Astarion's POV as he was stuck in his pod on the Nautiloid and fears submerged him, until he felt that unfamiliar taste of freedom.
This was a short story I wrote during an insomnia after doodling an art piece (the one featured below, finished). I'm sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes, as I barely edited it before uploading my sleepless thoughts here x')
Astarion awakes as flames crackles and wind storms all around him. But worst than that, it sounds muffled, distant almost.
He opens his eyes with a pungent headache. Flashes of memories appears in his mind like a puzzle.
Baldur's Gate.
A ship.
Mindflayers.
He remembers now, stuck in his pod, demons and dragons tearing up the sky of Avernus.
Anxiety slowly takes over, as other flashbacks surges from his past, much older but the pain remains as powerful.
His coffin, trying to escape, pushing the lid in hope it will open. He doesn't have the strength to scream for help, as his breathing accelerates and his tadpole seems to feed on his state.
Before too long, a wave of energy makes the ship tumble, as the sky seems recognizable at last.
Faerûn. Then, darkness and nothingness.
Flames still burning, wind still blowing, but this time, birds occupies the pandemonium of nature.
But he recognises that sound. The sound of his own fear.
Morning.