Chapter Text
The Lighthouse
Bellara was hard at work in the eluvian chamber. First, she hung protective artifacts around herself—they resembled butterflies with mirrored wings. Something from Arlathan? Strange-looking tools and devices lay all over the floor, leaving no space to step. They were also magical, judging by the aura, and were probably arranged in a strict order that only Bellara understood.
The Dalish elf was enthusiastically tinkering with the base of the eluvian, and I had to call out to her a couple of times before she jumped and turned around like a deer.
“Oh!”
“Sorry. Do you need help—or should I stay out of your way?”
“Um…”
“If you need assistance, just call,” I found a compromise.
“Okay,” Bellara nodded. “Thank you. Everything’s fine. Really.”
Well, if everything was fine, it was better not to disturb her. Especially since I knew nothing about ancient elven artifacts. There were quite a few of them in the library, but identifying them would still require an expert. Books, however, were just books. Or at least, I really hoped so. The elves were excellent at preserving not only texts but also images and sensations, and not all of them were safe.
To immediately identify the volumes that required the attention of an expert in elven magic, I walked along the shelves, tuning in to sense the energy flows. And quite quickly, I found what I was looking for. A warm pulsation, like a heartbeat, came from a manuscript in a soft leather cover. Something like a diary. Not expecting to understand what it was about, I flipped through several pages—and realized that I could read the delicate script of runes and understand the meaning of every word, every phrase, as if Elvish were my native language.
Now that was a trick.
Once, the Lighthouse had been an educational institution with tools for studying the secret mechanisms of great magic. When Solas rebelled against those who call themselves our gods, the Lighthouse became his operational center, where tools were gathered to study the best ways to liberate from the tyranny of the Evanuris.
You are safe here, both creatures of flesh and spirits of the Fade. Welcome to all who wish to help. The magic of the Lighthouse will meet your needs, ensure your comfort, and even help you understand different languages, especially for those who have fled here from distant corners of the empire. If you have any other needs, ask for Slow Arrow, and I will assist.
Slow Arrow in Elvish is Felassan. A familiar name...
"Well, Felassan, we could really use some help," I murmured to myself.
Most of us traveled through eluvians only at the whim of those who called themselves our gods. We know them as mirrors that always connect to each other as a pair bound by ties, regardless of distance.
Solas outsmarted the so-called gods. If we used ordinary eluvians, they could track us back to our refuge. Solas improved June's work by creating a mirror whose singing stone could change its tune to lead us to any eluvian, not just its pair. Thus, we could travel where we were needed without fear of pursuit.
The journey is as safe as through a regular eluvian. If you have any questions, ask for Slow Arrow, and I will help.
"How fortunate. Well, I don't disagree that Solas is a genius..."
I also found a few words about the dagger, and they were concerning.
I try to maintain calm in front of the recruits, but you've been avoiding me for weeks. We need to talk about the lyrium dagger.
Yes, it's powerful. Like an erupting volcano, and no one would try to harness its power. (Well, maybe Andruil, but do you really want to be compared to Andruil?) We need to stop the Evanuris, but I'd prefer we don't destroy the world in the process. If you're sure you can control its power, tell me so. In these words. Without beating around the bush.
Besides, we both know what this dagger means to you. I can't cast my best spells when my spirit is unbalanced. Can you? (That's a serious question. Maybe you can!)
I'm with you no matter what.
This entry, unlike the previous ones, was filled with emotions. I even managed to catch some vague images. The mad laughter of the Huntress goddess, clad in armor made of shining crimson stone. Solas saying something while looking away. The enthusiastic gazes of elves directed at me – Felassan. A thin blade emitting a cold white glow.
I took Solas’s dagger from my belt and weighed it in my palm. The power of an erupting volcano… I’d bet the Evanuris are well aware of its existence and would love to get their hands on it.
For a brief moment, I saw a tall elf dressed in exquisite leather armor, with eyes of incredible violet color, right in front of me. A familiar face—it seemed that my feverish imagination had shown me exactly this image while I was lying with a concussion.
“Felassan…”
“If you need help, just call me,” his voice sounded in my head, and the dagger warmed up in my hand for a moment. Everything quickly disappeared, but I stood there for several more minutes, trying to steady my breathing.
