Braden sat in his acquired office, feet on the table as he sat in front of the fire. The war was going well…for him and his at least. For everyone else, it was rather bittersweet or a complete downer.

The Traditionalists apparently fled the mainland at the cost of much of their old territory, but finally taking most of Seheron. The land was hotly contested, but it was mostly the locals that were making a ruckus. Meanwhile, the Qunari were making a play for territory they thought abandoned. While his own forces were giving the ox-men a beating, along the eastern shores, it was some of the remaining Traditionalists forces holding out.

Also on the eastern side was the new rebel leader, eroding the backbone of the Traditionalist strongholds that still remained, taking up their resources and otherwise making life difficult for the Traditionalists. Braden always welcomed someone taking the hits while his own forces tightened their grip around the cities they had already taken.

That was not to say that his forces were running freely amok across the western Tevinter countryside. Between the Traditionalist forces still based in the mainland and the assaults from the Qunari, it was shaping into something of a slogfest.

Smiling, Braden slouched into his seat, propping his feet on the desk.

The door handle began creaking, then was slammed open. A pair of arrows flew at Braden's face, but missed by virtue of the target leaning the chair backwards, falling to the floor and rolling to a crouch.

Braden rolled his eyes and sighed as he stood up. "You know, some would find it rude intruding like this. But, I guess, turnabout is fair play in the end." He squared off against the intruders and charged a bolt of lightning, then his he felt a wave wash over his magic, snuffing the spell. "Ah, Templars. Imperial Templars at that. I was beginning to wonder where you had all gotten off to."

Snatching his dagger from the table, he faced down his assassins.

"Six of you, huh? Pleased to think that the surviving magisters think so highly of me. I assume there are others waiting outside, yes?"

No answer.

"Silent treatment. Fine, I get it. Whenever you're ready."

Two of them stepped forward, blades in hand. Braden blocked and parried, stepping back as the assassin's pressed their attack. The others maneuvered around the room, pulling out bows.

Grabbing a paper weight off of the table, Braden chucked it at the furthest archer, forcing the man to duck as his target vaulted over the desk and shoved it at his pursuers with his foot. The assassins were skilled enough to evade, but it gave Braden enough space to engage them individually, slashing a throat open and literally disarming the other.

Braden hummed approvingly. "Smart of you, not coming at me all at once. However…"

Throwing his dagger, it drove into his target's chest, knocking him against the wall. The other archer barely flinched as his partner's demise, and the other assassins closed in.

They tried to push him into a corner or to a window, but he led them in circles in the center of the room until he could make a go at the other archer, snapping the man's neck and hurling him at his fellows.

"Surely you can do better," Braden taunted. Underneath their helmets, he could hear them sneer.

Snatching a spear hanging from the wall, he jumped up onto his desk, twirling the weapon in his hands and catching the closest man along the neck and smashing his next friend in the face with the pommel.

The third man grabbed the weapon and pulled, but was surprised when his opponent flowed with it, kicking him in the face on the way down. The momentary lapse of vigilance found him strangling and dangling with the spear holding him against his target's back as he kick-boxed the other two

With a sudden jerk, Braden torqued his victim's head to an unnatural angle, breaking the spear in the process, and drove the pieces into the other two, striking their necks where their armor did not cover as well.

The doors behind him were kicked open, ushering in the remaining assassins, to which Braden could only sigh in exasperation.

A click at his sleeves, Braden whirled around, hands raised, and tugged on the released at his sleeves, lighting up the room with a series of pops. Gravity did the rest and sent their corpses crashing to the floor.

While maintaining an air of stoicism, Fenris clenched his jaw tightly as he surveyed the scene of carnage before him.

What should have been a potential allied village was reduced to a jumbled mess of rubble with mangled corpses stuffed inside.

Fenris' nose wrinkled; the place reeked of magic. Not the presence, but the concentrations, and the still smoldering buildings and the lack of decaying bodies indicated a recent tragedy.

"Spread out and search for survivors," he ordered.

The survivors, few as they were, were limited to those who were fortunate to have been away at the time of the catastrophe, were picking through the ruins in vain hope that someone had escaped the carnage.

"Thank you."

Fenris nodded his head. Gratitude from others was still something he was uneasy about, especially from Tevinter. If it weren't for those he had been helping, he would have taken off a long time ago.

