Chapter Text
Mahanon surfaced into consciousness as though dragged up from the bottom of a lake, cold fog licked at his boots, curling around his ankles like fingers, and every breath tasted metallic. He scanned the empty expanse of shifting greens and fractured light.
This wasn’t Haven. This wasn’t anywhere he knew.
His pulse thudded unsteadily in his ears. “Where...?” His own voice sounded distant, swallowed instantly by the silence.
Soft, gold-white light bloomed out in front of him.
He shielded his eyes with his arm and looked up at it.
A figure stood at the top of a steep flight of stairs that hadn’t existed a second ago. The woman—if it was a woman—shone as though carved from the sun itself, its—her—edges dissolved into motes of shimmering dust.
Mahanon took a step forward.
He heard skittering from behind him.
The sound ran up his spine like a cold needle. He spun backward—shadows at the edges of the fog bulged and split, shapes crawling free of them. Spiders?
“Shit,” he cursed, stumbling toward the stairs.
The glowing woman lifted her hand—fingers outstretched in beckoning.
The spiders surged.
Mahanon bolted.
He took the stairs two at a time. Chittering bodies scraped closer, the light intensified. Warmth broke through the fog.
“Please—” he wasn’t sure if he said it aloud or only thought it.
He reached the final step just as the swarm skittered up behind him. The woman leaned forward, he caught her hand—
A blast of white swallowed him whole, his stomach dropped, his vision tore sideways, and the light became too much and then—
He hit the ground. Hard.
He groaned and tried to lift his head.
Unconsciousness claimed him before he could ask the question clawing at the back of his mind:
Who was she?
The first thing Mahanon felt upon regaining consciousness was the bite of cold stone beneath his knees, the surface slick and almost icy. Next came the heavy drag of iron on his wrists, the chains biting into flesh, followed by a vicious, throbbing headache that pulsed behind his temples. He gritted his teeth, breath unsteady as awareness slowly returned.
He opened his eyes. The world swayed blearily, shapes smearing into one another until he blinked several times to force clarity back into his vision. His gaze dropped to his left hand—a sickly green spark tore out of his palm. Pain flared from the mark and up his arm. He gasped and recoiled, breath caught in his throat.
When he lifted his head he finally noticed the ring of armored guards encircling him, swords drawn and pointed at him.
Heavy footsteps echoed from beyond the cell doors. The entrance slammed open and two women stepped in—one with red hair and the other tall and armored.
They descended the steps toward him. The red haired woman stayed a few paces behind while the armored one circled him. Mahanon kept still beneath her scrutiny, feeling painfully aware of how small he must look next to her, how utterly vulnerable he was in chains on the ground.
Her eyes swept over him, taking in every movement, every breath. She stepped behind him, leaned down, and spoke low into his ear. “Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?”
She rose and resumed circling him like a hunter weighing the kill. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”
She stopped in front of him, her shadow falling over his face as she stared him down. “Everyone except for you.”
Mahanon’s eyes widened. He strained to remember anything but his mind spun uselessly, fog choking every attempt to grasp the truth. “What do you mean everyone's dead?”
She seized his left wrist and yanked his hand upward, forcing him to look at the glowing mark searing across his skin. “Explain this.”
She dropped his hand harshly, and it fell against his knee with a jolt of pain.
Mahanon winced, glancing at the mark, then up at her. “I... cant.”
The red haired woman began circling him as well, their combined presence suffocating.
“What do you mean you can't?!" The armored woman demanded, her anger bubbling close to the surface, her voice rising with accusation.
“I dont know what that is, or how it got there!”
“Your lying!” She lunged forward and seized his shoulders with a force that made Mahanon’s breath catch. He shut his eyes tightly, bracing for a blow.
“We need him, Cassandra,” the other woman pulled her back before things could escalate further.
“I can't believe it. All those people... dead?”
She stepped in front of him. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”
From the corner of his eye, Mahanon could see Cassandra’s hand resting on the hilt of her blade.
“I remember...” He frowned, gaze falling to the ground as he searched through the haze of fractured memories. “Things chasing me. And then...” He lifted his eyes. “A woman?”
“A woman?” she echoed.
“She reached out to me,” he continued, “but then...”
He let out a groan of frustration. Unable to answer much.
“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” Cassandra ordered. “I will take him to the rift.”
The two women ascended the steps. Leliana paused at the top, giving Mahanon one final look before leaving the room.
