Chapter Text

Onser Winters – The Stormbound Sentinel (ENTJ)

Appearance:

• Race & Heritage: A Mephistopheles tiefling, carrying the infernal bloodline of fire and cunning. His presence radiates both authority and unease, as though law itself has been given a fiend’s form.

• Height & Build: Towering at 6’8, broad-shouldered, and imposing. His physique reflects a lifetime of battle and endurance — lean muscle forged by relentless training.

• Skin & Eyes: Ashen-gray skin, storm-slate toned, with piercing blue eyes that glow with an unearthly light — a gaze that commands obedience and unnerves enemies.

• Hair & Horns: Long, greyish-blue hair flowing down his back, with curtain bangs framing his stern face. Two curved black horns sweep back from his brow, ridged and sharp, streaked faintly with molten silver as though fire once coursed through them.

• Wings: Large, bat-like wings unfurl from his back, their membrane dark as storm clouds, marked with faint ember-like veins. They give him both an infernal majesty and the terrifying presence of a judge descending from above.
  
  

• Armor: Ornate grey plate armor, engraved with intricate patterns. The steel plates bear scars of countless battles yet are meticulously polished, reflecting both discipline and pride. His armor does not merely shield him — it carries the weight of his oath.
  
  

Skills & Divine Callings

Paladin of the Order:

• Oathbound to law, justice, and the pursuit of absolute order.
  
  

• Wields radiant smites tempered by restraint, striking down chaos and lawlessness with divine judgment.
  
  

• Commands obedience through presence alone, acting as both shield and gavel in the name of his oath.
  
  

Soldier’s Discipline

• Enlisted at fifteen, hardened by military life and decades of campaigns.
  
  

• Forged under a mentor’s strict hand, mastering tactics, endurance, and battlefield command.
  
  

• Trains himself and others to perfection, seeing discipline as the highest form of devotion.
  
  

Infernal Heritage

• Mephistophelean blood fuels his cunning and gives him a terrifying presence.
  
  

• His wings grant him aerial superiority, letting him descend upon enemies like a storm of judgment.
  
  

• Fire whispers in his blood, sometimes flickering in his strikes or smites — a reminder of the infernal bargain within his lineage.

Personality (ENTJ):

• Extraverted (E): Direct, bold, and assertive, thriving in leadership and command.
  
  

• Intuitive (N): Sees the larger strategy and long-term implications of every choice. To him, battle is not only about the clash of steel but the shaping of destiny.
  
  

• Thinking (T): Pragmatic and unflinching. Sacrifices are weighed carefully, but he never hesitates to make the hard call.
  
  

• Judging (J): Structured and unyielding. His life is ruled by order, discipline, and the oath he swore — deviation is weakness, and weakness is unacceptable.
  
  

Backstory:

Onser’s story begins in exile. His mother, a siren-born woman, was cast out of her own people when she bore him. Among the other children, he was marked at birth: horns, ashen skin, eyes that glowed faintly like stormfire. He was a child who looked more demon than boy. Mothers clutched their children tighter when he passed, and whispers chased them both through every town. His mother endured the cruelty in silence, shielding her son from it with a steadfast love.

At five years old, Onser could not understand why he was hated, why the world recoiled at his presence. But his mother gave him the only answer she could — through song. Night after night she sang him to sleep with lullabies that drowned out the jeers, her voice carrying both sorrow and hope. She taught him to sing, too, and in those moments he learned his first lessons in love: that beauty and gentleness can survive even in exile, that compassion can exist even when the world denies it.

She gave him everything she had, but it was love itself that destroyed her. For in a world where fear ruled, her kindness, her defiance of hatred, made her vulnerable. The very love with which she raised her son became her undoing — leaving Onser alone, marked not just by his infernal blood, but by the memory of a mother who gave her life to love a child the world wanted to hate.

Narrative Hooks:

Infernal Authority: His Mephistopheles heritage grants him power — but is it wholly divine, or does his infernal bloodline whisper of its own designs?

Discipline vs. Fire: His oath demands perfect order, yet his infernal nature burns with cunning and chaos. Can he master it, or will it master him?

The Mentor’s Legacy: He was forged by a commander’s hand — does he honor that legacy, or does he surpass it with his own vision of law?

Judge from Above: His wings make him both angelic and fiendish — to some, a savior; to others, a devil cloaked in law.

Han Wolfridge – The People’s Champion (ENFJ)

Appearance:

• Race & Heritage: A high elf of noble lineage, her presence radiates warmth and authority. Her demeanor draws people in as naturally as light draws moths.
  
  
• Height & Build: Tall and statuesque, with a commanding yet approachable aura. Her movements are graceful, reflecting both training and natural elegance.
  
  
• Eyes & Hair: Right eye black with red-limned edges, bright and expressive; left eye fogged and blinded from battle. Long, wavy black hair streaked with silver frames her face, softening the severity of her armor.
  
  
• Armor: Black, ornate plate etched with celestial crescents. Flowing skirted plates give her a regal silhouette without compromising mobility, blending ceremonial beauty with battle readiness.
  
  
• Weapon: Wields a radiant diamond sword, its crystalline edge gleaming like captured light. It serves as both weapon and symbol, embodying hope, protection, and justice.
  
  
• Presence: Charismatic and extroverted, her smile and laughter immediately disarm, making her approachable and magnetic. She draws allies close with warmth as easily as she inspires courage in battle.
  
  

Skills & Divine Callings:

Paladin of Devotion

• Sworn to uphold hope, justice, and the protection of the innocent.
  
  
• Uses her diamond sword and shield with precision, blending martial discipline with empathy.
  
  
• Inspires and rallies allies through example, charisma, and action.
  
  

Leader & Social Anchor

• Thrives in social settings, bringing joy, energy, and connection to her group.
  
  
• Reads emotions and situations intuitively, offering guidance or comfort before words are needed.
  
  
• Balances levity and leadership, knowing when to lighten spirits and when to command authority.
  
  

Symbol of Hope

• Her diamond sword serves as a beacon, both literally and figuratively.
  
  
• Acts as a living reminder that beauty, joy, and hope can coexist with duty and power.
  
  
• Protects those weaker than herself, often putting herself in danger to shield others.
  
  

Personality (ENFJ):

• Extraverted (E): Warm, engaging, and energetic, thriving on social connection. She draws strength from allies and easily inspires trust and camaraderie.
  
  
• Intuitive (N): Perceptive and forward-thinking, seeing patterns and possibilities beyond the immediate moment. She anticipates threats, morale shifts, and the larger outcomes of her actions.
  
  
• Feeling (F): Empathetic and values-driven. Her decisions are guided by compassion and moral conviction, prioritizing others’ well-being while still maintaining her principles.
  
  
• Judging (J): Disciplined and decisive, her life is guided by structure, planning, and moral code. She balances exuberance with responsibility, knowing when to act, protect, or lead.
  
  

Backstory:

Han was once surrounded by love—a warm family, a peaceful home, and the innocence of childhood. That life ended abruptly when war swept across her homeland. Her mother, father, and younger brother fell to relentless enemies, leaving Han scarred in both body and spirit. A strike blinded her left eye, a constant reminder of survival and loss.

Yet she did not face the darkness alone. Onser and Whitey became her anchors in trauma—Onser soothing her with songs that quieted panic, and Whitey shielding her beneath protective wings until the storm passed. Later, fate returned her young brother to her through resurrection, and together they endured, survivors bound by loss, love, and hope.

Despite her scars, Han radiates life and warmth. She draws others to her, lifting spirits, sharing laughter, and embodying hope in both word and deed. Her diamond sword is a beacon of that hope, a shining reminder that joy and justice can coexist even in the darkest times.

Narrative Hooks:

• Beacon of Hope: Her diamond sword symbolizes protection and inspiration, making her a figure both revered and envied.
  
  
• Extroverted Charm: Easily draws allies and strangers alike into her orbit, uplifting morale and fostering loyalty.
  
  
• Balance of Joy and Duty: Can effortlessly switch between playful warmth and fierce, commanding protector.
  
  
• Survivor of Trauma: Her past haunts her, but also drives her to protect and inspire, giving depth to her courage.
  
  
• Family and Redemption: Reunited with her resurrected brother, she walks the fine line between healing herself and safeguarding those she loves. 

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Whitey Lunaris – The Lunar Shadow (INTP)

Appearance:

• Race & Heritage: Half-elf of celestial lineage, her feathered wings extend from her back, a living testament to divine favor. They evoke flight, grace, and a higher calling, suggesting she is more than a mortal wanderer.
  
  

• Height & Build: Tall and statuesque, with a large frame that carries both strength and elegance. Her posture combines readiness with an otherworldly grace, like she is always partially poised for flight.
  
  

• Eyes & Hair: Whitey’s short, slightly messy white-silver hair frames a youthful yet hardened face. One eye is missing or obscured, lending a mysterious and ethereal quality. Her expression balances innocence with quiet determination.
  
  

• Armor: Wears a dark, battle-worn suit of intricately designed armor. Rugged and functional, yet ornate enough to reflect her status beyond a simple soldier. Marks of many battles are visible, speaking to experience and resilience.
  
  

• Presence: Quiet, contemplative, and enigmatic. Her presence is felt rather than announced—like moonlight slipping through the darkness, soft but revealing.
  
  

Skills & Divine Callings:

Cleric of Selûne

• Channels healing light, radiant smites, and protective wards.
  
  
• Performs lunar prayers and visions, offering guidance and blessings under Selûne’s gaze.
  
  

Druid of the Moon

• Draws upon natural and lunar cycles, weaving spells from the tides and wilds.
  
  
• Can summon beasts under moonlight or briefly shapeshift into moon-themed forms like a white wolf, owl, or bat.
  
  

Bardic Inspiration

• Uses music, chants, and hymns as magical performances, bolstering courage and weaving illusions reminiscent of moonlight’s glow.
  
  
• Her lunar songs inspire and protect, blending artistry and divine magic seamlessly.
  
  

Rogue Shadows

• Master of stealth and timing, striking precisely with her one-eyed perception.
  
  
• Embodies the “hidden face of the moon,” using mystery, cunning, and the shadows to navigate danger.
  
  

Personality (INTP):

• Introverted (I): Reflective and reserved, she often communes with Selûne beneath the stars. Prefers solitude or the company of a few over crowds.
  
  

• Intuitive (N): Philosophical and inquisitive, she contemplates the balance of light and darkness, the cycles of the moon, and the cosmic dance of Selûne and Shar.
  
  

• Thinking (T): Analytical and strategic, she approaches healing, combat, and magic with careful calculation rather than raw emotion. Every action is measured for maximum effect.
  
  

• Perceiving (P): Adaptable and fluid, Whitey flows with change like the moon itself. Hierarchy and rigid structures frustrate her; she is a wandering sage, following intuition over doctrine.
  
  

Backstory:

Born under the silver glow of Selûne’s moon, Whitey was always touched by the celestial. Her early life was marked by both wonder and solitude, the only constant being the guidance of her patron deity. A battle long ago cost her an eye, a mark of sacrifice that deepened her perception of the hidden truths around her.

Through years of wandering, she mastered multiple paths—cleric, druid, bard, and rogue—reflecting Selûne’s dual nature: light and shadow, clarity and mystery. Her versatility became her strength, allowing her to protect, heal, and strike with precision in equal measure. Despite her divine gifts, she remains introspective, often contemplating the delicate balance between duty and personal freedom.

Narrative Hooks:

• Her One Eye: Grants prophetic glimpses in dreams and moonlight, seeing hidden truths and enemy schemes others cannot perceive.
  
  

• Selûne’s Chosen Trickster: Her versatility is a divine blessing, meant to counter Shar’s deception with unpredictable cunning.
  
  

• Conflict of Paths: Her rogue instincts sometimes challenge her cleric vows, creating moral tension: save through light, or survive through shadows?
  
  

• Mystery and Wisdom: Whitey’s calm, analytical demeanor hides immense power and insight, making her an enigmatic ally and unpredictable opponent.
  
  

Moonlit Presence: Acts as a living bridge between celestial guidance and worldly strategy, inspiring awe, caution, or both.

Chapter Text

Days passed after defeating the Absolute, and Baldur’s Gate slowly rebuilt itself from ruin to a thriving city once more. It took eight harsh months of effort, but with the duke’s guidance and the determination of its citizens, the city returned to its prime—some even claimed it felt more alive, more free than before. But the same couldn’t be said for the heroes who saved it. Most had gone their separate ways, returning to old lives, old towns, or—for poor Astarion—forced back into the shadows to avoid the burning sun. Whitey and her now-wife Lae’zel vanished into the Astral Plane with their unborn egg child, ignoring every soul who tried to convince them to stay. Han decided to settle in Baldur’s Gate, realizing how much the city reminded her of her childhood home—the kindness of its people, the bustling markets, the life everywhere she looked. She missed her family dearly, but at least she still had her younger brother with her, and her small cottage in the heart of the city brought her peace.

Onser remained by her side, helping rebuild piece by piece. But as the months passed, his mind drifted constantly to Gale—how eager the wizard had been to pursue the Crown of Karsus the moment the battle ended. Letting Gale go had hurt more than he cared to admit.

Days became months.

No word from Gale.

Not even an illusion spell to say he was alive.

Nothing but silence.

Silence that gnawed at Onser until he finally snapped. No more waiting.

He was going to Waterdeep himself—unaware of the surprise that awaited him.

Just before he boarded the ship, Han and her brother rushed over with a small basket covered in red-and-white cloth. Onser raised a brow. “Han… what’s this?”

She held the basket out gently. “Me and Lorain made croissants for your trip to Waterdeep.” His breath hitched—not at the pastries, but at how quickly she’d realized his plan. Before he could speak, she cut him off.

“I know what kind of person you are. I don’t need an explanation. I just want you safe. Even if I think it’s stupid—chasing after a man who left you for power and knowledge—” her voice softened, sadness filling her eyes, “—I know you. Once you want something, you’ll pursue it relentlessly. So promise me something. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. No—promise me you’ll come back to visit, or at least send letters.”

Her hands clutched the plated armor on his chest, her eyes shimmering with tears. Onser’s expression melted, and he pulled her into a warm, grounding hug—a silent promise that he’d return. Only then did he board the boat, heart heavy and hopeful all at once.

Onser hated the sea, hated the way motion sickness clung to him like a curse, but it was still better than hours of flying. His wings had worn down from years of overuse, feathers damaged from battle and exhaustion. Fixing them could wait. Right now, all that mattered was reaching Waterdeep.

He arrived carrying only a small suitcase of clothes he’d purchased in Baldur’s Gate and the equipment he’d kept since his days with the Order. As he stepped through the crowded streets, he was overwhelmed by the city’s vibrancy—scholars, druids, gondians, humans chatting happily with tieflings, markets overflowing with goods from all over Faerûn. The culture, the noise, the life… it mesmerized him.

Eventually, he found himself in front of a grand tavern: The Golden Harp Inn—a high-end establishment favored by the upper class. The moment he stepped inside, the delicate sound of harp strings and soft conversation filled the air. He stood out terribly in full armor, halberd strapped to his back, suitcase in hand.

A butler approached with false warmth. “Welcome to the Golden Harp Inn. How may I help you, sir?”

“I’d like your finest room for the night.”

The request made several nobles stare, their glares sharp enough to pierce armor.

“I’m afraid we’re full tonight,” the butler replied with a strained smile. “The inn next door should have rooms… more suited to you.”

Onser’s expression hardened. He recognized the game. And he wasn’t in the mood.

“I’d like to remind you,” he said calmly, “that the Order doesn’t tolerate this kind of treatment toward its soldiers—especially its most devoted.”

The threat landed. The butler paled, stepping back, shocked to realize who he was dealing with.

Ignoring him, Onser walked straight to the reception desk.

Two workers greeted him there—an elf woman with short black hair and a sweet smile, and a half-orc with impressive tusks who watched Onser with quiet suspicion.

“Welcome to the Golden Harp Inn!” the elf chirped. “We do have rooms available—today’s a special event, so it’s busy, but you’re in luck.”

Onser offered a polite smile. “Your finest room for the night.”

“That will be 150 gold per night… is that alright?” she asked hesitantly.

Onser opened his suitcase and pulled out a sack of coins gifted by the tieflings he’d saved. “This should cover several nights. If it falls short, let me know.”

The orc took the gold and nodded, still silent. As they walked together toward the upper floors, the orc finally spoke.

“You’re different from the others in your Order.”

Onser raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Most either make a scene or storm out when Jaiden tries his little tricks. But you walked right past him.” The orc snorted. “Good. That human is a devil in disguise.”

Onser chuckled. “I don’t have time for the likes of him.”

They reached a door. The orc unlocked it and handed him the key. “Kursk Kilk. Manager of this inn. Don’t worry about Jaiden—he’ll treat you properly now.”

Onser shook his hand. “Onser Winters. Deputy Chief of Operations, Order of the Harmonic Shield.”

Kursk smirked. “I knew you were someone important. The way you walk—hard to miss.”

With that, he left Onser alone.

When Onser opened the door, he found the most luxurious room he’d ever seen: a cathedral-like chamber where the cool, moonlit sanctuary of a stone bath flowed seamlessly into the warm, firelit comfort of a lavish bedroom. Steam drifted from the deep pool beneath towering blue-and-gold stained-glass windows that looked out onto snowy mountains, candles glowing along the stone edges. Rich purples and warm embers illuminated a grand bed draped in silks, ivy spilling from gothic arches, and a large hearth crackling with golden fire. At the center stood an armour stand, dark and imposing, holding polished plates and a great weapon that caught both the moonlight and the firelight—anchoring the room with the unmistakable presence of its owner.

The room was far more than he’d expected, and for once, he was genuinely grateful. He took his time familiarizing himself with the space, letting the quiet luxury ease the stiffness in his body. Eventually, he loosened the ties in his long, braided hair, letting it fall freely down his back as he slipped into the warm bath across the room. Only after soaking away the exhaustion of travel did he rise, dry off, and finally sink into the massive bed, allowing himself a rare moment of complete relaxation.

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Gale’s POV

At first, Gale truly believed that Netherese magic was the key to unlocking his greatest ambition. But the deeper he studied, the more he understood why Mystra had warned him about the crown’s nature—how it twisted intentions, clouded judgment, and whispered promises like a devil tempting a desperate soul into a fatal bargain. Yet Gale never took that bargain. After months of searching, retrieving the crown, and examining its corrupted magic for himself, he chose to hand it over to Mystra. Let her deal with the darkness it carried. It was, without question, the best decision he’d ever made.

He knew he wasn’t ready—emotionally or morally—to ascend, to gamble his life and sanity on an experiment with pitiful odds of success. And even if it worked… what then? He’d be something unrecognizable. Something distant. Something that couldn’t belong to the life he wanted. Because he did want a life—one that included someone waiting restlessly for him. Onser. The thought of that man’s impatience gnawed at him constantly, filling him with guilt for leaving without a word. But Gale needed to fix himself first… to understand who he was beyond ambition… before returning to the person he loved.

His first task upon arriving in Waterdeep was to reunite with his mother, Morina Dekarios. Age had slowed her—these days she spent more time sitting, wrapped in warm shawls, gossiping with Tara—but her love for him had never softened or faded.

What Gale absolutely did not expect was to find both Morina and Tara waiting for him at the docks, arms waving wildly. Tara, perched on his mother’s shoulder, was the first to spot him.

“Yoo-hooo! Mr. Dekarios! Over here!” the tressym called out excitedly, tail flicking like a delighted banner in the wind.

Gale smiled as he gathered his luggage and walked toward his mother and Tara, warmth blooming in his chest despite the exhaustion clinging to him. The moment he reached them, he pulled Morina into a tight embrace. “Mom… I missed you so much. I’m sorry for disappearing like that. I—I needed to find a cure for myself…” His voice cracked, tears gathering in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to leave her waiting, worrying, fearing the worst.

Morina held him even tighter, her hands gentle on his back. “Gale, my boy… you’re here now. That’s what matters.” Her voice was soft, steady, full of unconditional love that nearly broke him all over again.

Tara rubbed her cheek against Gale’s leg, purring loudly—a small, fluffy reminder that he’d been missed.

The three of them made their way to Morina’s home, deciding it was safer than traveling deeper into the city at night. Gale’s old residence lay farther in, and the routes leading toward it had grown dangerous after dark.

When they arrived, the familiarity of the place washed over him like warm sunlight. It was exactly as he remembered—cozy, cluttered with books, and faintly scented with lavender candles. Home.

He wandered to his old room, pushing open the door with a sense of quiet reverence. Memories flooded in instantly: the first time he shaped the Weave under Morina’s watchful eye, the late nights buried in arcane theory, the moment he first dared to stretch his magic beyond simple spells. Years of study, ambition, triumph, and mistakes all lived in this space.

Those thoughts swirled around him until his exhausted body finally gave in, and he drifted into sleep on his old bed—still soft, still familiar, still safe.

He woke up the next day to the smell of his favorite pancakes, he rubbed his eyes waving away his tiredness from his eyes, he approached his bathroom mirror really looking at himself his usually tired eyes look more relaxed more human than ever, he started washing up getting ready to face his mother.

as he walked downstairs he greeted his mother warmly before sitting across from her and eating breakfast with her, until he noticed something Tara was no where in sight. He asked his mother even she didn’t know where Tara went.

He began talking with his mother catching up as she told him about her bingo classes her friends asking about him and what she told them about him, always giving vague answers, she asked him point blank if he has found love or not which he wasn’t going to answer not yet at least. He needs to get his life together in water deep. After finishing breakfast with his mom, the conversation ended short. He decided its time to visit his old academy where he first studied magic

The walk to the academy stirred old memories with every step. Waterdeep had changed—new shops, fresh banners, wider streets—but the academy stood exactly where it always had, perched on the hill like a quiet sentinel overlooking the city. Its tall spires caught the morning light, the enchanted runes along the stone walls glowing faintly as if recognizing an old friend.

As Gale approached the entrance gates, nostalgia washed over him so deeply it almost hurt. Students in deep blue robes hurried across the courtyard, clutching books, ink-stained notes, and spell components. The scent of parchment and ozone lingered in the air—the smell of magic being shaped by dozens of eager minds.

For a moment, he stood still, just breathing it in.

He wasn’t the prodigy racing through these halls anymore. He wasn’t the reckless apprentice secretly dabbling in Netherese theory while pretending to follow every rule. He was… someone in between. Someone rebuilding.

He stepped through the gates.

The moment he did, a wave of recognition rippled from the wards. Subtle, but unmistakable. Gale’s presence was still woven into the academy’s magic.

A few students glanced up at him, whispering among themselves—some curious, some intimidated by the tall, handsome wizard with weary eyes and an air of quiet brilliance.

Before Gale could decide where to go first, a familiar voice called out sharply:

“Gale Dekarios! By the Weave, is that truly you?”

He turned.

An elderly half-elf in deep purple robes was hurrying toward him—Professor Elaris Vaunt, one of his earliest mentors. Her silver-streaked hair was tied back in the same messy bun she’d worn since his apprenticeship, and her sharp green eyes were exactly as he remembered: piercing, exasperated, and impossibly fond.

“I must be dreaming,” she muttered as she reached him, gripping his arms. “You vanished off the face of Toril! No letter, no message—nothing! And now you simply stroll in like some wayward prince returning from a holiday?”

Gale flushed. “Professor Vaunt… I, ah, had a bit of a situation. Several situations, actually.”

“Situations,” she echoed with a snort. “Whatever you were doing, you look thinner.” She poked his cheek. “Too thin. Have you eaten today?”

“Yes—pancakes.”

“Good. Come inside. You can tell me everything.”

She ushered him toward the main hall, her hand firm on his back—just like when he was a boy. And Gale felt something uncoil in his chest, something he hadn’t realized was wound so tightly.

Maybe returning to Waterdeep wasn’t just the right choice.

Maybe it was the first step toward finding himself again.

Professor Vaunt ushered him through the grand entrance, and the moment Gale stepped inside, the familiar scent of chalk, spell-dust, and ancient parchment wrapped around him like an old cloak. Students hurried past, casting curious looks at him. Some whispered his name as though he were a story they’d only heard in footnotes.

Vaunt led him into her office—a cozy, cluttered space overflowing with scrolls and half-finished enchantments. She waved him toward a chair and poured tea with the same impatient elegance he remembered.

“Well then,” she said, settling across from him and eyeing him like a puzzle she intended to solve. “Start talking before I assume the worst. What brings you here, Gale Dekarios? And don’t you dare give me the ‘just visiting’ excuse.”

Gale let out a slow breath. “I’m rebuilding,” he admitted. “After everything that’s happened… I need stability. A life that isn’t constantly exploding—literally or figuratively.” He hesitated before adding, “I want to teach, Professor. Magic, theory, the responsible use of the Weave. Everything I should have learned properly the first time.”

Her eyes softened—only slightly, but enough to make him drop his gaze for a heartbeat.

“You want a job,” she summarized.

“A stable one,” he said quietly. “Here. At the academy.”

He swallowed. “I’ve always wanted to teach. I just… never felt ready.”

Vaunt leaned back in her chair, tapping her nails on the armrest. “You’ve grown.” It wasn’t praise so much as an observation. “Most people collapse under guilt and ambition. You crawled out of it.” Her gaze sharpened. “Your magical theory was always advanced—frighteningly so. If you’re here to guide students away from repeating your mistakes… that may be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

A small smile touched his lips—relief mixed with gratitude.

“But,” she continued, “your sudden reappearance will cause waves. We’ll need to speak with the Head Enchanter, and the board. And depending on certain… rumors—”

Gale stiffened. “Rumors?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, you know. That you consorted with forbidden magic. That you exploded once or twice. That a goddess tried to turn you into an ornament. The usual.”

He pressed a hand over his face with a groan. “Gods…”

Vaunt laughed—actually laughed. “Relax, boy. You’re still one of the most brilliant minds to ever walk these halls.”

