Unfortunately for Ellana, few of the conversations she overheard were particularly helpful. Everyone camping and conversing in the surrounding area was anxious and uncertain, their words filled with hope but no knowledge. It seemed that anyone who had useful information was attending the Conclave personally.
She sighed, deciding to return to her clanmates empty-handed. The smell of roasting ram made her mouth water as she began to trudge back up the hill she'd gone down, and she felt a pang of disappointment that she wouldn't even be able to hunt anything filling today, considering the amount of people in the area. A couple of templars held their hands near their swords as she passed by, but otherwise, she didn't attract much attention.
Then, there was a tingle in the air, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. At first she thought it might be a mage casting a spell, but it was too sharp for that, and no mage would make that mistake while surrounded by this many templars. The feeling lasted for only a moment before a flash of green stole her vision, knocking her and those around her to the ground.
When she came back to her senses a minute later, Ellana rose back up on her feet, unsteady but better off than the others nearby who did not have even half her nimbleness. Her eyes shot up to the sky, to the massive hole that now breached it.
Panic rose within her, and she struggled to keep it down as she ran forward, forcing her feet to carry her up the hill. The temple wasn't visible from her current angle, but she knew without a doubt that it had been the location of the blast. The closer she got to the temple, the more flames and destruction she could see. It wasn't long before charred bodies started to come into her view, and the stench and heat fell over her in waves. Is this what Kirkwall was like?
For quite possibly the first time in her life, she prayed that her brother and Cyrnarel had gotten bored with the situation and snuck off on one of their escapades, somewhere safely away from harm. I should have protected them, she thought. That's why I'm here in the first place.
She finally reached the edge of the rubble that used to be part of the temple, glazed eyes darting around at the horror before her. Nobody could have survived that explosion. Templars and what she assumed to be guards were already milling about, mostly silent with shock as they tried to sort out what had happened. None of the burning bodies were recognizable, and even some of their armor had been incinerated.
Too stunned and confused to cry, Ellana retreated from the scene, towards the mountains. It wouldn't do her any good to be accosted by any of these humans, and her friends would head away from civilization in such chaos as well, so it was as good a place as any to begin searching for them.
If they yet lived, that was. But they had to. She wouldn't let them die, not like this.
A sharp, almost electric pain awoke Cyrnarel with a gasp, and they almost keeled over at the shock. Head reeling, they tried to calm themself, to keep their fear manageable. It wasn't often that they were surprised by anything, but even though they had just woken up they knew something was dreadfully wrong.
Flashes of green illuminated the walls, bringing with them even more pain, focused on their left hand. They stared at it blankly, tilting their head in confusion. The situation was even stranger when they considered the binds on their wrists. Did a guard sneak up on them while they were chatting with Mahanon or something? Everything was a bit too fuzzy to sort through now.
They were inside a small, dimly lit room—presumably a cell—with a few guards stationed at the corners, glancing at them nervously. Cyrnarel almost smiled at that, but the situation was a little too odd and they felt too weak to take any enjoyment in it.
The door to the cell opened, and two armed women entered, the first approaching them with open hostility. Her armor was decorated with symbols reminiscent of the Chantry, and she held herself with confidence. The elf almost sneered at her, but their survival instincts got the better of them, so they settled for an expression of mild indifference.
"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she demanded, voice almost trembling, as much grief as anger slipping out.
They blinked, even more confused than before. "I hardly think attending a shem event is grounds for an execution," they said, "or even imprisonment. If you think I did something other than exist, I think you've got the wrong person."
"Everyone at the Conclave is dead—except for you," the woman growled out. She grabbed his left hand. "Tell me what this is."
"How the fuck should I know?" Cyrnarel replied, baring their teeth. "Whatever happened at the Conclave, I wasn't even in there. I was outside, and now I am here. What more do you want?"
"You're lying!" she said. The other woman, hooded and with more subtle Chantry symbols on her armor, pulled her away from the elf.
"Cassandra, we need him. He may actually be telling the truth." The now-named woman looked ready to fight with her friend, but gave a tentative nod after a moment and backed off.
"Of course, Leliana."
A realization hit Cyrnarel then. "Wait—everyone at the Conclave died?"
