Chapter Text
White-hot, searing pain traveled through the elven boy’s body like tongues of flame, impossibly bright.
Fissures of raw energy trickled into his bloodstream, setting every vessel and nerve alight with pain. Something deep within him churned, unfurling as if being reborn.
He choked out a cry at the sensation, his throat raw with the intensity.
He looked down at his hand.
His hand.
His palm glowed like sunlight through sea glass, crackling with viridescent power. It spread down the veins of his arm, pulsing in tandem with his erratic heartbeat. His arm shook with the ferocity, threatening to shatter him.
His senses melded together— his hair was on fire, smoke enveloped his skin, and the taste of copper flooded his mouth.
He was blind.
He was falling.
All breath left his lungs as he hit the cold, stone floor. The world was empty, despite the sudden rush of voices, light, and the rustle of metal that consumed his awareness. The clamors came closer, turning to shouts.
Hands instantly weighed down on his back and shoulders, hastened and rough. His cheek pressed harder against the rock. Head whirling with the pounding intensity, his consciousness started to slide away. Reality slipped through his fingers like water, and soon the chaos flickered out like candlelight in the wind. Everything went dark.
…
He awoke to the feeling of shackles biting into his wrists.
Alarmed, he blinked rapidly, urging his vision to clear. His body came into focus, the cuffs were chained to the floor at his sides, forcing him to sit straight. With his knees dug into the rough dirt, he sat up wearily, wincing at the strain of his sore muscles.
With a gasp, he was face-to-face with the point of a blade that was mere inches from his nose. He followed the line of the sword with his eyes. An armored hand gripped the hilt, the wielder staring down at him. Their face was covered by a knight’s helm, emotionless.
Out of his peripheral vision, the gleam of metal armor surrounded him. Terror set every nerve alight and he tensed at the drawn weapons, bracing for a killing blow.
“You have one chance to explain yourself, elf. Now.”
A stern voice ripped him out of his shock, a woman’s. The torchlight lined her silhouette as she marched towards him, also clad in armor but thankfully maskless.
The soldiers surrounding him sheathed their blades as she approached. He exhaled shakily.
She stalked around him, gripping the hilt of her sword, as if preparing to draw it, “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”
She stopped in front of him, gesturing at him accusingly, “Except for you.” Steely, umber eyes stared him down, her scowl twisted the scar that lined her cheek.
Horror struck his heart at her words, each one heavy with grief and anger. Destroyed. Dead. You.
He looked down once again and the mark on his hand glared mockingly, the pain had numbed but light still burst from his palm. His mouth opened, then closed helplessly as he stared down at it. He shuffled his knees to recenter himself before meeting the adult woman’s eyes. The words crackled at the edges, previously stuck deep in his throat, “I— I don't know what this is— or how I got here—”
Enraged, the woman surged forward and gripped his shoulders roughly, “You’re lying.” she snarled.
A gloved hand pushed his interrogator back, and a cloaked woman stepped between them. Her armor and hood made her seem like a walking shadow, except for the strands of red hair that framed her face.
“We need him, Cassandra.” she said softly. “Besides, he is just a boy.”
Cassandra hesitated, wordlessly looking down at him once more.
She watched him as guilt rolled off him in waves, his bound hands balled into fists, “What do you mean that everyone is dead?”
“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” the gentle-voiced woman asked.
He went silent, recalling flashes of memories, bouts of pain, but nothing concrete. He shook his head weakly.
Cassandra sighed before turning to her companion, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” all anger seeped from her, replaced with an old weariness, “I will take him to the rift.”
Leliana nodded subtly and stalked out into the snow. Daylight spilled into the room from the cracked door, he noted with a jolt the gleaming iron bars that surrounded him on all sides, lining the cramped, bleak walls of the prison.
Cassandra approached him once more, bending down to undo the chains bolted to the ground.
“What did happen?” he felt brave enough to ask, tension slowly fading. She guided him to his feet, hands still bound.
Her features wavered, “It… will be better to show you,”
His back ached when he finally stood up fully, the top of his head barely reaching Cassandra’s chin.
She guided him through the threshold, his pupils stung from the light as he stepped into the snow. The sensation was… odd, and he looked down. His feet were bound in lived-in leather boots, the withered laces were hastily tied and a big, mysterious stain marred the toe of his left shoe. The sole flopped loudly as he took another step forward. He wrinkled his nose.
