This post by @messiahzzz has been on my mind for sooo long, so let me share a few thoughts on their relationship, his "grooming", and what context this puts his folly in.
A) Was Gale groomed?
Whatever timeline we apply, even if she never touched him in a sexual way before he was 20, it is safe to call what was done to him "grooming".
Gale was born during the Spellplague, a time when Mystra was canonically gone, but still very much revered and mystified in wizarding circles. She's still the admin of the weave, although dead/ incapacitated. A young boy who can manipulate the weave consistently and (more or less) safely to an extent where he casts fireball and summons a tressym is fucking impressive!
So, of course, Elminster hears of this and shows up. Whether directed by Mystra to do so or by his own will is not the point. Because Elminster would have instilled the reverence and love for Mystra in that young boy's heart, regardless. Elminster is like a father figure to Gale (as we can tell from Gale's reaction after Elminster stabilises the orb), and he has immense influence on him, even in adulthood.
Elminster is a chosen of Mystra himself and ALSO a former lover of Mystra. So if Gale knew this, it might not even have felt "wrong" when she came onto him.
Slight tangent here, but to me it's obvious SHE came onto HIM. He does not have the rizz to seduce a goddess. (see this post by @brainrotbutobsessed). She decided to sleep with him, and he was willing and enthusiastic. Also, I am getting a sense that Elminster kind of raised Gale as a present for Mystra? Like his own version of Gale's folly, a show of devotion? That would make it soooo much more fucked up....
By the time she comes on to him, the foundations have already been laid by Elminster. He "prepared" Gale for Mystra, shaped his entire self-worth and identity around her and made Gale into what Mystra wants: prodigious, ambitious, desperate to please, and convinced that her approval and affection is the ultimate prize. She doesn’t need to “win him over” Elminster’s tutoring has already done the work. All she has to do is notice him.
Also, he is in a bubble where everything is about Mystra. Almost every important relationship Gale has before BG3 ties back to Mystra. Elminster, colleagues, other wizards; they're all within her sphere. Gale’s entire magical upbringing reinforced that Mystra’s approval is the highest good.
Tara and Morena may be the only ones who witness how unhealthy this is and tell him as much. He would have resisted those suggestions fiercely because acknowledging them would threaten his whole identity and purpose. This is a common thread between victims of abuse.
To round this up: Whether or not sex was involved before Gale was “of age” is almost beside the point. The grooming began years before they met: through Elminster’s training, cultural reverence, and the deliberate shaping of Gale’s identity around Mystra’s approval. By the time she entered his life, the emotional groundwork of grooming was complete.
B) What was Gale and Mystra's relationship like?
Their relationship begins with Mystra in the position of goddess, mentor, and ultimate magical authority. "Power imbalance" does not convey how disturbingly uneven they are. She keeps him close, but on her terms. He learns that affection and attention are conditional on obedience. Furthermore, I think if we look at their intimacy, we see that it is on her terms and on her turf, always.
Gale refers to the incorporeal sex in the weave as "the way the gods do it", and he sees this as an elevated, more sophisticated form of intimacy. From Gale's comments, this arrangement also seems service-oriented: he performed for her, and she allowed him to feel lucky for the privilege.
He assumes that, of course, the player wants that. He has to be explicitly told you want him, not just his Weave. This shows how deeply he associates sexual intimacy with magical performance, not physical closeness.
Let's get meta for a moment: Mystra never lets lovers get physically close. Physical intimacy involves vulnerability and equality; incorporeal intimacy keeps her in control and at a safe distance.
By controlling the terms of intimacy, she kept him from ever having an equal, mutual sexual relationship while with her. By instilling a sense of debt and guilt, she ensured he would protect her image and take the blame for their fallout.
These points show that Mystra’s abuse wasn’t just about professional mentorship or divine authority; it penetrated into how Gale defines love, sex, and worth. Whatever sexual or romantic experiences Gale had before Mystra, none were as awe-inspiring or formative. She immensly shaped both his heart and his concept of intimacy.
C) What made him fall?
Gale’s folly is often framed as a simple case of ambition overruling good sense (explicitly by Mystra, Elminster and Gale himself), but when you look closer, it’s less about pure ambition and a bit more complex.
The first driver is his desire to prove himself Mystra’s equal. Not in a hostile or challenging way, but in the sense of being worthy to stand at her side.
The second motive is personal and painfully romantic: he wanted to impress her. The act, in his mind, was a grand gesture, something that would make her look at him with renewed approval and affection. (“You know me, my romantic gestures can never be grand enough.”)
From the outside, there is an undeniable red flag here: Gale did not take “no” for an answer. He pushed at boundaries, ignored limits, and reached for something dangerous. But that drive was cultivated over years of conditioning.
When Mystra rewarded ambition, Gale learned to see it as a virtue; when she punished it, he learned to see himself as the one at fault for reaching incorrectly, not for reaching at all.
And then there’s the part of him that is, at heart, a nerdy wizard kid who loves magic for its own sake. He loves Mystra, but he also loves magic itself! “Her art” is the center of his identity and joy.
Before the weave channeling moment in the game, he tells the player, “As much as I fear losing myself, I fear even more losing my command of her art”. He is sad about the love he lost, he is scared of losing himself and becoming a mind flayer, but the most frightening thing to him would be to loose his magic!
So just imagine this IT nerd with a high end gaming PC, he was like part of the elite and had immense power. But through Mystra, he caught wind of something bigger (think Quantum Computer or something). Flattering the “IT admin” (aka Mystra) to get access didn’t feel like arrogance but like the next logical step in his lifelong pursuit of mastery.
So the folly is not just his ambition or hubris but his loving curiosity and nerdiness, as well as decades of romantic entanglement and professional grooming.
His “hubris” is actually a byproduct of a relationship where ambition was nurtured when useful, then punished when it threatened the power holder.
Today my AO3 account turns 1 year old and I would like to share some things with y'all! So if you'll endulge me, here are some things from the last 12 months!
Favourite Lines I have written
Her long, pointed ears reminded Ada of a fairy—if fairies were severe and dominant predators. - Ada's first impression of Lae'zel
Nothing says “unprepared” like wearing your gym sneakers on an interplanetary nightmare hike. - Walking the Wilderness
“There is such vastness and vibrancy to you that it is hard for me to believe you come from a world without magic." - Gale to Ada
“So you are ‘a’ devil?” she asked, not mocking—genuinely trying to work it out. “Not ‘the’ devil. One of many?” - Meeting Raphael and NOT making a new friend
Ada waved politely at the Undying Queen. - At Crèche Y'llek
References I have hidden
“Because there is an ocean between God and myself.” - (Lestrad de Lioncourt, IWTV 2022)
“How are we supposed to keep on feeding you? Kill people?” > “I’ll make it worth your while...” - (Little Shop of Horrors)
Then Gale’s eyes flicked to her bowl. “You didn’t care for the stew?” - (Dawn Chorus, Samantha Shannon)
“This is the skin of a killer, Ada.” - (Twilight, Stephanie Meyer)
Best comments I have received
“Some really emotive writing here.”
