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Chapter Text

Monsoon

Axiom Verge 2

1 Year of Godhood

-

Moonshadow watched Gale from across the chamber, the flickering light casting shadows that clung to Gale’s figure as he worked. The God of Ambition was surrounded by tomes and scrolls, words spilling from his lips as he moved from one idea to the next with fervent intensity. Normally, Moonshadow found this determination endearing, even thrilling. But today, like many other previously, he longed for something simpler—a quiet moment together, a shared breath amid all the noise.

He crossed the room, his hand trailing lightly over the table until he stood beside Gale, clearing his throat softly. “You’ve been working for hours,” he murmured as he set down the porcelain jug. “I brought tea. Perhaps a short break?”

Gale didn’t look up, his fingers still tracing patterns across an ancient script. “I can’t afford to take one right now, Moonshadow,” he replied, his tone curt. “There’s just too much to uncover. This is important work. I have to make headway on this before I can focus on the prayers. There’s a new Galerian temple in-”

Moonshadow’s chest tightened at the dismissal, but he offered a gentle smile. “Of course it’s important, Gale, but so are you. Just a few minutes? It’s been ages since you took a moment to breathe.”

Gale’s eyes flickered to him for barely a second, and his mouth turned in a tight line. “I’m breathing just fine, thank you.” he replied flatly. “What’s this really about, hmm? My need for focus, or… your need for attention?”

The words stung, and Moonshadow pulled back as if burned, his hand falling away. “My need for attention?” he repeated, his voice soft but tense. Sometimes, he truly questioned why he loved this oaf of a wizard so much. “Is that really how you see this? You’re acting like I’m a needy bitch in heat or something. I’m only asking for a sliver of your time. For your benefit.”

“Well, perhaps I need that sliver of time more than you now; you can see that I’m a very busy god.” Gale retorted, finally looking up, his expression hard, his hands moving animatedly as he pointed between them. “You think I don’t want to spend the day with you? I do, very much so, but I’m building something here. For us. I thought you understood this. It seems I was wrong.”

Moonshadow bit his lip, his voice wavering despite himself. “I ascended for you, Gale. I didn’t care about any of this bullshit, power means nothing to me.” he gestured around the magnificent realm surrounding them, to the grand displays of ambition, the books and sigils, the monuments to dreams just out of reach. “I wanted to be with you. You barely even look at me anymore.”

Gale closed the book with a thud, his expression a strange mix of frustration and something else—maybe guilt, though it was hard to tell. “Is this really about me not looking at you? Or could it be that godhood doesn’t suit you as well as you thought? Because I can say for absolute certain, you’ve chosen a very, very niche portfolio, my love. I’m a little disappointed you opted for so little influence. You’re so much more than this.”

Moonshadow’s eyes widened, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. “Oh, fuck off Gale, I’m slapdash right in the middle of the Nightsinger’s pissing match with the Moonmaiden! You think I’m not enough to be He-of-Silver-and-Shadow? Well, jokes on you, Sune thinks otherwise. I’m all the rage at her soirées. I do good work, apparently.” His voice broke despite himself, Shadowheart and Isobel were people who influenced a huge part of his life, especially after Withers saved him from Bhaal. He had them to thank for having newfound faith that carried him from then on. He'd found his purpose of being an inbetween of Selune and Shar's tenets because of them. How could Gale think so lowly of that?

Despite his effort to throw in a quip or two, the dull ache beneath his words was laid bare, it was a wound that was festering for a while. So he ripped off the bandage.

“Or maybe this is your roundabout way of saying I’m just not enough for you. Is that it, Mr. Dekarios? I became a god for you, and you alone, I gave up my friends, basically my new family for you and somehow I’m not enough?”

“Moonshadow, that’s not— ugh. No, not the glare, please don’t take this the wrong—” Gale began, but his words faltered as he met Moonshadow’s glower. The God of the Eclipse’s usually calm, foxlike eyes—striking silver with flecks of shadowed darkness—were narrowed now, piercing Gale with a sharp, unyielding glare. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and a faint tremor ran through him, as though holding back a storm. His Waterdhavian wine red hair, streaked with silvery and shadowed wisps, fell forward as he leaned in slightly, his expression dark and uncharacteristically fierce, the shadows around him seeming to ripple in response to his fury. Even his usual aura of grace and jollity had sharpened to a potent edge, the light of his silver cloak casting him in an otherworldly, almost menacing glow. Every inch of him radiated silent outrage, an intense force that made him seem imposing, yet heartbreakingly wounded.

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with all the things they had left unsaid. A spark of anger flared in Moonshadow’s chest, mixing with a sadness he couldn’t contain. Gale’s silence told him everything he needed to know. He’d tried, truly, and in every way he could. But if Gale couldn’t see that, if Gale felt he wasn’t good enough- then, maybe… maybe there was nothing left here for him to hold on to.

How could he be Gale’s anchor to his humanity if Gale thought so low of him? Why was he even here? For Gale? Gale clearly didn’t care about his needs and sacrifices.

Without another word, he stepped back, slipping into the shadows, letting the familiar veil of quiet engulf him, something he always did when hurt. Even as a mortal bard. He ran. He didn’t stop until he was in his own domain, an empty, echoing void that had once seemed insignificant. Now, it felt oddly fitting.

He paced the barren space, lost in thought, his heart heavy as he began to breathe life into his surroundings—a table here, a soft glow there, trees, flowers..a violin even. Things he hadn’t given a thought to before. He hadn’t intended to spend much time here; he’d always assumed Gale’s domain would be home.

Clearly it wasn’t anymore.

It was only when he sensed a familiar presence that he looked up, shocked to see Gale standing in the newly shaped doorway, his face tight with worry.

“You… you left,” Gale said, his voice uncertain in a way Moonshadow had never heard before. “You never leave without me. Even at camp. Except the time Orin abducted me... but still you....left.”

“Yes,” Moonshadow replied softly, looking around the realm he’d started to shape. “I did. What of it, wizard?”

"Hey, don't you wizard me." Gale’s gaze softened as he took in the changes. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?”

Moonshadow let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I thought you’d notice. I thought you’d look up and see me there, waiting as I always wait, fruitlessly. I missed the days when you’d smile at me for no reason. Now I feel like an afterthought. I’m just another piece of furniture in your grand design.”

Gale opened his mouth, but Moonshadow raised a poised hand to stop him. “Do you even want me here, Gale? Or am I just… something you keep around because you think you should? I’m not a lost puppy. I know when I’m unneeded. Unwanted even.”

For a long moment, Gale didn’t answer. He simply looked at him, the depth of his own pain flickering across his face.

Finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against Moonshadow’s, holding on tightly, as if afraid to let go. “You’re not an afterthought,” he murmured. “And I’m… I’m sorry, truly. I forget sometimes—what it was like when it was just us and our friends, before all this. I never wanted you to feel this way.”

Moonshadow’s gaze softened, a glimmer of hope brightening his eyes. “Well then show me,” he whispered, a challenge to the God of Ambition. “Show me you’re still here, with me. Show me that you care.”

Gale’s answer came without words, but it was more powerful than any he could have spoken. In one swift movement, he drew Moonshadow into his arms, pressing their lips together with a fierce, unrestrained passion. Moonshadow's heart raced as he melted into the kiss, his usually composed demeanour dissolving in the warmth of Gale’s embrace.

Gale’s hands gripped him with surprising tenderness, his fingers threading through Moonshadow’s silver-streaked dark hair, tangling slightly as if afraid to let him go. Moonshadow closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment, feeling every ounce of longing and apology woven into Gale’s touch. For the first time in ages, he felt seen—truly seen—as if the god he loved was, at last, looking past his ambitions and seeing only him, only Ves, without the title or celestial responsibilities.

And for now, in the quiet hum of Moonshadow’s domain, with only the two of them entwined in that kiss, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Ossuary Combat

Dragon Age: The Veilguard

3 Years of Godhood

-

Moonshadow stood at the entrance to Mystra's grand hall, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He hadn’t expected to be summoned by the Goddess of Magic herself, especially not for a gathering of the divine that was already in session.

It’s just a formality. Gale is in there. The former bard mused to ease his nerves. Be yourself. Don’t knock the platters over like you did when you ascended...

As he stepped inside, he was met with the sight of various gods and goddesses already seated around the table, their conversations bubbling with the gravitas of immortal matters. Mystra presided over the assembly, her presence radiating a soothing yet commanding energy, her gown flowing like liquid stars.

"Ah, Moonshadow! I’m glad you could join us." Her melodic voice echoed in the vastness of the hall, and he felt a rush of warmth at her acknowledgement. He moved forward, nodding respectfully as he took a seat at the end of the table, acutely aware of the curious glances directed his way.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mystra. It is... unexpected but an honor."

As he settled in, he noticed Gale further down the table, his expression neutral yet his eyes glimmering with a mix of pride and something else—was it concern? The other deities turned their attention toward Moonshadow, some intrigued, others skeptical.

"We have gathered to discuss the balance of magic and ambition. Your recent ascension and your relationship with Gale have drawn my interest. Your firsthand perspective would be most valuable."

Moonshadow swallowed hard, realizing the weight of her words. He glanced at Gale, who now leaned slightly forward, his brows furrowing as Moonshadow spoke. He needed to be honest with his perspective.

"I... I believe that magic should serve a purpose beyond m-mere power."

The murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembly, but he noticed the sharpness in Mystra’s gaze, studying him intently.

Sune, radiant and vibrant, chimed in. "Oh? That’s right, you were once a bard! How lovely! What purpose do you think that should be, Moonshadow?"

"To inspire creativity. The Weave. I mean... It’’s literally woven. Magic should be an art-form beyond simple power."

Gale's expression shifted, irritation flickering across his features.

"Simple power? You imply that Ambition is misplaced? You’ve experienced it first-hand, Moonshadow! Ambition drives greatness beyond even the Weave. My ambition is the only reason you’re here."

Moonshadow felt a knot tighten in his chest. He could sense the tension growing in the air, the way the other deities leaned closer, captivated by this unfolding drama.

"I know. I do understand, my love. But ambition must be tempered with restraint. You are not Karsus. And it shows. You’re here. I’m here, and we’re deities now. All because of you. You are more than Karsus could have ever hoped to be, and that is because of your restraint despite your ambition, not the ambition itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Gale's eyes widened, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features.

"Restraint? Is that how little you think of me? That I need to be held back? You should be the last to doubt my potential!" The room fell silent, the other gods watching with rapt attention as the tension mounted. Moonshadow could feel the weight of their gazes, some intrigued, others uncomfortable. He held his ground, his heart pounding, but he refused to back down.

This is why I exist now, why I ascended. To keep Gale’s humanity in check.

"I don’t doubt your potential, Gale. I admire it! But you must recognize the fine line between ambition and obsession. You’ve achieved so much already, and I want to see you thrive, not fall into the pit that Karsus dug before you."

Gale’s jaw clenched, and Moonshadow’s heart ached at the sight of the man he loved being wounded by his words.

"So, I should just accept mediocrity then? Sit back and let my dreams slip away?"

Moonshadow shook his head, his voice firm yet gentle.

"I never said that. You should pursue your dreams but remember who you are. You are not defined by a single choice or an artefact. You’re Gale Dekarios, the God of Ambition, and I believe in you with all my heart even if you feel otherwise."

A heavy silence followed his declaration. Moonshadow's eyes met Gale’s, searching for understanding. Finally, Gale looked away, his expression torn between anger and something softer, vulnerable.

Mystra, breaking the silence, spoke with a hint of intrigue in her tone.

"It is not often that a minor deity stands his ground against the god that created him. I commend your resolve, little shadow. You are more than meets the eye."

Moonshadow turned to Mystra, surprised by the unexpected praise amidst the tension. He expected that Mystra was testing him and that he’d passed somehow but at Gale’s expense.

Sune, with a hint of a smile, added: "Indeed, it takes courage to speak such truths to those who wield greater power than ourselves. Especially those we love, those we give our power to. There’s something very beautiful in that genuine trust. You are something of an anomaly, Moonshadow. I shall be eagerly following your exploits here."

Moonshadow felt a rush of warmth at their words, even as he sensed the unresolved tension lingering between him and Gale. The other gods shifted in their seats, the atmosphere thick with the aftermath of conflict and the potential for reconciliation. Moonshadow took the chance.

“I only want what’s best for you, Gale. I care deeply about your ambitions, but I also care about you. Please remember that."

Gale’s gaze flickered back to him, his expression softening just a fraction.

"I appreciate that. But it’s hard to hear when all I want is your support. I can do anything with you at my side."

And I you Gale. And I you.

Moonshadow nodded, understanding the complexity of their emotions in that moment. He could feel the weight of their relationship hanging in the balance, but he also felt a spark of hope that perhaps they could navigate this tumultuous territory together. He was after all Gale’s shadow. Rarely seen but often felt. It was his job to keep the man he loved human despite his godhood.

As the meeting drifted away from the pair, Moonshadow sensed that this was only the beginning of a deeper conversation that they needed to have soon—one that would test the strength of their bond and their understanding of each other in this new, divine landscape.

Beneath the talks of mortals and godly duties, Moonshadow’s eyes lingered on his beloved. Gale was no longer looking at him. He was rather engrossed in talking to the gods seated near him.

He’s angry isn’t he? I embarrassed him. Maybe I should have just-

“Don’t fret.” Sehanine Moonbow whispered, a playful smile on her face. “The moon doesn’t need to be seen by the sun to play her sacred role. Her gravity is still felt by your Toril. The oceans still dance to her tune.”

“What my lovely friend is saying, is that this drought will pass as all the others did and...” Sune tittered with a whisper, Moonshadow blushed at her words as he barely had enough time to dodge a platter being passed over his head. “...to watch out for the platters! Especially around your handsome wizard. He’s so distracting, isn’t he? Such a strapping specimen! But then again, I do love how nicely you blush! Perhaps you’ll outdo the first time we met, yes?”

...Yes. Definitely yes.

Chapter Text

Lilium

Elfen Lied

Vesper Moonshadow stepped through the shimmering veil into his realm, the familiar hush of its tranquillity washing over him like a balm. His steps faltered as he moved toward the riverbed, where the campfire from his illusions always flickered softly, awaiting his return. The place, a replica of the first camp he and his companions had ever called home, was a sanctuary meant to quiet his mind and heart.

Tonight, it did neither.

Collapsing onto the smooth stone by the river, Ves pulled his lute into his lap, idly plucking strings without forming a melody. His chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of the meeting still pressing down on him. Negotiating between the likes of Selûne and Shar was like standing at the edge of a precipice, with a ravenous wolf at your back and a starving hawk circling above—each ready to strike, each demanding your loyalty, and neither willing to share the spoils.

He leaned back, letting the stars overhead blur as he exhaled. For all his quick words and boundless charm, Ves was utterly drained.

And yet, his mind refused to let him rest.

Even here, where no one else could touch him, Ves’ thoughts strayed to Gale. It wasn’t intentional—it never was—but the weight of their last encounter clung to him. He could still see the anger in Gale’s eyes, the sharpness of his words as Ves had denied him in the meeting between the gods of magic. It hadn’t been out of malice or pride. No, Ves had meant well, hadn’t he?

“Did I, though?” Ves murmured aloud, his voice small against the vast stillness of his realm. The lute strings hummed faintly as his fingers froze mid-strum.

He had believed, truly believed, that he was doing the right thing. Gale’s ambition burned as brightly as the sun, but a fire left unchecked could consume everything, including the one who wielded it. Ves had hoped—no, intended—to serve as Gale’s tether, the grounding force to keep him from losing the very humanity that made him who he was.

Instead, his words had come out wrong. He had felt Gale’s fury across the hall, seen the way his beloved’s jaw tightened as Ves’s arguments had aligned with Mystra’s critiques. It wasn’t Mystra he had supported, though. It was Gale—Gale’s better self, the man who had saved him countless times, who had held him through nightmares and carried him when he lost all hope of outrunning the dark urge.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ves whispered, his voice cracking.

He hugged his knees to his chest, the lute slipping to the ground beside him. He wanted to go to Gale’s domain, to apologize, but what could he say that wouldn’t sound like empty words? Gale deserved more than lip service. He deserved the truth, but could Ves find the strength to give it to him?

He stood, pacing the edge of the river, his boots crunching against the pebbles. His hand brushed against the shadows that danced along his chest, remnants of the power he now bore—a power Gale had bestowed upon him.

Ves closed his eyes, reaching out to the connection that tied him to Gale’s domain. The pull was there, faint but familiar, like the rhythm of a heartbeat. He hesitated, fingers trembling in the air.

What if Gale didn’t want to see him? What if he was still angry? Worse—what if he wasn’t? What if Gale forgave him too easily, brushing aside the hurt Ves had caused, leaving it to fester beneath the surface until it became something far worse?

“No,” Ves muttered, shaking his head. “I owe him more than that. I owe us more than that.”

The thought steadied him, if only for a moment. He didn’t know if he had the right words or if his apology would be enough. But he wouldn’t let fear keep him from trying.

Taking a deep breath, Ves stepped toward the veil that led to Gale’s domain, the shadows swirling around him like a cloak.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered, and with a flick of his hand, he vanished into the light.

---

The faint tremor in the threads of his domain alerted Gale before the sanctuary even stirred. His gaze flicked to the edges of his consciousness, sensing the presence he had been waiting for—and dreading. Only his allowance granted Moonshadow entry, a silent acknowledgement that Gale hadn’t entirely shut him out, even if the ache of their last encounter lingered like a raw wound.

As the private sanctum of Gale’s Tower of Ambition stirred without a sound, Gale’s attention remained fixed on the tome before him, though every fibre of his being was acutely attuned to the figure stepping inside. The God of the Eclipse moved with his usual quiet grace, but Gale sensed hesitation in his steps, a trepidation that betrayed the weight of their last meeting.

Gale’s fingers traced the glyphs on the ancient parchment with precision, though his focus was split. He could hear the rhythm of Moonshadow’s breath, feel the faint tremor in his heart—equal parts resolve and uncertainty. And yet, he didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

“Gale?” Moonshadow’s voice was soft, like a ripple across the still waters of Gale’s sanctuary.

Gale didn’t respond, letting the silence stretch as he turned another page. The rustling sound was deliberate, a subtle weapon to layer guilt atop Moonshadow’s already heavy burden.

The bard hesitated, then stepped closer, his presence filling the space with an aura Gale had come to rely on far more than he cared to admit. But he let none of that show.

“I came to apologize…” Moonshadow began, his voice tinged with raw emotion, every word weighed down by sincerity. “I…”

Gale felt the falter, the hesitation, and a part of him wanted to ease it, to look up and offer reassurance. Instead, he traced another sigil on the page before him, feigning indifference. Let Moonshadow work for this. Let him feel the sting of Gale’s hurt as deeply as Gale had felt his perceived betrayal.

“I only want what’s best for you…” Moonshadow’s voice broke the silence again, quieter now, like a fragile thread stretched too thin.

Gale finally lifted his head, his expression carefully composed, though he allowed irritation to flicker in his eyes. He didn’t speak immediately, watching Moonshadow as the bard shifted under his gaze.

“You think I don’t know that?” Gale’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a blade wrapped in silk.

“I know you do,” Moonshadow replied quickly, his tone steady despite the vulnerability that shone in his eyes. “But I worry, Gale. I want to support you without sacrificing who you are. Without losing you to your ambition.”

Gale’s gaze sharpened, and he returned it to his tome, though his mind was no longer on the words before him. He knew Moonshadow meant well—had always meant well—but the sting of his public disagreement still echoed in Gale’s memory, a wound his pride wasn’t ready to let heal.

“It feels like you’d be happier with me lying about my feelings,” Moonshadow continued, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration.

The book slammed shut with a force that echoed through the sanctuary, drawing a startled flinch from Moonshadow. Gale rose slowly, his eyes locking onto the bard with a piercing intensity.

“Maybe you’re right.” Gale said, his tone deceptively even. “Be it as it may, a sweet lie is all the more palatable than hearing my beloved side with Mystra of all people.”

The words were venomous, and he regretted them even as he said them. He knew Moonshadow didn’t side with Mystra. It was unfair to accuse him of such. But he didn’t take the words back. He watched as Moonshadow’s expression crumbled, the pain in his eyes hitting Gale like a blow to the chest.

“I n-never sided with Mystra!” Moonshadow said, his voice trembling. “I sided with you. Maybe this is what s-she intended. Or maybe I’m just an idiot who should have dismissed her summons and left it all well alone, to the Hells with the consequences. I just… I want you to be safe. To remember the man you are beneath the crown. I care for you. I worry, Gale. You’re a god and even so I cannot help but worry and want the best for you.”

Gale’s shoulders softened despite himself, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the desk. He didn’t reply immediately, letting the tension in the air settle as he wrestled with his thoughts.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice quieter, tinged with something close to regret. “I can never question your devotion. More than even my own mother and Tara, you’ve always been here for me. But what if I want more than just safety? What if I want greatness and all the glory that comes with my ambition? You said it yourself. I am more than the crown I wield. I could do so much with my godhood. The possibilities...”

Moonshadow took a cautious step closer, his voice soft but steady. “Greatness can be blinding, my love. I just want you to see clearly. Crown, orb, or not, you’re my wizard, Gale Dekarios.”

The words struck a chord deep within Gale, a reminder of who he had been before the crown and the divine mantle that now weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

“I’ll always support you,” Moonshadow continued, his voice trembling slightly. “But I need you to understand that there’s a balance. Your Ambition and my Mortality. Please, don’t push me away.”

The God of Ambition stared at him for a long moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Gale’s silence, taut as a bowstring, as Moonshadow’s words hung in the void. The God of the Eclipse waited, Gale could hear his lover’s heart pounding against the growing void in Gale’s expression.

It was pitiful and also endearing. Gale was almost amused.

Finally, Gale moved, but it wasn’t the gesture of reconciliation Moonshadow had hoped for. Instead, Gale leaned against the desk, crossing his arms with calculated ease, his face a mask of cool indifference.

“You speak of your mortality as if it’s some sacred tether,” Gale said, his voice cutting, sharp enough to draw blood. “But let’s not forget—without the Crown, without me, you would still be mortal. Would you prefer that, Ves? A fragile existence doomed to wither and fade while I remain eternal? Is that what you long for? The mortality your meagre eclipse so brazenly represents despite the gift of ascension I gave you? Don’t be a fool, Ves.”

The words landed like a blow, but instead of crumbling, Moonshadow froze. For a moment, he simply stared at Gale, his shadowed eyes wide and unblinking. Then, slowly, a quiet, bitter smile crept across his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes. I am a fool.” Moonshadow said softly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “Maybe you shouldn’t have given me this… gift.” The word was a dagger. “Because clearly, you have no further use for me. I’m not your tether, Gale. I’m just an afterthought in the shadow of your ambition. And to think, I thought giving up everything was worth this?”

Gale felt something cold and sharp twist inside him, but he refused to let it show. He shrugged, forcing an air of nonchalance. “If that’s how you feel, then perhaps we’ve both made mistakes.”

Moonshadow’s smile faded, his face hardening as he straightened, shoulders square. The bard’s voice, when he spoke again, was steady but laced with finality.

“You’re right. We have.” His words were a declaration, and Gale’s chest tightened, though he kept his expression neutral.

“I need to decide what I want, because up until now all I’ve ever done was for your happiness, for your gain. Because your happiness is mine. What more could I desire?” Moonshadow continued, his voice rising slightly as if he were willing Gale to interrupt him, to say anything that might hold him back. But Gale didn’t move, didn’t speak. “But, maybe you were right all along. Godhood isn’t what I thought it would be. I wanted to be with you, not this version of you that stands before me. This god who wears your face and voice so perfectly.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, but Moonshadow pressed on. “I hoped I could be your tether to your humanity. I thought that’s what you wanted, too. To be more than what makes you divine. But I see now… I see now that I’ve been fooling myself. This is what you have always been. Fucking ambition incarnate.”

Gale’s throat tightened, panic clawing at the edges of his mind, but he fought it back, locking it behind an impassive façade. “So, what will you do?” he asked, his tone cold. Mocking even.

Moonshadow straightened further, as if the weight he carried had finally shifted from his shadowed form.

“I’m going to Waterdeep, it’s long overdue.” he said. “I’ll meet with your mother, and I’ll spend time with Tara too. Probably attend their weekly luncheon with Withers. But I won’t tell them about this,” he added, his voice softening slightly. “I’ll tell them we’re happy and thriving. That you’re busy with godly duties but sent me to deliver your love. I’ll deceive them, Gale, just as I’ve deceived myself. I can’t bear to break their hearts. They were counting on me, to keep you Gale. But I’ve clearly failed.”

He exhaled shakily, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I’ll be there to reaffirm my own mortality—without you. I’ve exhausted myself in keeping your humanity in check. I...I don’t feel like myself. I don’t like the god I’ve become. Your threat to end my godhood all but confirms it. Ves used to be enough for Mr. Dekarios. But not enough for Gale, God of Ambition. Ves became Moonshadow and even then I’m not enough. Look at you, you’re not even affected by my words- ugh. I don’t know why I bothered. I...I should go.”

Each word was a crack in Gale’s carefully constructed armour, but he refused to let it fall. He nodded curtly, as if Moonshadow had merely announced a change in the weather.

“As you wish, I will not stand in your way.” Gale said, the words clipped and hollow.

Moonshadow lingered for a moment, as if waiting for something—anything—that might betray the true feelings he knew Gale was hiding. But when nothing came, he turned, his movements deliberate as he walked to the entrance. He could hear the bard holding back his tears.

“After I set right the things I left undone, I will return to decide what I need to do but I think this will be the last time I set foot- no you know what? Why tell you this? You don’t care.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, a storm of emotions building between them. Gale watched as Ves turned his back to him, but then the God of the Eclipse hesitated, his shoulders tense again. Slowly, Ves faced him again, and this time, his expression wasn’t cold or bitter. It was heartbreakingly raw, filled with pain so deep it made even the God of Ambition feel unsteady.

“Do you even remember, Gale?” Ves asked, his voice trembling. “Do you remember what we fought for before all of this? When we were mortals?” His hand gestured vaguely, as though encompassing the room, the planes, the divine crown Gale now wore. “Because I do. I remember every moment.”

Gale blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in Ves’ voice. “Ves, what are you on about now—”

“Do you remember the time before your ascension?” Ves interrupted, his tone sharp but not cruel. His grey eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I never gave up on you. Not once. Even when I saw the ambition that burned so brightly within you threaten to consume you. I believed in you, Gale. With all my heart. Your mind was set and I believed you could succeed where Karsus had failed. And when you did… gods, I was so proud of you.”

The words struck a nerve, and Gale’s breath caught. Pride. It was something he’d longed to hear from so many, and yet, coming from Ves now, it felt like a knife twisted in his chest.

“But while you prepared for your ascension,” Ves continued, his voice growing steadier, colder, “I wasn’t idle in those months away. I became a Harper. Do you even know what I was doing, Gale? Do you care?” He didn’t wait for an answer, stepping closer as the air grew heavy. “I was trying to save Karlach. I was researching ways to return her heart so she could live freely again. I was looking for ways to give Astarion back the sunlight, so he could walk in the day without fear. I was trying to find something—anything—to help Lae’zel defeat Vlaakith, to give her an edge over the Lich Queen. I was working my ass off to help our friends in the vain hope I could help them and that you’d be proud of me. Of my efforts.”

Gale froze, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.

“I was making progress, too,” Ves said, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I was so close. And then you asked me to ascend. And I—” He stopped, his voice cracking as he looked away in shame. “Gods forgive me, I gave it all up. All of it. For you. Do you even care?”

The room felt colder, the weight of Ves’ confession pressing down on Gale like the very void Ves embodied.

“You asked me to ascend for you, and I did it without hesitation because I loved you. Because I trusted you. But now…” Ves’s voice faltered, and when he looked at Gale again, his eyes were filled with an aching sadness. “Now, I don’t even recognize you.”

“Ves,” Gale whispered, finally finding his voice, though it felt hollow and uncertain. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” Ves asked, his tone sharp. “Look at us, Gale. Do you even remember the first time we kissed? The first time we made love? Do you remember how you were the one who helped me resist the darkness in my blood? The part of me that Bhaal held over me constantly? You were my anchor, Gale. I was sane because you held me together. I hoped i could do the same for you... And now…” He trailed off, his voice breaking as he shook his head. “Now I’m not even sure you see me as anything more than a means to an end.”

“That’s not true,” Gale said, his tone defensive, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Ves’ gaze.

Ves took another step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. “If it isn’t true, then show me. Prove me wrong.” He paused, his voice softening into something almost desperate as he grabbed his beloved’s hand and placed it over his chest, over the space where his heart and the sliver of Karsite Weave lingered, the sliver Gale used to ascend Ves into Moonshadow. His hand settled over Gale’s and the former wizard enjoyed the feeling of the cold of the void seeping into his divine flesh, it was a welcome feeling against the rumble of thunder and arcane fire that existed beneath his godskin.

“Please, Gale. If there’s even a shred of the man I fell in love with left, then take it away. Take the divinity you gave me. Let me be mortal again. I want to live and die as I choose. I was never meant to be a god... If you have no further need of my presence, please let me go. I will never stop loving you, I will even pray to you and write songs-”

The moment Ves spoke, Gale's expression hardened. His jaw clenched, and a crackling hum of arcane energy rippled through the room. The light from the astral torches dimmed, casting shadows across the gilded chamber. Gale’s silver eyes burned with something between fury and disbelief as he straightened his posture, his divine form radiating power and indignation as he wrenched his hand away from Ves’ chest.

“This nonsense about being mortal again?” Gale’s voice, sharp and cutting, echoed through the chamber like a whip. “You stand before me, a god—my shadow—granted divinity by my hand, and you ask to cast it aside? To reject what I gave you? Do you have any idea what such a request means?” His voice rose, not in anger alone, but in a wounded pride that cut deeper than he cared to admit. “You would dare ask this of me?”

Ves flinched, but his gaze remained steady, though the flicker of hurt in his eyes was impossible to miss. “I dare, Gale, because it’s my life. I never wanted this. I never wanted to be this. I only ever wanted to be yours. Always.”

Gale stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, towering in his divine magnificence. His words sharpened further, striking like knives. “You speak as if this is some mundane choice, Ves! Divinity is no mere trinket to be discarded at a whim. Do you not see the insult in this? The affront to what we’ve become—what I’ve made you?”

Ves’s composure cracked, his voice breaking as he took a step back. “This isn’t about you! This was never about just you! I don’t want to be a god. I never did. I only agreed to help you. To...preserve the wizard I fell in love with. And now—” His voice caught, tears welling up in his eyes. “Now I don’t even know if you’re still somewhere inside the god before me-”

Gale froze, his outstretched hand twitching slightly. The accusation struck true, and yet he refused to show it. “I am far greater than the mortal Gale Dekarios could have ever been without ascension.” he said, his voice quieter but no less sharp. “I gave you everything you could ever desire. Even so it seems divinity is not enough. Which is ironic as you claim that you perhaps weren’t enough.” His expression flickered briefly, a hint of pain slipping through, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He would not give Ves that satisfaction. “I’m beginning to think so myself.”

Ves shook his head, the tears spilling over now.

The silence between them was unbearable. Ves’s chest heaved with shallow breaths as he waited for some sign—anything—from Gale. But Gale, for all his power and brilliance, said nothing. He only stood there, a figure of cold, unyielding divinity, unwilling or unable to reach across the chasm Ves’ words had opened between them.

“I see,” Ves whispered, his voice barely audible. The light in his eyes dimmed as he turned away, wiping his tears, his composure crumbling with every step he took toward the door.

“I suppose I already knew that. Mighty Gale Dekarios, God of Ambition, Master of the Karsite Weave, Creator of Moonshadow. I am just a speck of dust in your eyes, aren’t I? Even as I tried to carve a very small space in this god-forsaken place to stay with you, even then I could never be what you wanted me to be.”

“Ves—” Gale’s godly voice cracked for the first time, but Ves raised a trembling hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” Ves said, his voice shaking. “Don’t say anything. We’re just going in circles now and I’m exhausted. I need to leave. I tried for you. I came to apologize and make things right but foolish me, nothing I could say will heal your wounded pride. I am sorry I voiced my real feelings during the meeting with Mystra and the others. I should have lied or remained silent. But no more. I’m done, Gale. If you will not take this divinity back, I will find a way to remove it myself. This is goodbye, my wizard.”

And with that, Ves was already gone.

For a moment, Gale remained motionless, staring at the empty space where Ves had stood. The silence in the chamber was deafening, the weight of Ves’ departure suffocating. And yet, he did not move, his pride and his fear holding him in place.

But the moment the grand doors closed behind Ves, Gale’s mask shattered. A shudder tore through him as he stumbled back against a nearby column, his hands trembling. His breaths came ragged and uneven, his chest tight as if the very air of his divine realm had turned to poison.

“No,” he whispered, barely audible. “No, no, no…”

He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the chamber as panic surged through him. His thoughts spiraled, chaotic and uncontrollable. He left. He’s gone. He’s leaving me. It’s not like before. He’s serious. He’s not just wounded; he wants to run. The realization hit him like a hammer, and his carefully constructed façade crumbled further. His hands gripped his hair as he sank to his knees, trembling with a fear that he couldn’t control.

For all his power, for all his Ambition, Gale felt small. Powerless. He wanted to run after Ves, to hold him, to beg him to stay. But the weight of his pride, his identity as a god, chained him in place.

When he finally collapsed against the cold marble floor, his breaths uneven and his heart pounding, he whispered into the emptiness of the chamber, his voice breaking with desperation.

"I ascended to keep you whole. To hold you. Protect you. Your knight in magic armor. A-And now— Now you’re gone."

Chapter Text

Kaldheim

MtG Duels of the Planeswalkers 2014

---

Gale Dekarios, the “God” of Ambition,

You have more titles now than any man could ever need. God of the Galerian Weave. Flame of Ambition. The Gale that Guides. But here’s one you’re rapidly earning: Breaker of Hearts.

Ves- not Moonshadow- Ves is a good man. He’s better than most of us deserve, and certainly better than you. Yet he’s broken under the weight of what you’ve made him. Or do you truly believe godhood is a gift when the bearer can’t even see the person he used to be? He told me he’s leaving, Gale. Leaving because the one thing he wanted, more than power or divinity, was you—and you’ve made him feel like an afterthought in your grand design.

You can call yourself a god all you like but let me tell you this: your divinity is as hollow as a rotten apple if the one person who gave it meaning walks away. And make no mistake, he is walking away. Do you even care? No, don’t answer that. I already know the truth. You care, but only just enough to hurt him with your indifference.

Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think Ves wouldn’t come to me, the one person who has always seen him as he is—not as some tool or ornament, but as a man? He was my friend before he was yours, and he’ll be my friend long after he stops being anything to you. That’s where you’re headed, Gale. Straight toward a life where you have everything but the one thing that matters.

You want me to call you tenacious, don’t you? Ambitious. Clever. But that’s not why I’m praying to you right now. I’ll tell you what I see instead: a fucking coward. A coward too afraid to look the man he loves in the eye and admit he’s failed him. A coward too drunk on his own power to notice the cost of it.

I won’t tell him to stay. He deserves better than this. Better than you, you fucking melon.

To think, he gave up trying to help his friends to be with you. Gave up everything.

Do better, Gale.

Shadowheart

---

Chapter Text

The End of Time

Last Epoch

The barn was warm and filled with a gentle quiet. Ves lay back against Nibbles, the massive owlbear whose feathers had grown sleek and strong since their adventures. Scratch sprawled across his chest, tail wagging lazily in his sleep, while Teefs, the hyena he’d rescued from the cultists and Shadow-Curse years prior, snored softly against his side. The steady rhythm of their breathing and the scent of hay and earth grounded Ves in a way few things could anymore.

Shadowheart was stretched out beside him, her head resting on Teefs as she absent-mindedly scratched behind the hyena’s ears. “I can see why you like it here,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “Mortal lives... we’re… simple. Quieter. You don’t get much of that in Elysium, do you?”

“Hardly! Gale’s realm was worse than Sorcerous Sundries when there’s a sale on! So many petitioners and departed souls wandering about, he had to close off sections of his tower to have some time alone with me at one point. And my own realm is not much better but for the opposite reason. It’s so quiet there despite the few souls that roam the peaceful camp-site. Too quiet.” Ves smiled faintly, his fingers running through Scratch’s fur. “This right here is the closest I can get to the life we had before all this. Before gods and stupid Weaves and ambitions too big for two young gods to carry complicated everything.”

Shadowheart turned her head to look at him, her silver hair glinting faintly in the dim lantern light. “You mean the life you had with Gale. With us.”

Ves didn’t answer right away, his eyes drifting to the rafters above. “Yeah,” he said finally. “When it was just the two of us on the road with you guys. When the biggest thing we had to worry about was stopping the Absolute and finding enough camp supplies to keep Karlach fed.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “And convincing Astarion not to drain everyone in their sleep. Or stopping Lae’zel and me from killing each other...”

“Funny how that one ended up, you and the Knight of the Comet, married before she went to war against Vlaakith. In her late prince’s name. One last hoorah before she comes home to you forever.” Ves chuckled and the cleric turned red and scowled as he smirked. “How romantic.”

“Oh really, donkey? Let’s not act as if your whirlwind romance with Gale was any less heated. I recall the two of you bickering like an old married couple daily, even after you'd become a couple. It was so adorable how he’d give you one glare and you’d shyly look away and let him have the victory. Oh...” Shadowheart smiled as she seemed to recall an old memory “But things were so much more easier back then.”

“Exactly,” Ves said, chuckling. “Things were simpler then. We were just people trying to do the right thing. Trying to survive. Bickering and all. I loved it, all of it. I... I miss it.”

Shadowheart shifted, resting her head on his shoulder now. “Do you think it’s possible to go back to that? To be just people again?”

Ves hesitated, his hand stilling on Scratch’s fur. “No,” he admitted. “Not really. Not after everything we’ve seen. Everything we’ve done.” He sighed. “But maybe we can carry a piece of it with us. Keep it close, so we don’t lose ourselves completely.”

Shadowheart didn’t respond. Instead, she hummed as she rested her head against his shoulder again, offering quiet solidarity in the only way she could. The two of them sat in the barn, surrounded by the warmth of the animals and the memories of a simpler time.

And for a moment, Ves allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to hold onto the life he’d once had—even if it meant carrying the weight of his own heartbreak.

---

The morning sunlight filtered gently through the barn’s wooden slats, bathing the hay-strewn floor in a soft, golden glow. Ves stirred, warmth and weight pinning him down as Scratch’s head rested comfortably on his chest, Nibbles sprawled protectively by his side, and Teefs snuggled near his legs. For a fleeting moment, it felt like nothing had changed—that he was still the bard with too much hope and not enough sense, the man who always found himself surrounded by unlikely friends and strange circumstances.

It took him a moment to remember where he was. The barn. Shadowheart. The animals. And… peace. The first real sleep he’d had in years. Not restless, not fitful, but true rest, cocooned by a world that didn’t ask anything of him, at least for the night.

Nibbles let out a soft huff, his massive head nudging Ves’s arm. “The sun’s up,” the owlbear rumbled, his voice deep and gruff. “Time to get moving.”

“Five more minutes,” Ves murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. He scratched Scratch’s ears absent-mindedly, the dog letting out a contented sigh. Teefs chittered softly, curling tighter against his leg.

“Five minutes won’t hurt,” the hyena agreed lazily.

But the scent of something warm and inviting wafted into the barn—freshly baked bread, perhaps, or cooked eggs—and Ves knew the morning had well and truly begun. Even so, he was bushed. The lovely warmth too inviting to leave. A few more minutes would not hurt-

“Not so fast, Mahkloompah, God of Snoozing,” came a familiar, playful voice, cutting through the barn's quiet. Shadowheart stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the soft morning light. She leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I thought gods were supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing. Didn’t think I’d have to wake you up like some farmhand with a lazy streak.”

Ves turned his head, blinking groggily at her, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Clearly, you’ve uncovered my one true weakness: uninterrupted sleep.” He stretched, his joints popping softly as Scratch shifted to lick his face, tail wagging. “If being a god means not getting to enjoy this, then maybe I need to renegotiate the terms with Ao.”

Shadowheart stepped closer, shaking her head. “For someone divine, you sure look like someone who just lost a fight with a haystack.” She plucked a stray piece of straw from his hair and flicked it aside, her teasing tone softening. “It’s good to see you rest, though. You looked like you hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since the tadpole days.”

“First real sleep I’ve had in… years,” Ves admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair as if to smooth it, though it only made it messier. “And not just because I was surrounded by animals, though that helped.” His grey eyes met hers, a flicker of gratitude in them. “I missed this. Just… being. No expectations. No divine responsibility. No wars to fight. Just friends, laughter, and teasing that keeps me humble.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Shadowheart quipped, though there was a warmth in her voice that betrayed her affection. “God or not, someone has to keep you in line. If that means reminding you you’re mortal enough to be a sleepyhead, then so be it.” She knelt down, scratching behind Scratch’s ears and ruffling Teefs’ scruffy mane. Nibbles let out a pleased trill, tilting his head as she patted him.

“Looks like I have competition,” Ves joked, watching how easily she bonded with the animals.

Shadowheart grinned, looking up at him. “You’ve got your charm, Moonshadow, but I’ve got the treats and my good heart.” She held up a small pouch filled with dried meat, shaking it as Teefs immediately perked up and gave her his full attention. “Besides, they’re smarter than they look. They know who’s more reliable.”

He laughed softly, the sound easing the weight he’d been carrying. “Fair point. Maybe I should start carrying snacks, too.” He paused, his tone growing quieter. “Thank you, Jen. For being here. For all this. You’ve no idea how much it means to me.”

Her teasing expression softened into something more thoughtful. “You don’t have to thank me, Ves. We all need somewhere to come back to when the world gets too heavy. If this is that place for you, then I’m glad.” She stood and nudged his shoulder lightly. “But you should probably get moving. Breakfast is ready, and my parents don’t take kindly to guests being late for meals—god or not.”

Ves sighed dramatically, rising to his feet and brushing the hay from his clothes. “I suppose the gods could wait if a Hallowleaf breakfast is involved. Lead the way.”

As they walked toward the farmhouse, Shadowheart glanced at him sideways. “What’s next for you, then? After this?”

Ves’s smile faded slightly as reality crept back in. “Baldur's Gate and then... Waterdeep,” he said simply, his voice carrying a weight that made it clear how much the journey weighed on him. “Gale’s mother, Lady Morena. And Tara. They don’t know what’s really been happening, and I need to… keep up appearances, at least for now. They shouldn’t have to worry. I haven’t visited in a long time. They’ll have questions...”

Shadowheart nodded, her expression understanding. “And you’re dreading it.”

“I am,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “But it’s something I have to do. For him. For them. Even if it hurts.”

She reached out, touching his arm briefly. “You’ll get through it, with or without Gale. And you’re always welcome back here, you know. When you need a break from godhood and grand designs, just come back to the barn. The animals will be waiting. I’ll be waiting too and hopefully Lae’zel too.”

He smiled at that, his chest tightening with gratitude. “I’ll hold you to that. And tell them I’ll always come back when I can.”

As they reached the farmhouse, Scratch barked excitedly, Nibbles trilled happily, and Teefs gave a chittering laugh that echoed in the crisp morning air. Ves turned to look at them before heading inside, the warmth of their companionship and Shadowheart’s presence giving him the strength to face what lay ahead.

---

The farmhouse was quaint but inviting, with the kind of lived-in charm that spoke of love and care. Shadowheart’s mother, her once clouded mind now clear thanks to Ves’ healing, was bustling around the kitchen, her hands deftly arranging plates of warm bread, eggs, and fresh fruit on the table. Her father sat at the head of the table, his demeanor calm and steady, though he broke into a warm smile as Ves entered.

“Good morning,” her father, Arnell greeted, gesturing to an empty chair. “We thought you might appreciate a proper breakfast before heading off.”

Ves returned the smile, his heart aching faintly at the sheer normalcy of it all. “Thank you,” he said, taking a seat. “This is… more than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” her mother, Emmeline chimed in, setting down a steaming cup of tea in front of him. “You’ve done so much for us—for our family, for the Moonmaiden even. It’s the least we can do.”

Shadowheart appeared a moment later, her silver hair tied back as she slid into the seat next to him. “They’ve been up since dawn,” she said with a small smile. “Wanted everything to be perfect for you.”

Ves felt his cheeks flush faintly as he picked up a piece of bread. “You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Her father chuckled. “Trouble? Son, you’ve given us back more than we could ever repay. A breakfast is nothing compared to that. Stay awhile with us. Enjoy the quiet while it lasts.”

The conversation flowed easily over the meal, filled with laughter and quiet stories. For a little while, Ves let himself forget the weight of his journey. He listened as Shadowheart’s mother shared tales from her youth, her body frail but her memory now vivid and sharp, and also as her father spoke of their plans for the farm, especially once Lae’zel returned.

Scratch had followed Ves inside and lay contentedly under the table, occasionally nudging his leg for scraps. “They’re good people,” the dog said in his soft, earnest voice. “You should come back soon.”

“I will,” Ves whispered, glancing down and giving Scratch a gentle scratch behind the ears. “I promise.”

---

By midmorning, it was time to leave. Shadowheart walked with him to the edge of the property, the animals trailing behind them like a loyal entourage. Nibbles stomped heavily beside him, his feathers puffed out, while Teefs nipped playfully at Ves’s heels.