Cassandra returned to him, crouched down and removed the chains binding him to the floor. Rope still tied his wrists tightly together as a precaution. With the mark burning across his skin, he couldn’t exactly blame them for it.
“What did happen?”
She helped him to his feet with surprising gentleness. “It will be easier to show you.”
They stepped out of the dungeon, up the stone stairwell, and emerged onto the main floor of the Chantry before stepping out into the cold. Snow drifted slowly from a pale sky—but above everything, drawing his eyes, was the massive tear overhead. A wound in the heavens, glowing the same green that throbbed in his hand.
“We call it ‘the Breach’,” Cassandra explained, looking up at it as well. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” She stepped closer. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”
“An explosion can do that?” he asked, staring in disbelief.
“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”
A sharp crack split the air—then a sudden, violent pulse erupted from the Breach overhead. Mahanon screamed, dropping to his knees as agony tore up his arm, the mark blazing bright.
Cassandra crouched in front of him. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”
Mahanon stared at her. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to return to his clan, to warn them of the danger. Was this some curel joke the Creators are doing to him? “You say it may be the key... to doing what?”
“Closing the Breach,” she explained. “Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance, however. And yours.”
He let out a laugh tinged with disbelief. “Do you actually think I would do this? To myself?”
“Not intentionally.” Her expression stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Something clearly went wrong. Someone is responsible, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”
Mahanon looked aside, jaw tight. He understood why they suspected him. Anyone would. The only way home was to confront this horror head-on. With a resigned breath, he nodded. “I understand.”
Surprise flickerd across her face. “Then...?”
He met her gaze. “I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”
She rose, helping him up then guided him forward with a firm hand between his shoulders. As they walked, villagers pulled back, glaring at him with open hatred and grief. Mahanon felt each stare like a knife.
“They have decided your guilt. They need it,” Cassandra explained as they stepped onto a stone bridge crowded with soldiers. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they are dead.”
She halted abruptly, forcing him to face her once again. “We lash out like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves.” She pulled out a dagger and grasped his bound hands and sliced through the rope. “As she did. Until the Breach is sealed, there will be a trial. I can promise you no more.”
He rubbed his wrists. “Where are you taking me?”
“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach. Open the gate!” she barked at the soldiers. “We are heading into the valley!”
The gates groaned open. Mahanon followed her out onto the snow-frosted pass. They had barely begun the descent before a pair of soldiers sprinted past, shouting, “Maker, it’s the end of the world!”
Ahead, another stone bridge came into view—but the Breach pulsed again. The pain hit Mahanon instantly, dropping him to his knees once more with a strangled cry. The mark flared violently, flaring brighter than before.
Cassandra helped him up, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. “The pulses are coming faster now.”
Once he was stable, they continued on the path ahead. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”
“How did I survive the blast?” he asked.
“They said you... stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You’ll see soon enough.”
They reached the bridge and began to cross. But about halfway over a thunderous explosion tore through the mountain. A chunk of debris smashed into the bridge, ripping it apart beneath their feet. Mahanon and Cassandra tumbled down and crashed hard onto the frozen lake below.
Another flare of light erupted ahead—and a shade materialized from the rift-fire. Cassandra stepped in front of Mahanon, drawing her sword and shield.
“Stay behind me!”
She charged, but another shade clawed its way into being in front of him. Heart hammering, Mahanon spun, eyes scanning frantically for anything he could use to defend himself.
He spotted a bow half-buried in snow with other supplies. He sprinted for it, grabbing the weapon and the quiver beside it. He slung the quiver over his shoulder, nocked an arrow just as the shade lunged—
And fired.
The arrow struck its center mass, slowing it but not stopping it. It rushed him again; he staggered aside, narrowly avoiding its claws. He nocked and fired again, the arrow sinking deep but still it wouldn't fall.
He lifted the bow, steadied it, waited for the opening—
The final arrow pierced straight through its head.
The creature dissolved in a burst of smoke. Mahanon exhaled shakily, turning in time to see Cassandra cut down her shade in a brutal arc of her blade.
She pivoted toward him, sword still raised. “Drop your weapon. Now.”
He hesitated—going into a valley infested with demons and without a weapon seemed idiotic—but Cassandra radiated the kind of intensity that made even the bravest men rethink his choices. “All right, have it your way.”
Before he set it down, she stopped him and sheathed her blade. “Wait. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”
He blinked, then stepped forward and slung the bow across his shoulder.
“I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”
She handed him a set of healing potions. “Take these. Maker knows what we will face.”