Cassandra walked a few paces ahead of him before stopping, face trained on the sky above. He followed her gaze and his eyes widened.
It was a swirling abyss of chaos. In the midst of it all, the eye. It ripped the skies apart with such ferocity it hid the sun, no more than a slight glow behind layers of clouds. Flashing green light poured out, spilling down into the physical world. His ears rang with the intensity of it.
“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said, “It is a massive rift into the world of demons, which grows larger with each passing hour.”
“It is not the only such rift, just the largest,” her gaze hardened, “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”
His sight never strayed from the Breach as it shuddered and spread, “An explosion can do that?”
“This one did.” she answered, “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”
The storm spasmed as more light came through and he fell to the ground with a cry. All-consuming energy radiated from his palm, alight. It awoke an agonizing shadow of a memory. He pushed the feeling down.
At that, the pain ceased slightly and the elf cradled his hand to his chest with a soft hiss.
Cassandra knelt before him, forcing him to meet her eyes, “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads,”
She faltered, “And it is killing you.”
He flinched. The bluntness of her words rattled him to his core and he resisted the urge to shuffle closer to her, instinctively reaching for a modicum of protection or comfort.
Cassandra seemed to notice this and rested a hand lightly on his wrist, her touch so much more gentle than it had been mere minutes ago, “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”
The weight of it all crashed down on him, flashes of the mark, the broken sky, the burdens he now carried. He had half the mind to flee, but the pull of the mark kept him tethered. He was responsible for its damage, whether intentional or not. His thoughts rendered him motionless until he took a breath. “I will try,” he looked up at Cassandra with newfound resolve.
Her eyebrows raised in the shift in his gaze, “Then…?”
“I will do whatever it takes.” he willed his voice not to shake.
The woman looked at him, then down at his restraints. Without another word, she unsheathed a dagger from her belt.
His heart quickened at the flash of metal, but soothed when she swiftly cut the rope that bound his hands. He stood once more, and the two trekked to the temple in stifled silence.
Cries of lost lives echoed off the mountainside surrounding them.
He suppressed a shiver as they traveled, keeping his gaze trained on the plait crowning Cassandra’s head. The woman strode with purpose, her shoulders set like a soldier's. Her pace had him fighting to keep up at her heels.
He growled lowly with annoyance as his boots kept making him trip on each snow mound, nearly tumbling into the wall of pointed armor in front of him.
Suddenly, a terrible hum filling the air made them both still. The cold, stone bridge before them shook and groaned.
Cassandra opened her mouth to warn him before a green light exploded in front of their eyes.
They fell with a cry as the foundation gave way beneath them. The elf caged his arms against his face, narrowly avoiding the crumbling rock that rained down overhead. Ice stung his skin as he hit the frozen ground.
A horrible scream cut through the air and he watched in terror as demons poured out of a small rift in front of them.
The creatures were unlike anything he could comprehend. Skin oozed over their hunched frames, clumped together as if set aflame and doused in water thousands of times over. Beaded eyes glistened with raw, wild instinct, trained hatefully on the two humanoids in their path.
Cassandra quickly got to her feet and drew her weapon.
“Stay behind me.” she ordered before charging at the abominations.
The boy nodded, yet bristling slightly at her demanding tone. He assumed a wide stance, body set to run at the first instance of danger.
A demon dodged her swinging sword and charged straight at him. He attempted to scramble out of the way, the toe of his boot caught the friction of the ice and he crumpled to the ground once more.
With a roar of frustration, he ripped the ragged things off his feet, relief filling his senses as bare soles pressed against the earth.
The sensation was immediate.
His stance stabilized, like roots in soil. Magic flowed through his fingertips like a rushing current. Nimbly dodging its swinging claws, he reached out instinctively, not with his hands but something deeper.
The demon stumbled mid-lunge, its form flickering as if uncertain of its own existence.
For a heartbeat, he could feel its essence —corrupted, angry, cold— and he pushed against it, severing its connection to this world.
The demon howled and its essence crumbled to dust, dwindling to nothing in the rushing wind.
He looked down at his palms in wonder and then at Cassandra, her face puzzled and wary. She stepped over the body of a slain demon, her sword raised in warning, “Not another step.” she barked.
He froze in place, showing his palms to her in surrender.
Her eyes tracked the movement as her scowl deepened, “Were you aware that you were a mage?”
