SERENA

Darkness surrounds us for most of the morning. So much so, that for the past hour, I'd almost forgotten what it's like to walk in the light. A somewhat welcome inconvenience, while I still struggle to process the almost-kiss from the night before with Fenris. Something I never could've anticipated happening. Ever.

Regardless, I'm quickly reminded of reality when we reach the damp cave's exit. A small clearing with a gorgeous hanging overlook awaits us outside. The Free Marches' expansive rolling hills lie beyond, bathing in the sun's stunning golden glory. A true canvas of natural beauty and splendor. Too impressive to make-up.

"Well, that was an experience," Hawke says, as we all blink to adjust to the sudden change in scenery.

"No kidding," Varric huffs and squints over at me. "I never would've pictured you to be so scared of spiders, Twinkle Toes. How am I supposed to play you off as a fearless warrior goddess now?"

A slight smirk tugs at the corners of my lips as I recall the embarrassing massacre I led earlier. The remains of said battle still—quite literally—stick to the bottom of our boots. Unfortunately.

"Oh, she's always been terrified of spiders." Merrill grins. "When we were young, any mention would send her running for the hills. And this one time, when Tamlen tried to scare her with a little baby one for a prank, she punched him right in the nose! Then ran off! His nose bled for quite a while after that, if I remember correctly."

I chuckle as I recall the childish memory. True. Tamlen didn't speak to me for a week after that. But he should've known better—just like those spiders back there should've known better.

"Every hero has to have a flaw," I retort, standing up tall. "Otherwise, their story isn't interesting."

Or so Leliana would say.

Gods, how I miss her stories and our little talks. If she were here, it'd be easy to clear my head.

I peer through the translucent barrier blocking our path forward now, feeling a bit 'homesick' for our 'conversations' during the blight and her unwavering support. Beyond the barrier, I spy more collapsed ruins. A dense, white fog lingers at the bottom of the path's steps—the mist similar to a thick, foreboding cloud. Merely looking at it all makes the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end.

We're not supposed to be here. That's what the dreadful squeezing in my gut warns me. But it looks like we don't have much of a choice, if Merrill or the Keeper have any say in it. Sadly.

"You'd all be wise to forget about that for now, though," I continue, clenching hard onto my scythe, preparing myself for inevitable battle. "I have a feeling that the real fun is about to begin. But that's just a suggestion."

A strong suggestion.

Merrill steps closer to the glowing barrier. "I can open the way forward," she says. "One moment."

She walks all the way up to the shimmering magical wall. For a quiet second, she merely stares up at it, probably debating, contemplating. As she often does before casting her more complicated spells. But then, she suddenly pulls out a dagger and slices her left palm.

Her red blood fills my vision. Tiny droplets swirl around her like an unnatural, accursed storm. It stops abruptly in midair, as she thrusts the floating blood forward at the barrier.

The barricade instantly shatters from the forbidden blow.

A subsequent icy chill fills the air.

With it comes the echoes of disembodied, ghostly whispers. None of which I could ever hope to comprehend. But they're clearly warnings. Remnants from an ancient past. One that should've been left alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. A haunting memory for the ages and nothing more.

Merrill turns around to face us again, looking no less calm than before she used blood magic, despite the terrors she may have just unleashed upon us all.

"Blood magic. Foolish, very foolish," Fenris beats me to the punch, shaking his head.

Merrill frowns. "Yes, it was blood magic. But I know what I'm doing," she says. "The spirit helped us, didn't it?"

"Sure, demons are very helpful—right up until they take over your mind, and then turn you into a monster." I'm unable to restrain the chiding malice in my voice. To think I thought she knew better.

"Well, yes. But that won't happen," she insists. "I know how to defend myself."

I huff and rub one hand across my forehead. "If only I had a sovereign for every time I've heard that before. I'd be the richest person in Kirkwall! Maybe even the Free Marches!"

"I can," Merrill persists, glaring at me.

"For now!" I shout back.

Merrill scowls at me.

She moves to open her mouth again, but I put up one hand, stopping her.

"We will talk about this later." I sigh. "First, our task at hand. But no more blood magic—not in this eerie place."

I glance around at the lower clearing. The whispers have all but vanished, but the chill still lingers, lurking in the mist.

Merrill looks behind her and nods. "Be careful up ahead. Restless things prowl the heights."

'Yeah, no help that you probably woke them all up and basically extended an open invitation.'

That's what I want to say, but I somehow swallow that retort down.

We all step forward and stare down at the sinister ruins below.