He clipped them to his belt and they moved up the icy path. “Where are all your soldiers?”
“At the Forward Camp,” she answered. “Or fighting. We are on our own for now.”
As they crested the slope, she glanced toward him. “What is your name?”
“Mahanon,” he replied. “From Clan Lavellan.”
“If you were not here to kill the Divine then why did you come?”
“My Keeper was worried about the impact the Conclave would have on the world. She sent me to spy... I had to beg her to let me.” He gave a small chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to see the world... look how that turned out.”
Before Cassandra could reply, her attention snapped downward. Two shades were at the base of the hill. Mahanon unsheathed his bow and took aim, loosing an arrow that struck clean through the first shade’s head. Cassandra let out a battle cry and charged the second, steel flashing as she cleaved through it.
Descending the hill after her, they crossed another stretch of frozen lake—only to encounter a shade accompanied by a wraith.
“They attack from a distance,” Cassandra warned. “Much like you.”
Mahanon drew and fired at the wraith, hitting it cleanly through the middle. Then he focused on the shade, helping Cassandra bring it down.
He followed Cassandra up the steps the wraith had been on, then down another slope to reach more frozen ground ahead—where yet more demons formed. Together they cleared another set of shades and wraiths.
They crested yet another set of steps.
“We’re getting closer to the rift,” Cassandra informed. “You can hear the fighting.”
Mahanon paused, listening. “Whose fighting?”
“You will see soon enough,” she replied. “We must help them.”
Below them, at the base of a drop Mahanon could see two figures locked in combat with several shades—one a dwarf wielding a crossbow, the other a bald elven mage. Cassandra leapt from the ledge, and plunged directly into the fray.
Mahanon stayed atop and drew his bowstring, releasing the arrow into the nearest shade’s skull. The creature staggered, shrieking, its body unraveling into smoke. He finally jumped down the slope and loosed another arrow past her shoulder.
The last shade dissolved under the combined assault and he noticed a swirling knot of green Fade energy, the same sickening hue as the mark on his hand. He approached it uneasily, and the elven mage hurried toward him and seized his wrist.
“Quickly! Before more come through!”
Light burst from Mahanon’s hand, tethering itself to the rift in a stream of blinding energy. The air twisted, spiraling inward until the rift collapsed with a crack.
Mahanon jerked his arm back, clutching his wrist, staring at the mage in horror. “What did you do?”
The mage smiled. “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”
Mahanon looked from his hand to the spot where the rift had been moments before. “I closed that thing? How?”
“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark on your hand,” the mage explained. “I theorize the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake—and it seems I was correct.”
Cassandra asked, “meaning it could close the Breach itself?”
“Possibly,” he replied, then turned back to Mahanon. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”
“Good to know!” the dwarf chimed in cheerfully as he adjusted a glove. The others looked his way. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”
He sauntered toward them with a grin. “Varric Tethras; rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally,” he shot Cassandra a smirk, “unwelcome tag-along.”
Cassandra scowled.
“Are you with the Chantry, or...?” His question was cut off by the mage’s amused scoff.
“Was that a serious question?”
“Technically I’m a prisoner,” Varric replied with a smirk. “Just like you.”
“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra snapped. “Clearly that is no longer necessary.”
“Yet, here I am.” Varric gestured at himself. “Lucky for you, considering current events.”
Mahanon eyed the crossbow on his back. Trying to ease the tension in the air, he offered, “That’s a... nice crossbow you have there, Varric.”
“Ah, isn’t she?” Varric turned to give him a better look, pride softening his tone. “Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”
“You named your crossbow Bianca?”
“Of course!” he sounded offended. “And she’ll be great company in the valley.”
“Absolutely not!” Cassandra stepped forward. “Your help is appreciated here, Varric, but—”
“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric stepped closer, chin up, though he barely reached her chest. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”
Cassandra’s frustrated groan was not a no.
The mage approached Mahanon, tone gentler. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you are still alive.”
“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Varric tossed in.
“Mahanon,” he replied. “You seem to know a great deal about the mark.”
“Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra explained. “Well versed in such matters.”
“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas reminded her. Then to Mahanon: “my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.” There was pride in his voice. “I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”
“And what will you do once this is over?” Mahanon asked, knowing full well the Chantry wouldn’t welcome an apostate or the supposed cause of the Divine’s death to leave so easily.
“One hopes those in power will remember who helped and who did not,” Solas replied. Then, to Cassandra, “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it hard to believe any mage of having such power.”