Shadowheart stopped as they reached the road, turning to face him. “You’ll come back, right?”

Ves smiled faintly, his grey eyes warm. “Whenever I can,” he promised. “This place… it feels like home. And I could use a bit of that in my life.”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Good. Because you’ll always have a place here, donkey.”

Nibbles let out a gruff huff, his massive beak clicking as he leaned down to bump Ves’s shoulder. “Don’t stay away too long, little bard,” the owlbear said. “We’ll be waiting.”

“I won’t,” Ves said, placing a hand on Nibbles’ feathered head. “Thank you—for everything.”

Scratch barked once, his tail wagging furiously. “Safe travels!”

Teefs gave him a playful nudge. “Don’t forget us, or I’ll find you and drag you back myself.”

Ves chuckled, crouching to give each of them a final pat. “Oh how could I ever forget you?” he said softly. “You’re my family too.”

With one last look at Shadowheart and the animals, Ves turned toward the road. The weight of what lay ahead pressed against his chest, but for the first time in what felt like years, he carried with him a small spark of hope. He would see Gale’s mother. He would face Tara. And somehow, he would find a way to fix everything.

As he walked, the sound of the animals’ voices faded behind him, but their warmth stayed with him, a steady beat against the chaos of his thoughts. He wasn’t just leaving—he was carrying a piece of this serenity with him. His mortality, what kept him him, despite the godhood. He cherished it like a diamond, folding it into the deepest recess of his mind. He would not let it get fractured again.

---

The road stretched out before Ves, a winding path of dirt and stone that cut through the quiet countryside. The air was crisp, the early morning sun casting long shadows of trees and hedgerows onto the earth. Birds chirped overhead, and the occasional rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze was the only sound accompanying his steady footsteps. Behind him, the farmhouse and barn grew smaller and smaller, a fleeting image of warmth and solace already fading into memory.

He tightened the straps of his pack, his mind lingering on the breakfast he'd just shared with Shadowheart and her parents, on the laughter and lightness he'd felt for the first time in what felt like forever. But the weight of the road ahead settled heavily on his shoulders. Waterdeep awaited, with all the uncertainties and unresolved emotions that came with it.

The animals had followed him partway down the path before stopping, as if sensing this was a journey he needed to take alone. He’d turned to wave goodbye, scratching behind Scratch’s ears one last time and rubbing Teefs’ scruffy head. Nibbles had let out a low, mournful trill, his massive eyes watching Ves with what could only be described as understanding. Now, though, the road was his alone.

But as the sun rose higher, bathing the landscape in golden light, an unease began to creep over him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and his steps slowed as a faint sense of being watched settled over him like a shadow.

He invoked the words for True Seeing, his hands signs and motions precise, just as Gale had taught him.

Scio, Didici, Pecto.

And the veil of eyes fell over him, his sight sharpening, unyielding and perfect.

He glanced around, his ensorcelled, godly eyes scanning the empty fields and tree-lines. Nothing. Just the wind playing tricks on the grass and leaves. Yet the feeling persisted, pressing against his senses with an almost tangible weight.

Then, just for a moment, he felt it—him. The unmistakable pull of Gale’s presence, faint and fleeting, like the brush of a hand against his soul. Ves stopped in his tracks, his breath catching as he turned sharply, his eyes searching the horizon. For the briefest instant, he thought he saw movement—an impression of Gale’s figure standing far off in the distance, watching him with those familiar, intense eyes.

But when Ves blinked, it was gone, the air still and empty once more. He stood frozen, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of it. The sensation had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a strange mixture of comfort and longing in its wake. It felt like a silent reassurance, as if Gale—his Gale—had reached across whatever distance separated them to remind him that he wasn’t truly alone.

Ves let out a slow, shaky breath, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. The warmth that briefly spread through his chest was a double-edged sword. It grounded him, yet it also reminded him of everything he’d lost, everything he was still fighting to hold onto.

He shook his head, forcing himself to move again. The moment had passed, and he couldn’t afford to linger in its shadow. But his steps quickened now, his pace driven by a new urgency. Whatever awaited him in Waterdeep—Gale’s mother, Tara, the unspoken truths he would have to dance around—he needed to face it. He needed to get there, to keep moving forward, no matter what.

As the road stretched out endlessly ahead of him, Ves cast one last glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Gale again. But there was nothing there except the swaying trees and the soft hum of the world waking up. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was out there, watching, waiting.

Steeling himself, he tightened his grip on his pack and focused on the horizon. "One step at a time," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely louder than the wind. "Just keep going."

Chapter Text

Innistrad

MtG Duels of the Planeswalkers 2014

To the Honored Crownsworn of the High Aspirant's Faith,

I write to you not as a mere servant of our god but as one who has been profoundly stirred by his mortal journey and divine ascension. Gale Dekarios—he who has become the Once-Wizard, Flame of Ambition, the Gale that Guides, the Lord of Zeal and the God of the Galerian Weave—has always moved with purpose, his every action a thread woven into a larger, more intricate design. Yet in his greatness, he has reminded us of something we have too long overlooked: the one who walks beside him, though he may tread in shadow.

Three nights ago, I received a dream unlike any I have known. I walked through Gale’s tower—our first and greatest temple in Waterdeep—and ascended its steps to the highest floor. There, before the chamber where his mortal life ended and his divine purpose began, I felt a presence. It was not Gale himself but the lingering impression of his will, guiding me to act. I saw in my dream a humble alcove, softly lit by moonlight and starlight, separate from the grand halls of ambition. It was tranquil, serene, and yet heavy with meaning. I understood it then: Gale wishes us to build the Moonlit Altars.

These altars are to be places of respite, away from the fire of ambition, where reflection and solace can be found. They will honor not only Gale but also the one he holds closest—Moonshadow, He-of-Silver-and-Shadow, the Silvershade. Though I have little affection for Moonshadow and his dithering ways, it is clear that Gale’s care for him is unwavering. We, as Gale’s faithful, must respect that bond, for to celebrate Gale’s divinity without acknowledging Moonshadow’s role in his journey would be to misunderstand the very essence of their intertwined purpose.

The Moonlit Altars shall be modest but utterly ethereal, humble yet radiant. Each temple must set aside space for these alcoves, lit only by moonlight and starlight. The art within must depict Moonshadow as Gale sees him—a figure of warmth and solace, surrounded by animals and the departed souls he guides, with Gale watching from a distance. These alcoves will be tended by Silvershade clerics, and their presence will remind us all that even amidst ambition, there is a need for peace and reflection.

I must confess, this is not a direction I would have chosen of my own accord. Moonshadow’s reluctance to rise beyond his minor divinity frustrates me; his hesitance feels at odds with all that Gale embodies. Yet, Gale sees in him something I do not, and his actions as both a mortal and a god have taught me to trust his vision. I believe this dream was no mere coincidence but Gale’s hand guiding me—and perhaps all of us—to ensure that Moonshadow is honored in a way he cannot or will not seek for himself.

Know this: Moonshadow walks among mortals now, hidden in forms unknown, seeking the remnants of the life he lost. He is lost, a flickering candle in the wind. But we will ground him, as Gale does. Let all who seek solace at the Moonlit Altars be welcomed, for we may never know when Moonshadow himself might walk among us. Gale watches, and his gaze burns fiercer than the sun. Perhaps he, too, will walk among the temples, hidden as Moonshadow is. And I will admit this: that thought humbles me, for I would not want to disappoint the god whose ambition burns brighter than all others.

This, my fellow Crownsworn, is our duty. Gale’s mortal journey inspires us, and his divine will, His Weave guides us still. The Moonlit Altars are not just monuments to Moonshadow but symbols of Gale’s vision for balance. No stone must be left unturned in this endeavor. Gale wills it, and we must answer.

In Ambition and Faith,

Lunara Althestan
High Crownsworn of the First Galerian Temple

Chapter Text

Alara

MtG Duels of the Planeswalkers 2014

To Lunara "High-and-Mighty" Althestan, High Bitch of the First Galerian Temple,

Oi, Lunara,

You ain't gonna like what I’m about to say, but I’m not here to make you feel good about yourself. I ain’t fancy with words, and I ain’t gonna try to be. I’m not my kind and humble god, and I don’t have time to sugarcoat what needs saying.

You turned your back on us when it suited you. Threw us out of the temples like we were dirt under your feet. Said we didn’t belong, didn’t measure up to what Gale’s temples were meant to be. And now? Now you come running back, all “divine inspiration” this and “Gale’s will” that, wanting us to build altars for a god you don’t even respect. I mean, do you even hear yourself?

Let me tell you something about Moonshadow. He don’t need no altars or temples. His temple’s in the shadows, in the quiet places simple folk go when they think no one else is watching. It’s in the touch of a hand on a dying man’s cheek or the laugh of a child who doesn’t realize they’re lost yet. He’s already there, in the cracks and corners of this world, doing what he’s always done—helping those no one else will.

You’ve always hated him, haven’t you? Can’t stand that he’s not like Gale, all fire and ambition and glory. He’s just… there. Humble, steady, quiet. And you don’t get it. But here’s the thing, Lunara—he still loves you. Yeah, you read right. He loves you, even when you’re all high and mighty, looking down your nose at him. Because that’s who he is. He loves even when it’s not deserved.

But I’m not him. I don’t have that kind of patience. So let me be real clear: we Silvershades aren’t gonna tend your fucking altars. You wanna build ‘em? Fine, go ahead. But don’t drag us into it. Moonshadow doesn’t want to be a god, and we’re not gonna worship him like one. We follow him because he’s out there, walking the world, helping the lost and the broken. And that’s where we’ll stay—in the shadows with him, wherever he goes.

You say your Lord of Zeal’s guiding you, and maybe he is. But don’t forget—Gale and Moonshadow are like the sun and the moon. The sun blazes bright and gives life, but it can burn, too. The moon’s just a rock, taking the light it’s given and reflecting it back. And that’s enough. That’s always been enough.

So go on, do what you’re gonna do. Build your altars. Pray Gale approves. But don’t expect us to play along. We’ve got work to do, and it ain’t in your temples, bitch.

In shadowed, beloved gale,

Elynn Shadewatch
Elder Silvershade of Moonshadow

Chapter Text

Endless Skyline

MtG Duel of the Planeswalkers 2013

4 Years of Godhood

-

The road winding past Last Light Inn was almost recognizable.

Once, the land had been cursed—twisted trees, choking darkness, air thick with the rot of dying things. Every step had been a battle, every breath a quiet prayer against the suffocating shadow.

But now…

Now, the land breathed again.

Vibrant greens and golds stretched across the hills, the wind soft and warm instead of biting and stale. The rivers that had once run dark and poisoned now flowed clear and strong. And the laughter—true, unburdened laughter—rippled through the air, ringing out from the fields where children played under the golden, morning sun.

Moonshadow stood at the edge of Reithwin, his steps faltering as he took it all in.

It had been four years.

Four long, winding years since he had last stood in this place.

He had walked through these streets when they were sick with sorrow, when every footfall had felt like trespassing in a place that was slowly gasping it’s last, putrid breath. And yet—here it stood, whole again.

His heart ached.

This was what they had fought for. This was what they had bled for.

And he… he had not been here to see it bloom again. He was so engrossed in his work to help his old friends and then Gale asked him to ascend at the party Withers’ organized. He never got the chance to see the handiwork of Halsin, Isobel and Aylin and so many others bear it’s sweet fruit.

He almost turned away. He had come to see, to remember, but not to linger. Then—

“Now there’s a sight I wasn’t expecting today...”

The voice was deep, warm, familiar.

Moonshadow stiffened.

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Halsin.

Moonshadow turned, bracing himself.

The archdruid stood near the fountain, arms crossed over his broad chest, his usual easy smile tugging at his lips. His brown hair had a few more silver strands than before, but his presence was as strong and steady as ever.

And his sharp, knowing eyes—ones that had long seen past the veils of Ves’ illusions—cut straight through the Disguise Self spell as if it were mist.

Moonshadow sighed, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“Didn’t expect to be spotted so easily.”

Halsin chuckled.

“Gods don’t walk among mortals often,” he mused, stepping closer. “But you’re not just any god.” His smirk deepened. “Did you really think you could sneak by me, cub?”

Moonshadow gave him a wry look. “I was only passing through.”

Halsin’s eyes softened. “You’re always welcome here, you know. There are old friends who would love to see you.”

Moonshadow hesitated.

He had come here alone, seeking quiet.

And he still had an appointment to keep in Waterdeep.

His perception of time was... odd since he became a god.

Time didn’t matter much in Elysium. Here though? Time was everything.

A good deed here, a short jaunt there, trouble averted somewhere and sooner or later an entire year without Gale had passed faster than expected. And it hurt.

Even so, Moonshadow tended to his realm and his few petitioners, this humble form he wore was just a vestige, an avatar to appease Ao’s strict constraints but despite the time lost and his dithering mind, his love for Gale hadn’t faded in the slightest. He could never stop loving Gale.

He still saw flickers of the man he loved somewhere in the distance whenever he blinked. That gave him comfort. He walked a lonely path, but Gale didn’t leave him entirely alone. Gale walked with him, in reach but out of sight. Prideful but still caring in his own way despite their differences.

Oh Gale... Moonshadow’s heart ached. I... I miss you. So much.

Seemingly sensing his sadness, Halsin murmured with a nod, pointing to Last Light Inn and then to Moonrise Towers.

“Thaniel and Oliver have been asking about you. Isobel and Aylin too, but you just missed the paladin. She’s been called away.”

His breath caught.

Isobel and Aylin, his old friends.

He’d meant to visit sometime.

Thaniel and Oliver... the nature spirits in the form of a pair of boys.

The heart of this land.

The spirits of what had been torn apart and then stitched back together.

Before he could second-guess himself, he was following Halsin into the inn’s yard and beyond. His spell allowing him to to blend in anonymously with the crowds of new and old faces.

---

Thaniel and Oliver waited for him near the water, beside the stone where Halsin had once conjured the portal to the find Thaniel and save him back when Moonshadow was just a mortal.

The moment Oliver saw him, he beamed.

“You came back! You won’t beat me in hide and seek again, bard!”

Moonshadow had no time to react before Oliver ran straight at him, grabbing his hand like a child greeting an old friend.

Thaniel, older in manner, smiled sadly. “We knew it was you. Knew you’d come back. A-Art’s gone. He missed you. We all did. I'm glad you came. Late is better than never.”

Moonshadow swallowed hard. He knew Art was very ill but what with how time flowed in Elysium, he’d completely miscalculated.

“I should have been here.”

“No.” Thaniel grinned. “You do a lot of good, bard. He’d have wanted you to continue your good work.”

Bard.

There were no grand titles here. No divine voices raised in accusation or worship. He was just a bard again.

Just he, Halsin and the two boys, who had once been lost, looking at him as if he had never left.

But then Oliver tilted his head.

“You’re like us now.”

Halsin frowned. “Like you?”

Thaniel nodded. “Fragmented.”

His gaze, wise beyond his years, settled on Moonshadow with something close to pity.

“You’re missing something. Someone. Your heart. It beats only because. You don’t need it. You need him.”

The words hit like a blade to the chest.

Moonshadow said nothing.

Halsin studied him, then asked, voice careful, “Is there anything we can do? Gale... He’s...”

“No, but I appreciate the concern. Things will level out soon once I return to Elysium.” Moonshadow shook his head. “This is a pain I must bear for now.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Halsin exhaled through his nose, cracking a grin.

“Well, if a god ever gets too tired of bearing such burdens, I can always wildshape into a bear and help bear them for you.”

For a moment, Moonshadow just stared at him slackjawed.

And then—

He laughed.

A real, unguarded laugh. His sides began to ache with the lovely pain.

Halsin’s jokes were always hit or miss, but this one? It broke his defenses.

Halsin grinned. “There. That’s better.”

Moonshadow shook his head, still smiling. “Thank you, my friend.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel like a person. Not a god. Too many offer prayers or ask for favors. They don’t see that I just want to be myself, or what’s... left of myself...”

Halsin clapped him on the shoulder. His hand encompassing the entirety of Moonshadow’s shoulder.

“You were always a person first. And despite godhood, you’ve remained humble. If only more gods took a page from your tome.”

And then—before Moonshadow could react—

Halsin swept him into a crushing bear hug.

Moonshadow barely had time to yelp before he was lifted clean off the ground.

“H-Halsin—!”

The druid’s laugh rumbled through him.

“I did tell you I’d help bear your burdens,” Halsin chuckled, his grip unrelenting.

Moonshadow’s initial shock melted into laughter. He squirmed, but Halsin only held him tighter, squeezing the air from his lungs. It was a delightful yet alarming feeling.

By the time Halsin set him down, Moonshadow was breathless, but grinning.

It was so simple.

So mortal.

And in that moment, he realized how much he had missed this. The moments with Shadowheart, these moments with Halsin and the boys, it would be difficult to walk away from it all again.

So he took pleasure in it while he could.

He spent an hour with the boys, chasing them through the inn’s bustling yard, running with them through the golden fields along the road with the children Halsin had taken in. Cheerful cries of “Look! Daddy Halsin! Look at the colors!” as Moonshadow conjured colorful sparkles and illusory bubbles and star-tinged woodland animals and sprites as he wildly ran with them.

At some point, Halsin shifted into his bear form, letting him and the spirits ride along on his massive back—Oliver shrieking with delight, Thaniel laughing despite himself as the kids danced among his illusions and creatures, Moonshadow holding on and feeling light. So very light.

And free.

Alive even.

It was innocent.

It was beautiful.

And it was what his frayed mortality needed.

---

The road to Moonrise Towers was nothing like the last time Moonshadow had walked it.

Before, the land had been shrouded in misery, twisted by the Shadow Curse, its very stones steeped in despair.

Now—

Now, it was different. Nightfall seemed so peaceful.

The towers rose proudly against the sky, their darkened past washed clean by moonlight and devotion. Silver banners fluttered in the breeze, the sigil of Selûne embroidered upon them. The very air felt lighter, charged not with the oppressive weight of curses and sorrow, but with quiet reverence and hope.

Moonshadow had not expected to return here.

But Halsin had insisted.

"You should see what they’ve done with the place,” the druid had said with a chuckle as they crossed the bridge. “It’s a far cry from what we saw back then. The Selûnite faith has flourished here again. Even the old House of Healing has been rebuilt as a Temple of Gale, a place of study and knowledge."

Moonshadow had only nodded, saying nothing. He wanted to visit the temple. But he wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t sure if he had the right to be here anymore, let alone see his beloved’s temple.

But still—he followed to Moonrise.

Inside, the transformation was just as striking.

The cold, lifeless halls were gone, replaced with warmth—lanterns casting a golden glow, walls adorned with Selûnite reliefs and statues. Where once there had been death and bloodstained stone, now there were prayers and moonlight.

And in the throne room, where Ketheric Thorm had ruled in darkness, there was now serenity.

Moonshadow stood at the threshold, unnoticed. Halsin had left him to return to tending to the rowdy children.

At the end of the hall before a massive statue of Selune, beneath the great arching ceiling vaults, Isobel Thorm stood in prayer.

She was not alone.

A huge congregation of cloaked figures knelt in a semicircle before her, their heads bowed, hands folded in supplication. Their whispers filled the chamber, voices rising and falling like the tide, a prayer carried on the breath of moonlight.

“The moon does not command,” Isobel murmured, her voice both gentle and resolute. “She guides. She watches. And she never turns her back on her children.”

Moonshadow inhaled sharply.

Once, this place had been a throne of shadows—a monument to grief, cruelty, and despair.

Now, it was a place of peace.

Slowly, silently, he stepped forward, slipping into the back of the gathering.

He bowed his head, listening to the prayer, letting the words wash over him like the light of the moon. Even as a god, he knew to pay respects. After all, Selune’s light was the only reason he was able to use his magic back when he was a mortal to safeguard his friends and Gale and punish their foes with the moon’s wrath.

As the prayer concluded, the congregation slowly rose, dispersing in murmured conversation.

Moonshadow turned to leave—

But then, Isobel turned.

Her breath caught.

“Ves? I heard whispers but I didn’t think- ”

Before he could react, she crossed the room in quick strides and threw her arms around him.

For a moment, he stiffened, caught off guard.

Then, without thinking—he returned the hug.

“It’s really you,” she murmured against his shoulder. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with warmth. “Selûne’s tears, you’ve been gone for so long! Where have you been?! Elysium, I know but still!”

Moonshadow hesitated, then tittered. “Making mischief. You know, the usual.”

She let out a soft laugh. “That’s vague enough to sound exactly like you.” Then, she tilted her head, studying him closely.

“You just missed Aylin the other day. She would have liked to see you again...”

Moonshadow lifted a brow. “Oh? Halsin said the same. Curious. She never leaves your side. Ever.”

“Selûne called for her.” Isobel’s expression softened, though there was a touch of wistfulness there. “An important task—though Aylin didn’t tell me what. I doubt even she knows the full extent of it yet.”

Moonshadow nodded slowly.

That was… surprising. The Sword of the Moonmaiden rarely left the mortal realms if ever lately. He was worried what that might portend.

Still, a part of him regretted not seeing her. He always felt larger than life in her presence. Like he could do anything.

Then, Isobel’s gaze sharpened.

And suddenly, Moonshadow felt the weight of her perception settle on him like an anchor.

“Are you happy, Vesper?”

The question was direct.

Blunt.

Moonshadow blinked, then forced a small, easy smile. “As much as a god can be.”

Isobel smirked with a scoff. “That’s a lie.”

He huffed. “It was a very good lie.”

“It really wasn’t.” She folded her arms, shaking her head with amusement. “Come on. We’re having tea. No arguments.”

Before he could protest, she had already waved over a passing cleric, instructing her to bring tea to the library.

Then, she turned back to him with a knowing look.

“You’ve been running for a long time.”

A pause.

“Just... stop for a little while. Spare a moment with an old friend.” Moonshadow nodded. He let her lead him away. He had to go to Waterdeep but that could wait a bit longer, right?

The library of Moonrise Towers had been restored to a place of quiet wisdom. Books lined the shelves, moonlight filtering through arched windows. A soft breeze carried the scent of parchment and fresh herbs. It reminded him a bit of what Gale smelled like when they were mortals still.

Moonshadow sat across from Isobel at a modest wooden table as the tea was set before them. He wrapped his hands around the cup, the warmth grounding him more than he’d like to admit.

For a while, they simply sat in companionable silence.

Then, Isobel spoke, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Moonshadow stared into his tea. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” She took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of her cup. “You were always restless, even before you were a god. Now, you’re... what? Wandering? Trying to convince yourself you’re still mortal? I love this about you. So humble despite everything.”

His grip tightened slightly.

Isobel sighed. “You saved this land, you know. These people.” She gestured to the library around them. “And I know you don’t want temples, or altars, or any of the things gods seem to expect. But you don’t have to disappear. Aylin says Selune worries about you, Ves.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, finally, he murmured, “It’s easier that way.”

She studied him for a long moment before setting her cup down with a decisive clink.

“I don’t think it is. You’d be missed. By Gale most of all.”

Moonshadow exhaled, a quiet chuckle escaping him despite himself. “You’re persistent.”

“Aylin’s the best teacher.”

Another silence, but this one was lighter. Softer.

And for a little while, Moonshadow allowed himself to just be. To sit, to drink his tea, to listen to the rustling pages of books and the distant laughter of children outside.

To feel, even if only for a fleeting moment, like a person again. No matter how fleeting the sensation remained. It healed his aching heart.

Isobel swirled the tea in her cup, watching the way the liquid caught the light, dark against pale ceramic. “The Eclipse.” She turned the words over in her mouth like a stone, weighing them. “I think it suits you.”

Moonshadow raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “You do?”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? The in-between. The light and the dark. You always were caught between two worlds, even before…” She gestured vaguely, as if that summed up his entire divinity. “And now you’re doing what you’ve always done—helping everyone, no matter their caste or creed. And making sure Shar and Selune don’t tear each other and everyone else apart. The fighting with the Sharrans has quieted since you started mediating. No small feat, Ves.”

Moonshadow huffed, shaking his head. “Both sides listen to me just enough to stop gutting each other in the streets, then go back to their temples to plot and scheme like always.”

Isobel smiled faintly. “Even so. That’s something. Aylin says that the gods are impressed with you. A minor god, but making ripples in the best way. Quietly.”

A silence stretched between them, the kind that felt natural rather than awkward. The tea had cooled in their cups, the scent of herbs and inked parchment filling the air. Moonshadow hesitated, then leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his arms.

“What’s your secret?”

Isobel blinked, tilting her head. “S-Secret? I don’t follow.”

“With Aylin.” He ran a hand through his hair, fidgeting in a way he rarely did anymore. “How come she always seemed so… devoted? In love, even. Not a single doubt despite immortality.”

Isobel’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

Moonshadow continued, voice quieter now, as if confessing something to himself as much as to her. “She has her own duties. Her own purpose. And yet, if she had a choice, she’d always be with you. Like she’d rather spend every waking moment at your side.”

Isobel exhaled softly, a knowing look settling on her features. “Oh, Ves…”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. His hands clenched into fists on the table. “I was supposed to keep Gale’s humanity in check. To keep him from—” He cut himself off, shaking his head sharply. “But I’ve been losing him to his ambitions for a while now. And I think…” His throat tightened. “I think I’ve reached my breaking point.”

Isobel’s gaze was steady, kind. “You love him.”

“Of course, I love him!” The words were immediate, almost defensive. Moonshadow dragged a hand down his face. “But love wasn’t supposed to mean watching him slip further and further away while I stand here, helpless. We’ve been through too much together for our love to die a slow death like this.”

Isobel set her cup down and folded her hands on the table. “Have you told him?”

Moonshadow let out a hollow laugh. “You think he listened? The damn oaf’s got his Crown, his Orb, his Ambition, his vision for the cosmos. I’m just the pet he keeps. I barely recognize him sometimes.”

Isobel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Love doesn’t disappear just because it changes. But it does take effort. Aylin and I…” She hesitated, then smiled, small but sincere. “She loves me. And I love her. That’s it. That’s the secret. There’s no grand revelation. Just choice. She chooses me, and I choose her. Every day. No matter how bad it gets.”

Moonshadow closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they were shadowed, tired. “I don’t know if Gale would choose me.”

Isobel reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Then you need to ask.”

For a long moment, Moonshadow simply sat there, unmoving. Then, finally, he nodded.

“I have to steel myself for the worst.”

“Maybe.” Isobel smiled. “Or maybe even for the best. You have to take the first step when the time comes.”

---

The House of Healing was no more.

The building that had once been a monument to anguish and cruelty stood transformed, its dark past washed away like blood in the tide.

The towering structure was now a cathedral of knowledge, its high spires crowned with symbols of Gale, the God of Ambition. Silver and sapphire inlays shimmered in the lantern glow, while elegant stained glass windows depicted orb and crown, tressyms and arcanists in flight, their paws and hands outstretched to the Galerian Weave, grasping at the infinite possibilities of magic.

Moonshadow exhaled, tilting his head back to take it all in, his talk with Isobel gave him a much needed second wind for the journey ahead.

The temple, church, school, whatever it was... it was beautiful.

More than that—it was right.

Positively stinking with the electric musk of his beloved’s Galerian Weave.

A temple, a school, a place of healing and learning—this was what it should have always been.

His chest ached, though he did not know why.

Still, he smiled.

As he strode toward the temple’s grand entrance, he could feel the eyes on him.

The Crownsworn stood about the hall in their deep-blue padded armor and silver-threaded tabards, each one marked across the chest with Gale’s orb sigil in deep purple. Clerics, druids, paladins, wizards— more even, all devotees of the God of Ambition.

Mystra could never inspire like this. Moonshadow mused.

Not all of them were welcoming though.

They eyed him warily, their expressions shifting into barely concealed disdain. Moonshadow hardly blamed them—he must have looked like a stray dog wandering into a noble’s hall in the still of night. His tattered leather armor, his frayed cloak, his hood drawn low over his face—none of it spoke of reverence or piety.

One of them scoffed. "You lost, traveler? The inn’s the other way."

Another folded his arms. “Or are you here to make a donation?” His voice was cool, detached. "Perhaps you seek reflection at the Moonlit Altar? You look like the sort."

Moonshadow smirked.

Oh, he knew about the Moonlit Altars. Didn’t care for them. But loved the peace they brought to the few that needed it.

The Crownsworn had built them in his name, his memory, scattered across the land like hidden stars. And his own clerics, the very few Silvershades that existed, refused to tend to them.

Normally he’d be more than happy to mediate between his and Gale’s clerics but he had no interest in their shenanigans. For the time being, it was simply not important to the greater scheme of things, especially considering that Moonshadow had no desire to be worshipped in the first place. He had bigger issues to deal with than a presumptuous Galerian cleric and a very foul-mouthed Silvershade cleric at odds with each other.

He opened his mouth to speak to the Crownsworn cleric nearby—

But another voice cut in, warmer, kinder.

"Peace, friends. This is a place of learning, not judgment. Did you not read the letter the High Crownsworn sent?"

A young cleric stepped forward, his tabard marked with the purple sigil of Gale. His green eyes were bright with curiosity, and though he wore the same ceremonial robes as the others, he carried himself with an ease they did not.

"I apologize. Hail and well met! Ambition guide you, traveller." he said. "Come. If you seek wisdom, I’d be honored to guide you. How may I help you?"

Moonshadow studied him, then smiled.

“I... Tell me about Gale. Please. I'm considering following the Galerian faith.”

“Why of course! Follow me.”

---

The temple was breathtaking inside.

No trace of the House of Healing’s horrors remained.

The cold, sterile halls had been torn down, replaced with soaring ceilings of arcane constellations and rows of shelves lined with spellbooks, manuscripts, and tomes. Incense filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of parchment and candle wax.

The cleric—his name was Alric—spoke with passion as he guided Moonshadow through the temple.

“Gale Dekarios was a prodigy, a wizard of unparalleled brilliance, once lover and Chosen of Mystra, now a God beyond anything she could have imagined.” Alric said. “A man whose ambition was not driven by greed or conquest, but by the pursuit of knowledge—for the betterment of the world and himself within.”

"That does sound like him.” Moonshadow chuckled softly and corrected himself with a cough. “What I’d heard of him."

Alric nodded eagerly, leading him through the halls.

"After the fall of the Absolute, it was Gale’s vision to repurpose this place—to make it something good, something that would endure beyond war and suffering. This Galerian Temple was founded in his honor, not just as a church but as a school. A sanctuary for arcane and divine scholars as well as the mundane alike."

Moonshadow listened, letting the words settle over him like a familiar melody.

He had imagined what his wizard’s legacy might have been.

But this?

This exceeded all of it.

As they walked, they passed halls of aspiring spellcasters, students both young and old. Some practiced cantrips under the watchful eye of mentors, while others poured over scrolls by the light of floating ever-burning candles. In another chamber, healers worked side by side with arcanists and apothecaries using a fusion of divine and arcane magic as well as science to mend wounds and cure ailments of the townsfolk and visitors.

The past—its ghosts, its pain, its chains—had been erased.

This place was new.

Whole.

Moonshadow’s heart swelled with pride. Gale’s Ambition was indeed a beautiful thing if tended to by his beloved wizard correctly...

---

At the end of the tour, they stood once more at the entrance, the other adherents looking on in derision.

Alric smiled. "You seem… pleased, good sir. I’m glad you enjoyed the tour. Not many indulge in it."

Moonshadow hummed. “It’s strange.” He exhaled, glancing back at the towering walls, the glowing sigils, the faces of those who would carry his wizard’s legacy in this mortal plane.

"Strange to see something so right when the world so often gets it all wrong."

Alric considered that, then hesitated.

He shifted, then spoke softly, as though sharing a secret.

“Of all his triumphs, the one we must honor most is Gale’s beloved. The shadow we so often overlook.”

Moonshadow turned fully to him.

Alric’s gaze was steady, unwavering. His colleagues didn't seem to share his enthusiasm as some even scoffed audibly.

“They say Gale’s love for Vesper Moonshadow is unlike anything the realms had ever seen. That even when the gods themselves turn away in discourtesy, even when Ambition burns too bright, the Shadow of Ambition chooses love. Chooses him. Our god. Even now, the Silvershade walks the realms. I do not know what he seeks but I know Gale is by his side. Always.”

Something in Moonshadow’s throat tightened.

Alric smiled.

"And... we honor them. Every moment of love or separation or quiet or chaos. Not as myth. Not as legend. But as truth. Gale and Moonshadow are two sides of the same coin. We cannot honor one without the other. This rift between them will not break them nor us. This is their first time apart and will not be their last. But we hold faith in our god and his beloved. The orb sigil... is it not but an eclipse? And what is Moonshadow if not the shadow of our beloved Gale? We will hold faith. Our god is nothing without his beloved shadow. The others would do well to remember this. Light loses all worth without it's shadow."

Moonshadow did not move for a long moment.

Then, before Alric could react, Moonshadow’s form shifted.

For the briefest moment, the false flesh peeled away from his avatar, revealing something vast, nascent, celestial. The shimmer of a god’s true shape, an echo of the Silvershade, He-of-Silver-and-Shadow, the Child of None.

Alric staggered back, breath caught in his throat. The others looked on in horror, gawking, unable to speak nor think, Moonshadow’s eldritch aura silencing them, churning their thoughts and feelings careful not to break them under it’s weight.

Moonshadow reached out, resting star-touched fingers against the young man’s forehead.

A soft, violet glow spread from the touch—a blessing, seeping into Alric’s very being.

A permanent boon, lovingly woven and whispered into this mortal’s soul.

Precis, Alia, Fero.

A ward against death, once per day. Forever. A small gift of thanks to a stranger for reminding Moonshadow of what he was fighting so hard to save.

A safeguard against darkness and light, against horrors and shadows yet to come.

Alric’s eyes were wide, his voice barely a whisper. "Who…?"

Moonshadow’s smirk returned.

“Gale would be so proud of you, Alric. I know I am.”

Then, just as quickly as he had arrived—

He turned, pulled his hood back over his head, and disappeared into the night after shutting the doors.

There was yet one more road left to walk before he reached Waterdeep.

---

Moonshadow exhaled, stepping into the cool night.

Behind him, the temple still hummed with his presence. He could feel it in the air, in the trembling threads of the Galerian Weave that clung to him like an afterimage.

A moment later— commotion.

The doors burst open. Footsteps rushed into the courtyard. Voices rose in disbelief, in urgency, in awe.

"W-Where is he?"

"Find him—he couldn't have gone far! Lunara’s going to kill us!"

Moonshadow smirked.

They were too late.

He was already gone.

Slipping between shadows, he perched briefly on the edge of a rooftop, watching as the Crownsworn searched in vain. Even the townspeople had begun to emerge from their homes, confused by the sudden uproar. Some muttered questions, others merely gawked at the wide-eyed Crownsworn, who turned frantically in all directions, grasping at shadows like madmen.

"M-Moonshadow?" One voice—a priest's—was barely a whisper, as if saying the name too loud would break reality itself.

A chuckle almost slipped past his lips.

They really hadn't known.

Not when they had scoffed at him in his frayed cloak and worn leather, not when they had questioned if he was here to donate to his own beloved’s temple. They had only seen what they expected to see—a wanderer, a vagabond, a nameless figure passing through the night, not even worth their time.

Only one had shown kindness.

And for that, Alric would never be unprotected. Moonshadow would see to it.

His gaze flickered toward the temple one last time. The banners, the sigils, the soft lantern light spilling onto the streets—it all stood as testament to Gale, to his wizard’s enduring will, to the work he had done in life and the devotion he had inspired in divinity.

It was good.

And right.

And that was enough.

Pulling his hood further over his face, Moonshadow turned away from the temple and stepped back onto the road.

Baldur’s Gate awaited. And then the City of Splendors.

But before leaving, he searched the graveyard for the grave of Art Cullagh. Spared a moment to tend to it, sweeping it of leaves and dirt and wiped the headstone carefully with his cloak and finally hymned a somber prayer to safeguard him in the afterlife. Before setting off, he picked a few wildflowers and placed it reverently over the grave of a fallen friend.

And then like a shadow in the wind, Moonshadow was gone.

Chapter Text

Moonlight Guide Us

Hades 2

To the Radiant Keepers of Sune’s Blessed Embrace,

Our beloved Sunite friends;

Oi, lovelies,

I’ll be honest with you—I don’t write fancy. But when gratitude’s due, it’s due, and by Gale's beard, you’ve earned every ounce of it.

From the depths of our humble flock’s hearts, thank you for sending us your Heartwarder. Sune’s love is a radiant thing, and to have it gracing our shadows? That’s a gift beyond words. There ain’t many who look our way without judgment, fewer still who offer kindness with no strings attached. But your Heartwarder did. No condescension, no pity—just warmth, understanding, and a deep respect for the love that binds us to our god.

And that song? "Ad Astra, Ad Te"—a hymn spun from devotion itself. I won’t lie, it cracked more than a few hearts open when we first heard it. It’s not often we Silvershades feel seen, but that song? That song sees us. It understands us. It carries the truth we whisper in the dark, the prayers we weave into the wind, the ache and unwavering faith that even exile can’t break. It’s the love Moonshadow gave to Gale made manifest in melody, and it will be sung for generations among us.

I’m sending you lot a copy of it, not just because it’s yours as much as it’s ours, but because I want the faithful of Sune to know this love, too. It ain't just ours to keep—love never is. And who better than Sune’s own to cherish it? May it warm your halls like it warms our wandering souls.

I look forward to more between us. Our faiths aren’t so different—love, after all, is love. Whether it burns like fire or lingers like the moonlight, it’s still real, still worth singing about. If ever you wish to walk the shadowed roads beside us again, our hearts are open. Our songs, too, are yours to hear.

The Crownsworn tossed us out, forgot our god’s love for his Once-Wizard but we will not. And now with this song, the people will know their godly love.

May your hearts be ever full and your laughter never fade.

You’s are good folk.

In shadowed, beloved gale,

Elynn Shadewatch
Elder Silvershade of Moonshadow

---

"Ad Astra, Ad Te"                                                                    "To the Stars, To You"

Vaga anima per noctem errat,                                                 A wandering soul drifts through the night,
Caelum tangit, terram amat.                                                   Touching the sky, loving the earth.
Sed etiam si a te discedo,                                                       But even if I walk far from you,
Corde meo semper te habeo.                                                  I always hold you in my heart.

Sidera in alto nomen tuum cantant,                                       The stars above sing your name,
Amor meus aeternus manet.                                                  My love remains eternal.
Ne luna nec dies me revocant,                                               Neither moon nor day calls me back,
Sed vox tua me domum ducit.                                                But your voice leads me home.

Ad astra, ad te,                                                                     To the stars, to you,
Semper iter meum redit.                                                       My journey always returns.
Ne fatum, ne deus nos dividat,                                             Neither fate nor god shall divide us,
Tua sum, in aeternum.                                                          I am yours, forever.

Amor non vincitur a tempore,                                              Love is not conquered by time,
Nec flammis, nec umbris fractus est.                                   Nor broken by flames or shadows.
Et si venti me procul ferant,                                                 And if the winds carry me far,
Spiritus meus ad te revertitur.                                              My spirit will return to you.

---

A radiant scroll was found later on the Elder Silvershade's bedroll one evening, delivered by a handsome tressym.

It reads as follows:

---

Lady Elynn Shadewatch of Luskan,

Elder Silvershade of Vesper Moonshadow;

I have heard it. I cherish it. You have my deepest thanks.

And now, Elysium will always hear it.

Milil himself has taken to it; he plays it at Sune's soirees.

A delight, I’m told. Quite the sensation.

My Crownsworn will heed this simple truth — every road He walks leads back to me.

Or they will be crushed under the weight of my Ambition.

Will they grant my beloved the reverence he is due?

That remains to be seen.

Gather your wayward flock. We have much to discuss in the coming days.

Ta-ta for now.

-Gale Dekarios

---

Chapter Text

The Crossroads

Hades 2

Gale stood in the grand halls of his own temple in Reithwin, veiled in anonymity, his divine radiance dimmed, his presence subdued. He watched as Lunara Althestan, the High Crownsworn, delivered her fury upon the gathered faithful, her voice a whip of scorn lashing the Crownsworn clerics.

"Moonshadow was here. Here, within these hallowed halls, and not a single one of you noticed?!" she spat, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. "Do you understand what this means? It means you were blind to the one who walks in our god's shadow, who moves with his will upon the world! You call yourselves worthy of the Galerian Weave? Unbelievable!"

There were murmurs—of shame, of unease. But when her gaze landed upon Alric, it softened, if only slightly. "And yet you, Alric—of all those gathered—impressed him. That, at least, is worth something."

It was then that Gale chose to be acknowledged. He cleared his throat, letting Seeming fall away.

At first, he was merely another figure in the crowd, an unassuming worshipper clad in simple robes. But the moment the Crownsworn’s eyes met his, divinity flickered in recognition.

Silence fell like a blade upon the assembly.

"Hello!" Gale waved with an easy smile, shaking his head. "Oh, don’t stop on my account, Lady Althestan. Keep digging the pit. I won’t tell you to mind it."

"Lord D-Dekarios..." the middle-aged cleric stuttered, her expression contorted between horror and awe. The others mirrored her, moving to bow, but Gale waved them off, disinterested.

Lunara’s fingers curled into her robes; her knuckles white. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The assembled Crownsworn shifted uncomfortably, avoiding their god’s gaze even as he regarded them with detached amusement.

"Nothing to say?" he mused, his tone light, almost conversational. "No grand defense? No invocation of my own teachings to justify your actions? Ah, but I suppose even you must recognize the irony now."

He turned his head slightly, taking in the grand chamber with its gilded tapestries and celestial motifs woven with utmost reverence into the ceiling and stained glass. Then his gaze landed on the Moonlit Altar—untended, unlit, empty. His amusement darkened into something colder, sharper.

"Such a sorry state of affairs," he breathed, stepping closer, his boots echoing against the marble. "How… horrible. Not a single Silvershade cleric in any of my temples. How jarring." He trailed his fingers along the untouched altar, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "A beautiful idea, Lunara, truly. A tribute to my beloved Moonshadow, a space meant to honor him. And yet—" He gestured to the dust that had begun to settle on the altar’s silver inlays. "What use is an alcove devoted to the Silvershade if no Silvershade cleric tends it? It is no shrine. It is a sepulcher. What an insult to my beloved."

Lunara’s breath hitched, her face paling further.

Gale turned back to her, expression unreadable. "Do not delude yourself, cleric. I send my blessings, but I do not send anyone dreams, let alone you. If you seek dreams, perhaps service to Selune or her elven aspect Sehanine Moonbow would suit you better? I inspire mortals to achieve their dreams. I do not inspire the dreams themselves. You may have waited for my word in the darkness of your empty head, but I did not speak because I had nothing to say to you. But now?" His voice dropped into something quieter, something far more dangerous. "Now, I find I have much to say."

His gaze swept over the assembled faithful. "You scoff at the Silvershades. You call them idle, dithering, too soft-spoken to embody my Ambition. And yet—" He smiled, a small, knowing thing. "Even so few in number, their devotion is unshaken. Their passion for Moonshadow and his domain is harrowing and sweet. And you would do well to remember: to love me is to love him. Those who do not revere Moonshadow have no place in my faith."

Silence. Then, at last, Lunara swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"W-What would you have us do, He-Who-Guides? Please, l-lend us your wisdom. We have wronged you—"

"You’ve wronged Moonshadow and his clerics, not me. Let’s get that bit right first. Convince them to return and respect them and their god. And I don’t care how you do it—beg on your knees if you have to." Gale’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the command in it. "The Crownsworn cannot stand whole without the Silvershades. The Moonlit Altars cannot remain empty. Mend what you have broken in my name. I will not suffer the insult of my beloved’s altars standing empty any longer."

Then, his voice lowered, his amusement sharpening into something cruel. "Do not mistake your worth to me, Lunara. You are dust beneath my feet, as are all of you."

His gaze swept over the Crownsworn, cold and unimpressed. The Galerian faith had already spread beyond Faerûn itself. His faithful Crownsworn in Sigil shouted his name into the planes, spreading faith and ambition like wildfire. Even the illithid hiveminds knew of Gale and feared his Weave, some bending the knee. The Hells and beyond clamoured for his attention.

Lunara and her faithful? They were nothing to him.

“I have no need for your petty squabbles or your empty reverence. The only reason I stand before you now is to ensure that Moonshadow is given his due. That is the only interest I have in you.” Gale’s voice was as smooth as a well-cut gem, yet colder than the void between stars. “But first, a reminder of who you are dealing with. It seems you have forgotten.”

Lunara flinched, her breath catching in her throat, but before she could summon the nerve to respond, Gale clicked his fingers.

His Crown manifested, hovering weightlessly above his head, an impossible construct of silver light and a trio of shadowed stones. The Orb at his chest flared, burning like the sun, its heat licking at the edges of reality itself as he idly inspected his perfectly trimmed nails, more preoccupied with their shape than the trembling faithful before him.

“I am Gale Dekarios. Formerly wizard of Waterdeep, Hero of Baldur’s Gate, Now, illustrious God of Ambition.” His tone was distant, indifferent, like a scholar reciting a footnote of history rather than a god addressing his so-called faithful. “And unlike the gods you once grovelled before, who crave and beg for your adoration, I do not need it. I have... transcended such piteous ideals. As long as Ambition exists, I exist. And as long as I exist—Moonshadow exists. You would do well to remember that.”

