Chapter Text
Akta's memories of Szarr Palace were a mix of her shared dream with Astarion and the stories he had told her. As they walked through the corridors, she recognized the bookshelves, paintings, kennels, and living quarters, all tinged with a sense of familiarity. But reality was harsher than both the dream and the tales.
Holding Astarion's hand tightly, she walked with Shadowheart, Halsin, and Jaheira, following Dal's directions to the ritual chamber.
Astarion attempted to lighten the mood with his usual dark humor, recounting anecdotes from his two centuries in the palace. Yet his hand was sweating.
They found Godey in one of the kennels, and it was deeply satisfying to watch him grovel before Astarion before they dispatched him.
After acquiring the Szarr signet ring to open the door to Cazador’s study, they faced a gauntlet of wolves, bats, and undead before reaching the elevator leading to the ritual chamber. The entire Szarr palace reeked of mustiness, giving it the feel of an ancient, sealed-off ruin from the moment they arrived. But descending in the elevator to the dungeons, the odor shifted from musty to downright putrid.
‘I never knew this place existed,’ Astarion remarked.
Fortunately, all of them could see clearly in the darkness. Yet what they saw made them wish they were blind.
Cells lined both sides of the chamber they descended into, packed with thousands of spawns bearing glowing red eyes. The creatures screamed, bit each other, and groaned with hunger and despair. The scent of fresh, living blood amplified their cacophony, driving them into a frenzy. Humanoids packed the cell entrances, reaching through bars in a desperate attempt to seize the intruders.
Astarion released Akta’s hand and moved in front of her, keeping his head low. He knew only too well who these imprisoned figures were, and he bore a heavy burden for many of their predicaments.
‘Gale and the others—they’re meeting us here later,’ Akta said softly. ‘They’ll end this suffering soon, my love.’ She moved beside him and took his hand in hers.
‘Stay behind me,’ Astarion urged, attempting to push Akta back.
‘No, Astarion. You're not going in first. Jaheira, Shadow, and Halsin will lead us. We will follow. Trust me, we need to catch him off guard. We have to flood the chamber with sunlight before we do anything,’ Akta insisted firmly, gripping his hand tightly.
‘Okay, but what about Dal and the others? Won’t they get hurt?’ Astarion asked, concerned.
‘Yes, that’s why we must end this quickly. If my plan works, there won’t be much of a fight,’ she explained.
Astarion took a deep breath as they approached the massive doors of the chamber. The two druids and the cleric entered first, followed closely by Astarion and Akta. They conjured daylight inside, and even before they could lay eyes on Cazador, his piercing shriek echoed through the room.
The sound made Astarion flinch as though in pain, and Akta squeezed his hand reassuringly. There, before them, stood Cazador Szarr, clad in an ornate black doublet and wielding a menacing staff, his grin twisted with malice.
‘Ah, the prodigal son returns. And look at you, showing up like some ragged traveler. Have you really fallen this low without me? After abandoning us, you should be begging for forgiveness,’ he sneered.
‘I don't owe you a damn thing,’ Astarion snapped back.
‘How dare you speak to me like that? I gave you immortality. I made you part of something greater than yourself. Without me, you're nothing,’ Cazador hissed.
‘I've lived without you and walked in the sunlight. I've been free of your rules, Cazador, and I plan to stay that way,’ Astarion shot back.
Cazador laughed, though he winced from the sunlight.
As they ascended the stairs, a sickly green light shot from Cazador’s staff, aiming straight for Astarion’s chest. He braced himself, closing his eyes.
But nothing happened. His hand felt empty as she had slipped her own hand out of his grip. Akta stood there arms outstretched, countering the blight with her own magic.
‘You don't get to hurt him anymore,’ her voice rang out with authority as she stepped forward, her eyes turning completely black, like twin pools of endless night.
‘So, you're Akta? The one who stole my boy from me? I'll deal with him first, and then I'll teach you a lesson,’ Cazador threatened.
‘Watch your words when speaking to a necromancer, Undead. We have a reputation,’ Akta warned, her voice ice-cold and unwavering.
The first words that fell from her mouth immediately unsettled Astarion. He hadn't wanted any attention on her. If it were up to him, he would have left her outside the chamber, maybe even the palace altogether. Alarmed, he looked at Akta, trying to gauge her intentions after that threat.
