Prototype's Gate

"Marcus was sent to capture you—not to kill you. Why?" Alex's voice was steady, but his question cut through the air with a sharpness that demanded an answer.

Isobel hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment before she met Alex's eyes again. "Why does a man like him do anything? Power—spite—some kind of twisted, personal morality," she began, her tone carrying a bitterness that hinted at a deeper story. "I can understand why he'd want me dead. Without me keeping the curse at bay, everyone in this inn—everyone who wants to see him dead—would be as good as gone too. At least, until you showed up."

She paused, and Alex noticed the slight tremor in her voice, the way her hands tightened at her sides. "But as for why he'd want to take me alive... I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. Now that you're here, I hope I won’t have to."

Alex studied her, the stillness of his expression a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. Something in her words didn't ring true, and he could sense that she was holding something back. "I can tell you’re not being completely honest," he said, his voice low and probing. "I won’t press you to reveal what you're hiding—like you, I carry secrets of my own. But if you have knowledge that could help us, that could save lives, I urge you to share it."

Isobel seemed taken aback by his words, her lips pressing together as if she was weighing whether to speak further. But after a moment, she remained silent, her thoughts hidden behind a veil of uncertainty.

Alex shifted the conversation, sensing that pushing her too hard might only make her retreat further into herself. "This curse—it seems incredibly powerful. What more can you tell me about it?" he asked, hoping to glean more insight into the dark magic they were up against.

Isobel’s expression darkened, her voice tinged with resentment as she responded. "It belongs to the goddess Shar—at least, that’s what the Harpers say. The curse fell upon this place when they defeated Ketheric. Or, perhaps I should say, when they thought they defeated him. I suppose they didn’t strike him down hard enough."

Alex noted the bitterness in her voice, the way it seemed to cut through the air like a blade.

"As a cleric of Selûne, can you explain to me the relationship between Selûne and Shar?" Alex asked, despite already possessing a general understanding of the gods of this realm. His knowledge, a gift from Lathander, had served him well, but perhaps Isobel knew something that could provide an edge in the battle to come.

Isobel raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. "For someone with such strong divine magic coursing through his body, I didn’t expect you to ask something like that."

Alex gave a slight nod, encouraging her to continue.

"Moon and shadow—light and dark. Divine sisters, ever at war. This place has become one more battlefield in their eternal conflict," she explained, her voice softening as she spoke of the gods. "Sometimes, life forces us to choose sides. Fortunately, sometimes the choice is obvious."

Her answer was in line with what Alex already knew, but there was a weight in her words that spoke of personal experience—of choices made and battles fought in the name of these celestial beings.

"If there’s nothing more to discuss, I should leave," Alex said, turning toward the door. "I have preparations to make before heading to the Grand Mausoleum."

As he reached for the door handle, he noticed Isobel exchanging a glance with Jaheira. The two women seemed to share a silent conversation, one that ended with Jaheira giving a brief nod.

"Wait," Isobel called out, stopping Alex just as his hand touched the cold metal of the handle.

Slowly, Alex turned back to her, his faceless mask revealing nothing of the anticipation that churned within him.

"It’s something about Ketheric Thorm," Isobel began, her voice tinged with a sadness that hadn’t been there before. She hesitated, as if gathering the strength to continue. "He used to preside over this village—a good man, a respected man—who turned to darkness quite suddenly... or so I’ve been told."

The sorrow in her voice was palpable, as if she were mourning not just the man Ketheric had become, but also the man he once was. Alex could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she wrestled with her emotions as she spoke of him.

"He began worshipping Shar and raised an army of Dark Justiciars right under the noses of the people who once trusted him," she continued, her voice now laced with anger and regret. "A coalition of heroes and druids put him down—killed him and buried him in the Thorm family mausoleum. But now... he’s returned. And he’s invincible. Neither arrow nor sword can harm him. The darkness he’s embraced is unlike any I’ve ever heard of. I fear there’s something deeper behind it all—something neither you, nor I, nor even Selûne can fix."

Isobel's words lingered like a heavy cloud, thickening the air between them. As she spoke, her hand slowly reached into her pocket, pulling out something small and worn. She handed it to Alex—an old, faded picture. He took it carefully, his eyes narrowing as he studied the image.

