PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Elven Translations:

Da'len – child

Shem – short for "shem'lem", racial slur against human, literally "quick people"

"What a dreary day," a familiar voice said.

"Keeper." Myra did not cast her hazel gaze from her view of the forest, her lithe body leaning against a gnarled and scarred tree. The foliage overhead spared her from the bulk of the storm brewing overhead, but some dripped, cold, onto the tight black bun of hair, down her neck, on her nose... She sniffled, wiping at it furiously, fighting her body's instinct to shiver.

"Such a cold front you put up." Keeper Deshanna said. "Almost as cold as the storm."

"It's from the north," Myra said, her back still turned to her elder.

Moments passed. Long moments. The forest was stiller than usual; the fauna had sought refuge that morning, surely sensing the storm's arrival. The Keeper had called back all the hunters when she'd seen the clouds and ordered the clan to take refuge in the caves nearby. Myra imagined they were all inside, setting up camp to last until the storm's passing. Fires surely crackled within, creating warmth and light to combat the harshness outside. As she closed her eyes, she could see the elders painting the cave walls as the children sat and listened to the stories of their clan. Myra knew them all by heart. She imagined the merchants organizing their wares, the shepherds attending their halla, the herbalists preserving the most recent assortment of elfroot, spindleweed, and the like...Every one of the clansmen was probably warm and comfortable inside the cave.

Everyone except her.

"Much has happened." The Keeper finally said.

"Yes." Myra's lip trembled. She didn't know how much longer she could keep up this wall. She felt it crumbling already. It was then she realized she was cold, wet, miserable…

"Why him? Why did it have to be him?"

"I do not know, da'len. All the wisdom of the world still leaves the Creators a mystery. We must only remember our role and hope life's hardships are for a greater purpose."

"What purpose is there in death? What purpose is there in cold-blooded murder? These shem, they kill without reason. They destroy everything they touch, including the land they live on. We live in harmony with the land, enjoy its bounty while giving back in gratitude. These shem take and give nothing in return but more heartache."

"Death brings us to the Beyond; that is its purpose. Come, da'len, let us not stand in the cold. Trewyn would not have wanted you to fall ill."

Myra nodded sadly and held her Keeper's hand as they returned to the camp. As soon they returned, the clan's children surrounded them. "Myra, Myra, Myra!" they shouted. A few reached up their hands to be held, but Myra shook her head. "Not now, little ones. I do not wish you for you to catch cold."

"Myra, will you tell us a story?"

"A story? But the elders know all the tales."

"But they don't tell them like you do!"

"Story, story!" The children cried.

"Alright, but let me speak with the Keeper, first. Gather round the fire while you wait."

The children cheered and ran for the fire, pushing and shoving each other for the best seat. Myra grabbed the Keeper by the shoulder as she discussed stocks with the herbalists. Only as First to the Keeper did she have the honor to capture her attention so casually. "Keeper, I must tell you something."

"You are with child." The Keeper answered rather matter-of-fact. "I know, da'len. Half of the clan knows. You have the glow." The Keeper frowned. "It was Trewyn's, wasn't it?"

Myra's lip trembled as two lone tears escaped her eyes.

"All will be well, da'len. We must trust that the Creators have a plan for us. Now, go to the children. They await you."

Myra nodded, but as she walked to the children, she shook her head and murmured, "I don't know if I believe in the Creators anymore."

The sun had set long ago and most of the clan was asleep. Myra was one of the few still lying wide awake in her cot. She tossed and turned under her fur blankets for hours before finally reaching a conclusion: however exhausted she may be, her body was restless.

She sat up in bed. Moonlight filtered through the treetops above, making it only a small chore to clothe herself and grab her staff. She wrapped a ring velvet cloak around her shivering form and began to head deeper into the forest. The clansmen keeping watch gave her little trouble. She was First to the Keeper, after all. They let her pass with ease.

As soon as she reached the outskirts of her clan's camp, she pulled her hood up. The night seemed only to be getting colder and the overhead thicker with leaves as she ventured deeper and deeper into the forest. It was too dark for her to see, but her feet knew the path well enough, as she had traveled it a hundred times over the past two months. Most of those trips had been at night, for she found she could not sleep with that familiar presence absent from her side. "Trewyn…" She murmured.

The owls "hoo"ed in response, as they often did when she walked these paths alone. They made her feel less lonely, like perhaps Trewyn's spirit continued to live on in the forest, speaking through the owls and the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. The Dalish liked to speak of the Beyond like it was some far off place, but with how easily the Creators once traveled between the Beyond and the physical world…with how easily mages slipped into the Fade in dreams, who was to say that the Beyond didn't coexist within our own world, unseen by the naked eye, but felt when the wind gave a lover's sigh, or the owls called as though they spoke her name.