Leliana nodded. "You were the only survivor. The explosion wasn't very widespread, but it killed everyone who was inside or near the temple. If any of your friends were nearby, they are dead." Her eyes held an ounce of pity in them as Cyrnarel unwillingly let an expression of grief pass across their face for a second. "What do you remember?"
"I… I don't remember," they admitted. In truth, they had glimpses of memories floating through their mind, but they were fragmented and made little sense. For all they knew, that could have simply been a bad dream. They gritted their teeth as their hand spasmed again, flashing brightly. "I was sitting on a bench. Alone. I don't have a clue what happened, so whatever you think I did, I didn't do it. I wasn't even in there." There was no way they were letting these humans know about Mahanon or Ellana. Better to keep those two safe, if they lived.
They definitely lived. They had to.
Cassandra looked ready to protest, but at a glance from Leliana she reconsidered. "Leliana, head to the forward camp. I'll take the prisoner to the rift." The redheaded woman nodded and walked off out the cell.
The warrior approached Cyrnarel, and they took up a defensive posture. "I'm releasing you from your manacles," she said impatiently, drawing a key from her pocket. They hesitated a moment before allowing her to kneel down and unlock them, replacing them with a rope. "You are, however, still a prisoner, and our only suspect. But if you don't recall what happened… I will show you."
They followed her from the room, bracing themself as the bitter evening wind bit through their thin leather armor. Cyrnarel's belongings, winter coat included, had evidently not survived whatever events had gone on. But even more chilling than that was the sickly green lightning dancing across the sky, which looked completely torn apart.
If they guessed correctly, they must have been in Haven, from the looks of the place, since it was the only settlement for miles. Which meant the place beneath the hole in the sky was the temple. "Creators, what happened?" they asked quietly.
"The explosion at the Conclave caused this. We call this one the Breach. There are other, smaller rifts around the world, but this is the largest. It expands by the hour, and with it, so does that mark on your hand."
"But what is the Breach?"
"All of the rifts let demons into this world, so they have some sort of connection to the Fade," Cassandra explained.
Cyrnarel snorted. "So you blame the first living elf you can find. Why would I open a rift to the Beyond? What reason would I possibly have for that?"
"Your people are not exactly unfamiliar with summoning demons," she said, "and you were the only survivor."
Their eyebrows rose. "I'm not a mage, shem." Thoughts of Mahanon snuck into their mind, but they pushed them away. There would be time for that later. Right now, they were in a dangerous position.
"But you did survive."
"Then why did you bring me out here, exactly?"
A grim expression crossed the warrior's face. "The mark may be able to close the Breach. They are linked, at least. As the mark expands, it could kill you, and therefore it would be in your best interests to come with me. And… they say you walked out of a rift at the site of the explosion, with a woman behind you."
The human was not making much sense. "I'm a suspect because of this thing on my hand that's killing me. Because I was near a rift at some point," the elf said flatly. They sighed, resigning themself to this human's desires. They'd had worse captors. "I don't care. Go on, take me to this Breach, then. Couldn't you at least untie my hands?" They wiggled their fingers. "I'm unarmed."
"Even without a weapon, someone like you can still be considered armed." She began to lead them through the village, which was filled with incredibly agitated humans. "You are the only suspect in the deaths of Divine Justinia and her favored successors. The people here do not trust you."
Once they reached a bridge leading out of the village, she cut the rope binding them, and they rubbed their wrists. After the manacles and the rope, the skin was a nasty red color. Cyrnarel thought to ask for a healing salve, but decided against it, not wanting to ask a favor of a human who had already decided their guilt.
"I suppose this all means that the Conclave was a failure?" they asked. No matter how much they disliked this human, their primary task still existed.
She nodded sadly. "Mages and templars are still fighting each other. Even worse now, it seems, since the explosion. They do not seek peace as they should."
Cyrnarel furrowed their eyebrows. "Since the explosion? How long was I out?"
"Three days. We had healers watching over you to ensure you did not die."
They grunted an acknowledgement, the closest to a thanks that they were willing to give.
"First, we will test your mark on something smaller than the Breach. It will be the quickest way to figure out how they will interact."
They followed her into the valley, passing by a few soldiers and some burning objects as they made their way vaguely towards the Breach. The two had to pause a few times as Cyrnarel was overwhelmed by pulses from the Breach, but once they reached a second bridge, an object fell from the sky and destroyed it. The stones fell apart beneath them, and they fell to the ice below.