“Be very proud of yourself - you've grabbed readers by the throat and yanked them directly into your story!”
“Ada taking a moment to think "and yet I am still fat?? Ffs." That's good. I'd think it too. 🤣”
“Great writing style and very interesting tav!”
“I love the long chapters, don't worry about them, they bring joy 🤗”
“T_T i had to go back and reread this entire section when i finished the chapter, so, so good wtf!!”
“Even if I'm dyslexic your writing is amazing and gentle and makes it quite easy for me to read without getting lost”
Statistics I am proud of
Thank you to anyone who's ever left kudos or a kind comment! <3
A moment in the weave leaves Ada with a storm of emotions.
For the song she sings, check out "Ich bin es nicht" from the German Wicked Soundtrack!
Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.
Read the full fanfic on AO3 now 🗡️
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
The party had slowly dispersed and the air had cooled in the grove. Ada felt relieved by the quiet and the break from the heat of the day.
When she found Gale, a little away from the camp, he stood with his back to her, his head bowed, his focus entirely on his open palm. From where she stood, she could see a faint lavender light emanating from his hand. Curious, Ada stepped closer, squinting to make out the details in the dim glow.
In his palm hovered an image, not just a light but the head of a woman.
She was ethereal and impossibly beautiful. Her features were delicate yet commanding; sharp, regal cheekbones, her hair swept back from her face, a diadem resting on her brow. The faint glow that surrounded her head pulsed softly, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.
The centre of the diadem was made up of a big, eight-pointed star in the exact shape of Gale’s earring.
Gale was standing there, gazing at the image with an expression she had never seen on him before. It was as if he were looking at a long-lost memory.
Ada cleared her throat, and Gale jumped, startled by the sudden sound. He quickly closed his hand, snuffing out the image.
"Oh my, Ada... you startled me. I was miles away."
"I’m sorry," Ada said, stepping a little closer. "Are you alright, Gale?"
He hesitated, his expression clouding with sadness as he gazed at the spot where Mystra’s image had been. "Just... pondering what I lost," he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically sombre.
"Mystra is my goddess; she commands all magic. Salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold. And yet, even now, more than I fear losing my own self and soul, I fear losing my command of her art."
Ada’s eyes widened. So that had been Mystra, the goddess of magic? The goddess Gale had called to for help in semi-consciousness.
His voice wavered slightly, and he looked down, defeated. "Magic is my life. I've been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it... it’s like music, poetry, physical beauty, all rolled into one and given expression through the senses."
Ada could hear the depth of emotion in his words, and it struck her: this was not the confident and arrogant, scholarly Gale she knew. He seemed exposed and defeated somehow.
He is in love with magic itself, Ada realised. This stirred something within her, an unease she didn’t fully understand.
"That’s why I asked you to seek me out," Gale continued, his voice soft but earnest. "To offer you a taste of such wonders. Would you like me to show you?"
There was a hint of hope in his tone, and Ada couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I’d love that."
Gale smiled then and stepped closer, positioning himself beside her. Their bodies were almost touching. The proximity made her heart skip a beat and she tried to ignore the flicker of warmth that spread through her chest.
“Watch me closely,” he instructed.
With a precise movement of his arms, he summoned a bright, sparkling light, tinged with a purple hue that looked inviting and friendly.
"Now, you," he said, his gaze steady on her, expectant and encouraging. Ada tried to mirror his movements, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Slowly, she traced the same patterns with her hand, and to her surprise, the same light appeared before her.
As the magic swirled, she felt a sensation like a kind word, a warm touch. It was comforting, familiar in a way she couldn’t explain.
"Excellent!" Gale exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. Ada couldn’t help but smile at his excitement, her heart swelling with pride at his approval.
But the feeling was also disconcerting. What was happening to her lately? Why did his praise affect her so much? There was something more, something unfamiliar that unsettled her.
Gale’s voice interrupted her thoughts. "Now, repeat after me."
He recited a short spell, and Ada listened intently, trying to memorise every syllable.
Carefully, she repeated the words, her voice steady, and suddenly, the scent of rosewater filled the air. The feeling of well-being wrapped around her, and a sliver of the Weave, sweet and delicate, lingered on her tongue.
"Very good!" Gale’s praise made her blush, her cheeks warming against her will.
What was wrong with her? She had never been so affected by his approval before. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, or of him, in that moment.
"Now, I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony, as true as you can," Gale said, his voice calm but insistent.
Ada closed her eyes and thought of a moment from her old life.
She was in a crowded concert hall, surrounded by people, all singing along to a song that filled the space. The vibration of the music, the tenderness of the lyrics, all permeated her body and soul. That was harmony.
As the image took hold, something shifted. Ada felt a presence—familiar and yet strange. The woman from Gale’s palm was there, but this time, Ada could sense her, instead of seeing her.
She turned to Gale, finding him standing even closer to her now, watching her intently. His eyes sparkled with wonder, and something in her stomach fluttered. There was an undeniable pull between them, something warm and magnetic.
In the Weave, the sensation was almost like the anticipation of a kiss, followed by the pleasure of being cloaked in peace. Ada felt safe, as if she were nestled in the cup of Mystra’s hand.
Gale chuckled, his voice filled with delight. "Ha! You did it! You’re channelling the Weave! Tell me, how does it feel?"
Ada struggled to find the right words, her thoughts still spinning from the sensation. "Comforting," she said, after a moment. Her brow furrowed. "Like I was being... held?" Her voice faltered on the last word, unsure.
Gale nodded, still smiling. "That it does."
The connection between them deepened, the Weave making them one. Ada let herself sink into it, drifting in this soothing sensation. And then, an image flashed through her mind.
She could feel his breath ghost across her skin. His temple rested on her collarbones as his head was placed on her chest. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her to him tightly.
She sat in his lap, her thighs around his waist. One of her hands was on his side and her thumb lazily traced over the soft fabric of his shirt. Her other hand was in his hair. Gently, her fingers raked through the wavy strands that fell to his shoulders.
Ada felt safe with him. She looked down at him and felt a tender pull in her heart. It was a peaceful and intimate moment…
That’s when she snapped out of it, the warmth of the moment replaced with the sharp lightning of embarrassment.
She dared a glance at Gale, wondering how he would react.
His face was flushed, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else; something she couldn’t quite name.
He stuttered, his voice shaky. "Sorry, I wasn’t expecting... Not that the image was unpleasant, to be sure... Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome, even if..."
He trailed off as the magic between them faded, and with it, the warmth of the Weave. The night suddenly felt cold and lonesome.
Gale collected himself, his voice soft and sad. "Oh... there it goes. How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in the obtaining."
He straightened, forcing a smile. "Good night, Ada. I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you."
He offered her one last, sincere smile before turning and walking back to his bedroll and the campfire, leaving her standing there, alone.
Ada stood frozen, her emotions tangled and raw. She couldn’t process the abruptness of the evening’s end.
The anticipation she had felt before coming here, the excitement of channelling the magic, the transcendent feeling of the Weave. All of it still swirled inside her.
And then there were her feelings for Gale, feelings she hadn’t fully understood before tonight.
