“Where am I?!” the woman demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. Her stance was taut, like a bowstring pulled to its limit, and her twin short swords glinted dangerously as her wide, panicked eyes darted from face to face. Though her voice betrayed her fear, the fire in her gaze showed she was ready to fight if needed.
“Easy there, tiger,” Karlach said, stepping forward with her hands raised in a placating gesture. Her tone was warm and steady, the voice of someone who had seen her fair share of chaos and lived to calm the storm. “You’re safe. We just pulled you back from death’s door.”
The woman’s breathing was erratic, her chest heaving as her lungs fought to catch up with her pounding heart. Her gaze flickered over the glowing portal behind her, its shimmering surface a harsh reminder of the nightmare she’d just escaped. Her grip on her swords tightened, the knuckles of her hands turning white. Everything about her body language screamed distrust—an animal cornered and desperate to survive.
Shadowheart stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, like approaching a wounded animal. Her voice was calm, soothing, each word a balm against the woman’s tension. “You were injured—grievously. He healed you." She said looking at Alex . " No one here means you harm.”
The woman’s trembling lessened, though she didn’t lower her blades just yet. Her sharp, wary eyes settled on Alex, who stood silently, his golden aura fading from his hands like the last rays of a setting sun. There was something steady about him, an unyielding calm that seemed to cut through the panic clouding her mind. She hesitated, her shoulders loosening just slightly, though her stance remained cautious.
“Who are you?” she asked at last, her voice quieter now, but still edged with suspicion.
Astarion, was the first to speak. “I’m Tarion,” he quipped smoothly, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. He dusted himself off, making a show of adjusting his disheveled attire. “And I must say, a thank you wouldn’t hurt.” His eyes glinted with annoyance, though his lips curled into a half-smirk.
The woman’s gaze flickered to him, clearly unimpressed, before turning to Alex.
“I’m Alex,” Alex said, his voice warm and sincere. He didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his tone that put her slightly at ease.
“Shadowheart,” the ex-cleric introduced herself next, her voice calm but firm.
“Wyll,” the warlock said with a nod, his tone polite but curious.
“Gale,” the wizard added with a faint smile, his hand brushing back his dark hair.
“Karlach,” the tiefling said with her trademark grin, her warm presence radiating reassurance.
The last of the group, Lae’zel and Glut, exchanged reluctant glances before speaking.
“Lae’zel,” the githyanki said tersely, her jaw tightening. A sharp tsk followed, betraying her irritation at the formality.
“Glut,” the myconid intoned simply, its voice echoing faintly, a contrast to the others.
The woman’s sharp eyes lingered on Glut a moment longer than the rest, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she sheathed her swords, though her fingers still hovered near their hilts. Straightening her back, she squared her shoulders and spoke with a hint of pride. “I’m Lara. Adventurer. Archaeologist. And a damn good one.” Her voice wavered slightly, betraying the vulnerability beneath the bravado. “Where am I, exactly?” She glanced around, the chill in the air causing her to wrap her arms around herself. The stark difference in temperature from the jungle she’d nearly died in was jarring.
Without a word, Alex raised a hand, summoning a warm coat from his psionic vault. It materialized in a shimmer of light before him, and he offered it to her.
Lara blinked, clearly caught off guard by the gesture. She carefully took the coat, inspecting it briefly as if half-expecting it to vanish or burn her. When it didn’t, she slid it on, the warmth enveloping her instantly. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alex nodded, his expression unreadable. “We’re in Baldur’s Gate,” he said after a moment, his tone even. “On the Sword Coast.”
Lara froze, her eyes widening in shock. “The Sword Coast?” she repeated, her voice almost hollow. Her gaze darted to the portal, then back to Alex, as if willing his words to be false.
“Yes,” Alex confirmed.
Lara’s lips parted, but no words came. Her breathing quickened again, and she shook her head as if trying to piece together a fractured puzzle. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling as the weight of her situation crashed down on her. “I'm really far away from home.” Her hands clutched the coat tighter around her as her bravado faltered, replaced by a flicker of fear she couldn’t hide.
Karlach stepped forward, her warm hand resting on Lara’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice steady and full of reassurance. “You’re here, alive, and that’s what matters."
