In the future, when historians begin to pen the events of that day, they will write of the obliteration of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, of the Breach suddenly bursting forth to obscure the entire sky, of countless rifts forming and of demon hordes pouring forth to scourge the land. They will be wrong.
The truth was less dramatic but no less devastating. For heartbeats Cullen stood there staring up at the stony remains of the once majestic building. In the periphery he knew that he had just witnessed the deaths of scores upon scores of men and women but there was only one face he could bring to mind. She'd been so purposeful, so resolute, so eager when she raced up the mountain. He'd sent her there. Sent her so he could keep his word. Sent her to her death. Had she felt any pain? Had she suffered in her final breath? Had she experienced even a moment of fear or had she mercifully perished before realizing her doom? Had she …
Guilt was pounding at him and he wondered why the impassiveness that always fell on him following battle was failing him now. The blood, the injured, the destruction, the loss of lives – he'd always managed to create a distance from the reality of the aftermath … but there had been lyrium to mute the impact. Cullen found his hand clutching at the pouch housing the poisonous draughts. He wanted to stop the anguish, wanted to dull the remorse, wanted to drown in lyrium until all his emotions floated away. His fingers were pulling open the bag when a nearby groan distracted him.
He knelt, carefully helping Leliana to sit up. "Are you hurt?"
"No, not seriously," she replied, rubbing tenderly at her head. Looking over to the boulder that would have instantly crushed the life from her if not for Cullen's quick action, she continued, "It could have been much worse. Thank you."
Giving a brief nod, he assisted her to her feet and they shared a moment of astonishment as they looked over the transformed landscape. Even with the distance from the blast, they had not been spared from its effects. When the bandits attacked them on the road, Cullen had imagined carnage way beyond what the situation turned out to be. Now, here in this moment, his imagination could not even remotely approach the reality. There were the dead and those who would soon be so. Trees had been felled and the land scorched. The earth still quaked with aftershocks. Haven was beginning to burn, as were the groups of campsites scattered outside the township. Smoke mixed with the ash and dust, stinging eyes and choking lungs. Rocks still rained from above.
"I'll gather people to combat the fires. You focus on …"
His words cut off when the gangrenous green scar high in the sky above the temple ruins pulsed and the scar lengthened. And it pulsed again. And it grew once again. The scar became a chasm, a vast gulf of churning sickly green. A surge blew over them, transforming the very air into something twisted and wrong. Sweat began to sheet off him, his heart pounded, there was a tingling in his hands and feet, and a wave of lightheadedness overtook him.
"Kinloch," whispered Leliana, her voice sounding as if coming to him from a great distance.
She would know, wouldn't she? She'd been there, with Solona, when Uldred had attempted to overthrow the Circle. When the mage had used blood magic to pull demons into this reality thereby weakening the boundary between Thedas and the Fade. Leliana would know what it felt like when the Veil was sundered. But this was not simply like being back in Kinloch. This was a hundred Kinlochs. And this was no meager tear. This was what the Chantry, the Seekers of Truth, and the Templars Order had feared for Ages. This was a Breach.
He spotted some of his troops returning to Haven and called them over. "Find every soldier you can. Gather supplies. Weapons, food, water, medicinals. Anything that might be useful. We head out by the next bell."
And lyrium. They would need lyrium. He scooped up Evelyn's forgotten bag, dumping out the contents in search of the extra vials.
"What are you doing? You are needed here. The soldiers are needed here," Leliana insisted.
"No," he countered. Pointing up to the Breach, he argued, "We are needed there. It won't be long before demons begin to break through. Up there, we can contain them, combat them. If not, they will make their way here and no one will be safe."
Just as Leliana knew what a rift felt like, she also knew the ruin a lone shade could do and after a thoughtful moment, she said, "I'll organize some scouts and a field medic or two to accompany you. Their skills will be useful."
"Yes, of course." While she ran off to gather the personnel, he tied the small case of lyrium to his belt and then began to place the rest of Evelyn's possessions back into the bag. It was hard, packing the items away, knowing that she would never touch them again. The small cake of soap and rag of a cleaning cloth brought a pained smile to his lips. Evelyn had always been particular about washing up at every opportunity, so he really shouldn't be surprised that she had carried the items even if all she expected to do was sit idly for the day. There were the anticipated small bags of medicinals which he added to his pouch. Tears pooled in his eyes as he reached for her book. The Canticle of Transfigurations he noted, the first one he'd gifted her. She'd been so delighted, so eager to study its words. It had been the first of many, but it had remained her favorite of all the ones in her collection.
Cullen's fingers reverently brushed over the cover, and the impulse to keep it with him hit, but he knew that he was facing battle, numerous ones most likely. It would be foolishness to bring it, yet he hesitated to put it away. There was a time he'd found comfort in its words, a time when he turned to it for direction. He might have lost faith in the Maker and His Bride, but he could yet find guidance in its message as he faced this dire situation.