They unsettled her, left her questioning not just her bond with him, but what lay beneath it. Had she scared him off with that image? Had she ruined the easy companionship they had built?
As the night closed in around her, Ada wondered if things would ever be the same.
Ada knew she would find no rest like this; with her head still spinning and her heart aching and tender. So she decided to take up the lute and find a quiet corner of the grove.
She found the grove was transformed in the light of the moon.
Gone was the nervous bustle, the lingering distrust and the whispered arguments between druids and refugees. In their place was a deep and soothing silence, like a balm laid gently over frayed nerves.
Moonlight filtered through the leaves, painting the stones silver and the moss a dark, rich green. The air was cooler now, tinged with the scent of damp earth, crushed thyme, and wildflowers that bloomed under starlight.
Cicadas hummed softly in the underbrush, and the wind rustled the branches above her in a slow, affectionate murmur.
Ada tilted her head back, gazing up at the stars and exhaled loudly.
There was an old, quiet magic here she could feel like silk touching her skin. As if the grove itself were alive and cloaking its inhabitants in serenity.
She wandered a little longer until she found a tree that had grown around a large boulder, curling its roots lovingly around the stone like a sleeping giant cradling its treasure. The roots formed a natural bench, padded with moss.
Ada thought it looked like the throne of a nature deity and decided it was a good place to find rest and soothe herself.
Settling down with her legs crossed, she tested the lute’s feeling in her hands. Carefully, she plucked at the strings, trying to get familiar with the differences between this instrument and her guitar at home.
To her satisfaction, she found the two extra strings were easily integrated into her muscle memory and she began to pluck a few notes from the instrument.
“Magie lockt, Zauber lacht; sie ist wie für ihn gemacht.
Angesicht zu Angesicht.
Seine Art von Frau.
Ich weiß genau, ich bin es nicht.
Gib auf, lass los! Manche Wünsche schmerzen bloß.
Wen interessiert, ob mein Herz zerbricht.
Er bemerkt es kaum.
Sie ist sein Traum; ich bin es nicht.”
A few words had changed while they had left her throat. Her eyes stung and as she blinked, a couple of tears made their way down Ada’s cheek.
She had been in this world for an entire week now. With all that had happened, it felt ten times as long. She had gone from denial to realisation to exhausted acceptance: This was real and she was on this strange plane now.
It had all felt like a dream at first, albeit a nightmare. Her new body, her companions and the threats they were facing.
She had told herself she imagined the pull she felt towards Gale and the way he made her seen and safe. The tadpole, she had reasoned, was the explanation for this connection to him.
But she no longer had the luxury of this delusion. She had feelings for Gale, that were different from any affection and friendship she had felt before.
Not in the way her friends had spoken about people they wanted physically. She had never felt attraction like that, though she had to admit he was handsome.
What she felt was more a longing to be held and cherished, to trust someone enough to not fear being completely seen by them.
Ada took a shuddering breath and a sigh escaped her.
Don’t be pathetic, the voice in her head scoffed. You saw him look at his goddess. You heard him call to her when he was injured. And you still hope he might have noticed how you comforted him?
And even if he had: As soon as the tadpole was removed, Ada would leave this place again, set off on her own mission to find a way back home. Their paths would split and she would disappear from his life.
So why open yourself up to embarrassment? Wasn’t tonight enough? Why hope that, whatever it is you want to give him, could be enough?
Her hand went to the pendant of her necklace, tracing the round shape with her thumb.
With another deep sigh, she got up from her throne, carefully picked up her lute and slowly walked back to camp.
Chapter 11 is coming along great, it's just more of a chunky boi. Much like Chapter 7 was. You will see it soon on AO3.
Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
The druid’s quarters were smaller and cooler than the Inner Sanctum.
Moss crept up the walls, and low wooden shelves sagged under jars of herbs and salves. The air smelled faintly of dried chamomile, practical rather than sacred.
Near the far wall, bent over a table, a halfling woman worked in silence. Her skin was deep bronze, marked with green and cream sigils that framed a calm, serious face. Her hair was cut short and dark, held back with a simple circlet of woven twigs. She looked more warrior than healer, but her hands were gentle as she examined the blue jay lying before her.
“I see you,” she murmured without looking up. “Just give me a moment.”
Ada stayed where she was, watching the healer’s precise movements. A soft glow spread along the bird’s wing as the woman whispered, “Vis medicatrix…” The jay twitched once, then stilled. “There. It’s up to her now.”
Only then did the healer turn, her steady gaze passing over the group. “Now. What was it you needed?”
“Healing,” Ada said, stepping forward. “Looks like I came to the right person.”
“I do what I can.” The woman inclined her head. “For most folks, that’s enough. Come here, let’s have a look at you.” Her eyes narrowed. “You seem healthy enough. A bit tired around the eyes, maybe.”
“There is no good way of putting this.” Ada drew in a breath, deciding honesty was her best chance. “I… have a tadpole in my head.”
The druid recoiled. “A tadpole? A mind flayer tadpole?”
“You know of them?” Hope slipped into Ada’s voice before she could stop it. “Can you help me?”
The woman paused. “I’ll do what I can,” she said at last. “Come. Follow me.”
Nettie led them through another carved archway into an adjoining chamber. It was narrower and quieter. The air felt colder here. Scrolls and sealed pots lined the walls, their labels yellowed with age.
At the centre stood a slab with a body laid out on it.
Judging from the pointed ears and the chiselled features, Ada would have assumed he was an elf. Then she noted his skin, purple and still pallid. The white hair looked unnatural against it.
“This one had the same problem as you,” the healer said. “Attacked us in the woods, alongside goblins. The tadpole crawled out of his skull not long after.”
Ada swallowed. “He and I had the same parasite?”
“Seems so,” the woman replied. “Gave Master Halsin a right start.”
Ada had heard the name before. Zevlor had spoken of Kagha as the new First Druid, which meant Halsin had been the old one. The one left behind.
“It’s why he joined the adventurers,” Nettie continued. “He wanted answers. It’s a pity you got me instead of him. Halsin studied these things. Still…”
She turned toward her worktable. “We have options.”
Ada followed. Nettie sorted through clay jars and withdrew a small, thorny branch. It looked crude and ordinary.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do.”
Nettie’s smile was brief and tired. “Tell me what’s been happening. Any symptoms? Strange events?”
“I can… connect with others who are infected. Mind-to-mind.” She glanced at Gale and Lae’zel. “I’ve done it before. Brief flashes. Images. Emotions.”
“Victims identifying each other,” the healer said. “Though they don’t always know they’re victims. How’d you get infected?”
“I woke up on a mind flayer ship. In a pod.”
The healer frowned. “Halsin was sure…” She stopped, looking between Ada and the thorn. Then she sighed.
“Look. You’ve been straight with me, so I’ll be straight with you. You’re dangerous. If you transform here… we’re all dead.”
Ada stiffened at the alarm in Nettie’s voice. Until now, the danger she posed to those around her had been the least of her concerns.
Gale broke the ensuing silence.