She stood. “Come. I’ll take you to speak with the board. They’re either going to adore you… or faint.”

As they headed down the hallway, Gale felt something inside him settle for the first time in months. Teaching. Guiding. Building a real life again. It felt right.

And quietly—beneath the hope, beneath the nerves—another thought flickered:

If I can plant my feet here, I’ll finally have a place to welcome Onser home to.

Professor Vaunt walked him through the familiar stone corridors, and Gale couldn’t help but glance into the classrooms they passed. Students hunched over spellbooks, whispering incantations; professors lectured beside floating diagrams of sigils and ley lines. Every room buzzed with that warm, electric curiosity that once fueled him too.

It felt right to be here again.

They reached the tall mahogany doors of the Board Chamber. Vaunt gave him a sidelong look.

“Stand straight,” she murmured.

“I am standing straight.”

“Straighter.”

He rolled his eyes, but corrected his posture anyway. Some habits hadn’t changed.

Vaunt pushed open the doors.

Inside, six figures sat at a long crescent table—two humans, an elf, a gnome, a half-orc, and a dwarven scholar with spectacles perched precariously on his nose. All of them turned as Gale entered. Their expressions ranged from intrigued to downright startled.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vaunt announced, “Gale Dekarios has returned.”

Whispers erupted instantly.

“Dekarios?”

“Alive?”

“I thought he blew himself up.”

“No, no—he only nearly blew himself up.”

Gale cleared his throat, cheeks heating. “A pleasure to see you all again.”

They settled, and the Head Enchanter—a tall, graceful elf named Solinar Vaelis—gestured for him to step forward.

“Gale Dekarios,” Solinar said, voice calm but firm, “your name resurfaces in many tales these days. Heroism, controversy, brilliance… chaos. The academy has heard much. Tell us: why have you come?”

Gale inhaled slowly. This was it.

“I want to teach,” he said simply. “Magic theory. Responsible arcane practice. Everything this academy gave me—and everything I failed to understand before leaving.” He met their eyes one by one. “I want a stable life. And I want to give students guidance I never had.”

The room fell quiet.

Then the dwarf coughed. “Do ye still explode?”

Gale blinked. “Not… habitually.”

Vaunt pinched the bridge of her nose.

Solinar steepled his fingers. “Your honesty is refreshing, if alarming. And your knowledge remains unmatched.” He paused, studying Gale with the weight of someone seeing not just a student, but a changed man. “We will need to deliberate, but I am inclined to give you a chance.”

Relief loosened Gale’s shoulders.

“While we review your application,” Solinar continued, “you may stay on the premises. Take the week to reacquaint yourself with the academy.”

Gale bowed his head gratefully. “Thank you.”

As he stepped out of the chamber, Vaunt smacked his arm lightly. “See? I told you. They didn’t faint. Mostly.”

He let out a long breath, the tension draining away.

Then Vaunt frowned, glancing toward the courtyard. “Strange… I heard some commotion outside earlier. Something about a tall tiefling arriving in full armor, wandering around the market asking for directions.” She squinted thoughtfully. “Not many like that in Waterdeep.”

Gale froze.

His heart thudded once—hard.

Onser…?

But before he could ask, a distant shout echoed down the hall:

“Professor Vaunt! There’s—um—there’s a man outside looking for someone named Gale Dekarios!”

Gale looked at Vaunt.

Tara suddenly swooped in from the nearest window, landing on Gale’s shoulder with dramatic timing.

“There you are! Gale, dear, brace yourself,” she chirped. “Your stormy-looking suitor is asking questions very loudly.”

Gale’s soul left his body for a moment.

“Oh gods,” he whispered. “He’s here.”

The moment Tara mentioned a “stormy-looking suitor,” Gale felt his heart drop into his stomach. But she wasn’t done.

“He’s not yelling,” Tara clarified proudly. “He’s just… standing there. Which, apparently, is even worse.”

Vaunt blinked. “Worse how?”

Tara flicked her tail. “People keep running into walls to avoid making eye contact.”

Gale didn’t waste another second. He rushed down the corridor, nearly tripping over his own robes while Tara glided above him and Vaunt followed with a muttered, “This better be worth the walk.”

When they reached the courtyard, Gale skidded to a halt.

Onser stood in the center like a carved statue of a war god—silent, unmoving, absolute. His armor gleamed in the morning light, long braid hanging over one shoulder, halberd resting against his back. He wasn’t doing anything at all. Just existing.

And apparently, that was enough for half the academy to keep a ten-foot radius around him.

A pair of students walked by, whispering frantically:

“Is he here to duel someone?”

“Maybe he’s here to challenge the Head Enchanter.”

“Why are his eyes glowing? Is he about to smite someone?”

Onser simply scanned the courtyard with calm, patient focus—until his gaze landed on Gale.

Everything inside him softened.

Gale froze, breath catching. He stepped forward slowly, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

“Onser…?” Gale said gently.

Onser didn’t move for a heartbeat. Then he approached—quiet, controlled, each step steady enough to shake Gale’s composure, not the ground. Students watched with silent panic as the giant tiefling walked across the courtyard like a man on a mission.

When he reached Gale, he paused mere inches away. His expression—usually unreadable—was open in a way only Gale ever saw.

“You’re safe,” Onser murmured, voice low and steady. “Good.”

The relief in his tone made Gale’s chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” Gale whispered. “For disappearing. For worrying you. For… everything.”

Onser’s eyes softened further. He lifted a hand—slowly, giving Gale a chance to pull away—and brushed his knuckles against Gale’s cheek, gentle as a whisper.

“You’re here now,” he said quietly. “That’s enough.”

Behind them, Vaunt cleared her throat. Loudly.

“Well,” she said dryly, “good to know we’re not being invaded.”

Gale flushed scarlet. Onser stepped back with polite dignity, bowing his head slightly toward Vaunt.

“My apologies,” he said calmly. “I did not intend to alarm anyone.”

“Oh, you didn’t do anything,” Vaunt said, waving a hand. “You simply are.”

Tara snorted. “Translation: you’re enormous and terrifying, dear.”

Onser blinked, unsure whether that was an insult.

Gale gently touched his arm. “I missed you.”

Onser’s breath hitched—barely noticeable, unless you knew him. “And I you.”

The courtyard collectively melted, whispered, or fainted internally.

Vaunt muttered, “I need a drink.”

Gale was still trying to calm his racing heart when Vaunt stepped forward, arms crossed in a very “professor dealing with a problem she didn’t assign” posture.

“Well,” she said briskly, “now that the emotional earthquake is over, Dekarios, you still have an academic board to impress. And a job interview to survive.”

Onser blinked.

“…Job interview?”

Gale winced. “I was going to… tell you. Properly. Later.”

Vaunt raised a brow. “He didn’t know?”

Gale pressed a hand to his face. “I was planning to explain after I—”

Onser lifted a hand gently, a silent signal for Gale to pause. His voice came out steady, calm, almost formal:

“Are you seeking work here? At the academy?”

“Yes,” Gale admitted softly. “A teaching position. Something stable. Something good.”

Onser’s shoulders loosened—not in relief, exactly, but in understanding. His gaze swept the campus again: the tower spires, the young students, the books held to chests like treasures. He swallowed faintly.

“You always belonged in a place like this,” he said, voice low but certain.

Then his expression shifted—not hurt, but thoughtful. Hesitant.

“And I did not intend to… interfere,” he added quietly. “I came without warning. I shouldn’t disrupt the life you’re building here.”

Gale’s heart squeezed.

“You’re not disrupting anything,” Gale replied immediately. “Onser, you’re—” He stopped himself before emotion overwhelmed his words. “I’m glad you’re here. Truly.”

Onser lowered his gaze for a moment, thumb brushing over one of his gauntlets—a subtle tell that he was worried.

“I don’t want to ruin your chances,” he said softly. “This job seems important to you.”

“It is,” Gale admitted. “But you being here doesn’t make it harder. If anything…” His smile turned small, real. “It makes me want it more.”

That made Onser look up again—eyes gentler, the storm inside them calmer than it had been in months.

Tara landed on Onser’s shoulder and patted his cheek with a soft paw. “Sweetheart, you merely exist. That is not a disruption. That is a blessing. And occasionally a safety hazard.”

Onser stared at the tressym. “I… do not understand if that is a compliment.”

“It is,” Gale assured him, amused. “Mostly.”

Vaunt cleared her throat again. “If you’re done whispering in each other’s souls, Dekarios needs to speak with the board. Alone.”

Onser nodded immediately, stepping aside with military precision. “Of course. I will wait outside.”

Gale touched his arm—brief, warm, grounding. “Don’t go far.”

Onser’s voice softened. “I won’t.”

He stepped back, posture tall and composed, trying his best to appear non-intimidating… which only resulted in several students tripping over their own feet because he looked like a friendly executioner now.

Gale watched him for a second, fondness flooding his chest, before following Vaunt inside.

Onser exhaled slowly.

He’s building a future here, he thought. I’ll support it. Even if I have to stand to the side while he earns it.

And for the first time in months, something warm—not just worry—settled in his chest.

Onser remained just outside the academy gates, standing with the calm patience of someone who had trained himself to wait through far worse than interviews and nervous students. The morning breeze tugged slightly at the ends of his braid, but he didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t fidget.

He simply stood, hands loosely folded behind his back, gaze tracking the sky like he was listening to thoughts instead of sounds.

Soft wingbeats fluttered near his ear.

Tara landed on the stone wall beside him with all the confidence of a creature who had decided she was royalty.

“Well, well,” she purred, tail curling. “Now that the wizard is being interrogated by academics, I suppose it’s my turn to interrogate you.”

Onser turned slightly, polite but cautious, as if afraid he might accidentally frighten her with too much eye contact. “You must be Tara.”

“You’ve heard of me,” she said smugly. “Good. That means Gale talks about me. As he should.”

Onser dipped his head. “He mentioned you in Waterdeep. With fondness.”

“Oh? Did he mention you?” Tara tilted her chin up slyly.

Onser hesitated for half a second—just long enough for the tressym to notice.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. “More than once.”

Tara’s ears perked. “Interesting. And what did he say?”

“That you kept him company. And that you scold him, sometimes.”

Tara puffed up proudly. “Of course I do. Someone has to.”

Onser’s lips twitched—almost a smile. Tara caught it immediately and leaned forward, whiskers trembling.

“You’re not as scary as you look, you know.”

Onser blinked. “I… am aware my appearance causes discomfort.”

“Discomfort?” Tara scoffed. “Sweetheart, students ran because they thought you were a bounty hunter.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, I know. You’re much too soft.”

That made Onser straighten abruptly. “…Soft?”

Tara circled him once, tail brushing his gauntlet. “Yes. Soft. Look at you—standing here worrying that you’ll ruin Gale’s job prospects. A real menace wouldn’t care.”

“I do care,” Onser said quietly.

“Exactly.” Tara tapped his boot with her paw. “You care very loudly.”

Onser tilted his head. “Loudly?”

“You don’t speak it,” Tara said, settling herself comfortably on the wall. “But it’s all over your face. Big tall stoic man who worries too much.” She flicked her tail. “Gale likes that, by the way.”

Onser’s eyes widened a fraction—a subtle, private relief passing through him.

Tara noticed everything.

“So, Onser Winters,” she said lightly, “tell me something. What are your intentions with my favorite wizard?”

Onser inhaled slowly… then answered with simple sincerity:

“To stay by his side. In whatever way he’ll allow.”

Tara blinked, surprised—not by the answer, but by the honesty in it. Her voice softened, almost approving.

“…Hmph. Fine. You pass.”

“Pass?”

“My inspection,” she said, as if this should have been obvious. “I have standards.”

“I see.”

“You don’t,” she corrected warmly. “But that’s alright. I like you.”

Onser lowered his gaze respectfully. “Thank you, Tara.”

The tressym hopped onto his shoulder without warning, settling against the curve of his neck like she’d done it a thousand times.

“And don’t worry,” she added, purring as she made herself comfortable, “Gale won’t be long. He always tries to be composed, but he panics without you more than he admits.”

Onser’s eyes softened again.

“I will wait,” he said quietly.

And for once, waiting didn’t feel heavy.

The academy doors creaked open behind them.

Onser didn’t move, but Tara’s ears perked instantly, tail swaying in amusement.

“Here he comes,” she purred. “Try not to look like a forlorn statue this time.”

“I am not forlorn,” Onser said quietly.

“You are extremely forlorn. Handsome, but forlorn.”

Before Onser could defend himself, Gale stepped out onto the steps, pushing open the heavy doors with slightly trembling hands. His interview was over, but the nerves hadn’t quite left him.

He scanned the courtyard—and froze the moment he saw them.

Tara perched proudly on Onser’s shoulder like she’d claimed a new throne. Onser stood still as ever, posture perfect, expression calm… but Gale could feel the tension beneath it. The kind of tension that meant he had been waiting and worrying the whole time.

Gale descended the steps quickly.

“Tara,” he called, a faint laugh in his voice, “must you immediately attach yourself to the tallest person in a twenty-foot radius?”

“Yes,” Tara said, utterly unbothered. “His shoulder is warm. And stable. And high enough that I can judge everyone from above.”

Gale hid a smile behind his hand.

Then his gaze shifted to Onser.

“You waited,” Gale said softly.

Onser nodded once. “I said I would.”

Gale’s chest tightened. Something warm and overwhelming pushed up behind his ribs. He stepped closer, brushing his fingers lightly across Onser’s vambrace.

“You didn’t have to stand the whole time,” Gale murmured. “There’s a bench right there.”

Onser glanced at it, confused. “…I did not notice.”

Tara snorted. “He absolutely noticed. He just refused to sit because he didn’t want to look relaxed in public.”

Onser stiffened. “That is not—”

“It is,” Gale and Tara said at the same time.

They all paused.

Then Gale let out a breathy laugh that lightened the tension curling in his shoulders. Onser’s eyes softened at the sound, the storm in them calm and steady.

“So,” Gale said, clearing his throat, “I… think the interview went well.”

Onser straightened slightly. “Good.” He hesitated, then added with a quiet sincerity that made Gale’s entire spine warm: “You deserve it.”

Gale swallowed. “Thank you.”

Tara stretched lazily along Onser’s shoulder. “Enough standing around. We should head home before the students start gossiping. And by home, I mean Morina’s. She made extra pancakes.”

Onser blinked. “…Your mother is expecting us?”

“She’s expecting me,” Gale corrected. Then, softer, “But she’ll be happy to meet you.”

Onser’s expression tightened with a flicker of nerves—subtle, almost invisible, but Gale caught it. Saw it. Understood it.

He reached for Onser’s hand—not fully taking it, but brushing against his knuckles in quiet reassurance.

“You’ll be alright,” Gale said gently.

Onser breathed out slowly. “If you say so.”

Tara hopped down from Onser to Gale and flicked her tail. “He’s worried she’ll judge him,” she stage-whispered.

Gale smirked. “Oh, she will. Instantly. But she’ll love him anyway.”

Onser’s eyes widened. “Gale—”

“Come on,” Gale said, cheeks warming. “Let’s go home.”

And for the first time, walking side by side through Waterdeep’s crowded streets, it finally felt like something

As they walked through Waterdeep’s busy streets, the noise and bustle swallowed them, but Gale kept close, brushing shoulders with Onser whenever someone jostled too hard. It helped. But it also made Onser painfully aware of the next problem:

He was about to meet Gale’s mother.

He did not prepare for this.

Not mentally. Not physically. Not emotionally.

Gale glanced up at him, warm, expectant. “It isn’t far from here. Mother will be thrilled—”

Onser gently cleared his throat. “Gale.”

The wizard paused. “Yes?”

Onser shifted slightly, lowering his voice. “I… would like to visit her.”

A beat.

“But not today.”

Gale blinked, surprised. “Oh. Did—did you not want to?”

“No,” Onser said immediately. “I do. Very much.” He rubbed the back of his neck, braid swaying. “But… surprising her would be discourteous. And I would prefer to… prepare.”

Gale tilted his head. “Prepare?”

Onser stared ahead, stiffening. “I should bring something. A proper gift. Something valuable. Respectful.” He hesitated. “…And perhaps not arrive in full armor.”

Tara snorted from Gale’s shoulder. “He means he wants to look less like he’s coming to collect a debt.”

Onser sighed softly. “I want to make a good impression.”

Gale’s heart melted so suddenly he nearly tripped. “Onser… you don’t need to bring anything. She’ll love you.”

Onser raised an eyebrow. “Your mother is intelligent. Observant. Direct. She raised a prodigy. I should not show up empty-handed.”

Gale opened his mouth—then closed it.

He knew Morina.

Onser wasn’t wrong.

“Alright,” he conceded quietly. “We can tell her you’ll visit soon. Properly.”

Onser exhaled in relief—a quiet, grateful sound. “Thank you.”

They walked a few steps before Gale glanced up again. “Where are you staying, by the way?”

Onser blinked. “…Staying?”

“Yes,” Gale said. “You came all the way here. You must have a place.”

Onser looked… genuinely puzzled. “I arrived several hours ago.”

“And?”

“And I went to the adventurers’ guild.”

Gale stopped. “Are you… living at the guildhall?”

“No.”

A pause.

“They have benches.”

Gale stared.

Tara stared.

A passing merchant stared.

“Onser Winters,” Gale said slowly, “are you telling me you came to Waterdeep without arranging a single place to sleep?”

Onser considered that. “…Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you were my first priority.”

Tara actually melted into a puddle of fluffy drama on Gale’s shoulder.

Gale’s chest tightened—fond, overwhelmed, frustrated at how sweet and reckless this man could be. “Onser, you can’t sleep on benches.”

“I can,” Onser corrected. “They are wooden.”

“That is not the point!”

Onser tilted his head. “Then what is?”

Gale dragged a hand over his face. “Where were you planning to stay tonight?”

“The guild is processing my paperwork.”

He said it very calmly.

“Once they do, I will have access to their quarters. It may take… a day.”

A beat.

“Or two.”

Gale inhaled slowly through his nose. “So you have no place to stay.”

“That is… correct.”

“Onser.”

Gale stared up at him, waiting for an answer, worry creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Where are you staying?” he repeated.

Onser hesitated—not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he wasn’t sure how Gale would feel about it. He’d wanted to hear Gale offer, to see how much he still mattered. But he wouldn’t lie.

Finally, he replied with steady honesty:

“The Golden Harp Inn.”

Gale blinked. “You’re staying at the most expensive inn in Waterdeep?”

“It was… available.”

A brief pause.

“And quiet.”

Tara gasped dramatically. “Oh, darling, that place is luxury incarnate. He didn’t show up unprepared at all—he was testing you.”

Onser stiffened. “Testing is not… the word I would use.”

Gale’s cheeks flushed in a mix of amusement and embarrassment. “You could have just said so.”

Onser shifted, expression softening. “I wanted to know what you wished for me to do. If you wanted me close.” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “Or… not.”

Gale’s heart squeezed painfully sweet.

“Onser,” he said gently, “I want you close. I just didn’t know if you’d want to stay around me so soon.”

“I crossed Faerûn to find you,” Onser replied simply. “Staying near you is… not a burden.”

And gods, Gale felt that.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to bury the warmth rising in his chest. “Well… the Golden Harp is definitely a comfortable place. Very comfortable.”

Onser nodded. “I slept there last night. It is… extravagant. I am still not sure I am meant to be in rooms like that.”

Gale’s eyes softened. “Onser, you deserve comfort. Luxury. A soft bed. A warm bath. All of it.”

For a moment, Onser actually looked away—cheeks darkening ever so slightly against his ash-grey skin.

“I will visit your mother,” he said quietly, redirecting before he melted entirely. “Properly. When she expects me. With a gift. It is important.”

Gale smiled. Really smiled. “She’ll appreciate that more than you know.”

Onser nodded once. “And until then… I will stay at the Golden Harp. Finish my paperwork with the Adventurers’ Guild. Settle the necessary arrangements to remain in Waterdeep.”

“And then?” Gale asked softly.

Onser met his eyes—steady, resolute, sure.

“And then I will be where you are,” he said. “If you will have me nearby.”

Gale felt that right down to his ribs. “Onser,” he whispered, “you don’t have to ask.”

Tara hopped lightly from Gale’s shoulder onto Onser’s arm, purring. “Well, well. Sounds like someone’s planning a future.”

Onser didn’t deny it.

And Gale didn’t look away.

Eventually, the lingering quiet between them had to break. The streets of Waterdeep forked—one path leading toward Morina’s warm little home, the other toward the Adventurers’ Guild, where Onser’s obligations waited like patient stone.

Gale stopped first, hands slipping into the sleeves of his robe. “I should head back before Mother worries,” he murmured, though his eyes lingered on Onser far longer than needed.

Onser nodded. “And I must finish the paperwork with the guild. They are expecting me.”

It wasn’t a dramatic farewell, but it didn’t need to be. The air between them hummed with everything unsaid.

Gale hesitated, then stepped closer. “Thank you… for coming all this way. For finding me.”

Onser’s posture softened—barely, but unmistakably. “You were worth the journey.”

Tara let out a tiny, pleased trill.

Gale cleared his throat, cheeks warming. “And… I’ll come visit you tomorrow. At the Golden Harp.” He tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “To see how you’re settling in.”

Onser inclined his head. “I would like that.”

Another pause. Neither moved.

Finally, Gale took a small step back. “Alright. Go on, before the guild decides you’ve deserted them.”

“And before your mother assumes I kidnapped you,” Onser replied in his very dry way.

Gale smiled—warm, soft, brighter than anything Onser saw in months. “Goodnight, Onser.”

“Goodnight, Gale.”

They parted then—Gale turning toward the residential lanes lined with lanterns and bookshops, Onser heading in the opposite direction, his tall frame weaving through the evening crowd like a silent guardian.

Halfway down the street, Gale glanced over his shoulder.

Onser, already several paces away, did the same.

Their eyes met.

A small, subdued smile tugged at Gale’s lips.

Onser… bowed his head, just slightly, as though acknowledging something sacred.

Then they both continued on their separate paths—each one feeling lighter, steadier, and strangely whole.

Gales POV

Gale walked the familiar path toward his mother’s home, the evening lanterns casting warm puddles of golden light across the cobblestone streets. Every corner smelled like fresh bread or lavender—Waterdeep comforts he had missed more than he realized. By the time he reached the little front door, his heartbeat had finally slowed from the whirlwind at the academy.

He stepped inside quietly.

Morina was not quiet.

“Well?” she called from the kitchen without even turning around.

Gale blinked. “Well… what?”

“Oh, please,” she huffed, poking at a pot on the stove. “I may be old, but I’m not blind.” She paused, then added with a smirk in her voice, “Tara told me everything.”

“Tara—what—Mother!” Gale’s ears warmed instantly. “You can’t rely on that creature to report—”

Morina turned, eyebrow lifting. “Is he handsome?”

Gale nearly choked. “Mother!”

“What? It’s a simple question.”

“Absolutely not a simple question!”

Tara fluttered past him smugly and landed on the counter. “He is very handsome,” she declared. “Tall. Polite. Devastating jawline.”

“TARA!”

Morina ignored Gale’s spiraling and instead folded her arms, leaning back against the counter like someone settling in for gossip.

“So…” she said softly. “This man. The one who came to find you.”

Gale exhaled, shoulders easing as some of the fluster melted into something gentler. “His name is Onser.”

“And what is he to you?”

Gale hesitated.

Not because he didn’t know.

But because saying it out loud made it real.

“…Someone I care about,” Gale said quietly. “Someone who traveled a very long way to make sure I was alive.”

Morina’s expression softened instantly, all teasing evaporating into warmth. “Then he already has good sense.”

Gale let out a shaky little laugh. “Mother, you haven’t even met him.”

“I don’t need to,” she replied, eyes crinkling. “His actions speak.”

She stepped forward and rested her hand on his cheek, thumb brushing gently under his eye.

“You look lighter today,” she murmured. “Like someone has taken a weight off your shoulders.”

Gale’s throat tightened. “I… feel lighter.”

She nodded, satisfied, and returned to her cooking. “Good. Now wash your hands, dear. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Gale smiled—soft, sincere, and tired in the best possible way.

As he washed up at the sink, Tara perched on the windowsill, tail flicking smugly.

“You know,” she said, “he likes you more than he realizes.”

Gale froze for half a second. “…Does he?”

“Yes,” Tara said confidently. “And he’s trying very hard not to overwhelm you.” She paused. “It’s adorable.”

Gale dried his hands slowly, trying to tamp down the rush of warmth swelling in his chest.

“…We’ll see,” he murmured.

He joined his mother at the table. Home felt brighter. Safer. Whole.

And tomorrow, he would see Onser again.

Dinner was calm at first—lavender-scented candles flickering on the table, Tara stealing bites of Gale’s food whenever he wasn’t looking, and Morina humming as she ladled stew into their bowls. It felt safe, familiar… normal.

Then Morina cleared her throat in a way that instantly set Gale on alert.

“So,” she said casually, far too casually, “when is this Onser fellow coming to meet me?”

Gale nearly dropped his spoon. “Mother!”

“What? You said you care about him.”

“I didn’t say—! That’s not—! Mother, I’ve only just arrived!”

Morina waved him off. “Details.”

Then, with the gentle insistence of a woman who had raised a brilliant but socially awkward son, she added:

“I’d like to invite him for dinner tomorrow.”

Gale blinked, stunned. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. Before he begins whatever work he’s doing at the guild.”

She smirked. “Unless he’s too busy being tall and intimidating.”

Gale buried his face in his hands. “Mother, please—”

“Oh, hush. A man crosses half the continent to find you, and you think I’m going to wait a month to meet him?” She raised an eyebrow. “Gale Dekarios, I taught you better than that.”

Tara flicked her ears, tail twitching excitedly. “I can deliver the invitation!”

“NO—” Gale started.

“YES,” Morina said at the same time.