He considered the question for a moment. The magic had come so naturally to him. It was familiar. Briefly, he wondered about his past self. Did he know? Did he wield magic with grace, far beyond the fumbling attempts of his current self?
His ears drooped slightly.
Unsure, he gave Cassandra a helpless shrug.
With a sigh, she sheathed her sword, “I cannot always protect you. It might do you well to defend yourself.” She turned away before adding, “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”
He wouldn’t necessarily say that, but he relaxed all the same.
Cassandra jerked her chin in the direction of the path, and he followed behind her once more.
The path to the rift was a treacherous one. Chaos burned all around them as they struggled to get across the frozen river bank.
Once they reached the crest of the hill, Cassandra’s urgent yell ripped him out of a walking daze, “This way! We must help them.”
“Help who?” he asked as he followed close behind.
Cassandra ignored him, ushering him forward with a gloved hand.
Once the fighting came into view, he understood what she meant. A pack of armed men charged at a glowing rift gushing with light, a bizarre buzz emanated loudly from it. It spread like a gaping wound until demons poured through, lunging at the men.
His body reacted instantly and he charged at the scene, mana trickling at his finger tips.
He was light on his feet as he dodged swiping talons and stray arrows. More and more demons withered before him as he pushed against their corrupted essences that crowded his mind.
A foreign source of mana warmed his senses, gentler more controlled than the erratic marrow sputtering from the Breach.
“Hurry, before more come through!” A man appeared at his side. A fellow elf, silvery eyes flashing as he grabbed his wrist, guiding the boy’s hand to the rift above.
Light then poured from his palm, a trail connecting to the core of the rift. Cords of power curled and twisted until the rift stitched together before his eyes.
The thick static that had filled the air ceased, dwindling into silence. The boy stared down at his hand in shock. The crackles that lined his palm eased until it was barely aglow under his skin.
"What did you do?" he blurted out, glancing up at the elven man at his side. The stranger had donned a scratchy-looking wool cloak, covered in layers except for his simply-wrapped feet.
Once their eyes met, the man released his wrist with a jolt. The boy perceived the smallest flinch before the man schooled his features, “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”
If this strange, elven man was trying to be hostile, he ignored it, “So I can help!” he exclaimed, exhilarated.
“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” the man explained, “I theorized that the mark may seal the rifts in the Breach’s wake.”
He nodded curtly at him, “And it seems I was correct.”
Cassandra’s face softened slightly as the boy looked up at Cassandra with new hope, “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”
“Good to know,” a new voice cut in, the young elf turned to see a stocky dwarf greeting them with a crooked smile, a crossbow slung casually over his shoulder, “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forev—“
The dwarf paused and blinked in disbelief once he took in the sight before him.
“Shit, Seeker, I thought you were kidding. Literally!” the dwarf approached, face brightening with mirth as he greeted him, “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag-a-long.” he added with a wink at Cassandra.
She scowled back at him, “Your help is appreciated, Varric.” Venom coated her words, “But—”
He cut her off with a snort, “Have you been in the Valley lately, Seeker?” he gestured to the small elf at her side, “Our friend here’s not going to give you a lot of cover. No offense, kid.”
The boy hummed, schooling his face to seem unbothered. He wrapped his arms around himself.
“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf at his side said, offering a hesitant grin, “I am pleased to see you still live.”
The boy looked up at Solas curiously as the words gave him pause. Before he could inquire, Varric stated bluntly, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”
“Really?” He regarded Solas with renewed interest, “Nuvas ema ir’enastela. You seem to know a great deal about it all.”
Solas raised a brow, “You speak Elvhen?”
The boy hesitated, shuffling his feet. Did he?
“I… guess so? I don’t… remember much of anything else.”
Solas hummed, eyes narrowing as he studied him.
Cassandra cleared her throat before nodding, “Like you, Solas is an apostate.”
Solas chuckled, yet the sound held no humor, “Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he turned back to the boy, a tinge of warmth in his features, “Lasa halani, da’len.”
The words brought a small grin to the boy’s face.
“We should get moving. The Breach is becoming more unstable.” Cassandra urged. The two sobered at her haste.
“The tear grows larger by the moment.” Solas said in stoic agreement.
They began to march down the worn, river-side trail with Varric following close behind. The boy lingered near where the smaller rift disappeared, staring down at the hissing scorch mark it left in the snow.
