#creation myth

It was no more than an hour since they had broken camp in the morning, but Ada could already feel the heat of the day creeping in on them. Had the memory of the goblin attack just two days earlier not been so present in her head, maybe Ada would have taken off the protective jerkin that made her skin feel even hotter than the sunlight did.

There was also the fact that they were heading toward a camp full of goblins with barely more than hopes of finding the druid they had captured. Nettie had suggested their tadpoles might help them blend in with the other infected.

Ada did not like the idea of the tadpole being useful in any way. It was hard enough to ignore the constant dull pressure behind her eye where the parasite had buried itself and was slowly eating away at her brain.

Ahead, the uneven path twisted through the stony landscape, winding its way toward the goblin camp Cerys had marked on their map.

Since their conversation the night before, Ada finally felt comfortable asking Gale the questions she‘d held back. He seemed all too happy to oblige and had, for the better part of their march, recounted the story of Selûne and her sister Shar.

The two goddesses were polar opposites. With some help from Lord AO, the King of the gods, they had created the planet they were standing on now. Later, the sisters had fallen out over the question of nurturing the life on it.

Ada tried, and failed, to map these stories of gods to what she knew from familiar myths. But aside from similar-sounding names and planetary associations, no common thread emerged.

Shadowheart, who was walking right in front of them, seemed interested in the stories as well, although she tried to hide it with terse glances over her shoulder.

“You see,” Gale said, leaning toward Ada with a small gesture. “Selûne reached out into the plane of fire to bring forth an ever-burning flame. With that, she created the sun. The goddess was injured in the process, and Shar used the opportunity to attack her.”

“In the ensuing fight, the combination of the two deities’ essences created the first magical energy and Mystryl, the original goddess of magic. Together, Selûne and Mystryl managed to banish Shar into the darkness and allowed the worlds of this plane to enjoy their warmth and light.”

There was a fond expression in his eyes as he ended, and Ada found it endearing how passionately this man could speak of magic and the goddesses that created it.

When her gaze flicked ahead, Ada noticed that Shadowheart was also looking at Gale. But the deadly look in her eyes told her that the half-elf did not share his enthusiasm.

They rounded a bend in the trail when they felt something shift in the air behind them. A sharp hiss, like a flame meeting gas, cut through the stillness, followed by the pungent stench of sulphur burning in Ada’s nostrils.

Tension rippled through the group as they spun around. Beside her, Wyll’s hand snapped toward the hilt of his rapier, and Ada saw Astarion reach for a dagger.

She expected to see goblins jumping out of the underbrush, ready to launch something burning in their direction. Her heart was pounding, and for a second, she was relieved to see that all there was on the dirt road behind them was a man.

He stood there, his posture casual, as though their paths had crossed merely by accident. His smile was unsettling, and his smooth skin had a distinct reddish undertone. The brocade doublet he wore, velvet with intricate gold embroidery, made him look like a noble courtier who had wandered into the wilderness by accident.

But his posture was too confident, his demeanour too calm for someone out of his depth. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous, knowing light that made Ada feel as if she were being toyed with. There was something terribly wrong about him.

“My, my, what manner of place is this?” the stranger purred, his voice smooth and taunting. “A path to redemption, or a road to damnation? Hard to say, for your journey is just beginning.”

Confusion passed between them as the man stepped forward, completely at ease, as though he owned the very ground beneath his feet. Ada’s heart raced, a primal part of her wanting to retreat, but something about the stranger sparked her curiosity.

The man’s smile widened, his words dripping with theatrical amusement.

“What would suit the occasion? Hmm, perhaps a lullaby?” He raised his hand, as if conducting an invisible orchestra. “The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat. Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.”

He paused, clearly relishing the stunned silence. “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?” Then, he spread his arms in a generous welcome. “Well met, I am Raphael. Very much at your service.”

