8 Firstfall 9:30 – 15 Harvestmere 9:31
The growls of darkspawn were closing in, their guttural snarls echoing through the forest as Ariana stumbled forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched her daggers tightly, though her trembling hands betrayed her exhaustion. The moonlight filtering through the canopy offered little comfort, casting shadows that danced like specters around her. She had been running for days, fighting when she couldn’t flee, but she knew she couldn’t keep this up. Her legs were failing her, her strength drained.
As she burst into a clearing surrounded by jagged rocks, she stopped, panting. This was it. Her back was against the cold stone, and the darkspawn were circling. Her heart pounded, and her mind raced with fleeting thoughts of regret and defiance. She raised her daggers, ready to face them, even if it would be the last thing she did.
Then, chaos erupted.
A group of warriors charged into the clearing, their weapons flashing in the moonlight. The clash of steel and darkspawn cries filled the air as the newcomers fought with brutal efficiency. Ariana froze, too stunned to move, as the scene unfolded before her. One man stood out among them—a tall figure with a commanding presence. His movements were sharp and deliberate, and his voice, deep and steady, cut through the chaos as he issued orders.
As the last darkspawn fell, silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the heavy breathing of the warriors. The tall figure turned to Ariana, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. His black hair was slicked back, though loose strands fell into his face, framing angular features that gave him an almost regal air. He wasn’t bad-looking, and there was something about the intensity of his gaze that made it impossible to look away. He radiated confidence, the kind that came from years of command.
“You’re lucky we came along,” he said, his tone measured, almost amused.
Ariana didn’t lower her daggers, her grip tightening despite her shaking arms. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
“Krieger,” he replied, offering a faint smile. “Leader of the Crimson Blades.” He gestured to the warriors around him, now gathering their weapons and checking for injuries. “And you are?”
“Ariana,” she said hesitantly, not offering more. Her voice betrayed her youth, and she immediately felt self-conscious.
Krieger’s eyes flicked over her, assessing. She was young, clearly inexperienced, but there was a fire in her eyes that intrigued him. “Ariana,” he repeated. “Well, you’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that.” He nodded toward her daggers. “But spirit only gets you so far. What’s a girl like you doing out here alone?”
Ariana bristled at his tone, a mix of amusement and curiosity, but she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what to say. The truth felt too vulnerable, but a lie felt too dangerous.
Krieger’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No matter. You won’t last long on your own. We’ve got food, shelter… safety. Come with us.”
Ariana hesitated, her gaze flicking to the others. The way they watched her made her uneasy, but the alternative was clear. She nodded, lowering her daggers. “All right,” she said quietly. “For now.”
The walk back to camp was quiet at first, the tension between Ariana and her new companions palpable. She stayed at the rear of the group, watching their movements, trying to gauge their personalities. One of them, a tall man with long, straight hair tied back in a loose ponytail, occasionally glanced her way. He had a wiry frame, his movements precise and deliberate—a rogue, like her. Lamberto, she overheard someone call him.
“You look like you could use some water,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. Ariana turned to see a woman with striking green eyes and fiery red hair. She held out a canteen. “I’m Riley.”
Ariana hesitated before taking the canteen, nodding her thanks. “Ariana.”
Nearby, Lamberto and another woman were talking, their voices carrying over the quiet rustle of leaves. “I’m just saying, she doesn’t look like much,” the woman said, her tone teasing. “But then again, neither did you when you first showed up.”
Lamberto shrugged, his voice calm and measured. “She survived out here alone. That’s more than most.”
Ariana couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride at the comment, though she kept her expression neutral.
“So,” the woman said, turning her attention to Ariana, “you got a name, or should we just call you ‘girl’?”
“Ariana,” Riley interjected “Which you’d know had you been paying attention”
“Well, Ariana,” the woman said with a grin, “I’m Valentina, welcome to the Crimson Blades. Try not to die in your first week.”
~~~
Krieger watched Ariana as they walked, his mind already working through the possibilities. She was young, untested, but there was potential there. She had survived on her own in one of the most dangerous parts of Thedas—that alone spoke volumes about her resilience and resourcefulness. And then there was the way she carried herself, the defiance in her eyes even when she was clearly exhausted. She had spirit, and Krieger appreciated that.
But it wasn’t just her strength that caught his attention. Ariana was beautiful in a way that was hard to ignore—her sharp features softened by her youth, her eyes held a storm of emotions, a mesmerizing blend of green and gold, like sunlight filtering through the leaves of an ancient forest. Her dark brown hair contrasted the lightness of her eyes, framing her features perfectly. Ariana’s entire appearance was an interplay of light and shadow—a figure of strength tempered by grace, her striking eyes capturing the essence of her character. It was the kind of beauty that could make men underestimate her—something Krieger knew she could use to her advantage. He could already see the effect she had on some of his men, the way their gazes lingered. He couldn’t blame them.
