Tav sighed, grateful for the temporary shelter . His friends were lying around , each one relaxing in their own way and waiting for Alex arrival. Suddenly his stomach rumbled. Excusing himself from the warmth of the campfire, he ventured into the nearby forest, relishing a quiet moment under the pale, fractured moonlight filtering through the skeletal branches. His footsteps crunched softly on the fallen leaves, the silence comforting, until—
A rustle.
Before Tav could react, a cold, foul magic snaked around his form, tightening like a vice. His vision dimmed as darkness swallowed him, his limbs going limp as his consciousness slipped away.
In the muted light of the forest, three cloaked figures loomed over Tav's unconscious form, their faces obscured by shadows. One figure stepped forward, producing a small pouch from beneath his cloak. The pouch pulsed with faint, rhythmic glows, intricate patterns twisting along its surface as though alive. The air around it felt heavy, the magic thick and ancient.
“May the shadows protect me,” the figure murmured, voice barely above a whisper, as it plunged its hand into the pouch. From within, it withdrew a small, dark bead, blacker than midnight itself. The bead seemed to drink in the darkness, absorbing even the faint light around it. The other two figures took a cautious step back, uneasy even in the presence of their own dark magic.
Holding Tav’s slackened jaw open, one of the figures tilted his head back as the bead was lowered to his lips. The bead was dropped into Tav’s mouth, slipping down his throat with unnatural ease, leaving a trail of dark smoke that lingered and dissipated into the cool night air.
As the bead disappeared inside him, Tav’s chest shuddered, as though his body were trying to reject the invasive darkness. Wisps of smoke curled from his parted lips, and his skin grew cold, taking on an ashen pallor. The lead figure gazed at it own hand, where its skin had touched the cursed bead—it had turned as dark and impenetrable as obsidian, shadows clinging to it like ink smeared across its flesh.
Then it turned, stumbling into the trees. It companions exchanged a quick, startled glance, but neither dared to call it back. Instead, they focused on binding Tav with thick ropes, ensuring he would not be able to struggle when he awoke. They hauled him up, his limp form slung over one of their shoulders, and disappeared into the darkness.
Meanwhile, the figure who had touched the bead was running, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as a cold, otherworldly sensation began to creep through him. Shadows pooled at his feet, clinging to his legs, rising up to wrap around his torso like hungry tendrils. The forest around him blurred and dimmed as though the very shadows were swallowing the world whole. His skin faded into darkness, his fingers crumbling to dust, and the last thing he felt was a cold, hollow embrace, as though the Dark Lady herself were enfolding him in her arms.
Within moments, there was nothing left of him. No body, no clothing—only an eerie stillness and a faint echo of the magic that had consumed him. The forest resumed its silence, with only a faint trace of dark smoke lingering in the air where he had vanished.
The two dark-clad figures moved carefully through the forest, their breaths muffled under hoods and cloaks soaked by the gentle but relentless drizzle. Each step was precise, avoiding any twig or leaf that could betray their stealth. Their journey was silent but tense as they approached their destination, carrying Tav's unconscious form like a cursed cargo.
Meanwhile, within Tav, a different kind of struggle raged. Deep within his mind, a war of willpower unfolded—a fight against the encroaching darkness that pressed in from all sides. The landscape of his mind, once clear and defined, was now a shadowy void. He fought against it, reaching for any semblance of memory or strength, but each effort was swallowed by the relentless tide of black.
Then, just when the darkness seemed to consume everything, a red light flared—a violent, pulsing glow, like blood illuminated from within. The light cut through the shadows, holding them at bay, but he felt a deep, unshakable fear toward it. He couldn't remember why he feared it, or even who he was, but he knew that this red mass was both a savior and a threat. It shone with an unholy radiance, as if the power itself was tainted.
A deep, mocking laughter filled the air, echoing from the crimson light. Tendrils of blood stretched out, slithering through the darkness, coiling around him with a terrible force. He struggled, but the red tendrils were unyielding, dragging him toward the pulsing mass as it throbbed with life, power, and a hunger that promised nothing but oblivion. With a final pull, the blood tendrils swallowed him, drowning his consciousness in red.
Outside, the two figures finally reached the edge of a clearing, where a tall, imposing figure waited beneath a worn, dark cape. Even in the shadows, his form exuded a dangerous, quiet power. Raindrops slid down the edge of his cloak, running off his shoulders and pooling around his boots, each drop silent yet sharp in the stillness.
The two figures exchanged a quick glance, passing the half dragon's limp body to one of them, who braced for the weight. The other unsheathed twin daggers, the blades glinting faintly as she moved forward, silent and swift, aiming straight for the tall figure.
But the caped figure didn't even move as she approached. With minimal effort, just as the daggers were about to sink into its throat, it raised its right hand and delivered a powerful uppercut. Bones cracked under the impact, the force instantly killing the attacker as her cervical spine snapped. The dagger-wielder was dispatched in seconds, her form slumping soundlessly to the forest floor.
