9:36 Dragon, Summer

My family is dead. It feels like a part of me has died, too.

Senestra and Theadosia – Nes and Thea as they prefer – recount the tragedy of the Vaels' slaughter as though from a storybook. The Vaels; the pompous, snobbish, rich Vaels, decimated in the very city where they were the most guarded. It sure sounds like a story. Like one I would have loved as the young Marquess, but now it rips my heart from my chest and leaves it bloody and beaten, streaking the snow.

I must be the last person in Thedas who didn't know. Of course, they have no idea what it means to me. Who I am. I thought I was fighting to get back to my family. I thought they would be waiting for me, and I have envisioned my homecoming so many times, the different versions have all blended together to make one giant wish. My proud father. My soft mother. My uncle, the prince! My aunts. My nieces and nephews...

But they're all gone. Murdered in their beds. In the places that they thought were the safest. While I was out in the city swinging my sword around like some pretend hero, they were being slaughtered. I should have been there to protect them, but the Oath demanded that I be somewhere else. Just like with Sammie.

The farther away I get from it, the more ludicrous the literal interpretation of the Oath becomes. I've thought about it so many times that it's become an echo in my mind. The Oath demanded that I throw myself between the citizens of Starkhaven and their enemy – but when I was thrown between one citizen and their enemy, was I really supposed to abandon her? To let her die and go racing back into the city? Where does it end? If I encountered a child being tortured in an alleyway, should I have sacrificed her life, too, lest the demon turn and kill me? And what if I had died to that demon in the swamp? Would I have upheld the Oath then, because I had died? These questions swirl around my head every night, and I toss and turn, unable to truly rest. It's been years since I've really slept. I don't know how to handle this, how to deal with this sort of defeat – it isn't in my blood.

They tell me that Goran survived, and while I'm ecstatic that my brother lived, I can't imagine how. He isn't a fighter, and if he can barely talk his way through breakfast, I have a hard time believing that he negotiated some deal for his life. Senestra gives me the rumors about his survival, which are so offensive they aren't worth repeating. However he survived, he must have done it for Starkhaven. It's a great irony that the only Vael in that castle who didn't ever want to be prince got to be one after all.

I look down at Liam who sits at my side chewing on the remains of a squirrel's leg. He has stuck as close to me as a shadow ever since we left that slave camp. We have whispered conversations at nightfall when he tells me all those thoughts that he's been saving all day. Tonight, he asks me about the strange lines of color in the afternoon sky that appeared out after a rain shower. It takes us quite a few exchanges for me to realize that he's talking about a rainbow – he had never seen a rainbow before – and he asks me if the Maker was working magic in the sky. It's such a beautiful thought, such an innocent question, that it almost hurts to tell him that the Maker isn't a mage.

Liam may have been in a Circle before and he sort of understands the laws of man, but he's still a little fuzzy on the Maker's divine laws, namely that magic is a sin. How do you tell a little boy that this thing he has, that's he's unable to get rid of, is sinful? That would break his heart. Well, I just can't do that. He has this wide-eyed wonder to the world, seeing things that everyone else has seen before but that we've become oblivious to, like caterpillars and flowers and... rainbows. These things are brand new to him, and he soaks them up with a delight that is both refreshing and contradictory. He has the ability to butcher people with a thought, he can infect others with his feelings, and could fold over into a demon at any second, but when he mouths the word rainbow and gasps with awe, I can't help but smile.

But it never lasts.

Later that night, Liam rustles in his bedroll and makes squeaking noises. This is the other reason that I can't sleep, because I lay awake wondering what he dreams about. He doesn't say anything, but I've watched him in his slumber. His breaths come unevenly at times. He hums, twitching restlessly. I can't help but wonder if there are demons clawing on the other side of his consciousness, promising impossible things, everything from a fresh pear to everlasting happiness, which, when you're starving, may as well be the same thing. And we are most definitely starving. For family. For freedom. For permanence. I'm probably more afraid of his possession than he is. It's not just because I don't want to face another demon, but because it's Liam... he's just a kid. It's unfair that this is his life: that he can only be an apostate, a Circle mage, or dead.

If Samantha and I had married when we should have, then we might have had a son together by now. Liam is older than our son would be, but the more time I spend with him, the more I wonder... what if my son was a mage? What would I do to shelter him? What would I do to protect him from others? From himself?

