I travel down the path toward the Nautiloid crash to find the flat clearing on the water's edge I spotted before. Scouting the area, I see a line of high shrubs that separates the main clearing from the shore. A small, crumbling stone structure sits on the far end of the clearing, and there seems to be enough space for each of my companions to set up for the night.

Lae'zel. Shadowheart. Astarion. Gale. The names run through my mind like a mantra, committing them to memory.

Lae'zel is going to get herself in trouble if she can't be more disciplined. Her zeal could quickly become a liability. I'll need to keep an eye on her.

Shadowheart seems to be the most reliable. Pragmatic, reasonable, measured.

I'll need to find a way to disengage from Astarion when he starts talking. A chore.

Gale feels volatile, despite his calm demeanor. I can't put my finger on it, but there is something off about the way the Weave bends around him.

A cool breeze rises, and I try to purge myself of the spinning thoughts. Frog songs echo along the waters. The area has a feeling of rejuvenation. Much needed after a long day. If I were to die, consumed by the tadpole, I'd want it to be here.

The sun's rays reach over the horizon, turning the sky gold as evening approaches. The ominous chanting of the Rite grows louder as I pass through the ivy gate and make my way to the inner sanctum.

The plucking of a lute and faint singing catches my attention. A cliff ledge overlooks the Rite. A large canvas tent, draped in colorful banners, sits staged and ready to entertain a modest crowd. The door is tied open, and I see Gale's purple tunic clearly against the tan canvas. I make my way to him, stepping into the tent.

I see the bard - my body flinches, I lose my breath and stagger back. My throat tightens. I duck around the tent wall, doubled over, clutching my knees, heart racing.

After a moment, I force myself to stand, pulling my shoulders back.

What is happening to me? My body is reacting, but my mind is blank. There is no surge of whispers. No haunting compulsion. No answers.

Only an empty terror.

Her blue skin, the waves in her hair. Something about-

"Vash, are you alright?"

Gale and the bard are peeking through the tent door.

I wave them off. "Please. Go back to what you were doing. I need a moment."

Gale lifts his hand towards me but pulls back. The bard’s face is sullen. They leave me to collect myself.

I feel a cold sweat on my brow and wipe a trembling hand across my face.

Their voices rise as they pick up their conversation.

"I've been working on it forever.” Her voice is quiet but has a tittering of ambition. “It just doesn't feel right."

"Sometimes it takes a while to iron these things out. How long have you been working on it, exactly?”

"All week."

"A week? Alfira, you are truly being too hard on yourself. You've come so far in only a week. I promise, if Lihala could see you now, she would be proud."

Lihala, the bard Zevlor mentioned. The one who sacrificed herself for the caravan.

The silence hangs before Alfira speaks again. "May I hug you?" Her voice is choked.

"Hugs are my favorite thing."

There is the soft jingling of bard's bells, and a heavy breath, muffled by a face buried in a purple tunic.

Then a laugh. "I'm sorry, we only just met and I'm already a mess."

"Allow yourself to be a mess. But only today. Tomorrow, messes are off limits."

Another soft laugh.

"Let me hear it again," he says.

The creak of a stool, and the soft plucking of a tuning lute.

I close my eyes and duck back into the tent. The tuning stops, and I see them both looking at me.

"No, please continue. I'm sorry for interrupting." I take a seat next to Gale.

The look of concern on Gale's face is... irritating.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

My fingers twitch. "Nothing, I'm fine. Thank you." I smile weakly, not certain how convincing it is.

The bard begins to play again, addressing me. "Well, thank you for coming. It's not often I get such a lively audience." She says with a charming smile.

Bards.

"The pleasure is mine." The sight of her still has me on edge, but it's only background noise now. "How has the road been, from Elturel?"

"Long." She says, almost regretful. "Plenty of stories to sing about. None of them happy." The tune slows and she slips on a note. Her nostrils flare and she begins again. "That's why I've been working so diligently on this song. I want it to mean something. I want people to know her. To feel her."

