Shadowheart’s mother and father stood still, their gazes fixed on the horizon as the rising sun pierced through the mist that veiled the city streets. The golden light painted the buildings in soft hues of amber and gold, a warmth neither of them had felt in what seemed like an eternity.
"How long has it been since we last saw the sun?" her father murmured, his voice thick with emotion, as if speaking the words aloud would solidify the moment’s reality.
Shadowheart turned her gaze to him, her heart tightening with guilt. A pained expression flickered across her face, a torment she had buried deep within herself. Memories surfaced, unbidden—memories of the torment she had inflicted upon them, the pain she had caused in the name of Shar. And yet, no matter how much suffering they endured, they had never stopped looking at her with love. Even through blood and agony, their smiles had never faded.
A warm hand intertwined with hers, grounding her. She startled slightly, pulling away from the past, and turned to see Alex beside her, his blue eyes filled with quiet understanding. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances—he simply held her hand, as if silently telling her that she wasn’t alone.
She looked at him for a long moment, searching his face, and then, slowly, a fragile smile bloomed on her lips. Everything that had led to this moment—her freedom from Shar, the impossible reunion with her parents—it had all been because of him. A man who had no reason to help her, no obligation to carry her burdens, and yet, he had done so without hesitation. He had given up so much for her, for them.
Before she could say anything, the world shifted around them, the familiar sensation of teleportation wrapping around her like a fleeting embrace. In an instant, they found themselves standing on the upper floor of the Elfsong Tavern.
Her parents looked around, bewildered by the sudden change in location. But the others—Astarion, Lae’zel—barely reacted, too accustomed to Alex’s abilities to be fazed by them. Astarion gently lowered Lae’zel onto a bed, his usual smirk absent as he focused entirely on her comfort. She grimaced but said nothing, her exhaustion evident.
Alex turned his attention back to Shadowheart, his gaze flickering briefly to her parents before settling on her.
“Go speak with them,” he said softly, his voice warm with encouragement. “They’ve waited long enough.”
Shadowheart swallowed hard, nodding curtly before stepping forward. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but Alex was already gone.
She hesitated before her parents, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on her chest. Her mother, still weakened, lowered herself onto a chair with her father’s help. They both looked up at her, waiting, their expressions filled with love and patience.
Her throat felt dry, her voice failing her for a moment. She struggled for words, her heart pounding in her chest. Finally, she managed to whisper, “What happens now?”
Her mother smiled gently, though there was a weariness in her eyes that had not been there before. “Only you can decide that, my love,” she said softly. “Your father and I have returned to a world that has changed, a world still in turmoil. And I sense that you have a part to play in setting things right.”
Shadowheart furrowed her brow, confused by her mother’s certainty. “How do you know that?”
Her father gently took her mother’s hand in his own, his touch reverent. “Your mother has a gift,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “She has always had glimpses of the future, even before…” He trailed off, unwilling to dredge up the horrors of their past. “She saw you coming for us, saving us. That is why we never gave up, no matter what they did to us.”
Shadowheart’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at her mother, truly looked at her, and saw something she had never noticed before—a quiet strength, a resilience that had carried her through a lifetime of suffering.
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she fell to her knees before them, reaching for their hands, holding them tight. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words choking in her throat. “For everything.”
Her father squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Her mother stroked her hair gently, just as she had when Shadowheart was a child. “You are our daughter,” she murmured. “Nothing—no god, no past, no shadow—will ever take that from us.”
The sunrise’s light streamed through the windows of the Elfsong Tavern.
Shadowheart's mother inhaled deeply before continuing, her voice weary but filled with warmth. "When all is said and done... we can be a family again."
Shadowheart's heart clenched as panic surged through her when her mother began to cough violently. She moved closer, her hands hovering over her mother’s frail frame as she struggled to calm herself.
"How do you feel?" Shadowheart asked once the coughing subsided, her voice tight with concern.
Her mother offered a small smile. "Better, in a sense..." She paused, her fingers tightening around her husband's hand as if anchoring herself. "But you must prepare yourself, daughter. Shar took a great deal from me... and time will eventually take the rest." Her gaze softened as it drifted to her husband, the man who had been her rock for so many years. "Sooner than your father would like, perhaps."
Shadowheart flinched at her mother’s words, the weight of them settling deep into her chest. Her father was an elf, his lifespan stretching far beyond that of a human. The years had barely touched him, but her mother… Time had not been as kind to her.
