Karlach's Undoing

I followed the direction Karlach had left, the passage narrowed, then opened into a small natural hollow hidden behind a curtain of stalactites. Secluded. Private. Far from prying eyes—and ears.

Mist rolled lazily across the ground, softening at the edges of the stone walls. The familiar cauldron sat at the center like a quiet, breathing kiln, its surface trembling with steady warmth. Steam lifted in slow ribbons, swallowing torchlight and turning it into gold‑hued haze. The air carried damp earth, metal, and the quiet hiss of water against hot iron. It felt… removed from the world. Intimate. Perfect.

Karlach lounged in the water with unapologetic ease. One arm hooked over the rim, fingers tapping an idle rhythm, the other drifting beneath the surface, as if testing how much heat she could safely let off. Her frame gleamed with moisture, powerful and scar‑mapped, the lines of her muscles clean and defined. Firelight traced her shoulders and collarbones, lingered on the single intact horn curving from her brow, the other a proud broken stump. She looked dangerous, radiant—and unguarded.

“Welcome to the spa, soldier~” she said, eyes lifting to meet mine. There was anticipation in her grin, and mischief in her eyes.

“I didn’t make a reservation,” I replied, “and I didn’t know they had no dress code,” letting my gaze wander just long enough to earn a snort from her.

“Cheeky bastard,” she said, her smile widening. She shifted in the water, sending a slow wave to the rim. “I’m counting the days until we don’t need this damn bath anymore. No more teasing—well, some teasing still. But the good part too and no more wrinkly toes.” Her voice dipped, quieter and steadier. “Once my heart’s fixed… I’m not wasting a second. I’m gonna ride you till you see stars.”

“We’ll get there,” I said as I felt myself blush at the nostalgic words.

She rolled her shoulders and let out a low groan before catching herself and laughing. “Gods… Im gonna make up for 10 lost years.” She glanced up at me through the steam. “So? You coming to work your magic as usual, or what?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

I stepped closer. Lifted a single finger and tapped lightly at her temple.

A tiny pulse of alluring magic flickered out. No more than a playful spark, a tickle dancing across her skin.

Karlach jolted. “Hey! What was that supposed to do? That’s it?”

I did not answer. Instead, I shifted back, melting into the steam and shadow so Karlach could no longer see me clearly.

A heartbeat later, hands found her shoulders.

Firm pressure. Knowing touch. Fingers sinking into muscle that had been knotted for years. The effect was instant and overwhelming.

Karlach’s breath hitched. Her head tipped forward, a startled sound slipping from her before she could stop it.

“Whoa—”

The hands kept moving. Confident. Patient. Expertly. Thumbs tracing tension, pressing, releasing. It wasn’t ****. It was understanding. The sort born of tending roots, bark and sinew.

Karlach’s bravado faltered almost immediately. Her jaw unclenched. Her shoulders loosened. The energy that always burned so hot inside her softened, melting into the water around her. She exhaled long and slow, then again, each breath carrying years of strain away.

“Gods above,” she murmured, disbelief threading her voice. “I didn’t even know I could feel—mhmmph—that good”

Steam thickened, wrapping the hollow in gold‑hued haze. The world narrowed to touch and breath.

Only then did I step forward, re‑entering her view through the drifting mist.

Her eyes blinked open, unfocused. “That feels amazing..”

I watched the scene unfold, behind her Kagha’s serene face hovered in the light, a faint, devious satisfaction in her eyes as she continued her work.

To my mild irritation I realized something. I’d thrown alluring blasts at warriors, goblins, friend and foe alike. I’d charmed minds and stirred hunger. And yet Kagha, with nothing but her hands and quiet patience, had Karlach making sounds rivaling my magic touch.

Jealousy flickered. Just a little.

She finally realized the hands were not mine. Karlach stirred, blinking as if waking from deep sleep. “Wait,” She tried to twist, to look behind her. “You—”

Kagha’s grip anchored her, holding her steady. She stiffened for half a breath—then melted with a startled groan as the pressure shifted just right. When she tried to move again, it only drove her deeper into Kagha’s hands, and the sound that tore from her was involuntary and raw.

I leaned over her with a villainous smile. “Do you want her to stop?”

Karlach hesitated. Pride flared, then sputtered. Her voice came out hoarse and honest. “…no...”

I tilted my head. “I didn't catch that”

She huffed a breathless laugh, cheeks flushing. “No! Okay? Gods, fine. You win.” She shot a sideways glance back, half‑accusatory, half‑awed. “The bitch has incredible hands.”

The last of her resistance collapsed as Kagha doubled her efforts, focusing on a series of deep knots.

Karlach slumped back, eyes closing again, body yielding fully. A decade of tension, restraint, and distance finally broke like a dam giving way. She didn’t fight anymore. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“More,” she murmured, voice soft and wrecked. “Please… don’t stop.”

Kagha met my gaze once—quiet triumph shining there—then returned her attention to Karlach, hands steady, artisanal, almost worshipful in their devotion to the task I had set her.

I lingered a moment longer, enjoying the success of my scheme. Steam. Soft breath. The slow undoing of a woman who hadn't been allowed to be touched without consequence.

Then I turned away. Behind me, Karlach’s voice drifted through the haze, dazed and sincere.

“More… please… don’t stop.”

The hollow behind me echoed with soft breaths and low moans, but I managed to keep my focus steady.

Shadowheart was up next.