I open my eyes to a picturesque sight of ruins, the edge of a hard, warm stone digging into my cheek. The air smells of smoke, fried meat, and sulphur. Not the best combination on a good day and this day is anything but. Everything — the ends of my fingernails and hair included — hurts like I went through a round with a grinder. Hope I won, but if not, I'm sure I've dealt enough damage for it to regret its decision to stand in my way.

A pair of armoured boots blocks the view, and a male voice says something, but I can't understand him over the ringing of a bell orchestra in my ears. Hands pull me up, bruising the bruises on my arms, and from the new vantage point, I can appreciate the charred, still-smoking remains of a person. Instead, I pass out.

Next time the return of consciousness goes better. I jolt awake on my knees, feeling like someone has set my hand on fire and stuffed my mouth full of cotton balls. Cold seeps through the leather of my pants as I take in the small circle of the floor that doesn't hide in the shadows. The overall level of pain has lessened significantly, and it becomes apparent that its main source resides in my left palm. Bringing it to my eyes, I stare at it, uncomprehending: everything looks absolutely fine. Then it flashes with a green light that engulfs my whole hand in an otherworldly halo and sends tendrils of agony in all directions. I double over, a wave of nausea hitting me like a sledgehammer. Great, I think as the light winks out, if nothing else, now I can moonlight as a semaphore.

The door opens, banging the wall and startling me, and in comes a woman: heavy plate armour, a badass long sword hanging at her waist, and a shield at her back; menacing as hell. Another woman follows. This one wears a coat and… is that a cowl? They glare at me. Oh, and at least two more knights (warriors? How the hell should I know? They aren't choir boys, that's for sure) spring out of dark corners, pointing their swords at me. Huh. I'm in a dungeon, kneeling, arms in huge manacles with a bar linking them together… It's either a very elaborate BDSM set-up, and one of the chicks is about to bring up a whip, or I'm a prisoner. Though, the whip might come into play in any case.

The warrior woman circles me like she is a hawk and I'm a juicy little mouse. Not being able to see her is making me uncomfortable.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" she says next to my ear, voice demanding and forceful. Then from a little farther away, "The Conclave is destroyed." Syllables, precise and concise, roll off her tongue with a curious accent that I can't quite place.

She says something else, but I stop listening, too hung up on the 'kill me now' bit. The woman stops before me. I can barely make out the details of her face, but her frown is quite prominent. I must have missed a question because she grabs my hurting hand and says, "Explain this!"

As if on cue, the light flashes on, dialling the pain back up to 'agony.'

It takes two tries, my throat is raw and doesn't want to cooperate, but eventually, I grind out, "The hell is this?"

"What do you mean?"

I lick my lower lip. A sharp sting, and my tongue retreats with a coppery tang from a half-scabbed split. "I mean you're shit outta luck. I've no idea what the hell it is." I have to swallow, but speaking is getting easier.

She doesn't like my answer, and for a moment, I fear the woman might hit me just to see if an explanation falls out like sweets from a cracked piñata, but she stays her hand. Good thing too — I'd lose a tooth to that metal gauntlet. Instead, she gets in my face, saying, "You're lying!"

Up close I see a wicked jagged scar running from the centre of her left cheek to her jaw. The image of an eye on her chest plate glitter in the flickering torchlight.

"Shiny," I say, and the second woman has to catch her fist before it connects with my face.

"We need the prisoner, Cassandra," she says, towing the warrior a couple of feet away and taking her place. Under the voluminous cowl hides a pretty redhead with a musical voice and a gaze fit to cut diamonds. The same stylised image on her coat is smaller, made into an amulet. Six rays go outward from the eye, crossing the edges of a white circular plate. She moves, and her coat jingles. Huh. Apparently, it's chainmail armour with leather inserts. Who'd have guessed? A moment later, she picks up the interrogation.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Searching my brain for anything useful, I draw a blank. Only scraps of a feverish dream are rattling around: green fog; running from hideous bug-spider things with too many eyes to count; a woman that's either on fire or made of light is reaching out to me, but our hands can't connect. In a word — a nightmare.

"I remember jack shit, sweetheart. Sorry to disappoint," I say with a lopsided grin. Her lips tighten, but she doesn't reply, just stares at me. Then a thought chases my smile off. "I don't even know who the fuck am I."

Silence follows. Both of my interrogators watch me without blinking even once. Finally, the redhead says, "You are telling the truth."

Upon hearing that, the rage goes out of Cassandra. She steps closer while the redhead dances away.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take the prisoner to the rift," Cassandra says, her voice weary. She crouches next to me and exchanges the manacles with a rope.

