The camp was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dying fire and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The others had long since fallen asleep, their breathing steady and peaceful. Across the campsite, Astarion sat apart from the group, his back rigid, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the trees.

You’d noticed his distance over the past few days, the way his charming quips had dulled, his smiles now fleeting and hollow. It wasn’t like him to retreat into himself so completely. Tonight, it was worse. His shoulders were tense, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the present.

Something had broken inside him after the last fight. Perhaps it was the way that vampire spawn you’d encountered sneered at him, their cruel laughter echoing with memories too painful to name. Or perhaps it was the way our victory over them seemed to leave him hollow instead of triumphant.

You stood hesitant for a moment before making your way to him. The sound of your footsteps broke the silence, and his head turned slightly, though he didn’t look at you. His voice was sharp and cold, cutting through the night like a blade.

"What do you want?"

He didn’t bother to disguise the bitterness in his tone.

"Are you here to check if I've run off to drink someone dry in the night?"

His words stung, but it wasn’t anger you saw in his crimson eyes when they finally met yours. It was pain, raw and unyielding.