Voltur glanced at Tempest. "So, where's your staff?"

"Haven't used one in years." Tempest gave the forder's reigns a tug.

"Why, if I may ask?"

Tempest looked him in the eyes. "Do I scare you?"

"As a man, I admire you. As a mage, I fear you. I have heard things. Rumors mostly."

"Any rumors that I can put to rest?"

"One. There was something curious spotted about a year ago. Some say it was a dragon. The really curious part is that you were reported to have been in the area around the same time."
"Hmph."

A sudden, cold mountain wind blew. Voltur's dracolisk let out a short hiss as the forder neighed.

Voltur looked around and pointed at the peak of the mountain they were on. "We're close."

Tempest encouraged the forder to move onward. "What are we looking for again?"

"A mage whose obsessed with the Fade. Specifically spirits and demons. Templars have been looking for her for years apparently. This may be where she is."

"Ziah."

"You know her?"

"Yes, she lived at the tower I trained at. She was a little off, and the Templars kept a close eye on her. She disappeared a few weeks before I was recruited into the Wardens."

"What about her phylactery?"

"Gone. She either had an accomplice, or she made it disappear with her."

"Strange."

They continued up the mountain path, their mounts sending rocks down the steep ledges. There was no more wind, the earlier burst seeming to be an isolated case. The sun lowered in the sky, the mountains cast long shadows across the forests and fields below. As they approached the peak, flashes of green emitted from a cave. They stopped outside the entrance and dismounted.

The green lights vanished as the duo approached the cave entrance. A few candles flickered from above several piles of books. A pile of ashes rest crushed beneath a pot, a faint smell of stew nearly snuffed out by the overpowering scent of ozone. Incoherent whispering echoed from the back of the cave.

A thin figure in the far end of the cave turned slowly. "We have visitors!" The figure stepped forward into the light, revealing unkempt auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Her face was thin with elvish beauty, but there was something in those eyes. Something stirring.

Tempest readied himself without drawing attention. "Ziah?"

She grinned. "Is it? Oh, it is. Tempest, how long it's been."

"It has been a long time. Are you all right? You seem unwell."

She looked at herself, her robes tattered. "Oh, bother. I'm fine."

Tempest relaxed a bit. "What have you been doing?"

She chuckled a little. "Oh, I have seen things you wouldn't believe."

Voltur raised a brow. "Things we wouldn't believe?"

"Oh, yes! Wondrous things. Mountains in the sky, events lost to time, dark spires twisting in every direction, an impossible city!"

Tempest and Voltur shared a look.

"Ziah," Tempest started, "you need to come with us. The Inquisition may be up to something. We need every capable individual we can get our hands on."

"The Inquisition? What is that?"

"How long have you been out here?"

"Out here? Not long. Away? A long time."

"What does that even mean?"

"I've been to places so far from here, but so close at the same time. I've gone everywhere without going anywhere."

"That doesn't help."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. If you need help, I'm in. As long as I don't have to go back to the circle."

"That won't be a problem."

Ziah threw herself onto a bedroll. "Bed time! We leave in the morning."

Voltur watched her for a second and turned to Tempest. "She's crazy."

"Ever since her harrowing she's been a little off. It's gotten worse though."

"Is she a dreamer?"

"No. It's something else. Has to be."

Voltur shook his head. "It definitely sounded like she was talking-"

"About the fade, yeah. Not quite what I've seen though."

"Same here."

"It's alright. She may just be mad. We'll keep an eye on her. Hopefully she'll be more useful than dangerous."

The next morning set in with a chill, and everything was layered in frost. They rode their mounts side by side to the next destination, Skyhold. Ziah rode with Voltur on his dracolisk. She had one hand stroking his stylized beard that ran down his sideburns, along his jawline, and met in the middle of his chin. Her other hand kept rubbing his chest in slow circles.

Voltur tried to remain composed. "Why don't you ride with Tempest?"

"He's taken. Plus these Tevinter clothes just fit in all the right places."

"Ow! That is not the saddle!"

"I know."