A chunk of flesh sank to the bottom of the abyssal crater left by the detonation. The water around it was eerily still, heavy with the remnants of chaotic energy. Something glowed faintly at the center of the flesh, pulsing like a heartbeat. The surface of the chunk began to shift and writhe, slow at first, then with increasing speed. Gradually, Alex reformed, his body taking on a draconic appearance, though much smaller and leaner than before.
Alex looked around, surveying the devastation. Everything in the surrounding area had been obliterated by the explosion—an underwater wasteland stretching endlessly in all directions. The seabed was scarred with jagged craters, and the water was thick with particles of debris that shimmered faintly in the dim light. He flexed his claws experimentally, feeling the sharp sting of loss as his movements felt weaker, slower. Over 50% of his biomass was gone, consumed in the desperate struggle. His mind churned as he tried to assess the implications. How much stronger had the Nether Brain become? Could it already be beyond his ability to stop? And if it was, what hope did the others have?
"This isn't over," Alex muttered, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the silence. With a powerful flap of his wings, he propelled himself through the water, leaving a trail of faintly glowing particles in his wake as he headed toward the cave where his friends were waiting.
----------------------------------------
The underwater pool glowed faintly as Alex emerged, his human form dripping with seawater. The air in the cavern was tense, thick with the unspoken fear that hung over the group. His arrival immediately drew everyone's attention.
Shadowheart rushed to him and embraced him tightly. She could feel him shudder slightly in her arms, his usually steady presence now marked by exhaustion. Her arms tightened around him, as if trying to shield him from the weight of the world. She whispered, her voice carrying a blend of humor and concern, "I think I've had my fill of underwater misadventures." Despite her lighthearted words, her complexion was pale, her worry evident in the way her fingers lingered on his arm as she pulled away.
Mia, the sentient nautiloid ship, had left after safely delivering them to this refuge, leaving them to find solace and strength within their own ranks. Alex’s blue eyes scanned the cave , taking in every detail with precision. The cavern was dimly lit, its rough walls damp with condensation.
A woman gnome limped toward him, her wide eyes brimming with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Her voice trembled as she began to speak, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just—" she stammered, her emotions catching in her throat. "I can’t thank you enough. I was certain that place was to be my cold, wet tomb. You… you saved us. Saved us all. I thought it impossible, b-but you DID IT!" Her voice cracked as she paused, gathering her courage. "We were kept hostage to control our families in the Steel Watch foundry. To keep them building Gortash’s death machines." The woman hesitated, her hands trembling as she clasped them together. "Please. They need to know what happened here. They have no reason to obey Gortash anymore. If they rebel, it’ll put a dent in Gortash’s steel might."
Alex’s expression softened as he knelt slightly to meet her gaze. "I will help them," he said simply, his voice steady and reassuring.
The woman’s face softened, a weak smile appearing despite the weariness etched in her features. "Gond smiled on me this day. Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. She stepped back, her gaze lingering on Alex as though memorizing the face of her savior.
As the gnome retreated, Alex’s gaze shifted to Ulder Ravengard and Wyll, who stood locked in a heated argument. Ulder—stern and imposing even in this makeshift sanctuary—stood with his arms crossed, his face a mask of frustration. His voice carried through the cavern, sharp and unyielding.
"First, you cleave my heart in twain. Now you shatter it to pieces. What happened to you, Wyll? Look at yourself! You have horns, for gods’ sake. You are a monster!" Ulder’s words were edged with both anger and disappointment, his disciplined demeanor barely containing the storm within. His tone carried the weight of years spent upholding the law, each word a judgment. "To think my blood flows through those veins. Is this my fate—to be free from Gortash’s hell only to be trapped in yours?"
Wyll’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But it wasn’t anger that gnawed at him; it was shame. "It isn’t what you think. It never was," Wyll responded calmly, though his voice trembled faintly with the weight of his unspoken truths.
"You turned your back on me, on your city, to chase the she-devil and her power. It is exactly what I think," Ulder snapped, his anger barely restrained. His words carried a bitterness that cut deeply, the voice of a man betrayed not only by his son but by the ideals he’d spent his life upholding.
Nearby, Karlach appeared calm on the surface, but the flames dancing around her body betrayed her barely controlled anger. Her fists clenched, the heat around her intensifying with every passing moment.
"Maybe we should have left him behind," Astarion whispered to Lae’zel, his tone light but sharp.