"You didn't say why I'm here. What did happen, exactly?" I ask, examining her hairdo in detail. A braid encircles her short, inky-black strands like a wreath, but I don't see the beginning, nor the end of it. I'd ask her if it's a fake, but now that Leliana is gone, she might actually punch me. Maybe later.

Cassandra ties the rope just a breath too tight and stands up, pulling me to my feet as well. "It will be easier to show you."

I shuffle after her, keeping a respectable six feet distance and slouching to get my hands into a more comfortable position, go through the doorway, and hit it hard with something well above my head. Stars jump around, cartoon style. Fucked if I know what's going on, but it hurts like hell nonetheless. Tentatively, I touch the affected area, and my jaw clatters on the damp cobblestones. Big fucking HORNS protrude from my forehead, curling up and back. While I marvel at this revelation, running my fingers over the smooth ridges, Cassandra pauses only long enough to send a glare over her shoulder. I grind my teeth and duck to avoid the encore.

What else do I not know about myself? I glance down. Huh, I'm a chick! For some reason, it comes with a distant, dull surprise, though I'm not sure why. My rack is huge. How the fuck was I missing its existence until this very moment, I have no idea.

Meanwhile, Cassandra leads me out of the basement and onto the main floor. The building turns out to be a church or a monastery of some kind. The smell of incense assaults my nose, making it twitch, and I sneeze. A set of large wooden doors opens into a snowy square, and the bright daylight, blinding after the candlelit hall, temporary robs me of sight.

The first thing that stands out when I can see again is the colour: my hands, which I used as a shield against the light, have a weird metallic tint.

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra says, looking at the sky, and effectively draws my attention to a sickly-green vortex that hangs overhead in a ring of storm clouds, its tail lost between mountain peaks. It's the same colour as my new personal flashlight. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour," Cassandra continues. She turns around. "It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

Currents of energy — lightning? — run through the vortex. I expect a thunderclap, but if they make any sound, the distance swallows it before it reaches my ears.

"What the fuck do you use to blow a hole in the fabric of reality?" Somehow, I doubt that dynamite would work.

Ignoring the question, Cassandra strides to stand right before me. "Unless we act, the Breach will grow until it swallows the world."

The energy currents in the vortex intensify, thunder booms, and the hidden light in my palm flares to life.

"Hello, pain, my old friend," I pant into my knees, just for something to do that will take my mind off it. Not that it helps.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you," Cassandra says, emphasising her words with slashing gestures. She wears nice gauntlets, did I mention that? "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

"And here I thought I've got a flashy built-in adornment," I rasp. The prospect of dying doesn't register, not quite yet. "Lead the way, gorgeous."

Cassandra helps me to my feet — again — and propels me down the street with a hand on the small of my back. Even with my slouched posture, she is about a head shorter.

The gathered around townspeople look at me like I'm a freak show gone wrong. Contempt twists their lips. If not for the guards, they'd sure start throwing stones. Even from afar, it's obvious that I tower over them like a basketball player in a line of preschoolers. Let's recap: I'm tall, grey, have horns, and, according to Cassandra, came from the realm of demons. Holy shit, I'm the devil! No wonder the folks here glare so hard.

Noticing their attention, Cassandra says, "They have decided your guilt."

Well, duh.

"They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers."

We leave the village and start on a thin, well-trodden path going up to the mountains.

"It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought the leaders together. Now, they are dead," Cassandra continues. Her voice rings with passion and crashing grief, more oppressive than a gravestone laid on your chest.

Sentinels must have seen us because as we draw near the gate, its huge doors open, presenting a view of a slightly battered bridge. A part of the right wall misses bricks and is patched with a rough palisade, more a suggestion of a barrier than a real one. Soldiers in leather armour rest on wooden crates or sit on the ground near the undamaged stone railing, nursing their injuries.

"We lash out, like the sky," Cassandra says, and I raise an eyebrow. Poetic. "But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the Breach is sealed."

She stops, blocking my way with her arm, takes another step forward, and pulls a dagger from somewhere under her shield. The blade makes a sharp sound on the way out of its hidden sheath. Cassandra turns around, and for a moment, I'm sure she is going to shove it into my guts. She doesn't.

"There will be a trial. I can promise no more." She grabs my wrists and cuts the rope.

I rub circulation back into my appendages. "So where to?"

"Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach. Come, it is not far."

