SERENA
No news is good news. That's what they say, right?
Or at least, that's what I try to tell myself, as I fidget incessantly in my seat inside Hawke's main foyer.
Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana fuss over cleaning tasks on the opposite side of the room, passing brooms, dusters, and rags to one another, whenever needed.
Meanwhile, Leandra's locked herself upstairs in her quarters for the past two hours now, insisting she needed some 'private time' and to take a bath.
Although, it's not like I would've tried to stop her without her insistence. I would've welcomed the break. Creators, she's been attached to my side all day, even before Hawke first left, thrusting me from one 'womanly' hobby to the next.
Had I known her absence would just leave me to my thoughts though like this, I might've reconsidered.
Perhaps even begged.
How much more time do Hawke and the others need to report back to Emeric? They've been gone ages now. It doesn't take that long to go to the Gallows and back!
Dread sinks into the pit of my stomach, stopping my squirming. The tension slowly branches out and fills my veins.
. . . Could something have happened to them? Could they be in danger?
I gulp down a building lump in my throat.
No. Stop. Why am I so anxious? Hawke could've just gotten distracted. He does that. And he wouldn't leave me stuck here with his mother any longer than necessary. I need to trust him. Trust them. They'll be alright. They're fine.
I stop my incessant leg bouncing and collapse further into my seat.
But the tingles remain—the nagging doubt still lingering in the far corner of my mind.
I recall the weird vision of Leandra again amidst my sudden stillness. The absurd paleness of her skin, the horrific zig-zag stitches circling her limbs.
And then, that mystery figure, the one who approached her from behind.
If only I could see their face, see where they were located . . .
"Bah. Why am I still thinking about this?" I groan and put one hand over my eyes.
It was just a dream! A figment of the imagination, spurred on by the sudden collapse. And even if it wasn't, they don't always come true. They don't. You know this. Now stop worrying about it! If something really does come of it, you need to focus to protect her. Worrying about it now like this won't do us any good.
I sigh and—bending sideways—prop my head on top of Hawke's letter table.
Exhaustion racks through me, draining every ounce of energy I might've had stored within.
Maybe I should just take a nap? Go to sleep and drown it all out?
The idea's tempting. More tempting than I'd care to admit, considering the weary state stems from my own terrible worrying. But before I can ponder pursuing it further, a loud knock raps at the estate's front door.
"Oh! That must be for me," Leandra peeks out of her room, hurrying down the stairs.
She's more dolled up than usual, sporting a beautiful, purple, silk dress with gold trim and an elegant, braided updo fit for a noble's soiree.
"Where are you heading off to so late and all glammed up?" I ask, as she all but skips to a halt in front of a nearby mirror to glimpse herself over.
"If you must know, a date." She smiles at me.
"A date?" I raise an eyebrow at the older woman.
That's unexpected. I didn't even know she was courting anyone . . . Do Hawke and Bethany know?
"Yes! Those white lilies this suitor of yours sent you this morning were quite lovely, if I do say myself," Bodahn chimes in with his typical, lilted cheer. "He might be a keeper!"
"White lilies?" I whisper, fixating on the sweeping dwarf.
Didn't Hawke mention the victims receiving white lilies before being taken?
The vision of Leandra repeats in my head again, this time faster and with more force than the others.
An intense sense of unease fills me to the brim. Quickly, I slip past Leandra and storm over to the front door to open it.
An older shem with slicked-back, grey hair and a long, silver robe stands on the other side, waiting.
He looks up at me with a narrowing glance of confusion, and the moment we make eye contact, my whole body freezes.
The familiar tug, I often feel in the back of my head at the time of a fit, returns with a vengeance.
The vision of Leandra repeats again, this time clearer and with more detail. I see the man standing before me suffocate and dissect Ninette, knock out and restrain Leandra. All in an effort to . . . to . . .
"You. You're the one—" I stop myself and quickly retreat a few steps back, drawing my daggers. "Bodahn, get Leandra and the others out of here. Now!" I yell. "Go find Hawke!"
"But—"
"No buts!" I glare back at the gawking dwarf. "Just do it!"
"What is the meaning of this?" Leandra snaps, scowling at me as Bodahn and Orana firmly pull her by the arms.
"I think your 'date' knows the exact meaning of this. Right, murderer?" I glower at the shem.
The man juts his chin up with an intimidating frown. "You know a great deal." He struts into the house, shutting the door behind him. "But will it save you, I wonder?"
Without another bit of warning, he thrusts his hands out in front of him, hitting me with a powerful mind blast spell. I'm sent flying backward, all the way into the central foyer. The air's all but knocked out of me as I skid hard across the foyer's floor, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the letter table.