Great. As if Solas wasn’t enough for me.
“I wouldn’t mind taking a bath,” I said tentatively and went to look for a place where I could do that.
However, the room behind the secret door that opened in the wall under the stairs turned out to be not a bathroom but a music room. The walls were decorated with frescoes, musical instruments, brushes, and jars of paint lay everywhere without any system, and in the very center stood a double harpsichord. I placed Felessan’s diary on the polished lid and ran my fingers over the lower row of keys. The instrument responded with a clear, harmonious sound. I hadn’t played for three years and couldn’t resist the temptation: I opened the music sheet and played a few chords.
Well, it was my own fault…
The Fade, Solas’s Memory
I floated in the Fade as a light, shining nothingness, one with everything around me. The world flowed through me, bringing fragments of knowledge that wove into my being, forming a perfect pattern. But everything changed when she came. Changed, alien, she was still beautiful and powerful in her benevolence.
“You’ve been watching the world for so long,” she said. “Don’t you want to become a part of it?”
“I don’t aspire to live as a flesh-and-blood being,” I objected. “I’m sure you underestimate the danger of solid form. Have you forgotten how the earth trembled when you took the shining stone from it to create a body?”
“Lyrium gave us not only flesh but also the power we possessed when we lived in the Fade,” she countered. “We are the best of both worlds. I need your wisdom, Solas. I can’t confront those who are ready to go too far in their thirst alone.”
“The Firstborn…”
“Elgar’nan has always wanted more; his spirit strives to know all secrets…”
“And subjugate them to himself. Well, it’s madness, but… I will follow you wherever you go, Mythal.”
Touching the lyrium, I felt nothing at first, but less than a minute later, the shining stone penetrated me, dissolving like a drop of blood in water, and the pain came. I could hear Mythal’s voice nearby—somewhere far away—and reached for it for comfort and relief while the lyrium, in anger, clothed me in soft flesh.
It shouldn’t have been done. But there’s no turning back now.
“I’m with you, Solas. I’m with you.”
Her blood, hot and bitter like molten metal, draws a pattern on my still pliable flesh. We are connected—forever, no matter what happens.
The Lighthouse
Returning to my own body, I felt my face burning fiercely—forehead, nose, and chin. It was like when I got tattoos, and I began to suspect something was wrong. The polished surface of the harpsichord's case reflected Mythal's vallaslin. Felassan wore exactly the same one, but in the vision, I was Solas. Where had his vallaslin gone?
Leaving the music room and its sociable instruments behind, I got the Lighthouse to provide me with my own refuge. It opened a passage to one of the empty halls. A huge window, occupying the entire wall opposite the door, overlooked a blooming orange grove that certainly didn't exist in the Lighthouse. The view was just like home, in Salle, in early spring.
The room's furnishings were sparse: a table, a cabinet, a sofa. More than enough for the time being. I dropped my bag of things and said out loud that I would be happy to have a bathroom.
The Lighthouse fulfilled my passionate desire to wash properly by creating a marble hall with a waterfall and a small pool. I'd seen something similar in Verantium (though the baths there were more like a brothel). After thanking the place and its hosts, I climbed into the fragrant water to soak and ponder.
The main thing I learned—and it was both amazing and logical!—was that the first elves were spirits embodied with the help of lyrium. It was worth sharing this with the team. And writing to Dirth, he would also be pleased (though I would have to greatly upset him). To some extent, this explained why such incredibly powerful and beautiful creatures eventually turned into monsters. Whatever distorted their essence, they transformed from spirits into demons. Solas means "pride" in Elvish, and he definitely considers himself the smartest... So, was Wisdom becoming Pride?
Mythal was the spirit of Benevolence. And Elgar'nan? In legends, he is known as the god of Vengeance—for throwing his father Sun from the sky when he hurt the mother Earth. The Allfather, the first of the gods. But was he the spirit of Justice?
I definitely needed to show Bellara Felassan's entry about Vi'Revas. Especially the line about the "singing stone capable of changing its tune." Check on Lace and her magic. Have a private talk with Neve. She boasted that she had eyes and ears all over Minrathous; maybe she could suggest ideas about who to turn to for help.