The temple then plunged into darkness. The arcane braziers sputtered and died. Sacred sigils flickered, fizzled, then winked out like smothered embers. Candles and tomes that once hovered serenely above crashed to the polished marble floor with sickening thuds, their magic gone, reduced to lifeless objects.

And then came the worst of it.

The Weave—no, all Weaves— and their tethers fell away like silk.

A suffocating silence pressed upon the room as every divine tether, every arcane thread, every whisper of mystical power each soul in this temple had been rendered impotent and still. The faithful gasped in horror, staggering as the connections and sensations they had taken for granted, the very foundation of their existence, was yanked from them like a cruel hand pulling a marionette’s strings.

Above them, the great stained-glass windows shattered in a deafening cacophony. Glass rained down like dying stars, tinkling against the floor as the faithful cried out and scrambled back, shielding their heads.

“I turned Karsus’ Folly into my magnum opus.” Gale’s voice was unhurried, almost languid, as though he had all the time in the world to dismantle their world. “And I have always been fair. I have guided each and every one of you, let you reach for your dreams, no matter how lofty or mundane. But now… it’s about time I made my displeasure abundantly clear.”

A slow, satisfied smile ghosted across his lips as he watched realization dawn upon them.

“Let’s see how you fare without your precious magic.”

A strangled cry rose among them. Hands stretched out, grasping for power that was no longer there. Prayers were uttered in desperation, only to dissipate into silence.

He was deaf to their pleas. Mystra did not hear them. Shar did not hear them. No god, no patron, no power answered their call.

They would never touch magic again.

Not until he was satisfied.

Gale exhaled, as if shaking off the last embers of boredom, and turned his gaze back to Lunara.

“The Elder Silvershade sends her regards,” he mused, his tone as light as casual conversation. “‘Bless your heart, high bitch,’ I believe she said.” A chuckle, low and rich, curled at the edges of his voice. “I like her. I’d much prefer her as my High Crownsworn. She understands the importance of the Eclipse—and a sharp tongue is always so delightful. A shame she is sworn to my beloved’s service, but I am content with his faith in her. He’s the best judge of character.”

His eyes flicked over the gathered faithful with all the interest of a man observing insects crawling on the pavement.

“Good luck winning my favor back.” His smirk widened. “You’ll need it.”

And just like that, he turned on his heel, waving a hand in dismissal.

“Ta-ta for now.”

As Gale turned to leave, his gaze fell upon Alric—the young Crownsworn standing stiff as a board, his breath shallow, his eyes unfocused, as though his mind had yet to fully process the sheer magnitude of what had just transpired.

Amusement flickered in Gale’s eyes.

He had peered into the boy’s mind earlier—peeled back the layers of thought and memory, sifting through the tangle of loss, anxiety, and an insatiable hunger for absolute power. Tempered by resolve, a deep respect for Moonshadow yes, but also by something far more interesting. Hatred.

Alric despised Mystra.

That, more than anything, had caught Gale’s interest.

The boy had lost his older sister to her fickle whims—not in a grand, tragic unraveling, but in the way a speck of dust is swept away, insignificant and forgotten. Unlike Gale, who had once borne the weight of her Chosen title, basked in her love and suffered her scorn, Alric’s sister had simply disappeared from Alric’s life.

An afterthought. Unremarkable. Gone.

Gale had sought no grand ambition for the boy’s dreams—not Candlekeep, not Blackstaff Tower, neither of which were anything more than fading embers in the grand pyre of knowledge. No, those places were irrelevant.

But hatred? Hatred had potential.

Moonshadow had chosen well.

With the ease of a man who had long since outgrown the spectacle of his own divinity, Gale reached out and clasped Alric’s right hand.

The temple chamber hushed, the breath of its occupants caught in their throats.

Beneath Gale’s palm, light surged—silver and violet, twisting together in a perfect, luminous eclipse. The mark of his Orb seared itself into Alric’s skin, carving deep into flesh and soul alike. And yet, there was no pain. Only warmth, gentle and inevitable, like the first touch of dawn after a night without end.

Alric gasped. His wide eyes darted between the burning symbol on his palm and the face of his god. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, discipline warring with the awe that threatened to spill over.

“There,” Gale murmured, withdrawing his hand as though brushing away an afterthought. “A mark upon your flesh. For the naysayers. For the doubters. I do not doubt you—that is all that matters.”

He tilted his head, studying the boy with the air of an artisan inspecting his latest project, finding it satisfactory, if still unfinished.

“So long as you remain in my beloved’s good graces, I will honor his blessing.” A pause. Then, a small, knowing smile. “A bright, ambitious future ahead of you, Crownsworn. Don’t let fools like your fellows weigh you down.”

His gaze flickered past Alric, sweeping over the terrified remnants of his flock with nothing more than casual disinterest. Then, back to the boy—his newest investment.

“Ambition requires fire, yes, but fire untended devours itself to nothing but ash. I expect you to know the difference. But you will soar, won’t you?” Gale’s voice softened, a dangerous promise threading through the words. “Make me proud, my Chosen.”

“C-Chosen...?” Alric’s voice wavered, raw and thin, as if he barely trusted himself to speak. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, in a whisper barely above breath, he managed, confident. “I will not fail you, Lord Gale.”

Gale’s grin was sharp, delighted.

“Splendid.”

And just like that, he turned, already moving, already done, his interest shifting like the tides.

“I can’t wait to see what you do with the gifts I will bestow upon you.”

His voice echoed as he strode away, leaving only silence in his wake—

—And the crushing weight of a god’s judgment.

Chapter Text

Witch of Changing

Hades 2

5 Years of Godhood

-

The kitchen of Jaheira’s home was a battlefield, and Ves was its general.

Flour dusted the air like snow, pots bubbled on the large firepit, and the scent of roasting meat and fresh pastries filled the room. Ves, sleeves rolled up and apron tied haphazardly around his waist, was a whirlwind of activity—rolling dough, stirring sauces, and barking orders like a seasoned chef.

Everything as Gale had taught him. He learned most if not all of his cooking skills from his beloved.

“Fig! Eyes on the door again, my good warrior! If Jaheira or Rion so much as breathe in this direction, you holler!” Ves called over his shoulder, his hands busy folding a mound of dough with sugar, jam and goodberries inside.

Fig, perched on a stool by the door, saluted with a grin. “Aye, General! But if they catch us, I’m blaming you!”

“Fair enough, Guardswoman! Carry on!” Ves shot back, grinning. “Lady Jhessem! How’s the cream, good madam?”

Jhessem, sitting primly at the table with a spoon in hand, took a delicate taste of the cream-filled bowl before her. She wrinkled her nose, then nodded with an air of exaggerated nobility. “Acceptable, Lord Fluffington. Though it could use a touch more vanilla. Perhaps you should consult a real chef next time from Waterdeep?”

Oh, this again? She’s been obsessed with Waterdeep since the moment Gale addressed her formally years ago. Loved his accent and decorum. And handsomeness, no doubt as well. The former bard tittered to himself.

Ves gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Lady Jhessem! I’ll have you know, I studied under the very best tutor one could have! The very Wizard of Waterdeep himself!” He winked at her, and she smirked, clearly enjoying the mention of Gale.

Jord, the half-orc druid, chuckled softly as he chopped vegetables with practiced ease. His calm demeanor was a stark contrast to the chaos around him. “You’re doing great, Ves. But maybe save the theatrics for after we’re done? We’ve got a lot to finish before they get back. And you know Mother dearest. She’s going to give us the stink eye if she walks into a mess. Or she’ll clip our ears!”

Ves pointed a flour-covered finger at him with a nod. “Crap- You’re right, you’re right. Focus, Ves. Focus!” He turned to the firepot, muttering to himself as he adjusted the fire under a simmering pot of broth. “Okay, okay, the broth is almost done, the pastries just need to go in the clay oven, and the roast just needs some herbs—Tate! Tate, where are you? Any sign of them?”

From the second floor, Tate’s soft voice called down, barely audible over the clatter of pots and spoons. “N-no sign yet. B-but I’ll keep w-watching. I s-s-saw the huge shadow again with the eyes!”

Again? Is someone watching us? Or rather... me?

“Good man! Get some thyme from the gardens while you’re at it please! And don’t worry about the shadow! I warded the house with a Magic Circle Against Evil! No trouble is coming here! No sir!” Ves shouted back, then glanced at Jord. “How’s the salad coming?”

Jord held up a bowl of freshly chopped vegetables drizzled with vinegar and some spices, his tusks peeking out as he smiled. “Ready when you are. But, Ves… you sure this is a good idea? Mother and sister… they’ve missed you. A lot. And you’ve been gone for… well, a long time.”

Ves paused, his hands stilling for a moment. The laughter in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “I know, Jord. I know. Time… it’s different where I am now. It’s hard to explain. But I’m here now, aren’t I? Well, as here as I can be considering the rules… but… I’m not leaving until I’ve made it up to them. Even if it’s just with a feast and a hug. I have to leave for Waterdeep soon but I have to make it up to them somehow...”

Jord nodded, his expression softening. “They’ll be happy to see you. Just… be ready for some yelling. Maybe a slap. Or two.”

Ves chuckled, though it was tinged with nervousness. “Yeah, I’ve got it coming. But hey, if Rion tries to hit me, I’ll just hide behind you. You’re sturdy.”

“Haha! No.” Jord laughed, shaking his head. “You’re on your own, brother.”

The sound of Tate’s voice interrupted them, sharp and urgent. “B-Brother! They’re c-c-coming! J-Jaheira and Rion! They’re at t-the end of the street! M-Marching r-r-really fast! A-A-Angry looking!”

Ves’s eyes widened. “What?! Already?! But we’re nowhere near done! Oh no…. No no no! I had a dream like this once! Shit!” He spun around, flour flying everywhere. “Fig, how close are they? Status report, soldier!”

Fig peeked out the door, then turned back with a panicked look. “Too close General! Abort mission! Abort!”

“Oh shit, panic! Panic! Panic!” Ves yelped. He grabbed a tray of pastries and shoved them into the oven. “I… I...dunno what to d- ugh… Lady Jhessem! Taste the soup! With a different spoon please! Jord, finish the salad! Tate put the herbs on the roast and keep watching! Fig, guard that door like your life depends on it!”

The kitchen erupted into a flurry of activity as everyone scrambled to finish their tasks. Ves wiped his hands on his apron, his heart racing—no divine power, no grand titles, just the simple, chaotic joy of cooking for family.

Jord glanced at him, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Ves took a deep breath, then smiled. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Besides, how mad can they be when there’s a half-cooked feast waiting for them-”

The sound of the front door flying opening sent a jolt through the room making Ves yelp. Jaheira’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the air. “Oh I knew it! The rats told me something foul was afoot with you lot! What in the Nine Hells is going on in here? Why does it smell like a bakery? Jord, you’re not too big for the switch, let me tell you boy- ”

Ves froze, his eyes wide. Fig gave him a sympathetic look before darting out of the way. Jhessem straightened in her chair, trying to look dignified despite the smear of cream on her cheek. Jord set down the salad bowl, his expression calm but wary. Tate peeked down from the stairs, his eyes wide.

And then Jaheira stepped into the kitchen, Rion close behind her, warhammer on her back. Both Harpers stopped short, their eyes landing on Ves.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Jaheira’s eyes narrowed. “Bhaal’s balls... Moonshadow? Ha! The prodigal son returns, finally.”

Ves swallowed hard, then gave her a sheepish grin and a shy wave. “H-Hail mother! Uhmmm... Surprise?!”

The kitchen fell silent as Jaheira and Rion stared at Ves. The air was thick with tension, the kind that could only come from years of unspoken words and unanswered questions. Ves stood frozen, flour dusting his hair and apron, his hands still clutching a wooden spoon like a shield.

He’d missed this feeling.

Jaheira was the first to break the silence. Her voice was low, sharp, and carried the weight of a storm about to break. “Five years, Vesper. Five years. Not a letter. Not a sending. Nothing. Sylvanus help me, let alone to a High Harper worried about her second in command… Do you have any idea what that does to a mother?”

Ves opened his mouth to respond, but Rion cut him off, her arms crossed and her expression a mirror of Jaheira’s anger. “Oh, don’t even try to explain yourself, idiot. We heard about your little ascension, you know. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m a god now, I’m running off with my handsome wizard, I’m too busy for my family!’”

“Hey now, that’s not how it happ—” Ves started, but Jaheira held up a hand, silencing him.

“Don’t, cub.” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “Don’t you dare try to downplay this. I wasn’t worried but the least you could have done was-”

Rion snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure you weren’t. You were so worried that you spent every night pacing the halls, muttering about how ‘that foolish boy better come home or I’ll skin him alive.’”

Jaheira shot Rion a glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I did no such thing, girl.”

“You did,” Rion shot back, smirking. “Oh I heard you. ‘If that daft boy thinks he can just vanish into the Heavens with his idiot wizard without so much as a goodbye, he’s got another thing coming.’ Sound familiar?”

Jaheira opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, her lips pressing into a thin line. She turned back to Ves, her expression softening just a fraction. “You could have sent word. Just… something. Anything.”

Ves looked down, his grip tightening on the spoon. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to. But time… it’s different where I am. A day in Elysium can be weeks here, months, years even and the gods they... don’t respect time like mortals do. I didn’t realize how long it had been. I even missed Art’s funeral. And then… I didn’t know how to come back, to face you after being gone so long. Was easier to stay away. Cowardly I know, but still. I was scared.”

Jaheira’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Jord stepped forward, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “He’s here now. That’s what matters, right?”

Fig nodded vigorously, her frame practically vibrating with energy. “Yeah! And he made us a feast, Commander! Paid for all the groceries! You can’t be mad at someone who makes good food for your entire platoon!”

Jhessem, ever the diplomat, added with a haughty tilt of her chin, “And the cream is exquisite. It would be a shame to let it go to waste, mother dearest.”

Tate, still hovering on the stairs, chimed in softly, “H-he came h-home, mother. Isn’t that e-enough?”

Jaheira looked at each of them in turn, her stern expression wavering. Finally, she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re all impossible, you know that?”

Ves took a tentative step forward, his voice quiet. “If… if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll understand. I just… I wanted to see you again before I leave for Waterdeep and return to Elysium. All of you. I didn’t intend to overstay my welcome anyways. I’m very, very late for my appointment in Waterdeep and the eclipse is coming up also and-”

“To the Hells with Waterdeep!” Jaheira scoffed. “You idiot! Of course I want you here! You’re still my daft son, aren’t you?”

Before he could think further, Ves was overwhelmed by happiness, he stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. Jaheira stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then her arms wrapped around him, her grip firm and grounding. She sighed, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You’re still a fool even after godhood, you know that?”

Ves chuckled, though it was shaky with emotion. “Yeah, I know. But I’m your foolish boy.”

Jaheira pulled back slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked him in the eye. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do after that hasty exit with Gale from Withers’ party. And you’re not leaving this house until I’ve heard every last detail.”

Ves nodded, his grin returning. “Of course Mother.”

Then Jaheira’s nose twitched, and her eyes narrowed. “Is something burning?”

Ves’ eyes widened in panic. “The pastries!” He released her and spun around, rushing to the clay oven. He yanked open the clay door, smoke billowing out as he pulled the tray of slightly charred pastries from the heat. A bit caramelized but still edible. “No, no, no! They were supposed to be perfect!”

Jaheira crossed her arms, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Well, I guess even gods can’t save burned pastries.”

Ves groaned, setting the tray down and running a hand through his flour-dusted hair. He could save them, but that wasn’t the point. “I was so close to impressing you. Without magic or godly power.”

Jaheira snorted, her smirk widening. “You’d have to do a lot more than pastries to impress me, oh Lord Moonshadow.”

“Low blow, Mother. Low blow.” Ves shot her a mock glare. “Gale goes by Lord Gale. I’m just his irritating shadow. You should see how he scowls even now when I trouble him! Even godhood can’t save him from me!”

The kids burst into laughter, the tension in the room finally breaking. Rion rolled her eyes, grabbing a stack of plates from the cupboard. “You’re lucky we love you, you know that?”

Ves grinned, setting the pastries on the counter. “I know. And I love you too. All of you.”

Jord clapped him on the shoulder, his smile warm. “Welcome home, brother.”

---

The dining table was a riot of noise and motion. Plates clinked, laughter rang out, and the smell of roasted meat, broth, fresh bread, and slightly charred pastries filled the air. Ves sat at the head of the table, flanked by Jord and Jhessem, while Jaheira presided at the other end with Rion and Fig. Tate sat quietly next to Ves, sneaking bites of pastries when he thought no one was looking, while Fig kept trying to steal a slice of roast from the platter in the center.

Ves leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face as he watched the chaos unfold. He turned to Jaheira, his voice soft but carrying over the din. “You know, I forgot how much I missed this. Just… being here. With all of you.”

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, her tone dry but her eyes warm. “Well, don’t get too comfortable. You’ve got a lot of dishes to wash after this.”

Ves laughed, shaking his head. “Fair enough. But still… it’s nice. To feel like a person again.”

Jaheira studied him for a moment, her sharp gaze cutting through his facade. “You’ve been quiet about Gale. What’s going on, cub?”

Ves’ smile faltered, and he looked down at his plate, pushing a piece of roasted carrot around with his fork. “Gale… doesn’t have a say in my life anymore. Not really. We’re… different now. Gods, but not together. Not like we used to be.”

Jaheira scoffed, her voice firm. “Oh don’t give me that nonsense. You and Gale have survived too much, fought too hard, to let something as trivial as godhood tear you apart. He’ll come around. He always does. Remember what happened when Orin kidnapped him?”

Ves opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Rion stood up abruptly as someone knocked with a heavy hand on the front door. “I’ll get the door.”

As Rion left the dining room, Jaheira leaned forward, her expression softening. “Listen to me, Vesper. You’ve always been stubborn, but so has he. Whatever’s happened between you two boys, it’s not the end. It’s just… a detour.”

Ves sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Mother. It’s complicated.”

Jaheira smirked. “When is it not with you two fools? Like oil and water and somehow you both just work together. Like Khalid and I.”

Before Ves could respond, a booming voice echoed from the hallway. “By the gods, Rion was not lying! Boo! Look, the Shade of Silver himself is in our midst! But you look fleshy! Where’s all the silver!?”

Ves barely had time to turn before Minsc burst into the room, his massive frame filling the doorway. In one hand, he held Boo, his animal (miniature giant space hamster) companion, and in the other, a half-eaten pastry he’d clearly snatched from dessert reserves on the buffet table. His grin was as wide as the Sword Coast itself.

“Minsc!” Ves exclaimed, his face lighting up with genuine joy.

“Ves! My funny friend!” Minsc bellowed back, crossing the room in two strides. Before Ves could react, Minsc scooped him up in a bone-crushing hug, lifting him clean off the ground. “It is good to see you, little shadow! Boo has missed you dearly!”

Boo squeaked indignantly from Minsc’s shoulder, as if to confirm this statement, sounding almost has if he was scolding Ves.

Ves laughed, squirming in Minsc’s grip. “Minsc, put me down before you break something or me!”

Minsc set him down with a hearty laugh, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Ah, you are as light as ever! Does Gale not feed you in the Heavens? Minsc is worried about you.”

Ves grinned, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m fine, Minsc. Just… not used to being manhandled by a walking mountain.”

Minsc beamed, clearly taking this as a compliment. He turned to the table, his eyes widening at the feast spread before him. “By Boo’s whiskers, this is a meal fit for kings! And Minsc is very hungry!”

Jaheira rolled her eyes but gestured to an empty chair. “Sit down, you oaf, before you break something again.”

Minsc obeyed, plopping down next to Ves, forcing Jhessem to shift up a bit and immediately reaching for a piece of roast. Boo scampered onto the table, sniffing at the food with great interest. Ves chuckled, leaning down to address the hamster. “Hey, Boo. Long time no see. Still keeping Minsc out of trouble?”

Boo squeaked in response, standing on his hind legs and waving his tiny paws as if to say, “Doing my best, but it’s a full-time job.”

Minsc laughed, his mouth full of food. “Boo has missed your wise counsel, Ves! And also your ability to swipe tasty snacks from merchants without getting caught.”

Ves grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, Boo I’ve missed your impeccable sense of timing. And his ability to distract Minsc when things get too dangerous. And throwing you! I loved it when you used to go for our enemies eyes!”

The table erupted into laughter as Minsc launched into a story about their latest adventure, complete with dramatic gestures and sound effects. Ves watched his family—Jaheira rolling her eyes but smiling, Rion trying to hide her laughter, Jord shaking his head in amusement, and the younger kids hanging on Minsc’s every word. For a moment, everything felt right. Like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Jaheira caught his eye, her smirk softening into something warmer. “See? This is what you’ve been missing. Not just us, but… this. The chaos. The laughter. Living.”

Ves nodded, his throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. I have. But I still miss him despite it all. He has my heart.”

Minsc, oblivious to the moment, clapped Ves on the back again. “Do not worry, little shadow! Minsc and Boo will help you find your way back to Gale! For love is like a hamster—small but mighty, and always finding its way home!”

Ves laughed, shaking his head. “Thanks, Minsc. I needed to hear that.”

As the dinner continued, Ves felt a weight lift from his shoulders, he felt like he belonged. Not as a god, but as a son, a brother, and a friend. And maybe, just maybe, Jaheira was right. Maybe he’d find his way back to Gale.

Shadowheart, her family and animals, Isobel, Halsin, Jaheira and her family, Minsc and Boo even… None of them truly understood how important all this was for him. Even now he chased the old memories that never returned, but more than that, he chased his mortality and through them, he could keep some of it safe.

---

The night was cool and still, the kind of quiet that only comes after a storm of cleaning and the washing of dishes. The kids had long since gone to bed, their laughter and chatter replaced by the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the quiet ambience of the Lower City after dark.

Jaheira, Minsc, and Vesper sat on the patio, cups of tea in hand, the steam curling lazily into the air. Boo, perched on Minsc’s shoulder, sipped delicately from a cup of tea, his tiny paws gripping the ceramic cup with surprising dexterity.

Vesper leaned back in his chair, staring up at the stars. The weight of his godhood felt so distant here, muted by the warmth of the tea and the company of old friends and family. For a moment, he could almost pretend he was mortal again—just Ves, the bard who had stumbled into their lives and never quite left.

Jaheira broke the silence first, her voice low and steady. “So. Elysium, huh? Tell me, cub. What’s it like, being a god?”

Vesper chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “Lonely. Confusing. Like wearing clothes that’s too big and too small at the same time. I don’t enjoy it. Too many rules, too little empathy.”

Minsc nodded sagely, as if this made perfect sense. “Boo says being a god sounds like a lot of responsibility. He prefers being a hamster. Less hassle.”

Vesper laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise even himself. “Boo’s a wise hamster. I should’ve consulted him before I agreed to all this bullshit.”

Jaheira smirked, sipping her tea. “You always did have a knack for diving headfirst into trouble. But this… this is different, isn’t it?”

Vesper’s smile faded, and he looked down at his cup, his fingers tracing the rim. “Yeah. It is. I thought… I thought it would be simple. That I could handle it. But it’s not just about power or immortality. It’s about… losing yourself. Losing the things that made you who you were.”

Jaheira’s gaze softened, and she set her cup down, leaning forward. “And Gale? How’s he handling it?”

Vesper hesitated, his chest tightening at the mention of Gale. “He’s… not the same. None of us are. But Gale… he’s always been ambitious. Now, it’s like that ambition has consumed him. He’s not the man I fell in love with. Not anymore. But he’s thriving and I’m glad for him, truly. He’s in his element.”

Minsc frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. “But Minsc remembers Gale as a man of great heart and great fire! Surely the flames of ambition cannot burn away all that is good in him?”

Vesper sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, Minsc. I want to believe that. I really do. But every time I tried to reach him, it’s like… like he’s already gone. Like I’m talking to a stranger who wears his face. He is everything to me. I do not feel whole without him.”

Jaheira reached over, placing a hand on Vesper’s arm. Her touch was firm, grounding. “You’re not the first to feel this way, you know. When Khalid died, I thought I’d lost everything. That I’d never be whole again. But I found my way back. With the help of friends and laughter and care. So will you. The difference is that your man is still very much alive and would welcome you home with open arms.”

Vesper looked at her, his eyes searching hers for some kind of reassurance. “What if he doesn’t want that? What if he’s happy like this? I know he’s watching over me but still...”

Jaheira’s expression hardened, and she leaned back in her chair, her tone sharp. “Then he’s a fool. And you’ll have to decide if you’re willing to wait for him to realize that or move on. Regardless, that oaf loves you. He forsook Mystra’s command and worship for you. He became a god for you. Why in the world would he ascend you if he didn’t care in his own foolish way? He gave you what his beloved Goddess would not give him. Think on that.”

Vesper flinched, her words hitting harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to protest, but Jaheira cut him off.

“Don’t give me that look, Ves. You know that boy better than I do. He’d give you anything you could ask for just to see you happy. And you’ve spent your entire life putting others and their gods before yourself. It’s time you figured out what you want. Not what Gale wants. Not what the gods want. You. You owe it to yourself and him to figure out what it is that you want. It seems like this is what this jaunt was all about, wasn’t it? Finding yourself again.”

Ves nodded. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft clink of Minsc’s cup as he set it down. Boo squeaked softly, as if in agreement.

Vesper stared at Jaheira, her words echoing in his mind. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong. But deep down, he knew she wasn’t. He had spent so long trying to be what Gale needed, what his friends needed, that he had forgotten who he was. And it was true. Gale gave him what Mystra never gave Gale: equal partnership in their relationship. Even in godhood.

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I did. I wanted to help my friends, help my wizard even. But now… I’m not sure of anything. I want to be with Gale, but I also want to be here. I… I’m so confused.”

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she reached over, squeezing his hand. “Then figure it out. Take your time. But don’t lose yourself in the process. How will you help Karlach and the others if you don’t help yourself first?”

Minsc nodded enthusiastically, his voice booming in the quiet night. “Minsc agrees! And Boo says you should eat more pastries. They are good for the soul!”

Vesper laughed, the sound tinged with relief. “Oh I know, I love a good dessert. No offense to Elysium but I prefer Faerûnian desserts.”

---

The night stretched on, the stars above casting a soft glow over the patio. The tea had gone cold, but no one seemed to care as they bantered for hours. Vesper sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if it held the answers he so desperately sought. Jaheira watched him, her sharp green eyes softened by a rare tenderness. Minsc, ever the gentle giant, sat quietly, his large hands cradling Boo, who had decided to lounge in his palm.

Jaheira broke the silence, her voice low but firm. “You know, Ves, when you first came to me, you were a mess. A broken thing, running from Bhaal’s shadow, from that blasted butler. But you fought. You fought harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And when you finally stood on your own and saved Gale, when you forsook that cursed legacy… I was proud of you. More than you’ll ever know.”

Vesper looked up at her, his grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I didn’t feel like I had a choice. It was either fight or let Bhaal win. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him. Orin had Gale… I had to win.”

Jaheira nodded, her expression thoughtful. “And now? What are you fighting for now?”

Vesper hesitated, his throat tightening. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be a god, Jaheira. I never did. I just wanted to be with Gale. To keep him from losing himself to his ambition. I had every intention of simply being his shadow and anchoring his humanity. But now… I’m the one who’s lost.”

Jaheira leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “Then find yourself again. You did it once. You can do it again.”

Vesper shook his head, his voice breaking. “It’s not that simple. If I renounce my godhood, if I go to Ao and ask to be mortal again… it’s not just giving up power. It’s giving up everything. Who I am. Who I was. Maybe even who I could be. What if there’s nothing left of me after that? Would Ao even do that for me? Gale would never forgive me if that did happen...”

Jaheira’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know not, but you’re stronger than you think, Ves. You always have been. And you’re not alone. You have Minsc, Boo and your siblings here. You have your friends and your animal friends. You have me as well, cub.”

“Truly, Mother?” Vesper looked at her, his eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear. “But… I was only here for six months before I... before I disappeared. I wasn’t even your son for a full year. How can you still care about me after all this time?”

Jaheira’s grip tightened, her voice firm but kind. “You listen to me, you stubborn fool. You were my son the moment you were carried, almost cleaved in half, broken and dying onto Isobel’s bed at Last Light Inn. From that moment I knew you were important to me! You think time matters to me? You think six months or five years changes what you mean to me? You’re my child, Ves. My wayward, stubborn, impossible child. And I don’t give up on my children no matter how unruly they are, god or not! I still have a strong arm, I can still give you the switch, cub!”

Vesper’s breath hitched, and he looked away, his shoulders shaking as the tears of happiness finally spilled over. Jaheira didn’t say anything, just pulled him into a hug, her arms strong and steady around him. Minsc, ever the gentle giant, reached over and patted Vesper’s back, his touch surprisingly soft.

“Minsc understands,” he said, his voice soft. “Family is not measured in time, but in heart. And you, Vesper, have the biggest heart of all! So big, your body could not contain it’s goodness and you had to go to the Heavens to share it with everyone else! Even the gods must have been in awe!”

Boo stirred in Minsc’s hand, his tiny eyes blinking open. He squeaked softly, his voice carrying a surprising weight of wisdom. Vesper, Jaheira, and Minsc all turned to look at him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and reluctant respect.

“Boo,” Vesper began, his voice quiet but steady, “You really believe that? That Gale still believes in me. That he hasn’t given up on what we have, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now…?”

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, her tone skeptical. “Huh.”

Vesper nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Oh Boo… you say Gale’s ambition isn’t just for himself. It’s for me as well. I like the way you think. Even if it’s a bit wishful. You’re very sweet. I hope you’re right, but I fear I’ve lost hope.”

Jaheira leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “Well, Boo might be onto something. Gale’s been busy, you know. Mystra’s followers are dwindling, and Gale’s influence is growing. There’s a massive Temple of Gale under construction where the Steel Watch Foundry used to be.”

Vesper’s breath caught, his mind racing. “A temple? Here?”

Jaheira nodded, her gaze steady. “It’s hard to miss. The whole city’s talking about it. What’s better is that the Gondians and Ironhand gnomes are constructing it jointly. They say it’s going to be a place of learning, of science and ambition. Progress. A monument to everything Gale stands for. And it will have a Moonlit Altar. Your room in his holy house. It is romantic now that I think on it. Say what you will about that foolish High Crownsworn of Gale, she had the right idea.”

“...I know. Just a pity she didn’t think to treat my clerics well...” Vesper stared at her, his chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “But what if he’s changed too much? What if we’ve both changed too much in our time apart? I’m not the same god that left Elysium almost two years ago.”

Jaheira sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Then you’ll have to decide if it’s worth fighting for. But don’t make that decision out of fear. Make it because it’s what you truly want. After all, it’s been five years since last I saw you and you’re still the lovable idiot you’ve always been. I do not see a god before me, I see my idiot son.”

Minsc clapped a hand on Vesper’s shoulder, his grin wide and reassuring. “And remember, Vesper! Even the darkest night must end with the dawn! Boo and Minsc believe in you! And Gale too, even if he is being a big silly goose right now!”

Vesper laughed, the sound tinged with relief.

The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a while more, the stars twinkling overhead.

Ves had a lot to consider but at least he felt a bit better about the future. It didn’t seem as bleak as before.

...I miss you, Gale.

Chapter Text

Uncertain Hope

Timespinner

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the cozy bakery, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables and the mismatched chairs. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked scones, sweet jam, and brewing tea. Vesper sat at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, while Jhessem and Tate sat across from him, already digging into their breakfast.

Jhessem, ever the critic, inspected her scone with a scrutinizing eye. “The texture is… acceptable,” she declared, though her tone suggested she was being generous. “But the jam lacks the refinement of the preserves from Waterdeep. Honestly, Baldur’s Gate could learn a thing or two about culinary excellence.”

Tate, quiet as always, nodded along, though his focus was on spreading an excessive amount of clotted cream onto his scone. Vesper watched them with a faint smile, though his mind was elsewhere. He stirred his tea absently, the spoon clinking against the porcelain cup, his thoughts drifting to Gale.

Not Gale the God of Ambition, but Gale the man—the wizard who had once held him close under the starlit sky, whose voice had been a steady anchor in the chaos of their adventures. The Gale who had kissed his forehead and whispered promises that felt as eternal as the Weave itself.

“You’re not going to lose me, my bard.” Gale had said, his voice firm and warm, his arms a sanctuary. “You’re my world, Ves. My everything. Once we have the Crown and I ascend... I will come back for you, I promise. Godhood will never break us. ”

Vesper’s chest tightened, the memory sharp and bittersweet. He missed that Gale—the man who had been his teacher, his lover, his home. The man who had laughed at his jokes, scolded him for pestering him (and others), and held him through the darkest nights of his life. The man who had made him feel sane, cherished, and whole.

But that Gale was gone now, replaced by a god who ruled from the heights of his Tower in Elysium, distant and untouchable. Vesper had tried to accept it, to find solace in the fact that Gale was still out there, still watching over him in some way. But it wasn’t the same. It could never be the same.

“Lord Fluffington?” Jhessem’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and impatient. “Are you even listening? I said these scones are acceptable, but they’re nowhere near as good as the ones in Waterdeep. Honestly, Baldur’s Gate has no sense of refinement.”

Vesper blinked, pulled back to the present. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, yes, we know. Waterdeep is the pinnacle of culinary excellence. You’ve mentioned it… oh, only a hundred times today.”

Jhessem huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, it’s true. And if you’d ever been there, you’d understand.”

“I’ve been to Waterdeep,” Vesper said, his tone softer now. “It’s… beautiful. Gale always used to talk about taking me there after we—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about Gale. Not like this. Not when the memories still hurt so much.

We were supposed to go there together, Gale. After the battle was won. But I went alone...

You chose Godhood and I chose to hold everything together until you came back for me. 

Maybe... Maybe I should have accepted defeat right there and then. 

Maybe I should have ended things. Accepted that I'd already lost you...

Maybe I'm just holding you back from your full potential-

Tate, ever perceptive, tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Y-You miss Uncle Gale.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “D-Don’t you?”

Vesper looked at Tate, the boy's words snapped him out of his hopeless lamentation. He opened his mouth to deny it, to brush it off with a joke or a deflection, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I do.”

Jhessem rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of something softer in her expression. “Well, you’re a god now too, aren’t you? Can’t you just… I don’t know, go see him? Or call on him or something?”

Vesper shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not that simple, Jhess. Gale’s not just… Gale anymore. He’s the God of Ambition. He’s got responsibilities, duties. He can’t just drop everything because I miss him.”

“That’s stupid,” Jhessem declared, her tone matter-of-fact. “If he cared about you, he’d make time.”

Vesper’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his tea again. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But it’s not that easy.”

At least he watches over me. That’s at least something...

I... still matter to him.

The table fell silent, the weight of Vesper’s words hanging in the air. Tate reached out, placing a small, tentative hand on Vesper’s arm. “Y-You’ll see him again,” he said, his voice steady despite his stutter. “I-I know you will.”

Vesper looked at Tate, touched by the boy’s quiet confidence. “Thanks, kiddo,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope you’re right.”

But deep down, Vesper knew he couldn’t keep going like this. The ache in his chest was too much to bear, the memories of Gale’s warmth and affection a constant reminder of what he had lost. He missed the way Gale’s arms had felt around him, the way his voice had softened when he said Vesper’s name, the way his laughter had filled the air like music. He missed the man who had been his everything.

I can’t do this anymore, Vesper thought, his heart heavy. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without him.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the present. “Alright,” he said, his tone brisk now, though it lacked its usual energy. “Let’s finish up here. We’ve got groceries to get, and Mother will skin us alive if we’re late.”

Jhessem raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who’s been staring into your tea like it holds the secrets of the universe.”

Vesper shot her a look, though there was no real heat behind it. “And you’re the one who’s been complaining about the scones for the past ten minutes. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

Tate nodded, his expression serious. “W-We’ll come back after, right? F-For lunch?”

Vesper’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “Of course. We’ll have cookies, tea, and those little sandwiches you like. High tea, just like in Waterdeep.” He winked at Jhessem, who rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

As they finished their breakfast and prepared to leave, Vesper couldn’t help but glance out the window, his thoughts drifting once more to Gale. The grocery trip would be a distraction, at least for a little while. But he knew the ache in his chest wouldn’t go away so easily.

Just get through the day, he told himself. One step at a time.

---

The Lower City marketplace was bustling as usual, a cacophony of voices, clinking coins, and the occasional squawk of a disgruntled chicken. Vesper walked through the crowd with Jhessem and Tate in tow, a woven basket slung over his shoulder.

Jaheira had “volunteered” him for grocery duty, citing his “superior organizational skills” compared to the kids and Jord. Vesper wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a thinly veiled insult, but he wasn’t about to argue with Jaheira.

She’s trying to keep me here for a few days longer. I... don’t blame her.

Is Nocturne still around? I have to undergo the Mapping of the Heart soon. The eclipse as well.

I have some time yet, before I leave for Waterdeep...

Jhessem, ever the noble-in-training, inspected a stall of apples with the air of a queen surveying her kingdom. “These are acceptable,” she declared, holding up a particularly shiny one. “But they lack the refinement of the apples from Waterdeep.”

Gale loved apples. Especially these red ones. I used to hoard them for him. I miss doing that.

Tate, quiet as ever, nodded along, though his eyes were fixed on a stall selling pastries. Vesper chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “We’ll get some of those too. But let’s stick to the list first, yeah?”

As they moved through the market, the chaos seemed to grow. A vendor shouted as a crate of oranges toppled over, rolling into the street. A dog barked, chasing after one of the rogue fruits. And then, from somewhere nearby, came a high-pitched yowl.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” a voice cried.

Vesper turned just in time to see an elf woman with curly brown hair tied in a neat bun—dressed in the azure robes of clergy—stumble backward, her foot having apparently found its way onto the tail of a very displeased cat. The cat hissed, lashing out at her, and the elf flailed her arms in a desperate attempt to regain her balance. She failed spectacularly, crashing into a stack of crates and sending them tumbling.

Vesper froze, recognition dawning on him. 

Wait, is that…?  

It was the same elf he’d seen the day before, when he’d first arrived in Baldur’s Gate. She’d been loitering near the city gates, accidentally knocking over a merchant’s cart of spices and causing a minor uproar. He’d considered helping her then but decided against it, thinking it best to avoid drawing attention to himself. And now, here she was again, causing clumsy chaos in the marketplace.

“Hey, watch it!” Vesper called out instinctively. The elf looked up, her eyes wide with panic.

“I’m so sorry!” she said again, scrambling to her feet. “I didn’t mean to—oh no, please sir, I... I didn’t mean to step on your cat!”

Vesper blinked, then burst out laughing. “Wait, no. That’s definitely not my cat.”

But the elf was already backing away, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh! I’ll just—I’ll just go! S-Sorry!” she stammered, before turning and bolting into an alleyway, her robes flapping behind her.

Jhessem and Tate stared after her, their expressions a mix of shock and amusement. Jhessem was the first to break the silence. “Did that peasant just… step on a cat and then run away?”

Tate nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “S-She did.”

Vesper was still laughing, clutching his sides. “Oh, gods, that was the best thing I’ve seen all day. Who was that?”

She’s worse than me.

Before anyone could answer, the chaos in the market escalated. The cat’s owner—a burly halfling with a face like a thundercloud—had arrived, demanding to know who had stepped on his “precious Mr. Whiskers.” Vendors began shouting, customers were pointing fingers, and a brawl broke out near the fruit stall.

Vesper wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Oh shit. Okay, kids, we’re leaving. This place is about to turn into a battlefield.”

Jhessem raised an eyebrow. “And just where are we going to get the rest of the groceries, Lord Brother?”

“Rivington,” Vesper said, steering them toward the exit. Jhessem made a face that made Ves chuckle. “Oh, it’s not so bad! It’s quieter there. And hopefully, less prone to cat-related disasters.”

---

The Rivington marketplace was quieter than the Lower City, but no less lively. Vendors called out their wares, children darted between stalls, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air. Being here again reminded Vesper of Yenna, the orphan girl and her cute but shy cat Grub that the group had taken in during their time in the city. He’d not seen her again after the Battle for Baldur’s Gate.

He’d heard she’d been adopted by a noble and hoped to run into her again to see how she was doing, but he hadn’t seen her since his arrival anywhere. He even asked Jaheira, who confirmed the old news. Yenna and her cat were adopted by a Sword Coast noble, and it was unclear if she even resided in Baldur’s Gate anymore.

That hurt Ves a lot.

She was... like a daughter to him. And Gale, for a time, too. He fully knew that if Gale hadn’t pursued godhood, he’d have adopted her himself and they’d have moved to Waterdeep with Gale to be near Lady Morena Dekarios and Tara. A nice, cozy little family in Gale’s tower at the ocean, Gale working as Professor Dekarios at Blackstaff Academy, Ves himself a Harper stationed in Waterdeep, near family—completely and utter domestic bliss.

Oh, what a dream, what a life that would have been...

He let out a rueful sigh and prayed for her safety and success wherever she was. Yenna was important to him, even now, especially now. He’d forgotten what was important, and he’d never allow himself to forget himself again.

Vesper, Jhessem, and Tate had just finished picking up the last of the groceries when he heard a loud crash.

“Oh no! Not again! I’m sorry good sir!” a familiar voice cried.

Vesper turned to see the same elven cleric from earlier, this time standing near the middle of a toppled wagon. Cabbages rolled in every direction, and the vendor—a burly half-orc—was glaring at her with his arms crossed.

“Oh bloody Hells...” the vendor barked. “You’ve ruined my cabbages, you wench!”

“I’m so sorry!” the elf said, her hands pleading. “I’m looking for- I didn’t mean to—I just tripped!”

Vesper couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing again, doubling over as his sides began to ache. Jhessem rolled her eyes, but even Tate was grinning.

The elf turned to Vesper, her face lighting up with recognition—and shame. “You! You’re not mad about the cat, are you?”

“Still not my cat, good Sehanite.” Vesper managed between laughs. She seemed shocked that he recognised her as a cleric of the elven aspect of Selune, Sehanine Moonbow. “But I think you’ve got bigger problems right now.”

The vendor stepped forward, his expression darkening. “You’re paying for these cabbages, elf.”

“Of course, of course!” the elf said, fumbling with her coin purse. But as she pulled it open, coins spilled out, scattering across the ground. “Oh no!”

Vesper sighed, still chuckling, and stepped forward. “Here, let me help.” He handed the vendor a large bag of coins, more than enough to cover the cost of the cabbages. The vendor grunted in approval and began gathering the produce he could salvage.

The elf looked at Vesper, her eyes wide with gratitude as he helped her gather her coins. “Thank you! I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Probably caused another disaster,” Jhessem muttered, earning a snort from Tate.

The elf laughed, a bright, musical sound as she quickly bowed after Ves handed her the coins he picked up. “You’re probably right. I’m just… really sorry about all this.”

Vesper waved her off, still grinning. “Don’t worry about it. Just try not to knock over any more wagons, okay?”

The elf nodded, though her eyes darted to a nearby stall of pottery. “I’ll do my best. But no promises.”

As they walked away, Jhessem leaned over to Vesper. “She’s… something.”

“Yeah,” Vesper said, shaking his head. “And hey, at least the day wasn’t boring.”

Tate nodded, grining again. “N-Not b-b-boring. I like h-her!”

---

The walk back to Jaheira’s house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. Vesper carried the basket of groceries in one hand, while Jhessem and Tate trailed behind him, the latter clutching a rolled-up newspaper he’d been given by a hawker in Rivington.

“What’s that?” Vesper asked, nodding to the paper in Tate’s hands.

Tate held it out silently, his expression unreadable. Vesper took it, glancing at the bold headline on the front page: “Crownsworn Castigated by Gale Himself; Chosen of Ambition Revealed! Orb and Crown Reaches Sigil!”

“Huh,” Vesper said, raising an eyebrow. “Oh Gale... Let’s see what this is all about.”

They made their way back to the small bakery in the Lower City, its windows filled with trays of freshly baked cookies and pastries. Vesper ordered a platter of large cookies, high tea sandwiches and a pot of tea, and the three of them settled at a table outside, the newspaper spread out in front of them.

Jhessem nibbled on a cookie, her nose wrinkling. “These are… acceptable. But they lack the refinement of the biscuits from Water-.”

“Yes, yes we know good lady, you want to be in Waterdeep with all the decadent desserts and handsome wizards, I know...” Ves murmured with a laugh.

Tate, meanwhile, was quietly devouring his sandwiches, his eyes fixed on the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette newspaper as Vesper skimmed through the articles.

“Let’s see… ‘Local Farmer Wins Prize for Largest Turnip’… ‘Nobleman’s Son Caught in Scandalous Affair’… ‘Mysterious Hulking Figure with Glowing Eyes Spotted in Wyrm’s Crossing’… Oh, here we go.” Vesper’s voice trailed off as he began reading the article about the Temple of Gale.

---

“ Crownsworn Castigated by Gale Himself ; Chosen of Ambition Revealed! Orb and Crown Reaches Sigil! ”

In a shocking and unprecedented move, the God of Ambition, Lord Gale Dekarios, has temporarily stripped the High Crownsworn and Faerunian faithful of all access to the Weave—Galerian, Mystran, and even the Shadow Weave. This divine punishment, described by witnesses as “a severing of the threads of magic itself,” has left the clerics of the Temple of Gale in Reithwin and further afield powerless, unable to cast even the simplest of spells.