Lara nodded, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. For now, she had no choice but to trust these strangers, and the truth of their kindness was undeniable. She took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling herself.
Astarion stepped closer to Alex, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in and murmured something in his ear. His eyes darted to their captive, the djinni, and with a subtle gesture, he slipped a small, crumpled note into Alex's hand. Alex opened it, his expression unreadable as his eyes scanned the hastily scribbled words. After a moment, he gave Astarion a sharp nod of understanding.
Without a word, Alex turned to face the struggling djinni, who snarled and twisted against the infernal chains binding him. The crimson glow of the restraints flickered as the djinni’s strength surged, but the magic held firm. Alex approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stopped just inches from the djinni, who bared his teeth in defiance.
“You will regret this,” the djinni growled, his deep voice reverberating through the air. His threats, however, did nothing to deter Alex.
Alex extended his hand. Slowly, as if plunging into water, his hand sank into the djinni’s chest. He could hear a gasp from behind as the djinni roared in fury, his struggles growing frantic. The chains pulsed brighter, holding him in place, and then, in one swift motion, the djinni’s form began to dissolve. His body broke apart like crimson smoke being sucked into Alex’s outstretched hand. The djinni’s voice faded into a guttural scream, and with a final pulse of light, he was gone.
Lara’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of what she had just witnessed sinking in. She turned to Karlach, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. "What happened?" she whispered.
Karlach shrugged nonchalantly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "I don't know," she replied, her voice steady and calm.
The two women stood in stark contrast, Lara’s anxiety palpable, while Karlach’s calm demeanor seemed almost out of place.
Astarion, unfazed by the display, crouched beside the discarded trinkets. His deft fingers quickly pocketed the shiniest pieces with a smirk before standing back up.
Alex turned back to his companions, his expression stoic, as though he hadn’t just absorbed a living being into himself. Without a word, he strode to the group, standing alongside them as they began discussing Karlach and Astarion’s latest escapade and their prize: the gleaming trident, Nyrulna, now gripped tightly in Karlach’s hand.
As the conversation drifted, Alex raised a hand and a faint purple aura enveloped Karlach and Lara. The energy shimmered around them, weaving through the fabric of their clothing. Tears and bloodstains vanished, leaving their clothes pristine. Even Lara, who had been wrapped in Alex’s coat moments earlier, now looked as though she’d stepped out of a warm tavern rather than a life-threatening ordeal in a jungle.
Karlach raised an eyebrow, testing the feel of her renewed clothing. “Nice touch, Alex,” she said, flashing him an appreciative grin.
Shadowheart turned her attention to Lara, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “Why were you in the jungle, Lara? What were you looking for?”
Lara hesitated, her eyes dropping to the trident. A realization dawned on her face, her expression shifting from confusion to disappointment. “I was searching for a relic—something lost to time. But it seems…” She glanced at the trident in Karlach’s hand. “You’ve already found it.”
Astarion, predictably, was quick to interject. “It’s mine. I’m not—” His protest was cut short as Shadowheart jabbed him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. He winced, glaring at her.
Shadowheart ignored him, her tone calm and measured. “Do you need it for something important?” she asked Lara, her gaze steady.
Lara shook her head, though her shoulders sagged slightly. “No… I just wanted to recover it, to keep it from being lost forever. You know, the story behind Nyrulna is quite fascinating. Would you like to hear it?”
The group exchanged glances, intrigued. Alex gave her a nod. “Go ahead.”
Lara straightened, a spark of passion igniting in her voice as she began. “The forgemaster Lirrico designed this weapon centuries ago, for the champion of the wind goddess Akadi. A key component in its forging was the wind of his home city. After Nyrulna was completed, the city’s winds stopped entirely—for a full year, not a single breeze stirred. It’s said the stillness was a reminder of the immense power that had been poured into the weapon.”
“How was it lost?” Wyll asked, his curiosity piqued.
Lara sighed, her expression clouding. “One day, it simply vanished. No one knew how or where. The weapon became legend—something whispered about but never seen again.” She looked at the trident with a mix of awe and sadness.
Alex tilted his head slightly. “The djinni took it,” he said, his voice calm. “He had a fondness for collecting shiny things, especially those of great value.”