Her mother continued, her voice quieter now. "I... I knew this, even when I first fell for your father. He is destined to outlive me, as are you."
"Emmeline..." her father murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Tears welled in Shadowheart's eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. Her mother, despite her trembling hands, reached up to wipe them away one by one.
"Shed no tears," she whispered. "We've been blessed with a second chance – and who is to say how long we’ll have? More than I ever hoped for, certainly." She smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. "We must not live in fear of loss. That is not truly living."
"Is there anything I can do?" Shadowheart asked, her voice breaking under the weight of her grief.
Her mother cupped her cheek. "Just one thing—take care of yourself. I know you have more struggles yet to come, but I do not want to lose my daughter so soon after I’ve found her again."
Shadowheart swallowed hard and nodded, turning her gaze to her father. He stood beside his wife, his expression unreadable but heavy with emotion.
"Let me help your mother into a bed, and we can speak more," he said gently, before guiding his wife to a resting place. He eased her down onto the mattress with great care, brushing her silvered hair back before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Within moments, her breathing slowed, and she fell into a peaceful slumber.
He lingered for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her cheek before he turned back to Shadowheart.
"Jen—I mean, Shadowheart, forgive me. What do you wish to ask?" he said, his voice quieter, more uncertain.
Shadowheart hesitated only a moment before speaking. "What really happened that night in the woods, when I was taken?"
Her father exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing as he prepared to recount the painful past. "You were to come of age that night—left alone in the woods, using only Selûne’s guidance to find your way back to us. But you were not alone in the woods. We caught a Sharran spy near the village and learned that his accomplices sought to abduct you. I had to find you—to bring you home—and I had to do it quickly. In my haste, I made a terrible mistake."
His gaze dropped, shame flickering in his eyes. "I took on my wolf-form to cover the ground more quickly. It worked—I followed your scent and reached you before the Sharrans could. But when I found you, you did not see your father rushing to save you. You only saw a wolf, hunting you in the darkness. I should have told you of my curse before that night. If I had, everything would have been different."
Regret dripped from every word, his pain evident in the way his hands curled into fists. "You panicked, and before I could explain, the Sharrans found us. Father and daughter. Wolf and prey. When I awakened, you were gone, but your mother was with me. They were spiriting us away to the city, hidden and bound. That should have been the day you came of age, the day you walked into the Moonmaiden’s light. Instead, the Sharrans used us to teach you a different lesson. A painful one."
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Shadowheart felt her breath hitch as the memories surged forward—the countless nights spent in darkness, the torment, the loneliness. But now, hearing the truth, understanding the sacrifice her father had made, the pieces of her past fit together in a way they never had before.
Shadowheart’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists as a sharp pang of guilt pierced through her chest. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet her father’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together. “This would never have happened if I hadn’t been frightened… if I hadn’t run.”
Her father shook his head, his expression soft yet unwavering as he cupped her cheek with a calloused hand. The warmth of his touch sent a tremor through her, grounding her in the moment.
“You must not blame yourself,” he murmured. “You were a child. Your mother and I were supposed to protect you.” He exhaled, a weary sigh laden with years of regret. “We grew complacent—underestimated the depth of Shar’s bitterness, the fanaticism of her followers. But perhaps this was always meant to be. Perhaps the Moonmaiden’s path was merely longer for you than we knew.”
A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the faint rustling of the wind against the tavern walls.
Shadowheart swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You’re not upset, are you? About my name?”
Her father smiled, a gentle, reassuring thing. “A name is nothing. Your happiness is what matters. Just… forgive your father the occasional slip of the tongue. I will adapt, given time.”
Shadowheart let out a shaky breath, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening. “You mentioned something about a curse. Are you a lycanthrope? Does that mean I am, too?”
Her father chuckled softly. “Well, that depends—do you find yourself more hirsute at certain times? Craving warm flesh?” He paused, then held up a hand. “Actually, no—spare your father the answer to that.” His humor faded, replaced by quiet contemplation. “I am a lycanthrope, but your mother is not. It was a toss of the coin to determine if you inherited that side of me. If you have not changed after all this time, I believe you are safe.”
