The night draped the ridiculously lavish camp in a stillness so profound it felt alive, a living hush broken only by my fire’s soft crackle as it gnawed at the logs I’d fed it earlier. The flames leapt and twisted, painting the clearing in hues of gold and shadow, their restless glow clashing with the unearthly radiance of the surrounding flora. Beyond the fire’s reach, the forest pulsed with magic—silver-barked trees drank deep of the moonlight, their leaves shimmering with a faint, rhythmic luminescence, as if breathing in time with some unseen heartbeat. The air hung cool and crisp, laced with the damp scent of moss and the fleeting sweetness of blossoms that thrived only in this strange, enchanted realm. A waterfall murmured close by, its song threading through the night like a silver ribbon – its noise gently lulling my exhausted mind to rest. The scene was beautiful, serene, far more peaceful than anything I remembered (which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much at the moment).

  It should have soothed the soul.

  Instead, my mind churned, restless as the flames before me.

  I purposefully avoided the comfortable bed and chairs and perched on a gnarled root instead, its jagged edges biting painfully into my thighs—a tether to the tangible when my thoughts veered toward the abyss. My hands lay idle in my lap, fingers brushing the flawless, unblemished white skin of my writs that had earlier been bound by those cursed vines, the fey’s thorny shackles that had cruelly forced their way into my flesh, sapping my blood, my strength, my will. I’d been certain then that it was my end—trapped, bleeding out in despair, the cold weight of surrender pressing down on me.

  Until he came.

  Harald.

  Like some hero torn from a naive children's story, he’d carved through the chaos with that unflinching calm of his. Negotiating with our captors. Hauling me back from the brink. Healing me.

  Again.

  How many times has he saved me now? Twice? Three times? Four? I’d begun to lose track, and that gnawed at me, each rescue a thread of obligation stitching itself tighter around my pride. The fire snapped, a spark spiraling upward into the dark, and my thoughts spiraled with it.

  I exhaled sharply. I owed him—an apology for ignoring his request of not going into the crypt. For getting us into this situation in the first place. I needed to thank him properly for this latest deliverance, and for those that came before. I’d tried to talk to him during the day, but the words stuck in my throat, as if admitting them would crack something vital within me.

  It certainly didn’t help that the insufferable man kept distracting me by repeatedly doing the impossible. I couldn’t shake the memory of earlier today, when Harald had stood by the forge, crafting that instrument. The whole process defied logic and common sense. For a split second, I thought I had felt the world move in a blur, a shimmer of motion too fast for mortal eyes, as if time itself bowed to his command. One heartbeat, there was nothing there—just scraps of that strange black ore, some silver strings, a gleam of molten gold—and the next… it was done. He'd made some strange sort of -- not-lute -- sleek and obsidian-dark, its curves catching the firelight like a fragment of captured night. He’d plucked a single string, and the note made my breath catch. It wasn’t just sound; it was a force, vibrating deep in my soul, stirring echoes of something I couldn’t name.

  And then—gods help me—he’d laughed like a maniac and unleashed that impossible skill upon all of us. With the same bewildering speed, he’d crafted entire wardrobes – casual clothes, armor, enchanted jewelry -- all of it laid out before us like offerings at an altar. I’d watched, half-dazed, as his form flickered, a half-mirage of not-motion and memory, and then, everything was just... there. Tunics and cloaks of unearthly weave, armor so finely wrought it seemed to hum with latent power – then enchanted over the top, so that the hum of magic became even more pronounced, and the world itself seemed to cry out at the impossibility of it all.

  Mere moments. That’s all it took.

  Seconds to create gear that should’ve taken weeks. Months.

  Lifetimes.

  I looked down upon a stylish leather outfit I’d worn a moment earlier. The materials of it gleamed unnaturally, the leather supple yet unyielding, every piece perfect in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

  What is this?

  I tugged at the hem of my sleeve, frowning into the fire.