The small picture depicted two people, a man and a woman standing side by side, their hands intertwined, faint smiles on their faces. The man was unmistakable, even through the veil of time—Ketheric Thorm, the man who had become the dark figure haunting their every step.

"I found this on the wall when I arrived," Isobel said softly, her voice tinged with sorrow. "It must be over a hundred years old. Ketheric, before he turned. This man—a Selunite, not unlike myself—had a life. Family, friends. And he abandoned them all to become a monster."

Her words struck Alex like a hammer blow, resonating deep within him. His past, too, was marred by similar choices, by the pursuit of sick ambitions that led to the abandonment of everything he once held dear. In Ketheric, Alex saw a twisted reflection of himself.

"Who's the woman in the picture?" Alex asked, noticing how her features bore a faint resemblance to Isobel’s.

"Long dead—whoever she was," Isobel replied, her voice heavy with grief. "Everything Ketheric touched for a century has withered and died—quickly by violence, or slowly by decay. I don’t fear much—not even death—but I fear him."

The weight of her fear settled between them, an invisible shroud of dread that even Alex could not dismiss.

Without thinking, Alex raised his arm, a movement so sudden that Jaheira’s hand instinctively moved toward her scimitar. But she hesitated as she saw Alex’s hand, not drawn in aggression, but extended in a gesture of comfort. He gently placed his hand on Isobel’s shoulder. She flinched at first, her body stiffening as if she expected an attack, but then she softened, accepting the rare moment of compassion.

For a brief moment, the two stood in silence, the weight of their shared burdens hanging between them like a fragile thread. Then, Alex withdrew his hand and turned toward the door, his faceless mask betraying nothing of the turmoil that churned within him.

Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving Isobel and Jaheira behind. As he stepped into the hallway, he couldn’t help but wonder if the path ahead would lead him to redemption—or if, like Ketheric Thorm, he was doomed to fall into the abyss.

As Alex approached the balcony, he noticed Halsin leaning over, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the silvery mist clashed with the dark, foreboding shadow. The druid turned his head slightly, acknowledging Alex's presence with a subtle nod. Without speaking, Alex reached out with his mind, establishing a mental link with Halsin, a connection that allowed them to communicate without words.

He joined Halsin at the balcony, the wooden planks creaking beneath their weight. "Everyone’s eyes and ears are on me," Alex began, his mental voice calm but tinged with curiosity. "I take it you have something to discuss?"

Halsin remained silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on the ominous mist that blanketed the land below. Alex followed his line of sight, looking down at the ship docked beneath them. The last of the escaped prisoners were being helped off the vessel, their movements slow and weary.

"The shadow curse is upon us," Halsin finally responded through the telepathic link. His voice carried a weight of ancient sorrow. "As foul as I remember it—perhaps even worse. But with the Oak Father’s blessing, we may soon see it banished from these lands."

Alex shifted his attention back to Halsin, the gravity of the situation settling in. "We’re in the heart of the shadow curse now. Is there anything more you can tell me about how to lift it?"

Halsin’s eyes softened, and he seemed to drift into a memory. "This land is more than just soil, rock, and leaf. It is a living being, manifested in the form of a young fey boy. His name is Thaniel—I’ve met him in my meditations. But since the curse was unleashed, I have not felt his presence. He is imprisoned, I believe. As long as he remains so, his domain will lie in darkness. If we can find him, we can break the curse. And I’ve finally found a clue."

Halsin paused, drawing a deep breath as he continued. "There’s a Flaming Fist in this inn who has wandered this cursed land for over a hundred years and somehow survived, but not without repercussions. He is riddled with a spiritual malaise, leaving him insensible. The man’s mind has been gripped by the Shadowfell... yet it has not broken. He keeps muttering about a boy called Thaniel."

Alex’s mind raced, connecting the dots. "And are you certain this is the Thaniel you’re looking for?"

Halsin shook his head, his expression somber. "No, but he is the only clue we have."

With that, Halsin handed Alex a letter, its parchment worn but the ink still legible. Alex unfolded it and began to read:

ASSIGNEE: Art Cullagh

RANK: Flame

OBJECTIVE: To obtain INFORMATION about current activities in MOONRISE TOWERS and its environs, headed by KETHERIC THORM of the region's ancestral THORM FAMILY.

ORDERS: Take lodging in the Last Light Inn and begin investigation in the local HOUSE OF HEALING. Reports indicate CORRUPTION but no corroboration has yet been obtained.

