Firelia looked at Shadow, a man she had known for barely half a day, and found herself caught in a whirlpool of uncertainty and intrigue. His request lingered in her mind, like a question she couldn’t quite answer, its weight growing heavier with each passing moment. Should she help him and his companions gain access to the Upper City? It wasn’t an easy decision, yet every time her gaze flicked to him—to his poised demeanor, his piercing ruby eyes—she felt her resolve harden. Something about him exuded a confidence and a gravity she couldn’t ignore.
“I will help you,” she said at last, her voice steady but tinged with an air of caution. A small, enigmatic smile curved her lips as she added, “But I want something in exchange.”
Shadow’s crimson gaze remained locked on hers, curiosity flickering in their depths like embers. “And what would that be?” he asked, his voice smooth, calm, yet edged with intrigue.
She didn’t answer immediately, savoring the silence and the tension that hung between them. Her smile widened slightly, playful yet resolute. “I’ll tell you after you and your friends deal with the hags who have made their nest in my city. Eliminate them, and then we’ll talk.”
Shadow inclined his head in a measured nod. “As you wish, Lady Jannath.”
A short while later, Firelia, Lump, Halsin, and Shadow stood before the towering gates of Baldur’s Gate, an imposing barrier separating the Upper City from the rest of the sprawling metropolis. The Flaming Fist guard stationed there, a stout dwarf with a face weathered by years of duty, eyed them with suspicion. His gaze lingered on Halsin and Lump, their towering figures casting long shadows over the street. The dwarf’s grip tightened on the hilt of his weapon as he stepped forward, his brow furrowed.
“What’s this?” he asked gruffly, his voice rough like gravel. “Who are these… individuals?”
Firelia’s lips pressed into a thin line, her patience visibly fraying. “These are my personal guards,” she said, her tone sharp and authoritative. “Why are you wasting my time with pointless questions?”
The dwarf stiffened, his eyes widening as he recognized her stature. He bowed quickly, his earlier bravado replaced by nervous deference. “My apologies, Lady Jannath. I meant no disrespect.” Without another word, he turned to the gate, unlocking a smaller door set discreetly into its side and pulling it open with haste.
“Go on through,” he muttered, stepping aside.
Firelia swept past him without sparing a glance, her noble bearing radiating authority. Lump grumbled under his breath as he ducked to fit through the doorway, his hulking frame barely squeezing past the arch. Halsin followed with quiet grace, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings for threats. Shadow trailed behind Firelia, his expression unreadable, every step measured and deliberate. His movements spoke of discipline, but there was an underlying tension, a predator’s alertness that didn’t go unnoticed by Firelia. She glanced back at him more than once, her gaze lingering as though hoping he might draw closer. If Shadow noticed, he gave no sign, maintaining a respectful distance.
The Upper City revealed itself in stark contrast to the chaotic sprawl they had left behind. Elevated high above the docks and river, it was a realm of elegance and opulence. Broad, level roads paved with polished stone stretched out before them, lined with vibrant-colored buildings that gleamed in the sunlight.
The group’s attention was drawn to the Steel Watchers patrolling the avenues. The massive constructs moved with an unnerving precision, their metallic frames gleaming ominously as they scanned the area. One passed close by, its mechanical joints emitting a low hum, while another loomed on a distant corner.
Firelia led them forward with unflinching confidence, her steps purposeful but unhurried. Shadow remained a step behind, his demeanor that of a dutiful servant.
Their journey ended before a building marked with the symbol of a road leading into a sunrise—the emblem of Lathander. The structure was a temple, its tall spires reaching toward the heavens, adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes of renewal and hope. Firelia’s expression softened briefly as she approached the entrance, the familiar sight stirring something within her. The others followed in her wake, their footsteps echoing against the polished stone steps.
Inside, the temple was bathed in a warm golden light that filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the faint murmurs of prayer created a serene ambiance. Firelia paused, her gaze sweeping across the sacred space before she approached an elderly priest clad in white and gold robes.
Leaning close, she whispered to him, her voice too low for the others to hear. Shadow, however, caught the faintest fragments of her words, his sharp hearing picking up enough to understand. He withheld a sigh, his composure unbroken. The priest nodded solemnly and gestured for them to follow him. He led them to an adjacent chamber, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the dawn and the rising sun.
“Kneel,” the priest instructed, his voice calm but firm. The group complied, their movements reverent as they lowered themselves to the polished floor. Shadow’s crimson eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion as he knelt, his sharp mind already calculating their next move. Firelia’s gaze lingered on him briefly before she, too, bowed her head.
