The party returned to the main chamber, their steps heavy but purposeful. Alex stood waiting for them, leaning casually against the iron gate with a knowing smirk.
"How were the trials?" he asked, his tone light.
Astarion waved dismissively. "Dull, aside from the part where we had to fend off a horde of elementals. That was mildly entertaining."
Lae’zel snorted. "One would expect a dragon to set more physically demanding challenges."
Alex straightened, his smirk growing. "Balduran valued quick wits and sharp minds more than brute strength. These trials were meant to test your judgment, not your ability to swing a sword."
He turned to the iron gate, stretching before placing his hands on it.
"Are you ready?" he asked, glancing back at his companions.
Astarion rolled his eyes. "Let’s just get this over with."
The others nodded in agreement, their determination clear. With a resolute push, Alex opened the gate, and they stepped into the unknown.
They descended even deeper , their steps echoing through the stone corridor until they reached a small room. In front of them loomed another iron gate, its center adorned with an intricately carved dragon’s head. Its lifeless eyes seemed to watch their every move.
To their right stood a statue of Balduran, his posture regal but weary, his hand pressed firmly against his forehead as if pondering some great sorrow. The moment they drew closer, the statue stirred to life, its voice deep and commanding, echoing through the chamber.
Statue of Balduran: "With courage does the hero march.
Fettered by taxing chains of fear,
A stalwart soul must ever persevere.
With insight does the hero choose.
Guidance born of ancient wisdom proven,
Peace, not strife—undenied conclusion.
With justice does the hero rule.
Lead not the guiltless lamb to bloody slaughter,
Nor cleanse the lion's sins in sacred water.
With strategy does the hero scheme.
A cunning mind, a hundred steps ahead,
Your allies close, your rivals stunned in dread.
Worthy you are found.
Go forth, hero—seize your fate,
And rise, great wyrm, Heart of the Gate!"
As the final words faded, a loud clank resounded through the room. The iron gate creaked open, revealing the path beyond.
Alex took the lead, his expression calm. The rest of the party followed close behind, weapons gripped tightly in their hands as they stepped into a massive cave. The chamber stretched so wide and high that their gazes barely reached the jagged ceiling above. White crystals jutted out from the ground, their glow faintly illuminating the cavern, but what lay ahead demanded all of their attention.
The remains of a once-mighty dragon sprawled across the ground, its decayed body a chilling monument to its former glory.
“So that’s all that’s left of the mighty Ansur?” Astarion quipped, his voice carrying a mix of derision and unease. “Just a pile of rotting bones.”
The dragon’s skeletal form told the tale of its demise. Its once-resplendent emerald and teal scales were now dull and cracked, patches of leathery flesh clinging desperately to the exposed bones. The wings, which had once carried it across the skies, hung limp and tattered, riddled with jagged tears. Time had stripped the dragon of its majesty, leaving behind only remnants of its grandeur.
The jagged spines that once ran along its back were fractured, many entirely missing. Its tail, which had surely been a weapon of devastating force, curled lifelessly among the rubble, its sharp ridges dulled to a faint shadow of their former menace. The dragon's skull, once regal, was now a haunting visage, its horns chipped and broken, the hollow sockets of its eyes empty and soulless. And yet, as they stared, an unsettling energy lingered in the air around the remains.
As they approached, the hollow sockets of the skull ignited with an eerie blue flame. The sudden burst of light made them all freeze in place. Alex staggered back, clutching his head, as a powerful force reached for his mind and soul. He closed his eyes, feeling the dragon's presence—its essence—pushing against him like a tidal wave.
"The dragon's soul," Alex realized. He steeled himself, allowing the presence in.
The cavern around them shimmered and warped. In an instant, the decay vanished, and they stood before Ansur as he had been in life. The dragon stood tall, its scales gleaming in a reflective bronze hue. Its massive wings unfurled, the edges tipped with a faint green shimmer, like the foam of waves meeting the sea. Four long, curved horns protruded from each side of its majestic head—three framing its cheeks and one crowning the top of its skull, all pointing back towards its sinuous tail. A ridged frill adorned its neck, swaying lightly with each movement. The scent of salt and sea spray filled the air as the dragon’s piercing golden eyes fixed on Alex.
The dragon lowered its head slightly, its deep voice rumbling through the chamber. "I am Ansur. Butchered in flesh, risen in spirit. Answer me, arytiss: why have you come?"
Alex closed his eyes, summoning his memories and thoughts, and revealed to Ansur the truth. The Elder Brain threatened to annihilate Baldur’s Gate and all of Faerûn, a monstrosity capable of enslaving the will of entire civilizations. He spoke of Balduran’s tragic fate—how the hero had fallen and, in the end, had been granted mercy from his mind flayer existence.
