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Coldness. The very first sensation that Astarion felt was coldness. His naked body shivered as his clothing turned to ash the moment Cazador began speaking the words of the ritual. The ritual meant to kill all of Cazador’s spawn – Astarion included, of course. His clothes burned away by arcane fire, but… there he was. Alive. In one piece, and definitely not reduced to ash – though perhaps a little singed, the fire’s pain not serious enough to end him.
How was that even possible? He had felt his life slipping away… He… he should have been dead by now. But he wasn’t. And gods, he was starving, cold and his body ached in ways he couldn’t quite name.
He looked around. He was alone. There, in the hidden chapel beneath Szarr’s Palace. There, on the cold stone floor, surrounded by the bloody remains of his ‘siblings’ and seven thousand preys. They all were dead. All but him.
And where the fuck was Cazador?
Astarion closed his eyes, only to realize, to his surprise, that he knew exactly where his master was. In the ballroom, speaking to someone.
He pushed himself up. The world around him spun a little, but he managed to keep his balance. Slowly, carefully, he made his way toward the magic lift. What in the sweet hells had just happened?
On the way, he found a piece of some material. He wrapped it around his aching hips – just in order not to parade around completely naked, not out of shame. Here, in the Szarr’s Palace, he couldn’t avoid such useless feeling – life as a spawn taught him that in the worst way possible more than a century ago, or even earlier.
A moment later, Astarion walked into the ballroom. Cazador was already there, as Astarion knew he would be. The vampire lord was discussing a subject with one of his more important servants. Both heads turned the moment he entered the room, showing that they surely didn’t expect any company.
“We need to talk.” Astarion claimed. Normally, he would have been more obedient. Less demanding. More hesitant. But now… Something had changed. There was a great power, filling his whole body and soul. And… an urge to be a little closer to Cazador. To make things among them as clear as possible; demanding answers.
The servant looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. Szarr’s expression – as always – was more mysterious; far harder to read, but the silver-haired one could say that he was puzzled as well.
“Astarion?” Cazador asked.
“I really mean it.” The boy crossed his arms on his chest. Now or never.
“How… how is that even possible?” The servant said, taking a step back. “You should be dead, spawn. I saw you dying. Burning.”
Astarion gave out a chuckle.
“And yet, here I am. Irritating, isn’t it?” There, in his voice great lack of respect was clearly audible.
“Enough of your useless chattering, child!” Cazador raised his voice, irritated. It must have been awful. Beautifully awful. Seeing his ‘child’ so proud. So independent. “Quiet! You should be kneeling down here, before me!”
There it was. The magic command. One that no spawn could resist. But Astarion was spawn no more – even though he wasn’t aware of it. Instead of obeying, he crossed his arms on chest.
“No.” He said, steady and calm. “I am not your property. Not your toy!”
“No?” Cazador raised a brow. Then, he laughed mockingly, coldly. He approached Astarion. A gesture was enough for the servant to keep the silver-haired one in place – even for a moment, taken from surprise. And? A hit, meant exactly for Astarion’s face. And a wave of pain, floating them both.
“What the…?” Cazador touched his own cheek, hissing in pain. It felt as if he just struck himself.
“What just happened?!” Astarion pushed the servant away from himself, freeing arms. Then, he rubbed his jaw, confused. It hurt him too.
“Where are your siblings?” Asked Cazador a moment later, frowning. That was unexpected. Something must have gone wrong. Did all of his children live?
“Dead.” Astarion replied shortly. But he couldn’t stop at this. He needed to add something more. That son of a bitch needed to know what he did. “Only paddles of blood and entrails are still on the floor. You killed them! You killed them all!”
“And you, as always, destroyed everything!" Cazador’s voice rose with fury. "You should be dead as well! All the years that I had to listen to your useless whining! All the preys! You were meant to burn there! And yet, you are even more unbearable! I should have never chosen you!"
"I never wanted to be one of your chosen ones!" Astarion shouted. "You decided that I should be your spawn! Do you think that it was a pleasure? Being stuck there! With your commands! With your mockery! You have no idea what I went through, just to fulfill your sick ambitions! What I endured just to survive this fucking hell!"
Cazador wanted to shut him up. To cast a spell that would make an order. But it seemed not to have any results – as if he didn't do anything. No effects. "You disobedient child! That's not possible!" Cazador snarled. "I can feel the power in my veins!"
Astarion laughed at him. "So do I." But he had no clue, what kind of power was that. He never was a good at magic – never had the chance. Now, it was so much of it, that he couldn’t even understand its nature, not even mentioning any potential way to use it.
"Stop that bullshit of yours. You couldn't do that! You couldn't ascend."