“Understood,” she sighed. “We must get to the Forward Camp, quickly.”
Cassandra and Solas started ahead. Varric lingered behind, clapping Mahanon on the arm with a smirk. “Well, Bianca’s excited!”
Mahanon jumped across the debris to follow them down the snowy slope. A frozen lake stretched out in front of them. Two abandoned houses stood ahead—one of them engulfed in flames.
Solas’s staff lit with lighting. “Demons ahead!”
“Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric teased.
Mahanon nocked an arrow and fired into the first wraith, the shot piercing the core of its chest. It shrieked, dissolving into curling mist. Solas thrusted his staff forward and a bolt of lightning shot across the ice, chaining between both shades in a crackling arc. Their bodies spasmed, steaming from the impact.
Cassandra charged, shield raised, slamming into the nearest shade hard enough to knock it skidding across the lake. Her blade came down in a brutal arc, carving into the creature’s torso until it collapsed into formless smoke.
A second wraith lifted its slender arms toward her back—but Mahanon’s next arrow struck it through the head, disrupting the attack. Varric’s bolt followed, shattering it.
The final shade lunged for Solas, claws bared, but he swept his staff down and the ground beneath the shade erupted in a ring of ice, freezing the bottom of it solid. Cassandra finished it off.
Climbing down the small hill to continue on the path ahead, Solas studied Mahanon, noticing the markings on his face. “You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”
Mahanon raised a brow. “What do you know of the Dalish?”
“I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”
Mahanon snorted. “What do you mean by ‘crossed paths’?”
“I mean that I offered to share knowledge,” he clarified, “only to be attacked for no greater reason than superstition.”
Varric let out a weary sigh. “Can’t you elves just play nice for once?”
Before Mahanon could reply, they reached a short flight of stone steps curving upward on a steep hill. As they climbed, pain hit—flaring through his palm as the mark seared with green light. The Breach above boomed again, reacting in kind. He sucked in a breath and clutched at his wrist, waving the hand as though he could shake the agony out of it.
“That... didn’t sound good,” Varric muttered, eyes flicking toward the glowing hand as they ascended the next steep set of stairs.
“So... are you innocent?” the dwarf asked, voice suddenly casual.
“I don’t remember."
Varric huffed a laugh. “That’ll get you every time. Should’ve spun a story.”
Cassandra shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. “That’s what you would have done.”
“It’s more believable!” Varric defended. “And less prone to result in premature execution.”
They reached the top of the stairs—two wraiths with several shades were waiting.
Cassandra surged forward with her shield raised, her blade carving through demon flesh. Varric slid to one knee beside her, Bianca's bolts snapped through the air dropping the first shade before it could flank her. Solas stepped ahead of Mahanon, staff held up. Frost spiraled outward in a crescent, encasing one shade in ice before he shattered it with a bolt of lightning.
Mahanon struck at shades that slipped past Cassandra’s reach, using the cliffside terrain to maneuver and cut them down. A wraith lunged at him, its scream hollow and cavernous, but Solas intercepted it with an exploding burst of frost that froze the creature mid-lunge, allowing Cassandra to smash it apart with a downward strike of her shield.
Cassandra exhaled, eyes lifting toward the sky glowing sickly green. “I hope Leliana made it through all this.”
“She’s resourceful, Seeker,” Varric assured her.
“We’ll see for ourselves at the Forward Camp,” Cassandra replied. “We are almost there.”
They pressed onward, following the snowy path. Ahead, massive stone archways rose—a gate leading onto a bridge.
A rift had torn open. Two soldiers fought desperately as demons spilled out.
Cassandra charged, shield raised, shouting for the soldiers to fall back. Varric’s bolts peppered the demons from afar. Solas unleashed crackling lightning that danced across the icy ground and tore through the shades while Mahanon moved in tandem with the others, striking demons caught in Cassandra’s guard or frozen by Solas’s magic.
The last creature staggered beneath combined hits and dissolved into smoke.
Mahanon’s hand ignited again. The mark flared.
“Close it now!” Solas yelled.
He lifted his hand, feeling that same pull he’d felt earlier. A beam of green arced from the mark to the rift, wrenching it inward as the shrieking edges curled, collapsed, and finally vanished into silence.
“Open the gates!” Cassandra commanded.
The heavy doors groaned opened, revealing the interior of the Forward Camp.
Solas stepped in behind Mahanon. “We are clear for the moment. Well done.”
“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it's useful,” Varric added with a nod at the mark.
