Tag: Eshara

  • Chapter 58 – Shadows of the Past

    15 – 18 Guardian 9:41

    The ground shuddered beneath Cullen’s boots as he stood among the chaos, directing the combined forces of Templars and Rangers to hold the line against the encroaching demons. His voice rang out, steady and commanding, even as the unnatural glow of the rift in the distance cast an eerie green pall over the battlefield.

    “Reinforce the left flank! Hold them there!” he barked, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

    But then Riley’s voice broke through the din, sharp and desperate. “She’s alive! Someone get help!”

    The words struck him like a blow. His head snapped toward the Temple steps just as a figure emerged, stumbling before collapsing onto the cold stone. The fur-lined white cloak, now streaked with ash and blood, was unmistakable.

    Ariana.

    His heart twisted violently, relief and terror clashing in his chest. She was alive—but barely. His legs moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him toward her crumpled form. The glowing green light emanating from her hand made his breath hitch. What is this? What happened to her?

    By the time he reached her, Riley was already kneeling beside Ariana, her hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Wolf! Come on, wake up. You hear me? Stay with me!” Riley’s voice cracked, panic seeping through her usual confident tone.

    Cullen dropped to his knees beside them, his gauntlet hovering uncertainly over Ariana’s hand as his gaze swept over her. She looked so small, so fragile—words he would never have associated with her before. The glowing green magic pulsing from her hand sent a chill down his spine, but it was the pallor of her face and the stillness of her body that twisted the knife in his chest.

    “She’s breathing,” Riley muttered, her voice tight. But her eyes darted between Cullen and Ariana’s hand, fear creeping into her expression. “What the hell is this?”

    Cullen didn’t answer immediately. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for Ariana’s left hand, carefully pulling off the glove that covered it. The glow intensified as the glove slid free, the green light illuminating her slender fingers. And there, nestled on her ring finger, was the engagement ring he had given her all those years ago.

    His breath caught. The sight of it—so simple, so familiar—brought a wave of emotion crashing over him. She still wore it. Through everything, through the years they had been apart, she still had it. A lump rose in his throat, and he clenched his jaw against the sudden, overwhelming ache in his chest.

    The ring gleamed faintly in the unnatural light, a testament to promises made long ago. It was more than a symbol; it was a lifeline, tethering him to the memory of who they once were. And who, perhaps, they could still be.

    “She didn’t do this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s not a mage. Someone—something—did this to her.”

    Riley’s head snapped up, her voice fierce despite the tears brimming in her eyes. “Of course she didn’t do this. Whatever happened up there, she was trying to stop it. She always is.”

    Cullen swallowed hard, his mind racing. The explosion, the Divine’s death, the rift—it all felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. He had failed to protect Ariana in Kirkwall, had left her to face the weight of that city’s chaos alone. Now, seeing her like this, broken and battered, that failure cut deeper than any blade ever could.

    “She’s burning up,” Riley said suddenly, her voice taut with urgency as she adjusted Ariana’s cloak in a futile attempt to shield her from the biting cold. Her hands trembled as they hovered near Ariana’s face, brushing away stray strands of hair that clung to her pale, sweat-dampened skin. “We need to move her. Maker, what do we do?”

    Cullen eyes fixed on Ariana’s unnaturally still form. The soft green light emanating from her hand cast flickering shadows across her face, her features drawn and fragile in the eerie glow. His heart ached at the sight, the sharp contrast to the defiant strength he had always admired in her.

    She doesn’t belong here, like this, he thought bitterly, anger and fear warring within him. She was a fighter, his fighter, and yet here she lay, cold and vulnerable, on the edge of slipping away.

    Without a word, Cullen slid his arms beneath her back and legs, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. His armor clinked softly as he rose, the sound barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. “We get her to safety,” he said, his voice low but firm, the words steadying him even as the storm of emotion threatened to break through his composure.

    Riley stayed close, her boots crunching on the frozen ground as she followed his every step. Her hand lingered on Ariana’s shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line as though willing her strength to flow into her unconscious leader. “She’ll fight through this,” Riley muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud would make them true. “She has to.”

    Cullen glanced at her, his golden eyes shadowed with a mixture of pain and resolve. “She will,” he replied, though his voice betrayed the doubt gnawing at the edges of his mind. It sounded more like a prayer than a certainty, a plea to the Maker for something—anything—to keep her tethered to this world.

    His gaze fell back to Ariana’s face. Even now, despite the ash streaking her cheeks and the blood matted in her dark hair, she looked achingly familiar. But it was the faint gleam of silver on her hand that kept drawing his attention. Her ring—their ring—still nestled on her finger. His throat tightened, a pang of something too raw to name cutting through him. After everything, she had kept it.

    A soldier hurried over with Cullen’s horse, and he carefully mounted, Ariana cradled securely in his arms. The warmth of her body, faint and fragile, seeped through his armor, a reminder of how close he had come to losing her.

    Riley swung onto her own horse with practiced ease, her sharp eyes scanning the treacherous path ahead. “You keep her safe, Cullen,” she said, her voice rough, edged with a vulnerability she rarely let show. “Whatever this is… don’t let it take her.”

    He met her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into his soul. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone steely. Yet beneath the resolve, his heart twisted with fear. The unnatural light still pulsed from Ariana’s hand, a chilling reminder of the unknown force now entwined with her fate.

    As they rode down the mountain, the cold wind lashed at them, carrying the scent of ash and blood. Cullen’s arms tightened around Ariana’s unconscious form, his mind a storm of worry and determination.

    I will fight for her this time, he vowed silently, his jaw set with grim resolve. No matter what it takes.

    ~~~

    The heavy atmosphere in Haven pressed down like a storm cloud as Cullen carried Ariana through the gates, her limp body a stark contrast to the flickering green light that pulsed from her hand. The glow had dimmed, but its rhythm was no less unnatural, casting an eerie hue over her pale features. Each step felt heavier, burdened not by her weight but by the crushing fear gnawing at his chest. Around him, soldiers and civilians scrambled to prepare for the unknown threat looming above the mountains—a tear in the sky that seemed to pulse with malevolent intent.

    As they crossed the threshold into Haven, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine hurried to meet them. Cassandra’s eyes immediately locked onto Ariana, her sharp gaze flicking to Cullen with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

    “Commander,” Cassandra began, her tone demanding, “did you find the Divine?”

    Cullen shook his head grimly. “There were no survivors at the Temple… save for her.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured to Ariana. “She’s injured, and something—some magic—is clinging to her hand. She needs a healer immediately.” The words came out more forcefully than intended, his frustration barely contained.

    Before anyone could respond, a calm, unfamiliar voice interrupted. “I may be able to help.”

    All eyes turned toward the speaker, a tall, pale man approaching with deliberate calm. His piercing gaze seemed to cut through the tension with an almost eerie ease.

    “Who are you?” Cassandra demanded, her hand instinctively moving to her sword hilt.

    “I am Solas,” the man replied evenly, his gaze flicking briefly to Ariana before returning to Cassandra. “I have knowledge of what afflicts her and may be able to stabilize it.”

    Cullen’s frown deepened, his grip on Ariana tightening. “And why should we trust you?”

    Solas’s expression remained maddeningly serene. “You have no reason to trust me. But if that mark on her hand remains unchecked, she will die—and possibly take much of Haven with her.”

    A tense silence followed, broken only by the distant murmurs of frightened villagers. Cullen exchanged a wary glance with Cassandra and Leliana before nodding sharply. “Very well. Lead the way.”

    Solas led them to a nearby building, its interior sparse but cleared for use. Cullen gently laid Ariana on the makeshift bed, the green glow casting faint shadows on the bare walls. His eyes lingered on her face, and for a moment, the weight of everything threatened to overwhelm him. She has to pull through, he thought fiercely.

    Cassandra’s expression remained thunderous, distrust radiating off her in waves as Solas knelt beside Ariana and began his work. The elf’s murmured words of power filled the room, the green light on Ariana’s hand flaring slightly with each syllable.

    The door creaked open, and Varric entered, his usual nonchalance replaced by a grim determination. He knelt by Ariana’s side, brushing ash from her hair with a tenderness that belied his gruff exterior. “Pup, what in the Void did you get yourself into this time?” he muttered, his voice low and pained.

    Cassandra’s sharp tone cut through the moment. “Varric, you know her? Did you know what she was planning?”

    Varric’s gaze snapped to Cassandra, his usual humor nowhere to be found. “Watch your tone, Seeker,” he said, standing straighter. “She didn’t plan for this. You think she caused it? Look at her!” He gestured toward Ariana, his voice rising. “Does she look like someone who orchestrated this chaos?”

    “She’s the only survivor,” Cassandra snapped back. “And the Divine is dead. Who else should we hold accountable?”

    Riley, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her tone biting. “Probably not the person the Divine herself hired to ensure this didn’t happen,” she said coldly.

    Cassandra’s glare faltered for a moment, a flicker of pain or guilt crossing her face before her expression hardened again.

    Cullen stepped between them, his voice calm but resolute. “I don’t believe she’s responsible for the explosion. She’s clearly been affected by whatever happened. Right now, she needs help, not accusations.”

    Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her frustration mounting. “This isn’t about belief, Commander. The Divine is dead. Someone must answer for this.”

    “And when we find who is responsible, they will,” Cullen replied, his voice steady but firm. “But it wasn’t her.”

    Cassandra crossed her arms, her tone icy. “The White Wolf is a mercenary, nothing more. You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment.”

    “No,” Cullen snapped, his jaw tightening. “I’m looking at the evidence—or the lack of it. I left the Order to follow what I believed was right, not to condemn the innocent for survival.” His voice carried a weight of conviction that silenced the room.

    Cassandra opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Riley stepping forward. “If you try to take her, you’ll have to go through us,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “The Rangers won’t stand by and let you throw her into a dungeon.”

    Before Cassandra could respond, the door burst open again. “What happened? Where’s Wolf?” Eshara demanded, her eyes wide as she rushed to Ariana’s side. Her gaze snapped to Solas. “Who are you, and what are you doing to her?”

    Solas didn’t look up from his work. “I’m stabilizing the mark on her hand. If you are her healer, tend to her other injuries. Quickly.”

    Eshara hesitated, then nodded, her hands already moving to check the extent of Ariana’s injuries.

    Cullen watched the scene unfold, a wave of relief washing over him despite the tension. Ariana had people who cared deeply for her, people willing to fight for her. Yet it did little to ease the ache in his chest.

    Cassandra’s voice broke through his thoughts, low and cold. “Commander. A word.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed out.

    Cullen took a deep breath, running a hand over his face. He turned to Riley. “Station your Rangers here. She’s never unguarded. No mages or Templars, either. Cassandra could incapacitate both.”

    Riley gave a curt nod. “Done. Three squads, full rotation. No one touches her.”

    “Varric,” Cullen added, his voice softening, “stay with her. Let me know if anything changes.”

    The dwarf nodded, his focus still on Ariana. “I’m not leaving her side, Commander.”

    Cullen straightened, his resolve hardening once more. He wouldn’t let Ariana face this alone. Not again.

    ~~~

    Cullen stood just outside the room where Ariana lay, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The door was slightly ajar, and the soft murmur of voices inside—Riley’s clipped commands and Eshara’s calm instructions—was faintly audible. His heart ached at the thought of Ariana lying motionless, her strength reduced to this fragile stillness. He had promised to protect her, and yet here they were.

    He exhaled sharply and turned to leave, intending to meet Cassandra. Before he had taken more than a step, Leliana’s voice, soft and deliberate, came from the shadows.

    “Commander.”

    Cullen stopped, his shoulders tensing as she stepped forward, her expression unreadable in the dim light of the corridor. “Leliana,” he greeted, his tone carefully neutral.

    “You’re on your way to speak with Cassandra,” she said, more a statement than a question.

    “I am,” he replied curtly. “Is there something you need?”

    Leliana’s piercing gaze flicked briefly to the door behind him. “Not from you, but perhaps something you need to hear.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, but before he could respond, she continued. “Are you certain everything is alright?”

    His jaw tightened, and he gestured toward the sky visible through a cracked window, its green glow casting an eerie pall over Haven. “Nothing is as it should be, Leliana. That thing is growing. The Temple is destroyed. The Divine is dead. Of course, everything is not alright.”

    Leliana tilted her head slightly, her voice calm but probing. “And yet, amidst all this, you seem… certain.”

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “If you have a point, make it.”

    “The White Wolf,” Leliana said simply. “You seem convinced of her innocence. What makes you so certain she is not responsible for the explosion at the Conclave?”

    Cullen’s heart clenched, but he forced his expression to remain stoic. “Her reputation precedes her. I’ve followed her work for years. This… chaos isn’t her style. She believes in protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”

    Leliana arched a delicate brow. “Her work? Or her?”

    Cullen stiffened. “What exactly are you implying?”

    “I imply nothing,” Leliana said smoothly. “I am merely observing that you seem… personally invested in her safety.”

    “She’s not a criminal,” Cullen said, his voice low but firm. “She has risked her life to save others countless times. To accuse her without proof—”

    “Is not something you would allow,” Leliana finished, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “Interesting.”

    He exhaled sharply, his control slipping. “What happened at the Temple was not her doing. I will see to it that she is protected, Leliana—no matter what.”

    Leliana studied him for a moment, her sharp gaze cutting through his defenses. “You care for her,” she said softly, the statement more revelation than accusation.

    Cullen’s breath hitched, but he didn’t deny it. “She—” His voice faltered before he forced himself to continue. “She’s been through enough. I won’t let her suffer for something she didn’t do.”

    Leliana’s smile deepened, but her tone remained gentle. “For what it’s worth, I do not believe the White Wolf is responsible. She was a victim of its chaos, just as we all are. I knew Justinia well and I trust her judgment.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping slightly. “Your secret is safe, Commander.”

    Cullen blinked, his thoughts racing as he realized just how much he had revealed. His mind replayed the exchange, his chest tightening. Leliana knew. Of course, she knew.

    Before he could respond, Leliana turned and began to walk away. “The Seeker may demand answers,” she said over her shoulder, her voice carrying a note of warning. “But do not let her doubt shake you, Commander. Your convictions are what will see us through this.”

    As her footsteps faded, Cullen remained rooted in place, his hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of his sword. His gaze drifted back to the door, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. Ariana lay beyond that threshold, her fate uncertain, but his resolve crystallized in that moment. He would protect her. He had to.

    Maker, let her survive this. Let her wake. Give us a chance to mend what was broken.

    He turned sharply, heading toward his meeting with Cassandra, the weight of his promise settling heavily on his shoulders. But for the first time in years, his steps felt purposeful—not dictated by orders, but by the strength of his own will.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as an oppressive silence enveloped her. The room swam before her, its edges bleeding into shadow. A faint green light pulsed in her peripheral vision, and the walls seemed to ripple, shifting between the familiar stone of Haven and the jagged, dreamlike spires of the Fade.

    Her heart thundered in her chest as fragmented memories surged forward—flashes of the Conclave, the Divine’s desperate cry, and that searing, blinding light. She sat up abruptly, her fingers clutching at the edge of the cot beneath her. The world wavered, and for a moment, the shadows around her coalesced into monstrous shapes, their whispering voices clawing at her sanity.

    “Wolf,” a voice called softly, steady and familiar. Eshara.

    Ariana turned toward the sound, her vision still hazy. She barely registered the healer’s presence, her hands moving to the glowing mark on her left hand. The sight of it sent a jolt of terror through her.

    “She’s waking up,” Solas murmured, his voice calm but tinged with concern. He stepped closer, his pale eyes fixed on her. “Lady Trevelyan, you are safe, but you must—”

    “Safe?” Ariana hissed, her voice low and strained. “Where is this? What…what happened?” Her eyes darted around the room, catching fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures that faded when she tried to focus.

    “You’re in Haven,” Varric said, stepping forward with his usual deliberate calm, though his expression betrayed his worry. “We found you after the explosion. You’ve been out for hours.”

    Ariana shook her head, her breathing quickening. “No,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real. I saw—” Her words faltered as the flickering shapes at the edges of her vision grew darker, more solid.

    Before anyone could stop her, Ariana swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements sharp and frantic. She staggered to her feet, swaying slightly as the floor seemed to ripple beneath her. “I need to—” she paused, clutching the edge of a nearby table to steady herself, her breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. “I need to find—”

    “Wolf, listen to me,” Eshara said urgently, taking a cautious step forward. “You’re hurt, but we can help you. Please, sit back down. You need rest.”

    Ariana’s gaze snapped to Eshara, her body tensing as though preparing for a fight. “Stay back,” she warned, her voice sharp and unsteady. “Don’t come near me!”

    Solas frowned but remained still, his tone soothing. “You are caught between the Fade and the waking world. Your confusion is understandable, but you must ground yourself. Focus on the here and now.”

    “I can’t!” Ariana’s voice cracked, her vision blurring as reality slipped further from her grasp. The room seemed to twist and ripple, the faces of those around her distorting like reflections in a broken mirror.

    Varric took a cautious step forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Pup, it’s me. It’s Varric. You know me.”

    Ariana’s breathing grew ragged, her fingers curling into fists. “You’re not real,” she whispered, her voice choked with fear. “None of this is real.”

    The door opened suddenly, and Cullen stepped inside, his expression grim as the chaotic scene unfolded before him. His gaze locked on Ariana, her stance defensive, her eyes wide and unfocused. He recognized the look immediately—the haunted, distant gaze of someone caught in the grip of a nightmare they couldn’t escape.

    “Ariana,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the commotion.

    Her head snapped toward him, her breath catching. “Cullen?” she whispered, her voice breaking. She took a hesitant step forward, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re here?”

    “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with urgency. He moved closer, his hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat. “But you need to sit down. You’re hurt. Please, let them help you.”

    Her eyes searched his face, her expression crumbling. “You’re… dead,” she choked out, her voice raw with anguish. “I failed you. I failed everyone.”

    Cullen’s heart clenched, but he kept his tone calm, soothing. “No, Ariana. I’m alive, and so are you. But you’re dying, and if you don’t let them help, you won’t make it.”

    Her knees wobbled, but she stayed upright, shaking her head. “What’s the point if I’ve lost you?”

    Cullen closed the distance between them, taking her trembling left hand in his. His fingers wrapped firmly over hers, covering both the mark and the ring she still wore. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of emotion through him, but he pushed it aside. “You haven’t lost me,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to stay with me, Ariana. Promise me you’ll fight. Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

    Her gaze finally steadied on him, the panic in her eyes giving way to exhaustion and a flicker of understanding. “Cullen…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

    “Promise me,” he urged, his grip tightening just slightly.

    Ariana’s legs gave out as her body surrendered to the strain. Cullen caught her easily, lowering her gently back onto the bed. “I’m here,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I won’t leave you.”

    Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing uneven but steadying as she slipped back into unconsciousness. Cullen remained by her side, his hand still resting over hers, his jaw tight with determination.

    “Hold on, Ariana,” he whispered. “Just hold on.”

    ~~~

    It took days for Solas to stabilize the mark on Ariana’s hand. Each pulse of its strange magic seemed to expand and contract with the tear in the sky, tethered to the growing rift like a heartbeat. Though her condition was fragile, Cassandra repeatedly demanded she be transferred to a cell, insisting Ariana was a threat. Riley and her Rangers, however, stood firm, guarding her room and refusing access to anyone who didn’t have explicit permission from Cullen, Varric, or Riley herself.