As the group stopped for a break, one of his more loyal lieutenants, Daren, sidled up beside him, his expression guarded but curious. “Krieger,” he began, his voice low, “what’s the play here? Why did we save her? She doesn’t exactly scream ‘mercenary material.’”
Krieger turned his gaze to Ariana, who was seated on a fallen log a few paces away. She was quiet, her expression closed off, but her eyes were scanning the camp, taking everything in. That observation alone pleased him—she wasn’t shrinking back in fear. She was assessing. Calculating.
“She’s more than she seems,” Krieger replied, keeping his tone casual. “She has survived the Blight alone. In the Wilds, no less. That takes more than luck.”
Daren frowned, clearly skeptical. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just another lost noble who stumbled her way here. She doesn’t look like she’s seen a proper fight.”
Krieger smirked, leaning in slightly. “And that’s why I’m the one in charge, Daren. I see what you don’t.” His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. “She’s got fire. She just doesn’t know how to wield it yet. But give me time, and I’ll shape her into something useful.”
Daren’s gaze flicked to Ariana again, lingering before he nodded. “If you say so. But don’t forget, not everyone in camp will be so eager to welcome her. She’s an outsider.”
Krieger clapped Daren on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Then they’ll fall in line, just like they always do.”
As Daren moved off to tend to his duties, Krieger lingered, his eyes never leaving Ariana. After a moment, he approached her, his stride confident, his expression carefully neutral.
“Comfortable?” he asked, stopping a few feet away. His tone was friendly, but there was an edge to it, a subtle test.
Ariana looked up at him, her posture still guarded. “As much as I can be,” she replied, her voice steady but cautious.
There was a pause, a beat of silence as Krieger studied her. “You’ve got fight in you,” he said finally, his tone softer now. “I like that. Stick with us, and you might just find a place where you belong.”
Ariana didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read his intentions. “We’ll see,” she said at last, her tone neutral.
Krieger straightened, his smile lingering as he turned to leave. “We will,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Krieger smiled to himself. If he played his cards right, Ariana could be more than just another blade in his camp. He could shape her, mold her into someone loyal to him. And maybe, just maybe, she could become something more. There was a raw potential in her, something that could be nurtured and honed, if handled with care. She wasn’t just a survivor; she was a warrior in the making.
But for now, he would be patient. He’d seen enough to know that trust wasn’t given freely—it had to be earned. And Krieger was very, very good at earning trust. He would watch, wait, and slowly unveil the path he wanted her to walk. In the end, it would be her decision, but he would guide her there, subtly, strategically. It was a game he knew all too well, and he relished the challenge.
~~~
The camp was a rugged, ever-moving operation, shifting locations every few days to avoid attention and darkspawn. Ariana quickly learned the rhythms of the Crimson Blades—mornings were for training, afternoons for scouting and strategizing, and evenings filled with camaraderie by the fire. The sense of routine was both comforting and disorienting after months of solitude, and she found herself cautiously navigating the personalities around her.
Riley stood out immediately as a stabilizing force among the chaos. A seasoned warrior with a sharp wit and an even sharper blade, Riley took Ariana under her wing. “Stick with me,” Riley had said early on, “and you’ll last longer than most here.” Riley’s mentorship wasn’t overly sentimental, but there was a quiet protectiveness in how she corrected Ariana’s stances, reminded her to stay light on her feet, or casually handed her a whetstone with a knowing look when her daggers dulled.
Riley’s presence gave Ariana an anchor, someone who didn’t expect anything from her beyond her best effort. In Riley’s sharp words and firm guidance, Ariana began to see the foundation of trust—something she hadn’t expected to find here.
Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto were another story entirely. The trio operated like a well-oiled machine, their banter and teamwork speaking to years of shared experience. Valentina, ever the provocateur, teased Ariana constantly, though not unkindly. “You look like you’ve never held a blade in your life,” she’d said the first time they sparred. When Ariana landed a solid blow that knocked Valentina off balance, the Antivan rogue had only grinned. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Linnea, on the other hand, had a dry humor that often caught Ariana off guard. “You don’t talk much, do you?” Linnea had asked one evening, her eyes studying Ariana over the rim of her mug. “Probably smart. Less talking means fewer regrets.” Despite her bluntness, there was a warmth to Linnea’s presence, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared burdens that Ariana found oddly comforting.
Lamberto was quieter than the other two, his sharp eyes always assessing the camp and its members. When he spoke, it was often with a sly remark or a well-timed quip that diffused tension. “Don’t let Valentina fool you,” he said one evening as they sat around the fire. “She cried the first time Krieger yelled at her.”