…
The weather picked up as they travelled along the winding pebble path. Freezing wind whipped at his face and tangled in his copper hair. He sputtered as strands stuck to his lips and tickled his cheeks. Varric came up from behind him, playfully tugging the hem of the boy’s hood over his eyes. He shot the dwarf a grateful look which was met with a toothy grin.
As they rounded the bend, the desolate ruin came into view. His stomach heaved. It was completely cloaked in ash, nothing more than a pile of stone. Charred bodies littered the path near the entrance. Their broken jaws hung open in an endless scream. Bile rose in his dry, raw throat.
“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas remarked, leaning on his staff.
“What’s left of it,” Varric muttered.
“That is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra looked down at him, a far-away look upon her face, “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”
As he attempted to settle his stomach, memories burned brighter now, yet still tangled in a ball of knots.
Focusing, he tried to unravel it, stretching his hand to catch its frayed edges, to no avail.
They entered what remained of the Temple’s entrance, stepping over snapped bones and bloodied, dented helmets.
At the center of it all, chaos. The rift aglow before him tripled the size of any, apparently meager, rifts he had encountered.
The cluster seemed to eat at itself, writhing in a destructive mass. It was a gaping maw of green energy, twisted and unstable.
“Thank the Maker,” a new voice remarked, cutting through the din.
The boy turned to see Leliana running to meet them, a crowd of recruits gathered at her back.
“You are alive.” She sighed in relief as she took in the sight of his face, minor cuts and a bruise starting to bloom on the apple of his cheek, but otherwise uninjured, “I admit, I am surprised you were able to hold your own so well without weapons.”
Cassandra grimaced, her words clipped, “Yes, we will discuss that at length at a later time.”
Leliana raised a thin eyebrow at that, looking at Cassandra with veiled concern.
The boy frowned slightly, struggling to hide his irritation at her tone.
Solas seemed to notice this where he stood, near a remaining stone pillar. The boy caught the slightest, indignant flick of his ear.
“Have your men take their positions along the outside of the Temple.” Cassandra ordered, gesturing to the perimeter of the ruin.
Leliana nodded briskly before turning on her heel, shouting the orders to her soldiers.
“Are you ready?” Cassandra asked, her voice lowered to where only he could hear it.
The question sparked anger simmering within him, “Do I have a choice?” he asked with more fire than he intended. He lifted his gaze to look her in the eye.
She sighed, “It was a foolish question. I won’t pretend I don’t understand your frustration,” she braced a hand on his shoulder, giving him a stiff pat, “You have persevered thus far. I believe you are capable.”
Her certainty sparked the smallest flicker of hope within the hollowness of his chest. He managed a small nod.
As they journeyed deeper, spikes of red lyrium jutted from the ground, making his eyes burn and his spine itch. Varric wrinkled his nose in distaste, stopping for a beat to spit on the dirt where it grew.
“Bring forth the sacrifice.”
The foreign, crooked voice made the walls shake.
The boy inhaled sharply, shoulders hunched, readying himself for an attack. Varric loaded his crossbow, aiming it at the unknown presence that choked the air.
“Go while you can! Warn them!”
Cassandra let out a strangled gasp at the sound. A panicked woman cried out, her accent made the consonants curl like smoke.
“No, not yet! Wait!”
His voice? The boy could hardly recognize himself, the sound was high, pleading, and knowing.
Without thinking, he bolted forward. Cassandra called out to him, yet he boldly ignored her, as he swiftly followed the winding path to the center of the Temple.
A wisp of a memory was displayed overhead. A petrified, older woman draped in Chantry robes was restrained in the air, kept still by harsh coils of light. Her mouth agape in terror, the boy watched the memory unfold, helpless. Just out of view stood a hulking, distorted figure, sharp talons curled menacingly at his side. It suddenly shouted in anger, pointing at an indiscernible flash of red hair. Another distorted cry, and the room erupted.
The boy flinched away, covering his eyes with his arm. The whole ruin was cast aglow, blinding. When it finally faded, everything within the room had vanished.
He was there. He had called out to the woman. Why? The truth was buried deep, burning, fighting. He could feel it. As much as he ached to reach deeper, to grasp and understand, he knew he couldn’t.
He gripped the dirty linen of his borrowed pants, grasping for an anchor that would keep him still and whole.
“So you were there.” Cassandra’s voice was harsh to his ears, the effects of the blast rang high.
He whirled around to face her, molten fear, rage, confusion that had been mounting since he awoke came spewing out, “I don’t remember! I’m a person just like you, so stop treating me otherwise!”