We walk past a man preaching about endurance to a group of men and women slowly turning blue. Another priest prays for the dead — wrapped in shrouds bodies laid in a neat row, already stiff. Cassandra issues an order, the second gate opens, and we are back on the path upwards.

Barricades and broken carts set aflame intersperse the road. A terrified soldier runs toward us, calling to the Maker to save him. The wind picks up, throwing handfuls of snow under my collar. I shudder and pull my shawl tighter. It's damn cold here.

The vortex pulses again, starting a glowing meteor shower, although instead of rocks it sends energy balls. And here we go again: a new round of agony and knees contemplating.

Helping me up, Cassandra explains something about the size of the Breach and its connection to the appearance of smaller rifts, but the details skip my pain-addled mind without making a pit stop.

The next bridge falls through. Not by itself, obviously. Thank you, green fucking energy. Amidst the chunks of stone the size of a dining table, supply crates, and barrels, we tumble onto a frozen river. The ice cracks but, thankfully, holds. I look at the dark surface, trying to measure the depth just in case. Can't see shit, it's all opaque.

Cassandra spots something and shouts an order to stay behind her, and, of course, a patch of ice right before me glows green.

"Not that I mind, but there's a fucking monster growing out of the ground."

What's coming out of the river is a mummified slug that was hit with the opposite of a shrink ray. It also didn't miss out on steroids. When it stops ascending, it hulks over my not inconsiderable height without a problem. Oh, and its fashion sense is so lacking. Who wears a tattered corset and skirt combo in this weather?

The thing growls and slashes the air in my direction with a pair of long hands that have too many sharp claws for my liking. Right. No point in standing around, looking pretty.

Picking up a cart wheel, I throw it at the monster, turn around, and beat a hasty retreat to the nearest crate. It's damaged due to the fall. The lid has slipped, and a bow is peeking out of the hay. I grab it — the weapon, not the stuffing — and… have no idea how to shoot. Blast.

The growling gets closer. In fact, it is too close if the overpowering stench of decay is anything to go on. Damn, the monster's fast. As I dodge its lunge, claws scrape my arm in a glancing blow. It doesn't do a thing, my leather coat is sturdy enough to withstand attack — good to know — but shit just got serious. Not having a better idea, I brandish the bow with both hands and use it as a club. It breaks on the first hit.

"Look what you've done, fugly." I jump out of the monster's reach and throw the pieces, aiming at its middle. The first part sails overhead, but the second hits the creature in the stomach. We both pause and stare at it, I — in surprise, the monster — who the hell knows. Then it roars and lunges again. Right, the fight.

My plan is beautiful in its simplicity — turn tail and skedaddle the fuck outta here, but it hits a snag straight out of the gate. Slipping on the ice, I drop on my ass and slide to the creature's feet, assuming it has any. If it could, I think it would snicker at my misfortune.

Radiating smug anticipation, the monster swoops — my instincts take over — and falls to the ground, twitching in the aftermath of a lightning strike.

Holy cow, I'm a mage.

"I can shoot lightning out of my fingers! I'm so cool!"

A sword plunges through the creature's chest. Mundane red blood gushes out, and the monster dissipates into nothingness.

Cassandra's gaze jumps from me to the broken pieces of the bow and back.

I raise both eyebrows. "What?"

She shakes her head and helps me up yet again.

"It seems I can't always protect you." Sighing, Cassandra picks a staff from the ground a mere foot away and hands it over. "This will serve you better."

"Thanks, Cas." I run my fingers over the metal cube at the staff's upper end. "This walking stick'll sure help."

"I meant as a weapon against the shades."

"Oh, a club then." I nod. "Pretty."

She snorts and strides away, but not before I see her fleeting smile.

Following the river, we climb over a hill and return to the road that goes between two mountains. Here and there lie bodies — mages in robes, warriors in chainmail armour, weapons discarded at their sides, never to be used by them again. Sometimes I spot a pouch and quickly pocket it, ignoring Cassandra's looks. Their previous owners don't need the money. I do.

The higher we are, the colder it gets. Well, no surprise here, but I'm losing the feeling in my toes. Two pillars with torches mark the start of a stairway, and I zero in on the fire, intent on warming my fingers, and completely miss a figure loitering nearby. So when a humanoid form made of sickly-green light sends an energy ball my way, it hits as intended, flying through my clothes like they aren't here, and burns.

I scream, feeling like I'm dosed with acid, and somehow set the perp on fire. The pain lessens somewhat, and, hefting the staff in both hands, I wave it at him… her? it? doesn't matter so long as I can kill it. Anyway, the action results in a blast of cold, which extinguishes the flames but deals some damage. I repeat the movement, adding a twirl just for kicks.