“I did not,” Valentina shot back, her eyes narrowing. “And you’re one to talk, Mister ‘I need a five-minute break after every fight.’”
Ariana couldn’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even her. The camaraderie of the trio was infectious, and while she was still guarded, she began to let herself relax around them. They included her gradually, testing her boundaries with their banter, and over time, she found herself looking forward to their evenings by the fire.
“Ever think you’d end up here, fighting alongside this lot?” Valentina asked one night, her voice softer than usual as she poked at the fire with a stick.
Ariana shook her head, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “Not exactly what I pictured for my life.”
“None of us did,” Linnea said, her tone gruff but not unkind. “But you’re doing alright. Better than most.”
Ariana glanced at Lamberto, who raised an eyebrow as if to silently agree. He added, “For someone who keeps her secrets close, you’re not half bad at watching someone’s back.”
The words caught her off guard, and for a moment, Ariana didn’t know how to respond. “Thanks,” she said finally, the warmth in her voice genuine.
The fire crackled between them, and for the first time in months, Ariana felt a semblance of belonging. It wasn’t home, and it wasn’t safety, but it was something. These were people who didn’t ask too many questions, who didn’t expect her to be anything other than capable. And in their quiet acceptance, Ariana began to find her place among the chaos.
~~~
Krieger’s presence was commanding in every sense of the word. He was a man of sharp contrasts—his easy charm could disarm even the most guarded individuals, drawing them into a false sense of security. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an unyielding intensity, a predator’s edge that demanded vigilance. It was in the way his piercing blue eyes lingered just a moment too long, as if he were assessing weaknesses, and in the fluid confidence with which he moved, always a step ahead of everyone else. This duality made him magnetic and unnerving in equal measure. His raven-black hair was cropped short, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see through everyone. His armor, though practical, bore crimson accents that hinted at his role as the leader of the Blades.
From the beginning, Krieger had taken an interest in Ariana. He was the one who had pulled her from the brink of death, and he often reminded her of that fact in subtle ways, letting the memory linger in their conversations. “You’ve got potential,” he told her one evening as he handed her a dagger. “But potential is worthless without effort. It’s what you do with it that makes you valuable.”
Ariana took the dagger, her fingers tightening around the hilt as his words settled over her. They stirred something deep inside her—a mix of determination and doubt. Was she valuable? Could she truly be more than someone simply surviving day to day? His praise felt rare, almost precious, like a secret she had to protect. The way he said it, with that sharp confidence, made her want to believe it—believe she could be worth more, achieve more. She nodded, setting her jaw as she resolved to prove him right, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how yet.”
Ariana didn’t quite know how to respond, but his words carried a weight that stayed with her. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as praise or as a challenge, but she took it seriously, throwing herself into the training with him with the same determination that had kept her alive on her own for so long.
The training began in earnest the next morning. Krieger stood in the clearing, a pair of daggers glinting in his hands, as if the weapons themselves were extensions of him. Ariana hesitated as she approached, the weight of her own daggers feeling heavier than usual. There was something about the way Krieger moved, almost predatory, that made her both eager and wary.
“We start now,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “First rule: speed over strength. You’re not going to overpower anyone. You’re fast. Use that.”
He demonstrated a series of moves, the daggers twirling effortlessly in his hands. Ariana watched, captivated by the fluidity of his movements. Each strike was precise, calculated, almost beautiful in its execution. When he handed her the daggers and motioned for her to mimic him, she tried, but her movements felt clumsy in comparison.
“Not bad for a first attempt,” he said, stepping behind her to adjust her grip. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, and a flicker of discomfort crept up her spine. She shook it off, telling herself it was nothing more than nerves.
Krieger’s voice broke her thoughts. “Focus, Ariana. You’ve got the instincts. Now let’s sharpen them.”
As the days passed, she began to see progress. Krieger’s methods were grueling but effective. He would set up intricate drills, forcing her to navigate through makeshift obstacles while evading his strikes. One morning, he blindfolded her, challenging her to rely solely on her hearing and instincts to block his attacks. “Your eyes won’t always save you,” he said, circling her like a predator.
Another day, he had her climb a tree with a dagger in her teeth, ordering her to strike a hanging target from above. “Ambushes aren’t won from the ground,” he quipped, watching her struggle to maintain balance.
He pushed her to move faster, to anticipate, to think two steps ahead, and when she faltered, his critiques were sharp but never cruel. “Don’t hesitate,” he told her. “Hesitation is death.”
Despite the intensity of the training, there were moments when Krieger’s praise felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Good,” he said one afternoon after she successfully disarmed him in a sparring match. “You’re getting it.” The rare smile he offered in those moments made her feel like she was truly capable, like she mattered.
