"I need your help with a ritual," Jaheira confessed, her voice measured but firm.
Alex narrowed his eyes, curiosity flickering in his expression. He had expected many things, but not this. "A ritual? What kind?"
Jaheira turned to a nearby shelf, her fingers trailing over the worn spines of old tomes. Then, with a deliberate motion, she reached deeper, pressing against the wooden frame. A quiet click echoed through the room as the shelf slid away, revealing a hidden chamber.
The space was modest but meticulously arranged. Stone walls bore the weight of old crates, neatly stacked along the edges. A small wooden table stood in the center, its surface adorned with scattered scrolls and aged parchments. Against the far wall, a metal casing rested atop a set of carved stone legs, its surface polished with care.
Jaheira stepped inside, motioning for Alex to follow. He hesitated for a moment before stepping past the threshold, his gaze shifting between the chamber’s contents and the quiet reverence in Jaheira’s expression.
She moved to the metal casing.
Jaheira took a deep breath, her hands running over the smooth, worn surface of the metal casing as if trying to absorb its history through touch. The secret chamber felt heavy with memories, its air thick with the scent of aged parchment and damp stone. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the walls, dancing like ghosts of the past as she lingered in silence. She traced the edges of the casing, her fingers steady, yet her expression betraying the weight of whatever lay inside.
Alex remained quiet, observing her with measured patience. He had seen this look before—the solemn contemplation of someone carrying a burden too great to name. He knew she would speak when she was ready.
Finally, she turned away from the casing and walked toward a table at the center of the chamber. With deliberate care, she retrieved a scroll, its binding adorned with symbols of nature and old magic. The parchment was thick and ancient, its golden-green hue speaking of both reverence and preservation. The vines wrapped around it seemed to pulse faintly, as if still alive, and the bronze seal at its center gleamed with a quiet, resolute power.
She handed it to Alex, her gaze searching his as he carefully unrolled the scroll. The chaotic scrawl of druidic script covered the pages—symbols entangled in one another, as if scribbled over decades by an ever-changing hand. Yet beneath the disorder lay carefully structured annotations, marking an incomplete but ambitious ritual.
"Take a look at it. What do you think?" she asked, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper—hope, perhaps, or uncertainty.
Alex studied the text, his eyes darting over the notations. "This is a ritual. A powerful one," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "It describes a process to slow aging, perhaps even extend life indefinitely. But it’s incomplete, fragmented."
Jaheira nodded, folding her arms as she exhaled. "Practiced by only a few druidic circles," she admitted. "If the ritual is properly performed, it might allow someone to outlast their natural years. Not immortality, but a chance to fight for longer, to ensure their purpose is fulfilled."
Alex met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "And you're considering it?"
She turned slightly, looking toward the metal casing once more before her eyes flickered back to him. "Don’t look at me like that. I’ve lived long enough to know the cost of clinging to life just for its own sake. I have no illusions of invincibility." She paused, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "But the work—our work—is not finished. The world has not been freed from the shadows that plague it. The Dead Three are not the only gods lurking in the dark, waiting for their time to strike. How many more cities will fall to men like Gortash? To lost souls like Orin?"
Her voice softened, but it carried a weight far greater than the words themselves. "It has always been the duty of the Harpers to stand against the darkness, to be the light that keeps it at bay. But I have watched so many of those lights burn out, and yet the shadows remain. If I have the power to stay and fight for longer, then tell me—shouldn’t I?"
She searched his face, waiting for his answer, waiting for some form of validation—or perhaps, an argument against it. The weight of her question lingered in the air between them, heavy with the echoes of everything she had lost and everything she still hoped to protect.
Alex shook his head.
"I can't help you with the ritual," he said firmly. "But I have other ways to extend your lifespan."
Jaheira raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet cautious. "I hope you're not planning to turn me into whatever you are," she said with a smirk, though there was an underlying seriousness to her words.
Alex chuckled. "No, nothing like that. What I can do is something far more natural—though perhaps no less miraculous."
He took a step closer, his gaze steady. "The reason why we age, why our bodies degrade over time, is because of how life itself is woven. Every time our bodies heal, they wear down. It happens slowly, at first—skin loses its resilience, bones become brittle, muscles weaken. But all of that can be reversed. I can restore your body, make it stronger, as if time had never touched you."
Jaheira crossed her arms, listening intently.
Alex continued with his explanation "I would simply be restoring what was lost. The strength of your youth, the endurance of your prime—it would return to you as if you had never lost it. Your body will be what it should have been, had time been kinder."