He hesitated for a moment, then continued. “Your mother and I can wait until you prevail—and I know you will. Beyond that, your mother will need my care—and yours too, if you wish to join us.” A wistful smile graced his lips. “Somewhere quiet, close to nature. Where the sun can warm us, and the moon can watch over us as we sleep.”
Shadowheart’s heart clenched at the thought. A life of peace, after everything. It felt like a dream she dared not believe in.
But her father’s expression suddenly shifted, his gaze snapping to her mother, still resting on the mattress. His smile faded, replaced by growing concern.
“Emmeline?” he called, rushing to her side.
Shadowheart’s breath caught as she hurried to join him. He leaned over, pressing his ear to her chest, his hands shaking.
A moment passed. Then another.
His voice broke. “Her heart… has stopped beating.”
The world tilted beneath Shadowheart’s feet, her knees giving out as she crumpled beside her mother’s still form. A hollow, aching void swallowed her whole as she stared at the serene expression on her mother’s face—peaceful, as if she had simply drifted off into a quiet slumber.
“No… no, no, no,” Shadowheart whispered, her hands trembling as she reached out. “Not now. Not after everything.”
Her father clutched his wife’s lifeless hand, his own shoulders shaking, though he made no sound. His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, a final act of devotion.
Tears blurred Shadowheart’s vision as a choked sob escaped her lips. Her mother—so strong, so resilient—had held on just long enough to see her daughter safe, to share one last moment of warmth before slipping away.
Shadowheart buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, her sobs muffled against the worn fabric of her tunic. “Please,” she whispered, though she knew there was no answer coming. “Please don’t leave me.”
But the only response was silence.
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Alex stood atop a high hill, overlooking the Emerald Grove. The place where it had all begun. The place where he had met Wyll and the others, where their journey had truly started. Now, the wall of thorns had long since receded, leaving the grove open . Below, druids moved about, tending to the land and each other, their movements slow, peaceful—blissfully unaware of the burden Alex carried in his arms.
He lowered his gaze to Wyll, his once-proud form now unrecognizable. The changes Alex had wrought ran deeper than flesh; Wyll’s very identity had been reshaped. His memories erased, his past obliterated. A new face, a new life, free of the darkness that had consumed him. Free of the choices that had damned him. Yet, as Alex looked at him, something inside his chest tightened.
He had wanted to kill Wyll for what he had done—for Karlach, for Shadowheart, for all the pain he had inflicted. But when the moment came, when he had the power to end him, he couldn’t do it. No matter how much rage boiled within him, it never burned hot enough to snuff out the embers of their friendship. So instead, he had erased him. And in doing so, he had killed the Wyll he once knew.
The world shifted, reality bending at his will, and in an instant, he stood before the great wooden gate of the grove. He knelt, gently placing Wyll upon the ground, his expression unreadable. A final act of mercy. A final farewell.
He raised a fist and knocked, the sound echoing into the still air. Behind the gate, he sensed the minds of those within stirring, a cluster of thoughts converging as footsteps approached. They would find him soon. They would take him in. Give him a life he no longer remembered, a purpose he no longer knew he had lost.
Alex stepped back, his eyes lingering on Wyll one last time. His friend. His enemy. His burden. The man who had stood beside him, who had betrayed him, who had broken him, and whom he, in turn, had unmade.
"Goodbye, my friend," Alex whispered, his voice barely audible against the wind. "May you find peace this time."
And then, like a shadow at dusk, he disappeared, leaving no trace that he had ever been there at all.
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Alex appeared atop Ramazith’s Tower without a sound, the sudden distortion of space sending a ripple of arcane energy through the air. Rolan, Rivalen, Gale, and Lorroakan startled at his abrupt arrival, their conversations halted as they turned to face him. The flickering light of floating candles cast long shadows across the chamber, illuminating the sharp intensity in Alex’s eyes.
He offered the wizards a curt nod before stepping forward, his gaze locking onto Gale’s.
“There’s something you need to know,” Alex said, his voice carrying an unusual weight.
Gale hesitated. There was something in Alex’s eyes—something raw, something that sent an uneasy shiver down his spine. He swallowed hard and gave a slow nod. “Excuse us,” he murmured to the others, before following Alex to a lower level of the tower, away from prying ears.
“What happened?” Gale asked, concern laced in every syllable. He could see it now—something terrible had occurred. Something that had shaken Alex to his core.
“Give me your hand.”
