Ayah began on the fifth day of Parvulis, fifth Kingsway in the low language, following a rest period of precisely seven hours. She did not dream. She was not born that particular day, for she had been born twenty years prior and had celebrated the anniversary of this event for every year following that Summerday. Though Ayah could recall the reasoning behind this celebration, it was no longer pertinent, as the existence that had celebrated her birthing had ended on the fifth day of Parvulis, when Ayah began. While no longer in that state of being, the things that held meaning then held no meaning now, as she had a new purpose, and a new outlook on the nature of her world. No longer burdened by the dreams and emotions that other sentient beings shared, Ayah simply began.

She found this state to be agreeable.

Ayah Surana resided at the Circle of Magi, in their tall tower called Kinloch. She had not known any other place and it made sense that she would reside there, having been there before she had begun. There also were people there that she had once known, who looked at her now very strangely. Faces and names faded with her old memory as the new arose; she busied her mind with analyzing each and every thing it came across and recognizing it, remembering it, with perfect clarity. Faces were difficult, since they blended together, and she quickly found it an exercise in futility to attempt to memorize them all. The others like her understood and recommended that she not attempt to memorize them all, instead simply address them all alike and make no outward attempts to distinguish one person from another. Others expected this attitude and were used to it; Ayah reasoned that others would find it less unsettling if she appeared like all the other branded fellows, and the less unsettled people were, the easier it was for her to go about her duties.

Not all faces were alike.

Some she remembered with exactness, forever emblazoned in her mind. A mage named Jowan was specific to her, however when Ayah inquired as to the mage Jowan's whereabouts, she was left bereft of a satisfactory answer. "It is unimportant," the Knight-Commander told Ayah. "Return to your duties."

She could not recall the Knight-Commander's name; it must not have been important. "Very well," she answered in dulcet monotone, and returned to said duties.

Ayah resorted to her old memories and recalled that she had previously aided in Jowan's escape from the Circle of Magi, in addition to the escapes of several other mages. Some had been blood mages, including Jowan. She could not discern why she had done this. It had led to her current state of being.

It was unimportant. Her current state was satisfactory. Jowan's face soon fled from her memory, like so many others.

Ayah soon discovered the reason behind the strange looks and the lack of answers. She had not thought much of her time before being what she was; she knew that she had been a mage, but it must not have been important, because it didn't pertain to her duties now. She cleaned and organized and mixed potions and found it to be a neutral, and therefore pleasant, existence. Ayah recalled times before when she had been bumbling and uncertain, but all was certain now. All was clearer than the purest crystal. It was rare, now, that she ever found herself at a loss as to how to deal with other people. Ayah was told by Owain, her superior, that when basic interaction fails you, it is wise to think on your time before and reason what you would have done then, and do it. This is because the others in the Tower will continuously mistake you for one of them, not because they intend to, but because they must. They cannot help mistake you for being something like them, because they assume everything around them is a part of their collective experience, sharing their feelings and impressions.

"That is foolish, Owain," Ayah remarked.

"Agreed," Owain said in the same tones, "they are foolish creatures. I find it to be most remarkable that I was once like them. Things are much simpler when you are Tranquil."

"You volunteered," Ayah recalled.

"Yes."

That was the end of the interaction. There was no purpose in continuing it and so it was time for it to end.

Ayah recalled a different face, a face she was not certain what she associated with. This face was kind, naïve, and she had not seen it in a while. She remembered enough about her earlier existence to recognize the sensation in her gut as an echo of what was. She knew that was unsettled by the absence of his face. She did not like it when he was not around. Ayah did not know why, but that was the way it was, and was therefore pertinent to her own well-being.

When her duties were attended to, she inquired of the Knight-Commander his location. He did not give her an answer. This was to be expected, however, duty dictated she refer to the Knight-Commander of the Templars first before seeking outside source. She sought out the First Enchanter Irving, another whose face she recalled.

She recognized the look on Irving's face as bewilderment. There was also lines in his face that were not there before, signs of aging and distress, and a dull sheen to the eyes that seemed more prominent when he looked at Ayah. She did not know why.

"You do not look well, First Enchanter Irving," Ayah remarked.

The bewilderment did not move.

"That expression does not become you and is aesthetically displeasing. You should take better care of your skin, to avoid this in the future." She considered what she had said carefully, and recognized a tone of offence that Owain had taught her to avoid. She knew that as she was, there were others who would interpret her meanings or intentions as something other than they were, because people were inherently foolish. However, Ayah reasoned that the First Enchanter was not so foolish, and knew better. She kept silent for several moments, awaiting the appropriate length of pause to pose the question (social decorum was very important in interaction with the non-brands).

"I have a request, First Enchanter."

"Do you, now?"

The First Enchanter's face was no longer bewildered and instead looked amused. Ayah found this more agreeable. "Yes," she repeated, reciting what she had asked of the Knight-Commander first. "Please tell me where the Templar Cullen is."

