In Baldur's Gate 3 With a Multiversal Gacha System?

Fin POV

I was sitting quietly by the dining table, watching Helga intently as she cleaned her blood-soaked hands, she'd just finished carving up the bear. 

"At least we've got enough meat to last through the winter." Helga joked, placing her butcher knives back in the cabinet. 

I didn't respond. I just kept watching her.

The casual way she said it, like this was any other day. My stomach twisted. I wanted to believe it was just left over adrenaline, but that wasn't it. Helga hadn't shown any fighting ability; she was just a normal lady from what I'd seen. She was the kind of person who I thought had a tough personality. But today…

Today was different.

I kept replaying it in my head: the way she cut through that bear like she'd done it a thousand times before, the way the bear's head had just rolled onto the floor, decapited from its body, and with one single blow. And that sword, where the fuck did she hide a sword like that. 

The house was quiet except for the faint water splashing as she rinsed the basin. I didn't realize I was gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles ached.

Helga wiped her hands on a cloth, sighing softly before turning around. She hesitated, just for a second, before offering me a small smile.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she teased, but there was something in her eyes—something cautious, something guarded.

I forced myself to swallow, my throat dry.

"I…" I started, then stopped. The words felt tangled, caught between my thoughts and my tongue.

Did I want to ask? Did I want to know?

Helga tilted her head slightly, waiting.

I clenched my jaw.

No.

I needed to know.

"What was that?" I couldn't look at her as I said it.

Helga sighed, the weight of it settling heavily in the quiet room. She leaned against the countertop, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression shifted—less teasing, more serious.

"I wanted to tell you when you were much older," she said, her voice calm but firm.

I frowned, my grip on the table tightening. "Tell me what?"

She studied me for a moment, like she was deciding how much to say, how much to reveal. Then, instead of answering, she pushed herself off the counter and walked toward the door.

"Come," she said, glancing back at me. "I need to show you something."

The unease in my gut twisted tighter, but I stood up and followed her outside.

We stepped out into the cold, the crisp night air biting at my skin. But neither of us shivered, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the crunch of frost-covered grass beneath our boots.

Helga led me across the farm, past the barn and the old well, towards a place I knew well—the tool shed. It was nothing special, just a small wooden structure tucked against the treeline, filled with rusted tools, spare lumber, and all the other junk that piled up over the years. I'd been here plenty of times before, fetching hammers or nails when Helga was fixing something around the farm.

But then, she did something I'd never seen before.

She walked to the back of the shed, where a stack of firewood leaned against the wall. Without hesitation, she crouched down and pushed one of the logs aside, revealing a small, hidden latch built into the ground.

I stared.

How had I never noticed that? I'd walked past this place a hundred times. I'd even stacked firewood here myself.

Helga glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she pulled the latch.

With a soft click, the hidden latch lifted, revealing a wooden panel embedded in the ground. Helga slid it open, and beneath it, a set of stone steps descended into the earth. A cold draft wafted up from below, carrying the scent of dust, old wood, and something faintly metallic.

I tensed, staring down into the darkness.

A hidden basement? A cellar? No, this was deeper than a simple storage pit. The way the steps were carved so precisely, the way the air shifted—it felt intentional.

Helga stood up straight, brushing her hands off on her coat. Then she turned to me, her face calm but serious.

"Come," she said simply before stepping down into the darkness.

I hesitated. My mind was racing, a thousand questions filling my mind.

What the hell was this place?

Why had she never told me about it?

I clenched my fists and followed.

The stone steps were cold under my feet, the air growing denser with every step downward. The deeper we went, the more the dim light from the surface faded, swallowed by the darkness below.

Helga moved ahead of me, her footsteps sure and steady, as if she'd walked this path a thousand times before.

The further down we went, the more I noticed small details—the way the walls weren't just rough earth but reinforced with thick wooden beams, the faintest traces of old carvings barely visible under the grime of time.

At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel opened into a chamber, larger than I expected. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steel. Shadows stretched long over stone walls, their jagged shapes cast by lanterns hanging from hooks. The flickering light revealed racks of weapons—swords, axes, spears—all lined up in perfect order. Some gleamed like they had just been sharpened, while others looked ancient, their blades darkened with time.

I felt my breath hitch.

This… this was a fucking armory.

Helga walked ahead, her fingers brushing over the weapons like they were familiar, like they meant something to her. On one rack, a set of armour, I guess it was hers. She stopped by a large wooden chest and crouched down, unlocking it with a key she pulled from her coat. The heavy lid creaked open, revealing neatly stacked leather armor, small pouches, and—my eyes caught the gleam of silver—a dagger with an intricate hilt.

I took a slow step forward, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.

"What is this place…?"

Helga didn't answer immediately. She picked up the dagger, turning it in her hands, her expression unreadable.

