FENRIS

"Not at the mansion, the Hanged Man, or the alienage. Just where else could she have run off to?" Hawke groans as he, Varric, and I make our way through the Lowtown bazaar for the third time this morning.

"Could she have . . . I don't know. Gotten cold feet and gone to visit the Dalish or something?" Varric proposes.

Hawke squints over his shoulder at him. "Serena may not enjoy being paraded around like an exotic peacock in front of the nobles, Varric, but I doubt she would flat out ignore an official summons to court, just to avoid it."

"Agreed." I concur. "And even if she were the type, she would not disappear, leaving no clues for us to her whereabouts."

"That's assuming she wants to be found," Varric scoffs in a quiet mumble.

Both Hawke and I stop and turn to glare at the lagging dwarf.

"What?" He shrugs. "Don't pretend it isn't a possibility! She's already pulled a disappearing act once before. Who's to say she didn't decide to do so again? It worked well enough the first time."

The twisting knot in the core of my stomach returns, winding tighter the longer I consider it.

"Serena wouldn't just leave," Hawke insists, standing his ground, echoing my own desperate thoughts. "Not without at least saying goodbye."

He towers over Varric with a firm stance, but no matter how hard he tries to mask it, there is still a slight glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. And as much as I wish to reassure him, to reject the idea myself, I cannot.

Serena may not be fond of toadying or maintaining decorum with any individual of import, but she does adore running. Perhaps more so than anything else. And that particular string of doubt lingers, no matter how hard I try to bury or shove it away.

Approaching metal footsteps shake me from my roaming thoughts. "Any luck?" the familiar king's voice calls out from the same direction.

We all glimpse over at King Alistair. He's descending the dusty steps that lead up to Hightown, his red-headed, noble uncle trailing behind in his shadow.

"None yet," Hawke answers with a puff. "You?"

"Unfortunately, no." King Alistair frowns and rubs his sweaty forehead as though fighting off a headache.

"Are you certain there's no other places she might have gone? No other 'retreats' you can think of?" Teagan peeks his way around the king's massive gold, shoulderguards.

Hawke, Varric, and I all shake our heads. If only there were. Or at least one we knew about.

All of us sigh.

A nearby stall owner shouts out an announcement of another deal at the top of his lungs. His scratchy voice echoing in my eardrums.

"Hawke!" a woman's voice yells the moment he finishes.

We all perk up and turn to look in the direction of the Hanged Man to find Isabela.

She's sprinting over to us through a horde of browsing shoppers, faster than a mabari in pursuit. It is the first I have ever seen her move so fast outside of combat, her long, dark locks flying in rapid waves behind her.

"Isabela? What's—"

She halts in front of Hawke, panting, sweating. "I've found a lead," she huffs. "Someone saw a female elf, matching her description, getting snatched from the bazaar late last night, shortly after she left us."

My eyes widen.

Hawke glares at Isabela, his hands balling up into fists at his sides. "Who?" he snarls. The bloodlust evident in his voice.

Isabela gulps and glances around at our group. "Tevinters," she whispers.

Everyone visibly stiffens, including King Alistair.

My whole body runs cold.

They caught up with her then . . .

"Based on your reactions, I'm assuming you know why this news is troubling?" King Alistair narrows his gaze at us.

Hawke nods. But I still can't force myself to move.

"Good. I'm relieved to hear she's found others to trust her secrets with. It leaves a lot less explaining for me to do." He fixates on Isabela again, radiating gravitas, unlike the glib, light-hearted jester we shared drinks with last night at the Hanged Man. "Did you happen to hear where these Tevinters might have been headed?" he asks, his tone coated with an authority I didn't think he could muster.

"The docks," she says with a slight cock of her head.

"Then we better get moving." He marches past her, deeper into the bazaar. "They could be prepping to set sail as we speak."


SERENA

Pain.

Pain and whispers, echoing in the darkness.

A throbbing in the back of my . . . head? Neck?

I can't tell which. Maybe it's both.

Everything feels . . . foggy. Blurred. Strange. Like I'm stuck in a delirious dream.

I try to peek open my heavy eyelids.

There's . . . a stone floor. My arms: they're hanging over my head? The wrists bound by something cold and hard. Unyielding. Unable to move. Imprisoned.

There's also something . . . hefty around my neck. Something . . . shiny. Steel? A collar? Who put . . . ?

I focus beyond the long, gleaming rim of the metal contraption, my thoughts and sight clearing for but a moment.

In the nearby shadows, I spy two armored, human men, unlocking a barred gate in front of me. They're chatting with each other, sneering. Their muted voices come off as incoherent mumbles, which grow louder as they draw near. The sharpness of one of their laughs pricks at my ears. A dark, hollow sound. So cruel and unwelcoming.

"You know, you're not half bad for a rabbit." The burlier of the two kneels in front of me.

His squinty brown eyes ogle me from head to toe, the filth behind them making me want to squirm and vomit.

But I can't move, much less will something out of my empty stomach.

Or I think it's empty.

