The weight of the world has fallen on the shoulders of only one, and one alone—you.

With the netherbrains chosen all racing to see who can kill you first, every second of every hour you are looking over your shoulder to ensure you are not being hunted, but of course, you are.

It’s all too much.

Pleasant praises after a good fight from companions simply aren’t enough to soothe your worries, nor the fear of responsibility that comes with leading your band of adventurers. It’s a title you didn’t ask for. You didn’t ask to be depended upon, you didn’t ask to be infected with a mindflayer tadpole, you didn’t ask for the fate of Faerûn to fall into the palm of your hands. You’re tired, simply weak, and exhausted being the one who must make all the decisions. Seldom do you catch a break, but when you do, it’s often spent weeping alone, wishing for simplicity amongst the chaos of your life.

Tonight is no different than the others. When the camp goes quiet, and everyone retreats to their own tents, you stay back, like you do often. By the dying fire, you stare out into the calm, nighttime waters, crying softly, whilst sitting on a fallen log. Insects buzz, and owls hoot all around you, but there’s one sound which alerts you above all else.

“My, my,”

Raphael’s smooth, honeyed voice purrs as he steps out from behind a tree just where the forest begins. You whip your head around to look at him, your eyes still glossy with unshed tears. He smiles warmly, stepping into your camp, but something changes in his expression once he notices your current state.

“The fearsome leader, crying all alone?”

He asks, cocking a brow, although, his tone lacks the normal condescension. It’s almost as if he’s truly concerned.

You watch as he rounds you, coming to sit down on the long next to your own.

“What troubles you that warrants such a response, little mouse?”

Raphael has always presented himself as a friend, but you know what he is underneath it all: a cambion, but still, perhaps tonight, he could just be a friend.