Inside, torches burned against the bitter cold, casting gold over clusters of soldiers—some wounded and wrapped in hastily bandages, others preparing to head out. Bedrolls and crates laid scattered beneath makeshift tents, while healers worked nonstop over the injured.
Up ahead, at a snow-dusted table, Leliana stood with a man.
“We must prepare the soldiers!” Leliana argued. “The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it is our only chance!”
“You have caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility!” The man snapped, stepping close to her.
Leliana scoffed, stepping back. “I have caused trouble!?”
“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy—haven’t you all done enough already?!”
He caught sight of Mahanon and the others approaching. “Ah, here they come.”
Leliana moved toward them, urgency in her steps. “You made it.” She gestured toward the Chancellor. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”
“I know who he is.” Roderick stepped forward, meeting Mahanon’s gaze with a sneer. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”
“Order me?!” Cassandra scoffed, taking a step closer to Mahanon. “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”
“And you are a thug!” he shot back. “But a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!”
“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana corrected. “As you well know.”
“Justinia is dead!” he shouted back. “We must elect her replacement! And obey her orders on the matter!”
“So none of you are actually in charge here?” Mahanon spoke up, placing his hands on his hips.
Roderick pointed at him. “You killed everyone who was in charge here!” Turning desperately toward Cassandra, he pleaded, “call the retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”
“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra urged, leaning over the map-strewn table.
“How?” he demanded. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.”
“We must get to the Temple,” she insisted, unwavering despite the odds. “It’s the quickest route.”
“But not the safest,” Leliana countered. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountain path.” She pointed toward the towering snow-lined slopes behind the camp.
“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Cassandra reminded her grimly. “It is too risky.”
“Listen to me,” Roderick begged, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Abandon this now before more lives are lost!”
The Breach thundered overhead. The light expanded, warping the air in a violent pulse. Mahanon's mark flared in response, bright green crawling up his arm in jagged tendrils of pain. He gasped sharply, staggering as the force nearly drove him to his knees.
He raised his hand until the blazing light finally ebbed, leaving the mark throbbing but dim.
Cassandra turned toward him. “How do you think we should proceed?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “Now you’re asking me what I think?”
“You have the mark,” Solas added.
“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra pointed out. “Since we cannot agree on our own...”
Her voice trailed off, leaving the weight of the decision on his shoulders.
Mahanon turned toward the mountain. If they charged the Breach with the main force... those soldiers up there would die.
He breathed in the cold air, feeling the decision settle like a stone in his chest.
“Use the mountain path. Work together—you all know what's at stake.”
As the group began moving , Leliana stepped beside Cassandra. “Leliana, bring everyone into the valley,” she ordered. “Everyone.”
Leliana nodded, then peeled off to issue commands. Soldiers rushed into motion instantly, scrambling to reorganize the front lines.
As Cassandra passed Roderick, the Chancellor glared, his voice sharp with venom. “On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”
Cassandra didn’t dignify him with a reply. She turned toward Mahanon instead, motioning for him to follow.
The path leading away from the Forward Camp narrowed quickly, the noise of soldiers and clattering armor fading behind them until it was swallowed completely by the wind that swept down from the mountain.
The snow underfoot thickened with every step, changing from a trampled, slushy mess near the camp to untouched layers that crunched as the group pushed forward, each footstep sinking deeper than the last. The air grew sharper too, biting at exposed skin.
Varric trudged beside Mahanon, boots sinking nearly to the ankle. “You know,” he grumbled, “I don’t remember signing up for a scenic winter hike.”
Solas walked slightly ahead, “it is the winter,” he pointed out. “Snowstorms are common.”
“Or,” Varric countered, “it’s just Ferelden.”
Cassandra ignored their bickering, scanning every ridge and rise. A narrow trail wound upward, where patches of rock clawed through the snow, and the occasional banner or torch—left behind by soldiers who had passed earlier—fluttered weakly in the wind.
Mahanon’s boots slipped on a patch of ice, he steadied himself on a crooked pine trunk. His hand still throbbed faintly with the echo of the mark’s flare, and the cold only made it worse, sending a sharp ache up his forearm. He tried to ignore it and kept moving.
They passed an abandoned cart half-buried in snow, its wheels frozen solid, and shards of shattered crates scattered around it. A trail of footprints disappeared up the slope.
Cassandra paused at the sight, jaw tightening. “The squad that went ahead...” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
“We should keep moving,” Solas advised. “Lingering will not help them.”