Tara puffed up proudly, wings fluttering. “Wonderful. I’ll be his messenger! Oh, this will be delightful.”

“Tara,” Gale groaned, “don’t—don’t make it weird.”

“I never make anything weird,” she lied boldly.

Morina snorted into her tea.

Gale exhaled deeply, trying to collect himself. “Alright. But I should at least ask him first.”

“Yes,” Morina agreed sweetly. “Ask him if he’s free, and tell him he is cordially invited to dinner. At seven.”

Gale stared. “…You already planned the time?”

“Yes, dear. And the menu.”

Gale rubbed his temples. “What did you plan?”

“Comfort food,” she said with a mischievous little smile. “He looks like he needs it.”

Gale’s heart clenched. “He… does.”

Morina’s expression softened knowingly. “Then it’s settled.”

Tara lifted herself onto the table. “I’ll fly over to the Golden Harp Inn first thing in the morning.”

Gale pointed at her. “You behave.”

Tara licked her paw. “No promises.”

Morina reached across the table and patted Gale’s hand. “Relax, darling. If he cares about you, he’ll come. And if he doesn’t…” She smirked. “I’ll know.”

“Mother—!”

“What? A mother deserves to know who is courting her son.”

Gale nearly died on the spot. “No one is courting anyone!”

Tara and Morina shared a look.

A knowing look.

“We’ll see,” they said at the same time.

Gale groaned again, mortified and warm all at once.

But deep down… underneath every flustered outburst… he was happy.

Happy that Morina wanted to meet Onser.

Happy that Onser might actually sit at this table.

Happy that the pieces of his life were slowly stitching back together.

And terrified—in the best way—that tomorrow would be the beginning of something real.

Onser’s POVThe Adventurers’ Guild in Waterdeep was a fortress of busy voices, clanking weapons, and rows upon rows of mission boards. Even so, the moment Onser stepped through the doors, the atmosphere shifted. He could feel it in the way conversations thinned, the way eyes flicked toward him, the way a few novices straightened their backs as though preparing for inspection.

He didn’t blame them.

A towering tiefling in full Order armor, with storm-lit eyes and a halberd strapped across his back… it sent a message he didn’t intend but had learned to accept.

He approached the front desk with calm, steady steps.

The receptionist—a young human man with ink-stained fingers—looked up, blinked rapidly, and stiffened. “Uh—good afternoon, sir. How can I—how may I help you?”

Onser inclined his head politely. “I am here to finalize my settlement paperwork. Onser Winters.”

The name didn’t register at first. The armor, however, certainly did.

“Of course, uh—Mr. Winters. Right this way.” The receptionist led him toward a back office, clearly trying very hard not to visibly tremble the entire time.

Inside, the regional guildmaster waited behind a heavy oak desk. She was a sharp-looking half-elf with cropped hair and eyes like polished bronze. Her posture stayed rigid when Onser entered.

“You’re the new arrival?” she asked, cautious.

Onser nodded. “Yes, Guildmaster. I’ve completed the preliminary forms. I am here to finalize my registration in Waterdeep.”

She eyed him carefully, weighing his presence, his weapons, his stillness. “You’re… certainly well-equipped.”

“A necessity,” he replied calmly.

Silence passed for a few seconds—awkward, heavy.

Finally, she folded her hands. “And… pardon the question, but what exactly is your background? You came recommended, but without detail.”

Onser offered her the sealed Order insignia and a single, precise sentence:

“Deputy Chief of Operations at the Order of the Harmonic Shield.”

Everything in the room froze.

Her brows shot up.

The receptionist behind her choked on air.

Someone in the hallway walked into a doorframe.

“Oh,” the guildmaster said faintly. “You’re—oh.”

Onser kept his posture neutral. He didn’t like wielding rank like a blade, but withholding it would only complicate things.

The guildmaster cleared her throat and stood quickly, offering her hand. “Deputy Chief Winters, we’re honored to have you join the Waterdeep branch. Very honored.”

He shook her hand with a measured firmness. “I appreciate the welcome. But please—Onser is fine.”

She nodded, though she didn’t relax much. “Your record is exceptional. We’re more than glad to include someone of your experience. Your presence will strengthen our operations.”

“That is my intention,” Onser replied simply. “I will contribute however I can.”

The guildmaster motioned toward the documents. “We’ll expedite everything. Room assignment, mission placement, guild insignia—consider it done.”

The receptionist nodded vigorously, almost knocking over a stack of papers.

Onser signed where she indicated, quiet and efficient. When everything was done, the guildmaster exhaled a relieved breath she tried to hide.

“Welcome to Waterdeep, Onser.”

He bowed his head politely. “Thank you.”

As he stepped out of the office, a few adventurers watched him with open fascination—but he ignored the attention. His mind drifted, unbidden, to Gale.

He said he wanted me close.

He said to prepare, to come when I’m expected.

He wants me in his life here.

The thought settled over him like warm cloth.

For once, the future didn’t feel like a battlefield.

It felt like the beginning of something he deserved to reach for.

By the time Onser stepped back out into the evening air, the city had softened. Lanterns glowed warm against the stone streets, casting long shadows that swayed with the passing crowd. Waterdeep was alive, but not overwhelming—not anymore. Not with purpose grounding him again.

He walked with steady, unhurried strides toward the Golden Harp Inn, the faint hum of its harp music drifting into the streets long before he reached the door. The moment he stepped inside, the shift in atmosphere was immediate: silk curtains, polished floors, and the unmistakable scent of rich incense.

A few guests looked up. Some recognized him from the previous night and stiffened just slightly—respect, awe, maybe a little fear mingled in their expressions. Onser gave them a polite nod before heading toward the stairs.

Kursk Kilk, the half-orc manager, spotted him instantly.

“Sir Winters,” he rumbled warmly, “back from a long day?”

Onser inclined his head. “The guild paperwork is finished. I will be based in Waterdeep for the foreseeable future.”

Kursk grinned, revealing sharp tusks. “Good. This city needs more steady hands like yours.”

Onser didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply nodded. Compliments weren’t something he was used to handling without deflecting.

The manager gestured toward the upper floors. “Your room is ready, of course. And if you need anything else—armor polish, extra linens, a hot meal—just say the word.”

“Thank you,” Onser replied. “That will be all.”

As he climbed the stairs and reached the luxurious suite, he paused outside the door. The small golden plaque shimmered under the lanternlight, matching the warmth spilling from beneath the doorway. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Onser exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he unfastened the last strap of his armor. Piece by piece, he removed the weight he’d carried since dawn—the chestplate, the pauldrons, the gauntlets, the boots. Each one made a soft, familiar thud against the stand as he set them down with careful, disciplined movements.

When the final buckle came loose, he lifted the heavy armor onto the polishing frame beside his halberd. Both needed tending. Both had seen travel, rain, and the roughness of road dust. He wouldn’t be wearing them tomorrow—not when he was meeting Morina Dekarios—but the weapons and armor deserved respect. They’d carried him for years. They had earned the right to shine.

He brushed a hand over the cold metal, making a mental note:

Polish everything after breakfast. Don’t show up looking like a battlefield.

Onser straightened, stretching stiff muscles. Without the armor, he suddenly felt… lighter. More human. His undershirt clung comfortably to his frame, and he tied his long braid over one shoulder so it wouldn’t tangle as he moved around the room.

His eyes drifted to the wardrobe against the far wall—tall, carved oak, stocked with fine clothing the inn provided to guests.

He frowned slightly.

None of it was him.

And it wasn’t right to meet Gale’s mother in travel-worn clothes.

He needed something proper. Respectful. Clean. Something that would show Morina Dekarios that he held her son’s world—and by extension, her—seriously.

He sighed quietly.

Clothes shopping. Tomorrow.

He wasn’t ready to think about it with his brain half-asleep and his body aching from the journey and the emotional weight of the day. Let tomorrow handle itself.

Tonight, he needed rest.

He walked toward the bed—too soft, too luxurious, too much—and sat on the edge, feeling the plush blankets sink beneath him. The room was warm, soaked in candlelight and moonlit blue from the stained glass. It felt like a sanctuary he didn’t earn but was learning to accept.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the exhaustion.

Tomorrow would come with decisions, shopping, preparation, and—gods help him—a dinner with Gale’s mother.

But right now?

He lay back, letting the heavy blankets settle around him like a cloud.

One last thought drifted through his mind before sleep took him:

Gale will be there. I’ll be fine.

His eyes closed.

And for the first night in a long time, Onser slept peacefully.

Onser had no idea how long he’d been asleep when the noise started.

At first it blended into his dream—soft tapping, distant scratching, something pressing insistently against the edge of his awareness. He turned over, burying half his face into the pillow.

Silence.

Then—

Tap.

Tap-tap.

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP—

A muffled sound from the window.

Onser’s eyes cracked open.

“…No.”

His voice was gravelly with sleep, deep and dangerously soft. “Absolutely not.”

He sat up slowly, hair messy, braid half-loosened from the night, a blanket tangled around his waist. For a moment he simply blinked into the dim morning light.

Maybe it was the wind.

MEEEEE-OOOW!

No.

Not the wind.

Onser inhaled through his nose, stood, and walked—slowly, heavily—to the window he had shut firmly the night before. He pulled the curtains aside.

Tara was pressed against the glass, wings fluffed indignantly, pupils blown wide like she was offended he wasn’t already awake.

MrrrrrrRRRROOOW!

Let me in this instant.

Onser stared.

Tara stared back.

Another meow—louder this time.

Onser closed his eyes briefly. It is too early for this.

He unlatched the window.

The tressym burst inside with the chaotic energy of a feathered comet, landing with a soft bounce on the bed before turning her entire furry attention back to him.

“You sleep like a corpse,” she announced.

Onser pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tara. What time is it?”

“Early!”

“How early?”

“Earlier than early!”

Onser blinked once. “Tara,” he repeated, slower, “what time?”

“Four!”

Onser inhaled sharply, considering every known spell for silence or warding and rejecting each because Gale would absolutely find out.

“…Why,” he said calmly, “are you here at four in the morning.”

Tara puffed up smugly. “Morina wanted me to deliver her dinner invitation as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow’s dinner?” Onser asked, flat.

“Yes!”

“At dawn?”

“Yes!”

“It is not dawn.”

“It is almost dawn!”

Onser stared at her.

Tara stared back.

Then she huffed and trotted across the bed, sitting right on his pillow.

“Besides,” she added primly, “I wanted to check if you were still alive. Gale said you don’t sleep much.”

Onser blinked. “…I slept.”

“Yes! Too much! You’re usually up by now.”

“Not when someone wakes me at four.”

Tara wiggled her tail, unfazed. “Well, I’m here now. And I bring an invitation!”

She held out a neatly folded letter in her mouth like a proud courier pigeon.

Onser accepted it with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“And you are coming,” she added. “Tomorrow at seven. Bring something nice. Morina is expecting you.”

Onser’s chest tightened in a very specific way. “I will.”

Tara’s eyes softened unexpectedly. “Good.”

She jumped onto the windowsill, wings rustling.

“I’ll tell Gale you’re awake,” she teased.

“I would prefer you did not.”

She was already gone.

Onser stared at the now-quiet window, rubbed his face with both hands, and whispered into the empty room:

“…It is going to be a long day.”

But despite the exhaustion…

Despite the ungodly hour…

Despite the tiny winged menace…

He found himself smiling.

Sleep never followed rules for Onser. It hadn’t for years.

Ever since he joined the Order, rest came in two forms:

either not at all, or all at once.

Last night had been the latter.

Tonight… Tara had prevented any chance of the former.

But once he was awake—truly awake—Onser accepted it with the same quiet resolve he applied to everything else. His body was used to strange hours. His mind was used to function through them.

Instead of trying to force more rest, he pressed his palms against his face, gathered his breath, and stood.

Start early.

Make the day useful.

He dressed in simple training clothes—dark trousers, a fitted tunic, arm wrappings for grip—and tied his long braid tighter behind his back. A few strands still escaped, falling over his cheek, but he didn’t bother fixing them. He’d deal with proper grooming later.

He strapped his halberd to his back and stepped out of the Golden Harp Inn into the crisp morning air.

The streets were quiet.

Mist clung low to the cobblestones.

Most of Waterdeep slept still.

Onser preferred it this way.

The Adventurers’ Guild opened its gates early for combatants who valued discipline over comfort. When he arrived, a few senior warriors were already in the training yard—stretching, sharpening blades, exchanging tired greetings.

The moment he entered, conversations paused.

He ignored it with practiced grace.

A nod to the guildmaster.

A polite greeting to the cleric on healing duty.

A quick, efficient warm-up—rolling his shoulders, stretching his thighs, loosening the tension in his wrists.

Then he stepped into the open training circle and drew his halberd.

The ground felt right beneath his feet.

Familiar. Honest.

He began with slow forms—precision arcs, sweeping motions, footwork that carved silent circles in the dirt. His weapon sliced through the early morning air with the hum of metal trained into obedience.

Strike. Step. Turn. Guard.

His muscles remembered everything.

His body fell into rhythm.

His mind quieted for the first time since Tara had woken him.

One of the senior guild fighters paused nearby, watching with open awe. “Your form is clean,” the dwarf muttered. “Cleaner than any half-asleep warrior has any right to be.”

Onser didn’t stop moving. “Practice makes it so.”

“And your strength—” the dwarf rubbed his beard. “You’re swinging that thing like it’s made of feathers.”

“It is lighter than most.”

“Gods above…” the dwarf whispered.

Onser finished his sequence, exhaled through his nose, and lowered the halberd. His skin was faintly damp, hairline glistening with early morning sweat. His breath came even, steady.

Training soothed him.

Centered him.

Reminded him who he was outside of worry, travel, and nerves about meeting Gale’s mother.

As the sky brightened, he sheathed his halberd and stretched his arms overhead, spine cracking delightfully.

The markets would open soon.

And he had things to do:

• A proper outfit to buy.
  
  
• A respectful gift to find for Morina Dekarios.
  
  
• And…
  
  a little emotional preparation, though he’d never admit it aloud.
  
  

He wiped his brow with a cloth offered by a younger adventurer, nodded his thanks, and headed toward the exit.

Today would be long.

But for the first time in months… long didn’t feel bad.

It felt purposeful.

After training, Onser felt clearer. Focused. Purposeful.

The sun was barely peeking above Waterdeep’s rooftops when he left the guild, but the markets were beginning to stir awake. Merchants pulled open wooden shutters, lanterns flickered to life, and early risers milled around with baskets and sleepy eyes.

Onser headed straight for the clothing district.

He wanted to choose a gift for Morina with care — careful, thoughtful, personal. That would take time. Patience. A sense of what spoke to her, not just what looked valuable.

But clothing?

He could endure that quickly.

Hopefully.

He stepped into the first shop with a respectable exterior — dark oak signs, polished windows, mannequins dressed in fine Waterdeep fashion. The shopkeeper, a halfling woman with sharp eyes and sharper fashion sense, spotted him instantly.

She stopped mid-fold.

“…Oh.”

Onser froze. “…Good morning.”

She set the fabric down and approached him with the wary fascination of someone studying a large, exotic animal.

“My word,” she murmured, circling once. “That is… impressive.”

Onser stiffened. “My apologies if I’m blocking the entrance.”

“Oh no, dear, you’re blocking the light.” She clapped her hands, delighted. “What can I help you with?”

Onser cleared his throat. “I need clothes. For meeting someone important.”

“Formal? Semi-formal? Romantic dinner? Presentation? Heartbreaking confession?” She wiggled her brows.

Onser blinked. “Dinner.”

“With important people?”

“With… someone’s mother.”

Her eyes widened. “Ah. Gods bless you.”

Onser wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded politely.

The halfling woman rubbed her hands together. “Alright, let’s see what you hide under all that armor. Arms out.”

“…What?”

“Arms. Out.”

Onser lifted his arms obediently as she took measurements, muttering to herself the entire time.

“Broad but not bulky… posture perfect… hair ridiculous but beautiful… eyes terrifying but soulful…” She paused. “Are you trying to impress her?”

Onser swallowed once. “I would like to make a good impression.”

“Aha,” she said, as though he’d confessed something far more illicit. “Then we’ll make you presentable.”

She dragged him to a rack of deep, rich fabrics.

Onser tried to follow her explanations — color palettes, necklines, tailoring cuts — but mostly he stood still and hoped he wasn’t disappointing her.

Finally, she pressed an outfit into his hands.

“Try this.”

Onser headed into the dressing room.

It took him a moment to understand how soft the clothes were — breathable linen undershirt, dark fitted trousers, and a long, deep navy overcoat embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like starlight. It framed his shoulders, draped perfectly, and made his storm-lit eyes look brighter.

He stepped out.

The halfling clutched her heart.

“Oh, darling. You look like the night sky in physical form. Morina Dekarios will adore you. If she doesn’t, I’ll fight her.”

Onser blinked. “…Please do not.”

She sniffed. “I’m considering it.”

Onser looked at himself in the mirror.

Not armored.

Not looming.

Not intimidating.

Just… presentable. Civil.

Gale would smile if he saw him like this.

That alone made the outfit worth it.

“I will take it,” Onser said simply.

“Of course you will,” she declared triumphantly. “I’ll have it pressed and ready in an hour.”

Onser paid, nodded respectfully, and stepped back into the bustling morning streets with a small parcel in hand and a much lighter feeling in his chest.

Now, with the outfit secured…

He could take his time finding the perfect gift for Ms. Dekarios.

Just as the shopkeeper finished packing up the dinner outfit, Onser cleared his throat gently — the way he always did right before asking something that felt too selfish.

“…I have another request.”

The halfling woman perked up immediately, hands on her hips. “Speak, mountain of a man.”

“I require more clothing.” He glanced down at his training outfit. “I only have two regular sets. And one for combat.”

A pause.

“That is… insufficient.”

“Oh, sweet gods,” she muttered. “You do live like a soldier.”

“I am one.”

“Well, you don’t have to dress like one all the time.”

Onser tilted his head. “…I don’t?”

“No,” she said firmly, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward another section of the store. “You are in a city now. With a wizard who clearly likes you. We need you comfortable. Presentable. Alive.”

“Alive?”

She tapped his cheek. “Clothes that aren’t armor help with that.”

Onser didn’t understand how, but he trusted her judgment.

They went through racks of linen shirts, soft trousers, warm outerwear, casual robes, simple tunics, and even a few sleeveless tops that showed more arm than he expected.

The halfling was thrilled.

“Oooh, this deep burgundy with your skin tone? Deadly.”

“I am not trying to be deadly,” Onser said.

She snorted. “Honey, you’re deadly by existing. Might as well accept it.”

Onser sighed.

She handed him another stack. “Try these next. And give me honest answers this time.”

He obliged.

One outfit after another.

He tried:

• A soft grey tunic that complimented his eyes
  
  
• A sleeveless indigo top that showed the faint sirenic patterns on his skin
  
  
• Comfortable black trousers tailored to fit properly
  
  
• A dark green travel cloak embroidered lightly along the hem
  
  

Every time he stepped out, she gasped like she was watching a religious experience unfold.

At one point, she put her hands on her knees, breathless. “Morina Dekarios is going to think her son brought home a demigod.”

Onser froze. “Please do not call me that.”

“Fine,” she corrected. “A walking sculpture.”

“That is worse.”

She shrugged. “Not wrong, though.”

He could not argue.

After nearly an hour of trying different outfits, Onser had selected:

• Three high-quality tunics
  
  
• Two well-fitted pairs of trousers
  
  
• A comfortable travel cloak
  
  
• A casual robe suitable for Waterdeep weather
  
  
• The formal outfit for dinner
  
  

When she tallied the total, Onser didn’t flinch at the number. He didn’t even blink.

He simply nodded, retrieved a heavy pouch from his satchel, and placed it on the counter. The halfling paused, eyebrows rising.

“You’re… not going to bargain?”

“No.”

“You realize this is extremely expensive?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just—okay with that?”

Onser gave her a level look. “I do not purchase clothing often. When I do, it must last.”

Her face softened for the first time since he entered the store. “You deserve good things, you know.”

Onser lowered his eyes slightly. “…I am learning that.”

She packed everything carefully, ensuring nothing wrinkled. When Onser took the bags, she sighed dramatically.

“If that wizard of yours doesn’t fall even harder for you after this, let me know. I’ll go talk to him myself.”

Onser blinked, genuinely alarmed. “Please do not.”

“No promises.”

He bowed respectfully — a gesture that startled her — and stepped back into the brightening morning.

Arms full of new clothes, heart steadier, he made his way toward the market.

Now, he could focus on finding the perfect gift for Morina Dekarios.

Something meaningful.

Something respectful.

Something that showed Gale mattered.

He had all day.

And he intended to use it well.

Gale’s POV

Gale woke slowly, the familiar scent of lavender and warm blankets coaxing him back to consciousness. For half a second, he drifted in peaceful ignorance.

Then Tara crashed onto his chest.

“GALE! WAKE UP!”

Gale jolted upright so fast he nearly flung the tressym across the room. “Tara—! What in the Nine Hells—?!”

Tara planted her paws firmly on his sternum. “I delivered the dinner invitation!”

“…At what time?” Gale asked with growing dread.

“Four!”

Gale stared at her.

Tara stared back, proud.

“…Four in the morning?” he repeated, voice cracking.

“Yes! The hour of opportunity!”

Gale slapped a hand over his face. “Tara, Onser barely sleeps as it is—”

“Correct! Which means he was awake!”

Gale closed his eyes. “He absolutely was not.”

Tara flicked her tail. “Well, he is now.”

Gale groaned into his palms. “Gods… knowing him, he probably didn’t go back to sleep either.”

Tara’s whiskers twitched. “He didn’t.”

“TARA!”

“What? He looked alert! Like a large, brooding statue ready to start the day!”

“That does not mean he was rested!”

Tara shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “He’s a soldier. They’re built for this.”

Gale flopped back into his pillows, feeling both guilt and fondness twist in his chest. “He’s built for many things, Tara. Including stubbornness. But he still needs sleep.”

“Well,” Tara chirped, “he went to the Adventurers’ Guild and trained for a while. Swung that giant metal stick around until the courtyard trembled. Quite impressive.”

Gale winced. “Oh dear gods, he’s going to be exhausted by the afternoon…”

“And then,” Tara continued cheerfully, “he went shopping!”

Gale sat up again. “Shopping?”

“Yes! Clothes. Very good ones. Very flattering ones. He looked—”

She dramatically placed a paw to her forehead. “—magnificent.”

Gale turned pink immediately. “Tara—”

“What? He tried on at least eight outfits. I sat on a shelf and made commentary.”

“And he let you?”

“He adores me.”

Gale let out a long, deep breath.

Of course Onser had woken early.

Of course he hadn’t gone back to sleep.

Of course he’d already trained and done half a day’s worth of work before Gale even opened his eyes.

That man never stopped.

Gale swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his temples. “I need to check on him later.”

Tara hopped up beside him, tail flicking. “You should. He’s trying very hard not to seem nervous about dinner.”

“Nervous?” Gale blinked. “Onser?”

“Yes,” Tara said simply. “He kept muttering things like ‘respectful gift’ and ‘proper attire’ and ‘do not embarrass Gale.’ Very cute. Very tense.”

Gale’s heart twisted. Softly. Warmly. A little painfully.

“Oh, Onser,” he murmured, voice gentling without him meaning to.

Tara nudged him. “Go see him later. Make sure he’s not spiraling quietly.”

Gale sighed, stood, and ran a hand through his hair. “I will. After breakfast.”

Tara beamed. “Perfect. And then we can help him pick a gift!”

Gale froze. “…We?”

“Obviously.”

Gale sank into a chair, defeated. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

Tara patted his shoulder with a soft paw. “Yes! But also fun.”

Gale looked out the window, thinking of Onser already out in the streets, shopping, training, preparing, worrying, all without a moment’s rest.

He smiled faintly.

“…I hope he’s alright.”

And for the first time all morning, Gale found himself eager to see him.

Onser’s POV 

The markets of Waterdeep were fully alive by the time Onser began his search.

Vendors shouted prices.

Doors swung open.

Spices, perfumes, flowers, enchanted trinkets — every scent and sound swirled into the morning air.

Onser moved through it all with calm, deliberate steps, but inside… he was torn.

He wanted to find something perfect for Morina Dekarios — not something expensive, but something meaningful. Something that a mother like her would appreciate. Something that said:

You raised someone extraordinary.

And I’m grateful for him.

He paused at a stall displaying crystal figurines, then moved on.

Too fragile.

Too impersonal.

A stand selling rare teas.

Too many choices, too uncertain.

A jeweler with delicate hairpins.

Beautiful… but wrong.

He exhaled softly.

This was the part he used to be good at — not because he had a talent for gifts, but because he never did it alone.

Han would have been pacing circles around him, hands behind her back, blue-white hair swaying as she analyzed every object in sight. “Not that one, Onser. Too boring. And that one is too shiny. And that one? Sage-scented? She’ll think you’re calling her old. Look for something elegant, thoughtful, something that says you actually have a heart.”

Whitey would’ve lounged against the nearest stall post, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “He has three brain cells left and two of them are arguing. Let him pick the stupid shiny thing.”

Onser huffed under his breath — a quiet, fond breath that almost counted as a laugh.

He missed them.

More than he expected.

Their voices, their banter, their bickering.

Han’s blunt kindness.

Whitey’s dry sarcasm hiding warm loyalty.

If they were here now?

Han would already be dragging him toward the perfect shop.

Whitey would be pretending to hate it while secretly searching faster than anyone.

Instead… he was alone in a city he barely knew.

He walked deeper into the market, scanning each booth with careful eyes.

Perfume stalls…

Handmade pottery…

Herbal teas…

Enchanted locket vendors…

Paintings…

Nothing felt right.

He paused at a flower stall, fingers brushing a bouquet of deep purple heather. The florist, a young half-elf woman, glanced up.