The dragon closed its eyes, exhaling a vaporous sigh that seemed to carry centuries of sorrow. “You wish for my help to vanquish the Elder Brain?”
Alex nodded solemnly.
The dragon's gaze lingered on him, its immense form still as stone. "I refuse," Ansur said, the finality in his voice echoing like a thunderclap. “There is no reason for me to protect this place. Not anymore. Balduran is dead. Our promise is broken.”
Alex's jaw tightened. "There is more at stake than your promise," he replied, his voice firm yet laced with desperation.
Ansur’s eyes softened for a moment, but then hardened again. "But..." The dragon’s voice grew heavier, like an ancient tolling bell. "Slay me in battle, and my soul is yours. Prove to me that you are worthy of such power."
As soon as the words left the dragon’s mouth, its corpse—once inert and lifeless—began to glow with arcane energy. Blue lightning crackled across its bones as the body rose into the air, magic pouring into its decayed form.
"What is happening?" Shadowheart yelled, gripping her spear and shield as the ground quaked beneath them.
"Ansur is waking up," Alex responded.
"A dracolich." Gale murmured.
Before anyone could respond further, the space around them shifted again. The rest of the party found themselves back in the chamber from which they had come, standing before the now-sealed iron gate.
Shadowheart rushed to the gate, slamming her shield into it. “Alex! Damn you!” she shouted, her voice filled with anger and fear. She pushed at the unyielding gate, frustration pouring out of her in the form of a swift kick.
The group stood there, stunned, as the faint echoes of battle began to rumble behind the gate. Alex had sent them away to face the undead dragon alone.
Alex stood resolute, his gaze locked on Ansur as the ancient dracolich loomed over him, its form both majestic and horrifying. Blue flames danced in its hollow eye sockets, their glow casting eerie shadows across the cavern. The air was heavy with the sharp tang of ozone, and the crackling hum of raw lightning filled the atmosphere. Ansur's tattered wings unfurled with a sickening crack, the currents of electricity surging across the ragged membranes, illuminating the darkness with flashes of light.
Alex tightened his grip on Phalar Aluve, the greatsword vibrating faintly in his hands, its magical song rising like a whisper of defiance. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, summoning the memories and skills of Abazigal, the master kensai who had wielded such a weapon with unparalleled precision. The knowledge and discipline of the kensai flooded his mind, sharpening his focus as the tension between them thickened.
Ansur’s voice rumbled like a storm on the horizon, reverberating through the cavern. "You stand before the fury of the skies, mortal. Show me your worth, or be erased."
Without warning, Ansur unleashed a devastating electric nova, the pulse exploding outward with blinding intensity. Alex barely had time to react, diving behind a jagged outcrop as the surge tore through the cavern, reducing nearby stalagmites to rubble. The air vibrated with residual energy as Alex emerged unscathed . He darted forward, his greatsword blazing with radiant light, and swung at Ansur’s exposed ribs. The blade struck true, the radiant energy biting into the dracolich’s decayed form. Ansur let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating like rolling thunder.
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The dragon reared back, its skeletal tail whipping toward Alex with incredible force. Alex managed to leap over the deadly strike, landing with practiced grace as Ansur launched itself into the air. The dracolich’s wings crackled with electric fury as it ascended, the currents growing in intensity. Hovering above, Ansur inhaled deeply before unleashing a colossal blast of lightning from its maw. The bolt tore through the cavern, its path obliterating everything in its way. Alex rolled to the side, the heat of the strike searing the air as it missed him by inches.
Alex countered with a burst of his own energy, launching himself upward with magical force to meet Ansur midair. He twisted mid-flight, bringing Phalar Aluve down in a devastating arc. The blade cleaved into Ansur’s shoulder, severing one of its skeletal wings. The dracolich roared in fury and plummeted back to the ground, its crash sending shockwaves rippling through the cavern. Alex landed deftly, his feet skidding across the stone as he prepared for the next assault.
Ansur rose, its remaining wing twitching as arcs of electricity surged through its body. The dracolich’s eyes flared, and the cavern was suddenly filled with blinding light as Ansur summoned a massive storm. Lightning bolts rained down in chaotic patterns, striking indiscriminately. Alex dashed through the chaos, his movements a blur as he dodged the deadly strikes.
Ansur surged forward with terrifying speed. Its claws, charged with electric energy, swiped at Alex, who parried with Phalar Aluve. The clash sent a shockwave through the cavern, sparks flying as the greatsword’s radiant energy clashed against Ansur’s raw lightning. Alex gritted his teeth, pushing back against the immense force.
