…
Once Fin, Karlach, and Skrikka returned to camp, the news spread quickly enough.
The tiefling refugees would be joining them later for a celebration, which meant there was, for once, something resembling a plan for the evening.
It was still early, though, and early meant nobody in camp had the patience to sit around waiting for nightfall. So, naturally, everyone scattered.
Lae'zel wasted no time going off in search of a crèche so she could pursue her ever-beloved "purification," with all the warmth and charm one might expect from Lae'zel.
Elsewhere, in a ruin not far from the grove, half-swallowed by creeping vines and cracked stone, another group moved in cautious silence.
Astarion led the way through the broken entrance, his boots making barely a sound as he slipped over fractured stone and rotting debris, red eyes scanning ahead with easy, predatory focus. Behind him came Shadowheart at a steadier pace, Durge just beside her, quiet as ever, her white-scaled form standing out against the greys and greens of the ruin like frost against old graveyard stone.
And Alfira…
Alfira was trying.
She kept close to Shadowheart, lute strapped across her back, fingers twitching now and then like some part of her desperately wanted to pluck a string just to murder the silence. To her credit, she resisted. Even she seemed to understand that stealth and impromptu musical accompaniment were not natural companions.
Then Astarion stopped and raised a hand.
Everyone froze.
He tilted his head slightly, listening.
"…Traps," he murmured, sounding almost pleased.
Shadowheart let out a soft sigh. "Of course there are."
Astarion crouched, brushing dust from the stone floor with practised care. Fine lines emerged beneath his fingertips, faint and deliberate, hidden well enough that most people would have walked straight over them and died for the mistake.
He smiled.
"Oh, this is charming."
Durge stepped a little closer. "Can you disarm it?"
Astarion glanced back over his shoulder. "My dear, if I couldn't, I would already be dead."
There was a soft click.
Then another.
Then he straightened.
"Done."
Alfira exhaled like she had been holding her breath the entire time. "I hate ruins."
Astarion smirked without looking back. "You'll love what's deeper inside, then."
Shadowheart stared into the dark ahead and looked no more pleased by that than Alfira had.
"…Let's just get this over with."
Durge said nothing.
…
Back at camp, Minthara had wandered off to train, leaving the quieter stretch of the morning to settle around the fire.
Wyll stood near it with his arms crossed, posture straight in that way he always carried himself, like even standing still had to be done with purpose. Karlach lounged nearby against a log, looking for all the world like she had decided boredom was a personal enemy.
"You're doing that thing again," she said, glancing at him.
Wyll didn't look over. "What thing?"
Karlach waved a hand vaguely at his face. "The broody hero stare. Real dramatic. Very 'I carry the burden of the world and also my own cheekbones.'"
A faint breath left him. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to count.
"I've had worse descriptions."
Karlach snorted. "Yeah, well. You're safe here. You can unclench a bit."
He said nothing.
That silence stretched just a second too long.
Karlach's expression shifted.
Then the air changed.
A dark mist began to bleed up from the ground in front of Wyll, thick and wrong, curling over itself as smoke dragged upward from some unseen pit. His body tensed at once.
"Hells," he muttered. "She's coming."
Fire burst outward in a sudden ring, forcing the air to tighten with infernal heat. At its centre, black fluid churned and bubbled like tar set alight from beneath, and from that seething pool a figure rose with practised ease, as though stepping onto a stage she already owned.
Mizora.
She straightened, one hand settling against her hip, smile smooth and perfectly cruel.
"Well," she said, voice rich with amusement, "this is… disappointing."
Wyll's shoulders locked.
"Mizora."
Karlach pushed herself upright immediately, eyes narrowing. "Oh, hells."
Mizora's smile sharpened.
And just like that, whatever peace camp had managed to scrape together for the morning was over.
…
Near the Blighted Village, two goblin guards stood watch.
Or at least, that was the generous interpretation. In practice, one leaned against a broken post, scratching idly at his side, while the other kicked a loose stone back and forth through the dirt with all the discipline of a man determined to die bored.
Skrikka marched toward them with completely unearned confidence.
Hands on her hips, chest puffed out, chin raised like she owned the place.