“Based on my research, the transformation should have already started.” His tone turned academic. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations, graying skin. Day three: hair loss, bleeding orifices…”
Ada grimaced. “Thank you for that, Gale.”
Gale cleared his throat. “It’s day three, and yet our orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads are clear. Any expert would say this is… abnormal.”
She remembered how steady Gale had been earlier, how his voice had anchored her. Maybe knowledge was how he steadied himself.
“None of this ‘abnormality’ makes you any less dangerous,” the healer said. “But you seem like a good soul. You deserve a chance.”
She turned away again and returned holding a small vial filled with murky brown liquid.
“This is wyvern poison. Swear to me you’ll swallow it if you feel the transformation begin.”
Ada stared at it. “I thought you could cure me. What about the branch?”
“The thorn’s coated in a fatal toxin,” Nettie said lightly. “It was… a last resort. In case I couldn’t trust you.”
Gale’s voice rose. “You would have killed us?”
“I don’t have a cure,” the healer replied. “Only a way out. I had to be sure. Now, do I have your word or not?”
Ada’s mouth felt dry. She looked at the others. Astarion was tense, ready to flee. Lae’zel studied the vial with determination.
“All right,” Ada said. “Hand it over.”
The healer did not move. “Swear it.”
Every instinct rebelled. Ada nodded anyway. “I swear.”
Astarion hissed under his breath. Nettie handed her the vial.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said.
Ada slipped it into her pocket. It felt heavy against her leg.
“You’re not the first,” Nettie continued. “Halsin and I were tracking the infected. There should be dozens of mind flayers by now, but there aren’t. This parasite gives you powers. But you don’t change.”
“Not yet,” Ada said.
“Maybe not ever,” Nettie replied. “But we know where they’re gathering. Near an old temple of Selûne. That’s where Halsin went.”
Ada’s stomach clenched. “He didn’t come back.”
“No. The goblins shoot down my birds.”
Pause.
“You, though. They won’t kill you. If you find Halsin, we might learn the truth.”
Ada nodded, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” the healer said, voice soft. “It would mean everything. To me. To the grove.”
Ada didn’t trust herself to speak. She offered a nod, turned, and walked toward the exit. The weight of the vial dragged at her side. The promise she’d made was heavier still.
***
Outside, the grove air was a fresh. Ada’s chest still felt tight, her breath shallow, but she clung to the relief of leaving the sanctum behind.
Just past the Sacred Pool, she spotted the girl—Arabella—wrapped in the arms of her mother.
“If you ever scare me like that again,” the woman growled through her tears, “I’ll feed you to a gnoll.”
“Mum!” Arabella squawked. “I’m fine. Stop it.”
Arabella’s father stepped forward. “She told us what happened. Thank you. Don’t know what we’d do without her.”
Ada offered a tired smile. “No more light-fingered antics, right, Arabella?”
The girl ducked her head. “Yeah. I mean… thank you. For helping me.”
Someone in the group suggested they set up camp nearby. Ada didn’t argue. The thought of the discussion they would have that night, about her and her strange behaviour, made her stomach twist. But for now, Ada welcomed the numbing simplicity of setting up camp.
***
The campfire snapped quietly, throwing uneven orange light across the clearing. The tension from the grove still clung to Ada. She sat near the edge of the circle, apart from the others, arms wrapped around her knees.
Her hands were shaking. She stared at them, willing them to steady. The silence did not last.
Abruptly, Lae'zel stood, boots crunching against the dirt as she approached. Her posture was rigid, her gaze fixed.
“Explain yourself, istik,” she demanded, arms crossed, voice flat but laced with suspicion. “That wild shape. That panic. Your confusion. If this is a ghaik trick, I’ll see it unmasked.”
Gale looked up, his tone steady. “Lae'zel—”
But the warrior cut him off. “You wield druidic power like a child swinging a blade,” she snapped. “You stumble through spells, as if they happen to you—not by your will.”
Shadowheart’s voice was quiet, but firm. “You’ve cast spells before, but when they take shape, they seem to startle you.”
She turned to Gale and recounted the events of the nautiloid. How Ada had touched her and Lae'zel, how they had felt shielded. How Ada had reached the transponder. How she had shoved the imps back with magic.
Ada flinched. Her skin felt tight on her body. “It is like an instinct, like finding the third note in a chord,” she said, voice small. “I don’t know how any of this works.”
Gale rested a hand on her shoulder while at the others. “Let her tell us what she knows.”
Ada drew a shuddering breath. “I’m not a druid,” she whispered. “I didn’t have magic before. I’m not even from Faerûn.”
Pause.
“I’m from a place called Earth. Frankfurt. I had a job. Friends. I paid rent. And now I’m a tiefling—whatever that means—and magic explodes out of me when I’m scared. None of it makes sense.”
Shadowheart frowned. Ada kept going.
“I don’t feel like myself anymore. This body—” Ada lifted her hand, flexing clawed fingers
“It’s not mine. Not really. It throws me off. My tail knocks into things. My horns pull me off balance. And the magic is not even in my head, it’s in my chest. It listens to my fear, not my thoughts.”
Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed.
“You say you are not what you appear. That your power is wild. I say this is either deception or your mind is lost.”
Ada cringed. The last option felt uncomfortably plausible. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for it.”
From the edge of the firelight, Astarion raised a brow. “Charming. So we’ve taken in an untrained wildcard from another world. I suppose that tracks.”
Gale shot him a warning glance, then turned fully back to Ada.
“You said you were human,” he said, voice careful and measured. “Completely, unequivocally human. And now… you’ve changed?”
Ada nodded once. “Yes.”
Gale tilted his head. “Changed how, exactly? Beyond the tail and the horns, I mean.”
She hesitated. His gaze was not cruel, but it was exacting.
“My skin’s orange now. My hair’s pinker and brighter. My teeth are sharper. My eyes, though…they’re the same.”
He nodded. “And your form?”
Ada’s mouth tightened. “Same,” she said, apologetic despite herself.
Gale’s face betrayed no emotion. He inclined his head slightly. “And the tattoos?” he asked, gesturing to her arm. “Decorative? Or ritual?”
“Decorative,” Ada said. “No magic, no religion. Just art?”
“No preexisting arcane talent?” he asked. “No divine patron? No cultural inheritance that might explain the emergence of magic?”
“No,” she said, firmer now. She was starting to feel irritated. “I didn’t have magic. I barely believed in it. It does not exist on earth.” She looked down at her hands. “In my world, it’s fiction. That’s all.”
There was a brief pause.
“And your profession?” Gale asked. “Before all this.”
Ada looked up, reluctant. “I was a translator. Sort of. I worked for a company. Corporate stuff. Email chains, meetings. I don’t know how to make that make sense here.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing in concentration. Ada could feel him working through it, trying to place her somewhere that fit.
Lae'zel stepped back, not in acceptance. “If your instability endangers us, I will not hesitate.”
Shadowheart followed, measured but firm. “You’ve helped. That much is clear. But what you carry—if you can’t control it—” She paused, studying Ada. “Then you could become a threat. Not out of malice. But by accident. That’s often worse.”