The pain almost knocked out the elf, and they were in a daze as they watched Cassandra battle a demon a few feet away. A second demon excitedly headed towards them as they lay on the thick ice, clawed hands reaching out, and adrenaline surged through Cyrnarel. Rolling over towards the remains of a wagon, they grabbed a dented longsword, pushed themself to their feet, and slashed at the demon. The weapon was uncomfortable use, and put the elf a bit off balance, but it sliced through the creature's flesh well enough.
Once the demon was defeated, Cyrnarel panted heavily, left arm screaming in pain from both the mark and the exertion. Cassandra rushed over towards them, sword raised. "Drop the weapon. Now."
"Or what? You'll kill me? You want to let the demons do it for you? Not a chance." She glared at him disapprovingly for a moment before giving in, sheathing her sword. Wordlessly, she continued along a path towards the temple, and Cyrnarel took a moment to wipe their sword on the snow and collect its sheath from the ground, fitting it onto the belt at their hip. It would be a pain to fight with, straining muscles that hadn't been used in quite a while, but it would keep them alive.
After running into a few more demons, they came upon their first rift. An elf without vallaslin—a mage, Cyrnarel had noted—grabbed Cyrnarel's hand and shoved it towards the rift. They panicked for a moment; the rift felt unnatural, and they certainly didn't want to be anywhere near it. Yet the mark on their hand reacted to it, controlling it, manipulating the tear until it imploded, disappearing with a flash of light and pain.
"So I was right," the new elf said with satisfaction. Cyrnarel looked at him questioningly. "The mark and the rifts share the same sort of magic. You were able to close the rift with that mark, proving my guess correct."
"Good to know!" came a voice from behind them. They turned to see a beardless dwarf saunter towards them. "We can finally stop all these demons from jumping us. Varric Tethras," he offered by way of introduction.
"And you are?" Cyrnarel asked the other elf, ignoring whatever else Varric was going to say. They kept a neutral expression on their face, wanting to gather information without giving any out, and they were definitely more interested in the mage.
"Ah, where are my manners? I am Solas. Pleasure to meet you."
"He kept that mark from killing you while you slept," Varric added.
It seemed the mage knew quite a lot about what was going on. Perhaps more than he let on? Cyrnarel noted the information for later. "Cyrnarel, of Clan Lavellan," they said. "Will you be coming with us into the valley?" Being stuck fighting demons with a human who blamed them for the situation was not ideal, and they would prefer to have some company along that was at least tolerable.
"Absolutely not," Cassandra said harshly. "Your presence is not necessary."
"You said my weapon was not necessary either," Cyrnarel pointed out. "Refusing help would simply reduce our chances of survival."
Varric looked pleased—almost smug—at the suggestion. "Come on, Seeker. You know he's right."
She let out a sigh. "Fine. Let's get to the forward camp."
Between the demons and another rift that Cyrnarel had to close, they kept glancing around at their surroundings. A burning house, unidentifiable destroyed objects… nothing useful. There wasn't anything to indicate that anyone out of the ordinary had been here except for the markings of a camp or two. Their heart ached with worry. If Ellana survived—no, she did survive. She would leave markers somewhere. A symbol that their clan's hunters used, subtle enough to be overlooked as just a scratch by someone who wasn't seeking it out. Or an object, a scrap of leather or a feather left behind in the right spots. Mahanon would leave marks too; the same marks as the rest of their clan, or an out-of-place scorch from a lightning spell. But Mahanon had been so close…
They shook their head. No. Mahanon was fine. He had to be.
Cyrnarel learned little from their companions. Cassandra had held Varric captive as well, and it had something to do with the explosion in Kirkwall a few years back. Solas was an apostate with an affinity for the Fade, and was neither a city elf nor Dalish. The mage was difficult to read. While Cassandra and Varric showed their emotions easily, Solas seemed to mostly be filled with curiosity, and was fairly distanced from the other two. Cyrnarel assumed he wasn't humorous, considering how Varric called him "Chuckles."
At least they weren't all human.
At the camp, they met up with Leliana again, who was arguing with a Chantry brother. Cyrnarel paid little attention to the conversation, even as the man called for their execution, but listened again once they started talking about paths to the temple.
"The path across the mountain is too risky. We must charge ahead with force," Cassandra argued.