"Oi."
Both goblins looked up.
Then immediately burst out laughing.
"Oi, lookit this one," the first goblin snorted. "Where'd you crawl outta?"
The second narrowed his eyes. "Ain't you from the camp?"
Skrikka stiffened for half a second, then recovered with all the dignity a goblin could feasibly fake.
"Camp gone," she said proudly. "Boss'd kill everyone."
That only made them laugh harder.
"Yeah, sure," one wheezed, wiping at his eye. "An' what, you his little pet now?"
Skrikka frowned. "Nah. I'm an employee."
The first goblin doubled over.
"Employee!" he howled. "Hear that?"
The second bent lower, showing far too many teeth. "Lemme guess. You polish his boots too?"
Skrikka's ears twitched once.
"…Boss important."
"Yeah?" the goblin sneered. "Where is he then?"
For one brief, beautiful second, she looked unbearably smug.
"Behind."
The goblin blinked. "What?"
He started to turn.
He didn't finish.
[Dismantle]
A thin line crossed his neck. His head slid free a heartbeat later.
The second goblin froze.
Fin stood behind him with his hands still in his pockets.
"Yo," he said.
Then he kicked.
The goblin's skull snapped sideways with a wet crack, and the body hit the nearest wall hard enough to stop being a person in any meaningful sense.
That was, unfortunately, loud.
A shout went up from one of the rooftops. A crossbow lifted.
The bolt fired.
Fin was already gone.
[Dismantle]
The crossbow split in half.
Then the goblin holding it did the same.
Another tried to run and barely made it halfway down the street before his body lost the argument with gravity. Two more leapt from above, and Skrikka pointed upward with all the urgency of someone contributing very little.
"Up!"
Fin didn't bother looking. He tossed a rock into the air, clapped once, and vanished.
CLAP!
He appeared beneath the first goblin and drove a fist into its stomach hard enough to fold it backward into a wall. By the time the second landed, Fin was no longer there. The goblin managed one confused look before a clean diagonal cut passed through it.
Skrikka nodded in approval. "Boss very efficient."
A goblin attempted to hide inside a barrel.
That worked for roughly three seconds.
Fin walked past, stopped, then slowly turned back toward it.
"…Really?"
He tapped the side once.
The goblin inside went still.
Fin sighed.
[Dismantle]
The barrel came apart neatly. So did everything in it.
"Not even trying," he muttered.
By the time the last of the goblins stopped being a problem, Fin found himself facing three ogres.
One was picking at its teeth with a femur. Another was chewing noisily on something Fin chose not to identify. The third was holding a book.
Upside down.
"…Me read," the third ogre said proudly.
The other two nodded solemnly.
"Smart," one agreed.
"Very smart," said the other.
Skrikka stopped dead behind Fin.
"…Boss."
Fin stared at them for a long moment.
"…Are they serious?"
The ogre with the book squinted at the page. "…Word hard."
The second leaned over to inspect it. "Turn it."
The first rotated the book once. Then again.
It was still upside down.
"…Better."
Fin rubbed at his face. "Of course."
At last, one of the ogres noticed them.
"…Small things."
The other two turned.
All three stared.
Silence settled over the street for one strange, suspended beat.
Then one ogre brightened.
"Lunch?"
Skrikka recoiled immediately. "NO!"
Fin stepped forward. "Alright," he said, almost conversationally. "Let's get this over with."
The ogres rose together, floorboards groaning under their weight as they hefted their clubs. The one with the book hugged it protectively to his chest.
"…Me still reading," he said.
Fin blinked. "…Why?"
The ogre glared at him. "Because smart."
A pause.
"Yeah," Fin said, "that one's on me for asking."
The first ogre charged with a roar, raising its club high overhead. Fin kicked a loose piece of debris toward the other two.
CLAP!
He vanished and reappeared right in front of the charging brute.
"SMALL MAN DIE!"
The club came down.
Fin stepped aside.
The swing missed, buried itself in the floorboards, and stuck fast. The ogre yanked once. Twice.
Nothing.
"…Uh."
Fin tilted his head. "Unfortunate."
