—

fortunate. Free will is one gift so many take for granted.”

“Oh my. What those puppets endured. It sounds similar to my kind.”

His tone sounded low when he trailed off from thought. As if there was no sign of life in his voice. Asterion briefly looked down as the ground then back to Carlo.

“Those who escaped their control are

—

“Is it?”

Though the curl of his lips was minute, he was amused.

“What I find truly interest is you. Learning humans and puppets, you said? Do they commingle in your world?”

—

“Let’s just say high elves are at the top of the monolith. Elves with the highest intelligence, born gifted, and the bloodlines commonly contain history of aristocracy.”

His eyes did a swift flick from Carlo to where he was walking when he heard the confusion in his voice.

“Yes. The amount of elven races are plentiful. Wood elves. Dark elves. Moon. Star. Drows. High elves are. . . Tsk. . . What’s the words?”

He cupped his own chin, thinking.

—

The question brought a thoughtful hum out of him.

“I’ve never thought about it, really. Traditionally, high elves are given names that represents them. But I don’t remember why I was given this name.”

“Mm. Well, you’ll never hear the first name come from these lips. So I’ll stick to the latter.”

He said while following him.

“I’m Astarion.”

His eye rolled. His cheery demeanor felt borderline suffocating. Regardless, he made it clear he was giving in.

“Fine. Help me.”

Astarion tried for a moment to maintain his sternness, but it eventually faltered from the innocence on his face. Or maybe a bit naive. His eyes closed for a short moment, his chest briefly rose from sighing.

“Why do I have a feeling you won’t take no for an answer?”

“I don’t need your help.”

His voice sounded strong, but the words were hallow. Not quite convincing, if one was keen. He took a couple of steps back to distance himself.

“I can handle my problems alone.”

His eyes did a slow and exaggerating roll by the question and the stranger’s apparent lack of care. Alchemist? Really. He pondered.

“You can say that.”

“Well, I’ve never seen a naïve oaf randomly approach me to touch my ears before either.”

His arms folded, grunting slightly.

“But we’ll both digress, I suppose.”

“….”

His brow twitched. For a moment, he thought about biting off his finger. But the elf noticed quickly that something seems off about him.

“Yes, it is. Now do you mind?”

—

clung to. Not out of wanting to. But because he believed that seeing the worse in things made his suffering a little bearable. Leaving no room for future disappointments.

—

tasted cold metal from the fluid that trickled down his chin. He hid his face when he leaned it onto the arms curled above his knees.

The elf’s eyes closing tightly. He could have prayed and prayed. But he lost all hope and faith decades ago. Dark, horrid thoughts were the only thing he

—

—

into the hell he must endure. And trying to understand why, day by day, nothing gets better.

The young spawn tried to recap the memories until the overwhelming thoughts made his breath hitch. His fang biting hard on his bottom lip until he

—

—

was he to judge, he thought. The palace he is unwillingly residing in filled with corpse in every turn.

He sat on the damp ground, his legs bent until his chest pressed against his thighs. Taking advantage of the moment of peace to mentally grasp how he got

—