Ada’s fists clenched, and her nails dug into her palms.
“But,” Shadowheart added, “that’s not who you’ve been. Not yet.”
Ada looked up. It was not comfort but an assessment. Shadowheart was giving her a chance.
Gale remained quiet. He stared past the fire, brow furrowed, fingers twitching as if tracing thoughts. Ada recognised the look. She had seen it in professors and teachers. But with Gale, there was something else beneath it. A need to understand.
“I’m not a druid,” she said again, softly.
“I know,” he murmured. “And not a bard or a sorcerer either. No wild magic surges, no chaos flares. What you did on the nautiloid: Thunderwave. Misty Step. Mantle of Inspiration. Spells with different schools and sources. You have no arcane focus, no incantations, no visible somatics. And yet, spells have manifested.“
He went on, quieter now.
“There is no book of spells. No pact and no god. Not even a proper weave interaction. And that transformation today…That shouldn’t be possible.”
He fell silent. Whatever theory he had been chasing failed him.
Ada’s nerves frayed. She fought the urge to apologise for being a problem he could not solve.
Then Gale looked back at her, sitting back, “Well, perhaps I can be of assistance. You’ve been thrown into a world full of magic, and, fortunately, magic is something I know quite a lot about.”
There was a trace of confidence there, but beneath it, sincerity.
“Though my expertise lies mainly in wizardry and arcane study, I’ve spent enough time around druids and bards to recognise traces of their craft. That seems to be the root of your magic. I could help you, if you want. To lay a foundation and teach you to identify what you’re doing before it overwhelms you.”
Ada studied him. He was not smiling. He looked careful. Earnest.
“I think I’d like that,” she said quietly.
The tension around the fire eased. One by one, the others drifted away. Astarion with a theatrical yawn. Shadowheart with a brief nod. Lae'zel lingered longest, watching Ada until the last possible moment.
Only Gale stayed.
“Thank you,” Ada said. “For offering to help. And for what you did earlier. When I went crazy.”
“You didn’t go crazy,” he replied softly. “You were thrown into something you weren’t prepared for. You were overwhelmed. That’s not the same.”
After a moment, he added, “Magic can be temperamental. Even under the best of circumstances.” His eyes met hers. “You’re not the first to learn that the hard way.”
Ada blinked, caught off guard. He gave her a small nod and stepped away from the fire.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. “Rest. We’ve got a grove to save tomorrow.”
Then he was gone, leaving Ada with the fire and, for the first time in days, a fragile sense of relief.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
Thank you for reading! Updates will happen every friday until I have caught up with my current progress. If you want to read it all now, check out AO3! If you have enjoyed it, leave a comment or a like. Let me know if you want to be tagged so you don't miss any updates.
It's friday! And we take a stroll deeper into the grove!
Please mind the Content Warnings for this fic! If you want to start at the very beginning, check here.
I am trying to finish Chapter 11 soon, so it might come out next friday (on AO3) instead of Part 3. So stay tuned!
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
They had barely walked twenty paces when the next confrontation unfolded.
Zevlor was already climbing down from the gate's stone balustrade, his armour catching the light, his movements rigid with fury. He stormed toward Aradin, who stood half-turned, arms crossed like someone waiting to be challenged.
“There are children here, you fool!” Zevlor snapped. A few of the surrounding tieflings flinched as his loud voice filled the spade.
“We were running for our lives,” Aradin bit back, still catching his breath.
“You led them straight to us. And you let them take the druid, too. Unbelievable!”
Ada’s head lifted at that, brows furrowed. Almost to herself, she asked, “Druid? I don’t remember the goblins taking any prisoners.”
Aradin turned slightly, not toward her, but toward the group at large. His voice had a layer of defensiveness. “We lost him back at the ruins. The whole place is crawling with gobbos.”
Zevlor’s nostrils flared. “He trusted you.”
“Nobody forced him to come with us,” Aradin gestured wildly. “He insisted. And when things got tough, he couldn’t keep up. Simple as that.”
Simple as that?
Ada’s stomach turned. It didn’t sound like they’d fought for him. More like they’d let the goblins take him and had moved on.
Zevlor stepped forward, shoulders tight. His face was inches from Aradins and his lips curled with contempt. “My gods, you’re a coward.”
Ada couldn’t help but agree with his assessment. But she also saw the way Aradin’s jaw clenched, the twitch in his fingers near his weapon belt.
Please, not another fight, Ada thought.
“More violence won’t bring back those you lost,” she said quickly, trying to defuse the tension. Her voice came out quieter than she wanted, still rough around the edges. “Please. Stop and think.”
Zevlor hesitated. His eyes landed on Ada for a second. Then he exhaled. “You’re right. There’s too much at stake.”
Aradin scoffed, looking back and forth between Ada and the other tiefling. “Worried about your precious hides. Typical, coming from the likes of you.”
Ada blinked. Her skin prickled from bemusement. Her tail twitched.
The likes of us?
She stared at Aradin, and suddenly, it clicked. Not what he meant precisely, but the shape of it. The way he glanced at Zevlor, then her. The way his voice curled around the words like he didn’t need to explain what he was really saying.
He didn’t see her as someone who tried to help save the grove. He saw a tiefling standing next to another tiefling. And that was all he needed.
You curly-haired Backpfeiffengesicht, she thought.
Her dislike of Aradin, already solid, settled into cold disdain. She had a sudden, vivid image of punching him in the jaw. She liked the idea more than she probably should.
“Enough,” Zevlor barked. “Squabbling is pointless. The goblins have found us.”
“At least we agree on that,” Aradin muttered as he stalked off.
Zevlor shook his head and turned to Ada, his tone shifting into something more dignified. He exhaled, looking very tired all of a sudden.
“Forgive that display. Aradin’s a blowhard, but that’s no cause for me to join him.”
Ada nodded slowly.
“Thank you. For your help out there. I’m Zevlor.”
“Ada,” she replied, and he inclined his head.
“Well met. You look unwell. I think I saw you collapse earlier. Did one of the goblins get to you?”
The question was too gentle. Ada’s stomach twisted, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
He must have seen enough to know she had lost control and killed. And now he was being kind about it, which somehow made it worse.
She hated looking weak. Hated the way kindness could sometimes feel like pity. She shook her head quickly, eyes flicking away.
“I’m fine.” The words came quietly and with an edge of defensiveness.
Zevlor didn’t press. He gave a slight nod, his tone shifting back to business.
“I should warn you: visitors aren’t welcome here anymore. Whatever your business, I’d see to it quickly. The druids are forcing everyone out.”
Gale frowned beside Ada. “Why is that?”
Zevlor sighed. “There have been multiple attacks. Always goblins, always accompanied by different monsters. The druids blame us outsiders for drawing them in. Nobody’s welcome now.”
He glanced back at the gate. “They’ve started a ritual. One that will cut this grove off from the rest of the world.”
Blame the outsiders?
Ada looked around at the people nearby: families huddled beside wagons, children clinging to their parents, the worn look of exhaustion and fear in every line of their faces. These tieflings didn’t seem dangerous; they looked tired and desperate.
