Alex's form emerged from the shadows of a narrow, grimy alley. The faintest glimmer of dawn’s light began to pierce the dimness of the district, casting a pale glow on the cobblestones. He adjusted his cloak, the black fabric rippling like liquid shadows, before stepping out into the already bustling streets.
Rivington was already stirring. Vendors set up their stalls, clinking crates and unrolling tarps, while early risers shuffled along the streets, shoulders hunched against the lingering chill of the night. Alex’s sharp ears caught snippets of hushed conversations, their voices tinged with unease.
“Just what in the hells happened last night?” one man murmured to his companion, glancing around as though afraid someone might overhear.
“What happened?” the other man replied, his voice lower. “I heard that out in the forest, a pillar—black and crimson—shot into the sky. They say the ground’s scorched to cinders now.”
The first man leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “A Flaming Fist friend of mine told me it was some botched summoning ritual. Said the aura in that place clings to your skin, like it’s alive. They’re hauling clerics in to purify it.”
The second man shivered, running a hand over his face. “Gods help us. Things are getting worse by the day.”
Alex passed by, their words fading into the background. If only they knew the truth of what had transpired in that forest.
His destination came into view: a simple mansion that loomed with quiet authority over the district. As he approached the door, his keen ears caught another conversation near the side of the building.
“You’re telling me that the displacer beast that you call Shadow-Whiskers escaped?” a Flaming Fist officer barked at a distraught circus worker, his frustration palpable.
“I-I don’t know how it happened!” the worker stammered, wringing his hands. “We checked the locks a dozen times before sleeping!”
Alex allowed himself a rare chuckle under his breath. Convincing the displacer beast to spare the innocent members of the Circus of the Last Days had been a feat of negotiation—and intimidation. The same couldn’t be said for the doppelgangers. Shadow-Whiskers had been more than happy to do the honors.
He stepped up to the mansion’s wooden doors and raised his hand.
As his knuckles grazed the wood, the door swung open, revealing Shadowheart.
She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her sharp gaze locking onto him like a dagger. Her hair was slightly tousled, as though she hadn’t slept. The fire in her eyes, however, was anything but tired.
“You’d better have a damn good explanation for why you left ,” she snapped, her voice venomous.
Alex raised a brow, meeting her glare with a calm expression. “I do,” he said evenly, gesturing past her. “But first, can I step inside?”
Shadowheart didn’t respond immediately, the tension between them taut as a drawn bowstring. Finally, with a huff, she stepped aside, allowing him through.
The moment the door closed behind him, he felt her arms wrap tightly around his waist. The suddenness of the gesture caught him off guard, her sharp anger melting into quiet desperation.
“You had me worried sick,” she whispered, her voice trembling against his back.
Alex’s body stiffened for a moment before softening. He placed a hand over hers, the warmth of her touch grounding him after the chaos he’d endured.
“I know,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry, Shadowheart.”
She held on for a few moments longer before pulling back, her composure slipping just enough to reveal the pain lingering in her stormy eyes. “You can’t just disappear like that,” she murmured. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Alex turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers with quiet intensity. “I had too,” he said. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Shadowheart’s lips parted, as though she wanted to argue, but instead, she sighed, the weight of her worry slowly dissipating. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest.
“You’d better not,” she said, her tone softer now, laced with a vulnerability she rarely let show.
For a moment, the two stood in silence, the mansion around them fading into irrelevance. Outside, the city continued to wake, but within the walls of the mansion, time seemed to pause.
Alex placed a hand gently under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his. “Next time, I’ll tell you where I’m going,” he promised.
“You’d better,” she muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.
The intimate silence between Alex and Shadowheart was abruptly broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat.
“Uhm.”
Their heads turned sharply, meeting the smirking face of Astarion, his posture relaxed but his crimson eyes alight with mischievous amusement.
“Don’t let me interrupt, darlings,” he said, his tone laced with exaggerated politeness. “But we’ve been waiting rather patiently, and I do hate being left out of the drama.”
Shadowheart’s piercing glare could have flayed a lesser man’s soul, but Astarion remained unbothered, flashing her a grin.
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Beside him, the rest of their companions had gathered: Lae’zel stood with her arms crossed, her sharp gaze inspecting Alex like a commander sizing up a returning soldier. Gale wore a faint smile, his scholarly curiosity evident as his eyes darted between Alex and Shadowheart. Karlach, ever the most open-hearted of the group, had already stepped forward, her broad grin reaching her eyes. Wyll offered a relieved but reserved smile, his stance as measured as his emotions.
“Glad to see you in one piece, soldier,” Karlach said warmly, pulling Alex into a side hug that nearly crushed him with her overwhelming strength.
Lae’zel sniffed, though her eyes betrayed her approval. “You return alive. Good.”
“Indeed,” Gale said, his voice tinged with genuine relief. “You’ve been up to something extraordinary again, haven’t you?”
Wyll nodded, his smile faint but warm. “Whatever you’ve done, it’s good to see you back.”
“Enough with the sentimentality,” Lae’zel interrupted. “If his absence was necessary, then let him explain it.”
Alex held up a hand, his expression calm but touched by their concern. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll explain everything.”
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The group followed Alex to the bedroom, where the light of dawn streamed through the windows, casting golden beams across the slightly disheveled room. With a wave of his hand, Alex gathered all the grime, dust, and suspicious stains from the floor, swirling them into an orb of filth before vanishing it with a flick of his wrist.
Alex waved his hand again, summoning a pile of thick blankets onto the floor in a neat circle. “Take a seat,” he said.
