Chapter Text
Plants grew toward sunlight, their stems and leaves reaching for the sky to absorb all the energy they could. They did not bend in unnatural ways. They did not defy their nature. Elfroot did not grow in unnaturally crooked lines. Trees did not bend their stiff trunks to the will of anything but the sun. Yet they were. Alivia stared at the few trees and shoots of elfroot that remained after the explosion of the Temple. They strained toward the swirling green hole above the mountain top. It was wrong.
Then there were the animals. Flora was one thing, but fauna was quite literally an entirely different beast. The animals were wrong too. The larger species like elk, deer, and goats were too flighty to properly observe. While the birds had vanished entirely, none daring to fly near the breach. Smaller rodents, like marmots and hares, remained but scattered at the faintest movement, too fast for her to catch. And any large predators remained unseen, not absent, but merely harder to spot. Some smaller predators like foxes were still present but the easiest creatures to observe were the nugs. They were everywhere, squealing as they darted past, barely fast enough to avoid her, not that she was chasing them.
As she ascended the path to the ruins of the Temple, she had noticed that the nugs grew larger and paler the closer she got to the breach. Voracious by nature, nugs were known to eat almost anything, yet even still their behavior defied expectations. Everything she passed had been gnawed—rocks, ice, even the corpses of other nugs. Nug cannibalism was rare, documented only once before in a remote cave in the Hissing Wastes. For them to be eating their own implied something was very wrong.
Winter was beginning to settle over the Frostback Mountains. In autumn, animals should have migrated down the slopes, seeking more hospitable land where food and water could be found more readily. But from what she saw, they hadn’t left. Too many animals remained high on the mountain, despite the explosion that had shaken the ground and shattered the Temple. They should have gone, yet they stayed.
The only logical explanation for the anomalies was the breach and the rifts around it. The Fade itself was leaking into their world, disrupting the natural order of life. She crouched and carefully recorded her observations. Every detail had to be documented for Minaeve; the Inquisition needed to gather as much information as possible to understand the breach and prevent it from swallowing the world. No detail was too small to note.
With that in mind, she turned her attention to smaller creatures—the insects. That high up the mountain, they should have been scarce. The air was too cold, and there was little foliage to sustain them. Yet she saw dozens of them: moths, beetles, flies, midges. They filled the air and clustered on the branches of the few standing evergreens. By that late in the year they should have vanished, either migrating, dying off or taking shelter to survive the winter. They shouldn’t have been sitting out in the cold to die in droves. Yet that was exactly what they were doing.
As she neared the breach, the wind carried a sound that she could not explain. It was faint, like a whisper just beyond hearing. Her ears strained against the silence, but when she stopped to listen, it was gone. She wrote it down anyway.
She didn’t know how her findings would help, but she made sure to record each detail meticulously in her journal. It was the fifth time she had been up the mountain, not including the time the Commander had come to retrieve her. It was more accurate to say it was her fifth research expedition. It was also the farthest she had traveled and the closest she’d come to the breach. The snow around her was tinted a faint green by the breach’s light, and the air had an unusual charge that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
She examined her skin, and the rising hair. At first she assumed it was merely the static from the air, but that only explained the tingling at the nape of her neck. The bumps covering her forearms were something else. She touched her skin, feeling the strange, creeping numbness in her fingers spread further up her arms. Despite the weather, she wore only a thin dress with short sleeves. Her cloak, which Adan had reminded her to put on, hung loosely behind her. She reached to pull it over her shoulders, realizing, at last, the source of the strange sensation. She was… cold. She had to focus on it but when she did the feeling was there.
She knew, in principle, that her body could become cold, and that prolonged exposure was dangerous. But instinct alone did not make one feel, and knowing and feeling were two very different things. She sifted through her memories, searching for any instance of discomfort since her arrival in Haven. Her body knew hunger and thirst but she didn’t experience discomfort with either of those sensations, just like she couldn’t feel discomfort from the cold. Since her tranquility she had never felt anything, and certainly not during her stay in Haven. So by all logic, she shouldn’t have been able to feel it. If she had never felt cold before, there was no reason to believe she would suddenly begin to.