    The tension between Haven’s factions simmered, but for Cullen, the greater weight was Ariana’s precarious state. She had woken only the one time, confused and frightened. Each day her survival seemed less certain.

    Cullen and Riley stood in the War Room, pouring over reports. Their efforts to hold the line against the demons were relentless, with Rangers and soldiers working together to plug gaps in their defenses. Despite the steady onslaught, Cullen admired how Riley commanded the Rangers with a sharpness that reminded him of Ariana. The thought unsettled him—another reminder of her absence.

    A sharp knock interrupted their conversation.

    “Lieutenant Riley?” Elliot appeared at the door, his face hesitant. “She’s here. Asking for Wolf. I didn’t know what to say.”

    Riley’s brow furrowed in confusion before realization dawned. “Isabel,” she whispered to herself. She straightened, her voice firm. “It’s alright, Elliot. I’ll take it from here. Where is she?”

    “Outside the Chantry,” Elliot replied.

    Cullen looked between them, his curiosity evident. “‘She’? Who is ‘she’?”

    Riley sighed, glancing at Cullen before nodding. “You should come with me. You need to meet with her.”

    Together, they stepped outside into the brisk mountain air. Cullen’s eyes quickly found Isabel standing near the Chantry doors, her face lined with worry.

    “You’re here.” Riley greeted, walking toward her. “Good. We need you.”

    Isabel’s eyes searched Riley’s face, her voice trembling. “Where is she, Riley? Is she…?” She couldn’t finish, the weight of the unspoken question clear.

    Before Riley could answer, Cullen stepped into view. Isabel’s gaze shifted to him, her expression softening into relief. “Cullen,” she breathed, a faint smile breaking through her concern.

    “Isabel,” Cullen said, his voice quiet with surprise. He crossed the distance quickly, and she pulled him into a warm embrace.

    “My dear boy,” she said, her tone affectionate but strained. “What are you doing here?”

    Cullen let out a small laugh, though it carried no humor. “I could give the Order no more,” he said simply. “Seeker Pentaghast recruited me to oversee the military operations here.”

    Before Isabel could respond, a small voice called out. “Cullen?”

    Cullen turned, his eyes widening as Emma darted toward him. Dropping to his knees, he caught her in a tight embrace. The girl clung to him fiercely, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “I missed you.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he held her. “I missed you too,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

    Isabel watched, her expression both tender and clouded with worry. “She missed you,” she said gently. “More than you know.”

    Emma pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Ari said you were too busy to come read stories with me anymore,” she said, her voice trembling. “Did I do something wrong?”

    “No, Emma,” Cullen said, his heart breaking at her words. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I… Kirkwall wasn’t a good place for you. Ari was trying to keep you safe.”

    Emma sniffled, her small face twisting with doubt. “She always cried when I asked about you,” she whispered. “Didn’t she want to visit you?”

    Cullen closed his eyes, guilt washing over him. She always cried when I asked. The weight of his failures pressed harder. “Emma, I promise you—it wasn’t your fault. Or Ari’s. I missed you both more than I can say.”

    Emma studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Can you read me a story tonight?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

    “I will,” he promised, his smile faint but earnest. “And maybe Ari will feel better if you read to her too,” she added innocently.

    Cullen’s throat tightened, and he could only nod, unable to find the words.

    “Go with Elliot, Emma,” Isabel said gently. “Get something to eat.”

    As Emma skipped off, Cullen’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t realize how much my absence hurt her,” he said quietly.

    Isabel’s gaze was steady, her voice soft but firm. “She’s a child, Cullen. She feels deeply, but she also forgives deeply. You’ll make it right. And Ariana?” She hesitated. “She forgave you long ago. Truly, she never blamed you.”

    The words stung more than they soothed. Cullen nodded, though the guilt only deepened. I failed them both.

    “Cullen…” Isabel’s voice broke through his thoughts, sharper now. “Where is Ariana? Is she alive?”

    Cullen’s face fell, his earlier warmth replaced with a heavy grief. “She’s alive. Barely,” he said, his voice quiet. “The mark—something magical—nearly killed her. Solas is stabilizing it, but Cassandra…” He hesitated. “The Seeker wants her arrested.”

    “What?” Isabel’s voice rose, her disbelief turning to fury. “After everything she’s done—what you’ve done for this cause—she wants to chain her?”

    “I’m doing everything I can to protect her,” Cullen said firmly. “The Rangers are guarding her room, and I’ve given orders to ensure no one touches her. But if Cassandra pushes further…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “I’ll stand between her and anyone who tries to harm her.”

    Isabel studied him for a long moment, her expression softening. “You always were a good man, Cullen,” she said with a faint smile. “Now, take me to her.”

    Cullen nodded and led Isabel toward Ariana’s room, his heart heavy but resolute.

  • Chapter 56 – The Road to Ashes

    28 Haring 9:40 – 14 Guardian 9:41

    As Ariana stepped back into the tavern, the warmth and hum of conversation greeted her, a stark contrast to the chill of Val Royeaux’s evening air. Elliot and Eshara sat near the hearth, finishing their meal. Their presence brought a faint smile to her lips, though it did little to ease the weight she carried after her meeting with the Divine.

    “Back already?” Eshara quipped, her tone light as Ariana approached. “Where’s the artifact?”

    “There was no artifact,” Ariana replied, her words clipped but not unkind. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

    Elliot raised an eyebrow, glancing at her cloak and boots, still dusted from her walk. “Didn’t even sit down yet and you’re already talking about leaving?”

    Ariana exhaled, waving off his comment. “I’ll explain later. For now, get some rest. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

    Eshara frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it? You drag us all the way to Val Royeaux, and now we’re just heading back without so much as a proper meal?”

    Ariana smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. When we’re back, I’ll ask Isabel to prepare a feast—one to put every Orlesian banquet we’ve seen to shame.”

    “That’s a high bar,” Eshara said dryly, though her lips twitched with a small grin. “We’ll hold you to it.”

    Elliot chuckled softly. “Good. I’m starving, and Orlesian portions aren’t exactly… substantial.”

    Ariana let out a genuine laugh at that, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. But for now, we’ll be back on the road for a while. So get your rest while you can.”

    She didn’t linger to hear their grumbling; she slipped away to her room upstairs. As she leaned back against the door, the weight of her meeting with the Divine pressed down on her anew. Her fingers brushed the pendant at her neck, the familiar contours grounding her. But tonight, it didn’t bring the solace she needed. Instead, her thoughts wandered—to the Rangers, to the impossible task ahead, and inevitably, to Cullen.

    Knight-Commander Cullen seems to be a good sort

    The Divine’s words had been maddeningly calculated, she couldn’t help but wonder at her goal. Was it just to break through her anger, did she know that Cullen’s name would accomplish that? Aren’t you engaged to him? The phrasing of Justinia’s question had been deliberate. She knew it would distract her. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder… was she? Did he think about it the same way? Was Cullen going to be at the Conclave? As the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall was he expected there?

    And now? she thought bitterly, Now I’m expected to risk everything again—for peace that may never come.

    The journey back to Ferelden was long and uneventful, the familiar rhythm of travel offering little distraction from Ariana’s racing thoughts. She spent most of the time riding in silence, lost in her own thoughts. Her conversation with the Divine a constant companion. Eshara and Elliot had clearly noticed her mood, but they gave her space, knowing better than to press her when she wasn’t ready to talk.

    Ariana broke the silence for the first time in hours. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet but clear.

    Eshara glanced over, one eyebrow arched. “For what?”

    “For dragging you halfway across Thedas without telling you why,” Ariana replied. “And for making you spend the end of the year on the road instead of with the others.”

    Elliot looked at her, his brow furrowed. “We’re Rangers. It’s what we do.”

    “And it’s not like you could’ve known this job would take us back so quickly,” Eshara added with a shrug. “But if you really feel bad, we’ll take that feast when we get back.”

    Ariana chuckled softly. “You’ll get your feast. I promise.”

    As the evening wore on, and they settled down to rest for the night, Ariana found herself staring up at the sky a little away from the campfire. The stars were just beginning to peek through the twilight sky, and the chill in the air was sharper now than it had been in Val Royeaux. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the Visus constellation.

    I’ll follow this star it one more time, Cullen. Please be there.

    She had barely noticed Elliot approach until he cleared his throat softly behind her. “Wolf?”

    Ariana turned, her expression softening slightly at the sight of him. “What is it, Elliot?”

    He hesitated, glancing down before meeting her eyes. “You’ve seemed… off since Val Royeaux. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, her heart warming at his concern. “I’m fine, Elliot. Just… thinking. A lot.”

    “About the job?” he asked tentatively.

    She nodded, leaning against the tree behind her. “It’s a big one. More than I expected.”

    Elliot studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Whatever it is, we’re with you. You know that, right?”

    His earnestness caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Finally, she nodded, her voice soft. “I know. Thank you.”

    Elliot lingered for a moment longer before giving her a small smile and retreating back to the campfire. Ariana stayed where she was sitting, the cold air biting at her skin as she turned her gaze back to the stars. She didn’t know how to tell them what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: the road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes would be unlike any she’d walked before.

    ~~~

    By the time they arrived at the manor, the familiar sights and sounds of the Rangers at work greeted them. The courtyard bustled with activity—sparring pairs clashed swords, laughter echoed from a nearby group of recruits, and the scent of roasting meat wafted from the kitchens. It was a scene that should have felt like home, but Ariana’s mind was too clouded to take comfort in it.

    Riley, standing at the edge of the courtyard with her arms crossed, immediately spotted them. Her sharp eyes swept over the trio, lingering on Ariana. “You look like someone dragged you through half of Orlais and back,” Riley called out, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “The client give you trouble?”

    Ariana dismounted, her movements slow with exhaustion. “Not the client,” she replied, brushing dust from her cloak. “But we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

    Riley’s smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. She handed the reins of Ariana’s horse to a nearby recruit and fell into step beside her. “Let me guess—it’s trouble, isn’t it?”

    “Always,” Ariana said, her voice carrying a dry humor that didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced back at Elliot and Eshara, who were already being swept into the lively courtyard. “Let them unwind,” she added softly to Riley. “We’ll catch up later.”

    Riley nodded, her curiosity evident but unspoken. As they entered the manor, the sounds of the courtyard faded, replaced by the quiet warmth of the house.

    Ariana led the way to the library, her steps deliberate yet heavy with the weight of what she was about to reveal. She had stopped first to find Isabel, who joined her without hesitation, her sharp eyes immediately sensing something serious. Riley followed closely, her boots echoing off the stone floors with impatient strides.

    Once inside, Ariana closed the door with a deliberate click. The quiet of the library enveloped them, the faint scent of old parchment and polished wood grounding her in the moment. Riley dropped into one of the chairs, propping her boots on the edge of the table with her usual disregard for decorum. Isabel remained standing, arms crossed, her expression calm but wary.

    “There was no client,” Ariana began, her voice steady though her shoulders were tense. “Or rather, not what you expected.”

    Riley’s brow arched immediately, suspicion flickering in her sharp gaze. “Oh? So what was it? Some Orlesian noble whining about misplaced jewels?”

    Ariana hesitated, the words she had practiced in her head suddenly feeling heavy and awkward. Finally, she said it: “It was the Divine.”

    Riley’s boots hit the floor with a thud as she sat upright, her expression a mix of shock and exasperation. “Oh no. No, no, no!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “Not doing this again, Wolf! I’m not cut out for being anyone’s spy, and neither are you.”

    Isabel’s calm facade cracked slightly, her brow furrowing. “The Divine…” she repeated slowly, the name itself enough to deepen her concern. “What does she want this time?”

    Ariana crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. “There’s going to be a Divine Conclave. On 15 Guardian. The goal is to bring the mages and the Templars together to negotiate peace.”

    Riley snorted, leaning back in her chair with an incredulous look. “Right. And I suppose we’re being recruited to, what, serve wine and keep the nobles from pulling each other’s hair?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she met Riley’s sarcastic gaze. “She wants the Rangers to act as a neutral force,” she said firmly. “To keep the peace and prevent violence.”

    Riley’s expression froze mid-scoff. Isabel’s arms unfolded slightly, her sharp intake of breath betraying her alarm.

    “You’re serious,” Riley said flatly, sitting forward. “She wants us to be… what? The Chantry’s watchdogs?”

    “Not the Chantry,” Ariana corrected, her voice softening slightly. “A neutral presence. One that isn’t aligned with either side but has a reputation for standing for what’s right.”

    Riley shook her head, her disbelief quickly morphing into frustration. “Maker’s breath, Wolf. Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t a neutral job. This is sticking our necks into a bear trap and hoping it doesn’t snap shut.”

    Isabel, ever the voice of pragmatism, stepped forward, her expression calm but grave. “And what’s your role in this, Ariana? Because I know you wouldn’t be telling us this unless she’s asked something more of you.”

    Ariana sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She asked me to stand by her side. To act as her personal guard during the Conclave.”

    Riley exploded out of her chair, pacing the length of the room with a string of curses. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shouted. “This is madness, Wolf! Do you remember what happened the last time the Divine roped you into one of her plans? You lost everything!”

    Ariana flinched slightly but kept her composure. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said quietly. “But this isn’t about the past. This is about trying to end the Mage-Templar War before it destroys Thedas.”

    “And what if it destroys you instead?” Isabel interjected, her voice trembling slightly. “What about Emma? About all of us? If you do this—if this goes wrong—what happens to everything you’ve built?”

    Ariana stepped closer to Isabel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I’m not asking anyone to follow me into this—not you, not Riley, not the Rangers. This is a volunteer mission. If no one steps forward, then we don’t go.”

    Riley whirled around, her hands on her hips. “Oh, for the love of… Of course, I’m going with you!” she snapped. “You think I’m going to let you walk into the middle of that mess alone? Maker, Wolf, you really know how to pick the worst possible jobs.”

    Ariana allowed a faint smile to break through her tension. “Thank you,” she said softly, her gratitude genuine.

    Isabel sighed heavily, her composed mask slipping further. “If you’re going, we’ll prepare,” she said, her voice resigned but resolute. “But Ariana… if this fails, if this Conclave falls apart…” She didn’t finish, but the unspoken warning lingered heavily in the air.

    “I know,” Ariana replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her. “Believe me, I know.”

    She straightened, her determination hardening into resolve. “Riley,” she said, turning to her, “start gathering the Rangers. Make it clear this is a volunteer mission. No one is to feel obligated. But we only have 35 days to prepare and get to Haven.”

    Riley gave her a long, searching look before nodding. “I’ll handle it,” she said, though her tone carried a note of reluctant acceptance. “But don’t think I’m not going to grumble about it the whole way.”

    “And supplies?” Isabel added, already mentally calculating what they would need. “If we’re calling in Rangers from across Thedas, we’ll need to ensure they’re properly equipped.”

    “Order whatever we need,” Ariana said firmly. “Spare nothing. If this is our last stand for peace, we’re going to do it right.”

    Isabel nodded, though her worry lingered in her gaze. “It will be done. But Ariana… don’t ask us to stand by and watch you break yourself again. If this goes wrong—”

    “I’m sorry,” Ariana interrupted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If it all goes wrong, I’m sorry.”

    Riley placed a firm hand on her shoulder, her grip steady and grounding. “We’re not there yet,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Let’s get through today first.”

    The three of them stood in heavy silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on all of them. But for now, they had a plan. And, for now, that was enough.

    ~~~

    The halls of the manor bustled with activity as the Rangers prepared for their most ambitious mission yet. The air was thick with purpose and tension, every corner filled with voices discussing strategies, packing supplies, or sharpening weapons. Just as the Divine had predicted, the Rangers were willing to follow Ariana into anything—even what could very well be certain death.

    Nearly every Ranger called upon accepted the task without hesitation. Over a hundred had already gathered in Redcliffe, the quiet village now transformed into a staging ground for the Silver Rangers. More arrived daily, and another 150 remained scattered across Ferelden and Orlais, preparing to join the growing force. With only three weeks until the Conclave, the pressure mounted, but the Rangers worked with an unwavering resolve that only strengthened Ariana’s determination.

    Isabel was a force of nature, coordinating supplies with the precision of a seasoned commander. Trade caravans arrived regularly, loaded with weapons, armor, provisions, and medical supplies. Every transaction bore the mark of Isabel’s sharp tongue and no-nonsense approach. Merchants quickly learned that any attempt to exploit the situation would not be tolerated.

    Eshara oversaw the mages, training them in shield spells and non-lethal deterrents, ensuring they were prepared for a role that demanded restraint over power. Elliot and Riley worked together, drilling the newer recruits and ensuring their lines of communication were solid. Every Ranger needed to understand the plan inside and out—it wasn’t just their survival at stake, but the survival of what peace might still exist in Thedas.

    Ariana, meanwhile, was consumed by the logistical nightmare of coordinating the Rangers for such a monumental task. She spent her days—and most of her nights—in the library, surrounded by maps and reports. Charts of Haven, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the Frostback Mountains sprawled across every surface, each annotated with her meticulous notes. Scouts came and went, memorizing routes and terrain. The plan had to be seamless, adaptable, and above all, decisive.

    The Rangers would operate in three phases. Ariana would take no more than fifty to the Temple itself. Any more would risk projecting an image of aggression rather than peacekeeping. The rest would be positioned in concentric waves, spread out across the Frostbacks, ready to defend or intervene if necessary. Scouts would blend into the area early, monitoring the movements of both Templars and mages without being seen. Their presence had to remain a secret until the Conclave began.

    Late one night, Ariana stood in the library, surrounded by the maps and plans she had spent days perfecting. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced potential patrol routes with her finger. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders. The wrong move, the wrong placement, could tip the balance and turn the Conclave into chaos.

    The door creaked open, and Riley stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She carried a folder in her hand, her expression unusually tense. “Wolf,” she said, her tone light but laced with unease, “you’re wearing a hole into that map.”

    Ariana glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. “There’s no room for mistakes, Riley. Not this time.”

    “There never is,” Riley replied with a faint smirk, moving closer to the table. “But if anyone can pull this off, it’s you. The Rangers believe in you, even if you don’t always believe in yourself.”

    Ariana sighed, her gaze returning to the maps. “I hope that belief isn’t misplaced. This has to work, Riley. It has to.”

    Riley set the folder down on the table, her smirk fading into a grim line. “Wolf, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her tone more serious now.

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, her posture tensing. “What is it?”

    Riley hesitated, clearly weighing her words. “It’s about Kirkwall. The Circle there… it’s fallen.”

    Ariana froze, her hand still resting on the map. “What?” she said sharply, her voice tight with disbelief.

    “It’s confirmed,” Riley said, her tone steady but heavy. “Reports say the Circle dissolved into chaos. Mages revolted. Templars retaliated. It was…” She shook her head. “It was a bloodbath.”

    “When?” Ariana demanded, stepping closer to Riley, her voice rising.

    Riley hesitated, and that hesitation was all Ariana needed to understand. “When, Riley?” she repeated, her tone sharper now, her anger barely restrained.

    “About four months ago,” Riley admitted, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Ariana’s fiery eyes again. “I didn’t tell you before because I—”

    “You didn’t tell me?” Ariana interrupted, her voice breaking with anger and disbelief. “Four months, Riley,” she said again, her voice cracking with anger and disbelief. “You didn’t think I deserved to know that the Circle—his Circle—fell? That everything he fought to hold together collapsed?”

    Riley took a step back, her hands raised in defense. “Wolf, I wanted to tell you, but with everything going on, with the Conclave—”

    “Don’t,” Ariana cut her off, pacing the room as her thoughts spiraled. “Four months ago we didn’t know about the Conclave. You should have told me. I could have… Maker, I could have done something!”