As the remaining captor took off into the forest, fleeing with the half dragon in tow, he glanced back in disbelief. Behind him, the caped figure advanced, its strides precise and unnaturally swift, closing the distance between them with terrifying ease, each step a promise of the hunter’s pursuit.
Then, as if things weren't bad enough, the half-dragon that it was carrying started to move. His movements were erratic, more like spasms, each convulsion sending ripples through his muscular frame.
"I suggest you let him go," a deep, resonant voice commanded from behind. The tall figure spoke with an authority that cut through the chaos, his tone as dark and unyielding as the night around them.
In a surge of energy, the half dragon's form began to change, his body growing in size, his scales stretching and bulging. His captor’s eyes widened in horror as the half-dragon grew so massive that he had no choice but to let go, staggering backward to avoid being crushed under Tav’s shifting form. As he turned back, desperate to understand what was happening, a large claw lashed out, tearing him in two before he could even scream. His body collapsed, lifeless, into the mud, blood mingling with the rain-slicked earth.
The tall figure stepped forward as lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the grotesque creature that half dragon had become—a hulking beast, twisted and monstrous, with eyes that glowed with a malevolent hunger. The slayer turned to face the figure, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. The beast had barely registered his presence before a greatsword came crashing down, striking his head with a brutal force that echoed in the storm.
The tall figure smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "I guess my instincts are still sharp after all these years. Hello, brother."
The twisted creature hissed in agony, retreating, lowering to all fours like a wounded predator, his breath heaving and feral. But just as he prepared to lunge, something in his mind stuttered, as if wrestling with an invisible force. He faltered, stumbling forward, and crashed headlong into a tree with a snarl of frustration.
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The tall figure strode closer, gripping his greatsword tightly with his remaining arm, his single eye narrowed with grim determination. He watched as Slayer began to rake at his own flesh, clawing with desperate, panicked hands, tearing at the very essence of his being.
"I am not... this," the creature spat, voice distorted and guttural, as though the half dragon’s true self were buried beneath layers of darkness. "Let go of me!"
The tall figure raised his greatsword high, ready to bring it down in a decisive, merciful blow that would end this twisted existence. The blade gleamed in the lightning, a final judgment waiting to fall. But just as he began the swing, a shimmer of purple light wrapped around Tav, ethereal flowers blooming and swirling around him, glowing against the rain and mud.
In that moment, the monstrous form dissolved, like smoke unraveling in the wind, leaving behind a pale, shivering half-dragon. Tav’s scales were no longer dark and grotesque; they were pure white, his form weakened and vulnerable, his breathing shallow as he lay there, gasping in the storm.
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The half-dragon blinked slowly, his surroundings swimming into focus. Dark brown fabric stretched above him, sheltering him within the modest, makeshift tent. A blanket had been tucked around him, and as he shifted, he realized with a faint flush of surprise that he was entirely unclothed beneath it. Sunlight filtered in, casting dappled patterns of leaves that danced across the fabric, suggesting they were somewhere deep within a forest.
As his gaze settled on the tent’s entrance, a large shadow loomed, its figure broad and imposing even from the other side of the thin material. The blanket covering the entrance shifted aside, and a tall man stepped inside. His skin was deep and dark, sun-worn, and his face bore the hard lines etched by a long life, yet none of the creases dimmed the commanding presence he exuded. His left eye was closed, the skin around it gnarled by a cruel scar, hinting at a past injury that had robbed him of vision. His left arm ended in a rough stump just below the elbow, but despite these signs of old battles, he carried himself with a confidence that radiated strength.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, each word careful and weighted. His single eye, sharp and dark, seemed to pierce right through the half-dragon, unflinching and searching.
The half-dragon hesitated. “I’m...fine,” he replied, his voice more uncertain than he intended, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he should trust his own words. His head throbbed, vague images swimming through his mind but remaining stubbornly out of reach.
A deep, gravelly chuckle escaped the tall man’s lips, rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. It was an unexpected sound, softer than his intense gaze suggested, yet it held a note of guarded warmth.
“Do you remember anything from the night?” the man asked, his voice probing, though his tone remained calm.
The half-dragon’s face tightened as he forced himself to concentrate, reaching into the black void where his memories should have been. His mind remained blank, as if every thought was just beyond his grasp, slipping away like sand through his fingers.
“I can’t... I don’t remember anything,” he murmured, a flicker of frustration tightening his throat.
The man nodded, a shadow of understanding passing over his expression. He studied the half-dragon for a long moment, the weight of his gaze seeming to take in far more than he was letting on, before he began to crawl out of the low tent.
“Come,” he said, gesturing with his good hand. “Get something to eat.”
The invitation held a kindness that took the half-dragon by surprise, as though this stranger understood the ache of confusion and vulnerability. Wrapping the blanket around himself, he followed the man out of the tent. The morning light was bright, dappling the ground with shifting patches of sunlight that filtered through the high branches above. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, grounding him as he took his first tentative steps into the daylight.
