’re planning something dreadful in the city. They have runepowder, and they have motive. We have to stop them."
"It seems we’ll have our hands full in Baldur’s Gate," Alex responded, his voice laced with grim resolve.
Barcus nodded, his gaze hardening. "With the sword of justice in one hand and the shield of self-righteousness in the other, we most certainly will. To saving the city—and my fool of a friend." With that, Barcus left, leaving Alex to contemplate the storm that was surely brewing in the distance.
Alex’s next target was Shadowheart, who stood talking with Aylin. Isobel, her hand intertwined with Aylin’s, stood by their side, the three women illuminated by the soft glow of the dwindling firelight.
The air between Aylin, Shadowheart, and Alex grew heavier as the conversation shifted, weighty with untold truths.
"What do you know about me?" Shadowheart's voice was quiet, but firm. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into her tone. "You spoke of my past—being chased by wolves. I told no one about that… but I certainly didn't share it with you." Her gaze briefly shifted to Alex, standing beside them with a knowing look. “…Almost no one. But I certainly didn’t share that with you." The accusation was clear, but it wasn’t hostility—it was confusion, perhaps even fear.
Aylin’s expression remained calm, unflinching under Shadowheart’s scrutiny. "There is nothing I can tell you that you do not already know yourself. They trained you well, trained your hand. Chiseled away any part of you that did not fit their plan. They made you forget."
Shadowheart bristled, her defenses rising. "It was for the mission. To protect Shar’s—"
But Aylin cut her off, her voice sharp and unyielding. "—Secrets. Yes, yes. That is an old song, girl. Shar cares more for her precious secrets than she does her devotees. When you freed me, you severed a bond between me and that dog, Ketheric Thorm. A bond of pain—his pain, inflicted on me. When I laid eyes on you, I sensed a similar bond. You are tethered to two others, someplace distant. Let me help you remember."
Shadowheart's breath hitched, her eyes searching Aylin's face for any hint of deception. Finally, with a nod, she closed her eyes. Aylin's hand, now glowing with a soft silvery light, reached out and gently touched Shadowheart's forehead. The light spread across her skin like a soft dawn breaking through a dense fog.
"It seems the seal had been lifted already," Aylin said, her gaze landing on Alex. "This will make it easier to explain. Your father is still alive, and your mother too."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Shadowheart, but she remained silent, processing the revelation like a knife twisting in her gut.
"They took you because they wanted to break you and remake you. But you are a child no longer. You are a woman. One who knows what must be done." Aylin’s words held an edge of steel, an unshakable truth behind them.
"My parents…" Shadowheart’s voice wavered for a moment before it hardened with resolve. "I need to save them."
Alex, stepped forward. "I'll help," he said softly, his words carrying the weight of unwavering loyalty.
Shadowheart turned to him, her expression softening into a smile of gratitude, before returning her focus to Aylin.
Aylin continued, her tone now carrying a warning. "Your parents are with your abductors. You will need to return to their lair. But be warned. You may have once thought of them as comrades, mentors, friends, even lovers. They will be enemies now. You have been forewarned for what is to come, but not yet forearmed." Aylin raised her hand, and from the air itself, a spear materialized, shimmering in her grip.
Shadowheart’s eyes widened in disbelief. "The Spear of Night? I thought that was cast into the Shadowfell."
Aylin nodded solemnly. "Shar is quick to discard whatever she no longer has use for. I think you know that well enough. Whatever Shar calls her own, Selûne has equal claim to. They are two sides of the same coin. Take it—you will find it useful. What you do with it... that will be up to you, as it was before."
Shadowheart’s hands trembled slightly as she reached out to take the spear, now white and glowing in her grasp. The weapon hummed with power, and she could feel the weight of its history, of its purpose, settle into her hands.
"I’ll need every advantage I can get… Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she spoke to Aylin.
"A debt repaid," Aylin responded with a warm smile. "You returned my life to me. Now go and claim your own."
Shadowheart hesitated for only a moment longer before she excused herself and left, determination lighting her steps as she walked away.
As the silence settled, Aylin's eyes shifted to Alex. There was something in her gaze now—a knowing, a gravity that had not been present before.
"There you are," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "I have awaited your arrival with great anticipation. Come closer."
Alex stepped forward, feeling the weight of her words as if they were pulling him into something far deeper than simple conversation.
"Feel my voice rattle your bones as I proclaim our victory. Moonmaiden, Selûne, hear me: Ketheric Thorm, traitor, apostle of Myrkul, is dead at last! My mate most high, darling Isobel, is safe and well. Safe and well and returned to my embrace. Blessings upon the slayer of the wicked one!" Aylin’s voice rose, echoing with the force of divine proclamation.
Alex smiled, humbled by the recognition. "I couldn’t have done it without you."
"My darling Isobel has said we will stay allied at your side. I am pleased to hear it." Aylin’s expression softened as she spoke of her beloved.
Alex, ever curious, tilted his head slightly. "You seem to know things about Shadowheart. When will you tell her?"
"In due time," Aylin said, her tone measured. "Mother Selûne will tell me when the time is right. Painful truths should be handled with care, not haste."
Alex nodded in agreement. "You’re right. She already has enough on her plate."
Aylin's gaze turned pensive as she responded. "Indeed. But my own path is not yet free from duty. The Dead Three are risen—the Dead Two remain. You must face them. And I will help."
Alex gaze shifted to Isobel but before he could respond, she stepped forward, her face lit by the warm firelight. "Let’s not sour the atmosphere with bleak memories," she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She looked at Aylin with a fondness that made the room seem to glow just a little brighter. "Maybe tomorrow."
Isobel’s eyes sparkled as she glanced back to Aylin. "Let’s move upstairs, where we can better see the Selûne."
Aylin’s gaze lingered on Alex . "Now, you will leave us," she said with a straight face, her tone suddenly serious, not a flicker of playfulness in her eyes. "We must take succor in one another’s bodies and words."
Isobel blushed furiously, her eyes wide with embarrassment. "Aylin!" she exclaimed, her voice rising an octave in shock. "We’ll… we’ll see you later, Alex," she added quickly before taking Aylin’s hand and leading her upstairs, her cheeks still flushed.
Alex chuckled softly as he watched them disappear, a faint warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of their happiness. He stood there for a moment longer, the quiet settling in around him. The sounds of the night began to fade, save for the occasional creak of wood or distant chirp of a cricket.
And then, from upstairs, faint moans echoed down, barely perceptible but enough to bring a wry smile to Alex’s face.
"Wyll has impressive endurance," Alex muttered to himself with a small smirk, before turning away and letting the night swallow him whole.