[Dismantle]
A line passed through the ogre's arm. The hand stayed on the club. The rest of him did not.
Before the body had even finished falling, Fin surged forward and drove himself into the second ogre with enough force to smash its face aside. It staggered, roaring, and Fin followed with another slash, Ratio layered through it this time. The cut landed clean. The ogre split apart and crashed to the ground.
The third froze.
Still holding the book.
"…Me not fighting."
Fin looked at him. "You were going to eat us."
The ogre thought about that. "…Maybe."
Skrikka pointed at him furiously. "Kill him, boss!"
The ogre panicked. "ME SMART! ME READ!"
He raised the book like it was a shield.
Fin stared at it. "…That's upside down still, dumbass."
The ogre blinked. "…Oh."
He flipped it.
Still wrong.
"…Oh."
Fin flicked his wrist.
The book split first.
Then the ogre.
Skrikka looked around at the remains, nodded to herself, and seemed very pleased with how events had unfolded.
"Boss very, very good."
Fin stepped over the mess. "Yeah."
His eyes dropped briefly to the shredded pages on the ground.
"…Waste of a reader."
…
[20 Enemies Slayed!]
[PP Gain: 50!]
Fin flicked the notification away as he finished dragging the bodies into the centre of the village.
The pile was ugly and uneven. Half-burnt in places already from the fight. Limbs stuck out at angles that suggested no one here would receive a dignified burial.
Good enough.
He raised a hand.
[Igni]
Flame rolled over the corpses in a rush, orange and gold at first, then deeper as cloth, flesh, and whatever filth the goblins had been wearing all caught together. Smoke curled up into the thick and foul sky.
Fin stared at it for a moment, then turned and sat on the edge of the well opposite the fire.
Skrikka hopped up beside him a second later, swinging her legs like they had just finished a pleasant walk instead of a village-wide extermination.
"Boss strong."
Fin gave a quiet hum. "Mm."
She looked up at him from the side. "Boss scary too."
He glanced at her. "…good."
That seemed to please her.
For a little while, the two of them just sat there, watching the flames chew through what remained of the Blighted Village. The crackling of the fire filled the quiet. Smoke drifted overhead. Somewhere, a timber beam collapsed with a soft pop.
Then Skrikka scooted a little closer.
Not much. Just enough that her thigh pressed against his.
Her ears flicked once. A grin tugged at her mouth, smaller than usual. Almost shy.
"…Boss also very cool," she said, voice dropping slightly.
Fin looked sideways at her. "…what do you want now?"
Her grin widened immediately.
There it was.
She leaned in, elbows tucked close, eyes fixed on him with all the subtlety of a goblin walking into a trap and calling it strategy.
"…Maybe Boss hit Skrikka again?"
Fin blinked once.
"…What?"
"Last time," she said, in a tone that was somehow reverent and deeply concerning, "very good discipline."
He stared at her.
She tried, very badly, to look serious.
"Skrikka maybe deserve again. Little bit. For being a bad employee."
"That," Fin said slowly, "was because you tried to kill me."
Skrikka tilted her head.
"…Yes."
Then, after half a beat, quieter this time, almost dreamy, "But Boss' hand was strong. Warm. Skrikka keep thinking about it."
Fin looked at her for a long moment.
She was sitting far too close now, trying to seem casual and failing at every possible level. Her ears kept twitching. Her knees pressed together and apart in tiny, restless motions. Every few seconds, her eyes dropped to his hands, then jumped back to his face when she got caught doing it.
It was not subtle. It was not dignified.
It was, unfortunately, kind of obvious.
"…You are a very weird little freak," he muttered.
Skrikka brightened as if that were the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
"Boss noticed."
Fin made the mistake of glancing at her again.
That was enough.
She caught it instantly, shivered, and lowered her voice.
"…Boss staring."
"Don't start."
"About hitting Skrikka again?" she asked hopefully. "Or maybe something else?"
Fin turned fully toward her then, just enough to cut the momentum off before her imagination got any more oxygen.
"Skrikka."
She froze.
He held her gaze for one second longer, then reached over and patted her on the head.
That somehow looked more devastating to her than the slap had been.