When did I last eat again? The Hanged Man? How many hours or days could've passed since then? It couldn't have been longer than two days. My mouth's not parched enough for three. Although, I could still go for a drink. Fresh water being the most ideal. But anything would be better than nothing right now.

Chuckling to himself, the human reaches out to grab me. He grasps at the base of my Dalish leather chestplate, tugging it upward, his grimy fingers brushing the bare skin underneath.

Something in my head snaps at the invasive touch.

Suddenly, I'm wide awake.

Rage-infused mana erupts from my skin. It strikes out at the man with a fierce lightning bolt to the center of his throat, sending him flying back with a short, agonized yelp. He collapses into a gurgling mess by the open cell door, blood seeping from a massive singed hole in the center of his neck, where my spell penetrated his vitals.

"Shit," the other man leaps back against the right cage wall, gawking at the two of us as my magic slowly dissipates back beyond the Veil.

A close crackling sound rumbles within the contraption around my neck.

I hear it once. Twice. Then . . .

Blinding white pain. Burning. My whole body . . . shaking. Not seeing. Not breathing. Electricty's pulsing through me. Shocking me. Convulsing.

It stops after a long, indistinguishable moment, and I can see and think straight again. The initial burn still tingling around my neck, as if burned with a brand.

Tears I didn't even feel before now drip from my eyes, onto my lap. A sudden rainfall I can't control.

"Now, what did I say about harassing our guest?" a silvery voice purrs from off to the left.

I track it to another human in an elaborate blue robe, sporting grand, feathered pauldrons, draped across both shoulders. He's strutting down a wooden staircase from an internal balcony up above. His steps slow, bordering on arrogant dramatics.

"Ah, yes. I believe I said it would be ill-advised," the older human stresses, reaching the open cell door. He smirks down at the dead human lying at his feet, then looks up at me with a broad smile.

A familiar, chilling one.

Accompanying an unmistakable voice, attire, and stance.

It's him.

One of the magisters, who first ambushed the clan. The one that got away and nearly killed us all in a massive fire. Who's pursued me and the other clan members for years since that night he escaped!

My breath hitches in my throat.

I gawp up at him, my muscles clenching and going rigid. Just like that day when I was a child so long ago.

He scans over me with his calculating, cold, blue eyes. Like ice at the peak of winter. Never changing. Always frozen. Not a crack in their determination or focus. The once thick, silver hairs on the top of his head now bald and barren, lost in the passage of time.

"Good to see you again, my dear. It's been quite some time," he greets me with a slight bow of his head.

But despite his courteous tone, there's no kindness in his words or posture. Only polite condescension and derision.

"I must say, you continue to impress." He paces the short width of my cell from one side to the next. "That collar was crafted to suppress even the strongest forms of magic. Yet, you still summoned forth enough to break through its threshold to do all this, if only for a moment." He gestures to the dead man still smoking by the door. "It's such a shame you seem to have no idea how to fully grasp the magnitude of your gift. The wonders it could perform, if you merely allowed it to flourish! Your parents would be so disappointed."

Goosebumps rise across my skin at the mention of my parents. "And how would you know how they would feel, shem?" I resist the urge to spit on him, if only in hopes of acquiring some more information. But gods, how I don't want to.

"Oh, don't tell me you're unaware?" The magister eyes me with intrigued malice. "In an effort to better understand the origin and composition of your magic, I sent several contacts of mine throughout the years, to dig up what little information I could regarding your lineage." He pauses to lower and shake his head, even letting slip a feigned 'regretful' sigh to finish. "Such powerful, selfless mages," he whispers. "It's only thanks to their self-sacrifices that we're still able to meet here today like this. However, I doubt with their abilities that they'd be thrilled to see you confine your powers to . . . this."

He waves at me in a dismissive manner, as though comparing them to a bug.

"What do you mean by that?" I snap, scowling up at him.

He opens his mouth to reply, but quickly stops to look over at the balcony on the far left of the room, where he came from.

A woman with long, raven-black hair and golden-brown eyes stomps down the balcony staircase and glares holes at the taunting magister. "What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, glimpsing back and forth between the two of us, entering the cell. "Why haven't we killed her yet?"

"Plans change, dear. Be patient," the magister coos, giving her a fake, amiable smile.

"Patient? I've waited seven years for this moment! Seven. Years!"

The magister's forced pleasantries vanish, leaving only a dull abyss. Emitting annoyance. A harsh emptiness. Expected from a psychotic killer.

"Come. Let us discuss this further in my cabin. Just the two of us." He guides her gently out of the cell, grasping her by the shoulder. He spares only a brief smirk at me, as the two of them exit the cell and approach the stairs; the other surviving human lackey locking up the cell before scurrying after them.

The woman clicks her tongue loud enough for me to hear. And once they're gone, disappeared beyond the balcony doorway overhead, I slump forward, allowing my body to droop in surrender to the mind-numbing fever fog weighing down on my consciousness.

My senses still alert and ready to fight, should need demand it.