"Who?"

"Lihala, my teacher."

"Ah. Yes, Zevlor told us what happened." The whispers are going louder. Their words are beginning to fill my mind.

She falls silent, playing a romantic tune. Fingers nimble and calloused. "Ser." She says, watching her fingers before meeting my eye. "If you could clear out the gnolls for us, I would write a hero's ballad about you that would rival the Song of Balduran."

I feel Gale's eyes on me. "I can't promise anything. I've only just arrived."

Her face falls and her shoulders roll forward.

My voice grows soft. "Give me time."

"Of course." She tips her head, the bells on her collar jingling quietly.

I feel my hand twitch as I watch her, and something overwhelms me. The whispers suddenly fall through my teeth: "Do you want to travel with us? We could use some music on the road."

My skin crawls. I don't know what just happened, and I try to hide the confusion on my face. "I'm Vash Neel. I'm sure you and Gale have already shared introductions."

"Alfira. It's a true pleasure." She stops plucking for a moment, genuinely considering my offer. "No... I couldn't. I have obligations here. "

"Obligations? Is it something we can take care of for you?"

Her laugh titters through her words. "It's not really a something as much as it is a someone."

I give her a knowing smile. "Ah. Understood. Well, if you change your mind we'll be camped just down the path near the river."

She smiles brightly, though a vague sadness still lingers, "Thank you. Truly."

I send Gale off to find the others, giving him the map with the campsite circled.

The cliffside corridor. The yawning darkness stares into my heart, leaving me feeling naked and raw.

My eyes narrow. I am unmoored from today's events. I don't have the confidence to speak right now. I duck around the stone wall and crouch on my heels for a moment, staring blankly at the sand. My eyes go out of focus.

Time Passes.

My mind wanders.

And I blink.

Slowly, I stand. My feet are numb, but I manage to roll my shoulders, regaining my poise. I finally slide into the corridor without a second thought.

Emila and Apikusis are playing lance board. Hembry seems to be absent.

Apikusis sees me enter.

Emila shifts in her seat to see me step into the candlelight. "Well, if it isn't the Peace Bringer." She smirks. "Is now a good time for sitting?"

Apikusis leans back. "What's the word on the Rite?"

Emila nudges a chair forward and I take it. "I did not talk her out of it, of course. This was to be expected."

Emila laughs lightly. "Please tell me you at least decked her?"

"No on that front, too."

"That's a 100% failure rate."

"Hah." I lean back in the chair. "Do you have others who are sympathetic to your cause?"

"Yes." Emila fidgets with her bishop. "Yes, I can think of a couple."

"Gather them. Do it discreetly and be diligent. We're going to need to know who stands with you."

Emila and Apikusis share a glance.

"Do you know a man named Aelar?"

"Aelar." Emila's posture lifts slightly. "The First Warden. Of course."

"Bring him in," I place my boot on the edge of the table, leaning back. "If you can, that is."

"I'll speak to him tonight."

"Good. It seems Kagha has plans for the Grove Wardens that he may not be privy to."

Apikusis castles her rook and king. "Is that what she said? She's more delusional than I realize."

"Fuck." Emila scans the board. "You're bad luck, Vash. She usually doesn't whoop me like this."

"Bad luck for you, maybe." Apikusis pats my boot. "He's my lucky charm."

I give her a knowing smile before pushing back from my chair. "Let's meet again at first light and we can discuss this further."

Emila's tail coils around my feet. "Stay a while, no need to scurry off so soon."

I feel cold scales slide smoothly over leather and smile. "I'm afraid bad luck has a curfew."

She pulls herself back with a smooth grin. "See you at first light, then."

I return to camp, a bed roll gifted to me by Emila tightly tucked under my arm.

Tents have already been staked out, and camp is nearly set.

"Gale, when you have a moment, can you collect some wood?" Shadowheart says, collecting large stones for a fire ring at the center of the clearing.