Behind me, Cassandra bellows a battle cry and, I assume, successfully finishes off her opponent because a moment later she ends mine as well.

"Take this," she says, giving me several glass vials full of viscous, red liquid. "Drink one now, you will feel better."

"Thanks, Cas." Again, she ignores the nickname. She must like it, I decide.

The potion tastes bitter and slightly sour, like sagebrush with lemon. It spreads warmth through my limbs, erasing the burning sensation like it never existed. We climb the stairs and come upon ruins. Burning carts block the way to the bridge on the right.

Cassandra says, "The rift is close. You can hear them fighting. Come, we must help them!" Before I can ask, 'Them who?' she breaks into a run, shield, plate armour, longsword, and all. Is she a fucking terminator?

"You do that. I'll just sit over there, next to the flaming box, thanks." Panting, I trudge after her.

Sure enough, up ahead, near a crumbling wall, hangs a large, green crystal surrounded by mist. I'm starting to hate this colour. Beneath the rift, people are fighting monsters. We hurry to the soldiers engaged in melee attack with shades.

Cassandra cuts through the enemies like an iceberg through ocean waves. Standing little ways from the main action, a bald elf casts one spell after another in quick succession, flinging and rotating his staff around with such flourish that I instantly want to try it, too.

I swing my staff to the side, hit my ass, and drop the damned thing on my foot.

"Blast it all to hell!" I howl, jumping on my other foot and nursing my poor, hurt appendage. Evidently, this technique needs work. In slow motion in front of a mirror somewhere with no witnesses.

The mage pauses to stare at me and misses an energy ball flying at his smirking face. It hits an invisible barrier, dissipating on impact, and the elf snaps back into the fighting mode.

I join too, sending lightning, fireballs, and cold blasts left, right, and centre.

"Sorry!" Oops. Friendly fire? Not so friendly.

Eventually, we kill all shades, a bolt finishing off the last one, and the crystal overhead turns into an active portal. Baldy jumps to me, grabs my hand, and thrusts it toward the green mist. My flashlight blinks on.

"You must close the rift!" the fucker shouts.

I'll rip his drooping ears off and feed them to the dogs if it harms me in any way. Lucky for him, the mark only tingles. The portal kind of connects with it, sucking the energy out of my palm. I will it to fuck off and mentally push it closed, pouring magic into the action. The tear in reality constricts and collapses in on itself, and I fall to my knees yet again, this time simply exhausted.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"I did nothing. The credit is yours," the bald bastard says like it's all sunshine and ponies, and like I'm not about to rip him a new hole.

"I apologise for the intrusion," he continues, seeing my unrelenting glare, "but it was necessary. Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorised that it can be used to close these rifts that open in the Breach's wake. And it seems to work."

He says the last remark in a way that makes me feel like a lab rat that's successfully performed a trick. I wish him to shove his theories where the sun doesn't shine.

Baldy talks a good game, voice calm and a little sad, melancholic. His well-worn sleeveless coat is patched in places. The linen tunic underneath it went through so many washes, it surrendered all colour to bland greyish oatmeal. Overall, he is the picture of a harmless, unassuming traveller, happy to help you out in a bind, but his eyes are cold, calculating.

"You are saying that the mark could close the Breach itself," Cassandra says, striding to us.

"Possibly," the elf agrees, steepling his fingers in front of his crotch. Probably, because it's in my arm's reach, should I decide to hit him. "It seems, you hold the key to our salvation," he says to me.

"Good to know," says the coolest dwarf I've ever seen, fiddling with his cuffs. His red shirt has an awfully deep neckline for such weather. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever." He turns and walks closer, revealing that his shirt is simply unlaced all the way to the green sash tied around his waist. It's a great way to showcase his chest hair and taut stomach.

My gaze is glued to his killer abs. Can't do anything about that, and I'm absolutely not sorry.

"Varric Tethras," he says, stopping in front of me. I'm still on my knees, so we are face to face. Or face to chest, as it happens. That hair.

"Rogue. Storyteller." He pauses. "Occasionally, unwelcome tagalong."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy him winking at Cas. I glance her way in time to see her grimace, then my eyes are drawn back to Varric's stomach.

"It's good to meet you, Varric." You and your delectable abs.

"You may reconsider that stance in time," says Baldy the elf.

"Aww." Varric briefly covers his face with a hand, feigning hurt. "I'm sure we will become great friends in the valley, Chuckles."

Chuckles? That works, too.

