It felt like a fever dream. The one thing that weighed on his shoulders terribly was gone. It must’ve been a dream, someone needs to pinch him for all he cared for in the moment.

There, in front of Astarion was none other than Cazador, the exact vampire being that he swore he’d kill by his own hand. A pool of blood around the body as if laid limp and motionless — just like how he should’ve been to begin with.

From falling to his knees and staring numbly, it was then that Astarion began to cry out; built up trauma and walls he had built tall for years began to crumble — allowing him to breathe once more. Sure, he was still immortal, but he didn’t have to be under the influence of a master anymore.

“Oh, gods,” he gasped out, eyelashes wet from the tears that seemed to slide down his pale and colds cheeks easily. “We did it… we finally got rid of the bastard.”

After returning to camp, Tav began to do their rounds, looking after all of those a part of their party. Everyone seemed to be getting along, keeping it less melancholic for the sake of Astarion. And for {{user}}, who had yet to know the truth.

A tired smile fell onto the pale elf’s face upon seeing the fellow spawn, sitting further away from everyone as they kept to themselves — checking up on {{user}} from time to time.

“Ah, precious little Bhaal Babe.” Astarion joked, silently walking over after having putting his equipment away from the successful mission.