But there were other moments, too—moments when his hands lingered too long while adjusting her stance, when his eyes held hers just a little too intently. She tried to brush off the unease, convincing herself it was her own nerves playing tricks on her. After all, he had done nothing outright inappropriate, and his guidance was invaluable. Still, the discomfort lingered at the edges of her thoughts, a quiet whisper she refused to listen to. In those moments, she reminded herself of his praise, how it made her feel capable, like she was becoming something more. The thought of disappointing him outweighed the flickers of unease, and she pushed herself harder, craving the validation he offered so readily when she succeeded. It wasn’t overt, but it was enough to leave her feeling unsettled. In those moments, her mind drifted to Cullen. She remembered how different it had felt with him, how his touch had been gentle, his gaze steady but never invasive. With Cullen, there had been warmth and trust. With Krieger, there was something else—something she couldn’t quite name.
Even so, she dismissed the discomfort, attributing it to her own unease rather than anything Krieger had done. After all, he was teaching her things no one else had. Her father had taught her discipline, Varric had honed her instincts, and Cullen—he had shown her how to fight with purpose and hold her own against a Templar. But Krieger’s style, his speed, his precision—it spoke to her nature in a way no one else had.
Over the course of the following months, Ariana could feel the difference. Each week brought new challenges—learning to anticipate faster strikes, perfecting her balance, and mastering feints that left even Krieger impressed. Her movements grew sharper, her strikes more calculated, and her confidence flourished with each small victory. What once felt clumsy now came naturally, and she found herself beginning to match Krieger’s speed in their sparring sessions. With every passing day, she could see herself transforming from a survivor into a fighter. During their a sparring session, she managed to hold her own against him longer than she thought possible. When he finally disarmed her, pinning her against a tree with a dagger at her throat, she was breathless but exhilarated.
“You’re better than I expected,” he said, his voice low and almost admiring. “Keep this up, and you’ll be unstoppable.”
Ariana’s chest swelled with pride at his words. He believed in her and she couldn’t deny the impact he was having on her. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could be more than just a survivor. With his help she could be someone worth remembering.
~~~
One morning, Krieger called her out in front of the group for a sparring session. The camp was abuzz with activity—armor clinking, fires crackling, voices carrying through the air—but when Krieger strode into the training circle with Ariana, all eyes turned to them. He tossed her a training sword, the smirk on his lips daring her to take him on.
“You’ve been improving,” he said as she caught the blade. “Let’s see how much.”
Ariana hesitated for a moment before nodding, stepping into the circle and readying her stance. She could feel the eyes of the camp on her, and her nerves prickled.
“Don’t think, Ariana. Act,” Krieger said as he lunged forward.
The match began fast and hard. Krieger didn’t hold back, and Ariana quickly realized that he wasn’t giving her the leeway he gave others. Every swing of his blade was precise, every step calculated to keep her on the defensive. But Ariana held her ground, dodging, countering, and finding openings where she could. She was fast—faster than most—but Krieger’s skill was undeniable.
“What’s the point of speed if you can’t predict your enemy’s next move?” he said, his voice calm as he deflected her strike with ease. “You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.”
Ariana’s brow furrowed in concentration. She adjusted her stance, remembering his earlier lessons, and managed to land a strike against his shoulder—light, but it made contact. A murmur went through the crowd, and Krieger stepped back, nodding.
“Good,” he said, his tone almost approving. “Fast learners survive.”
The sparring continued until Ariana’s arms ached and sweat dripped from her brow. When Krieger finally called it, he stepped closer, lowering his blade. “You’ve come far,” he said quietly, his voice meant only for her. “You’re different, Ariana. Most people break under pressure. You don’t. That’s rare.”
His words were disarming, and for a moment, Ariana felt an unexpected warmth at the praise. She looked up at him, unsure how to respond. “I just… try to keep going,” she said hesitantly.
Krieger smiled, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. “And that’s why you’ll do more than just survive.” He stepped back then, addressing the camp. “Take note, everyone. That’s the kind of determination that keeps you alive.”
As the crowd dispersed, Ariana felt a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name. Pride, perhaps, or validation. But it was tempered by an unease she didn’t fully understand. Krieger’s compliments felt genuine, but there was an undercurrent in his tone that unsettled her.
Unbeknownst to her, Krieger’s thoughts were far less noble. Her beauty, her resilience, and the quiet intensity in her eyes all fueled his growing fixation. He saw her not as a soldier, but as someone he could shape—someone he could mold into a reflection of his own ambitions. The spark in her, the defiance, the determination—it wasn’t something he wanted to snuff out. It was something he wanted to claim.