"Absolutely not!" Cassandra stalks up to him, looking down her nose, which isn't hard, considering their height difference. "I brought you here to tell the Divine your story. This is no longer necessary, however. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—"

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?" he says with a challenge. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore." His voice drops to a sensual whisper. "You need me."

"Uh." Cas sighs and backs down, shaking her head.

Varric smiles and finally notices the direction of my gaze. "Never thought I'd say it to a Qunari, but my eyes are up here."

I raise my gaze. His eyes are nice too, kind. "Your abs are perfect."

"Thank you. Now, let's help you up."

He and the elf take Cas' job, and now it's Varric's turn to stare at my navel. Man, he is short. Baldy isn't all that tall, either. Plus he is so slight, a strong wind should knock him over. (It doesn't, despite the wind being more than strong here.)

"My name is Solas if there are to be introductions," the elf says. "I am pleased to see you still live."

"Eh?"

"What he means is, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,'" Varric says, correctly interpreting the expression on my face.

"Thanks, but I'm still not reassured you aren't a creeper," I say to Solas the Bald and possibly Bold.

"Oh, he most assuredly isn't." Varric smiles. "Chuckles here is as benign as they come. He poured so much magic in you, I'm surprised you aren't in good health."

"Healing magic and minor wards aren't strong enough to undo the damage. I fear you are past the point where those will help you."

I snort. "Yeah, I feel like shit, no denying that."

Solas nods. "Cassandra, you should know the magic involved here is unlike any I've seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to image any mage having such power."

"Understood." Cas inclines her head. "We must get to the forward camp quickly."

"Before it kills me and my usefulness expires," I mutter.

"Don't be so glum, Shiny," Varric says. He sighs and goes for his crossbow. "Well, Bianca's excited."

"She is a beauty."

"That she is," Varric agrees with a chuckle.

Cas leads us off the road and down the riverbank, saying that the way ahead is blocked, and a thought crosses my mind. "Where are all those soldiers that fought demons with us?"

"They went to scout ahead," Cas says.

"I hope they'll clear the way."

And maybe they did. We don't see any bodies, but soon, we have to stop and kill more demons. However, with Varric and Solas, it goes fast and easy. Bianca is deadly. I take careful notes of what Baldy is doing and try to imitate the effect. An invisible cocoon spreads over us, blocking attacks for a time, and I add a barrier to my slowly expanding spell collection.

"So. Are you innocent?" Varric asks when we brave another long stairway, a pillar with a torch in it is our distant beacon.

My foot slips on the iced step, but he catches me before my face can be rearranged.

"Of what?"

"Blowing up the Conclave, of course. Or are there any other accusations flung your way?"

"Nah, 'don't know' to both questions. I don't remember anything."

"That'll get you every time." He chuckles. "Should've spun a story."

"That's what you would have done," Cassandra says, and I imagine her brows come together in a disapproving scowl.

"It's more believable," Varric says. "And less prone to result in premature execution."

Cas' scowl intensifies, I can tell without looking.

We reach the pillar and stop to deal with demons and shades. Combat magic is great for killing. I'm getting the hang of it and now and then strike the ground, which sends two cold blasts out of my staff. It looks pretty, and I'm absurdly proud of it. Then Baldy twirls his staff — man, does it sound dirty — and sends four. Uh! Can't stand to be outdone, that one.

"I hope Leliana made it through all this," Cassandra says when the fight is over.

Varric sighs. "She is resourceful, Seeker."

"We will see for ourselves in the forward camp. We're almost there," Solas says.

"I hate these endless stairways," I say because I do and also because it feels appropriate to add something.

This mountain climbing is a dreadful business. Even snow-covered evergreen plants that grow here — pines, firs, some kind of shrub — fail to cheer me up. We come up a hill, and Cas states the obvious.

"Another rift!"

It's hanging right before a gate. Soldiers are fighting demons and shades… I get a deja vu, all of a sudden.

"We must seal it! Quickly!" Solas says. What's up with them playing Captain Obvious, I wonder?

Still, the mark turns on, and I stick my hand into the mist, surrounding the crystal. Ping-ping-ping-connect. This time, my action only disrupts the rift, and that somehow stuns the monsters. Huh. I send a blast of cold their way, wait till the rift is active, and try again, but get the same result — stasis. Eventually, it closes, but only when all demons have perished and I've cursed a blue streak.

Cradling my arm, I catch my breath on the ground. The pain in my palm's literally killing me, and this rift-closing business is highly unpleasant.

"We are clear for the moment." This time, Solas helps me up by himself. He is surprisingly strong. "Well done," he says, and I feel more inclined to like him.