Lara nodded slowly, the weight of the revelation sinking in. “Of course he did,” she murmured, shaking her head.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The tension in the air eased slightly, and Shadowheart’s gaze flicked to Karlach. A sly smile crept onto her lips. “I’m surprised the paint on your face is still intact, Karlach.”
Gale chuckled, crossing his arms. “That paint must have some sort of magic imbued in it. Despite the blood, sweat, and chaos, it hasn’t faded in the slightest.”
Karlach grinned, wiping her brow. “Maybe,” she teased, her laughter deep and hearty. “Or it’s just a damn good paint.”
The group laughed softly, the tension breaking further as the camaraderie between them grew. Even Lara, still adjusting to the bizarre turn her day had taken, managed a faint smile. For a moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of their journey, there was a fleeting sense of peace.
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Alex felt the faint tug on his psionic radar—a desperate, chaotic mind teetering on the edge of despair. He turned, his sharp gaze locking onto the gate they had passed through earlier. At the edge of the encampment, he saw a group of refugees pleading with the gatekeeper, their faces lined with exhaustion and fear. Beside them, ghouls hissed softly, their skeletal forms shifting restlessly, as though they could sense the desperation in the air.
"I'm sorry, I can't answer your questions," the gatekeeper said gruffly, his tone final.
"Please, we need to know if he's here!" one man begged, his voice cracking under the weight of his desperation. "We need his help—urgently!"
Alex didn’t wait. His feet were already moving toward the gate, his stride purposeful. Shadowheart noticed his movement and quickly fell in step beside him, her eyes scanning the scene with wary curiosity.
The refugees froze as Alex approached, their eyes widening as recognition dawned. One of the men—a wiry figure with hollow cheeks and shaking hands—rushed forward, falling to his knees before Alex. With trembling hands, he grabbed Alex's hand and pressed it to his forehead, tears streaming down his face.
“Please,” the man choked out, his voice breaking. “Help us, Saint of Eilistraee. My wife…she’s giving birth, but the baby won’t come out, and she’s bleeding—she’s going to die. Please, I beg you!”
Alex’s gaze softened as he took in the man’s desperation, the sheer weight of fear and love in his plea. Without hesitation, he said, “Lead the way.”
The man raised his tear-streaked face, his expression a mixture of disbelief and relief. He nodded frantically, scrambling to his feet and breaking into a run. Alex glanced at Shadowheart, who met his gaze with a knowing nod. Together, they followed the man at a sprint, leaving the rest of the group behind.
"We will be back . " Shadowheart shouted as they ran away.
The run was short but harrowing, the air thick with tension. As they approached the refugees’ encampment, Alex could already smell the metallic tang of blood, sharp and overwhelming. The man ducked into a large, tattered tent, shouting as he entered, “We’ve brought the Saint! He’s here—he’ll save her!”
Alex and Shadowheart followed him inside, their boots crunching against the dirt floor. The air inside was stifling, heavy with fear and the acrid scent of sweat and blood. A group of women stood near the center, their faces pale and stricken. One of them, older than the rest, looked up sharply as Alex entered, her eyes widening with hope and disbelief.
“She’s over here,” the old woman said quickly, gesturing to the far side of the tent.
Alex moved with urgency, stepping around the huddled women to where the mother lay. The sight was grim. The woman, barely conscious, lay on a blood-soaked blanket, her legs spread and trembling. Her face was ashen, her lips cracked and pale. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, and her hair clung to her damp forehead. The lower half of her body was a scene of chaos—blood pooled beneath her, staining everything it touched. A younger woman knelt beside her, dabbing her forehead with a cloth, tears streaming down her face.
Alex dropped to his knees beside the mother, assessing her condition. Her pulse was weak, and her skin was clammy to the touch. She had lost far too much blood, and the faint sounds of her breathing barely reached his ears. Time was slipping away.
Shadowheart knelt beside him, her expression grim as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s dying, Alex,” she murmured, her voice tight with urgency. “If the child isn’t delivered soon…”
Alex didn’t wait for her to finish. He gently lifted the blood-soaked blanket covering the woman’s lower body, his jaw tightening as he took in the situation. The baby’s head was crowning, but the delivery had stalled. The umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around the baby’s neck, and blood poured from the mother in a steady, relentless stream. It was a miracle she was still alive.