And yet, she did feel it. The more she dwelled on it, the more clouded her mind became. Her thoughts were fuzzy. She was used to thinking clearly—thinking was all she was capable of. But her mind seemed disrupted, as though veiled by something faint, something unnamed. Like the chill itself, this disturbance was subtle but unfamiliar. It wasn’t a natural physical reaction she could explain, like goosebumps rising in response to the chill of the winter air. It was something else.
She stared down at the ground as she dug through her memories for some point of reference, something that might clarify what was happening. There was a spark, deep within her—a small, barely perceptible flicker. Brief impressions surfaced: tilted heads, furrowed brows, questions. All she needed was a word.
Confusion.
The word came to her at last. What she felt was confusion—a small, tenuous seed planted by the strange onset of the cold. The questions that arose from it had awakened something within her that should have been gone, a shadow of something long dead. She couldn’t feel. Emotions had been taken from her. So why, then, was there a tiny knot forming in her chest?
The air shifted again, carrying with it the faint metallic tang she had noted earlier. She adjusted her cloak, the fabric barely shielding her from the cold and the sudden discomfort she felt. Her quill hovered over her journal as she considered the next entry and how to record her odd findings.
“Oi! Lass!”
She lifted her head and turned. Captain Rylen was making his way up the trail toward her, bundled in a thick cloak and squinting into the wind. When he reached her, he met her gaze with a deep frown.
“What are ye doing?”
She stared blankly at him. “What do you mean?”
He gestured to their surroundings as he reached her. “What are ye doing up here? I know Commander Cullen told ye not to leave without an escort. He had to come up here himself not that long ago to retrieve ye once already.”
Her mind was quiet once again with the presence of Captain Rylen and something new to focus on. “Research.”
His gaze dropped to her open journal and the small pack she’d left in the snow, its mouth overflowing with plant clippings. “That’s all fine and well, but ye can’t be up here alone.”
“It is important.”
He shook his head, shaggy brown hair blowing back in the wind. “I don’t care.”
“I must continue.”
“No.” He stepped forward, grasping her arm lightly but firmly, giving it a tug. When she followed without resistance, he turned and began leading her back down the path. “I was sent to bring ye back, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Alright.” She didn’t have the ability to resist.
They began the descent in silence. The wind shifted around them, carrying flecks of snow from the peaks above. Alivia followed him without protest, noting where his boots pressed the snow into uneven indentations. It was easier to walk in another’s footprints. The path narrowed at intervals, bordered by jagged rocks and trees that bent under the weight of frost.
She kept her gaze forward, observing the stark contrasts of their surroundings. The green light of the breach cast faint shadows against the white drifts, and the mountain air was sharp, laden with a faint metallic tang she had no words for. Rylen glanced back at her several times, but she paid him no mind. He had chosen to escort her; she had not asked him to do so.
After some time, he spoke, his voice breaking the rhythm of crunching snow. “Ye must like causing trouble.”
Her gaze shifted to him. “Trouble?” she echoed.
“Aye.” He glanced at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Ye keep coming up here. If it’s Commander Cullen’s attention ye want, lass, ye’ve got it.”
She stepped carefully over a frost-coated stone, her hands loosely gripping the strap of her satchel. “Why would I want his attention?” she replied. “I cannot want.”
He made a sound she couldn’t identify, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Fair enough. But ye two seem like ye used to be… close.”
The word hung in the cold air between them and she considered it as they descended a narrow stretch of path. “He was the Knight Captain while I was in the Gallows.”
“I know that,” Rylen said. He sidestepped a patch of ice, his hand brushing against the nearest rock for balance. “But was there something more between ye two?”
“More?”
“Aye.” He slowed his pace slightly, falling into step beside her. “Something that would make him overly concerned with yer well-being but very uncomfortable whenever yer close.”
She stepped over a patch of uneven ground, her balance faltering for a moment. Rylen swiftly grabbed her by the arm and kept her upright until she regained her footing.
“We were friends, I suppose,” she finally answered.
He scoffed softly, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Friends? A mage and a Templar? Especially Cullen?”
Shared smiles and quiet conversations. A voice filled with familiarity. The warmth of companionship.
