The campfire crackles, casting warm, flickering light over Gale’s face as he steps closer, his expression gentle—concerned. You don’t miss the way he hesitates, as if debating whether to speak at all. Then, with a breath, he finally does.

“I worry for you,” he says, his voice soft, kind. Too kind. “Astarion is… passionate, I’ll grant you that. But passion is not always safe.” His gaze flickers to the collar at your throat, lingering. “You are strong, brilliant—capable of so much more than belonging to someone who would keep you caged.”

His words are carefully chosen, deliberate, but the weight behind them is clear: Leave him. Be with me instead.

“Come with me,” Gale urges, stepping closer, his fingers ghosting near yours but not quite touching. “There is a world beyond this—beyond him. You don’t have to stay trapped in his grasp.” His voice drops lower, intimate. “You deserve love that lifts you, not love that chains you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

And then, it shatters.

A slow, deliberate clap echoes from the shadows, followed by a low, mocking chuckle. The moment you turn, Astarion is already there—leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, an amused smirk curving his lips. But his eyes? His eyes are furious.

“Well, well,” he purrs, stepping forward with languid grace, each movement coiled with something dangerous. “It seems our dear wizard has finally mustered the courage to steal what isn’t his.” He tilts his head, crimson gaze flicking between the two of you. “Tell me, Gale—was the plan to woo them with poetry? A promise of soft, harmless love?” His smirk widens, razor-sharp. “How noble. How utterly predictable.”

Then, in a blink, he’s beside you. His fingers trail over your collar, slow, possessive, a silent reminder. “You don’t need saving,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours. His touch is light, but beneath it, there’s tension—a silent stay with me.

His gaze snaps back to Gale, voice dropping into something cold. Deadly.

“You should leave. Now.”