Shaking his head, he continued to make his way through the wreckage, finding Lexes staring blankly at the destruction, unheeding of her boss' approach. He was practically standing behind her when he made his presence known.

"I assume you recognize what transpired." It was less a question and more statement.

She snapped out of whatever trance she had fallen into, reaching to her collar, idly stroking metal surface.

"It brought up some…bitter memories." Shaking her head, she turned towards Fenris. "But yes, I know the signs. Abomination. Not a strong one, but more than capable of-" she waved her hand over the ruins. "-This."

Working alongside Hawke had given Fenris more encounters with abominations than he would ever care to for a hundred lifetimes. Seeing the handiwork of one still soured the pit of his stomach.

"Boss, we found something!"

The remains of the abomination was found buried…along with the man who had achieved a nominal victory of bringing his foe down before succumbing to the numerous injuries sustained.

"Any clue as to who it was?"

"He's a Templar," Debiel declared.

That caught Fenris' attention. "What would a Val Royeaux Templar be doing here?"

"How can you tell?"

"An Imperial Templar would have no reason to attempt traveling disguised within their own country."

"What if they're Imperial Templars and they're just trying to sneak in? Information gathering?"

"It could be. But that brings into question why one of their own would intervene in a hostile village."

"That would be because of me."

Fenris resisted the urge to reach for his sword, but turned to face the voice's source, a fair-haired woman dressed as a commoner. She walked past him with a martial sort of grace, kneeling over the fallen Templar, she closed his eyes and whispered a soft prayer.

"Saldor was a good man," she said after she finished. "I suppose you would be Fenris, yes?"

"I am," he answered gruffly. "I'm more curious as to who you are, and what business a Templar has in Tevinter."

"I don't suppose it would do me any good to lie. My name is Hannah. I was originally sent to detain you for your role in the ignition of hostilities between the Templar Order and the Circle of Magi. But then you disappeared into Tevinter, and then…" She waved her hand at the rest of the rebels in the area.

Fenris snorted. "You're looking for the wrong man. And I haven't seen Hawke in nearly a year. And Anders disappeared before that."

Hannah glowered slightly. "Indeed. As I was saying, my original intention was to track you down on behalf of the Templar Order. A number of recent events have rendered that mission moot, by my own estimation and that of my superiors."

"Is that so?"

Rain had hidden herself behind Lexes, nervously looking up at the Templar. When Hannah approached, the collared mage repositioned herself as the Templar kneeled to eye-level with the young girl, smoothing her features as best as she could. Rain still shrank behind the other mage, who raised her arm to shield her.

"You have nothing to fear from me, child," she said softly.

The girl was not entirely placated, but some of the tension bled from her shoulders and she ventured a look before hastily retreating once more.

"I doubt you'll find her very cooperative, after what your fellows did to her family.

Hannah exhaled softly and rose to height again, locking stares with Fenris.

"If you would allow it, I would have an audience with you." Hannah glanced over her shoulder, staring beyond her immediate surroundings. "Preferably in more private setting."

Dusk fell gently on the old warehouse district of Vol Dolma. Braden swaggered through the complex, a bounce in his step, his assistant trailing behind him. After the initial uprising, the leader of the Industrialists had ordered the research division to relocate there. Heavily renovated, the structure was chosen for its relative isolation from the rest of the populace, a measure for security and safety alike.

What brought Braden today was that he had received a missive from the man in charge.

Normally, such minute happenings were left to those whose time was specifically devoted to the task. However, the senior researcher had come across something that exceeded his knowledge base and that of his colleagues and confederates.

"What do you think of it, dearie?"

The elf gave him a scrutinous look, only for Braden to smile wider. "Of what?"

"The 'special' package, of course. Certainly you find something about this fascinating."

"I'm not here to investigate every idle curiosity that finds its way into Tevinter," she answered clippedly.

"Bah. You're being stiffer than usual."

"And you more energetic."

"Maybe it's something in the air. It has been some time since we've done anything noteworthy together."

She gave him a reproachful look, but said nothing else as they arrived at their destination, which was positively abuzz with activity. The guards stood a bit straighter, holding weapons a bit more tightly than before and saluted him in passing.

"Good evening, sir," the senior ranked guard hailed.

"Same to you," Braden answered cheerily.

"Here to see the old man?"

"Among other things, but yes."

"After you, then."

The doors swung open, allowing the party inside. Before long, they came across an older man huddled with younger counterparts. Only vaguely aware of what was happening around them. The many they were looking for did not notice their approach until his name was called and one younger pupils tapped him on the shoulder.