"In the days of Arlathan, the elders came here to sleep," Merrill says. "Uthenara–the endless dream they called it. But they don't sleep peacefully anymore."

"Of course not," I scoff. "They never do—not when we're involved."

I raise a teasing eyebrow at Hawke, who flashes me a warm, cheeky grin in a return. I return one in kind, then stare out at our supposed ancestors graves. Or at least, I think they're graves. They look like it. Either that or shrines maybe. Perhaps even both.

A few lit, veilfire candles adorn the top of the 'graves', along with some lasting, scattered pottery. Or possibly urns. I'm done trying to guess which now. It doesn't matter. It's all creepy, whatever you want to call it. That fact remains constant.

Past the old resting place stands another open clearing, one with another set of crumble steps that lead up to a grand lookout of the Free Marches. A single, stone altar rests at the center of it, with tall boulders circling around. A few armored skeletons lie motionless at its feet, weapons still clutched, firm in their bony hands.

I raise my arm to try to warn the others.

The corpses immediately rise. Both an arcane horror and shadow warrior join their ranks.

Fenris's and Hawke's shouts immediately echo across the mountainside, ripping through the morning silence. We all rush forward, together, and strike at the enemies that cross our path. Pieces of bone and broken armor fly everywhere.

On my third skeleton kill, I glare over at the Arcane Horror. It's still hovering, arms waving, in front of the abandoned altar.

Fenris finishes off an adjacent shadow warrior to my right, then does the same as well. We exchange a brief look. An unspoken agreement made between the two of us. Then charge forward. Determined to take it down. To end this onslaught. A bolt zooms over our heads on the way, piercing the creature in the center of its chest. The Arcane Horror shudders under the blow. A large fireball consumes it soon after.

Fenris and I both stop and look back at where the intruding attacks came from. Merrill and Varric stand beside each other, beaming with indisputable smugness. The remaining skeletons lie collapsed at their feet. Hawke stands only an arms length away, attempting to tug his greatsword out of an armored skeleton's ribcage.

"I think it's safe now," Merrill speaks up and lowers her staff. "Put the amulet on the altar, and I'll begin the rite."

Hawke at last frees his sword from its 'guest', then digs into his pocket, pulling out the amulet. He passes us with it held up high in the air, as if trying to reassure us he hadn't lost it. But it might've been better if he had. The world would probably fare better without it.

My nerves tingle as he sets the accursed thing down at the center of the altar.

Not out of fear, no. I've already faced the monstrosity inside it once before. And won. And if I have to, I'll do so again. As many times as necessary. What I'm worried about now though is what it could mean. What this ritual could mean. For her. For Morrigan. Everything.

Merrill steps forward and starts speaking in our people's ancient tongue. I recognize little of it, but I can sense the power lying within each and every word. The mana around the altar area continues to build with every sentence. Rising. Crescendoing. Until at the very end, a black and orange flame bursts up in front of us, swirling like a raging tornado. A person's form appears at the center of it, surrounded by blue flame.

It's Flemeth.

Her appearance is slightly altered compared to the last we met, but not by much. Long, white tresses drape across her frail-looking shoulders, bound together in a way that almost makes them look like horns. A new silver headdress adorns her wrinkled forehead, framing the outskirts of her face, similar to that of a crown; the accessory matches her glittering, silver earrings and serves as a nice contrast to the dark makeup and clothing she now sports.

Flemeth's form solidifies with another blinding flash, and upon the flames abrupt disappearance, Flemeth's fierce, golden eyes open and narrow in on our group.

"Ah. And here we are," she purrs in her typical, husky lilt.

"A witch," Fenris gasps and readies his sword, looking ready to lunge.

"It's alright, Fenris," Merrill stops him. "She means us no harm."

"Speak for yourself." I tense and glower at the witch. "Flemeth. Long time no see."

Flemeth stares at me, and her eyebrows rise. "Ah, yes. It feels like just yesterday when you pierced your sword through my skull. My, how the years go by, don't they?"

I huff. "Somehow I knew you wouldn't die so easily. It seems my intuition was correct. Once again. Now the question is: why?"

"The better question would be: why not?" She laughs. "But do not worry, child. You still have use for me. I will not hold you accountable for my dear Morrigan's plot. You have nothing to fear."

Her words come out almost like a hiss. Like that of a liar. A snake.

"For some reason, I highly doubt that." I cross my arms and shake my head, still struggling to relax.

Flemeth smirks. "Believe what you wish. As I've said, you are required to do nothing, least of all believe."