The elf shook their head, joining in on the conversation. "No. I agree with Leliana. If you want us to get to the Breach, we need to use a distraction while we sneak by on the mountain path. We can handle it."
Varric nodded approvingly. "We might even run into the scouts we lost contact with."
The warrior's mouth pressed into a thin line, but she nodded her assent. She gave some orders to Leliana, and the four of them took off, the chancellor stating his disapproval of their decisions behind them.
They made their way up the path to an abandoned mine, keeping an eye out for the missing scouts as they went. Cyrnarel was less interested, and their thoughts kept drifting towards Ellana and Mahanon. Once the group had been through a portion of the mine and returned back outside, one of the nearby trees caught their eye. They were about to pass it by, but decided to take a look—they trusted their instincts too much to ignore it.
The scratches in the bark could've been made by anything or anyone, but their breath caught in their throat. One of them survived. Oh, Mythal, at least one of them is alive!
"You alright, kid?" the dwarf asked. Cyrnarel scowled at him without thinking, and he raised a hand. "Hey, we're all a bit on edge right now. It's fine."
"I'm not on edge," they snapped, wincing at the words. Their voice wasn't shaky, but they knew it was an obvious lie. Varric didn't push the topic though.
The group found the missing scouts dealing with another rift, and helped close it before more lives could be lost. Cyrnarel fell to their knees in pain once it was closed—they'd taken a nasty hit to the leg, and their hand felt as if it was on fire. They could barely hear Cassandra speaking with a scout as Solas kneeled down to heal them, soft blue light emanating from his hands.
The scouts were gone by the time Cyrnarel could focus again. They rose, leaning on the mage for a moment before standing on their own. "There's no more demons ahead," Cassandra said. "We're nearly there."
"Hold, shem."
The four of them turned towards the sparse trees behind them. An elven woman with messy red hair faced them, arrow knocked on her bow, aimed towards the warrior. Her eyes were a vibrant green, framed by the thin brown branches of her Mythal vallaslin. She scowled at them, teeth bared. "I heard what you called Cyrn. 'Prisoner.' You're not taking them any farther."
"Ellana!" Cyrnarel exclaimed, utterly relieved to see that she survived. They let out a breathy laugh. "It's so good to see you again."
"You said you were here alone," Cassandra said, eyes narrowing. "What else were you lying about?" She faced the archer. "Lower your weapon. Unless you caused that explosion, we should have similar goals."
At a nod from Cyrnarel, Ellana slowly lowered her bow. "What goals would those be? Taking my clansman back there"—she motioned towards the temple, which was now a very short distance away—"is the opposite of what I want."
"Lethallin," they said, showing her their left hand. The light from the green mark danced around it, the mark itself looking like a gaping wound, slowly spreading wider. "This can close rifts. I may be able to stop the larger one from spreading. If I don't…" They stopped with a gasp as the Breach pulsed again, leaning on Varric so that they wouldn't fall over. After the pain subsided, they resumed. "If I don't, it might kill me."
She accepted their explanation. She wouldn't trust the others, but Cyrnarel was close to her and would never lie about something so serious. In fact, she couldn't even think of a time when she'd ever seen him so afraid.
"Here," she said, grabbing the pack off her back. Curious, Cyrnarel opened it to peek inside, and they grinned. They unlatched the sword from their belt, placing it on the ground, and took a couple of wicked daggers out from the back, placing them on their back. Both were a little unusual, being double-bladed, but those were what the elf preferred.
"Ma serannas. I hate swords."
They walked in silence until they reached the outer ruins of the temple. Ellana had seen the burnt bodies from a distance a few days earlier, standing as if they were twisted statues. The snow hadn't even been enough to put out the flames, which continued to burn, although there were fewer of them than before.
"Ellana," Cyrnarel began hesitantly, eyeing the grisly scene before them. "Have you found Mahanon? I don't know what happened to him. I think we were still close to the temple when… you know,"they asked, switching to Elvish so their companions wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.
Solas' glance indicated that he understood what they were saying, but the Dalish didn't care; he seemed trustworthy enough. "Nothing. No markings or signals,"she replied in the same language.
Both wanted to reassure the other that they would find him, but they didn't say anything else. Their hope was running thin.
