The holy sword, Phalar Aluve, pulsed with a soothing light as Alex plunged it into the ground. Its golden and silvery glow spread outward, forming a protective aura that pushed back the lingering darkness. The warmth of its radiance softened the pain in his body, dulled the grief clawing at his heart, but it could not erase the agony of the choice he was about to make.
Wyll coughed, crimson spilling from his lips as he clung desperately to the tattered remains of his life. The sacred aura of Phalar Aluve kept him from slipping into unconsciousness, but only barely. His body trembled, impaled wounds still leaking blood, yet he smiled at Alex, his teeth stained red.
"Choose, Alex," Wyll rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Who will it be? Shadowheart or Karlach? Your lover or your friend?"
Alex's entire body tensed as the weight of the words settled over him like an iron shroud. His monstrous form receded, his frame shifting back into that of a man. His hands clenched into fists as he stared down at Wyll, then at Shadowheart’s motionless form lying in a pool of her own blood. His stomach twisted painfully.
A choice.
A sacrifice.
He knelt beside Wyll, his hand pressing gently against his friend’s face. Wyll’s breath shuddered as his eyes rolled back, his body going limp. But Alex did not let him go. Power surged from his palm, golden and unwavering, knitting together torn flesh and sealing the wounds that should have claimed Wyll’s life.
“You should have let that bastard die,” Astarion hissed, his voice laced with venom as he rushed forward, carrying Lae’zel in his arms. Her body was pale, her eyes shut tight against the agony that wracked her. The blood loss had drained the fire from her, and Astarion looked as though he would rip apart the next person who so much as breathed in their direction.
Alex ignored him, his gaze locking onto the stump where Lae’zel’s right leg had once been.
“Place her next to me,” Alex commanded, his voice hoarse but steady. “And bring her severed leg so I can mend it.”
Astarion hesitated, his grip tightening on Lae’zel, but then he turned, moving swiftly to retrieve her lost limb. Once he returned, Alex placed a glowing hand over her injury. Threads of light wove together, knitting flesh and bone, muscle and skin, until the severed leg reattached, whole once more. Color slowly returned to Lae’zel’s face, her golden eyes flickering open.
Despite her usual steel demeanor, her gaze now was filled only with pain.
“Did you get it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alex lifted his hand, revealing the ember of Karlach’s soul, flickering and dimming with each passing moment. His fingers closed gently around it, and in an instant, the world around him shifted.
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A white void stretched in all directions. There was no sky, no ground, only endless light.
Karlach stood before him, smiling. The same smile that had warmed him during the darkest of times, the smile that had never failed to bring comfort. Seeing it now felt like a dagger to the heart.
The weight in Alex’s chest grew unbearable, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry, Karlach,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I… I failed you.”
Karlach stepped forward, placing a gentle hand under his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “It’s alright, Alex,” she said, her voice warm and full of understanding. “It was never your fault.”
He tried to speak, but the lump in his throat made it impossible.
“I know what you’re about to do,” Karlach said, her expression turning bittersweet. “You can bring me back. But… I don’t want you to.”
Alex’s breath hitched. “No. No, don’t say that. I can fix this.”
Karlach shook her head. “Shadowheart needs you more.”
His hands clenched into fists.
Karlach let out a small, sad chuckle. “We don’t always get what we want.” Her smile wavered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
She pulled him into a hug, squeezing tightly as though she never wanted to let go. Alex felt her body tremble against his, and then something warm, something wet, dripped onto his shoulder. Tears. Her tears.
“I wish we had more time,” she murmured. “But this… this is goodbye.”
Alex’s arms tightened around her. “No. There has to be another way—”
She stepped back, placing a hand over his heart. “You’ll make this right.”
Then, she turned away.
Her form wavered, glowing embers trailing from her like fireflies carried by the wind.
“Goodbye, Alex,” she said softly.
And then she was gone.
The ember in his palm flickered one last time, before vanishing into nothingness.
The world shifted, the ethereal glow of the afterlife fading as Alex found himself kneeling on the cold stone floor, Shadowheart’s lifeless body before him. The weight of Karlach’s final words bore down on his chest like an anvil. His hands trembled, still aching from the warmth of her last embrace, yet now they felt so unbearably cold. Tears slipped silently down his face, dripping onto the blood-streaked ground.
