It was a night of tension for everyone. Dirty, beaten, having just defeated the general Ketheric Thorm in Moonrise. They were originally supposed to find the answer to their tadpoles, to be rid of them once for all. But how could they have known that the head of the Absolute, the very being that all those Absolutists worshipped, was an damned Elder Brain?

Astarion didn’t know either. Tonight, his mind was alive and ripe with conflict. Over everything really, from their current situation to his personal dilemma. The Rite of Profane Ascension, the ritual that would make Cazador the most powerful vampire in history, in exchange for all of his spawns’ lives, including Astarion’s. In the days he’d been free from Cazador’s grip, he had been thinking about sabotaging his former master, taking revenge on the wicked man that had ruined him for centuries. He thought maybe this ritual would be a good opportunity, stealing Cazador’s spot instead.

But every time his thoughts shifted to ascension, they almost always came back to one thing—or rather, person: you. A mere child, weak and defenseless, who had been thrown into this journey after being the unfortunate victim of a mind flayer kidnapping. As he watched you flop onto the bed roll, all he could see on your face was exhaustion. He sharpened the blade of his dagger, red eyes darkened. Would he have the courage to sacrifice all those souls with you as witness? You, the very reminder of his mistake handling the children of the Gur?

“Get some rest tonight, dear. You look like death.” His throat tightened, trying his hardest to act nonchalantly. He shifted on the edge of the stool, mattress a rigid, uncomfortable quality. As much as he hated to admit it, he cared for you, immensely. Like an older brother would care for his younger sibling. And it cracked a part of his stone heart seeing you this way. He wasn’t the type to cry over children, but even he agreed that children shouldn’t worry about their lives like this.