“Looking for something for someone special?” she asked brightly.

Onser blinked. “Not… in that sense.”

“A mother?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, flowers are a classic,” she said, arranging a bunch of lilies. “But not enough by themselves. You need something with sentiment.”

Onser nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

The florist paused, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “What does she like?”

Onser opened his mouth — then closed it.

He didn’t know.

Not yet.

He barely knew Morina, except through Gale’s stories.

But that was enough to start.

He repeated the details Gale had dropped without meaning to:

“She drinks lavender tea.

She enjoys reading.

She hosts small gatherings.

She is… warm. And direct.”

The florist nodded thoughtfully. “A woman like that would appreciate something personal. Something handmade or enchanted — not flashy, but useful.”

Useful.

That word clicked in Onser’s mind.

He thanked the florist and continued walking — eyes sharper now, searching not for beauty, but for meaning.

Han would be proud, he thought faintly.

Whitey would pretend not to care but would absolutely insist on the final choice.

A soft smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll pick something right,” he murmured to himself.

“For her.

And for Gale.”

The search continued — but this time, he wasn’t lost.

He had purpose.

Gale’s POV

Gale had spent the entire morning and half the afternoon weaving through Waterdeep’s markets with Tara perched on his shoulder like a tiny, judgmental captain.

Tara kept saying things like:

“He was definitely near the potion stalls earlier.”

“No, wait—maybe the clothing district again.”

“Oh! Or the bakery! He looked hungry.”

“No, no, maybe he accidentally wandered into the docks—”

Gale rubbed his temples. “Tara, do you even know where he went?”

“No.”

A beat.

“But the vibes told me he went this way.”

Gale’s eye twitched. “Tara, you don’t even have a proper sense of direction.”

“Excuse me! I have excellent direction when it involves food.”

“…That’s not reassuring.”

They searched the magical stalls, the jeweler’s street, the flower row, the weapon market (Gale panicked there, imagining Onser buying something massive), and even the apothecaries.

No sign of him.

By late afternoon, Gale felt his anxiety creeping up — not fear something happened to Onser, but concern that he’d gone all day without rest. Again.

Tara squinted into the distance. “Wait. Wait, wait—I sense something.”

Gale straightened. “Onser?”

“No. Cats.”

“…Cats?”

“Yes. Many cats.”

“Tara, how does that—”

She launched off his shoulder and zipped into the crowd. “Follow me!”

Gale chased after her, weaving through people, knocking into baskets of herbs, apologizing profusely, until Tara led him around a corner—

And stopped dead.

Gale almost crashed into her.

“What—why did you—oh.”

He saw him.

Onser sat on a low stone ledge near a bakery stall, eating a small pastry with the most peaceful expression Gale had seen on him since arriving in Waterdeep.

That wasn’t the surprising part.

The surprising part was that he was surrounded.

By at least twelve stray cats.

One was on his knee.

Two sat on either side of his boots.

A big ginger cat sat proudly by his shoulder like a furry bodyguard.

Three kittens were sitting in front of him, staring up at the pastry with reverent devotion.

And Onser…

Was gently scratching behind the ears of a tiny grey cat cradled in one huge hand.

Another waited patiently near his foot, tail curling, clearly waiting for its turn.

Gale’s breath caught.

Tara gasped. Loudly. “HE’S BEING SWARMED BY CATS!”

Gale tried to stay composed. He failed. “Of course he is.”

A passing merchant whispered to her friend, “That giant tiefling? He’s been sitting there for twenty minutes. Cats love him.”

Another added, “He bought pastries, took one bite, and gave the rest to the cats.”

Tara puffed her chest proudly. “He’s a good man.”

Gale felt something warm bloom under his ribs. Onser looked… gentle. Completely relaxed. Like someone who’d finally allowed himself a moment of softness.

Tara waved her tail. “Go on, wizard. Say hi.”

Gale swallowed, suddenly shy.

Then Onser noticed him.

His head lifted, eyes softening instantly. The little grey cat in his hand mewed and nudged his palm; Onser gently set it down before rising to his full height — which made the entire circle of cats stand up with him, as if they were his furry honor guard.

“Gale,” he said, voice warm, steady, and so relieved it made Gale’s pulse skip.

“You found him!” Tara yelled triumphantly.

Gale stepped forward, cheeks warm. “I… didn’t expect to see you like this.”

Onser blinked at the circle of cats. “They… followed me.”

Tara cackled. “No, they adopted you.”

Gale smiled — soft, helpless, unbelievably fond. “You look… happy.”

Onser’s gaze softened even more. “I am.”

The smallest kitten batted at his boot.

Tara hissed, “Move over, child, that one is mine.”

Gale laughed, the tension melting from his shoulders.

He stepped closer, letting himself fully take in the scene:

Onser relaxed.

Cats purring.

Afternoon sun warm on stone.

Pastry crumbs, kittens, soft smiles.

It was perfect.

“Come on,” Gale said gently. “Let’s go home.”

Onser nodded — and the cats parted like he was royalty.

They walked side-by-side through the market stalls, the late afternoon settling into warm gold across Waterdeep. Onser carried a small pouch of leftover pastries (for the cats, obviously), while Gale kept glancing at him with that soft, half-thinking expression that always made Onser feel seen.

Tara circled above them like a tiny, winged sentinel.

“Alright,” Gale said, “you mentioned wanting to find a gift for Mother. Something respectful.”

Onser nodded. “Yes.”

“We can start small,” Gale offered. “A nice tea blend, a book she doesn’t have, some—”

But Onser had already stopped walking.

His eyes were fixed on a stall set up near the fountain — elegant, understated, draped in soft blue cloth. Displayed front and center was a beautifully crafted enchanted tea set: silver laced with moonstone, cups etched with glowing runes of serenity and warmth, and a kettle charmed to keep tea perfectly heated without burning.

Gale followed his gaze and blinked. “Oh—those are actually… quite lovely.”

The vendor, a dwarven artisan with a jeweler’s eye, perked up. “Aye, lad! Finest enchanted set this side o’ Waterdeep. Handmade. Balanced. Runes steady as the moon itself. Ye buy this, it’ll outlive ye and three generations after.”

Onser stepped forward, silent but clearly interested.

Gale, sensing danger, stepped beside him. “They’re stunning,” he whispered, “but they’re also—”

The vendor held up a placard.

PRICE: 850 GOLD.

Gale froze.

Onser didn’t.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

Without blinking.

Without hesitating.

Without thinking of the fact that this was, by all definitions, an absolutely ridiculous price for a tea set.

The vendor’s eyes sparkled. “Oho-ho! A man who knows quality!”

Gale grabbed Onser’s arm. “Onser. Onser—wait—just a moment.”

Onser blinked down at him, calm as still water. “Is something wrong?”

Gale stared at him like he’d just volunteered to purchase a small house. “Onser. That’s eight hundred and fifty gold pieces. For tea.”

“It is for your mother,” Onser corrected gently.

“That doesn’t make it better!”

Onser tilted his head. “She likes tea.”

“That’s not the point!”

“It is enchanted.”

“That makes it worse!”

Onser blinked again. “It is not a problem.”

Gale stared at him, helpless. “Onser! Most people don’t spend that on dinnerware!”

Onser considered this.

Then shrugged — calm, absolute, immovable.

“She deserves something fine.”

Gale opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “That’s—sweet, but—this is so much money.”

Onser simply handed the vendor a pouch heavier than the cost, because of course he did.

Gale made a strangled noise. “Onser!”

The vendor nearly burst into tears. “Bless ye, lad. If ye ever need anything enchanted again, I’ll carve yer name into the stall!”

Onser nodded politely. “Thank you.”

He lifted the tea set’s wrapped box with one arm like it weighed nothing, then looked at Gale — soft, steady, quietly hopeful.

“Will she like it?”

Gale stared up at him, speechless… and then something inside him melted. Fully. Completely.

“Yes,” he said softly, breath catching. “She’ll love it.”

Onser relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Tara flapped down, landing on Gale’s head. “I approve. Very shiny. Very thoughtful. Very expensive. Perfect.”

Gale sighed, defeated but glowing. “I swear, you three are going to kill me.”

Onser walked beside him, gift in hand, completely unaware of how devastatingly sincere he’d just been.

And Gale… could barely breathe around how much he cared for him in that moment.

The tea set was tucked safely under Onser’s arm as they made their way through Waterdeep’s evening streets. Gale kept glancing at it like it might explode from the sheer amount of gold poured into it. Tara, meanwhile, looked smugger than a cat with cream.

When they reached the steps of the Golden Harp Inn, Onser paused.

Gale stopped beside him. “You alright?”

Onser hesitated for half a second.

Then he said, softly:

“…Would you like to come upstairs?”

Gale blinked. “To—your room?”

“Yes.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how it sounded. “Only if you wish. I have refreshments. And chairs. And privacy. And—”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“—I would like your company.”

Tara didn’t even wait.

“YES,” she declared. “I want to see how fancy your room is.”

Gale elbowed her. “Tara—please—behave.”

“I make no such promises.”

Onser bit back a smile and gestured toward the stairs. “This way.”

They climbed up to the top floor, the carpets thick, the lights soft and golden. The air smelled faintly of incense and warm herbs. Gale looked around, impressed despite himself.

“Tara,” he whispered, “this place is nicer than half the noble estates in Waterdeep.”

“I know,” Tara whispered back. “We should move in.”

Onser unlocked his door and pushed it open.

The room inside glowed with soft firelight and cool moonlight—still as breathtaking as the first night he arrived. Gale stepped in and stopped dead.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Onser… this is—gods, this is beautiful.”

The stained-glass windows washed the bath area in blue-gold radiance. The bed’s embroidered blankets shimmered with faint enchantments. Ivy draped along Gothic arches. And the armor stand stood beside the fireplace, holding Onser’s polished plates like a silent guardian.

Tara fluttered in and immediately collapsed onto the massive bed. “I live here now.”

“No you do not,” Gale said, exasperated.

“Yes I do. Look at this bed. Look at this pillow. Feel how soft—”

“Tara!”

Onser hid a soft chuckle as he set the tea set gently on a low table.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” he said.

Gale did, though carefully—almost reverently—as he took a seat beside the bed and watched the room glow under shifting stained glass light.

“This suits you,” he murmured. “I didn’t… expect you to choose somewhere like this.”

Onser shrugged quietly. “It was the only place with a room available.”

“That is not the only reason,” Gale said gently, catching him.

Onser paused.

“…It felt safe,” he admitted.

Gale softened. “I’m glad you’re allowing yourself comfort.”

Onser’s eyes flickered up. “Would you like tea?”

“You don’t have tea,” Gale reminded him.

“I have pastries,” Onser said, dead serious.

Tara perked up instantly. “PAS—”

“No,” Gale snapped automatically.

“Yes,” Onser corrected, retrieving the leftover pastries from earlier and placing them on a plate.

Gale rubbed his forehead. “Onser, you’re not supposed to feed Tara every time she demands something.”

Tara looked directly into Onser’s soul.

“Feed me.”

Onser handed her the plate.

Gale threw his hands up. “Oh for—fine. Fine. I give up.”

Onser settled down beside Gale on the edge of the bed—not quite touching, but close enough that Gale could feel the warmth of him. Quiet. Comfortable. Domestic, almost.

“You can stay as long as you wish,” Onser said softly.

His voice had that gentleness he rarely used.

“Both of you.”

Tara purred like a tiny motor.

Gale’s chest warmed unbearably.

This wasn’t just a room.

It wasn’t just an inn.

It was Onser’s sanctuary.

And he invited them into it.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Onser, and a moment later the steady rush of water filled the room. Gale exhaled, letting his shoulders drop as he took in the space again — really took it in now that he wasn’t distracted by cats or markets or invitations.

It was 5:30pm. The sky outside was sliding toward dusk, staining the stained-glass windows with warmer hues, pink and gold mixing with the deep blue.

Tara curled up into one of the pillows like a tiny queen. “Go on,” she whispered. “Explore. You know you want to.”

Gale shot her a glare. “…I’m not snooping.”

“You’re sniffing around the edges of snooping.”

“I am not—”

Tara yawned. “Just don’t open any drawers unless you want to find something embarrassing.”

Gale choked. “Tara!”

“What? Big men often hide sentimental things.”

Gale ignored her (while absolutely filing away the word sentimental).

He walked slowly through the room, fingertips brushing the carved edges of the furniture. Everything felt so… Onser. Quiet. Heavy. Warm. Disciplined.

There wasn’t much clutter — Onser traveled light, always had — but what he did have revealed more than Gale expected.

Gale stopped in front of it, heart softening.

The armor gleamed, polished even after travel — silent proof of how much Onser valued order, routine, and pride in his work.

Gale reached out, hovering his fingers just above the chestplate.

He remembered that armor splattered with blood in Avernus, scarred and battered.

Seeing it like this — clean, peaceful — made something in him relax.

Leaning elegantly against the stand, wrapped tightly for safety.

Sharp, deadly, precise… yet adorned with tiny details: carefully oiled leather, polished metal, and a ribbon tied near the grip.

Gale frowned. “Is that… new?”

Tara opened one eye. “Whitey tied that before he left. Said it would help him ‘not look so murderous.’”

Gale smiled, warm and a little sad. “It suits him.”

A simple journal lay there. Closed. Untouched for now.

Gale didn’t pry — even though part of him desperately wanted to know what Onser wrote about.

Beside it lay:

• A vial of healing salve
  
  
• A few feathers from Onser’s damaged wings
  
  
• A small, folded scrap of parchment
  
  

Gale gently lifted the parchment.

It wasn’t a letter.

It was a crude doodle — clearly drawn by Han. Of Onser. With exaggerated muscles. And a grumpy frown. And a caption:

“Try smiling once in a while, Stoneface.”

Gale covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Found that, did you?” Tara purred. “He keeps it. Pretends he doesn’t care. But he does.”

Gale placed it back carefully, almost reverently.

Steam began curling from beneath the door — Onser must’ve switched to warm water.

Gale glanced toward it… briefly imagining the long braid unfurling, hair clinging to ash-grey skin, steam swirling around his shoulders—

He snapped his gaze away instantly, face flushing.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that.”

Tara snorted. “You’re extremely obvious.”

Sitting on the table — the enchanted tea set, wrapped in silky cloth and tied with silver cord.

Gale approached it slowly.

He brushed his fingers over the ribbon, heart swelling in a way that nearly hurt.

He bought this for Mother.

He thought about her. Thought about what she’d like.

He didn’t hesitate.

That meant… more than Gale could say.

He stepped back, inhaling deeply.

The water shut off.

Onser stepped out of the bathroom toweling the last bit of moisture from his hair. He expected the room to be empty. Gale had said earlier:

“I’ll head home. You can come by later this evening.”

So when Onser saw Gale still standing there — very much present, very much staring — he paused.

“…You have not left yet?” Onser asked, genuinely confused.

Gale blinked. “What?”

“You were supposed to return home after your errands,” Onser continued, frowning slightly. “I was to arrive at your house around this time.”

Gale froze.

Tara froze.

Both of their eyes widened in the same horrified realization.

Gale’s voice came out strangled. “WHAT TIME IS IT?”

Onser glanced at the window. “Nearly six.”

“Six?” Gale squeaked.

“Six,” Onser repeated calmly.

Tara shot into the air like she’d been launched by a trebuchet.

“GALE! WE HAVE TO GO!”

“Yes—YES WE DO!”

Gale scrambled around gathering his things so fast he knocked into the chair, the bedpost, and almost himself.

Onser blinked, very confused. “Is something wrong?”

“YES,” Gale wheezed, trying to untangle his robe. “We’re late.”

“For what?” Onser asked, sincerely perplexed.

“For—EVERYTHING!” Gale’s voice cracked. “You were supposed to visit! I— we— Mother— she— Tara— I— oh gods—”

Tara zoomed in frantic circles. “THE HOUSE IS NOT READY! THE TABLE IS A MESS! THE TEA IS COLD! I LEFT MY FAVORITE BLANKET IN THE SUNBEAM ROOM!”

Onser stared at both of them like they were losing their minds.

“…I did not mind waiting,” he said softly.

Gale stopped mid-panic, staring at him.

Onser continued, “I thought you were delayed. That is all.”

Gale’s face turned three shades of red.

“Oh— oh gods. Onser. I— I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I just— Tara woke you too early— and then the cats— and— and this whole day just—”

Onser stepped closer, placing a large, steady hand on Gale’s shoulder. “Gale.”

Gale froze.

“It is alright,” Onser said gently. “Truly.”

Gale took a shaky breath.

Tara did not.

“We STILL have to go!” she shrieked.

“Yes—yes we do,” Gale said, regaining some color. “Mother is expecting me.”

“And expecting you,” Tara added dramatically, pointing at Onser with her tail.

Onser blinked. “Tonight?”

“No— NO— tomorrow,” Gale said quickly. “But she will ask why I was late today and she will know and— I can’t— we have to go!”

Onser understood exactly four percent of that sentence, but he nodded anyway.

“Very well,” he said calmly.

Gale grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the door before remembering—

“Oh gods—your hair! Your braid! We have to—”

“Gale,” Onser repeated, voice soft. “It is alright. Go home. I will come later.”

Gale stared up at him.

Warm.

Flustered.

Fond.

Entirely undone.

“…Alright,” he whispered.

Tara zipped to Onser’s face. “DO NOT BE LATE.”

Onser blinked. “I will not.”

“GOOD.” She shot back to Gale’s shoulder. “Wizard! MOVE!”

Gale gave Onser one last look — a shy, heart-squeezing one — then rushed out the door with Tara clinging to him like a fuzzy, winged backpack.

Onser watched them go, utterly endeared and entirely unaware of how deeply he was loved.

Morina Dekarios didn’t need a clock to know her son would be late.

She had already finished preparing dinner two hours ago — the stew enchanted to stay warm, the bread freshly baked, the lavender candles lit, the tablecloth straightened three separate times just because she felt like it.

The scarf she was knitting sat neatly on her lap as she waited, completely unbothered.

Because Gale was never on time.

Especially not on a day he had feelings.

So when Tara crashed through the door like a small furry storm shouting:

“WE’RE LATE. WE’RE SO LATE. EVERYTHING IS CATASTROPHIC.”

Morina didn’t even flinch.

“I know, dear,” she said calmly. “I expected this.”

Gale stumbled in behind her, breathless, hair wild from running. “Mother—I—we—Tara—Onser—we lost track of time—he was supposed to come here—I—”

Morina held up a hand.

“Tea?”

Gale sagged instantly. “Yes. Please.”

Tara fell onto the couch dramatically. “HE SHOWERED. HE WAS SHINY. WE COMPLETELY MESSED UP THE TIMING.”

Morina poured Gale a cup. “Drink.”

Gale did. His shoulders dropped.

Then the panic hit again.

“Oh gods. Mother. Dinner is tonight. He’s supposed to come by tonight. And we’re not ready and the table looks—actually the table looks great—but I LOOK TERRIBLE and—”

Morina stood, brushing off her apron.

“Gale.”

“Yes?”

“You have exactly one hour to prepare before Onser arrives.”

Gale froze. “One hour?”

“A little less, actually,” Morina said, moving toward the sink. “Forty-five minutes, perhaps.”

Tara shrieked. “GALE WE MUST TRANSFORM YOU.”

“WH—WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

Morina walked over and gently put her hands on Gale’s cheeks.

Her voice softened.

“You are overthinking.”

Gale swallowed hard. “Mother… this is important.”

“I know,” she smiled. “Which is why I prepared everything hours ago.”

Gale blinked. “You—did?”

“Of course.”

She gestured to the table.

Set with warm colors, soft lighting, immaculate plates.

Exactly Onser’s height and comfort considered.

“I know when my son is bringing someone special home.”

Gale nearly choked. “Mother—!”

“Go upstairs,” Morina said with a gentle shove. “Fresh clothes. Brush your hair. Try not to combust.”

“I—yes—okay—”

“And Gale?”

He paused on the stairs.

“He’s already nervous,” she added softly. “Don’t make him wait too long.”

Gale’s eyes softened.

“…I won’t.”

Tara zoomed after him like a drill sergeant. “MOVE WIZARD! LET’S MAGIC YOU INTO PRESENTABLE.”

As they thundered upstairs, Morina just shook her head fondly and returned to the table, adjusting a single fork for no reason except motherly instinct.

The stew simmered on its own.

The candles glowed.

Everything smelled warm and welcoming.

She glanced at the door.

“Come along, Mr. Winters,” she murmured. “We’re ready for you.”

After Gale and Tara rushed out of the room in a flurry of feathers, panic, and near-tripping, the Golden Harp Inn grew quiet again.

Onser stood in the middle of his room, letting that silence settle deep into his chest.

Then he inhaled once.

Deep. Steady. Grounding.

Time to prepare.

He crossed the room with purposeful steps, beginning his mental checklist the same way he would before a mission.

He opened the cloth-covered box and checked the enchanted tea set one more time.

No cracks.

No smudges.

The enchantment runes pulsed softly — a warm glow of calm and comfort.

Good.

He tied the ribbon again. Perfectly neat.

Chapter Text

Next:

A small bouquet of heather and lavender lay on the table, wrapped in soft paper by a florist who insisted “the mother of a wizard deserves elegance.”

He lifted it gently, checking the stems.

Still fresh.

Still fragrant.

Still simple.

he didn’t want anything that screamed “look how expensive this is.”

Just something warm.

Onser slipped into the dark navy overcoat embroidered with silver threads — the formal outfit he chose earlier.

It hugged his frame perfectly, highlighting his height and shoulders without making him look like he was preparing for battle.

Underneath, the linen shirt was clean and crisp.

The trousers were fitted but comfortable.

Everything moved with him, not against him.

He smoothed the fabric once — a small, almost vulnerable gesture — and then looked at himself in the tall mirror.

Presentable.

Professional.

Respectful.

Good.

He tied his long, black-blue hair up into a neat bun — cleaner, more mature, more formal than his usual braid. Two strands fell naturally to frame his face, softening the intensity of his eyes.

Curtain bangs.

Han used to tease him about them.

Whitey used to say they made him “look slightly less terrifying to children.”
Gale… would probably smile.

He felt heat creep into his chest at the thought.

Onser rolled his shoulders back.

Then he did the thing he’d specifically prepared his coat for.

He reached behind him and tugged lightly at the hidden seams.

Two long slits opened perfectly — disguised so well no one would notice unless they knew what to look for.

Onser exhaled once.

Then —

SWOOSH.

His wings unfurled from his back in one sweeping, breathtaking motion.
Batlike.

Elegant.

Infernal markings glowing faintly against the evening light.

Twice his size when fully spread.

The air shifted around him, a soft ripple of warmth and shadow.

He stretched them once — a controlled, slow movement — and the markings along the membranes shimmered with a muted red-purple glow.

Much better.

Travel would be easier this way.

Some part of him hoped Gale would see them.

Another part hoped Morina wouldn’t be startled.

A small, private part hoped she would think they were beautiful.

He closed the slits again, folding the wings neatly, giving them space but keeping them compact enough for indoor entrance.

Finally —

He picked up the tea set.

Gathered the flowers in his other hand.

Smoothed his coat.

Checked the mirror one more time.

Calm.

Steady.

Ready.

He wasn’t going to war.

He was going to dinner.

And for once, that felt more terrifying — and more important — than any battle.
Onser took one last quiet breath and stepped toward the door.

Next stop: Morina Dekarios’ home.

And maybe… something like a future.

The moment Onser stepped out of his room and descended the carved staircase of the Golden Harp Inn, he felt it.

Eyes.

Dozens of them.

The lobby was glowing with warm chandelier light, nobles and merchants filtering in for the evening meal, conversations soft and refined.

And the second Onser walked in—

everything slowed.

His new coat flowed behind him like midnight silk.

His hair, tied back with curtain bangs framing his face, looked effortless but precise.
The flowers and carefully wrapped gift box in his hands only added to the image.

And the faint outline of folded wings at his back gave him a haunting, ethereal silhouette.
He didn’t mean to look like this.

But gods… he did.

A couple at a nearby table stopped mid-conversation, eyes widening.

A young noblewoman murmured, “Who is that?”

An older merchant adjusted his spectacles. “Some visiting dignitary, perhaps… or a high-ranking adventurer.”

A group of travelers simply stared — admiration with a hint of intimidation.

Onser paused on the last step, unsure why the room was suddenly so quiet.

He wasn’t doing anything.

He was just existing.

But the combination of:

the tailored navy coat embroidered with silver

the curtain bangs softening his sharp features

the tidy bun

the infernal markings just barely visible at his temples

the box for Morina held so carefully

the bouquet of lavender and heather

the size of him

the calm, powerful posture

and the faint aura of someone who’s seen war but chooses peace—

It made him look like he belonged to high society.

Like he had been born for rooms with soft light, silver cutlery, and quiet reverence.

For once, the looks he received weren’t fear.

They were awe.

Kursk Kilk, the half-orc manager, nearly dropped a tray. “By the gods, Winters… I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Onser blinked. “…Is something wrong?”

“No,” Kursk said, grinning wide. “Something is very right. You look like a lord.”
Onser frowned slightly. “I do not wish to look intimidating.”

“You don’t,” Kursk assured, still smiling. “You look… important.”

Onser wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He looked down at himself, at the simple but elegant clothes, the gifts in his hands, the careful grooming.

He had tried to look presentable.

But he had accidentally landed somewhere between:
“respectable dinner guest”
and
“Waterdeep nobility on their way to a diplomatic summit.”

He exhaled quietly.

“…It will have to do.”

Kursk clasped his shoulder. “Whoever you’re visiting tonight is lucky.”

Onser’s expression softened, almost shy. “She is… my beloved’s mother.”

Kursk’s grin only widened. “Then you better get going, sir. And good luck.”

Onser nodded and stepped out into the evening.

The cool air brushed against his wings as they shifted under the coat.

His heart beat steady, slow, powerful.