“Karlach is... gone,” he whispered, his voice hollow, barely more than a breath.
Lae’zel laid stiffly beside him, her warrior’s discipline fighting against the emotion she could not contain. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white from strain. “She died like a true warrior,” she said, her voice strong, yet trembling at the edges, betraying the sorrow she was desperate to suppress. But the slight quiver of her lip, the way her hands shook, told another story entirely.
Astarion turned his back on them, his usual arrogance absent. His shoulders shook, fingers clawing at his face as he tried to mask the quiet sobs escaping his throat. The ever-composed, ever-mocking vampire stood broken in the dim glow of Phalar Aluve’s lingering light.
Alex exhaled shakily and turned his grief-stricken gaze to Shadowheart. He reached forward, hands glowing with divine energy, placing them gently over her still chest. Warmth seeped into her cold flesh, the golden light of his spell weaving through the wound where Wyll’s rapier had pierced her heart. The magic worked its way through her body, mending the unseen damage, calling her soul back to where it belonged.
Shadowheart gasped, her body convulsing as life surged through her veins once more. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, her breath coming in ragged gulps. Her hands, unsteady, moved instinctively to her chest, feeling the phantom pain of where Wyll had run her through. The memory burned vividly—the cold steel parting her flesh, the numbing shock as her life drained away, the emotionless stare of the man she had once called an ally.
Her heart pounded as she turned her head, breath catching in her throat. There, at her side, was Alex, holding her hand, his face pale and tear-streaked. The moment she met his gaze, the edges of her lips curled into a weak but grateful smile. She knew without question that he had been the one to bring her back.
But then realization struck. Her body lurched forward as she bolted upright, the panic gripping her like a vice. “Karlach?” Her voice cracked, her hands clutching at Alex. “Where is Karlach?”
No one answered. The silence was suffocating, heavier than any words could have been.
Shadowheart’s breath hitched, her worst fears clawing their way to the surface. She searched Alex’s face desperately, but the pain in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Her grip on his hands tightened, nails digging into his skin as if grounding herself in reality, unwilling to accept the truth.
“No,” she choked out. “No, no, no. Tell me she’s okay, Alex.”
His throat tightened, and he could barely manage a shake of his head. “She’s gone.”
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Shadowheart’s hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sob that ripped from her chest. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in silent streams. Her body shook violently, the weight of the loss crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had faced death, had stared into the void, but nothing could have prepared her for this.
Astarion’s quiet sobs grew louder, his fingers digging into his face as if trying to tear away the grief itself. Lae’zel turned away, fists trembling, her breathing heavy and uneven.
Shadowheart collapsed into Alex’s arms, her cries muffled against his chest. He held her tightly, his own tears falling freely, his body shaking with the burden of the choice he had made. The choice that had cost them Karlach.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the world felt unbearably empty.
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"How?" Astarion murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His glassy eyes flickered between the floor and Wyll’s motionless form. His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his composure. "Wyll was supposed to be a good guy."
Alex met his gaze, his own expression heavy with sorrow. "When I first plunged into his subconscious to awaken his psionic potential, I sensed something lurking beneath his heroic facade—something I had never spoken about. A void. Darkness."
Shadowheart's breath hitched as she leaned forward, her fingers gripping the fabric over her chest as though she could still feel the wound Wyll had left behind. "Darkness? What do you mean?"
Alex exhaled slowly, his eyes shadowed with regret. "Wyll was a sick man. Not in body, but in spirit. All his life, he bottled up his pain, his rage, his disappointments—shoving them down, out of sight, so he could play the part of the noble hero. The Blade of Frontiers. But what he never realized was that those buried emotions were festering, rotting away at his soul. Every act of heroism, every sacrifice—it wasn’t out of pure altruism. It was an obsession. A desperate need to live up to the image of a hero his father crafted for him."
Astarion scoffed bitterly, his fangs flashing in the dim light. "So all of it was a lie? The charm, the noble speeches—he was just another fraud?"