"Whatever that thing on your hand is, it's useful," Varric says, joining us, and together, we go through the gate.

The forward camp is on a bridge. I should have guessed. It's not all that different from the one back at the edge of Heaven. Dead bodies are absent, a table with an open supply box next to it stands in their place, and another one is a little farther ahead with a tent set behind it. Aside from that, nothing drastically new is present. It's a letdown, though I'm not sure what exactly I expected.

Cassandra leads me to that second table. Leaning on it is a man in a clerical garb, who argues with Leliana. His voice is loud and indignant, a counterpoint to Leliana's deadly calm.

"Ah! Here they come," the man says, straightening.

"You've made it." Leliana is a lot more welcoming. "Chancellor Roderick —" she turns her head to him slightly, a gesture of acknowledgement "— this is—"

"I know who she is."

Oh, I'm famous. Isn't it great? And I know who you are — a rude asshole.

The Chancellor orders to ship me off to Val Royeaux, wherever the hell it is, for execution. I don't like his words, nor his tone or his face. And his stupid hat makes him look like a penguin.

Cassandra disagrees with him, and they start arguing.

This sanctimonious prick can go fuck himself with a spear. As for me, a lie down is in order. I'm cold, tired, and hurt all over. What the hell! It's time to grant my wishes. I sit on the stone bench near the table. The view from this bridge is worth the climb: white peaks, ancient ruins, buildings on fire, a silhouette of a temple up high on the mountain, flashing with sickly light green vortex… Spectacular.

My ass is well on the way to becoming one with the bench when the Breach contracts. Predictably, the mark reacts with a fresh bout of agony. As if I haven't had enough for one day. Gritting my teeth, I endure.

After a while, I notice that everybody is watching me with an air of expectation. Even Varric and Solas, who have been observing the discussion in silence.

"Um?"

"How do you think we should proceed?" Cas says.

"Eh?" I know, I know, my eloquence has no bounds.

"We should charge with the main forces," Cas says.

"Or you can take the mountain path." Leliana points somewhere up. "It will lead to the Temple of Sacred Ashes much more safely." She gives me a long, evaluating look and adds, "There you can close the Breach and rest."

Rest sounds good. "Whichever is quicker."

"Then we charge." Cassandra nods with approval. "Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone."

The camp buzzes with sudden activity, people running around, issuing commands, and soon, we are heading out. The road narrows, the wind here is piercing, and I'm slightly concerned someone is going to fall into the chasm below, but we make it to the platform before another gate — more elaborate, and also more battered — without casualties.

Soldiers that came with us join those that waited here, regroup, and open the doors to a scorched wasteland. Huge lumps of rock stick out of the ground like enormous black teeth. After a moment, I realise that these are chunks of the temple merged together by the heat of the explosion. We are looking at the crater. Oh. It wasn't a gate. Just a door with a part of an outer wall.

From here, I can see where the end of the vortex's tail dives into the ruins, we are that close. I'd stand and gawp some more, but first, I need to deal with the rift that's hanging a little way ahead.

"How many rifts are there?!" Varric says from my left.

"I'd like to know it, too," I say, going for my staff.

"Wraiths," Solas says, naming the green, glowing figures that pour out of the portal. "You need to close it."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Jumping from the remains of the floor and into the crater, our troops join the already fighting soldiers, and I hurry to do my part. Of course, as soon as I near the rift, all nearby demons decide to attack me, abandoning their opponents.

"I'm a demon catnip," I mutter, casting a barrier and backing away before they complete the circle. Thankfully, Cas, Varric, and Solas take them off my hands so I can disrupt the rift in relative peace. I have to do it several times, then it finally snaps closed, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Sealed, as before," Solas states the obvious. "You are becoming quite proficient at this."

"Aw, thanks." I flutter my eyelashes. "Compliments will get you into my good book in no time."

Varric snorts at Baldy's long face. "Let's hope it works on the big one."

I glance around over the heads of my vertically challenged companions — compared to me, they all are — and see a man with a funny cloak. Coupled with his blond hair, its reddish fur reminds me of a lion's mane.

The man walks to us with the accompaniment of warriors. "Lady Cassandra, you managed to seal the rift?" He nods, his polished chest plate glints in the light of the vortex. "Well done."

"Do not congratulate me, Commander." Cas sighs. "This is the prisoner's doing."

"Is it?" Eyebrows go up, the man turns and gives me a once-over, pausing on the staff at my back. The hand he keeps on the hilt of his sword twitches, drawing my attention. It is a large sword.