The air roared once more, the sky split open once again before his eyes.
“Move!” Solas lunged forward, yanking the boy towards him by his loose collar, narrowly avoiding the spray of shrapnel.
He initiated Fade Step as the Pride Demon began to form. Cassandra had stepped in front of Varric at the same moment, shielding them both with her emblazoned heater.
“The demons will not leave until we seal the rift. In order to do so, you need to get close enough.” Solas leaned down, whispering urgently near his ear, “Do what I did, shift your energy to a different location. Never let the demons land a hit on you. Can you do that?”
The boy swallowed thickly, “Yes.”
Solas nodded, his grip on his shoulder relaxed slightly. The moment was almost calming, until it was shattered by a bone-rattling growl.
The Pride demon, now fully materialized, charged at them, blunt fangs bared and already smeared with blood.
Despite his orders, the young elf froze in terror, every part of his body stayed rooted in place. His mind screamed and begged for him to move, but his body refused to obey.
Solas leaped in front of him, a barrier crackled at his fingertips, narrowly blocking the onslaught of massive claws.
“Focus!” he called over his shoulder. His brow shone with sweat, tension creasing his brow as his barrier started to falter, mana dimming.
The urgency cut through his shock. Screwing his eyes shut, he forced all his thoughts into appearing back at Cassandra's side, stepping through the Fade to land where he wanted.
At that, a rush of cold washed over his body, passing through his vessel. He pushed at it, breaking the fabric of the physical world like a hand through freezing water.
A beat passed, he opened his eyes tentatively. Stone pressed against his cheek, he leaned against a corner of a crumbling wall. His body balanced awkwardly against the rubble.
Cassandra was still yards away, cutting down the smaller demons encircling them, completely unaware of his transportation. He stifled his embarrassment and scrambled to right himself, heart pounding.
“Mind your landing next time!” Solas called from across the battlefield. The boy nodded shakily, too dazed to comment.
“Hey, kid!” Varric barked from nearby, blood marring his forehead from a minor gash. “Got any healing?”
That snapped him to attention and without much thought, he reached out. Magic guided his hand over his wound, letting inner instinct stitch the skin together. It mended swiftly and the rogue let out a relieved sigh. He flashed the boy a small smile as turned to unleash arrows on the mobs of smaller demons.
“I require aid!” Cassandra stumbled behind a makeshift barricade to block incoming attacks, gripping her shoulder tightly. Upon closer look, he saw how her arm dangled out of its socket, dislocated from a rough tug on her shield.
He dashed quickly to her side, hand raised and wreathed in an opalescent glow. Her breath hitched, eyeing him warily as the force of mana flowed over them both.
He returned her gaze with an open expression, “I only want to help.” he said slowly, deliberately.
After a beat, she relented, shifting closer to allow access to her shoulder. He allowed warm light to pass over it, mending the muscle. She rolled it back, testing it for soreness. Satisfied, she nodded before grabbing her weapon and launching into battle once more.
He moved between his companions with purpose, flitting through the rubble. With each soothing touch he gave a broken limb or torn flesh, his magic swirled with growing sureness.
Mana flowed, arrows fired, and swords sung until only one creature remained, the Pride Demon.
It fell to its knees with a reverberating groan. Clawing desperately at the rocky earth as its form began to dwindle. It rushed into the eye of the rift, causing it to almost burst with power.
Cassandra and Solas screamed in unison, “Now! Seal the rift!”
Without hesitation, the boy charged forward until the tear was just over his head. He reached out his hand, eyes screwed shut, willing energy to flow from his palm. Cords of emerald swirled and pierced the rift until it exploded into nothingness. The sound rang loud but he could barely hear it. He swayed on his feet.
A murky shape of Solas came forward, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Sealed as before. You are—” His expression went from content to panicked as the boy’s vision began to dim and the ground rose to meet him. Solas caught him in his arms, hands braced on his sides.
With a sudden, strangled gasp, the elf clawed at Solas’s shoulders. His wide, bloodshot eyes bore into him. The words flowed out of him like instinct, “Fen’inanal tuemah'sal din—” he stumbled once more, Solas’s grip became stiff, the man’s face stricken, “d–dinal’Tiralas, thanal glan’garahnen.”
The last of the words jumbled out with a wheeze and the boy went limp, the mark sparking erratically in his hand.