...
Fin was at the rear of the group as they climbed over a ridge of jagged rock, his hand absently turning a small glass vial between his fingers. The liquid inside shimmered faintly gold, swirling like sunlight caught in water.
Potion of Animal Speaking
Snagged from the shrine in the owlbear's den, he already had a use in mind.
"Any chance we're almost there?" Astarion called up from a narrow ledge ahead, his voice light but edged with impatience. "I do so love walking aimlessly through mud and blood, but my boots are not immune to the indignities of the road."
"Soon," Fin replied, vaulting up a stretch of stone.
He landed lightly and scanned the slope beyond—then froze.
At the base of the next rise, a man lay sprawled on his back, limbs awkwardly twisted, shirt soaked dark across the chest. His skin had gone pale, lips tinged blue. His blood lay bare upon the forest floor.
Beside him, a white dog sat whining, tail low, nudging at the man's unmoving arm with his nose. Each push grew more desperate, more confused, as if trying to wake him by sheer insistence.
The sound carried through the still air like a plea.
Shadowheart slowed to a stop behind Fin, her eyes narrowing. "Another body," she murmured.
Wyll's jaw tightened. "Not just another. That's… someone's companion."
The dog's ears flicked up at the movement, but he didn't run. He stayed by the man's side, a low growl rumbling in his throat, eyes bright and wet.
Ali flickered into view over Fin's shoulder, her voice quieter than usual. "You're gonna use it now, aren't you?"
Fin's hand brushed the potion's cork.
"Yeah," he said.
Fin popped the cork with his thumb. The sharp, herbal tang of the potion hit his nose as he tipped it back and swallowed in two long gulps. The golden liquid burned faintly on the way down, heat pooling in his chest before spreading through his skull in a tingling wave.
He wiped the excess from his lips with the back of his hand and tucked the empty bottle away.
The white dog's eyes tracked his every step as he closed the distance, muscles taut, ears pinned back.
A low, warning growl rolled from the dog's throat, defensive.
"Keep moving, stranger. Quietly."
Fin slowed, gaze flicking briefly to the man sprawled on the ground. The skin had gone too pale, the chest unmoving. Whatever wound had taken him had done its work long before they arrived.
Fin's voice was calm, quiet. "You alright?"
The dog's growl deepened, teeth bared.
"I told you to go!"
Fin stopped a few paces away, the potion's magic letting the words translate cleanly in his mind. His eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but recognition.
"…Scratch."
The growl faltered.
The dog blinked, his stance shifting just enough to betray uncertainty.
"...How do you know my name?"
Fin crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, voice low but steady. "Because I'm not your enemy. And your enemy wouldn't know it."
Scratch's tail twitched. He didn't move forward, but the tension in his shoulders eased.
"You smell of death. But… there's none in your words."
The dog's ears drooped slightly, but his gaze remained sharp.
"Still, you should go. My friend is injured. He needs rest."
Fin's chest tightened. His gaze flicked again to the lifeless body. "He might not wake up, Scratch."
"Of course he'll wake up! He needs time."
There was no malice in it—only stubborn, raw hope. The kind that hurts to hear.
Fin exhaled through his nose, the edge of his voice softening. "…Alright."
He straightened, dusting his hands off on his haori. "If he doesn't… if he won't wake up, you can follow my scent to our camp. You'll be safe there."
Scratch studied him for a long moment, sniffing faintly at the air.
"…I hope it doesn't come to that. But… thank you."
Fin gave a single nod, then stepped back to let the dog return fully to his vigil.
The white shape stayed by the man's side, ears twitching at every small sound in the forest, as if guarding him from the world could somehow bring him back.
Fin stepped back from the dog's side, boots crunching in the leaf litter. Scratch lowered his head again, pressing his muzzle to the dead man's arm, a low whine spilling into the stillness.
When Fin turned, the others were staring at him.