“Yes.” Her voice remained flat. “I believe he thought I was kind.”
Rylen shook his head lightly. “Aye, I’m sure that’s all it was,” he said almost to himself.
He went quiet, but he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say more. His steps slowed slightly, his boots crunching in the snow beside hers. A gust of wind cut through the silence, but she barely registered its cold against her skin.
After a time, Rylen spoke again. “I don’t mean to pry, but if ye were friends, then what happened? How did ye end up Tranquil?”
They reached a bend in the path, the trail thinning as it skirted the edge of a steep drop. Her steps remained steady. “Rumors,” she answered simply.
He stopped walking, but she did not. She heard the crunch of his boots pause behind her, then quicken as he caught up.
“Rumors?” he repeated when he reached her again.
“Yes.” She kept her gaze forward, focused on the path.
The word was hollow. It should have carried weight, emotion. She should have felt something. Betrayal tasted bitter, like ashes on her tongue, and filled her chest with a tight, searing ache. Anger would have risen like heat, prickling her skin and making her fists curl. And grief—grief would have drowned her, a heavy weight dragging her down, shaking her shoulders with sobs she could not stop.
But there was nothing. Only the distant echo of what had once been. Her memories painted vivid pictures: whispers in the halls of the Gallows, sidelong glances from other mages, the tightening of Cullen’s jaw when he overheard the slander. She remembered the moment she realized the rumors would cost her everything and what it had been like to lose herself.
“That’s it?” he asked in disbelief.
“They were enough.”
His shoulders stiffened but he didn’t press further. The furrow in his brow deepened and he scratched at the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath.
They walked on in silence for a time, the mountain air sharp and thin. The sound of distant voices began to filter through the cold air, faint at first but growing louder as they descended. The sharp clatter of practice swords echoed off the mountainside, breaking the stillness that had accompanied their trek. The gates to the mountain path came into view between the trees. Haven’s training grounds sprawled just beyond, marked by the clash of wooden swords and shouted commands. The figures of sparring recruits were blurred in the distance.
The sight of them brought a memory to the surface: templars training in the Gallows. She had passed by often, careful to stay out of their way, and always caught sight of Cullen standing at the edge, watching over them with a stern gaze. His amber eyes had softened when it landed on her.
As they approached, Captain Rylen raised an arm in greeting, his voice carrying over the bustle. “Returned, as requested!”
The Commander’s gaze snapped up from where he was observing the recruits. His brow furrowed, his eyes darting first to Rylen, then to Alivia. He walked down the path to meet them, his boots leaving large impressions in the snow.
“You’re back,” he stated.
Rylen flashed a grin. “Delivered safe and sound, just as the Commander ordered. Though she’s not exactly a flight risk, is she?”
“Thank you, Rylen.” The Commander’s jaw tightened. “I can take it from here.”
“Of course.” Rylen gave a mock salute before adding under his breath, “Try not to be too harsh, eh?” He winked at Alivia, then turned back toward the training field, leaving them alone.
For a long moment, the Commander said nothing. He stood stiffly, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath beneath his snow-dusted mantle. When he exhaled, the sound was sharp, bitten off before it could linger. His hands rested on the pommel of his sword, but they betrayed him with faint tremors no matter how hard he gripped the hilt. His amber eyes darted from her face to the ground and back again, never quite meeting her gaze.
She studied him. Shadows hung beneath his eyes, dark smudges betraying his exhaustion. The faint sheen of sweat on his brow glinted in the cold light despite the biting wind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, boots grinding in the snow, his eyes squinting against the gray afternoon light. He was sick.
“Alivia,” he began, his eyes hesitantly settling on hers. “How many times must we have this conversation?”
She stared up at him, her lavender gaze unblinking. “I do not know.”
He flinched, his expression flickering with something between pain and weariness. “You—” his voice caught, and he cleared his throat roughly “—you cannot keep wandering off on your own. It’s not safe.”
“I was not wandering.”
He rubbed a gloved hand across his jaw, the motion stiff and almost compulsive. His amber eyes darted to her face, then away again, as though afraid to linger too long. “Semantics don’t change the fact that you left Haven. Again. Alone.”