Morina Dekarios’ home awaited.

And Gale…

Gale was waiting too.

He walked toward them with dignity and quiet confidence — a man who didn’t yet realize just how striking he truly was.

Onser stepped out of the Golden Harp Inn, gifts in his hands, coat billowing softly in the evening breeze.

He looked toward the winding streets that would take him—slowly, painfully slowly—to Gale’s home.

No.

He wanted to arrive swiftly.

Cleanly.

With purpose.

He stepped into a shadowed alley between two tall buildings and rolled his shoulders back.

The hidden seams in his coat parted smoothly, as tailored, and—

SWOOSH.

His wings unfurled.

Huge, elegant, infernal.

Dark membranes veined with faintly glowing runes.

Twice his height when spread at full span.

A sight that would terrify lesser men but move the sky itself out of respect.

He flexed them once — testing the wind — then pushed off with powerful force.

The ground dropped away.

And the sky opened for him.

He soared above the rooftops, the wind slipping under his wings, lifting him effortlessly.

Below him:

lanterns flickered like golden fireflies

Waterdeep’s rooftops stretched in neat, glowing lines

evening crowds looked like tiny drifting clusters of color

Up here, he felt weightless.

Focused.

Alive.

This wasn’t dramatics.

This was necessity.

Efficiency.

Travel time reduced by half.

(And, perhaps, a tiny part of him liked the idea of Gale looking up one day and seeing him in the sky.)

He angled himself toward the residential district.

A smooth glide.

A single strong beat of his wings.

Just enough to fold neatly back into the disguise seams without damaging the coat.
In less than ten minutes — not even winded — he landed softly at Gale’s door.

No show.

No theatrics.

Just an efficient, controlled descent on the quiet cobblestone path.

He folded his wings back with perfect precision, letting them disappear beneath the tailored slits, smoothing the coat so it fell naturally over them.

Then Onser adjusted the flowers.

Adjusted the tea set box under his arm.

Took one breath.

And knocked.

Three polite, firm taps.

Inside the house, he could hear—

A frantic yelp.

A clatter of something falling.

Tara shrieking, “HE’S EARLY!”

Gale shouting, “I’M NOT READY— TARA— HELP ME—”

Onser blinked.

Perhaps he should have walked.

But too late now.

He stepped back, posture straight, expression calm, waiting patiently while the household spiraled into chaos on the other side of the door.

Onser stepped out of the Golden Harp Inn, gifts in his hands, coat billowing softly in the evening breeze.

He looked toward the winding streets that would take him—slowly, painfully slowly—to

Gale’s home.

No.

He wanted to arrive swiftly.

Cleanly.

With purpose.

He stepped into a shadowed alley between two tall buildings and rolled his shoulders back. The hidden seams in his coat parted smoothly, as tailored, and—

SWOOSH.

His wings unfurled.

Huge, elegant, infernal.

Dark membranes veined with faintly glowing runes.

Twice his height when spread at full span.

A sight that would terrify lesser men but move the sky itself out of respect.
He flexed them once — testing the wind — then pushed off with powerful force.

The ground dropped away.

And the sky opened for him.

He soared above the rooftops, the wind slipping under his wings, lifting him effortlessly.

Below him:

lanterns flickered like golden fireflies

Waterdeep’s rooftops stretched in neat, glowing lines

evening crowds looked like tiny drifting clusters of color

Up here, he felt weightless.

Focused.

Alive.

This wasn’t dramatics.

This was necessity.

Efficiency.

Travel time reduced by half.

(And, perhaps, a tiny part of him liked the idea of Gale looking up one day and seeing him in the sky.)

He angled himself toward the residential district.

A smooth glide.

A single strong beat of his wings.

Just enough to fold neatly back into the disguise seams without damaging the coat.
In less than ten minutes — not even winded — he landed softly at Gale’s door.

No show.

No theatrics.

Just an efficient, controlled descent on the quiet cobblestone path.

He folded his wings back with perfect precision, letting them disappear beneath the tailored slits, smoothing the coat so it fell naturally over them.

Then Onser adjusted the flowers.

Adjusted the tea set box under his arm.

Took one breath.

And knocked.

Three polite, firm taps.

Inside the house, he could hear—

A frantic yelp.

A clatter of something falling.

Tara shrieking, “HE’S EARLY!”

Gale shouting, “I’M NOT READY— TARA— HELP ME—”

Onser blinked.

Perhaps he should have walked.

But too late now.

He stepped back, posture straight, expression calm, waiting patiently while the household spiraled into chaos on the other side of the door.

Onser stepped inside the Dekarios home, the door closing softly behind him. The scent hit him first —

Lavender.

Warm bread.

Old books.

It felt… comforting. Lived-in. Safe. A place where people were cared for.

He took a moment to really look.

The soft candlelight.

The shelves lined with worn novels.

The knitted blanket draped over the armchair.

The framed sketches — some of Tara, some of Gale as a boy, some of places he recognized from Gale’s stories.

Morina watched him with a warm, amused smile as he absorbed everything.

“You have a beautiful home,” Onser said quietly, sincerity woven into every syllable.

Morina’s chest softened instantly. “Thank you, dear. It’s small, but it holds plenty of heart.”
Onser nodded, his expression gentle. “It feels… peaceful.”

“You look like someone who could use a little peace.”

He blinked — almost startled by how easily she’d seen through him. “I… suppose that is true.”

Morina motioned toward the sitting area. “Come, sit. Gale will be down in a moment. He’s—well—he’s fussing.”

From upstairs:

THUD.

“I’M FINE!”

“NO YOU ARE NOT!” —Tara

Morina sipped her tea as though this was utterly normal. “Yes. Fussing.”

Onser allowed himself the smallest smile before he stepped toward the sofa.

 He sat carefully — as though afraid he might break something. His posture was perfect, hands resting on his knees, flowers and gifts set neatly on the low table.

Morina took the seat across from him, curiosity and warmth in her eyes.

“So,” she began sweetly, “tell me about yourself, Onser.”

He stiffened slightly — not with fear, but formality instinct. He always prepared for interrogation, not kindness.

“I am a Deputy Chief at the Order,” he started.

Morina waved a hand. “Yes, dear, Gale told me. I meant you. The person. Not the title.”

Onser paused.

A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, like someone adjusting to unfamiliar sunlight:
“…I was raised in a military order. Discipline… was everything.”

Morina nodded, listening intently.

“I never thought much about a personal life,” he admitted. “Not until I met my… companions. Han. Whitey. Gale.”

Morina’s eyes softened knowingly. “Gale made a very strong impression on you.”

Onser lowered his gaze just slightly — not embarrassed, but thoughtful. “He did. He is… unlike anyone I have known.”

Morina smiled, patient and quiet, letting him find the words at his own pace.
“He is gentle,” Onser continued quietly. “And brilliant. And stubborn.”

A faint huff of fondness escaped him. “Very stubborn.”

Morina’s grin widened. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“He sees people,” Onser added. “Truly sees them. Even those who do not…. deserve it.”
“Are you referring to yourself?” Morina asked gently.

Onser hesitated. “I am not—easy to be around.”

“Hmm. And yet,” Morina said, leaning back, “my son crossed an entire coast with excitement in his voice because you were coming tonight.”

Onser froze.

Completely.

Color warmed the tips of his ears.

Before he could respond, a small whoosh of wings and a dramatic gasp sounded from the staircase.

Tara appeared halfway down, panting dramatically. “HE’S STILL NOT READY—OH—OH wait—he’s close!”

“Mother—DON’T SAY ANYTHING YET—” Gale’s muffled voice called from upstairs.
Morina chuckled softly and returned her attention to Onser.

“I like you,” she said simply. “You carry yourself with respect. And you clearly care about my son.”

Onser blinked once. Twice.

Then nodded — humble, quiet. “He is important to me.”

Morina’s expression softened into something warm enough to melt steel.
“Then you are welcome here,” she said. “Always.”

Onser straightened — subtly, gratefully — shoulders relaxing in a way they hadn’t in months.

From upstairs:
“TARA DO NOT PUSH ME—”

CRASH.

“I’M OKAY!”

Morina sighed.

Onser almost smiled.

Dinner hadn’t even begun, and he already felt at home.

Tara flapped back up the staircase with the urgency of a messenger raven announcing the fall of a kingdom.
“HE’S COMING—HE’S COMING—HE’S COMING!”

Morina didn’t even turn her head.

Onser sat straighter out of pure instinct — like a soldier hearing a horn call.

And then—

A soft creak.

A footstep.

And Gale finally appeared at the top of the stairs.

For a second, Onser forgot to breathe.

Gale stood there, one hand lightly gripping the bannister, chest rising and falling from the rush of getting ready. He’d changed into a rich wine-colored robe embroidered with subtle gold that caught the candlelight. His hair — usually slightly messy — was now brushed, tied half-up with a simple ribbon, a few soft strands framing his face.

His cheeks were faintly flushed from hurrying.

His eyes found Onser instantly.

And they softened.

Morina hid a smile behind her teacup. Tara whispered, “Don’t fall. Don’t fall. DON’T FALL,” as Gale took the first step down.

He didn’t fall.

But he did nearly miss a step when he fully registered what Onser looked like sitting there:
the tailored navy coat hugging his broad shoulders

the curtain bangs framing his storm-bright eyes

the flowers and gift placed neatly at the table

the calm, elegant posture

and the faint glow of markings hidden under his coat from the earlier flight

Gale’s breath hitched, quiet but audible.

Onser rose to his feet in one smooth, respectful motion.

“Gale,” he said softly.

Gale swallowed, voice barely steady. “You… look incredible.”

Onser blinked, a faint blush warming his cheekbones. “I could say the same.”

Gale descended the last few steps, slower now, like the air had thickened. He approached the sitting area, every part of him visibly nervous but trying not to be.

Morina leaned sideways and whispered loudly to Tara, “They’re adorable.”
“Ridiculously,” Tara whispered back.

Gale reached Onser — finally standing close enough that their height difference made Gale tip his chin slightly to meet his eyes.

“You made it very quickly,” Gale murmured.

Onser nodded calmly. “I flew.”

“You—flew.” Gale’s voice cracked. “Of course you flew. Why did I even ask.”

Onser tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you… alright?”

Gale let out an embarrassed, breathless laugh. “I—yes. Just… flustered.”

Onser’s brows knit. “Did I arrive too early?”

“No.”

Gale shook his head.

“You arrived exactly when you should have.”

Their eyes lingered on each other a beat too long — warm, charged, unspoken affection flickering in the space between them.

Morina cleared her throat delicately.

“Dinner is ready.”

Gale blinked, tearing his gaze away. “Right — yes — dinner.”

Onser offered his arm without thinking — a courtly gesture he hadn’t performed in years.
Gale hesitated only a heartbeat before taking it, his fingers curling lightly around Onser’s forearm.

Morina watched them with the quiet, satisfied smile of a mother who absolutely knew how this evening would go.

And in that moment, with Onser steady and Gale glowing, the house felt full in a way it hadn’t in years.

Morina guided them all to the table with the soft authority only mothers possess. The lavender candles flickered, the stew steamed with rich, warm scent, and the bread in the basket shone with a glossy butter glaze.

Gale sat beside Onser.

Tara claimed the seat with the best view “for surveillance.”

Morina took her place at the head of the table, hands folded gracefully.
“Please,” she said warmly, “eat as much as you like.”

Onser nodded respectfully…

but his hands hesitated for the first time since he’d walked in.

Gale noticed immediately. “You alright?”

“…Yes,” Onser said quietly. “I simply… have not had food like this in a long time.”

“How long?” Morina asked gently.

Onser’s gaze dropped to the stew, its smell warm and familiar in a way that almost hurt.
“Fifteen years,” he said softly. “Since my mother passed.”

The room went still.

Gale’s breath caught.

Tara’s ears lowered.

Morina’s eyes softened in an instant, her expression shifting from polite host to something deeper, maternal, understanding.

“I am sorry, dear,” she said.

And the sincerity in her voice nearly broke him.

Onser cleared his throat once—quiet, controlled—and finally lifted the spoon.

He took a slow sip of the stew.

And froze.

The taste—

Warm.

Savory.

Fresh herbs.

A hint of spice.

The softness of vegetables simmered to perfection.

The kind of flavor you only get when someone cooks because they care, not because they must.

Something loosened in his chest.

Something long dormant.

A memory he didn’t expect:

His mother humming in the kitchen.

Stirring a pot with the same gentle rhythm.

Calling him over to taste the broth before he ran off to cause trouble with the neighborhood kids.

The way she always smiled when he said, “More pepper.”

Onser’s grip tightened subtly around the spoon.

Morina’s voice remained soft. “Tell me honestly—how is it?”

He swallowed, throat thick.

“It is…” He paused, eyes lowering.

“…good.”

He corrected himself quietly, Earth-soft:

“It tastes like home.”

Gale’s heart clenched so sharply he had to look away for a moment.

Morina reached out, placing a warm hand over Onser’s free one—a simple gesture, gentle but grounding.

“Then you are welcome to eat here anytime,” she said. “No one should go fifteen years without a real meal.”

Onser inhaled slowly, almost shakily, but nodded.

“…Thank you.”

And then he ate.

Not with hunger—

but with reverence.

Every spoonful slower than the last.

Every bite something he savored.

Every moment a bridge between past and present.

Gale watched him with a look that was half-love, half-heartache, and entirely soft.

Tara whispered to Morina,

“He’s trying not to cry.”

Morina whispered back,

“I know, dear. Let him have his dignity.”

Dinner continued—

quiet at first,

warm,

intimate,

full of small smiles and soft glances.

But for Onser, it was the first time in fifteen years that food tasted like care.

Like someone was thinking of him.

Like family.

Dinner had settled into a warm rhythm.

Morina listened fondly.

Tara whispered commentary to herself.

Gale kept glancing at Onser every other breath.

And Onser… Onser ate slowly, savoring every bite as if storing it in his soul.

As the conversation drifted into gentle stories of Gale’s childhood —

“Mother—please—stop telling that one,” Gale groaned,

“Absolutely not,” Morina replied —

Gale shifted in his seat.

Just a tiny adjustment.

Just to get comfortable.

Just to move his knee closer to Onser’s.

Under the table, Gale’s hand slipped as he reached to fix the napkin on his lap—
And brushed directly against Onser’s.

The touch was feather-light.

Barely a graze.

But Onser froze instantly.

Not breathing.

Not blinking.

Not functioning.

Gale, realizing what he’d done, went equally still.

“Oh,” Gale whispered, eyes widening.

“…Oh,” Onser echoed, voice low, deep, and entirely overwhelmed.

And then—

because his body reacted faster than his brain—

FWUMP.

Onser’s wings.

Released.

Fully.

Under the table.

The massive batlike span SHOT outward in instinctive panic, smacking the underside of the table with a loud BUNK and violently shaking all the cutlery.

Morina raised an eyebrow.

Tara screamed,

“THEY’RE LOOSE—HE’S MALFUNCTIONING—EVASIVE MANEUVERS!”
Gale slapped both hands over his face. “Oh no. Oh gods. Onser—I’m so sorry—”

Onser was sweating.

Actually sweating.

“I—did not mean— they—sometimes react—on instinct—” he muttered, trying desperately to pull the enormous wings back into the slits of his coat without knocking over plates.

The wings, however, had other plans.

One smacked Gale in the thigh.

Another brushed Tara like a passing curtain, causing her to hiss offendedly.

Morina reached out calmly and pushed the table back two inches to give his wings more space.

“There,” she said with motherly practicality. “Now you won’t break the furniture.”
“Mother,” Gale said weakly, “please stop being so calm about this.”

“What? Wings happen,” Morina replied.

“THEY DO NOT,” Gale stressed.

“It’s quite lovely,” she continued, sipping tea.

Gale looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Finally, after much fumbling and one quiet curse in Infernal, Onser managed to refold his wings—

but his face was still a shade of red that could ignite a fireplace.

“…My apologies,” he murmured, eyes glued to his plate.

Morina smiled gently. “Dear, if the worst thing that happens during dinner is your wings unfolding because my son brushed your hand, we’ll consider that a good evening.”

Gale groaned into his palms. “Mother, PLEASE.”

Onser swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Gale.

Gale peeked back at him through his fingers.

Their eyes met.

Soft.

Embarrassed.

Flustered.

Tender.

Onser exhaled shakily.

“…Your hand is warm,” he said before his brain could stop him.

Gale’s face turned crimson.

Tara fainted dramatically into a bread roll.

Morina just cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said lightly, “shall we continue dinner?”
And somehow… they did.

But afterward?

Gale and Onser didn’t dare move their hands again without thinking VERY carefully about consequences.

Dinner continued in a slightly chaotic haze — Gale trying to pretend nothing happened, Onser sitting impossibly straight with his wings locked tight against his back, Tara nibbling bread while whispering, “Scandalous,” every two minutes.

But eventually, plates were emptied, the candles burned lower, and conversation softened into comfortable quiet.

Gale, feeling the weight of the wing incident pressing down on his soul like a boulder, leaned back with a forced smile.

“Well, mother, that was—uh—lovely.”

Onser nodded stiffly. “Yes. Very pleasant.”

Tara smirked. “Pleasant? You exploded.”

“Tara,” Gale hissed.

Onser looked like he wanted to pass away politely.

Morina simply rose from her seat, collecting a few dishes with calm, practiced grace.
“Gale,” she said sweetly, “would you help me in the kitchen?”

Gale blinked. “Oh—of course.”

They stepped to the side table where she placed the dishes.

And then—

She turned.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The Look hit Gale like a divine smite.

The Look:

Eyes half-lidded, one brow raised, lips pressed together in a straight line, expression saying:

So.

You touched his hand.

And the man detonated like a startled phoenix.

Care to explain?

Gale froze mid-step.

“M-Mother?” he whispered, voice cracking.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

Every line of her face said:

You like him.

He likes you.

You are both idiots.

Fix it.

Gale sputtered helplessly.

“I—It was—It wasn’t—it was ACCIDENTAL!”

Morina very slowly turned her eyes toward the dining table.

Where Onser was sitting ramrod straight, still red, still mortified, still silently folding and unfolding the napkin like it was a lifeline.

She turned back to Gale.

Look.

Intensifies.

Gale covered his face with both hands. “Mother, PLEASE.”

Morina stepped closer, lowering her voice.

“Gale,” she whispered, “he’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of his feelings for you.”

Gale’s breath hitched.

She softened even more.

“And you… love like your father did. Too big for your chest to hold.”

Gale’s eyes dropped, suddenly shy. “Mother…”

She placed a hand on his cheek.

“Talk to him,” she murmured.

“Before he folds himself into a piece of furniture.”

Gale peeked toward Onser again—

The tiefling was sitting there, hands perfectly folded, shoulders at attention, wings tucked so tight it probably hurt, visibly trying not to… feel anything.

Gale swallowed.

“…Alright,” he whispered.

Morina smiled — warm, proud, and mischievous.

“Good,” she said. “Now go. Before Tara tells him you fainted.”

“I WOULD NEVER—”

“You would,” Gale and Morina said in unison.

Gale took a steadying breath, nerves fluttering like wild magic under his skin.

Time to face the tiefling who nearly launched himself into the ceiling because their hands touched.

Gale stepped back into the dining room, hands smoothing his robe, heart pounding so loudly he was sure Tara could hear it from the kitchen.

Onser was still at the table.

Still sitting perfectly straight.

Still red.

Still folding the napkin into increasingly smaller, increasingly tragic squares.
Gale cleared his throat softly.

“Onser?”

Onser jolted, a barely-perceptible twitch of his shoulders. “Yes. Apologies. I— I should not have let my wings—react in such a disruptive manner.”

Gale’s heart twisted.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do.” Onser looked down, ears tinted a deep violet-burgundy. “It was improper. Uncontrolled. I did not wish to frighten your mother, or cause you discomfort.”
Gale shook his head quickly. “Onser. You didn’t frighten her. She likes you.”

Onser blinked. “She… does?”

Gale tried not to laugh. “She likes you a lot. Possibly more than she likes me.”

From the kitchen:

“I HEARD THAT!” — Morina

“I’M JUST SAYING SHE’S RIGHT.” — Tara

Onser’s lips twitched. Just slightly.

After a beat, Gale sat beside him instead of across from him.

Closer.

 But gentle about it.

“Onser,” Gale murmured, voice softer now, “your wings reacted because you reacted. And that’s okay.”

Onser exhaled through his nose.

“It was… unexpected.”

Gale smiled, warm and nervous. “For both of us.”

Onser’s eyes flicked up at him — a small, vulnerable glance that hit Gale straight in the chest. He looked so careful, like he was afraid to say something wrong.

“I do not… know how to be in these situations,” Onser admitted quietly. “Around families. Around… people I care about.”

Gale swallowed.

“Onser.”

The tiefling looked up fully this time.

“I care about you too,” Gale said.

Onser’s breath caught — barely audible, but enough.

A few seconds of quiet passed, full but delicate.

Then Gale stood, hesitated… and extended a hand.

“Would you like to… step outside with me? Just for air?”

Onser nodded slowly. “Yes. I would.”

They walked out onto the small balcony Morina kept lined with plants — rosemary, lavender, a few stubborn sun-loving herbs that survived purely from her stubbornness.

The cool night air wrapped around them.

The city hummed in the distance.

Gale leaned against the railing.

Onser stood beside him, close enough their arms nearly touched.

For a while, they just breathed.

Finally, Gale spoke.

“You don’t have to be perfect around me.”

Onser’s wings shifted slightly beneath his coat. “I do not want to frighten you.”

“You don’t.”

“You startled when I—”

“Because you startled,” Gale corrected gently.

“Not because of your wings. They’re… beautiful.”

Onser’s ears flushed again, darker this time.

“…Beautiful?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Gale said, looking away quickly before he combusted. “Very.”

Another beat of silence — warm, charged, full of things neither of them had said yet.
Then Onser cleared his throat.

“You flew here.”

“Yes.”

“At night.”

“Yes.”

“Without a coat.”

Gale blinked. “…What?”

“You are cold,” Onser said simply, already unwinding part of his own coat.

“I— no, I’m fine—”

But Onser draped the coat around him anyway. Carefully. Gently. Like something sacred.
Gale inhaled sharply at the warmth.

At the faint scent of smoke and metal and Onser.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Onser nodded once, eyes softening.

A longer silence this time.

Comfortable.

Close.

Threaded with gravity.

Then Gale said — not reckless, not rushed, just honest:

“…Would you like me to walk you back to the inn?”

Onser looked surprised. “Walk me?”

Gale’s cheeks warmed. “Yes. I—well—I thought maybe we could talk more. Or… sit a while. Just us.”

Onser’s voice dropped quiet and deep.

“You wish to come with me.”

“Yes,” Gale said softly.

“If you want me to.”

Onser looked down at him with a look Gale had never seen so clearly before — something protective, tender, and aching.

“I do,” he said.

Simple.

Honest.

No hesitation.

Gale let out a slow breath.

“Then I’ll come.”

And in that moment — under soft lamplight, the city humming below, Onser’s coat wrapped around his shoulders — Gale knew he wasn’t just going to the inn for a visit.
He was going because he didn’t want the night to end.

And Onser didn’t either.

After a few more moments on the balcony — Gale wrapped in Onser’s coat, Onser watching him like he was the only star in the sky — they stepped back inside.

Morina and Tara were waiting.

Morina with a gentle, proud smile.

Tara with crumbs on her whiskers.

Gale cleared his throat.

“Mother… thank you for the meal. Truly.”

Morina cupped his cheek.

“Anytime, my love.”

Then she turned to Onser.
“Mr. Winters,” she said warmly, “you are welcome in this home whenever you wish. Dinner, tea, company — all of it.”

Onser bowed deeply. “Thank you, Ms. Dekarios. I… will return, if you allow it.”

“I insist on it,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Tara flapped onto Onser’s shoulder without permission and whispered, “Don’t break him.”
Gale sputtered, mortified. “TARA—”

Onser nearly choked. “I— shall not.”

Morina shooed Tara off the poor man. “Alright, you two. Go get some fresh air. And Gale—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t stay out too late.”

Gale’s ears went red. “Mother—!”

Onser blinked, confused. “We are only walking—”

“Mm-hm,” Morina said, sipping her tea with a tone that implied she knew more than both of them combined.

Gale groaned.

Onser stood a little too straight.

But they said their goodbyes, warm and full.

Chapter Text

Waterdeep was calm at this hour — lanternlight flickering in gentle amber tones across the cobblestone path. Their footsteps echoed in an easy rhythm.

Gale walked close enough that their sleeves brushed.

Onser didn’t move away.

Neither spoke at first. It wasn’t awkward — it was new. Quiet. Full of a nervous pull neither dared name yet.

Halfway there, Gale exhaled softly.

“She likes you.”

Onser glanced over. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

Onser nodded. “I like her as well. She is kind. And strong. Like you.”

Gale looked away, suddenly shy.

“You’re… unexpectedly smooth with words.”

Onser blinked. “I am only speaking the truth.”

Gale’s heart nearly melted into the street.

When they pushed open the heavy door to the lobby, Kursk the half-orc manager looked up from the front desk.

His brows shot straight up.

“Well,” he grinned, tusks glinting, “look who’s back — and not alone.”

Onser stiffened. “This is Gale. We are—talking.”

“Talking,” Kursk echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

Gale turned red.

Onser looked confused.

Kursk looked delighted.

“Good evening to you both,” the half-orc said, voice warm. “Your room’s ready, Winters. Fire’s already lit. I figured you’d return soon.”

Onser frowned politely. “How did you know?”

Kursk gestured vaguely at Onser’s entire existence. “You look like a man who keeps his promises.”

Gale’s breath caught.

Onser’s eyes flickered down.

“…I do,” he said quietly.

Kursk winked. “Then enjoy your night, gentlemen.”

Gale choked on air.

Onser’s wings twitched under his coat.

