Always Watching

We made camp as we always did—Lae’zel closest to the fire, Shadowheart at the edge of the perimeter, Karlach sprawling in her makeshift bivouac, the cloth thrown lazily above her.

The air felt cleaner here. Drier. The rot and sludge of the swamp were behind us, and the Blighted Village, for all its cracked stone and hollowed bones, had a kind of stillness to it that made rest come easier.

Dinner was a feast compared to what we were used to. Hard cheese, sealed rations, dried herbs, and even fresh fruist that hadn’t rotted in the swamp heat. Shadowheart warmed a pot over the fire with actual enthusiasm. Karlach tore into the food like it might vanish if she didn’t make it scream. Even Lae’zel, reserved as ever, ate in thoughtful silence.

I leaned back, chewing slowly, enjoying the moment.

Suddenly Karlach froze mid-bite. “What the hell is that?”

We followed her gaze.

Withers stood at the edge of camp. Perfectly still. Arms tucked in front of him like he’d always been there.

I stood and walked over.

“Withers,” I said. “Where have you been?”

He didn’t move, just turned his head with that same unsettling slowness.

“Here,”

He continued "At each fire. Each circle. Always just beyond the flame.”

“We didn’t see you.”

“You did not look.” He paused slightly "You where... occupied."

I raised a brow.

“You spying on us?”

Withers tilted his skull, if such a thing could be called a nod.

“I do not spy, I do not judge. I only document. Everything that happens, and everything that doesn't. All dutifully recorded.”

“Comforting..”

He blinked once. Or maybe the light shifted.

I exhaled slowly. “Right. Well. You enjoy your... observing.”

“I will.”

I left him standing there and returned to the fire.

Shadowheart watched me with mild amusement. Karlach looked like she wasn’t sure if she should be horrified or honored.

“Do you think he writes poetry about us?” she asked.

"I hope not,” Shadowheart said dryly.

Lae’zel said nothing. But her chewing was more aggressive than before.

The fire crackled. Conversation lulled.

Then, from the edge of the group, Shadowheart spoke, not quite meeting my eyes. “I’ll go last tonight. You may… need it. After the others.”

Karlach blinked. “Wow. Considerate. Me first then?”

Shadowheart shrugged. “It’s only fair. You want to lend a hand, but can’t. And Lae’zel…” she trailed off.

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed. “Say it.”

Shadowheart looked away.

Lae’zel stood, slowly. “You think me ungrateful. That I take and give nothing back.”

“No,” Shadowheart said, too quickly.

Karlach raised her hands. “Pause, it's getting tense again. Should we start undressing to change the mood?”

That actually earned a short exhale from Lae’zel. Something halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“You others may take your pleasures,” she said. “But I want to survive. The ritual gives me that. Nothing more.”

She turned to me. “I’ll go first. I will sleep easier after. Come. The rest of you—scatter.”

She walked toward her tent without waiting.

I followed.

The others stayed where they were, the firelight painting their faces in flickering gold. Shadowheart glanced up once. Karlach stretched, letting out a sigh that almost masked a laugh.

The embers danced.

And Lae’zel disappeared into the dark ahead.