"What?" Astarion asked, eyes narrowed. What Cazador was even talking about? Even in the moment of the ritual, he couldn't fully understand it. Of course, he had figured out that it must be something powerful. But… All these cruelty could have many reasons. To resurrect someone? To get an ancient ability?
"You should be dead, boy. The ritual was meant to kill you."
"What's that 'ascension'?" The silver-haired one needed to know. He just needed. All of these were so… weird, but unique. And he had no knowledge about that, even despite being the Vampire Ascendant himself. One of two in the world. And the second one was his former master. The man who he hated the most in the world.
"Something that you couldn't even dream about, not even mentioning understanding it." Cazador scoffed.
But Astarion didn’t mean to give up on that so easily. His eyes glazed with red – not from control, but with power. "I demand to know!" He shouted.
"I can show you." Cazador finally said, after a moment of silence that longed for a while, realizing that he has an ace in his sleeve. He smiled widely, and then, he walked to the window. With deliberate grace, he drew back the thick, well–crafted curtain, letting golden sunlight flood into the room.
Astarion felt the grip of fear – panic even – clenching on his heart. Was that bastard insane?! Cazador might die already, of course. But his stupidity could kill them both! That was nothing but a suicide!
The silver-haired one instinctively flinched, retreating into shadows. But… Cazador hadn't taken a step back. He stood still, remained in the sun. And… he smiled widely. Didn’t burn.
"No…" Astarion said. His voice just a bit above whisper. His eyes wide open. "It can't be."
“Sweet idiot. Do you see it now? And the price for that was completely worth it. Seven thousands of worms. It feels almost as if it was for free.”
Astarion looked at him. He still couldn’t believe… Cazador bathing in sun…? That was his worst nightmare… It made him believe that Szarr really is eternal, and can’t be killed. No matter what.
“Then why am I still alive?” Astarion asked.
“If I knew, I would fix that mistake.” Cazador hissed in reply. Then, his voice was calm once more. "But, maybe I really can punish you after all."
He didn't bother to cover the window. No. Instead, he did the opposite, unveiling another one, letting even more sunlight into the ballroom.
Astarion took a step toward the door. He had to get away! Had to shield himself from it, before it was too late.
"Going somewhere?" Cazador asked with a grin. Then, he blocked the door. With a spell – maybe his magic could not interact with Astarion anymore, but it still gave him so many possibilities. The ballroom had become a prison. An execution chamber.
"Stop it! Cazador! Don't do this!" Astarion shouted, raising trembling hands to shield his face as the final curtain was about to be pulled away. Besides, it was the first time since he was turned when he called his master by his name, talking to him. "That's cruel! I’ll burn!"
"That's the whole point, child. I don't need you anymore."
Szarr did it. He enlightened the whole room, uncovering the last window.
Astarion felt his knees buckle. He turned his face away, just to avoid the sun that would destroy him. His hands trying to stop the shines. He didn't want to die… But he will. Any moment now, his skin would catch fire, blister, blacken… just to turn into ash. It would hurt. And his life would end up. Here, on his knees. Before Cazador.
But… The expected pain never came.
The light was warm. Soft. Not burning. Not deadly. It was… pleasant.
Astarion slowly raised his head, as if he was standing on cracking ice, unsure whether it would hold, or swallow him whole.
He finally opened his eyes. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, he could see Baldur’s Gate – vivid, alive, sun-drenched. It was… Beautiful. So full of color. Completely different from the city that he had known. He had forgotten what sunlight really looked like.
Astarion stood up. He approached the window. He didn't look at Cazador. Only at the city. Huge. Welcoming. As if it was a completely new place, just waiting to be known. To be explored.
"I'm leaving." Astarion said. It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. But before he could add anything, he felt cold metal touching his throat.
Rhapsody. Cazador's favorite dagger. A cruel reminder of Szarr's presence.
"Do you think that it's a new life for you?!" He chuckled with no amusement. Then, not waiting for a response, he pressed the blade a little, letting it cut the pale skin. A small drop of blood appeared. But… Just the same faint wound was visible on Cazador's own body. Just in the same place.
The dagger was instantly taken away. Hidden. Useless now. He couldn't hurt Astarion anymore.
The silver-haired wasted no time. He pushed his former master away from himself. But the moment he did so, a strange sensation flared in his shoulders – as if he had been pushed, too.
"I said I am leaving." Astarion repeated. "I am your spawn no more. You have no slave now."
But their bond was stronger than ever before, even though neither Astarion nor Cazador knew it yet.
"Then go.” Cazador hissed. “I will gladly banish you from my house." His voice was cold, but… something in his expression flickered. He felt irritated. After two centuries, his Astarion was just… walking away? It felt… strange.
And there, deep in his former-spawn eyes seemed to be something more complex. As if he wanted to add something. Be, after all, he remained speechless.