Bodahn, Leandra, Orana, and Sandal all gasp and look over at me, their eyes widening, filling with concern.
"Go! Don't worry about me! Get Hawke!" I shout, jumping back onto my feet.
Ghostly whispers echo in my ears now, clawing at my consciousness, increasing the earlier ache already throbbing in my head. Their incomprehensible pleas lost in their own merged incoherence.
Bodahn and the others sneak out through the kitchen door to my right, in the direction of the back entrance.
The mage notices and tries to go after them, but I lunge forward, trying to stab him. He dodges my first and second blow with quick, lucky stumbles, but fails to avoid my third. My left dagger lacerates his left side, carving a deep gash into his skin.
He sucks in a sharp hiss through his clenched teeth. "You'll regret standing in my way, wretch!" he yells, and with a fast, upward, arm-sweeping motion, he summons a group of shades from the ground to circle around me.
My eyes widen.
Shit.
The shades' swiping claws descend upon me from every direction, their onslaught continuous, fueled by a vengeful fury. I try my best to dodge them all, to lash out whenever I can—achieving even momentary success on a few.
But there's just too many.
One shade hits me with a fierce slash across my right shoulder, tearing through flesh and armor.
The pain's instant.
Agonizing.
Forcing me to hunch over with an excruciating yelp. The burning coursing through me impossible to resist, much less ignore.
Another shade uses the opening to slide over, and backhands me so hard, I crash into a nearby plant by the stairs. The pot shatters beneath my weight, its pieces piercing through and scratching at bare skin.
"Damn it." I curse, reaching up to grasp my searing shoulder wound.
Warm blood seeps through my fingertips and trails down both my arms.
The shades close in on me again, their glowing purple eyes beaming like demonic beacons in a hopeless night. The mage leans against the wall behind them, casting a quiet healing spell on himself, his wound slowly stitching closed. With any estimate, he should be finished healing soon.
It seems I have no choice. I have to use it—my magic. There's no other way.
With a burst of raw determination, I cast my first tempest spell in years, putting all of my leftover strength and mana into it, allowing the lightning magic to course freely through my veins.
Blue and purple lightning bolts fill the foyer, striking down at the shades, dancing all around me. Some even hit the cowering mage himself, knocking him to the floor. Unconscious. Perhaps even dead.
The shades start to crumble under the heavy onslaught as well, halting in place.
I won't let him have them. Not one member of my new family! Not this time. Not if it kills me! I keep the mana flowing, purging it from my body like a long-forgotten stream.
The whispers in my head grow louder.
The tugging in my head: stronger.
My heart races.
Consciousness slowly becomes harder and harder to keep gripped onto. The blistering pain blurring the last of my vision.
But I won't give up. I can't. Not if I want myself and others to live.
Hawke, please come quickly . . .
HAWKE
"Well, shit. That was a mess," Varric says, as he, Anders, Fenris, and I walk our way back into the heart of Lowtown.
"That is an understatement," Fenris grumbles with a bit more annoyance than expected.
But I suppose it's warranted. We did just finish battling a horde of rage demons and shades, who we presume cornered and murdered Emeric in some shady back-alley in Lowtown. A result of his investigation probably hitting too close to the truth on this string of murder cases.
The young templar, Moira, arrived shortly after the confrontation. And upon taking in the entirety of the sight, and the magnitude of its implications, swore she'd ensure Gascard wouldn't leave Darktown alive.
"Let's hope the city guard can still find the rat in Darktown," Varric whispers with a sigh.
"If not, I say we personally sic the corterie out on him," I offer.
It'd be well deserved, if we did. Since now I'm pretty sure he lied to us all about this slaughtered sister of his.
Varric grins. "Sounds like a plan to me," he says.
The four of us round the next corner, in the direction of The Hanged Man. When we're within feet of the tavern's entrance, the sound of sprinting footsteps echo in the adjacent corridor.
"Garrett!" A familiar woman's voice calls out.
I turn to see Mother, Bodahn, Orana, and Sandal running up the nearby steps, coming from the marketplace, all of them panting and covered in sweat. Every one of them possesses a panicked expression on their face. "Mother? Bodahn? What's wrong? What are you all doing in Lowtown?"
"Serena! Serena's in trouble!" Mother shouts, grasping me by the arms. "Please, you must help her! The estate, it's under attack!"
My heart sinks.
No.
"Bodahn, take Mother and the others into The Hanged Man. Don't let them out of your sight!" I yell, sprinting in the direction of Hightown.
"Of course, Messere," Bodahn calls back behind us, but his words come out no louder than a whisper when masked by the rushed footsteps of our dashing group.