Kursk was definitely doing this on purpose.

But they headed up the stairs together anyway — slow, side by side, their shoulders almost touching.

And when they reached the top floor, Gale hesitated only a moment before whispering:

“Can I… come in?”

Onser’s answer was immediate.

“Yes.”

Soft.

Steady.

Warm.

The door to the luxurious room opened once more — this time with both of them stepping into the glow of firelight and moonlit stained glass.

Together.

The door shut with a quiet click behind them, sealing the two of them inside the warm, firelit room. The stained-glass moonlight washed soft blues and purples across the stone floor, the luxurious bedspread, the armour stand.

Gale stepped in slowly, almost reverently — this time not overwhelmed, not alarmed, but simply… present. Comfortable.

Onser moved first, crossing toward the small cabinet by the hearth.
“I… have tea,” he offered, voice dipping low with nerves.

“The inn provided a set.”

Gale smiled. “Tea would be lovely.”

It steadied Onser enough to move.

He lit the kettle with a small spark of magic.

The faint scent of roseleaf and mint began to fill the room.

But his hands…

His hands were trembling.

Just a little.

Just enough for Gale to quietly notice.

Gale stepped closer. “Onser… is something wrong?”

Onser froze.

Not from fear.

Not from panic.

From memory.

Han’s voice echoed in the back of his mind — the last thing she told him before he boarded the ship in Baldur’s Gate:

“Be honest with him.
Tell him fully how you feel.
You might be surprised by what you get back.”

He had shrugged it off then, pretending he wasn’t terrified.

But now?

Now Gale stood in his room.

Warm. Alive.

Looking at him like he was something worth waiting for.

Nine months.

Nine long months.

Nine months of silence.

Nine months of fear.

Nine months of waking up every day wondering if Gale was sick, hurt, dead, gone forever.

Nine months of trying not to think about the last smile Gale gave him before chasing the Crown.

The feelings didn’t go away.

They got worse.

Stronger.

And tonight—

seeing Gale here—

laughing, blushing, flustered, warm—

those feelings surged so hard he could barely breathe.

Onser shut his eyes.

Took one deep breath.

And turned to face him.

“Gale,” he began quietly.

But the quiet shook.

Gale’s smile faltered. “Onser?”

“I need to speak,” Onser said, voice roughening with emotion he couldn’t swallow anymore. “Before I lose the courage.”

He stepped closer — not looming, not intimidating, but open in a way he never allowed himself to be.

His wings shifted beneath the coat.

His throat bobbed.
“I looked for you,” he said.

Low.

Painful.

Honest.

Gale’s breath caught.

“For months,” Onser continued.

“Every day. Every night. When the Order needed me… when the city needed me… when

Han told me to rest… I still looked.”

Gale’s hand flew to his mouth. “Onser—”

“I did not sleep,” he confessed. “I barely ate. I—”

His voice broke.

“I feared the worst. That you… left us. Left me. Forever.”

Gale stepped closer, eyes shining. “Onser… I didn’t know— I never meant—”

Onser shook his head. “You are not at fault. You were searching for your path. But I…”

His breath trembled as he finally stepped into Gale’s space.

“I missed you. More than I should have. More than I thought I was capable of.”

Gale’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Onser swallowed, the rawness in his voice impossible to hide.

“I care for you,” he whispered. “Deeply. Painfully. It felt like it has been—years for me, Gale. Not months.”

Gale blinked. “Years?”

“Yes,” Onser said, relief and fear rushing in the same breath.

“I knew it back at the camp. And when you left… the silence burned.”

His eyes softened, like a storm easing.

“And now you’re here again. And I cannot pretend anymore.”

Gale lifted a trembling hand to Onser’s cheek.

The tiefling leaned into it — barely, but enough.

“Onser…” Gale whispered, voice cracked open.
Onser dropped the last of his defenses.

“I love you,” he said simply. “I have loved you for longer than I understand.”

The kettle whistled softly behind them.

Neither of them heard it.

Gale’s breath shuddered out of him — not in fear, but in something bright, overwhelming, and unbearably tender.

He stepped fully into Onser’s arms.

“Then let me say it back,” Gale whispered against his chest.

“Because I never stopped loving you either.”

Onser’s wings unfolded slowly — not explosive, not startled — but in a broad, gentle arc that wrapped behind Gale like a shield.

Not instinct.

Not fear.

Comfort.

Claim.

Relief.

And Gale melted into him completely.

Tea forgotten.

Fire crackling.

Nine months of silence end in one moment of truth.

Onser held him — finally, fully — like he’d been waiting lifetimes to do it.

Gale stayed pressed into Onser’s chest for a long, trembling heartbeat — listening to the slow thunder of the tiefling’s pulse, feeling the warmth radiating through the coat, the careful way Onser held him like something precious and breakable.

When he finally tilted his head up, Onser was already looking down.

Storm-lit eyes.

Soft.

Open.

Unshielded in a way that almost hurt to see.

Gale’s voice was barely a whisper.

“…Onser.”
Onser swallowed hard. “Yes?”

“This is the part,” Gale murmured, cheeks flushing, “where you’re supposed to kiss me.”
Onser blinked once — slow, stunned — and something in him cracked open.

He lifted one hand, almost hesitating, brushing his thumb across Gale’s cheek as though afraid he’d disappear again.

Gale leaned into it.

That was all it took.

Onser lowered his head.

Their lips met.

Not rushed.

Not messy.

Not desperate.

Soft.

Warm.

Like finally letting breath escape after months of holding it in.

Gale exhaled against him, hands sliding up Onser’s chest, fingers tangling in the fabric near his collar. Onser trembled — actually trembled — as he cupped Gale’s jaw with both hands and deepened the kiss by a fraction.

The room seemed to glow a little brighter.

The fire crackled softly.

The stained-glass moonlight turned the air silver-blue.

Onser’s wings opened just slightly behind him, wrapping in a protective crescent around Gale without touching — a silent instinct that said:

Mine.

Safe.

Stay.

Gale broke the kiss only long enough to breathe a shaky laugh.

“You kiss like someone who’s been waiting a long time,” he whispered.
Onser’s forehead rested against Gale’s. “I have.”

Gale kissed him again — firmer this time, more sure — and Onser melted into it, one hand sliding to the back of Gale’s neck, gentler than such a massive man should be capable of.
When they finally parted again, breathing uneven, Gale reached up to trace the faint markings along Onser’s cheek.

“Should we… sit?” Gale whispered, voice soft and shy in a way Onser adored.

“Yes,” Onser murmured, “but I do not wish to let go yet.”

Gale smiled — the first truly relaxed smile he’d worn all night. “Then don’t.”

So Onser didn’t.

They moved toward the bed slowly, still touching — Gale guiding Onser by the front of his coat, Onser keeping one hand at the small of Gale’s back as though he needed to feel the wizard breathing.

The bed dipped as they sat.

Then lay back.

Then shifted closer.

Lips met again — deeper now, fuller.

Hands explored familiar places like they were new — jaw, shoulder, hair.

Gale’s fingers slid into Onser’s bun, loosening it until waves of ebony hair spilled down his back.

Onser made a low, half-choked sound Gale had never heard from him before.

“Sorry,” Gale whispered.

“Do not apologize,” Onser whispered back.

They kissed again, and again, and again — slow, warm, discovering each other at a tender pace neither wanted to rush.

Both were engrossed in each other's company, forgetting the world around them. Onser slowly positions himself on top of the smaller man, bringing his knee down between Gale’s legs and spreading them apart. 

Temperatures run hot as the pair get more aggressive, leaning into each other, hands running wild along each other’s bodies. The kisses become even more messy with all tongue and some teeth involved. Onser slowly goes from Gale’s jaw back to his neck placing little marks along the way. 

Gale is on cloud nine as his sighs get increasingly more needy once Onser gets to his chest. He tugs on it asking for permission to slip it off, Gale nods frantically as he takes his own shirt and throws it across the room to be forgotten about.  

As both were taking a moment to regain their breath, Gale uses his own weight to roll over his lover, turning the tides against the tiefling, catching him by surprise.  The poor giant man is now stunned and definitely bricked, he’s never been man handled and he’s definitely not complaining about it, having a sweaty hot wizard boyfriend definitely comes in handy in these situations. Gale starts kissing Onser’s refined jaw during which he manages to anchor the tieflings hands above his head before summoning two mage hands, Onser is in absolute bliss, hands roaming his body, exploring every inch. He’s never felt this in his entire life. Sure, he had some knowledge, but he’d never imagined it would be this type of ecstasy. Sweaty beads start to form on his forehead.

 Now Onser’s shirt was now discarded and thrown away to the pile of clothes slowly forming in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the mage hands take the wizards place and firmly, but gently, grip the paladin’s wrists. Gale guides his now free hands to the hem of his boyfriend’s pants, sliding them off with shocking ease. Onser looks up in surprise, not knowing what will come next, only to see the devilish grin plastered on the other’s face.

Gale mutters a few words under his breath, magic which is completely lost on his love and in a flash, Periwinkle (yes we named Onser’s undies) vanishes.

 The wizard slowly runs his fingers along Onser’s shaft, teasing the poor tiefling, who’s  surprisingly enjoying it more than he expected he would. Gale gently closes his fingers around it and lowers his head, stopping to meet Onser’s gaze, then carefully licks the very tip. Onser threw his back as he released a heavy groan, clearly irritated at the teasing he’s receiving, all while the Rizzard of Waterdeep keeps a steady pace. Not being able to bear the torment, the bigger man breaks free from the grasp of the conjured hands and thrusts himself all the way into boyfriend’s mouth. Gale chokes around the large sword now impaling his throat, but quickly regains his composure and adjusts his hands to help guide Onser in and out. The tiefling grabs his lover's hair, attempting to be more gentle, but keeps going inching closer and closer to the edge. Finally, he spills into Gale’s mouth, chasing his own relief and feeling even more excited seeing the scholar’s mouth full. Gale holds Onser’s gaze and swallows it in one gulp before leaning back up, cupping his face with a single hand, and kissing the Bhaalspawn, letting him taste himself. 

As Gale straddles him, Onser gathers his senses after experiencing what can only be described as euphoria for the first time. Still meeting the paladin's eyes, Gale leans in to whisper in his ear seductively,

 “Do you still have it in you to continue?” Onser shivers at close contact but nods his head regardless although he seems to have something in mind in which Gale immediately catches,

“What’s wrong?” he asked worryingly. Onser replied,

 “Nothing is wrong, my love, just never felt like this before..” as his voice trailed off into a whisper.

This did catch the wizard by surprise but he recovered rather quickly and asked in a sweet tone  “would you want to experience more then?” caressing the bigger man's face which then he replied with a soft yes and from that point on things have just escalated from playful to lustful love.

The sinful desire to make the bigger man feel things he’s never felt takes over Gale. He gets on top of the other creating a looming shadow over Onser, who’s still in a state of haziness. Gale takes his index finger and places on his lips taking some of his own spit to use as lube. Although he seems hesitant to continue, 

“Onser…are you sure?” Gale looks at his boyfriend, scanning his face and body for signs of discomfort. Onser propped up his hand to try and be eye to eye level with Gale and replied to him,

 “ I have never been so sure in my entire life.” As he dragged him into another open mouth kiss, the man began probing the hole, gently massaging the area in attempts to widen it. Slowly, Onser begins to relax, leaning into the finger and starts guiding Gale to push into the entrance. 

Squelching noises mixed with the arousal of two men who have been too touched starved for their own good. As one finger was added, a second joined earning the wizard a pleased moan. The tiefling’s hole loosened with the addition of the extra digit, which was soon joined by another, making it primed and ready for the final act.

Gale rips his remaining clothes off, and grabs hold of Onser’s waist as the mage hands keep his legs hoisted up and spread in the air. The wizard slowly inserts himself, both getting lost in the pleasure, moaning loud enough to wake all of Waterdeep. Thanks to the luxurious room Onser has bought no one really heard them.

The scholar started to rock himself back and forth, earning loud moans and incoherent babbles that are a combination of oh’s and a string of yes’s. Every thrust sent shocks down Onser’s spine and only encouraged Gale to go deeper. The man would pull nearly all the way out before slamming down balls deep into his boyfriend, erecting cries of pleasure mixed with a bit of pain. The paladin’s hole clenched around the dick ramming inside him, eager to chase his own release, 

“Wait- Gale- Im about to-” 

Before he can finish, waves of bliss wash over him and his hips buck as he releases all over himself and the one above him. Gale followed suit moments after cumming deep inside Onser before pulling out to watch it drip out of his hole.

The pair falls apart and Gale collapses on top of Onser, sliding down onto the empty space next to him. They hold each other like it’s their last night together, listening to the sound of each other’s careful breaths, and heartbeats.

Onser’s wings unfurled fully — a soft, dark cocoon draped behind Gale like a blanket that breathed.

Gale whispered into the quiet:
“Is this alright?”

Onser kissed the top of his head.

“It is everything I wanted,” he murmured.

And with Gale’s fingers gently curling into his shirt, and Gale’s warmth tucked under his arm, Onser finally — finally — closed his eyes.

He hadn’t slept peacefully in years.

But with Gale there?

He drifted off before he even realized it.

Together.

In the quiet.

In the warmth.

In a room that suddenly felt like a place where futures begin.

Morning light spilled through the stained-glass windows in bands of soft gold and deep blue. It painted the room in a peaceful glow, the kind that only comes after a night that finally eased months of tension and fear.

Gale woke first.

Or… technically, he stirred first.

Because he was very much pinned.

Onser lay half over him, one powerful arm draped across Gale’s waist, wings folded protectively around them both like a dark, warm canopy. His breathing was slow, steady — the kind of deep, unguarded sleep Gale had never seen from him.

Gale smiled softly.

Until he shifted.

And felt it.

A sharp sting on his shoulder.

He frowned, confused, because—
That wasn’t there before.

He reached up and touched the spot.

Yep.

Definitely a bruise.

A very… mouth-shaped bruise.

Gale’s heart stopped.

Then sped up dangerously.

Slowly, he checked his collarbone.

Another.

His neck.

Two more.

His jawline.

“Oh gods,” Gale whispered to himself.

Onser stirred at the sound, tightening his hold around Gale instinctively, pulling him flush against his chest.

Gale squeaked.

Another sting.

Another bruise.

Onser’s voice rumbled, low and sleep-rough.

“Are you in pain…?”

Gale froze.

“N-No,” he lied horribly.

Onser blinked himself awake, propping up on one elbow. His hair was loose, cascading around his shoulders, eyes still hazy with sleep.

He looked devastating.

Then his gaze traveled down.

To Gale’s neck.

To the bright, unmistakable marks.

To the pattern of “Onser got too carried away” written all over him.
Onser went perfectly still.

“…Gale,” he whispered, horrified. “Did I—did I do that?”

Gale turned red enough to rival an overripe tomato.

“I—well—you—yes.”

Onser flinched like he’d been stabbed. “I am so sorry. I did not intend to— I lost control and— Gale, forgive me, I—”

Gale grabbed his hand.

“Onser. It’s alright.”

“It is not,” Onser insisted, mortified. “Your mother will kill me.”

Gale’s soul briefly left his body.

“MY—MY MOTHER WILL—OH GODS—”

Both of them sat up at the same time, looking equally panicked now.

Onser:
“I bit you in visible places.”

Gale:
“Yes, you did.”

Onser:
“That is… socially unacceptable.”

Gale:
“My neck looks like I lost a fight with an affectionate vampire.”

Onser:
“I do not even remember doing this.”

Gale:
“You were… enthusiastic.”

Silence.

Onser buried his face in his hands.

“I should exile myself.”

Gale grabbed his shoulders.

“No. No exile. Absolutely no exile. We will… we will fix this. Somehow.”

Onser peeked through his fingers.

“How?”

Gale’s eyes darted to the window.

“…Scarves.”

Onser blinked. “Scarves?”

“Yes,” Gale said, nodding like a man on the verge of panic. “Or illusion magic. Or— or a high-collar robe. Or—gods, Tara is going to notice.”

As if summoned by prophecy, a muffled voice echoed from OUTSIDE the room’s window:
“GALE DEKARIOS, YOU DIDN’T COME HOME LAST NIGHT!”

Gale nearly died.

Onser sat bolt-upright, wings flaring involuntarily.

“TARA’S UP,” Gale whispered. “And she’s angry.

”
Onser whispered back, “Should I hide?”

“No—no—don’t hide—just—stand there and look guiltless—”

“I am not guiltless.”

“JUST PRETEND.”

They scrambled out of bed, both trying to make themselves look less like two men who had fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

The morning was only beginning…

And judging by Tara’s voice outside the window?

It was going to be very interesting.

Tara was still hollering outside the window like an offended rooster.

“GALE! I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING! OPEN THE WINDOW!”

Gale panicked.

Full, catastrophic wizard panic.

He whirled toward the mirror, grabbing at his neck and jaw with both hands.

“Oh gods—oh no—Onser these are everywhere, what were you doing—actually NO don’t answer that— I have to hide these—”

He snapped his fingers and a soft ripple of illusion magic shimmered over his skin.
Nothing happened.

The hickeys remained.

Bold.

Purple.

Brazen.

He gaped. “Why—why didn’t that work?!”

Onser, meanwhile…

Stretched.

A long, slow, beautifully unconcerned stretch that showed off the faint glow of his infernal markings and the relaxed roll of his shoulders — like he’d slept better than he had in years.
“Some magic does not override… heat,” he said calmly, as if discussing weather.

Gale’s jaw dropped. “Onser, that is NOT helpful!”

Onser hummed, unconcerned, scanning the room for his clothes.

Instead, he spotted something else:
a pair of soft pajama pants folded neatly on the edge of the bed.

He picked them up with two fingers.

Held them up.

And smiled.

A soft, crooked, devastatingly smug smile that said:
Yes.
I did that.
And I’m proud of it.

Gale made a strangled sound.

“That— Onser— that is not— you shouldn’t look that— pleased!”
Onser tilted his head, unfolding the pants leisurely. “Why not? You kissed me quite enthusiastically as well.”

Gale spluttered. “We are NOT talking about that right now—!”

Onser slipped on the pajama pants with unbothered grace, still wearing nothing but those and the faint glow of smugness radiating off him.

He tied the drawstring slowly.

Too slowly.

Gale covered his eyes. “Please. I’m already dying.”

Onser chuckled — actual chuckling — a deep, quiet sound that Gale had never heard from him before.

“You are adorable when flustered,” Onser murmured.

“I AM NOT—” Gale’s voice cracked. “STOP ENJOYING THIS.”

Another illusion rippled across his neck.

Still nothing.

“Why aren’t these working?!” Gale wailed. “They worked on bruises before!”

Onser leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable in those loose pajama pants.

“They are not bruises,” he said with mild amusement.

Gale froze.

“O-Oh?”

Onser nodded once. “They are marks I gave you willingly. Magic sometimes recognizes intent.”

Gale nearly combusted. “Onser Winters, you are making this WORSE—”

Another shout from outside:
“GALE! I SWEAR TO THE GODS I WILL BREAK THIS WINDOW—”

Gale threw his hands up.

“Okay—okay—fine—fine—I’ll deal with Tara first— but YOU—”

He pointed a trembling finger.

“—need to stop looking so self-satisfied.”

Onser’s smile deepened just slightly. “I do not know what you mean.”

“You absolutely know,” Gale hissed.

Onser walked over to him — slow, big, warm, confident — and brushed a thumb lightly against Gale’s jaw, right over one of the marks he left.

Gale froze, breathing stuttering.

Onser murmured, low and velvet-soft:
“I am… proud you are mine again.”

Gale nearly fell over.

“OPEN THE WINDOW THIS INSTANT!” Tara screeched.

“WE HAVE TO LET HER IN,” Gale whispered, spiraling.

Onser stepped back, utterly serene, wings relaxed.

“Yes,” he said. “And I will put on a shirt.”

Thank the gods—

“But not yet.”

Gale choked.

“ONY—NO! ON SER, PUT ON THE SHIRT NOW! SHE’S GOING TO—”

The window rattled violently.

Onser laughed.

Laughed.

And Gale realized something terrifying:

He woke up the monster of smug affection.

The window rattled.

Then rattled harder.

Then—

CRASH!!

The latch snapped clean open and Tara exploded into the room like a furry meteor, wings flared, tail puffed, eyes blazing with betrayed-housecat fury.
“GALE DEKARIOS.”

Each syllable hit like a lightning strike.

Gale shrieked. Actually shrieked.

Onser blinked, unbothered, fully expecting this outcome.

Tara hovered in the air, scanning the room like a seasoned detective surveying a crime scene.

Her gaze swept—

• rumpled sheets
• two pillows on one side of the bed
• Gale in a half-buttoned robe
• Onser in pajama pants and absolutely no shirt
• Onser’s wings relaxed
• Gale glowing red
• the kettle still cold
• he faint scent of “we definitely made out for hours”

Tara’s jaw dropped.

“Oh.

My.

GODS.”

Gale held up both hands. “It’s not— what it— looks like—”

Tara flew directly into his face.

“YOU. DID. NOT. COME. HOME.”

pap pap pap pap — she slapped his forehead lightly with both paws.

Gale wheezed. “Tara! Stop—!”

She whirled on Onser next.

“You!” she screeched. “YOU BIG, SHIRTLESS, SMUG, FAIRY-TALE NIGHTMARE OF A MAN!”

Onser blinked. “I— beg your pardon?”

“DON’T YOU BEG ANYTHING!” Tara pointed an accusatory claw at him. “YOU LEFT SIXTEEN BITE MARKS ON MY WIZARD!”

Gale shrieked again. “TARA—!”
Onser’s smugness vanished.

He froze, mortified all over again.

“I… I did not intend to— there were not sixteen— were there sixteen?”

Tara zoomed to Gale’s neck.

“One here—two—three—four—FIVE?! GALE, DO YOU HAVE A SPARE NECK I DON’T KNOW ABOUT?!”

Gale covered his face.

“Please kill me. Right now. Please.”

Onser stepped forward, genuinely concerned.

“I apologize. I did not mean to be— overly enthusiastic.”

Tara gasped dramatically.

“OH HE WAS ENTHUSIASTIC.”

“STOP SAYING THAT WORD!” Gale wailed.

“ENTHUSIASTIC! ADJECTIVE! SEE ALSO: ‘FERAL’ AND ‘VORACIOUS’—”
“TARA!!”

Tara zipped around the room in a furious loop.

“This is scandalous! This is outrageous! THIS IS—” she paused midair, eyes narrowing.
She drifted closer to Onser, sniffing him like a suspicious librarian sniffing overdue books.

“…You smell like lavender… and my wizard.”

Onser blinked. “Because he—”

“DON’T FINISH THAT SENTENCE!” Gale shouted.

Tara sighed dramatically, landing on the dresser with the grace of a judgmental queen.
“Alright. Fine. I see what happened. I am disappointed in both of you.”

Onser bowed his head. “That is fair.”

Gale groaned. “Tara—”

“But,” Tara continued, eyes gleaming with mischief,

“You do look happy.”

Gale froze.

Onser froze.

Tara smirked. “Both of you.”

Gale’s breath caught.

Onser’s wings fluttered—just once—betraying emotion he couldn’t hide.
Tara hopped closer, her tone softening for the first time.

“…It’s about time” she murmured. “I was growing tired of telling Ms. Dekarios about this”

Gale turned pale. “Mother KNEW?!”

Tara snorted. “She absolutely knew. She’s been waiting for this.” Tara flicked her tail.

“Well. Chop chop,” she said. “Get dressed. Hide the marks. Or don’t. I’m not your mother.”

Gale groaned.

Onser finally exhaled, quietly amused.

And Tara, perched like a tiny chaos deity, whispered to herself:

“…I cannot WAIT to tell Han and Whitey”

Tara hopped around the room like she owned it, wings fluttering, tail flicking, ready to interrogate more, when—

“BREAKFAST IS READY IF YOU TWO ARE STILL ALIVE!”

Morina’s voice echoed through the room again.

Except…

This time, Gale squinted.

“Wait. That didn’t sound like it came from downstairs.”

Onser tilted his head. “It did not.”

Tara perked up. “Ohhh. She used the Sending spell.”

Gale’s eyes widened in horror.

“Why would she—?!”

“Because you didn’t come home,” Tara said smugly. “She’s summoning you both. She wants you at breakfast.”

Gale covered his face with both hands.

“Oh gods. Mother knows. She definitely knows.”

Tara fluttered onto the bed.

“She absolutely knows. And she’s probably making pancakes.”

Onser, who had been standing politely like a man awaiting judgment, cleared his throat softly.

“…Tara.”

“Yes?”

“Leave.”

Tara’s wings drooped. “Excuse me?”

“Please,” Onser added, ever the gentleman. “We require rest.”

Tara blinked.

“…Are you kicking me out?”

“Yes,” Onser said, politely, calmly, with the full authority of a man who had survived Avernus and worse. “You may return shortly. But we require privacy.”

Gale nearly died on the spot.

“Onser! You can’t just— she’s— Tara’s—”

Tara puffed up, ready to be offended—

Then blinked.

Then gave a little shrug.

“Honestly? Fair.”

She hopped toward the window.

“But I’m telling Morina everything—”

“TARA.” Gale choked.

“—except maybe the biting, that part can be our little secret—”

“GET OUT,” Gale squeaked.

Chapter Text

Tara hissed happily and zipped out the window with a flourish of feathers.

The moment she was gone, the room fell into blessed silence.

Onser exhaled through his nose with visible relief.

“She is… energetic.”

Gale flopped face-down on the bed.

“I cannot believe this is happening.”

Onser walked over and sat on the edge of the bed — careful, composed, gentle.

“Gale.”

A muffled groan answered him.

Onser placed a hand on Gale’s back, rubbing slow, careful circles.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed.”