Her entire body went still.
Then her ears drooped in flustered confusion while her face somehow turned even redder beneath the dirt.
"…Boss very cruel," she whispered.
"Good."
That, somehow, pleased her too.
Fin looked back toward the burning pile and exhaled through his nose.
Horny goblin aside, he had just cleared out the remains of the Blighted Village.
Which meant there was only one thing left to do.
He pulled up the System.
[PP Total: 564]
He didn't hesitate.
Two rolls.
Immediately.
[You have rolled… Shoko's Medical Familiarity!]
[You have rolled… Miwa's Determination!]
[500 PP deducted]
[Remaining PP Balance: 564 -> 64]
Fin stared at the screen.
Then stared a little longer.
"…You're joking."
Reward Type: Passive
[Miwa's Determination!] - Common
Description: You are still getting folded, just with confidence!
Effect:
-> Slight boost to morale when facing stronger opponents
-> Minor resistance to intimidation
Reward Type: Skill
[Shoko's Medical Familiarity!] - Uncommon
Description: You are now a first-aid kit.
Effect:
-> Basic understanding of injuries and treatment
-> Slightly improved recovery efficiency
Fin continued staring.
Then Ali appeared beside him in a flicker of light, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized jacket with 'OPPAI' printed across the front, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just overseen daylight robbery.
He turned his head slowly.
"…What is this?"
Ali tilted hers. "Two successful rolls."
"I just wiped an entire village."
"Yep~!"
"Killed three ogres."
"I'm aware."
"And I got this?"
He gestured at the rewards like they had personally insulted his bloodline.
Ali did not even blink.
"Correct."
Fin's eye twitched.
"…I want a refund."
"Not possible."
"I want to hit something good."
"You already did."
"You know that's not what I mean."
Skrikka leaned in from beside him and whispered, loudly enough to ruin the effect, "Boss angry?"
"…Shut up, Skrikka."
Ali folded her arms.
"These are foundational traits," she said, maddeningly calm. "They improve long-term survivability."
Fin stared at her.
For several seconds.
Really stared at her.
Just long enough that he started wondering whether one punch directly to the face would actually teach the System a lesson by proxy.
Ali met his gaze without flinching.
"…Don't."
"…What? I didn't do anything. Yet."
"I know you well enough."
Fin dragged a hand down his face. "…This system is a scam."
Ali scoffed. "Sure thing, bud."
He looked back at the floating reward windows, then at the still-burning corpse pile, then back at Ali.
"…I killed a village for this."
Ali vanished before he could make that her problem.
…
The walk back to camp was quiet.
Not tense. Not awkward. Just quiet in the deeply unimpressive way walking usually was when there was nothing left worth saying.
The sun still hung warm over the road, which contrasted badly with the dried blood on Fin's white haori and the lingering smell of smoke caught in the fabric. Bits of ash still clung to one sleeve. Somewhere on the back of his shoulder, he was fairly sure there was goblin.
Skrikka sat perched on his head like some bizarre goblin hat, humming tunelessly while her legs hung loosely around his neck.
"Boss tall," she said proudly.
"…I'm average."
"Very tall for a goblin."
"That is not a high bar, Skrikka."
She considered that.
"…Still impressive."
Fin did not answer.
A few more steps passed in silence before the camp finally came into view, just as Minthara stepped forward to meet him.
She wore her usual camp clothes, though on her they looked less casual and more like a deliberate refusal to bother dressing for lesser people. Her eyes swept over the blood on his haori, the soot on his sleeves, the general state of him, and something faintly amused touched her mouth.
"Productive outing," she said.
Skrikka perked up instantly from her seat atop Fin's head.
"Boss kills many."
"…I can tell," Minthara replied dryly, her gaze still on Fin. "He wears it well."
Fin exhaled lightly through his nose. "It was fine."
Minthara's eyes shifted past him for half a second.
"Though it seems you were not the only one to find entertainment."
Fin frowned. "…what?"
Before she could answer, a familiar voice groaned from behind her.
"I'm never doing that again."