Wyll's brows were drawn together in something between confusion and suspicion. "That was… unexpected," he said slowly.
Fin gave him a flat look. "What was?"
"You. Offering him shelter. I've seen you cut down people mid-sentence without blinking, but a dog whines at you and suddenly you're the patron saint of strays?"
Fin shrugged. "Dogs aren't cultists."
Shadowheart tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to peel back a layer he wasn't showing. "Still… It's not like you to hand out invitations. Not to strangers. Not to anyone."
Fin kept walking, forcing them to follow if they wanted answers. "It's not kindness. It's practicality. A camp dog can hear threats before we do."
"That's the excuse you're going with?" Astarion's voice was light, but the smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm not sure I buy it, darling. I've seen you let useful things die before. You wanted him alive."
Fin didn't look back. "Maybe I did. Doesn't matter why."
They exchanged glances behind him—Shadowheart's sceptical, Wyll's still edged with that faint distrust, and Astarion's quietly amused—but none of them pressed further.
The forest swallowed the sound of the dog's whining as they moved on, the quiet between them heavier than before.
Ali flickered briefly at Fin's shoulder, too low for the others to see, her tone all too knowing."You can pretend it's a strategy all you want. But we both know you didn't want him alone."
Fin didn't answer.
...
They walked in silence, the crunch of leaves and the distant caw of a raven filling the gap—until Shadowheart spoke up, her tone edging toward wry.
"You know… this isn't the first time you've taken in a stray."
Fin glanced sideways at him. "What?"
Shadowheart's lips twitched. "The bard. Alfira. You practically invited her to stay at camp without blinking."
Astarion slowed his pace, blinking in mild surprise. "I beg your pardon—who?"
"A tiefling," Wyll said. "Young. Plays the lute. Bright smile, bright voice. He offered her a place to rest for the night when we met her on the road."
Astarion's eyes slid toward Fin, the corner of his mouth curling. "Is this going to be a common occurrence, then? Rescuing adorable musicians, lost animals, and—what's next? Orphans?"
Shadowheart actually chuckled under her breath, and Wyll shook his head with a grin. "Careful, Astarion—he might just adopt you next."
A rare sound—shared laughter—passed between them. Even Fin, walking a step ahead, smirked faintly at the absurdity. He couldn't really deny it, not when the evidence was stacking up.
Ali flickered into view at his shoulder, floating lazily upside-down so her face hung beside his.
"Aww… look at you," she drawled. "From murder-hobo to camp counsellor. What's next—matching bedrolls and a bedtime story?"
The smirk slipped from his face.
"Shut up," he muttered.
Ali grinned, victorious. "Hit a nerve."
Before Fin could fire back, the air shifted.
A sudden wave of heat rolled over them—not scorching, but enough to prickle the skin and raise the hairs on their arms. It was the kind of heat that carried weight, like standing too close to a forge mid-strike.
Wyll froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing. "…Karlach."
He didn't hesitate. Sword-hand flexing, he surged forward at a run, boots pounding against the dirt.
The others followed, their path sloping downward until the treeline broke open around a narrow river. The water churned lazily, shallow enough to see the stones jutting through its surface.
Wyll darted for the nearest rock, hopping across it in quick succession. Each landing sent up a spray of cold river droplets.
Fin, meanwhile, didn't even slow. Cursed energy flickered faintly in his legs as he vaulted off a low boulder, twisted mid-air, and hit the far bank in two long strides. He was already climbing the embankment before Wyll was halfway across.
He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "You're making good time—for someone's grandfather."
Wyll's only reply was a sharp glare before leaping to the next stone.
Behind them, Shadowheart eyed the water, then the slick stones. "If I slip and drown, I'm haunting both of you."
Astarion gave the river a distasteful look, tugging his coat tighter. "If I get wet, I will kill someone. And it won't be in a fun way."