Helga looked at me for a long moment as if deciding whether to say it or not. Then, instead of answering, she stood up and walked toward the far end of the chamber.

"Come," she said. "There's more."

More?

Helga led me past the racks of weapons, past crates stacked against the walls, stopping at what looked like a dead end—a solid stone wall, cracked and worn with age. For a moment, I thought she had made a mistake, but then she reached out, pressing her hand against a specific spot near the center.

A deep, grinding sound filled the chamber.

I stepped back instinctively as the stone shifted, revealing a narrow passage hidden behind it. A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying the scent of dust and something else—something metallic, almost like blood.

Helga didn't hesitate. She stepped inside.

I stared at the entrance, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Something about this felt… different. The weapons, the secret armory—those I could wrap my head around, even if they raised more questions than answers. But this? This felt older, heavier.

I took a breath and followed her in.

The passage was tight, the walls pressing close on either side. My footsteps felt too loud in the silence. Helga walked a few paces ahead, her figure barely illuminated by the faint glow of lanterns placed along the walls.

Then we stepped into another chamber, and my breath caught in my throat.

The room was small, circular, and empty—except for the pedestal at its center.

And two swords resting on top of it. 

It wasn't just any sword. I could tell that much immediately.

One was the golden greatsword she'd used against the bear. The other is a katana with a blackened blade.

The blade was long, its metal black as night with veins of silver running through it like cracks in stone. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth from use. But what stood out the most was the faint, almost imperceptible hum in the air. It wasn't sound. It wasn't light. It was… something else.

Helga stepped up to the pedestal, looking down at the katana with an expression I couldn't quite place.

Then she turned to me.

"This," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "is what I was going to tell you about when you were older."

I swallowed.

"Mom…" My throat felt dry. "What is this?"

She exhaled slowly, resting a hand on the hilt.

"A part of me," she said. "And, maybe one day, a part of you."

I didn't like the way she said that.

I didn't like what it implied.

Helga's fingers tightened around the hilt of the katna, her gaze distant, lost in something I couldn't see.

I took a step closer, the strange hum in the air growing stronger. It prickled against my skin, like standing too close to a storm just before lightning struck.

"A part of me?" I repeated. "What does that even mean?"

Helga finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. Then, in one fluid motion, she lifted the katana from the pedestal.

The air tensed.

For a moment, nothing happened—then the veins of silver running through the blade pulsed, light flickering across them like embers stirred to life. A low vibration hummed through the room, setting my teeth on edge.

Helga sighed, rolling her shoulders. "I was hoping to tell you this when you were older. When you had time to just… be a kid." She turned the blade in her hand, examining it. "But after what happened today, I think you deserve to know the truth now."

I swallowed. "The truth about what?"

She looked at me for a long moment before finally saying, "About me. About who I really am."

She gestured toward the pedestal, the sword still glowing faintly in her grip. "And about what you might become."

Helga shifted, her fingers running along the blade with something almost like reverence. Then, slowly, she lowered it, planting the tip against the ground. The glow dimmed, retreating into the veins of silver like a breath exhaled.

"You've walked past this place a hundred times," she murmured, "and never once noticed it. Do you know why?"

I shook my head.

Helga lifted her gaze to mine. "Because it wasn't meant to be seen. Not by you. Not yet."

"You're not making any sense."

She exhaled softly, as if steadying herself. "This farm, this land—it isn't just a home. It was a sanctuary. A place to hide." Her grip tightened on the sword's hilt. "And I was hiding, Fin. From a past I thought I could leave behind."

"Why? Did you do something wrong?"

She gave a humorless smile. "Because I used to be someone else. Someone dangerous."

A sharp wind cut through the air, rustling the trees in the distance.

I clenched my fists. "Who were you?"

Helga hesitated for only a moment before answering.

"I was much like you when I was younger. Restless. Searching for something more than the life I'd been given.

I grew up on a farm, just like this one. Hard work, long days, the same routine over and over again. But when I turned fifteen, I left. Not for adventure, not for dreams—I left because I had no choice. My family needed money, and Broque was the closest place where I could properly earn it.

Broque was nothing like the quiet countryside I knew. It was massive—stone walls that stretched for miles, streets so packed you could barely walk, the smell of roasted meat mixing with sewage in the air. The city was alive, but it was ruthless, too. Back then, I didn't understand how the world worked. Not yet.

But I was strong. Even at that age, I was stronger than anyone else I met. Word got around quickly, and before I knew it, I was being scouted. First, it was simple work—moving crates, breaking up bar fights. Then it got more dangerous. People started offering coins for my fists, and I took them. Mercenary work in Broque paid better than farm work ever could."

I scoffed. "So what, you were the world's angriest delivery girl?"

Helga gave him a flat look, completely unamused.