He took a deep breath, centering himself. His hands began to glow with golden light. “Hold her steady,” he said to the young woman at the mother’s side. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the panic in the room like a blade.
The young woman nodded, her trembling hands moving to support the mother.
He pressed one hand gently to her abdomen, steadying her. As his magic began to slow the bleeding, his other hand moved to assist the stalled delivery. That’s when he felt it—the unmistakable surge of infernal energy radiating from the child. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t falter.
“Shadowheart,” he murmured, keeping his voice calm despite the storm of emotions churning inside him. “It’s not an ordinary child.”
Shadowheart’s brows knit in confusion for only a moment before realization dawned. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Keep going. She’s still a mother. The child still deserves life.”
Alex didn’t need her reassurance, but her words strengthened his resolve. His magic worked quickly to untangle the umbilical cord from the baby’s neck, though it felt as though the infernal energy resisted his divine light. The contrast between the golden aura of his magic and the swirling, dark energy emanating from the child was stark—like oil and water struggling to mix.
The baby let out a weak, sharp cry as Alex finally freed it from the mother’s body. The sound echoed through the tense room, and everyone froze as they caught their first glimpse of the newborn. Its tiny body was unlike anything they had expected—its skin was dusky red, with small, curling horns protruding from its forehead. A faint glow of hellish energy surrounded it, and a thin tail flicked weakly behind it. The child was a tiefling—a demon-blooded offspring.
The mother stirred weakly, her eyes fluttering open. She looked down at her baby, confusion and fear flickering across her pale face. “My… my child?” she whispered, her voice faint and trembling. Her fingers reached out shakily, hesitating as her gaze took in the baby’s otherworldly features.
Alex cleaned the blood from the infant with a soft cloth, his magic still radiating faintly to ensure the child was stable. The baby’s cries grew stronger, filling the tent with a sound that was both jarring and heart-wrenching. He wrapped the tiefling in a clean blanket and placed it gently in the mother’s arms.
The woman’s breath hitched as she cradled her child. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they were not tears of rejection or horror—they were tears of relief and love. Her trembling hands held the child close, as though no matter what it looked like, it was still hers, still a part of her. The connection between mother and child transcended the dark energy that swirled faintly around the infant.
“She’s beautiful,” the woman whispered, her voice breaking as she pressed a kiss to the baby’s tiny horns.
The other women in the tent gasped softly, their fear and prejudice momentarily overshadowed by the sheer tenderness of the scene. Shadowheart’s expression softened slightly, though her grip on her holy symbol remained firm.
“Rest now—you’ll both need your strength.” Alex said quietly, his eyes meeting the mother’s.
The mother nodded weakly, fresh tears streaming down her face as she rocked the baby gently. The older woman who had been standing nearby approached hesitantly, her expression torn between shock and awe. “Saint… it’s a demon child,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What does this mean? Is it… cursed?”
Alex rose to his feet, his golden aura fading as he turned to face the group of women. His expression was calm but resolute. “She is a child, nothing more. What she becomes is not written in stone. Her destiny is hers to shape—just like any of us.”
Shadowheart stepped forward, her gaze steady as she addressed the group. “Do not let fear cloud your judgment. This mother and child need your support, not your condemnation.”
The older woman hesitated, then nodded slowly, her fear giving way to reluctant acceptance. Alex gave her a faint smile before turning back to the mother. “Cherish her.”
The mother clutched her baby closer, nodding through her tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving us both.”
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The mother cradled the tiefling, her tears falling freely as she kissed her baby’s small horns, whispering soothing words to the fragile child. But the father—standing just inside the tent, his hands trembling—stared in growing horror. His face twisted with anger and disbelief as his gaze darted between his wife and the infernal features of the baby in her arms.
“That… thing is not my child!” he shouted, his voice shaking the tent and startling everyone inside. The mother flinched, clutching the baby closer as the newborn let out a frightened wail. “What have you done? What have you brought into this world?!”
“Please…” the mother whispered, her voice weak and pleading as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s our child. Don’t—don’t speak like this.”