Their complaints were lost under the steady rush of the river as Fin crested the ridge ahead, eyes narrowing at the shimmer of heat still curling through the air beyond.
Karlach was close.
Fin slowed as he reached the top of the rise. The heat was stronger here, the air shimmering faintly like the edge of a desert road in summer.
Through the wavering haze, he saw movement—a tall, broad-shouldered figure at the far edge of the clearing.
She was crouched near the water's edge, one hand braced in the dirt, the other holding the haft of a greataxe. Steam curled faintly from the metal, like it had been resting in a forge moments ago. Her clothing was piecemeal and battered, blackened at the seams from heat. Strands of fiery red and black hair clung to her face, plastered there with sweat.
When she shifted, Fin caught sight of her chest, faint orange light pulsed in rhythm with her breathing. She wasn't moving like someone on guard. She was moving like someone on the run.
Fin's gaze flicked briefly to the torn-up ground near her—boot prints, claw marks, and darker stains soaking into the dirt. Whoever she'd been fighting, it hadn't ended clean.
Wyll caught up beside him, chest heaving slightly from the crossing. His voice was low, almost reverent. "It's her."
Karlach's head snapped up at the sound, eyes locking onto them.
For a heartbeat, Fin swore he saw the heat spike—like the air between them flexed, ready to ignite.
Her grip tightened on the axe, and she straightened to her full height. Even from here, he could feel the heat radiating off her in steady waves.
"Strangers," she called, voice rough but carrying easily over the water. "If you're here for my head, you'll need a bigger bag."
Karlach's eyes narrowed—not at Fin, but past him. Her gaze locked on the figure clambering up the far side of the bank.
Wyll.
Her lips peeled back into something between a snarl and a grin. "Well, well… The Blade of Frontiers. Took you long enough to catch up."
Wyll's hand went to the hilt of his sword, drawing it with a hiss of steel. "Karlach. Advocatus Diaboli. The stink of Avernus follows you like a shadow."
She rolled her shoulders, the haft of her axe resting casually against one palm. "That's the smell of someone who's survived it. Can't say the same for your friends down there."
Wyll's eyes flashed. "You've cut down innocents. I've heard the stories. Whatever you've run from, it ends today. I'll slay you here, devil."
Karlach took a single step forward, heat rippling from her in an almost visible wave. "You'll slay me after you listen to me. Just once. Because if you're half the hero you pretend to be, you'll want to hear this before you start swinging."
Wyll's jaw tightened, but his blade stayed at the ready. "I'm not in the habit of hearing devils beg for their lives."
"Then think of it as a devil telling you where to point your sword," she shot back, eyes narrowing.
They stared each other down, the heat between them almost palpable, though Fin knew it wasn't metaphorical. Karlach's presence alone made the air shimmer, baking against his skin.
And yet… he didn't move.
Because he knew.
He knew her story. That she wasn't the monster Wyll thought she was. That she was running from the Hells, not carrying them with her.
He wasn't here to bring her down. He was here to take her in.
And as he stood there, watching the way the sunlight caught in her hair, he wasn't sure if the warmth spreading through him was from being near her or from something else entirely.
Her eyes flicked to him suddenly, catching the weight of his gaze.
A slow, crooked smile pulled at her lips. "Enjoying the view, stranger? Careful—you might burn yourself."
Fin didn't look away. "I'll take my chances."
Her smile widened.
Wyll made a noise of disgust between them. "Oh, for the love of—"
Bootsteps crunched behind Fin.
Shadowheart emerged first, her glaive in hand, eyes narrowing as she took in the scene—the heat in the air, Karlach's axe, Wyll's sword already drawn. Astarion slipped into view beside her, blade low but ready, his gaze flicking between Fin and the towering infernal woman.
"What in the Nine Hells is going on?" Shadowheart asked, her tone cool but edged with suspicion.
Before anyone could answer, a sharp pulse tore through all their skulls at once.
The world blinked out.
