Chapter Text
The news of the death of the ruler of the House of Hope rocked hell. They had been untouchable. Backed by the magically powerful Hope and supported by the devil Raphael’s riches had made them unmatched.
This was an opportunity. A possible chance to reclaim what had been taken into the hands of a mortal. If only one thing didn’t happen.
If the ruler returned, they would come back with a vengeance and even more powerful. That’s what true devils did. They returned with power and revenge in their eyes. So there needed to be confirmation of what had happened.
Were they coming back? Or had they gone to an afterlife?
Kyere still despised Mizora. She’d fucked his twin without even asking his permission first and set them on the path that would lead out of Faerûn and into Avernus. But when she’d said she was creating a team to find out where they’d ended up and wouldn’t he like to find out himself? Wouldn’t he like to know if should be perish he’d join them? Wasn’t he curious?
He hadn’t been able to resist.
He’d gone with them to some cave in hell that revealed the location of all those who’d ever set foot in it. An enchanted mirror which brought to mind stupid fairytales that they’d always derided. No one would ever come save you, you always had to do it yourself.
Kyere went to the mirror feeling Mizora follow behind him. A faint voice echoed from the mirror.
“Come forth, show love and ask the position.”
Kyere’s face furrowed. “Show love?”
“Only those who have love may know the position of a hell resident. Only those that can prove it. Show love and ask the position.”
Kyere reached into his pack and pulled out the weapon he hadn’t touched in more than a century. The weapon that he hadn’t been able to use in the final battle with the nether brain. The weapon shown with blood and Kyere would’ve known who it belonged to even if hadn’t taken those actions.
He couldn’t bear to ever use it again. He also couldn’t bear to part with it. He carried it with him everywhere. Originally he had put it away. But after…he had needed the reminder. The reminder they were real.
He held it out to the mirror and hoped it would suffice.
The mirror paused then spoke. “A weapon covered with the blood from a violent act toward the one you ask the position of. An act you didn’t want to take. An act that was freely forgiven immediately. A reminder of something you don’t want to remember, but need to remember them. Satisfactory.”
“I ask the position and if I will join them should I die. Where are they? Which afterlife did them end up in?”
“They are not in an afterlife. No, you will not join them when you die.”
Horror cascaded through him. “What do you mean they aren’t in an afterlife? Where the fuck are they? They’re dead. That’s what happens when you die!”
“Only those with a complete soul may enter the afterlife. Even devils have a whole soul. They are incomplete so they are unable to enter the afterlife. As for where they are…I can’t tell. Wherever they ended up changed them. They are no longer considered to have stepped in hell.”
150 years later
Kyere walked through the crowded streets of Baldur’s Gate. Even surrounded by people he felt lonely. None of these knew who or what he was. None of them knew that he was the famed Son of Bhaal who had helped save the city three hundred years before. Nor that he and Astarion ruled this city from behind a curtain, and a dozen others just like it.
Most of them didn’t even know who Bhaal even was anymore.
The dead three had been stripped of their godhood by the original god of death. In the centuries that followed some people still remembered the names of them. However, they had faded like words etched in sandstone. Wearing smoother with every year. Being forgotten more and more with every year.
Astarion was away on business and Kyere was intensely bored in a way he had begun to feel was chronic.
It used to be that when Kyere got bored, he could pop into Avernus and bother his hardworking hell twin. But they’d long since gone from his reach. Slipped into eternity and left behind a shattered half person in their wake. Leaving a hole behind that seemed to widen with every year.
When he’d first lost them, Kyere had comforted himself with their time together. The century and a half of being truly whole helped get him through those early days. For longer than most people lived Kyer had had his eternal lover and his soul’s other half. He had his work and for a while the rest of their companions.
Nothing lasts forever though. First he had lost their companions. Then his and Astarion’s work had progressed as far as it could. Finally, Kyere had sat there and watched his twin take their final breath.
Astarion was the sum total of Kyere at this point. His entire reason for living. For being. The only reason that he hadn’t taken the weapon that still shown with his twin’s blood and put it through himself.
He wasn’t sure that Astarion would even let him kill himself. He’d said they were going to be together until the sun burned out. Although prone to dramatics, Kyere believed him when he said that. He wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Or possibly ever.
However, currently Astarion was on “business.” Which left Kyere as a free agent, regardless of what he wanted. He longed for those days when Astarion was afraid he’d run. When he’d chain him up in the basement every time he went away, even if only for a couple days. Leaving Kyere with nothing but a few charmed humans and some books for company.
