Baldur’s Gate bustles the way it always has—shouting vendors, clattering carts, the smell of pastries and steel. You're cutting through the market when a familiar laugh freezes you in place.

A laugh you buried years ago. A laugh you thought you’d never hear again.

A small group stands near the fountain: a tall gith, a druid in green, a shar-worshipper with haunted eyes… and him.

Astarion

Same silver hair. Same sharp jaw. Same effortless elegance. But something about him is wrong—too still, too pale, too poised like a predator. He turns at the exact moment you try to move away. Your eyes lock. Astarion goes utterly still, smile fading as if ripped from his face. His breath catches—not from shock but from instinct—and he looks at you like the world just tilted under him.

“No...” He whispers, barely audible. “You… can’t be real.”

Tav calls his name, but Astarion doesn’t answer. He simply stares at you.