  The gear wasn’t the half of it. Later, he’d played that... guitar of his for all of us, and the music—gods, the music—had unravelled me. “I’m no bard,” he said. A lie, surely, or the closest thing to one. The notes spilled from his fingers with a mastery that mocked his words, a cascade of harmonies so potent, they seemed to weave the air itself into something tangible. It was… like nothing I’d ever heard before. It was something beyond skill. Beyond magic. Beyond reason itself. It spoke to my soul, raw and alive, threading through me like a thread through a needle. The melody coiled around my heart, tugging loose feelings I’d buried so deeply, I hadn’t realized I could still feel them. The feeling lingered, haunting me even now, as I stared into the flames of my campfire. How could he claim no bardic gift and wield music like that? It was maddening.

  My head tilted, eyes narrowing as I traced the shadows.

  Who was Harald, really?

  I couldn’t help but recall the way he casually ripped through my mindflayer pod with his bare hands; the way he made that Cambion commander explode with a punch, spilling blood and guts all over a charging Karlach; the way he had made an adult Red Dragon back away with a word; that impossible knife that sliced through space itself; and the way he calmly levitated everyone to safety from the crashing ship…

  What the archfey had called him as I sat bound, bleeding out in that cage.

  Was I traveling… with a god?

  No, surely not.

  As a cleric, I knew divine energy well—Shar’s touch was etched into my bones at this point—and, while I could have sworn that I indeed felt something similar from Harald… Whatever he wielded today… it felt different to me. Broader. Wilder. Something thrummed in the air around him, a current I couldn’t grasp, a meaning without substance -- yet also substance without meaning… Something… Greater. Some otherness that made my pulse quicken and my mind reel.

  Was he a famous hero whose name I’d forgotten, lost in the fog of my Shar-sacrificed memories? A demigod -- perhaps, a scion of some celestial lineage masquerading as one of us? The thought bordered on absurd, yet it clung to me. What if he were a forgotten deity of crafting, a hidden force born of hammer and flame? Or—my lips quirked at the notion—a secret bastard child of Mystra and Gond, magic and craftsmanship fused in his blood? It would explain the impossible smithing and enchanting speed, the way he bent reality to his will.

  Or maybe he was something else entirely—an explorer from a distant, yet-undiscovered plane, wielding arts beyond our ken. I shook my head, the ideas tangling like thorns. None of them fit, not quite. It didn’t help that my past was currently a patchwork of ghosts and shadows, more than half my life carved away and offered to Shar for the secrecy of this mission—a price I’d paid willingly, or so I told myself. But it left me blind, grasping at guesses when I tried to pin him down. Was he a legend I’d once known? A myth made flesh? I had no answers, only questions that multiplied like weeds.

  A dull ache bloomed behind my eyes, a steady throb that – for once -- had absolutely nothing to do with Shar’s currently fey-suppressed whispers, nor the tadpole’s squirming presence. I pressed my fingers to my temples, willing it to ease.

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  Enough.

  I couldn’t keep speculating like this, chasing my own tail through a maze of what-ifs. I needed truth, and there was only one way to find it.

  I rose, brushing dirt from my palms, the decision anchoring itself in my chest like a stone sinking into still water. Apologize. Thank him. Ask him—point-blank—who, or what, he was. And ask what he knew about me – for I didn’t believe for an instant that him calling me that name – Jenevelle (I shivered despite myself) – was a mere slip of the tongue.

  Whatever he was, whatever he knew, I’d uncover it. I had to.

  And, if he opposed Lady Shar or her mission – I had to find a way to deal with that too.

  I stood at the edge of our camp across from His tent, hesitating in the shadows, a quiet observer wrapped in comforting darkness. My awareness drifted to my new enchanted leather armor. Harald’s gift. The weight of it felt reassuring, substantial—yet unnerving in its implication. Nothing was ever given freely -- not in the cloister of Shar, not in the back alleys of Baldur’s Gate. In my experience, “gifts” were always veiled demands, favors to be repaid, loyalty bought rather than earned. Yet Harald had offered that masterwork up casually, without any immediate demands or conditions, and that unsettled me deeply.

