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The gates clanged shut behind them with a hollow finality, drowning out the last echoes of the battle. The air within the Grove felt thicker somehow, quieter, yes, but not peaceful. The scent of damp leaves and incense clashed with the iron tang of blood still clinging to Fin's boots.
Zevlor barely waited for the gate's lock to catch before he rounded on Aradin.
"You led goblins to our doorstep!" Zevlor snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. "There are children here, Aradin. Families! What in the Hells were you thinking?"
Aradin's battered form still trembled from the fight, but his glare was all fire. "We was runnin' for our damn lives! You think I wanted to bring them here? They was on our heels, Zevlor! You'd rather we died out there for your pride?"
Zevlor stepped forward, his tone rising. "You let them take the First Druid. You led them here and endangered everything we've built. We don't have the resources to—"
"You don't know what it was like!" Aradin barked, voice hoarse. "We was ambushed—ripped apart! My friends are dead! I had to make a call!"
Fin stood off to the side, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes half-lidded. He heard every word. Registered every pulse. But he didn't move.
He didn't care.
The Grove was safe. That was the job.
Zevlor's face twisted with righteous fury, his voice bordering on a shout. "And your 'call' might get the rest of us killed. You selfish bastard—"
Aradin's fist flew without warning.
A sickening crack echoed through the Grove as his knuckles connected with Zevlor's jaw. The tiefling's head snapped to the side, eyes wide and then his legs buckled. He hit the ground hard, unconscious before he finished falling.
A stunned hush rippled through the nearby onlookers—refugees, guards, even some younger tieflings. No one moved.
Fin tilted his head slightly, finally shifting his weight.
Aradin stood over Zevlor, his chest heaving, jaw clenched tight. Then he turned, catching Fin's gaze. His expression wavered between exhaustion and defiance.
"...Guess I finally shut him up."
Fin smirked faintly. "You done throwing your little tantrum?"
Aradin blinked. "...What?"
Fin stepped forward slowly, stopping a few feet away, relaxed. "Just wondering if you're finished. Or if you're planning on punching any more authority figures today. Maybe a squirrel next?"
Aradin scoffed and rubbed his bruised knuckles. "Hells, I don't have it in me. That one punch took more outta me than the whole fight."
"Good to know." Fin offered a lazy shrug. "You swing like a half-drunk child."
Aradin narrowed his eyes but didn't argue. He stepped past Fin, muttering under his breath, "Gotta find the others... check the wounded..."
As he passed, Fin moved swiftly as his hand slipped into Aradin's side pouch, fingers closing around the scroll tucked inside before withdrawing just as smoothly.
Aradin kept walking, none the wiser.
Fin gave the scroll a little twirl between his fingers as he turned and walked toward the others. His boots tapped softly against the Grove's stonework as he approached the group now gathered near a shaded alcove.
Shadowheart leaned against a moss-covered stone, flicking goblin blood off her mace with the casual disdain of someone wiping off bird droppings.
Lae'zel stood stiffly nearby, arms crossed, her blade still unsheathed, eyes scanning every movement with the precision of a soldier who didn't trust peace.
Astarion was preening, adjusting his collar as he examined a streak of dirt on his cloak like it had personally insulted him.
Durge sat on a low stone ledge, dagger spinning idly between her fingers.
Fin stepped into their midst, holding the scroll up.
"Look what the angry meathead dropped."
Astarion arched a brow. "You robbed him already? My dear, at least let the man sulk first."
Fin unrolled the parchment. Shadowheart leaned closer to glance at it over his shoulder.
"What's it say?"
Fin scanned it, eyes narrowing slightly.
"A job posting," he explained, thumbing the edge of the parchment. "Looks like someone named Master Lorroakan is offering a reward for recovering an artifact called the Nightsong."
That caught Shadowheart's attention. She leaned in closer, brows furrowing.
Fin read aloud, his voice steady:"'Adventurers wanted for perilous and profitable quest. Master Lorroakan—the Arcanist of Athkatla, the Recluse of Ramazith's Tower—seeks brave and enterprising individuals to delve a treacherous temple and recover the storied artefact, The Nightsong, for preservation in Baldur's Gate. Only stout of heart and keen of mind need apply. Fame, glory, and incredible fortune assured."
He glanced up from the parchment, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "A bit dramatic. But it's legit. Signed and sealed."
Lae'zel scoffed immediately, already turning away.
"This is a waste of time. We must locate the teeth-ling Zorru to find the creche and receive purification from the Zathisk."