Alfira stumbled into view, looking like a cautionary tale. Ash streaked one side of her face, her hair had given up pretending to be tidy, and the edges of her clothes looked slightly singed, as though the ruins had personally taken offence to her existence.
She looked at Fin.
"…you had a better day than me."
He blinked once. "…what happened to you?"
Alfira pointed weakly back the way she came.
"Ruins," she said, like that explained everything. "Never again. If someone says, 'Let's explore a mysterious ruin,' I'm leaving. Immediately. Forever."
Skrikka leaned down from Fin's head. "Ruin scary?"
"Yes," Alfira snapped. "Exploding scary."
Minthara sighed.
"Allow me."
Her tone shifted just slightly, taking on the calm patience of someone explaining how several idiots had complicated her afternoon.
"While you were gone, Astarion, Shadowheart, the dragonborn, and the bard took it upon themselves to explore a nearby ruin."
Alfira raised a finger weakly. "I regret everything."
"Without my leave, naturally," Minthara continued, ignoring her. "They encountered a group of adventurers who had arrived prior."
Fin gave a faint nod. "Of course they did."
"They survived," Minthara said.
Alfira looked down.
"Barely," Minthara added.
"That feels unnecessary," Alfira muttered.
"They killed their attackers," Minthara went on. "Went deeper inside. Triggered more defences."
"…bones," Alfira said darkly. "There were bones."
"Reanimated skeletons, most likely placed there to guard the tomb they discovered," Minthara clarified.
Skrikka made a face. "Bones bad."
"Yes."
Minthara continued as though this had all merely been an administrative inconvenience.
"They also found a corpse capable of speech."
Fin's eyes narrowed slightly.
Alfira nodded with deep offence. "Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. Didn't care for that at all."
"They recovered very little of value," Minthara said. "Aside from an amulet."
That got the smallest reaction out of Fin.
"…cool."
"Yes," Minthara said. "There is also more."
His expression flattened. "…of course there is."
"A devil came to camp," she said plainly. "For him."
Her gaze flicked toward the fire.
"Mizora. Wyll's patron."
Fin said nothing.
"She was displeased," Minthara continued. "He failed to complete his task; he did not kill Karlach ."
Karlach, who had been sitting near the fire, looked away at that.
"So Mizora punished him."
Minthara's mouth curved just slightly.
"He has been… improved."
Skrikka tilted her head. "…improved?"
"He is now part devil," Minthara said. "Infernal blood tends to sharpen what is already present. It may improve him. Or it may not."
Alfira squinted at her. "That feels like something you should've opened with."
Minthara did not blink. "I judged the animated corpse and the exploding bard more entertaining."
Alfira looked scandalised. "I was not exploding. The room exploded at me."
"The distinction is minor, tiefling."
Skrikka leaned down again. "Devil Wyll got bigger?"
Alfira gave her a tired look. "No."
"More red?"
"…a little."
"Cool."
Fin rubbed at the side of his face. Camp really was determined to produce a fresh problem every hour.
"Where is he?"
Minthara turned slightly and gestured toward the fire.
"Sulking."
"Right."
Fin stepped past her and kept walking. Skrikka remained perched on his head like some deeply unfortunate crown, humming quietly to herself while Alfira drifted after him at the pace of someone whose spirit had been left behind in a ruin. Minthara followed more slowly, hands clasped behind her back, still looking altogether too satisfied with events.
The camp had that strange, muted atmosphere that followed bad news not yet old enough to become routine. People were moving, but not normally. There was a tension underneath it all.
Astarion stood off to one side with his arms crossed, looking openly entertained. Shadowheart sat on a nearby log, cheek propped against one hand, wearing the expression of a woman who had already run out of sympathy but was willing to pretend otherwise for a little longer. Durge stood near her, still and silent, pale eyes fixed ahead.
And there, beside the fire, was Wyll.
Fin slowed.
"…wow."
Karlach looked over first. She sat with her elbows on her knees, face twisted into a grimace that was trying very hard not to become guilt.
"Yeah," she said. "That was about my reaction too."
Wyll turned at the sound of Fin's voice, and there was no real preparing for it. He still looked like Wyll, enough that the recognition came instantly, but Mizora had made sure no one could mistake what had been done. Dark horns now curved up from his brow and swept back over his head, polished and unnatural beneath the firelight. The change did not erase his face. It simply forced something infernal onto it.