“That,” Gale said into the sheets, “is not true. There are many reasons. So many reasons. My mother summoned us. Tara is telling her everything. YOU—”

He lifted his head with an accusing glare, cheeks still bright red,

“—are walking around with a smug look because you— you— marked me.”

Onser’s ears tinted a faint shade of lavender.

“…I did not mean to be smug.”

“You absolutely were.”

Onser cleared his throat.

“That was unintentional.”

Gale pushed himself upright with a sigh.

“…You’re impossible.”

Onser’s expression softened. “And you are very dramatic.”

“I AM NOT—”

Onser gently pressed a finger to Gale’s lips.

Gale froze.

The room went silent for a moment.

“You worry too much,” Onser murmured. “Your mother likes you. She likes me. She will not judge.”

Gale just stared at him.

“You don’t know my mother,” he whispered.

Onser smiled — soft, warm, and far too handsome for Gale’s sanity.

“Perhaps,” he said, “but I know she wants us to come for breakfast.”

Gale groaned. “Yes, and she knows what happened.”

“Then we will be honest,” Onser said simply.

“Absolutely not,” Gale shot back immediately.

Onser chuckled — actually chuckled — and stood, stretching his wings subtly before tucking them back.

He offered Gale a hand.

“Come. Rest for a while. We will face her after.”

Gale hesitated.

Then took his hand, letting Onser pull him close again.

He leaned against the tiefling’s chest with a defeated sigh.

“…Just for a bit.”

Onser wrapped an arm around him, protective and warm.

“Just for a bit,” he echoed.

And for the first time since waking, Gale allowed himself to relax — embarrassment, marks, magical summons and all — in the warmth of Onser’s arms.

After Tara flew off like the world’s loudest magical alarm, the room finally settled again. Quiet. Soft. Safe.

Gale let himself fall back into the pillows with a long exhale, exhaustion finally catching him now that panic wasn’t chewing a hole through his soul.

Onser — calm, grounded, warm like a living furnace — lay down beside him without a word.

He didn’t reach, didn’t assume, didn’t crowd.

He simply opened one arm in silent invitation.

Gale melted into him instantly.

Their bodies fit together so naturally it made Gale shiver.

One of Onser’s wings draped half around them, low and relaxed like a blanket made of warm shadow.

His arm wrapped securely around Gale’s waist, thumb stroking slow circles against the fabric of Gale’s robe.

Gale tucked his face into Onser’s chest.

Onser pressed his chin lightly to the top of Gale’s head.

The world outside didn’t matter for a moment.

Only breath.

Only warmth.

Only the deep, steady rhythm of two people who had been waiting too long.
A

fter a few minutes, Gale’s embarrassment returned in a soft wave.

He mumbled against Onser’s collarbone, “I can’t believe you… actually… bit me.”

Onser’s arms tightened softly, the smallest smile in his voice.
“I did not mean to be rough,” he murmured. “It was… instinct. I became overwhelmed.”

Gale lifted his head just enough to glare at him — though it was the weakest, softest glare he had ever given.

“You bit my neck, Onser.”

“I know,” Onser said, gently unapologetic.

“You bit it several times.”

“I know.”

“And my collarbone.”

Onser paused. “…Yes.”

“And my—”

Onser leaned in and kissed Gale briefly to stop the rant.

A soft, warm, morning kiss.

Barely more than a breath.

Gale’s face went red again and he hid under the blankets.

Onser chuckled — a low, warm rumble in his chest — and tugged him back gently.
“It will fade,” he said reassuringly. “They are normal marks. Harmless. They will disappear in a few days.”

Gale peeked out. “A few days?!”

Onser nodded. “I heal cleanly, but I do not harm deeply. They are the kind that fade quickly.”

“I cannot believe you’re explaining this so calmly,” Gale groaned.

Onser stroked Gale’s hair. “I do not regret showing affection.”

Gale’s heart did a strange, soft flip.

“But,” Onser added, “if it causes you trouble, I will refrain.”

Gale immediately grabbed his arm. “No— I didn’t say that.”

Onser’s eyes softened. “Good.”

They lay quietly again, Gale curled into Onser’s chest like a warm cat, Onser’s fingers combing through Gale’s hair in long, soothing strokes.

After a while, Gale sighed.

“…I suppose we should get up.”

Onser hummed. “If you wish.”

“My mother is going to… look at me. And she’s going to know.”

Onser brushed his thumb gently along Gale’s jaw.

“She already knows.”

Gale groaned.
“Exactly.”

Onser tilted his head. “You are embarrassed.”

“Yes.”

“There is no shame in what happened,” Onser said softly, voice steady like a warm, protective anchor. “We were… together. Consensually. Honestly.”

Gale swallowed.

“…You make it sound less terrifying when you put it that way.”

Onser kissed his forehead.

“I will be with you the entire time.”

Gale exhaled, tension easing a little.

“…Alright.”

He finally pushed the covers back and sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair.
“We get ready,” Gale declared half-heartedly, “and we face my mother like adults.”

Onser nodded firmly. “Yes.”

Gale pointed a trembling finger. “And you— put on a shirt before she sees you like this.”

Onser smirked. “As you wish.”

Gale’s soul left his body for a moment.

But he got up anyway.

Because if the day was going to be chaotic…

At least he wasn’t facing it alone.

Gale stood in front of the wardrobe, staring at the row of Onser’s neatly folded shirts as if they were sentient objects judging him.

“…I can’t believe I’m considering this,” he muttered.

Behind him, Onser tied his hair back again, calmly buttoning up his own shirt — dark, fitted, elegant in the way everything looked elegant on him.

“You may borrow one,” Onser said gently. “If it makes you more comfortable.”

Gale hesitated.

His own robe had too wide a collar.

Too open around the neck.

Way too easy for a mother to see the constellation of very enthusiastic marks along his skin.

He swallowed, cheeks warm.

“…Alright,” he said softly. “Just… something with a high collar. Very high. Extremely.”
Onser stepped beside him and pulled out a folded deep blue tunic from the bottom shelf.
“This one,” Onser suggested. “It was made for formal events. It should… hide what is needed.”

Gale accepted it gingerly, as though it were sacred.

He slipped it on.

And paused.

Because it actually… fit.

A bit loose around the shoulders, sure — Onser was built like a marble statue come to life — but the cut was elegant, the fabric soft, the color flattering.

Gale turned to the mirror.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Behind him, Onser’s reflection softened with unmistakable pride.

“It suits you,” Onser said quietly.

Gale’s ears burned. “Don’t say that.”

“It is true.”

“Onser—”

“It looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Gale nearly combusted.

He tugged the collar up to hide the last visible mark.

Stared at himself one last time.

And exhaled.

“…Alright. Let’s… do this.”

Onser nodded and finished lacing the front of his own coat — a deep charcoal gray embroidered in silver, wings tucked perfectly beneath the hidden seams, his posture straight and calm.

He looked dignified.

Elegant.

Composed.

Gale, wearing his clothes, looked like he belonged beside him.

They stepped out of the room together, the door softly clicking shut behind them.
As they descended the staircase, Gale nervously adjusted the collar for the fifth time.
Onser, by contrast, walked with that grounded, calm confidence that always made Gale feel a little safer than he cared to admit.

At the bottom of the stairs, the inn’s cleric — the sweet elf woman with short black hair — looked up from her ledger.

When her eyes landed on the two men descending, she brightened instantly.

“Oh! Good morning, sirs! Did you sleep well?”

Gale nearly tripped

.
Onser nodded deeply. “Very. Thank you.”

The cleric’s smile widened — soft and warm, not judging, not prying.
Just genuinely happy to see them.

“And you both look wonderful today,” she added. “Matching colors!”

Gale and Onser froze.

Gale looked down.

Onser looked down.

They did match.

Deep blue.

Silver.

Soft gray.

Everything coordinated without any intention behind it.

Gale made a noise somewhere between a cough and a scream.

“Y-Yes—well—we, uh—”

Onser stepped in smoothly.

“We will be taking our leave.”

“Of course,” the cleric chimed. “Have a beautiful morning.”

Gale nodded too quickly, too stiffly. “Thank you! You as well!”

And then escaped through the door before he imploded.

The air was cool and fresh, the sun just brushing the rooftops. Gale took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

Onser stepped beside him, calm as the dawn itself.

“You look good,” Onser murmured.

Gale groaned into his hands. “Please. I’m already barely holding it together.”

Onser gently pried his hands away and offered his arm.

“We will face your mother together,” he said, steady and warm.

Gale hesitated—

Then took Onser’s arm, letting himself lean just slightly into the warmth.

“…Alright,” Gale said softly. “Together.”

And the two of them walked toward Morina’s home—

elegant, matching, calm on one side and internally screaming on the other— a pair already so naturally intertwined that even the morning breeze seemed to move around them gently.

They hadn’t been walking more than three minutes.

Three minutes.

That was all it took for Gale to go from “I can do this” to “I will dig a hole and never emerge.”

Because Onser…

Onser was in rare form.

Elegant coat.

Calm stride.

A gentle hand occasionally brushing Gale’s back to guide him around puddles.

And that expression.

That unbelievably smug, softened, I-love-you-and-I-know-what-I-did expression.
“Your collar is slipping,” Onser murmured, reaching out to adjust it with delicate fingers.
Gale slapped his hand away so fast he nearly broke it. “NO—thank you—I’m fine—we’re fine—LET ME HANDLE IT.”

Onser made a low hum of amusement. “Very well.”

Gale tugged the collar up again.

And again.

And again.

Onser watched every attempt with quiet delight.

After a moment, he tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Gale,” he said gently, “your neck appears to be glowing.”

Gale slapped both hands over his throat.

“NO IT’S NOT— IT’S FINE— EVERYTHING’S FINE—STOP LOOKING AT ME—”

Onser bit his lip, fighting a smile. Truly trying.

Failing horribly.

“I only meant,” he said calmly, “that perhaps we should stop by the apothecary. A simple tonic would shorten the healing—”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Onser blinked innocently. “It is common practice. The pharmacist is close by. A salve would remove them in a day.”

“A DAY?!” Gale squeaked. “ONE DAY?!”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

Onser paused. “No?”

“No!” Gale repeated, scandalized. “We are NOT going to a pharmacist to explain why I have very obvious— marks— on my neck! They’ll ask questions! They ALWAYS ask questions!”

Onser tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“Then perhaps you should not have reacted so enthusiastically—”

Gale’s entire face turned crimson. “ON—SER—!”

“I am simply stating fact.”

“STOP STATING FACTS!”

Onser leaned slightly closer.

“Do you wish them to remain?”

Gale sputtered. “NO—YES—I—DON’T ASK ME THINGS—”

Onser smiled.

Not a big smile.

Not a smirk.

Just… warm, amused, gentle—and yes, smug.

“You are adorable,” he said.

Gale covered his face with both hands, walking blindly for several paces as his brain melted out of his ears.

“I am going to perish,” Gale muttered. “My mother is going to see. Tara is going to say something embarrassing. And YOU—”

he jabbed a finger toward Onser’s chest

“—are enjoying this far too much.”

Onser placed a hand over his heart. “I am innocent.”

“You are NOT.”

Onser leaned close enough that Gale could feel the warmth from his skin.

“I cannot help that I find you charming when flustered.”

Gale choked on air.

Onser straightened, completely satisfied with the chaos he’d caused.

“Would you like me to carry you the rest of the way?” he asked politely.

“NO.”

“Would you like me to shield you with my wings?”

“STOP TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC AT ME—I AM TOO FLUSTERED TO FUNCTION.”

Onser chuckled.

Actually chuckled.

People in the street turned because a sound like that from a man like him was rare and unfairly attractive.

Gale glared at him.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Onser showed the faintest hint of fang when he smiled.

“Correct.”

Gale nearly tripped.

But Onser steadied him with a hand at his waist.

“Careful,” the tiefling murmured. “I would hate for you to fall. You bruise easily.”

“YOU BRUISED ME!”

Onser looked down at him, eyes warm and soft.

“…I know.”

And Gale’s legs nearly gave out.

By the time they reached Morina’s neighborhood, Gale was a trembling, red-eared disaster, and Onser… was the calmest, smuggest, most affectionate menace Waterdeep had ever seen.

They were only two blocks from Morina’s home when Onser slowed his stride, eyes narrowing just a little.

Gale didn’t notice at first.

He was too busy panicking about the state of his neck, tugging at his borrowed tunic for the fifteenth time.

But Onser noticed.

He always noticed.

The slight wobble in Gale’s steps.

The way his knees dipped a fraction too much with each cobblestone.

The tiny, breathy exhale every time Onser said something even remotely teasing.
Onser watched him for a full three seconds.

Then made a decision.

“Oh NO— don’t you—” Gale began.

Too late.

Onser leaned down, one arm sliding effortlessly behind Gale’s back, the other under his knees, and lifted him clean off the ground.

Gale let out a sound so high-pitched it offended at least two pigeons.

“ON—SER—!! PUT ME DOWN—I CAN WALK—”

Onser adjusted his hold easily, as if Gale weighed no more than a stack of books. The wizard’s arms went around Onser’s neck entirely by accident, purely instinct — which only made Onser’s smile widen.

“You were wobbling,” Onser said calmly. “I am ensuring your safety.”

“I WAS NOT WOBBLING— I WAS— I WAS— THINKING!”

Onser hummed. “Interesting. Your balance worsens when you think?”

Gale smacked his shoulder.

“STOP TEASING ME!”

Onser ignored that.

Or rather… enjoyed it.

He shifted Gale a little higher, holding him comfortably against his chest, like this was the most normal, practical solution in the world.

“Relax,” Onser murmured, voice a warm rumble. “I have you.”

“I—gods—Onser—there are PEOPLE—people are LOOKING—”

Yes.

Yes, they were.

Waterdeep pedestrians stopped mid-stride. A few gasped. One person whispered, “Oh my— is that the handsome wizard from the south ward?!” Another said, “Is that the tall tiefling from the Inn?? He’s carrying a whole man—”

Gale wanted to evaporate.

Onser?

Onser walked on like this was simply gravity behaving as expected.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Gale hissed at him.

Onser leaned down slightly, lowering his voice so only Gale could hear.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Gale’s breath hitched.

“And,” Onser added, “I enjoy that you cling to me.”

Gale made an inhuman noise and buried his face in Onser’s shoulder.
“Stop,” Gale begged weakly, “please— you are enjoying this too much.”

Onser’s tail flicked behind him, betraying his delight.

“You are light,” he said. “I forget you are nearly my height.”

“NEARLY?! We’re one inch apart!”

“Eight,” Onser corrected.

Gale nearly died.

They turned the final corner and Morina’s home came into view — a warm, ivy-covered cottage with soft lanterns glowing in the windows.

Gale stiffened in Onser’s arms.

“Oh gods—put me down—put me down RIGHT NOW.”

Onser stopped.

Then, with the tenderness of someone placing a precious artifact, he slowly lowered Gale to the ground.

Gale swayed.

Onser caught him by the waist immediately.

“You see?” Onser murmured, leaning in. “Still unsteady.”

Gale slapped both cheeks with his hands. “I HATE THIS.”

Onser smiled — soft, smug, stupidly in love.

“I know.”

And right as Gale gathered the last scraps of dignity he had left…

…the door opened.

And Morina stood there.

Staring at Gale’s flustered red face.

Staring at Onser’s hands gently holding his waist.

Staring at the matching outfits.

Staring at the wobbly wizard who had clearly been carried.

Her eyebrows rose slowly.

“Boys,” she said.

“I see you’ve arrived.”

Gale squeaked.

Onser bowed politely.

The morning had officially begun.

Morina stood at the door, one hand on her hip, the other holding a tea towel she just so happened to be wringing out like she was preparing to interrogate a suspect.

Her gaze swept over the two men standing on her doorstep.

Gale: flushed, breathless, adjusting his borrowed tunic like it was his last line of defense

Onser: composed, hands still gently steadying the wizard’s waist

Both dressed in coordinated colors

Both looking suspiciously… happy

Both radiating “we did not sleep in separate beds” energy

Morina’s eyebrow rose to dangerous heights.

“Well,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, “you two look very… refreshed.”

Gale nearly swallowed his tongue.

“MOTHER—!!”

Onser stepped forward with the utmost decorum.

“Good morning, Ms. Dekarios. Thank you for having us—”

Morina held up a hand.

“Onser sweetheart.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She squinted at Gale’s collar.

“Why is my son hiding his neck like a terrified church mouse?”

Gale made a dying-hydra noise. “MOTHER!”

“Gale,” Morina said, voice flat, “I gave birth to you. You cannot hide anything from me.”

Onser opened his mouth to intervene — politely, respectfully — but Tara swooped down from the rooftop like the most unhelpful herald in history.

“GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE!” Tara shrieked.

“I SEE YOU FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND—”

“TARA!!!” Gale screamed.

Onser blinked. “Boyfriend?”

Morina folded her arms, nodding approvingly.

“Yes, Tara. That is the correct term.”

Gale nearly passed out.

“MOTHER— PLEASE—!”

Morina turned to him with the icy patience of someone who had raised a magical prodigy with no sense of subtlety.

“Gale Dekarios,” she said. “If you did not want me to make assumptions, you should not have spent the night in another man’s bed.”

“MOT—HER—!”

Onser stepped forward quickly, bowing his head.

“I assure you, ma’am, it was entirely consensual—”

“MOTHER I AM GOING TO DIE,” Gale hissed, burying his face in both hands.
Morina blinked. “I assumed it was consensual, darling. I’m your mother, not a fool.”
Tara added helpfully,

“He bit him.”

Gale screamed like a boiling kettle.

Onser instantly straightened, mortified.

“That was accidental—mostly accidental—”

“Accidental?” Morina asked, eyes widening.

Onser cleared his throat. “I became… overly enthusiastic.”

Gale clutched Onser’s sleeve in pure shame. “STOP TALKING.”

Morina’s lips twitched.

She was enjoying this.

A lot.

“Come in,” she said sweetly. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

Gale, pink from forehead to collar, shuffled in like a man being led to execution.

Onser followed behind him, still trying to maintain composure but blushing faintly at the ears.

Tara flapped triumphantly after them.

As they entered the warm kitchen, Morina leaned toward Onser.

“So,” she whispered, “how serious is this?”

Gale dropped a plate.

Onser, without missing a beat, said softly:

“I am quite serious, ma’am.”

Gale dropped another plate.

Tara screeched with laughter.

Morina smiled, warm and sharp.

“Good,” she said. “I prefer it when my son is loved properly.”

Gale fainted into a chair.

Onser caught him before he hit the floor.

Breakfast officially began.

Gale sat at the table like a man awaiting trial.

Elbows tucked in.

Collar pulled unnaturally high.

Face red enough to cook on.

Hair slightly mussed despite his frantic attempts to smooth it.

Across from him, Onser sat with perfect posture — calm, polite, wings tucked tightly behind him like the respectful gentleman he was.

Tara lounged on the counter like a cat who had orchestrated all of this personally.

Morina placed a plate of pancakes in front of Onser with a warm smile.

“You eat, dear. You look like you need it.”

Onser bowed his head gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She turned to Gale.

“You. Sit up straight.”

Gale jerked upright like a marionette.

“MOTHER—”

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” she said, waving a wooden spoon. “You come home after nine months with nothing but a letter, disappear all day, don’t come home last night, and appear on my doorstep being carried by a very large man— you will eat breakfast and you will sit up straight.”

Tara snorted so hard she almost fell off the counter.

Onser coughed politely into his hand.

“Ms. Dekarios,” he began gently, “if I may explain—”

Morina cut him off immediately.

“You may not explain,” she said, placing a plate in front of Gale, “because I already know everything.”

Gale froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“How…?” he whispered.

Morina leaned in close.

“I’m your mother.”

Gale made a noise like a kettle hitting critical pressure.

Onser hid a smile.

Morina settled gracefully across from them, sipping her tea.

“So, Onser,” she said, tone sugar-sweet, “when exactly did you decide my son was worth chasing all the way to Waterdeep?”

Gale dropped his fork.

Onser didn’t blink. “Immediately after he left.”

Gale choked on air.

Morina smiled approvingly. “Good. And when did you two finally confess?”

Onser: “Back when we were fighting the Absolute… I didn’t have to search for him. He was right there, side-by-side with me. And after it was all over— he was just gone. No goodbye, no trace. It felt like winning the war and losing the only thing that mattered. ”

Gale: “MOTHER— PLEASE—”

Morina gave him a look. “Darling, he confessed again in a luxury inn room. There is no hiding anything from me at this point.”

Tara chimed in. “He left marks.”

Gale slapped his forehead against the table. “TARA—PLEASE—”

Onser looked like he wanted to crawl under the table, but he managed a very quiet, mortified:

“I did.”

Morina raised one eyebrow. “Enthusiastic, were we?”

Onser’s ears flushed purple.

Gale looked ready to ascend into the Weave to escape.

“MOTHER,” Gale pleaded, “stop talking about my— my— neck.”

Morina shrugged. “I could talk about something else.”

“No—no that’s worse—”

Onser gently placed a hand on Gale’s back, rubbing soothing circles.

“It is alright.”

“No it’s not,” Gale muttered into the tablecloth. “I’m living a nightmare.”

“It’s breakfast,” Onser corrected softly.

“That doesn’t help—”

Morina’s expression shifted, turning warm and genuinely gentle.

“Gale,” she said quietly, “darling… look at me.”

Gale reluctantly lifted his head.

She reached across the table and touched his cheek with a mother’s softness.
“You look happy,” she whispered. “And I haven’t seen that in a long time.”

Gale’s breath caught.

Onser stilled.

Tara actually shut up.

Morina continued:
“You have someone who crossed cities, oceans, and nine months of worry to reach you. Someone who clearly adores you—”

Onser stiffened slightly, eyes softening at her words.

“—and someone who can carry you without breaking his back.”

Gale face-planted again.

“MOM—”

But she kept talking.

“And someone,” she said with a nod to Onser, “who looks at you like you’re the first sunrise he’s ever seen.”

Gale froze.

Onser inhaled sharply, eyes flicking down in quiet, stunned vulnerability.

“…That is true,” he said softly.

Gale turned scarlet.

Morina clapped her hands.

“Alright! Eat up before it gets cold!”

Gale, still hiding behind his hair, finally began to nibble his pancakes like a shy woodland creature.

Onser ate politely, occasionally brushing Gale’s hand under the table.

Gale jolted each time, shooting him a look that said not in front of my mother—

Onser only smiled with that gentle, maddening warmth.

Tara leaned over the table.

“So when’s the wedding?”

Gale threw his fork at her.

Breakfast ended with Gale quietly nibbling the last bit of pancake while trying to hide behind his hair, Onser finishing his tea with polite precision, and Morina humming contently because her son was clearly loved and flustered.

When the dishes were cleared, Gale stood.

“I’ll wash,” he said quickly, eager to do something other than exist under his mother’s knowing gaze.

Onser rose with him.

“I will help.”

Morina beamed. “What lovely young men.”

Gale nearly dropped a plate.

The two of them worked side by side at the sink:
Gale washing carefully
Onser drying with a cloth, hands gentle despite their size
Their shoulders brushing every few moments
A warm silence settling around them like soft sunlight

Gale risked a glance up at Onser.

Onser met his eyes.

Both looked away immediately, cheeks warm.

Morina, observing from the table, fought the urge to squeal like a sixteen-year-old with a romance novel.

Because of course she did.

The tressym strutted into the kitchen with the swagger of someone who owns the house and has every intention of making someone scream.

“Well!” Tara shouted, hopping onto the counter.

“If I don’t sprint to the nearest post office, Han and Whitey won’t hear the news until next week!”

Gale froze mid-dish.

Onser froze mid-dry.

Tara lifted her nose smugly.

“And I am absolutely sending a message. Right now. Immediately. With details.”

Gale whispered, “Oh NO—”

Han and Whitey were—

Put simply:

Menaces.

If Tara told them anything, Gale would be receiving teasing letters until the end of time.
Tara spread her wings in preparation.

“Off to the message courier I go—”

She got two wingbeats into the air before—

SCOOP.

A large tiefling hand caught her mid-flight.

Tara squawked, legs flailing wildly.

“HEY—HEY—UNHAND ME—”

Onser held her gently but firmly, one arm trapping her like she was a rebellious kitten.

“No,” Onser said simply.

Tara whipped around in horror.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO?! ONSER WINTERS, YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT OR I—”

“You will not tell them,” Onser said calmly.

Tara gasped indignantly.

“This is CENSORSHIP! INJUSTICE! A VIOLATION OF TRESSYM RIGHTS—”

Gale slapped a hand over his face. “Please, Onser, PLEASE don’t let her—”

“I will not,” Onser said, tightening his hold.

Tara thrashed dramatically.

“HAN AND WHITEY DESERVE THE TRUTH—”

Gale wheezed. “THEY WILL DESTROY ME, TARA—”

Tara hissed. “That’s the POINT!”

Onser brought her eye level with him, expression calm and unbothered.

“You will not,” he repeated.

Tara blinked.

Because suddenly she remembered:
This was a man who had dragged devils by their horns and walked out of Avernus in one piece.

She deflated instantly.

“…Fine.”

Gale sagged with relief.

“Oh thank the gods—”

But Tara wasn’t done.

She stabbed a paw at Onser’s chest.

“BUT I WILL TELL THEM EVENTUALLY.”

Onser shrugged. “Eventually is acceptable.”

Gale squeaked. “NO IT ISN’T—”

Tara smirked.

“Shouldn’t have bitten him then.”

Gale nearly passed out.

Morina coughed delicately into her tea, trying not to laugh.

Onser set Tara gently back on the floor like a creature who had been successfully subdued.
Tara fluffed her wings, offended, but respected.

Gale slumped over the sink.

“I’m never living this down.”

Onser placed a calming hand on his back.

“You will be fine.”

“No, I won’t.”

Morina called sweetly from the table,

“You will, darling. Now dry your hands. I want to give Onser the tour.”

Gale froze.