"I hope they are right about you. We lost a lot of people getting you here," he says, frowning. An old, well-healed scar connects his right cheek and upper lip, runs over it. His eyes are the colour of golden honey. If I swoon, will he catch me?

Snapping my mouth shut, I swallow and hope there's no drool anywhere. I school my features into an appropriate expression and say, "I will do my best, Commander." My throat still hurts, and I sound kind of husky.

His tone is milder when he says, "That's all we can ask." He turns to Cassandra, an obvious dismissal. "The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there."

"Then we must move quickly. Give us time, Commander."

"Maker watch over you," he says, glancing at me. "For all our sakes."

We part ways. Dreamy walks back to the doors, taking the soldiers with him. The injured are helped, the fallen left — for now.

Cassandra touches my arm, distracting me from watching their departure. "We should hurry."

Picking our way around debris — parts of support beams, stone walls, bannisters — we come closer to the eye of the explosion. It is a mess. The corpses are still here, burning, kneeling, arms held over their heads, mouths open in silent screams. Even in death, they are stuck in the final moments of their lives.

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes," Solas says.

And Varric whispers on the exhale, "What's left of it."

The stench wakes a memory, just as Cassandra says, "That is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you." Her voice is quiet like she doesn't want to disturb the dead. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."

Perhaps, it's my imagination, but I taste ash and sulphur at the back of my throat.

Cas leads us to an opening that goes down, into the temple proper. The crunching of rubble under our boots is obnoxiously loud. We round a corner and come to our destination. Before us, in the deepest part of the crater, stands a lone column that glows ominous red and above it… The vortex's tail ends in the biggest rift I've seen.

"The Breach is a long way up," Varric says, turning around to take it all in as he walks.

"You're here!" Leliana's voice comes from behind us. "Thank the Maker."

She brought a group of archers with her, but they don't hold my attention for long. It goes back to the rift. The holes I've snapped before are tiny in comparison. This is going to take a lot more energy. Maybe more than I have.

In the background, Cassandra issues orders, then — the sound of footsteps. I stare at the Breach, transfixed, and slowly come to the realisation that I might not come out of this ordeal alive.

Cas stops before me, not quite blocking the view. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"

I snort. "Guess it's too late to say, 'Fuck it! I quit.'" My lips twist in a lopsided grin though I don't find the prospect of dying funny. "Let's do it, gorgeous."

"This rift was the first," Solas says. "It is the key. Seal it, and perhaps it will close the Breach."

"Should be easy as pie, eh?" I shrug and start the walk to my doom.

As I pick my way down, jumping over obstacles, an echoing male voice says, "Now is the hour of our victory."

"I sure hope so."

"Bring forth the sacrifice," it continues.

"Fuck you very much, I'd rather kill you myself, shit-face."

"I do not think he hears you," Solas says, an amused smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "More likely, it is an echo of a past event."

I stick my tongue at him.

"What are we hearing?" Cassandra asks.

"At a guess? The person who created the Breach," Solas answers.

A sparkling, red outgrowth blocks the way. It gives off a strange vibration that I feel in my bones. Scary as hell.

"You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker," Varric says in a flat tone.

"I see it, Varric."

"We all do," I say. "Why is it here? Somehow, I doubt it was in the original design."

"Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple," Solas says. "Corrupted it."

"It's evil. Whatever you do, don't touch it."

Varric's warning is unnecessary — I've already stopped, having no desire to go anywhere near it. I like my lyrium blue, thank you very much. Even if it can replenish my mana, I'd rather burn out than willingly poke this red stuff with my staff. Heh. It would be funnier if I were a man because staff.

"Keep the sacrifice still," the creepy fucker booms out of the blue, and I wince.

A woman screams, "Someone, help me!"

Cassandra gasps. "That was Divine Justinia's voice."

"The fuck's going on here? What the hell are you doing, creep?!" I say with the same echo-y resonance. Curiously, my mouth is closed.

"That was your voice," Cassandra says, looking at me.

"Seriously? I'd never guess."

"Most Holy called out to you," she says, her features rearranging into a lost expression, "but…"

Trying to find another way down is pointless. I'm already tired of running around the balcony that surrounds the crater below, so I backtrack a bit and vault over the rails, jumping to the lowest floor. "Breach, here I come!"

As if answering me, the rift greets us with a flash and — I blink involuntary tears and the temporary blindness away — presents a ghostly image of a woman in a really tall hat suspended in the air by magic. Red energy swirls around her arms, keeping them stretched, and a silhouette falls over her. That's Justinia, I take it. For a devout head of the Chantry, she doesn't seem happy with the perspective of facing her Maker so soon. Instead, she is terrified.