    Riley’s expression hardened slightly. “And what would you have done, Wolf? Run off to Kirkwall and somehow fixed what’s been broken for years? You know as well as I do, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop that.”

    Ariana stopped pacing and turned to Riley, her chest heaving with suppressed emotion. “What about Cullen?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “Where is he?”

    Riley sighed, shaking her head. “He’s missing, Wolf. No one knows where he is. Not the Templars, not the mages who survived. He disappeared.”

    Ariana felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under her. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “Missing?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Or worse—lost in all of this chaos?”

    Riley flinched at the word, but she didn’t avoid Ariana’s gaze. “We don’t know. There’s been no sign of him.”

    The room fell into a tense silence as Ariana turned away, her shoulders stiff. Her thoughts were a chaotic storm, her mind racing through every possibility. She had held onto the hope—however small—that Cullen was still in Kirkwall, alive and well. That he would be at the Conclave. But now… now that hope was slipping through her fingers like sand.

    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ariana said again, her voice quieter but no less anguished.

    “We thought we were prote–”

    Ariana interrupted before Riley could finish “‘We’? Who’s ‘we,’ Riley?” Ariana demanded, her voice cold and sharp, like the blade she always kept at her side. “You mean to tell me more of you thought it was a good idea to keep this from me?”

    Riley opened her mouth to speak but hesitated.

    “Get them in here, right now,” Ariana demanded, her voice sharp and commanding. “If this is how we handle things, I want to hear their reasons from their own mouths.”

    Riley swallowed hard “By your order, Wolf.”

    ~~~

    The room was a tense, suffocating silence as Ariana paced, her boots striking the wooden floor with deliberate force. The maps and plans spread across the table were momentarily forgotten, her sharp mind focused entirely on the betrayal she now had to confront. When the knock came at her door, she paused, her fists clenching at her sides.

    “Enter,” she said, her voice cold, unwavering.

    Riley stepped in first, followed by Linnea, Michael, and Valentina. The weight of Ariana’s glare seemed to make the room shrink around them. Riley took her place nearest the door, her usual composure slipping under the intensity of Ariana’s gaze. Michael looked hesitant, Linnea’s face was unreadable, and Valentina’s calm, diplomatic air felt like a fragile mask.

    Ariana crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “So,” she began, her tone dangerously calm. “The four of you decided I didn’t need to know that the Circle in Kirkwall had fallen. That Cullen—” her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on, “—is missing.”

    “We didn’t want to burden you,” Valentina said carefully, her voice steady but tinged with unease. “With the Conclave approaching, you already had enough—”

    “Stop” Ariana cut in, her tone rising. “You all keep talking to me about the Conclave we didn’t know about 4 months ago. So that’s not your excuse. You’ve barely had that excuse for a few weeks.” She gestured to the maps and plans spread around the room.

    “We weren’t lying—” Linnea started, but Ariana’s sharp glare silenced her.

    “Don’t,” Ariana snapped. “You chose to hide it. That’s worse. I would know.”

    Michael, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. “Ari, it wasn’t just about you. It was about protecting everyone else, too. If you had known, you would’ve gone after him, and that would’ve left the Rangers without their leader.”

    “And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that making that decision for me was acceptable?” Ariana shot back, her voice shaking with restrained fury. “What gives you the right to decide what I can or can’t handle?”

    Michael opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Ariana’s voice dropped, colder than before. “You all need to understand something very clearly. I trust you with my life, but that trust is not infinite. For your sake, this better never happen again.”

    Her words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Then, Michael cleared his throat, his eyes locking with hers. “There’s… something else,” he said hesitantly.

    Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

    Linnea stepped forward quickly, her hand brushing Michael’s arm as if to stop him. “Michael, don’t—”

    “Don’t what?” Ariana interjected, her anger reigniting. Her gaze shifted to Linnea, her voice sharp as a dagger. “You’ve been keeping more from me?”

    Michael sighed, reaching into his coat and pulling out a weathered envelope. “This came from Bann Teagan around the time we heard about Kirkwall,” he said, his voice low. “It’s… from Cullen.”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her fury momentarily replaced by shock. “What? You’ve hidden both of these for 4 months?”

    Michael handed her the envelope, and as her trembling fingers unfolded the letter, Linnea spoke, her tone almost pleading. “We weren’t sure when—or if—we should give it to you. Cullen asked Bann Teagan to pass it along, but with everything happening…”

    Ariana ignored her, her eyes scanning the letter inside. Cullen’s handwriting was unmistakable, his words precise and deliberate. But the weight of the second document beneath it—bearing the seal of the White Spire—made her chest tighten painfully.

    As she read, her mind swam with disbelief. My purpose is not to pursue justice or duty—it is to find her, to ensure she is safe, and, if she allows it, to mend what has been broken between us. The second document was official—a marriage approval from the White Spire, dated almost two years ago.

    “Did you read this?” she asked to no one specific, her tone still carrying an icy edge but about to break.

    Valentina stepped forward “We did…”

    Ariana held up the letter from Cullen again and read it aloud “‘If she chooses to ignore this, I will respect her wishes and will not press the matter further.‘” she paused for a moment closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

    Her voice trembled with rage as she folded the documents. “Get out,” she said, her tone deathly quiet.

    “Wolf, we—” Riley started, but Ariana cut her off.

    “Now,” she snapped, her voice like the crack of a whip. “I don’t want to see any of you until tomorrow. And you’d better hope this is the only thing you’ve hidden from me, because if it’s not… you’re going to remember what it was like to fail Krieger.” She let the threat linger, her eyes blazing.

    Without another word, the four of them filed out of the room, their steps heavy with tension. The door closed softly behind them, leaving Ariana alone.

    The moment the latch clicked, her composure shattered. She clutched the letter and the document tightly, her legs giving out as she sank to the floor. The words blurred through her tears, but their meaning cut deeply.

    He was looking for me. He was going to fight for us. And now… it might be too late.

    A broken sob escaped her, and she pressed the letter against her chest, holding it against the ring on her necklace. Her heart aching with a pain she hadn’t felt in years. The weight of her guilt threatened to crush her, but amidst the despair, a flicker of determination ignited.

    You wouldn’t die that easily.

    “I’ll find you, Cullen,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with raw emotion. “I’ll find you, no matter what.”

    The quiet resolve in her words steadied her, even as the storm of emotions raged within.

    ~~~

    The execution needed to be flawless. Every step, every movement had to be calculated. Ariana had over 250 Rangers at her disposal, and each of them had to blend into their roles seamlessly. The scouts, already dispatched to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and Haven, were tasked with gathering information and securing entry points. The rest of the Rangers—those who wouldn’t be stationed inside the Temple—needed to arrive after the Conclave had begun. By then, most eyes would be on the negotiations, making it easier for the Rangers to quietly take their positions without drawing attention.

    Ariana’s plan hinged on precision and discretion. The fifty Rangers who would secure the Temple were carefully selected, a mix of Templars, mages, and rogues. The Templars, with their combat expertise and ability to counter mages, were crucial. Ariana had often bristled at the idea of working alongside them in the past, but the Templars who had defected to join the Rangers had proven themselves invaluable. Their presence gave her a strange comfort now—they could handle whatever might arise.

    Riley and the Vanguard would command the main forces outside the Temple. They were to arrive later, ensuring the Rangers’ movements didn’t overwhelm the Conclave before it even started. Riley understood the stakes, and Ariana trusted her to handle the logistics outside the Temple while she focused on the critical moments within.

    But even as the plans came together, Ariana couldn’t shake her unease. She stared at the maps sprawled across her desk, her eyes tracing the routes and placements over and over again, as if repetition could ease the weight pressing on her chest.

    If Cullen were here, he’d have a dozen suggestions by now, she thought, the memory of their days going over his reports pulling her focus. She exhaled sharply, forcing the thought aside, but it lingered, an unwelcome ghost haunting the edges of her mind.

    The report about Kirkwall had been days ago, but the ache it stirred in her hadn’t dulled. She had tried to bury herself in work, to lose herself in the endless tasks of preparing the Rangers. It hadn’t helped. The idea that Cullen had been looking for her and now might be dead—that she had wasted years waiting for a chance to see him—was a wound she couldn’t bring herself to confront fully.

    Her hand drifted instinctively to the leather choker around her neck, her fingers brushing against the engagement ring that had hung there this whole time. She pulled it free, letting it dangle in front of her as the firelight flickered across its surface.

    “You will be my wife, Ari. No one—not Meredith, not the Order—no one will come between us.”

    It had been his promise to her—a future they never got to share. And now? Now it felt like a symbol of everything she had lost. The life they could have had. The man she might never see again.

    She closed her eyes, the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “You’re not dead,” she whispered fiercely, as if saying it aloud could will it into truth. “You can’t be.”

    Her fingers trembled as she slid the ring off the chain and onto her finger. The familiar weight of it was comforting. A piece of herself she hadn’t realized was missing. If you’re out there, Cullen… I’ll find you. The silent vow settled into her chest, a spark of determination amid the chaos.

    But not yet. She couldn’t. Not while the Conclave loomed ahead, the stakes too high to abandon. The war between mages and Templars had consumed Thedas, and this might be the only chance to stop it. She hated it—the constant choice between duty and the people she loved. But this was the path she had chosen, the one she had committed to when they set out to become the Silver Rangers.

    She took a steadying breath, pushing her emotions aside. The Rangers needed her focus now, not her grief. After the Conclave, she promised herself. After this, I’ll go. No matter what.

    A knock at the door broke her reverie, and she quickly tucked the ring under her glove before turning toward the sound. “Come in,” she called, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

    It was Riley, as expected, holding a fresh stack of reports. “Wolf, I’ve got the last of the troop placements ready for review,” she said, stepping inside and setting the papers on the desk. Her sharp eyes immediately caught Ariana’s distant expression. “You alright?”

    Ariana forced a faint smile, shaking her head. “Just tired,” she replied. “Too much to do, too little time.”

    Riley nodded, though her concern didn’t fade entirely. “Well, don’t fall apart on me now. We’re almost there.”

    “I won’t,” Ariana assured her, her voice firm. “Let’s finish this.”

    As Riley began walking her through the placements, Ariana focused on the task at hand, burying her doubts and fears beneath the work. There would be time to grieve later. Time to hope. Time to find him—if he was still out there.

    For now, there was only the Conclave. And Thedas needed her to succeed.

    ~~~

    Her timing had been perfect. Ariana arrived in Haven the evening before the Conclave, her recognizable white fur cloak blending with the frosty surroundings. The cold stung her exposed skin, but she welcomed it—it kept her sharp, her mind focused. Her Rangers were still making their way through the Frostbacks, following the carefully laid plans she’d established. They wouldn’t arrive until the next day, but for now, Ariana was alone, which suited her purpose just fine.

    Pulling her hood lower against the icy wind, she dismounted and made her way toward the small village. Haven’s quiet was deceptive, its simplicity masking the gravity of what was about to take place. She planned to quietly find the Divine’s quarters, ensuring every detail was finalized before the Rangers fully arrived. Her boots crunched against the packed snow, the sound almost too loud in the stillness.

    She had just passed the makeshift tavern when a familiar voice shattered her focus.

    “And there we were, walking through the hallways—vases floating, books flying from shelf to shelf, and ghosts running across the hallway…”

    Ariana froze mid-step, her breath catching. Varric?

    She turned toward the sound instinctively, her confusion mounting. Why was he here? Why now, of all times? Her mind raced with questions, but her body moved of its own accord, carrying her to the warm glow spilling from the tavern’s windows. Tugging her hood down to avoid drawing suspicion, she slipped inside.

    The room was a mix of local villagers and travelers, and at its center sat Varric, as animated as ever, captivating the crowd with his storytelling. His hands moved with exaggerated flair, his voice rising and falling with practiced drama.

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, the sight tugging at emotions she couldn’t quite name. It had been so long since she’d seen him, and she felt unexpected relief at the sight of her old friend, her mentor. But alongside it came the questions—why was he here? How had he come to Haven? Had he known she would be here?

    As he reached the climax of his tale, she interrupted, her voice cutting through the room. “Tell them about the golem yet?”

    Varric froze mid-sentence, his hand paused in mid-air. His head whipped toward the doorway, and for the briefest moment, his surprise was unmistakable. His sharp features softened when his gaze landed on her, and he recovered quickly, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

    “Well, now you’ve gone and ruined the good part,” he said, though his voice carried an unmistakable warmth.

    Ariana smirked, stepping inside as the onlookers exchanged curious glances. “You were too slow, Varric. Someone had to keep the story moving.”

    The crowd chuckled, though their attention quickly shifted as he stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat and crossed the room toward her. “Pup,” he greeted her softly, placing a hand on her back and steering her toward the door. His usual wit was absent, replaced by something far more subdued. “What are you doing here?”

    She allowed him to guide her out of the tavern, the cold air biting at her face as the door swung shut behind them. “I’ll give you one guess,” she replied, her tone light but weary.

    “Again?” Varric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What does she want this time? Not a lot of shadows to play in up here. Come on, let’s find someplace quiet.” He motioned to a nearby house, clearly trying to steer her away from prying ears. 

    Ariana shook her head. “I need to talk to her first, Varric. I need to see her before I put everything in motion.” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “I’ll find you in a while?” 

    Varric frowned slightly, an expression so brief it might have been imagined, but his hesitation was palpable. “Are you sure?” 

    She tilted her head, studying him. “Are you okay?” she asked, catching the unusual tone in his voice. 

    He waved her off with a faint smirk. “Fine, pup. Just… be careful.” He pointed toward a house just past the tavern. “I’ll wait there. Don’t take too long.” 

    Ariana nodded, watching as he walked away, her heart heavy with unspoken questions. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead, and turned toward the Divine’s quarters.

    One step at a time, she reminded herself as she set off toward the Divine’s quarters.

    ~~~

    Pulling her hood back up and adjusting her mask, Ariana made her way to the Chantry. The frostbitten air stung her cheeks, though it did little to numb the ache in her chest. The weight of the Conclave pressed heavily on her, but even more so was the gnawing thought of Cullen—missing, possibly dead. She clung to the hope that it wasn’t true, that somehow he was still alive, even if the pain of his absence felt sharper than ever tonight.

    The quiet of the village was broken only by the crunch of her boots against the frozen ground. As she reached the doors of the Chantry, a nervous-looking sister approached her, hesitating before speaking.

    “Are you… you know?” the sister asked, her eyes darting nervously to the distinctive white fur cloak.

    Ariana’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I think so,” she replied, her voice softer than usual. “Is she waiting for me?”

    The sister nodded quickly, her movements almost anxious. “She is. Please, follow me.”

    Ariana stepped inside, the sudden warmth of the Chantry washing over her in stark contrast to the cold outside. The sister led her briskly through the main hall, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. They stopped at a heavy door, and the sister motioned for her to enter before retreating.

    Pushing the door open, Ariana stepped inside. Divine Justinia stood near the center of modest room with a large table at it’s center, with a map and what appeared to be scattered reports. The Divine’s serene presence as commanding as ever. The flickering light from the torches cast long shadows across the walls.

    “I’m here,” Ariana said simply, her voice betraying a hint of weariness.

    “As I knew you would be,” Justinia replied, her tone calm, her expression as composed as always.

    Ariana studied her for a moment, the Divine’s confidence brushing against the edge of her own doubts. “And the Rangers will arrive in waves, starting tomorrow,” Ariana continued. “We have a plan, and for all our sakes, I hope it works.”

    The Divine gave a small, thoughtful nod. “As do I. The world hangs precariously, Lady Trevelyan. But I have faith in you—and in the Rangers.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened as she took a steadying breath. Faith, she thought. It felt like an empty word after everything that had happened in Kirkwall, after every failure and loss. Still, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “I know where I’m stationing my forces,” she said, her voice firm despite the storm swirling within her. “Where do you want me?”

    Justinia’s gaze lingered on her, as though weighing the depth of the question. “By my side,” she said at last, her words deliberate. “Your presence is as much a symbol as it is a shield. I need those in attendance to see that the White Wolf stands for peace—not for the mages, not for the Templars, but for the hope of reconciliation.”

    Ariana’s eyes flickered with a mix of skepticism and resolve. “By your side,” she repeated, her tone cool. “You realize that makes both of us walking targets.”

    “Would you be here if you weren’t willing to bear that risk?” the Divine countered gently, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

    Ariana let out a quiet huff, her smirk faint but fleeting. “Fair point.”

    “The dais will give you a clear view of the proceedings,” Justinia continued. “Your Rangers will form a perimeter outside the Temple grounds, with scouts monitoring the surrounding area for any sign of unrest. But you, Ariana, are not just here as a soldier. You are here as a symbol of what is at stake if peace is lost.”

    Ariana folded her arms, leaning slightly against the doorway. Her voice carried a dry edge as she quipped, “I suppose ‘no pressure’ isn’t part of the job description.”

    The Divine’s expression softened, her voice steady and calm. “You have carried more than most would dare, child. And yet, you endure. I trust you will bear this burden as you have borne so many others.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, Justinia’s words cutting deeper than she expected. “Very well,” she said quietly, her resolve hardening despite the weight of it all. “I’ll stand with you. But if this goes south…” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t have to.

    “Then we will face it together,” Justinia said without hesitation.

    Ariana gave a small nod and turned toward the door. The sweep of her cloak trailed behind her as she made her way out. Pausing briefly, she glanced back over her shoulder, her voice quieter now. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

    And with that, she stepped out of the room, her mind heavy with the thought that if this truly was their last chance at peace, she would give it everything she had left to give.

    ~~~

    The firelight flickered in the small room Varric had claimed for the night. The space was modest, the walls adorned with little more than shadows cast by the dancing flames. Varric sat in a chair, his feet up on the table, nursing a mug of ale as though it were the only thing keeping him warm in the mountain air.

    The door creaked open, and Ariana stepped inside, pulling down her hood and mask. Her fur cloak trailed behind her as she shut the door, her expression guarded but tinged with weariness.

    “Pup,” Varric greeted lightly, though his voice carried an edge of concern. “So, how’d the meeting go? Let me guess—she wants something ridiculous.”

    Ariana moved toward the small hearth, holding her hands out to the warmth. “She wants peace,” she said, her voice quiet. “Or at least, she wants to pretend it’s possible.”

    Varric’s brows furrowed. “And what part are you supposed to play in this little charade?”

    “She wants the Rangers to act as peacekeepers during the Conclave,” Ariana explained, turning to face him. “And she wants me… by her side. As a figurehead, a deterrent. The White Wolf standing for peace.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, setting his mug down. “That’s a big ask, pup. And you said yes, didn’t you?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “I did.”

    “Why?” he pressed, leaning forward, his concern growing. “You know how this ends. Andraste’s ass, we were both there when the spark of this war was lit. Why throw yourself into the fire now?”

    “Because we were both there, Varric,” Ariana shot back, her voice sharp with emotion. “We saw it happen. We fought to stop it, and we failed. If we’d done more—if we’d stopped Meredith or Orsino before it all fell apart—maybe this war wouldn’t be tearing Thedas apart right now.”

    Varric’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes remained. “Pup, what happened in Kirkwall… that wasn’t on you. Or me. That was a powder keg waiting for someone to strike a match.”

    “And maybe we should’ve been the ones to snuff out the fuse before it got that far,” Ariana countered, her voice heavy with guilt. She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the floor. “This… this feels like a chance to make up for that. To do something that matters. If this Conclave fails, there won’t be another chance for peace in our lifetimes.”