Shadowheart snorted. "And here she goes again, spouting nonsense no one's ever heard of."
Lae'zel spun, expression sharp and condescending. "At least I possess the skills to fight. Unlike some who rely on cheap tricks and flattery."
Fin stood still, scroll now rolled in his hand, watching with a faint sigh.
Shadowheart stepped forward, her voice cutting. "I'll have you know those 'cheap tricks' saved your toad-faced hide more than once."
Lae'zel bristled. "If I required saving, I would have done it myself."
"Oh, of course. The mighty Githyanki, so strong, she can't even open her mouth without barking threats."
"I could open your skull instead," Lae'zel said calmly, her fingers twitching near the hilt of her blade.
Fin raised a hand without looking at either of them. "Alright, that's my cue to leave."
He turned on his heel and walked toward the other end of the Grove, letting the two women argue behind him.
Behind him, Astarion's voice rang out dryly. "Should we be concerned or just sell tickets?"
Durge, sitting beside a tree, muttered, "Just let them kill each other already. Would save time."
...
Zevlor groaned softly as a finger prodded his shoulder.
"Up you get, sleepyhead," Fin said flatly, crouching beside the fallen tiefling.
Zevlor blinked groggily, then winced and reached for his jaw. His voice was hoarse.
"Please… forgive that earlier display. Aradin's a blowhard, but that's no reason for me to stoop to his level."
Fin straightened, arms loosely crossed. "Seemed like he needed the outlet."
Zevlor sat up slowly, wiping dried blood from his lip. "Still. Thank you for earlier. During the attack, I mean. You helped save lives. I'm Zevlor."
"Fin," he replied, then extended a hand. Zevlor took it.
Zevlor chuckled, a flicker of amusement breaking the tension. "Well met, Fin. Just a word of caution: visitors aren't exactly welcome in the Grove anymore. Whatever you came here for, I'd see to it quickly. The druids are… forcing everyone out."
Fin's expression remained neutral. "Is that so..."
Zevlor's gaze drifted toward the inner grove, voice lowering. "There've been monster attacks—gnolls, goblins, worse. The druids blame us 'outsiders' for drawing them here. They've initiated a ritual to seal off the Grove. No one gets in. Or out."
"And if you leave," Fin said flatly, "you're sitting meat for goblins."
Zevlor nodded once. "Exactly. We're refugees, not fighters. If we're forced out… we won't survive."
Footsteps echoed behind them as the rest of Fin's party joined, Lae'zel first, sword still strapped across her back. Shadowheart followed, arms folded, eyes sweeping Zevlor with calculated curiosity as well as Durge and Astarion.
Astarion straightened his hair with a sigh. "Lovely place. Smells like desperation and bark soup."
Lae'zel ignored him, her eyes scanning the Grove's interior as if expecting an ambush.
Fin turned toward Zevlor and gestured lazily. "These are my companions: Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion and...Dragon-lady."
Durge scoffed, choosing not to respond to Fin's teasing remark.
Lae'zel nodded stiffly. Shadowheart offered a smile with a slight curve.
"I see Fin hasn't stopped collecting strays."
Lae'zel's nostrils flared. "Stray? I am Githyanki, chosen of Vlaakith. You should be more concerned with sharpening your mace, cleric. Fin's strength in battle outstripped yours handily."
Shadowheart scoffed, "Oh, please. At least I don't need a religious bedtime story to feel strong."
Fin sighed, muttering, "Here we go again."
Zevlor cleared his throat awkwardly. "I take it you all fight well together… more or less."
"We survive," Fin said. "You mentioned you're refugees. What brought you here?"
Zevlor's face darkened. "We came from Elturel. We were heading toward Baldur's Gate when we were ambushed—gnolls, goblins. We lost many. The Grove was the only sanctuary we could find."
"Elturel… that name is familiar." Fin tilted his head, acting like he remembered the name. "Right. I've heard it tossed around a few times, but I don't know the details. I've been… out of the loop."
Durge barked a laugh. "Out of the loop? Gods, that's one way to put it. What, did you live under a rock?"
Fin shrugged. "More like… the rock lived on top of me."
Ali, who was floating beside Fin, gave a sharp grin. "Cryptic. I like it."
Durge stepped forward. "Elturel was dragged into Avernus—literally. One day it was fine. The next, it was gone. Yanked into Hell itself. First layer, Avernus. Pit fiends, fire, screams, eternal torment."
Fin blinked. "...Right. Casual."