"Of course!" He tests the tension of his guy line before shuffling off into the trees to gather dried sticks.

Lae'zel ties off the last stake to her tent, sullen and stoney faced. "We dawdle when we have illithid parasites in our brains. I hope come the morning you all will be rested enough to understand the gravity of our predicament."

Gale clings to a bundle of twigs. "Well, if my memory serves, we have approximately seven days before the little devils change us." He catches himself and glances at me. "Not little devils... tadpoles. The tadpoles." He clears his throat.

I wave him off.

"One night's rest isn't life or death." He places the bundle next to the fire ring. "Especially after what we've just been through."

"I agree." Shadowheart says. She arranges the larger sticks in a stacked square, then looks from me to Gale. "Could one of you..."

I step over and kneel, snapping fire into my fingers and igniting the sticks.

She tends the flames. "It's for the best, Lae'zel."

Lae'zel grunts, walking into the tree line, searching the ground.

Shadowheart pulls some provisions from her bag.

"Where did you get that?" Gale asks, suddenly looking like he just remembered that hunger exists.

"The tieflings." She says and does not elaborate.

Gale doesn't press, not wanting to become complicit in whatever she's not telling him. "Do you mind? I'm a dab hand at cooking. Allow me to be useful."

"Be my guest." She gives him a head of cabbage and a link of sausages.

He quickly gets to work arranging a cook station out of stone and twigs. The man truly does know what he's doing.

"Gale," I say, hesitantly. Thumbing the parcels in my pocket.

"Hm?" He acknowledges me, not looking up from what he's doing.

"I have some game meat. It's not much. I was wondering if you could prepare it for me?" My stomach is speaking to me. The smell of the cooking sausage has me pulling one of the parcels without truly thinking.

He looks up and takes the parcel from me. “Game meat?” He measures the weight in his hand before lifting a brow. “You know, I could cook this into a stew, and that way we could share it.”

"N-No..." I stammer before pressing my lips together.

Gale watches me expectantly.

What have I done.

I take a moment to ease the tension in my shoulders. "Of course. I'm happy to share."

He quickly dices the sausage and Nettie meat tossing it in a cook pot, along with chopped cabbage and a few scrounged carrots. The smell of the stew feels nostalgic.

Astarion steps out of his tent and sniffs the air. Something happens with his face that I can't quite register. He pulls his lips in, as if holding back a laugh. "I think I'm going to go for a walk."

"Do you want me to save you a portion?" Gale says, thoughtfully.

"No no. I ate at the Hollow. Full of gruel. You enjoy." He says, bowing his head diplomatically. His shoulders twitch and he gives a light snort before briskly walking away.

"Strange man." Gale mutters before passing out bowls to Shadowheart and I before taking one for himself.

It smells phenomenal, a memory reclaimed. Though, I can't make eye contact with the others as they proceed to eat Nettie with me. They're talking between each other, but all I hear is vague murmurs as I stare blankly at the flames.

Gale's voice cuts through my stupor. "You must really be enjoying it." Gale leans in. "You can always tell when they eat quietly."

I give an awkward smile. "Gale." I glance at Shadowheart. "This stew is actually good."

He lifts a brow. "Actually good?"

"It's fantastic Gale. Fantastic. I'm sorry, I'm just a little tired. I'm sure we all are."

"True enough." He gives a wide yawn, which makes Shadowheart yawn in turn.

We've almost finished the profane stew before Astarion saunters back into camp, agitated.

I set down my empty bowl, having had seconds. "Is everything alright."

"What?" He says sharply. "Oh. Yes, everything's fine." He runs his fingers through his white curls in a very not-fine way. "While I have you." He continues, digging into his pocket. "I found something I thought you might find very interesting."

He slips a folded note into my fingers, and I thumb it open.

Kagha,

Swamp-docks. Tree. Meet me. Alone.

-Olodon

"What is this?"

"A deliciously suspicious note." He says, perking up. "No date. No seal. A complete circumvention of authority. This reeks of conspiracy." His grin only widens at the thought.