"No," Alex said firmly, shaking his head. "He wanted to be that man. He tried. But he never realized that he wasn’t living for himself—only for an ideal someone else had forced upon him. And when his father died, it shattered him. The last thread holding his mask together snapped, and all that darkness, all that resentment, bled through."
Shadowheart lowered her head, her hands trembling in her lap. "And Karlach… she was his anchor. She kept him grounded. She loved him."
Alex’s chest tightened. "I had hoped—prayed—that Karlach’s love, our friendship, would be enough to keep that void from consuming him. That somehow, the warmth we surrounded him with would be enough to outshine the abyss inside him. But I was wrong."
Lae’zel, who had remained silent until now, let out a harsh breath. "There is no honor in allowing such weakness to fester. A warrior must face their demons head-on, not hide behind a mask until the rot devours them."
A heavy silence settled over them, each lost in their own thoughts. Astarion's hands loosened, but the tension in his frame remained. Shadowheart closed her eyes, whispering a prayer to Selûne under her breath. Lae’zel simply stared at Wyll’s body, her expression unreadable.
Alex looked at each of them, then down at his own hands—hands that had healed, hands that had destroyed.
No one spoke after that.
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The air grew thick with tension as the cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, each one armed and poised, their presence suffocating in its silent menace. At their lead stepped Viconia, her sharp gaze locking onto Shadowheart, a cruel smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Shadowheart’s grip on Alex’s hand tightened, her pulse quickening as the past she had fought so hard to leave behind loomed before her once more.
“They have already heard how you disgraced yourself before Lady Shar,” Viconia mused, gesturing towards the surrounding assassins. “How She marked you as an enemy. But it is quite another thing for them to witness it for themselves. I am very glad you decided to return. A cautionary tale such as yours will be studied by Lady Shar’s initiates for years to come.”
“Enough!” Shadowheart snapped, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “I have had enough. I don’t answer to you. Not anymore.”
Viconia’s smirk deepened. “Is that so?”
From behind Viconia, two floating mirrors emerged, their dark surfaces swirling with runes. Suspended within them were a man and a woman, their bodies bound, their features lined with years of suffering.
Shadowheart’s breath caught in her throat.
The elf man had a gaunt, weathered face, marked with faint lines that spoke of time and hardship. His sharp, angular features were framed by long, unkempt strands of dark hair, streaked with lighter shades where the dim light caught them. His pointed ears twitched slightly, as if straining to perceive some distant sound. His piercing green eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, searched the space before him, flickering with disbelief.
The human woman beside him bore the weight of time and sorrow etched into every wrinkle of her face. Her pale green eyes, though dulled by age, still held a quiet defiance. Ashen gray hair cascaded around her face in wild, unkempt waves, accentuating the deep creases of worry and pain. Her lips, thin and pressed into a firm line, trembled as she took in the sight before her.
Viconia turned back to Shadowheart, her voice dripping with mockery. “What’s the matter, Shadowheart? Do you not recognize your parents?”
Shadowheart’s knees nearly buckled beneath her.
The elf man gasped in disbelief, his body tensing against the bonds that held him. “It can’t be… another vile trick.” He winced as the runes on the mirror flared to life, sending a jolt of pain through him.
The woman, however, only stared, her lips parting as her expression softened into something infinitely more painful. “No… there is no trick. It’s her. Jenevelle. Jen. Our little girl.” A sad smile graced her lips, fragile yet full of longing.
“Moonmaiden’s grace…” the man whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “It is you.”
Viconia’s features twisted into a sneer as she lifted her mace, moving with cruel intent toward Shadowheart's father. But before the weapon could strike, it halted mid-air, wrenched from her grasp as if by an unseen force. It flew across the room and landed in Alex’s outstretched hand.
“I am here to get you out of here!” Shadowheart’s voice trembled, but there was no hesitation in her step as she took a faltering stride forward, her body still weak from being brought back to life.
The moment stretched between them, thick with the weight of years lost and wounds unhealed. For the first time in what felt like eternity, Shadowheart saw the reflection of her past not in the void of the Lady of Loss, but in the eyes of those who had never stopped longing for her return.
