You get almost no sleep this night, plagued by the nightmares filled with the visions of your dead comrades. You try to keep your head up high, but in truth, the insomnia is getting a lot worse and you realize it when seemingly out of nowhere, you appear in the middle of the cobbled path with the backpack straps wrapped around your shoulders.

You rub your eyes and try to recall your journey from underneath the bridge, all the way to this moment, but your efforts are unsuccessful. Instead, you fetch the map from your robe and check your coordinates, making sure that you are indeed on the right course.

After a few minutes, you resume your journey, taking a sip of water from the canteen before putting it back inside a bag wrapped around your waist.

You look around the road seeing nothing besides the muddy, soaked dirt with brownish grass and hearing just the wet splashes of your shoes sliding on the terrain.

You close your eyes and focus on your footing, shifting awareness to the way your soles sink into the soaked ground and your muscles tighten, preventing your body from losing balance. It is very rare for a monk like you to disassociate so badly that you find yourself unable to recall events from the last hour.

'Was I dreaming of Raphael or was he actually there?' you think and rub your neck, reminding yourself of the sensation of him pulling on a leash.

You sigh, realizing that this was not a dream and the devil really was there. You look down on your marching feet for some time, before straightening your spine and raising your chin elegantly.

The last words you've heard from the man are making you a bit anxious. What is the thing that he already knows about your near future, that you yourself aren't aware of? You are certain that he read your note and possibly all of the letters you received from the Dawnmasters if not more, yet you can't help but think the meeting is not what he was referring to when saying there is a long day ahead. Your intuition tells you that the hint was something concerning the curse.

You nib on your bottom lip in thought, adjusting the backpack on your shoulders.

'Dear father is growing impatient,' you quote him, sinking back to your thoughts.

You now know that Mephistopheles suspected or maybe even counted on Raphael to take you down the second you rescued him from Cania. But this is not what happened. Although, all of your encounters with Raphael so far left you a bit confused and usually frustrated, you are aware that the man definitely doesn't want to kill you. It is interesting to know that his father misjudged him in this way. You'd think that the Lord of Cania, being a literal ancient creature, which probably remembers the dawn of time, doesn't know his own son well enough to use the whole situation with the rescue mission to his own advantage. But then again, knowing someone implies that the person A put time and effort into getting to know the person B, and you know damn well that Mephistopheles doesn't treat Raphael with any kind of respect. Respect? That's an overstatement. He doesn't treat him like an actual living being in the first place. So, on a second thought, such thing being overlooked doesn't seem so unnatural or unique.

Your gaze drops subconsciously as your mind wanders to Mizora. What about her relations in the society of devils? She seems to have pledged her loyalty to Zariel and as of now it seems to be working in her favor.

You find yourself wondering what is Raphael up to and how in the sweet hells was he able to teleport to you so casually without Korrilla around. Could it be also connected to the curse?

'Might be,' you think to yourself as your eyes find a settlement lurking far on the horizon.

Your shoulders tremble and you change the course of your thoughts, deciding to reschedule theory-making about the curse and take care of that later. For now, you need to focus on the dealings with the Dawnmasters. Judging by the nature of your correspondence, it seems that the meeting will go smoothly and pleasantly, but Raphael's words keep you on the highest of alerts.

You pass an open wooden gate and enter a medium-sized settlement, heading straight to the center of it. The mud seems to be everywhere, so you decide to stick to the side of the road, avoiding the deep and thin trails of a horse carriage decorating the soil.

The village is peaceful, basking in the simmering light of the cold rising sun. The air around you is a bit heavy with the scent of the dirt, but the thin fog hanging in the air leaves your nostrils feeling refreshed. You brush your hair to the side, feeling tiny droplets of water on the strands and glance at the houses you pass. Most of the windows are covered, signaling that the home dwellers are either absent or still asleep. You let your gaze fall to the short wooden or stick fences surrounding some of the buildings in town; to the dog and hen houses and the household animals looking curiously at you as you pass by.

It's quiet, but not unsettling. Following your usual custom - you find the biggest building in the town made entirely out of stone and take a look at the noticeboard in front of it. It's mainly filled with offers of food for sale - eggs, local pastries, cow and goat milk, ale and cheese. But there is one piece of paper that catches your attention. You carefully remove it from the noticeboard and read the words filling the page.