The wind picked up, sweeping across the path with a low howl that sent loose snow swirling around their legs. The trees thinned as they began climbing, the slope steepening enough that their calves burned with the effort.
Varric phanted under his breath. “Remind me... why are the worst decisions always uphill?”
“You could stay behind,” Cassandra replied dryly, not slowing her pace.
“And miss all this?” Varric gestured at the swirling storm. “Perish the thought.”
Snow thickened around them as the mountain path curved sharply upward, leading toward a structure carved into the cliff—old stone platforms jutting from the rock, two sets of ladders rising toward a dark opening.
She reached the first ladder and placed a hand on the cold iron. “The tunnel should be just ahead,” she said over her shoulder as she began to climb. “The path to the Temple lies just beyond.”
Mahanon followed close behind, boots slipping on frost-slick metal, Varric climbing after him with mild grumbling, and Solas bringing up the rear.
Halfway up, Solas called, “what manner of tunnel is this? A mine?”
Cassandra climbed onto the first platform and reached down to steady Mahanon as he joined her. “Part of an old mining complex. These mountains are full of such paths.”
They continued onto the second ladder. Varric eyed the worn stone steps above. “And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?”
“Along with whatever detained them,” Solas added grimly.
At the top of the ladder, they crossed a narrow platform that led to a winding staircase carved into the mountainside. Snow had drifted into the crevices, crunching underfoot as they ascended toward the yawning mouth of the mining complex.
Inside, darkness swallowed them.
The air was stale. Old support beams rose around them, many cracked, some leaning, as though one strong gust might topple the structure entirely. Rusted mining carts laid overturned and icicles clung to the ceiling. It had long since been abandoned to time.
A shrill hiss echoed down the tunnel.
Cassandra drew her sword. “Demons.”
A greater shade lurched from the darkness ahead. Two wraiths flickered into being beside it.
Cassandra met the shriek head in, shield braced, boots skidding across the icy floor as the creature slammed into her. Mahanon lifted his bow and let loose arrows, each strike tearing through the demon’s form. The wraiths streaked forward—one aiming for Varric, the other spiraling toward Solas.
Solas swept his staff in a tight arc and released a blast of lightning that cracked through the air, stunning the wraith in its tracks. He followed with a spear of ice that shot clean through it, freezing the creature mid-scream before it shattered.
Varric fired Bianca, bolts punched into the second wraith until it dissipated with a hiss.
Cassandra drove her blade deep into the greater shade, pinning it against a support beam. Mahanon fired one last arrow and the demon howled before dissolving.
They continued deeper into the mine, their breaths fogging in the frigid air. Snow had crept inside through hairline cracks, dusting the ground in pale streaks.
At last, the tunnel opened onto a steep staircase leading toward daylight.
Demons waited at the bottom.
“Again,” Varric muttered, annoyed.
Cassandra intercepted a wraith with a shield bash that ripped it off its path, Mahanon firing at it. Solas unleashed a sweeping wave of frost that slowed the shades’ advance, freezing their limbs in heavy sheets of ice. Then lightning struck—arcing through the ice-slow forms, obliterating them with violent bursts.
They exited the mine shortly after the fight and stepped back into open air.
A handful of dead soldiers lay sprawled. Their bodies half-buried in snow.
Varric sighed heavily as they descended the steps toward them. “Guess we found the soldiers.”
“That cannot be all of them,” Cassandra scanned the area with a tense frown.
“So the others could be holed up ahead?” Varric asked, hopeful.
“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas reminded them. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”
Varric snorted. “I’ll leave that to our elven friend here.”
They pressed forward, following the path downward until shouts could be heard from up ahead. The remainder of the scouting party was locked in combat with lesser shades and wraiths in front of a rift.
Cassandra carved a path toward the soldiers, shield slamming into a shade with crushing force. Varric volleyed bolts into a wraith diving for the scouts. Solas unleashed arcs of lightning at the shade, stunning it long enough for Mahanon to finish them with a volley of arrows.
When the last of the initial swarm fell, Cassandra spotted the leader. “Lieutenant! You’re alive!”
“Just barely!” the lieutenant called back, wiping sweat from her brow.
A violent pulse shook the air. The rift flared—expanding—and two terror demons tore their way through, shrieking with razor-sharp shrills.
The creatures summoned portals beneath their feet to slip through, one appeared in front of Cassandra, claws raking across her shield, the impact sending her staggering backward across the snow. The other went at Solas, claws slicing the air he managed to dodge.