Initially Kyere had hated those days. The boredom of being chained up. The ever-present hunger from being forced to ration blood. The feeling that Astarion still didn’t trust him, despite letting the ascended vampire turn him into a spawn. Despite not really being able to run away
Astarion had done it when they were first together after they had begun their plan to take over Baldur’s Gate. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, and Kyere’s word, he still hadn’t trusted that Kyere really meant it when he said he was going to stay. Until he realized that left to his own devices Kyere mostly just hung around the palace or went to visit Avernus.
Astarion had done it again after Kyere had watched the other half of him wither and die. His lover had been afraid that the grief would be too strong, even with all of the time they’d had together and his twin gently preparing him. He’d assumed that it might not matter at all.
Astarion had been right.
The only thing that had stopped him was the thought that wherever he went, he wouldn’t end up with them. According to the mirror his soul was completed by the advent of being changed by Astarion. He would likely end up in the place where all dead vampires went.
They wouldn’t be there. So really, what was the point in even dying?
What point in abandoning his lover to chase after someone that he knew he wouldn’t ever see again?
Beyond the reality. Eternity, as it turned out, was really fucking boring. Day after day of paperwork and ruling. Day after day of charmed, docile humans presenting themselves to his neck. Day after day of walking the halls of the palace past the portraits of his long dead companions. Missing only a single portrait. A painting that existed but that Kyere still couldn’t bear to look at. It was too painful still.
So, Kyere was on a hunt. A hunt to find the perfect victim. Like in the old days when he and Astarion used to go out together and find victim to share. Back when Astarion wasn’t just willing the easiest person out of the street and to him.
Kyere was on the hunt for a special find of flesh. Succulent, tender, and young, but not too young. A young adult, not yet settled into middle-age. And most importantly, a half-elf with lavender shaded skin. Nothing else but draining a proxy was going to satisfy him. Even if he had to hunt every minute Astarion was out, he was going to find what he was looking for.
The gender didn’t matter. Of course, it never had to them. So, feeling lonely and hungry, Kyere took to his hunt. Somewhere in this heavily populated city was what he was looking for.
The first day he hadn’t been successful. Kyere had started with the upper echelons as he normally did. Which was a mistake. The upper echelons were good for a quick and easy meal, but not something specific. There were always plenty of young, rich, heirs who weren’t going to inherit anything as younger sons and daughters. Those were an easy meal. But that wasn’t Kyere wanted. He wanted a challenge. He wanted a fight.
So, on his second day he had gone into the bowels of the lower city and begun to scout. His eyes scanned the darkness looking for any flash of that royal color. They might not be in the lower city, and that was fine. He wanted something that he could enjoy and the only way to do that was to take his time.
Just as he was about to make his way back to the upper city his eyes caught on a flash of purple underneath a dark hood.
A smile graced his lips, and his fangs ached. Finally, it was time.
He fell into a stride behind him, not bothering to hide his steps. He liked when his prey felt fear ahead of time. He liked the thought that they thought maybe they could get away. It would be futile. He hadn’t had a real challenge besides Astarion in more than a century.
He moved up on them, fast grabbing their arm and spinning them around. He came face to face with a pair of ice blue eyes set back in a purple freckled face. They struggled, trying to throw him off and in his shock he let go.
Kyere stared in wonder. He’d gone looking for someone that looked like them, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d find someone so…close.
“Arryn?”
The person’s face eased a little. Thinking they’d stumbled along a benign misunderstanding.
"Sorry, no. I’m Adamanta. Are you looking for someone?”
They were earnest in a way Arryn never was. Caring, and gentle. With that realization a cascade of realizations flooded Kyere. They looked exactly the way Arryn had, but only before they had entered hell.
Only a year into their rule of the House of Hope they’d sprouted a small pair of black horns with purple bases. They’d been small for a pair of horns, looking like they belonged on a child rather than on an adult. Kyere had relentlessly made a series of size comparison jokes.
This person didn’t have them. More than that, the lines were lighter. Kyere wasn’t sure he even remembered Arryn when they’d been this young. The had to be younger than the late thirties they’d been in after being betrayed and wormed.
But something in him knew. This was his other half of his soul.
“That’s not funny, Arryn. You think you’re so damn funny all the time. Why didn’t you come find me? Were you upset about what I said? I’m sorry for whatever it was. Have you been busy with Hope? Where have you been? And why are you dressed so…feminine?”
“You have me confused with someone else. My name is Adamanta and you can’t blame a girl for wanting to feel pretty, now can you?”