Besides, I had to report to Viago. Technically, I had fulfilled the contract—the target wasn’t killed but neutralized. But in reality, I had messed up like never before. He had always, always told me: “Idiot, think first, then act.” He would probably decide that I hadn’t thought again, hadn’t calculated the consequences… but what choice did we have? We had to stop the ritual, otherwise the world would have ended. At least, the world as we know it. Only Viago de Riva wouldn’t listen to excuses. He would ask why I hadn’t talked to the target, hadn’t learned its plans in advance, hadn’t tried to prevent the worst-case scenario. Which even Varric couldn’t prevent at the cost of his own life.
The burning sensation passed. Looking into the huge mirror (hope it wasn’t an eluvian? It would be embarrassing to appear naked in front of guests), I made sure that the vallaslin had disappeared. So, I could calmly get down to fulfilling my duties as a leader.
The Ossuary
“Paolo… hey, Paolo, are you there?”
From the neighboring cell—only an ethereal hissing. The neighbor was getting quieter with each passing day, it was becoming harder and harder to call him. He had simply left, giving the demon his place—without a fight, although he had held on longer than anyone else.
He had accepted his fate. He had become a stone on his own grave.
The last defense against pain. Indifference. You simply don’t exist, and neither does the world around you. Pain doesn’t exist. The prisoner had heard of such a thing but had never thought he would see the result with his own eyes.
Torturing such a person was like sticking needles into a cushion made of flax and tow.
“Apathy! Apathy!” Zara’s voice contradicted what was said; the witch was squealing from anger. “What do I need Apathy for?! Destroy!”
“La has vencido, Paolo Cantori,”* the prisoner whispered and pressed the back of his head against the cold wall.
The Lighthouse
“Bel? How’s it going?”
“…controlling the distortions… What? Oh, Rook, is that you?” A shadow of irritation appeared on Bellara’s face, but the Dalish immediately corrected herself and smiled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I found something here that might help somehow?” I opened the diary and found the right page. “Here. ‘Solas improved June’s work by creating a mirror whose singing stone could change its tune to lead us to any eluvian, not just its pair.’”
I don’t know, maybe I was just charmed by the name; I also perceived magic more as music.
“The singing stone can change its tune…” Bellara repeated, tapping the key-stone bed with some intricately curved gadget. “Hmm… maybe… what if…”
Realizing I had lost her, I turned around and headed to the “rector’s office.” Neve was also busy: writing, reviewing, and correcting her notes, but she was easier to distract.
“How’s the mood? Ready to work?” she greeted me.
“What’s that smell?”
“Coffee.”
“Can I have a look?” I picked up a cup from the table, half-filled with some brown viscous liquid, and sniffed it. “Neve, that’s not coffee. Did you boil it?”
“I make it the best way I can,” she waved it off. “As long as it works.”
“Okay. Let’s postpone the conversation. Do you still have any fresh beans?”
Neve placed a jar in front of me, with a handful of coffee beans of some very questionable roast at the bottom. Maker and all his mercies, why do vints hate coffee so much?!
“Ahem. Okay. While I’m saving you and your coffee… The Lighthouse created a bathroom if you want to freshen up.”
“Great idea,” the detective genuinely cheered up, and we parted ways: she to the baths, I to the dining hall.
The Lighthouse, Dining Hall
The only thing that wasn’t in short supply in the kitchen was water and utensils. The dusty pantry was literally stuffed with various ladles, pots, pans, and cauldrons. Additionally, there was a bag of raisins and several jugs of honey. Considering that no one had been in the Lighthouse for quite some time, it was strange that all this hadn’t turned to dust and stone. On the other hand, if there’s no time here, food can last forever.
After roasting the beans to a decent degree, I ground them in a mortar and added them to the water. I threw in some salt and spices from my own supplies. It wouldn’t be perfect, but at least it wouldn’t be that nightmarish sludge Neve somehow calls coffee.
“Oh, how wonderful!” she announced, entering the kitchen with a towel on her head. The aroma of herbs partially overpowered the still timid smell of coffee. “But this place is very strange.”
“All This Shit Is Weird, Part Two,” I joked. Varric would probably come up with a better name for our adventures. “The coffee is almost ready. It would be great if you could find a couple of cups. Or mugs. Or, fine, glasses.”