Jaheira’s lips parted slightly, the weight of his words sinking in. She had always considered the balance of nature sacred, the cycle of life something to be accepted, not fought against. And yet, the thought of watching more cities fall, of losing more friends to the cruelty of time and conflict—
"You’re saying... you could make it so I can keep fighting and without any ill effects." Her voice was softer now, almost hesitant.
Alex nodded. "Yes. No magic, no rituals—just a restoration of what was already yours. You won’t feel different, only stronger. More like yourself than you have in decades."
Jaheira stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint of deception. Finding none, she exhaled deeply, her usual composure wavering.
"Damn it, Alex," she muttered with a wry smile. "You always have a way of making the impossible sound so... ordinary."
Alex chuckled. "I take that as a yes?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. But if I wake up one morning and find myself sprouting wings or tendrils of flesh from my back, I swear to every god above and below, I’ll—"
"You’ll what?" Alex teased. "Outlive me?"
Jaheira huffed, but there was a flicker of something in her expression—hope, perhaps, or something close to it. "Fine. Do what you must. But if you make me younger than you, I will punch you if you start calling me 'kid' .’"
Alex laughed.
"Let’s get started, then." Alex offered .
Jaheira walked to the metal case and opened it. Inside, resting delicately on a cushion, lay a necklace—a brilliant azure gem encased in a golden frame. The gem shimmered faintly, its surface reflecting the dim light of the chamber.
Jaheira carefully took the necklace in her hands, her fingers tracing over the familiar contours of its frame. A sad smile touched her lips as she gazed down at it.
"A gift from my husband," she murmured, her voice laced with nostalgia. "I've had to renew parts over the years, but the heart remains the same as the day he gave it to me."
With practiced ease, she fastened the necklace around her neck, its weight both comforting and heavy with memory. Then, turning to Alex, she squared her shoulders, ready for what was to come next.
They moved to the nearby table in the middle of the room.
"Take your clothes off," Alex instructed, his tone neutral, clinical.
Jaheira arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Already? We barely know each other."
Alex sighed, shaking his head.
'I will take her clothes after she falls asleep,' he thought.
She huffed a small chuckle before settling onto the table, adjusting her position so that she lay flat, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"Will it hurt?" she asked after a moment, her voice quieter now.
"No," Alex assured her. "I'll put you to sleep. When you wake up, the change will already be done."
Jaheira took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the pendant at her throat. The warmth of the metal against her skin grounded her, tethering her to the past as she stepped into an uncertain future.
"Do it."
As the words left her lips, a heavy drowsiness overtook her. Her breath steadied, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic motion. Within moments, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Alex exhaled and snapped his fingers. Her clothing faded from existence, dissolving into the ether. His hands, once human, began to shift—his arms elongating, morphing into tendrils of dark, sinewy flesh, pulsating with an eerie vitality. The tendrils coiled and slithered over her still form, burrowing gently into her skin, sinking into muscle and bone.
He worked in silence, his focus unwavering. The years of wear, the toll of battle, the slow decay of time—he unraveled them all. Each cell renewed, each frayed strand of her being rewoven with precision. Her bones regained their density, her muscles their youthful strength. Scars faded, not erased, but softened, reminders of a life well fought yet now unburdened by pain. Her very essence pulsed anew, vibrant, untouched by the slow march of mortality.
Alex paused, his gaze lingering on her serene face. Even in slumber, Jaheira held an air of defiance, a quiet strength woven into the very fabric of her existence. He had no doubt that when she awoke, she would still be the warrior she had always been—only now, she would have more time on her side.
The tendrils retracted, vanishing into his form as seamlessly as they had emerged. He stepped back, observing his work. Her breathing remained steady, her heartbeat strong. In the dim glow of the chamber, Jaheira lay renewed, untouched by the years that had once weighed upon her shoulders.
Jaheira's transformation had been subtle yet profound. Her once-weathered skin, marked by years of battle and hardship, had regained its youthful glow, smooth and taut with vitality. The fine lines around her piercing green eyes had softened, yet they retained the wisdom of countless years. Her features, sharp and regal, now bore the energy of a woman in her prime, exuding an undeniable aura of strength and resilience.
Her silver hair had turned a golden-brown, shining with renewed luster, cascading in intricate braids .
Her pointed ears, a testament to her half-elven heritage, seemed more pronounced, framing her high cheekbones and strong jawline.