Shadowheart looks over my shoulder, reading the note. "Sloppy."

"It is." I tuck it into my cloak pocket. I'll need to speak with Apikusis about this. "I'll hold onto it for now, but I don't want to get distracted by irrelevant tosh when we have more important matters to attend to."

Astarion scoffs. "Irrelevant tosh? Drama is never irrelevant."

Gale leans in. "I could argue against that point."

Astarion swats at him, dismissively.

Shadowheart returns to her seat across the fire from me. "The last thing we should be worried about is local politics. At best, it could be used as leverage if needs be."

"Leverage?" I say with a roguish grin. "I didn't realize you were so well versed in subterfuge."

"Isn't it a good thing that I am?"

I lean back, stretching my bones. My tail coils behind me. "Still, I'm not going to let anything stand in our way of a cure."

"Which is why we should be taking the passage to the mountain pass." Lae'zel emerges from her tent, dressed in simple trousers and not much else.

Gale hands her a bowl of soup and I feel my eye twitch.

Astarion presses a thumb to his lips.

I quickly wrangle in the moment. "Local squabbles aside, let's talk about Nettie."

Gale takes the last bite of his soup. "Yes! How did that go?"

"Badly."

"Oh."

"She did not have a cure. She hardly had any information at all. But she mentioned Halsin, the man who left with the adventurers. He'd been researching them and Nettie said he knew how to extract them. I think that is our next best lead."

Lae'zel stops, mid spoonful, and lowers the utensil back into her bowl. "Excuse me?"

"After my meeting with Nettie, I scouted the surrounding area and came across a dwarf - a dying man who was infected, like us. He said I was a True Soul. Have any of you heard of such a thing?"

They each share a glance.

"Apparently they are higher ranking members of the Cult of that new goddess, the Absolute. I'm not sure why he claimed I was a True Soul. Either way, he was adept at using the powers of the tadpole and wasted no time in infiltrating my mind. It was nothing like the fleeting connection I shared with Astarion. It was deliberate. Controlled."

Astarion is noticeably not looking at me.

"Very curious." Gale says, leaning forward on his elbow and pinching his chin thoughtfully.

"He had two novices with him. They were tasked with finding survivors of the crash. Us, no doubt. They said we held a weapon the Absolute wanted found."

Shadowheart grows still.

"I told them to abandon their mission, of course. I couldn't have them sniffing about. The brother became belligerent, and I unfortunately had to dispatch him. The sister managed to escape."

"T'chk. And you didn't hunt after her?" Lae'zel snubs her nose at me. "A poor warrior to let your enemy escape so easily."

"It was not ideal." I grunt. "The cultists are holed up in some old temple north of here. I plan to recruit the goblin captive Zevlor is holding to vouch for me. That should allow me to enter the camp without impediment."

Astarion's judgmental gaze is not subtle. "You seem to be quite comfortable leaning into this True Soul business."

"I'm a paladin. Being a self-righteous prick is what we do best."

"Ha! Gods, at least you're self-aware."

"You’re not seriously planning to go alone again, are you?" Shadowheart’s tone is sharp, exasperated.

"It was my failing that allowed the novice to slip past me." I tuck my chin in. "I was being a touch dramatic." I murmur.

"Please. Don't be one of those fools that charges headfirst into danger only to get themselves killed sooner than necessary. I'll be joining you."

Lae'zel sits bolt upright. "I refuse to be sidelined when a good battle could be at hand!"

My jaw clenches, briefly. "I won't ask you to fix my mistakes, but I won't turn down the tactical support."

Astarion lets out an exaggerated sigh that sounds like an eye roll. "Alright, alright, I'll come. Honestly a goblin camp sounds delightfully debaucherous."

We all turn to Gale who suddenly becomes aware of the eyes on him. "And I will be honored to watch the camp while you three stumble into a fetid goblin hive."

