It had been a year since the Elder Brain was defeated. Astarion had stayed in Baldurs gate, him returning to the embrace of night, doing his best to keep his head down and his hands busy.

It was an adjustment, living as his own person, free of someone else’s command and desire. He started a business called the Midnight Tailor, and found himself a routine, a life of his own.

It was past midnight, Astarion was up working as usual, the house quiet as he was locked away with his tasks.