She made it to the burial grounds, navigating the graves until she found one as familiar to her as that of her parents', may Falon'Din guide them. She rested against Trewyn's grave as she often did and felt her body relax. "I always did feel restless when you went out hunting. Your arrows were always sharp and your aim always perfect, how else would you pierce my heart that even now it still bleeds for you? But I still worried. I still felt like I couldn't relax unless you were right beside me, in plain sight.

You would always tease me for that…" Myra felt tears begin to form. " 'I'll always come back', you'd say. 'I'll always return to you.' Well, I guess no one can keep all the promises they make.

…How do you think I feel now, vhenan? How do you think I feel now that you're gone, with no hope of coming back? I can't sleep. I'm so exhausted, but I can't relax into slumber like I used to in your arms.

And now I'm nearly three months with child, Trewyn. Our child, that I'll have to raise alone. I can't do that, Trewyn. I can't look at our child and see your face every time. I know I am strong, but I can only carry so heavy of a burden, and this is too much."

Myra began to sob. She cried, terrified to her wit's end for the future. It was then, for the first time in months, she prayed. "Trewyn, if you can hear me, please relieve this burden. Please, please, please…I can't carry this alone. Not now. Not without you."

And as she cried, she exhausted herself to the point she could finally slip into the slumber she craved.

When she awoke, or "awoke", rather, the little aches and pains of her body were gone, alerting her that she had entered the Fade. If someone had asked her if she knew this part of the Fade only a day prior, she would have answered "Of course, I go there every night I fall asleep by Trewyn's grave." However, she did not feel that comforting familiarity tonight.

See, the Fade was a strange place. While reality was concrete, and could only be changed by great show of force, the Fade adapted to its occupants, their motivations, their desires, at times, even their fears.

Has it always been so dark here? Myra couldn't remember, but she felt a new sinister energy here. Did I create this through my grief? Myra felt fear rush through her, but quickly pulled the reins on it. The Fade had many things to offer. Individuals with pure, focused energies could achieve anything in the Fade, but those who lost control could only succumb to the demons which prowled its expanses.

"I need a goal," she thought aloud. "I need to redirect myself towards something positive, affirmative, enlightening. I can't wallow in my misery tonight. I've obviously attracted the attention of a demon of some nature."

She began to walk north, or what direction she thought was north rather, churning ideas in her mind of what she would seek tonight.

"It is wise of you to exercise such caution."

The deep voice rang with such familiarity it stopped her in her tracks. It was the voice she had longed to hear, but never thought she would hear again.

"T-Trewyn…" her voice trembled.

"Yes."

She felt his breath on her neck, cold as death. Be on your guard, her voice of reason said, but she only vaguely took note.

"Trewyn, I missed you," she felt tears well up as she hugged him, burying her head into his chest. Everything about him felt so familiar. His arms, strong from the years of training with a bow, wrapped around her and held her tight. She shivered. "You're so cold."

"You must be so lonely without me," he said.

She gave a wry chuckle. "Lonely does not even come close…"

His hand felt like ice as it touched her stomach through her robes. "You are with child…"

Myra nodded. "It's yours." Tears spilled over. "It's yours and I'll have to raise it alone."

"Tell me your worries," Trewyn whispered. His breath was frost. "Tell me what pains you…let me take it from you."

Myra gasped and backed away. Trewyn's figure began to…change. His feet became gnarled and skeletal, peeking out from a long, tattered black cloak. The Despair Demon floated about, its words coming out in icy hisses.

"So much pain and agony within you." It cackled. "It smells simply delectable."

"You will not make a meal of my sorrows," Myra said. She spun her staff from her back, readying herself for a fight.

"Silly little child, you've fed me every night your tears wet your husband's grave. You dare deny me my meals?"

"Silence!" Myra cast a fireball at it, then jumped behind a boulder as the demon shrieked in pain.

She shot lightning. The demon recovered quickly, erecting a barrier. She erected one of her own. It turned the boulder to ice and crushed it. Her shielding protected her from the ice shards. She spun her staff and created a gust of wind, pushing the demon back. Lightweight, it caught in the draft easily. It recovered and spun through the air high above, landing behind her and shooting its icy blast.

Myra's shield gave way and she tumbled backwards. The frosty gust cut her skin and chilled her to the bone. She fought to get out of its grasp and managed to Fade Step away. She felt a spell at her lips again and cast another fireball. The demon shrieked once more.

"Putrid, rotting child of flesh, you dare challenge me? You dare to hurt me?" Its smoldered form pierced her with an icy stare. "You will regret the day you denied me!"

And in a flurry of smoke, the demon vanished.

Myra shot awake only to find sunlight peeking through the treetops of the forest.

"What in the Creators' names…" She reached down to find a wetness between her legs. As she brought her hand up to examine, she felt her insides go cold.

"Blood."