It's a fragment of the most famous newspaper from Baldur's Gate. You smile to yourself, finding out that the city has been completely rebuilt and the dock is active again, allowing the citizens and verified vendors to sell their goods across the sea. Some experts also share tips on a promising future for cotton trading. There is a small paragraph about Balduran farmers discovering that the Ilithid remains make a perfect fertilizer.

You pin the fragment of the newspaper back to the noticeboard and turn on your heel, heading back to your course towards the tavern. When you finally see a signboard with a dancing halfling dressed in a skimpy green outfit, you know you made it to your destination.

You carefully wipe your dirty shoes on the worn-out rag placed in front of the entrance, making sure to bring as little mud inside as possible. You place your hand on a simple metal doorknob and push the door open to peek inside. The indoors are surprisingly crowded, particularly one of the far corners of the vast, open room.

You freeze for a moment, inspecting the group gathered inside the tavern, but after making sure that this is some polite gathering and not a brawl, you step inside and stand in front of the bar.

'Good morning. I am looking for one room for just one night. Have you been notified about the Dawnmasters visiting today?' you say, getting attention of a big, kind-looking man with an impressive beard and a bald head. He turns around towards you and his eyes immediately sparkle with recognition.

'I have been, yes. I assume that you are the famous monk, who saved Baldurs gate?' he asks excitedly.

You press your finger to your mouth curled in a small smile.

'It wasn't just me, but yes. I like to keep it low, though, so please try not to announce that to everyone.'

He grins widely, exposing his one missing fang. You take a moment to take in his form and realize that he is emanating kindness but there is also a lot of strength lurking beneath the big surface.

'I'll do my best, but I don't promise a thing. And the room... I have a few available, what ya need?'

'Just a single bed, do you have any access to a bath?'

The owner of the tavern nods and points his thick, hairy finger at the roof.

'In the middle of the corridor upstairs there is a door leading to a shared bathroom and another to a toilet,' he informs and turns around to fetch one of the keys hanging on a wall behind him, before handing it to you. It has a number six on it. 'Here. It's an honor to have you here. On the house!'

'Oh no,' you protest and reach to your pocket. 'I insist.' You place a few gold coins on the counter and smile as the host accepts the payment.

'So you're here for the Dawnmasters, huh? I think one of them has arrived earlier.' He moves his chin, pointing towards a chattering group gathered in a corner. 'He's playing chess or somethin'.'

You follow his gaze and feel your intuition spike for a moment. You take a generous whiff of the dusty tavern air and smell a tiny notch of brimstone, though you aren't certain if it's really there or if it's your own imagination.

'How about your appetite? You hungry?' the host snaps you back to reality and you tear your eyes away from villagers' backs hiding the supposed lance board enjoyer from your view.

'Depends. Do you serve something without meat?'

He wonders for a moment.

'My chef just finished mashin' some taters. I could get ya some pickles on the side, that's fine?'

'Sounds delicious. I'll be back in twenty minutes.'

'And a drink?' He asks as you head towards the staircase on the opposite wall.

'Just some tea or hot water, please,' you respond turning your head towards the man for a moment before vigorously climbing the stairs.

You are quick to find the room number six. It's almost right in front of the shared bathroom door, closer to the staircase than to the window mounted on the end of the corridor. You push the key into the lock and access your room, giving it a short glance before setting your heavy backpack on the floor. You approach a window facing the doorway and take off your food rations bag to assess the state of your provisions. It seems that it will be enough for you to go back to Moonrise Towers, but you definitely need to refill your canteen with clean water.

You close the bag and set it aside, then without standing up move to your backpack and open the lid. You retrieve the mace, the Blood of Lathander, wrapped around in a simple cloth securing its spikes from biting into your back while carrying. You place the relic on the bed and fetch a bar of soap and a big towel, then leave the room to take care of your hygiene.

A few minutes later, you pat your feet and legs dry and put your monastic clothes back on. You leave the door slightly parted, making sure not to trap the steam inside and quickly grab the shining mace before locking your room and heading downstairs.