They settled in, the room growing quiet as the group exchanged glances. Alex remained standing for a moment, his gaze sweeping over each of them.
“I can simply tell you why I left,” he began, his voice steady, “or I can link our minds. I can show you everything—let you see and feel what happened as if you were there yourselves.”
Karlach’s eyes lit up like embers. “Hells yeah, I’m in!” she said eagerly, clapping her hands together. “No better way to get the full story!”
Gale leaned forward, intrigued. “An intriguing proposition. Count me in.”
Astarion raised a delicate brow, reclining slightly on his elbows. “You’re offering to share your mind? How delightfully intimate. I can’t say no to that.”
Lae’zel’s expression hardened, immediately wary of such vulnerability. “Mental connections can lead to compromise. But if it will reveal the truth of your actions, I will submit.”
Wyll folded his arms, considering. “ I’m in." he said thoughtfully.
Shadowheart’s gaze never wavered from Alex’s. “If you’re willing to share it, then I’m willing to see it,” she said softly. “I’ve learned to trust you.”
Alex sat down in the center of the circle, closing his eyes. “All right,” he said, his voice resonating with quiet strength. “This might feel a little strange at first. Relax, and let me guide you.”
The air in the room grew heavy with anticipation. Alex extended his hands outward, and faint tendrils of purple light began to weave from his fingers, reaching out to each of them like threads of silk. As the threads touched their foreheads, a rush of warmth flooded their senses, and their vision blurred.
The group sat in stunned silence as Alex’s memories unraveled before their eyes, plunging them into the visceral storm of his recent past. They weren’t just spectators—they felt it all. Every slash of his blade, every surge of power, and every wound inflicted on his body became their own.
They were there, fighting Orin in her twisted Slayer form, feeling her claws rake against Alex’s flesh. They witnessed her wicked grin as she reveled in the violence, only to see her snatched away by Gortash at the moment of her defeat. The frustration and fury that burned through Alex’s veins as he became a shadow, darting through the city in desperate pursuit, became theirs.
They saw the bloodbath he left behind as he carved through the doppelgangers, their shifting forms mimicking innocent faces before he silenced them forever. They stood with him in the grim halls of the Murder Tribunal, where every foe fell to his relentless might.
Then came the fight with the blue dragon—a clash of sheer force and cunning. They felt the weight of its crushing blows and the searing heat of its lightning.
Finally, they faced him—Bhaal, the god of murder. The malice radiating from the deity was suffocating, his presence overwhelming. They felt the terrifying moment when Alex consumed Bhaal’s essence—a tidal wave of power and bloodlust .
When the memory ended, they were back in the room. But the weight of what they’d experienced lingered.
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Gale was the first to move. Pale and trembling, he stumbled to the window, throwing it open before violently retching.
Wyll slumped against the wooden floor, his head in his hands, his face drained of all color. “Alex...” His voice was a whisper, heavy with disbelief.
Karlach turned to Alex, her brows knit in worry, her tail twitching anxiously. “Are you... alright?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.
Alex blinked at her, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Karlach hesitated, struggling to find her words. “You just—you killed a god,” she said softly, her voice almost trembling.
Shadowheart, still seated, shuddered visibly. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes darting between Alex and the floor as if trying to reconcile what she had seen. “How can you be so... so calm?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alex tilted his head slightly, his tone casual. “It’s not the first time.”
That answer hit them all like a thunderclap.
Shadowheart’s mind raced. She had thought Alex was, if not ordinary, at least human in some way. But the depth of his mind, the sheer vastness of his emotions—tenfold stronger than anything she had ever felt—shattered that assumption. He had endured pain, fear, and rage beyond comprehension, yet remained composed. His memories had shown her more than his actions—they had shown the unyielding strength of his spirit.
A chilling thought passed through her mind: Why is he even here with us? What purpose does someone like Alex serve among mortals?
Looking at her companions, she could tell the same thought gnawed at them. Wyll’s hollow gaze, Gale’s shaken form, Karlach’s worried expression—they all shared it.
“It was easier than last time,” Alex said nonchalantly, breaking the heavy silence. His calm demeanor was almost unnerving. “Bhaal made the mistake of underestimating me.”
Astarion, who had been unusually quiet, finally smirked, his teeth glinting in the morning light. “That Tribunal... is it still intact?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity. “Because I wouldn’t mind paying it a visit. It sounds delightfully macabre.”
Alex gave a faint shrug. “Maybe, once we step in the city.”
Shadowheart and Karlach exchanged glances, but neither spoke. Their silence said more than words ever could.
Wyll rose unsteadily to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. “I need some fresh air,” he muttered before walking out of the room, his boots heavy against the wooden floor.
Gale leaned against the window frame, his breaths shallow as he tried to regain his composure. “By Mystra...” he murmured under his breath, his eyes staring blankly at the horizon.
In the corner, Lae’zel stood with her arms crossed, her golden eyes closed. But unlike the others, a faint smile curved her lips. The carnage Alex had wrought—the sheer ferocity of his battles—stirred something within her. “You fought well,” she said, her voice filled with approval.
Astarion chuckled softly, reclining against the wall with a casual grace. “I’ll admit, darling, that was... entertaining. It’s not often one gets to be in the mind of a god-killer. Quite the spectacle.”
Alex let out a small sigh, his expression unreadable.
But even as the room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of what they had seen and felt lingered. The memories they had shared didn’t just tell a story—they had changed them. And as they each wrestled with their thoughts, one truth became clear: Alex was far more than they had ever imagined,
End of Act 4