5 Months Earlier…
"Please wait here. Officer Harel will be done with his meeting shortly."
Deshanna thanks the secretary as Keela takes in the office. The trappings are modest, muted, practical. There are no personal effects in plain sight, no pictures of family or kid's drawings, just paperwork stacked in neat piles and official diplomas. She runs a finger across a side table and feels the slick polish beneath her touch.
"Not a speck of dust," she says. "Now I know why you want him."
"And why is that?"
"He's safe and boring, just as you like."
Deshanna's laugh is short. "You are observant but as always, you don't see the big picture."
"What-" as Keela turns around the world explodes in color. A large painting hangs on the back of the office, a fresco design depicting the ancient planet of Arlathan in swirling colors and striking lines. No one truly knows what it looks like as their culture clutches to rumors and scraps, but Keela can see the devotion and desire to make it real in the artist's elegant strokes.
"In this case, the literal big picture."
Keela glares at her captain. "Very clever."
She approaches the painting and the comfortable placement of chairs it stands sentry over. Her eyes take in the details for a few more moments before something else catches her eye. There is a single item on the low coffee table and Keela bends down to pick it up.
"And he seems to be a collector of artifacts, too. This is one of those old eye hubs before humans developed the Marcs." The device in her hand resembles a pair of glasses with only one lens. She turns it over to reveal a flashing red light. "And it's actually operational? I have to see this."
"Lavellan-"
Keela ignores the warning tone in Deshanna's voice and slips it over her ear. The instrument takes seconds to boot up and the small lens flashes with colors and static. It contracts, sucking tight to the skin around her eye to better integrate with her sight. Soon all the she can concentrate on is the small square of data on the screen.
Everything is blurry, as if she is just waking from a dream, but she can make out shapes and colors well enough. A greenspace touched by dusk flashes into existence. Somewhere she can hear water rushing and can almost feel the grass beneath her feet. Keela feels torn in two, seeing the real world in the corner of her vision and this new one superimposed.
'You should not have given it to him, my friend,' a woman's voice says behind her. She pivots to take in the rest of the scenery and finds a person's outline pacing back and forth. The more she tries to concentrate on their features, however, the more the world becomes out of focus.
'I thought he could be trusted," the figure says in another voice, smooth yet broken with worry.
'How many wrongs will finally make a right, I wonder, or are we fated to always dance the wrong steps?' Keela looks around but cannot find the source of the other voice.
'I am sorry, I have doomed them all.'
'Don't be so fatalistic, it is not over yet. I have found…something interesting. A new possibility. I will see where this music might take us.'
"Please remove my artifact," the man says, but it is not from the data stream. Keela focuses her gaze away from the recording and into the present. Blue eyes regard her with disapproving scrutiny and narrow when she does not comply. "Did you hear me? Take it off."
The words are slow, painfully enunciated, as if he is speaking to a child. She reaches up and pulls the electronic from her eye, wincing as the membrane refuses to let go off her skin at first. Keela drops it into his awaiting hand and takes measure of this Officer Harel.
He is an elf dressed in a perfectly creased uniform of brown and green. She can only guess his age, late thirties, forties. It is difficult to tell and his dour expression gives very few hints. He would be attractive if not for the grim look. Keela doesn't realize they have been staring at each other for quite some time until Deshanna clears her throat.
"I'm sorry. My commander can be a little too curious for her own good. It's not damaged, I hope?" she asks.
Harel does not answer right away but moves towards his desk and deposits the device into a drawer. "What is it you wish to discuss with me, Captain Istimaethoriel?"
"Thank you for meeting with us. Our reason for coming today is of interest to us both, I assure you. I would only ask that if, in the end, you do not wish to join us, you will not speak of what is said today. It will get out sooner or later, but I'd rather be lightyears away before it does."
"A clandestine mission? I will keep your secret, if only to hear how you could think this would be of any interest to me."
"To make this short, we are heading a research mission in search of Arlathan and I find myself in need of a pilot. With your unique background, you were the first person recommended. We have a fully funded Tier 4 science vessel and an able crew ready to go. Minus, of course, a suitable pilot."
"A Tier 4 you say? This is the first I have heard of the government funding an expedition regarding Elvhen culture with such consideration. How did you manage to convince them?"
"One reason is standing right next to me. Let me properly introduce you to Commander Keela Lavellan."
Harel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he regards her with interest instead of mild annoyance. "The Herald herself? It is said you single-handedly turned the tide of the war against Orlais at the Battle of Andraste. That your biotic powers were able to decimate whole platoons and the Orlesian captain would only surrender to you."
"That is what they say," Keela replies.
"May I see it, your Marc?"
Keela rolls back the sleeve of her right arm to show the device there. It is a metal rectangle attached to her skin with wires running up the backs of her fingers and one across her palm. Everyone wears a Marc these days to accomplish complex to everyday tasks, the technology replacing the need for several electronics. Modern Marcs are sleeker, faster, while Keela's is something quite different, larger but more powerful with its strange tech.
If ones believes the human legends, at the climax of the war it chose her to be a beacon against the Orlesian empire, a herald for victory. She only knows it has changed her and the biotics crawling through every inch of her in some way no one can understand.
Harel approaches and glances at the Marc, gaze curious but guarded. A hand reaches out, his own Marc peeking through the sleeve of his uniform, but he does not touch her. "Fascinating," he says, his voice almost wistful. "It truly does appear ancient."
"And as you can imagine, the Ferelden government is very grateful to Commander Lavellan for her help in the war. Her involvement has opened many doors for the our people."
"I admit I am intrigued by all this. However, many have attempted to find the homeworld of our ancestors and all have been met with little success. Even with your impressive resources, why do you believe you will experience anything different?"
"Show him, Commander."
Keela presses a few buttons on her Marc. A hologram projection appears above her wrist of a slow spinning mirror edged in gold. At the sight of it, Harel takes in a breath, his eyes turning from curious to hungry. "You have an intact eluvian? That is…"
"Impossible? Yes, so we thought. But our science officer was able to repair one, though not without great consequence. And when Keela's Marc interacted with it-"
"It showed me something," Keela says. "A place, somewhere I've never seen, and strange coordinates were downloaded."
"Somehow this Marc and the eluvian are tied together and the implications for that, well, are above my pay grade. We've kept the connection secret for now, but this is the first solid lead we've had towards finding Arlathan in ages. We must act quickly."
Harel continues to stare at the image and the mysterious Marc, his eyes growing brighter with possibilities with every passing moment. "Well, are you in?" Keela asks.
His gaze snaps to hers. She sees a flash of excitement there, unbridled and intense. Perhaps he is a stuffy bureaucrat, but there is more to him than she first thought. Harel schools his expression back to neutral before answering, but his eyes burn like an afterimage in her memory.
"When do we start?"