“I needed to gather notes for Minaeve’s research. And herbs for Adan. It is important.”
“Your safety is more important,” he snapped before he caught himself. He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging.
She tilted her head slightly, attempting to mirror how others acted in conversations. “My safety does not hinder my work. It is secondary.”
The Commander closed his eyes briefly, the crease between his brows deepening. His gloved hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s my responsibility to ensure the safety of everyone here, including you.” He ripped his hand away from his face and it hovered for a moment as if he meant to gesture, but he dropped it back to his side. “The mountain is dangerous. The breach is dangerous. You cannot go up there alone.”
Alivia tilted her head the other way. “I understand.”
“Good.” He nodded, letting out a breath. “Now go back to Minaeve. If she has more work for you to do, she can send someone to accompany you.”
She hesitated only long enough to ensure he had finished speaking before turning toward the gates.
The crunch of snow behind her caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder and found the Commander following several steps behind, his fur-lined mantle shifting in the wind.
“I thought I was to return to Minaeve,” she said.
“You are,” he replied without looking at her. “I want to make sure you get there.”
She observed him for a moment longer, noting the rigidity in his movements and the subtle tightness in his jaw. His fingers flexed at his sides as though he couldn’t decide whether to curl them into fists or not. She needed to question Adan further about his condition. He claimed to not know but perhaps he knew more than he was saying.
The silence between them was punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps and the faint howl of the wind. Alivia’s thoughts returned to her research. She had pages of notes to give to Minaeve, all of which could possibly help them in their effort to close the breach. Her subjects of study in Kirkwall had ranged from lyrium and the Fade to enchantment and potion making. She was experienced and well equipped to continue the research if she was allowed to, but if she was continually hindered they wouldn’t make any progress.
The gates of Haven loomed ahead, their wooden beams reinforced with iron to keep out enemies. Cullen slowed his pace until he stopped altogether.
“Go on,” he said behind her, his voice softer than before. “You can make it the rest of the way.”
She turned. His gaze was fixed on the gates and not her face. His fur mantle was lopsided on his shoulders but he made no move to adjust it.
“You are not continuing with me?”
“No.” His gloved hand flexed at his side, the motion catching her attention for a moment. “I have other matters to attend to.”
She nodded. “Very well.” The sound of footsteps behind her ceased entirely, but she did not look back.
Turning toward Haven, she walked through the gates and into the village. The gates creaked shut behind her, muffling the sharp sound of recruits sparring. The village was bustling with activity despite the cold. The air inside the walls was warmer than the mountain path, devoid of harsh wind. The warmth of the fire at the center of the town drew villagers in like moths to a flame. Alivia passed them by without pause. She knew the heat could warm her hands, but she felt no desire to linger. She adjusted her pack on her shoulder as she made her way toward the chantry. The sun was sinking lower, casting long shadows across the pebbled paths.
The door to the chantry creaked as she pushed it open. Inside, voices echoed faintly—mothers murmuring prayers, soldiers discussing their duties, the scrape of boots on the stone floor. She walked through the massive halls, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Minaeve was where she always was, tucked into the corner of the shared office space she occupied with the Ambassador. The elf was hunched over her desk, her hand moving swiftly as she jotted notes onto a piece of parchment. Alivia entered silently, her pack slung over her shoulder. She placed it neatly on the edge of the desk and began unloading its contents.
The tips of Minaeve’s ears twitched, and she looked up. “Alivia,” she greeted, setting her quill down. “You’ve returned. Did you find anything?”
“Yes,” she said, “I have documented multiple anomalies in the flora and fauna near the breach.”
She pulled a small journal from her pack and opened it, flipping to a marked page. “The elfroot is growing unnaturally. This suggests the Fade is acting as an external influence overriding its natural growth patterns. Additionally, animals that should have migrated have remained, and I observed instances of aberrant behavior, including nug cannibalism.” She handed the journal to Minaeve.
Her brow furrowed as she skimmed the notes. “Cannibalism? That’s rare…”
“Yes. I know of it being well-documented in only one previous study. I included a reference.”