"It would have defeated the purpose of our journey if we did," Lae’zel replied sternly, her voice lacking any trace of humor.
"It was a joke," Astarion explained, his smirk fading as he realized she hadn’t caught the jest.
Alex stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. As he approached Ulder and Wyll, his mind extended toward Ulder’s, and their thoughts intertwined. The Astral Prism in Shadowheart’s possession emitted an invisible aura, severing the connection between the tadpole in Ulder’s head and the Nether Brain.
Ulder’s eyes shot open in shock as he felt the unfamiliar sensation of Alex’s presence in his mind. "By Tyr’s wounds… I’m in your mind," he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and apprehension.
Alex projected the memory of Wyll’s recent encounter with Mizora into Ulder’s consciousness. The image of Mizora and her infernal sisters shimmered into view, their malevolent beauty contrasted by the agony etched into Wyll’s face. Ulder saw the impossible choice placed before his son, the unbearable weight of his sacrifice.
"No," Ulder murmured, his voice breaking. "My son…"
Alex deepened the connection, weaving together a tapestry of Wyll’s past. Ulder saw his son partnering with Mizora to defeat Tiamat’s cultists, a desperate move to protect Baldur’s Gate from an impending siege. He saw the perilous journey aboard the nautiloid, the treacherous path to Moonrise Towers, and the battle within the Astral Prism. Each memory unfolded with vivid clarity, the truth laid bare.
"Wyll." Ulder opened his mouth to speak, a deep sadness in his voice, his usual commanding presence softened by regret. "Everything I did, I did for Baldur's Gate. I did for you."
"Wyll has always been a faithful defender of Baldur's Gate." Karlach said firmly, her fiery eyes filled with sincerity.
Ulder cast his gaze to the ground, the weight of his decisions bearing down on him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "My son, you sold your soul to save Baldur's Gate—and I cast you out for it. You would have given yourself to Hell's eternal fires so I might walk free. By the gods, can you ever forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive," Wyll replied, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. "You wanted to protect the city. I only ever wanted the same."
"You are a better man than most," Ulder said, his voice thick with emotion, "and a better son than I deserve. I'll yet make amends, but my duty is first and foremost to the city and its people. There's something I must ask you." His tone turned grave, and the room seemed to hold its breath. "Returning from Elturel, I discovered the plans of the Absolute. I immediately realized the city couldn't defend itself against such an army. But I didn't despair because the city has a secret guardian, a wyrm that sleeps beneath. He can be called upon in times of great need."
The mention of Ansur caused a ripple of unease among the group. Everyone exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of hesitation and surprise.
"Should we tell him?" Astarion whispered to Gale, his voice barely audible.
"Let him finish," Gale replied, his tone grave.
Ulder continued, unaware of the silent exchange. "This is such a time. You've been trained in the ways of the great champions and proven to be one of them. The wyrm will answer your call. You must seek him."
"Father," Wyll began, carefully choosing his words, "we already met with Ansur."
Ulder's face lit up with hope. "Good! Then what are we waiting for? With his help, we would bring an end to the Absolute."
"Yeah, that would not be possible. Our friend Alex killed him," Astarion said with a dramatic sigh, the words landing like a hammer in the cavern.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Ulder's face froze mid-smile, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. His brow furrowed deeply as he turned his piercing gaze toward Alex. "You... killed Ansur?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and anger.
Alex rolled his eyes at Astarion’s blunt delivery. "Ansur is dead," Alex explained, his tone measured. "But he entrusted me to protect Baldur's Gate."
Ulder stepped closer, his sharp eyes scrutinizing Alex. "How would you compare with a legendary wyrm?" Ulder asked, his tone skeptical and tinged with frustration.
Alex’s psionic senses prickled, warning him of an unseen danger. He stiffened, his mind racing to process the sensation.
And then Ulder exploded.
In an instant, the world seemed to collapse in on itself. Alex, guided by his psionic powers, accelerated his perception. Time slowed to a crawl as the violent eruption began to unfold. Pieces of Ulder’s body scattered outward, suspended in the air like grotesque fragments of a shattered mosaic. The explosion radiated outward in a swirling maelstrom of fire, force, and debris, threatening to obliterate everything in its path.
Alex’s mind surged with power as he channeled his abilities, gathering an immense force of will. He extended his arms, and a shimmering, translucent barrier materialized around the epicenter of the blast. The barrier pulsated with energy, its surface crackling with psionic intensity as it absorbed the shockwaves of the explosion.