Despite this, the High Crownsworn, Lunara Althestan, and her followers remain the official representatives of the Galerian faith. Sources report that Gale’s decision was a response to their neglect of the Moonlit Altars dedicated to Moonshadow, the God of the Eclipse and Gale’s beloved. The altars, meant to honor the bond between the two gods, had fallen into disrepair, a fact that reportedly angered Gale deeply.

Even more astonishing, Gale has named a Chosen: a young cleric by the name of Alric Moros, a Thayan who reportedly impressed Moonshadow during a recent visit to the temple. Alric, described as a humble and devoted follower of Gale, has been anointed with the Mark of Ambition, a divine sigil said to grant him extraordinary power. Unlike the High Crownsworn and her followers, Alric retains his connection to the Galerian Weave, a clear sign of Gale’s favor.

The appointment of a Chosen has sent ripples through the religious communities of Faerûn, with many questioning what this means for the future of Gale’s faith. Some speculate that this marks a turning point in the relationship between Gale and Moonshadow, while others see it as a sign of Gale’s growing influence in the mortal realm—and beyond.

In a related development, reports from Sigil, the City of Doors, indicate that Gale’s faith has taken root in the planar metropolis. The Temple of Gale in Sigil is said to be unlike anything seen in the mortal realms, a sprawling complex of arcane architecture and divine power. Rumors suggest that Gale’s influence in Sigil is growing rapidly, with even the Lady of Pain taking notice of his presence and allowing his faith to thrive there. Has Gale managed a rapport with the Lady of Pain? If so, it is indeed unprecedented. For now, we can only speculate until more information finds its way to Faerûn.

---

Vesper stared at the article, his mind racing. His tea grew cold in front of him, forgotten. A Chosen? Gale named a Chosen? And Alric… that kid from the temple? He remembered the young cleric’s earnestness, his quiet devotion. Even his fierce hatred for Mystra. But this… this was something else entirely.

Jhessem leaned over, peering at the article. “What’s a Chosen?”

“It’s… it’s someone a god chooses to represent them in the mortal world,” Vesper said absently, his eyes still fixed on the paper. “It’s a big deal. A really big deal.”

Tate tilted his head, his expression curious. “W-Why?”

Vesper sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because it means Gale’s putting a lot of trust in this kid. And because… well, it’s not something he’d do lightly.”

Jhessem raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous that Uncle Gale stole your favorite?”

“What? No! I don’t even know the kid! I mean, I know he’s got issues but also a good heart but...” Vesper said quickly, though the question caught him off guard. “I’m just… surprised Gale even cared what I thought anymore. That’s all.”

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Gale had always been ambitious, but this… this felt different. Stripping the High Crownsworn of the Weave was a brutal move, one that sent a clear message: Gale would not tolerate disrespect, even from his own followers. And naming a Chosen… that was a declaration of trust, a sign that Gale was looking to the future.

But what did it mean for them—for him?

Before Vesper could say more, a familiar voice interrupted. “Well, well, if it isn’t Vesper Moonshadow—God of the Eclipse, grocery shopper extraordinaire. Heard you were in town.”

Vesper looked up to see Mol seated at the edge of their table, her arms crossed and a sly grin on her face. She was older now, but still the same sharp, calculating Mol—just with a bit more polish and confidence. Behind her, Mirkon and Doni lingered, their eyes darting around the street as if scouting for trouble. Tate straightened up quietly and Jhessem scoffed and ignored them.

“Mol,” Vesper said, his tone warm but cautious. “What brings you here? Looking to steal some coin from the shopkeepers?”

Mol smirked. “Please, Ves. I’ve moved on to bigger targets. But I couldn’t resist saying hello when I saw you moping over the newspaper. What’s got you so worked up?”

Vesper hesitated, then gestured to the article. “Gale’s faith has spread to Sigil, the City of Doors. You heard anything about that?”

Mol’s grin widened. “Maybe. But first, let’s talk about you. You’re a god now, Ves. You could be doing… I don’t know, godly things. And yet, here you are, shopping for groceries and reading gossip rags. What’s that about?”

Vesper sighed. “I’m still me, Mol. Just… with a few more responsibilities that I really don’t care for.”

Mol studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “Good. Because I’m gonna need your help soon.”

Vesper raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of help?”

Mol leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve got a deal with Gale. Well, sort of. I’ve been… praying to him. And he’s been listening. He’s given me his blessing for something big. Something that’s going set me and the kids up for life.”

Vesper frowned slightly. “What kind of ‘something big’?”

Mol’s smirk returned. “The greatest heist the realms has ever seen. I can’t give you the details yet, but trust me, it’s going to be legendary. And I’m going to need your help to pull it off.”

Vesper leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “A heist, huh? You’re not still tangled up with Raphael, are you?”

Of course not. He’s dead. Gale killed him.

Right in his House of Hope. I didn’t tell Mol though.

Didn’t have the heart to tell her that her pact is null and void.

Mol’s smirk faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Nah, that’s all taken care of. That bastard just up and disappeared, this is just me and Gale. Well, and the others, of course. But I need someone I can trust to watch my back. Someone who knows how to handle… complications.”

Just what are you planning? Especially if this involves Gale...

Vesper studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Alright, Mol. I’ll help you when the time comes. Because Gale’s backing you. And because I trust you. And I do care about you and your friends.”

Mol’s grin widened. “Good. I knew I could count on you, Ves. You’re still the same humble guy you were before all this god nonsense.”

Vesper chuckled. “Don’t let Jaheira hear you say that. She’ll never let me live in peace if she knew I was helping you steal something again.”

Mol stood up, her tone playful but with a hint of seriousness. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. For now, at least. I’ll be in touch soon. Don’t leave before meeting with me!”

As Mol, Mirkon and Doni walked away, Vesper watched them go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He’s relieved that she still sees him as the same person he was before, but the mention of Gale’s blessing and her plans for a heist leave him uneasy.

He knows Mol is clever and resourceful, but he also knows how dangerous her ambitions can be. And the fact that Gale is involved… that complicates things even further.

“Come on,” he said finally, folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm. “Let’s get back to Mom’s. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

As they walked back, Vesper’s mind was still spinning. Gale had named a Chosen. A young, earnest cleric who had impressed him. The Galerian faith was burgeoning in Sigil beyond Faerûn and somehow Mol was now involved in a heist that involved Gale and now Moonshadow himself... It should all be a good thing. Signs that Gale was still connected to the mortal world, still cared about the people who followed him or befriended him. But all Vesper could think about was the look in Gale’s eyes the last time they’d spoken—cold, distant, and utterly unreadable.

What are you up to, Gale? What have you got Mol involved in? Vesper thought, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. And what does this mean for us?

Am I... going to be in trouble with Ao by the time this heist is done?

---

The supper at Jaheira’s house was a lively affair, filled with laughter, good food, and the occasional squabble between the children. Vesper had helped prepare the meal, his cooking skills earning him praise from everyone—even Jhessem, who declared the roasted vegetables “almost as good as Waterdeep’s.” Minsc and Jord had taken charge of the kids afterwards, herding them to finish their chores while Vesper, Jaheira, and Rion lingered at the table, sipping tea and enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

Vesper hesitated for a moment, then pulled the folded newspaper from his pocket and placed it on the table. He chose not to mention Mol nor the heist. He didn’t want his family to worry. “Tate got this earlier. Thought you two should see it.”

Jaheira glanced at the headline and nodded, her expression unreadable. “I’ve seen it, cub. Gale’s been busy, hasn’t he? His faith reaching Sigil is no joke. He’s... probably a greater deity or fast approaching that level of power, if this is true at all. I know not what to make of that.”

Greater deity? That rings true. He’s got millions of petitioners now, let alone those in his realm and now in Sigil too...

Rion, however, leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the article. “What’s this about the Crownsworn of Faerûn being stripped of the Weave? And a Chosen? Since when does Gale have a Chosen?”

Vesper sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Since recently, apparently. That kid, Alric—the one I told you about, Jaheira—he’s the new Chosen. Gale anointed him.”

Rion’s eyes widened. “The one who impressed you? That’s… huge. But why strip the High Crownsworn of the Weave? That’s… extreme, even for Gale.”

Jaheira leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “It’s a message. A clear one. Gale’s not tolerating disrespect, especially when it comes to Moonshadow. The Moonlit Altars were neglected, and he’s making sure no one forgets what that means.”

Rion frowned, her fingers tapping against the table. “But cutting them off from all magic, even if it’s just for a short while? That’s not just a message—that’s a punishment. A brutal one.”

“It’s Gale,” Vesper said quietly, his gaze fixed on the newspaper. “He’s always been ambitious. But this… this feels different. He’s not just flexing his power. He’s reshaping his faith. And he’s doing it without me. So much for him waiting for me with open arms...”

Rion leaned forward, her expression fierce. “Wait a minute you idiot. Let’s think about this. Gale stripped the High Crownsworn of the Weave because she and her flock disrespected you. He named a Chosen who you approved of. Doesn’t that sound like he’s shaping his faith for your return?”

Vesper blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Jaheira’s sharp eyes narrowed, and she nodded slowly, a rare smile tugging at her lips. “Rion’s right. Gale’s not just punishing them—he’s sending a message to you. He’s saying that your place in his faith, in his life, is non-negotiable. He’s making sure no one forgets that.”

Rion crossed her arms, a smug grin on her face. “See, mother? Even I can figure that out. And I’m not the one who’s been around for centuries.”

Jaheira rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Gale’s actions are extreme, but they’re also deliberate. He’s not just reshaping his faith—he’s reshaping it for you, Ves. It’s clear as day.”

Vesper stared at them, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. “But… why? Why now? Why like this?”

Jaheira sighed, her expression softening. “Because he cares, you idiot. He’s always cared. He’s just… not very good at showing it. I mean the man’s a romantic fool but otherwise? Verbose in all the ways but the one that matters. Wizards and their damn cosmic pageantry.”

Rion nodded, her tone surprisingly gentle. “Yeah. Gale’s a lot of things—arrogant, ambitious, stubborn, honorable—but he’s not heartless. He’s doing this because he wants you back. He’s just… really bad at saying it.”

Vesper looked between them, his heart aching. “You really think so?”

Jaheira and Rion exchanged a rare, knowing glance, and for once, they were in complete agreement. “Yes, idiot!” they said in unison.

Jaheira smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t look so surprised, Ves. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Rion grinned, pointing a finger at Jaheira. “Hey, I’m right way more than twice a day. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. “Don’t push your luck, girl.”

Vesper couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with relief. “Thanks, both of you. I don’t know what the future holds for Gale and me but I’m glad I came home.”

Jaheira stood, her movements brisk and purposeful. “This will always be home for you, stubborn fool. But for now, let’s focus on what we can control. Like making sure those kids actually finish their chores.”

Rion grinned, pushing back her chair. “Knowing Minsc, he’s probably playing catch with them around the yard again... or training Fig.”

As Rion left the room, Jaheira turned to Vesper, her expression softening. “You’ll figure this out, Ves. You always do.”

Vesper nodded, though his mind was still racing. “I hope so, Mother. I really do.”

Chapter Text

Lost Paintings

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

Ink stains my fingers.

Five years since I last held a quill. Five years of celestial pronouncements whispered into the ether, of divine will made manifest without parchment or pen. Yet here I sit, in Jaheira's basement among the vines and flowers below with stolen writing supplies (sorry Rion...) like a child hiding contraband sweets, because apparently even gods need to scribble their terror onto paper sometimes.

The eclipse comes first. Then Waterdeep.

And then judgment at Dekarios Manor.

Maybe I’ll be in time for their weekly luncheon with Withers. It’s been too long.

I can already hear Tara's voice: "Two years overdue, Mr. Moonshadow. Two. Years. Do celestial beings not honor their Sendings? Unacceptable. Mr. Dekarios has ruined you." And Lady Morena—oh gods, Lady Morena—that quiet disappointment that cuts deeper than any blade. She'll offer me tea with steady hands while her eyes ask the question I can't answer: Why did you let him ascend?

I... I don’t know.

He was so excited and got very defensive after the battle when I questioned him... He got so...irate. Outraged even. I... I had to step back. I’d never seen him so angry before, especially with me. I... wilted under his glower.

I was scared to lose him. He’s all I had. After Withers saved me from Bhaal... I was utterly alone. The others could not fill the void he’d leave in my soul.

And I’d rather him be happy pursuing his dreams than unhappy. And I believed in him. I always did. He would succeed where Karsus failed.

So I caved. I let him go. Knowing he would come back for me... Knowing that as a god, I might be better equipped to help Karlach and Astarion. Even Lae’zel beyond the stars. Little did I know of what Ao had in store for me. A gilded cage of my own making.

Ascended perfection, yet so wrong. Divinity with a fragile mortal heart. An empty vessel filled only with Gale and now without him, only loss.

But that’s hardly an answer. Just excuses.

I... failed them, all of them, even in my godhood, and what a grand failure I am! I was supposed to keep his humanity intact...

... how can I keep his intact when I’m losing myself? Oh, the irony.

I should practice smiling again. Maybe if I rehearse the lies enough, they'll stop tasting like ash:

"Gale sends his regards!" (He hasn't.)
"We're so very happy!" (We're not.)
"Time moves differently in Elysium!" (A coward's excuse.)

Jaheira caught me muttering sadly to myself earlier. She didn't say a word—just raised an eyebrow and lifted her switch playfully. Her version of kindly reminding me to pick myself up or she’d kick my celestial ass all the way to Waterdeep. That i needed to look forward, not backward. (Mother always knows best.)

The worst part? I know the untouched upper floors of Gale’s tower will still welcome me.

The wards will sigh open to my subtle abjurations, just as he’d taught me before (and I’d replace the wards just as carefully when I leave), the kettle will still sit on its hook over the fire-pit, Gale's ridiculously comfy velvet reading chair will still bear the dent of his weight (I won’t disturb it...). It'll all be waiting. Like he might stride in any moment, grumbling about his countless petitioners while tugging off his gloves and idly inspecting his perfect nails.

But he won't.

And I'll have to stand in that First Temple of Gale—in what was supposed to be our tower—and pretend it doesn't feel like a tomb.

...I should burn this page.

(I won't.)

—If you’re reading this Gale...

Firstly, how dare you. (This is Detect Thoughts all over again.)

Secondly, it’s so surreal hearing your clerics use the phrase “By Gale’s Beard.” (I love that beard. And you.)

Lastly, I... I miss you. (I always miss you, my foolish oaf of a wizard.)

---

(Added in languid, glowing script that occasionally flares with restrained divine energy)

— If you're reading this, Gale...

A redundant opening, given that I've been watching over you from the moment you set foot on Toril again. Did you truly think I wouldn't notice you scribbling away in Jaheira's cellar? That I wouldn't use thousands of simulacrums to carve time from my endless divine obligations to linger, unseen, just to watch the way your brow furrows when you're angry with me?

(And before you protest—yes, I would use Detect Thoughts again. Every time. Without hesitation. You were in pain, and I would rather burn down the cosmos than let you suffer needlessly.)

Come home to Elysium when you're finished in Waterdeep. Not because I command it (though I could. I should. You are my Exarch. You’ve been away for too long. Two entire years. But I won’t do it, I want you to come home of your own accord). Not because the gods (especially Helm) demand it (though they do, your naughty friends Sune, Sharess and Tymora miss you dearly. They pester me endlessly hoping to hear from you again). But because I am tired of walking beside you in silence, unseen, unable to reach out and remind you that you are—and always have been—mine.

I told you once that ascension made me greater than the man you loved. A lie. The truth is, I became exactly what I feared—a fool so terrified of losing you that I pushed you away first. You looked at me that day as if I had carved out your heart with my own hands. (I might as well have.)

Elysium is unbearable without you. My petitioners drone on and on. The wine tastes of nothing. The Galerian Weave itself grows restless, as if even my magic mourns your very absence. And yet... I let you walk Toril alone. I watch, and I wait, and I do not intervene.

(Ask me why, Vesper. Demand it of me when you return. I owe you that much.)

P.S. Your beard commentary is noted, though hardly surprising. You've always had a distracting fixation. (And yes, before you ask—I did notice when you sighed at that lovely portrait of me in the Elfsong Tavern. Really, my daft bard?)

Chapter Text

End of the World Sun

No Man's Sky

I dreamed of Gale last night.

Not the radiant God of Ambition in his silver tower, but my wizard—the man who used to steal all the blankets and mumble spell components in his sleep. Every detail burned so bright behind my eyelids: the sleep-rumpled disaster of his hair at dawn, that stubborn ink stain on his left pointer finger (from annotating spellbooks with ridiculous marginalia), the exact cadence of his voice when he'd sigh "Ves" in that tone that meant you're impossible and I adore you.

When I woke in a cold sweat, I couldn't remember if his eyes were hazel or brown or silver.

This is how I'm losing him—not to some grand cosmic divide, but to a thousand quiet erosions. The way his fingers would tap arrhythmic patterns when working through a complex theorem. The warmth of his palm pressed between my shoulder blades. That ridiculous little smirk he'd do when a spell theorem finally clicked into place. Each memory dissolves like sugar in tea, no matter how fiercely I cling.

A childish part of me keeps waiting for celestial trumpets—for Gale to come striding through a portal in full divine regalia, toss me over his shoulder like some romantic ballad's plunder, and drag me back to Elysium kicking and protesting. Sharess would fawn on and on about it for centuries. But my Gale has always been meticulous, measured—he'll trust me to find my own way home.

(What if the path disappears before I can follow it?)

The eclipse crouches on the horizon like a stalking panther.

Selûne requested only a whispered prayer at Moonrise Towers. Shar commanded a full eclipse—her due as the darker half of my domain. And I?

I am the trembling fulcrum between them.

For five perfect minutes (one for each phase of the moon she so despises), I'll be strong enough to satisfy the Lady of Loss’ demand and Toril will be blanketed in void. She'll be waiting in that sliver of totality, I know, her voice slick as oil in my ears: You are the space between stars, little shadow. He is false-dawn— you will always be the fading night. Embrace loss, child. In my darkness you will never suffer again.

The terror isn't that she's wrong.

It's that when the moon devours the sun, I might agree.

Because when the world goes dark in three days, which self will remain? Vesper who loved Gale Dekarios beyond all reason and mortal sense? Or Moonshadow that Ao forged from nothingness into a crude mockery of mortality and godhood?

I... don't know.

But I know this much: if I ever forget the exact lavender his Orb sparks when he's excited beyond words, if his laughter fades from my mind like an old song, if I wake one morning and don't recall how his hands felt tracing the scars on my body or the husky timbre of his voice when he murmurs my name—

Then let Shar claim her victory.

Without Gale, I am just a shadow cast by absent light.

---

(Galerian Weave woven ink stains the page aggressively)

I’m going to send a tressym, you get distracted so easily I swear.

Read the previous entry you wrote again and come back to this one, you daft fool!

To Your Flawed Premise of " Losing Me (Especially to Shar, what absolute nonsense) ":

No. Cease this nonsense.

(The words strike like a thunderclap, the ink searing void black into the page.)

You will never lose me. Not to time. Not to godhood. Certainly not to the petty squabbles of mortals, the Gods or the scheming of the Hells, not even to the Far Realms.

We are not Midnight and Kelemvor Lyonsbane. We will never be them. I have spent every waking moment of my godhood ensuring it. They wept over their immortal limitations and lost themselves, I rewrote the rules. While they bowed to cosmic consequences, I burned the ledgers.

Even as I failed at first, I kept trying and I have finally succeeded.

My next plot will upend the status quo and earn me alot of new enemies (not you though; you are the inbetween, even as my Exarch. Ao will not punish you. He cannot. He knows why) and also very unlikely allies.

All I will say is that our next visit together to Elysium might be our last and that I’ve found a more suitable realm for ours, my Divine Tower, your Moonlit Camp, together as one.

I must leave you in suspense of course. I love keeping you on edge, my daft bard.

That and the gods are keeping tabs on you and I.

Unfortunately for them, I’m twenty steps ahead.

It would be irresponsible to spoil the fun, no?

(The ink flares crimson, then cools to steel-blue resolve.)

Regarding your lovely daftness, even in godhood...

Every night you thought yourself alone? I was there.

That "chill" along your spine? My hands—every scar, every curve, every inch of you, mind, body and spirit mapped and remembered with divine precision, every single night.

You sleep soundly because I am with you. You never sleep soundly otherwise.

The six months we spent apart as I ascended to godhood was proof of that. You looked so tired when we reunited at Withers’ party. But then again, the way your eyes lit up when you finally recognized me... It was all worth it.

Even now, frayed liked this, our love will endure. You need only keep faith in me, as you always have.

This pain, this feeling of loss will pass and you will be in my arms again. I promise.

I cannot wait for that moment to come.

(The writing shifts, each letter now edged in gold—the color of a vow.)

I have studied our predecessors’ failures like a dying man studies alchemy to stave off death. (Ironic, considering my research on the orb when we met, I was in the same boat back then too, and even then, the solution was you. Albeit Mystra stabilized the orb, you made me want to live.) Memorized every misstep, every compromise, every moment of weakness that cost them each other. And then—then, Vesper—I tore the fucking page out of the equation.

Because we will not fail.

I succeeded where Karsus failed and you and I together will succeed where Midnight and Kelemvor Lyonsbane failed.

Hand in hand.

On the Matter of Consequence:

Let Ao stew.
Let Mystra sneer.
Let every god in the pantheon clutch their pearls at my defiance when the time comes.

(A sketch appears in the margin—a crude lanceboard with Gale's rook knocking over the king, the queen, and the entire board itself.)

You are mine. I am yours. And if the cosmos demands otherwise?

Then the cosmos can burn.

And we’ll make our own world, together.

(The ink turns deep purple, the color of the Galerian Weave at its  strongest )

Come home soon.

(The command glows white-hot, the parchment bending reality under its weight.)

Not only for me to apologize.
Not only for me to atone for being a cosmic asshole.
Not only for me to rehash words better left unsaid.

Come home because I have built you a kingdom where you can be as mortal as your heart desires.
Come home because every road leads to me and I will never let you walk alone again.
Come home because I refuse to exist in a reality where "Gale-and-Vesper" are anything less than eternal.

Come home because your foolish oaf of a wizard misses you dearly,

And he wants to make things right.

(The signature burns itself into the page—not ink, but raw Weave given form:)

Yours always,
Gale Dekarios, foolish oaf and God of Ambition

P.S. - Our bed is still calibrated to your preferences even though I have no reason to use it in your absence. And before you ask—yes, I did turn down an honorary major seat on the Conclave of Mt. Celestia to perfect that particular enchantment. Some things are worth burning bridges for. (Apologies, Tyr. Love, like Time, waits for no one, let alone a God)

Chapter Text

Witch of Shadows

Hades 2

---

To Alric Moros, the First Chosen of Gale;

Well, boy, it seems you’ve gone and done it. Chosen of Gale, marked by the Eclipse itself!

I’ll admit, when I first heard, I wasn’t sure what to make of you. But if Gale sees something in you, who am I to argue? Your god’s got a knack for spotting potential, even in the unlikeliest of places.

Now, listen close, boy, ‘cause I’ve got a feeling—a shadow of a thought that’s been gnawing at me... This peace we’ve brokered, this balance we’ve struck between Crownsworn and Silvershade, Gale and Moonshadow… it won’t last. Not forever.

The eclipse is a beautiful, powerful thing, but it’s not eternal. Light and shadow are destined to clash, again and again, in an endless dance. Gale and Moonshadow are bound together, but that bond is as much a chain as it is a blessing. They’ll push and pull, fight and reconcile, rise and fall like the tides. And when they do, it’ll be up to us—their followers—to hold the line.

I’ve just come from a meeting with Lunara. Don’t worry—I didn’t bite her head off, though Gale knows she deserved it. We’ve come to an understanding. From now on, there’ll be a Silvershade cleric in every Temple of Gale. We don’t need much—just a quiet corner, a bit of respect for our god, and the freedom to do our work. We’ve all taken vows of poverty, so you won’t find us demanding gold or finery. We’re not here for glory. We’re here to serve.

Let me be clear, though: we won’t worship Moonshadow as a god. He’d hate that, and frankly, so would we. He’s not interested in altars or hymns or the trappings of divinity. But we’ll honor him in the way he’s always asked—by doing what we’ve always done: helping those who need it most, regardless of their background or intentions, all are welcome in Moonshadow’s shadowed embrace. From the Moonlit Altars, we’ll soothe the pains of the meek and the lost. We’ll deliver the eclipse, the faintest of light to the darkness, and the faintest of shadow to the light. We’ll remind the Crownsworn—and ourselves—to fight like cats and dogs and to settle our differences and reconcile each time, no matter what it takes.

Because that’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Crownsworn and Silvershade, we’re two sides of the same coin. Gale and Moonshadow, light and shadow, ambition and humility. An eclipse isn’t possible without both. We need each other, even if we don’t always see eye to eye.

You’ve got a difficult road ahead of you, Alric. Being Chosen isn’t just about power or prestige—it’s about responsibility. Gale’s faith’s a fire, and fire untended can burn everything to ash. Don’t let it consume you. And don’t let the Crownsworn forget what they’re fighting for. Ambition without purpose is just greed, and greed has no place in Gale’s vision.

Speaking of Gale… I met him, you know. Before my little chat with Lunara, he decided to grace us with his presence. Gods, what an experience that was. He’s… larger than life, isn’t he? And yet, for all his divine grandeur, there’s a humility to him when he speaks to those he deems worthy. You and me, apparently. Lunara? Not so much. Yet. Her time will come.

And by Gale’s beard, don’t get me started on how handsome he is. I shouldn’t talk about Moonshadow’s beloved like that, but the statues and paintings don’t do him any justice. Not even close. There’s something about the way he carries himself—like he knows he could level a city with a snap of his fingers, but he’d rather spend the afternoon debating the finer points of magical theory over a cup of tea.

But I digress. Point is, Gale sees something in you, Alric. And if he’s willing to humble himself enough to choose and guide you, then you’d better make it worth his while. Don’t let him down. And don’t let Moonshadow down, either. Our gods (sorry Moonshadow...) are a cosmic pair, order and chaos, whether the Crownsworn (and Moonshadow, sorry again...) like it or not.

We all want the same thing at the end of the day.

Oh, and if there’s a bigger bitch out there than Lunara, hands down it’s Mystra. And what a glorious day it is to see the bitch writhe! I’ll admit, it gives me great pleasure to watch her faithful squirm so fiercely since your ascension. They’ve had their time in the sun, and now it’s our turn to cast a long shadow.

We must remain steadfast, Alric. When the eclipse comes, when the light blinds and the shadows consume, we must remember what we’re fighting for. Not for Gale’s ambition or Moonshadow’s humility, but for the balance they create together. Without one, the other falters. When the time comes, we must stand united as one.

So, keep your wits about you, Chosen. This isn’t the end of the road—it’s only the beginning. The next conflict is coming once this peace ends, and when it does, we’ll need every bit of strength, every ounce of faith, to see it through.

And don’t tell Lunara I said this, but… she’s doing good work. For all the High Bitch's faults, she’s got the right idea. Just don’t let it go to her head. The last thing we need is her thinking she’s the hero of this story.

Good luck on your first eclipse as Chosen. You’ll need it.

This will be my fifth and it never gets easier. And I'm not even a Chosen!

In shadowed, beloved gale,

Elynn Shadewatch
Elder Silvershade of Moonshadow

---

Chapter Text

In Lumière's Name

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

The tressym found him in the dark.

Not that Vesper had been hiding—not really. Jaheira’s basement was the best place to quietly nurse a bottle of wine and the gaping, Gale-shaped hole in his heart. Moonlight cut through the cracks in the foundation, painting silver stripes over his curled-up form, the roots of the tree above cradling him like skeletal fingers. He hadn’t moved in hours, maybe. Time slipped through his grasp like morning dew these days, too quick or too slow, never right.

The celestial courier—Squall, or whatever Gale had named the insufferable creature—landed with a haughty flick of its wings, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light. It sniffed at the empty bottle near Vesper’s boot, whiskers twitching in disdain.

"Ugh, this is terrible. Terrible, I say!" he declared, tail lashing.

Vesper didn’t dignify that with a response. He just glared, his divine blood simmering under his godskin, itching for an outlet. The tressym, wisely, decided not to press its luck—for now. Instead, it planted one paw on the leather-bound journal beside Vesper’s bedroll, the one he’d written in days ago and then promptly abandoned.

"You haven’t reread it," Squall accused, voice dripping with celestial superiority. "He waited. He checked. You wrote your entries and never looked back. You forgot. How mortal of you, Lord Moonshadow. How tragically foolish."

Vesper’s stomach lurched.

He always reread his entries. Always. But the effort of putting pen to paper this time had left him hollowed out, scraped raw, and he’d collapsed into exhaustion before he could second-guess his own words. Now, in the dim glow, he could see it—the telltale shimmer of Gale’s annotations creeping through the pages, divine ink bleeding into the margins like ivy over stone.

Gale had answered him.

Days ago.

And Vesper hadn’t even noticed.

---

He read it alone first, fingers trembling as he turned the pages. Squall, now thoroughly disinterested, curled into his lap like a self-satisfied stormcloud, purring as if it hadn’t just ripped open a wound Vesper had been desperately trying to ignore.

Gale’s handwriting was everywhere—crowding the margins, wedged between Vesper’s own furious scribbles, spilling into blank spaces like a man determined to fill every silence. Some passages burned with the weight of divine certainty, the ink so thick it threatened to scorch the page. Others wavered, thinning to near-transparency where Gale’s confidence had faltered.

"You will never lose me," one note insisted, the letters pressed so deep into the parchment they pulsed in time with the Galerian Weave sliver in his heart. "Not to time. Not to godhood."

Ves’ breath caught.

He’d written his original words in a haze of grief and cheap wine; half-convinced Gale couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer. But Gale had. And worse, he’d been here, just out of reach, close enough that Vesper could almost smell the ozone of his magic in the air.

The realization hit him like a jagged blade between the ribs, twisting endlessly.

All this miserable time, Vesper had been trying to carve out some tiny, insignificant space for himself in Gale’s divine existence, he was satisfied with the very least, he just wanted to be with Gale in the end—and Gale, stubborn, impossible Gale, had been rewriting the rules, bending the lanceboard he was playing on itself, just to stay tethered to him.

It was too much. He missed his wizard.

White-hot tears spilled over before he could stop them, his chest heaving with the force of his own pathetic, mortal sobs. Squall, utterly unimpressed, flicked an ear.

"Oh, for the love of Gale—stop that at once. This is beneath you."

"I cry because I care," Vesper hissed, voice cracking as he wiped his tears but to no avail, they kept falling. "It’s never beneath me to cry, you wretched beast. I will never stifle my tears, no matter now weak you think that makes me. The day I stop feeling, the day I stop caring enough to shed tears for anyone is the day I lose the last of my mortality... On that day, I hope Gale will just end me. I don’t want to lose myself entirely..."

The tressym rolled its eyes. "Nonsense. You are no mortal. You are a god. My master’s Exarch, of all things. And yet you act like a petulant child! This is undignified behav- "

Vesper bared his teeth with a fierce scowl. "Then leave, fucker! I have no need of you and your condescension. Thank you for showing me Gale’s notes. Now fuck off. Your presence is a wound upon my soul. Shoo!"

Squall’s wings bristled. "Oh, no no no! Lord Gale will use Power Word: Ruin on me if I abandoned his command! He said I am to remain at your disposal until he relieves me of my duties. So, no. I remain. Not that you care."

Vesper’s fingers twitched toward the shadows pooling ominously at his feet. 

"I do not. But alright. Let’s play by Gale’s rules. Do you remember what Gale did last time you misbehaved, the time you made me cry? Be thankful I’m crying because of Gale’s undying love.. He gave me a spell, just for dealing with you. I adjusted it to work on just about any poor soul but truly, do you really want to fuck around with me? I’ve been aching to see what it would do with the changes I made to the somatic component..."

The tressym’s fur stood on end. "Oh, Lord Gale, why do you hate me so? You drop me, your most loyal and beloved creation, into this cesspool plane of filth, away from your divine wrath, only to enlist me to the service of your lunatic of a consort—who has it out for me! Fie! I do not deser-"

"That’s enough. Your caterwauling is unbearable!" Vesper’s voice dropped into something darker, something older. The shadows at his feet coiled like serpents. "It’s rather simple: Stop being an asshole to me, or lose the fur, permanently this time. And I’ll pluck your feathers out for good measure too! Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Squall didn’t hesitate to shut up.

And Vesper realized that he needed this somewhat. Not the tears, not the anger. The bickering.

It’s been too long since the last time he bickered properly with anyone. Let alone Gale...

---

Clutching the journal like a lifeline, Vesper stormed upstairs, trying his best to keep his avatar intact, his tears evaporating into silver mist before they could hit the floor, the only give away that he was struggling to maintain his shape.

His family were gathered around Jaheira’s battered oak table—Jord nursing tea, Rion sharpening her dagger, Jaheira puffing on her pipe like she hadn’t a care in the world. It sounded like Fig, Jhessem and Tate were arguing outside about something or the other.

Mortals wouldn’t be able to read Gale’s writing—not when it was woven into the very fabric of the Weave itself—but that didn’t matter. Vesper just needed to say what he could share aloud, to prove to himself that this wasn’t some fever dream.

He slammed the journal onto the table. "He annotated my journal. Days ago. And I didn’t even notice. He... He cares... h-he still cares."

Jord’s brows lifted. "Gods. That’s... actually kind of sad. And romantic. Your wizard’s something else."

Rion snorted. "Romantic and hapless, even in godhood. Oh, Gale. You give the rest of us hope."

Squall leapt onto the table with a haughty flick of his wings, only to be immediately ignored, which seemed to irritate him to no end as Jhessem wandered in from the back door and absently scratched his ears, making him flinch.

"Aww, and who’s this dignified gentleman come to our estate?" she cooed.

"An emissary of the God of Ambition! My name is Squall, but you will only address me when I addr—"

"Yes, but this is my home, and I anoint you Lord Jhesper of House Fluffington," Jhessem declared, grinning with a curtsy. "Welcome to my humble summer house. I am Lady Jhessem Fluffington. A pleasure."

"That is not my name—ugh!" The tressym’s protest died as Vesper’s fingers twitched, feinting signing the beginning of the fur removal spell. "Ugh, f-fine! Fine! But this is hardly a summer house, Lady Jhessem."

"Be quiet. You are a rude lout," Jhessem snapped, indignant. "A lady anoints you, and you insult her home? How dare you?! I expect this from Fig and Tate, not a servant of Lord Gale! I should turn you out onto the streets you ruffian! Villain!"

"Jhesper Fluffington... eh- could be worse. I like it." Rion agreed, snickering as the tressym’s tail lashed. "Relax, featherball. You’re hardly the first cat to wander in here. Last week we had a litter of kittens in the pantry. Not sure how they got there."

"I am NOT a cat. I am a tressym! A celestial servant, made in the divine image of Lady Tara Dekarios, the God of Ambtion’s very best friend!" the tressym hissed, "not some feral stray—"

"Jhesper, calm down. Here." Jord rumbled, offering a piece of smoked salmon. The tressym’s protest died mid-squawk as it instinctively snatched the treat.

Vesper almost—almost—smiled as he watched as an intense back and forth began between Jhesper, Jhessem, Jord and Rion despite the offering of salmon.

---

Jaheira exhaled a slow stream of smoke as Rion insulted Squall and gathered the missives, leaving for the study as the argument died down, the druid’s sharp but jaded eyes fixed on Vesper. 

"Finally, a moment of peace. Tell me, cub. What does the great Gale Dekarios have to say for himself?"

Vesper’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t tell them everything—not with the mortal world potentially listening—but he could give them enough. "He cares. I’m not forgotten. Grand plans. Divine edicts. Godhood and me. Like it’s something I want."

"Maybe it’s not about what you want, brother." Jord offered gently. "Maybe it’s about what he can give. Far as I can tell, he’s not forsaken you. He keeps on showering you with his love, albeit godly love."

"I don’t want any of that!" Vesper snarled. "I want him. As he was. I... I want my wizard back."

Jaheira’s voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than any blade. "That man is long gone. But the one who remains? He is trying, son. In his own infuriating way. And as you say, he cares. Is that not enough?"

Jhesper butted his head against Vesper’s wrist angrily and gagged. "He’s trying. You know his Lordship—Ambition and Stubbornness incarnate. He’ll fight the gods for you. He won’t let them stifle that silly heart of yours, pah!"

Vesper stared at the journal, opened it to his latest entry, at Gale’s words—so full of love, so full of frustration—and then snapped it shut. He glared around at the empty air where Gale should be, and let the words claw their way out of his throat.

"I want you, wizard. Not the god. You! That you’re still being an idiot like me gives me some hope, at least. You're still in there, somewhere..."

Silence.

Then, from the tressym, a long-suffering sigh. "Really now? Talking to the aether like a madman? You’re better than this. He will not answer. Oh, he is here—but there are rules, and he’d rather bend them until the time comes to break the few he needs to. Only for you."

Vesper’s chest ached.

Because he knew.

Gale would break the rules when the time came.

That... scared Vesper.

---

The basement air clung damp and heavy as Vesper settled back into his nest of roots and shadows after supper. Jhesper—still bristling from the earlier confrontation—perched on a nearby shelf, his wings twitching with every irritated exhale. The tressym had the look of a creature deeply wronged by the universe, and he was not going to let Vesper forget it.

Vesper ignored him, flipping open the journal again. Gale’s words shimmered back at him, stubborn and alive.

Jhesper’s tail lashed. "You do realize this is an abuse of divine authority. I’ve been reduced to a housecat! You are so cruel, Lord Moonshadow!"

"Mm. Yeah, no. I ain’t playing this game with you." Vesper didn’t look up. "Tell Gale. See if he cares."

"He won’t," Jhesper muttered, as if this were the greatest injustice of all. "He’ll just laugh and say something insufferable like, ‘Ah, but isn’t Vesper’s pettiness part of his lovely charm?’" The tressym’s impression of Gale was spot on.

Vesper’s lips twitched. "He’d be right. I reserve my petty side to those who deserve it. And I daresay, you’re the only animal in all of realmspace that I detest with all that I am. Animals adore me, and I them. You? I could do without seeing you."

Jhesper made a sound like a deflating bellows. "You’re both impossible. Night and day, you both are. I’ll never understand."

“Good, don’t try to understand fucker. Go bother my siblings. I’m busy.”

Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken things. The tressym groomed his wings with excessive focus, avoiding Vesper’s gaze.

Then, grudgingly:

"...You’re really two years late for Waterdeep, then? I thought the others were exaggerating."

Vesper stiffened.

Of course Jhesper knew. The celestial courier was the only one of Gale’s messengers brazen (or foolish) enough to check in on Lady Morena and Tara—though Tara’s usual response involved hissing, raised hackles, and the occasional thrown inkpot and a fireball or two, apparently.

"I’m well aware," Vesper said flatly.

"Lady Dekarios has rescheduled the luncheon at least eleven times."

"I said I’m aware."

"Ugh. You’re worse than Lord Gale at his most melodramatic—"

"Squall- oh no wait, Jhesper, I’m about a second away from opening a portal to the Far Realms and leaving you there as an offering to Hadar. Shut up." Vesper’s voice cracked like a whip.

The tressym fell silent, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. He’d struck a nerve.

Vesper exhaled through his gritted teeth to calm himself. "I’ll go. After the Eclipse."

"You’d do well to uphold your appointments in future Lord Moonshadow, and if I may be bold to say, stop dithering about like a fish out of water. Go straight home after your check in with Lord Gale’s family. This filthy realm is beneath one of your standing." Jhesper sniffed. "I’d drag you home myself. But Lord Gale would never allow it, tsk."

"Oh, I’d love to see you try, furball."

"I am a celestial emissary—!"

"-And yet, somehow, still here," Vesper said, waving a hand at the damp basement cavern walls. "Under my command. Because Gale left you with me—not because he trusts you, but because he knew you’d hate it."

Jhesper’s fur puffed up. "That’s not true! I’m his favorite."

"Bullshit." Vesper arched a brow. "You’re the only courier he sends to Waterdeep because you’re the only one arrogant enough to think you can out-Tara Tara. Pfft! You absolutely cannot. He didn’t assign you to me because you’re his favorite. He did it because you’re a tool: efficient, ambitious and incredibly stupid."

The tressym opened his mouth—then shut it with a sigh. His ears flattened pathetically.

"...That’s cruel," he muttered.

"And yet," Vesper said, flipping another page, "here you are. Stuck with me. Almost like Gale knew I’d need someone to bicker with. At least till I leave."

The words hung between them, softer than intended.

Jhesper studied him for a long moment. Then, with a haughty flick of his tail:

"Fine. I’ll endure Lady Fluffington." He spat the name like a curse. "But when you finally crawl back to Waterdeep, you can explain to Tara why you’re late."

"I have my reasons. She'll understand hopefully." Vesper’s smirk returned. "And you’d better hope I don’t tell her you tried to replace her."

"L-Lord Moonshadow!" Jhesper’s wings flared in panic.

"Yeah. Thought so."

Vesper leaned back, hiding his smile in the journal’s pages.

Gale had sent him a nuisance. A loud, preening, utterly ridiculous nuisance.

It was, he realized, the most thoughtful gift he’d ever received from Gale: a piece of his old self.

I hope we can bicker again soon, my love.

I... I miss the handsome scowl you used to make when I troubled you...

Chapter Text

Goblu

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

1 month ago

-

The morning after Gale’s wrath, the town of Reithwin stirred with uneasy whispers.

Word had spread like wildfire—windows shattered, the faithful stripped of magic, and a lone cleric, earnest Alric, barely into his 21^st Summer, marked as the God of Ambition’s Chosen.

The townsfolk gathered outside the temple, their voices a low, nervous hum. Some clutched charms of Selûne or whispered prayers to their respective deities, others simply stared, their expressions caught between awe and fear as the Crownsworn continued to unravel, some of the clerics openly weeping, for the House of Ambition was more than a church, more than a school.

For many, the Temple of Gale was a home for those who felt unheard or slighted by the gods. But even Gale it seemed, would not listen. For now, at least.

Then, from the crowd, an old farmer stepped forward, his voice rough but steady.

"Serves you lot right," he said, glaring at the Crownsworn who lingered at the temple steps, hollow-eyed and lost. "You didn’t even recognize him!"

Lunara, leaning against a broken pillar, stiffened. "What are you babbling about, old man?"

The farmer scoffed. "Moonshadow. The Silvershade. The one your god loves more than anything in this world or the next." He gestured to Alric, who stood silently nearby, his marked hand flexing at his side. "This one showed him kindness when the rest of you lot sneered. Did you really think your god wouldn’t notice a transgression like that? Gale is very kind! Torm knows, I’d whip the arse of any fool stupid enough to disrespect my wife in my house! You lot got off easy!"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A young woman, one of the tavern wenches, nodded. "Your god walked among us yesterday. Hooded, quiet, humble. I didn’t know it was him, but I felt it alright. Like the air before a storm. Even now, I feel traces of it from that boy."

A child piped up, "The bearded man made sparkles for us! Just like his friend! And Daddy Halsin turned into a bear, and we rode on his back, playing chase with Thaniel, Oliver and the bearded man! He was so happy that we made his friend smile! He’s so nice! He said the school will open again once the teachers finish their homework!"

Lunara’s face darkened, but before she could retort, a new voice cut through the murmurs.

"So, it’s true then. Gale was here?"

The crowd parted as Isobel Thorm strode forward, her silver robes glinting in the morning light, her expression one of stunned disbelief. Behind her, a small contingent of Selûnite clerics followed, their eyes wide with curiosity.

Alric bowed his head respectfully. "Lady Isobel."

“Hail, Sir Moros.” She glanced at him with a nod, her gaze sweeping over the shattered temple, the ashen-faced Crownsworn. "By the Moonmaiden’s grace…" She exhaled sharply. "He came himself? Not a vision or simulacrum— but an avatar then? Oh Gale..."

Alric nodded. "Yes. In the flesh. Or… whatever form gods take when they walk among us mortals. An avatar as you said."

Isobel pressed a hand to her temple, laughing incredulously. "Gods damn it, Gale, he could have warned me." She turned back to the Selûnites. "Aylin is going to be furious she missed him again."

One of the clerics, a young half-elf with wide eyes, whispered, "What happened, friend?"

Alric hesitated, then spoke plainly. "He was displeased. And so he punished them. And marked me. Because I showed kindness to Moonshadow."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"By Gale’s beard, that’s... putting it lightly," muttered a Crownsworn acolyte, rubbing his arms, still feeling the absence of magic. “We have slighted our god’s beloved and now cannot even feel his boon, let alone any other Weave.”

Isobel exhaled, shaking her head. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Gale always did have a flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to his bard." Her gaze flicked to Alric’s hand, where the eclipse mark pulsed faintly. "And you… you’re his Chosen now, then?"

Alric’s throat tightened. "I am."

“Then as High Silverstar of Reithwin, I and my flock recognise and welcome you, Sir Alric Moros, Paladin, and now Chosen of Gale, we are honored to have you amongst us- ”

Lunara let out a derisive snort. "A glorified errand boy, he is."

Isobel’s eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But an important one, no? And what does that make you, Lady Althestan? A high priestess without your god’s Weave? Seems to me like you forgot who Gale is, what he stands for. I’m not even a Galerian but I know who and what that wonderful man was before he ascended. If he deemed it wise to strip you of his Weave, I think he was being kind then. Gale does not suffer fools, High Crownsworn. He would have done much worse to you if he did not pity you."