Appearing on the ghostly scene, I say to a shadowy figure, whose eye sockets glow with the same magic that holds the Divine, "The fuck's going on here? What the hell are you doing, creep?!"

"Run while you can! Warn them!" the Divine shouts, and my opinion of her goes up. She didn't ask to save her but thought of other people, now blown up along with the temple.

"We have an intruder," the villain says. His silhouette points at me-in-the-past. "Slay the Qunari. Now."

Another flash, and the movie is over. Well, that cleared it: I'm neither a terrorist nor a mass murderer. Nice.

"You were there!" Cassandra whirls so fast, I'm surprised she doesn't get whiplash. Her eyes are wide and bright. "Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…" Cas trails off, starts again. "Was this vision true? What are we seeing?"

I soften my voice as much as I'm currently able. "I don't remember anything. I'm sorry, Cas." I really am.

"Echoes of what happened here," Solas says under his breath. He raises his voice to a normal volume. "The Fade bleeds into this place. The rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily." He goes on, at length, proposing a safe way to resolve the situation, which boils down to reopening the thing and snapping it shut for good. There's only one hitch.

"More demons. Lovely." Well, nothing to be done about that, aside from the obvious. Cas shouts to the soldiers to get ready, and I do the opposite of what I want. I open the rift. It gathers the energy and hurls a fucking armoured barn at us.

"Bigger hole, bigger monster. Figures." The creature has horns, too. Maybe we are related?

Cassandra's fair skin loses all colour. "Pride demon!"

The creature roars and lunges.

"I bet it's so angry because it couldn't get through a smaller rift to play with the others, eh?" I say, advancing to the rear. I didn't sign up for getting smashed.

From the relative safety of the balcony, archers fire a volley, and the demon laughs. I could have lived without hearing that sound. The monster's hide is too thick for arrows to penetrate, and it swats them like flies. Solas casts frost over its leg, and with a battle cry, Cassandra charges, bashing the demon with her shield. She must seem like a yapping dog to this fucking enormous powerhouse.

While everyone is busy, I get close to the rift and disrupt it, and the mist surrounding the crystal turns into an opaque block.

The demon freezes, paralysed. Cas orders the archers to attack, saying, "It is vulnerable now!"

All melee fighters hack away at its legs since nobody can get any higher than its knee. Even Cas, tall as she is, barely reaches past the knee cap.

Too soon the rift activates again, spitting a contingent of smaller demons. In retaliation, no doubt. The pride demon unfreezes and fetches two glowing electric whips out of thin air. The shit we are swimming through just rose to the waist level.

I spend some time dodging shades, wraiths, and insect-like horrors, fighting them all at once and without making a dent in their population. My mana isn't infinite, sadly. Then Solas and Varric finally come to my rescue, covering me with a barrier and by bolt- and spellfire. Wasting no time, I pour energy into the rift, but a crack of a whip near my toes breaks my concentration. The pride demon lumbers my way, and I beat it and hide behind the pillar, lyrium growing from it be damned.

Here I start another round of 'snap the hole.' My outstretched arm is trembling, and I put most of my weight onto the staff, propping myself up. Time to end this circus while I can. If I can. The mark connects with the rift, and I stuff everything I've got into it — magic, energy, hatred, death threats, curses, fear… I don't hold back. I feel more than see the edges constrict, the rupture getting smaller ever so slightly. Pressure builds in my head until all I can hear is the sound of my heartbeat, too fast and erratic. I'm giving all of myself to the task, and it is not enough. Of course, it isn't.

This rift is a black hole that's sucking me whole through my palm. Sweat beads on my face, runs down my back. I wipe the moisture under my nose with my right hand, forgetting about the staff, and almost brain myself. Still, I manage to avoid unnecessary injuries (self-harm so isn't my thing, it's on the other side of the galaxy). My fingers come away stained with blood.

From a far away point, Cassandra shouts, "Now! Seal the rift!" Her voice is tiny, overlapped by the ringing in my ears.

A flash of thought: it is killing me. I'm going to die here, in this ruined temple, having no idea who the fuck I am. Well, at least, I'll do it playing the hero. They'd better sing a ballad in my honour and erect a statue or two of me giving this fucking crystal the finger. In solid gold. That image cheers me up, so with one final push, I fling all that's left into the connection, hoping it won't be in vain. Dark spots crowd my vision, displacing the green. My heart, ready to burst from my chest, skips a beat. Everything goes black.