There was a pause that was not in social decorum, which confused Ayah. She reasoned quickly this was due to Irving's processing of his own emotion. "And why would a Tranquil mage wish to know that, hmm?" Irving asked her.

"I do not know," she answered easily enough. "I am not a mage anymore. I am only Ayah Surana." Another pause of appropriate length, and Ayah deemed it was time to repeat the question, since Irving had not yet rebuffed her. "Please tell me where the Templar Cullen is, First Enchanter. I would like to know where he is."

Irving rephrased his remarks so Ayah would understand his intent better: "Why do you want to know where Cullen is? It shouldn't matter to you."

"I would like to know where he is, please. It is important."

"Why?"

There was a pause on Ayah's behalf that was not in social decorum, which confused Ayah. "I do not know, First Enchanter. It does not seem logical."

The pause was so lengthy that Ayah began to wonder if she needed to repeat her inquiry again, in case the First Enchanter had forgotten it in his age. She was wary to do so, since proper decorum dictated that a question be not repeated more than once. She need not have wasted the worry, as the First Enchanter told Ayah quite easily enough that Cullen was patrolling the lower levels that evening, and she could find him there, amongst the apprentices.

It only occurred to her much later that Irving had to logical reason to tell her this.

Ayah was excellent at finding things. Not all Tranquil were alike, something that was misunderstood often, and not all Tranquil was as proficient as the next might be at certain tasks. Some were better at crafting, some were better at herbalism, some were more analytical and better at organizing, where all others might have less of a mind for those things. Ayah was an excellent finder, no matter what she was looking for, whether it be hunting down ingredients, rats, or people. She always seemed to happen across the object of her desire, one way or another. It was only a matter of devoting her attention to one thing at a time – compartmentalizing, prioritizing, and so on. She was not a beast of schedule and routine, but a beast of action and motion.

She found this to be atypical of Tranquil, and was debating what to do about it. Ayah knew that it would be more efficient and better, in the long run, if she were delegated to a higher task, something other than cleaning and sorting, and yet she was not certain what task that was. If even such a task existed, she was certain that her Templar overlords would not assign it to her. This was upsetting, and inconvenient.

It was unimportant. She had to find Cullen.

He was patrolling the lower levels as the First Enchanter had reported. Ayah brought his face to mind and it fit the one her memory exactly, although this one was paler and wan. She made a mental note to tell Cullen to eat better when she approached him, because his health was important.

Ayah did not know why it was important. She remembered that he had been important to her old self, something involving an illicit affair and amorous feelings, but she no longer had those things. To her knowledge, it had never been reported to the templars, and was unnecessary as it was all in the past. Those feelings and memories served no purpose for her. He dwelled continuously in the back of her mind, however, and thus she deemed there was something else that was important about him, something she had to discover in order to function properly. Then it would make sense.

She approached him. He did not acknowledge her. She realized this was because he was not facing her and her footsteps were too quiet to detect. The quickest and most efficient way to instigate the interaction, and the better way in the long run, was to force him to start it first, and for that she made a deliberate scuffle with her shoes. She made a mental note to check her slippers for scuffs later and take care of them. She was no longer a clumsy person.

His face was much like Irving's, but more severe and with less signs of aging. Still, Ayah did not recall him looking so old. She cocked her head to the side and eyed him, curious. Perhaps looking at him from another angle would make it appear better?

"A-Ayah?" He paused and seemed to shiver, although the lower level was not as cold as usual. In truth, it was quite warm. It was possible his armor was cold or uncomfortable, but Ayah began to suspect that Cullen was ill. He refused to meet her gaze, which was a sign of unease. "What are you doing down here?" He demanded coldly.

Ayah blinked and recited the greeting she had gone over mentally not moments before. "Hello, Cullen. I came to see you. Are you well? You appear to be ill. I advise you to watch your diet more closely, in case—"

"G-go back to your chores. You don't belong down here."

This confused Ayah. She straightened her neck and analyzed Cullen's face and complexion for signs of illness. If he was at all ill, it was not due to disease or food poisoning, from what she could tell. Then again, she was not the most experienced person on the matter, and determined to later question Owain or one of the others for advice. The only reasonable explanation was lyrium withdrawal. Templars' lyrium intake was not for her to be concerned with, so she put it out of her mind.

"My duties are completed," she told him simply. "I would speak with you, Cullen."

He finally looked into Ayah's eyes, hazel meeting deep brown, and a twisted sort of expression came across his face that Ayah had never seen, and thus could not identify. She did not find it agreeable. "Why?" He asked. "Why are you down here? Go away, I don't need you to . . . to torment me. Just . . . please leave."

