At the Unveiling of the World

Story I

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The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited

Part III

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Faerynrae fought to regain consciousness, but her body was stiff and unresponsive. She felt like a bug trapped in the merciless web of a spider. No matter how much she struggled, awareness slipped through her grasp. Eventually, pieces did return. As soon as she could, she grabbed at them, reclaiming her body piece by piece, fighting exhaustion each step of the way. When she finally succeeded in blinking open her eyes, she saw a vast ocean of green all around her. Immediately, she thought she must be seeing the sky, but she'd never witnessed the sky turn such an emerald hue before. She watched, glassy-eyed, as the clouds floated by, still trapped in a cocoon of lassitude.

Something pressed up against her back. The ground, she realized. Odd, but could hardly feel it. Moving her fingers, she sifted them through something grainy, analyzing the texture between her fingers.

Sand. Soft, warm, sand.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Faerynrae battled her disorientation.

Ground, she told herself, allowing the sensation of the sand to register.

Sky, she insisted, focusing on the green and black clouds above.

When she was comfortable enough, Faerynrae sat up with a groan, feeling as though she'd been given a thorough beating with a spiked club. Every muscle in her body ached and throbbed, including her temples. Unfamiliar silk and cotton rubbed against her skin. Gripping at the collar line of her garment, she pulled on it, making room to breathe. She still wore the mage's robes she'd pilfered from the human camps, but the previously rich and vibrant azure color of them was tainted with burn marks and blood.

Blood? Whose blood?

Faerynrae forced herself to her feet. A choking heat made breathing difficult. Her tongue felt swollen. Sweat ran down her face and neck. She wiped at her forehead with a sleeve of her robe, dabbing the salty droplets out of her eyes. The world came into sharper focus, and she gasped in both dismay and wonder at what she saw. An ocean of white sand stretched out before her, gleaming with a verdant glow. A mountain range of dunes rose up into the distance, touching the clouds at the horizon. Jutting columns of semi-transparent green crystal were the only bits of color that broke the blinding whiteness. As she walked past them, the glass-like material shimmered. At times, she could have sworn she saw eyes or faces within.

After walking some distance, Faerynrae saw the edge of a crumbled ruin at the top of a nearby dune. Sprawled out in a mixture of worn black rock and grey stones, she hardly recognized the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Its massive walls and pillars reached up into the skies, leaving her feeling like a bug before its enormity. Crystal covered the walls, growing like thick fungus over the stones and blooming like vegetation from the floor and columns. Light shone down upon the structure from the sky, but she could see no sun past the gathering clouds.

Faerynrae rubbed her neck, feeling like she might suffocate. The heat intensified. It was overwhelming, but it wouldn't kill her right away. It was the kind that sucked one's strength out at a lazy, measured pace, bringing about a slow death. Faerynrae didn't think she needed to fear it. If she didn't find a way out soon, however, the lack of water would slay her first. She looked in all directions, determining her primary goal to be escape. Wherever she was, she needed to get out. Seeing no other option, she began to climb towards the ruin.

Dimly, she thought this place was quite similar to the Fade, but it looked so different from other times she'd been there that she doubted her own sanity. Things had never felt this tangible in the Fade before. A haze always hovered over her thoughts, her vision limited and narrowed on a single thing at time. Now, the haze was entirely absent and her focus strayed past her immediate surroundings. It was as though she could feel the heartbeat of this world, as though each of her own breaths was its own.

This couldn't be the Fade, though. To be here, she would either have to be dying or dreaming, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't doing either. Frowning, she fingered her robe between her fingers.

Real. All of this felt entirely too real.

Vaguely, she recalled what happened with the orb and unconsciously looked at her hand. A long deep gash stretching from her palm to her wrist was the only physical evidence of what she'd experienced. Just as her attention focused on it, fire seared through her nerves, the pain vivid and crushing. The skin splayed open along the seam of the wound, green light pulsing inside her flesh. Green — just like everything else in this strange place. The clammy hands of panic rushed to capture her self-control, but she denied them. If, one way or another, she truly was in the Fade, then demons lurked around every corner, and she was currently a delicious and vulnerable target.

Years spent surviving the deadly whims of nature had taught her to expect the worst. For now, she would assume that this desert was part of the world beyond the Veil. Steeling herself, she looked up towards the ruin. She'd entered the Fade somehow. A portal, perhaps. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was where all of this had started. It had to be the key to finding her way back. As she climbed, sand ground into the wound on her hand. The sweat running down her body sank into the raw flesh. She flinched at the sting, looking towards the top of the dune. Still so far to climb. Every step she took forward felt heavier and heavier.

