Day 3 - Part 3 - Hard Truths
I am early this weeeeeek!
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.
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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.”
Gale’s brows lifted. “Languages, then. Communication.”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s about it.”
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.
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