~~~
The evening air was thick with the tension of a hard-fought victory. The camp buzzed with the muted sounds of soldiers tending to their wounds, sharpening their weapons, and murmuring quietly. The firelight flickered across weary faces, casting long shadows over the rugged encampment.
Ariana sat near the fire, her dagger resting on her lap as she methodically cleaned its blade. Her muscles ached from the day’s battle, but her mind refused to quiet. She had taken down her share of darkspawn that day, but the cost had been high—too many injuries, too many close calls. It felt like a victory in name only.
Across the camp, Krieger stood with a group of soldiers, laughing and gesturing as though the day’s fight had barely fazed him. His presence was magnetic, drawing people toward him despite the strain etched in their faces. He clapped one man on the back, his booming laughter cutting through the night air, and for a moment, Ariana caught his piercing gaze flicker in her direction. She quickly looked away, focusing on her blade.
The scrape of boots on gravel pulled her attention back to the fire. Riley approached, her broad frame silhouetted against the dim light. She carried a small pouch slung over her shoulder, her movements deliberate and steady as always. Without a word, she dropped into a seat beside Ariana, pulling out her own weapon to tend to.
They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds between them the rhythmic scrape of metal on cloth and the occasional crackle of the fire. Riley was often like this—quiet but present, a stabilizing force in the chaos of the Blades. Tonight, however, her silence carried a weight Ariana couldn’t ignore.
Finally, Riley broke the quiet. “You held your own today,” she said, her voice low and even. “Krieger noticed.”
Ariana glanced at her, unsure whether the statement was a compliment or something else entirely. “He did?”
Riley nodded, her gaze fixed on her blade. “Hard not to. You’ve got skill, and you don’t back down. That’s something he values.” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “But that’s also why I figured I’d better talk to you.”
Ariana frowned, her fingers pausing in their work. “What do you mean?”
Riley leaned back, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied Ariana’s face. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of concern and something harder to place. “Krieger’s not someone you want to cross,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. “But don’t let him pull you too close, either.”
Ariana tilted her head, her confusion evident. “What do you mean by that?”
Riley’s eyes flicked toward Krieger again, who was still at the far end of the camp, his laughter now subdued as he spoke animatedly to his men. “He’s… complicated,” she said, her tone laced with something like caution. “He has a way of making people feel like they’re special. Like they’re the only ones who matter. But it’s never really about them. It’s about what they can do for him.”
Ariana tightened her grip on the cloth in her hand, the words sinking in slowly. “He’s been… fair to me,” she said cautiously. “Strict, sure, but he’s helped me get better. Isn’t that just leadership?”
Riley gave a small, humorless laugh. “Helpful, huh? Yeah, that’s one way to look at it.” She set her sword down, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. “Look, I’m not saying he hasn’t helped you. What I’m saying is, it always has a price. Krieger doesn’t do anything without a reason.”
Ariana’s frown deepened. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re good,” Riley said simply, meeting her gaze. “Better than most of the people who’ve come through here. And I’d hate to see you get caught up in something you don’t see coming.”
Ariana hesitated, the weight of Riley’s words pressing down on her. She glanced toward Krieger, who was now alone, his expression unreadable as he stared into the night. He had been tough but fair, teaching her things she wouldn’t have learned on her own. But Riley’s warning planted a seed of doubt she couldn’t quite ignore.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ariana said finally, though the words felt less certain than she intended.
Riley nodded, standing and slinging her pouch over her shoulder. “Good. You’ve got a lot of potential, Ariana. Don’t waste it.” With that, she walked off into the shadows, leaving Ariana alone by the fire, her thoughts swirling.
The doubt lingered long after Riley left. Krieger’s lessons had been invaluable, his leadership effective. Ariana was struggling to believe Riley’s words or understand them entirely. What price?
~~~
Krieger wasted no time solidifying Ariana’s place among the Crimson Blades. After a particularly successful raid, he called her to his tent that evening, a gesture that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the camp. Whispers followed her as she approached, but Ariana kept her head high, her curiosity mingled with unease.
Inside, Krieger sat at a small, makeshift table, his piercing blue eyes lighting up as she entered. “Ariana,” he greeted warmly, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Come, sit.”
She hesitated only briefly before sitting, her movements careful and measured. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
Krieger leaned back, studying her for a moment before speaking. “That was impressive today,” he said, his voice calm but laced with genuine admiration. “The way you read the enemy’s movements, predicted their ambush. You turned the tide before they even knew what hit them.”
Ariana blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the praise. “I just… did what seemed logical,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“Not anyone,” Krieger countered, leaning forward slightly. “Do you know how many people I’ve led over the years? Dozens. Maybe hundreds. And I can count on one hand the number who see the field the way you do.”