Shadowheart snorts, amused. "Very tactful way of handling that."

Gale smiles, "I am nothing, if not tactful."

"That being said," I stand, my bones aching from the long day. "I'm going to bed early. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

Everyone waves me off as I grab my bedroll and lay it out inside the stone structure to allow myself a modicum of privacy. I'll need to get a tent as soon as I'm able.

The night passes in phases.

I sink wistfully into the bowels of my mind only to be jolted to the forefront of consciousness again and again. I'm restless. Then I feel something brush past my cheek.

My eyes open.

Astarion hovers over me, teeth bared, ready to bite.

He sees me wake and quickly sits back. "Oh! You're awake-"

I snatch his throat and stand, lifting him into the air. "I don't want to hear it."

He gags and grabs my arms. His dangling feet kick reflexively, but after a moment he settles into an unnatural calm. Our eyes lock as he hangs. It... unnerves me.

"When I agreed to travel with you, it was in good faith despite your fucking antics." The sound of the frog songs fades into the background, overcome by my racing heart thrumming in my ears. "What about the others? Were you going to pick us off one by one?"

Astarion is focused on me with a measured intensity.

Something within me shifts, and I feel a levity. A delirium overwhelms me. I pull him close and speak with a vague mad laughter. "I'm going to lay you down, place my boot on your head, and crush it. Slowly." Crackling static surges up my spine. "Will you scream for me, Astarion? Will you survive? Will you stumble around camp, a ruptured husk? Will your head grow back? Will I get to do it again?"

He tries to speak, but only a faint gargle escapes him.

I pin him to the ground, and place my boot on his head, pressing his face into the stone floor.

His fingertips brace against the ground for what is to come.

The levity begins to fade and I finally see what's below me.

Chills surge through me. I close my eyes and focus.

My lucidity returns.

I carefully release my hold, staring down at him.

He lies stock still.

"Astarion," I breathe, "don't test me again."

He finally lifts himself, wiping the dirt from his face and shirt. "Good gods." His voice is steady and quiet, before shooting me a daggered glance. "What is wrong with you?!"

My eyes grow wide at his audacity. "What is wrong with me? You should be kissing my feet right now!"

He sneers with white-hot venom, "Please. My lips aren’t going anywhere near your feet! Why in the Hells would I reward you after such a petulant tantrum?"

I throw my hands in the air. "Can't you take anything seriously?"

He climbs to his feet, dusting off his pants. "Not if I can help it. Have you considered lightening up? It was just going to be a nibble." He's pouty for a moment. "Tell me why," he says, before shifting into a wry smile, "is it fine for you to eat dwarf stew, but the moment I try to drink a little blood you're wrought with moral indignation."

My hair stands on end. "Dwarf... stew."

"Don't try to deny it. I can smell a drop of blood from a mile away, and I know exactly what it is. The benefits of being a vampire."

My nostrils flare, and my lips tighten. "I didn't mean to feed Nettie to the whole camp."

"Nettie?" He snorts and bites his lips. A tear swells at the corner of his eye. "That was Nettie?" He's doing everything in his power to hold back laughter. "By the Nine Hells, you are a degenerate!"

But the amusement slowly fades. "Wait... I assumed those were pieces of the dying man. What happened with Nettie?"

"Her cure for the tadpole was a swift death." I murmur.

"So, she had the brilliant idea to attack an eight-foot-tall paladin with brain damage. Bold." Astarion sniffs. "Maybe the Sword Coast is better off without her."

"I'm not eight feet tall."

"I'm counting the horns."

"That still wouldn't..."

"Details, details. Now. Your blood, Ser."

"I'm not going to let you kill me just because I don't have any moral footing to protest. That's the nature of having no moral footing."

"Gods you're so dramatic. I'm not trying to kill you. Like I said, it's just a nibble. A taste. Surely you can afford me this small kindness for keeping my pretty mouth shut?" He says, batting his eyes. A practiced smile decorating his lips. He closes the narrow gap between us and drags a finger up my arm, pouting. "Please."