Gale hesitated, then obeyed. The moment their hands touched, his mind was flooded with images—memories not his own, yet so vivid, so painfully real that they might as well have been.
Wyll’s betrayal. The coldness in his eyes as he drove his rapier into Shadowheart. Karlach’s last smile, the warmth of her embrace before she drifted into nothingness. The tear-streaked reunion with Shadowheart’s parents. The suffocating grief. The unbearable weight of loss.
Gale gasped, his breath hitching as his knees buckled. A shaking hand flew to his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if doing so could block out the horror unfolding in his mind. But the images remained, etched into his very soul.
“No…” The word came out broken, strangled. He felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs, like the world had tilted on its axis. Karlach—her joy, her laughter, her fierce, unyielding spirit—was gone. Just like that.
He collapsed onto a nearby chair, his body trembling under the weight of it all. He had fought beside her, laughed with her, dreamt of a future where they all emerged from the shadows of war and found peace. And now—now she was nothing but a memory, a wound that would never fully heal.
Alex stood before him, silent, watching. He had nothing left to say—no words could mend what had been broken. A heavy silence settled between them, thick as smoke, suffocating as grief.
“What do we do now?” Gale’s voice was barely above a whisper. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t.
Alex didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t know.
The silence stretched, a leaden weight pressing down on them both. The world outside moved on, indifferent to the loss they carried.
Finally, Alex spoke. “I plan to give her a burial by the end of this day. Come to the Elfsong Tavern by dawn.”
And then, just as suddenly as he had arrived, he vanished.
Gale remained where he was, staring at the empty space Alex had occupied . The sun had begun its slow descent into the sea by the time he found the strength to move. His limbs felt heavy, his mind clouded with sorrow. He forced himself to his feet, though his body protested every step.
By the time the sun disappeared below the horizon, he had made his decision. He would be there.
For Karlach.
For the friends they had lost.
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Alex stepped into the main room on the upper floor of the Elfsong Tavern. The air was thick with sorrow, a heavy presence that settled over the room like an unseen weight. He felt the distinct hum of two grieving minds, their sadness so profound that it seemed to bleed into the very walls around them. His eyes swept the space until they landed on a bed where Shadowheart and her father sat, their figures draped in mourning.
His gaze fell upon the still form lying between them.
Shadowheart’s mother rested there, her face serene, lips faintly curved in a soft smile, as if she had left this world with the last whisper of peace. The sight struck something deep within Alex—a sharp pang of grief, not his own, but one he shared with those who had loved her.
He stepped closer, silent and reverent. Shadowheart’s father sat rigid, his hands folded over his wife's still ones. His face, though carved with sorrow, held a quiet dignity, a man who had long accepted loss but was never prepared for it.
Shadowheart, on the other hand, was trembling, her hands gripping her lap so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. Her dark eyes, usually so fierce and determined, now shimmered with unshed tears as she stared at the woman who had given her life and had, at last, been taken by it.
Alex stood beside them, gazing at the woman who had endured so much, yet never lost her love for her daughter. With a slow breath, he summoned his blade—Phalar Aluve. The silvered weapon appeared in his grasp, its radiant light casting a warm glow upon the room. The holy aura of the sword pulsed gently, bathing Shadowheart’s mother in a soft, ethereal glow.
Alex’s voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of something ancient and sacred as he began to speak. "Selûne, guide this soul through the veil of night into your embrace. Let her weary spirit find rest in your light, her burdens left behind, her love everlasting."
The blade hovered over the woman’s body, its luminous presence a beacon against the sorrow that threatened to consume the room. The glow intensified, shimmering like moonlight reflected upon the surface of a quiet lake. The warmth of the prayer filled the space, wrapping around them, easing the edge of pain just enough to allow them to breathe.
Shadowheart let out a shaky breath, one lone tear slipping down her cheek. Her father bowed his head, lips moving in silent gratitude, though words failed him. The weight of the moment pressed upon them all, unspoken yet understood.
Alex knelt, lowering his head in respect, before gently placing a hand over Shadowheart’s. "She is at peace now," he murmured.
Shadowheart sniffed, nodding, her grip loosening as she finally allowed herself to accept the truth. Her mother was gone, but not lost. Not forgotten.
And as the last flicker of Phalar Aluve’s light faded into the room, so too did the suffocating darkness of grief, leaving behind only memory, love, and the quiet strength to move forward.