The sound was deafening, a cacophony of destruction that seemed to echo from every corner of the cavern. Yet within the barrier, there was an eerie silence, a surreal calm as Alex’s power held the chaos at bay.
The others stared in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the explosion trapped within the barrier. Shadowheart’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Karlach’s flames flared uncontrollably, a physical manifestation of her rising panic. Even Astarion, usually composed, stood frozen, his crimson eyes reflecting the fiery storm.
Slowly, the explosive force began to dissipate, the searing light dimming until only a faint, glowing ember remained at the heart of the destruction. Wyll let out a guttural cry as he collapsed to his knees , the barrier dissolving into the air like mist under the morning sun.
The cavern fell into a heavy silence.
Wyll turned to Alex, his gaze sharp and searching. His eyes darted between Alex and the smoldering remains of the explosion—the place where his father had stood moments ago. There was a pause, heavy and deafening, as if the air itself had been drained from the cavern. It was in this silence that Wyll's question, unspoken but blisteringly clear, hung between them.
Alex saw it, the unspoken plea, the hope that flickered and wavered like a dying flame. Wyll was asking him to step up and restore what had been lost. Alex’s expression darkened, his eyes avoiding Wyll’s as he spoke, his voice heavy with regret. “I can’t bring him back.” The words fell like lead. “For all my power, I… I can only revive one more person this year.”
Wyll’s face was unreadable at first, a mask of stoic calm that cracked ever so slightly as the meaning of Alex’s words settled in. “You’re not going to revive him no matter how hard I plead , are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The question wasn’t born of doubt; it was an accusation steeped in the bitter certainty of truth. Wyll had fought alongside Alex long enough to understand the way he thought, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
Alex didn’t flinch. “No,” he replied. The single word was a hammer, shattering what little hope remained.
Wyll’s composure snapped. His lips curled into a twisted smile, bitter and mocking. “You son of a bitch,” he said, the words laced with a venom that seemed to echo through the cavern. His voice rose, carrying his anguish with it. “You could have saved him! You could have…” His voice cracked, the anger giving way to the pain that roiled beneath. “He was my father! My last family! And you just… won’t?”
The group froze, the weight of his grief and fury pressing down on them like a suffocating wave. Shadowheart knelt beside Wyll, her hand resting on his trembling shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What comfort could she offer in the face of such loss?
Karlach knelt on Wyll’s other side, her fiery gaze softening as she reached out to hold his hand. Her touch was warm, steady, but it did little to still the storm raging within him. Gale approached, his expression somber, and placed a firm hand on Wyll’s shoulder. “We’re here for you, Wyll,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow against the enormity of the moment.
But Wyll wasn’t looking at any of them. His fury, his despair, was wholly focused on Alex. “You talk about protecting the city, about doing what’s necessary,” Wyll spat, his voice raw. “But what good is any of it if you can’t save the people who matter most?” He stood, his movements sharp, almost violent, as he stepped closer to Alex. “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? With your powers, your plans, your grand mission. But when it comes down to it, you’re just a coward. You’re afraid to make the hard choices, the real sacrifices.”
Alex’s jaw tightened, his eyes meeting Wyll’s with a steadiness that only seemed to stoke the flames of his anger. “I made a choice,” Alex said, his voice calm but unyielding. “A choice I didn’t want to make, but one I had to. This isn’t about fear, Wyll. It’s about the bigger picture.”
“The bigger picture?” Wyll echoed, his voice rising. “What picture is bigger than family? Than the people who stood by you, who bled for you? You don’t care about the city or its people. All you care about is your damn crusade.”
The tension between them was electric, the air crackling with unspoken words and barely restrained emotion. Wyll’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body trembling with the effort to contain his rage. “You’re not a hero,” he said finally, his voice low and trembling. “You’re just another tyrant, hiding behind your so-called purpose.”
Alex didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The weight of Wyll’s words hung between them like an endless chasm.
Finally, Wyll turned away, his shoulders slumping as the fire in him gave way to the crushing weight of loss. Karlach and Gale moved to his side, their presence a silent promise of support. Shadowheart lingered near Alex, her gaze searching his face for some sign of regret, of doubt, but his expression remained unreadable.
