Forging Friendships

By the time I made my way back to the fire, the camp had fully settled into its evening rhythm. The cave ceiling glowed faintly with reflected firelight, smoke curling lazily toward unseen cracks above, carrying with it the smell of stew, metal, and damp stone. It was warmer here than the Grove, and the sound of quiet conversation echoed softly against the rock walls.

The others were already eating.

Kagha noticed me first. She lifted her gaze from her bowl, and the corners of her mouth curved into a conspiratorial smile—just for a second. Nothing overt. As I sat beside her, she slithered closer, shoulder brushing mine as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

The rest greeted me with easy familiarity.

Karlach was already deep into an animated retelling of the gnoll fight, hands carving the air with reckless enthusiasm as she reenacted every swing of her axe.

“And then,” she said, eyes bright, voice rising, “they came pouring out of that cave like flaming idiots, tripping over each other, teeth snapping everywhere—and I just went GASHUNK, straight down the middle. Guts everywhere, except where they should’ve been.” She punctuated the point with a dramatic chefs kiss. “MWAH!”

Wyll listened with rapt attention, chin propped on his knuckles, nodding along as if committing every word to memory. Dammon sat beside him, posture attentive, clearly impressed—if a little alarmed—by the joyful ****. The scent of forge smoke still clung faintly to him, coal and metal mixing with the stew’s aroma. He didn’t speak much, but whenever Karlach talked, his eyes drifted toward her without fail. Subtle. But unmistakable.

Shadowheart sat opposite Lae’zel, both of them quietly eating, the space between them charged in a way that had nothing to do with hostility anymore; their former rivalry had cooled, not into friendship, but into something far more intricate. Their gazes met now and then—lingering just a moment too long, measured and assessing—as they each studied the other’s changes. Facing one another made it harder to pretend it was nothing, and so they both pretended all the harder.

Kagha said little. When she did speak, it was only brief observations—a comment on the exquisite seasoning, a dry remark about gnoll hygiene—that earned soft laughter. Yet her leg curled against mine, content simply to be close.

Karlach’s story rolled on.

“And then as I got up—” she paused mid-sentence, her eyes flicking to Kagha. For just a moment, her expression blanked out entirely, her brow furrowed, eyes unfocused, as if she’d suddenly remembered something she wasn’t ready to unpack.

She swallowed, cleared her throat loudly, and plowed straight past it.

“—ANYWAY,” she continued, noticeably louder, hands flying as she skipped ahead, leaving that moment conspicuously untouched. “After that, it was basically cleanup.”

Dammon hesitated, then finally spoke, rubbing the back of his neck. “You lot… you handle yourselves like veterans. Hard to believe I'd end up here back when I was patching pots and pans for coin.”

Karlach glanced at him, curious. “You know your way around infernal iron pretty well for a tinsmith. How’d that happen?”

Dammon exhaled, shoulders loosening as if he had been waiting for the question. “Didn’t start out like that. I was… ordinary. Bread‑and‑butter work, pots and cutlery, fixing what people broke. Then the descent into Avernus happened. My hometown was dragged into the Hells, including me and the rest of the tieflings. Don’t know how, don’t know why. But as it turns out Zariel’s legions are always looking for smiths who can keep up. I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

At the word Zariel, Karlach’s grin vanished. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “She’s got a habit of collecting toys like that.”

Dammon met her eyes, a small, genuine smile forming. “Seems we survived the same fire.”

“Seems like it. But we’re free now,” Karlach added, forcing brightness back into her voice. She glanced at me. “Right? We’re safe with you, boss?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “We'll handle whatever lowlife's she sends our way,”

I noticed Wyll stiffened. His stone eye shifted on its own—a subtle, unsettling motion—its gaze flicking from Dammon… to Karlach… to me... and back again.

Mizora’s interest was piqued. Good.

Dammon nodded, relief visible in his posture. “I’ll do everything I can to fix your heart, Karlach. However long it takes. And when I succeed—she won’t have a claim on you anymore.”

Karlach laughed, but there was something fragile under it. “I wish. Even patched up, she’ll chase me to the end of the planes.”

“I have a plan,” I said calmly—aimed at Karlach, but phrased as bait for Mizora. “I have an idea on how to get away from Zariel. We just have to choose the right moment..”

Karlach leaned forward, grinning. “Ohhh? Care to share your masterplan now?”

Wyll went pale.

I held her gaze for a moment, then shook my head. “When the time’s right.”

She groaned theatrically. “Gods, you’re such a tease.”

“You love it,” I shot back.

She laughed, heat and amusement mixing in her eyes. “Maybe. For now your word is good enough for me—and later you can come whisper more of them, yeah?”

With that, she rose and headed away, hips swaying with careless confidence.

The moment broke, Dammon frowned slightly, then ventured, “Uh—what does she mean by later?”

Wyll cleared his throat. “Dammon. Walk with me a moment?”

Dammon blinked, glanced at the rest of us, then nodded. “Ah—sure. Yes.”

They moved off together, Wyll guiding him with quiet urgency. When they were gone, the remaining women turned their full attention to me.

Lae’zel was the first to break the silence. She studied me with hunger, then shifted her gaze to Shadowheart. “You—after Karlach.” She said, voice low and decisive.

Shadowheart met her eyes without flinching. “And you get the leftovers?” she asked lightly.

Lae’zel’s nodded once. “Yes. I accept.”

It was settled as cleanly as any tactical decision.

Their attention returned to me, both of them watching for my reaction. I inclined my head once, saying nothing. That seemed to satisfy them, for now.

Lae’zel paused as she rose, her eyes locked on me with unmistakable intent, before she turned on her heel and strode off toward her tent without another word.

Shadowheart followed more quietly. She leaned in close, voice low enough that only I could hear. “I have a little surprise for you tonight,” she murmured, a hint of mischief softening her tone. “A small gesture of thanks. For last time.” She brushed a quick, teasing kiss against my cheek, then straightened and glided away, her steps light and unhurried.

Only then did Kagha rise. “I’ll be by your bedroll when you return,” she said with satisfaction in her voice.

I stopped her gently with a hand.

“Actually,” I said, “I have a job for you tonight.”

She tilted her head, “Oh? Then say the word,” Kagha replied, before giving a slow, eager nod.

I leaned closer. “Follow me for a minute—but stay in the shadows. You’ll be a little surprise.”

Kagha’s breath caught, a sly smile tugging at her lips, eyes sharp and knowing “As you wish,” she murmured. “I’ll be of use.”

Then, without ceremony, she slipped backward into the uneven shadows at the edge of the firelight, her presence dissolving with unsettling ease—as if the cave itself had decided to keep her. It was eerie how effortlessly she vanished, but undeniably useful.

I exhaled once, steadying myself.

Time to go see Karlach.