An Old Flame

By morning, the campfire was out, leaving behind a few smudges of ash and a fading warmth in the stones. The sharp scent of scorched feathers had dulled overnight, now little more than a faint scent clinging to the walls.

The girls stirred late, their movements slower, more deliberate. There was a charged softness to everything—the way Shadowheart glanced my way but quickly looked down, the way Lae'zel wiped her blade clean without her usual ****. Both of them moved a little differently now, subtle shifts in how they held themselves. No full corruption yet—but underneath the surface something was building.

I opened my UI, eyes scanning the cooldown timer. Curse ready. I flexed my fingers, eager. Maybe this time, I'd get to use it as intended.

The path ahead was familiar—twisting forest roads I’d walked dozens of times before. The forest here didn’t feel dangerous, just quiet. We climbed winding tracks, stepped over roots, and leapt across boulders shaped by the current of a churning river. Shadowheart, as always, hesitated at the bigger jumps. When I offered my hand, she froze. Waited a second, then slowly reached out and grabbed my hand—nervously. That hesitation hit me harder than I expected. Maybe I should dial it back. A little. For now. Maybe.

We followed the river, spotting flecks of blood along the bank. We followed the trail to the very end, finding her by the edge of the road, her skin coated in flames.

Karlach.

A Tiefling, tall and powerful—broad shoulders, thick thighs, deep scars etched into her dark red skin. Her firm chest pulsed with orange light like an angry machine in overdrive. She looked more monstrous than she ever did in the game, yet charmingly cute in an approachable way. Draped in ragged barbarian clothing, muscles built from war, eyes that had seen hell but still sparkled with mischief.

I had crushed on her so hard. In the game, again and again. And every time I felt like the devs didn’t do her justice. But now?

Now I would.

She raised a hand, flame swirling around her forearm. "Stay back. I’m not stable."

The fire licked along her skin, dancing in bright arcs from her shoulder to her wrist, but with a few deep breaths and a slow exhale, she brought it down. The glow from her chest dimmed, and the heat around her eased. Whatever edge had flared was now pulled tight, coiled and controlled. She met my eyes with a mix of warning and apology.

[Approval: Positive: 55] [Corruption: 13%]

A good start.

She looked at me. "Well now," she said, voice gravel and sugar, "you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Soldier."

My stomach twisted, and words stalled in my throat. She looked so familiar—and yet nothing like I’d ever seen before. It felt surreal, like meeting your wife for the first time, again.

Then came the pain. A flash like lightning behind my eyes. The tadpoles flared to life.

Visions.

Karlach roaring through hellfire, swinging her axe through hordes of demons, body coated in blood and ash. She had been a soldier in the Blood War. A cog in Zariel’s hellish machine. Shackled. Controlled.

I stumbled back, clutching my head.

She blinked. "You saw it, didn’t you?"

I nodded. "You’ve been infected. So have we. That tadpole in your head—It connects us, if we dont find a cure soon it will turn us into mindflayers. We are headed for a githyanki stronghold that will help us get rid of them, you are welcome to tag along. Until then, I’ve got a technique to stall it."

Lae’zel and Shadowheart looked away, their cheeks flushed. Lae’zel tried to act like she hadn’t just flinched, and Shadowheart suddenly found the ground fascinating.

Karlach raised an eyebrow, skeptical at first—but then her smirk returned, warm and crooked. "Alright. I’m in!"

Shadowheart was clearly impressed with our new addition to the team, her eyes darting across Karlach’s arms, shoulders, everything. Lae’zel gave a short nod—measured and firm. Warrior recognizing warrior.

"Before we get cozy, you should know that there’s a group of paladins hunting me,” Karlach said, crossing her arms with a weight that made her muscles flex. “Sent by my old boss—Zariel. You know the type. Archdevil, wings of fire, bad attitude. Apparently running away from hell doesn’t go over well with the management.”

She shook her head, letting out a short laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “They’ve been sniffing after me since the moment I escaped. Flashy armor, shiny oaths— all for show. They wear the look of holy warriors, but underneath? They're Zariel’s hit squad, nothing more. Hell’s lapdogs playing paladin. And Zariel? She's not the forgiving kind.”

"We will take them down. Together!"

I stepped forward, hand outstretched in a quiet, familiar gesture—welcoming her to the group. Already knowing she wouldn’t take it. Her skin still shimmered faintly with residual heat, and the air between us crackled just enough to warn.

She looked at my hand, wistful, and didn’t move. "Careful, soldier. I'm too hot to handle—literally. Touch me and you’ll need new fingertips. My skin is like a stovetop, this thing in my chest? It's not for show. Infernal engine—Zariel’s handiwork. It turns me into a walking bonfire if I’m not careful. Not exactly ideal for hugs."

I smiled.

Oh, we’ll see about that.