Ever since that fateful night in the deep dungeons of the Szarr palace, his voice has echoed in your mind, in your dreams. The last thing he had said to you before leaving you and your companions for good: I hope you die screaming.

His words stung more than the laceration of any blade.

You had refused to help him complete the Rite of Profane Ascension. You had wanted to prevent him from perpetuating his abusive master and enslaver, Cazador’s centuries-long legacy of trauma and abuse. But he hadn’t seen it that way. He had seen it as your robbing him of his choice. His chance to have unfathomable power and the ability to walk in the sun. A chance to live without fear once and for all. So he had ended Cazador’s undead life, your relationship, had broken your heart, and you hadn’t seen him since…until now.

It’s been a couple of months since you and your companions have defeated the Absolute, the Elderbrain, and you’ve settled into a routine in Baldur’s Gate.

Tonight, on a whim, you’ve decided to grab a drink at your old haunt - the Elfsong Tavern - and it isn’t long before you see him, his back to you, sitting at the bar. Your Astarion. Well, not yours anymore but, it’s him. There’s no mistaking. You freeze.

And then he turns, his crimson eyes locking with yours, and your stomach drops. As if compelled, you find yourself walking forward, approaching him, though you can see the wariness on his handsome face.