Durge continued, almost enjoying the retelling. "The High Overseer—their grand leader—cut a deal with devils. Sold the city's soul. When Elturel finally came back, most of the world acted like the people who survived were just walking curses. Tieflings? Yeah, double the stigma. Welcome back from Hell—go rot somewhere else."
Zevlor, quiet during Durge's words, eventually nodded.
"You sure don't mince your words, dragonborne, but yes, she's not wrong. The city came back… but we didn't. Not really. People looked at us with suspicion. We were the reminder of what was lost. Of what could be lost again. Baldur's Gate is all we have left now. There's nowhere else that will take us."
Lae'zel crossed her arms, her tone sceptical. "You survive hellfire and devils… yet you are to be driven out by tree-worshippers?"
Zevlor gave her a tired look. "Yes. And if we don't find a way to stop Kagha's ritual, this Grove will be sealed—permanently."
He turned toward Fin, his expression shifting into something earnest, almost pleading.
"Listen. You and your companions… You helped save this place. They saw it. She surely has heard of your actions." He gestured vaguely toward the inner sanctum. "If anyone can get through to Kagha, delay the ritual even a little—it's you. Just long enough for us to organise, to find safe passage."
Fin scratched his jaw, pretending to consider it. Then he gave a soft exhale.
"I'd love to help," he said, tone dry, "but I've got a healer to find and business to fulfil"
Zevlor's brows furrowed. "Of course, but—"
"Of course," Fin cut in, his grin lazy now, rapping his arm around Zevlor's neck, "if there's gold involved… that's a whole other conversation."
Ali hovered above Fin's head. "You'd charge the starving for water if you could bottle it."
Fin didn't respond to her. Not out loud.
Behind him, Astarion gave a theatrical sigh, running a hand through his hair.
"While gold is always delightful, do we really have time to babysit?"
Fin ignored him completely, his eyes still on Zevlor.
Zevlor pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you're able to help us… I will find the gold. I promise that. You have my word."
Fin gave him a warm smile, completely at odds with the conversation.
"Can't wait," Fin said, patting Zevlor's shoulder twice. Then he yawned, as he rolled his arm, fatigue settling across his features. "But I'll speak to her later. It's getting late. We need to make camp before I pass out standing."
He turned without waiting for a response, already walking toward the Grove's exit, his white haori fluttering faintly behind him.
Lae'zel stepped forward sharply, her boots striking the stone. "We should find Zorru now. The creche—"
"No," Fin said without slowing his stride.
Lae'zel blinked.
"He can wait one night," Fin continued, voice low but edged with finality. "So can Vlaakith."
Lae'zel's lips parted in protest, brow furrowed. "You would delay the path to the Zathisk—"
"I said no."
He stopped, turning slightly.
His eyes met hers, such cold eyes.
"I'm not repeating myself."
The words landed like a dropped blade. Lae'zel stiffened, jaw clenched, but said nothing more. Her hand twitched near her blade, but she reined it in.
Astarion broke the silence with a low whistle. "Well. Someone's cranky when he doesn't sleep."
Shadowheart muttered, "Maybe if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't get stabbed one of these days."
Durge said nothing, already walking ahead with her usual detached silence.
The group followed Fin as he stepped out of the Grove's, the rustle of leaves overhead marking their quiet departure. The light faded with the horizon, and night settled across the wilds beyond the sanctuary.
They would rest.
Zorru—and everything else—could wait until morning.
...
[Later That Night – Riverside Camp]
The cold splash of river water hit his face like a slap, but Fin welcomed it.
He leaned over the shallows, both hands cupped, letting the water trail down his jaw and neck in glistening rivulets. Ripples shimmered beneath him, distorting his reflection—tired eyes, bare shoulders, strands of hair stuck to his forehead.
The group had found a decent spot just off the main trail—a clearing nestled between two riverbends. The trees formed a natural wall, and the river provided both water and sound to mask footsteps.
Fin knew it well.
Too well.
As they'd walked, he'd realised it was the same camp he'd used in the game—a safe zone, tucked away. No random encounters here. It almost made him laugh. Almost.
Astarion had made a comment about his "remarkable instincts" when they'd set up. Called it picturesque. Fin didn't correct him.
God bless reincarnation.
Now shirtless, his skin still damp, he stood at the river's edge wearing loose pyjama pants—light fabric. They'd found multiple items ranging from clothing to wine to camping materials. After washing himself down, he stepped back from the river, raking a hand through his long hair as he moved toward the fire crackling at the camp's centre.