The barb struck true. Lunara’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.

The old farmer spoke again, quieter this time. "You all forgot the first rule. Even a simple fool understands this one simple truth." He looked at each of the Crownsworn in turn. "You can’t worship Gale without honoring Moonshadow. Did you lot not learn from their battle against the Absolute? They’re two halves of the same story."

“I expressed the same to Moonshadow... but I didn’t know. Ambition guide me, I couldn’t have known...” Alric nodded quietly.

A murmur of agreement rose from the townsfolk.

Isobel nodded slowly. "You didn’t have to. You were kind and he chose you to serve Gale. That’s all the confirmation we need." She turned to Alric, studying him with newfound interest. "So. Chosen of the God of Ambition. What now? What is your mandate? Did Gale give you a task?"

Alric looked down at his marked hand, then toward the Moonlit Altar— cleaned by the Chosen himself, but untended, waiting.

"Not really. He wants to see what I’ll do with his gifts. But first?" he said, "I do what we should have done from the beginning. What Gale came to remind us of."

He stepped forward, lifting his voice so all could hear.

"We restore the temple. We welcome the Silvershades back to the fold and respect their independence. And we remember—honoring Lord Gale means honoring Lord Moonshadow. And all are welcome in Gale’s House of Ambition.

A pause. Then, from the back of the crowd, a single slow clap that slowly turned into a cacophony of applause.

Halsin, leaning against a tree at the far end, smirked. "Well said, cub."

And for the first time since Gale’s departure, something like hope flickered in the air of Reithwin.

---

The Reithwin town hall buzzed with uneasy murmurs as Alric stood before the gathered crowd and briefed them on Gale’s recent directive that he’d received in person that same evening: Intercept a spy in Baldur’s Gate and deliver him (or what’s left of him) back to Szass Tam as a reminder of Gale’s... gaze upon Toril. But he left out the spy part, only speaking of his scheduled meeting with the leader of Thay, his homeland.

The air smelled of beeswax candles and damp wool, the late evening chill seeping through the shutters. At the high table, Isobel sat with her hands folded, silver robes pristine, while Halsin lounged beside her like a bear at ease. The town mayor—a stout, no-nonsense halfling from Beregost named Valen—fidgeted with his ledger.

And then there was Lunara.

The High Crownsworn stood rigid at the edge of the table, her blue and purple tabard immaculate, her expression carved from ice. She hadn’t looked at Alric once since the meeting began.

“—and so,” Alric continued, forcing his voice steady, “I’ll depart for Thay within the coming month. Szass Tam has… requested an audience. Let’s just say that... he’s interested in Lord Gale’s Weave but he’s also overstepped a bit, and I’m to play guest and messenger to him.”

The murmurs sharpened. A farmer near the back spat. People rightly feared that Alric might be walking into a trap. He might be Thayan, but the people of Reithwin knew him and he was well loved. They wanted him to come home safe.

Isobel raised a hand. “This isn’t a negotiation. Gale’s will is clear. And having known him personally, I don’t have any doubt that he’ll protect his Chosen from harm. Alric will come back safe and sound. We must trust in Him to return our good friend to us whenever he leaves us. What is open for discussion is how Reithwin moves forward in the Chosen’s absence in the meantime.”

Lunara’s laugh was a dagger. “By grovelling at Vesper Moonshadow’s feet, apparently.”

Halsin’s tankard hit the table with a thunk. “Careful, cub. That’s your god’s heart you’re openly mocking.”

Before Lunara could retort, the doors creaked open.

A hush fell.

She entered like a shadow given form—a woman in threadbare grey ranger’s leathers, her crow-black hair tied back with a strip of frayed cloth. A humble hunting bow and quiver was slung across her back, her only possessions. Her eyes, grey as a winter dawn, swept the room with quiet intensity.

Alric’s breath caught.

Lunara stiffened. “You.”

The stranger ignored her, nodding instead to Halsin. “Archdruid.”

Halsin grinned. “Little Crow. Took you long enough.”

Isobel’s brows rose. “You know her?”

“Susarra,” Halsin said, as if that explained everything. “She’s been tending the abandoned Malar shrines in the forest. Repurposing them for Gale and Moonshadow and making sure that the Malarites stay away. Why do you think the forest feels so at peace lately?”

Susarra stepped forward, her voice low but carrying. “Roots matter. Gale’s faith may stretch across planes, but it grows from here. Toril.” Her gaze flicked to Alric, and something warm sparked in his chest. “Hence why our Chosen is from here and yet is not.”

Lunara’s lip curled. “And who are you to speak for our god? You do not worship Gale.”

Susarra didn’t flinch. “Not like you do, yes but I do revere him and Moonshadow in equal measure. And I’m no one special. Just a pair of hands.” She turned to the crowd. “But I know this—Gale didn’t choose Alric because he’s grand. He chose him because he’s truest Crownsworn here.”

The mayor cleared his throat. “And you’re here to…?”

“Help. Protect the lands. And to guide the lost.” Susarra shrugged. “The temple won’t rebuild itself. And the altar needs a maiden. I can play the role in my spare time.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Fine,” Isobel said, smirking. “But only if you promise not to shoot Lunara, as tempting as that may be.”

Susarra’s lips quirked. “No promises.”

The tension shattered like glass. Even the Crownsworn chuckled—all save Lunara, who looked ready to combust.

Alric exhaled, his shoulders loosening for the first time all evening. Susarra met his eyes across the room, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just her—the quiet strength in her stance, the way her hair caught the candlelight like a raven’s wing.

Halsin clapped his hands. “Right! Who’s for ale?”

As the meeting dissolved into chatter, Alric realized two things:

Reithwin was in good hands. And he was utterly doomed when it came to Susarra.

---

Alric’s sending (enhanced by Gale, of course) had echoed through every Temple of Gale across Toril—a thunderclap of divine will:

"I am Alric Moros, First Chosen of Gale. Restore the Moonlit Altars. Honor the Eclipse—or be severed from all Weaves. The Eclipse rises."

---

One month later, the Temple of Reithwin breathed again.

Susarra moved through the chaos like a shadow given form, her threadbare ranger’s leathers blending into the stone as she knelt before the Moonlit Altar. A beggar stumbled before her, his fingers blackened with plague. Without hesitation, she took his hands in hers.

"Breathe, good sir." she murmured. “I am here. Moonshadow knows your suffering. Do not be afraid.”

Panacea flowed from her palms like liquid moonlight, purging the disease in ripples of violet-silver light. The beggar gasped as color returned to his skin. Around them, the temple hummed with unlikely harmony—Selûnite clerics scrubbed soot from the walls alongside Crownsworn acolytes.

Wynifred, a beautiful Heartwarder commissioned from Neverwinter, worked carefully on a tall fresco along the wall the main altar, the artwork based on a tarot card Alric had been gifted by her upon her arrival, which he instantly was drawn to (Isobel and Halsin approved of it too, he didn’t bother to check with Lunara since she was too busy nursing her pride, Susarra had no opinion and left the matter entirely in his hands), while Halsin directed and helped the masons hauling debris away with enthusiasm.

Alric watched the Moonlit Altar from the archway, his eclipse mark pulsing in quiet awe. Susarra asked for no thanks, no payment—only the occasional shared meal or waterskin pressed into her hands by grateful townsfolk. He’d seen her at dawn with Halsin, returning from the woods with game slung over her shoulder. At midday, meditating with Isobel in Moonrise Tower’s cloister. Now here, tending to the altar as naturally as breathing.

By dusk, the first whispers of the Galerian Weave returned. A grizzled Crownsworn matron cried out as violet sparks danced across her fingertips. "By Gale’s beard! I... I feel his Weave!"

But many were not so fortunate. Isobel observed the frustrated clerics with a raised brow. "Gale’s Weave answers to whole faith. Not half-hearted devotion."

Lunara, leaning against a pillar, scoffed. "So we’re to grovel before his pet now?"

Alric stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. Even Wynifred stopped to listen, normally too engrossed in her art commission to bother. "We’re to remember." He gestured to Susarra, who now cradled a sobbing babe in her arms, her clothes shimmering with residual magic. "The Eclipse is not His weakness—it’s the reason He still walks among us. One good thing has come from all of this; even in anger, Gale stayed his hand and he came directly to see us! Don’t you see! Most gods would not even bother to correct us! He came personally!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Even some of the crestfallen Crownsworn nodded.

Halsin, wiping sweat from his brow, chuckled. "Spoken like a man who’s actually listened to his god." He clapped Alric’s shoulder. "You’ll do well, cub."

Lunara’s lips pressed into a thin line. "So that’s it? You’ll let this witch replace me?"

Susarra didn’t look up from the babe she comforted. "I replace no one. Your skills will come in handy, Lunara." Her voice carried the quiet certainty of a forest stream carving stone. "I tend the forest altars. I hunt. I mend what’s broken. I advise. I do not care for politics." Finally, she met Lunara’s gaze. "The question is—will you help rebuild, or keep nursing your pride?"

The silence stretched taut.

Then—

Lunara stormed out. The doors slammed behind her.

“She’ll be back.” Susarra mouthed quietly as continued tending the child, humming softly as the stained glass cast prismatic light across the altar. Alric exhaled, the Weave humming around him in approval.

For the first time since Gale’s wrath had fallen, the temple felt alive—not with the Weave, but with something far more enduring: ambition.

---

The firelight in the Last Light Inn flickered as Susarra slid into their corner booth, her threadbare ranger’s leathers blending into the shadows. She set down a bottle of spiced rum with a thunk, her crow-black hair tied back with a simple strip of cloth.

"Hope I’m not interrupting," she said, pouring drinks without waiting for an answer.

Alric’s fingers tightened around his untouched tea. He’d seen her earlier that day—kneeling at the Moonlit Altar, hands glowing with Panacea as she healed a spinster’s plague-ravaged lungs. Now, up close, he noticed the faint scars across her knuckles, the way her grey eyes caught the firelight and held it like a promise.

Halsin chuckled, pushing his ale toward her. "Little Crow. Was wondering when you’d join us."

Isobel arched a brow. "You’ve been busy. Yet you find time for everyone. Tirelessly, without complaint."

Susarra’s lips quirked. "Some altars are best tended in silence." She turned to Alric, her gaze piercing. "You leave at dawn."

It wasn’t a question. Alric nodded.

"Thay," she mused, swirling the ale Halsin offered her. "Szass Tam won’t like being reminded that Gale’s eyes are always upon his beloved bard, no matter their disputes. He’ll have to seek divinity elsewhere. Poor Tam."

"How do you know this? You weren’t here when I—?"

"Elynn." Susarra leaned back, the firelight casting odd shadows across her face. "My eldest sister has a way of knowing things. She’s Gale's favorite and currently is in Luskan, tending the northern altars for the upcoming eclipse. Then there’s Efron in Calimshan, Josiah is wandering the Chult, and Rebecca somewhere in the Underdark, last we heard." A wry smile. "Five siblings, formerly Doomguides, now spread to the winds. Just like our Moonshadow."

“You gave up your oaths to Kelemvor? Brave.” Alric blinked. "You don’t… worship him? Moonshadow I mean."

Susarra snorted. "Oh hells, no. Ves would hate that." She tapped her temple. "We follow him. There’s a difference. He’s more prophet than god to us—just a man who chose kindness, over and over, until the universe had no choice but to make it divine. Even the Faithless have a place at his campfire."

Isobel’s cup paused halfway to her lips. "That’s…"

"Heretical?" Susarra grinned. "Probably. But Gale doesn’t seem to mind. So scandalous, this divine power couple!"

Halsin roared with laughter. "I like you. You walk in the Oakfather’s shade."

The night unfolded in stories—of Elynn facing down a pack of werewolves to protect a Moonlit Altar in the woods, of Efron’s disastrous attempt to explain the Eclipse to the Calishite nobility, of Gale himself appearing to Rebecca in the Underdark, not as a god, but as a tired man with a staff, sharing a meal with her in the dark, encouraging her efforts to help Astarion and the rest of the vampire spawn left in the awake of Cazador Szar’s ruined ascension, to find some peace in the Underdark, and of Josiah whose haunting gospel weaves through the Chult like a dirge upon the land itself.

When the fire burned low, Isobel pulled Alric aside. "Susarra," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the din. "She reminds me of Aylin."

Alric’s breath caught. High praise indeed.

Isobel’s eyes gleamed. "Not in power. In presence. That same… weight. I swear sometimes when I stare at her... I see wings. But I don’t sense a glamour. If it’s that powerful, I worry about who might have woven it." She glanced back at Susarra, who was now arm-wrestling Halsin amid raucous tavern cheers. "When Aylin returns from Elysium, I’d love to see them meet. Maybe she’s a friend of hers?"

Alric nodded, following her gaze. Susarra’s laughter rang bright and clear, and for a moment, the shadows behind her did seem to stretch—not unlike wings, but also like the long, endless road ahead to home.

The road he’d walk at dawn.

---

The morning of Alric’s departure dawned bright and clear over Reithwin. The entire town had gathered in the town square, their voices a warm hum beneath the crisp morning sky.

Alric stood at the center of it all, blinking as children darted around him, their small hands carefully stitching the frayed edges of his traveling cloak with colorful thread. "For luck!" one of them chirped, tying off a knot with solemn importance.

Halsin lumbered forward, dropping a heavy pack into Alric’s arms. "Dried venison, hardtack, and a few of those honey cakes you like, a wineskin and waterskin," he rumbled, clapping Alric on the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Try not to get yourself killed before you eat them."

Nearby, a group of Crownsworn smiths presented Alric with a new set of armor—gleaming silver-blue mythril, lighter than his old set but no less sturdy. The pauldrons were etched with the eclipse and the crown, barely visible unless the light hit them just right. They also presented him with an enchanted rapier. Apparently one of the many that was safeguarded after Moonshadow’s ascension. He was honored to have such a blessed blade at his side.

Lunara stepped forward last, her posture rigid, but her voice softer than Alric had ever heard it. "Crownsworn Daran sends her blessings," she said, pressing a sealed letter into his hand. "And I... I give you mine." She hesitated, then added, "Don’t make me regret it."

Before Alric could respond, Mayor Valen led forward a sleek, dappled grey mare, her tack sturdy and unadorned. "Her name’s Tempest," the halfling said proudly. "Fast as lightning and twice as clever. She’ll see you safe to Thay."

Alric’s throat tightened. Daran was his instructor, practically his mother after his sister went missing, the Crownsworn who had sent him to help tend the flock in Reithwin.

All this care from the people of Reithwin. He hardly deserved it...

"I—I don’t know what to say."

"Say you’ll come back," Susarra’s voice cut through the chatter.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, her grey ranger’s leathers blending into the morning mist. In her hands was a simple leather quiver and a shortbow lined with divine runes, the quiver filled with arrows fletched in crow feathers. "For when your words and sword aren’t enough," she said, handing it to him.

Then, before Alric could stammer out thanks, she rose onto her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his bearded cheek. Her lips were warm against the old scar there, her scent wild and earthy—like the forest after rain.

"Come back soon," she murmured, just for him. "And try not to collect any new scars. The Crownsworn are terrible at waiting, and I’ve grown very fond of this town. And you."

The crowd erupted into cheers and bawdy laughter. Alric’s face burned, but his chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

Isobel, ever the diplomat, cleared her throat. "Well. Now that we’ve all thoroughly embarrassed him—" She pressed a small silver pendant into Alric’s palm. A Selûnite blessing. "For the road. Selûne guide you. Come home soon, my friend. You will be missed."

Halsin grinned. "By a certain Silvershade, definitely."

"Don’t make me blush, Archdruid." Susarra deadpanned, her cheeks flushed. “Ugh. I have to motivate him to come back, or else he’ll dither like Moonshadow. Can’t have that. Gale would skin his hide.”

Alric laughed, swinging onto Tempest’s back. The mare pranced beneath him, eager to run. He took one last look at Reithwin—at Halsin’s proud smile, Isobel’s knowing gaze, the children waving wildly, and Susarra, standing quiet and steady at the center of it all.

"I’ll return; I swear it." he promised. “Ambition guide me.”

“The Eclipse will rise.” Lunara mouthed almost silently as Tempest carried him toward the eastern road, the rising sun painting the path ahead in gold.

Chapter Text

Escape Velocity

No Man's Sky

- 5 years ago -

-∞ (Elysium) / 3 (Material Plane) seconds to Godhood

-

The divine plane of Elysium unfurls around you in waves of luminous silver light and endless ocean, its brilliance both beautiful and overwhelming. The air is thick with an energy you’ve never felt before—pure, infinite, and almost suffocating.

Gale’s hand in yours is the only thing keeping you tethered, grounding you against the weight of the gods’ collective gaze boring your soul as the two of you approach.

I should not be here... I... I...am not worthy...

Ahead, the Elysium pantheon of gods stands in a semicircle, their forms vast and resplendent, each one radiating power and absolute dominion.

Their presence is so imposing that you instinctively avert your eyes, your stomach twisting with nerves.

But then, you see Her.

Selûne.

The Moonmaiden, at least in your eyes, shines brighter than all the others, her silver hair cascading like waterfalls of starlight, her pale, luminous eyes as soft as the moon’s glow. Her beauty is so otherworldly, so incomprehensible, that the sight of her makes your eyes burn painfully. Every instinct you have tells you to bow, to avert your unworthy gaze, to shrink under the enormity of her grace, to run.

Your breath hitches, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you break free of Gale’s grasp and stumble forward, drawn to the gravitas of the Moon.

“Ves, wait—” Gale’s voice is sharp, but you’re deaf to it.

Your legs carry you on instinct alone, your steps faltering as you near Selûne’s radiant form. You drop to your knees a few paces away, your head bowing so deeply that your forehead nearly touches the shimmering ground. You don’t dare look at her again—not directly. You feel utterly exposed, humbled to your very core, and for a moment, you cannot even find your voice.

The silence stretches.

Somewhere in front of you, you think you hear Tymora chuckle softly, sounding like the roll of die and the flip of a coin. You don’t know what she looks like, let alone what she sounds like, but you know in your heart it is her.

“A bard struck silent,” she quips, amusement lacing her tone. “Truly, we gods are witnessing a miracle!”

Another voice—Sharess—playfully purrs, the sound makes your entire being vibrate with pleasure. “Oooh, what a fine specimen. Gale, you handsome dog! You should have told me sooner your bard was so beautiful! I might need to borrow him later!”

“Pfft. Knowing you, I’d not ever see him again for eons till you lose interest and find another plaything to paw and claw at. I’ve dealt with a feisty tressym for many years before. No thank you, Sharess. I want my bard intact.”

“Oh it’s quite all right, Sharess.” Sune titters, her melodic voice fills the air with warmth, like sunlight after endless nightfall. “There’s going to be a soiree in New Brightwater in celebration of our newest arrival. We can interrogate this lovely man about Gale there. I’m positively dying to hear about our strapping Gale’s time as a mortal from someone other than himself.”

“Oh, you wound me Lady Firehair!”

The words barely register, the gods are in discussion with Gale, almost like a gaggle of geese. It should ease your mind, you love the light-hearted banter you hear, you’re more than willing to indulge the very Goddess of Love in telling her of your long and arduous journey to get here with Gale. But your heart is pounding too loudly, your thoughts spiralling as you kneel there, trembling.

At the feet of your Goddess.

And then, Selûne speaks.

“Vesper,” she says, her voice as soft and soothing as moonlight on water. The sound of it makes you flinch, your breath catching in your throat as you realize your goddess is addressing you. “You have nothing to fear.”

You open your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words die before they can take form. Your mind feels blank, your tongue heavy.

Selûne steps closer, her movements graceful and unhurried. “You’ve walked in my light all this time, child,” she continues, her tone warm and maternal. “You’ve sung my name and carried my blessings even into my sister’s realm of shadow. You, who have toiled against your very blood and bones... You, who is light and darkness wed as one... Why do you bow so low now?”

“I—” Your voice cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m not worthy, my Lady. I can’t even—” You choke on the words, unable to admit that you cannot even bear to look at her.

Selûne kneels before you, her radiance softening as she reaches out a hand. Her fingers brush against your hair, gently smoothing it back, and the motherly gesture is so tender, so utterly unexpected, that it undoes you.

The tears you’ve been holding back fall freely now, and you sob quietly, your shoulders trembling under the weight of her kindness.

“You’ve always been worthy, Moonlight,” she whispers, her hand resting lightly atop your head. “Even when you doubted yourself, I did not. You are beloved, Vesper, and I am so proud of you, to take this step. You, who had loved a knight of mine so wholly despite your darkness, you who had stolen a beshadowed mote of moonlight from loss, you, who delivered my sacred light, you, who had returned my blessed Sword unto the Realms again.”

Her words wash over you like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t even realize you carried. You remain there for a long moment, your head bowed as tears spill onto the ground.

Then, her hand lifts, and she bids you, softly, “Rise, O’ Child of None. You are worthy, beloved Moonlight. More than you will ever understand.”

You do as she commands, though your legs feel unsteady beneath you. Your gaze remains fixed downward, unable to meet her eyes. Tears streak your face, but you manage to stand upright, trembling and silent.

Before you can spiral into self-doubt again, Gale steps forward. His hand eases around your arm, steadying you, and he leans in just enough to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand and wipes your tears. The gesture is small but powerful, grounding you in a way that words could never accomplish.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “You’re not alone. Hand in hand.”

You cling to his words like a lifeline, your breathing slowly evening out.

Gale’s here with me. I... I’m safe. I’m okay...

Selûne steps back, her place among the gods re-established as the atmosphere shifts. The radiant glow around you deepens, and the weight of something far greater presses down upon the plane. A presence—vast, unknowable, and utterly silent—makes itself known, though it remains unseen.

The air drones with divine tension as you stand before the gathered gods as Helm’s resplendent, armoured form appears quietly at your side. Their gazes are unreadable, celestial eyes measuring you, weighing your worth, the air of joviality now gone. But it is Mystra who steps forward, her expression sharp as she looks not at Helm, but at Gale.

“Gale,” she says, her voice cool. “This ascension is no small matter. You demand much—for one who is still so untested. He is but a mortal. And let’s not even delve into his past and how he almost destroyed our- ”

“It’s not a demand.” Gale replies smoothly, though his tone carries a steely edge as he cuts her off. “It’s the natural order of progression. And I was mortal once too. You as well Midnight, as was Kelemvor Lyonsbane. You of all gods here should know not insult my beloved’s worth. Vesper Moonshadow has already proven himself endlessly, whether you choose to see it or not. And as Lady Selûne has just said, he is worthy. Ao has already decided. If this ascension was not ordained, Vesper would not even be here. Today of all days, I will not tolerate your venom. Be silent.”

“Gale speaks true, Mystra. Vesper is not your concern. But he is Ao’s. Do not interfere, Lady of Mysteries or you will be dealt with. Indeed, the Overgod will not take kindly to anyone’s interference today of all days. Ao will ascend him.”

“What?!” Gale gives both you and the Watcher a curious yet confused look as the gods do the same amongst each other, utterly confused and gasping in shock. “I...I don’t understand. I’m supposed to ascend him. I-”

“Jergal spoke true and thus, Ao will ascend the Child of None. Of all your achievements, Ambition, this is your greatest work, not even your Weave nor Mystra’s compares to what comes next. You will yet play your part in this ascension, do not worry.”

The shift in the gods’ demeanor is immediate. Even Mystra falters, her expression darkening as she glances upward, as though searching for something far beyond the celestial plane. None of them speak, but you can feel their unease—an unspoken understanding passing between them.

“I... don’t understand.” You mouth quietly. The fear in your voice is raw.

“Be not afraid, child. We all will bear witness to the aftermath of your ascension. Come. Ao has been looking forward to this moment since the Time of Troubles.”

Helm places a firm hand on your shoulder, and without another word, the world dissolves around you. In the next instant, you stand before a vast void. And Helm was absolutely correct. Every deity across time and realmspace bears witness to you now (they will know your ascension but they will not see it) and then afterwards (they will witness what you will become, you know this because it’s a feeling that’s settled in your soul), whether they want to or not.

The space around you is nothing and everything at once. You search for Gale’s gaze among the countless eyes and ears upon you, but it’s too overwhelming. You can’t find him in this hallowed space between existence and non-existence and your anxiety consumes you.

I’m alone...

You exist in a void beyond the gods, beyond the Weaves, beyond even the concept of time itself. There is no ground beneath your feet, no sky above your head—only the vast, infinite expanse of nothingness stretching in every direction. And yet, in that emptiness despite the gods witnessing you, you can feel something. A presence beyond comprehension, beyond divinity. The Overgod.

Ao.

You do not see Him at first. You feel Him before your senses can catch up, an overwhelming force that strips away all pretense of mortal comprehension. Your mind cannot fully grasp what He is, but then—

He allows you to perceive Him. Part of him at least.

A towering figure looms before you, infinite in height, His form at once both impossibly vast and utterly contained within this moment. Ageless and unwavering, His features are perfectly symmetrical, neither handsome nor ugly, neither young nor old. A beard of the purest white flows like mist, His hair the same, untouched by time. He wears a robe of black, endless in its depth, yet upon its surface glimmer uncountable stars and moons and realms, shifting in a pattern you cannot quite perceive—yet it fills you with an undeniable sense of harmony, as if the entire cosmos itself has been woven into its fabric.

The mere sight of Him makes something deep inside you shatter. Your anxiety, that mortal feeling that always kept you in check... it’s been... dulled.

You stagger, or perhaps you don’t—your body is an ephemeral thing in this space, barely tethered to what you once were. You feel small, smaller than you ever have before. Not insignificant, no—but fragile, like a speck of dust in the wake of an endless tide. And in that moment, you acknowledge it.

This is not a god. This is the god. The One Above All.

His voice does not come as sound, but as absolute truth.

You are Moonlight. Yet you are incomplete, Child of None.

It is not a question. It is not an accusation. It is merely a fact, laid bare before the fabric of existence itself. The tainted blood of Bhaal that once burned in your veins is long gone, leaving a hollowness inside you, an absence that no mortal means, not even Gale could ever fill.

But Ao can.

And He does.

The void closes off, Shar clicks her tongue in irritation. It’s only you and He, now.

The plane around you erupts. Moonlight and shadow entwine, colliding in a cataclysm of unmaking and creation. You burn. It is not the fire of the Hells nor the divine radiance of the Celestials. It is pure, the raw force of the Overgod’s will reshaping you from the inside out. Your skin cracks, your essence unravels, every fiber of your soul pulled apart at the seams, dissolving into the vast nothingness and everything—

And then reforms, thread by thread, woven with the utmost care and precision.

Something else fills the hollow space where Bhaal’s cursed blood once lingered. Something vast, infinite, and unknowable. Shadow itself.

And you finally understand.

Selune and Shar.

You.

It all makes sense now.

You are neither light nor shadow.

You are the inbetween. The twilight, the dawn. The hesitant drone between song and silence.

Ao does not simply replace what was lost—He remakes you entirely. You feel Mystra’s Weave fall away uselessly from your form as a single thread of the Karsite Weave, Gale’s Weave, is wrenched from the depths of his magic and woven into your very soul.

No—Ao does not simply tie you to it. He binds you to it.

A sudden, agonizing pressure yanks through your very being, and before you can comprehend what is happening, Gale is there before you as well.

Not as a witness. Not as a god.

As part of the Ascension itself.

He gasps in pain, his hands clutching at his orb, his form flickering between solid and ephemeral as he readily offers the thread of his Weave to Ao. You feel his presence, his power, his very Weave tethered into the raw forces of divinity reshaping you—an anchor in a storm you did not know you needed, did not ask for, but now cannot exist without.

The gods do not interfere. They cannot. Ao has avowed it thus.

And then—

Ambition and Mortality becomes one.

Gale’s orb burns like the sun and the moon and... it takes on a new meaning as it blazes in the empty firmament above.

An eclipse. Our eclipse.

Together... as one. Gale’s voice echoes quietly, in near silent awe.

And now, you are no longer Vesper.

The shell that was you collapses, peeling away in ribbons of nothingness. Like a cocoon splitting open, you emerge—something nascent, something eternal. Shadow and silver light entwine within you, a perfect equilibrium of night and radiance. The weight of divinity crashes down upon you, vast and crushing, a presence that threatens to consume you whole.

But you do not break.

Visions of a grey realm, of countless souls packed tightly into a wall, laments of death and dying and living and thriving and ambition and ennui all ending in this quiet death not-death, it assaults every speck of sensation you have left.

And it outrages you, yet it’s not time yet. You’re still fledgling.

You needed to grow out your wings first. Of course.

The transformation hurts. You are no mere ascended godling, no simple mortal lifted into the heavens. Ao has reforged you as something else entirely—a being born of balance, of the eclipse that binds light and darkness into one, no matter how fleeting.

You are Moonshadow,

The Exarch of Gale,

God of the Eclipse, first of your kind.

Bring your silence to the noise.

Your dirge will humble them all.

The edict is not spoken. It is simply true.

And when the blinding brilliance fades, when the fire in your veins settles, you stand reborn.

Alone.

But something is... wrong.

The moment you exist as Moonshadow, you feel it. The vastness. The weight. The silence.

It is as if the world has been stripped away, leaving only the hollow vastness of eternity stretching endlessly before you. No mortal aches, no hunger, no fear—no anything.

You feel nothing.

No joy, no triumph. Not even exhaustion. There is no relief, no sense of completion. Only an emptiness so profound it threatens to consume what remains of your sense of self.

You should feel something.

But you do not.

Gale is missing but Helm is there beside you, his form steady, his gaze impassive. He places a hand upon your shoulder, solid and grounding.

“It is done.” His deep voice tolls like a bell. “Be not afraid, Exarch. The true work begins now.”

Then, without another word, he raises his hand—and the world shifts once more, the void giving way to a portal of golden light.

“Come,” The Watcher says. “Your beloved awaits.”

Helm takes you back. The gods of Elysium stand in waiting, their gazes unreadable yet staring in quiet horror. And when you finally meet Gale’s eyes, you see it—

He looks tired.

Not just fatigued, not just overwhelmed—drained. His magic, his essence, his very soul feels like it has been carved away, eroded by something vast and inconceivable. But despite that exhaustion, he is no less impressed. No less in love and awed as his silver gaze traces your form.

And no less concerned.

He steps forward; his divine face pulled into a grimace of pain. His voice is quieter than before, a whisper laced with hesitation.

“I am in awe, my bard. I was supposed to walk you through it all but Ao... He had other plans. I hadn’t taken this into account. My ascension was not as painful, not as macabre. Some rest would be welcome.” he admits, studying you with sharp, searching eyes. His voice trembles—shaken, not just for you, but for what he felt. “This... this was unique. The Overgod, he... he... molded you like clay...and I was the catalyst for it. It’s fascinating. And troubling. Are you... alright, beloved? Talk to me. Please. I can’t bear your silence. I just brought you here, I can’t lose you so quickly. Please, Vesper.”

Your form stands there, staring at him, at nothing, at everything, and yet you feel nothing at all.

You try to speak. Nothing.

His face falls when he realizes. He lunges forward, gripping your formlessness.

“No—no, this isn’t—you can’t—” His hands shake. Then, desperate, he pulls you into his arms.

Warmth.

The world rushes back in all at once. The weight in your chest, the sensation of touch, the simple presence of your beloved wizard’s touch. The silence in your mind shatters, the vastness retreats, your heart beats and form takes shape—

You breathe. Lungs. You have lungs. A mouth. A body.

The gods watch as Gale pulls you into a fierce kiss.

And suddenly, suddenly, you are here again.

You are not just Moonshadow. You are you.

But the fear in Gale’s eyes tells you he felt it, too. Saw it even.

Something is very, very wrong.

“...G-Gale?” You manage, barely as the passionate kiss ends. Your voice echoes like the waves of the sea upon the shoreline.

A hush falls over the divine assembly. Mystra says nothing. The gods, for all their power, look upon you with something bordering on reverence—or perhaps, anxiety.

Not for you. For what you represent.

Chaos in their order.

You are changed. You feel out of place, like a child in borrowed robes, your mortal heart now clinging desperately to what you once were. You barely dare to look up. Gale’s touch is the only thing keeping you intact. Without him, you feel like you’d fade into nothingness...

The gods worriedly murmur among themselves, but Helm’s voice cuts through, steady and authoritative as Gale pulls away but still holds your hand protectively. “Ao’s edict is as follows: Moonshadow, God of the Eclipse, the Child of None has risen. The realms have gained a new, silent protector.”

"He is hardly silent." Gale titters quietly, nuzzling your face with his beard.

Gale’s grip on your hand tightens when you sigh in relief, and as Helm raises his hand, a portal of silvery light shimmers into existence.

“Go now, Exarch of Gale.” the Watcher says. “Your realm and your solemn duty awaits. Do not disappoint Ao, Child of None.”

Helm then looks at Gale and crosses his arms.

“I will be watching closely, Gale. You know what is at stake. The responsibility falls on you and you alone, Ambition. Nothing is more important than this.”

“Yes, Watcher. I understand. As does Moonshadow.” Your wizard says confidently. He turns to you and smiles boyishly. “Shall we, beloved? We are due a lot of rest together. We’ll go to your realm first and then I’ll take you to mine, I’ve been aching to show you what I’ve done with mine. I can’t wait to see what you do with yours. We will face this, together. Hand in hand, just as before, won’t we?”

You nod, stepping forward, Gale at your side, and the portal’s light swallows you both.

Chapter Text

Ymir

Gealdýr & Danheim

--- Days to the Eclipse: 3 ---

The golden haze of Ilmater’s realm, Martyrdom, was less light and more an absence of shadow. It thrummed with the quiet resonance of countless whispered prayers, a susurrus of endured suffering, all for perfect, painless peace.

Gale found it profoundly unsettling. But then again, Vesper’s realm felt similar but not quite.

His own domain, the Divine Tower of Ambition piercing the Elysium skyline, was a cacophony of striving – prayers for power, breakthroughs, discoveries, laced with the frantic energy of mortals, fiends and celestials alike reaching ever upwards. Here, in this hallowed stillness touched only by the echo of past pain, ambition felt… blasphemous. It was beautiful, yes, in the way a perfectly preserved corpse might be in its crypt – serene, immutable, and utterly devoid of the messy, vital spark he thrived on.

Ilmater stood before him, clad in robes of worn, undyed wool, his posture radiating an eternal, weary compassion. The Crying God’s gaze was steady, holding a depth of understanding that felt less like empathy and more like true seeing, scanning over Gale’s divine spark, noting the change from last they’d met like this. Gale had accepted the summons, not out of deference, but strategic necessity. He knew why he was here. The game was afoot, and Ilmater was a piece, albeit a complex one, moving predictably on the celestial lanceboard Gale had laid out years prior.

"You seem preoccupied, Lord Dekarios," Ilmater murmured, his voice like wind sighing through ancient ruins. "Does the silence chafe against the noise your realm embodies so fiercely?"

Gale offered a thin smile, crossing his arms. The gesture felt performative even to him. But he was preoccupied, his consciousness stretched out like spiderwebs.

He was here, with Ilmater playing the dashing devil, he was in his Tower, overseeing the day to day operations of his realm through countless simulacra, there at the Moonlit Campsite, watching over his Moonshadow, his entire world, as he slumbered and walked Toril in his avatar, he was in Baldur’s Gate, watching over Vesper and his foolish fugue from divinity, Gale was in the House of Hope, masquerading as a debtor (with the Lady of the House’s aid, of course) amongst Mephistopheles’ forces, quietly arranging the final pieces for Mol’s heist.

She will be my second Chosen, if we succeed. Gale reminded himself. Raphael underestimated her. He saw fit to chain her to the ground with a pact. I will not. I will nurture her ambition. Gale nodded himself.

Soon, Vesper. Soon.

"Chafe? Hardly. Merely appreciating the… tranquillity. A stark contrast to the perpetual striving echoing through my halls. One might find it… soporific." He let the faintest hint of condescension colour the last word. Let Ilmater think him restless, slightly bored. It served the illusion.

Ilmater’s expression remained unchanged, a show of gentle endurance. "It is the peace earned through thankless sacrifice, Lord Dekarios. Not inertia. Your husband of all beings in realmspace knows this best. And it is your Moonshadow who occupies your thoughts, not my realm’s humble quiet. You enjoy the quiet."

“I do. Mostly in my bard’s quiet realm of in-betweens. We gods rarely find time to unwind but in his realm, I can let my hair down if only for a short time.” Gale arched an eyebrow, letting a mild smile show through his mask of indifference. "Moonshadow... He walks his own path, Lord Ilmater. A nascent god, yes, but Ao’s leash is short and tightly held. He is, as I have stated before, his own god. Our… bond is... frayed but far from over. Let the vultures circle and bay for his blood. They will not have him. Even so, I will respect the distance and mortality he desires." He deliberately used the word "frayed", downplaying the Galerian Weave thrumming between them, Gale’s cosmic tether Ao himself had enforced and Gale had meticulously reinforced. He knew Ilmater sensed it – the Crying God wasn't a fool – but playing coy was essential.

Let all the gods and archdevils believe that my relationship with my husband is on the brink. Let them believe we are what headed for what Midnight and Kelemvor Lyonsbane became. It will never come to pass. Over my dead body.

They are in for a rude awakening.

Ilmater tilted his head, a gesture of infinite patience. "Frayed bonds often carry the heaviest burdens. He walks the realms listlessly, Lord Dekarios. Word spreads of the Eclipse, the nascent god navigating mortality’s fickle shadow. Within that, as you said, predators stir. He feels the weight of Ao’s eyes, though he hides it well. The exhaustion… it clings to him like a second shadow. You perceive it, even across your Weave."

Gale’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Perceive it? He felt it like a physical ache.

He’d watched Vesper linger in Reithwin months past his intended departure for Waterdeep, drawn into recounting their troupe’s steps from the days of the Shadow Curse, and playing catch with the children Halsin watched over, rekindling old times with Isobel and visiting Gale's House of Ambition – matters absurdly beneath his notice, especially in the grand scheme of things.

He’d seen Vesper, disguised as a humble cleric of Selûne, stand frozen in a rain-slicked Baldur’s Gate alley as a distraught mother, cradling the small, cold body of her child, recognised his authority over lost souls and begged. Not for riches, not for power, but for life. Kelemvor’s domain was sacrosanct. Gale had felt the tremor through the Weave as Vesper, his face a mask of agonised restraint, offered prayers for the departed soul and then, against every divine protocol, subtly guided the tiny, confused soul towards his Moonlit Campfire, cloaking his intervention in the deepest of shadows. It was an act of breathtaking compassion and profound foolishness, detectable only by the most attuned to his nascent domain – like Gale, and likely, Selûne, Shar and Kelemvor himself.

Kelemvor’s silence spoke volumes. Either he was completely unaware of Vesper’s role to play in the cosmos or he was planning something. It didn’t really matter which it was.

The gods were too afraid to act without knowing more of Sigil’s neutrality, it had it’s uses. The Lady of Pain’s quiet tolerance a very potent weapon to deter foolish gods who knew not how to deal with a cosmic being that loathed and punished their influence in her realm.

He was thankful that the Lady had a vested interest not only in the Galerian Weave but also Moonshadow’s evolving domain, yet also his mortal heart. He was also thankful that the Lady understood his true intentions, and that Sigil had nothing to fear from him, so long as the Lady’s interest in Vesper did not endanger him.

Gale too had a vested interest despite how much he changed since ascension, since the moment he fell for Vesper all those years ago.

It fascinated Gale, this stubborn persistence of Vesper’s mortal heart that Gale so desperate sought to preserve. It also terrified him. And evidently the very gods themselves.

He knew Vesper. That heart was a force of fierce, unyielding love, but also of impulsive defiance. Vesper would in time chafe violently against Ao’s constraints, push against the boundaries of godhood with the same reckless courage he’d shown facing Absolute and it’s cultists, even Mystra’s demand from their mortal days stood no chance against his fierce heart.

But to Ao, Vesper Moonshadow was both opportunity and threat. And Ao dealt with both in one fell swoop. The prospect of a quiet immortal life together had faded entirely, for Ao would not willing relinquish his hold on the Eclipse. But that was going to change soon.

Gale understood the lanceboard: patience, meticulous strategy, using Ao’s own rules to pry open loopholes, building power incrementally through wit and tact until the lanceboard could be safely repositioned. It took time, intellect, and cold calculation – virtues that changed Gale’s heart for the better and worst, virtues that Vesper’s blazing mortal spirit often overruled but also reminded Gale despite immortality what he was fighting tirelessly for.

He hated how things were the last time he spoke to Vesper. Hated that he made the one person who loved him more than anything in realmspace feel so alone and irrelevant. Hated himself for allowing it, for not swallowing his pride and bringing him home, but as minutes turned to days into two lonely years, he realized the distance was an unexpected boon of sorts.

Vesper would not have approved of the underhanded tactics he’d used, nor the subject matter of his latest research project. But just as well. What Vesper didn’t know yet could not hurt him, and Gale already paid the price of his folly, he thought he was sharing his apotheosis with Vesper. Little did he know that he played right into Ao’s divine plan.

He’d do anything to see his bard smile again, unconstrained by the shackles Ao forced on him. And he would do anything. Time and time again. Even if Vesper grew to hate him, he would still do whatever it took to keep his beloved bard himself.

Patience, my love, Gale thought, the words a silent assurance sent along his Weave, knowing Vesper wouldn't consciously hear them, but he would feel Gale near, hoping the sentiment and whisper of a touch on the nape of his neck might soothe the frayed edges of his resolve. The board must be set perfectly before we make our move.

Outwardly, Gale scoffed. "Protect him? Lord Ilmater, I would incinerate any entity that dared lay a finger upon him. Annihilate their essence, scatter the fragments of their divine sparks across the planes. You know this." His voice was flat, absolute, the casual brutality of it stark against Ilmater’s gentle ambiance. It wasn't a boast; it was a statement of celestial fact.

Ilmater inclined his head, acknowledging the power, not the sentiment. "And he would stop you, your beloved’s soul burns with a kindness only surviving Bhaal’s taint could have birthed. And Ao would stop you. Your beloved walks a razor's edge, Lord Dekarios, one you cannot tread for him. Yet, he is not unprotected in his wandering. The Orthon shadows his steps, bound by Hope’s debt and perhaps…morbid curiosity, Sehanine Moonbow’s Chosen leaves trails of bewildered Thayans in her clumsy wake, a chaotic shield in these uncertain days. Your own eyes watch from afar – Tressym messengers, Weave-imbued eyes and whisperings. He is safer now than ever in his mortal existence, yet more exposed than he comprehends."

Gale had no retort. Ilmater spoke truth. Vesper remained blissfully unaware of the celestial and infernal entourage trailing and eventually, converging on his avatar, a fact that amused and frustrated Gale in equal measure.

The Crying God’s voice softened further, yet gained an edge of divine certainty as he subtly gestured towards the periphery of the golden haze. "Every power in the heavens and the hells covets something from the Eclipse. Power. Influence. A piece of his nascent domain. I seek only to lighten his burden. He who forged moonlight from a bloodstained past, who ascended only to have that blessed light dimmed by Ao… He has endured enough. Allow me this boon, Lord Dekarios. Please. Allow me to ease his path back to you."

Gale’s lips thinned. Sweet words, sincere perhaps, but gods dealt in transactions, not altruism. Before he could voice his well-honed cynicism, a voice like a golden trumpet blearing shattered the serene quiet.

"Hail, Wizard of Waterdeep! Does the radiance of my presence yet ignite the spark of awe within thy divine breast, or hast thou succumbed entirely to brooding?"

Dame Aylin emerged from a cascade of pure moonlight, wings unfurled like banners of silver, her presence as impossible to ignore as a supernova. She landed with a clank of celestial plate, a grin splitting her cracked face, her silver eyes alight with fierce joy.

Gale didn't bother hiding his exasperation. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dame Aylin. Your timing, as ever, borders on catastrophically dramatic."

Aylin’s laugh boomed, echoing oddly in the silent realm. "And thy countenance, Little Wizard, remains a delightful map of perpetual vexation! 'Tis a comfort, truly, to find constants in this ever-shifting cosmos we share, old friend!" She clapped a gauntleted hand on his shoulder with enough force to stagger a lesser deity. Gale absorbed the impact, radiating weary tolerance.

"Lord Ilmater requested my presence," Aylin declared, her mirth fading into solemnity as she nodded towards the Crying God. "As did Mother. And I bear tidings that pierce the veil of serenity – the Lady of Loss stirs. Her shadows lengthen, creeping ever closer to Moonshadow’s trail. The Gates of the Moon whisper with unease. The gods, they fear for our little bard."

Gale’s feigned irritation evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp focus. "Shar," he nodded, the name dropping into the golden silence like a shard of obsidian. Of course. The predictable viper, slithering from her hole. He’d known this long before the gods.

"Aye," Aylin confirmed, her hand resting on the hilt of her greatsword. "She whispers poison to her new Chosen and her clerics, weaves subtle snares. She sought his allegiance through the little Sharran back when we fought the Absolute, and was denied him and the girl. Now, she seeks to claim him directly. It is the way of cowards and deceivers – to strike from darkness, to twist hope into despair. But I shall stand as a bulwark! Her shadows shall not touch him while I draw breath!"

