Humans talk of the fade as an evil place where demons stalk you around every corner, jaws full of sharp jagged teeth ready to devour your entire being. They warn those of magic to tread carefully in its endless lands and to look at everything with disbelief. Nothing is real in the fade, it is just what you want to see, the failed lands of the Maker's first attempts of life.

That is what humans tell themselves to help them sleep at night.

The fade is different for everyone

For now, it is calm and quiet. Clusters of rock and rubble drift lazily through the air. Not quite 'air' since neither of them has yet to feel the urge to breath.

Beside each other they sit, no humming or buzzing; incessant whispers or embers of the chest. There is peace in the vast nothingness.

In the end, it all makes sense in a way; all is plausible in the realm of magic after all. In the back of Herah's mind, she was silently accusing the Maker of being the greatest asshole prankster in all of Thedas, if he even exists.

Years ago, she once believed her faith would stand strong against any trials.

Years ago, believing was all it took.

"So this is the infamous fade?"

Her sister gives her a silent nod. To her, this is all very unimpressive,something she could access in a blink of an eye. She had spent countless hours wandering the plains, but for her non-mage sister, it was something that rarely happened, and when it did, terror was the only thing that greeted her.

The fade is this way to the vashoth

"It's a lot nicer than all the other times we came here."

They share a chuckle, a somber understanding laid hidden under the comment. The last time they had been the fade was when…

The not-air shifts, the nothingness manifesting into jagged rocks with a monstrous creature thrashing about, scattering dust and boulders with its limbs. It roars with every attempt to strike at the blinking shadow that dances around it, twisted mixtures of the elements erupting from their staff.

In a blink, the moment is gone.

Again they sit in silence

They hadn't seen each other in so long and yet, they seem to already know what the other has been up to. Verbal stories are inefficient in the realm of the fade, rather, the horizon before them would flicker into different scenes. Events of towering dragons, adorable nugs, frenzied templars. Of joyous nights at the tavern and the endless games of diamondback.

Of warm nights with a certain elf that had captured both their hearts

Of heartbreak, revelation

Of apologies

But these memories are muddled and out of order; in a language that has only two speakers.

The world around them changes into an empty yet cozy tavern, the smell of piss and vomit hits their senses even though no air enters their lungs. There is the sound of chattering patrons but there are none to be seen. Across the table is a person very familiar to them whose face is too young for the strain and weight that had once been placed upon her shoulders. But what has not been set on her face has been buried in her eyes.

The ale wets their tongues but does not fill their stomachs.

"Where to begin?"

The thought runs across all their minds.

It's hard to pinpoint where this all began, and exactly where we all played a part in their tale.

When Aveline Adaar was born?

No, too long ago.

Perhaps when her sister, Herah Adaar, stepped in to save my life.

Closer, but still a little…

How about when the path became split by a paperthin wall. It was the same path, walked by two sisters side by side, the same journey at the same time.

But unable to reach out to the one who walked beside them.

The two, a mage and a rogue, one smiles the other smirks, a nod in agreement. The smell of ink, the touch of a quill, their story will be told.

And so atop a mountain, where once sat a sacred temple is where the Adaar sisters embarked on their journey as two very different heralds of two identical worlds.

Varric, this one's for you.