Yes, there were many of them. Yes, they looked destitute. But blaming them for goblin raiders felt like a stretch.
On top of that, Zevlor seemed to think she was one of them. And in a way, she was. But the truth was, she had no idea what being a tiefling really meant.
“What brought you here in the first place?” she asked, eyes scanning the makeshift camp behind Zevlor. Carts full of belongings, worn blankets, empty bowls. All of their faces were lined with exhaustion and worry.
“We’re refugees from Elturel,” Zevlor said. “Gnolls hit us hard on the road. We sought shelter here. But we were bound for Baldur’s Gate. After the Descent…”
He trailed off, shaking his head.
Ada’s brow furrowed. The Descent?
She glanced at Gale, hoping he’d explain. Their eyes met, and for a second, her stomach clenched.
Is he annoyed? She was always asking things that seemed obvious to everyone else. He must be tired of it by now, right?
Her eyes searched his face for irritation or disappointment, but there was nothing like that. Gale did not roll his eyes at her or scowl. If he was judging her, he hid it well.
“The Descent was an infernal conspiracy,” Gale said instead, his tone smooth and even. “Elturel was dragged into the Hells. When it returned, it brought back a great deal of fear and very little grace. I imagine tieflings were an easy scapegoat.”
Dragged into the Hells?
Ada’s brain spun. What did that even mean? And why were the tieflings blamed for it? She looked around again, properly this time. Horns, tails, red-tinted skin.
Did they think tieflings were demons? Just… because of how they looked? She thought back to the devils on the nautiloid. Even she could tell she wasn’t one of those. This smelled like prejudice. Like bullshit. Again.
Were the druids really no better than Aradin and his crew?
Ada turned the thought over, her jaw tight.
Druids. She had always pictured them as peaceful. Grounded. Connected to the land. But here they were, casting out the vulnerable, hiding behind walls and ritual. There was a pattern here. And she didn’t like it.
It was the same pattern she’d seen back home, every time someone spoke with confident bigotry and expected her to nod along. That crawling feeling in her chest was back. That twist behind her ribs.
Indignation. Fury.
But she forced herself back to the moment. Back to what mattered now.
“You can’t stay, and you can’t leave.” Ada felt a chill settle over her when Gale stated the obvious to the man in front of them.
Zevlor nodded grimly. “Exactly. The ritual will seal this grove off completely. We’ll be forced out. And if we’re driven back onto the road now, without protection... we won’t survive.”
“The goblins?” Ada asked, though she already knew.
“Them. And worse,” Zevlor said. “The raiding parties are growing bolder. We’ve seen worg riders. Ogres. Darker things. We’d be walking right into slaughter.”
He looked away, jaw clenched.
“We’re not trained soldiers. We’re families. Children. We can’t hold a blade to what’s waiting beyond those trees.”
“Every githyanki holds a sword by age six,” Lae'zel said flatly. “And claims their first kill by ten. Yet these tieflings claim barely a single warrior among them. It is a wonder they have survived even this long.”
Ada stared at her, stunned. That was cruel, even for her.
But Zevlor didn’t flinch. Maybe he agreed. Maybe he’d heard worse.
Ada’s grmiaced. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. The solution couldn’t be exile and death. It just couldn’t.
She still clung to the idea that things could be fixed. That there had to be a way to stop this.
“This ritual,” Ada asked, ignoring the warrior beside her, “is there no way to convince them to stop?”
Zevlor frowned. “I’ve tried. Kagha—their new First Druid—won’t even see me. But you… you saved this place.” His eyes met hers. “She owes you, whether she admits it or not.”
Ada blinked. “You think we could convince her?” Why would they be able to do what Zevlor hadn’t?
“Perhaps. For more time, if nothing else.”
She hesitated. The weight of his hope pressed down on her chest. Her body still felt too new, her voice still shaky. But she lifted her chin.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Then, after a breath: “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll speak to Kagha.”
Gale, still near, gave a soft nod. “I think we should. No harm in trying the diplomatic route. If nothing else, we’ll learn what kind of enemies they plan to become.”
Enemies? Ada’s stomach dropped. Wait, wait, wait. We’re not going to start a fight, are we?
She stared at Gale’s profile, trying to tell if he meant it. If he wanted that. But his face was unreadable.
Zevlor exhaled. “We’d owe you a great debt. You’ll find the druids at the heart of the grove. Please—make them see sense, before more lives are lost.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Ada said, quieter now.
The burden didn’t ease. If anything, it settled deeper beneath Ada’s skin.
She was still shaking from the wildshape. Still reeling from the tunnel. From Gale’s unreadable gaze. From Lae'zel’s cold fury. And now she was expected to negotiate with druids.
As they moved forward into the grove, Ada heard Astarion’s voice behind her.
“Well,” he drawled, adjusting his cuffs. “This seems like a lovely little spot. The sense of impending doom aside.”
Ada didn’t respond. She was already looking toward the grove’s interior.
***
The grove opened before them in winding paths and sun-dappled stone. The air still echoed with the tension of the battle just passed. Ahead, a dirt road curled north, framed by natural rock formations and carved stone stairs that were worn with age.
The path was not steep, but it wound in slow, deliberate turns, weaving past makeshift tents, crates of supplies, and a few nervous-looking sentries posted along the way.
Children darted between carts. A tired woman stirred a pot over a low fire. A small cluster of tieflings stood near a broken cart wheel, their voices low but sharp with urgency.
They were young, barely out of their teenage years, but with the hardened look of people who’d grown up fast. One of them, dressed in reddish-blue robes that didn’t quite match his shabby boots, argued for leaving the grove immediately, his tone clipped and resolute. The woman beside him, her shoulders tense with fury, snapped back. She was pleading, fiery and unyielding. She wanted to stay and help.
Ada didn’t stop. She walked past them in silence, but her heart echoed the woman’s words.
There was a fragility to it all, like a shelter made of twigs just waiting for the next storm to tear it apart.
The companions walked in silence. Their feet carried them forward, but Ada’s mind was miles behind, still kneeling in blood and feathers, still hearing Gale’s voice in her head. She couldn’t shake the heaviness from her limbs or the suspicion curled in her gut like a sleeping serpent.
The others gave her space, but she felt their eyes occasionally drift her way. None of them said anything.
They passed under a carved archway, etched with worn symbols, before the path levelled out and opened into a small clearing just off the main road.
A few clay jars and woven baskets had been set out in a rough circle around a flat stone plinth. At its centre stood a halfling with a shock of straw-coloured hair, a red tunic half-tucked into his wide belt, and a short sword strapped at his back. His expression was warm, if a little worn, and his small frame stood confidently between the wares.
As they approached, he straightened with a practised merchant’s ease. “Refugees, adventurers…no one in years, and suddenly we’re overwhelmed.”
His eyes landed on Ada.
“Well met, and thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you. Is there anything you need?” He gestured to the items around him: daggers, dried herbs, leather goods, trinkets.
“I lower my prices for fellow druids,” he added with a smile, eyes twinkling slightly. “But you’ll need to be quick. The ritual will be complete before too long.”