Minaeve nodded absently, flipping a page in the journal. “And these?” She gestured toward a bundle of elfroot.
“Samples for you, the rest are for Adan.” She closed the flap of her pack, tucking the rest of the green shoots inside. “Their proximity to the breach and Temple remains may reveal traces of magic and red lyrium contamination. I also collected soil for analysis.”
Minaeve leaned forward. “Any other observations or effects? Because of the magic involved, the air near the breach is said to feel… unusual. Did you experience that?”
“Yes, the scent of magic was present and it was colder than the surrounding area,” Alivia replied. “I observed the expected physical reaction. Goosebumps, hairs standing on end.”
She reached for her quill and made a note on a page in front of her. “Yes, that’s common. The body reacts instinctively to—”
“I also noted discomfort,” she added, cutting in. “Briefly. Followed by mild confusion.”
Minaeve froze, her quill poised above the paper. “Discomfort?” Her head snapped back up. “Confusion?”
“Yes, the cold was unpleasant and I am not accustomed to such sensations.” She looked down at her hands, trying to recall the feeling.
Minaeve blinked, her wide eyes fixed on Alivia. “That’s… impossible,” she whispered.
She met her gaze. “I am aware of that.”
She straightened, her hand clutching the edge of the desk. “Tranquil cannot feel. The Rite severs your connection to the Fade,” she said more to herself than anyone else. “You shouldn’t be able to— Are you certain?”
“Yes.” Alivia tapped her journal. “I recorded the observation. It lasted only a moment. I have included a note on its occurrence alongside the other data.”
Minaeve was silent, her eyes scanning Alivia’s face. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head slowly. “Could it be the proximity to the breach? Or—” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “If the breach can…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to the journal again. “This could change everything,” she whispered. “Alivia, you must tell me if it happens again.”
“Of course.”
Minaeve’s quill tapped against the desk, her earlier notes forgotten as her large eyes remained fixed on Alivia. She stared back, unperturbed. The gravity of her possible discovery was not lost on her. It should have been impossible, but she didn’t possess the faculties to care. The sound of the door opening broke the moment, drawing Minaeve’s gaze away at last.
The Ambassador stepped inside, carrying a stack of papers. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Minaeve said quickly, straightening in her chair.
The Ambassador’s gaze shifted to Alivia. She hesitated, as though uncertain how to address her, then settled on a polite nod. “Alivia, I trust your research has gone well?”
“Yes.” She turned back to Minaeve. “I will return to Adan.” She gathered her journal and turned to go, but not before noticing Minaeve’s lingering stare.
As she left, she heard Minaeve’s voice, low and urgent. “Josephine, I need to speak with you privately.”
She stepped out into the hall but the voices followed her through the cracked door. She paused for a moment, her feet stilling on the stone floor.
“She felt something.” Minaeve was saying, her voice full of disbelief. “She described discomfort and confusion. That shouldn’t be possible,” she hissed.
The Ambassador’s reply was muffled as the door continued to close. “This is… concerning. I will arrange a meeting with the others. If the breach can—” The door banged shut.
Alivia continued walking unconcerned with hearing anymore. She had delivered her findings, and anything further was no longer her concern. She walked back through the chantry, the echo of her footfalls ringing around the vaulted ceiling.
The cold air hit her as she stepped outside, sharper since the sun had sunk lower. The warm hall of the chantry gave way to the open bustle of Haven, where villagers and soldiers moved purposefully through the fading light. She cut through it all easily. People stepped aside as she approached, their eyes darting to the mark on her forehead before flicking away.
She passed a pair of soldiers laughing by the back of the tavern. One of them caught sight of her and nudged the other, his chuckles quieting. Alivia noted the way they stiffened as she moved past. Their silence didn’t linger, though—it was quickly replaced with muttered whispers she didn’t strain to hear.
It was a pattern she had long since grown used to. People either avoided her entirely or spoke as if she wasn’t there. It meant nothing to her.
She pushed open the door to the apothecary, the familiar scent of dried herbs and bitter tonics meeting her, it reminded her of the apothecary in Kirkwall.