In its place, heat, choking and constant. The copper stink of blood. Screams beneath the roar of infernal engines.
They stood on a battlefield without end. Mountains of brass and iron belched fire into a blood-red sky, raining cinders onto an ocean of writhing bodies. The ground shook with the march of countless armoured soldiers, their banners bearing the sigil of an archdevil.
The Blood War.
From above, they watched the endless slaughter—the clash of demons and devils in a dance older than any mortal kingdom. And there, at the front, cutting a swathe through enemy ranks with brutal efficiency, was her.
Karlach.
Skin scorched, glowing at the seams where infernal metal met flesh, her axe roaring with each strike. She moved like she was born to kill in this place, and the legions around her moved with her, as one of them.
The heat of the vision burned against their minds until—
They were back.
The forest air was still hot from her presence, but nothing like the searing furnace they'd just seen.
Wyll's grip tightened on his sword. Slowly, he sheathed it—only to draw his rapier instead, the finer point aimed directly at her.
"That's all the proof I need," he said coldly. "A devil. A gladiator in Zariel's army."
Karlach raised her hands, her axe nowhere in sight now. "Yeah, that's me. Was me. But if you'd just listen—"
Another pulse ripped through them, dragging the world away again before she could finish.
The heat was back—scalding, suffocating—only now they stood on scorched ground, ash clinging to their boots. Karlach was there, axe in hand, her breathing ragged.
Her blade came up, not toward demons this time, but devils. Zariel's soldiers—armoured in infernal steel, their eyes glowing with fire. She carved through them with vicious precision, each strike ringing with the raw, frantic rhythm of survival.
Her gaze darted constantly, scanning the chaos. Not for enemies—for a way out.
The emotion in the vision wasn't pride. It wasn't the thrill of battle. It was rage and beneath it, desperation so sharp it made the air taste of copper.
The truth was undeniable; this was no loyal soldier in the Blood War. This was someone clawing for escape.
The visions broke.
They were back in the clearing, the smell of earth and river replacing the scent of ash and brimstone.
Wyll's rapier stayed levelled at her. "Don't be fooled," he said sharply, looking between Fin, Shadowheart, and Astarion. "She's trying to twist what you saw. Devils don't turn on their own unless there's more to gain."
Karlach's eyes flashed. "You've seen the truth. I never wanted to serve Zariel. I was taken, enslaved, and thrown into her army without a choice. I fought because I had to. And when I saw an opening to get away, I took it."
Her hands, still raised, lowered slowly. Her voice softened."I'm finally home… or near it, anyway."
Wyll shook his head, his voice rising. "You served her. That's enough to damn you!"
Fin finally moved, stepping between them. His hand came down firmly on Wyll's shoulder.
"Enough," he said quietly, but the weight in his tone cut through the air like steel.
Fin's grip on Wyll's shoulder tightened, just enough to keep him from stepping forward."Wyll, look at me," he said evenly. "You saw her memories. That means she's infected too. She's like us. And you know as well as I do—you can't fake that."
Wyll's jaw worked, the rapier still steady in his hand. "You don't know what you're asking. You're asking me to trust a devil."
"She's not a devil," Fin said, his voice firm now. "You saw her past. The hells. Zariel's army. She was forced into that life. Taken. Made to fight in a war she never asked for. That's not evil—that's survival."
Karlach took a small step forward, the heat radiating from her no longer sharp, but warm in a different way. "You've seen monsters before, Blade of Frontiers. Look into my eyes."
Wyll hesitated.
Karlach's voice softened, but it carried all the weight of someone who'd been running too long. "Can't you see I'm not what you think?"
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the gentle lap of the river against the stones.
Then Wyll's shoulders eased. The tension in his grip on the rapier slackened. He let out a long breath.
"…Shit."
The rapier slid back into its sheath with a quiet hiss.
"You really are no devil, are you?" he said quietly. "I've… I've been deceived."