He flipped the book open, finding it difficult to read through the unshed tears and the dust still clogging the air. Rubbing at his eyes, he concentrated on the page, willing the words to come into focus. Instead, he became distracted. One of the pages had loosened from the bindings, and a pang hit his heart, knowing Evelyn would be distressed that her treasured book was damaged. But it proved to be not a loose page but a piece of parchment.
He couldn't shake the odd feeling that settled over him as he read Evelyn's hastily written copy of Most Holy's schedule. There was no good reason she should have it … unless she had wished to point out opportunities throughout the day where he could fulfill his promise of a meeting. Another wave of anguish washed over him as he placed the note and the book into her pack. He hoped that Evelyn had at least gotten to see the Divine before taking her final breath.
Leliana had the men organized in quick time and, after entrusting Evelyn's bag to her care, he left her to deal with matters in Haven while he led the soldiers to the mountain's peak. What would have, prior to the explosion, taken no more than a half bell to hike, took nearly two days. First, they had to contend with rockfalls and downed trees blocking their path. Fortunately, the scouts, led by Jim, were able to find ways around most of the blockages. They had to be cautious and slow due to risks of avalanches and of rockfalls. The air around them became heated as did the stone beneath their feet. They reached a point where the path became so scorching that it threatened to burn through the soles of the soldiers' boots. It was then that Cullen discovered that Valaren, the youth from the Jainen Circle, had volunteered to join them.
The mage stepped forward, drawing on his magic, dousing the area in a thick sheet of ice. The ice instantly melted, and the resulting water boiled. Steam rose, and the rocks marginally cooled. This process continued until Valaren exhausted himself, and they would have to wait for the mage to recover. Cullen could have shared the lyrium with him, but he was loathe to waste it when there might be greater need in the future.
It wasn't just the travails on the path they had to face. With every bell, the Breach pulsated and expanded. Dark clouds gathered at its edges, swirling with ever greater speed. Tendrils began forming, reaching down from the Breach's core. Rifts formed, appearing and disappearing in a blink of an eye, but that brought him no comfort. Cullen knew this was only the beginning. As the Breach spread, the smaller rifts would stabilize, and they would soon have demons and spirits to contend with.
Sleet began to fall, helping to cool the scorching rocks, but making the trek more precarious. The final leg of their journey had yet another obstacle. The stone path had melted and rehardened into a glass smooth surface. But Cullen was gladdened to see that they were not the only ones struggling to reach the mountaintop.
"Cullen! Thank the Maker you are unharmed." Sula and her squad were there, already assessing how they might traverse this newest hazard. "I feared the worst."
"As did I." As they clasped arms, Cullen demanded, "Have you had word of Declan?"
She shook her head sadly. "No. I've had no news at all. Not of Declan nor of Haven. How did it fair? Was Evelyn terribly frightened? I know I nearly pissed myself when the temple blew."
At the mention of her name, tears began welling, and his gaze unconsciously rose to the place where the young woman had breathed her last. "Evelyn … she … she …" In that moment, he understood Marcus' refusal to speak of his Tamsin, and how Sula herself had locked herself away following Kheilen's murder. It was too fresh, too raw, too crushingly painful. He found himself unable to say the words.
"Oh!" Sula's fingers flexed around his arm, and her voice softened with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. I'm here when you're ready to talk."
Cullen had no idea what Sula meant by that. He'd never be ready. Not to speak of Evelyn, nor of his grief. And especially not of his culpability in her death for he was as responsible for it as the person who had destroyed the temple. Once again, he found his fingers fondling the lacing on the pouch of lyrium, and as much as he wanted to dull the emotions, he wouldn't allow it. Evelyn deserved his anguish, his pain. He would not blunt them. Not now. Not ever.
Thanks to Jim, and his uncanny ability to scramble up the glass smooth rock, they soon had a means, laborious as it was, to finish their trek. The scout laid out a series of lead ropes, and the soldiers, one by one, managed to haul themselves up to the temple's entrance and the true horror of what had taken place was finally revealed.
As he stood at the center of the devastation, Cullen had to work to keep from retching. It smelled like a charnel house, for that was what it had become. The stench was unbearable but worse was the sight of all the charred remains. It was clear, from the way most of the bodies crowded the entrance, that they had not been ignorant of their impending deaths. Some corpses still stood, the massive heat having fused their bodies in place, displaying forever their last agonizing heartbeats of life. His hopes were dashed that Evelyn had died instantly. It took concerted effort, but he forced himself not to look too closely at the corpses out of fear that he might identify which was hers.
It was not only the corpses that proved to be disconcerting. Growing along the ruin walls and bursting out through the marble floor, great clusters of red crystals pulsed with a menacing inner light. Red lyrium surrounded him. His bones throbbed, his ears ached, and it felt as if he were being bombarded by a sound just beyond his sense of hearing. His vision twisted, and he was back in Kirkwall. Fighting. Defending. Giant stone statues animating. Meredith with her deadly red lyrium sword. So much senseless death. So much madness. The waking nightmare passed but the unsettledness remained.