“Do you want me to use my detective skills?” Neve smirked and scanned the kitchen with her eyes. She found several mugs right under my feet—in the cabinet under the stove.
“See, and I didn’t even think to look there!”
"Well, as far as I understand, we have enemies about whom we know almost nothing," the detective began, tasting the decent coffee. "We only know that they are very powerful mages with pretensions to divinity. Where they are, what they plan to do, and how—it's unclear."
"Judging by the Crossing, they want to remove the Veil," I specified. "Using blood magic and the Blight."
"And why...? Do they have an army there? Some kind of weapon? A wonderful, marvelous world?"
"Whatever it is, it won't end well for this world. And I'll have to stop them somehow."
"Or perish?" Neve arched an ironic eyebrow.
"Preferably survive the process," I winced. "We'll need all the help we can get. I think the Veil Jumpers won't stay out of it, but there aren't that many of them, and Arlathan isn't the calmest place right now. Even without demons and darkspawn."
"There are the Shadow Dragons. I've worked with them for many years. If information is needed, they'll find it. Mostly about the Venatori, of course, but they definitely won't want to miss the return of the elven gods. And speaking of the Venatori... What do you know about the Demon of Vyrantium?"
"Everything," I replied without thinking, and felt my ears turning red. I pressed them down to hide them under my hair and clarified, "I have a dossier on him."
"Who would've thought," Neve drawled, giving me a sardonic look. "Has the Demon stolen your heart?"
"He's a legend..." I sighed.
The rest was perhaps too complicated to explain when someone was looking at you with an expression that said, "Well, you're such a naive fool."
Umbralis, 9:49 Dragon
Satinalia was the favorite holiday of the Antivan people, the brightest event of the year. A festive procession, dances, music, gifts, treats. A whole week of madness and freedom.
I was returning home for Satinalia. A small concession from Viago de Riva. I hoped he made it not only because tradition demanded spending Satinalia with family rather than at work. I hoped he had missed me at least a little.
I arrived at night. Soaked to the bone in the rain, I dreamed only of a hot bath and a cup of chocolate, but Andarateia forced me to change clothes and come down to the casino. There, in the vast hall, gathered the best of the best, the Crows of Antiva. A rare occasion when everyone preferred fun over death. Noise, music, laughter, dancing couples. I was in an emerald green dress that Teia had stuffed me into; my hair, damp from the rain, was barely pulled into a hairstyle.
“Idiot,” Viago “greeted” me.
“Hello to you too, Viago,” I forced a smile, an exact copy of his own.
“How do you like… hmm… the ball?”
“Are you having a polite conversation with me? Please stop. Just tell me right away who I should charm here to make everyone happy.”
“The First Talon,” Viago nodded towards the far end of the balcony.
“Oh, Caterina is here?”
I sighed and trudged over to greet the head of the House of Crows. Or rather, I walked with my aching back straight, shoulders squared, and chin held high. Because otherwise, Viago would have eaten me alive, reminding me of the dignity of the de Rivas while I was hanging from the rack.
Caterina barely acknowledged me. I considered my duty of honor fulfilled and descended into the hall. It would be nice to get lost among the dancing couples and make my way to the drinks bar.
I was in the middle of determining whether the punch was poisoned… and with what exactly, when someone in a mask heavily studded with diamonds appeared beside me. There were countless ladies in the hall, I don’t know why this handsome man chose me. Taking a languidly graceful pose, which he probably thought was incredibly seductive, he lifted his mask and greeted me:
“I can’t believe my eyes, minor de Riva, are you really here?”
Lesser Dellamorte. He hadn’t missed a single opportunity to either taunt me or seduce me, but so far he had achieved no results.
“Hello, Illario,” I replied, pointedly (because otherwise he wouldn’t understand) ignoring his charms.
“How’s work?” He turned to give me another angle to admire.
“Did you want something?”
“Just… curious,” the conversation quickly became awkward: Illario was still expecting a different outcome for some reason. “They say it’s prime season for necromancers in Nevarra right now.”
“Don’t believe every rumor,” I advised and spat the sickeningly spicy liquid back into the glass.
“How do you like the punch?”