Astarion lounged on a fallen log nearby, absently cleaning dirt from beneath a fingernail with the tip of a dagger. His coat was open, his usual smirk softened by the firelight. Shadowheart sat opposite him, legs crossed, arms draped over her knees, quietly watching the flames.
Lae'zel and Durge were at opposite ends of the camp, each cloistered inside their tents. From Lae'zel's tent, faint sounds of metal and cloth shifting echoed, likely her sharpening something. Durge's tent was silent as death.
Fin sat down beside the fire with a quiet grunt and picked up a sizzling piece of roasted boar leg from the spit. The skin was charred and crackling, juices still bubbling. He didn't hesitate—sank his teeth into it, biting off a thick chunk and chewing with contented detachment.
Shadowheart glanced over at him briefly.
Astarion, already grinning, leaned in slightly.
"Well, well. The silent survivor joins the living."
Fin didn't respond immediately—just took a bite of meat, chewing.
Astarion broke the silence first, idly flipping his dagger between fingers.
"You know," he said, voice light and smooth, "for someone who launched himself off a ridge and turned half a goblin war party into ribbons, you're remarkably quiet."
Fin glanced over, chewing another bite of boar. He didn't answer immediately.
Astarion's smirk deepened. "You don't talk much. Not about yourself, anyway."
"I talk plenty," Fin muttered, licking grease from his thumb. "You just ask too many personal questions."
"Well," Astarion chuckled, "I'm curious. You don't act like the others—adventurers, I mean. No lofty morals, no tragic sob stories laid bare within five minutes. You're… harder to pin down."
Fin stared into the fire; the flames reflected faintly in his eyes. For a moment, he seemed somewhere else entirely.
Then he spoke. "I didn't come from anywhere special. Not the kind of place you write songs about."
Astarion raised an eyebrow. "Oh? No grand castles? No noble bloodlines? No mysterious prophecy you're destined to fulfil?"
Fin let out a soft snort. "Closest I ever got to royalty was... never mind."
Fin's mind wandered a moment, thinking about someone.
Astarion chuckled, "Charming. So, what did you do before the tadpole? Before all of… this?"
Fin didn't answer right away. The fire crackled, wood hissing as sap bubbled and spat.
Eventually, he murmured, "I made mistakes. Burned bridges I didn't realise were still standing. Then one day, everything caught up to me."
Astarion tilted his head, intrigued by the vagueness. "Mm. And now?"
Fin shrugged. "Now I'm just trying to do something that matters. Even if it's small."
A pause passed between them.
Then Fin's gaze shifted sideways, taking another bite of his food.
"What about you?" he asked. "Before all this—you were what? A travelling fashion disaster?"
Astarion gave a mock gasp, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me."
He sheathed his dagger with a practised flick and leaned back, smirking into the flames.
"I was a magistrate back in Baldur's Gate."
Fin raised an eyebrow. "A magistrate, aye?"
"Mhm," Astarion nodded. "It was a whole miserable charade. Gods, the lies I told to keep myself sane in that court... it was practically an art."
"Sounds like you were good at it."
"Oh, I was magnificent at it darling," Astarion purred. "Until I wasn't."
Fin didn't push. He took another bite, chewing slowly.
"Figures," he said quietly.
"Figures what?" Astarion asked.
"Don't worry about it, darling, Fin teased back
Astarion's smirk faltered for just a moment.
Then he smiled again, slower, more thoughtful.
"Maybe you do talk more than I'd thought."
Fin chuckled, once again taking a bite. The fire crackled between them, tiny embers leaping skyward before fading into the dark. He glanced sideways, watching as Shadowheart raised a clay cup to her lips.
The wine caught the firelight, deep red, almost black. She sipped slowly, deliberately, like the burn was the point.
Her eyes flicked to him as she lowered the cup.
"You two done sharing secrets?" she asked, voice lazy, half-lidded.
"Hardly," Astarion said with a smirk. "But our brooding friend here has layers, you see. Like a particularly aggressive...onion."
Shadowheart gave a short laugh and swirled the wine in her cup, watching the liquid spiral.
Fin studied her in the silence that followed. The flickering firelight painted shifting shadows across her face, angular, pretty in a sharp sort of way, like a blade disguised as an ornament.
"You're quiet tonight," he said.
"I prefer listening," she replied. "It's more fun watching people slip up and say too much."
A pause.
"Especially after a few drinks."
Astarion grinned. "Oh, she's baiting you."
Fin chewed the inside of his cheek, then tilted his head slightly. "Funny. I'd have pegged you as the kind to keep a lot locked away."