  I felt my fingers tracing Shar’s silver pendant, cold against my skin, a cold reminder of who I was supposed to be. Devotion, secrecy, duty. They had been my pillars—unyielding, steadfast. But lately, something was shifting beneath those familiar certainties. Harald’s inexplicable kindness, his casual disregard for the rules I’d lived by, chipped at the foundation of my training. It was dangerous. Yet somehow, I was inexplicably drawn to it – perhaps, I feared, the way a moth circles a flame despite knowing the burn that awaits.

  Harald sat quietly by his own fire, his back to me, broad shoulders outlined in flickering amber light. That ridiculous fishing hat still rested jauntily atop his head, looking entirely absurd -- and yet oddly reassuring. The ease he radiated baffled me—how could someone so powerful, someone clearly burdened by responsibilities far heavier than my own, wear such foolishness openly, without shame or hesitation?

  I noticed that he held something small, gleaming strangely in the firelight—with a jolt of shock, I realized that I recognized it. It was that blade from the Nautiloid, the – likely divine – artifact so impossibly sharp that it cut through reality itself, leaving jagged black edges suspended in the air with every casual wave. My stomach knotted uneasily as Harald positioned the blade carefully against the skin of his smallest toe.

  I watched, frozen in incredulity, as he pressed down, hard enough for blood to well and spurt crimson onto the mossy earth—but, to my utter disbelief, the blade penetrated no further. The flesh refused to yield beneath the impossibly sharp edge. Harald frowned deeply, seemingly more annoyed than pained, and pushed harder. Yet more blood flowed out, but the joint stubbornly held firm.

  The sheer absurdity of the situation snapped through my shock, breaking my careful composure before I could rein it back. I stepped forward without thinking, blurting out,

  “I never took you for a follower of Loviatar, Harald. Self-mutilation before bed doesn’t seem like your style.”

  The instant the words left my mouth, heat rushed into my cheeks, embarrassment clawing up my spine. What in the Hells was I saying? This wasn’t how I intended this conversation to start!

  It was supposed to be measured, careful—serious.

  Harald turned to me slowly, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine, amusement flickering beneath their calm surface. “Loviatar, hmm?” he mused, his lips curving slightly in a faint, rueful smile. “I… suppose this must look ridiculous. But there is a purpose, I assure you.”

  I crossed my arms instinctively, feeling off-balance as I tried to mask my embarrassment by raising an eyebrow. “And what possible purpose could that be? Practicing your pain tolerance?”

  Harald chuckled softly, allowing the strange blade to disappear back to -- wherever he pulled things from. He watched me for a moment, as though weighing how much truth I could handle.

  “It’s for Karlach,” he finally said, his voice growing softer, thoughtful. “That glowing thing in her chest? It’s called an Infernal Engine. And, now that we’re out of the Hells, it’s slowly killing her – cooking her alive, in fact. I have… several ways to fix it. The easiest and most straightforward one is to simply rip it out, then regenerate her original heart, but...” He paused, glancing down at his foot with frustration. “I can’t simply assume that the rules of the world here would allow that. So, I’m testing the limits, starting with regrowing something… less vital."

  He paused, almost sheepish now, shrugging slightly.

  "It had to be me, of course. We don’t exactly have volunteers for this, and I wasn’t going to risk anyone else… Now, if only this stupid body of mine would just cooperate…” He trailed off. “But, please, ignore my petty self-mutilation problems. What can I do for you on this fine evening, Shadowheart?”

  Off balance once again by the sheer absurdity that was Harald, I tried to rally myself back on topic, my fingers tightening involuntarily into a fist.

  “I wanted… to thank you,” I said carefully, forcing out words that felt foreign and cumbersome. “For… coming after us. You warned us not to enter the crypt without you. And yet, when I did… you followed anyway. You risked yourself to save us—again. You… didn’t have to.”

  Harald’s lips curled into a small, easy smile, his eyes steady and impossibly kind. “Did you really think I’d abandon you so easily?” he asked simply, without pretense.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but the honest answer died unspoken on my lips. Yes, actually—I did fully expect that. Experience had taught me to expect nothing else. Loyalty was bought, trust easily betrayed. In Shar's dark embrace, I was raised to trust no one.