The aged scientist looked up, eyes twinkling in the low lights. "Master Braden. This is a surprise."

"Are you really surprised that I am me?" Braden chuckled lightly.

The old man smiled gracefully, well-accustomed to his patron's eccentricities. "I'm surprised you troubled yourself for a visit so soon, especially with all that normally occupies your time."

"It is no trouble. What do you have for me, Byron? I trust your prime project hasn't suffered from the latest excitement."

"A difficult venture, synthesizing lyrium. One that has proven to be a difficult challenge. I've consulted a number of colleagues still present on these shores, but most have little to offer. That being said, we have made some breakthroughs. Last week, we came up with a dust variant, though it burns rather quickly. Much too quickly. Curiously, the smoke left behind was akin to that of Qunari cannons."

"Intriguing. I trust you've retained the notes from that experiment."

"Indeed we did, sir. Recreated it, too, albeit under more controlled circumstances."

"Fantastic news! Now, I believe you said you had found something of note…what seems to be the matter?"

"I…I'm not entirely sure how to explain it. It would be best to show you."

"I would have asked to see it, anyway."

Snapping his fingers, Byron turned to one of the runners. "Retrieve the package and deliver it to the back room."

Led to the rear of the facility, they were met by some of his men carrying a heavy-looking chest with thick, sturdy walls. Setting it down, they bowed out, leaving the trio alone with the parcel.

"A chest," Braden mused. "I take it you want to show me what is inside."

"The boys found this in a warehouse after the men guarding it attacked them. Rather fanatically, I hear. As a precaution, I had them put it in this chest and placed it in isolated storage and under guard. We briefly inspected the contents, but it produced an… ominous aura that appeared to be influencing the men guarding it. No one has been allowed near it since."

The lock released loudly and suddenly, popping the chest's lid open, coughing up a small puff of dust. Sitting at the bottom of the container was a stone, cylindrical in shape, barely longer than the width of his hand and as wide as his thumb twice over, red in color and faintly illuminating the inside. As weak as the light it gave off, it pulsed angrily under the increased scrutiny.

Like a cloud passing over the sun, Braden's eyes darkened, ominously reflecting the dim, red glow of the material. The man muttered something guttural under his breath as he approached.

Byron glanced at Braden. "Beg your pardon, sir?"

"Nothing," Braden replied, reaching out to the chest.

"Sir, if this is what I understand it to be, no one should be handling this. Especially-"

Striking his hand out, Braden plucked the red material from the chest. The elderly research's breath hitched as he stared at his superior. Braden hummed to himself idly, twirling the object between his fingers, tossing it into the air before snatching at the apex of its arc and placing it near his ear.

"It's singing," he said eventually. "I can't hear, but its song is crude, sour. A cacophony of malignance." Ignoring the stares of confusion, he lowered the object from his head and held it out in front of him. "You know what lyrium is, yes?"

"Is this a trick question, sir?"

"Hardly." Putting the item up to his nose, he gave it a quick sniff. "Some older cultures believed there to be massive creatures of stone that move through the depths of the world, and this is their blood. Others think it's a substance directly from the Fade, a gift the maker. In reality, it's a bit of both, but at the same neither. This…" His words trailed off into a rough and guttural, but arguably poetic sounding phrase. Or a prayer.

"I don't believe I'm familiar with that phrase, sir. Or the language, for that matter."

Braden let his arm fall to his side. "You're right. This is corrupted lyrium." He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Thank you, Byron. You may leave."

Recognizing the dismissal, he withdrew from the room, closing the door softly behind him. Alone in the room, save for his assistant, who looked on passively as Braden held the piece up to the low lights, still humming a melody that followed no reason except its own.

"It appears we have less time than anticipated," Braden finally said, holding the red lyrium up to the light.

A slight squeeze from the man's fingers, the object began to implode, consuming itself in a blaze of light, leaving no trace of its existence.

Much in the same manner the cloud had fallen over the room, it hastily dissipated. Braden stared off into the distance before his mouth twisted into a beatific smirk once more.

"Shall we go?" he chirped.

Emerging from the room, they were met by Byron, who eagerly anticipated his superior's words.

As if anticipating his thought, Braden answered. "Nothing anymore."

A pregnant paused lingered, then Byron nodded knowingly. "Of course, sir."