Shadowheart smirked into her cup. "Oh, I do?"
"Isn't that exhausting?"
"Not nearly as exhausting as answering questions."
Fin leaned back, propping one arm behind him in the grass. "You've got that... princess posture. Straight spine. Steady hands."
She didn't reply immediately.
Astarion raised a brow, glancing between them. "And here I thought I was the unsettling one."
Shadowheart didn't move. She swirled her wine again, watching the slow spin of the liquid like it might offer an escape route.
"There's fun in mystery," she said at last. "And danger in those who pry too deep."
Fin gave her a slow smile. "Good thing I'm not the prying type."
Her gaze sharpened, playful but cautious.
"You sure about that?"
"Mm." Fin's eyes dropped briefly to the cup in her hands. "Found that bottle in that overturned cart two miles back, didn't we? The one with the burned merchant sign?"
Shadowheart arched a brow.
"Most people would've checked for poison first," he said.
She shrugged. "Most people haven't survived goblin ambushes and mindflayer parasites. And besides—"
She tipped the cup toward him, lips curling at the corner.
"—dying's not the worst thing that can happen to someone."
Fin met her gaze evenly. "You say that like you know."
"I do."
There was no flirtation in her tone now, just a cold certainty that sat low in her voice. Fin looked at her for a long moment, throwing away the empty bone, then leaned forward and picked another piece of boar from the spit. He tore a chunk off with his teeth, chewed thoughtfully.
"Must've taken a lot," he said finally, "to earn the right to carry what you do."
She stiffened slightly. "You don't know what I carry."
Fin swallowed. "Don't need to."
"I saw you pray after the fight at the grove briefly", he said. "But never for forgiveness. Never for guidance. Only clarity."
That, finally, broke her mask—just a crack. Her fingers tensed around the cup.
"You talk like someone who's watched me."
"I pay attention to things that interest me"
"Do you?"
Fin didn't blink. "Yep"
Shadowheart's voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Fin turned back to the fire. "I know more than you think."
Astarion, sensing the mood shift, gave a little exhale and stood. "Well. I see where this is going. I think I'll leave you two to your passive-aggressive foreplay."
He disappeared into the dark with a mock bow, footsteps light as breath.
Shadowheart didn't watch him go. Her eyes were still locked on Fin.
"You enjoy doing that," she said softly. "Making people feel like you've seen something they haven't seen."
"Only when it works."
"Does it?"
Fin's gaze slid toward her again. "You tell me."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she downed the last of her wine, then set the empty cup in the grass beside her. The fire snapped again, louder now, as a log collapsed into glowing ash.
Fin rested his elbow on his knee. "Why follow someone who asks for everything and gives nothing back?"
Her lips thinned. "You're assuming I didn't choose it."
"No," Fin said. "I'm assuming you were told it was the only choice."
Shadowheart's jaw tightened. "And yet here I am."
"That you are."
The flames cast her face in gold and shadow, flickering between hardness and softness like two masks vying for control. Her voice, when it came again, was gentler than before.
"You're not what I expected."
"Neither are you."
They sat in quiet again, the river gurgling softly behind them, the night humming with insects and distant bird calls. A breeze stirred the embers, lifting sparks into the sky like tiny orange spirits.
Fin leaned back onto his hands.
"You know," he said, "mystery is fun. But sometimes it's just a mask for fear."
Shadowheart's eyes gleamed. "And sometimes, it's a way to stay alive."
"Touché."
Shadowheart exhaled slowly, the confidence she'd worn like a second skin loosening at the edges. She looked away from the fire and up at the stars.
Her voice, when it came, was softer. Real.
"Still," she murmured, "I'm… lucky.
Fin tilted his head slightly. "For what?"
She hesitated, her gaze tracing the constellations like they might judge her for saying it.
"For the company," she said. "Most people I've travelled with in the past—if you can even call it that—weren't exactly chosen. More like… assigned and monitored. You all..."
She stopped herself, eyes flicking back to the fire. Then to him.
"You're not what I expected. Any of you; you especially"
Fin was quiet for a moment, chewing the last bit of boar from the bone. He swallowed, then nodded once.
"Likewise."
He reached for a rag and wiped his fingers and mouth, setting the stripped bone near the fire to burn down. Then, without looking at her, he added:
"But if we're going to keep walking together... I'd prefer a little more honesty between us all."
He didn't raise his voice. It wasn't a demand—just a statement.
But it landed all the same.
Shadowheart gave a small, surprised laugh. Not mocking. Not bitter.