Her body was fully exposed except for the pendant that rested just above her heart—the only piece of her past she still wore. The scars she had earned in battle remained—not as signs of age, but as badges of honor. They told her story, whispering of the wars she had fought, the friends she had lost, and the victories she had claimed. Her lips, once drawn thin by time and sorrow, now held a fullness, a softness that hinted at the warmth buried beneath her hardened exterior.
Her form, now untouched by time’s cruel grasp, radiated strength and renewal. Every curve, every muscle, had been reshaped by Alex’s intervention—not changed, but restored, as if she had stepped back into the prime of her life. The weight of years no longer burdened her shoulders, but the lessons they had taught remained, etched into the very fabric of her being.
Jaheira lay still, her chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. Even in sleep, she remained poised, her presence commanding yet serene. And when she would wake, she would rise as she always had—proud, unwavering, a warrior and a leader. But now, she was something more. She was a woman who had reclaimed her time, not to chase youth, but to continue the fight. To ensure the world remained a place worth defending.
Alex snapped his fingers, and in an instant, Jaheira's clothes reappeared, draping over her form as if they had never vanished. Her breath hitched as her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sudden clarity that filled her vision. Carefully, she pushed herself upright, swinging her legs over the edge of the table. A deep inhale filled her lungs, and for the first time in decades, she felt no lingering ache in her joints, no tension in her spine. The familiar weight of exhaustion had lifted, leaving only a sense of lightness she had long since forgotten.
Her hands trembled as she held them up, flexing her fingers, feeling the renewed strength that coursed through her veins. She could hear every crackle of the torches in the chamber, every subtle shift of the air around her. The scent of the damp earth, the faint traces of herbal oils in her hair—everything was sharper, clearer, as if the world had been reborn around her.
Without a word, she bolted from the hidden chamber, her bare feet barely making a sound against the stone floor. Alex watched as she disappeared, only to return moments later, clutching a small mirror in her hands. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she hesitated, then slowly lifted the glass to her face. A sharp gasp escaped her lips.
Her fingers traced over her features, rediscovering the smoothness of her skin, the youth that had been stripped away by time and war. Her once-weary green eyes now burned with renewed intensity. Her golden-brown hair gleamed under the torchlight, its vibrancy restored, cascading over her shoulders in intricate braids.
Then, her fingertips found the familiar ridges of her scars—the remnants of battles fought and won, of sacrifices made. She traced each one carefully, reverently, as if reconnecting with an old friend.
Alex stepped closer, his voice calm but filled with understanding. "I left them as they were," he said. "I figured they meant something to you. But if you wish, I can remove them."
Jaheira exhaled slowly, lowering the mirror. She shook her head, a quiet, almost wistful smile playing at her lips. "No," she murmured. "They are mine to keep. A part of who I am."
She turned to him then, tilting her head slightly as she crossed her arms. "You saw, didn’t you?" she teased, arching a brow.
Alex gave her an exasperated look. "Jaheira—"
She laughed, the sound rich and full of life. "Relax, boy. I lost all sense of modesty the day I started bathing in rivers with a dozen mercenaries." She let out a long sigh, still marveling at the way her body felt, the strength surging through her limbs.
"My kids will freak out," she muttered with amusement, shaking her head.
Alex offered a small smile. "Have your fun, Jaheira. I need to leave now—I have other matters to attend to."
The shadows stirred around him, swallowing him into their embrace, and just like that, he was gone.
Jaheira stood there for a moment, her gaze fixed on the space he had occupied only seconds before. Slowly, she reached up, gripping the pendant that rested against her collarbone. Her thumb ran over its familiar surface, tracing the golden frame with a reverence that only loss could bring.
"If only you were here with me, Khalid..." she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, then squared her shoulders. There was still work to be done.
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The shadows stirred within the depths of the Undercity, shifting like restless phantoms. From within their embrace, a figure emerged, his presence an unnatural stillness in the gloom. Alex's gaze swept the area, his senses expanding, reaching beyond the veil of darkness.
A gate loomed before him, its ancient metal frame embedded within the cold stone. Beyond it, two minds pulsed with awareness—waiting. He stepped forward, his form passing through the gate as if it were mere mist.
On the other side stood Kith'rak Voss, his posture rigid yet composed, a warrior ever-prepared. Seated beside him was another figure—a half-dragon, his form commanding and unmistakable. Crimson scales gleamed beneath the flickering torchlight, his attire a striking contrast of red and white. His eyes, burning like molten gold, flickered with amusement as they fixed on Alex.