“I haven’t come across such a combination of poisons in a long time. Someone was trying to make a joke, and someone is clearly in a bad mood,” I smiled.
“Maybe we should dance then?”
“I’m afraid this girl is already taken, cousin,” that voice made me jump in place.
Lucanis dragged me into the thick of the dancing couples, but only to lose Viago's trail. We escaped from the hall upstairs, sneaking into one of the guest rooms, blessedly empty and quiet. I lit candles, took the pins out of my hair, giving my head a rest. I threw my mask on the table. Lucanis settled into a chair and also removed his mask. I involuntarily bit my lip—his entire face was covered with small, healing cuts.
"Mi Luz, did you jump headfirst through a window?" I sat on the armrest of the chair and gently touched his cut lip with my fingertips.
"Almost," he smiled at the corner of his mouth, pulling me onto his lap. "Don't worry about me, everything's fine."
I sighed and cast a healing spell. Such minor injuries were easy even for me to heal. Now Lucanis could smile without fear of reopening the wounds.
"Thank you, Gatita."
He touched my wrist with his lips, turned my hand over, covering the back of it with kisses, and I froze, forgetting how to breathe.
"Luz..."
Lucanis looked up at me, smiling his gentle, warm smile. I wrapped my arms around his neck, buried my fingers in his hair, touched every scar with my lips. He ran his fingertips along my back, sending sweet shivers, kissing my collarbone.
"You're taking a big risk doing this," I warned in a whisper.
"Really?" he chuckled. "Why?"
"Because I won't be able to let you go. You'll have to kill me to get rid of me."
"Gatita... mine..."
He was so careful, so gentle, that I could barely bear it. I reached for him with my entire wounded soul, with my whole body. I was alive beside him. He seemed to create me anew with every touch, filling me, healing me with his tenderness... A brief stab of pain, and now I was a part of him, and he was a part of me, we...
"I thought you'd forgotten me..."
"How could I..."
"There are others... much closer to you than I am..."
"There's... no one... but you..."
Gentle, meaningless whispers—it didn't matter if it was just sweet lies. That night, I was his only one, and that was all that mattered.
It started raining again. Now it wouldn't stop until Pluitanis. Lucanis embraced me completely, breathing cosily into my hair, while I stroked his arm along the double scar left by the possessed hair. A terrible story...
"Viago will kill me," he suddenly muttered.
"He'll kill both of us. Ten times over," I snorted. "In his dreams."
"I feel like I ate a cake before the celebration."
"What cake?.."
"Well, a big one, beautiful," Lucanis smiled shyly, "standing and waiting in the kitchen to be served. And you just take and bite into its side."
"I sense someone was incited to a mischief, and that someone got into serious trouble afterward," I kissed his collarbone sympathetically.
"Yeah. Illario egged me on, and Caterina made me eat the whole cake."
Maker, how sick he must have felt afterward... Sometimes I really wanted to take Caterina Dellamorte's cane and give her a good beating herself.
"Hmm... do you think Viago will force you to marry me?" I continued the analogy.
"Force?.." he looked into my eyes indignantly. "Gatita, that's all I want."
"Then he won't..." I sighed, tucked a silk black strand behind his ear, ran my hand along his shoulder.
"You... do you want that?" he looked at me with a mixture of hope and... fear?
"That's all I want," I replied, because I couldn't find better words.
We hadn't seen each other for almost two years. I wondered if he ever thought about me, even occasionally?
"There's been little news about him lately," Neve continued as if nothing had happened, "but he's the best mage assassin known."
"Neve, he's the highest-paid assassin in the House of Crows," I objected. "Do you think we have enough money to hire him? Even at the rates from two years ago, he'd demand more than I weigh in andris for such a contract."
"Maybe they'll give us a discount due to the end of the world?" she winked.
"Alright, I'll inquire. But don't get your hopes up. Considering everything that's going on, he's either in Tevinter or Treviso—up to his neck in work. At best, we'll have to make do with the second-best mage assassin."
"Who's that?"
"Me."
Neve looked suspiciously into her cup but then remembered I was drinking the same coffee.
"I've never heard about you before," she said, slightly offended.