Soft.
"You may," she said, smiling faintly as she stood. "But don't count on it."
Fin stood with her, brushing dirt from his pants and stretching slightly with a tired grunt.
"Didn't say I would. Just that I'd prefer it."
They shared a glance, warm. The kind of look passed between people who weren't quite allies, not yet friends, but weren't strangers anymore either.
Shadowheart gave him a small nod and turned toward her tent.
"Goodnight, Fin."
"Night, Shadow-cutey"
She scoffed before vanishing into the shadows of her shelter.
Fin looked at the dying fire, watching the coals pulse and breathe like sleeping hearts. Then he turned and made his way to his tent, the quiet of the forest folding in around him. The flap rustled as he stepped inside, the interior dim and softly lit by the moonlight seeping through the canvas. The bedroll wasn't comfortable by any means, but it would do. He crouched, started unrolling it, and—
Ali materialised without fanfare, a soft pulse of blue light forming above his shoulder. Her sleek frame hovered just behind him, arms crossed over her chest, braid trailing lazily down one side.
"That was a surprisingly human moment, you know. Sitting by the fire. Talking feelings. I'm almost proud."
Fin didn't look back. "Don't make it weird."
Ali smirked. "Too late. But seriously—these companions you've chosen... they're chaotic. Shadowheart has secrets stuffed into every seam of her robes. Lae'zel's one insult away from carving your lungs out. Durge is a feral enigma with body counts in the triple digits, and Astarion…"
Fin sighed. "Yeah. I know."
"You could have picked a more stable party. Maybe someone with a warm smile. Or at least one who doesn't sparkle like he eats eyeliner."
Fin shook out his blanket. "I didn't pick them."
Ali blinked. "You absolutely did."
He sat down, rolling his shoulders. "I mean, I did, but not because of some master plan. They're here. We fight well enough. I don't have to give up magical items, and if something deeper happens, fine. But I'm not forcing it."
Ali's head tilted. "Even with her?"
He didn't have to ask who she meant.
"Durge… is a special case."
"You don't say."
Fin exhaled, resting his forearms on his knees. "There's a connection between her and the plot. The Absolute. The tadpole. Me. I can't believe it's a coincidence she showed up and not Tav. If I have to give her a longer leash to see the whole picture—so be it."
Ali hovered lower, her expression softening for a rare moment. "You're trying to play it slow. For once."
Fin smirked faintly. "Trying."
The tent went quiet again. Just the sound of distant crickets, the rustle of trees, and the occasional hoot of an owl.
Then his expression shifted. Eyes narrowing.
"But the System…"
"Hm?"
He sat upright, staring into the air like trying to will something into view.
"PP. Ever since I made that binding vow… the numbers have been different. Gains have slowed as expected, but there've been no notifications since. That Grove fight? I took out two wargs, a dozen goblins, half a bugbear regiment—and nothing."
Ali's smirk faded. "That is strange. You should've gained something, at least. Even if the System throttled your reward scaling, it would've said something."
Fin frowned. "It's been radio silent. Too silent."
Then—
[DING.]
The noise wasn't loud, but it was unmistakable.
A glowing blue screen flickered into view above Fin's outstretched hand.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
Pending Rewards Detected.
Combat Data Incomplete — Retroactive Calculation Initiated...
You Have Gained:
+375 Points
+1 Skill Upgrade Token
Processing complete.
Note: Delay caused by temporary suppression effect — [Binding Vow: Endure].Rewards were held until core integrity stabilised.
"Finally," he muttered.
Ali hovered a bit lower, squinting at the floating screen. "One skill upgrade token? That's better than nothing."
"Still stingy," Fin said, brushing the side of the notification away with his hand. It dissolved into fading sparks.
Ali crossed her arms. "You did practically carve through an entire flank of the enemy line. That's gotta be worth more than a shiny coin and a polite thank-you."
"It's the suppression effect," Fin muttered, reclining back onto the bedroll. "The vow's throttling my rewards. Guess the System didn't like me turning masochist."
Ali rolled her eyes. "That was your choice."
"Everything is, eventually."
He closed his eyes, arms behind his head. The tent roof loomed above, quiet and still.
"In any case, I'll roll these tomorrow morning. Time for some well-deserved sleep."
Ali hovered beside him a moment longer, her projection flickering softer now.
"Rest well, Fin."
He didn't answer. The tension was gone from his shoulders, his breathing evening out.
Ali vanished.
And outside, the river kept flowing.
...
[End of Chapter]