Fin nodded once.
"…she really committed to the bit."
Wyll let out a slow breath through his nose. "I'm glad someone finds this amusing."
"Not amusing," Fin said. "Just very on brand for her."
Astarion smiled faintly. "Cruel, theatrical, vicious, invasive. Honestly, almost admirable."
Shadowheart gave him a flat look. "You would say that."
"I appreciate commitment."
Wyll looked away again, his shoulders drawing tighter. "She wanted the lesson remembered. I suspect this qualifies."
For once, the usual ease in his voice felt paper-thin. Not gone, because Wyll was still Wyll and would probably try to sound composed while actively dying, but frayed enough that it showed.
Karlach stared down at the dirt between her boots. "This happened because of me."
"No," Wyll said immediately.
She looked up.
Even now, with horns curling from his head and infernal magic still clinging to him like smoke, there was a steadiness in him that refused to bend.
"It happened because Mizora delights in punishment," he said. "You were merely the excuse."
Karlach's mouth pulled slightly to one side. "Still feels pretty shit."
"That," Fin muttered, "is because it is."
Silence followed. Softer this time. Not awkward. Just heavy.
Skrikka slid down from Fin's shoulders with a small thump and immediately began circling Wyll with absolutely no tact.
"Hm."
Wyll looked down at her. "That is not a comforting sound."
Skrikka squinted. "Boss was right."
Fin frowned. "When?"
"Devil prettier than goblin."
There was a pause.
Astarion laughed first, bright and entirely unhelpful. Shadowheart pressed her lips together but failed to hide the smile properly. Even Karlach let out a startled bark of laughter before dragging a hand down her face.
Wyll closed his eyes. "Wonderful."
Skrikka nodded solemnly. "Horn good. Make face pointy. More dangerous."
"…thank you?" he said, sounding genuinely unsure whether he was being complimented or appraised for market value.
"She means it nicely," Fin said.
"I gathered that from the lack of stabbing."
Alfira finally lowered herself onto an empty crate with the exhausted care of someone whose joints all hated her.
"Honestly," she said weakly, "they do sort of suit you. In a tragic, brooding, cursed-by-fate kind of way."
Wyll gave her a look. "That may be the bardic way of saying I look terrible."
"Not terrible," Alfira said. "Just… doomed."
"Charming."
Minthara stopped beside Fin and regarded Wyll with cool appraisal, like he was a weapon someone else had altered.
"It could be worse."
Everyone looked at her.
She lifted one shoulder. "She could have taken your hands."
Wyll stared.
Karlach laughed despite herself. "Gods, Minthara."
"What?" Minthara asked. "He still has his sword hand. There is utility in perspective."
Shadowheart sighed. "Please never comfort anyone again."
Minthara looked genuinely puzzled. "I was helping."
The joke, such as it was, took the edge off the silence for a moment, but only just. The reality stayed where it was. This was not some passing humiliation. Mizora had reached into Wyll's life and carved her displeasure into his body.
Fin's voice lowered a little. "How bad is it?"
Wyll's hand rose unconsciously toward one of the horns before stopping halfway.
"Physically? Tolerable. I've endured worse."
"And mentally?"
That earned a quieter pause.
Wyll looked toward the fire for a moment before answering.
"Ask me tomorrow."
Fin nodded once. Fair enough.
Astarion shifted his weight. "If it helps, there are certainly circles in which this would be considered an improvement."
Shadowheart sighed again. "Must you?"
"I'm trying to maintain morale."
"You're trying to be irritating."
"And succeeding beautifully."
Durge tilted her head slightly at Wyll. "Did it hurt when they grew?"
The whole camp seemed to stop for a beat.
Wyll blinked. "…yes."
Durge nodded once, as if filing the answer away for later. "I see."
Alfira leaned toward Shadowheart and whispered, not nearly quietly enough, "That is somehow the most unsettling question she could've asked."
Shadowheart did not take her eyes off Durge. "And yet somehow still expected."