The man led him to a small fire, its flames crackling softly, a pot simmering with a rich, savory aroma. He knelt down beside it, ladling a portion into a bowl before handing it to the half-dragon. The warmth of the bowl seeped into his hands, grounding him further, and as he looked up, he found the man watching him with a steady gaze, a flicker of compassion hidden beneath the lines of his hardened face.
“Eat,” he urged, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
With a hesitant nod, the half-dragon took a spoonful, the warmth and flavor washing over him like a balm, filling the empty spaces within.
The half-dragon settled beside the fire, cradling the bowl in his hands as the aroma warmed him from within. His gaze drifted to the man beside him, who sat quietly, watching the flames with an intensity that suggested there were many things unspoken between them.
After a moment, the half-dragon gathered his courage. “What’s your name?”
The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his one good eye, a shadow passing over his face. It was brief—a fleeting but visible moment where something old and unyielding settled over him. Then, finally, he opened his eye again, the warm crackle of the fire reflected in its depths.
“Anchev,” he replied, his voice steady, each syllable pronounced with quiet strength. The name seemed weighted with memory, as if it carried more history than he was willing to share.
“Anchev...” the half-dragon repeated, tasting the name on his tongue, feeling its unfamiliarity. He glanced around the camp and noticed, sitting just outside the tent, a long object wrapped tightly in fabric. Its unmistakable shape, the subtle glint of worn metal, hinted at a sword.
“Are you... a warrior?” he asked, looking from the sword back to Anchev.
Anchev’s gaze shifted to the wrapped blade, his single eye lingering on it with a look that spoke volumes. For a heartbeat, he seemed distant, as if pulled into memories only he could see. Then he nodded, a simple acknowledgment that felt like it carried a story too heavy to be told.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the weight of unspoken truths hanging between them, the fire crackling softly. The half-dragon sensed there was so much more behind that quiet nod, but he could feel that asking more would disturb something fragile, something that Anchev was keeping hidden beneath that calm exterior.
“Thank you,” the half-dragon murmured at last, not even fully sure what he was grateful for—perhaps for the food, perhaps for the silent understanding that somehow felt shared.
Anchev looked at him, his weathered face softening just slightly. “Rest. We’ll speak again when you’re stronger.”
The half-dragon nodded, feeling a calm settle over him, though the mystery of this strange warrior remained as thick as the forest surrounding them.
After the meal, Anchev set about breaking down the camp with a quiet efficiency that was almost mesmerizing to watch. Even with his missing arm, his movements were precise and unyielding, as if he'd long ago learned how to make up for his loss. The half-dragon watched him, and then, almost instinctively, stepped in to help, mirroring Anchev’s rhythm. Together, they dismantled the tent and packed away the supplies, the silence between them comfortable, almost companionable.
When they finished, Anchev rummaged through his pack and offered the half-dragon a bundle of clothes. They were large, hanging loosely off the half-dragon’s frame, the sleeves bagging around his wrists and the shoulders broad enough for someone taller and stronger. It was clear they belonged to Anchev, but he didn’t comment, simply watching as the half-dragon adjusted them to fit as best he could.
With their gear stowed and the camp cleared, they set off. The trees thinned as they walked, the forest parting to reveal a narrow path winding toward the distant horizon. The half-dragon felt the unfamiliar weight of the clothes on his back, their faint earthy scent reminding him he was in borrowed armor, of sorts, though the gesture warmed him in a way he hadn’t expected.
After a while, curiosity tugged at him, and he turned to Anchev. “Where are we going?”
“Baldur’s Gate,” Anchev replied, the words simple but weighted with purpose.
The half-dragon repeated the name softly, “Baldur’s Gate...” The words felt strange in his mouth, both familiar and distant, like the faint memory of a dream. Images flickered in his mind, half-formed and fleeting. But he couldn’t grasp them, like wisps of smoke slipping through his fingers.
They continued walking in silence, the soft crunch of leaves and soil beneath their feet filling the air. After a moment, he ventured another question. “Why are we going there?”
But this time, Anchev didn’t respond. His gaze remained focused on the path ahead, his expression steady, closed off. There was a sense that the question itself reached into a place he wasn’t willing to explore aloud.
The half-dragon felt a pang of guilt, as if he’d pressed too hard on something delicate. “Sorry,” he murmured softly, almost to himself, casting his gaze to the ground.
To his surprise, Anchev’s face softened slightly, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was fleeting, barely there, but enough to chip away a bit of the warrior’s hardened exterior.
“Curiosity isn’t something to apologize for,” Anchev said, his voice a low rumble. “But there’s a time for answers, and it isn’t always now.”
They walked in silence after that, the path before them winding deeper into the unknown. The half-dragon felt a strange sense of comfort in Anchev’s presence, a trust that went unspoken but ran deep. Baldur’s Gate—whatever it held for him—felt like a place both unknown and inevitable.