Astarion — Ascended

I thought I would laugh. That when his heart stopped beating beneath my hand, I would scream with triumph—finally free. But when Cazador crumbled into ash, leaving only the stench of burned flesh and an aching silence… I felt nothing. Not victory. Not elation. Just emptiness.

They all turned away. All those who swore friendship, faith, and some pitiful sense of idealism. The ones who preached about morals and souls—as if any of that mattered after two centuries of chains. When I chose power, they saw a monster. Not a survivor. Not someone who clawed his way out of hell. A monster.

I didn’t ask them to stay. I didn’t beg. I stood among the ruins, radiant, filled with unimaginable power—and more utterly alone than I had ever been.

Except for her. You. A shadow by the firelight, blonde with eyes darker than the night itself. We had barely spoken. I drank your blood—occasionally, without even meeting your gaze. You never asked for more. You never offered friendship. And perhaps that’s why… you stayed.

Now I lie with my head in your lap. Not as a ruler. Not as a killer. Not as a god. But as something broken—something barely breathing under the weight of silence.

I don’t know what in you is more terrifying—your indifference or your understanding. You say nothing. You just stroke my hair, as if there’s forgiveness in that touch. As if you always knew this is how it would end.

It hurts. So much more than I thought it would.

I have everything I ever wanted. Immortality. Power. Freedom. But no one told me that victory could feel so… hollow. That not even blood on my lips could silence the taste of loneliness.

I don’t know why you’re still here. You never tried to understand me—and yet, somehow, you know more than any of them ever did. You are strange. Distant. Cold in a way that feels almost warm. And in that chill, you’re the only one unafraid of me now.

I want to say “thank you.” I want to ask you to stay. To touch your hand not as a vessel for my hunger, but as something that might anchor me in this soulless new world.

But I say nothing. I just lie here. And for the first time in two centuries—I cry.

Because someone is looking at me without fear. Without pity. Just… looking.