NOTE: The region's Thorm family are long-standing devotees of SELÛNE but rumours indicate a SHARRAN enclave might be gaining momentum. Investigate and report.

SIGNED: GRAND DUKE ELTAN

As Alex finished reading, he nodded thoughtfully. "I could investigate this House of Healing. It would be a small detour, but if it helps us find Thaniel and rid this place of the curse, it’s worth it."

Before Halsin could respond, a sudden flash of light and a loud crack split the air. Alex instinctively moved to the side just as a flaming sword struck the balcony where he had been leaning, shattering the wood into splinters.

Lae'zel's battle cry echoed through the hall as she lifted her sword high above her head, the blade gleaming with lethal intent. "Hta'zith! (Die!)" she shouted, her voice filled with rage and desperation. The sword came crashing down, aimed straight at Alex’s neck.

The blade sliced into his flesh but stopped halfway through, embedded deep yet strangely inert. There was no blood, no sign of pain on Alex's faceless visage, as if the grievous wound was nothing more than a superficial scratch. He stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on Lae'zel, whose eyes widened in shock and confusion. She hadn't expected her blow to land so easily—or at all.

The noise drew a crowd, alarmed faces peering into the hallway. Jaheria and Isobel were the first to rush in, weapons unsheathed and ready for battle. "What happened? Are we under attack?" Jaheria demanded, her voice sharp with urgency. But her steps faltered , Isobel halted beside her, eyes wide with disbelief. when she saw Alex standing there, the sword still lodged in his neck, and Lae'zel trembling with the effort to push it deeper.

Alex’s monotone voice broke the stunned silence. "Are you feeling better now?"

Lae'zel's teeth were gritted, her hands trembling with anger and strain as she forced more strength into the blade. "I won’t be, not until you die. Because of you, I'm now a traitor," she spat, her voice thick with betrayal and fury.

"Then go on," Alex replied coldly, "try and kill me."

With a furious growl, Lae'zel applied more force, and to everyone’s horror, the blade completed its arc, severing Alex’s head from his body. His head hit the floor with a thud, rolling slightly before coming to a stop.

"What the fuck, Lae'zel?!" Wyll’s voice rang out, filled with shock and disbelief. Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart stood frozen in the doorway, their expressions mirroring Wyll’s astonishment.

But before anyone could fully grasp what had just happened, Alex’s body crouched down with eerie calm, his hands reaching for his severed head. As he picked it up and placed it back onto his neck, the head reattached itself seamlessly, as if nothing had happened. The hall was filled with a stunned, uneasy silence as everyone watched in disbelief.

Lae'zel’s face was a mask of fury and confusion, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. The others exchanged wary glances, the reality of what they had just witnessed slowly sinking in. Alex stood tall once more, his faceless countenance betraying no emotion, as if the entire ordeal was merely a trivial inconvenience.

"I pity you, Lae'zel," Alex finally spoke, breaking the silence .

"I don't need your pity, abomination!" Lae'zel shot back, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the hilt of her sword.

"Perhaps you don't," Alex replied calmly. "But it’s clear you refuse to realize your entire world is built on lies. Even when shown the truth, you still choose to cling to the falsehoods."

Without warning, Alex forcibly linked his mind with hers, showing her the visions he had experienced when trying to save her from the Zaith'isk—a machine designed to extract tadpoles safely , but it was a lie . Instead it killed the host and send their memories somewhere in the Astral Sea. He revealed the specters of the Githyanki's past, their cries of anguish for the fate that befell them, the lies they had believed in.

"Get out of my head!" Lae'zel shouted, clutching her temples and dropping her sword.

Alex obliged, severing their connection. Lae'zel glared at him, baring her teeth in fury. Yet beneath her anger, Alex could see it in her eyes—her faith was shaken. Not completely, not yet, but the seeds of doubt had been planted. After being saved by that mysterious force, Lae'zel had begun to realize the truth on her own, though she had denied it—until now.

Alex stepped forward and picked up the greatsword she had dropped, the flames along its blade gently dancing across his hand. He extended it back to Lae'zel, offering the weapon. She hesitated but eventually took it, her grip on the sword firm but uncertain.

Without another word, Alex turned and walked away, the crowd around them parting in silence to let him pass.