The man leaned forward in the faintest of bows, never taking his eyes off them. His smile had an air of menace. He seemed to wait for them to introduce themselves. But none of her companions offered their names. Ada followed their example.

Gale was the first to recover. His voice was cold, measured. “And are we speaking to the mouse, or the cat?”

Raphael chuckled, a low, too-smooth sound. “Neither, esteemed wizard. The fox, perhaps. Hiding in words, waiting to break its silence.” His gaze slid over the group, assessing, calculating. “Of course, what I have to say merits privacy. And a certain refinement. This setting is far too ‘middle of nowhere’ for my taste.”

Before they could react, Raphael made a graceful flick of his wrist.

“Come.”

In an instant, the world around them shifted, the stony surroundings and path vanishing as though they had been swallowed by shadows. Ada blinked, her heart lurching as she tried to process their new surroundings. Just a moment before, her boots had been on a rocky trail; now they stood on polished black marble.

Everything was steeped in eerie and decadent candlelight: the floors reflecting the soft flicker, velvet drapes in deep crimson pooling like spilt wine along the walls, and towering columns carved with strange, watchful figures. Some were human, some were distinctly demonic.

A huge open fire crackled at the far end of the room. Not that the warmth was needed. The air was stifling, burning Ada's skin. Above the mantelpiece hung a huge portrait of an extravagantly clad devil, draped in shadows and smoke. He was holding court from the canvas with wings unfurled and power radiating from every brushstroke.

At the centre of the room stood a long banquet table that made Ada think of a royal feast. The spread was decadent: gleaming platters of roasted meats glistened under the glow of enchanted chandeliers, their aromas rich and warm.

Lush heaps of apples, glistening grapes, and crisp-looking pears spilt from silver bowls, while crusty loaves steamed beside whipped butter and golden rounds of cheese. Everything looked freshly prepared, like the moment just before a feast begins.

Ada felt her mouth watering, despite herself.

It was beautiful. And wrong. The feast was too perfect. Everything was too much, like a banquet set for the end of the world. The faint sound of an organ only added to the foreboding atmosphere.

Raphael stood in the centre of it all, his grin widening as he gestured broadly. “There. Middle of somewhere.”

A knot twisted in Ada’s stomach. This entire scene, the pomp, the theatricality, reminded her of something. A story from home, about a ghost who haunted the Paris opera house, cloaked in theatricality and grandeur.

“What is this place?” Lae'zel demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere.

Raphael’s smile remained unflinching. “The House of Hope, my dear. A sanctuary, where the tired may rest, and the famished may feed—lavishly, I might add.”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, his voice thick with suspicion. “Feed on what, exactly?” He glanced toward the banquet table, his tone dark. “And why do I get the feeling there’s more to this meal than meets the eye?”

Raphael’s expression shifted, his smile sharpening. “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all, it may be your last.” His tone was inviting, generously luring them into a trap.

Ada remembered an old warning from fairy tales. That adventurers who took part in a feast in a strange world never returned to the one they came from. She would not touch the food, she decided.

Instead, Ada watched the man before them. Filing every detail, like it might save her later. She wasn’t the only one who caught the threat in Raphael’s words. Astarion’s posture stiffened as he turned to face him fully.

“And what makes you say that?” Astarion’s voice was no longer playful, but cold, challenging.

Raphael’s form flickered, engulfed by sudden flames. His human guise melted away, revealing his true form. His skin darkened to a deep crimson, smooth and unblemished.

Two sweeping horns curled from his forehead, twisting back in sharp arcs. His eyes burned with a hellish light. Broad, leathery wings unfurled behind him, their membranes a rich, raw red that caught the chandelier light like blood in glass. He still wore the fine, tailored doublet from before, but now his appearance matched his portrait above the fire.

The air grew thick with tension, and Ada’s breath hitched. She had seen a creature like him before. On the nautiloid. But no, those had been soldiers or warriors. Even in this form, Raphael looked more like a noble than anything.