And so their stand on the mountaintop began. There was a rhythm to the attacks, a pattern more discernable than the faint ringing of the bells that could be heard from Haven. The Breach would pulse, grow, and smaller rifts would form. At first, nothing happened. The rifts would hang in the air for heartbeats, then quarter bells before fading away. Eventually the creatures from the Fade began making their way through. The wisps and sprites were about as bothersome, and as easily dispatched, as annoying flies, but these were only the first. As the Breach expanded, the rifts strengthened. Cullen could sense greater, more dangerous demons pushing to get through, clawing at the barrier that separated them from this reality.
When the shades began appearing, Cullen and Sula started rotating their squads, one group fighting while the other rested and recovered. This would be a war of attrition, one he was certain they could not win. Soldiers would die or become too wounded to continue. Exhaustion would set in as the foes they faced grew more formidable. Even when Declan appeared with his squad, Cullen could not rally any hope. Additional men would not help. It only meant more would perish in their doomed final stand.
Cullen was resting, or at least trying to, as were the troops. It would not be long, according to his internal clock, before the Breach began building for another expansion and another swarm of demons bursting forth. He was weary, bone-tired. Two days trekking up the mountain and two more spent in near constant battle. And there was no end in sight. The Breach was growing, spreading its influence farther and farther afield. Soon nowhere would be safe but here in the Conclave's graveyard the deadliest threats were concentrated.
Word finally arrived from Haven. The township was struggling to deal with the injured of which there had been many. Cassandra had decided to stay below, hoping that if she could discover the perpetrator, they might get an answer to how to stop the Breach.
"A rift! Down the mountain pass! And shades! At least a dozen!"
He began to rise, his every muscle aching with the effort. A firm hand pushed down on his shoulder.
"I'll take my squad," Sula said. "We're the most rested."
His first impulse was to argue, but he relented. She was right. Her squad was the freshest, and besides, the Breach would be expanding shortly. He would be needed here to rally the remaining troops. Leaning back gratefully, he closed his eyes and visions of Evelyn sprang forth. The night in the cabin with her unbound hair. Riding in his lap, reading her romance novel. The morning of the Conclave when she'd impatiently shaken him awake, chastising him for sleeping in. Her determined expression as she raced towards her death. The woman he'd at first resented, he now regretted not having more memories to cherish.
"It's starting."
He opened his eyes and nodded at Declan who was leaning against the remnants of the stone walls beside him.
"Yes." His voice sounded aged and weary. Suppressing a groan, he rose, drawing his sword and girding his shield. Soon the Breach would flash and grow yet again. He could feel it in his bones. Rifts would form and there would be demons. Too many demons. Would they face shades still or would rage demons finally make an appearance? A shudder ran through him. Or worse, desire demons?
Taking a defensive stance, Cullen looked up at the Breach, the all too familiar building power washing over him. A few more heartbeats and the first pulse would happen. He waited, with Declan standing at his side and their squads gathered a short span behind.
And then the timbre of the Breach changed. The power behind it kept growing, but the anticipated pulsing never came. The energy continued to build and to build. The clouds circling the Breach sped up, swirling faster and faster. Flashes of energy sprang from the Breach. At its core, a bulge formed, pushing out, stretching, swelling. With a ringing boom, it ripped open.
A figure appeared at the fissure, high above them. He strode forward, hand tightening on his sword, craning his neck to make out what this latest threat could be. Whatever stood at the edge of the Veil, it was no mere shade or sprite. It was infinitely more dangerous. Markedly more powerful. Was this it? Was this where their stand ended in dismal failure? Would the blood of all the brave men and women under his command soon be shed in their fruitless attempt to hold back the tide of demons and spirits?
He continued to edge forward, willing the figure to step out of the shadows so he could determine exactly what creature soon would be taking his life. His momentum faltered for he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. For heartbeats he stood there, staring up in incredulity.
Evelyn was alive!
But she couldn't be. She'd died in the explosion along with everyone else. It had to be the raw red lyrium's influence. Dementia was setting in. The poison was finally addling his brain as it had with Meredith. Or it had to be a desire demon plucking from his thoughts that which he most yearned for and assuming Evelyn's shape in order to taunt him. But it couldn't be her.
And yet … somehow it was her. He knew it with every fiber of his being. Somehow, she had done the impossible. Somehow, she had survived!
She was petrified, he could see, with constant glances back over her shoulder and then down the great height to the temple's floor. He started to call to her, to assure her that he would find a way to get her down safely, when she turned back, stretching out an arm to something unseen behind her … and then she was falling.
Instinct took over and he was running, even knowing he would not reach her in time. Behind him, he heard Declan's reverent voice calling out, "Blessed Andraste!" But his focus was entirely on the mage speeding towards the ground.
She landed. Hard. There was a loud cry of pain and another as she rolled to her back. Her head lolled to the side. And then there was silence. Dreadfully dead silence.