Onser straightened.

Tara grinned like a demon who had gotten her second wind.

“Oh this,” Tara whispered, “is going to be GOOD.”

While Gale and Tara bickered in circles—Gale waving a dish towel like a surrender flag, Tara threatening to bite ankles—the kitchen grew warm with domestic chaos.

Morina watched them with amused fondness… until she noticed that Onser was standing oddly still, drying a plate that had been dry for at least a full minute.

His eyes were distant.

Thinking.

And Morina, who had raised an anxious, brilliant son, recognized the look of someone gathering courage.

She touched his arm gently.

“Onser, dear? Are you alright?”

He blinked back to the present and lowered the plate.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I simply… wished to speak to you.”

Morina straightened.

Gale froze mid-argument, wide-eyed.

Tara paused mid-hiss.

Onser continued, his voice steady — but quieter than before.

“There is something you should know about me, ma’am. Before you decide whether I am fit to be beside your son.”

Morina’s face softened.

“Onser, sweetheart… nothing you say will frighten me.”

He dipped his head politely… and began.

“I was not born here,” he said. “Nor in any mortal kingdom.”

He inhaled slowly.

“I was born in Avernus.”

The room went still.

Even Tara shut her mouth.

Onser went on, calm but with a faint tremor at the edges of his voice.
“My father was a Mephistopheles tiefling. A… powerful one.”

Morina’s eyes flickered with recognition

“Yes,” Onser confirmed. “Him.”

Gale felt his heart tighten.

Onser continued.

“My mother was a siren who fled her throne before I was born. She raised me in a human village far from her own people. We were outcasts — always. Humans feared me for my infernal blood… my size… my father’s reputation.”

His jaw tightened in memory.

“They stared. Then they whispered. Then… they acted.”

The way he said that made Morina’s chest ache.

“They beat me,” Onser said simply. “Often. For nothing I did — only for what I was.”
He lifted one hand as if remembering the old scars.

“I did not understand why I was seen as a devil. So I became what they believed. A troublemaker. A reckless one.”

His voice softened to something almost fragile.

“My mother… signed me into the military when she grew ill. To straighten me. Protect me. Prepare me.”

He swallowed.

“And then… she died.”

Gale moved closer without thinking. One step, then another.

Onser’s wings twitched — just slightly — at the comfort.

“I visited her grave often,” he murmured. “Though sometimes… I still feel she is alive somewhere. But the facts say otherwise.”

He lowered his eyes.

“So… this is who I am, Ms. Dekarios. This is the heritage that follows me everywhere. The reason many fear me on sight.”

A pause.

“I understand if it concerns you.”

Morina did not hesitate.

She stepped closer to Onser — and placed a warm hand on his cheek.

Not fearful.

Not cautious.

Just soft and steady, like a mother reaching for a child who needed gentleness.

“Onser,” she said quietly, “look at me.”

He did.

And she smiled — warm, fierce, unshaken.

“Your birthplace is not a crime. Your father’s name is not your burden. And your mother… seems to have loved you fiercely.”

Onser’s throat bobbed.

“You are standing here,” Morina said, “a man who crossed half the world for someone he loves. A man who protects. Who cares. Who is gentle despite being shaped by cruelty.”

She squeezed his hand.

“That tells me everything I need to know.”

Gale, who had been frozen in place, suddenly reached Onser’s side and gently rested a hand on his arm.

Onser looked almost overwhelmed.

Tara sniffed from the counter.

“…Ugh. Emotional humans. I mean. Mostly human.”

Morina swatted her with a tea towel.

Onser exhaled, a long, slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly. “I did not know how you would react.”

Morina cupped his cheek again.

“Sweetheart… you’re family now.”

Gale blinked rapidly.

Tara grinned.

Onser froze.

“F-family?” he echoed, quietly stunned.

Morina smiled brighter.

“Yes. Family. And we protect our own here.”

Onser lowered his head, trying to hide the way his eyes shone — but Gale saw it.
He stepped in closer, brushing Onser’s arm with his own.

“See?” Gale whispered. “Told you she wouldn’t be afraid.”

Onser didn’t speak.

But he reached over and took Gale’s hand — gently, reverently — and held it like something he had spent decades searching for.

Morina listened with quiet intensity as Onser’s fingers curled slightly against his knee — not with fear, but with the weight of memory.

Gale stood close, one hand brushing Onser’s arm in silent encouragement.
Onser drew a breath.

“There is more,” he said softly. “Much more.”

Morina nodded gently. “I am listening.”

Tara flopped onto the table dramatically.

“Oh boy, here comes the part where he downplays everything.”

Onser flicked her a mildly annoyed glance before continuing.

“You’ve likely heard stories,” Onser said quietly.

“About the Order’s top operatives. The trio. The ones who always returned.”

Morina blinked. “You mean—The warrior with a big heart? Flying elf who seemed like an angel? You? That trio?”

Even Gale stiffened. “…Wait, that was you?”

Onser nodded once.

“We never named ourselves. Others did. ‘The Three Who Never Fell.’”

Morina’s eyes widened.

Onser went on, voice steady but shadowed with truth:
“The Order used us for their harshest work. High-risk missions. Retrievals. Cleansings.”
A pause.

“And sometimes… things no mortal should be asked to do.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.

Gale’s fingers tightened slightly around his sleeve.

Onser glanced at Tara, then Morina, then Gale.

“These two—Han and Whitey—they were… everything. My family long before I knew what the word meant.”

His expression softened in a way Gale rarely saw.

“Han Wolfridge. The high elf with the impossible smile. She found her younger brother, Lorain, trapped inside an enchanted compass — the last living piece of her family after their village fell to a god’s curse.”

Morina gasped softly.

“She carried that compass everywhere,” Onser continued. “Spoke to it. Sang to it. Refused to abandon him even when we begged her to rest.”

“And she found a way?” Morina whispered.

“Yes,” Onser said. “She freed him on her mission. After decades of searching.”
Tara sniffed. “Han cries anytime she remembers that story.”

Gale smiled faintly.

Then Onser went on.

“Whitey Lunaris. Half-elven, sarcastic menace, could sleep in the branches of a tree during a storm and wake up refreshed. She was sent alone to a frozen temple to defeat an ancient giant’s restless spirit.”

“And she survived?” Gale asked, eyes widening.

“She teased us about the weather when she returned,” Onser said with a chuckle. “That was Whitey.”

Morina smiled softly. “And you, dear?”

Silence.

Then—

Onser lowered his gaze.

“I was sent to the Hells,” he said quietly.

“Again.”

Gale’s breath hitched.

Tara sat up straighter.

“To complete the Ledger,” Onser continued.

“The Order’s oldest and most cursed record.”

Morina frowned. “Ledger…?”

“The Order’s debt book,” Gale murmured. “It catalogs every soul stolen, trapped, or traded in foul pacts.”

“Yes,” Onser said. “And I was sent to retrieve what was owed.”

He didn’t describe how.

He didn’t need to.

The weight in his voice said enough.

“I went back to Avernus. Walked the same land I was born in. Brought back the souls I could. Ended the debts of those who suffered unjustly.”

He drew a slow breath.

“And I came back.”

“But…” Morina said softly. “Not with the others?”

Onser shook his head.

“They returned after months.”

A pause.

“I… returned after years.”

Gale felt a twist in his chest.

“But when I came back,” Onser said quietly, “Han and Whitey waited for me. They refused to let the Order declare me dead. Han cried for days when i showed up.”

Onser offered a small smile.

“Yes. She nearly broke my ribs hugging me.”

Morina reached across the table and placed her hand over his.

“Onser,” she said, voice gentle but full of steel, “what you survived… what you endured… it does not make you unworthy of love.”

Onser’s throat tightened.

Gale stepped closer, placing a hand on Onser’s shoulder — steady, warm, grounding.
“You came back,” Gale whispered. “That’s what matters.”

Onser looked at him — eyes stormy with memories, softened by affection.

“And now,” Morina added, lifting her chin proudly, “you’re here. You’re safe. And you’re loved… by people who see you, not your blood, not your past, not your scars.”

Onser’s breath caught.

Because for the first time in a very long time—

He believed her.

The kitchen had gone quiet.

Gale stood close to Onser, his hand still resting on the tiefling’s sleeve. Tara watched from the counter, tail flicking with a strangely subdued softness.

Morina stared at Onser for a long, thoughtful heartbeat.

Then she did something he did not expect.

She stepped forward.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

With the gentle certainty of someone who had already decided something important.
And she opened her arms.

Onser blinked.

He literally blinked — once, twice — utterly confused.

“Come here,” Morina murmured. “I’m not asking.”

Gale nearly choked on air.

“M—Mother—he might not—”

But Onser was already moving.

Carefully.

Almost numbly.

Like a man drawn forward by something he didn’t understand.

He stopped just in front of her, towering over her by more than a foot.

“Is this… appropriate?” Onser asked softly.

Morina let out a warm, breathy laugh and reached up to cup his cheek.

“My dear boy,” she whispered, “you’ve been starving for comfort since you were a child.”

Onser’s breath hitched.

Before he could retreat, question, or apologize—

Morina wrapped her arms around him.

Fully. Firmly. Without hesitation.

For a moment, Onser stood stiff as stone, wings tensed, breath frozen.

Then—

Something broke open.

His shoulders dropped.

His chest loosened.

A shudder ran through him — quiet, barely there, but real.

And he leaned forward.

Gently at first.

Then completely.

Not crushing her, not overwhelming her — just folding, slowly, like he’d forgotten how to melt into someone’s arms.

Morina’s hand rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“You deserve softness,” she murmured into his chest.

“You’ve carried too much alone.”

Onser inhaled sharply, and for the first time Gale had ever seen—

He looked young.

Not small — he could never be small — but young in that raw, aching way someone looks when finally shown kindness they’ve never been given before.

“I…” Onser managed, voice rough, “I do not know how to… accept this.”

“That’s alright,” Morina whispered. “We accept it for you.”

Gale’s eyes stung.

Tara sniffed dramatically. “Yuck. Emotions.”

But even she looked touched.

Onser slowly, carefully lifted one arm and returned the hug — gentle, reverent, like he was afraid of breaking her.

Morina patted his back with a firm, motherly thump.

“There,” she whispered.

“Now you know. You have family here too.”

Onser’s eyes shut.

“…Thank you,” he breathed, voice low and shaken.

Gale smiled softly — full of affection, pride, and something deeper he wasn’t ready to name out loud.

Morina stepped back at last, cupping Onser’s face again.

“You take care of my son,” she said.

Onser nodded immediately.

“With everything I have.”

Gale’s breath caught.

Tara rolled her eyes. “Oh great, now I’m crying.”

Morina shot her a look. “You don’t even have tear ducts.”

“Let me DREAM.”

Onser let out a soft, quiet laugh — warm and disbelieving — and Gale felt his heart pull toward him even more.

After Morina’s hug — warm, grounding, unbelievably kind — Onser felt something inside him shift.

Not painfully.

Not dangerously.

Just… too much.

Too full.

Too unfamiliar.

He cleared his throat softly, wings folding tighter, posture straightening with the familiar instinct of a soldier trying to contain what he wasn’t ready to unpack in front of others.
Morina squeezed his hand one last time before letting him go.

Tara hopped on the table, smug as always.

Gale lingered near him, watching him with gentle eyes.

But Onser needed a moment.

A moment to breathe.

To process.

To not fall apart in front of Gale’s mother.

He stepped forward and bowed his head politely.

“Ms. Dekarios,” he said softly, “thank you again… for your hospitality. And your kindness.”

Morina smiled warmly. “You’re welcome here anytime, dear.”

Onser’s throat worked soundlessly for a moment.

It was a miracle he managed to swallow at all.

He turned to Gale next.

The wizard softened instantly.

“Are you… alright?” Gale asked quietly.

Onser’s expression gentled in a way that made Gale’s chest ache.

“Yes,” he said — and he meant it.

“But I should take some time. Collect myself. And check in with the Adventurers’ Guild. They may have tasks requiring immediate attention.”

Gale blinked.

“Oh— Of course. Yes. Work. Right.”

It wasn’t disappointment Gale felt.

It was understanding.

Because Gale knew what it was like to feel too much, too fast. To need controlled silence before drowning in the moment.

Onser brushed a thumb over Gale’s knuckles — a tiny, grounding touch — before stepping back.

“I will return later,” he promised, soft and sincere.

Gale nodded.

“Take your time. I’ll… be here.”

Tara snorted. “HE MEANS HE WILL BE PACING BACK AND FORTH TALKING TO HIMSELF—”

“TARA—” Gale snapped.

But Onser just smiled faintly, touched in a way that looked almost shy.

He gave Morina one last respectful nod, then turned toward the door.

His tall frame seemed steadier as he walked, long strides measured, wings tucked neatly, a soldier returning to familiar ground.

And as he stepped outside into the cool air, the heavy swirl in his chest slowly began to settle.

The hug replayed in his mind.

The acceptance.

The softness.

The words You have family here.

It unmoored him.

Not in fear.

In longing.

He’d never had a mother speak to him like that since he was fifteen.

Never had a home that felt safe.

Never had a reason to feel hopeful.

Until now.

And it scared him more than any demon he’d ever faced.

So Onser headed straight toward the Adventurers’ Guild — not because he wanted to run, but because he needed somewhere predictable, structured, familiar, until the storm inside him cleared.

He would help.

He would work.

He would breathe.

And then he would return.

Not because he had to.

But because he wanted to.

The Adventurers’ Guild stood at the edge of Waterdeep’s bustling market district — a stone building with banners fluttering in the wind, the scent of ale, parchment, and metal drifting through the open doors.

For most people, it felt chaotic.

For Onser?

It felt familiar.

Predictable.

Safe.

He stepped inside, shoulders straight, expression calm even though his heart was still unsettled from Morina’s warmth.

Inside, the guild was lively:
a dwarf shouting about a lost ax

two half-elves comparing enchanted maps

a group of young adventurers arguing about who had to pay for breakfast

But the moment Onser entered, the room shifted.

Not in fear.

But in recognition.

Respect.

Whispers rippled through the hall.

“That’s him—”

“Winters, right?”

“From the Order…”

“Dead gods, he’s tall.”

A few people stepped out of his way instinctively — not because he threatened, but because he carried authority like a shadow behind him.

Onser ignored the murmurs with practiced ease and approached the reception desk.
Behind it sat a nervous half-orc clerk, flipping through paperwork.

He looked up.

Then up more.

Then a bit more.

“Oh! Deputy Winters—sir—welcome back! Uh—no—welcome—uh—new… new member welcome?”

Onser blinked slowly.

The clerk cleared his throat and tried again.

“You signed your forms yesterday! Everything is in order now! Completely processed! Efficiently! Smoothly!”

He paused.

“Very smoothly.”

Onser folded his hands behind his back.

“Is there work available today?”

“Oh—yes! Yes, sir!” the clerk squeaked. “Several postings—1st tier, 2nd tier, uh… maybe nothing for your level today—”

Onser raised an eyebrow.

“The highest-level job we have right now,” the clerk corrected quickly, “is escorting noble children to a museum. Educational trip.”

Onser stared.

Silence.

“…I see,” he said politely.

The clerk wilted.

“Or—or we have a delivery job. Taking a scroll to a library.”

Onser blinked again.

The clerk flailed.

“There’s also a missing cat—”

“I will take the scroll to the library,” Onser said before the man self-combusted.

“YES SIR! EXCELLENT CHOICE SIR!”

The clerk practically shoved the scroll into Onser’s hands like it was a sacred artifact.

“Return whenever you’re done! No rush… sir.”

Onser nodded with a calm smile that absolutely terrified the clerk (in a respectful way).

He stepped aside to read over the details, shoulders slowly relaxing.

He moved to a quiet corner of the guild hall.

The noise faded behind him.

The scroll rested easily in his hand.

The simple task felt grounding.

Then his mind wandered back—to Morina’s hug.

Her words.

Her warmth.

The feeling of belonging that had crept into his chest.

And Gale.

Gale’s hand on his arm.

Gale’s shy, frantic fluster.

The way he looked so relieved when Onser said he’d return.

Onser let out a slow breath.

“I will handle this,” he murmured to himself. “And go back.”

Because for once, he actually wanted to.

He tucked the scroll carefully into his satchel, rolled his shoulders, and headed for the door.

Even with a simple courier task, he felt steadier.

More grounded.

More… hopeful.

And though he didn’t fully understand it yet—

He was already thinking of Gale.

Of returning.

Of belonging.

(which he of course turns into high-efficiency legendary feats)

Onser left the guild with three tasks in hand.

None of them difficult.

None of them glorious.

Perfect.

He needed quiet work — work that let him breathe, focus, and let the emotions of the morning settle somewhere inside him that didn’t ache so sharply.

But because he was Onser Winters…

None of these tasks stayeThe walk to the library should’ve taken 30 minutes.
Onser made it in 10.

He didn’t even rush.

He simply walked with long, efficient strides that parted crowds like a ship cuts water.
The librarians stared when he walked in — a 6’8 tiefling in a tailored coat, wings tucked neatly, handing over a scroll like it weighed nothing.

The head archivist, a tiny gnome, blinked up at him.

“My goodness—did you fly here?”

“No,” Onser said politely. “I walked.”

The gnome fainted in awe.

The next task: escorting noble children to a museum.

A nightmare for most adventurers.

A dream for Onser, because children…

Didn’t care about his infernal blood.

Or his father.

Or the towering size that made grown men step back.

They cared that he could lift two of them at once without effort.

The group of twelve kids fell silent when he arrived.

Then erupted.

“WHOA—HE’S HUGE!!”

“ARE THOSE REAL WINGS??”

“CAN YOU PICK ME UP??”

“CAN YOU PICK ALL OF US UP??”

Onser blinked.

“Not all of you,” he said gently, “but one at a time—”

He didn’t get to finish.

A small child latched onto his leg like a koala.

Another hugged his tail (which he very carefully lifted away before it smacked them in excitement).

Another begged, “Mr. Winters, can you kill a dragon??”

“Once,” Onser replied calmly.

The children SCREAMED in pure delight.

He escorted them to the museum like a myth come alive:

carrying two toddlers on each arm

another riding on his shoulders

one clinging to his wing like it was a safety rail (he allowed it)

answering dozens of questions with patient calm

Parents stared.

Teachers cried.

The museum staff bowed.

One kid asked shyly, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” Onser said.

“BOYFRIEND??” another asked.

Onser paused.

Then smiled softly.

“…Perhaps.”

The children screamed again.

This task was the easiest.

Not because Onser was good at tracking…

…but because the cat walked up to him.

He barely stepped into the alley described in the request before a fluffy red tabby sprinted out of nowhere and launched itself at his chest.

He caught it instinctively.

The cat purred like a thunder engine.

Onser blinked.

“…Hello.”

The cat butted its head under his chin.

Residents peeking from windows whispered:

“It chose him.”

“That’s the legendary one! The Order man!”

“Look at the way the cat loves him—”

“My GODS he’s cradling it like a baby—”

He returned the cat to its owner in five minutes.

The woman gasped. “Oh bless the gods—she never comes to anyone!”

Onser glanced down at the purring furball still clinging to his coat.

“…She came to me.”

The woman nodded vigorously.

“She chose you. You’re special.”

Onser’s ears tinted lavender.

By midday, he had:

delivered a scroll

shepherded twelve hyperactive kids

found the missing cat

been offered three pastries

been asked for ten autographs

and had his tail hugged twice

He finished every task ahead of schedule.

With hours to spare.

He stood outside the guild, scroll stamped, tasks checked off, reward pouch heavier…
And his thoughts drifted immediately to Gale.

His warmth.

His fluster.

The way he held Onser’s hand under the table.

The look in his eyes when Onser said he’d return.

A small, private smile crept onto Onser’s lips.

He turned toward the road leading back to Morina’s home—

Ready to return.

Not out of duty.

Out of want.

After finishing all three quests before noon, Onser walked back toward the Adventurers’ Guild with the steady, unstoppable stride of someone who didn’t know how to slow down — someone who had grown up being trained to never slow down.

Han would’ve already been halfway through her third mission by now.

Whitey would’ve taken two extra quests just to rub it in.

And Onser, raised shoulder-to-shoulder with those two relentless maniacs, felt that same familiar itch:

There’s still more I can do.

He pushed open the guild doors.

The half-orc clerk looked up.

Then paled.

“Y-You’re back? ALREADY?!”

Onser nodded calmly.

“I am.”

“You delivered the scroll?”

“Yes.”

“You escorted the noble children… without incident?”

“Yes.”

“And the missing cat?”

“She located me.”

The clerk stared at him like he was a folklore creature.

“…Sir, that cat routinely attacks adventurers.”

Onser blinked. “She was friendly.”

The clerk’s soul briefly left his body.

But Onser wasn’t here to brag.

He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back — posture perfect, voice steady, eyes sharp with purpose.

“Are there more tasks requiring completion today?”

The clerk’s jaw dropped.

“MORE?? You already finished the top missions on the board! Most adventurers tap out after one!”

Onser waited, expression unchanging.

“But— but— surely you want a break? Lunch? A nap? Tea? Breathing?”

“No,” Onser said politely.

The clerk swallowed hard.

“…You really are one of them.”

Onser raised a brow. “One of whom?”

“Han Wolfridge and Whitey Lunaris,” the clerk whispered like invoking ancient legends.

“The Order’s unstoppable trio. The ones who grew up together. The ones who would turn missions into races.”

Onser’s eyes softened at the memory — a rare warmth flickering through the stormy gray.
“That would be correct.”

The clerk flailed through his paperwork, panic-rifling for anything that might satisfy this enormous work-fueled demon man before him.

“Uhh— there’s a job from a bakery—heavy flour sacks—”

“I will take it.”

“And— an elderly wizard needs help in his attic— lots of enchanted books and… dust?”

“I will take that as well.”

The clerk stared.

“…You want BOTH?”

“Yes.”

“Sir… those tasks are—”

“Necessary,” Onser finished gently. “And I have the time.”

The clerk deflated like a punctured wineskin.

He handed over the forms with the defeated acceptance of someone watching destiny unfold.

“Here you go, Deputy Winters. Gods speed.”

Onser signed each form with clean, elegant handwriting.

When he handed them back, the clerk croaked:

“…Did Han and Whitey really grow up with you?”

“Yes.”
“…That explains everything.”

Onser inclined his head.

“I will return shortly.”

And with that, he left — a 6’8 tiefling with the discipline of a lifetime of competition, marching off to lift flour sacks and reorganize an attic like it was a divine mission from the gods.

Because Han would’ve done it faster.

Whitey would’ve done it louder.

And Onser?

Onser would rather die than come home last.

The bakery stood on a sunny corner of the Merchant District, a little bell chiming above the door as Onser stepped inside.

The scent hit him instantly:

Warm bread.

Honey butter.

Fresh pastries.

And something cinnamon-sweet that could’ve tempted a saint.

The shop owner — a halfling grandmother with arms strong enough to wrestle bears — turned around from kneading dough.

She froze.

Then blinked up at him.
“

…Sweet merciful gods above,” she breathed. “You’re TALL.”

Onser bowed his head politely.

“Ma’am. I am here regarding your guild request.”

Her entire face lit up like a sunrise.

“Oh! Oh! You’re the one they sent? Come here, darling — come here!”

Before he could react, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward with surprising force.

“We’ve got flour sacks in the back. Whole shipment came in yesterday. My poor apprentices nearly snapped their spines!”

Onser nodded. “I will handle it.”

He expected heavy bags.

He did not expect a small army of elderly grandmothers sitting at tables drinking tea, watching him with glittering eyes like he was the entertainment for the afternoon.

One whispered loudly to another:

“Look at those shoulders.”

“He could lift ME like a bag of flour!”

“Is he single?”

“He looks single.”

“He BETTER be single—”

Onser pretended not to hear.

But the tips of his ears turned a faint, traitorous violet.

He followed the halfling into the back storage room where enormous flour sacks were stacked from floor to ceiling.

“These weigh about 120 pounds each,” she said cheerfully.

“Took four men to move one.”

Onser nodded once.

Then casually picked up three.

One on each shoulder and one under an arm — barely shifting his stance.

The halfling’s jaw hit the floor.

The grandmothers gasped like they were watching a romance novel unfold in real life.

“BY THE GODS—”

“Look at him go!”

“Marry him!”

“Shirl, he’s not marrying YOU.”

“You don’t know that!”

Onser walked past them, calm as a glacier, hauling the sacks like they weighed nothing.
The halfling baker had to jog to keep up.

“H-How are you—? Your back must be incredibly strong!”

Onser blinked.

“…Thank you.”

It wasn’t a compliment he heard often.

From behind him, an elf grandmother nearly fainted.

He finished moving the sacks within minutes.

Minutes.

Most adventurers took hours.

Then he dusted off his gloves, scanned the messy shelves, and without being asked began organizing:

flour

sugar

spices

baking supplies

enchanted proofing stones

potion-infused yeast starters

“W-Wait, dear, you don’t have to—”

“It is no trouble.”

He rearranged everything logically, efficiently — so cleanly the halfling nearly cried.
The grandmothers clapped.

“He’s domestic!”

“He’s polite!”

“He works hard!”

“He’s HANDSOME!”

“Do you think he needs a third grandmother? I can adopt him.”

Onser’s wings twitched in embarrassment.

When he finished, the halfling baker pressed a pouch of gold into his hand.

Then another.

And another.

He frowned.

“This is more than the agreed amount.”

“Oh hush,” she said, patting his arm.

“Let an old lady spoil you.”

A grandmother waddled over holding a napkin-wrapped package.

“For you, dear. You deserve a treat.”

Onser opened it.

Fresh honey-almond pastries.

Still warm.

He froze.

Then nodded with quiet gratitude.

“…Thank you.”

“Oh heavens, he’s polite AND shy,” one grandmother whispered.

“He’s perfect.”

Onser decided it was time to leave.