Mahanon nocked an arrow and fired, striking the demon in its shoulder. The creature shrieked and teleported, erupting from the ground beneath him. He dove aside, snow exploding in a white spray.
Solas thrusted his staff forward and unleashed lightning that crackled across the demon’s hide—the creature teleported again, appearing above him. Claws extended—only for Cassandra to intercept, crashing into it with her shield and knocking it aside.
Solas sent a shot of frost, freezing it in place for a split second.
Mahanon shot an arrow at its heart, it collapsed in a screech.
Cassandra and Varric finished the second, cutting it down just as it lunged for the lieutenant.
Mahanon stepped toward the rift, his hand blazed with green light, the mark tore a beam of energy from the rift, connecting him to it, and with a final pulse that shook the snow loose from nearby branches—the rift collapsed inward and vanished.
Solas stepped up beside Mahanon. “Sealed. As before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”
Varric craned his head back, squinting at the distant wound tearing open the heavens. “Let’s hope it works on the big one.”
Cassandra helped the lieutenant to her feet, the woman clutched her side. “Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”
“Thank our prisoner,” Cassandra turned toward Mahanon. “He insisted we come this way.”
The lieutenant’s eyes widened. “The prisoner? Then you...?”
Mahanon smirked. “Closing rifts and saving soldiers. It’s what I do.”
“Then you have my sincere gratitude.” She pressed her fist against her chest in salute.
“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment,” Cassandra explained. “Go, while you still can.”
The lieutenant nodded, wincing. “At once. Quickly, let’s move!” She hurried down the path toward the mining complex, leading the few remaining survivors.
“The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well,” Solas pointed toward the sloping trail that led further down the mountain toward the Temple.
“Let’s hurry,” Cassandra urged, “before that changes.”
They followed her down a narrow stone walkway, the wind cutting sharp and cold as it swept between the cliffs. Below them, the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes spread out. Pillars laid toppled in broken heaps, splintered stained-glass fragments glittered among the rubble, and jagged cracks split the courtyard stones. White ash coated everything in pale dust, drifting on the breeze.
“So... holes in the Fade don’t just accidentally happen, right?” Varric asked, staring up at the Breach.
“If enough magic is brought to bear, it is possible,” Solas answered.
“But there are easier ways to make things explode,” Varric muttered.
“That is true,” he agreed.
“We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past,” Cassandra added in.
They reached a set of worn stone steps, descending onto a dirt path that curved around the smashed outer wall of the Temple.
“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas muttered.
“What’s left of it,” Varric added.
They dropped down a small slope, landing among dozens of burned corpses—twisted where they had fallen. The air smelled of burnt flesh.
“This is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra explained. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”
They continued down the fractured path, entering what little remained standing of the hall. Beyond the archway, the Breach dominated the horizon.
It hovered like a monstrous whirlpool of green fire—massive, churning, pulling the clouds in spirals with a rift in its middle.
“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric turned slowly in place to take in the sheer scale of it.
“You’re here!”
The group spun as Leliana hurried toward them, her scouts fanning out behind her. “Thank the Maker.”
“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the Temple,” Cassandra ordered.
Leliana nodded and gestured for her soldiers to spread out. Cassandra approached Mahanon. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”
“I’m not sure how to even start getting up to that thing,” he admitted.
“No,” Solas shook his head. “This rift is the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”
“Then let’s find a way down,” Cassandra urged. “And be careful.”
They moved along the broken walkway to the left. A faint glow flickered—then a deep, gravelly masculine voice echoed through the air, though no figure stood nearby.
“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”
“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked.
“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas answered.
They passed more soldiers setting up defensive lines, and the path curved beside a wall where Red Lyrium jutted out in thick, crystalline spires. The corruption pulsed a sickly scarlet, as though breathing.
Varric recoiled. “You know this stuff is Red Lyrium, Seeker.”
“I see it, Varric.”
“But what’s it doing here?”
“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple... corrupted it,” Solas suggested.
“It’s evil,” Varric muttered. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”
They descended another set of broken steps when the voice returned.
“Keep the sacrifice still.”
“Someone, help me!” cried a woman.
“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra bolted down the steps, the others racing after her.
She vaulted off the final slope into the heart of the ruined Temple—now a vast crater of shattered stone open directly to the sky. The Breach hovered overhead, its light cascading in wild, sweeping beams. Mahanon could feel the mark on his hand react—glowing hot, pulling toward the rift as if recognizing kin.