The priest stepped forward with an air of authority that demanded silence. His piercing gaze swept over Shadow, Lump, and Halsin as they knelt on the polished stone floor of the temple’s adjoining room. The golden light streaming through the stained-glass windows bathed the room in an ethereal glow, casting long shadows that danced on the walls and making the atmosphere feel charged with divine energy.
“Before we proceed,” the priest began, his voice firm and unwavering, “I will cast a spell to ensure the truth of your words. Know this—if you attempt to deceive me, the consequences will be swift and severe.” His eyes lingered on each of them, his scrutiny as sharp as a blade. The weight of his authority pressed down like a heavy mantle, leaving no room for doubt or resistance.
Shadow remained composed, his crimson eyes meeting the priest’s with calm intensity. Lump shifted slightly, his massive form fidgeting as he muttered something inaudible under his breath. Halsin inclined his head in a gesture of assent.
The priest raised his hands, fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air as he chanted in a low, melodic tone. The language of the incantation was ancient and resonant, a hymn that seemed to weave itself into the fabric of the room. A golden aura began to radiate from his hands, expanding outward until it enveloped Shadow, Lump, and Halsin like a warm, heavy blanket. The divine energy seeped into their very beings, leaving no room for falsehood.
“Now,” the priest said, lowering his hands, the glow still lingering in the air, “state your names.”
“Shadow,” Shadow responded smoothly, his tone measured and deliberate.
“Lump,” the disguised ogre grumbled, his voice low and gravelly, crossing his muscular arms over his chest as if to shield himself from scrutiny.
“Halsin,” the druid answered, his deep, resonant voice echoing in the chamber with unshakable confidence.
The priest’s expression remained inscrutable as he nodded, his gaze flickering briefly with divine insight. “Why are you accompanying Lady Jannath?” he asked, his tone sharp and probing, as though his question were a scalpel meant to dissect their intentions.
Shadow inclined his head slightly, his expression betraying neither arrogance nor fear. “We are hunting a group of monsters that have taken refuge in this part of the city,” he said, his voice steady, each word chosen with precision. “We needed her assistance to gain access to these areas.”
The priest’s eyes glowed faintly as he scrutinized Shadow’s words, his divine magic seeking any trace of deceit. After a tense pause, he gave a curt nod. “You speak the truth.”
Lady Jannath, who stood slightly to the side, observed the exchange with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Her fingers absently toyed with the delicate fabric of her emerald gown as she studied the interplay between the priest and Shadow, her mind racing with unspoken questions.
The priest’s gaze turned sharper, settling once more on Shadow. “And what are your intentions with Lady Jannath?” he asked, his voice like the tolling of a heavy bell, echoing through the chamber.
For the first time, Shadow hesitated. The silence stretched, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air. His crimson eyes flickered with a subtle hint of thoughtfulness as he carefully considered his response. He could feel Firelia’s gaze piercing him, her curiosity as palpable as the divine energy lingering in the room.
Finally, Shadow spoke, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “My intentions are to protect her,” he said, each word imbued with sincerity and depth. He paused, his gaze meeting Firelia’s for a moment that felt impossibly long. “And to earn her trust.”
Firelia’s heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, the simplicity of his statement striking a chord within her. There was something in his tone—an unpolished sincerity that felt both vulnerable and magnetic. It deepened her intrigue, filling her with questions she couldn’t yet voice.
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The priest’s eyes narrowed as he examined Shadow’s response, the golden aura around them pulsing faintly to confirm its truth. “Very well,” he said at last, his voice heavy with meaning. “You may rise. The Morninglord finds no falsehood in you.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” the priest said, addressing the group as a whole. His gaze lingered on Shadow as he added, “May the gods watch over your endeavors. You will need their blessing for the trials that lie ahead.”
As they left the chamber, Firelia found herself walking closer to Shadow, her thoughts a swirl of conflicting emotions. Her curiosity about this enigmatic man only grew stronger with every passing moment, his composed demeanor and subtle gestures leaving her both unsettled and captivated. Shadow, for his part, remained poised, though there was a faint, almost imperceptible softness in his expression when he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Shadow’s voice was calm yet commanding as he turned to Firelia. His ruby eyes glimmered faintly in the sunlight filtering through the ornate windows of the temple. “Lady Jannath, might I ask you to guide us to your residence? I have something… important to discuss with you.” His tone, deliberate and measured, seemed to carry an underlying weight, a significance that made Firelia’s breath hitch.