“What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” Raphael purred, his voice smooth as silk. “A devil you do.”

He raised a clawed finger, as if lecturing. “Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. A saviour? Undoubtedly.”

Ada blinked, suddenly curious. Raphael was no fighter; he seemed more of a politician, a trickster or a con-man even. What did he want with them?

Wyll had mentioned a ruler of one of the hells, Zariel, yesterday. And Ada doubted that if Raphael was the ruler of an entire hell, he would have failed to mention it by now. He might be a conceited noble, but he was no king.

“You are in over your tadpoled little heads.” Raphael’s voice was full of false concern. “I could take that burden from you. Like that.” He snapped his fingers casually. His eyes wandered over the group voraciously.

Ada tilted her head slightly. “So you are ‘a’ devil?” she asked, genuinely trying to work it out. “Not ‘the’ devil, but one of many?”

A pause. “And how do we even know you’re powerful enough to help us?” she asked. “What makes your offer so special?”

Raphael’s expression faltered for a blink. Frozen, paused. His eyes flicked to her like a predator adjusting its calculation.

A small, sharp sound came from Wyll beside her, like a breath sucked in too fast. From the corner of her eye, Ada could tell he was standing still as stone, trying not to draw attention.

Raphael’s eyes never even twitched to him—it was still fixed on Ada. "Such a curious little demon child. Tell me, whose legacy do you so charmingly tarnish with your ignorance?"

“Legacy?”, Ada repeated, surprised. Then, with a raised chin, she added, “I am not a demon. I am a tiefling.”

The devil clicked his tongue softly, his head cocked, a condescending smile on his lips. “You ask the kind of questions only someone truly naive to the way of this world would dare.”

Raphael’s mask didn't change, but his eyes did. Sharper now, more focused.

Then, he stepped closer. Not by much. Half a pace, maybe. But it felt like the room tilted with it. Ada had to lift her chin to keep his eyes in view.

 The air changed. The large hall felt claustrophobic now. Ada’s breath caught. His height wasn’t new, but the way he used it was.

His burning eyes scanned her face. Slowly, like he was searching for weakness, or perhaps just memorising her face. Then he leaned in, only slightly invading her space, but close enough that the scent of sulphur and ash became almost oppressive, clinging to the air like expensive cologne.

Goosebumps rose across Ada’s arms. Her breath stilled. She’d drawn his attention. And now she felt like a rodent in front of a snake.

This is it. He will kill me. I should step back. He is too close.

“I like you,” he murmured. His gaze dipped—slowly, deliberately—and Ada felt the prickle of it like heat on her skin. That was when her stomach turned. Those words scared her more than a threat would have. Liking something meant you wanted to hold onto it.

She hadn’t been afraid. Not really. But now she felt it. The shift from abstract to real. This wasn’t a riddle. This wasn’t a villain in a play. This was a devil. And he was looking at her like she was interesting enough to keep alive. For now.

Ada stepped back. Just a fraction, just enough to breathe.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” she said quietly. Her voice was steady, but her hands were colder than they had been a moment ago. “I just want to understand what kind of deal you’re offering.”

Raphael's grin thinned. “A reasonable one,” he said. “Given the parasite wriggling behind your pretty little eyes.”

“You’re mad if you think we’d make a deal with a devil,” Shadowheart said, her voice cold, edged with steel.

Raphael chuckled, eyes still on Ada. “And what is madness but a denial of reality? Still, I have a feeling you’ll reconsider. When hope is nothing but a memory.”

Finally, his eyes left Ada and focused on Shadowheart. His voice turned indifferent, almost playful now. “Try to cure yourself. Shop around. Beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every option until none remain. And when despair has hollowed you out... that’s when you’ll come knocking.”

His face turned to the others now—Wyll bristling, Astarion smiling thinly, Shadowheart tight-lipped and silent—but it lingered on Ada the longest.