She grins and her golden eyes glisten with an immense, incomprehensible power, just like they did so many years prior.

The intensity behind them makes me shiver. And as much as I want to race forward and beat all the answers out of her, once and for all, I know I can't do that now. The others stand too completely unprepared. They'd need all the mental and physical fortitude they could muster to stand a chance at defeating this woman. Creature. Thing. Dirthamen knows, the others and I did. And we still barely made it out alive. Although, it seems like that struggle was all for not. As was the week full of endless healing potions, herb gathering, and splints.

Flemeth's eyes scan our group and land on Merrill.

"Andaran atish'an, Asha'belannar." Merrill bows to her.

"One of the People," Flemeth muses, sounding almost surprised. "I see. So young and bright. Do you know who I am beyond that title?"

"I know only a little," Merrill answers innocently.

"Then stand. The People bend their knee too quickly." Merrill does as she's told, and Flemeth looks out at our group again. Her gaze fixates on Hawke now, and the corners of her lips curl up into a proud sneer. "So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of the bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant's pocket."

Hawke shrugs. "No one wanted to buy it. Maybe because it had a witch inside?"

"Just a piece," Flemeth laughs. "A small piece. But it was all I needed. A bit of security should the inevitable occur. And by the looks of it, it already has."

She glimpses at me, and the tension around us grows so heavy, it's as if the entire world's pressure is crushing down on me.

But the others don't appear to notice. How could they? This feud lies between this witch and me. No other. And it's not like I ever warned any of them either.

"You are no simple witch," Fenris states, brow furrowed. Gods bless him.

Flemeth snorts. "Figure that out yourself, did you?"

Fenris glares at Flemeth, frustration filling his cold, emerald gaze. Nothing like the warmth and passion I saw from him the night before. "I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations," he says. "But you are none of those things. What are you?"

"Such a curious lad." Flemeth puts a pensive finger to her chin. "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Fenris stiffens. A low blow, even for her. "You see a great deal," he admits, exhibiting far more restraint than I could've managed.

Flemeth smiles and stands up straight again. "I am a fly in the ointment, a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that, you need not know."

"Why did you need me to bring you here then?" Hawke asks. "You seem quite capable yourself."

"Because I had an appointment to keep." Flemeth glances at me. "And because I did not want to be followed. You smuggled me here quite nicely."

My fists clench.

At least that confirms one theory. Now there's only about a hundred left to go . . .

"I don't understand." Hawke continues, sounding even more confused. "Are you some kind of vision then?"

Flemeth cackles. "Must I only be in one place?" She shifts her weight between feet then crosses her arms. "Bodies are such . . . limiting things. I am but a fragment cast adrift from the whole. A bit of flotsam to cling to in the storm."

"A fragment?" Hawke and I both repeat in unison.

I don't like the sound of that. Nope. Not one bit.

Flemeth steps toward us. "You do not need to understand, children," she says. "Know only that you may have saved my life, just as I once saved yours. An even trade, I think."

I sigh and push a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. "You have plans then I take it?" I ask, but in all honesty, it's more of a statement. Of course she has plans. It's Flemeth.

Flemeth smiles. "Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. We have much to do. Before I go though, a word of advice." She pauses and turns around to stare out at the yonder hills. The grey clouds appear to move faster overhead, flowing in the same direction as Flemeth's gaze. Almost like she's controlling them. Manipulating the world to her whims. "We stand upon the precipice of change," she says, standing up tall. "The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment. And when it comes, do not hesitate to leap." The last word rolls off her tongue, as if in suggestive warning. Another one of her near impossible riddles. She then turns to face us again, her gold eyes looking glazed over, her line of sight lost in some far off time and place. "It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."

". . . what are you proposing I do exactly?" Hawke squints at her.

"Do what I do: become a dragon." She laughs. "You can never be a dragon."

Her gaze narrows again on Merrill.

"As for you child, step carefully," she says. "No path is darker than when your eyes are shut."

"Ma serannas, Asha'belannar." Merrill slightly bows her head.

Appearing content with her response, Flemeth pivots away toward the outlook again. "Now the time has come for me to leave. You have my thanks . . . and my sympathy."

Before any of us can try to ask her what she means, Flemeth flashes bright gold, the light blinding my vision. When it fades, and I can finally see everything like normal again, Flemeth has already flown off in her purple dragon form, soaring high through the distant sky. Once again leaving me with more questions than answers, and a deep, unsettling worry for whatever madness she's seen that has yet to come.