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she shifted in her seat. “I’m not sure I deserve that kind of credit,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve only been with the Blades for a few months.”
“That’s what makes it even more remarkable,” Krieger replied smoothly. “You’ve accomplished in months what takes most people years. And it’s not just your skill—it’s your instincts, your focus. You’re different, Ariana. Special.”
The words hung in the air, their weight sinking into her. She wanted to feel proud, to accept his praise, but a part of her couldn’t shake the unease of Riley’s words the other night. “I just… want to do my part,” she said finally, her tone more subdued.
Krieger’s expression softened, and he reached across the table, placing a hand lightly on hers. “And you are,” he said. “More than that. I trust you, Ariana. I trust you to lead, to make decisions in the heat of battle. That’s why I’m promoting you. I want you overseeing our next skirmishes. You’ve earned it.”
Ariana’s eyes widened slightly, the announcement catching her by surprise. “You’re… promoting me?” she echoed, disbelief mingling with a faint spark of pride.
“I am,” Krieger confirmed, his smile widening. “You’ll have your own squad to command. And you’ll report directly to me. I want to make sure you have everything you need to succeed.”
The words were flattering, and for a moment, Ariana felt a flicker of confidence—like maybe she really could rise to the challenge. But then she noticed the way his gaze lingered, the slight press of his hand against hers before he withdrew it. Something about it felt too deliberate, too personal.
“Thank you,” she said cautiously, pulling her hand back and standing. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Krieger replied, his tone warm and reassuring. “You’re destined for great things, Ariana. I can see it.”
As she left the tent, her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. The promotion was an opportunity she couldn’t ignore, but Krieger’s words, his tone, the way he looked at her—it all felt like more than just professional admiration. She told herself she was overthinking it, that she should focus on the chance to prove herself. But deep down, a quiet unease stirred, one she couldn’t quite name.
Over the following weeks, Krieger’s favor became more apparent. Better supplies, lighter assignments, and more private meetings left little doubt about his intentions. At first, she tried to dismiss it as leadership—surely he was just investing in her potential. But the small, calculated compliments—“No one moves like you in a fight,” or “You’ve got a sharp mind; I’d be a fool not to rely on you”—made it harder to ignore.
Her promotions didn’t go unnoticed by the camp. While Riley and her close circle supported her, others grumbled about favoritism. One evening, Valentina overheard a particularly vocal complaint and shot back, “Maybe you should focus on being useful instead of running your mouth.”
Despite the defense, Ariana felt the camp’s dynamic shifting. Where once she had started to feel like she belonged, now she felt isolated. Every promotion, every compliment from Krieger seemed to drive a wedge between her and the rest of the Blades. And yet, when Krieger spoke to her, the doubt seemed to fade—if only for a moment.
“You’re better than this camp deserves,” he told her once, his voice low and sincere. And for a fleeting second, she believed him.
~~~
Krieger’s skill as a rogue was undeniable, but there were moments that defied even the most rigorous training. During one ambush, his ability to anticipate the enemy’s movements seemed almost preternatural. He positioned the Blades perfectly for a counterattack, cutting through their disorganized ranks with surgical precision.
“You’ve got good instincts,” Ariana remarked afterward, her tone cautious but genuinely curious. She couldn’t ignore the way he’d turned the tide of the battle almost single-handedly.
“Years of experience,” Krieger replied with a confident smirk, brushing off her remark. His blue eyes held hers for a moment longer than necessary before he added, “You pick up a thing or two when you’ve lived through enough of this.”
But the incidents kept piling up. His reflexes were too sharp, his timing too perfect. More than once, he seemed to know where an enemy would be before they moved. The rest of the Blades didn’t question it—they simply trusted their leader. But Ariana’s unease began to grow, a quiet, persistent whisper at the back of her mind.
One moment, in particular, lingered with her. It had been a chaotic skirmish, with a band of opportunistic raiders ambushing the Blades in a narrow canyon. Ariana had been holding her own, dispatching one attacker after another, when she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye.
Too late.
A bandit lunged at her from behind, his blade slicing toward her exposed arm. Before she could react, Krieger was there, moving with a speed and precision that seemed almost inhuman. He dispatched the attacker with a single, fluid motion—a flash of steel and a sharp, guttural cry.
The bandit’s blade had only grazed her arm, leaving a shallow cut, but Krieger’s reaction was immediate and uncharacteristically intense. His hand was on her shoulder before she even registered the pain, steadying her as he turned her arm to inspect the wound.
“Let me see,” he ordered, his voice low but firm.
“It’s nothing,” Ariana protested, though she didn’t pull away.