The dracolich unleashed an electric explosion, the nova engulfing the cavern in a blinding flash. Alex was thrown back, slamming into a rocky wall. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, his body smoking. Yet, his resolve remained unbroken.
Drawing on the memories of Abazigal, Alex steadied himself. He launched forward, his greatsword glowing brighter than ever. He zigzagged through the storm of lightning bolts, closing the distance between him and Ansur. With a powerful leap, he drove Phalar Aluve into the dracolich’s chest. The blade pierced deep, releasing a burst of holy light that radiated through Ansur’s skeletal frame.
Ansur howled in agony but retaliated with a final act of defiance. The dracolich’s body surged with electricity, every bone and fragment glowing with unstable power, preparing to unleash a catastrophic discharge.
Alex knew he had only moments to act. Channeling his strength he twisted the blade and unleashed a pulse of radiant energy directly into Ansur’s core. The light collided with the unstable electricity, creating a massive explosion that shook the cavern to its foundations.
When the dust settled, Alex stood over the remains of Ansur. The dracolich’s skeletal frame lay in shattered ruins, its blue flames extinguished. Slowly, a glowing orb of electric energy rose from the remains, hovering before Alex. Ansur’s voice echoed faintly, a whisper on the wind. "You have bested me, arytiss. My power is yours. Wield it with wisdom."
Alex reached out, his hand closing around the orb. The essence of Ansur’s soul surged into him, a torrent of strength and responsibility.
The world warped again, the chaos of the battle dissolving into serenity. The jagged cavern walls faded, replaced by the soft golden hues of a tranquil beach. Waves lapped gently against the shore, and the horizon was painted in brilliant strokes of orange and crimson as the sun sank slowly into the water. The air smelled of salt and sea, carrying with it a peaceful stillness. This was a memory, a fragment of a time long past—the very day Balduran had departed Baldur's Gate, leaving his city and his closest companion behind.
Alex stood in the sand, but his form had shifted. His armor, his weapon—they were all gone. Instead, he looked exactly like Balduran, down to the warmth in his eyes and the way his hair caught the fading sunlight. He felt the weight of Balduran’s memories settle in his mind, emotions and thoughts not his own weaving into his being. This was a gift, a fleeting moment where Alex could be the man Ansur once knew, the man the dragon had pledged his life to protect.
Before him, Ansur’s form shimmered. No longer the decayed dracolich of death and destruction, he stood as he once was in life—a majestic dragon of reflective bronze, his scales gleaming like liquid metal in the golden light. His wings, once tattered, were whole again, tipped with a faint green that glimmered like emeralds. Yet, as Alex watched, Ansur’s form shifted once more. The dragon’s massive body began to shrink, reshaping itself into something more human—a half-dragon form. Still regal, but now humanoid in stature, Ansur approached slowly, his footsteps quiet against the sand.
The dragon's eyes, no longer filled with the unrelenting blue flame of undeath, glimmered with a mix of hesitation and hope. He stopped just a few steps away, his gaze fixed on Alex with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. Ansur’s voice trembled as he spoke, low and filled with raw emotion.
“Balduran?”
Alex’s breath hitched, the name resonating in his mind like an echo from a dream. He drew deeply from the memories that had been gifted to him, letting Balduran’s voice and mannerisms take hold.
“It’s me, Ansur,” Alex replied, his voice steady yet thick with emotion.
The dragon’s eyes widened, and for a moment, the weight of centuries seemed to lift from his shoulders. He stepped closer, his clawed hand reaching out tentatively, almost afraid that this was an illusion that would shatter if he touched it. When his hand finally rested on Alex’s shoulder, his grip was firm but trembling.
Alex—Balduran—lowered his head, the guilt of centuries pressing down on him. “I never meant to abandon you. But fate... it was cruel, Ansur. I was cruel to you.”
Ansur’s claws clenched slightly, his jaw tightening as he looked past Alex, out toward the endless sea. “I wanted to hate you. For so long, I clung to that hatred, thinking it would give me purpose. But all it ever brought me was pain. And yet, seeing you now...” His voice softened, and he closed his eyes. “I can’t hate you. I never could.”
The two stood in silence, the waves lapping at the shore the only sound between them. Finally, Ansur’s gaze returned to Alex, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were my friend, Balduran. My only friend. And even after all these years, you still are.”
Alex felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of Balduran’s memories making every word harder to speak. “And you were mine, Ansur. Always.”
The dragon’s form began to shimmer again, his edges glowing faintly as his body became translucent. The magic sustaining this fleeting moment was fading, and Alex knew what it meant. Ansur took a step back, his form now radiating a gentle light.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” Ansur asked, his voice steady but filled with sorrow.