Ada blinked. “You think I’m—?”
But her voice trailed off as she caught the way his eyes lingered on her, just a little too long. Her thoughts stumbled over themselves. Had he seen her transform? Had someone told him? She didn’t know. It made her stomach twist. Maybe he thought she was a druid. Maybe that was what this was?
She didn’t correct him. Instead, she stepped closer to the table and picked up a slender dagger, turning it over in her hands. It was simple but well-crafted. The kind of thing someone more confident might strap to their hip just to feel secure.
“Are you really locking down the grove?” Ada asked, not looking up.
Arron hesitated, then nodded. “I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorise this region every day.”
Ada set the dagger down with care. “What about the people here?”
He didn’t flinch. “We druids will be safe. As for those that took refuge here... well, may Silvanus guard them as they continue their travels.”
That did it. Ada straightened. Her jaw tensed.
“Oh. As long as the druids are fine, all is well, then?” Her voice rose, sharper than she intended. “What about the tieflings? There are children among them. What happens to them while you hide behind roots and rituals? You’re sending them out there to die.”
Arron took a half-step back, his eyes flicking to the others in the group, who were now clearly watching them. Ada noticed, and it helped pull her back.
She folded her arms, but the fire in her chest didn’t cool. It had nowhere to go.
Arron’s face fell into something more serious. He didn’t defend himself this time.
“I don’t want this to happen either,” he said quietly. “But Kagha makes the decisions. I can do nothing but pray to Silvanus in the hopes that he’ll protect them.”
Ada’s eyes narrowed. The mention of prayer was acid down her throat. How many times had she heard that before? Back home, when people were hurt, when things were urgent, when someone needed real help. And all anyone offered was a hollow “I’ll pray for you.”
Not because they couldn’t do more. Because it was easier not to. Because involvement was messy and costly. People didn’t want to get their hands dirty.
“Your prayers won’t save them,” she said, voice low but biting. “Don’t hide behind them. You and the other druids should speak up if you really care. If you don’t, at least be honest and say you don’t care.”
Arron looked like he wanted to step back again, but didn’t. His voice, when it came, was soft. “You don’t know Kagha. She won’t listen. I’m truly sorry.”
Ada stared at him a moment longer, then turned. She didn’t buy anything.
***
With every step the companions took within it, the grove became more beautiful. Lush vegetation spilt over broken stonework, and trees twisted up between the remnants of long-forgotten architecture.
At the heart of it all lay the Sacred Pool, an overgrown basin flanked by crumbling pillars and the quiet reverence of age. Moss crept down the ancient steps, and the air shimmered faintly with magic.
The pool still held water, though it was mostly hidden beneath a thick lattice of lily pads, creeping vines, and clusters of wildflowers. Ripples shimmered through the patches of open water, disturbed by the warm breeze.
At the centre, partially wreathed in green, stood a small statue. It was an upright figure of a man, long-bearded and antlered. His hands folded solemnly over his robes, head bowed as if in contemplation or prayer.
The statue gave off a low hum that Ada felt more than heard, a subtle, low-and-steady vibration against her ribs. Not unlike the spells Shadowheart wielded. Was this what magic felt like?
A circle of druids surrounded the statue, locked in chant. Their hands rose and fell in measured rhythm, and the green glow at their feet curled like mist, pulsing with the same strange hum as the idol.
So the casting of the rite had already begun.
The group skirted the pool’s edge, the soft crunch of boots against moss-covered stone almost lost beneath the low, droning chant. They followed the winding path toward another stone archway near the far end of the courtyard.
There, at the mouth of a shadowed passageway, another argument was unfolding. A tall elven druid stood in the entrance, arms crossed, jaw set. He had the look of someone used to getting his way, or at least used to not being questioned. But the pair in front of him didn’t seem inclined to obey.
The woman was a tiefling—mid-thirties, maybe a little older—with short red-blonde hair that had clearly been hacked off with more urgency than style. Her skin was dark mauve and weathered, and her golden eyes were ablaze with fury. She stood with her feet planted wide, her entire body tense, fists clenched at her sides.
“Let me through, mragreshem,” she snarled, “or I’ll rip your damned throat out!”
Beside her stood a man. He was also a tiefling, slightly built but equally tense. His tunic was worn at the seams, patched too many times to count, and he kept one hand on her arm. Not holding her back, exactly. Just steadying her. Trying to keep her from doing something reckless.
His eyes darted between the elf and the stone corridor beyond, his concern plainly visible by the set of his jaws.
Ada didn’t know them, but she didn’t need their names to understand. These weren’t strangers causing a scene. There was something more here.
The druid didn’t so much as flinch at the verbal abuse thrown his way. “You know the orders. You try to cross, and I will stop you.”
“You already took our daughter,” the woman growled. “You think I won’t burn this whole place to the ground to get Arabella back?”
Ada’s stomach sank. Arabella? The realisation clicked fast. She’d overheard a few words earlier. Someone had mentioned a child caught trying to steal something from the Sacred Pool.
The idol.
Ada glanced back at the antlered statue.
So the girl had tried to stop the ritual. Had tried to do what the adults wouldn't. And now she was being held by the druids for it.
Nice, Ada thought grimly. Holding a child hostage. Real classy.
The druid’s eyes shifted as the group approached.
“You’re the newcomers?” he asked. “Kagha wants to speak with you. She’s waiting.”
He offered no further explanation, just stepped aside to let them through as he was ordered.
Ada glanced one more time at the couple. At the fury in the mother’s eyes, the desperation in the father’s silence. And she made herself a quiet promise.
She would see what this Kagha was about. She didn’t know enough yet. But if this was justice, it reeked. And she wasn’t about to let it slide.
The tunnel opened into a large, dim chamber. The Inner Sanctum, as Ada had heard it being referred to.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The air was heavy with incense, and the glow of green-glass lanterns spilt across the curved walls.
One side of the chamber was dominated by a great mosaic. An intricate sweep of tiles that depicted sprawling scenes: druids fighting darkrobed figures, a darkness spreading and a haunting looking elf, commanding an army of shadows.
Ada slowed as they passed. The artistry was stunning, so full of motion and history. She wished she had time to stop, to study it, to understand what it meant to the people here.
But there were more urgent matters waiting ahead.
In the centre of the space stood a female elf. Kagha, Ada assumed. She was tall and sharp-featured, her red hair pulled back tightly, no softness left in her face.
Her robes were layered in muted greens and intricate weaves of bark and thread, wrapped in a belt of braided leather and bone. Her posture screamed command: rigid spine, hands at her sides, demanding obedience.
To her right stood another druid. Dark-skinned and stately, his antlered circlet made him look imposing and marked him as one of the elders.
His presence was quieter though; he was nervous and watchful. There was a tension in his shoulders, and his eyes kept flicking to the small form across from them.
The tiefling girl couldn’t have been older than ten. She stood barely waist-high to the druids and she was trembling. Her horns curled gently from her brow, and her clothes were dirt-smudged, knees scuffed. Arabella’s wide orange eyes darted between the adults and the snake hissing at her.