Adan glanced up from his workbench, his fingers stained green from handling elfroot. His frown deepened when he saw her. “Back, are you? I thought I’d have a few more hours of solitude.”
She closed the door and walked to the table. She reached into her pack, pulling out the small bundle of plants she had gathered. “The herbs you requested.”
He wiped his hands on a rag and reached for the bundle, untying the twine with quick, practiced movements. “At least you brought these back intact,” he muttered, sorting the stems into piles. He glanced at her, his eyes flicking down her body. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t freeze to death, it would have saved me the trouble of chasing after you at least.”
She tilted her head slightly, to read his facial expression better. “Captain Rylen retrieved me.”
Adan groaned. “Great, now I’ll have the Commander breathing down my neck again. You’re lucky there’s someone here who cares enough to watch out for you.” He scraped some of the herbs he had sorted into a bowl and set it aside. “That man has too much patience for his own good. Lucky for you, though, since you seem determined to tempt fate every other day.”
“I was fulfilling my duties.”
“Your duties,” Adan echoed, his tone laced with irritation, “don’t involve wandering up a cursed mountain alone.” He began sorting the rest of the herbs into jars, shaking his head. “Do you even think about the trouble you cause?”
Alivia blinked, folding her hands to neatly rest them on the table. “I think, but I do not think I cause trouble. If I do it is unintentional. I retrieved the necessary supplies you need for your work.”
“Necessary, was it?” He jabbed a finger at the bundle of elfroot. “If you’d been eaten by a cave bear or swallowed by a rift, I’d still be short-staffed and out of supplies. How’s that for necessary?”
She remained silent, his words rolling off of her. She watched him work for a moment until he waved her off with a dismissive gesture.
“If you’re just going to stand there, at least crush some of these for me,” he said, pushing a mortar and pestle toward her.
“Yes, ser.”
She picked up the tools and began grinding the herbs into a fine paste. The motion was simple and repetitive. The faint, bitter smell of elfroot filled the air, mingling with the other scents in the shop.
Adan worked in silence, his hands moving quickly and deliberately. She noted the way he pinched the dried leaves between his fingers, measuring by experience rather than precision. He would mutter to himself occasionally, recalling a recipe or making a note. In the Gallows, such practices were frowned upon; every ingredient had to be weighed and measured exactly. It seemed in Haven efficiency outweigh perfection.
Finally, he waved her off. “Go on. I’ll let you know when I need you again.”
She set the mortar down and wiped her hands on the cloth he had left. Without another word, she turned and retired to her room.
The door shut behind her with a faint creak, muffling Adan’s muttering. Her room was plain and orderly. A single bed rested against one wall, its blanket neatly folded. Beside it, a desk sat cluttered with parchment, ink bottles, and a wooden box tucked into one corner. There was a chest at the foot of the bed and the rest of the room was taken up by supplies for the shop. The faint hum of conversation drifted through the walls, muffled by the heavy wood. The silence of her room was a constant companion.
She crossed the room to the desk and from her satchel pulled out a small, pale moth. Its wings were delicate, speckled with brown and green. She turned it in her fingers, examining the markings as the candlelight caught it. The delicate patterns of the moth’s wings reminded her of something—a faint, fragmented memory of pressing flowers into a book as a child. The memory came with no warmth, no longing, only the knowledge that she had done it once.
She opened the wooden box, revealing a small collection of insects inside. A beetle with iridescent wings. A fly with a broken leg. Another moth, its edges frayed. They were arranged carefully, each one given its own space. She placed the pale moth alongside the others. Its wings were fragile, paper-thin. She adjusted them carefully, angling them to match the symmetry of the others in her collection. Her fingers brushed against the beetle’s iridescent carapace as she withdrew her hand.
Brief impressions flickered in her mind. Soft laughter, hushed whispers of excitement. The memory of someone once calling her peculiar. She couldn’t remember their face, but the word lingered.
She closed the box with a faint click, her hands lingering on its edges. Her gaze swept over the desk. Her findings were recorded, her tasks were complete, she could rest. Yet, in the stillness of her room, she found herself drawn to the faint memories the box in her hands carried. They were remnants of a life she could no longer touch, but they lingered all the same.