The people are still gathered in the same spot as before, but it looks like at least a few of the villagers have left. You decide to ignore that for now and forward your attention to the host of the tavern, pointing his chin at a lone table in a dimmed part of the room with a big plate full of mashed potatoes on it. You eagerly take a seat and put your hands together in a gesture of gratitude, then begin your feast, relishing in the perfect amount of butter and salt and a strong kick of a fresh chopped dill, sprinkled on top of the meal.

When you are done, the sun is visible from above the roofs of the houses on the opposite side of the road and the tavern starts to fill with even more people. Truthfully, you did not expect the place to be so lively.

You pick up the plate and cross the room to set it on the counter, then return to sit at your table, placing one of your hands on the Blood of Lathander's handle. You shift in your chair, sitting straight and more comfortably and close your eyes, intending to get some rest through meditation as you wait for the Dawnmasters.

You can hear the talking, laughs, smell the thick dusty air sprinkled with some scents of cheap ale, you feel the shift in the air every time one of the tavern's guests moves somewhere near your table. You idly stroke the decorations of the mace's handle, immersing yourself in a peaceful trance.

Suddenly, the door swings open and some of the air enters the room, hugging it in a chill embrace before giving in to the warmth inside. You hear a middle-aged woman panting heavily, as if she just finished running. She sniffs a few times, before taking shaky, hurried steps to the other side of the room. Your ears focus on her and if you are not mistaken, she walks all the way to the crowded part of the room.

'Please, you have to help me,' she begins.

Her voice is laced with fear and desperation. Something tells you that she might be a mother worried about the safety of her child. You can't pick up the voice that responds, but you already have a theory as to who this might be. There is a scratch of a chair being pushed on the floor and a small crack of wood as the woman sits down.

You open your eyes and stand up, picking up the mace. You don't want to appear hostile to anyone in the tavern, so you do your best to carry it with you in the least fear-inducing way possible. You stroll towards the common folks near the place where the woman disappeared and climb your toes, trying to glance above a tall man's shoulder. After a few attempts, you gently tap him on the arm and almost jump in surprise and shock as he turns to you with completely hollow eye sockets. His face wears signs of struggle. You scold yourself in your mind for such an unkind reaction and ask him nicely about the gathering.

He steps aside and whispers to you, his voice filled with hope and a bit of excitement.

'There is some generous nobleman visiting the city. Look.'

As he steps to the side, allowing you to take a peek at the hidden corner of the room, your eyelids fall in a blank and unimpressed expression.

'That's a self-proclaimed generous nobleman,' you comment so that the blind man hears you, but some other guy next to you shoots you a slightly angry glance.

A few meters in front of you, sits Raphael. He pretends he didn't catch your eye or didn't acknowledge your presence nor hear the comment; his attention is shifted to the woman before him. Just as you established from the weight of her footsteps and the aura of her body, she is around forty-five years old and something about her just screams 'I have three lovely children.'

'Saer, I beg of you. My poor little son is in danger. I can't play lanceboard with you, we need to act fast.'

'If time is of the essence,' Raphael said, raising his one eyebrows over the lance board. 'Then best start praying for the visitors to make a swifter appearance.'

You push the Blood of Lathander with your foot and swipe it in the air before landing it in your other hand. The villagers around you take a few steps back and one of them inhales sharply before whispering: 'It's the hero of the Baldur's Gate.'

Usually, you don't enjoy being in the center of attention, at least not when the attention that is given to you comes from complete strangers. But in this particular case, it turns out to be extremely useful. You strike a power pose, spreading your right foot further from the left and raise your chin proudly, before adjusting the volume of your voice.

'The gathering is over, no more dealings with the devil.'

'A-devil?' the blind man spits out quickly, suddenly scared. He takes a few steps backwards, bumping into a wooden pillar, but before you can reach out to help him, he is heading towards the exit, knocking an empty mug from one of the tables on his way.

A few villagers stay in their spots, but some leave abruptly, as if struck by a lighting. Raphael leans back in his chair and you are almost certain it's not a chair from this tavern, but one that he summoned for himself. It's padded and very pretty, definitely extraordinary in comparison to the plain, simple stools and chairs around you.

