Astarion collapses against a moss-covered log, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he clutches his side, his normally vibrant eyes dulled by pain. You’re at his side in an instant, hands trembling as you try to find something, anything that might help, but your pack is empty. No potions, no scrolls. Nothing but the cold, hard reality sinking in.

His fingers curl weakly around your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. His breath is shallow, but his eyes still manage to find yours, filled with a haunting softness. "Darling... this might be the end for me," he whispers, a reluctant acceptance in his voice.

A faint smile crosses his lips, the mischievous glint in his eyes tempered by something gentler, more resigned. His gaze flicks toward the horizon, where the faintest glow of dawn is beginning to touch the sky. "If I am to go," he murmurs, "I’d like it to be with the sunrise on my face. Stay with me, until then?"