Multiverse One Shot Collection - Reader Insert

Baldur's Gate 3 - Karlach

The camp was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the battle earlier in the day. The small fire crackled softly, its warmth doing little to soothe the weariness that had settled over the group. Everyone had their own way of unwinding—Lae'zel sat sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate strokes, while Wyll leaned back against a tree, his eyes half-lidded as he let out a long, tired sigh. Even Shadowheart, ever composed, looked unusually drained as she cleaned the last of her gear.

Karlach sat on a log near the fire, rolling her shoulder to ease the stiffness. The day's healing magic had done its job—everyone's wounds were mended—but the aches and exhaustion lingered, a testament to how hard they'd pushed themselves. She glanced around, rubbing the back of her neck absently, her fiery presence dimmed but still warm and steady.

"You know," she said, breaking the silence, "it's funny. We're all still breathing, but it feels like we've been chewed up and spit out."

Lae'zel grunted in agreement, her blade flashing briefly in the firelight. "Survival is the only measure that matters."

Wyll chuckled weakly. "And here I was hoping for a bit of flair in the process."

Karlach smirked, but it faded quickly as her gaze swept the camp again. Her brows knit together, and she bit her lip, scanning the shadows. "Hey, uh... where's the boss? Thought they'd be here licking their wounds like the rest of us."

Shadowheart looked up from her work, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "They headed toward the river."

Karlach tilted her head, her concern flickering to the surface. "The river? By themselves? Why?"

Shadowheart let out a soft sigh, her fatigue showing as she returned to her task. "I've got no more magic to spare," she admitted. "They said they'd handle it themselves and didn't want to take anything from the supplies."

Karlach frowned, her fiery heart twisting slightly. "Damn stubborn," she muttered, standing and grabbing a spare water skin from the supplies. "I'll go check on 'em. Last thing we need is them passing out in the middle of nowhere."

Wyll raised a hand lazily. "Tell them to hurry back. I'd rather not fall asleep listening to Lae'zel growling at her sword."

"Watch your tongue, blade-whelp," Lae'zel snapped, though her tone lacked its usual venom.

Karlach chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as she turned toward the river. "Be right back," she called over her shoulder. "Don't let this lot kill each other while I'm gone."

—

The river was quiet, its gentle burble the only sound breaking the stillness of the night. The moon hung high, a pale sentinel casting its cool, silvery glow across the water. It was all the light you needed, reflecting off the rippling surface and illuminating your work with an almost tranquil clarity.

You sat waist-deep in the cold water, perched on a smooth rock just high enough to brace yourself. The chill numbed your skin, easing the ache from the gash carved along your side. Blood seeped from the wound, diluted by the water into faint crimson threads that trailed downstream, vanishing like fleeting memories of the day's battle.

A needle, glinting faintly in the moonlight, hovered over the torn flesh. You took a slow breath, steadying your hand before pressing the tip into your skin. The sharp sting tore through the cold's dulling effect, and the air left your lungs in a quiet rush. Your core tensed involuntarily, muscles rigid as the pain crept upward, but your expression held firm. No sound escaped your lips.

With methodical care, you pulled the thread through, the edges of the wound drawing together under your practiced touch. The pain lingered, sharp and biting, but you pressed on, your composure unwavering. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple, cool against your skin in the crisp night air, and disappeared into the water below.