Karlach's grin was faint but real, relief flickering in her eyes.
Fin finally released Wyll's shoulder, but didn't step away. "Glad we're on the same page."
Karlach let out a breath she'd been holding, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the last few moments of tension. The heat around her eased, not gone, but no longer oppressive.
"Glad that's settled," she said, smirking faintly at Wyll. "Was starting to think you'd never put that toothpick away."
Wyll's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close. "Don't make me regret it."
Astarion stepped forward, his gaze sliding over Karlach with the sort of casual assessment he gave a fine blade at market. "Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine? And here I thought all infernal mercenaries were horns and brimstone. At least you bring some colour to this group."
"Careful," Karlach shot back, "you might start to like me."
Shadowheart lowered her glaive, still watching Karlach with a cautious eye. "You're radiating enough heat to cook a man alive. That's not going to be an issue?"
Karlach shrugged, a touch of sadness slipping under her grin. "Not unless you plan on hugging me for more than a second. Which, judging from your face, isn't likely."
Fin stayed quiet through their back-and-forth, watching the way she held herself. Even in her relief, her stance was ready to move—ready to run, if she had to. He knew that posture too well.
Karlach turned to him suddenly, one brow raised. "So, what's your deal? You're the one I caught staring earlier. You leading this merry little band?"
He didn't deny it. "Something like that. And if you want in, there's a spot."
She tilted her head. "Just like that? No contracts, no speeches?"
"You're a prisoner no longer," Fin said simply. " And you're not my enemy. That's enough."
For a heartbeat, her smile softened into something warmer. "Alright then. You've got yourself a Karlach."
Ali flickered into view beside him, leaning in with a smirk only he could see. "Look at you. Collecting strays again."
Fin's eyes narrowed faintly, but he didn't respond.
Wyll adjusted the strap of his pack, glancing at Karlach. "If we're travelling together, there's something you should know—"
Karlach cut him off with a grin. "I already know. You'll be watching me like a hawk. Don't worry, Blade, I'm not planning on giving you a reason."
"See that you don't," Wyll said, though his tone had lost most of its earlier bite.
Fin turned toward the trees, the faint pull of heat still brushing his skin as she fell into step beside him.
The group moved on, the forest closing around them again, but the air still carried the faint scent of smoke and iron.
And though Fin didn't say it aloud, he already knew—this wasn't the last time Karlach's past was going to come crashing into them.
The walk back toward the trail was quick, the introductions quicker.
Names were traded. The bare bones of what they knew so far—the grove, the tiefling refugees, the goblin threat—were passed along. Karlach listened without interrupting, nodding along with a soldier's focus, but her eyes were bright with a different kind of fire.
When Fin finished, she grinned. "Alright, sounds like you've got your hands full. But, before you get back to all that… want to help me kill some people?"
Wyll's brows drew together. "You're not making a great case for yourself."
"They're not just people," Karlach said, her grin sharpening. "They're 'Paladins of Tyr.' Or so they say. The truth is, they're agents of Zariel. My old boss. They're here to drag me back to Avernus, and that's not happening. So—" She hefted her axe, the steel already starting to steam. "We take them down before they take me."
Fin didn't hesitate. "We'll send them back to where they came from."
Karlach's grin widened. "Knew I liked you."
Shadowheart gave Karlach an appraising glance. "I like her. She looks like she could throw me over her shoulder and carry me to safety…" Her tone dipped unexpectedly serious. "…should the need arise."
There was a beat of silence, then the others started chuckling. Shadowheart rolled her eyes and muttered something about hypotheticals.
Fin smirked. "Welcome to the party, Karlach."
She swung her axe up onto her shoulder like it belonged there. "Lead the way, boss."
The group turned east, the forest path stretching ahead toward the would-be holy men. None of them were in the mood for diplomacy.
Today, the "Paladins of Tyr" were going to meet something far hotter than divine justice.
...
[End of Chapter]