“And you, darling,” he purred, “you’ll make a fascinating decision. When it counts.”

He snapped his fingers. The House of Hope vanished.

***

They were back in the forest. The air around them was heavy with the remnants of Raphael’s presence. No one spoke for a long moment.

Ada stood frozen, trying to steady her breath. Her skin still prickled from the heat of the devil’s gaze. What the hell had she just done? She hadn’t signed anything, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been marked. Not physically. Not magically. But marked all the same.

She glanced at the others, hoping to find reassurance, clarity—anything. But all she saw was reflection: their own confusion, their own unease. Raphael had known too much. About the tadpoles. About their fear.

Wyll was the first to meet her eyes, the first to speak. His brow was furrowed, his expression twisted somewhere between disgust and grim calculation.

"A devil," he muttered, like the words themselves tasted foul. "Devils never make offers without a catch. They come only when you reek of desperation." He shook his head. "Every word out of his mouth was soaked in manipulation."

“Making a deal seems risky,” Astarion gave a dry, humourless chuckle. He was standing with his back to the group, his face turned to the sun, tilting his head back slightly.

“‘Try to cure yourself. Shop around. Beg, borrow, and steal.’” He echoed Raphael’s words with theatrical flair, then fell quiet for a beat. “It is the devil’s certainty that unnerves me.”

Ada looked at him, really looked. The usual veneer of amusement was there, but it was thinner than usual. Frayed. There was tension at the corners of his mouth. His hands were still.

Astarion continued, turning back to them. His voice was softer now. "Raphael’s convinced we’ll come crawling back, broken and begging. And I... I fear he’s not wrong." He paused, frowning. "That’s the part that bothers me."

“He wants something from us,” Gale added, pacing slightly, his tone sharper than usual. “Badly. And I haven’t the foggiest what it is. But it’s no coincidence he found us.”

He began counting off on his fingers. “Fact one: our tadpoles are not behaving as they should. Fact two: a devil takes an interest and offers to remove them.”

Gale chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “All this talk of our desperation only reveals his own. Whatever he’s after, we and our parasites are part of it. And if I’m right...” He looked up. “We will not need to come crawling. He will be back.”

Finally, Ada found her voice. “We shouldn’t consider his offer,” she said. “Even if he claimed it came without a cost. Gale’s right: we’re means to an end. Helping him could give him exactly what he wants... and whatever that is, I am not willing to risk that.”

Shadowheart looked pensive and a little unnerved. “Devils don’t deal in mercy. They deal in need.”

She looked at Ada directly now. “I know people who work much like our new acquaintance does. You don’t need pain to break people. Fear and self-doubt are sufficient.”

Remind me to never meet your friends, Ada thought at that. They sound even more intimidating than you.

“He wants us to believe he’s our only hope. But he isn’t,” Shadowheart ended.

Lae'zel snorted, clearly annoyed with how long this discussion had taken. “You waste breath on shadows and riddles. The devil flaps his poultry wings, though he is but a gnat. This was just another useless detour.”

Her gaze flicked toward the horizon. “We should already be moving on the goblin camp. The druid will be returned to his people. But once that is done, I will not tolerate further delay. The crèche is to be our prime objective.”

No one argued. Not even Shadowheart. Not even to question the implication that Halsin might be useless to them. They were all still deep in their own thoughts, trying to shake off the weight of Raphael’s words.

Wyll cleared his throat. “We should get going,” he said. “The devil may be back to pester us, but right now, the people in the grove need us. We need to finish what we came to do.”

One by one, they began moving again. Astarion, walking just behind Ada, gave a quiet, sardonic hum. “Well,” he said, voice light but pointed, “until our infernal friend returns, you’ve got plenty of time to reflect on the bold choice of insulting a devil. I do hope it doesn’t come back to haunt us.”

Ada didn’t answer. Her mind was already spiralling through every horror scenario she could imagine.

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