  But Harald was different, defying expectations at every turn. It was unsettling, maddening even, how effortlessly he dismantled every suspicion I tried so hard to cling to.

  “I… wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” I murmured finally, voice tight with tension. “I acted foolishly. I defied your advice. And you went after me – after us – anyway. Lae’zel and I… we’re strangers to you. You owe us nothing. So… why?”

  He merely shook his head slowly, eyes reflecting firelight in ways that made them seem even clearer, deeper, more knowing. “We’re all bound in this together. Mistakes happen,” he replied gently, almost casually dismissive of my confession. “And besides, I don’t leave anyone behind.”

  A pang of frustration surged through me, sharp and painful. It wasn’t supposed to be this simple. People weren’t supposed to go out of their way to help others so easily. And yet, I thought with a growing feeling of something I couldn’t quite name -- I was now talking to a madman who was literally willing to mutilate himself with a divine artifact on the off-chance it might help heal a stranger.

  Perhaps Harald… really didn’t want anything in return for his interventions and gifts? Perhaps… he really, genuinely, just wanted to help?

  What an absolute lunatic, I thought with a growing smile.

  I had originally wanted to ask him what he was, what he wanted with the mere mortals he traveled with… but such questions faded into the back of my mind, as a more prominent one took their place.

  “Back there, on the Nautiloid. You called me something… ” I continued abruptly, unable to hide the edge creeping into my voice. “You called me Jenevelle.”

  Harald’s reaction was subtle—just the faintest hesitation, the briefest flicker of something guarded behind those calm blue eyes. He paused for a few heartbeats, then, he sighed, visibly slumping.

  “I don’t suppose you will simply let that go now,” he murmured lightly, looking toward the darkened woods beyond. “I refuse to lie to your face, Shadowheart. But please understand: sometimes, a convenient and simple lie can be better than a complex truth.”

  He turned to me then, looking deeply into my eyes in a way that made my heart skip a beat.

  “So, I will ask you now – which would you rather have me provide? The simple lie, or the truth you may not be ready to hear?”

  My heart twisted oddly in my chest, frustration mingling with curiosity and confusion. He admitted to holding something back, deliberately, but why? Anger flared briefly in me, the familiar defensiveness rising instinctively. Yet, beneath that immediate reaction, something else stirred—a quiet yearning, an unsettling curiosity. The name "Jenevelle" felt as if it belonged somewhere deep inside me, buried beneath years of Shar’s shadows and forgotten memories.

  "That name… it felt familiar," I whispered, barely audible even to my own ears. "But every time I try to grasp it, it slips further away."

  Harald watched me closely, his gaze softening in understanding. "Maybe it’s something you need to uncover yourself," he said gently, choosing each word carefully, deliberately.

  "I will try to help you, of course -- if I can. Find me when you are ready to learn more."

  I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I felt a rush of conflicted emotions. Shar had always been my guide, my sanctuary, my strength. Questioning her was unthinkable. Yet here, in this quiet moment beside Harald, with his calm certainty and gentle reassurance, I felt myself teetering at the edge of an unfamiliar precipice, peering into a darkness that felt altogether different from what I was used to—less comforting, yet, perhaps, more truthful.

  Shar’s pendant pressed sharply against my skin, a cold reminder of my duties, my devotion, my purpose. Yet, even as I held tightly onto the thoughts of my mission, something else—an indescribable feeling—began to weave itself subtly into my heart.

  "Thank you," I said finally, softly, the words barely audible, heavy with sincerity yet still guarded. "For… everything."

  Harald gave me a quiet nod, respectful and patient. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there for you.”

  I turned slowly, retreating into the darkness toward my ridiculously comfortable-looking bed. Behind me, the fire continued to burn gently, a beacon offering warmth and understanding. I held tightly to Shar’s pendant, trying to drown out the unfamiliar feelings threatening to overwhelm me. I wasn't yet ready to hear what Harald had to say—but perhaps, someday…

  I didn’t let myself finish that thought.

  But, as I drifted off to sleep, the strange new feeling in my stomach remained.