“Someone help me!” the voice echoed again.
“What’s going on here?” It was his voice.
Mahanon froze, shock rippling through him. When had he been here?
“That was your voice,” Cassandra realized, stunned. “Most Holy called out to you. But—”
The Breach erupted in a flare of blinding green light.
Figures emerged—flickering, spectral, like memories being projected. A massive dark silhouette with burning red eyes. The Divine, suspended in place by coils of magic. And Mahanon himself—rushing forward.
“What’s going on here?” the vision repeated.
“Run while you can!” the Divine cried. “Warn them!”
The dark figure lifted a hand and pointed at the spectral Mahanon. “We have an intruder. Slay the elf.”
Another flash of green—and the vision dissolved like smoke.
“You were there!” Cassandra cried, storming toward him. “And the Divine—is she...? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”
“I don’t remember!”
Solas approached the Breach, studying its turbulent light. “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed—temporarily.” He turned to face the others. “I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”
“That means demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra drew her blade.
The soldiers moved, the archers climbing to the higher platforms, while the shield-bearers assembled in a tight formation below, shields interlocking as they braced themselves for whatever horror might claw its way through the shimmering green wound in the sky.
Mahanon stepped forward once the others had finished their preparations, the green glow of the mark on his hand pulsing in agitation, he drew a steadying breath, lifted his hand toward the roiling tear in the sky, and the world seemed to inhale with him before shuddering violently outward.
The air split like a scream, the rift expanding in a flash of emerald fire, and an enormous pride demon dragged itself through the widening opening, its form wreathed in smoke and lightning, each step shaking loose stones from the battered ruins.
The archers immediately unleashed a volley of arrows, whistling through the air and striking the demon’s armored hide with only partial effect, while the soldiers below tightened formation, their shields slamming together in a desperate attempt to redirect the creature’s focus away from the more vulnerable.
Cassandra charged first, her shield raised high as she crashed into the demon’s leg with a resounding impact, buying Solas enough space to unleash a concentrated burst of frost that crackled over the demon’s chest; Varric followed with a perfectly placed bolt aimed at a joint where Solas’s spell had weakened the creature’s defenses. Leliana’s arrows rained down from the rear line, driving the demon back a step.
Yet despite the coordinated assault, the pride demon retaliated with brutal force, sweeping its massive arm across the battlefield and scattering two shield-bearers like dolls, and hitting others with its whips of electricity.
“Mahanon—now!” Solas shouted over the chaos.
Mahanon sprinted toward the rift, the familiar surge of pain crawling up his arm as he raised the mark again, channeling its volatile power directly into it. The rift spasmed, pulsing violently before emitting a shockwave that blasted outward, stunning the pride demon, its massive form slumping as its connection to the Fade destabilized.
Cassandra didn’t waste the opportunity; with a cry, she drove her blade deep into one of the demon’s exposed joints, while Solas and Leliana capitalized on the opening, launching synchronized attacks that further weakened the creature’s trembling stance.
But the demon was far from defeated. It recovered with a bellow that rattled the air, slamming its fists into the ground and sending electricity snaking across the stone floor; the shock knocked several soldiers to their knees, and one archer nearly toppled from the upper platform before another caught her wrist and hauled her back with a strained grunt.
Mahanon had to disrupt the rift again—Solas shouted the warning before anyone else realized the demon was beginning to draw strength from it once more. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he ran forward through the swirl of debris, lifted his glowing hand, and once again forced his will into the chaotic heart of the rift.
Another explosion of light tore through the courtyard, and the demon collapsed to one knee, its roar turning guttural and panicked as Leliana’s final arrow struck deep into its exposed throat. Cassandra and Varric closed in simultaneously, and with one final coordinated assault from the entire group, the pride demon fell, its massive body dissolving.
Solas cried out that the rift was destabilizing further, expanding in dangerous surges that threatened to tear apart everything around it.
Mahanon staggered toward the breach and lifted his hand again. The mark flared, brighter and hotter than anything he had ever felt, the energy building to a level that bordered on unbearable. He forced it forward, sealing the tear inch by agonizing inch.
The instant the final seam closed, a blinding explosion of white light swallowed the entire sky. The soldiers cried out, shields raised, and even Leliana lowered her bow as the shockwave washed over them. For a suspended minute, the world existed in silence.
Mahanon collapsed where he stood, the mark dimming to a faint ember as his body gave out. Cassandra shouted his name as she raced toward him.