    Varric sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ariana, you can’t take the weight of Thedas on your shoulders. You’re not the Maker, and you’re not responsible for the mess the Chantry and the Templar Order created.”

    “Maybe not,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “But I can’t walk away, Varric. Not now. Not when there’s a chance to stop this before it gets even worse.”

    He studied her for a long moment, his frustration giving way to a weary understanding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he said with a faint smirk, though the concern in his tone lingered. “But you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t throw yourself headfirst into the impossible.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Speaking of impossible, why are you here, Varric? You’re not exactly the mountain village type.”

    Varric hesitated for a fraction of a second, though his response came smoothly enough. “Seeker Pentaghast dragged me here. I’m her ‘guest.’”

    Her brow furrowed, suspicion flickering in her gaze. “Guest? You mean prisoner.”

    He shrugged, his smirk returning. “Tomato, tomahto. She’s looking for Hawke.”

    Ariana’s heart sank at the mention of her old friend. “Does she know where Hawke is?” she asked, her voice quiet but tense.

    “Thankfully, no,” Varric replied, his tone casual, though she caught the flicker of something in his expression—relief, or perhaps guilt. “She thought I did. And if I did know, I wouldn’t tell her. Hawke’s better off staying far away from all this.”

    Ariana’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of the Conclave and everything it represented pressing down on her. “It’s never simple, is it?” she murmured, half to herself.

    “Not in this lifetime,” Varric replied, leaning back in his chair. “But for what it’s worth, pup, I hope this crazy plan of yours works. Just… promise me you’ll be careful. No heroics, alright?”

    “I’ll try,” Ariana said, her voice soft but steady. “I should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

    Varric raised his mug in a mock toast. “Stay safe, pup. And if you see things going south, don’t wait—get the hell out of there.”

    Ariana nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You too, Varric,” she said quietly before slipping out into the cold night, her mind already racing with everything still left to do—and the faint, stubborn hope that Cullen might somehow be out there, alive. Or maybe… maybe he’s here.

  • Chapter 55 – Not Weakness but Wisdom

    12 Wintermarch 9:38 – 28 Haring 9:40

    The routine after Varric left was a comfort Ariana hadn’t expected. Life at the manor resumed with a familiar rhythm, one that allowed her to slip back into her role as the White Wolf with startling ease. Yet, no matter how seamlessly she led the Silver Rangers, there were moments when the weight of what she had lost threatened to crush her.

    Isabel, ever the steady presence, managed the household effortlessly, relieving Riley of many day-to-day concerns. Emma flourished in the manor’s lively environment, darting between Rangers, her laughter echoing in the halls. She fashioned imaginary adventures for herself, always insisting the Rangers play their parts as knights or heroes. But Ariana couldn’t help but notice the wistful tone in Emma’s voice whenever she asked about Cullen.

    “Will he come back someday?” Emma had asked just days earlier, her wide eyes full of hope that Ariana couldn’t bear to extinguish.

    “He’s busy, cub,” Ariana had replied softly. “But you know Cullen. He always keeps his promises.”

    The words felt hollow even as she said them. It wasn’t just Emma who still waited for him.

    One evening, the kitchen was filled with the warm glow of candlelight and the soft hum of activity. Ariana perched on the counter, absently turning a cloth in her hands as Isabel finished drying the last of the dishes. The rhythmic sounds of their nightly routine grounded her, but tonight the usual comfort was absent.

    “Isabel…” Ariana’s voice was tentative, barely above a whisper.

    Isabel set the dish she was drying aside, turning her full attention to her. “What is it, child?” she asked gently, noting the uncharacteristic hesitation in Ariana’s tone.

    Ariana drew a deep breath, her fingers twisting the cloth tighter. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

    Isabel frowned. “For what? What are you apologizing for now?”

    “For everything,” Ariana confessed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “For dragging you and Emma into my chaos. For Cullen…” Her voice broke as she continued. “I see the way Emma looks when she asks about him. I feel like I’ve taken him away from her. I should have listened to you all those years ago.”

    Isabel’s expression softened as she crossed the kitchen, setting the towel down. She stood in front of Ariana, her voice steady and firm. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

    “But if I’d told him sooner—” Ariana began, only for Isabel to cut her off.

    “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Isabel said gently but firmly. “You said it yourself, Ariana. He wasn’t ready to stand against the Order or Meredith. Even if you’d told him, even if he’d known everything, the path you’re on… it would have still led to this.”

    Ariana’s hands trembled as she gripped the cloth tightly. “But we were planning our wedding,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet agony. “He had the ring made. He asked my father to petition the Order. I thought—I thought we had a chance.”

    Ariana let out a soft, bittersweet laugh, catching Isabel’s questioning look. “I’m just remembering,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of fondness and sorrow. “When we were planning the wedding, Cullen couldn’t understand why there needed to be twenty-seven flavors of cake. He actually looked offended by it.” Her lips curved faintly. “He said he didn’t care if the cake was made of stone, as long as I was there.”

    Isabel chuckled at the memory, “That does sound like Cullen. That man can be practical to a fault.”

    Ariana reached for her ring, looking at it “Do you know why he chose the star?”

    Isabel smiled softly, shaking her head, just letting Ariana continue.

    “He asked if I would follow the star I had been following, just one more time…” her words trailed off, lost in the memory of the night he proposed.

    “And, do you want to follow it again?” Isabel asked softly.

    “More than anything,” Ariana sighed “But I think it’s too late now.”

    Isabel reached out, resting her hands over Ariana’s. “You still have a chance. I don’t believe this story is over.”

    Ariana’s head snapped up, tears brimming in her eyes. “How can you say that? After everything?”

    “Because I know him,” Isabel said simply. “And I know that he loved you more than anything. Truly. And I saw the way you looked at him—like he was your world. That doesn’t just vanish because of a war or a lie.”

    Ariana shook her head, the tears finally spilling over. “I couldn’t even tell him the truth,” she whispered. “And now I don’t even know if he ever thinks of me. If… if he even cares about any of it anymore.”

    Isabel’s gaze fell to the small pendant around Ariana’s neck, the leather cord holding both the constellation charm and Cullen’s engagement ring. The sight of it, so close to Ariana’s heart, brought a bittersweet smile to Isabel’s lips. “Do you think he made that ring for you because it didn’t matter to him?” she asked gently. “He loved you, Ariana. He still does. And I’d wager he’s thought about you every day since you left.”

    Ariana’s sobs broke free then, unrestrained and raw. Isabel pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly as the weight of years of guilt and heartbreak poured out.

    Later that night, as the house grew quiet, Ariana sat alone in her room. She reached for the leather choker she always wore, her fingers brushing the small pendant of the Visus constellation and the engagement ring hanging from the cord. Slowly, she lifted it, holding the ring in her palm as her tears threatened to return.

    She whispered into the stillness, “If you’re out there, Cullen, I hope you’re safe. I hope… I hope you remember us.”

    Happy birthday…

    And for the first time since that night in Kirkwall, she allowed herself to believe he might be thinking the same thing.

    ~~~

    As the months passed, it started to become clear that Kirkwall had been only the beginning. Something they had all expected, yet had hoped they had been wrong. The soft morning light streamed through the windows of the library, casting long shadows across the map-strewn table where she sat with Michael and Linnea. Both wore expressions that mirrored her own—a mix of exhaustion and determination. Reports had been flooding in for weeks now, and each one seemed worse than the last.

    Michael leaned forward, his hand resting on the edge of the table as he spoke. “The Circles are falling, Ariana. Starkhaven, Ansburg, Markham—all of them have reported riots or outright destruction. Mages are fleeing in droves, and some are even banding together to fight back.”

    Linnea nodded, her brow furrowed. “We’ve had requests for aid from at least three groups of mages in the past fortnight alone. They’re desperate, asking for protection, for someone to get them out before the Templars arrive.”

    Michael shifted, a note of hesitation creeping into his voice. “And it’s not just mages. Rangers in the field have reported Templars approaching them, asking to join us. They say they’ve had enough of the Order and want to fight for something better. Some of the Rangers here were already Templars before joining. It’s… becoming a trend.”

    Ariana sat back, her fingers steepled as she absorbed their words. The weight of it pressed heavily on her chest, but her expression remained calm. She had to be. They were looking to her for guidance, for answers she wasn’t entirely sure she had.

    After a moment, she asked, “What about Kirkwall? Have we had any word?”

    Michael glanced at Linnea before replying. “Still holding, according to all reports. It’s one of the few Circles that hasn’t fallen yet. At least not any more than it had before…”

    Ariana’s gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She exhaled softly. Still holding. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Cullen in the middle of it all, trying to hold Kirkwall together with sheer will. He had always been unrelenting in his duty.

    “Good,” she said at last, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. “For now, anyway.”

    Linnea studied her for a moment, but said nothing. Instead, she shifted the conversation back to the reports. “What do you want us to do about the mages requesting aid?”

    “We’ll take on the jobs that make sense,” Ariana replied, her tone measured. “But we can’t stretch ourselves too thin. If we try to save everyone, we’ll end up saving no one.” She paused, her mind already moving to the next steps. “I’ll reach out to Bann Teagan. If anyone knows the best path for helping these mages, it’ll be him. He’s been a consistent ally, and with King Alistair still absent, he’s our best option.”

    Michael frowned slightly. “And the Templars who want to join us? What do we do about them?”

    “We vet them carefully,” Ariana said without hesitation. “Riley and Malcolm can handle that. They know what to look for, and I trust their judgment. But make sure every single one is questioned thoroughly. No exceptions.”

    Linnea exchanged a glance with Michael before speaking again. “There’s something else. Aveline and Donnic—they’ve been working in Denerim for a while now, haven’t they? Maybe they’ve heard things. They might know more about what’s happening in the capital or have information we don’t.”

    Ariana nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. Send a message to Aveline. Let her know what we’re seeing and ask if she has any insight. She’s someone we can trust, and Donnic has always been resourceful. They might have heard something useful.”

    The room fell silent for a moment as they processed the conversation, the weight of the decisions they faced settling heavily over them. Ariana leaned forward again, her gaze sharp as she addressed them both.

    “We’re walking a fine line,” she said. “We have to be careful, but we can’t let that stop us from doing what we’ve always done—protecting those who can’t protect themselves. This is exactly why the Rangers exist. We’re not just a safe haven. We’re a force for change. Let’s make sure we act like it.”

    Michael and Linnea nodded in unison, their determination mirroring her own. As they left the room to carry out their orders, Ariana couldn’t help to notice how their hands brushed briefly. She smiled, shaking her head. It was amusing that they were trying to hide it. For her part, Ariana was just happy they were finding comfort in each other.

    She sat back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the map on the table. It was dotted with markers—each one representing a Circle in turmoil, a town needing aid, or a battle yet to be fought.

    Her fingers brushed against the pendant at her neck, her thoughts briefly drifting to Cullen. Still holding, she thought again. Her heart ached with the memory of him, the way he had looked at her that last day in Kirkwall, the words they had thrown at each other cutting deeper than any blade. But then… he had dropped his weapons, he had crossed the distance to tend to her injury. And when she kissed him, he had returned it. He had held her still despite it all. Was he thinking about her too?

    She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was no room for distraction now. The Rangers depended on her, and the world around them was unraveling faster than she could sew it back together. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this: they would face it together. Someday.

    ~~~

    The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Valentina sat at the head of the long table, her fingers steepled as she studied the parchment in front of her. Riley leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration. Michael paced the length of the room, his boots echoing faintly on the wooden floor, while Linnea sat with one leg crossed over the other, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answers were hidden among the beams.

    “We can’t tell her,” Michael said, his voice low but firm, breaking the silence.

    “And why not?” Riley shot back, her tone sharp. “She’s our leader. She has a right to know.”

    Michael stopped pacing, turning to face her. “You’ve seen how much she’s carrying already. Do you really want to add this to it? That Kirkwall’s Circle has fallen? That he’s disappeared?”

    Riley pushed off the wall, stepping toward the table. “She’ll find out eventually. Better it comes from us than some report or rumor.”

    Linnea sighed, her eyes finally dropping from the ceiling to the table. “Do we even know what happened to him? Cullen’s name wasn’t on the casualty list.”

    Valentina tapped the parchment in front of her. “No, but that’s part of the problem. He’s missing, not dead. And knowing Ariana…” She let the sentence hang, the weight of it settling over the group.

    “She’ll go looking for him,” Michael finished, his voice heavy. “And Maker knows what she’ll find—or if she’ll even find him at all.”

    “Exactly,” Valentina said. “She’s barely allowed herself to grieve what happened in Kirkwall. If she thinks there’s a chance to find him…”

    “She’ll chase it,” Riley admitted, her voice softer now. “But does that mean we keep this from her? Is that who we are?”

    Silence fell again, each of them grappling with the weight of the decision.

    Linnea finally spoke, her voice measured. “We don’t have all the information. Right now, all we know is that the Circle has fallen and that Cullen isn’t accounted for. Maybe we wait. If more details come in, we can reevaluate.”

    Michael frowned, resuming his pacing. “And if she finds out we knew and didn’t tell her? How do we explain that?”

    “She’ll be angry,” Valentina admitted, “but she’ll understand why we waited. At least, I hope she will.”

    Riley ran a hand through her hair, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re all acting like she’s some fragile thing that’s going to shatter the moment she hears his name. This is Ariana. She’s faced worse than this.”

    Michael stopped pacing again, his gaze locking with hers. “I know who she is, Riley. But she’s also human. And Cullen… he’s not just anyone to her.”

    Valentina leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “The question isn’t whether she can handle it. The question is whether telling her now serves any purpose. What can she do with this information?”

    “She could prepare,” Riley argued. “If Cullen is missing, there’s a chance he’s in danger. She’d want to help him, just like she’d help any of us.”

    “And that’s the problem,” Michael said quietly. “She wouldn’t just help him. She’d drop everything. The Rangers, the mages we’re protecting—all of it. She’d risk it all for him.”

    The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision pressing down on them.

    Finally, Valentina exhaled, standing and smoothing the creases from her tunic. “We wait,” she said, her voice calm but decisive. “Until we know more, we don’t burden her with this. If something concrete comes up, we’ll tell her. Agreed?”

    Michael nodded reluctantly, though his expression was troubled. Linnea gave a small nod, her face impassive.

    Riley hesitated, her jaw tight. “Fine,” she said at last, though the word was laced with frustration. “But if she finds out we kept this from her, it’s on all of us.”

    Valentina’s gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on each of them. “We’re in agreement, then. This stays between us for now.”

    Before Valentina could fully extinguish the last lantern, Linnea’s voice cut through the heavy silence.

    “There’s… something else,” she said hesitantly, her gaze shifting to the side as if unsure whether to speak.

    All eyes turned to her, the tension in the room coiling tighter.

    Linnea hesitated before pulling a folded letter from her satchel and setting it on the table. The seal of Bann Teagan was unmistakable, the edges of the parchment slightly worn. “This came with the last set of reports,” she explained. “It’s from Cullen. He sent it to Bann Teagan, asking him to pass it along… to Ariana.”

    Michael’s eyes widened, and Riley stepped closer, her brows knitting together. “What does it say?”

    Valentina unfolded the letter carefully, her sharp eyes scanning the contents. As she read, her expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

    “It’s a request,” she said flatly, “for information on Ariana’s whereabouts. He wanted Teagan to deliver this along with another document.” She pulled out a second parchment, its official seal still intact. “Approval from the White Spire for their marriage.”

    Riley let out a low whistle, her frustration replaced by a mix of disbelief and unease. “And Teagan just… sent this along without a word?”

    “He’s missing now, Riley,” Linnea reminded her softly. “Teagan likely didn’t think it would reach Cullen at this point. But it still complicates things.”

    Michael ran a hand through his hair, his pacing starting anew. “So, he was still looking for her. Even after everything…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, his frustration gave way to something closer to guilt.

    “And now he’s gone,” Riley said quietly, her earlier fire subdued. “He wanted to find her, to explain himself—and we’re keeping this from her.”

    Valentina carefully refolded the letters, her movements deliberate. “Which only reinforces my point. We wait. If we tell her now, she’ll chase this lead. And what will she find? Nothing but more pain.”

    Linnea frowned, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “But if she ever learns we had these…”

    “She won’t,” Valentina said firmly. “Not unless we’re sure telling her will help. Until then, we keep this to ourselves.”

    The others exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them voiced further objections.

    As they filed out, Michael lingered once more, his hand brushing briefly over the back of one of the chairs. “We’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured to Valentina, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire.

    “I know,” she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the flickering embers. “But right now, it’s the only game we’ve got.”

    Riley paused by the door, her sharp gaze cutting through the room. “Linnea,” she said quietly, but with the weight of a command. “Start looking for him. Quietly. If Ariana can’t go after him, we’ll do it for her.”

    Linnea nodded once, her expression solemn. “Understood.”

    The room dimmed as the final lantern was extinguished, leaving them in shadows. And in that darkness, the weight of their secrets loomed heavier than ever.

    ~~~

    Ariana found peace in her day-to-day life, rediscovering the joy of adventure and reconnecting with the Rangers. After years spent away from most of them, it was refreshing to immerse herself in their camaraderie again. Many of the newer recruits had never even met her before now. Yet one familiar face remained a pleasant surprise—Elliot. No longer the nervous, wide-eyed kid she’d escorted from Kirkwall all those years ago, he now carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned Ranger. Still, his unwavering admiration for the White Wolf hadn’t faded.

    The sun hung low in the sky as Ariana sparred with Elliot in the courtyard, their movements quick and calculated. She ducked under his swing, spinning gracefully as her wooden sword struck his side. He stumbled back, wincing but grinning despite the sting.

    “Come on, Elliot,” Ariana said, her tone teasing but encouraging. “You’ve got to stop telegraphing your swings like that. I can see them coming from a mile away.”

    Elliot huffed, adjusting his grip on the training sword. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one fighting you.”

    “Problems with Orlesian nobles again, Wolf,” Riley’s voice carried across the courtyard as she approached, cutting through the moment.

    Ariana glanced up, breathing heavily from exertion. She tossed her training sword to Elliot, who caught it with a slight fumble. “What is it this time?” she asked, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe her face.

    Riley smirked, folding her arms as she leaned casually against a post. “They hired us to retrieve a stolen artifact. Now they’re claiming the one we returned is a forgery.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, draping the cloth around her neck. “And… could it be?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

    “No,” Riley replied firmly. “It’s a magical artifact, and both our mage and theirs verified it was authentic.”

    Ariana began walking toward the manor, Riley falling into step beside her. Elliot trailed behind, still catching his breath but grinning faintly, as though sparring with the White Wolf was an achievement in itself.

    “Do we think it was stolen again after delivery?” Ariana asked, her mind already sifting through possibilities.

    “Unlikely,” Riley said with a shrug. “This feels more like posturing. They’re Orlesians, after all.”

    Ariana let out a resigned sigh. “And you’re telling me this because…?” she asked, glancing at Riley with a knowing look. “They want the White Wolf to investigate?”

    Riley’s smirk widened. “It’s in Val Royeaux, and, well, let’s face it—you’re better at dealing with those kinds of nobles. They insist on your presence.”

    Ariana groaned. “Val Royeaux. Maker’s breath, when was the last time I was even there?”

    “Seven years ago,” Riley said without missing a beat. “Almost to the day. You came back on 26 Haring 9:33.”