Would she make it? Would a demon appear and attack her? Or would she collapse before she could reach her goal? Would she die here all alone, her body rotting away among the white sand? Licking her lips, she reflected on how thirsty she was, how dry and scratchy her throat felt. She thought to shapeshift into something that could fly, but — as before — when she attempted to change her form, her leg throbbed savagely. Now, the wound in her hand made it worse. She gasped and clutched at her wrist, squeezing her eyes shut and cursing under her breath. As many times as she'd visited the Fade in her dreams, she'd never felt pain like this. Straightening her shoulders, she examined the far-reaching nothingness around her. The desert suddenly seemed much larger — no longer bewitching, but threatening.

What was she going to do? She was wounded, she couldn't shapeshift, and she was weaponless — defenseless.

At that thought, Keeper Deshanna's words rang out in her mind.

Focus on the objective, not the obstacles surrounding it.

That's right. If she wanted to make it out of here in one piece, she would need all of her concentration and a clear mind. Pushing aside her immediate fears, doubts, and worries, she stopped climbing for a moment and allowed herself to take a deep breath. Reaching for a strip of fragile silk on the hem of her robes, she tore a long piece of it off and wrapped it around her hand to create a barrier between the skin and sand. The injury wasn't bleeding and she had strength enough to move forward. For survival, that was enough. Determined not to lose heart, she continued her climb, keeping her breathing steady and focusing on each of her movements separately, tuning out everything but their rhythm.

Half way up the dune, she noticed something glimmering about two hundred feet behind her. Even squinting, she struggled to make out what it was. It took several tries to see that it was the golden shining figure of a woman. The thing trailed after her, silently watching her progress. It looked humanoid but had no face or distinguishing features. Faerynrae's heart felt heavy as it thudded against her ribs. Adrenaline tingled through her. Mentally, she traced the runes for a barrier, surrounding herself with it, preparing in case the creature was a demon.

She'd never seen a demon look like this, however. Demons were typically monstrous, hideous, and misshapen. If they saw a victim to devour, they did not hesitate. They did not shy away or flinch; they simply attacked with relentless hunger and bloodlust. This creature was dazzling in contrast, glowing like the sun and floating like a feather through the air. Strangely, every time Faerynrae turned to confront it, it flickered and disappeared. After a while, she gave up on trying to examine it further, deciding to keep her barrier intact in case the thing turned out to be an enemy of some sort. As a precaution, she kept the image of the runes for a fire spell ever-present in her mind, prepared to defend herself if necessary.

When she finally scrambled up to the top of the hill, she dusted sand from her clothes and looked around. The Temple before her was in a worse state than she remembered it. Its core structure had been heavily damaged, and judging by the direction of the gashes and scratches in the stone, an explosion had torn this place apart. The color drained from her face when she saw countless bodies littering the ground, their corpses contorted into various postures of pain and agony. They'd been savaged and mutilated past recognition. There was no blood; they'd all been burned to husks.

What could have done this? What force could have possibly caused such destruction? As if to answer, her hand throbbed. Faerynrae gritted her teeth and tried to recall anything past the moment when she touched the orb, but couldn't. All she could remember was the horrible pain — the agony of the artifact lashing out at her with its magic. She remembered the strangling heat all around her, as though she'd been standing in the midst of an inferno. Solas's shocked face lingered in that final moment of her awareness. Then nothing. Just darkness.

Stripped of her memory, lost in a sea of sand with only ruins to look to for guidance, Faerynrae wrapped her arms around herself and gritted her teeth together even harder. In the moment of weakness, fear began to creep into her heart. Sensing her focus slipping, she struggled to stay calm. Plenty of times, she'd wandered the forests — familiar and strange — on her own. She knew how to survive without assistance, could do so in even the harshest of conditions. However, she'd never felt quite so alone and helpless. No animals were here to provide companionship and the theory that she might be dead after all frightened her beyond all sense.

The bodies coating the floor like a gruesome tapestry didn't help. They were faceless. She held no bond with them to cause her grief at their passing. A sense of injustice, perhaps. Though these were mostly shemlen, they were still living creatures. They'd had their own lives and dreams, their own destinies. For something to rip that time away from them so mercilessly was unfair. A lion hunted deer to survive. He killed because he must do so to live. But, the thing that killed these men and women did not do so because it had no alternative.