A deep growl reverberated through the chamber, a sound so raw and primal that it sent shivers down every spine. The air itself seemed to tremble under its weight. Every assassin in the room stiffened as their instincts screamed at them to flee, but their bodies refused to move. The source of this overwhelming dread stood at the heart of it all—Alex.
His presence had changed. It was no longer just power radiating from him but something far more sinister. A murderer's rage, an executioner’s malice, an entity of pure, unrelenting wrath. It was the feeling of standing in the eye of a storm, knowing that the next breath could be their last.
“I have had enough of you.”
His voice echoed through the hall, cold and absolute.
“DIE.”
It wasn’t a command. It was a judgment.
Every assassin in the room collapsed like marionettes whose strings had been violently severed. There were no screams, no cries for mercy—just the dull sound of bodies hitting the ground, lifeless before they even realized what had happened.
Viconia’s breath hitched as she watched her followers fall around her in an instant. Her eyes widened, and for the first time in her long life, true fear flickered across her face.
A dark spike erupted from the shadows and impaled her through the heart.
Her hands twitched, reaching instinctively for the jagged spear of darkness protruding from her chest. But she had no time. The strength in her limbs faded, her fingers falling limp at her sides. The High Priestess of Shar staggered, her gaze filled with disbelief.
“The power… to kill with a single word…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper before she crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Alex barely spared her body a glance before turning to Shadowheart, who clung to his side, still weak from her resurrection. He supported her as they made their way toward her parents.
Tears shimmered in Shadowheart’s eyes.
Two dark tendrils extended from Alex’s back, slithering through the air before latching onto the enchanted mirrors that imprisoned Shadowheart’s parents. Magic crackled and sparked as the shadowy tendrils siphoned the spell’s energy, unraveling its cruel grip.
The moment the enchantment faded, her parent tumbled forward, nearly collapsing to the ground. Shadowheart lunged forward, wrapping her arms around them in a desperate embrace. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her body trembling as years of pain, loss, and longing were finally released.
Her father, his hands weak but steady, lifted them to cup her face, his calloused fingers brushing against her tears. His voice cracked with emotion.
“All these years… That dream kept us going. That you would break free. No matter what they made you do to us, we knew you were still there.”
Shadowheart’s mother, exhausted but unwavering, spoke next. Her voice was gentle, filled with warmth despite the years of suffering. “I knew the dark woods wouldn’t frighten you. You were always such a brave girl.”
“She was.” Her father nodded. “And still is. You’ve saved us.”
Their gazes turned to Alex then, taking in the man who had stood beside their daughter through all of this, the man who had wielded power beyond comprehension to tear apart a temple of Shar itself. A silent understanding passed between them.
Shadowheart turned to Alex, her expression a mixture of relief and determination. “Let’s get out of this place.”
Alex gave a small nod but didn’t move. “There’s one more thing I need to do.”
With a flick of his wrist, the bodies of the fallen disappeared, absorbed into his psionic vault. Then, his gaze locked onto something further into the chamber. Among the remnants of the battle, a severed head and body lay still. Karlach.
Astarion, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart each took a last, agonizing glance at their friend before her remains vanished into Alex’s vault, stored away—not forgotten, but waiting.
Alex turned his attention to Wyll’s unconscious body, slumped lifelessly on the ground. Without hesitation, he slung Wyll’s form over his shoulder, his grip firm yet devoid of gentleness.
As they made their way toward the temple’s entrance, Alex suddenly stopped.
Raising his hand, a pulse of elemental power surged through his body, flowing down his arm and into the earth beneath them. The temple trembled violently, stone cracking and shattering as an unstoppable force began its destruction. The walls crumbled, and the ceiling above groaned under the strain.
Shadowheart’s parents watched in awe as the entire subterranean temple began to collapse, reduced to nothing but ruins beneath Alex’s wrath. Dust and debris filled the air, the very foundation of Shar’s temple wiped from existence.
Alex turned back to them, his expression unreadable, his body still radiating raw power. Then, with one last glance at the destruction behind them, he simply said, “Let’s go.”
And together, they stepped out into the light, leaving the darkness behind.