And he just left the room.
The hallway was quiet. Familiar. The well-known corridor, leading to the front door. He had walked this path thousands of times. Now, it would be the last. The last time he would see the place. He would never return here. Not to the house where he spent two centuries.
No. He mustn’t be sentimental. It wasn't his home. It was just Cazador's house. Nothing more. He had been held here in chains.
The grand door, with ornaments with rat figures, was still open. As always. Cazador had closed it only one time - when he had led his spawn to the hidden chapel, placed underground - to the place when all the dead were still laying (or at least the paddles that remained from them). Seven thousand – exactly seven thousand and seven victims.
No. Seven thousand and six. Astarion had still lived.
He could feel that familiar gaze on him. Again. Cazador was watching him.
But Astarion didn't turn back. Didn't pause. He didn't even look back above his shoulder. No. Instead, he approached the front door and opened it.
And… Nothing. His hand was still on the damned doorknob, gripping it, as he was standing on the line of Szarr's palace. From up there, Baldur's Gate seemed even more monumental. Breathtaking. The city stretched endlessly, alive. Just beyond the door.
Just walk. He told himself. So he took a step forward.
Breathing seemed a bit harder. Was his own mind creating the strange barrier? Why? He wanted it! He craved freedom.
Another step. He seemed weaker – his body had less strength. All he could think about was Cazador. As if his soul wanted to be closer to that son of a bitch.
No! He hated that bastard!
Another step forward. He almost fainted. It was awful - nearly painful. Like he was being torn apart. Like part of him was being ripped away.
"You fool! Stop!” Cazador’s voice echoed behind him; reaching not only his pointy ears, but even his very soul. “Do you want to get us both killed?" Szarr was just leaving the ballroom - walking towards him.
Astarion stopped. And everything was good once more. All the negative sensations became nothing but a faint memory. As if it had never been any pain.
"There is no 'us', maste-" He didn't finish, realizing what he was about to say. A stupid habit. Cazador was his master no more. That cursed word no longer had any power. "Cazador" He added instead, spitting the name like a slur, only to prove that they are equal now, and Szarr is no more above him. Then, he continued. "It would be better if you died. I don't care."
Cazador laughed.
"Stupid boy. Don't you see that I can't even hurt you anymore? If I die, so do you."
Astarion froze. He didn't even want to think about it. But… it was too late. That was the cost of this new power. His most beautiful dream – freedom… vengeance – was a lie. He couldn't kill that bastard. He couldn’t even leave him.
"Then try not to get us both killed." Astarion muttered, shrugging. As he didn't care. But he did… It was his life, after all. And, somewhere deep in his soul, there was a strange feeling. A ridiculous awareness that he doesn't want Cazador to get killed either…
"I'm done with all of this. With this place. With YOU" Astarion hissed. "Go on, live your life, Szarr. I'll definitely enjoy mine."
"You will enjoy nothing if you leave, fool.” Cazador snapped. “We need to stay close. And you know that, just as I do."
A moment of silence. Astarion didn't want to agree. He didn't want to admit that Cazador is right.
"I wouldn't be able to live beside you forever." Astarion laughed. But in his voice there was no joy. “I’d go mad.”
"You would. And you will." Cazador ensured.
Astarion ignored him and took off at a run – straight back into the palace. Into the ballroom. Several dozen meters further, away from the front door, the feeling of weakness came back. Sharp. Undeniable.
So that was the limit. Probably not even a hundred meters apart.
“Fucking hells!” Astarion hissed, looking straight at Cazador who was back by his side. “I won't live in this damned palace of yours. We’ll need a semi-detached house."
Cazador crossed arms on his chest. "Not a chance. You will stay there. I won't leave my house just because you have your useless wishes. Your pathetic fantasies."
They argued for a while. Loudly. Relentlessly.
Eventually, they reached something that could be called a compromise. Astarion would move into chamberlain's rooms – as Dufay had committed suicide (for some complex reason, but as far as Astarion knew, there was something about his beloved; some complex reason) just before the black mess, so this place was unoccupied. And had rather good conditions. It was comfortable. Private. Better than the dormitory after all.
Actually, it was a new place for Astarion. He hadn't been there. He had never been allowed to even take a peek. But now… everything had changed.
He stood at the threshold of his new quarters. Just when he thought he’d be free, here he was – still under the same roof. Still bound. Just when he thought that he would finally be free…
And yet, before entering to his new chambers, he stopped, looking above his shoulder to face Cazador.
"Alliance?" He asked. Not from affection, of course. Not from trust. Just necessity. The situation demanded that.
A pause. Then: "Alliance." the other Vampire Ascendant replied.
And, maybe – someday – it would turn into something else… Something more.