    Ariana stopped mid-step, raising an eyebrow at Riley. “Why do you know that so precisely?”

    Riley shrugged, her expression teasing. “Because that’s the day everything changed. You came back with the Divine’s request, and then you left for Kirkwall… And, well, we know how that ended.”

    Ariana’s playful demeanor shifted slightly, the weight of those memories flickering across her face. “Fair enough,” she said after a pause, shaking off the moment with a faint smirk. “But wait… does that mean we missed Elliot’s seventh anniversary as a Ranger?”

    Riley grinned mischievously. “We only celebrate the big milestones, Wolf. Sorry, kid, you’ll have to wait another three years for a party.”

    Elliot laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize it had been seven years. Feels like yesterday I was tripping over my own sword during drills.”

    “And now you’re getting tossed around by me during sparring,” Ariana teased, throwing a grin over her shoulder. “That’s what I call progress.”

    Elliot’s smile wavered slightly, his gaze flicking to her and then away as though her teasing—her attention—was both exhilarating and overwhelming. “I wouldn’t call it progress exactly,” he muttered.

    Riley caught the exchange and smirked knowingly. “Don’t let her fool you, Elliot,” she said, her tone mock-serious. “The Wolf only fights fair when she’s bored. If you ever win, it’s because she let you.”

    “I do not!” Ariana protested, feigning offense. “I’m just giving him the chance to feel like he’s improving, Riley. It’s called mentorship. Look it up.”

    “Is that what we’re calling it now?” Riley shot back, her grin widening. “Funny, I thought it was called humoring the pup.

    Elliot chuckled, adjusting his sword belt—a gesture Riley didn’t miss. She glanced at Ariana, who seemed blissfully unaware of how flustered Elliot always became around her. “I’m standing right here, you know,” Elliot said, shaking his head. “You two are relentless.”

    Ariana shot him a playful wink, her grin widening. “Welcome to the Rangers, Elliot. Thick skin is a requirement.”

    Elliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at his lips. As they reached the manor, Ariana glanced at Riley. “Fine, I’ll go to Val Royeaux. But if this turns out to be another waste of time, you’re cleaning the stables for a month.”

    “Deal,” Riley said with a mock salute, though the triumphant glint in her eyes suggested she had already won.

    ~~~

    As she had so many years ago, Ariana set off for Val Royeaux. But this time, she didn’t travel alone. Elliot, eager for his first job outside Ferelden, had practically volunteered before she could even consider anyone else. His boundless energy was both endearing and exhausting, a stark contrast to the calm, calculating presence of Eshara. One of the Rangers’ most skilled mages, Eshara’s expertise was indispensable for a job centered on a magical artifact.

    The journey felt shorter with their company, the miles passing with the rhythm of hoofbeats and the hum of conversation. Though the winter chill bit at their faces, Ariana found herself quietly grateful for the distraction her companions provided.

    Elliot, perched on his saddle with a grin, gazed at the snow-covered fields stretching out around them. “I still can’t believe I get to go to Val Royeaux. I’ve read about it my entire life. The spires, the markets, the nobility—it all sounds so… grand.”

    Eshara snorted, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’s loud, crowded, and pretentious. You’ll see soon enough.”

    “Come on, Eshara,” Elliot replied, undeterred. “You have to admit, it’s probably one of the most impressive cities in Thedas.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’d best temper your expectations, Elliot. The Orlesian court is a world of masks and intrigue. There’s beauty, sure, but there’s also danger beneath all the glamour.”

    Elliot’s excitement dimmed only slightly, though his admiration for Ariana only seemed to grow. “Have you been there often, Wolf?”

    “Not often,” Ariana replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “The last time I was in Val Royeaux was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now.”

    Elliot’s expression turned thoughtful, though he didn’t press further. Eshara, however, smirked. “You mean before Kirkwall turned your world upside down?”

    Ariana shot her a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. “Something like that,” she admitted quietly, her tone laced with the weight of memory.

    She remembered it all too well—the grandeur of the Grand Cathedral, its white spires piercing the heavens like a challenge to the Maker himself. The echo of her footsteps against the stone as she’d followed the attendants into that small, forgotten, windowless room.

    “I need you to observe and investigate the situation in Kirkwall.,” the Divine had said, her voice grave yet steady. “Focus on the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and whether it is, in fact, being overused. If the rumors are true, I may need your Rangers’ help to intercept mages destined for Kirkwall and ensure their safety.”

    It had been the first time she had been asked to step into a life of shadows and secrets. And it had been the moment everything changed. It was the moment she had to start lying to the man she loved.

    She shook the thoughts away, her expression smoothing as the spires of Val Royeaux came into view, gleaming against the pale winter sky.

    “Look at that,” Elliot breathed, his voice full of awe as he leaned forward eagerly in his saddle.

    Eshara rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “It’s just a city. Overbuilt and overpraised.”

    “To you, maybe,” Elliot shot back, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings adorning the city gates. “But to me, it’s… a lot.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile at their exchange. Despite Eshara’s feigned indifference, even she couldn’t entirely hide her appreciation for the city’s grandeur as they passed through its gates.

    They found lodging at a modest tavern—modest by Orlesian standards, which meant it was far grander than most Fereldan establishments. Elliot’s awe persisted as he marveled at the delicate chandeliers and painted ceilings, while Eshara muttered about unnecessary extravagance.

    “Do all Orlesians live like this?” Elliot asked, running a hand along the velvet-lined banister leading to their rooms.

    “Hardly,” Ariana replied, her tone dry. “Most Orlesians don’t even set foot in a place like this. You’re seeing the ‘acceptable face’ of Val Royeaux.”

    Eshara snorted. “Acceptable or not, it’s too shiny for my taste.”

    “Don’t let her ruin your fun,” Ariana added with a faint smile. “But don’t get too comfortable, either. This city has a way of turning on you when you least expect it.”

    Elliot nodded, his admiration tinged with a trace of caution now. “Understood.”

    Later that evening, as the sun set and the city’s golden light reflected off its snow-dusted rooftops, Ariana stood in her room, preparing to meet their client. She’d exchanged her traveling clothes for something more suitable—simple yet elegant, with the cloak of the White Wolf draped over her shoulders.

    As she adjusted the pendant around her neck, her fingers brushed the engagement ring hanging beside it. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face before she steeled herself. Not now, she thought. Focus on the task at hand.

    A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find a messenger bowing politely. “Message for you, my lady,” he said before disappearing back down the hall.

    “Well, that was fast,” she muttered, unfolding the neatly written note. The words were precise and unembellished: Come to the Summer Bazaar. We will discuss the artifact there.

    Ariana tucked the note into her belt and grabbed her gloves. She glanced once more at the pendant and ring before pulling on her cloak. Why is it always cold here? she mused, shaking her head as she stepped out into the bustling streets of Val Royeaux.

    ~~~

    The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. The press of bodies and noise didn’t faze her, but something about the summons she’d received earlier had set her on edge.

    As she paused near a jewelry vendor’s stall, a figure in formal attire stepped into her path.

    “Are you the White Wolf?” the aide asked, their voice polite but clipped, their gaze sharp.

    Ariana nodded slowly, already wary.

    “Follow me,” they said, offering no further explanation.

    She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly, but fell into step behind them as they wound through the narrow streets. The lively chatter of the Bazaar faded into the background, replaced by the hollow sound of her boots on cobblestones. Her instincts prickled as they approached a modest, nondescript building tucked away from the bustling square.

    The aide opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “The room at the end of the hallway.”

    Ariana crossed the threshold, her tension mounting. This feels too familiar, she thought, her mind flicking back to a similar summons years ago. Pushing the memory aside, she stepped into the corridor, her steps careful, deliberate. The faint scent of wax polish and aged wood lingered in the air, the only sound the soft rustle of her cloak.

    Reaching the final door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. A part of her wanted to turn back, but curiosity—or perhaps defiance—drove her forward. She pushed the door open.

    Her breath caught.

    Seated at the table, her serene presence as commanding as ever, was Divine Justinia. The weight of her gaze was like a physical force, and for a moment, Ariana felt rooted to the spot.

    “Hello again, White Wolf,” the Divine said, her tone calm and measured.

    Ariana’s pulse quickened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Not this again,” she muttered, forcing a laugh that was anything but genuine.

    Justinia remained composed, her expression betraying no reaction.

    “What do you want from me this time?” Ariana demanded, her voice sharp, almost cutting. Reverence, respect—those were things she’d left behind long ago.

    The Divine folded her hands neatly on the table, her calm unwavering. “I understand your hesitation, child.”

    “Oh, do you?” Ariana snapped, her anger bubbling to the surface. She stepped forward, the intensity of her glare unrelenting. “Were you there the night the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded? Were you there when Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment, slaughtering innocent mages because of something she caused? Did you stand by and watch as she became corrupted by red lyrium, while the Chantry turned a blind eye?”

    Justinia’s silence invited her to continue, and she did, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose everything because of someone else’s inaction? Because I do. You left us to rot in that cursed city. You failed us.”

    The Divine’s expression softened, though she didn’t speak. Her silence, so steady and unflinching, felt like an indictment in itself.

    Ariana’s breath hitched, her fists clenching tighter. “I’m not here to play your games. If you want spies who’ll report without acting, find someone else. I’m done being your puppet.”

    “Please, Lady Trevelyan,” Justinia said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Sit.”

    For a long moment, Ariana didn’t move. Her thoughts were a storm of defiance, bitterness, and exhaustion. But curiosity won out, as it always did. When will I learn? With stiff, deliberate movements, she sat, her posture rigid and her arms folded across her chest.

    “I do understand your anger,” the Divine began, her voice softer now, almost sorrowful. “You are right to feel betrayed. We feared intervention would lead to war and failed to see that inaction would lead us down the same path. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as the tension in the room thickened. “Sorry doesn’t bring back the people we lost,” she said, her voice low, trembling with the weight of unshed tears. “I sacrificed everything—my life, my family, my future—and for what? To watch Kirkwall burn while you stayed silent?”

    She leaned forward, her tone gaining an edge. “And the Order—your precious Templar Order—they’re no better. Corrupt, self-serving, blind to their own failings. You’ve trained them so well they don’t even question the orders they’re given, no matter how wrong they are.”

    Her words hung heavy in the air, the weight of years of pain and frustration filling the space between them. For the first time, Ariana noticed the faint flicker of regret in the Divine’s eyes.

    “Knight-Commander Cullen seems to be a good sort,” Justinia said after a pause, her voice carefully measured.

    The mention of his name was like a blow to the chest. Ariana’s heart twisted painfully, the memory of him—of their last moments together—rushing back like a tidal wave. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but the ache in her chest betrayed her.

    “Cullen is a good man, and that just makes my point,” Ariana said, her voice almost hopeful. “He cares, he genuinely believed in the ideals of the Order. He believed in protecting people.” She paused, sighing with resignation. “But he was so well trained by the Order that he never considered taking action against Meredith until it was too late. Even he felt there was nothing he could do. I think he didn’t believe the Order would support him relieving Meredith of command.”

    As the words left her mouth, she suddenly realized with startling clarity why Cullen hadn’t acted. Maybe he had been right. Maybe he couldn’t have stopped it.

    Aren’t you engaged to him?” Justinia asked, her tone neutral but her eyes watchful, gauging every flicker of Ariana’s expression.

    The single word hit her like a stone, shattering her composure. Ariana’s breath caught, and for a moment, her carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of it that way—not for years. To her, it was something past, something broken beyond repair.

    But… wasn’t it true? They had never formally ended their engagement. The last thing she had done was kiss him, and he had kissed her back. The thought surged to the surface before she could stop it, the ache in her chest sharpening.

    “You don’t know anything about what happened,” she said sharply, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. She looked away, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the window as if the answer might lie there.

    The Divine, ever composed, leaned forward slightly. “Forgive me, child, but it seems relevant. You speak of him with such conviction, despite your anger. I wonder if perhaps your feelings are more…complicated than you allow yourself to admit.”

    Ariana stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “Enough,” she said, her voice brittle but resolute. “Why am I here?”

    The Divine regarded her for a moment, her serene demeanor unwavering despite Ariana’s outburst. “Because Thedas needs the White Wolf again,” she said softly, her tone calm but carrying an undeniable weight.

    Ariana stared at her, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. Her pulse still raced, her emotions still raw, but the fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, heavier—resignation, perhaps. Or the faint glimmer of hope she hadn’t yet acknowledged.

    ~~~

    The room had been quiet, the crackle of the hearth the only sound between them.

    “On 15 Guardian, a Divine Conclave will be held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It will bring together the leaders of both the mages and the Templars. We have forty-seven days, Lady Trevelyan, to prepare for what may be the only chance for peace.” Justinia’s tone had been gentle yet resolute, her words carrying the weight of an unspoken urgency.

    Ariana’s brow furrowed, skepticism flashing in her hazel-green eyes. “And what does that have to do with me?”

    “This time, I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to act not as shadows, but as guardians—a neutral force to maintain peace and prevent violence during the Conclave.”

    Ariana scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “That sounds like the Seekers’ job.”

    The Divine inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the point with her usual measured grace. “It is. Or rather, it would have been. Most of the Seekers have abandoned the Chantry along with the Templar Order.”

    Ariana leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t have enough Seekers to secure the Conclave.”

    “That is correct,” Justinia admitted without hesitation. “You have the numbers, but more importantly, you have the trust of those who would otherwise not listen. You are not bound to the Chantry, nor the Order. Your neutrality gives you strength in this matter, Lady Trevelyan. That is why I ask this of you.”

    Ariana shook her head slowly, a faint, humorless smile curling her lips. “You don’t leave much room to say no, do you, Your Holiness?”

    “I leave you all the room you need,” the Divine replied softly but firmly. “But the reality remains: I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to be the force that ensures peace at the Conclave. Without you, the risks of open conflict are far too great.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze sharp as she processed the request. “Because the Rangers are neutral, we’re somehow supposed to convince both sides to hold hands and play nice?”

    “Not just the Rangers,” Justinia said, her calm tone unshaken. “You.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, incredulity flickering across her face. “Me?”

    The Divine’s expression remained composed. “You inspire trust, Lady Trevelyan. You inspire fear. Both are invaluable when emotions run high, as they surely will at the Conclave.”

    “Fear,” Ariana repeated dryly. “That’s your selling point?”

    “It is one of them,” Justinia admitted, her tone steady. “But more importantly, you represent what this Conclave seeks to create: a force not beholden to the Chantry or the Order. A true mediator. That is why I need you by my side, standing as a symbol of impartiality and strength.”

    Ariana shook her head, letting out a mirthless laugh. “You want me standing in front of a room full of people who’d sooner string me up if they knew half of what I’ve done.”

    “Yes,” the Divine replied, her voice unwavering. “Because you are proof that those who have walked in the shadows can still fight for the light. You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.”

    Ariana’s fingers drummed against the table, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. And if it all goes wrong? The question gnawed at her. She had seen what happened when fragile truces shattered—Kirkwall’s ruins were a testament to that. She thought of Cullen then, his absence like a wound that refused to heal. The thought that he might have been right, that his inaction wasn’t weakness but wisdom, only deepened her guilt.

    Finally, she let out a long sigh, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I’ll take it to them. But don’t mistake this for agreement, Your Holiness. I’ve seen what happens when you try to hold a broken system together. It doesn’t end well.”

    The Divine’s faint smile returned, her gratitude almost imperceptible but present. “And yet, here you are, willing to try again.”

    Ariana stood, the weight of the Divine’s words settling heavily on her shoulders. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes, then?”

    “Yes,” Justinia confirmed with a small nod. She reached into her robes and produced a sealed letter bearing the official crest of the Chantry. Handing it to Ariana, she said, “Show this to anyone who questions your presence or my intentions. It will serve as proof of my words.”

    Justinia rose as well, her gaze never leaving Ariana’s. “I will be at Haven until the time of the Conclave. You will find refuge there if you choose to come.”

    Ariana brushed the imaginary dust from her cloak as she shifted the Divine’s letter into her coat pocket. “So, to summarize: you’re asking me to be a figurehead, a mediator, a guard, and a backup plan if this whole thing falls apart. Did I miss anything?”

    Justinia’s faint smile returned, calm and unshaken. “That is a practical way to view it, yes.”

    Ariana let out a short breath, her tone dry but less biting. “Well, it’s good to know I’m still your go-to when you need someone to wade into chaos.”

    “You have always been someone who steps forward when others cannot,” Justinia replied gently. “It is why I ask this of you now.”

    Ariana paused, her gaze sharpening as she studied the Divine. The room felt colder, heavy with the weight of what had been said—and what hadn’t. “You have a knack for making it sound like I have a choice when we both know I don’t,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of resignation.

    “You do have a choice, child,” Justinia replied, her tone unwavering. “I would not have summoned you if I did not trust you to make the right one.”

    Ariana huffed softly, shaking her head. “You really know how to make a girl feel indispensable.”

    “Only because you are,” Justinia said, her voice steady.

    Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll take this to the Rangers. See who volunteers.” Her voice grew quieter, the sarcasm slipping away entirely. “But if this goes wrong… If it turns into another Kirkwall…” She shook her head, trailing off as she glanced toward the door.

    The Divine inclined her head. “Then I trust you will do what is necessary, as you always have.”

    Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on the edge of her cloak. “No pressure, right?” she muttered under her breath as she turned to leave.

    “Ariana,” the Divine called softly, halting her at the door. “Thedas needs you now more than ever. And whether or not you believe it, I do as well.”

    The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. Despite the liveliness around her, the meeting with the Divine lingered heavily in her thoughts, her steps purposeful yet laden with the weight of what she’d been asked to do.

    The Divine’s words echoed in her mind: You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.

    She shook her head, her grip tightening on the letter tucked safely in her coat pocket. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the enormity of the task or how easily Justinia had unraveled her defenses. The Divine’s calm certainty had cut through her anger, leaving her with a truth she couldn’t deny: she would step forward. She always did.

  • Chapter 15 – Back to Kirkwall

    21 Solace – 15 Harvestmere 9:33

    Over the following months, the Rangers threw themselves into a new rhythm of work and restoration. Whenever they weren’t out on jobs, they could be found at the manor, steadily transforming the once-neglected estate into something livable, even grand. The once-overgrown grounds began to take shape, the stables hummed with activity as they were repurposed into a smithy, and the training grounds, marked with fresh footprints and battle-scars, became a lively hub of camaraderie and skill-building.

    But for Ariana, the heart of the manor lay not in the stables or the training yard—it was the library. From the moment she discovered it, tucked away behind a pair of heavy wooden doors, she knew it would be her sanctuary.

    The room was a treasure trove, though time had left its mark. Shelves sagged under the weight of dusty tomes, some warped with age and damp. Cobwebs adorned the corners like lace, and scattered debris hinted at years of neglect. But despite its condition, the library was astonishingly well-stocked, and Ariana’s heart quickened at the sight of so much knowledge preserved. She resolved, then and there, to restore it to its former glory.

    Every moment she spent at the manor became an opportunity to breathe life back into the library. By day, she worked alongside the others, helping where needed, but by evening, she slipped away to the quiet solitude of her project. She started small, carefully removing books from the most damaged shelves, dusting their covers, and gently cleaning the pages. Some were beyond repair, but others revealed treasures—histories of Ferelden, tales of Orlais, maps of lands she’d never seen, and even rare volumes on magic and the Fade.

    She enlisted the help of Riley and a few others to repair the shelves themselves. Riley, naturally, teased her about her obsession. “You know, Wolf, the training yard could use a little of your attention, too. Unless you plan to defend yourself with books now?”