Faerynrae looked at the corpses until the image was burned into her eyelids. Acid churned in her stomach, the stirrings of anger. People were selfish and ignorant. They lived only to serve themselves, taking without giving in return. But, they were part of nature, just as any creature. This murder — this slaughter — was wrong. Her people often spoke of avenging honor and righting wrongs done to them. None of the victims here were Dalish, yet…

Her hand throbbed again.

Continuing her path inside, Faerynrae walked into the large hall where the last of her memories took place. She called out, asking if anyone was there, begging for someone to answer her. Silence greeted her in return, and the feeling of loneliness threatened to crush her with its overwhelming intensity. No matter how many times she called out to any survivors, nobody answered. Only her own voice echoing in the strange hazy atmosphere called back.

There is no one left, a voice whispered from behind her. Faerynrae spun around, coming face to face with the shining woman from earlier. Tense and ready to spring, Faerynrae's fire spell roared as it surrounded both of them. Yet, the creature did not flinch or dodge the attack. She stood still and calm, staring at Faerynrae out of the place where eyes should have been. When the fire went out, she didn't move.

"What are you?" Faerynrae asked. "You are not a demon. A spirit, perhaps? I've heard they wander the Fade as demons do."

There is no one left, the woman repeated as if she hadn't heard her. Only the one who waits.

"What are you talking about? Are there survivors? What happened here?"

Here is only an echo. Here the hands are tied. You must go now, golden halla, to the one who waits.

"How do you know about that? Who are you?"

Go now, the woman commanded, raising her arms in an urgent gesture. Go before it is too late. When the magic fades, the rending will cover all in shadow.

"Riddles," Faerynrae grimaced. "I truly despise them." Fed up and frustrated, she turned from the woman and continued her path to the Temple. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the woman's voice whispered right next to her ear.

You must choose to follow him, but choosing will bring strife and pain. I am sorry that you are the one who is awaited.

With that, Faerynrae sensed her fade away and disappear. Goosebumps sandpapered her skin. Ominous words, but what did they mean? Shaking her head, she dismissed them as nothing more than a spirit's trick.

When she made it to the hall, her eyes flew open in panic. A massive shadow, its deformed features creased and furrowed in a mask of rage, floated over the smaller form of a hooded elf. Men in armor surrounded them, charging towards the elf with their weapons at the ready. The orb was nowhere to be seen. A woman hovered in the air, tied and bound by crimson chains, her mouth open in a silent scream. Faerynrae crouched down, raising her hands defensively, only to realize that the figures in the center of the room weren't moving. She blinked, her vision focusing on the frozen scene. Memories came flooding back in a chaotic wave. She clutched at her head as she recalled pieces of things in disjointed fragments. The shadow had attacked a woman in white. Solas tried to stop him. Then, the shadow had used the orb. Or, tried to. From then, things were hazy, but she couldn't forget what Solas had said — that the orb had originally belonged to him.

No. She couldn't blame him for all of this just yet, though her hesitation made little sense. He was a stranger to her. Enigmatic and interesting to be sure, but a stranger nevertheless. She should have been eager at the thought of finding the one responsible for this madness, at the chance to make order out of chaos. But, when she tried to imagine Solas at the heart of all this death, she couldn't. All she could see was the gentleness in his eyes as he saved her from the Templars in the forest. She couldn't forget his promise to watch over her as she slept. Such gentle hands could not be stained with so much blood.

That's right. There was no point in making theories and drawing conclusions when she had so little evidence. He'd mentioned the orb was his, but he hadn't said anything about how it was taken from him. Perhaps the monster had stolen it. If that was the case, then none of this was his fault.

Running her fingers through her hair in frustration, Faerynrae moved towards the time-frozen group of people. She approached with caution, for she had no idea what to expect. What if they suddenly came to life? What if they were demons waiting to spring a trap? She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Moving her fingers through the air, she called a series of fire mines into existence, placing them directly below the charging armored group of soldiers. One movement, and they would turn to ash.

The great hall was torn apart, but the statue of Andraste still stood. The explosion had cracked and damaged it beyond recognition. She walked to the basin at its feet, thinking to clean her wounds in the cold water, only to find the metal bowl filled to the brim with blood. Recoiling, Faerynrae stumbled back, her head turning towards the grand staircase. Huge chunks of it had been blown to smithereens, leaving only a curving piece of carved stone too treacherous for a stable climb. Something glowed high above at its top. But, that wasn't what held her attention.