I held up his hands. "Sorry, continue."

"I learned fast. Not just how to fight, but how to survive. How to read people. How to tell when a deal was going south, when someone was about to pull a knife. The work was dangerous, but I didn't mind. I liked it. Liked testing my strength, liked proving I was better than the ones who thought they could push me around. I climbed the ranks quickly and earned a name for myself. People in Broque whispered it when I walked by.

But power in a place like that doesn't come without a price."

Fin's voice was quiet, but it cut through the cold night like a blade.

"Is he my father?" I asked

Helga closed her eyes. A slow nod.

The world seemed to shrink around me as I watched her. A part of me already knew the answer. 

Helga exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air.

"The man I followed… the man I trusted... he wasn't just a leader. He was something else. Something worse." Her voice hardened. "At first, I turned a blind eye. The cult was growing, and with it, his power. We moved from town to town, city to city. At first, it was small—recruiting the desperate, the forgotten, the lost. But then came the raids. The killings. The purges. And I was part of it."

She looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw guilt carved into her expression like a wound that never healed.

"I followed his orders. I helped him burn down villages, execute those who refused to bow, and take what we wanted. And worse… I did nothing when I saw what he and the others did to the people we conquered. I was complicit in it all." Her voice wavered, just for a moment. "I was young, but I was no fool. I knew what we were doing. But I told myself it was for a cause greater than me. That we were creating something new, something powerful. That the weak didn't deserve to stand in our way."

She gritted her teeth.

"But power corrupts. And he—he was beyond redemption."

I could see her shoulders tense as she forced herself to continue.

"When I became pregnant, I thought… maybe this was a sign. Maybe I could have something real, something good. I thought he would be different with his child." Her hands clenched into fists. "But I was wrong."

Her next words sent a chill down my spine.

"He planned to sacrifice you."

I stiffened.

Helga's gaze turned distant.

"He believed that by offering his own flesh and blood, by taking your life, he would ascend to something beyond mortality. A god among men. He didn't see you as a child. Only as a means to an end. A tool. A sacrifice."

Silence stretched between us.

I didn't know what to say. What could I say?

Helga's fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as she spoke, her voice steady but cold.

"Running wasn't an option."

She stared past me.

"The cult's influence stretched far beyond what I ever imagined. Even if I tried to flee, there were eyes everywhere, spies in every city, hunters ready to drag me back. I wasn't just another follower—I was his most loyal warrior. They would've stopped at nothing to bring me in, to make an example out of me. And if they caught me…" She shook her head. "You wouldn't have been given a quick death."

Her expression darkened, the weight of those words sinking deep into my bones.

"So I did the only thing I could. I decided to kill him."

A breeze rustled the trees, the cold biting at my skin, but I barely felt it.

Helga continued, her voice tight with controlled fury.

"I waited until the right moment—until he trusted me enough to let his guard down. One night, when the others were deep in their rituals, I broke into his study. I thought I would find notes on his next campaign, maybe a weakness, something I could use against him. Instead… I found his plan."

Her jaw was clenched.

"He wasn't planning to use just magic. He had something else. A ritual unlike anything I had ever seen before."

My breath hitched as she spoke.

"Magic artifacts were already powerful, a surefire way to grow stronger. But artifacts that contained souls?" She met my gaze. "Thousands of times more potent."

The weight of her words settled in my chest like lead.

"He was going to take your soul, Fin."

I swallowed hard.

Helga exhaled sharply. "He had it all prepared—a medallion, one infused with runes older than any magic I had ever encountered. The ritual would have transferred your soul into it, binding it permanently. Once done, he could use your very existence to amplify his magic, to fuel his spells with the essence of who you were."

I felt my stomach churn.

Helga's voice dropped lower, each word sharp like a dagger.

"He would've worn you around his neck like a trophy, bound to him forever."

My breath hitched as the pieces started falling into place.f

I slowly turned my head, my gaze settling on the black katana still clutched in Helga's hand.

The blade was silent, but now—now—I could feel something. A weight, an unnatural presence. It was like the air around it was wrong, subtly warped, like a whisper just out of earshot.

My chest tightened.

"You didn't just stop the ritual," I said, my voice quiet but heavy with realization.

Helga's grip on the katana tightened.

"You used it against him."

A slow, shuddering breath left me as I stared at the blade.

"His soul… It's in there, isn't it?"

Helga didn't answer right away. She just watched me, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

I felt cold.

The soul of the man who was supposed to be my father, the leader of one of the most terrifying cults in Faerûn, a man who had razed cities and slaughtered thousands—his soul was trapped in that blade.

I forced myself to swallow.

For years, I had thought of Helga as just a tough but kind woman, my caretaker. But now?

Now, I wasn't so sure what she was anymore.

End of Chapter.