    Ariana smirked, brushing a streak of dust from her cheek. “A sharp mind is as important as a sharp blade, Riley. You should try it sometime.”

    Riley laughed, shaking her head. “If you say so. Just don’t get buried under there, alright?”

    Whenever Ariana left the manor for a job, she made a point to visit markets and bookshops along the way, searching for anything to expand the collection. Over time, she began to develop a reputation among merchants in the area as a voracious collector of rare texts, and word of her interest spread. Rangers returning from jobs started bringing books as gifts—some practical, some sentimental, and some purely for amusement.

    “You might like this one, Wolf,” Aldor said once, handing her a book on the flora and fauna of the Frostbacks. “Figured it’d help if we get lost up there again.”

    “Or this one,” Floriana offered with a sly grin, passing her a collection of exaggerated romance tales. “Thought it might be your taste. You know, for inspiration.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, but she kept them all. Every book, regardless of subject, was a step closer to building something lasting, something greater than herself.

    Little by little, the library took shape. Shelves stood sturdy again, their wood polished and shining. The room itself, once dim and neglected, now felt alive, bathed in the soft light of restored windows and warmed by the crackling fireplace. A table in the center became a gathering place for planning, studying, or simply sharing stories over a drink.

    For Ariana, the library was more than just a project; it was a symbol of hope, a testament to what they were building together. It wasn’t just about rebuilding walls and shelves—it was about rebuilding lives, creating a space where knowledge and community could thrive. Each book on those shelves told a story, and together, they were weaving their own.

    ~~~

    The night air was cool, the fire crackling softly as the Rangers gathered around, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. A cask of ale sat open, mugs being filled and refilled as laughter and tales of triumph flowed freely. Ariana sat slightly apart from the others, leaning against a log with her arms draped over her knees. Her gaze was fixed on the fire, her fingers absently playing with the leather choker around her neck, the pendant of the Visus constellation glinting in the firelight.

    Noticing her silence, Riley smirked and leaned forward. “Alright, Wolf. That necklace you’re always fiddling with—does it actually mean something, or are you just trying to hypnotize us?”

    Ariana looked up, caught off guard by the question, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “It does,” she said softly. “A friend gave it to me.”

    Riley snorted. “Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that kind of answer. Spill.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “He gave it to me because the Visus constellation… it meant something to me. It was its stars that set me on this path.”

    Linnea, sitting cross-legged across the fire, tilted her head. “What path? You can’t just drop that and expect us to move on.”

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers still on the pendant. “You’re all going to think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

    Lamberto leaned back with an exaggerated groan. “Well, now you have to tell us. Crazy or not, we’re listening.”

    The group began cheering in unison, “Story! Story! Story!” Their mugs clinked against each other in encouragement.

    Ariana laughed, raising her hands to quiet them. “Fine, fine. But if you all mutiny because you don’t like the story, remember I can probably take you. All.”

    “There’s always a chance of that,” Valentina quipped, her voice dry as she took another sip of ale.

    Shaking her head in mock exasperation, Ariana let out a sigh. “Alright. It was Summerday 9:29…” She paused, letting her voice soften as the memories spilled out. She spoke of the ball, Frederick, the engagement she wanted no part of, and finally sitting on her balcony, looking up at the night sky, desperate for a sign. “The star in the center of the Visus constellation flickered,” she said, her voice quiet with emotion, “as if answering me. ‘Run,’ it seemed to say. So I did. I packed whatever I thought I’d need and left that night.”

    “Wait, that’s how you ended up with us?” Riley asked incredulously.

    Ariana shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “Partly. I found passage on a ship headed to Kirkwall. That was my first stop.”

    Her smile grew warmer as she described meeting the ship’s captain, Berthold, and the voyage that brought her to Kirkwall. “When we arrived, Berthold told me to seek out a man by the name of Varric Tethras.”

    Malcolm’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward. “Varric Tethras? The dwarf with all the connections? I’ve heard tales of him.”

    Ariana chuckled, shaking her head. “If you ever meet him, don’t tell him I told you his name was getting around. He hates that.” Her grin turned fond. “But yes, Varric. He took me under his wing, taught me how to survive, how to navigate the world. He became like a second father to me.”

    “So how did you end up in Ferelden?” Lamberto asked, clearly trying to piece it together.

    Ariana tilted her head. “Ah, well, my father actually found me in Kirkwall. It was a coincidence, but he warned me I wasn’t safe there. Too close to Ostwick, too obvious with mercenaries out looking for me. So Varric and I came up with a plan. Ferelden was far enough away.”

    “I still don’t see how the necklace fits into all this,” Eshara said, her curiosity piqued.

    Ariana smiled, the memory bittersweet. “Before I left, I wanted to give him something to thank him for everything. I found a leather bracelet engraved with the Visus constellation and gave it to him.” Her fingers brushed over the pendant. “The day I left, he gave me this. He said it might help our journeys bring us back together someday.”

    Her voice faltered for a moment as tears welled up in her eyes. She took a deep breath, clearing her throat. “I really should have been a better ‘adopted’ daughter and let him know I survived the Blight.”

    “Yeah, you should,” Riley said with mock seriousness, though her tone softened when Ariana glanced her way. “But, hey. Now that you’re here Wolf, maybe Visus will make good on that promise.”

    The group raised their mugs again, this time in silent acknowledgment of the story—and of Varric, the man who had been there at the start of it all. The fire crackled, its warmth seeping into the cool night as the stars above twinkled, the Visus constellation watching over them.

    ~~~

    The crisp autumn air carried a cool breeze, ruffling the leaves that still clung stubbornly to the trees along the road.The Rangers had made their way to Orlais, looking into a potential contract they’d been vetting for weeks. With their foothold in the region growing stronger, jobs like this were becoming more frequent—a merchant caravan headed from Lydes to Val Royeaux, its wares valuable enough to warrant additional protection.

    “Low risk, easy coin,” Riley had declared when the job was finalized, though Ariana had merely raised a skeptical brow at the proclamation. Now, with the caravan trundling along the dirt road, the wagons creaked under their heavy loads, and the horses snorted in the cool air. Ariana walked near the lead wagon, her steps light and casual, while Riley trudged alongside her, her sword strapped across her back.

    “See?” Riley said, gesturing at the peaceful road ahead. “I told you. This is the kind of job we need more of. Nice and boring. No surprises.”

    Ariana shot her a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You just cursed the whole thing. You know that, right?”

    Before Riley could retort, a sharp whistle cut through the air. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of arrows zipping past. One thunked into the side of the lead wagon, sending the horses into a brief panic.

    “Right,” Riley muttered, drawing her massive two-handed sword with a resigned sigh. “Of course. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

    The attackers emerged from the surrounding hills—another mercenary company, heavily armed and clearly confident. They charged the caravan from both sides, shouting war cries and waving weapons.

    Ariana’s daggers flashed into her hands as she gave a quick shout to the Rangers. “Form up! Protect the wagons!”

    The Rangers moved with precision, falling into formation. Riley planted herself near the lead wagon, her sword resting on her shoulder as she surveyed the attackers with an exasperated expression.

    “This was supposed to be easy,” Riley grumbled as she stepped forward, cleaving through the first enemy to reach her with a single swing. “You said, ‘It’s just a caravan job, Riley.’ You didn’t say, ‘Oh, by the way, we’ll probably get ambushed.’”

    Ariana darted past her, spinning low to hamstring an attacker before driving a dagger upward into their side. She grinned over her shoulder. “It is a caravan job. And technically, this is what we’re getting paid for.”

    “Technically, you’re insufferable,” Riley shot back, parrying a blow from another attacker and shoving him back with brute force. She followed up with a crushing overhead swing that sent the man sprawling.

    Ariana chuckled, flipping over a low strike and using the momentum to drive her boot into an attacker’s chest. “You love me.”

    “Debatable,” Riley replied, stepping into the fray to intercept another group of mercenaries heading for the wagons. Her blade carved a wide arc, scattering them like leaves in a storm. “You owe me a drink for this.”

    “I’m paying you for this,” Ariana said, slipping past an attacker and slitting his throat in one fluid motion. She scanned the battlefield, spotting the remaining assailants faltering as the Rangers gained the upper hand. “You’re doing great, by the way.”

    “Shut up,” Riley muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a faint smile as she swung her sword again, the blade cleaving cleanly through the last opponent in her path.

    When the final attacker fell, the dust settled, leaving the Rangers standing victorious. The wagons were untouched, the merchants safe, and the attackers thoroughly routed. Ariana sheathed her daggers, brushing dirt off her hands as a nervous-looking noble stepped out from one of the wagons.

    “Oh, thank the Maker!” the noble exclaimed, his face a mixture of relief and awe. “You saved us! Everyone will hear of the skill and reliability of the White Wolf and her Rangers. I’ll see to it personally!”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression neutral. “We’re just doing our job.”

    Riley snorted. “Our easy job,” she muttered under her breath, resting her sword on her shoulder again.

    Ariana glanced at her with a grin. “I’ll buy you that drink.”

    “You’d better,” Riley replied, shaking her head. “If this is what an easy job looks like, I’m scared to see what a hard one is.”

    The Rangers broke into laughter as they regrouped, the camaraderie and banter carrying them back to the road with the merchant caravan safely in tow.

    ~~~

    The library was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire burning low in the hearth. Ariana sat curled up on a worn, comfortable couch, a drink in hand and an untouched book resting on her lap. The soft glow of the fire danced across her face as she stared into the flames, lost in thought.

    The years had slipped by, each one folding into the next. Today, though, the familiar date carried an ache she couldn’t ignore. 5 Harvestmere, she thought, allowing herself a moment to remember a distant birthday spent in the warmth of Cullen’s company. That memory had been a balm during darker times, keeping her going through years of searching. Even so, her focus had shifted—building the Silver Rangers had consumed her, overshadowing the mission she had started with.

    “Copper for your thoughts?” Riley’s voice broke the stillness, light and teasing, though her gaze was anything but casual. Riley had a knack for reading Ariana’s moods, especially when they turned heavy.

    Ariana looked up, managing a small smile. “I need to go to Kirkwall,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with the resolve that had carried her through so many hard choices. “It’s been years since I sent word to anyone. My family likely believes I’m dead by now, and… so do the few friends I have outside of here.”

    And I need to find him, she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

    Riley leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. Her brow lifted in curiosity and faint skepticism. “To see Varric? Do you really have to go in person? Couldn’t you just send a letter?” Her voice softened as she continued, “Besides, Orlais isn’t slowing down. There are a few jobs lined up that could use your touch.”

    Ariana shook her head, her gaze unwavering as she stared into the fire. “I’ve already done my part. The contracts are secured, and the coffers are more than full.” She turned to meet Riley’s eyes, her expression steady but warm. “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t believe you could handle this without me, Riley. And while you’re in Orlais, I need you to start finding fresh recruits. We’ve been stretched thin between Ferelden and Orlais.”

    Riley’s teasing demeanor gave way to something more serious. “Is there another reason for going to Kirkwall?”

    Riley had known Ariana was searching for someone—a Templar, maybe, given her insistence on visiting Lake Calenhad years ago after escaping the Crimson Blades. But Ariana guarded the details of her past like a fortress, and Riley had never pushed. Still, worry edged her voice now.

    Ariana met Riley’s gaze, her eyes glassy as if the weight of her thoughts were finally surfacing. “One last try,” she admitted quietly. “If Varric can’t find him, then…” Her voice faltered, unable to finish the thought that if Varric failed, she’d have to assume the worst.

    Riley let the words settle for a moment before nodding. “A few weeks, then?” she asked, though her tone hinted at her doubts. “And if we don’t hear from you by then?”

    Ariana’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “If I’m delayed, send word to The Hanged Man in Kirkwall. They’ll know how to reach me.”

    Riley hesitated, then said quietly, “You know… you never had to do this alone. We would’ve helped you.”

    Ariana’s smile deepened, touched by the sentiment but tempered with a quiet understanding. “I know. But we had more important things to do than chase ghosts.”

    Riley let out a resigned sigh, though a grin tugged at her lips as she brought her right fist to her chest in a salute. “By your order, Wolf.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, lifting her drink in a small toast. “By my order,” she echoed, her voice carrying the bittersweet weight of hope and determination.

    ~~~

    Ariana made her way to West Hill, the steady rhythm of her horse’s hooves an oddly comforting sound as she traveled. These days, at least, she could afford to travel on horseback—a significant improvement over the slow and exhausting journeys she had made by foot in those early days. The difference in speed was undeniable, but it also left her with more time to think as the miles flew by, something she wasn’t sure was entirely a blessing.

    If only I’d had a horse back then, she thought for what felt like the hundredth time. Maybe I would have reached Lake Calenhad in time, seen Cullen before the Circle was sealed. The familiar sting of regret pierced her thoughts. Would it have changed anything? Could I have stopped them from taking him away? The same questions had echoed through her mind for years, a constant undercurrent no matter how far she traveled or what she did to distract herself. The last words she had spoken to him felt hazy, distant. She remembered the note she’d left, her vows written in those lines, but still… she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, she had failed him.

    In West Hill, she approached the dockmaster, a burly man who now remembered her more for being the leader of the Silver Rangers than for the girl who once sent messages back and forth through Berthold. “Mistress Ariana, it’s good to see you! What brings you here?”

    “It’s good to see you too. How’s everything?” she asked politely, the memories of their past work together making her smile. The Rangers had helped rebuild West Hill after the Blight, and many nights had been spent in the local tavern celebrating their successes.

    “As good as you and yours left it!” the dockmaster replied proudly.

    “Do you know of any ships headed for Kirkwall?” she asked, but before the dockmaster could respond, a familiar voice interrupted from behind.

    “Aye, lass, I’m heading there now. Five gold—”

    Ariana turned sharply, immediately recognizing the voice. The speaker, seeing her face, froze mid-sentence, his expression shifting from confusion to shock.

    “Berthold?” Ariana asked, her voice almost a whisper, as if confirming it for herself. In the next moment, she closed the distance and threw her arms around him in a warm hug.

    Berthold, startled for a moment, quickly returned the embrace with a hearty laugh. “We thought you gone, lass. For you, the cabin is free.”

    ~~~

    As they set sail for Kirkwall, the tide of memories began to rise in Ariana’s mind. The familiar black walls of the city would be in view within three days, but for now, the journey was quiet. The weather was fair, and Ariana fell into her old routine with Berthold, sitting on the deck and swapping stories. Berthold, as always, had a knack for spinning tales—some wild, some ridiculous, and some surprisingly poignant.

    “There was this one time,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I had this noble from Val Chevin. All prim and proper, ‘Oh, Captain Berthold, we must make haste! My cargo is of utmost importance.’” He puffed out his chest in mockery, drawing a chuckle from Ariana. “Turns out his ‘precious cargo’ was three crates of Orlesian wigs. Wigs! I nearly lost the lot of them in a storm, too.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. “Did you tell him?”

    “Of course not,” Berthold replied with mock indignation. “The man would’ve fainted dead away. No, I handed them over like a true professional, even threw in a bow for flair. He paid double for the ‘safe delivery.’”

    She shook her head, a genuine smile breaking through the weight of her thoughts. “You’ve always had a way with people, Berthold.”

    He grinned, leaning back against the railing. “And you’ve always had a way of turning up when I least expect it.”

    Within three days, the familiar black walls of Kirkwall came into view, looming over the harbor like dark sentinels. The towering statues, the massive chains clinging to the cliffs like iron webs—it was all just as she remembered. Ariana shook her head, half-smiling to herself. I’ve just come from a country still recovering from a Blight, and yet Kirkwall… Kirkwall somehow still looks darker.

    She only hoped her instincts were right and that Varric would still be at The Hanged Man.

    As they docked, Ariana thanked Berthold again, handing him a coin pouch. He tried to refuse, but she pressed it into his hands. “For everything you did for me back then. And because I might need you again soon—if you’re willing to travel to Ferelden more often. The Rangers could use you.”

    “For you, lass, I can do that. Just send word when you need me,” Berthold said, tipping his hat before setting about unloading his cargo.

    The weight of the city settled over her like a thick cloak as she stepped onto the dock. She only hoped she still remembered the twisting streets; it had been so long. Pulling her own cloak up over her face, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, though she could feel the occasional lingering glance as she walked by. Maybe I should’ve picked a different cloak, she thought, but the familiar white fur-trimmed cloak had become a part of her. Her armor.

    She moved through the streets with purpose, her stride filled with the determination that had become second nature. Her feet carried her unconsciously through the winding alleys and narrow passages of Lowtown, leading her exactly where she needed to go. I guess some things you don’t forget, she thought, half in disbelief and half in relief.

    As she approached The Hanged Man, her heart beat a little faster. An unexpected wave of nerves settled over her as she pushed the door open. Her last letter to Varric echoed in her mind—telling him she couldn’t leave Ferelden just yet. She could almost imagine his reaction: gruff, worried, and undoubtedly frustrated that she had stayed in the middle of a Blight.

    Four years, she thought, guilt twisting in her stomach.

    She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. Maker, please let him forgive me.

    ~~~

    Seeing Corff behind the bar brought Ariana a little comfort. The place hadn’t changed much, and neither had he. She approached him quietly, and as he glanced up, recognition flickered in his eyes.

    “Looking for Varric, are you?” Corff asked, a knowing smile softening his gruff tone. “Or maybe something to eat? Been a long journey, I’d wager.”

    Ariana hadn’t realized how hungry she was until he mentioned it. Nodding, she tried to pull out a few coins, but Corff held up his hand. “Nah, not for you, miss. Varric would have my head on a platter if I took your coin.”

    She managed a small chuckle, nodding her thanks, and Corff went to work on what he called “Varric’s special.” She moved towards Varric’s suite, each step heavier with anticipation. Four years. Would he even recognize her? And what would he think of her after all this time? After a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door and stepped in.

    She kept her hood low, eyes fixed on the floor, her nerves on edge. Varric was seated at his usual spot, a hand absently resting on the familiar shape of Bianca.

    “Can I help you?” he began, his voice casual but guarded. His hand shifted slightly, ready to grab Bianca if needed.

    Ariana swallowed, then slowly reached up, pulling her hood back. She gave him a tentative smile, searching his expression for any hint of anger—or maybe disappointment. “Hello, Varric.”

    His expression froze, then softened as realization dawned. It had been years, and he’d held onto hope, but seeing her standing here in front of him felt like a dream he couldn’t trust. His hand dropped from Bianca, his voice quiet with disbelief. “Welcome back…Pup.”

    Relief flooded Ariana at the familiar nickname, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She walked to him slowly, but as she reached him, her composure broke. She dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug, letting the weight of the last few years sink in.

    Varric’s hand rested on her back, patting her gently. “I thought… I’d hoped… well, Maker’s breath, you really know how to keep a dwarf waiting,” he murmured, the gruffness in his tone belied by the warmth in his voice.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice tight. “I… I didn’t come back, but I couldn’t. I had to stay.” She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, struggling to keep herself together. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. You deserved better than silence.”

    Varric shook his head, dismissing her apology. “You did what you had to, Pup. The world was a dark place… still is. But you made it back.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s all that matters.”

    They sat there in comfortable silence, the weight of the unspoken pressing on them both. She didn’t need to say it, and he didn’t need to ask, but Varric could see it—the exhaustion, the shadows of everything she’d been through.