"That's because I worked mainly in Nevarra," I shrugged. "You know, like big predators, we tend to divide territories. Though I did leave my mark in Tevinter a couple of times. The Venatori don't let anyone rest easy."
"So, is it decided? Minrathous and Treviso?"
"As soon as Bellara finishes with the eluvian. Hopefully, we won't starve by then. Raisins and honey are quite nutritious, of course, but I wouldn't mind some meat."
"And I could go for some fish," Neve said dreamily. "When we're in Minrathous, I'll take you to a place..."
"There's no more coffee either," I sighed sadly.
"I'll go check on Bel," the detective decided, rising.
"Maybe it's better not to distract her? We can't help anyway. It's better to get some sleep."
The Lighthouse, greenhouse
I wasn’t sure if Neve followed my advice, and neither was Harding asleep. When I entered the dead greenhouse, Lace was reading some enormous tome, apparently retrieved from the local library. Only it was dwarven, for some reason. Though perhaps dwarves had visited here too. Or maybe books appeared in response to the inhabitants’ desires, just like the rooms.
“Valos atrendum…” she muttered and closed the book indignantly. “But isatunoll is not valos atrendum!”
I involuntarily pressed the diary closer to my chest and cleared my throat quietly.
“Lace, sorry, am I interrupting?”
“Rook…” Harding looked slightly through me. “No, I’m just trying to figure things out. We’ve forgotten not only the word itself, we’ve forgotten its meaning… its significance. What else might we have forgotten?”
“I was actually going to talk about that,” I chuckled. Elves definitely don’t remember that they were once spirits. “But I guess we can discuss it another time. What you’re searching for… isatunoll—it sounds strangely familiar. You said that word when… you touched the dagger.”
“It’s an expression of will. ‘I am.’ But ‘I’—not in the singular. And not ‘we’, it’s a multitude, but separate… It,” Harding looked at me helplessly and exhaled through clenched teeth, “is the unity of everything. I, we, they, here, there, then, now, everywhere and always. And I feel it inside myself. This can’t be possession, can it?”
“Unlikely, Lace. Dwarves don’t have a connection to the Fade where demons come from.”
“But there’s a connection to the Stone,” she said. “Some of us have the ‘Stone sense’, for lyrium veins, caves, and caverns in the rock. I never had it. But yesterday I took and turned several darkspawn into stone. And it seems to me… don’t think I’m delusional or anything, I don’t even believe what I’m saying myself. But I started feeling the Stone.”
“Want me to ask Solas what this effect is?” I suggested.
“Do you think he’ll tell the truth?”
“No, most likely he’ll lie. But you can guess the truth from what he lies about too.”
“Don’t,” Lace shook her head. “You know, let’s go somewhere where there are real mountains instead? I want to understand what I can do now.”
“Of course, that’s definitely no problem,” I hugged Harding and stroked her hair. “Everything will be fine, Lace. Stone magic is great, right?”
“I hope you’re right, Rook. Otherwise it would be a shame. What if I miss… what if I try to use this magic and can’t? How does it even work?”
“Well, all novice mages miss and can’t concentrate,” I gently tugged on Harding’s braid. “That’s why you need to study. Want me to tell you about how I learned?”
“After you set Viago on fire?”
“Yeah. They hired a mentor from the Circle of Magi for me, an old grandfather type, with a long thin braid and a shiny bald head.”
“And he taught you everything you know?” Harding chuckled.
“No. Under his supervision, I read various smart books and retold what I read while he was napping in the sun. Viago taught me control. And music teacher taught me magic. According to textbooks, magic is something between instructions for a mechanism and the Chant of Light. Here you do this, and that’s because the Maker is almighty. But in reality, it’s an emotion that comes in response to a thought. Melody and rhythm. I had my own melody, my own emotion for every spell. Now it’s no longer necessary, but I’ll try to remember for you. When we’re somewhere in the mountains.”
“Do you think this will work for Titan magic?”
“I don’t know. I’ll show you, you’ll try, and if it doesn’t work, you’ll come up with something of your own.”
Harding fell into thought, then lifted her head: “Isana! Lyrium is called isana! The Song of the Stone! And the Titans! They sang while creating the world!” Her eyes literally shone.