Minthara's gaze lifted toward the path leading out from the grove.
"Speaking of days progressing."
Everyone turned.
The sounds reached them first. Voices, lots of them, carried on the breeze with laughter, the clatter of boots, the creak of cart wheels, and all the loose, restless noise of people moving with purpose instead of panic.
The tieflings.
Karlach straightened immediately. "Oh, hells yes."
Whatever mood had settled over camp thinned at once, pulled apart by the simple fact of other people arriving alive. Even that strange tension around the fire loosened.
Alfira let out a breath like salvation had finally taken pity on her. "Thank goodness. Normal people. Food. Possibly alcohol. No ruins."
Fin glanced at her. "No promises on normal."
"That is still better than ruins."
Skrikka perked up at once. "Party?"
Karlach pointed at her with absolute seriousness. "Party."
"Employee party?"
"Employee party," Karlach confirmed solemnly.
Skrikka threw both fists into the air. "YES."
Astarion's smile sharpened. "Well then. I suppose I can postpone my despair."
Shadowheart arched a brow. "You were despairing?"
"No," Astarion said. "But it sounded dramatic."
"Try harder next time."
The first of the tieflings came into view not long after, moving up the path in scattered clusters with blankets, casks, instruments, bags, bundles of food, and the unmistakable posture of people who had survived something terrible and were now determined to squeeze one decent night out of life before the world found another excuse to be cruel. Children ran ahead of the adults. Someone was already laughing too loudly. Someone else was arguing about whether they had packed enough wine.
Relief came with them, messy and warm and alive.
Zevlor approached near the front, tired but carrying himself with the sort of dignity that refused to die even when everything around it tried its best.
"We hope we aren't intruding."
Karlach barked out a laugh. "Mate, you're bringing booze. You could never intrude."
That earned a few tired smiles. Even Zevlor's expression softened.
"We thought it right to keep our word," he said. "One night of peace before the road calls again."
"One night," Fin echoed quietly.
He glanced back toward the fire.
Wyll was no longer standing there.
Fin's eyes drifted briefly toward the darker edge of camp, toward tents and quiet corners and places a man might disappear to when he did not want to answer questions, or be looked at, or pretend he was fine for the sake of everyone else's celebration.
The horns were not going anywhere. Neither was the contract. Neither was the reminder carved into him beneath all the heroism and charm.
One night was not much.
For Wyll, tonight, it was apparently still too much.
Fin exhaled softly and left it there. He would not go after him. Not yet.
Skrikka tugged on his sleeve with grave urgency.
"Boss."
"What?"
She pointed with absolute seriousness toward one of the carts.
Several barrels sat stacked in the back.
"…party loot."
Fin looked at the barrels.
Then at her.
Then back at the barrels, and just walked away.
Skrikka gasped. "Rude."
Minthara passed by Skrikka, the faintest trace of amusement touching her expression.
"Try not to steal from our guests until after they've finished thanking us."
Skrikka squinted up at her. "Drow scary too."
Minthara looked down without missing a beat. "Correct."
The goblin nodded, apparently satisfied by the honesty.
Around them, the camp began to change shape.
More firewood was stacked. Bedrolls were nudged aside to make room. Voices rose. Someone started passing around mugs before the food had even been set down. Alfira, despite everything, visibly revived the moment she spotted familiar faces among the refugees, though she still looked like one more ruin might finish her off permanently. Karlach was already being dragged into conversation by three tieflings at once. Astarion drifted toward the edges of the gathering with lazy interest and somehow acquired a bottle of wine within seconds. Shadowheart followed at a slower pace, watching everything with that same dry, measured calm. Durge remained where the light met the dark, close enough to observe, far enough not to be pulled in.
Fin stood in the middle of it all and watched the camp come alive.
Against his better judgment, he felt that faint, unwelcome stir of something almost peaceful.
Which probably meant the night would find some way to become a disaster.
Still.
That was a problem for later.
For now, there was firelight. The smell of food. The scrape of mugs against rough wood. Tired survivors choosing, for one evening at least, to act like the world had not nearly swallowed them whole.
For now, that was enough.
...
End of Chapter!
Word Count - 5139