Alex nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”
Ansur looked out at the horizon one last time, the sunlight catching his bronze form in a radiant display of beauty. He turned back to Alex, his expression one of peace. “Thank you. For giving me this moment. For letting me remember what it felt like to be whole. I think... I think I’m ready now.”
As the light around him grew brighter, Ansur’s form began to dissolve into golden motes, carried away by the breeze. His voice echoed softly, a final farewell.
“Goodbye, my friend. May the world remember you as I do.”
When the last of the light faded, Alex was left standing alone on the beach, the memory of Balduran’s friendship lingering in his heart. The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky awash with stars, and the sound of the waves carried with it a bittersweet peace.
As the light dimmed, Alex turned toward the path ahead, knowing the battle was over, but the war was far from won.
The heavy doors to the dragon's sanctum groaned open, revealing Alex stepping out, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of the chamber behind him. His expression was calm, though the weight of the battle lingered in his eyes. His friends were gathered just beyond the threshold, their faces a mixture of worry, irritation, and curiosity. The faint scorch marks behinde and the lingering crackle of residual energy in the air spoke volumes about the intensity of what had transpired within.
Karlach crossed her arms, her lips curving into a half-teasing, half-serious grin. "I kinda want to punch you a little," she said, her fiery energy bubbling just beneath the surface. "You stripped me of the chance to fight a dragon."
"A dracolich," Gale corrected, his tone matter-of-fact, though his eyes betrayed a scholar's envy at missing such an encounter.
"Whatever," Karlach shot back, rolling her eyes.
Shadowheart, though silent, stepped closer. Her expression was one of careful inspection, her gaze scanning Alex from head to toe. When she saw that he was unharmed, a faint sigh of relief escaped her lips, though her displeasure at being excluded was evident.
Astarion smirked, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate coat. "Personally, I’m quite grateful you left me out of that battle," he quipped. "Can you imagine what that lightning would have done to my hair?"
Lae’zel, ever direct, tilted her head in curiosity. "How was the fight?" she asked, her warrior’s instinct hungry for details.
Alex remained silent for a moment, then raised a hand. A purple mist coalesced in the air above them, swirling and shifting until it projected the battle in vivid detail: the cavern bathed in lightning, the clash of radiant steel against electrified bone, and Ansur’s final, defiant roar before his fall. The group watched in stunned silence as the battle unfolded before them, the scale and ferocity of the fight leaving even the most seasoned among them awestruck.
Karlach blinked, her grin returning, though this time with genuine admiration. "I changed my mind," she said, her voice tinged with awe. "I think Alex did the right thing."
Wyll chuckled, crossing his arms. "Why, love?" he teased. "Would have been too much for you?"
Karlach snorted, her fiery personality shining through. "Nah, but for you guys. One of those lightning breaths? It would’ve turned you all to ash."
The group broke into laughter, though the tension of what they’d witnessed still lingered. As they talked, Alex reached into his psionic vault, pulling forth two objects. The first was a sword, its radiant golden blade glowing faintly as if it held the sun’s essence. The second was a helmet, its burnished gold surface gleaming with an almost divine luster.
The group fell silent, their eyes drawn to the artifacts like moths to a flame. The sword seemed to hum softly, its intricate runes pulsating with a faint, steady rhythm. The hilt, dark and unyielding, curved into sharp, wing-like designs that exuded both elegance and lethality. The dragon-shaped pommel seemed almost alive, its gleaming eyes fixed forward as if daring the unworthy to wield it.
The helmet was no less breathtaking. Its golden surface shimmered with an ethereal light, the sharp ridges and upward-pointing spikes giving it an air of regal authority. The faceplate, partially open, hinted at shadows within, though a faint glow from inside spoke of the powerful magic that had protected countless warriors before.
Wyll’s eyes widened in recognition, his voice trembling with reverence. "That’s the Helm of Balduran... and the sword—The Giant Slayer."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. These were not just artifacts; they were relics of legends, symbols of heroism and sacrifice.
Alex stepped forward, holding the helmet out toward Wyll. For a moment, Wyll hesitated, his hands hovering just above the artifact as if unworthy to touch it. "You honor me," he said softly, his voice heavy with emotion as he finally took it. The helm seemed to glow brighter in his hands, as though recognizing its new bearer.
Then Alex turned to Lae’zel, offering her the sword. Her eyes widened, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the blade. When her fingers closed around the hilt, a faint surge of power rippled through her, and she gasped softly.
"You honor me as well," Lae’zel said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Her eyes met Alex’s, and for a brief moment, gratitude replaced her usual stoic demeanor. "I will wield it with pride—and with purpose."
As the group stood in quiet awe, Alex allowed himself a small smile.