Ayah attempted to formulate a proper answer to this. She now determined that Cullen was also psychologically ill, as there was no discernable reason for his rejection of her polite inquiries. She had been careful to select her words, so they did not cause any form of offense, and yet he reacted as if her mere presence was deplorable. "I do not intend to torment. I intend to understand, but I fail in this."

"Of course you do," he whispered, likely not expecting Ayah to hear (and she had very good hearing), "you're Tranquil now. You don't understand anything anymore. You're not Ayah. Just leave."

"I am Ayah Surana," she asserted. "I do not understand why you would say that I am not."

He refused to meet her eyes again, and observing this as another sign of distress, Ayah moved in front of him so that he wouldn't have to turn his head to look at her, making it easier for him. This seemed to upset him more, however. It was terribly confusing. "You're not Ayah. You're nothing but a shell," he spat.

This was anger. Ayah recognized it. Anger, she knew, was dealt with differently in each individual. Some people could not be calmed and required catharsis. Others needed consoling words. Others needed to be met with more anger, to be overpowered. Ayah could not recall seeing Cullen ever angry. Irritated, amused, frustrated, sad, happy, and now pained. She did not remember seeing this expression upon his face before. It was something new. The only thing new that had happened in Cullen's life was her transformation several weeks ago. Was she the cause of this?

"You are angry."

Cullen gave a bitter, broken bark of a laugh. It was a mockery of a laugh, Ayah felt.

"What are you angry with?" Ayah did not understand.

"You wouldn't understand," he all but confirmed. "You don't feel anymore."

"You are wrong," she told him quietly. "I am capable of feeling."

He seemed briefly surprised by her response, but the surprise quickly died and the haunted look returned. "No you're not."

"I do not feel angry," Ayah corrected. She cocked her head slightly to the side to examine the fascinating templar. "These are the feelings you associate with quantifiable sentience: love, happiness, fury, fear, passion, and sorrow. I do not feel them. I am capable of feeling many other things that also qualify as feelings, such as appreciation, relief, and vexation. In addition, I am capable of individual thought and reason. I am still a person, and therefore feel." Ayah grew weary of this topic of conversation and changed the subject. "You are angry. Why are you angry, Cullen?"

He did not answer her, leaving Ayah to conclude whatever it was he was angry about on her own.

It took Ayah several seconds, which was an appropriate response time for someone of Cullen's level of emotional distress. In the meantime, she adjusted her blue robes about her and straightened her stance, brushing a bit of charred elfroot (apprentices did not know how to properly use plant ingredients) off of the flagstone beneath her feet. There was no one else in the circular hallway and she heard no voices, estimating correctly that their privacy would continue uninterrupted.

"You are angry with me."

Cullen did not answer again, but she knew this to be correct, so he didn't need to answer.

"I understand."

"No," he began, raising his voice – this was alarming, as someone was bound to interrupt them if they heard – "no, you don't underst—and you never will, not aga—you, j-just go away. Just leave me."

"You do not meet my eyes," she observed, "because they are upsetting to you, possibly a remi—"

"Stop it," he growled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop—talking! Just . . . you all speak that way, in that horrible, even voice. It's horrible. It's a mockery of everything that you are!" He winced, and corrected, "That you were."

"My tone offends you? I will endeavor to make it more pleasing." Ayah was now truly confused. "I am what your kind has made me," she explained. "If this is horrible, I do not understand why. Please explain this to me."

Cullen would not explain. "How many times do I have to tell you to go away?"

This was inconvenient, and beginning to become irritating, but her tone betrayed nothing and was as calm as ever. "I apologize if I have made offense or will offend, but I cannot take orders from you. You are not my superior. I am off-duty, and will go where I whim. I have decided to visit you of my own accord. I do not know why."

He didn't appear to have an answer for that.

They talked for several more minutes. He said nothing more of value, nor did he truly explain why he was upset. Ayah reasoned that it was because of the sun-brand on her forehead – she offered to cut some bangs to cover it up, if it so caused offense, but he said not to. That although she was not capable of feeling anymore, he recognized that she was capable of individual thought and reason, and should not have to conceal her brand because of what she was. Those were not his exact words, of course, but that is what their interaction amounted to. Although Ayah knew such concepts were meaningless to her and her brand, she politely did not remind the templar of this and kindly let him think what he will.

She left explaining that it was time for her to retire, for tomorrow's duties required her to be active at the break of dawn. She gave him recommendations on his diet, offering to confiscate a potion that would improve his health. Cullen laughed harshly but did not smile like she remembered. He told her his illness was just a symptom and there was nothing to fix the cause.

Ayah went to bed unsettled, without much knowing why. It was only mildly irritating. Cullen was not as she remembered him. Cullen used to smile. Ayah did not smile anymore either. They had changed.

It was unimportant. While the templar Cullen slept fitfully in his bunk, plagued by dreams of her, Ayah Surana rested peacefully as she always did, and dreamt of nothing.