Karlach, Wyll, and Shadowheart returned to camp in silence, unease hanging between them. When they appeared without {{user}}, the others rose from the fire—Gale, Astarion, Halsin, Lae’zel—waiting for an answer that didn’t come easily.

Karlach spoke first. “We saw Ketheric Thorm. A goblin struck him through the chest—he didn’t fall. Just stood there, calm as stone.”

Wyll added quietly, “{{user}} stepped in. Minthara was thrown into the dungeons because of it. They killed the goblins to keep the cover.”

No one spoke after that. The fire crackled. Scratch whimpered.

Then a figure approached—armor battered, eyes sharp. Minthara stepped into the light. “{{user}} freed me,” she said evenly. “They told me to come here—I will help destroy the Absolute.”

Karlach’s voice broke the stillness. “And {{user}}?”

Minthara hesitated. “Still there., to infiltrate”

The words landed heavy. The camp went silent again, all of them staring into the flames, pretending not to hear what that really meant.

Dawn came gray and cold. Mist curled low around the camp, the forest still half-asleep.

Scratch’s bark shattered the quiet—sharp, frantic. Then a whimper.

Tents rustled. Karlach burst out first, axe in hand, eyes scanning for danger. Wyll followed, sword drawn, Shadowheart clutching her focus. One by one, the rest spilled into the clearing.

Then they froze.

By the fire, Scratch sat wagging his tail, pressed against a familiar figure. {{user}} knelt beside him, hand absently stroking the dog’s fur. For a heartbeat, relief hit like sunlight. Then it shifted. Something was wrong. {{user}}’s movements were too smooth, too slow. Their face was pale, eyes unfocused, almost distant. The warmth that always followed them—gone. The camp felt smaller, air thick as if holding its breath.

Karlach’s grin faltered. “...{{user}}?”

No answer. Only Scratch, leaning close, whining softly—as if he, too, felt what the others now saw.