The serpent was coiled between them, fangs exposed. Its head was raised and its eyes flicked to Kagha every few seconds, waiting for a command.
“Please,” the girl pleaded, her voice high and raw. “I’m sorry.”
“This is madness, Kagha,” the dark-skinned druid said, his tone caught between protest and dread. “She’s just a—”
“A what, Rath?” Kagha’s voice was a whipcrack. “A thief? A poison? A threat?” She sneered down at the child as if she were something mouldy clinging to the base of her boots. “I will imprison the devil. And I will cast out the rest.”
Ada stepped forward, heart pounding. “Imprison her? She’s just a child!”
Her voice came out louder than she intended. She felt her companions still behind her, but she didn’t stop. Her eyes locked on Kagha, disgust simmering in her gut. The druid didn’t even glance her way.
“She’s a parasite,” Kagha said, with such icy detachment it chilled the room.
Ada felt Shadowheart shift beside her. Gale looked as though he were physically restraining himself from speaking—jaw set, fingers twitching faintly at his sides.
“She eats our food, drinks our water. Then steals our most holy idol in thanks!”
Kagha turned to the other druid who flinched as she barked, “Lock her up. She remains until the rite is complete.”
Her gaze slid back to the child. “And keep still, devil. Teela is restless.” Teela. That had to be the snake.
“Come, Kagha,” Rath tried again, his voice lowering with urgency. “We took the idol back. Surely—”
“Do it,” she snapped.
Ada took a step forward, fists clenched. “Release her. What is wrong with you?”
There was a beat of silence. Kagha finally turned. Her eyes met Ada’s, cold and assessing.
Ada forced herself to breathe despite the daggers stared at her. “I’ll see that she stays out of trouble.”
The words came without planning, without thought. She didn’t know how she’d make that promise stick. She just knew she had to say something.
Anything to stop this from going any further. Anything to make the girl stop whimpering and to make the druids see reason.
Silence spread in the Inner Sanctum. Even the serpent stilled. It felt like the entire grove held its breath.
Then, slowly, Kagha said, “Very well. She may go.”
Her eyes didn’t leave Ada’s as the druid addressed Arabella. “Break your word, and my serpent shall feed. Teela—come.”
The snake retreated, now coiled loosely at Kagha’s feet. Unblinking and waiting. Kagha turned toward the girl and hissed, “Out, thief. My grace has its limits.”
Arabella didn’t wait to be told twice. She ran barefoot across the stone, her sobs bruising against the hush that had fallen. After a few moments, they faded into silence.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Rath exhaled, almost in relief. “Thank you, Kagha. Master Halsin would—”
“Halsin isn’t here,” Kagha snapped, turning with fire in her eyes. “Keep his name off your tongue, lest Teela pierce it.”
Rath shut his mouth.
Ada stood frozen, unsure if she’d just won something or simply bought herself more trouble. But Arabella was safe. That was something.
Beside her, Shadowheart shifted. Neither triumph nor relief was on her face.
Her brow furrowed, lips thinning, and her right hand curled over her palm, like she was cradling something sharp. Ada didn’t see a wound, but the pain flickered across her face just the same. It was gone a moment later.
Ada might’ve asked, but Kagha was already watching her again. The moment slipped past, swallowed by the tension.
The elven druid wasn’t finished with them. She stood with an eerie stillness, her gaze pinned on Ada as though trying to see through her skin. Not speaking or blinking. Just watching.
Ada straightened her spine.
Kagha’s voice cut the air again. “Say it. You think I’m a monster.” Her chin was lifted, not in shame, but in a twisted kind of pride. As if daring Ada to deny it.
Ada didn’t miss a beat. Her hands were trembling from fury and fear, but her voice stayed firm. “You’re threatening a child. If that’s not monstrous, what is?”
“Yes. You would say so.” Kagha’s gaze swept over her slowly, with cool disgust, as though Ada herself were unclean.
“I know your kind. You see only villains and victims. A viper bares her fangs to protect her brood. I call her mother. You call her monster. No matter.”
She stepped back toward the center of the room, spine rigid. “I took back the Idol of Silvanus. The rite has resumed. We will seal the grove. Free from harm. Free of intruders.”
Ada didn’t let her tone soften.
“And what then?” she demanded. “The tieflings die, and you lock yourself in here forever? How is that in line with any kind of druidic teaching?” Her voice lowered, sharp with disbelief. “What sort of druid are you?”
Kagha didn’t hesitate. “‘A disease of the flower must not reach the root. Pluck the petals. Sever the branch if you must. But cut out the rot before it infects the whole of the wood.’”
Her voice deepened with reverence. “Teachings of the Treefather. Do you not agree?”
Ada stared at her, breath caught. That word—disease. It scraped across her memory like broken glass. She didn’t know why people here hated tieflings. But she knew what it looked like when one group was treated like a blight. She’d seen it in her world, too. Just under different names. And it always ended the same way.
“Words you’ve twisted,” Ada countered, quieter now, “to justify cruelty.”
Kagha’s mouth barely twitched. “Words I heed to the letter. To keep my brood safe.”
No remorse. Not even a flicker.
“But you…” the woman’s voice shifted, tone turning oddly formal, almost ceremonial. “You showed great mettle at the gate—the mettle of a protector. In word and deed. I want you to provide your services to Zevlor.”
Ada’s brow furrowed. She could hear it in Kagha’s tone now.
How quickly respect turned into leverage. Her praise wasn’t praise. It was manipulation. A way to smooth over the command that followed.
“Offer to guide the outlanders out of the grove. I’m sure they’ll reward you well. They are to be gone before final prayer. If they are not…” She smiled then. A flat, joyless curl of her lips. “…the viper must strike.”
Does she not hear herself? Ada wondered. Does she not hear how much like a tyrant she sounds? But there really was no reasoning with Kagha.
Ada raised her chin. Her voice was clipped when she spoke. “Then it seems I’d best speak to Zevlor.”
She was done with this.
Kagha didn’t blink. “You will do more than speak. This tale ends but one way: with the outlander rot cleansed and the grove forever shrouded.”
The chamber fell into brittle silence omce more. Ada had nothing more to say and Kagha clearly thought the conversation over.
She turned to Rath. “Is there a healer in the grove?”
He looked weary, but nodded. “Nettie. Druids’ quarters. Just through there.”
He gestured to a shadowed corridor. Ada cast one last glance at Kagha, who had already turned away, and moved to leave. Fury was still thrumming under her ribs like a war drum.
Gale’s voice broke the silence behind her. “That woman has more venom in her heart than any snake has in its fangs.” He huffed. “I am glad the girl is safe at least.”
Ada nodded, her jaw tight. “So am I.”
She felt his gaze on her. When she glanced back, there was no judgement, just something quiet. Like maybe, just maybe, he was seeing her differently now.
That thought helped a little.
⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡ ⋆˙⟡
Thank you for reading! Updates will happen every friday until I have caught up with my current progress. If you want to read it all now, check out AO3! If you have enjoyed it, leave a comment or a like. Let me know if you want to be tagged so you don't miss any updates.