While Astarion was fixated on Akta, he missed the sudden change in Cazador’s demeanor. Before he could process it, Akta spoke again.
‘Thank you. You've made it easy to be cruel to you, so I almost appreciate it. Now, could you please kneel over here?’
In an instant, Cazador dropped to his knees in front of Astarion, completely losing control of his own body. Akta had placed him under her thrall.
‘Now, ask him for forgiveness,’ she commanded, even as she visibly struggled to maintain control. Her voice cracked as Cazador resisted her necromantic influence.
However, after a few more desperate struggles and fearful shrieks, Cazador abruptly stopped resisting. Astarion turned to Akta. Blood dripped from her eyes, ears, and nose. He knew what that meant, what she was doing.
‘Stop resisting, Cazador,’ Akta's voice sliced through the air like a blade. ‘I'm not some noble wizard. I didn’t learn magic in fancy schools, but under extreme duress and out of tremendous need. I am not here with parlor tricks or flashy elemental spells. I could make you do unspeakable things to yourself. I could force you to stand in the sunlight until you're nothing but ash, I could make you drown in the Chionthar, or drive a dagger through your own heart. By the hells, I could even strip you of your magic if I so desired. You’re not the only one here who can bend others to their will. And believe me when I say this, every fiber of my being urges me to unleash unbridled cruelty upon you. But what happens to you is not up to me.’
She turned to Astarion.
She turned to Astarion.
‘He's all yours, love. I'll go help Dal and the others,’ she said nonchalantly, her eyes returning to hellfire as she wiped the blood from her face. ‘You have an hour, if you want... I mean, you have an hour. Do what you want. Shadow, Jaheira, Halsin, will you come with me to help the others, please? Also, you can get rid of the sunlight now. Our host here will be very obedient anyway.’
Without another word, she turned and walked toward where Dalyria was held, wincing in pain.
For a fleeting moment, Astarion felt like he was trapped in the strangest dream. His heart swelled with conflicting emotions, full yet empty all at once.
‘Damn the gods,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I could worship her for the rest of my life.’
Gathering his resolve, Astarion seized Cazador by the hair, his dagger poised at the vampire's throat.
‘I am so much more than what you made me,’ he declared through gritted teeth. ‘I know love, kindness, and friendship. I have a woman who loves me despite everything. You're finished, Cazador. Today, you'll die, but I'll live. I'll have sunlight, love, and a home. This cycle of pain ends with me.’
With swift determination, he slit Cazador’s throat, and the body vanished into nothingness.
Confusion clouded Astarion as he turned to Akta, who had freed Dal and was moving towards Leon.
‘Akta? Where did he…’ he began, bewildered.
‘He's in his coffin, healing,’ she shouted back, already chanting another incantation to dispel magic.
Astarion rushed to the coffin, joined by Dalyria, Violet, and Yousen. Together, they pried it open and pulled out Cazador.
They threw him to the ground.
‘No more healing for you,’ Astarion growled, repeatedly stabbing Cazador until Akta hurried over and restrained his hand. Blood covered him, his silver-white curls now speckled with crimson.
His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, the dagger slipping from his grasp. Akta knelt beside him, placing her hands on his knees as he screamed, sobbed, and trembled.
Around them, his siblings gathered, holding onto each other and sharing in the release of centuries-old pain. Flaming Fist soldiers and Harper agents flooded the chamber, awaiting orders. Gale and the others stood by, ready to act.
‘It's not safe to release all the spawns before the ritual. We need to get these seven to the chamber with the cells,’ Gale commanded urgently.
Akta whispered softly to Astarion. "Can you stand?" He nodded weakly.
With Akta's support, Astarion managed to steady himself on trembling legs.
‘I can walk,’ he insisted, though his voice betrayed his unease.
She noticed his shivering and unlaced her robe. ‘You're cold,’ she said softly, draping it over his shoulders for warmth.
As Gale released the orb from his chest, Astarion felt a wave of nausea. When it was over, the chamber was filled with the cacophony of thousands of people crying, shouting, and groaning. The transformation would take a few hours to complete.
‘I'll go back to our room,’ Astarion’s voice was weary.
‘I'll come with you,’ Akta offered.
‘No, you need to stay here. They'll need you. I'll be fine.’
‘Take Shovel with you at least, please.’
‘Fine.’
‘Let me know if you need anything?’ she pleaded.
He nodded faintly and left.