"This is your savior?" the half-dragon scoffed, his voice a deep growl. He threw Alex a dismissive glance before turning to Voss. "He looks like a scrawny thief."
Alex ignored him, his focus unwavering as he met Voss’s gaze. He inclined his head slightly before speaking. "May the Astral Sea be still as you cross it."
Voss blinked, surprised for the briefest moment, before a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It seems the Prince has imparted more than just his knowledge to you—you’ve even learned our customs."
His expression quickly turned solemn as he returned the gesture with a short bow. "And may your mind be of steel, so your blade may be silver."
Without another word, Alex reached within his garments and produced the Astral Prism. The relic pulsed with an eerie glow before floating forward into Voss’s waiting hands. The githyanki warrior cradled it carefully, reverence clear in his touch.
"How are your forces?" Alex asked, his voice steady.
"Ready," Voss confirmed. "On your signal, they will strike."
Alex nodded. "Good. The moment the Netherbrain makes its move, I doubt Vlaakith will remain idle. Her eyes are already fixed on the city."
Voss exhaled sharply. "May the battle be glorious. Now that the Prince is free and his strength has returned, there is but one outcome—victory."
Turning on his heel, Alex prepared to leave, but something made him pause. He glanced over his shoulder, his voice carrying across the space like a blade cutting through still air.
"Dragon," he called, his tone even yet laden with weight. "What is your name?"
The half-dragon smirked, his posture relaxed yet arrogant. "Call me Qudenos. Master of Flames, Splitter of Skies."
A sudden pressure filled the air, a force only dragons could recognize. It pressed down upon Qudenos like an invisible weight, ancient and overwhelming. His smirk faltered for the briefest of moments as his body tensed instinctively. He knew this presence—it was unmistakable. This was no mere mortal.
Alex turned slightly, his eyes locking onto Qudenos’s with an intensity that burned like twin suns. His gaze pierced into the half-dragon’s very soul, unraveling him. In that moment, his eyes were no longer human—they had become something else, something draconic. Chromatic flames flickered within them, shifting, burning with untamed power.
"You are not the only one who can change his form," Alex said, his voice carrying an undeniable finality.
With that, he straightened and strode through the gate, vanishing into the shadows once more.
Qudenos remained still for a moment before a slow, predatory grin spread across his face.
"An ancient dragon," he murmured to himself, the excitement gleaming in his molten eyes. "This will be interesting..."
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Alex stood on a stone platform, his presence barely disturbing the stillness of the air. The platform was marked with ancient, sinister symbols—beads of blood painted in a perfect orbit around its center.
The air was thick with the scent of decay, and from the ceiling, two rotten corpses hung upside down, their lifeless forms swaying ever so slightly in the stale, oppressive air.
Before him loomed an ancient stone door, its surface marred with cracks and crude engravings , marking the entrance to the path that leads to the heart of the temple of Bhaal. The weight of the atrocities committed within these walls pressed against him like a suffocating shroud, but Alex did not falter. He stepped forward, passing through the threshold into the forsaken depths beyond.
The path led him deeper into the ruined sanctum, through the long-forgotten remnants of an ancient civilization now lost to time and slaughter. Crumbling buildings, their walls darkened by centuries of bloodshed, stood like silent witnesses to Bhaal’s unholy legacy. The echoes of distant whispers flitted through the air, remnants of past horrors refusing to be forgotten.
Then, he felt them.
Minds, clustered in the darkened halls ahead. Bhaalists. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices laced with doubt and fear.
"Are we still following her orders? She’s broken..."
"She may be, but she is still the daughter of Bhaal," another responded, his voice laced with reverence and unease.
Before they could say another word, the shadows surged around them, swallowing them whole. Not a sound escaped their lips—no cries, no struggle, just the quiet, merciless embrace of death.
Alex moved onward, silent as the grave, his steps taking him to the precipice of the temple’s true depths. He stood above a massive, ancient village, its structures swallowed by the cavernous darkness below. No life stirred in its abandoned streets, no movement, no sound—only silence, absolute and unbroken. His gaze shifted forward to the bridge leading to the temple’s core, where a massive opening yawned in the stone. Its jagged edges, like the fangs of a great beast, formed the mouth of Bhaal’s domain—a gateway to the slaughter god’s inner sanctum.
The shadows embraced Alex once more, and he disappeared into the abyss.
The time for Bhaal’s end was near.