The man took a step back, his face pale with a mix of rage and disgust. “No. That—” he pointed a trembling finger at the baby, his voice cracking. “That is a demon! That is no child of mine!”
The other women in the tent exchanged uneasy glances, their fear spreading like wildfire. Whispers broke out among them.
“What kind of curse has been brought upon us?”
“Is it safe to even be near it?”
“Perhaps the gods are punishing us…”
Alex straightened, his gaze hardening as he took a step forward. “Enough,” he said, his voice steady but firm, silencing the murmurs. His presence radiated an authority that filled the tent, but the tension remained thick.
The father glared at him, his fear twisting into defiance. “You don’t understand! Look at it! This isn’t natural! What kind of darkness did she consort with to birth something like that?”
The mother’s voice broke as she sobbed, clutching the child even tighter. “I swear, I didn’t… I don’t know how this happened! Please, believe me!”
Shadowheart stepped forward. “The child’s bloodline may be touched by the Hells, but that doesn’t mean she is evil,” she said, her tone cool and resolute. “You judge an innocent life based on fear, not truth.”
“Innocent?” the man spat, his voice rising. “That thing is cursed! It’ll bring ruin to all of us. Can’t you feel it? Look at her—look at what she’s brought into this world!” He gestured to the mother, his words cutting deeper than any blade.
Alex’s calm veneer cracked just enough to let a sharper edge enter his tone. “You speak of curses, yet here you stand alive—your wife alive—because I stepped in to save her. That child may not look like what you expected, but she’s still yours. You have a choice: to love her or to abandon her, but don’t call yourself a man if you choose the latter.”
The father faltered under Alex’s piercing gaze but didn’t relent entirely. His fists clenched at his sides, his breath ragged as he fought between fear and duty. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “This isn’t fair…”
One of the older women stepped forward cautiously, her eyes darting nervously toward the baby. “Saint, the father isn’t wrong. The child is… touched by infernal blood. What if it’s a sign? What if it brings misfortune to the rest of us?”
Alex turned to the woman, his gaze unwavering. “You fear what you don’t understand. Blood doesn’t define who or what someone becomes—choices do. If you let fear guide you now, you’ll teach this child that she has no place in the light. Is that the kind of world you wish to create?”
The whispers grew quieter, the weight of Alex’s words sinking in. Still, the tension remained, thick and suffocating. The mother, pale and trembling, looked up at Alex with pleading eyes. “Please,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Help them see…”
Alex crouched beside her, his gaze softening as he looked at the newborn. The tiefling’s small horns glinted faintly in the low light, and her tiny tail twitched as she whimpered. He reached out a glowing hand, gently brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek. The child’s cries quieted, her strange, luminous eyes locking onto his.
“This child didn’t choose her bloodline,” Alex said, his voice steady but filled with conviction. “She didn’t choose the circumstances of her birth. But she has been given a chance at life, and that means she has a chance to shape her own path. If you cast her out now, you condemn her—and yourselves—to darkness.”
The mother held her baby tighter, her sobs softening into quiet resolve. She looked up at her husband, her eyes filled with desperation but also defiance. “She’s ours,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I don’t care where she came from. She’s ours.”
The father’s shoulders sagged, his anger giving way to exhaustion. He looked at the baby, his jaw tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. Finally, he turned away, unable to meet his wife’s gaze. “I need time,” he muttered, stepping out of the tent.
The tension lingered even after he left, the other women still exchanging wary glances.
Shadowheart stood beside Alex, her voice steady. “If you abandon them now, you abandon your own humanity. Let compassion guide you, not fear.”
The older woman hesitated before stepping closer to the mother, her expression softening just a fraction. She reached out a hand and touched the baby’s tiny fingers, her fear giving way to curiosity. “She’s… just a baby,” the woman murmured, almost to herself.
The mood in the tent shifted, ever so slightly. The whispers quieted, replaced by cautious curiosity and the faintest glimmers of hope. Alex and Shadowheart stepped outside, leaving the family and their community to wrestle with the choices before them.
“She’ll need all the strength they can give her,” Shadowheart said, her voice low.
“She’ll have it,” Alex replied, his gaze steady as he looked up at the sky.