Eyes wide, she stepped forward. Her heart missed a beat. Hands reaching out instinctively, she opened her mouth and called out a name. The figure sitting on the broken staircase looked up. His face was a picture of anguish and sorrow, his blue eyes dark and dull. His shoulders sagged with hopelessness, hands folded together over his knees. Blood covered his clothes, too, strings of it slashing across his nose and cheeks. She walked to him, unable to speak. Relief numbed her body. She nearly collapsed with it. Seeing him meant she wasn't alone after all, and she'd never been so happy to see another person in her life.

"Solas…" Her hands shook.

"Faerynrae," he rasped, his voice hoarse. His eyebrows rose and furrowed together. "You're…alive…"

"Alive?" Afraid to hope, she stared at his face, transfixed, so terribly glad that she wasn't alone in this vast nothing that all other emotions abandoned her. Yet, her logic rebelled. He couldn't really be here, could he? Was he an illusion? A demon? A figment of her imagination? Did it even matter? Confused, she inspected the man before her from head to toe, still worried that she was conjuring him up out of some sort of desperation.

"Solas, what are you doing here?"

His eyes flickered to the frozen scene behind them. When Faerynrae glanced back towards it, she saw that the elf had disappeared.

"Waiting," Solas said at length.

"Waiting for what?"

Not answering, he stood up and climbed up several steps on the grand staircase, turning his back to her. His image wavered. His worn traveler's garments disappeared, replaced by rich black robes lined with dark brown fur. Glimmering gold armor covered his arms, legs, and torso, a shaggy black wolf's head crowning him as a hood and mantle. Faerynrae's gut clenched when he raised a hand. A shattered piece of what she recognized as the orb hovered just above his palm. Right at that moment, her hand pulsed and trembled. Green sparks of magic shot forth from her wound, zapping up along her forearm like lightning. One of her knees buckled from the agony of it, but she managed to remain upright. Forgetting to breathe, Faerynrae walked towards the staircase, climbing step after step until she stood just behind him. The closer she moved to him, the more intense the pain in her hand became until a haze of white hovered over her eyes, nearly blinding.

Solas's shoulders were lowered, his face angled down. A shadow seemed to surround him. His other arm hung limp at his side. Examining the parts of his hands that were visible through his leather gloves, Faerynrae saw scratches, light burns, callouses on them. Blood was caked under his fingernails, the crimson a stark contrast to his pale skin. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat before speaking again.

"The orb," she said, watching the hovering shattered thing in his hand. "You said it was yours…"

"Yes."

"Did you know it could…" She swallowed, her eyes briefly gliding over the countless corpses in the Temple. "Did you know it would do this?"

"Yes."

"Why did the shadow creature have it? Did he steal it from you?"

Silence at that. Faerynrae whispered his name, but he did not turn around.

"And now it begins," he murmured.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end just before a violent explosion shook the ground and rent the air. Unable to keep her balance, Faerynrae fell forward, landing at just the right angle to keep from hurting herself on the stairs. The figures frozen by time in the center of the hall began moving. She heard an unearthly scream. The woman that was trapped in the air twisted, then vanished. The shadow tilted its head back and roared. Power burst from him in hot blazing waves. Faerynrae tried to shield herself with her arms, but it was akin to trying to hide from a volcano's fury while standing right at its heart. The force of the blast pushed her back against the stairs, pressing on her chest and snaking into her lungs. She coughed, tasting blood.

Thunder cracked in the sky. Through eyes flooding with tears of pain, Faerynrae looked up. The emerald clouds parted then began to swirl in a tempest. The wind picked up speed, howling and moaning in tandem with the screech of lightning within the center of the building storm. Stones, rubble, and sand lifted up into the air. As soon as they left the ground, they were pulled with devastating force into the eye. The keening wind pulled at Faerynrae's clothes, whipping her long hair in all directions. Scrambling to her feet, she threw her arms around the nearest chunk of boulder, praying it would keep her safe.

"We can't stay here!" She shouted over the deafening wind. "We'll die!"

"Then leave," he said, his back still turned to her. His voice had turned to steel. Though he didn't shout, she heard him perfectly.

"I don't know how. I don't even know where this is or why —" She screamed when the wind ripped her feet out from under her. Its fluid hot tendrils wrapped around her waist, bruising her ribs, squeezing her gut, pulling her back so hard she thought she might be sick. Terrified she would follow the rubble and sand into the storm, she gripped the stone harder, several of her nails cracking and peeling as she struggled to hold on. She hardly felt the pain of it as her feet lifted off the ground.

"Leave," Solas said again, his voice even harder now. Against all reason, he didn't seem to be bothered by what was happening, standing like an unyielding anchor in the middle of it all.