The Fade, Solas’s Memory
The work was completed, and I held in my palm the most powerful weapon known in Elvhenan. Something that would end the Titans. Created from their own blood.
“Did you succeed?” Mythal called to me, and I reluctantly turned to her voice.
“This blade and ritual are all that’s needed to separate the Titans from their spirit,” I replied to her demanding gaze. “Just know that their dreams will become mad, turn into a disembodied blight of pain and anger. What we’re doing… is monstrous.”
“We can’t end this war any other way,” she said, taking the dagger from me.
I saw the receptacle for dreams—a cube riddled with protective runes made of smooth black metal. I saw the shining stream pouring from the bodies of the giant creators into this cube. I heard their mad cry of pain—beyond perception, beyond reality, piercing to the bones, inaudible and desperate like a child’s cry. I knew it would save us. I knew it would destroy us.
She wanted it. And I did as she asked again.
It shouldn’t have been done. But it was too late.
The Ossuary
“Let me out!”
“You understand I can’t do that.”
“Let me out!”
“Is that all you’re capable of?”
“Letmeoutletmeoutletmeout!”
“You’re a demon. Demons make deals.”
“Demon. No. No. Wounded. Let me out.”
“Let’s make a deal.”
“No…” The demon grew quiet and floated toward the prisoner as a pulsating cloud.
“We can run away together.”
“Get out.”
“Yes. Get out.”
It was difficult. The demon didn’t understand many words. The prisoner repeated the same thing over and over, simplifying each phrase to its essence. He tried to show through examples. You won’t be free if you possess my body. You’ll be Zara’s slave. No? You’ll do everything these people tell you. They’ll control you just like they do now. No? You won’t get out alone, without my help.
“They’ll bind you. Kill you.”
“Not free?”
“No.”
The demon taught him patience. Not to raise his voice, not to snap when encountering deafening misunderstanding. Not to demand, not to prove, not to beg. To explain—again and again. Until understanding came.
Hour after hour. Day after day.
“Do we have a deal? We’ll kill Calivan. Kill Zara. Get out together. And live.”
“Kill. Get out. Live.”
The conditions were acceptable. It remained to figure out the methods.
The Lighthouse
"...Rook... Rook! Please!.."
"Lace..."
"Praise the Maker! You scared me to death! Tell me what's wrong? Did I do something?"
"I think... it's because of the connection with Solas," I struggled to sit up and touched my face—there was dried blood under my nose. "I see... like his memories. He already showed me how he was a spirit, and then Mythal persuaded him to make a body for himself. Out of lyrium. And now... it's just terrible."
"What? What did you see?" Harding finally stopped doubling and looked anxiously into my eyes.
"Solas made the Titans tranquil," I took the lyrium dagger from my belt and turned it over in my fingers. "With this. 'The power of an erupting volcano'... Lace, he essentially created the Blight with his own hands. The taint is the Titans' anger and pain."
The fact that touching the dagger had awakened magic in Harding now seemed not just logical, but inevitable. Strong emotions—and an artifact more powerful than any other in Thedas. It had simply removed the barrier.
"How... can that be?" she asked in a trembling voice. "For what?"
"The Titans didn't like that the elvhen were creating bodies for themselves from their blood. They tried to defend themselves, they defended themselves in response, there was a war, and... Lace, I'm so sorry..."
"This... isn't your fault, Rook," Harding was crying. "If anyone should apologize, it's Solas."
"More likely Mythal. She forced him to create this dagger. To stop the war."
"He knew," Lace said in quiet anger, clenching her fists. "He knew all along. He walked around, smiled—and knew! It must have been amusing to talk to living stone!"
"Shh, quiet, querida, shh," I hugged her tightly and stroked her back. "We'll make him apologize for everything he's done and will do in the future."
"Yes, he's good at that," Harding sobbed into my shoulder. "'I'm sorry, I had no choice!'"
"Then we'll just kill him," I suggested.
"Do you think that will be easy?"
"Well, not easy, but everyone can be killed one way or another. Turn him to stone, let him know how it feels."
"Or you can zap him with lightning on the top of his head!" Lace agreed bloodthirstily.
"Yeah..." I replied uncertainly.
After the vision, I couldn't feel the flow of magic at all.