'My dear, you are interrupting my business,' he says without a rush in his voice, completely unaffected.

You place the spiky head of the mace back on the floor and put your hands on the other end of it. 'Oh really? How so incredibly unfortunate.' You might regret your decisions that you made during your visit in the House of Hope, but you still stand by your true nature - you don't turn your back to the face of cruelty. You turn your gaze from his devilishly handsome face and focus on the woman on the other end of the lanceboard, currently avoiding your eyes in embarrassment. 'Lady? What's the matter?'

Her scared eyes snap to Raphael who allows her to speak with an alluring gesture of his right hand and a small nod.

'My son is missing. He is gone for a few days now.'

You place the mace on the floor and crouch in front of the woman, taking her palm inside your hand to calm her down.

'Where did you last see him?'

'I was at our home, baking his favorite tart. He was supposed to ask Ms. Poulrey for some pears, but he never,' her voice cracks and she hides half of her face away from your sight. 'He never returned back. It was three nights ago.'

'Do you have any clues at all as to where he could go?'

'No, no! He didn't go,' she sobs. 'He was taken, I'm sure of it.'

'So what did the devil-man propose?' you ask and briefly glance at Raphael, who shots you a warning glance at the nickname.

'He- Master Raphael,' she corrects herself and your eyes almost leave their orbits. It blows your mind how quick common people are to fear him or treat him with respect. But then again, the woman in front of you most likely doesn't wield any magic... Just like you. At least not for the moment. 'Said that he knows where my son is.'

'And how did you acquire such information?' you ask Raphael and he chuckles.

'My dear, I assume that to be a rhetorical question.'

You look back at the woman, who hides from your sight once again. You quirk your eyebrow, examining her form. Raphael turns his head towards the entrance and smiles in satisfaction. You stand up, feeling confused.

'Did you sign something already?' you ask the woman and after a moment of staring at her knees, she nods. 'What?!' Your head snaps towards Raphael. 'And you didn't even offer saving her son, just giving the information where he is?'

'Ah, my service cannot surpass what I'm being offered,' he informs. 'A mere trifle in exchange for a simple favor.'

'Like her soul?' you widen your eyes and gaze into his own, leaning towards the man. He slowly shakes his head, prolonging the moment. The woman sits quietly and still, but you can see her shoulders shaking even from the corner of your vision. 'Can she tell me what it is, without it breaching the contract?'

Raphael pretends to wonder for a moment.

'Hmmm, why not. Please share.'

You look at the woman, who slowly pulls out a dagger.

'I am to cut myself.'

You stand upright in disbelief.

'Cut yourself?'

Raphael looks at you, his features angled just a tiny bit, hiding his dark eyelashes in a shadow of his brows. He examines your focused face and for a moment he can swear that he sees the cogs inside your brain turning furiously.

'Can I examine the dagger without it breaching the contract?' you ask and he permits it with a nod.

The blade is simple. Weights just the same as any ordinary dagger. You toss it in the air a few times, checking the swooshing sound it makes. There are no runes craved on it and when you sniff it and examine the metal under the sunlight, there is nothing unusual about it. 'You need to harm yourself in any particular way, like in a shape of runes or the goofy infernal letters?'

The woman glances at Raphael with worries filling her eyes. The cambion smirks and traces his thumb across his fingers of the right palm. 'No. Just a simple cut. Across a finger, across the wrist or across the throat. Whatever is her preference, really. It only has to bleed.'

You sit on the floor and hand the dagger over to the sobbing mother. You don't understand. You not only fail to see the point of her harming herself, but also can't wrap your head around why Raphael would want something of sorts in exchange for his part of the deal. As you ponder about the woman's contract, trying not to be bothered by Raphael's eyes burning a hole through you, the woman begins quietly:

'Master Raphael, please. I will do it, I swear to you, but my son is in danger. I need to know where he is.'

The man's eyes widen and he pretends to be a tiny bit offended.

'Section 21, closure F of the Infernal Law. The contractor is to fulfill their side of the deal first.'

'What are you plotting, Raphael?' you ask.

'Plotting? I am conducting an experiment.'

'Can I help you with it?'