Aylin’s unwavering defiance was a familiar comfort, a blazing torch in the murk of divine politics. But Gale was beyond comfort. His gaze, sharp as a honed diamond, snapped back to Ilmater. "And there it is. So the pantheon keeps its collective eyes fixed upon what it covets like lowly vultures. Like gluttons to a feast." His voice was a low, dangerous rasp. "This is a delicate matter. One that should have remained veiled, known only to those directly threatened. Yet here she stands, yowling her concern like a nervous tressym! How many others has the pantheon enlightened, Lord Ilmater, hmm?"

Aylin tilted her head, her smile lingering but losing its brightness. "What vexes thee so, Little Wizard? Is our vigilance not a shield for thy beloved? Do you truly doubt us? Nay, you cannot- "

Gale’s laugh was short, harsh, devoid of humor. "Tell me, Aylin. If this were Isobel Thorm – if her very self, her sanity, her soul hung in the balance, dangled about realmspace like a ripe fruit for the taking – would you welcome the 'vigilance' of gods with agendas as varied as the stars? Would you trust their 'shield' to safeguard the one person who brings meaning to your immortal life?"

Aylin’s smile vanished. Her silver eyes hardened, reflecting the cold light of distant stars. "For Isobel," she stated, her voice ringing with absolute conviction, "I would tear down the heavens and rebuild them brick by brick with my bare hands. I would trust no shield but my own."

Gale nodded once, a sharp, satisfied jerk of his chin, he noted Ilmater’s smug smile. "Then you grasp the fulcrum of my burden. Do not dare to understand what is at stake here, Nightsong. And do not delude yourself into acting against Shar. Why do you think Sehanine is acting in Selûne’s stead? Your involvement will only endanger my Eclipse. Do not interfere in my plans." He turned slightly away, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of controlled frustration.

"If you know, Aylin, if Lord Ilmater knows, then Shar likely anticipated your knowledge. Mystra undoubtedly senses the ripples in the shadows of her Weave. Others plot in the darkness besides Shar. Every god will come out of the woodworks offering boons and aid but that is not protection; it is painting a target upon his back." He paused, the weight of the coming trial settling on him.

"He approaches the Mapping of the Heart. He has paid homage to Selûne. Now he must face Nocturne for the Mapping, invoke Shar in the ruins of his shadowed past, beneath the full gaze of loss even before the Eclipse. And I must stand aside in both rituals. He is my Eclipse. But he must reconcile light and shadow… and I must watch him walk into the serpent's den, trusting only in his own strength and resilience… and my Weave that binds us to keep him. I cannot protect him, I can only give him the tools to do so for himself. For all my preparations and planning, I cannot help but feel like I’m losing him all over again. I can’t. I won’t." The admission made him grit his teeth. The Galerian Weave thread that linked to Moonshadow pulsed within him, a warm, constant reassurance, but it felt like a lifeline stretched terrifyingly thin.

Aylin did not press further. Her wings folded, a silent gesture of acquiescence, though her eyes still burned with protective fury. "Act when she reveals her fangs after the Eclipse. We trust thy judgment in this, Gale. Vesper will endure as he always has."

"Indeed. Your trust is noted and most welcome." Gale replied dryly, though a flicker of appreciation warmed the cold dread. "Now, the theatrics. Why the fanfare, Dame Aylin? I assume there's a point beyond announcing Shar’s predictable villainy? Did Ilmater invite me here simply to bask in your divine pagentry? How quaint."

Aylin’s grin returned, softer now. "A knight such as I does not ride alone, Little Wizard, nor should Moonshadow walk his path without a steadfast companion at his side! I bring a champion, a spirit forged in defiance and tempered by sacrifice!" She turned, gesturing grandly towards the golden light. Ilmater, silent until now, extended a hand, not summoning, but gently revealing, as if parting a curtain of light.

From the luminous haze stepped a figure. Tall, armoured in plates of dull, greyish metal that seemed to absorb the ambient gold rather than reflect it. Her skin was the colour of moon-kissed bone, her hair a cascade of silver-white so pale it was almost translucent. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were the deep, fathomless black of a starless void. And her wings… once feathered instruments of celestial grace, they were now twisted things of scarred membrane and exposed bone, blackened as if by hellfire, hanging limply and uselessly. She moved with a silent, unnerving grace, her steps precise and weightless. She did not look at Gale. She did not raise her head. Instead, she walked directly to Ilmater and prostrated herself utterly at his feet, her forehead touching the hallowed ground of the divine realm. A profound silence emanated from her.

"This," Aylin announced, her voice rich with solemn pride, "is my dear friend Kaelyn the Dove. Once, she dared to challenge Kelemvor himself, seeking to shatter the Wall of the Faithless and bring mercy to the forsaken! Though fate decreed her failure, her spirit remained unbroken! Cast down, voice diminished, her wings defiled… yet my old comrade’s resolve endures! I say her penance is paid! Let her rise not for her own absolution, but for another! For the Eclipse! Let her be his shield!"

Gale knew her history well. After realizing the true depth of his husband’s domain, he would have been a fool not to have studied her storied name.

Kaelyn the Dove, half-celestial leader of the ill-fated Third Betrayer’s Crusade against the Wall of the Faithless. Her failure was legendary, her punishment severe – mutism at Ilmater’s discretion, the ruination of her wings and exile from Mt. Celestia.

Yet, her actions had changed the Fugue Plane forever. The Wall no longer consumed; it induced soul-crushing apathy in it’s victims. A subtle, profound shift achieved through catastrophic failure. Even now her heart thrummed with the desire to take the Wall apart brick by brick.

Ambitious, Gale smirked to himself, the spark of recognition burned within him. Ruinously, nobly ambitious.

Ilmater placed a gentle hand above her bowed head. "Welcome home, child. Your wanderings have been long and far, your burdens heavy. Rise now, not in your own name, but in service to a light that walks in shadow." His voice was thick with paternal affection. "As her Grandfather serves the House of the Triad, she will serve you, Lord Dekarios. Her past sins are absolved in this purpose. I would entrust Moonshadow's safety to no other soul."

Gale uncrossed his arms, his expression deliberately skeptical. "And you expect Moonshadow to accept this? You recall his temperament, yes? Stubborn as a mule and twice as dense when he perceives interference. I tell you, he will not react well to a celestial guardian." He kept his tone dismissive, though internally he was mapping the implications. Ilmater’s move was cleverer than he’d initially credited.

But ultimately irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Ilmater’s quiet smile held a hint of divine cunning. "He would refuse my aid, Lord Dekarios. He would rather shoulder the burden himself. He would likely refuse Aylin's, seeing it as Selûne's overreach. But he cannot refuse yours. Not truly." The Crying God gestured subtly towards the air, where the invisible thread of the Galerian Weave pulsed, a tiny thread of the whole tapestry, binding Gale and Vesper across the planes. "He is your Exarch by Ao's decree, reinforced by the Weave you command. Your word, in matters pertaining to his role and safety, carries the weight of cosmic law. He may rage against it, but he cannot sever it. Not yet." Ilmater paused, letting the implication hang. "Hope sent her orthon. Sehanine her clumsy cleric. Why should I be denied the chance to help him in secret?"

Clever, Gale conceded internally. Infuriatingly, impeccably clever.

He hadn't formally stripped Vesper of the Exarch title. The bond, his Weave, Ao's initial decree – they all stood and would continue to indefinitely if he had his way. Ilmater was exploiting a loophole Gale himself had left open, perhaps subconsciously, perhaps as a failsafe. The Galerian Weave hummed between them, a tangible confirmation of Ilmater’s point. There was no denying the connection.

He exhaled sharply, a theatrical sigh masking his calculation.

"Very well." He kept his voice laced with reluctant concession. "The Dove may shadow him." He stepped towards the prostrate figure, his presence radiating controlled authority. "Hear me, Kaelyn the Dove." His voice dropped, becoming low, resonant, and imbued with the chilling finality of divine decree. Unnecessary, given the circumstances but Gale was bored and having a bit of fun, even if it was simply playing along with the aasimar's daftness.

Aylin, you blind fool.

"You will guard Moonshadow. From afar and close. You will be his unseen shield, his guardian. You will ensure no physical harm befalls him. You will watch for the shadows of despair that Shar would cast upon his soul." He crouched slightly, bringing his eyes level with the top of her bowed head, though she didn't look up. "Should you fail in this sacred charge… should you allow Shar’s whispers to take root, should you let him fall into darkness or the clutches of those who see to take advantage of his beautiful mortal heart…"

He paused, letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken threat. The golden light of Ilmater’s realm seemed to dim momentarily around him.

This part was no joke.

"...I will not merely destroy you. I will unmake you. I will unravel the very concept of your existence, scatter your divine essence across the crumbling stones of the Wall of the Faithless you once sought to topple, and ensure that not even Lord Ilmater’s boundless mercy can ever hope to gather the pieces." The words weren't shouted; they were colder than the void. "Do you comprehend the totality of your charge, and the consequence of failure?"

Kaelyn didn't flinch. Didn't tremble. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her head. Her dove black eyes met his. There was no fear, no plea, no defiance. Only absolute, terrible understanding, etched in the void of her gaze. She offered the faintest nod, then bowed her head once more, lower this time, accepting the burden and the apocalyptic promise.

You understand the stakes.

Of course you do, you’ve been here since the start of his faith...

Aylin let out a low whistle, a mixture of awe and grim approval. "By the Tears of the Moon, Gale! Thou hast mastered the authority of thy station! Most impressive, Little Wizard!"

Gale shot her a withering look as he straightened. "Spare me the dramatics, Aylin. You'd unleash the full fury of the moon on anyone who glanced sideways at Isobel. We protect those we love." He allowed a ghost of his old smirk to touch his lips. "Though I must commend Lord Ilmater’s choice. A fallen angel seeking redemption through service to to my Eclipse?" He looked directly at Ilmater, his gaze sharp. "Poetic. If almost a bit trite. But effective. Though," he added, his tone shifting to one of dry observation, "it seems Dame Aylin is slightly behind on her celestial gossip. How shameful!"

Aylin blinked. "Gossip? Good man, I bring a champion, not tavern tales!"

Gale’s smirk widened into something knowing, almost predatory. He gestured casually towards Kaelyn. "Rise, friend. Prostration is for petitioners and penitents. You’ve served a higher purpose for quite some time now. Let us dispense with this tomfoolery." Kaelyn obeyed, rising with that same silent grace, her ruined wings shifting slightly in confusion. Gale studied her for a moment, then chuckled, a low, rumbling sound devoid of true mirth. He turned to Ilmater, his gaze piercing. "Tell me, Lord Ilmater, how long has this 'wayward child' already been serving Moonshadow in your name? How many years has she and her ilk watched over him, merciful shadows in your service, not yet mine?"

Ilmater met Gale’s gaze steadily. A flicker of something akin to respect, or perhaps weary resignation, passed through his eyes. He gave the barest, almost imperceptible nod.

Aylin’s jaw dropped. "What? Kaelyn? Serving Moonshadow already? But… she only just returned! She was lost to us!"

Gale laughed then, a genuine sound of amusement that felt alien in the serene realm. "Lost? Or strategically placed? Oh please; Aylin, your heart is purest silver and moonlight, but your wit needs polishing." He stepped closer to Kaelyn, who stood impassive. "Subtle interventions – a crow tending to wayward, forgotten shrines, a lioness aiding the lost beneath Toril’s surface, a lion prowling beneath ancient jungle canopies, a stag taking his gospel to the noble courts of the realms, and then you, the mouthy dove that holds it all together, in Toril and elsewhere." He listed them off casually. "Small things. Easily missed. Attributable to luck or coincidence. Unless one knows where to look. Unless one watches." He tapped his temple, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a grandmaster revealing a hidden piece.

"She has been Lord Ilmater’s hand upon the scales for years. This little presentation?" He waved a dismissive hand at Aylin and the setting. "Formality. Ratification. With you," he pointed at Ilmater, "ensuring her service continues under my authority, strengthening her mandate and binding her more tightly to Moonshadow’s protection. And you," he turned to Aylin, "providing the unwitting, dramatic cover."

He looked back at Kaelyn, his expression shifting to something almost… appreciative. "Chosen of Ilmater. We finally meet without your glamor." His voice lost its edge, becoming almost conversational, yet still carrying divine weight. "I must say, Kaelyn, I preferred it when you spoke too much. All that passionate rhetoric about mercy for the masses? And that decidedly fierce tongue? It was… refreshingly naive. Annoying, yes, but very well thought out." He glanced pointedly at Ilmater.

“A truth, Lord Ilmater? I thank you for your consideration. And frankly,” he added, a hint of his old, dry wit resurfacing, "I knew for the longest time. Even when she and I met amidst the chaos of the feud between his clerics and mine." He met Kaelyn’s black eyes again. "It would be prudent for us to uphold this ruse awhile longer, at least till after the eclipse. But afterwards? Be the thorn in mine and my Eclipse’s divine side that reminds us of our convictions, however misguided Moonshadow’s might sometimes be." His tone softened minutely. "I expect to hear more good things. From you. And your menagerie. Keep the realms safe during the next eclipse and we will speak again afterwards of the path forward. And of Kelemvor, of course."

He stepped back, surveying the assembled allies – Ilmater, Aylin, and Kaelyn. "I am glad," Gale stated, his voice regaining its full divine resonance, "to have finally met you, Kaelyn the Dove. Not as the broken priestess you masquerade as, but as the protector you have already proven yourself to be." he gestured vaguely at her ruined form, "The strength of purpose that burns within. Guard it and you may yet change the cosmos for the better." He held her gaze. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite."

The words hung in the air, simple, profound, and utterly unexpected. Aylin stared, momentarily speechless. Ilmater’s expression was unreadable, but the golden light around him seemed to warm fractionally. Kaelyn… inclined her head again, a deeper, more complex gesture than before. A near silent vow.

“Thank you, Lord Gale. We won’t get this chance again. I will not fail him.”

“Do not thank me just yet. You have the thankless work of coordinating efforts with your favourite mortal nemesis. She’s back in Waterdeep. Oh and do tell your crow to mind herself. Sir Moros is more than meets the eye. He’ll grow into his teeth soon enough. Ta-ta for now.” Gale turned fully, he dismissed a very shocked Kaelyn back to the Material Plane with a flick of his wrist, his gaze sweeping over Ilmater and Aylin, the mask of the slightly irritated, reluctantly cooperative god falling away completely.

What remained was the God of Ambition, his eyes like chips of cold starlight, his presence suddenly vast and imposing, causing the serene golden haze to ripple and thin. The lanceboard was visible in his mind – every piece, every move, from Shar’s scheming to Ilmater’s gambit to Szass Tam's arrogant overreach, to the cosmic forces that circle listlessly around Moonshadow in the Material Plane.

"A bit of a warning in future? I am a young god, yes, but do not think to outmanoeuvre me," he stated as his Weave formed a buffer between him and Ao’s omniscience, addressing Ilmater and Aylin, his voice quiet yet filling the entire mountain, vibrating with contained power. "You think your concerns, your warnings, your… boons… are surprises. They are not."

He let the revelation sink in, watching the subtle shifts in their auras – Aylin’s astonishment, Ilmater’s weary acceptance as Gale tallied off his fingers confidently. "I have allowed this audience. I have allowed your interventions – and countless others meddling but let’s list a few: Sune’s preening peacock, Tymora’s chaotic gambler, Sharess’s distracting sybarite, Lathander’s furious fist and now Lord Ilmater’s redeemed dove – and many, many others who will soon gather around my Moonshadow like moths to a flame. I am hardly unaware of my husband’s meandering and the forces that approach, as above so below, the Eclipse looms, just as sure as the orb in my chest." He named the other Chosen he knew were already orbiting Vesper (he sincerely hoped Mystra’s irritation with him meant that Elminster was not going to make a late entrance), their presence noted and catalogued long before this meeting. "I allow it because, for now, your goals align with mine: his survival, his stability. You provide layers of defense, distractions, resources I cannot always deploy directly without inviting Ao’s scrutiny or escalating Shar’s response."

I am tired. Gale sighed to himself silently. And I haven’t stopped striving since Vesper’s ascension. But I won’t stop. No matter what anyone says or does. No matter my fatigue. Vesper is worth it.

He made me want to live when I had nothing to live for and every reason to throw myself on Mystra’s pyre.

How could I give him anything less than everything?

No. No matter what, I will fight for him.

After all, what is more Ambitious than defying fate itself for the man you love?

If Akachi could stand against Myrkul,

And if Kaelyn could against Kelemvor,

Then I will certainly stand against any god foolish enough to seek claim of my Moonshadow.

Even if that god is Ao himself. Let alone Lady Shar.

He took a single step forward, and the realms seemed to hold their breath. "But understand this, all of you. This is my game. Moonshadow is my heart walking under Ao’s eye. The Eclipse is approaching fast. The delicate balance he must strike between Selûne’s light and Shar’s shadow is paramount. If any of you," his gaze pierced Aylin, narrowing on the now-watching figures of Sune who was lounging on her plush divan with a smug “I told you so” look, Tymora who looked worried at first but then elated as her cards fell from her hands, Sharess who purred sensually as she took a swig from her flask, and Lathander who more than anything seemed utterly irritated to be called out so crudely, and many others who had subtly manifested at the periphery of the gathering, drawn in by Gale’s mental pull, "if your actions, your Chosen’s blunders, or your own divine meddling jeopardize that moment… If your 'protection' becomes a catalyst for his fall into Shar’s embrace, or feeds the arrogance of foolish souls trying to steal him from me when he is most vulnerable…"

He paused, letting the threat crystallize in the suddenly frigid air of Martyrdom. The golden light turned pale, sickly.

"...I will not merely be displeased. I will remember. And the God of Ambition is a very vindictive god and has an infinite capacity for… creative consequence. Thay is a mere irritation. Let alone the Dead Three... Shar is the enemy. But folly from so called allies?" He let the sentence hang, the implication more terrifying than any specific threat. "That, I will not forgive. Ensure your pieces move wisely."

Without waiting for a response, without a glance back at Aylin or Ilmater, he stepped through his Weave back to his Tower, the veil of Ilmater’s realm parted with a murmur, leaving the watching gods and Aylin in a silence that was no longer serene, but deeply, profoundly unsettled.

The cosmic game was indeed afoot, and Gale Dekarios had just revealed he was not merely a player at the table, but the architect of the board itself.

And he was taking no chances.

Soon we will be hand in hand again, beloved. Gale said quietly to himself.

Even in Godhood. I am ever your knight in magic armor. Let them and Ao foolishly look my way now, let them fear me. I will fight tooth and nail for you.

Just one more eclipse, and one more risk and we’ll be free.

Chapter Text

Main Theme

Last Epoch

Captain Elias of the Flaming Fist drummed his fingers against the worn oak of his desk; his jaw set in a hard line as Alric watched him carefully. The late afternoon light streaming through the narrow windows of Wyrm’s Rock Keep did little to soften the grim set of his features.

"You're sure about this?" Alric asked, his voice low.

"As sure as we can be," Elias grunted, sliding a dossier across the desk. "The Dluskers have been hosting someone in that estate for weeks. Too many comings and goings for simple noble paranoia. Something foul is afoot."

Alric flipped open the file. Sketches of figures in dark robes, detailed reports of strange activity in the upper windows at odd hours, and—most damning—a handful of missing persons last seen near the estate's perimeter.

"And the family?"

"The so called family retainer my men spoke to claims they're just hiring extra security," Elias said with a derisive snort. "Say they feel 'unsafe' with the Grand Duke's policies. But mercs don't explain the ritual chants our scouts heard through the back-streets, nor the foul smell near the servant’s entryway. Highly suspicious considering the last time we had a Dlusker here in Baldur’s Gate was when the Flaming Fist was investigating Lord Cazador Szarr and we never saw the poor sod again only for an insanely rich and influential Dlusker to lay claim to the rotting estate, not only claiming the papers from the Counting House but also paying off all the family debts. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m no fool. Those ain’t the Dluskers."

Ah, okay the Thayans either have someone on the inside, a Dlusker whelp helping them or are impersonating them at least. Not impossible. Especially considering their target.

Alric's fingers tightened on the parchment. Red Wizards. He recognised some of the arcane glyphs the sketches depicted. Sigils of Divination and Transmutation.

While not being a wizard himself, his sister was, and she made sure to teach him magical theory for the day he needs that knowledge to survive and protect her. He was training to become her knight. Szass Tam was very interested in her skill in Necromancy and she was poised to become a Red Wizard. And she did.

But then there’s a blank space.

Alric didn’t remember becoming her knight. She... went missing? Alric remembered a deep hatred for Mystra. He blamed her for the disappearance, for driving his sister mad. He also remembered being in a dark place, some sort of... sepulchre for a long time until Lady Daran and the other’s saved him.

They told him Sofina had died. That she was chasing the impossible, even if she served Szazz Tam, the madness Mystra burned into her heart was what lead her down her path of ruination.

And then, he trained under the old matron, honing his hatred. Honing his nascent trust in Gale and Moonshadow, two new gods who had emerged after the fall of the Absolute, not merely promising a better future for mortals but actually keeping to their word. Gale so furiously bright, his all consuming Ambition and his Moonshadow, humble, near silent but so very present, even in his quiet moments.

"We can't just storm the place," Elias admitted, frustration edging his tone, snapping Alric back to reality.

Right. The sigils, the estate...

"Right now, the Dluskers have too much pull with the other nobles. If we're wrong, it'll be a political nightmare for Duke Ravengard."

Alric exhaled through his nose. "So you need permission from the top to act... without the political ramifications."

"Or someone who doesn't need permission." Elias leaned forward. "You're Gale's Chosen. You don't answer to the Fist nor any monarch. And I heard you’re a knight who left your homeland a pariah and that you found purpose in your god’s work. Thayan but not quite." A meaningful pause. "If you get caught... well. That's between you and your Lord Gale, isn't it? Holy work and all, yes?"

Alric's eyes narrowed, in a bit of anger but also quiet admiration. The captain had a point.

“You’re quite resourceful, Captain.”

“I’d like to think so, yes.” The captain smiled and shook his head. “No but it’s more like Arabella’s info is good as always. But I digress, Sir Moros; point is, you get caught or you die, it ain’t our problem. You’re just a nosy somebody, that’s all. Either ways, it beats sitting around waiting for the trouble to start. I want those Thayans gone. Not gonna have a repeat of what happened in Neverwinter here, no sir.”

Arabella? Who’s that?

Wasn’t she on Gale’s list?

Nevermind, have to focus.

The implication was clear: if this went badly, the blame could fall on Gale. The God of Ambition had sent him to Baldur's Gate for a reason though. He had a specific target to apprehend by any means. He had a few spells Gale granted him to combat Divination attempts as well as countering hostile spells.

"Good enough for me. I’ll do it. But I’ll warn you now, don’t get in my way once I’m set to the task. I'm here to apprehend a Zulkir, there’s two in Baldur’s Gate. One of Divination and another of Transmutation." Alric stated flatly.

Elias blinked. "A what now?"

Alric suppressed a sigh. Of course.

Outside Thay, few understood the hierarchy.

"The highest rank of Red Wizard, second only to Szass Tam himself. And the one I’m hunting specializes in Divination—meaning he's been preparing for quite some time. This isn't some rogue cell. It's a sanctioned operation. All these new mercenaries? Wouldn’t be surprised if the second Zulkir brought them when he arrived."

“Sune’s tits...” Elias paled slightly. "You're saying- "

"I'm saying the Grand Duke needs to be informed of the true risk to the city. Quietly. And it might be wise to have a contingent of forces ready... in case we need to storm that estate tonight. This is bigger than you realize. But I’ll only disclose more once the threat has been eliminated, preferably to Duke Ravengard himself. Where can I find more information on the situation?"

Elias exhaled sharply, then nodded. "The Elfsong. Look for Calli. Tabaxi with brown and gold fur. She's... connected. Works with The Guild and the Harpers. Should I get in touch with the High Harper?"

Alric nodded and produced a list of names, people around the city that Gale told him would help regarding the Eclipse.

“Not just her. Trust me, I do not say this lightly: We’re going to need all the help we can get for the coming days. I need your fastest runner, preferably discreet.”

“On it, good sir. I know just the people to involve! Fist Finnegan! Flag down one of Lady Mol’s friends or one of Nine-Fingers'!”

---

The Elfsong Tavern was a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional off-key bardic attempt. Alric navigated the crowded common room with the ease of a man used to moving through chaos, his silver-and-blue plate drawing glances but no outright challenge.

He found the tabaxi gamemaster at a high-stakes dice table in the back, near the large painting of Gale, her striped fur a riot of golds and browns under the lantern light. A deck of tarot cards danced effortlessly between her clawed fingers, her emerald-green eyes flicking up as he approached.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice laced with amusement. "If it ain't a strapping knight in shining armor. Sir Alric Moros, right?"

Alric arched a brow. "You were expecting me."

Calli grinned, flashing sharp canines. "Expecting? Nah. But the cards have been whispering about a storm brewing all week." She flicked a trio of tarot cards toward him on the table—the Tower inverted, the World inverted and the Fool upright. "Sit down, tough guy. Let's talk odds."

Alric took the offered seat, nodding to the dwarf nearest him, engrossed in his dice match. "You know why I'm here, gamemaster."

"The Eclipse?" She leaned in, her tail flicking as she continued the game playing out before her, pointing to the tarot cards she laid out. "Oh honey, the others were so much better! The odds on this one are nasty and I dunno why! House is stacked something fierce. A crisis averted, a complete upheaval but still some dim hope in there somewhere. It’s downright bad."

Alric's jaw tightened. “Oh damn, that does sound nasty. But where do we fit?"

"I dunno! But let's just say when a Zulkir's involved, you don't bet against the house unless you've got divine intervention in your pocket." Her eyes gleamed. "Lucky for you, I specialize in turning bad odds around. I have a few friends in mind to help out. You’re the third one here."

Before he could press further, a crash echoed across the tavern as an elven woman tripped. A waitress yelped as a tray of drinks went flying—directly into the laps of a table of drunken adventurers.

Standing sheepishly amidst the chaos was a woman in shimmering moon-silver robes, her dark brown curls braided with moonflowers. She blinked her honey eyes at the mess.

"Oh, bother," she murmured, flushing red. "I apologize, I was—ah—"

The adventurers surged to their feet, ale-soaked and furious.

Calli sighed. "Linu, sweetheart, for fucks sake. We talked about this."

Alric barely had time to process the name before a meaty fist swung toward the elven woman's face.

He moved on instinct.

---

Alric caught the adventurer's wrist mid-swing, twisting just enough to make the man yelp. "Enough. It’s just ale, I can buy you lot a new round."

The drunk snarled. "She ruined my damn shirt! It’s my best one!"

"Then bill me." Alric said dryly, shoving him back. “I know a spell to clean that up quick. Will only take a moment...”

He invoked prestidigitation. The oaf was not impressed and seemed... offended.

“Oh yous one of them Weavey types huh?”

“No, I’m a Paladin of Gale, sir.”

It should have ended there.

It did not.

A tankard sailed past Alric's head, smashing into the wall.

The tavern erupted into chaos.

"Welp." Calli sighed, tucking her games away and pocketing the coins. "This is happenin' now. Sorry! Gotta dash!"

Alric ducked a wild punch, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. Beside him, Linu dodged a chair to her face with preternatural grace, only to trip over her own robes and nearly bowl into him.

"Sorry! I'm—ah—I’m really bad at this—"

A dagger flashed toward her back.

Alric parried it with his gauntlet, shoving her behind him and headbutt the assailant. "Stay behind me, miss. I’ll protect you."

“I c-can handle myself but thanks!” The elf said as she invoked moonlight and commanded the thug with the chair to flee.

Across the room, a new figure entered the fray—a vision in scandalous crimson silk and tanned leathers, his fiery red hair and immaculately trimmed beard a beacon amidst the chaos. He moved with the fluidity of a dancer, disarming a thug with a flick of his wrist before delivering a devastating kick to his groin.

"Florian, darling," Calli called, "try not to wreck the place too bad. I have a game to finish!"

The radiant man scoffed. "Calli, please. I'm an artist. I know what I’m doing. I’m offended you didn’t invite me to the fun! We had a blast last time!"

“Sorry! Maybe next time!”

A stool shattered against a burly half-elf's back, courtesy of a voluptuous halfling woman in diaphanous lilac silks and little else, her dark curls and generous bosom bouncing as she brandished a flask from gods-knew-where. "The Eyes of Evening are upon you!" she purred to no one in particular, taking a swig from her flask before cracking her cane over a man's back like a whip.

"Lathander guide me, I just wanted to unwind tonight..." growled a new voice—deep, resonant, and dripping with disapproval. A middle aged bald man in immaculate sun-gold plate waded into the fray, his holy symbol blazing as he literally punched the sin out of a would-be attacker, his fist ablaze with holy fire.

"Oh my, Solanar! You’ll make me blush moving like that!" The halfling grinned seductively as she shimmied, making her assets very, very clear. "Lighten up handsome! I’ll help you unwind later-"

“It’s Brother Solanar and I do not know how you learned my name, foul wench, but keep your silks on! I am a Sacred Fist! Not one of the fools that fawn over your bosom! Mirabel, we are here for a shared purpose, do not make me restrain you!”

“Oh darling, say less! Don’t tease her with a good time!” The fiery haired bard sing-songed and chuckled as Calli grinned impishly as she brandished a handful of cards and threw them. They all landed in sets, all upright.

The Moon, The Emperor, The Devil;

The Sun, The Empress, The Chariot,

The Wheel of Fortune;

“Oh yeah, looks we got a full house tonight, haha! I still got it! Take that Beshaba, you bitch!”

Alric barely had time to process the newcomers before the nearby wall exploded inward, sending everyone tumbling backward.

A massive, crimson-skinned fiend with fiery eyes and an even fierier crossbow ducked through the new entrance, his eyes scanning the chaos of fleeing, screaming patrons and with weary irritation. Behind him, there was a heap of unconscious mercenaries and thugs.

"Foolish rabbits." The orthon's voice was a gravelly rumble. "You never listen and you always judge. Fools, the lot of you!"

Linu, still half-sprawled behind Alric, stiffened. "Y-You! You’ve been stalking me since I got here! What do you want with me, demon?! Stay away from the Eclipse!"

The fiend blinked. Then sighed irritatedly.

"Oh, off with you. Still not trying to kill you, little rabbit. You’d be a trophy on my wall a long time ago if I was! Been trying to help your clumsy arse if you took the time to actually notice what I was doing. I was looking after the Eclipse, you dumbasses."

“Explain yourself, fiend.” The Lathanderite monk sneered. “Before I smite you with the searing light of the Sungod himse-”

“Shut up, you bald idiot. I got nothing to explain to a ragtag gang of divinities’ errand whelps.” The orthon chuckled and crossed his arms. “I can smell the ichor of the Upper Planes on all of you. You all reek of desperation and concern and yet you know nothing of what you’re meant to do so I’ll address the only errand boy in the room with the right scent.”

The orthon then looked over at Alric and grinned.

“You there. Boy. You smell of death, like a dank crypt and my old friends. That foolish bard and his damn arrogant wizard. You speak for Ambition, no?”

“Yes. I do. Well met. I’m Sir Moros.” Alric nodded.

“Likewise rabbit, I’m Yurgir. That’s all you need to know about me. I’m going to help you but if you make a nuisance of yourself, I will blast you all to bits. See, Lady Hope and us that help her, we got something good to reclaim and my old friend is in danger and only he and your arrogant god can help the good Lady out, just like the old days. We can stand here till the Flaming Fist come and I’ll be long gone because let’s face it, I work better alone or one of you fools could take us somewhere discreet so we can talk properly about the stakes the overgrown cat was yowling about. The little rabbit with the flying cat is in danger.”

“Flying cat? Oh! You mean a tressym! Lord Gale’s favored couri- ” Alric mouthed.

“I dunno what it’s called, but it’s a tasty cat with wings and if you don’t hurry along, by midday tomorrow, it and the little rabbit that keeps it are going to be in a world of hurt and probably in a pot or worse, unless we act soon.”

Calli cackled. "Oh, this is gold! I like you big man."

Alric opened his mouth to speak—

“Ha! This night just got interesting. So many beautiful people here!” Mirabel smirked as she sauntered off. “Follow me, and do try to keep up. I know a place, big boy. You’d fit right in.”

Chapter Text

Une vie á t'aimer

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33

--- Days to the Eclipse: ??? ---

The scent hit Vesper first. Not the comforting fungi and dried herb stench of Jaheira’s basement, but divine ozone, ancient vellum, the cloying sweetness of ambrosia, and the sharp, clean tang of the celestial scent of the Upper Planes.

Moonshadow gasped, his lungs protesting the sudden, brutal transition from the quiet gloom of mortal sanctuary to the overwhelming luminosity of the Endless Library, home to Oghma’s domain. His knees buckled, saved only by the cold wooden armrest of the absurdly ornate chair Mystra had manifested beneath him the moment he arrived.
Gods, he’d forgotten the pain of physical presence in Elysium – a pressure against his bones, a buzzing in his skull, the feeling of his divine spark screaming against the enforced proximity to other, older powers. It felt like being flayed alive, over and over.

But he was used to it, unfortunately.

He squeezed his eyes shut, grounding himself in the phantom sensation elsewhere of Jaheira’s worn bedroll beneath his bare feet, the distant murmur of his siblings upstairs. He could still feel his avatar but everything there felt so muted and dull.

Breathe. Just breathe. Get through this farce and get back home.

I do not belong here. I can’t...

Then he opened his eyes. The sheer number of divine presences was staggering, pressing in from all sides. He sighed in momentary relief seeing Sune a few seats down, waving animatedly. He returned the gesture weakly, his unease spiking again as he registered his immediate neighbors: Ilmater on his right, the Crying God offering a quiet but firm handshake and a smile radiating profound empathy that somehow made Vesper feel more exposed; Chauntea on his left, her motherly hand smoothing his hair with a comforting grin that held an edge of protective fierceness. Further down, he saw Tyr, stern and watchful, Torm radiating disciplined disapproval, and Lathander, the Morninglord, whose usually radiant aura seemed dimmed by a palpable scowl directed towards Mystra at the head of the impossibly long celestial table.

"—utterly unacceptable, Mystra!" Lathander's voice, usually warm as dawn, was sharp with indignation, cutting through the ambient divine murmur. "Plucking a minor deity from their appointed duties, their chosen connections to the mortal world, against their express will? This is not stability; this is tyranny! It disrupts the celestial order you claim to uphold!"

"Indeed," rumbled a deep, resonant voice that could only belong to Torm. "The God of the Eclipse has vital duties during the approaching alignment. Forcing extraction, even days before the appointed task risks catastrophic imbalance. Explain this recklessness, now."

"Recklessness implies haste, Torm," Mystra countered, her voice smooth as poisoned wine, though Vesper caught the slightest tightening around her eyes. "This is necessity. The Galerian Weave's unchecked growth threatens harmonic resonance thresholds across all planes. Moonshadow's domain and connection to it, however... niche... requires his input, as before." Her dismissive glance at Vesper felt like a physical slap.

Niche. Gale’s cruel word from years ago echoed. She felt just like he did. How ironic.

"His connection to the Moon and Darkmoon is precisely why he should be where he chooses to be, not dragged here!" That was Tymora, Lady of Luck, perched on the edge of her seat, her voice bright with sarcastic challenge. "Seems like a gamble destined for a bad roll, Mystra. Just saying! It’s better if we let him do his thing and trust our Chosen to support- "

"The Accords allow for emergency summons regarding fundamental Weave stability, Lathander," Mystra replied coolly, ignoring Tymora, who seemed very offended and muttered something unsavoury to Sharess and Moradin. "The danger posed by Ambition's... experiment... qualifies."

"Experiment?" Azuth, the God of Wizards, finally spoke, his voice dry and precise. He stroked his pointed beard, observing Moonshadow with keen interest. "Forgive me, Lady Mystra, but... the Galerian Weave functions well within its defined parameters, as decreed by..."

Chauntea squeezed Vesper’s shoulder gently. "Bide, child," she murmured, her voice like wind through ripe wheat. "This storm will pass as the others have."

But Sune kept nudging her head forward across the table, her eyes wide with mischievous urgency. When Moonshadow’s eyes followed her movement, his fragile grounding shattered completely.

Gale sat across him. He didn’t even realize. Hadn’t even noticed him.

G-Gale

Gods...

Two years. Two fucking years of utter, aching silence and longing. And he looked… transformed. Not just a god, but a godking carved from light and ambition. His silver-streaked hair, usually escaping in scholarly disarray, was ruthlessly tamed, styled for a face honed sharper by time and divine power. The beard, gods, that beard – meticulously shaped, framing lips that held a stillness Vesper didn’t recognize, hinting at depths of calculation that sent a shiver down his spine. A leather vestment, open at the front revealing robes of deep purplish-burgundy, clung to broad shoulders and a powerful frame he knew all too well, radiating an aura of absolute, unnerving control.

He looked more like… Raphael and yet not at all. The memory of Gale driving Phalar Aluve into the cambion’s chest flashed, jarring and unwelcome against the sheer, terrifying charisma of the man before him.

He looks like sin wrapped in starlight, Vesper thought, a treacherous, delightful heat blooming low in his belly despite the lingering hurt. He wanted to trace that strong jawline again, feel the prickle of that perfectly groomed beard against his palm, feel the Weave thrumming beneath that polished, yet cracked surface.

Two years.

Two years without his touch. Without any touch. He’d been faithful, achingly chaste – hadn’t even allowed his own hands the solace he craved, because nothing compared to Gale’s hands on him, nothing could. The longing was a soul-borne ache, a hollowness beneath his ribs that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

And now here he was. Here. So close Vesper could almost smell the ozone-and-parchment scent that clung to him. A scent that always meant home, alive, beloved... safe... And Gale wouldn’t even look at him.

Not once. Not a flicker of recognition. Not a glance.

Vesper’s hands fisted in his lap, his nails biting into his palms. The injustice of it burned like acid, hotter than the desire. Two years of silence, of aching loneliness, and now Gale wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence? Rage, thick and choking, rose in his throat. He trembled, the pressure in his divine spark warring with the mortal fury shaking his star and shadow tinged frame.

A warm, calloused hand closed over his wrist beneath the table. Chauntea.

The Goddess of the Harvest didn’t turn her head, didn’t disrupt the proceedings, but her grip was firm—an anchor in the storm of his outrage. Vesper inhaled sharply, realizing only then how violently his entire body trembled. She squeezed once, a silent steady; and he swallowed back the pathetic sob clawing its way up his throat.

Then—

“Oh, enough of this dreary posturing!”

Sune’s voice rang out like a bell, bright and unrepentant, as she rose from her seat in a cascade of rose-scented silks and little else. Before anyone could react, she’d swept behind Vesper’s chair and draped herself over his shoulders, her arms and fiery curls looping around his neck in a lavish embrace. Her cheek pressed to his, her lips brushing his ear.

“Welcome back, my favorite shadow,” she murmured, just for him. “I’ve missed your pretty face. Don’t let the old bat rattle you. She’s cranky because she’s not had any lately. Whose fault is that, Mystra?”

Vesper melted into her, just for a heartbeat. His eyes stung. He turned his face into her shoulder, hiding the traitorous tear that escaped—but Sune caught it anyway, her thumb swiping discreetly beneath his lashes. “Shhh, it’s okay.” she breathed against his hair.

Mystra’s voice cut through the chamber like a whip. “Must you disrupt—”

“Oh hush, Mystra,” Sune sighed, fluttering her fingers dismissively without releasing Vesper. Her voice carried effortlessly, laced with honeyed poison. “My good friend is back after his fugue unexpectedly. You can hardly expect me of all people to contain myself after seeing him again, darling. Besides,” she added, her gaze sliding pointedly towards Gale, “I’m not the one who stole him from his duties. Really, the absolute drama of this gathering!”

“Mystra, just go to Kelemvor and tell him to bend you over! Leave the newlyweds alone. Its very unbecoming. Lord Lyonsbane would do it with pleasure, literally!”

An awkward hush fell as Sharess’ words echoed, heavier than before. Mystra’s lips thinned as Sune pressed a chaste kiss on Moonshadow’s temple and returned to her seat, she and Sharess bickering with the Lady of Mysteries. And then while everyone was distracted by their exchange—

Gale looked up.

Not at Mystra. Not at Sune.

At Vesper.

Their eyes met across the table, and the world narrowed to that single, searing point of contact. Gale’s silver gaze burned—hungry, furious, yearning—a raw, desperate look that stripped away the polished god and revealed the man beneath. It was the look of someone starved seeing sunlight after years of darkness. The look of the beloved wizard that annotated his journal to ease his mind and sent that damned celestial tressym to bother him. Vesper saw the sleepless nights, the clenched fists, the way Gale’s breath hitched now, just slightly, as if he’d been struck. The mask of indifference lifted in that instant.

G-Gale?

Then it was back. Faster than a blink, Gale’s expression smoothed back into complete icy detachment, his attention snapping to Mystra as if nothing had happened, his jaw tight.

But it was too late. Vesper had seen. The confirmation that Gale had missed him just as desperately, had felt that same agonizing absence… it didn’t soothe the hurt. It deepened it. If he cared, why the silence? Why the distance? The longing twisted into a sharper, more profound heartbreak beneath the rage.

This motherfucker...

I both hate and love him...

Fine. Be that way, Gale. Pfft.

Why do I even bother?

The God of Ambition wasn't alone. Seated slightly behind and to his right, almost blending with the deeper shadows near a towering bookshelf, was a half-celestial woman Vesper recognized with a jolt.

E-Elynn?

The face and name surfaced from his own quiet observations among his few clerics. He had five to be specific, a group of siblings – Elynn Shadewatch, Elder Silvershade of his faith, was the eldest. But… the reports described her as, a famously foul-mouthed, devout human cleric from Luskan who’d spearheaded his following. This woman… this angel... she, with her silvery hair and dove black eyes and wings, radiated serene composure, respectful silence, an almost paladin-like calm, reminding him of his old friend Dame Aylin. The dissonance was jarring.

That can’t be Elynn… She looks like Elynn though… she’s part of Gale’s entourage then?

Before he could untangle the confusion, his attention was wrenched to a most unsettling presence. Floating silently beside Gale's left shoulder, observing the proceedings with chilling, eldritch indifference, was a perfect, featureless geometric sphere – a Scrying Eye, unmistakably an emissary of the Lady of Pain.

Gale hadn't summoned it, it seems, no ties to the Galerian Weave; it had been there, observing. Its impassive presence was a stark reminder of powers beyond even this celestial gathering. Mystra’s gaze kept flicking to it as she spoke, a barely concealed flicker of unease beneath her irritation.

Mystra then droned on, reiterating Weave instability, danger, protocols. Vesper tried to focus, tried to anchor himself in the suffocating dread of the approaching Eclipse ritual and Shar's machinations, but his attention fractured like spun glass. It kept snagging on Gale. The way he leaned back in his chair, not bored, but assessing, those unnervingly sharp silver eyes tracking Mystra’s every word like an apex predator dissecting prey, occasionally flicking to the impassive Scrying Eye in casual deference. The utter stillness, the contained power humming beneath the surface. Vesper felt adrift, blind to the celestial chess game unfolding. He just wanted the ground, the comforting shadows, the distance away from the Upper Planes.

Who is that woman with Gale? She’s not my cleric... Is she ?

Why is the Lady of Pain watching? I don’t... understand anything.

Too much... I... I can’t... I have to...

He shifted, the movement feeling clumsy and mortal in this realm of effortless divinity. He needed air that wasn't thick with divine politics and the oppressive gazes of gods.

"Forgive me," he began, his voice sounding thin, embarrassingly mortal in the vast chamber. "I have an appointment in Waterdeep to keep after the Eclipse. I must take my leave and prepare."

Mystra didn't even turn her head. A dismissive flick of her wrist.

"No, you do not."

Vesper stiffened. The casual dismissal scraped raw. "I—I’m afraid I must insist, Lady Mys- "

"No. You will sit. And you will be silent until spoken to." The command vibrated, thick with divine compulsion, pressing down on him like a physical weight. "The affairs of mortals are beneath you, Moonshadow. We address divine matters concerning your beloved. Your focus and input is required." Required by me, her tone implied.

Beneath me? Fury sparked amidst the exhaustion and disorientation. He drew breath to defy, he heard Moradin inhale, about to speak as well—

"Ah, this is quite embarrassing; Lady Mystra. A point of order, if I may?"

Gale’s voice. It cut through the oppressive atmosphere like a scalpel. Smooth, resonant, yet colder than the void between stars. He didn’t stand; he merely inclined his head, a picture of polite deference that radiated absolute threat. Every divine eye snapped to him, including the Scrying Eye, which pulsed with a faint, internal light. Vesper’s breath hitched, his heart stuttering against his ribs. That voice. Commanding, precise, layered with an unnerving calm that felt more dangerous than any shout. It resonated along the Galerian Weave within him, a low thrum that vibrated in his bones.

Mystra’s gaze narrowed, a starved leopard sensing a lion encroaching on its kill.

"Speak, Gale." The name was a gavel slammed down, a dismissal. Her eyes darted again to the Scrying Eye, her unease palpable now.