"I told you, I don't know how!" she cried out.

At last, he moved to face her. Faerynrae's insides turned to stone. His face had changed. Instead of the sorrowful blue eyes she remembered, glowing orbs stared out at her from beneath the terrifying glower of the wolf's head, his handsome smooth features shifting into a picture of severity. Between the flashes of lightning, his face looked hard and threatening.

"This is no place for a mortal," he declared, his eyes darting to the gash on her hand.

"But the creature!" she protested. "I can't just—"

"The creature is my responsibility," he cut in.

Faerynrae's eyes widened as far as they would go. Understanding poured over her like frigid water.

"He didn't steal the orb, did he?" She heard herself ask. "The shadow creature…he didn't take it from you by force…"

Solas's lips straightened into a hard line. Faerynrae regained her footing and glared up at him.

"As expected, Hanal'ghilan, you see the truth unclouded," he frowned. "Now that you have it, leave. While you still can."

"Is the monster trapped here with us? If I leave, will it remain?"

Silence.

"What does it want?" she shouted. "Power? Magic from the orb?"

Solas's expression soured. "The world," he said. "And all that is beyond."

Faerynrae's arms shook. She remembered, again, the image of the countless bodies on the floor of the Temple. She imagined the humans and elves replaced by her companions — by the gentle and innocent creatures of the forest. She imagined the green trees within her favorite woods shriveling and dying as the creature spread its touch of death over the land. The thought made her sick.

"There has to be a way to kill him," she said through a clenched jaw. "There has to be a way to stop him."

"There is," Solas said, the sharp edge of his voice almost painful.

"How?"

"It won't be simple, but the mark on your hand is a start," he glanced at her ravaged palm.

"This?" She shuddered in agony. The strips of emerald magic swirling around her arm chewed and bit into her flesh, sinking their teeth into it without drawing blood. "How…? And if I can use it to stop the monster, why are you sending me away?"

"Hanal'ghilan," he addressed her sternly with narrowed ice blue eyes. His feral cerulean stare held her gaze with strength that rivaled that of the maelstrom above them — pulling her in, hypnotizing her. The connection it forged was so powerful that Faerynrae thought she felt it draining out her sense of self. Without a trace of hesitation or remorse, it rummaged through her soul, his eyes searching hers for something. The flames of wisdom burned there — a fire of passion, vengeance, and rebellion. The storm faded into the background. For a moment, all she could acknowledge was the iron will he'd used to trap her.

"If I told you that it would require you to sacrifice your life, would you still fight?"

Faerynrae didn't hesitate even for a moment.

Yes, she swore silently to him and meant it with every fiber of her being. She meant it like she'd never meant any other oath or promise in her life. The fire in his gaze cooled, the intensity releasing her. His free hand reached out and caught at her wounded one. She flinched and bit her lip at the pain. He gave a gentle tug, caught her against him, and held her there.

"You understand my role in this? That I gave the orb to this creature?"

She nodded against his chest.

"And you would still fight beside me, even though it may mean giving up your life?"

Again, she nodded.

"You are a rare and strange person," he paused, "Faerynrae."

Faerynrae was used to being the tallest in her Clan, even among the young men. However, Solas stood at least a head taller than her, his figure at odds with what she was used to seeing among her kind. He was lean and thin, but she could not deny the strength in his arms and broad shoulders. His hands were elegant — long-fingered and warm — but were rough, too, accustomed to gripping a staff or even the hilt of a sword. She stood awkwardly in his embrace, her thoughts racing. Behind and above them, the storm pulled up more and more pieces of the world around them only to devour them in its huge jaws. The creature still roared, his enmity seeming to feed the chaos.

"What do we do now?" she asked Solas.

"When I give the signal, we must run to the top of the stairs and enter the grand chambers on the third floor. The Veil is weak there, though a great host of demons blocks it."

Faerynrae tensed. Demons? A great host? She shuddered again, from apprehension this time. "I'm prepared to face what comes," she nodded. For a moment, she thought his arms tightened around her but couldn't be sure.

"Come," he said, slipping back and away. He took her uninjured hand in his own, his expression betraying no emotion. "We must be swift. At the rift, I will instruct you on how to use the mark on your hand."

"The mark? What mark?" She inspected her crackling palm. "It's just a cut. A burn from the orb's magic."

"It is an anchor," he countered. "And it is the only thing that can give us an advantage in this realm." Without waiting for her to respond, he tugged on her and began climbing.