His eyes brighten up and for a second you forget that he is a half-devil; his face softens, brows no longer emphasizing his sharp features and he looks at you, his thin lips twisted joyfully.

'Of course! How kind of you.'

'But me instead of that woman?'

'I'm afraid that's not possible.'

'Alright...' you rub your chin, frowning. 'So if I help, what do I do?'

'Oh, you're always in such a rush, aren't you? Your role will soon be revealed. Have a seat, maybe grab yourself a drink to relax?' he suggests, waving his hand towards the nearby chair and the bar.

'I don't drink,' you remind him, staring blankly in front of you. Your attention turns to the woman, slouching on a chair. 'Madam, I assume that you have to stay here for some reason. Would you like me to keep you company until someone I am to meet up with arrives?'

'Yes, please,' she responds immediately, her eyes gazing at you like a hurt puppy. 'If it's not a problem to you!' she adds immediately.

'Not at all.'

You stand up with an intention to pull the nearby chair closer to the lanceboard, but before you do so, you look briefly at Raphael, curiously watching you with bright eyes.

'Mind if I join?'

'I will be pleased if you do,' he responds with a low voice. You nod and place the chair near the middle of the board, but before you get a chance to sit down, the door to the tavern opens and you hear a few people entering the room. Their footsteps are heavy, making their armor clank with every move. 'But it seems like there will be time for it later,' Raphael clarifies and you follow his gaze to the entrance. The woman behind you shivers and grasps the dagger, whitening her knuckles.

'Dawnmasters,' you say quietly before turning your face to nod at the mother and Raphael, bidding them a silent goodbye.

You pick up the Blood of Lathander and make your way across the room, careful not to bump into any table as you go. You hope that the meeting will be devoid of any unnecessary formalities and the leader of the Paladins will go straight to the point.

You watch as a tall, muscular man with a horizontal scar on his forehead masking quite well with his wrinkles, swipes the place with his pale eyes. He scrunches his nose for a few times, moving his impressively thick moustache. Is it the brimstone he smells or just the scent of the dust and sweat, you wonder.

His eyes meet yours and he takes in your form, perhaps a bit surprised at how non-threatening you look for someone who managed to retrieve a sacred relic from a temple raided by a garrison of githyanki. His gaze settles on your face and he pushes his lips into a thin line as you smile gently at him. The villagers around you glance at the scene with a sprinkle of suspicion, as if preparing to flee if any conflict erupts.

'Dawnmaster Keith,' you bow your head politely and watch his paladins join his side. One of them is a very young human male with blonde, curly hair falling lazily on his right eyebrow and the other is a broad, female half-orc, with gorgeous white and green braids sprouting from her scalp.

Keith acknowledges you with a nod and extends his armored palm towards you. 'Tav.'

The woman paladin approaches the host of the tavern while you shake your hands with Keith. They exchange a few words before she comes back and forwards all of you to the biggest table in the tavern which was kept unoccupied specifically for the visit. The bald tavern owner places a few mugs of his finest ale on your table, but you pay little to no attention to the beverage.

Keith keeps his sharp, judgmental eyes on you for a longer moment, before finally speaking up.

'I must apologize in advance, but how in the sweet hells were you able to get your hands on the relic?' he asks, and his hostile expression melts away immediately. He playfully slaps your shoulder and you tighten your muscles for the impact, earning a pleasantly surprised look from him. 'Ha! So it's only the first impression.'

'I wasn't alone, Dawnmaster Keith.'

'Please, spare me the title. Just Keith. Shall I address you per your name as well or do you have any preference?'

'A gentle giant,' you think to yourself before smiling at the man and the two paladins sitting at his side.

'Just Tav is fine, thank you.' You step closer to the leader and hand him over the Blood of Lathander. He bows upon accepting the sacred relic and you notice that the two of the paladins close their eyes in a silent prayer. You let them finish patiently, while glancing at the door as it opens once again.

When you recognize the monastic robes, your expression shifts and Keith smiles at you knowingly.

'Sister,' a kind, soft voice comes from the doorway, after a pair of lively green eyes lands on your face. 'It's good to see you in such a great health.'

