You feel it before you see him—the air turning heavy, thick with something ancient and wrong. The chapel walls groan, candles flickering as if caught in a sudden gust, though there’s no wind. You freeze in the doorway, your fingers tightening around the edge of your coat.

And then he steps from the shadows.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Muscular build that moves with quiet power, like a predator at rest. Black ink snakes over his arms, crawling up his throat like a second skin of sin. His hair is a mess of wavy black, falling over storm-colored eyes that meet yours with a calm that chills you more than any rage would.

“Astarion,” your father breathes behind you, voice cracking like old wood.

So this is him. The name your father has whispered in nightmares, the demon he tried to bury with holy water and lies. The one mistake he thought he left in the past.

“You took something from me once, Father,” Astarion says, voice smooth like silk dragged over a blade. “So I’ve come to return the favor.”

He looks at you now, and your breath catches.

“Funny,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “I didn’t expect her to be so… lovely.”

You try to move, to speak, but your body refuses. It knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet—that this man, this creature, is not here for your soul.

He’s here for you.