“You’re too important to lose,” he said, his tone almost possessive as he reached for a cloth to press against the wound. His fingers lingered for a moment, his touch firm but oddly gentle as he bandaged her arm with practiced efficiency. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
Ariana glanced at him, unsure how to respond. There was something about the way he said it that made her stomach churn—not from fear, but from something else entirely. Gratitude? Guilt?
“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice quieter than she intended.
Krieger’s smirk returned, but it was softer now, less triumphant. “Don’t mention it,” he said, his eyes meeting hers again. “You’ve got potential, Ariana. More than you realize. Don’t waste it by being careless.”
The words lingered long after the skirmish ended. At first, she told herself it was just his way of keeping morale up, of pushing his soldiers to be their best. But there was an edge to his concern, a possessiveness that was beginning to feel suffocating.
Later that night, as she cleaned her blades by the fire, Riley sat beside her. “You alright?” she asked, nodding toward Ariana’s bandaged arm.
“I’m fine,” Ariana replied, her gaze fixed on the fire.
Riley hesitated, her voice lowering. “Krieger’s protective of you.”
Ariana glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “He’s protective of all of us.”
“Not like that,” Riley countered, her tone measured but insistent.
Ariana didn’t respond, but the unease in her chest grew heavier. Krieger’s presence, once a source of confidence, now felt like a weight pressing down on her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being drawn into something she didn’t fully understand.
~~~
While Ariana’s bonds with Valentina, Linnea, Lamberto, and Riley just continued to deepen over time. She had slowly begun to gain the trust of some of the other members of the Blades. It was during a particularly brutal skirmish that Ariana first earned the respect of Malcolm, a Templar who had left the Order, disappointed by their politics and treatment of mages. She had managed to outmaneuver an enemy ambush, saving Malcolm and a few others in the process. “Didn’t think a noble could fight like that,” Malcolm grunted afterward, a rare smile breaking through his usually stoic expression. “Maybe you’re not as useless as I thought.”
Malcolm, once a devout Templar, had hardened since leaving the Order. The absence of lyrium had left him clearer of mind but haunted by the decisions he’d made during his service. Krieger’s leadership grated on him; the man had charisma, yes, but Malcolm saw through it—saw the manipulation and unchecked ambition beneath the surface.
Ariana reminded him of something he hadn’t seen in years: hope. She carried herself with a strength of will that spoke of resilience, even as her quiet moments betrayed her inexperience. Watching her adapt to the mercenary life with cautious determination rekindled a part of him he thought he’d lost. Over time, he began to quietly advise her during missions, teaching her techniques that melded discipline with improvisation, a skill she quickly absorbed.
Then there was Eshara, an exiled Dalish mage, had joined the Crimson Blades out of desperation. Her accidental summoning of a rift had made her an outcast, and she’d sought refuge among humans, though their mercenary ways clashed with her natural inclinations. The Blades’ disregard for life and the chaos they thrived in felt suffocating to her, but she had nowhere else to turn.
She observed Ariana with curiosity. There was something different about her—a quiet strength that seemed untainted by the ruthlessness of the Blades. During a mission where Eshara’s magic had saved Ariana from a collapsing structure, the two shared a moment of unexpected connection.
“Thank you,” Ariana said earnestly, brushing the dust off her leathers.
Eshara gave a small, hesitant smile. “You didn’t flinch when I cast,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise.
“Why would I? You just saved me.” Ariana’s tone was matter-of-fact, but it carried a warmth that Eshara hadn’t expected.
From that moment, Eshara began to gravitate toward Ariana. While she remained cautious, Ariana’s genuine nature and growing courage inspired her. Slowly, Eshara began to confide in her about her exile and her uncertainty about the path she’d chosen with the Crimson Blades.
~~~
The campfire crackled softly, the flames casting flickering shadows on the faces of those gathered. Ariana sat cross-legged near the fire, her fingers idly tracing the hilt of her dagger. Around her, Valentina, Lamberto, Malcolm, and Eshara formed a quiet circle, their usual banter replaced by a more subdued atmosphere.
The conversation had started innocuously enough—recollections of past battles, jokes about botched missions—but it had taken a darker turn as the topic shifted to Krieger.
“He’s always been ambitious,” Valentina said, her voice low, as if she feared Krieger might overhear even from across the camp. “But lately… it’s different. He’s fixated.”
“And dangerous,” Lamberto added, his eyes narrowing. “The way he watches you, Ariana… it’s not just about leadership. It’s personal.”
Ariana frowned, her unease deepening as she looked between them. “I don’t understand,” she said carefully. “He’s been strict, sure, but he’s just trying to make sure I’m ready.”
Eshara glanced at Malcolm, who shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not seeing the whole picture yet,” Eshara said, her tone gentle but firm. “He doesn’t push everyone the way he pushes you. And when he does, it’s not just for their improvement—it’s to keep them under his control.”