They entered what was left of the temple tentatively, taking a minute to look around. A large, floating green cluster of crystals—an unopened rift—floated in the center, directly beneath the massive hole in the sky. Bunches of other crystals, red ones, dotted the walls. "Red lyrium," Varric whispered disgustedly. "Don't. Touch. It."
Leliana greeted them, running up from behind. "Thank the Maker!" she said.
"Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple," Cassandra commanded, and the other woman obliged. "Come, let's find a way down there."
She started to lead the way towards where she thought the stairs were, and the rest moved to follow, but Cyrnarel said, "Wait."
"What is it?" Solas asked. The rogue's head was tilted and their eyes darted around the area, as if searching for something.
"We need to move," Cassandra insisted. Ellana and Cyrnarel both tensed, then moved quickly, taking the lead.
"Now is the hour of our betrayal. Bring forth the sacrifice. …Keep the sacrifice still."
The words echoed off the broken walls, but the two Lavellans ignored them as their companions wondered about where they came from. The words didn't matter—they had a more pressing issue.
"Someone! Help me!"
They found their way down, dropping off of a shallow ledge to reach the ground beneath it.
"What's going on here?"
It was just an echo of a memory, the same as the other voices, but it made the two Dalish elves pause and glance at each other. It was Mahanon's voice.
The proximity of the mark to the rift must have triggered something, because an image of the scene in question appeared. A woman dressed in Chantry robes—Divine Justinia—yelling for help. A shadowy figure standing before here. Cyrnarel, rushing into the scene, Mahanon right behind him.
"Run while you can! Warn them!"
"We have intruders. Slay the elves."
Another flash of light, and the scene disappeared, leaving the rift floating alone.
"You were there!" Cassandra exclaimed, walking straight up to Cyrnarel. "What happened? Was this vision true? Who was the other elf with you?"
"How should I know?" they growled, shoving past the human. They walked past the rift determinedly.
"Cyrnarel," Solas called, "if you can fully open this rift, we may be able to seal it afterwards."
"I don't care!" they yelled, moving behind a chunk of rubble, Ellana right behind them. Then they froze. "Solas. Get over here."
The mage followed, irritated that the rift wasn't being dealt with but worried at the grim tone Cyrnarel's voice had taken. The others with them followed, but watched at a distance.
"Heal him."
There was an elf lying on the ground, struggling for consciousness. His hair was half burnt off, and he had a number of burns all over his body. The thin armor he wore was barely intact. He let out a small sound, his body trying to tic but his low energy making that a difficult task. From a distance, he could have been mistaken for a corpse, with the minimal movement he was making and with how covered in ash and rubble he was.
Solas knelt down and began casting, no questions asked. Ellana gently poured a healing potion into her brother's mouth, making sure none was wasted. He was in awful shape, and after having been left here for three days, it was a miracle he was even alive. As it was, he clung to life by a thread.
Cyrnarel took one of his hands in theirs and spoke in Elvish. "You're going to be okay, ma vhenan. You will get through this." Tears began to well in their eyes.
"How did she survive?" Cassandra asked, awed at the fact that yet another elf could survive the blast, even with such damage.
"He," Cyrnarel snapped. They didn't offer any other response, neither knowing nor caring about the answer. It wasn't fair, that Mahanon would be hurt like this while Cyrnarel got out with just a strange mark on their hand. The entire situation was still a mystery.
Solas stood up. "He will need a lot of rest, but he has been stabilized. No doubt he has also suffered some damage to his mental state; I am afraid there is little I could do to help him with that."
Ellana looked to Cyrnarel. "You deal with the rift. I'll make sure Mahanon's safe." She lifted her brother in her arms and headed back towards the ledge they came from. "Just don't die."
The Seeker called to the soldiers standing around, telling them to prepare for demons. Cyrnarel braced themself, then lifted their hand towards the floating crystals, determined to get this over with.
The pride demon that came through the rift was massive, and terrified Cyrnarel more than they wanted to admit. The battle with it was difficult, and for the first time they were glad to have Cassandra along—she was an excellent swordsman, and they were absolutely exhausted after the day's stresses.
The moment its body hit the ground, the elf reached out again, straining to stay upright against the pain wracking their arm. They forced the rift closed, hanging onto consciousness as long as they could.
Once it was done, a weak smile of victory made its way to their face. It didn't stay long, however. They stumbled, falling forwards into a heap while everything around them turned black.