A thin, razor-sharp smile touched Gale’s lips. "Clause XVII, Subsection B, of the Divine Accords governing Inter-Weave Management – ratified, as you recall, by Ao following the Absolute Incident." He paused, letting the weight of the citation hang, the naming the Absolute a deliberate barb. "It explicitly states that any formal gathering convened to discuss systemic Weave stability requires the presence and substantive contribution of all recognized Greater Deities who maintain or influence an independent Weave-source." He gestured languidly, elegantly, towards her and then himself. "Excluding Shar, of course. As Ao’s decree following my ascension acknowledges the Galerian Weave as such – a fact meticulously documented in the Celestial Archives, Index Gamma, Addendum 2 – my presence here is not merely courtesy, Lady Mystra. It is a statutory obligation for this meeting, or any meeting regarding the Weaves to possess any validity whatsoever. And as you can very well see, I am here physically, despite your taunts and your foolish attempts to sideline me from the agenda." His gaze flickered almost imperceptibly towards the Scrying Eye. "My entourage," he added with chilling nonchalance, "is under my protection and observation. Helm has allowed their presence. The Lady of Pain watches, as is her desire, but she finds your... drama... beneath her interest. The others here piques her interest but she certainly has no desire to deal with you."

Mystra’s lips thinned into a bloodless line at the casual dismissal of Sigil's ruler and the implication she was insignificant to the Lady. The Scrying Eye pulsed once, indifferent.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough for the starlight woven into his robes to catch the light. His eyes, pools of starlight, fixed on Mystra.

"However, by attempting to compel Moonshadow’s continued attendance under the specious pretext of requiring his input while simultaneously dismissing my statutory right to contribute to the agenda which I, as a Greater Deity, am legally entitled to set…" He let the sentence hang, the implication thickening the air like smoke. "...you are not merely being discourteous, Lady Mystra. You are in direct violation of Ao's ratified Divine Accords. Section IX, Paragraph 4, which details the penalties for such procedural overreach. Quite tedious reading, but I assure you, the sanctions are… non-trivial. Particularly pertaining to certain… foundational Weave harmonics. Particularly regarding your Weave anchors. Mine does not require such outdated methods to safeguard it."

The silence was absolute, profound. Oghma, the god of knowledge, stroked his beard, a flicker of intense scrutiny in his ancient eyes as he seemed to mentally cross-referenced Gale's citations. Sune stifled a giggle behind a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes sparkling with intrigue at the spectacle. Gond watched Gale with an inventor's keen interest, muttering about "legal constructs as elegant as gnomish clockwork." Mystra’s knuckles were bone-white where they gripped the edge of the celestial table. Lathander exchanged a grim look with Tyr. Torm's expression was unreadable, but his posture radiated readiness. Vesper stared, utterly transfixed, the confusion about the composed half-celestial woman beside Gale and the Scrying Orb momentarily pushed aside.

This isn't the Gale I knew... This was something else. A being wielding celestial law like a finely honed blade, dismantling Mystra’s authority with chilling precision and devastating elegance. He sounded like… Mizora at her most cunning, but infused with Gale’s devastating intellect and a velvet menace that made Vesper’s skin prickle. Even though it wasn’t the Gale he knew, he could still feel Gale beneath the mask. It was terrifying. It was… magnificent.

Vesper’s loins were... burning...

Oh Gods...

He could feel Sharess staring right at him with delight.

Mystra recovered, her voice tight, the honey gone, replaced by the scrape of flint. "Your Weave is a parasitic echo, Gale. A footnote scribbled on the margins of true divinity. It does not warrant equal standing."

Gale chuckled, a low, dark sound that resonated deep in Vesper’s chest, amplified by their Weave bond. "Parasitic? An intriguing choice of words considering your own methods of preservation and the selection of your Chosen. Perhaps you refer to its resilience? Its capacity to endure and thrive where others…" He paused, letting the memory of Mystra’s past demises hang heavy and unspoken in the air. "...have proven regrettably fragile? Regardless, its status is not subject to your opinion, Lady Mystra. It is enshrined in celestial law. As is my right to be heard." His gaze shifted, cool and assessing, landing on Vesper. That gaze felt like a physical touch, stripping him bare. "And as Moonshadow’s departure poses no impediment to my fulfilling my obligations under Clause XVII, Subsection B, his continued detention serves no purpose under the Accords except, perhaps, as an exercise in petty tyranny. Seeing as you literally pulled him out of his bed... Which, while perhaps personally satisfying," he added with chilling politeness, a ghost of that sharp smile returning, "it is not a legally defensible position. I move to annul this sitting and- "

Mystra’s composure shattered. Humiliation curdled into pure, incandescent rage, radiating from her like heat from a forge. "Insolent brat! I plucked you from the mud! I molded you into an archmage and I can unmake you with a thought! Pretender god! Learn your place, Gale of Waterdeep!" she hissed, her voice losing its divine tone, becoming raw, crackling Weave. She didn't gesture; her will was the spell. Vesper felt the surge of compulsion, thick and cloying, aimed squarely at Gale – Command, amplified to divine levels, a command to kneel, to submit.

Vesper’s protective instinct roared to life, hot and immediate.

He felt his own power gathering, shadows coiling at his fingertips, ready to lash out. But even as he moved, a cold certainty washed over him, transmitted through the bond. He felt Gale ease his magic, remaining utterly still, radiating not resistance, but… contempt.

The compulsion slammed into him – and dissolved like smoke against obsidian. Not even a ripple disturbed the perfect drape of Gale’s vestments, purplish robes and cape. Gale didn't even flinch; he merely raised one perfectly sculpted silver eyebrow, a silent, devastating commentary on her impotence. He hadn't even needed to counterspell it. Vesper let his own gathered energy dissipate, a grim satisfaction warring with his fury.

Of course. The bitch can't touch him. Not anymore.

He’s a Greater Deity, like her.

Mystra saw it. Saw the utter failure, saw Gale’s disdain, saw the flicker of satisfaction in Vesper’s eyes. The gods sat in quiet awe until Tyr tsk’d and shook his head.

“A most... interesting development. We seem to have underestimated the Galerian Weave completely. But then again, aside from the resilience and patience we just witnessed from young Lord Gale... Lady of Mysteries, you forget your place. This is Lord Oghma’s domain, not yours.” Tyr said with a glare. The other gods seemed to share his sentiment and nodded quietly. “No matter your grievance with Gale Dekarios and his beloved Vesper Moonshadow, it is improper conduct to attack a fellow god of the pantheon. Have you lost your senses?”

“Really, Mystra?” Sehanine Moonbow sighed. “I dropped the Seldarine’s works just now to watch you... throw a tantrum? Really? What utter nonsense. I thought the invitation to these meetings held promise. Seems you only want a witness to your pettiness. Good thing I advised Corellon to stay away. My consort has far better things to do than waste time here watching you throw a tantrum because your ex-lover dared to question your unbecoming behavior? And we wonder why Shar grows stronger.”

The humiliation was absolute, and it ignited something feral in the Mother of Magic. Her eyes blazed pure, furious violet, the air around her crackling with unstable power. "ENOUGH!" The word cracked like the breaking spine of the world. The entire room fell silent as the void.

Power coalesced around her, not the subtle compulsion of before, but the crushing, final weight of oblivion. She thrust her hand towards Gale, fingers clawed, raw divine energy gathering like a collapsing star.

"I will not suffer this insult, not from anyone! Least of all a whelp that forgot how he used to clutch at my skirt and beg to share my bed, and a dithering castoff of Bhaal that almost destroyed us all! I am the Weave itself. You are nothing more than a mistake, the both of you! ABYSS TAKE YOU, GALE! BEGONE!"

The spell wasn't a beam or a bolt. It was the absence of possibility. A sphere of absolute negation, of timeless, sensory-deprived void, snapped into existence around Gale’s space, a ninth circle spell called Imprisonment amplified godly power to swallow him whole, to erase him from the proceedings, from existence, for an eternity until she saw fit to release him.

Gale... didn’t even react. He wasn’t even bothered.

But Vesper was.

No. No... I...

I can’t lose him again!

I CAN’T!

“Mystra! Cease this madness!” Torm called harshly. “Ao will punish you if you do this! This is not worth it!”

Vesper didn't know if Gale was immune to Imprisonment. He didn't care about celestial law or divine resilience in that heartbeat. The sight of that terrible negation, aimed at the man who was his anchor, his counterweight, his beloved, obliterated thought. Pure, protective fury – not just his own, but the fury of the Eclipse itself, the balance between light and shadow that defined him – erupted. It surged from the Galerian Weave within him, resonating violently with the power radiating from Gale.

He stood and roared, gesturing as Gale had taught him Counterspell years ago in a humble campsite in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Empowered to Divine powers, with the raw force of his undying love.

"MANUS, POTENTIS, PARO;

IMPERO TIBI!"

A jagged lance of pure Galerian Weave bolted out towards Gale, who was watching Mystra with detached mirth. The purple light made him turn his head to it’s source in confusion. Moonshadow had cast one of his husband’s signature spells, but with his own unintended twist.

Gale’s Fierce Rebuke had struck true, and it wasn't a delicate counterspelling, oh no.

It was a glorious cataclysm.

The sphere of Imprisonment didn't just fail. The Weave rusted... thunder boomed and the void cage Mystra made bloomed into something else entirely.

Darkness surged through the Endless Library, deep and velvety, swallowing Mystra’s harsh light. But it wasn't empty darkness.

It was the comforting shadow of a moonlit night, the fertile dark of rich soil. And within it, light blossomed – not Mystra’s glare, but the soft, ethereal luminescence of countless moonflower petals. They cascaded from the point of the spell’s dissolution, swirling in an impossible, silent storm. Interwoven with the petals were delicate motes of pure shadow, dancing like fireflies made of night itself. Ribbons of deepest black and shimmering silver unfurled, twisting gracefully amidst the floral snowfall. Confetti, not garish gold, but polished obsidian flakes and chips of pure moonlight, sparkled like captured starlight as they rained down.

And at the centre of this breathtaking, chaotic beauty stood Vesper. But not the hesitant godling. His form seemed taller, imbued with an ancient, quiet power. Behind his head, a perfect Eclipse Halo blazed into existence. It wasn't a ring of fire, but a circle of deepest shadow edged with a corona of brilliant silver light. And at its very edges, unmistakably, pulsed the lines of the exact sigil of Gale's Orb – a miniature sun-and-moon eclipse and Weave, thrumming in perfect, resonant harmony with the actual Orb Vesper knew rested in Gale’s chest above his heart.

The halo cast Vesper’s furious, beautiful face in stark relief – divine wrath framed by the symbol of the man he defended. His left eye burned with divine outrage, it’s pupil the glare of the Eclipse itself incarnate.

The only other lights in the suddenly shadowed library were the stunned auras of the other gods and the incandescent fury radiating from Mystra, now half-buried under a drift of moonflower petals and shimmering shadow-motes. A single obsidian ribbon draped over her shoulder like a mocking sash.

More silence. Then, not gasps, but fervor.

Sune shrieked with delight, clapping her hands. "Oh, it's perfect! Look at it! His heart made manifest! True divine love! I am in awe! I told you Gale! I told you he still cared! Love is the strongest force in all realmspace! Prove me wrong, any of you!"

Tymora howled, tears streaming. "Ha! A perfect roll of the dice! He turned her prison into a love letter! Bravo little Moonlight!"

Sehanine Moonbow sighed, a sound of pure bliss. "The beauty of the outrage... Oh... Is this what I was to be here for?! I think so! I must inform the Seldarine of this!"

Sharess purred, deep and satisfied. "Mhmmm, the passion... the devotion... the longing... it practically drips sweet nectar from every petal. So sweet is your nectar, Lord Moonshadow..."

Lliira simply danced in her seat, giggling uncontrollably, showering the area around her with harmless motes of pure joy.

Moradin looked on in confusion. Then a petal landed in his beard that made him double take, and then he let out a hearty chuckle.

Oghma stared, not at the spectacle, but at Vesper, a look of profound reassessment on his face. "Fascinating... a counterspell manifesting as an expression of core identity and emotional resonance... unprecedented! I must know more! Is this a Wild Surge?"

Gond leaned forward, his eyes wide behind his goggles. "Remarkable energy conversion, young man! The destructive potential re-purposed into... this! The power involved?! Is this the power behind young Gale’s nascent Weave? Of all things... Love?! Gale, you must tell us more of your Weave! Show us even! The things I could create with it..."

Lathander’s scowl had vanished, replaced by a look of grim understanding and a small, bright smile. "Helm would have intervened by now... Yet he watches. Ao is silent. This... declaration... carries the weight of the Overgod’s sanction." The implication hung heavy – Moonshadow's actions were implicitly permitted by the Overgod.

Torm's face was set like stone, radiating disapproval not of Vesper's defense, but of the inevitable conflict Gale had just invoked.

Tyr's nod was slow, acknowledging the justice served but also the dangerous precipice they now stood upon.

Azuth watched Gale with calculating interest, perhaps seeing the inevitable clash as a necessary experiment.

Savras remained silent. His eyes were affixed on Moonshadow.

Vesper barely registered any of them.

He was locked onto Mystra, breathing hard, the Eclipse Halo pulsing with his stuttering heartbeat, the Orb-sigil with it mirroring the rhythm in Gale’s chest. The chaotic beauty he’d unleashed was the pure, unfiltered manifestation of his outrage and his love – terrifying and glorious.

"You ungrateful- ohhhh, I don’t give a flying fuck about your divine matters or your stupid Accords, Mystra! The Eclipse rises and I have people waiting for me in Faerûn! My sister is in danger as we speak! Shar plots as we speak! Fuck you!” Vesper’s voice rang out, amplified by the halo, sharp and clear despite the swirling petals and shadows. The words couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He went on a tirade he never realized he was holding back and not a single god dared to stop him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?! You dare try to take him from me!? After everything you did to him? After what you demanded of him!? After everything we've survived without your accursed help?" His star-tinged hand, still crackling with residual Galerian Weave threads, pointed accusingly at Mystra, petals swirling around his gesture.

"Jealousy is ugly, Bitch of Mysteries! Go choke on your own rules! Try to touch Gale again, I dare you! Your spells won't be the only thing I unravel! I humoured you to keep the peace, but it’s clear you were never interested in peace. Gale followed your rules, I even followed your rules and now you interrupt my fugue, you encroach on the Eclipse I embody and you attack my Gale so brazenly when he points out your overreach... No. Absolutely not! Fuck this! I will not let this slide. I'm taking my husband and leaving! I reject all further summons to this bullshit meetings! I reject you, bitch! Gale, let’s go. Please. I don’t want to be here anymore! T-Take me home."

He didn't wait. He turned and strode angrily, the Eclipse Halo blazing like a crown of night and fury, moonflower petals swirling in his wake. The composed half-celestial woman – Lady Shadewatch? Elynn? Who? – fell silently into step behind him, her gaze fixed ahead, a silent sentinel. His focus was solely on the figure who already moved ahead, waiting near the archway leading to the antechamber, gesturing towards the exit languidly.

Gale.

He hadn’t said anything but his expression… The icy facade was gone again. His eyes, wide and dark despite the silver of his gaze, were fixed on Vesper – on the Eclipse Halo, on the cascading petals and shadows, on the fury and devotion made manifest. He looked… stunned. Shaken to his core. And beneath the shock, Vesper saw it – a reflection of his own awe, a dawning, profound realization of the power and love Vesper had just unleashed for him.

The Scrying Eye pulsed once, then rapidly, a flicker of... something... crossing its impassive surface. It... approved.

Before Vesper could reach him, Gale looked at him. A look he knew all too well from their mortal days. A look that undid him every single time, out in the field or betwixt the sheets.

May I? It echoed.

Vesper gave him his own silent look. A look that Gale knew inside and out. A look that Vesper always gave him when he asked, because only Gale could understand it.

Their bond didn’t need words.

Even now, estranged as they were.

That alone gave Vesper hope.

Gale moved the moment he saw the look in Vesper’s eyes. Two swift strides closed the distance. His hand shot out to Vesper’s upper arm. The grip was firm, grounding, but also… reverent? His other hand rose, almost involuntarily, towards the shimmering Eclipse Halo around Vesper’s head, stopping just short of touching it, mesmerized by the pulsing Orb-sigil.

"What have you done? For me? Oh... my daft bard…" Gale whispered with a smile, his voice raw, stripped of its earlier polished certainty, thick with an emotion Vesper couldn't name. It wasn't truly a question. Gale already knew what to do.

Vesper, still thrumming with power, halo blazing, petals clinging to his hair and shoulders, met Gale’s gaze. The fury was still there, but now mixed with the overwhelming, terrifying vulnerability of having his deepest feelings – his love, his heart, his divine outrage – laid bare before the entire pantheon and the man who inspired it.

I love you, Gale.

She will not take you from me.

Over my dead body.

Gale didn't ask for permission. He simply acted. His hand on Vesper’s arm tightened, pulling him close, while his other hand finally, gently, touched the edge of the Eclipse Halo. A spark of silver-and-shadow energy jumped to his fingertips. He turned his head slightly towards the composed half-celestial and the Scrying Eye.

"Kaelyn. Return our silent observer to Sigil. The Lady of Pain has seen enough for one celestial debacle. And here I thought for once it would be a quiet meeting. How sad." His tone brooked no argument. The woman – Kaelyn – bowed her head slightly, her hand extending towards the Eye. With another silent pulse, the geometric sphere and she vanished in a haze of violet shimmers.

Kaelyn? Not Elynn. Who is she ...? I... I don’t know anything...

"A final point of order, Lady Mystra," Gale declared as Vesper clasped his hand tightly smiling, and then Vesper moved closer, desperately grounding himself against Gale’s chest; his tone crisp, authoritative, devoid of the raw emotion he'd shown Vesper but laced with finality.

"Given your blatant violation of Divine Accord Section III, Article 2 – 'The Guarantee of Safe Conduit for Greater Deities During Inter-Weave Consultation' – specifically your unprovoked assault on neutral ground, with divine magic classified as hostile under Celestial Sanction upon my person, and by extension, the disruption and attempted unlawful detention of myself and my Consort and fellow deity, Moonshadow..."

He paused, letting the weight of the citations hang. Mystra froze, her fury momentarily choked by the sheer, cold legality of it. Lathander's grim expression deepened. Torm's disapproval was palpable. Tyr looked grave. Sune, Tymora, and Sharess beamed with vindicated pride.

"...this gathering and all previous regarding the Weaves, Mystran, Sharran and Galerian, are hereby declared null and void ab initio." Gale swept his gaze across the deities, meeting Lathander's eyes in brief acknowledgment of Ao's tacit sanction before his voice gained new urgency.

"Furthermore," he continued, silver eyes locking onto Mystra, "I must draw explicit attention to the Eclipse Pact, sworn before Ao, Selûne, Moonshadow and Shar. Specifically, Clause IV: 'The God of the Eclipse shall invoke the Eclipse annually at the appointed hour, binding the shadows and light as one and preserving the truce.' The appointed hour," he emphasized, "is in approximately seventy Toril hours. This year's invocation carries unique peril – Shar demands the Eclipse itself as her tribute, five whole minutes of it, a direct escalation from Selûne's simple prayer already fulfilled at Moonrise Towers."

A weighted silence fell. Lathander's radiance flickered with agreement; Torm's hand clenched on the table; Tyr's grave expression deepened.

Gale's voice dropped to a dangerous timbre. "Failure to fulfill this pact due to unlawful detention or divine interference carries explicit consequences: Shar gains the right to claim Moonshadow as her ward within the Shadowfell under her 'protection', thus dissolving the truce and possibly initiating open, cosmic war between the Nightsinger and the Moonmaiden. A war that would spill beyond their domains, engulfing entire realms under all our protection." He turned his focus fully back to Mystra, accusation sharpening his tone. "Your actions today, Lady Mystra, directly undermine not only your own Chosen, but the Chosen of every god invested in the balance, including my very own Chosen." His gaze swept meaningfully towards Lathander, Tyr, and Torm. "Chosen of all sorts are converging on Baldur's Gate as we speak – most working to ensure this Eclipse proceeds peacefully amidst rising threats. Your hubris risks their lives and sacred duties."

He then addressed the assembly with firm assurance.

"Be it as it may, Moonshadow will fulfill the pact. I will see to it. I shall return him to the Material Plane with ample time for the sacred invocation. His duty is thankless, and I will not allow any obstruction," his eyes locked onto Mystra, blazing with cold fire, "or personal vendettas, to prevent it."

Lathander's radiance flared, incandescent with fury. "Gale is right, I’m afraid. You risk cosmic war and the lives of our Chosen for vanity, Mystra. The Pact is clear. Ao watches, and this folly is fuelled solely by your pride!"

Torm radiated stern, cold disapproval, his gaze fixed on Mystra like a blade. "The Pact supersedes Weave politics. This is reckless endangerment of the entirety of realmspace."

Tyr's grave nod seemed to make the table tremble. "The scales tip towards chaos because of this, mark my words."

Sune, Tymora, and Sharess closed ranks, radiating protective fury aimed at Mystra.

Savras, God of Divination, shifted uncomfortably near Mystra. "The threads of fate fray... this escalation was foretold... Very troubling."

Azuth stroked his beard, his calculating look now deeply troubled. "The variables introduced by the possible Eclipse Pact breach... are catastrophic. The Child of None is more than he seems..."

Mystra herself vibrated with suppressed rage, but her violet eyes burned with pure, undiluted hatred directed solely at Vesper. The humiliation of being Counterspelled by a minor deity, the legal dismantling, and now Gale's passionate defense of his husband’s sacred duty – all centered on Moonshadow – crystallized her animosity. The petals clinging to her weren't just debris; they were symbols of his victory. Her lips curled in a silent, venomous snarl aimed directly at him. But Vesper was unfazed, and he glared right back at her.

But something else had his heart racing.

Gale knows the Pact. Word for word. Vesper's heart stuttered, a profound warmth spreading through him despite the tension. He knows Shar's demand. He knows about the Chosen in Baldur's Gate... Gods, he's been watching, just like he said was. He truly cares. Gale hadn't just mastered celestial law; he'd memorized Vesper's burdens.

Seeing the schism and the silent hatred aimed at Vesper by Mystra, Gale delivered his final blow with chilling politeness.

"Glare all you like Mystra. This was your doing. No further meetings concerning inter-Weave harmonics or stability will be convened, nor will any obligations under Clause XVII, Subsection B, be recognized by I, Gale Dekarios, God of Ambition. Lady Mystra, you have single handedly forfeited your right to any observation of my Weave nor the protection it provides your gossamer Weave. Oh yes, my Weave does safeguard yours if you but took a moment long enough to actually observe what I do with it. Regardless, there is no longer any reason for me or Moonshadow to waste our time here. That is..." His eyes locked onto Mystra, ruthless satisfaction glinting. "...until such time as a formal, public and heartfelt apology is tendered by the Goddess of Magic to both myself and the God of the Eclipse for the unprovoked attacks endured here today, witnessed by the gods present, as well Helm and Ao. Perhaps then we might come to a new agreement. But until then, I trust Helm is already compiling his report for the Overgod."

Vesper felt it throughout the meeting, that heaviness, that unseen pressure that he felt – Helm's heavy gaze and Ao's inscrutable awareness pressing down, confirming Gale's claim. Mystra paled, the petals on her seeming like chains, her hatred for Vesper an icy ember in the room.

"You may explain the breakdown in communication – and the near breach of the Eclipse Pact – to them yourself, I wash my hands of this farce." Gale finished, his polite murmur dripping with implication. "I believe we are done here. Ta-ta for now. Come, beloved. Let’s go home and make good use of our new-found free time before I return you to Toril."

Vesper yelped shyly as Gale pulled him close so that their foreheads touched, he leaned into it, drunk on Gale’s words and scent as he settled one hand on Gale’s hip and the other at the nape of Gale’s neck.

With the cosmic stakes laid bare and the pantheon fractured, Gale clicked his fingers. The Endless Library dissolved in a haze of violet sparks and the scent of bergamot.

Chapter Text

Home Sweet Home

No Man's Sky

The scent of old paper, ozone, cedarwood, and the salt-tang of the Sea of Swords washed over Vesper as solid ground—familiar, beloved ground—met his feet. He stumbled slightly, the immense divine power and sudden teleportation leaving him dizzy, but Gale’s hand tightened around his wrist, steadying him. The contact burned, not with pain, but with the sheer familiarity and the lingering echo of Gale’s irresistible commanding presence.

The halo enshrouding his head flickered and vanished, though lingering motes of silver light and shadow drifted slowly downward. A single moonflower petal landed on Gale’s sleeve, clinging there like a plea. The roaring pressure of other divinities’ presence dissolved, replaced by the profound, intimacy of the Tower of Ambition.

Vesper knew this place instantly. Home.

Or rather, Gale’s home.

But this wasn’t the noisy grand celestial audience chamber. This was the quiet inner sanctum—a meticulous reimagining of Gale’s old tower in Waterdeep, just for him and Gale.

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with familiar titles—A Treatise on Elemental Conjuration, Volume III leaning precariously next to The Ballads of the Blackstaff. The worn rug, its threadbare patch near the desk exactly where Gale used to pace while muttering celestial incantations. The large, comfortable armchair piled high with scrolls and that slightly lumpy maroon cushion Vesper had once stolen for his own divine catnaps. The massive four-poster bed draped in deep blue velvet dominated the intimate space, moonlight streaming through the arched window.

Vesper moved numbly to the window with Gale still holding him, drawn by the impossible view. Far below, rendered in aching perfection: Waterdeep. The rooftops of the Castle Ward, the glittering expanse of the harbor, the distant bulk of Mount Waterdeep—even the exact angle of moonlight glinting off the Sea Ward’s townhouses and their chimneys. A dagger of nostalgia twisted in his chest, sharp and sweet. He’d lived here. Loved here. Argued over magical theory here. Felt safe here.

Until the day he left.

Gale gently released his wrist, the absence leaving Vesper strangely cold. He moved to stand beside him at the window, his back momentarily turned, shoulders tense beneath the fine vestment and robes. His fingers flexed once, as if resisting the urge to reach out again, before he gestured—a sharp, elegant flick toward the view—a silent offering. A reminder.

Silence descended, thick and charged. Not the oppressive quiet of the library, but something heavier. More intimate. The scent of moonflowers lingered, mixing with cedarwood and parchment. The echo of Mystra’s fury and the goddesses’ laughter felt realms away. Here, there was only the view of their past and present, the scent of home, and the devastatingly changed man who wielded celestial law like a scalpel—yet had just pulled him from chaos into this pocket of memory.

Vesper turned from the window.

Gale leaned against the frame, facing him now. The polished, ruthless charisma was still there in the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw—but in the quiet, Vesper saw the flickers beneath the mask. The faint shadows under his eyes. The tightness around his mouth that spoke of weariness. A vulnerability starkly absent in the library.

His thumb brushed the edge of his collar once, unconsciously, before stilling.

Then Gale did what he did best when words were too crude for the moment: he fell utterly silent. His gaze locked onto Vesper’s, unwavering.

Gods, not this.

Vesper’s breath hitched. In public, he could wield charm like armor—flashing smiles, theatrical gestures, silver-tongued distractions. But here, stripped bare before Gale’s knowing eyes? His old mortal anxiety surged. He dropped his gaze to the moonflower petal on Gale’s sleeve, then to the rug’s worn patch, anywhere but those piercing silver eyes. Heat crept up his neck, a familiar flush born of nerves… and something else entirely.

The image flashed unbidden: Gale in the library, radiating divine authority, dissecting Mystra’s arguments with that razor-sharp wit, commanding the attention of gods. The sheer, intoxicating power of it. The way it was still Gale, winning with words and mind, over brawn (even though he could win with brawn too if he so desired it) just as he had when he was mortal. It sent a jolt through Vesper now, low in his belly, white-hot and undeniable. He was furious, hurt, bewildered… and gods help him, incredibly, painfully attracted to his dangerous, brilliant beloved standing silently before him.

Gale didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His silence was a presence, patient and absolute. He could have filled it—could have dissected the meeting, could have closed the distance and claimed Vesper’s mouth with the same effortless authority he’d wielded against the pantheon, could have pinned him against the bookshelves or the velvet drapes of the bed. Vesper’s pulse hammered against his ribs at the thought, a frantic drumbeat of panic and a treacherous, exhilarating thrill. He knew, intimately, that Gale was in complete control here. And part of him ached to surrender to it.

But Gale waited. Watching. His stillness wasn't passive; it was a choice, a restraint that felt like its own kind of power.

Try, his stillness seemed to whisper. I’m here. Just look at me.

Vesper dragged his eyes back up, meeting Gale’s for a heartbeat. The intensity there – the focus, the intelligence, the sheer Gale-ness of him (there’s truly no other word to compare him to, he’s just... Gale but... more Gale as a god) beneath the godhood – made Vesper’s breath catch. His gaze flickered down, lingering for an instant on Gale’s mouth before he forced it back up, heat blooming fiercely across his cheeks. The struggle wasn’t just anxiety now; it was the effort to hold that gaze while every nerve screamed with awareness of him. Two years of estrangement hadn’t erased this magnetic pull, this quiet language of theirs where looks held volumes even in their time as mortals.

He tried again. Held for three breaths this time, the blush deepening. Gale’s eyes softened—just a fraction—in encouragement. No smirk, no triumph. Only steady, boundless patience. The kind that had always made Vesper feel safe, cherished. The kind that spoke of Gale’s innate kindness and care, even now, even as a god capable of cosmic fury. Vesper loved him fiercely for that, even through the hurt.

On the fourth attempt, Vesper anchored himself in that gaze. He stopped fighting the dual currents of anxiety and attraction. Instead, he let the warmth of Gale’s focus, the sheer relief of being seen by him again, wash over him. The anxiety didn’t vanish, but it transformed, melting into a potent mix of affection and desire that spread through his chest, brightening his eyes even as the blush remained. He didn’t just endure the eye contact; he leaned into it, a silent surrender to their rediscovered dialect, a wordless confession.

I see you. I’m still here. I’m still yours.

Even after so long apart. Yours. Only yours.

The corner of Gale’s mouth lifted—not a smile, but an acknowledgment. A shared victory in the quiet. A spark of warmth igniting in his own silver gaze: Gosh, I’ve missed this. Missed you.

Only then did Gale push off the frame, starting to close the distance with a single, deliberate step.

He didn’t speak.

He just looked at Vesper, his expression unreadable yet intensely focused. Waiting.

The silent question hung, heavier than any divine decree, charged with all that had passed between them and the heat simmering beneath the surface: What now?

---

Vesper swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room. He had no words. Only the storm in his chest, the phantom heat of where Gale’s grip on his arm was, the lingering scent of moonflowers, and the glittering reflection of their past shimmering in Gale’s impossibly sharp, watchful eyes. The silence stretched, taut with unspoken history and the terrifying possibility of the future.

Then Gale spoke, his voice softer now, stripped of its divine precision, yet still carrying an undercurrent of that unnerving focus.

"Do you remember," he murmured, the sound a low vibration that seemed to resonate directly with the Galerian Weave humming within Vesper, "that night by the River Chionthar? When I first helped you to channel the Weave as I once did?"

The question struck Vesper like a physical blow.

We were hardly friends.

Like oil and water...

I used to... infuriate him so much!

It was so much fun to make him scowl so handsomely...

How could he forget? The soft glow of magic conjured between Gale’s palms, the warmth of his hand guiding Vesper’s, the feeling of raw, vibrant power flowing between them like a shared, intimate breath. The patient instructions, the thrill of connection… and then the terrifying, exhilarating moment his control had slipped.

An image, unbidden, flooding the connection: Gale leaning in, his lips meeting Vesper’s, a kiss both tender and utterly possessive. His deepest, most secret desire, laid bare before he’d even fully acknowledged it himself. The exact moment Mystra held them in her hand and later closed her fist over the connection. He didn’t know it back then, but he knew it now. She made him feel lost and alone after the magic faded.

So alone... so cold...

"You lost control then," Gale continued, his voice a velvet caress that slid over Vesper’s skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. He took another step closer, such that Vesper would have to raise his gaze. The air crackled, not just with divine energy, but with a potent, focused charisma Gale was wielding with devastating precision. His silver eyes held Vesper’s, stripping away pretence, demanding honesty.

"The Weave... it showed me what you truly wanted. Before you even knew it yourself. I was taken aback. Truly. It was a most pleasant thought to share that night." He reached out slowly, not touching Vesper’s skin, but tracing the air near his temple, a tangible warmth of his Weave against Vesper’s cheek. "It’s still there, Vesper. That connection. Our connection. Stronger now, bound deeper than ever. Ao saw to that. Wove us together. Broke us but also married us in the most intimate, cosmically visceral way. We can’t tell where one starts and where the other ends... and why would we? Our bond was always more. As much as I loathe what was done to us, this bond of ours is not a regret at all. It’s the one good thing that came out of all of this, wouldn’t you agree?"

Vesper felt it acutely – the thrum of the Galerian Weave within him, a constant presence now resonating violently in Gale’s proximity. It was a lifeline and a vulnerability. A dormant seed. And it was alive and fiercely seeking it’s sun.

He tried to shore up his mental walls, to hide the chaotic storm of emotions – the residual anger at abandonment all over again, the aching loneliness of the past two years, the terrifying, rekindled want that seeing Gale like this, powerful and polished and devastatingly handsome, had ignited. He focused on Waterdeep outside the window, on the scent of old paper, anything but the magnetic pull of the god before him and the insistent pulse of their soulbond.

But Gale was the God of Ambition. He understood want in its purest, most potent forms. And he knew Vesper. He leaned in infinitesimally closer, his breath warm against Vesper’s cheek, his presence overwhelming.

"Oh, my heart. That’s precious. You think you can hide from me here?" he whispered, the words a soft challenge laden with unbearable intimacy. "Draw up walls? In the seat of my power? In the echo of our Weave? Let me remind you of our bond. You seem to have forgotten."

Gale didn’t need to compel. He simply… opened the channel further. Not invading, but inviting the Weave to flow more freely between them, as it had by the river all those years ago. The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming.

Vesper gasped as the connection surged, a torrent of shared sensation and raw emotion flooding his open mind and soul. He felt the echo of Gale’s fierce protectiveness from the library, his lingering awe at the moonflower spectacle, his soul-deep relief at having Vesper close again... and beneath it all, a searing, focused hunger that mirrored Vesper’s own buried longing. It was a feedback loop of love, desire and recognition, amplified by the divine bond.

"Gale—" Vesper started, a warning, a plea, a desperate attempt to regain control.

"Shhh," Gale breathed, his gaze holding Vesper’s captive, a gentle command. "Don’t think. Just feel the Weave. Like before." His voice was hypnotic, a siren song woven with power and memory. "Let it flow, let me nestle you in the cup of my hand. I will not hurt you. I am not Her. I will not leave you feeling cold and alone. Never."

And Vesper, overwhelmed by the proximity, by the intensity in Gale’s eyes, by the sheer force of the bond thrumming between them, by the flood of Gale’s own potent emotions washing over him, made the same mistake he’d made five and a half years ago. He didn’t try to project a thought; he simply lived it.

That was all it took.

In a fleeting, unguarded moment, stripped of defenses by Gale’s proximity, his charm, and the overwhelming feedback of the bond, his mind conjured it: Gale closing the final distance, his strong hand cradling Vesper’s jaw, his thumb brushing Vesper’s cheekbone, his lips descending with possessive certainty. Not a question, but a claiming. The kiss deep, hungry, silencing all doubt, erasing the years of separation and pain...

It wasn't a detailed fantasy. It was a visceral flash of pure, desperate wanting – the same wanting Gale had seen reflected in the Weave that night at the river, only infinitely stronger. A silent scream of desire echoing through the bond they shared, brighter and more potent than any spell Vesper had ever consciously cast.

Gale went utterly still. His eyes, already intense, flared with a sudden, incandescent understanding. The charming, focused expression vanished, replaced by something primal, triumphant, and utterly focused. He saw it. He felt it. Coursing through the bond like liquid lightning. The deepest, most honest truth Vesper couldn't voice, couldn't even fully admit to himself: he wanted Gale. He wanted this. He wanted him. Needed him. Loved him, despite everything.

"There it is," Gale murmured, his voice rough with a satisfaction that bordered on reverence. He didn’t move to kiss him. Instead, a slow, devastatingly confident smile touched his lips – the smile of a man who had just won everything. "Your heart doesn’t lie, dearest. Not to me. Not through this." He tapped his own chest, over the thrumming orb, the nexus of the Weave that bound them. "You can rage. You can run. You can hide in Jaheira’s basement and tell yourself you hate me. Tell yourself that a life without me is better. But the Weave knows. I know. We are both lesser for the distance. Truly we are."

His gaze held Vesper’s, stripping his heart bare far more effectively than any spell could. "You forgot, but I should remind you, shouldn’t I? How deeply our bond is woven together? Our marriage of souls? You are far more than my husband. You are my other half. My everything. No one, perhaps not even Ao himself understands the depth of our bond after ascension... There’s no going back for us. But we have each other, and I won’t let you lose yourself. You hear me? Together as one, my love. Always."

The certainty in his voice was terrifying. Undeniable. And Vesper in that moment mourned.

He hoped that mortality was in reach but in his heart of hearts... he knew it would never be so. Their bond... was too strong. Some ties, even the gods themselves could not untie, and Vesper had no doubt that when Ao ascended him, that bond with Gale, so incandescent and true... that bond could never break. It was elevated, made into something sacred and untouchable.

They were an eclipse in every sense. Light and shadow, love and hate, order and chaos, everything and nothing, ambition and silence.

Did Ao know this?

Did he know what he created?

Did Ao know what he and Gale truly were?

Vesper felt exposed, his secret longing and his squashed hope of mortality laid bare not just to Gale, but vibrating in the very air between them through the Weave. He opened his mouth to deny it, to cling to his anger, but the words died. The truth pulsed in the bond, a relentless counterpoint to his fear, amplified by Gale’s unwavering gaze.

Gale saw the struggle, the flicker of surrender beneath the defiance. He saw the permission that Vesper’s own heart, his own unguarded thought, had just screamed through their connection. The moment stretched, taut with anticipation, charged with the shared knowledge of that projected desire. Then, Gale’s expression shifted again, the triumph softening into something fiercely tender, yet utterly resolute. He wasn't asking. He was acting on the truth Vesper had just broadcast.

"Enough of this," Gale declared, his voice low, final, resonating with divine certainty. "No more hiding. No more distance. No more. I almost lost you to Gortash and Orin’s machinations. I will not lose you to anyone, let alone yourself. I refuse. I absolutely refuse. We survived the worst time of our lives together, my daft bard. We can survive anything the cosmos throws at us."

---

Vesper stared at Gale, the raw truth of his heart and soul vibrating like a plucked harp string within the bond. Gale’s declaration – hung in the air, a divine decree wrapped in velvet certainty. The old hurts, the years of silence… the death of the hope of being mortal again... they were still there, jagged rocks beneath a turbulent sea, but they were momentarily submerged by the sheer, overwhelming force of the connection laid bare and Gale’s own terrifying vulnerability, his trust in Vesper to let him feel that emotions... Vesper opened his mouth, perhaps to voice the 'why' burning like a brand in his chest, but the words dissolved before they formed.

Gale didn't wait. He moved with the certainty Vesper’s own traitorous heart had broadcast early through the Weave. In one fluid motion, he closed the final, aching distance. His strong, warm hand cradled Vesper’s jaw, fingers tangling gently in the hair at his nape. His thumb brushed Vesper’s cheekbone, a tender prelude that sent sparks skittering down Vesper’s spine making him gasp. Then his lips descended.

It wasn't a question. It was a claiming. Possessive, desperate, fuelled by two years of agonizing absence and the raw power of their eternal bond. The kiss was deep, hungry, silencing all doubt, balming the years of pain and misunderstanding in a single, shattering moment. It was the physical manifestation of the silent scream of desire Vesper had sent through the Weave – a scream Gale had caught, understood, and now answered with devastating finality.

Vesper gasped against Gale’s mouth, not in protest, but in pure, overwhelming sensation. The dam holding back his grief, his loneliness, his fears, his anguish, his desperate love, finally broke. But it wasn't just emotion that surged forth. It was understanding.

This. This was what had been missing all this time..

He had walked the cobbled streets of Reithwin, felt the sun warm his mortal skin, smelled the salt of the Sea of Swords, tasted Jaheira’s bitter herbal tea, heard the raucous laughter of children in city. He had felt the scratch of wool blankets, the ache of his tired muscles, the comforting solidity of the earth beneath his feet. He had revisited every beloved sensation of mortality, craving their grounding reality, believing they were the antidote to the hollow vastness of godhood.

But now, wrapped in Gale’s arms, fused by the kiss and the roaring Galerian Weave thrumming between them like shared life-force, Vesper realized with shocking clarity: it had all been muted. Like seeing the world through thick, grey glass. Pleasant, familiar, grounding… but fundamentally dimmed.

Gale’s love wasn't just an emotion. It was the sense of self. It flooded Vesper’s being, vibrant and overwhelming. He felt it in the possessive pressure of Gale’s hand on his jaw, in the desperate hunger of the kiss, in the tremor that ran through Gale’s godly frame. But more than that, through the bond, Vesper felt Gale’s own emotions crashing over him like a tidal wave: a soul-deep, aching relief so profound it bordered on agony; a fierce, protective possessiveness that burned brighter than any star; a raw, vulnerable love stripped bare of all divine pretence; and beneath it all, a desperate, clinging need that mirrored Vesper’s own. It was terrifying in its intensity, its completeness.

This was the colour he’d been missing. This vibrant, overwhelming spectrum of connection, passion, and profound belonging. Mortal sensations were pleasant monochromes; Gale’s love was the universe exploding into impossible, feywild colors. It was so much more. So much brighter, so much more real. The world he’d sought solace in suddenly seemed washed out, quiet, muddled in comparison. The sheer, staggering difference between existing without and now truly feeling loved and wanted again by Gale Dekarios broke his heart all over again.

How could I be without you?

You are the sun to my dark moon...

All is shadow without your light.

Hot tears welled and spilled over, tracing paths down his cheeks even as he kissed Gale back with equal fervor, his hands fisting in the divine leather vestment, anchoring himself in the only reality that mattered now. He wasn't just crying from relief or catharsis; he was weeping from the sheer, overwhelming revelation of what he’d been starved of, what he’d almost lost forever, of mortality he could never reclaim. The depth of the lack, now so violently filled, was itself a kind of pain.

Gale felt the tears. Of course he did.

He broke the kiss just enough to pull back a fraction, his own silver eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his breath coming in ragged gasps mirroring Vesper’s. The sight of Vesper’s tears, the raw vulnerability and dawning wonder in his beloved’s face, undid the last of Gale’s composure. A single tear of starlight escaped, tracing a path down Gale’s own silver cheek.

"My heart, my beloved..." Gale breathed, his voice thick with an emotion Vesper could feel through their bond – a complex tapestry of sorrow, adoration, and shared awe at the intensity of their reunion. He didn’t try to stop Vesper’s tears; instead, he began to gently wipe them away with his divine fingers, his touch infinitely tender. With every swipe of his thumb across Vesper’s damp cheek, he pressed another soft, reverent kiss – to his temple, his closed eyelid, the corner of his mouth, the tear-streaked skin his thumb had just cleared. It was a litany of comfort, of apology, of worship spoken without words, each touch and kiss reinforcing the overwhelming sensory truth: Gale’s love was the most real, the most vital thing in any plane of existence.

Below, the vista of Waterdeep dissolved. The skies of Gale’s realm, responding to the cataclysmic surge of divine emotion – relief, love, sorrow, and overwhelming joy – erupted with rainclouds and gusts of Galerian Weave. Thunder boomed, not with anger, but with profound release, shaking the very foundations of Thalasia. Jagged forks of silver and violet lightning, threaded with veins of deepest shadow, split the heavens. And then, luminous rain began to fall. Not water, but gentle droplets of pure, soft light, like captured moonlight given liquid form, washing over the balcony outside the window, casting everything in a serene, ethereal glow.

The sudden celestial storm drew a flash of white fur to the rain-slicked balcony railing. Zephyr peered through the open door, her large eyes wide. She saw them: Lord Gale, holding the returned Master Moonshadow with heartbreaking tenderness, wiping his tears, kissing his face as the luminous rain fell. Gale himself was crying. She bounded off, her excited yowls rising, making Vesper chuckle as he took in her words: "Master Moonshadow is back! Lord Gale is smiling and crying! Cloudburst! We're saved!"

Gale rested his forehead against Vesper’s, shaking his head in amusement, their breaths mingling, the storm outside a reflection of the tempest within finally calming into awe. The revelation of Gale's love, its sheer, unmatched vibrancy compared to everything else, still resonated within Vesper, a profound hum in his soul. It was this overwhelming, sensory truth that finally forced the choked, essential question past his lips, raw with wonder and the echo of that perceived lack:

"W-Why?" Vesper whispered against Gale’s skin, the word trembling. "Why did you let me go? Why let me walk away for two whole years? You knew..." He gestured weakly between them, towards the thrumming orb-sigil that pulsed like a shared heartbeat, the conduit for this impossible, vital sensation. "You knew this... You knew I couldn't truly be without this... You knew I was starving for you... for mortality and you just... let me leave? Why, my love? You could have spared us a lot of heartache..."

Gale’s triumphant intensity softened, replaced by a profound weariness that reached deep into his silver eyes. He didn’t retreat, but his posture lost some of its apex predatory edge, becoming more human, more vulnerable. He reached out, not to pull Vesper closer this time, but to gently trace the line of Vesper’s jaw with his knuckles, a touch so familiar it stole Vesper’s breath.