For a fleeting moment, Firelia’s cheeks flushed a delicate rose. The words hung in the air, their ambiguity leaving her mind to wander into unintended territories. Something important? Alone? In her home? She quickly averted her gaze, fidgeting with the folds of her gown as she nodded. “Of course, Shadow. Please, follow me.” Her voice was steady, but her heart raced beneath her composed exterior.
Grandeur unfolded before them as they set foot in the residential area of the upper city where the most influential families of the city resided. Wide streets paved with polished stone stretched ahead, lined with luxurious mansions adorned with vibrant flowers and intricate ironwork gates. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of blooming roses from nearby gardens. The group’s presence, particularly the towering Lump and the commanding Halsin, drew curious glances from passersby. Their mismatched appearances were an oddity in this pristine, aristocratic part of the city.
Firelia led the way with a practiced grace, her dress flowing elegantly as her heeled shoes clicked softly against the stone path. Shadow walked just a step behind her, his every movement calculated and purposeful. He kept his gaze forward, though he could feel her glancing back at him occasionally. Lump and Halsin followed closely, their presence towering and protective.
Finally, they arrived at the Jannath mansion. The estate was a sprawling masterpiece of architecture, its alabaster walls adorned with ivy that climbed toward the intricate carvings of mythical creatures along the roofline. The grand double doors, polished to a gleaming shine, bore the sigil of the Jannath family—a gilded by a stone with a gem inside . The estate’s servants, who had been going about their daily duties, froze in place at the sight of their lady accompanied by such an unusual entourage.
“Lady Jannath,” one of the senior servants, an elderly butler with a perfectly tailored uniform, hurried to greet her. His weathered face betrayed a flicker of concern as his eyes darted to Shadow, Lump, and Halsin. “Is everything alright?”
Firelia’s voice carried a note of authority as she addressed him. “Everything is fine, Eldred. These are my… guests. Ensure that the staff tend to their needs promptly.”
Eldred bowed slightly, though his eyes lingered on Shadow for a moment longer before he turned to relay the orders. Shadow remained silent, his crimson gaze scanning the mansion’s grandeur with an air of detachment.
The group entered the mansion’s foyer, a breathtaking space dominated by a grand chandelier that bathed the room in a soft golden light. The marble floors reflected the intricate patterns of the stained-glass windows, and the walls were adorned with oil paintings of Jannath ancestors. The servants scurried about, their movements efficient yet wary, stealing glances at the guests.
Firelia led them through the grand hall, her steps quickening slightly as they neared a side corridor. Finally, she stopped before an intricately carved wooden door. “This is my private study,” she said, her voice a touch quieter. She gestured for Lump and Halsin to wait outside. “Shadow, if you would…”
Shadow inclined his head and followed her inside. The room was intimate and warm, lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes. A large desk stood near the window, and a plush seating area occupied one corner. The scent of aged parchment and faint traces of lavender hung in the air.
Firelia closed the door behind them, her heart pounding. “So, what is it you wish to discuss?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the inexplicable tension that seemed to fill the room.
Shadow turned to face her, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding. For a moment, he didn’t speak, instead allowing the silence to stretch, amplifying the weight of the moment. Firelia felt her breath hitch again, her imagination running wild as she searched his face for any hint of his thoughts.
“Lady Jannath,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, carrying an edge that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Summon your most trusted servant. I have… suspicions that need to be confirmed.”
Firelia blinked, startled by the sudden request. Her brows furrowed slightly, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
“Shadow, may I ask why you need this?” she echoed, her tone tinged with hesitation.
Shadow’s expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for argument. “You may ask,” he said smoothly, “but I cannot provide the answer you seek. Not yet. Just trust me—this is important.”
The ambiguity of his words only deepened her unease, but she nodded reluctantly. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pulled the silk cord hanging near the door, summoning a servant. Moments later, Marten, a steward who had faithfully served the Jannath family for decades, entered the room. He was a middle-aged man with a neatly pressed uniform, his posture deferential and professional, as always.
“You called for me, my lady?” Marten inquired, his tone calm but curious.
Firelia gestured toward Shadow, trying to mask her rising apprehension. “Yes, Marten. This is Shadow. He has something to discuss with you. Please, answer his questions truthfully.”
Shadow stepped forward, his tall figure and commanding presence dwarfing the smaller man. The air in the room grew colder, and an unspoken weight seemed to settle over them. Before Marten could fully process what was happening, Shadow’s hand lashed out with inhuman speed, wrapping tightly around the servant’s neck. With effortless strength, Shadow lifted Marten off the ground, his fingers pressing into the man’s throat like a steel vice.