Alex’s eyes drifted back to the faint ember marking the site of the blast. His jaw clenched as he whispered, almost to himself, “I’m sorry.” But the words were swallowed by the cavern, unheard by anyone else, and perhaps, in the end, they weren’t meant to be heard.
----------------------------------------
Alex guided everyone through a winding tunnel carved into the stone. The air was damp, carrying the faint echo of dripping water, and their footsteps reverberated softly in the confined space. At last, the passage opened into a massive cave, its expanse illuminated by glowing moss and flickering torches. Minsc and Jaheira stood near the center, their postures alert. Minsc had Boo perched on his shoulder, and Jaheira’s sharp eyes softened only slightly when she saw the group approach.
“You should be more discreet the next time you summon us for help,” Jaheira said with a smirk, her tone teasing but edged with concern. “You nearly gave Boo a heart attack when your hound appeared from the shadows.”
Her expression changed the moment she caught sight of the party’s faces. The weariness and grief etched into their features spoke volumes, as did the slow procession of prisoners trailing behind Alex. She straightened, her sharp eyes scanning the group.
“Everyone, come here,” she called out, her voice clear and authoritative. “We have fresh food and water for you all. A healer will arrive shortly to attend to those in need.”
The prisoners hesitated, their steps faltering as if still unsure they were truly free. Slowly, they moved toward Jaheira and Minsc, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and tentative hope. Jaheira’s gaze remained fixed on Alex as he approached, his movements deliberate and heavy with unspoken weight.
“What’s with those faces?” Jaheira asked, her tone puzzled but cautious.
Alex stopped in front of her, his crimson eyes meeting hers. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.
“Ulder Ravengard is dead,” Alex said flatly.
Jaheira froze, her sharp features tightening as the words settled in. She blinked, as though trying to process the enormity of what she’d just heard.
“Shit,” she muttered, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “How did it happen?”
“Gortash planted a bomb in his body,” Alex explained, his voice steady but strained. “It detonated after we rescued him.”
Jaheira’s gaze shifted to Wyll, who stood apart from the group, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Her expression softened momentarily, pity flashing in her eyes. “Poor boy,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“What are we going to do now that the duke is dead?” she asked, though the question seemed directed more at herself than anyone else.
Alex’s eyes moved to Wyll, who stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. The young man’s gaze met Alex’s, and for a moment, the cavern seemed to hold its breath. Wyll’s eyes burned with a mix of rage and grief, and after a long, charged silence, he spat to the side and looked away.
Jaheira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What a fierce glare,” she said, her voice quieter now, tinged with both curiosity and concern. Her gaze shifted back to Alex. “He blames his father’s death on you, doesn’t he?”
Alex nodded slowly. “He does.”
Jaheira’s sharp eyes narrowed. “And are you at fault?” she asked bluntly.
Alex hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. The truth was a knot in his throat, tangled and difficult to unravel. Finally, he managed, “I… don’t know.”
Jaheira studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a deep breath, she spoke, her voice low and firm. “Let me give you some advice, Alex. Advice from someone who has walked in your shoes more times than I care to count.” Her gaze grew distant, her mind clearly sifting through memories that carried their own scars.
“Leadership means carrying the weight of choices others can’t bear,” she continued. “It means being hated when you’re trying to save them. It means making decisions that haunt you long after they’re made. But more than that, it means finding a way to keep moving forward. Because if you falter, the ones who depend on you will fall with you.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Alex’s gaze didn’t waver, though the weight of her message settled deep in his chest. He glanced again at Wyll, who stood apart from the group, his grief and fury a storm barely contained within him.
“You have a choice, Alex,” Jaheira said, her voice softening slightly. “You can face him, own your part in his pain, and try to mend what’s been broken. Or you can let the gap between you grow until it’s too wide to cross. But know this: a wound left to fester will poison everything around it.”
Alex’s jaw tightened, his mind churning with her words. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained somber.
Jaheira placed a hand on his shoulder briefly before stepping back. “For now, let them grieve. And you… find the strength to face what comes next.”
Alex turned his gaze toward the heart of the cave, where the faint glow of the moss cast long shadows on the stone walls. The silence was broken only by the quiet murmurs of the prisoners and the occasional shuffle of footsteps. He squared his shoulders, the weight of leadership settling over him like an unshakable mantle. Whatever came next, he would face it—but Jaheira’s words echoed in his mind, a reminder that some battles were fought not with swords, but with the courage to confront the consequences of one’s choices.