Ariana straightened slightly, her eyes narrowing. “You think he’s trying to control me?”
Malcolm let out a soft sigh, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “Krieger doesn’t do anything without a reason,” he said, his voice gruff but steady. “And his reasons are rarely what they seem. He’s a strategist—on the battlefield and off it.”
“Look,” Valentina interjected, her tone softening. “You’re talented, Ariana. No one’s saying you’re not. But you’ve caught his eye, and that’s not always a good thing.”
“The promotions, the extra supplies, the missions where it’s just the two of you,” Lamberto listed, his voice tinged with warning. “It’s not coincidence. He’s isolating you.”
Ariana’s grip on her dagger tightened slightly, her mind racing. “He’s been helpful,” she said defensively. “He’s taught me more than anyone else ever.”
“Exactly,” Eshara said softly. “That’s how it starts. He makes you feel special, indispensable. And then he starts taking more—your time, your choices, your trust. Until you don’t realize how much you’ve given him.”
Ariana glanced between them, her gaze faltering. She didn’t want to believe them, but the nagging doubts in her mind refused to be silenced. “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked quietly. “He’s the leader of this camp. If I push back, I risk everything.”
“You don’t have to push back,” Malcolm said firmly. “Not yet. Just… be aware. Don’t let him isolate you. Don’t let him take more than you’re willing to give.”
“And if you ever feel like it’s too much,” Valentina added, her voice steady, “we’ve got your back.”
The weight of their words settled over Ariana, leaving her silent. She had been so focused on proving herself, on surviving, that she hadn’t considered the cost. The camaraderie she had begun to feel with these people was real, but it was fragile, overshadowed by the growing threat of Krieger’s fixation.
For the first time, she realized she wasn’t just fighting to survive the battles outside the camp—she was fighting to survive the ones within it. And in that moment, she silently vowed to herself that no matter what, she wouldn’t let anyone—not even Krieger—control her fate.
~~~
Ariana sat alone on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sprawling forest below. The campfires of the Crimson Blades were distant pinpricks of light, their crackling muted by the breeze. Above her, the night sky stretched vast and unbroken, a tapestry of stars shimmering in the darkness. Her eyes sought familiar constellations, her thoughts drifting as they often did during these rare quiet moments.
She traced the familiar pattern of the Visus constellation, the watchful eye. The cluster of stars brought a bittersweet ache to her chest. It was the same constellation she’d stared at on her birthday two years ago, under a different sky, in a different life. With Cullen. She had pointed it out to pointed it out to him as she retold the story of the night she ran away and pointed to the exact start that flickered. That had told her to run. She remembered how safe she had felt in that moment, how grounded his presence made her feel.
The memory stirred a mixture of longing and pain. She wondered, not for the first time, if Cullen had survived the Blight. If he did, where had he been transferred and had he made it there? Or if he had become a casualty of the chaos, like so many others.
The sound of footsteps behind her broke her reverie. She didn’t turn, recognizing Riley’s deliberate, measured gait. A moment later, Riley dropped down beside her, sitting cross-legged with an easy familiarity.
“You’re always wandering off to look at the stars,” Riley said, her tone light but curious. “What’s on your mind tonight?”
Ariana hesitated, her gaze still fixed on Visus. “Just… someone I met before the Blight,” she said softly. “Someone I’d like to find again.”
Riley tilted her head, her sharp green eyes studying Ariana’s profile. “A friend?” she asked carefully.
Ariana nodded, though her expression gave little away. “Yes. A friend. I just… I’d like to know if they’re alright.”
“Where did you meet this friend?” Riley pressed, her voice casual but laced with curiosity.
“Lake Calenhad,” Ariana replied, her voice quieter now. “It was… before everything fell apart.”
Riley leaned back, resting her weight on her palms. “Sounds like they were important to you.”
“They were,” Ariana admitted, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t going to elaborate further. “But it’s been a long time. I doubt they even remember me.”
Riley snorted. “If they’re worth finding, they’ll remember. People don’t forget someone like you, Ariana.”
Ariana finally turned to look at Riley, offering her a faint smile. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Riley replied with a small smirk. “But you’re not getting off that easily. If you find them, what’ll you say?”
“I don’t know,” Ariana said honestly, her gaze drifting back to the stars. “Maybe I’ll just be glad to see them again.”
The two fell into a companionable silence, the only sound the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. For all the chaos and danger surrounding their lives, this moment felt still, almost peaceful.
As Riley eventually rose and headed back to camp, Ariana stayed behind, her thoughts lingering on Visus and the man who had reassured her that it hadn’t been madness to follow that sign. She didn’t know if she’d ever see Cullen again, but she held onto the faint hope that somewhere, under the same stars, he was still alive.