Marten’s eyes widened in shock and terror as he gasped for air, his legs kicking weakly. “M-my lady! Please—help me!” he croaked, his voice choked and desperate.
Firelia’s breath caught, and she instinctively took a step forward, her voice trembling with equal parts fear and outrage. “Shadow! What are you doing? Release him this instant!” she demanded, her hand reaching toward his arm but hesitating to touch him.
Shadow turned his head slightly, his expression as cold and impenetrable as iron. “Lady Jannath,” he said evenly, his voice cutting through her panic like a blade, “this man is not who he appears to be. He is a spy—a loyalist to Gortash and a servant of Bane.”
The accusation struck Firelia like a thunderclap. Her knees felt weak as she staggered back, her hands trembling. “A spy?” she repeated, disbelief etched into every syllable. “That’s impossible! Marten has been with my family for years—decades! He’s one of my most trusted stewards.”
Shadow’s unyielding gaze remained fixed on her. “Have you ever wondered, Lady Jannath, how certain details of your family’s private affairs found their way into the hands of your enemies? Or why your estate has been the subject of targeted scrutiny in recent months? This man,” he said, shaking Marten slightly for emphasis, “is the answer.”
Marten squirmed in Shadow’s iron grip, his face reddening as he clawed futilely at the hand constricting his throat. “L-lies!” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “My lady… you know me… you know I would never…”
“Silence,” Shadow commanded, tightening his grip just enough to stop Marten’s protests without causing him harm. He then turned his sharp gaze back to Firelia. “If you require proof, allow me to provide it.”
With his free hand, Shadow tore open the collar of Marten’s uniform, exposing the man’s chest. There, etched into his skin, was a sinister symbol—a black, jagged mark unmistakably representing Bane, the dark god of tyranny.
Firelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as the sight confirmed Shadow’s claims. “No…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Marten… how could you? After everything my family has done for you?”
Marten’s expression shifted from fear to defiance as he glared down at her. “You’re a fool, my lady,” he spat, his voice venomous despite his predicament. “Gortash is the future. Bane’s will is absolute. Your family’s power is nothing but prize to be taken in Bane's name.”
Firelia’s heart clenched at his words, the betrayal cutting deep. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I trusted you,” she said, her voice breaking. “My family welcomed you into our home… and this is how you repay me , us ?”
Shadow other hand moved swiftly, pressing firmly against Marten’s face. The servant’s muffled scream barely escaped before his body went limp, his eyes rolling back into his head. His limbs sagged lifelessly as Shadow eased him to the ground with surprising care.
The room was silent, save for Firelia’s sharp intake of breath. She stood frozen, her hands trembling at her sides. The color drained from her face as she stared at Marten’s unconscious form sprawled across the luxurious rug of her study. Her lips parted, but no words came out, only a faint, shaky breath.
“He’s just unconscious,” Shadow said calmly, his deep voice cutting through the tense silence. His crimson eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, his commanding demeanor softened. “I assure you, Lady Jannath, no permanent harm has come to him.”
But Firelia did not immediately respond. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breaths shallow as she tried to process what had just transpired. This man—this stranger she had known for less than a day—had exposed a truth so harrowing it left her reeling. Marten, her loyal steward, the man she had trusted for decades, now lay at her feet as an exposed spy. And Shadow… His actions, though decisive and calculated, carried a weight that unsettled her deeply.
She finally managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.” Her gaze shifted from Marten to Shadow, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, confusion, and reluctant trust. “You say he’s a traitor… that he’s a servant of Gortash… How did I not see it?”
“It’s not your fault,” Shadow said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Deception is the tool of those who follow Bane. They thrive in shadows, hiding their true intentions behind masks of loyalty and service. Marten played his part well.”
Firelia’s shoulders slumped as she looked down at Marten’s unconscious form, the reality sinking in like a heavy weight on her chest. “He’s been with my family for so long,” she murmured, more to herself than to Shadow. “He knew my parents. He helped raise me. How could he—” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, pressing her trembling fingers to her lips as tears welled in her eyes.
Shadow took a step closer, his movements deliberate, as though mindful not to startle her. “Betrayal from within cuts the deepest,” he said quietly. “But it’s also the most dangerous. Had he remained undetected, he could have done far worse.”
Firelia’s hands dropped to her sides, her fingers curling into fists as anger began to surface beneath her grief. “I trusted him,” she said, her voice trembling but gaining strength. “My family trusted him. And he used that trust to undermine us… to undermine me.” She looked up at Shadow, her green-gray eyes blazing with a mix of pain and resolve.