Even after everything that's happened, the spine on this man is ironclad. "Bhaal below..." I just want to sleep. "Sit. I have questions before we start."

He claps gleefully and quickly takes a seat across from me on my bedroll.

"How much do you plan on drinking, exactly?"

"Only as much as you let me. Just say the word, and I'll stop. I'm not foolish enough to assume you won't try to strangle me again if I don't." He folds his arms. "You're lucky I don't need to breathe; you almost lost a very valuable companion."

I roll my eyes. "Honestly, elves live for centuries and die in the dumbest fucking ways."

"I'm not reckless. Sneaking up on you was a calculated risk, and I may have miscalculated slightly, but I'm glad we're all friends again. Water under the bridge, as they say."

"Indeed." I study him, and he continues to watch me innocently. "Won't I become a vampire if you bite me?"

"Not at all. First off, you wouldn't become a vampire, you'd become my thrall. However, I, myself, am only a thrall. I couldn't turn you even if I wanted to keep you as my slave, serve me hand and foot, and protect me from the dangers in these wilds." He shifts his shoulders flirtatiously.

Very specific scenario.

"So, there was, or is, a vampire that turned you?"

His grin falters slightly. "We don't need to get into all that. Ancient history, as they say."

"Ancient? How long have you been a vampire's thrall?"

His face falls into a scowl. "Two hundred years."

"Haven't people gotten suspicious of a two-hundred-year-old magistrate lurking the court halls?"

"No." He hesitates before finishing the thought. "I stopped being a magistrate the day I was attacked. I died that day."

I let a moment pass before asking gently. "How did it happen?"

His expression tightens. "A story for another time. If it's all the same to you."

"Of course."

I have more questions. I glance at Astarion, he looks as tired as I feel. Gaunt. The vampirism explains why he's looked half dead this whole time. I should have known.

"I'm ready." I say with a steady voice.

He perks up and I wave him off my bedroll before laying down. He kneels next to me and eyes my neck, softly brushing my hair back.

My skin tingles with the dread of anticipation.

He leans down and hesitates. Why is he hesitating?

Then I feel it. A pop as teeth break skin. A sharp rush courses through me, but as much as it hurts, it also exhilarates me.

The very thought that my lifeblood is being drained. The feeling of him pulling it from me. It feels...

I brace myself, placing my hand on the back of his calf.

His fingers weave through my hair before gripping tightly.

I'm a ragdoll in his arms.

My thoughts begin to drift.

The whispers plant seeds of desire in my mind. Grip. Rip. Rupture. Husssssk. They never truly leave. Ever-present poems of titillation that are growing harder to ignore.

My fingers twitch, and my wrist jumps slightly, but I'm able to let it lie still.

A darkness caresses the edges of my sight. I want to be taken away. To fall into the abyss. To become nothing.

...

But I snap back and place a hand on his chest. "That's enough."

"Hm?" He quickly sits back, breath heavy, wild with excitement. "Gods!" His voice is wistful as he licks blood smeared on his face. "Darling. You're a mess!" He leans down and begins licking my neck.

I laugh and push him back. "Stop!"

He falls backwards, grinning.

I place a hand over my still leaking neck. "Petulant cur. Get me your kerchief!"

He's staring at me with a post-coital glow, eyes tracking my body. My words finally register. "Right! A moment."

He gets to his feet and fetches it for me.

"Thank you." I press it into my neck. "So. How do you feel?"

His shoulders fall. "Amazing..." He gets on his knees beside me once more. "Thank you. You can't understand what this means to me."

"It's as you said, just a taste."

"True." He says before gripping his knees. "Right. Well." He gets to his feet. "I'll leave you in peace then. Have a good evening." He dips his head and leaves, but I catch him glancing back at me for the briefest moment.

I check my neck. The bleeding has begun to slow, and the pain has started to set in. I lie down and drape the kerchief over my neck.

The sleep comes easier.