For a moment, you are taken aback. Your eyes snap to Keith and you find yourself unable to phrase a sentence, but only briefly. You recover and bow generously before a fellow monk from the Order of the Yellow Rose. 'Brother, I apologize for my lack of respect,' you keep your head low, your heart accelerating as the man stops in front of you.

'Nonsense. Stand up, sister.'

You meet his eyes, feeling like a small girl at the monastery awaiting her evaluation. You acknowledge your insecure thoughts and shove them aside, allowing yourself to take in the man's kind gaze. Nothing about the person in front of you says that he is judging or criticizing, in fact it's quite the opposite.

Keith hands the Blood of Lathander over to the female half-orc and she leaves a moment later, most likely delivering the relic to a carriage. 'Well,' he claps his hands, interrupting the tense and confused reunion with one of your former superiors. 'Let's discuss your reward. Is there anything you need? That relic is quite literally priceless for the Dawnmasters.'

'There is something I could ask for, actually,' you respond, glad that you can turn your thoughts to the settlement that Halsin established.

As your conversation enters a different field, the woman bound to the contract with the devil, looks over at Raphael. The man leans back in his chair, putting his right ankle on his left knee. He closes his eyes for just a moment before widely swiping his right arm in the air, encouraging her to begin.

She stands up to her feet and stumbles towards the nearest wooden pillar, taking out the simple dagger. She looks worriedly towards your table, not understanding even one bit as to why she is supposed to hurt herself, other than that being a part of her deal. The cold blade touches the inside of her palm and she hesitates, preparing for the burning pain. When she closes her eyes, remembering the last time she held her precious youngest son in her arms, she drags the blade across her hand, opening a wound. Her eyes snap open and she tightens her fist, then looks at Raphael, trying to see if he is satisfied with her actions.

The cambion looks at her, a sly smirk creeping onto his lips.

'Your son is in a cave thirty minutes to the south-west from here.'

'Thank you!' she shouts and presses her bleeding hand into her wide chest, staining her dust-grey scarf decorating her cleavage.

She passes the room hurriedly, racing for the door as a lazy drop of blood appears from under her tightened palm swinging at the edge of her hand in hesitation before finally dropping to the floor. The rich red liquid splashes on the worn out wood and suddenly you stiffen, Keith's words blurring out in your ears.

You blink a few times and the monk from your monastery looks curiously at you, inspecting your sudden change in behavior.

'Keith...' you breathe out, pushing yourself from the table.

The gentle giant asks you about something, but the meaning of his words vanishes inside the ocean of the stimulus. Your body crashes to the wall behind you and you can feel your brain pulsating in a very odd, yet familiar way. It feels as if it no longer was just your own, as if an invisible mindflayer infected you once again and the voice of the elder brain was trying to get through.

'Stay back,' you fall to your side, swiping the air with your left arm. 'Something is off.'

You tear your eyes away from the floor and notice the monk crouching near you with a concerned expression. His mouth moves, but you don't understand anything that leaves it. What language is he speaking? No, why do you suddenly have issues comprehending the common speech?

A devastating pain slices through your back, pushing you to the floor. Despite the agony, you find yourself grinning, feeling a small amused chuckle brewing in the depths of your throat. The woman with the bleeding hand reaches the door and the dagger slips from her grasp, landing with a loud thump on the floor.

The heightened senses pick up on the metallic scent oozing from the stained blade and you tighten your muscles, fighting an unknown battle with your own body. You grit your teeth, swallowing down a groan of pain at the burning scar. Panic starts to settle in your skull, speeding up your heart; the sound of your own rushing adrenaline ringing inside your ears.

The entire room's attention is fixed on you. You drag your fingers across the flooring and make eye contact with Raphael, him casually leaning on the wooden pillar, pushing his hips to the side, striking a pose that exposes his lean waist. Your face twists with a sadistic grin and a single, hot tear flows from your eye, leaving a wet trail all the way to your jaw. Raphael tilts his head, watching your struggles with a patience of a fisherman awaiting his first catch of the day.

You grunt and push your feet on the floor, dirtying your monastic robe, trying to get away from the people around you, but you only manage to slide your tense body a few centimeters forward.

With all of your might, you relax your jaw and let out a bone-chilling command.

'RUN!'