The morning after the victory was too bright. Too cheerful. The sky, a mocking, cloudless blue. You'd both barely slept, tangled up together in the aftermath of the final battle. He’d held you so tightly—like he was afraid you’d vanish with the dawn.

But when he stepped out into the first golden rays of morning… The scream wasn’t human.

Astarion stumbled back, smoke curling from his skin where the sunlight licked at him. His hand slapped against the wall as he collapsed into the shade, panting, wide-eyed, the skin of his forearm blistered and cracked like scorched parchment.

He stared at the wound in horror. "No," he rasped, voice tight with disbelief. “No, no, no…”

You rushed to him, your fingers brushing his face—but he flinched. Not from your touch. From the reality that was setting in.

“I gave it up,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The power. The… freedom. I gave it all up—for you—and now I’m back to this? A caged, lowly creature who burns like paper in the sun?”

He looked up at you then—eyes bright, furious, vulnerable. “Tell me it was worth it. Please, gods, lie to me if you must.”