    “Well,” he said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as best he could. “Now, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and I expect you’ll start from the beginning. With all the details.” He offered a half-smile. “And don’t think I’m letting you disappear again anytime soon.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile, the relief finally settling in. “Don’t worry, Varric. I don’t plan on going anywhere. Rather, if I do, you’ll know how to find me.”

    ~~~

    Corff brought in a plate of bread and cheese, and some wine. Dropped it off on the table as Varric and and Ariana made their way back to the table.

    As Corff entered, he set a plate of bread and cheese alongside a bottle of wine on the table, offering them a nod before slipping back out with the quiet efficiency of someone who understood when company needed privacy. Ariana hadn’t even realized how hungry she was until the scent of fresh bread filled the room, stirring her appetite.

    Varric gestured toward the table with a welcoming grin. “Sit, Pup. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in ages. What, was the fare in Ferelden that bleak?”

    Ariana laughed, settling into the chair opposite him and reaching for a piece of bread. “For a while there…sometimes. I do alright these days, but I also have been on the road a little over a week now, I don’t exactly travel with fine meals.”

    As she nibbled on the cheese, savoring the simple comfort, she could feel Varric’s eyes on her, studying her in that way only he could—seeing past her words, past the faint smile she wore. It was as if the years had melted away, and once again, she felt like the young girl he’d once sheltered in the Lowtown streets.

    He raised his glass, eyeing her over the rim. “To surviving the blight, the road, and whatever else life’s thrown at you since,” he said, his voice a bit softer, a warmth in his eyes that made the moment feel real. “You’re back, Pup.”

    Ariana clinked her glass against his, trying to steady her heart. “To being back,” she echoed, though a flicker of sadness lingered in her gaze. She sipped the wine, gathering herself, feeling the comfort of this familiar place begin to chip away at the hard shell she’d built over the years.

    Ariana set her glass down and leaned back, offering Varric a tentative smile, though a shadow touched her eyes. She’d been holding parts of her story close for a long time, but if anyone deserved to hear it, it was him. She’d begin with what happened after she’d read his letter years ago, and how she and Cullen had tried to warn people about the impending Blight, hoping to save just a few lives.

    But when she finally mentioned Cullen’s name aloud, Varric paused, his expression somewhere between shock and disbelief. “Hold on,” he interrupted, brows furrowing as he looked her over. “You’re telling me this whole time, your infamous ‘handsome Templar’ was Cullen Rutherford? Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford?”

    The title made her heart flutter, a mix of pride and hurt. “He’s here? He got a promotion?” she questioned softly, the realization dawning with a mixture of excitement and disappointment. He was here in Kirkwall all along. Relief and something like betrayal mingled, tightening her throat. How many times had she searched, scoured letters and asked for news, only to find nothing? And all the while, he’d left without a word, without a hint, without her.

    Varric watched her reaction carefully. “Yeah, Knight-Captain now,” he confirmed, with a touch of reservation in his voice. But he gave a huff, leaning back and rubbing his forehead as if pained. “Pup, I’ll be honest—maybe for your sake more than his. He might be the Cullen you remember, but from what I’ve seen, he’s practically become the left hand of Meredith. You know, that woman who makes ogres look like sunshine?”

    Ariana’s face darkened, her hands tightening around her glass. She held Varric’s gaze, determined to explain what he couldn’t possibly understand. “I know the rumors.” she said, voice steady. “I know what happened at the Circle Tower in Ferelden. The place was sealed, overrun by abominations. Most of the mages—and Templars—were killed. They only made it out because the Hero of Ferelden came through and helped end it.”

    Varric’s skeptical look softened a bit.

    “And Cullen…,” she continued, swallowing the emotions that threatened to rise. “If he survived that… well, Maker only knows what he had to endure.” She looked away, gathering herself. She hadn’t intended to open this wound, but it was already bleeding, and it was too late to stop now.

    Ariana took a steadying breath, meeting Varric’s gaze. “I came here in large part to ask for your help,” she admitted, voice tight with the conflict churning inside her. “I thought I’d be searching half of Thedas to find him. I never expected to hear he was… right here, right in this city.”

    Memories drifted up, unbidden and bittersweet—the warmth of his embrace in the tavern after Ostagar, the quiet promise they’d face the darkness together. But they hadn’t. They’d been pulled apart, swept by different currents, separated before the real storm had even begun. The realization weighed heavy on her chest, and she hadn’t noticed how silent she’d grown, lost in the remnants of something they’d never had the chance to finish.

    Varric’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, gentle but probing. “So… what do you want to do now, pup?” He searched her face, noting the hurt lingering in her eyes. He hadn’t imagined he could dislike Cullen any more than he already did, but seeing her like this… well, it didn’t exactly raise his opinion.

    Ariana looked away, jaw set in a determined line. “How do I find him?” she asked, almost in a whisper. She wasn’t sure what she’d do once she did. Old instincts told her to observe first, get a sense of who he was now. Four years was a long time, and the Cullen she remembered might not be the Cullen she’d find.

    “The Gallows is where he’s stationed,” Varric replied cautiously. “But… if you’d prefer not to risk that, I can ask around, find out his usual haunts. Everyone’s got their own version of a hideaway.”

    She gave a quick nod, relief and anxiety both flickering in her eyes. “The Gallows… it won’t exactly be easy to observe him there. And if Meredith’s around, I doubt I’ll get far.” She huffed a quiet sigh, rubbing her hands together as if warding off the lingering chill of uncertainty. “But yes. Anything you can find about his routines—some place he might let his guard down, if he has one here.”

    “Got it, pup,” Varric said, nodding. His gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “Just… take it slow, alright? And remember, you don’t have to do this alone.”

    She managed a faint smile, the hint of a warmth in her eyes. “I know, Varric. Thank you.” She turned back to her glass, the weight of all that lay ahead still heavy but not quite as crushing as before.

    ~~~

    Varric leaned back, folding his arms and giving her a look that was more knowing than anything else. “So… I’m guessing you’re planning to stay in Kirkwall for a while, then?”

    Ariana sighed. “For a few weeks, yes. That was my original plan. But I have business in Ferelden and Orlais—if I’m gone too long, my lieutenant will send a search party, or a small contingent…

    Varric’s eyebrow quirked up. “Lieutenant, you say? Of what, exactly?”

    Ariana paused, realizing that she hadn’t quite finished telling him her story. She took a breath, skipping over the darker turns of her journey for now. “After the Blight… I spent some time with the Crimson Blades.” She said it lightly, keeping her voice calm. “It wasn’t long before I decided to leave them behind and start something of my own—a company called the Silver Rangers.”

    A flash of recognition sparked in Varric’s eyes. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a gleam of interest. “The Silver Rangers, huh? I’ve been hearing things about them. Word is there’s a mercenary group out there doing good for a change. Protecting people who can’t pay, keeping the roads safe. Some say they’re led by a mysterious figure. They call him the White Wolf…”

    He let his words trail off, watching her with that sharp, assessing gaze, waiting for her reaction.

    Ariana tried to stifle a smile but couldn’t help it. “Rumors do have a way of growing legs,” she said, the ghost of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Not as grand as the tales, I assure you.”

    Varric chuckled, clearly impressed. “Not as grand? Kid, you’ve done what most mercenary companies can’t even dream of—people are talking about the Silver Rangers as if you’re some kind of heroes out of the story books.”

    Ariana’s smile softened. “It wasn’t easy, but I realized that helping people… well, it’s what keeps me going. Gives me something real to hold onto, even if the world can be so unforgiving.”

    Varric tilted his head, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Pup, you’ve made quite a name for yourself. I’d say your father would be proud of what you’re doing—though, knowing him, he’d probably want you to settle somewhere safe.”

    She gave a soft laugh, looking away. “Or he’d ask for stories of my ‘adventures’.” Her gaze returned to Varric, this time filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Varric. For letting me tell you all of this… and for not judging me.”

    Varric raised his glass in her direction, a warm, encouraging smile on his face. “You don’t need to thank me, kid. But I’ll drink to the White Wolf, to Cullen, and to whatever you plan on doing next.”

    “Yeah, to whoever the White Wolf is,” Ariana agreed, clinking her glass with his, her voice carrying a hint of finality. She’d built a careful wall around that identity, keeping it somewhat separate from herself, from Ariana Trevelyan. The White Wolf had the freedom to make enemies, to be feared or respected on the road, but she? She was still the runaway noble, a survivor of the Blight. And for now, that was exactly how she wanted to keep it.

    Pausing for a moment, she softened her tone. “Speaking of my father…” Her voice held a note of hesitancy. “Could you… send word? Just to let him know I’m here, alive and well. He’s probably given up on getting news by now, but it would mean the world to me.”

    Varric gave a firm nod, understanding immediately. “I’ll get my fastest people on it. Still sending word through that servant girl of his, Isabel?”

    Ariana nodded, the faintest smile touching her lips. “Yes, through Isabel. And maybe see if he could make the journey to Kirkwall if he’s able. It’s been so long… I’d just like to see him again.”

    Varric offered her a reassuring smile. “Consider it done, kid. I’ll make sure he knows you’re safe and that you’d like to see him, if he’s up for the trip.”

    She released a breath, feeling the weight of those years away from her family lighten, if only by a little. “Thank you, Varric. Really. I think… I think I’ll turn in for the night. It’s been a long enough journey getting back here.”

    He chuckled, the glint of his familiar mischief returning. “Four years? Yeah, I’d say that qualifies as a long trip. And don’t worry, Pup—your old room’s just as you left it. Always ready for you.”

    Ariana’s smile brightened at his words, feeling the warmth of the familiarity, the comfort of returning somewhere that still felt like hers. She gave Varric a grateful nod, and with that, she made her way out of his suite, down the hallway, and back to her room, where memories, hopes, and the unknown future waited to meet her.

    Tonight, she would rest—and tomorrow, she’d find out what new stories awaited.

  • Chapter 12 – A Dangerous Obsession

    16 Harvestmere – 11 Bloomingtide 9:31

    Despite the tension that had been building in the camp, there were moments of levity that reminded Ariana of what she had been missing since leaving Kirkwall. Shared meals around the fire, trading stories of past adventures and imagined futures. Eshara’s biting humor, Malcolm’s gruff encouragement, Valentina’s relentless teasing—they were small but meaningful threads that bound them together in an otherwise chaotic world.

    One particular night the campfire burned low, its embers casting a warm, flickering glow across the faces of those gathered around. Lamberto, who often seemed content to remain in the background, surprised everyone by pulling out a battered lute from his pack. He strummed a few notes, testing the instrument’s weathered strings, before launching into a haunting melody that stilled the conversation.

    The music wove through the camp like a balm, easing the aches of the day’s battles and the weight of their shared uncertainty. Ariana closed her eyes, letting the mournful tune wash over her. For the first time since the Blight began, she felt something close to peace. It wasn’t the safety she had felt in Kirkwall with Varric or in Honnleath with Cullen but it was something—something fragile yet real.

    Ariana appreciated moments of camaraderie like this. They were rare but she cherished them. She looked forward to the nights around the campfire, as stories were exchanged—some humorous, others harrowing. Lamberto, his dry humor a constant companion, recounted tales of near-misses during high-stakes heists, his deadpan delivery drawing laughter from even the most stoic among them.

    Valentina and Linnea, ever the provocateurs, frequently teased her. “The noble among savages,” Valentina would call her, a sly grin on her face. Linnea often chimed in, weaving ridiculous tales about how Ariana probably ate off golden plates before the Blight. Ariana would roll her eyes but secretly found comfort in their lighthearted banter. For all their teasing, their warmth was unmistakable, and it filled a void she hadn’t realized was so deep.

    Malcolm and Eshara, though quieter, contributed in their own ways. Malcolm, his voice rough and deliberate, occasionally shared snippets of his days as a Templar—lessons learned, regrets borne. Eshara, her Dalish heritage woven into every word, spoke of traditions and rituals that seemed both foreign and achingly familiar. Ariana couldn’t miss the note of longing in her voice, a reminder that they all carried losses they rarely spoke of aloud.

    Then there was Riley. Always observant, always steady. Riley had a way of looking out for her that was both subtle and constant. She’d nudge her to eat when she skipped meals, toss her a training blade when she grew restless, and find excuses to interrupt when Krieger’s attention lingered too long. It was as if Riley could sense Ariana’s unease before she even voiced it, deflecting conversations or offering a well-timed distraction.

    Riley’s protective presence was a source of quiet strength, and Ariana found herself leaning on it more than she realized. They didn’t need many words to communicate—a glance, a gesture, and they understood each other.

    Through these moments, Ariana began to feel a sense of belonging she hadn’t expected to find. The camaraderie wasn’t perfect—it was rough around the edges, shaped by hardship and necessity—but it was real. She still missed some of the people she’d left behind but here, among this ragtag group of misfits, she found fragments of something she hadn’t expected. A family.

    ~~~

    Krieger’s obsession with Ariana had always simmered beneath the surface, but now it was boiling over. The patience he once displayed was gone, replaced by a possessive determination that made her uneasy. His compliments, once shrouded in flattery, had become sharp, his tone edged with entitlement. He didn’t just speak of her skill—he spoke of her as though she were something he had forged, something he owned.

    The camp was quiet that evening, the aftermath of another grueling mission settling over them like a heavy fog. Ariana sat by the dying fire, sharpening her daggers. The rhythmic scrape of the whetstone against steel was soothing, a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos. She didn’t notice Krieger approaching until his shadow loomed over her.

    “You handled yourself well today,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying an undertone that sent a chill through her. “Better than most of the others.” 

    Ariana didn’t look up, her focus on her blade. “They all fought hard,” she replied evenly. “We wouldn’t have made it without them.”

    Krieger crouched beside her, his movements slow and deliberate. The firelight played over his sharp features, highlighting the piercing blue of his eyes. “Don’t be so modest, Ariana. You stood out, as always. You’re special—unique. I’ve seen it since the day we saved you.”

    Ariana froze for a fraction of a second before resuming her work. “I’m just doing my part,” she said, keeping her tone neutral.

    “You’re selling yourself short,” he continued, leaning closer. His hand brushed her arm lightly, and she stiffened. “You’ve grown under my guidance. You’ve become something extraordinary. Don’t you see it? We make a good team. Together, we could accomplish so much more.”

    She stood abruptly, creating distance between them. “We’re all part of the same team,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “It’s not about me.”

    Krieger rose as well, his smile faltering. There was a flicker of frustration in his expression as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab her wrist. Before she could pull away, his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer. 

    “Ariana,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what you’re capable of. What we’re capable of. Let me take care of you. I can keep you safe, give you everything you need—everything you deserve. All you have to do is trust me, be mine.”

    His words struck her like a slap. In that moment, the warnings from Riley, Valentina, and the others rushed back to her, crystal clear. The way Krieger had isolated her, elevated her, made her feel indispensable—it all clicked into place. Her chest tightened, and she felt a surge of anger rise to the surface.

    “I’m not yours, Krieger,” she said, her voice low but firm. “And I never will be.”

    His grip tightened briefly, his expression hardening. “You don’t understand what I’ve done for you. What I could still do.”

    Before he could continue, a voice cut through the tension. “Krieger!” Riley’s tone was sharp, carrying across the camp like a whip.

    Krieger’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as Riley approached, her gait casual but her expression anything but. “We’ve got a situation with the perimeter,” she said, her voice calm but insistent. “Need your input.”

    The distraction was all Ariana needed. She jerked her arm free and stepped back, putting distance between herself and Krieger. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heart racing as she felt his eyes on her back.

    “Don’t keep me waiting, Ariana,” Krieger called after her, his voice cold. “We’re not finished.”

    She didn’t respond, didn’t look back. But as she walked into the shadows, she clenched her fists, the realization settling like a stone in her stomach. She had to get out, and soon.

    ~~~

    Krieger’s plan that day teetered on the edge of madness: an ambush on a heavily armed caravan rumored to carry valuable supplies deep in Ferelden’s wilderness. As he outlined the operation, Ariana couldn’t hold back.

    “This is reckless,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended. “We don’t even know their numbers, let alone their training.”

    Krieger’s icy glare turned to her, silencing the murmurs around the campfire. “We know enough,” he snapped. “And what we don’t know, we’ll figure out. That’s what we do.”

    The tension hung heavy, but Ariana pressed on. “And if what we don’t know gets people killed?”

    Krieger’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “That’s why you’ll lead the flank. Prove to me you’re more than just words, Ariana.”

    The sting of his dismissal lingered as Ariana prepared her group. As the ambush unfolded, her worst fears were realized. The caravan guards were not just prepared—they were trained and disciplined, cutting through the initial assault with brutal efficiency. The Blades’ formations broke, chaos spreading through the battlefield as Krieger shouted over the clash of steel to press forward.

    Ariana’s instincts screamed otherwise. Ignoring his orders, she signaled her group to fall back and regroup. “We can’t win this like this,” she told them, her voice steady despite the turmoil. They retreated, managing to avoid the worst of the bloodshed.

    When they returned to the battlefield after regrouping, it was a scene of devastation. Valentina was crouched beside Linnea, her hands slick with blood as she tried to stop the bleeding. Malcolm’s normally stoic face was tight with anguish as he and Eshara worked to stabilize another wounded comrade. Dead and dying mercenaries littered the ground, their cries echoing in Ariana’s ears.

    Her stomach twisted as she saw Krieger, unscathed, barking orders at the survivors as though the loss was inconsequential. His focus was on the few crates of supplies the Blades had managed to secure, not the lives that had been shattered to get them. Something inside her snapped.

    Back at camp, with the wounded tended to and the fires burning low, Ariana marched straight to Krieger’s tent. She didn’t bother announcing herself, throwing open the flap and stepping inside.

    “You call that leadership?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the humid air like a dagger. “You sent them to die for what? A handful of supplies we didn’t need?”

    Krieger, seated at a makeshift desk, didn’t even look up at first. When he did, the usual charm in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. “You disobeyed my orders,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “You’re alive because of me, Ariana. Don’t forget that.”

    Ariana’s fists clenched at her sides. “I’m alive because I didn’t follow orders that would have gotten me—and everyone else—killed. You can’t lead with recklessness and expect loyalty.”

    His eyes narrowed as he stood, towering over her, the firelight casting his features in harsh relief. “You think you’re better than me?” he hissed, stepping closer. “You think you can survive without me? Don’t test me, girl. I made you.”

    Ariana didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with a defiance that burned brighter than the flames outside. “Maybe I am,” she said evenly. “And maybe I don’t need you to survive anymore.”

    For a moment, the tension in the tent was suffocating, Krieger’s hand twitching as though he might strike her. But instead, he sneered, leaning in so close she could feel his breath. “You’ll regret this,” he said, his tone dripping with menace. “Mark my words.”

    Ariana stepped back, her expression unyielding. “The only thing I regret,” she said, her voice ice-cold, “is ever believing you were worth following.”

    She turned and left, the weight of the camp’s stares heavy on her as she emerged. Her hands were shaking, but her resolve was stronger than ever. She wouldn’t let him control her—not now, not ever.

    ~~~

    After Ariana stormed out of Krieger’s tent, her mind was a storm of anger and unease. She hadn’t gone far before Riley found her, her approach swift and deliberate. “Come with me,” Riley said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Riley led Ariana to a secluded part of the camp where Valentina, Linnea, Lamberto, Malcolm, and Eshara were already waiting. Their faces were grim, their body language tense, as though they’d all been anticipating this moment.

    Riley was the first to speak, her voice quiet but steady. “You know he’s obsessed with you, right?” she said bluntly, her dark green eyes locking onto Ariana’s.