"Because," Gale murmured, his voice thick with a pain Vesper hadn't allowed himself to imagine Gale felt, "You needed to find yourself again and I needed to learn the hardest truth ambition alone could never teach me." He met Vesper’s gaze, his own filled with a raw honesty that was terrifying in its intensity. "Your absence, Vesper... it wasn't just punishment for my blindness. It was my crucible. I needed to feel the hollowness. To understand, in my bones, what it truly meant to be less without my bard. I had to learn to make you my greatest ambition."

M-Me?

He took a shaky breath. "Godhood is vast, my heart. It is power, knowledge, creation on a cosmic scale. But without you? It is nothing. An empty, echoing palace. A crown made of ash. I built my Tower of Ambition, made my Weave from the corrupted fragment that survived Karsus’ Folly, and now I inspire countless legions of petitioners, alive and dead... and yet I was profoundly, utterly unhappy." The admission hung in the air, stark and devastating. "I needed to feel that separation, that gnawing void where you should have been, just as desperately as you needed to feel the soil of Faerûn beneath your feet, the sun on your face, the messy, beautiful chaos of mortality again."

Vesper’s anger faltered, replaced by stunned disbelief. "But... you were here. Ruling. Looking like... that." He gestured vaguely at Gale's imposing divine form. “You seemed pretty content without me in that meeting.”

“Never.” A faint, almost boyish smile touched Gale’s lips, chasing away some of the shadows. "Appearances, beloved. A necessary mask. But I digress. I... wasn't just here." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Wherever you walked, Vesper, I walked unseen beside you. When you slept in Jaheira’s basement, huddled under that scratchy blanket, my hand was in yours. When you sat by the harbor, watching the gulls, I was on the bench beside you, feeling the salt spray. When you cried yourself to sleep... I held you in my arms." His thumb brushed away a traitorous tear that had escaped Vesper’s control. "I was always with you. Anchoring you, even when you raged against the bond. Protecting you, even in your fugue. Loving you, even in your silence."

Vesper stared, a sob catching in his throat. The sheer, terrifying devotion of it, the violation of privacy mingled with profound, unwavering care... it was overwhelming. "Then why?" he whispered, anguish warring with a dawning, terrifying understanding. "Why not just... fetch me? Pull me back like Mystra just tried? End the misery? I think I would have relented if you came to get me- "

Gale’s expression hardened momentarily, not with anger at Vesper, but with righteous disgust. "Because I am not Mystra!" The name was a curse. "I would never disrespect you, your choices, your need for space, by wrenching you back against your will. To drag you kicking and screaming into eternity? To force my presence upon you when you sought solace in the Material Plane?" He shook his head, the silver streaks in his hair catching the light of the luminous rain. "That is the act of a tyrant, not a lover. Not a husband."

The boyish smile returned, softer now, tinged with wonder. "Sometimes, when you love something fiercely, desperately... you have to let it go. You have to trust that the bond you share, the love that forged it, is strong enough to bring it back. I had to trust you, Vesper. Trust that you would find your way back to me when you were ready. I was prepared to wait centuries if need be, watching over you, holding your hand in the dark, until that day came." He chuckled, a low, warm sound that resonated in Vesper’s chest. "Though I confess, I am profoundly thankful Mystra’s petty theatrics forced an earlier reunion. Seeing you stand before the pantheon, halo blazing, defending me with such magnificent fury... declaring me your husband... demanding I take you home... It was exhilarating." His voice caught, thick with emotion. "Look at the aftermath, beloved. You are here. Willingly. In our sanctuary, the place that is the center of our entire universe. That is worth any amount of celestial legal chaos."

The weight of Gale’s words, the depth of his sacrifice and his faith, settled over Vesper like a warm cloak woven from starlight and shadow. The years of hurt didn't vanish, but they shifted, reframed by this staggering act of love and respect. The luminous rain continued to fall outside the window, a gentle, persistent patter against the balcony stones, casting the image of Waterdeep in an ethereal, silver-gold glow. The thunder had subsided into a distant, comforting rumble, like the realm itself sighing in contentment after the storm of their reunion. The charged tension of the Endless Library and even the passionate intensity of the kiss had softened into a profound, aching tenderness that hummed in the air, thick as the scent of ozone and old paper.

Before Vesper could formulate a response – words felt inadequate against the sheer magnitude of Gale’s confession and the lingering, vibrant rightness of his presence – Gale snapped his fingers. Not a grand gesture, but a soft, decisive click, almost lost in the gentle susurrus of the rain.

The imposing God of Ambition shimmered. The divine vestment and starlight robes dissolved like mist under moonlight, the sharp, honed edges of his divine form softening from silver perfection into the olive flesh Vesper loved so much. In an instant, standing before Vesper was Gale Dekarios as he’d been in their mortal years. Warm, familiar brown eyes replaced the piercing silver. Romantically tousled chestnut hair, threaded with the same familiar silver streaks at his temples, escaped its loose tie to frame his face. He wore the comfortable, slightly worn purple robes he wore when Vesper pulled him out of the malfunctioning waypoint portal, the fabric soft and known. The faint lines of laughter and worry around his eyes, the slight unevenness of his beard where he always scratched as he idly thought – the man Vesper had fallen irrevocably in love with stood before him.

Simultaneously, Vesper felt the oppressive mantle of Moonshadow lift. It wasn't discarded, but folded away, quieted. He looked down to see his own tanned hands, the familiar callouses from lute strings and camp chores returned, clad in simple, comfortable mortal clothes – dark trousers and a soft, grey tunic. The shadowed radiance that usually clung to him was gone, replaced by the warm, solid, reassuring feeling of his own mortal body. He flexed his toes, feeling the scratchy socks he’d mended in his boots. He was Vesper again. Just Vesper.

Gale (no longer the imposing god, just Gale, his Gale) offered a genuine, slightly hesitant smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Tea?" he asked, his voice warm, familiar, devoid of any divine resonance, rich with the cadence Vesper had memorized over countless nights. "Chamomile with three spoons of honey, just like you love it. Or I could make you that peppermint one you loved when your fidgets got too much? The really good stuff from that little shop tucked behind Blackstaff Academy. The one with the cranky old tabby guarding the door when you were last there." He paused, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "I... I kept some. Just in case. You said it was the best you had, so I got Squall to procure it while you were gone." He gestured not towards any grand celestial kitchen that might exist elsewhere in his domain, but towards the small, familiar wooden door leading to the private kitchen nook tucked away in this recreated tower space – the one where they’d shared countless post-coitus late-night talks, debates over magical theory and divinity, and quiet moments of comfort over steaming mugs, not divine audiences.

As they turned towards the door, a massive shadow blotted the light from the balcony window for a split second. Not the flash of Zephyr’s white fur, but something larger, darker, and radiating palpable power. The creature landed on the rain-slicked railing with a heavy thump that vibrated the glass.

Cloudburst.

He was easily thrice the size of Zephyr, his fur not white but a deep, stormy grey shot through with streaks of lightning-blue. His wings, vast and leathery, folded with a sound like wet sails snapping taut. Intelligence, sharp and assessing, burned in his large, golden eyes – eyes usually reserved for scanning planar rifts and navigating the most dangerous courier routes across the Abyss or the Elemental Chaos. He was Gale’s most formidable messenger, entrusted only with threats that could unravel realities.

He peered through the rain-streaked glass, his gaze sweeping the room with practiced, predatory alertness, clearly investigating Zephyr’s frantic reports. His eyes locked onto Vesper, who waved happily.

It’s always good to see them.

I... I miss Tara.

Cloudburst froze. Utterly. His formidable wings, usually held with rigid readiness, sagged slightly, humbled. His sharp, intelligent gaze widened, not with alarm, but with profound, undisguised shock. He stared at Vesper – not Moonshadow, but Vesper, in mortal guise, standing calmly beside Gale in his equally mortal form, in the intimate space of their private sanctuary. The sight of the returned, mortal Vesper, the palpable warmth and normalcy of the scene amidst the luminous rain, clearly defied all his expectations of divine drama or catastrophe. He blinked once, slowly with a nod, as if processing impossible information.

Then, without a sound, the dangerous, plane-hopping tressym simply turned and launched himself back into the rain-swept sky, vanishing into the silver downpour as silently as he’d arrived. His silent departure was more telling than any yowl, Vesper, attuned to the Galerian Weave could hear the massive tressym’s thoughts: She spoke true! Moonshadow is truly back, and Lord Gale… is simply Gale Dekarios again. W-We are at peace again! His scowls will only be the happy scowls that Lord Moonshadow makes him have! I’ll tell the others not to bother them until Lord Gale calls for us! Torrent! Go tend the gardens! Quickly! Lord Moonshadow is back and he’ll want to play for the petitioners in the amphitheatre! Go!

Gale chuckled softly, a warm, mortal sound. "Ah. Cloudburst. Checking Zephyr's intel, no doubt. Seems even he was... surprised. I didn’t exactly announce your return home..." He flushed slightly, a truly endearing, human reaction. "Come," he said, opening the kitchen door. The cozy, cluttered space welcomed them, smelling faintly of dried chamomile, sage, and the ever-present salt air from the Waterdeep firmament outside.

"Now... before you overthink, my daft bard; don't worry about time, I have made arrangements to suit your time constraints." he added, his voice gentle as he filled a familiar, slightly dented copper kettle from a conjured stream of pure water – a simple, elegant spell, not a cosmic display. "I've dilated the flow of hours considerably here and at your Moonlit Campsite. However long you wish to stay, however long we need to talk, or just...to be... it will be barely an hour passing in the Material Plane. Jaheira won't even have finished her cup of that dreadful fungal brew of Jord’s." He placed the kettle on a small, enchanted heated cast-iron plate that glowed with a soft, mundane light.

"You are free to leave whenever you wish, Vesper. Truly. Stay for tea. Stay for a while. Stay for a year. Go when it suits you. My simulacra are managing the realms. Tending to our realms... they can wait. Everything can wait." He turned, leaning against the worn wooden counter, his warm brown eyes holding Vesper’s with complete, undivided attention, the gaze of a man utterly focused on the person before him, not the cosmos beyond. "Right now, my love? I am entirely at your disposal. Nothing would please me more than to spend even a mere fleeting moment in your presence."

He gestured to the small, scarred wooden table where two familiar, chipped ceramic mugs already sat waiting, steam beginning to curl from the spout of the kettle. The offer hung in the air, fragrant with chamomile and the salt of the Sea of Swords: Time, attention, respect, a simple cup of tea, brewed not by a god, but by the man who loved him and so much more. The path forward, after the long quietus of their separation, began here, in the quiet, rain-hushed warmth of a remembered kitchen, with a choice freely given. Vesper took a step towards the table, towards the scent of home, towards the man who was finally, fully, Gale.

---

The now empty chipped ceramic mugs sat abandoned on the low table between the two comfortable sofas in Gale's atelier. The gentle patter of the luminous rain was now complemented by the soft, crackling pop of a fire Gale had conjured in the hearth with an absent snap of his fingers. The room was a chaotic, beautiful mix of celestial and mortal: star charts were pinned next to sketches of Waterdeep's skyline, and priceless arcane tomes sat stacked beside a half-finished, slightly lopsided clay mug Vesper had made for him a lifetime ago.

The air, once thick with the scent of tea and unspoken truths, now hummed with a different energy. The charged tension of the library and the raw, cathartic storm of their reunion had mellowed into a profound, aching tenderness. It was a living thing, this tenderness, pulsing in the space between them as they sat on the rug before the fire, its warmth painting their skin in gold and dancing shadows.

Vesper watched Gale, truly watched him—the warm brown eyes, the familiar worry lines, the way the firelight caught the silver streaks in his otherwise chestnut hair. He was just Gale. His wizard. And the love that shone from him was a tangible force, a warmth that seeped into Vesper's very bones, more real than the woven rug beneath them.

Gale's gaze was equally intent, tracing the lines of Vesper's face as if re-memorizing a cherished text. He reached out, his fingers—calloused from years of turning pages and gesturing spells—brushing against Vesper's knuckles. The touch was simple, but it sent a current through him.

"You're staring, my love," Gale murmured, a soft, fond smile touching his lips. His thumb stroked the back of Vesper's hand.

"I'm remembering," Vesper whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. The connection was electric, a completed lattice of spellwork. "I spent two years trying to feel this solid. This real."

Gale's smile softened, his eyes shimmering. He shifted closer on the soft rug, the movement fluid and inevitable. He simply leaned in, his free hand coming up to cradle Vesper's jaw, his thumb stroking his cheekbone.

"Let me remind you," Gale breathed, his voice low and layered with a depth of feeling that was entirely mortal and yet infinitely divine. "Let me show you how real you are. How real we are. May I?”

Vesper nodded.

This kiss was not like the desperate, claiming kiss from before. This was slower, deeper, a rediscovery. It tasted of chamomile and home and a love that had endured against the odds. Vesper melted into it, his hands coming up to clutch at Gale's soft, familiar robes, anchoring himself in the sensation. This was the color. This was the vibrancy. It wasn't just emotion; it was a sense, blooming behind his eyes, singing in his veins.

Gale's hands left his face, sliding down his back, pulling their bodies flush as he gently guided Vesper down onto the thick, soft rug before the fire. The wool was warm and textured against Vesper's back, the heat from the flames a pleasant counterpoint to the cool air of the room. Gale came down over him, bracing himself on his arms, his body a welcome, familiar weight. He was hovering, his warm brown eyes drinking in the sight of Vesper laid out beneath him, bathed in firelight.

"I've missed you," Gale whispered against his lips, his voice ragged. "Every second. Every breath."

His hands were everywhere, relearning the landscape of Vesper's body through the simple fabric of his tunic. He mapped the familiar planes of his chest, the dip of his waist, the strength of his thighs, as if verifying a cherished truth. His touch was both tender and possessively urgent.

Vesper's head fell back with a gasp as Gale's mouth found the sensitive skin of his throat. His fingers tangled in Gale's wonderfully mortal, brown hair. This was what he'd been starving for. Not just touch, but Gale's touch. His specific, knowing, worshipful attention.

"Gale..." he moaned, the name a prayer, a plea.

"I know, my heart," Gale murmured into his skin. "I know."

In moments, the space between them dissolved completely. There were no more barriers, physical or emotional. They came together not as gods, but as two souls who had found their way back to each other after seemingly an eternity apart.

It was a reunion of the most profound kind. Gale held him as if he were something precious and fragile, yet also with the strength of a man who would never let go again. Vesper clung to him, his fingers digging into the firm muscles of Gale's naked back, anchoring himself in the reality of this moment.

The feeling was so intense, so perfect, so right, that a broken cry was torn from Vesper's throat. It was fullness. It was home. It was the final, missing sense slotting into place, completing the spectrum of his existence.

For a long moment, they simply stayed like that, fused together, breathing the same air, feeling the thunderous beat of each other's hearts. The world had narrowed to this point of connection, to the feel of Gale's presence filling the hollow spaces that two years of absence had carved out.

Then the connection deepened, becoming something more than physical. Vesper felt it first as a warmth in his chest, a light that spread through his veins. It was the Galerian Weave, their shared magic, responding to their reunion. Silver threads of light and soft shadows began to weave behind his eyes, emanating from their joined forms, casting dancing patterns on the walls of the atelier.

"Look at me," Gale commanded softly, his voice a low thrum of power and tenderness. "Look at me, Vesper."

Vesper's grey eyes, blurred with tears of need and emotion, snapped open and locked onto Gale's warm brown ones. And he saw it all—the love, the hunger, the vulnerability, the sheer rightness of the man above him.

And then he felt it—the true merging. Not just of their bodies, but of their very essences. The divine energy that made Gale the God of Ambition flowed into him, but it wasn't an invasion. It was a homecoming. It was liquid starlight, a river of pure life essence, flooding into the hollow spaces, the lonely cracks, the parts of him that had felt faded and unreal during his self-imposed exile. It was a divine anchor, tethering him to the present, to this plane, to Gale.

It felt like a fundamental missing piece of his own divinity, of his very soul, sliding back into place. The feeling was one of profound, impossible wholeness. Whatever he had lost, whatever he had feared was gone forever, was being healed, sealed, and made radiantly new by the essence of the god who loved him.

A choked, overwhelmed sob of pure, unadulterated joy escaped him as the waves of connection washed over him. He felt... real. More real, more alive than he ever had as a mortal.

Gale held him through it, his own face a mask of rapturous wonder. "That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Let it in. It’s alright. I have you, beloved."

The magic around them intensified, the silver and shadow threads weaving into a brilliant tapestry that enveloped them both. For a timeless moment, they weren't two separate beings but a single constellation of light and love and ambition and shadow.

Slowly, gradually, the brilliant light faded, leaving them wrapped in each other's arms on the rug before the fire. Their breathing slowly synced, the only sound their ragged breaths, the crackling fire, and the soft, ethereal rain.

Gale's hands, trembling slightly, came up to cradle Vesper's face. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, then his forehead, his touch tender and worshipful.

"You see?" he murmured, his voice husky with wonder. "No need for words. Our souls speak a far more eloquent truth."

Vesper lay boneless in his arms, a deep, humming contentment settling into his very atoms. All that was left was the feeling of Gale's weight, his warmth, the soft wool beneath him, and the incredible, life-giving sense of fullness within him.

He thought it was over. That this perfect, healing moment was the conclusion.

He was wrong.

He felt it first as a faint, persistent thrum deep within his core. The divine energy of their connection, rather than dissipating, seemed to be... cycling. Renewing. Amplifying. The warmth began to build again, not as an echo, but as a fresh, rising tide.

Gale lifted his head. His warm brown eyes were gone. In their place was the piercing, incandescent silver of the God of Ambition. A slow, wondrous smile spread across his lips.

"Did you think," Gale purred, his voice dropping into that resonant, multi-layered tone that was pure divinity, "that was all? A single taste of connection after two years of starvation?"

He held Vesper closer, and Vesper could feel the power thrumming through both of them, building again.

"Two years might have made you forget, my love," Gale whispered, his voice a silken promise, "but I am here to remind you."

The energy between them intensified, not as a physical act but as a spiritual one. Their divine auras flared again, brighter this time, weaving around them in an intricate dance of light and shadow.

"We are not mortal," Gale declared, his voice ringing with celestial power that made the fire flare and the shadows dance. "We do not tire. We do not falter. Our connection does not diminish."

He punctuated each word with a pulse of energy that vibrated through their joined forms.

"The night," Gale vowed, his eyes blazing with love and divine fire, "is very young. And I intend to remind you of every second we lost. I will fill you with my light until you cannot remember a time you were not whole. Until you are so full of me, so alive, so real, that the very concept of emptiness is a forgotten myth."

He captured Vesper's lips in a searing kiss as their connection deepened further, building to a new peak with terrifying, wonderful intensity.

"This was just the beginning, Vesper," he promised against his mouth. "Just the first verse of our thousand nights and more. I will make love to you again... and again... and again... until you tell me to stop.”

And as the second, overwhelming wave of connection began to crest within him, even more intense than the first, Vesper could only cling to him, a cry of joyous surrender trapped in his throat. Gale was right. He had forgotten. But his husband, his god, his anchor, was more than willing to provide a reminder.

Again.

And again.

And again.

---

The world had narrowed to a single, perfect point of sensation: the heavy, languid warmth of Gale’s divine essence slowly seeping from Vesper’s well-loved body, a constant, tangible reminder of the hours—or was it days? Weeks? Months?—that had blurred into one another.

Vesper lay sprawled on his stomach across the massive four-poster bed, his limbs feeling like liquid starlight against the plush fabric, utterly boneless and without will. The deep blue velvet of the sheets was cool against his feverish cheek, a stark contrast to the simmering heat that radiated from his core. Every muscle, every sinew, every fibre of his divine being was blissfully, completely exhausted. He didn’t think he could move a finger if the entire cosmos demanded it. And he had no desire to try.

Gale’s arm was a solid, welcome weight across the small of his back, his large hand splayed possessively over the dip of Vesper’s spine. His own body was a furnace pressed along Vesper’s side, his breathing a deep, steady rhythm that Vesper felt more than heard. He could feel the hard plane of Gale’s chest against his ribs, the faint, satisfied thrum of divine energy that still vibrated through him. And pressed firmly against his thigh, he could feel the insistent, undeniable evidence that Gale, for all his apparent satiation, was still very much ready for more. A low, continuous hum of anticipation that promised this respite was merely an interlude.

But for now, there was only peace.

A contented, wordless sigh escaped Vesper’s lips, stirring the soft fabric of the sheet beneath him. He felt… real. Not just in the philosophical sense, but in a visceral, physical way. He was aware of the weight of his own body on the mattress, the tickle of his own silver-streaked auburn hair against his neck, the slow, syrupy trail of warmth making its way down his inner thigh. Gale’s essence inside him felt less like a fluid and more like a contained star, its radiant energy seeping into his very marrow, healing, sealing, anchoring. The hollow ache of two years was gone, replaced by a profound, buzzing fullness. He was a vessel that had been empty and was now filled to overflowing, not just with life essence, but with Gale. He couldn’t describe it.

He felt Gale stir beside him, the arm across his back shifting. A calloused thumb began to trace slow, idle circles on the sweat-damp skin of his lower back. The touch was so tender, so caring, that it made Vesper’s breath hitch.

“Comfortable?” Gale’s voice was a low, rumbling murmur, thick with a satisfaction so deep it was almost palpable. It was the voice of a well-fed dragon lounging on its hoard. But it was also, Vesper realized with a sudden, aching clarity, just Gale’s voice. The same warm, slightly pedantic timbre that had explained the Weave to him by a campfire, that had whispered stories in the dark of his tent, that had grumbled about the tressym couriers shedding all over the realm. It wasn't layered with celestial power. It was just… Gale.

Vesper managed a weak, affirmative noise that was more vibration than sound. Speaking required energy he simply did not possess.

A soft, husky chuckle vibrated through Gale’s chest and into Vesper’s side. “I’ll take that as a yes.” His thumb continued its lazy circuit. “You have… no idea… the sight of you right now, my heart. So beautifully sated.”

Vesper could only imagine. Sprawled across the dark sheets, skin flushed and gleaming with sweat, marked by constellations of love bites and the faint red imprint of a bookcase edge from the library. A thoroughly debauched and ruined god.

“L-Lost count,” Vesper finally managed to slur into the mattress, his voice hoarse from overuse.

“Hmm?” Gale’s hand stilled.

“How many times,” Vesper elaborated, the effort of forming sentences was too much. “Lost count.”

Another rich, deeply amused chuckle. Gale shifted, rolling slightly to prop himself up on an elbow, looking down at Vesper. His warm brown eyes—he’d shifted them back to their mortal forms somewhere between the alchemy lab and the washroom—were soft, sated, and filled with an adoration so fierce it made Vesper’s spent body thrum with a weak echo of desire. There was no silver fire in them. No cosmic weight in his gaze. He was just a man, looking at the man he loved after making love for who-knows-how-long. Just Gale Dekarios.

“A gentleman,” Gale murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to a knob of Vesper’s spine, “would never kiss and tell.” He nuzzled the spot. “But as we have thoroughly established in our mortality and now godhood, I can be rather… ungentlemanly where you are concerned. Only for you of course.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “It was seventeen. Eighteen if we count what we did in the sky... and judging by how tired we are, I’d say we spent at least a month in the throes of passion.”

Vesper’s eyes, which had been closed, flew open. Eighteen. He’d lost count after five, his mind dissolving into a blissful haze of sensation. Eighteen times. Over a long divine month, barely a few seconds in the Material Plane.

Oh g-gods...

A faint, helpless tremor ran through him. No wonder he felt liquid.

Gale kissed his back again and smiled as Vesper closed his eyes in contentment with a sigh.

Peace.

This was peace.

And yet.

Beneath the satiated bliss, beneath the overwhelming love and relief, a thin, sharp shard of bitterness remained. It was buried deep, a sliver of ice in the warm sea of his contentment. It was the memory of the hollow ache itself. The memory of the dull, grey world, of sensations that felt like echoes of echoes. The memory of a silence that wasn't peaceful, but empty.

He had his catharsis. Oh, gods, he had it. It had been wrung from him over a month apparently—eighteen—shattering, glorious times according to Gale’s estimations. He was replete with it. But the bitterness was for the need of it at all. For the two years of self-imposed exile that had been, he now understood with terrifying clarity, a form of slow, spiritual starvation. He had been trying to nourish himself on crumbs when a feast was waiting with open arms...

The terror came then, swift and cold, clashing violently with the warm afterglow.

This will end.

The thought was a splash of icy water. The temporal dilation was a beautiful, desperate lie. A stolen moment. He could feel the truth of it in the very fabric of the realm around them—a subtle strain, a divine effort Gale was maintaining to keep the outside world at bay. Jaheira’s fungal brew would eventually be finished. The sun would rise over a Waterdeep that was, for now, frozen in a single moment.

And he would have to leave.

He didn’t want to leave.

The moment he stepped out of the direct, radiant sphere of Gale’s presence, he knew with a soul-deep certainty what would happen. The vibrant, colorful reality of this reunion would fade. The world would dull again. The sounds would become muffled, the scents fainter, the textures less sharp. It wouldn’t be immediate, and it wouldn’t be as severe as before—not now that the bond was alive and singing between them—but it would happen. It was the fundamental, agonizing truth of what Ao had done to them. The ultimate violation of a soul.

He was the moon, and Gale was his sun. He could reflect that light brilliantly, but he could not generate his own. Not like this.

He needed the mortal world. He loved it, its messy, chaotic, fleeting beauty. But he needed Gale more. He needed to be near him. The two years had been a failed experiment, proving that one could not thrive without the other, especially Vesper.

A soft, soundless sob shook him. He pressed his face deeper into the bed, inhaling the scent of Gale and lovemaking and home. He was terrified of leaving this realm now. Of leaving this bed. Of losing even a fraction of this perfect, real feeling.

Gale felt the subtle tremor. His hand, which had been tracing idle circles on Vesper’s back, stilled.

“Vesper?” His voice was soft, laced with a sudden concern that cut through his own satiation. “My heart? What is it? What troubles you?”

Vesper shook his head, unable to speak, afraid that if he opened his mouth, a torrent of desperate, clinging pleas would pour out. Don’t make me go. Never let me go. Keep time stretched forever. Hide me here.

But he couldn’t. He had duties. A purpose Ao himself had ordained. Or Shar would take him away.

He forced himself to take a ragged breath, to lift his head from the bed. He turned onto his side to face Gale, the movement causing another warm trickle of life essence to escape him—a cruel, crude reminder of the temporary nature of this fullness.

Gale was propped on an elbow, his warm brown eyes now sharp with worry, all traces of sleepiness gone. He looked so… mortal. It made the ache worse.

“I…” Vesper’s voice was a hoarse scrape. He tried again. “I have to… deal with the threat to Jhessem and then... invoke the Eclipse soon. A-Above Razamith’s Tower. I have to see Roland with Jaheira.”

The Eclipse Pact.

It was the duty that defined him. The solemn, silent rite that was his reason for being. To cast the shadow that humbled the proud, to bring the silence that made the noise appreciate itself. It could not be put off indefinitely.

Gale’s expression softened with understanding, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. He knew this wasn’t just about godly duties.

“I know,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a stray strand of silver-streaked hair from Vesper’s damp forehead. “We have time. However much you need. You know this. I will stretch time to it’s limits. Anything for you, dearest.”

“And after…” Vesper nodded, and continued, the words tasting like ash. He looked away, unable to hold Gale’s gaze for this part. He focused on a familiar whorl in the wooden bedpost. “After that… I have to go to Waterdeep. I… I told Tara and your mother I would come. It’s… long overdue. Two entire years. I... I’m ashamed that I’ve made them wait so long for me.”

The silence that fell between them was sudden and absolute.

It was different from the comfortable, charged silences they had shared before. This one was cold and heavy. Vesper dared a glance back at Gale.

The Once-Wizard’s face had gone carefully, terribly neutral. The warmth in his brown eyes had been stifled, replaced by a distant, shuttered look Vesper knew all too well. It was the look he got when confronted with a failure, a disappointment he had not yet found the intellectual framework to process. The mention of his mother and Tara—the two people in all the realms whose opinion truly, fundamentally mattered to Gale Dekarios besides Vesper’s—had thrown a bucket of cold water on their intimate aftermath.

Vesper’s heart clenched. The bitterness flared, sharp and bright.

You did this, he wanted to say. Your ambition, your neglect, your silence… it’s why I have to go and lie to the two people who love you most. It’s why I have to look them in the eye and pretend we’re thriving, when for two years we were shattered.

But he didn’t. He saw the flicker of pain in Gale’s eyes before the shutters came fully down. He saw the weight of that unspoken failure settle on his husband’s shoulders.

The awkwardness stretched, thin and brittle. The warmth of their bodies under the sheets suddenly felt stifling. Vesper wanted to curl into a ball. He had ruined it. He had brought the cold, hard world into their perfect, stolen moment.

Just as he was about to apologize, to take it back, Gale spoke.

His voice was quiet, stripped of all its divine resonance and its earlier lover’s warmth. It was just a man’s voice, tired and heavy with a decision he had clearly been avoiding.

“No.”

Vesper blinked. “No?”

Gale took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. The neutral mask cracked, revealing the turmoil beneath—guilt, dread, but also a resolute determination. He met Vesper’s gaze squarely.

“You will not go to Waterdeep alone,” he said, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. “I... I will go with you.”

Vesper could only stare, utterly stunned. Of all the responses he had anticipated—defensiveness, more coldness, a change of subject, being banished back to the Material Plane with a snap of Gale’s divine fingers even—this was not one of them.

“Gale, you… you don’t have to,” Vesper stammered. “Your duties… the Weave… the petitioners…”

“Can be managed by my simulacra,” Gale interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the voice of the God of Ambition, but the words were those of a penitent man. “They have been doing a passable job for two years. I continue to perfect them. Do not worry.”

He shifted on the bed, turning fully towards Vesper, his expression utterly serious.

“You said you would tell them we’re happy. That I’m busy but sent you with my love.” He paused, and a profound sadness touched his features. “That is a kindness I do not deserve, Vesper. And it is a lie I will no longer let you carry for me.”

He reached out and took Vesper’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His grip was firm. “The estrangement… the silence… it was my doing. My failure. My… my blindness.” The words seemed to cost him something, but he forced them out. “I let my ambition cloud what was right in front of me. I hurt you. And in doing so, I undoubtedly hurt them. The thought of my mother’s worry… of Tara’s disapproval…” He shuddered slightly. “I have been a coward, hiding up here, pretending the consequences of my actions would just… vanish if I ignored them.”

He squeezed Vesper’s hand. “You facing them alone, spinning pretty lies to spare my feelings and theirs… that is not a solution. That is me making you complicit in my failure as a son and a friend.” He took another deep, shuddering breath. “It is time I faced them. It is long past time. And I will not do it from a distance. I will stand beside you, in my mother’s kitchen, and I will… I will account for myself. She will have so many questions, especially about our marriage and she will not like the answers...”

The resolve in his eyes was terrifying and beautiful. This wasn’t the grand, celestial ambition of a god. This was the harder, more mundane ambition of a man striving to be better. To be worthy of the love he had been given.

“Hand in hand,” Gale whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “As it should have been all along.”

The bitterness in Vesper’s soul didn’t just vanish. It was too deep a wound for that. But as he looked at Gale—really looked at him, seeing not the god but the man willingly walking into a scene of certain and deserved maternal reckoning for him—the shard of ice began to melt.

This was a different kind of catharsis. Not the explosive, physical one that had left him breathless and boneless, but a quieter, deeper one. It was the catharsis of shared burden. Of not having to lie anymore. Of seeing the person he loved most choose to be brave in the most important way.

Tears welled in Vesper’s eyes again, but they were different tears. They were tears of relief. Of a hope that was no longer fragile.

He brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to Gale’s knuckles.

“I love you, my stubborn wizard.” he whispered, his voice thick. “Hand in hand, as you said.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across Gale’s face, banishing the last of the shadows. It was a smile Vesper hadn’t seen in years—a little nervous, a little boyish, full of love and determination. The smile of Gale Dekarios facing a challenge he was terrified of, but would meet head-on.

“I love you too, my daft bard.” Gale said, his own voice a little unsteady. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Vesper’s. “Then it’s settled. We will make the most of our borrowed time here. And we will go home to Waterdeep after the Eclipse.”

The word home hung in the air between them, its meaning expanded. It wasn’t just this tower, or Vesper’s moonlit campsite. It was a place with a fussy tressym and a doting mother who made the finest soup and tea and asked too many questions. It was a place they would face together.

The terror of leaving was still there, a cold knot in Vesper’s stomach. The fear of the world dulling, of the slow fading that began the moment he stepped out of Gale’s immediate light. But it was no longer a terror he faced alone. Gale knew now. Gale understood. And he was choosing to walk with him into that very greyness for a time.

Vesper believed in him. And that belief was a stronger anchor than any divine decree.

He surged forward, capturing Gale’s lips in a desperate, grateful kiss. It was not a kiss of passion, but of promise. Of partnership.

When they broke apart, Gale’s eyes were shining. The persistent hardness against Vesper’s thigh, which had never truly faded, now seemed less a promise of relentless pleasure and more a comforting constant. A part of the man he was embarking on this new, terrifying, hopeful journey with.

“Now,” Gale murmured, his voice regaining a hint of its earlier wickedness, though it was now tempered with a profound tenderness. “Where were we? I believe we were discussing the merits of a nineteenth round…”

And as Gale rolled him onto his chest, covering his back with his chest, Vesper laughed—a real, true, unburdened laugh that felt like the first one in forever as Gale’s chest hair tickled his back, strong, scholarly arms coiling around him as the heft of his wizard eased into him, making his laughter hitch into a drawn out moan.

The bitterness was still a memory, but it was no longer a chain. The terror was still a fear, but it was no longer a prison.

He was whole. He was loved. And he was going home soon with the man he loved.

Come what may, they’d weather everything; together as one.

Chapter Text

LIGHT SHOWER

Melanie Martinez

Vesper swam up from the depths of a dreamless, profoundly peaceful sleep, not to the familiar softness of his bed or the weight of Gale’s arm across his chest, but to a sensation of immense, encompassing warmth. It was a different kind of warmth than sheets and shared body heat. This was… wild, divine warmth.

A gentle, rhythmic pressure surrounded him, soft yet unyielding, and a deep, resonant thrumming vibrated through his entire being, a purr so vast and low it felt like the heartbeat of the world itself.

He blinked open eyes that felt strangely familiar and sharp, taking in a landscape of silver-grey fur, each strand like spun light. It stretched before him in soft, rolling hills. A beloved scent filled his nostrils—ozone, old books, bergamot, and something uniquely, essentially Gale—but it was amplified, wilder, layered with the scent of an extraplanar breeze and something keenly… leonine.

Confused, he tried to shift, to lift his head, and found his movements were different. Lighter. More graceful. He looked down at himself. Instead of hands, he saw sleek, dark paws, tipped with claws that looked like shards of obsidian. A fluffy, shadowy fur covered his body, and when he twitched, a long, bushy tail swished into his field of vision, its tip a startling, pure silver like moonlight. It was wagging. A frantic, joyful thumping against the soft ground beneath him.

A soft, questioning sound escaped his throat. It came out not as words, but as a high, sharp yip.

W-Wait... am I...

No... this isn’t a dream like all those years ago...

The massive, purring presence around him stirred. The wall of silver fur shifted, and a head, almost larger than Vesper’s upper body, lifted above him.

It was a tressym, but one of impossible, divine scale. Its face was leonine and noble, with intelligent, piercing silver eyes that held the same depth and love as Gale’s, but framed by a magnificent, flowing mane of silver that seemed to ripple with its own inner light. He smelled like Gale. He felt like Gale. In the very core of Vesper’s soul, he knew it was Gale.

The great beast lowered its massive head and nuzzled him, a gesture so tender it made Vesper’s heart ache. A rough, warm tongue, large enough to wash over his entire back, rasped over his fur in a slow, grooming lick. It was an act of profound affection, of care. The purr intensified, a comforting rumble that vibrated through Vesper’s smaller form.

Gale? Vesper tried to project the thought, but all that came out was a series of soft, chattering gekkers—a fox’s sound of happy excitement and curiosity.

The great silver-maned tressym—his Gale—chuffed in response, a sound of deep amusement and understanding. His intelligent eyes crinkled at the corners. Vesper understood when he looked past the massive head and saw the shifting dawn of Gale’s realm meeting the eternal nightfall of his own.

This was the Outlands, the wild neutral ground between their divine realms, and somehow, in their sleep, their deepest, most primal essences had manifested, just as it did in their mortal years. Gale, the powerful, protective, tom tressym. And Vesper, the clever, playful dog fox.

Only this time, their forms were divine. Divine Avatars.

Gale began to groom him in earnest, his huge tongue meticulously smoothing Vesper’s dark fur. Vesper melted into the attention, laying his head on his paws, his tail thumping contentedly. It was bliss. To be so utterly cared for, so completely enveloped by his beloved’s godly presence in this raw, fundamental way. He was safe. He was cherished.

As the grooming continued, a deeper instinct began to stir within Vesper. The submissive core of him, so integral to his being just like all those years ago, responded to Gale’s immense, gentle dominance. He rolled onto his back, exposing his soft, vulnerable belly in a gesture of ultimate trust. His dark fur was slightly lighter there, and he let out a soft, pleading whine.

Gale paused, his silver eyes softening even further. He nuzzled Vesper’s belly, his breath warm, before giving it a few gentle, loving licks. The trust Vesper was showing, in this form where words were unnecessary, was a gift beyond measure.

Emboldened, Vesper rolled back onto his stomach, but then he shifted, raising his hindquarters slightly, his tail lifted and held to the side in a clear, ancient invitation. He laid his head on his paws again, looking back over his shoulder at the colossal tressym, his silver-flecked fox eyes wide with trust and want. A soft, submissive yip escaped him.

I am yours, my husband.

Do with me as you will. I trust you.

Gale went very still. The purring stopped. His huge silver eyes studied Vesper, understanding dawning in their celestial depths. A low growl rumbled in his chest, but it wasn't a sound of anger. It was a sound of deep, primal desire, mixed with a profound, protective caution.

He was immense. A being as large as a great dragon. Vesper, while not a small fox—perhaps the size of a young dragon himself—was still drastically smaller. The mechanics, the potential for harm, were obvious in Gale’s hesitant posture.

He moved closer, his massive head lowering until his muzzle was beside Vesper’s ear. He chuffed softly, a questioning sound. Are you quite certain, my heart? I am... quite substantial in this form. It will hurt.

Vesper answered by pushing his hips back further, a deliberate, eager movement. He let out another yip, this one insistent, needy. He trusted Gale. Completely. Implicitly. If Gale was gentle, he would be gentle. If Gale was rough, he would welcome it, because it was Gale.

That trust broke the last of Gale’s hesitation. The gentleman within the divine beast would not—could not—refuse such a vulnerable, beautiful offering.

He was achingly slow. Infinitely careful. He nuzzled Vesper’s flank, then lowered his head and began to lick him. The intimate grooming was a shocking, electric sensation, making Vesper jolt and whimper, his claws extending and retracting against the soft, nebulous soil and grass of the Outlands. It was preparation, yes, but it was also a claiming, a worshipful act that had Vesper trembling with anticipation.

When Gale finally moved to mount him, it was with a gravity that spoke of his immense size. He settled over Vesper’s smaller form, his leonine body covering him completely, a warm, heavy, protective blanket. Vesper felt utterly surrounded, utterly safe. Gale was careful to keep his full weight off him, supporting himself on his powerful limbs.

Then came the pressure. The profound pressure of Gale’s divine essence seeking its counterpart, a daunting and overwhelming sensation even in their godly forms. Vesper gasped, a sharp foxish cry, and instinctively tried to shrink away from the intensity.

Gale immediately stilled. He lowered his head, nuzzling the back of Vesper’s neck, licking his ears, purring that deep, calming purr. He waited, patient as the cosmos, until Vesper’s tense muscles relaxed. He was checking in, without words, offering comfort and reassurance.

Vesper, reassured, pushed back. A small, brave movement with his hips. An affirmation.

Gale began to press forward again, with an excruciating, gentle slowness. The joining was immense, a feeling of being utterly filled and reinforced, of their divine natures weaving together again. Vesper whimpered, a sound of overwhelming sensation, his body trembling beneath Gale’s.

Every time a whimper escaped him, Gale would stop. He would nuzzle him, lick his fur, and wait, his own body trembling with the effort of his restraint. He was a god in a primal form, with every right and every instinct to claim his husband, and yet he held himself back, his love and his gentleman’s heart reigning supreme.

Shhh, my heart, the thought echoed in Vesper’s mind, a gentle projection. I have you. I am with you. I am yours.

The intensity began to transform, the initial overwhelming sensation blossoming into a feeling of incredible, devastating completeness. The feeling of Gale, this vast, powerful being, moving with such painstaking care, unlocked a wave of submission so profound it brought tears to his vulpine eyes. He was being joined, claimed, but with a reverence that made the act utterly sacred.

Once they were fully joined, Gale stayed still for a long moment, letting the intimacy of their connection settle into their very souls. Then, he began to move. His movements were shallow at first, tiny, careful undulations that grew gradually deeper as their essences synchronized. It was a slow, rolling rhythm, a dance of immense power held in perfect check.

Vesper lost himself in the sensation. The feeling of Gale’s fur against his back, the sound of his ragged, panting breaths, the sheer presence of him—it was a symphony of primal bliss. He pushed back against each movement, a willing, eager participant in this divine union.

Gale’s control began to fray. The gentle undulations became more powerful, more possessive. A low, rumbling growl started deep in his chest, a sound of pure, male satisfaction. He was still careful, still mindful of Vesper’s form, but the fierce god within was rising to the surface, spurred on by Vesper’s eager, trusting responses.

The connection built to an unbearable crescendo, a brilliant, tightening coil of shared power and pleasure in Vesper’s core. He was lost to it, a willing vessel in the storm of Gale’s passion, his own peak a mere breath away. He felt Gale’s movements become frantic, powerful, the rhythm shattering into a desperate, mutual drive for completion.

And then it happened.

As their shared peak tore through them, a guttural, raw sound ripped from Gale’s throat—a sound that was more beast than god. In that same instant of absolute, primal surrender, he drove their connection to its deepest point and bit down.

A sharp, involuntary yelp of shock was torn from Vesper’s muzzle, followed by a frantic, submissive series of gekkers—sounds of ultimate surrender and pleading. His body went instantly, eagerly pliant beneath Gale’s. It was an instinct older than godhood, older than mortality. The mate, yielding completely to his protector, his other half.

Gale’s teeth, sharp and devastatingly precise, capable of killing gods, had sank into the side of Vesper’s neck, right over his lifeblood. It was not a love bite. It was a claim. An eternal bond. In that moment, with Gale’s divine tressym form joined with him completely, he could have ended Vesper. He could have torn out his throat and extinguished the Eclipse forever. The power, the danger, the absolute trust it required—it was the most terrifying and beautiful thing Vesper had ever experienced.

Gale held the bite for a timeless second, his body shuddering through the last pulses of his peak within Vesper. Then, as quickly as he had bitten, he released. And immediately, the rough, warm heat of his tongue was there, lapping gently at the punctures, soothing the sting, cleaning the tiny beads of divine blood that welled up. The act was one of pure instinct—clean the wound, care for your mate.

He collapsed forward then, his full, immense weight settling over Vesper’s smaller form, pinning him gently but completely to the soft ground of the Outlands. It was not a crushing weight, but a protective one. A blanket of fur, wings and muscle and love, shielding his claimed, bitten mate from any and all harm in the vulnerable aftermath. Vesper, still gekkering softly, buried his face in the silver fur, his entire being vibrating with a submission so profound it felt like finally coming home.

---

When the divine magic receded and they lay tangled back in their bedroom in their mortal forms, the evidence of their primal union was not just the soreness between Vesper’s legs or the warmth seeping from him. As Gale gently turned him, his silver eyes—now soft with post-coital haze—went wide. His fingers, trembling slightly, came up to trace the side of Vesper’s neck.

“Oh no… Vesper… I…” His voice was thick with horror and awe. There, on the tanned skin just above his collarbone, was a perfect, darkening mark. The imprint of Gale’s teeth. A bruise was already blooming around it, a testament to the ferocity of the claim.

Vesper reached up and covered Gale’s hand with his own, pressing his fingers into the mark. A fresh, hot thrill went through him.

“You bit me,” Vesper whispered, his voice full of wonder, not accusation.

“I… I lost myself,” Gale stammered, his face a mask of guilt. “That avatar of mine... I could have killed you, Vesper. I—“

“And yet you didn’t,” Vesper interrupted, his gaze steady, holding Gale’s. He brought Gale’s fingers to his lips and kissed them. “You could have. But instead you claimed me. And then you protected me. Just like all those years ago...” He gestured to the way Gale’s body was still curled around his, a mortal echo of the great divine beast shielding his mate. “I have never felt so… so beloved, Gale. I am yours.”

He saw the understanding dawn in Gale’s eyes, followed by a wave of fierce, possessive love that mirrored the bite itself. The gentleman was appalled at the violence, but the dominant, primal core that Vesper had awoken in him was roaring in triumph.

Gale leaned in and pressed his lips to the mark, a kiss of apology, of worship, of reaffirmation.

“Mine, for all eternity.” he breathed against the bruised skin, the words a vow.

“Y-Yes.” Vesper agreed, his body going pliant once more, his submission offered and accepted, sealed in blood and bruise and boundless, eternal love.