    Ariana exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice soft but resolute. “I’ve known for a while now.”

    “And now that you’ve defied him,” Riley continued, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, “it’s made him unstable. I don’t think he ever expected you to push back, Ari. Not like this. And now that you have…” She shook her head, her voice trailing off.

    Valentina, sitting cross-legged by the fire, joined in. “That mission today wasn’t about strategy—it was about control. He’s dragging us into these reckless plans because he’s desperate to prove something. And he’s putting you at the center of it.”

    Malcolm, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms and leaned back against a tree. His voice was firm, tinged with frustration. “We’ve seen this coming for a while. Krieger’s unraveling, and the more you reject him, the worse it’s going to get. He’s dangerous, Ariana. To all of us.”

    Eshara, who rarely spoke unless she had something important to say, nodded slowly. “He’s not just dangerous,” she added, her tone calm but heavy with meaning. “He’s unrelenting. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants—or until there’s nothing left.”

    Ariana’s gaze flicked from one face to the next, absorbing their words. She felt the weight of their concern, their shared fear. But what struck her most was their unity—their willingness to stand by her, even as the situation grew more perilous.

    Lamberto, leaning against a nearby tree, his long hair falling into his face, finally spoke up. “If we leave, we leave together. But we’ll need a plan. He won’t let us go without a fight.” His eyes rested on Ariana. “Especially not you.”

    Ariana hesitated, the reality of their words settling in her chest like a stone. She had tried to navigate Krieger’s obsession without escalating things, hoping she could outlast his fixation. But it was clear now that avoidance was no longer an option. He wouldn’t stop.

    She drew a steadying breath, meeting the eyes of each of them in turn. “You’re right,” she said finally, her voice firm despite the turmoil inside her. “We can’t stay like this. But if we leave, we have to be smart about it. Krieger’s dangerous, and if we’re not careful, he’ll tear us apart before we even have a chance to fight back.”

    Valentina leaned forward, her expression intense. “So what’s the plan, then? Because if we’re doing this, I’m not about to let him have the upper hand.”

    “We watch,” Ariana replied. “We plan. We move when the time is right. No rushing, no mistakes.”

    Eshara tilted her head slightly, her calm demeanor masking the gravity of her words. “We’ll need allies. If there are others in the camp who are as tired of him as we are, they could tip the scales.”

    Malcolm nodded. “I can speak to a few of the others. Quietly. Gauge where their loyalties lie.”

    Riley placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “Whatever happens, we’re with you,” she said simply. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

    Ariana felt a surge of gratitude, the camaraderie of these people bolstering her determination. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

    The fire crackled softly as the group exchanged solemn nods, their resolve hardening. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but they had made their choice. They wouldn’t follow a leader who had lost his way, and they wouldn’t let Krieger’s obsession destroy them. For the first time in months, Ariana felt the stirrings of hope. She wasn’t alone—and that made all the difference.

    ~~~

    Krieger’s patience had worn thin, but his usual air of charm lingered like a poisonous mist. That evening, he found Ariana alone near a stack of crates, sharpening her blades in the dim light of the campfire. The rustle of his boots on the dirt was the only warning she got before his shadow loomed over her.

    “Ariana,” he began, his voice carrying a calculated warmth. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

    Her grip on the whetstone tightened, but she didn’t look up. “I’ve been busy,” she replied evenly. “There’s always work to be done.”

    “Work?” he echoed with a soft chuckle, taking a step closer. “You’ve done more than enough. More than anyone else here. You’ve earned the right to rest, to let others shoulder the burden.”

    “I’m fine,” she said curtly, still not meeting his gaze. “I prefer to keep busy.”

    Krieger crouched beside her, forcing her to look at him. His piercing blue eyes were sharper than the blade in her hand. “Ariana,” he said, his tone dropping, “you’re remarkable. You know that, don’t you? The way you fight, the way you lead… It’s inspiring.”

    Ariana stood abruptly, trying to put space between them, but Krieger was faster. He stepped forward, backing her against the crates. His hands came down on either side of her, trapping her in place.

    “You and I,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent, “we could be unstoppable together. You don’t have to be alone. Let me take care of you, Ariana.”

    Her heart pounded in her chest as he leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she said, her voice firm despite the tension radiating from him.

    Krieger’s expression darkened, the mask of charm slipping. His hands gripped her arms, pulling her closer as he pressed his weight against her. “You’re lying to yourself,” he hissed. “You want this. You want me.”

    Ariana’s stomach churned, her mind racing. “Let me go,” she demanded, her voice sharp and unwavering.

    But Krieger didn’t move, his grip tightening. “Don’t make me regret everything I’ve done for you,” he said, his tone low and menacing. “You have no idea how far I’m willing to go for you.”

    Without thinking, Ariana acted. She slammed the hilt of her dagger into his wrist, breaking his hold on her arm, and spun out of his reach. As he stumbled back, she drove her knee into his side, sending him reeling. She darted out of reach, her stance ready to defend herself if he tried again.

    Krieger straightened, clutching his side as his lips curled into a snarl. “You’ll regret this,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re untouchable? You’ll see. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

    Ariana didn’t wait for him to recover. She turned ran towards the rest of the group, her steps brisk and her heart pounding. She didn’t dare look back, but his words echoed in her mind like a curse. For the first time since joining the Blades, she felt the full weight of the danger she was in—and the resolve to find a way out.

    ~~~

    Krieger’s patience had run its course. That night, he stood outside his tent, watching as two of his most loyal mercenaries approached him. “Bring her to the center of the camp,” he ordered, his voice sharp and low. “Make sure everyone sees.”

    The men hesitated only a moment before nodding and disappearing into the shadows. Krieger stood by the fire, his blue eyes cold and calculating. He wasn’t just punishing Ariana—he was making an example of her. She had defied him for the last time.

    When they dragged her into the open, Ariana was struggling, her breath visible in the icy night air. Her arms were bound, and she was dressed only in her undergarments, her skin pale and vulnerable in the flickering firelight. The camp grew silent as the spectacle unfolded, the other mercenaries watching with a mix of unease and morbid curiosity.

    Krieger approached her slowly, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. The flames reflected in his dagger as he pulled it from his belt. “You think you’re strong,” he said, his tone as icy as the wind cutting through the camp. He motioned for the men to tie her to the post, ensuring she couldn’t move.

    Ariana glared at him, her hazel-green eyes defiant even as the cold made her shiver. That look stoked the fire of his fury and something else—something darker. He stepped closer, leaning in so only she could hear. “Let’s see how long that fire in your eyes lasts,” he murmured.

    At first, the punishment was simple humiliation. He stood back, letting the cold do its work, his eyes scanning the crowd to ensure they were paying attention. This wasn’t just for Ariana; it was for everyone. A reminder of who was in charge.

    But as the hours dragged on and Ariana refused to yield, Krieger’s patience eroded. He approached her, the blade in his hand catching the firelight. Without ceremony, he grabbed her left arm, dragging the edge of the knife across her skin in a shallow, deliberate cut.

    The first flinch of pain from her was small, but it wasn’t enough for him. He pressed the blade again, opening another line, this time just deep enough to draw more blood. “All you have to do is submit,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Say you’re mine, and this ends.”

    Ariana didn’t respond, her jaw clenched, her breath coming in short bursts from the cold and pain. That defiance infuriated him.

    Krieger tightened his grip on her arm, his fingers digging into the fresh wounds as he whispered words under his breath. The blood he’d drawn began to glow faintly, and the agony hit her like a storm. It was a searing, relentless pain that coursed through her veins, fire and ice meeting in a torment that made the cold seem distant.

    She gasped, her body trembling, but still, she said nothing. Her silence was louder than any scream, more damning than any curse. Krieger saw it in her eyes—the refusal to break—and it maddened him.

    The next day, he returned, his dagger gleaming as he reopened the cuts on her arm. Each time, he used her blood as a conduit, each time whispering the same words: “Submit, and this will end.”

    The camp whispered about what was happening, but no one dared to intervene. Riley, Valentina, Lamberto, and the others kept their distance, though their anger and unease were evident in their eyes. Krieger saw it but didn’t care. His focus was solely on Ariana.

    Every night, she met his gaze with the same unyielding defiance, her silence a weapon he couldn’t disarm. And every night, as he walked away from the post, his frustration grew. She would regret this, he thought. She would break, and when she did, she would see that she was his.

    ~~~

    Riley sat on a fallen log near the outskirts of the camp, her knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of her sword. She could hear the faint, muffled sounds of Ariana’s pain in the distance, the soft gasps and sharp intakes of breath that cut through the icy air like knives. The others were gathered around her, their faces grim, their eyes flickering to the center of camp where Ariana was still tied to the post.

    “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Valentina said, her voice a harsh whisper. She sat cross-legged on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees as if trying to contain the storm of emotions threatening to boil over. “I knew Krieger was losing it, but this… this is beyond anything I imagined.”

    “No one expected this,” Malcolm replied, his tone gruff but tinged with guilt. He stood with his arms crossed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. “But we should have. He’s been spiraling for months, and we all saw it.”

    Riley shook her head, forcing herself to look at them instead of the post. “Seeing it and stopping it are two different things. None of us thought he’d… hurt her like this. And whatever he’s doing to her, it’s not just the cold or the cuts.” She glanced at Linnea, who was sharpening a blade with tense, precise strokes. “You’ve seen her wounds. They’re shallow. They shouldn’t cause this kind of pain.”

    “They shouldn’t,” Linnea agreed, her voice tight. “But every time he’s near her, it’s like something changes. She flinches like she’s being burned alive.”

    “Blood magic,” Eshara said quietly, her voice carrying a chill that rivaled the night air. Everyone turned to her, startled. The Dalish mage met their gazes with grim certainty. “I’ve seen it before, among the clans. Not like this, but enough to recognize it. He’s using her blood to hurt her in ways we can’t see.”

    Valentina swore under her breath, her fist pounding into the frozen earth. “Magic? Krieger is a mage? We need to get her out of there. Now.”

    “We can’t just walk in and cut her loose,” Malcolm cautioned. “Krieger’s got his loyalists watching her every second. If we’re not careful, this turns into a bloodbath, and none of us make it out.”

    Riley nodded, her jaw tightening. “He’s right. If we’re going to do this, it has to be clean. We’ll only get one chance.”

    Lamberto leaned against a nearby tree, his long hair falling into his face as he spoke. “I’ve been talking to some of the others. At least nine of them are on our side. They’ve seen enough to know Krieger’s lost it.”

    “Good,” Riley said, her tone sharpening with purpose. “We’ll need every one of them.”

    Eshara shifted, her fingers tracing the edge of her staff. “What about Ariana? Even if we free her, she’s too weak to fight. Whatever he’s done to her has left her barely standing.”

    Riley looked toward the center of camp, her green eyes narrowing. “Then we carry her if we have to. We get her out, and we make sure she survives. No one’s leaving her behind.”

    Valentina straightened, her gaze hard and determined. “What’s the plan?”

    Riley stood, her shoulders squaring as she looked at each of them in turn. “We wait until the camp’s quiet. Eshara, you create a distraction—something loud enough to draw attention away from the post. Lamberto, Linnea, and I will take out the guards and cut her loose. Malcolm and Valentina, you rally the others and secure the horses. Once we’ve got her, we move fast.”

    “And if Krieger shows up?” Lamberto asked, his voice laced with unease.

    Riley’s hand tightened on her dagger. “Then we deal with him. Together.”

    The group fell into a tense silence, their resolve solidifying in the flickering light of the fire. Riley’s gaze drifted back to the post where Ariana hung in quiet agony, her defiance still visible even from this distance.

    “She’s held out this long,” Riley said, her voice soft but fierce. “The least we can do is make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

    ~~~

    Ariana’s body ached in ways she didn’t know were possible. The cold had seeped into her bones, her left forearm throbbed with an unrelenting pain, and every breath felt like it came with the price of fire in her veins. She barely noticed the passage of time anymore; day and night blurred together into an endless haze of torment.

    Krieger had come to her earlier that evening, his voice like poison dripping into her ears. “You’re strong,” he had said, dragging the blade across her arm again, fresh blood seeping into the frozen earth. “But strength has its limits. You’ll break, Ariana. They always do.”

    But she hadn’t broken. Not yet. And she wouldn’t—not for him.

    Her head was slumped forward when she heard the faint crunch of footsteps on the snow. At first, she thought it was Krieger again, coming to gloat or inflict more pain. She forced herself to lift her head, her hazel-green eyes meeting the dim light of a lantern.

    It wasn’t Krieger. It was Riley.

    “Hold on,” Riley whispered as she knelt before Ariana, her hands already working to untie the ropes that bound her to the post. The tension in Riley’s jaw told Ariana everything she needed to know—Riley had seen enough.

    “You shouldn’t be here,” Ariana managed, her voice hoarse and weak.

    “And leave you with him?” Riley’s voice was sharp, her anger barely contained. “Not a chance.”

    As the ropes fell away, Ariana slumped forward, her legs too weak to support her. Riley caught her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “We’re getting out of here,” Riley said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    “What about the others?” Ariana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “They’re ready,” Riley replied. “We’ve got a plan. Let’s go”

    “But first—” She paused, glancing toward Krieger’s tent. “I need to settle things before we go.” her body trembling not just from the cold but from the simmering rage building inside her.

    Riley knew her well enough to know she was determined to do something. She didn’t argue instead just guiding her to the tent.

    The camp was eerily quiet, most of Krieger’s loyalists either asleep or distracted by the diversion Eshara had conjured—a distant blaze that had drawn attention away from the main camp. Lamberto and Linnea were already clearing a path, their movements swift and silent.

    When they reached Krieger’s tent, Riley handed Ariana her daggers. “You don’t have to do this,” Riley said, her voice low but steady.

    “I do,” Ariana replied, her grip tightening on the blades.

    She stepped into the tent, her heart pounding in her chest. Krieger was seated at a small table, a map spread before him. He looked up, his surprise quickly shifting to a smirk. “Well, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Finally come to your senses, have you?”

    Ariana didn’t respond. She moved with a precision she didn’t know she still possessed, driving one dagger into his thigh before he could rise. He roared in pain, reaching for a weapon, but she was faster. The second blade found his other leg, pinning him to the chair.

    “You think this is going to stop me?” he spat, his voice filled with venom. “You’ll regret this, Ariana. I didn’t teach you everything.”

    Ariana leaned in close, her voice cold and steady. “You’re right. But I’ve learned enough.” She drew the blade across his face in a deliberate motion, leaving a deep, jagged scar from his cheekbone to his jaw. “Pray you die tonight, Krieger. Because if you come after me, I’ll finish what I started.”

    She stepped back, leaving her blades pinning him to the bench. Krieger writhed in pain. Riley appeared at the entrance, her expression a mix of relief and pride. “Time to go,” she said.

    Ariana nodded, her resolve hardening as they slipped out of the tent and into the shadows. The others were waiting near the edge of camp, their horses ready. Malcolm gave her a curt nod, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and helping her up on her horse, while Valentina offered a small, encouraging smile. Lamberto was already mounted, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of pursuit. The others had formed a perimeter making sure no one came near them while they waited for her.

    As they rode into the night, Ariana felt a weight she couldn’t ignore. The weight of her own mistakes. Of not having seen what was coming.

    What’s the point of speed if you can’t predict your enemy’s next move? his words echoed in her mind now more than ever.

    ~~~

    The group rode hard through the night, silence save for the thundering of hooves and the labored breaths of horses. They didn’t stop until they were sure they had put enough distance between themselves and Krieger’s camp. By the time they finally set up camp, everyone was on edge, their exhaustion mingling with relief at having made it out alive.

    The camp quickly bustled with quiet activity. Percy and Paulette scouted the perimeter, while Aldor kept watch, bow in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. Annika and Senhel worked together to prepare healing spells for those injured in the escape. Olga barked instructions at Cador to gather proper firewood while she sharpened her axe, muttering something about needing a decent meal.

    Ariana sat close to the fire, silent and withdrawn. Riley knelt beside her, unwrapping the bandages on her left forearm. The wounds, shallow but angry and inflamed, stood out starkly against her skin. Riley’s jaw tightened as she worked, her green eyes darkened with worry.

    “They’re healing too slowly,” Riley muttered, her tone laced with frustration. “This isn’t normal.”

    Eshara approached from the other side of the camp, a soft glow of magical energy flickering around her hands. She crouched down beside Ariana, her expression calm but serious. “Let me see,” she said gently. Riley hesitated before stepping back, giving Eshara room.

    Ariana shifted uncomfortably, but she didn’t protest as Eshara examined the wounds. The Dalish mage ran her glowing hands just above the cuts, her brow furrowing. “It’s blood magic,” Eshara confirmed quietly, her voice tinged with disgust. “He was using your blood as a conduit. The pain, the slow healing—it all fits.”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze falling to the flames. “I don’t know much about blood magic,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “But that would explain it. He… he kept reopening them, making them fresh again. It wasn’t just to hurt me—it was to keep control.”

    Eshara nodded, her hands glowing brighter as she began to channel healing magic into Ariana’s wounds. “I’ll take care of this,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But you’ll need time to recover.”

    As the soft warmth of Eshara’s magic eased the pain in her arm, Ariana let out a small sigh. Around her, the camp had fallen quieter, the others pausing their tasks to listen. Valentina and Linnea exchanged a guilty glance, while Malcolm stood a few paces away, his arms crossed and his expression grim.

    Eshara nodded solemnly, her expression a mix of guilt and frustration. “I should have suspected sooner.”

    Valentina, sitting across from Ariana, shook her head. “We all should have. We let it go on too long. I’m sorry, Ari.”

    Linnea leaned forward, her tone unusually gentle. “You shouldn’t have had to endure that. We failed you.”

    Malcolm, ever the stoic, added, “We won’t let anything like that happen again. You have my word.”

    Ariana looked around at them, her throat tightening. These were the people who had risked everything to save her. They had seen what Krieger was capable of and had still chosen to stand with her. She felt a surge of gratitude so profound it was almost overwhelming.

    “No apologies,” she said firmly, her voice carrying the quiet strength they had come to admire. “None of this is your fault. You were there when it mattered most. You got me out. That’s all that matters.”

    The camp slowly returned to its quiet rhythm as the others resumed their tasks. Annika prepared simple rations, while Lamberto muttered something about needing better supplies. Percy and Floriana were bickering over who had scouted further during their retreat, their voices low but animated.

    Riley sat down beside Ariana, offering silent support. Without a word, Ariana shifted, resting her head in Riley’s lap as her body gave in to exhaustion. Riley’s hand moved instinctively to Ariana’s hair, brushing it back gently.

    Ariana’s gaze drifted upward to the stars, her eyes catching the faint glimmer of the Visus constellation. The sight stirred memories of a different life, of a night when the world felt much simpler. Her eyelids grew heavier as she stared at the sky, the tension in her body finally ebbing away in Riley’s protective presence.

    “Get some rest,” Riley murmured softly, her tone carrying both command and comfort. “We’ll keep watch.”

    Ariana’s eyes fluttered closed, the warmth of the fire and the steady hum of the camp lulling her to sleep. Riley glanced down at her, her hand still resting protectively on Ariana’s hair. For the first time in days, there was no fear or hesitation in her expression—only quiet resolve.

    Around them, the camp buzzed with quiet activity, the rest of the group working together to secure their safety. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t home, but it was theirs. And tonight, it was enough.

  • Chapter 11 – The Crimson Blades

    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.