I was taught that mages are dangerous from an early age, and that has stuck with me like a second skin, but maybe Innley was right. Everything from Liam's life has been amputated just as Innley claimed. He must have felt so alone, not being able to tell anyone about what he was, about what he was going through. Did he wake up alone in the middle of the night, afraid of himself and of being discovered? I wonder if he survived that night in Starkhaven – the night the Circle Tower burned – and if he did, what his life is like.

Conflicted, I look away from Liam, trying to push these thoughts aside. These things he can do, these things he cannot control are not his fault. I tell myself that, and deep down I want to believe it, but he's a mage just like the mages in the Circle Tower. The ones who allowed a demon into the world. The demon that eventually forced me to choose between my freedom and my heart.

Thea snores softly, mumbling something in her sleep. Nes doesn't wake, but sometimes she does, irritated at her sister though she says nothing. I am not sure if Desh ever sleeps. I'm not kidding; I've never seen him sleep.

The first time he removed his hood and I got a good look at his face, I was sort of surprised. He has black hair, skin that's nearly as dark as mine, a square face, and stone-grey eyes; his features mark him very clearly as Avvar. His people aren't that common in the Free Marches, and, at least in Starkhaven, are considered wild and uncultured – kind of like dwarves but without the politics. His tattoos, which are common among his people, trace the cut of his jaw from one side of his face to just above his eyebrows. But only on one side. Staring into someone's face and seeing asymmetry is weird. Also, for such a large man, he comes and goes as silently as a mouse, though there are times when I think he wants me to know that I'm being watched. He doesn't trust me, but that's okay. He's a swordarm for the kind of people that prey on those who are in trouble; I don't trust him, either.

The sisters are not the smartest pair. It's been about five months of grueling travel across some pretty treacherous terrain, and yet all they talk about is coin and how to get it; intimidation, trade, and even killing. We've slept near each other, shared every meal together, and saved each other's lives from wild beasts more times than I really care to count, and yet I don't know them at all and I certainly don't trust them. This is why I avoid answering questions about myself or Liam. I want to hide our true identities for our protection. He's an apostate and I am the lost nephew of a dead prince of Starkhaven. We could be easily exploited for another's gain.

Sometimes, though, I get the impression that they think that my identity is something other than I told them, like a wanted fugitive or maybe even someone important in Tevinter. It's almost laughable how suspicious they are, and truly unfortunate that the sisters only see ways to exploit others for their own gain. I assume that they will double-cross me at some point. It's sort of infuriating to have this non-interaction with them where they know that I am hiding something – many somethings – and not be able to correct their faulty assumptions about just what I am hiding.

But maybe it's not me. They must feel things when they look at Liam, though he's been trying very hard to keep his emotions under control. Sometimes, I see the sister's expressions change in mid-sentence, and it's during those times that I have to stop Liam – he's practicing on them and that's not right. He thinks it's funny, but experimenting on people isn't ethical. Today it's practicing at making them laugh, but tomorrow he could be making them cower in fear. Of course, how do you explain ethics to a little boy? It's sort of like commanding men in my regiment, I guess; I have to lead by example. Liam is quite impressionable, so it's not hard to persuade him to do what's right. Until a whim strikes him, of course.

It would be easier if we were on our own, and sometimes, just like in that slaver camp, I find myself watching for opportunities to escape. I could snatch up Liam and sneak away into the pitch-black night. But I don't and it's not because Desh is always watching, but because it's foolish to think that I can make it home on my own. It's not like I've done a great job so far. When I was out with my Pentaghast cousins, it was so much easier; we all possessed different yet complimentary skills that made navigating the world a manageable affair. Thedas is too cruel a place, filled with dangerous people and monsters and elements; while running from one, you can run right into another. So I understand why, when we enter villages, all the lights in all the houses go out. There are terrible people in the world, and it's not worth putting faith in the goodwill of strangers.

One evening after a long day's walk across flat land, we spot a small city on the horizon. I stare at the buildings that rise in the distance, grey and square. It's been a long time since I've seen civilization. It looks so unnatural. So out of place.

I ask to no one in particular, Is this Perivantium?

Thea whirls around, staring at me intently. Yes. We said we'd make it here.

Nervousness creeps over my ribs; I feel twitchy. I wonder if I could be recognized – by slavers, a band of thugs who know all the royalty in Thedas, innkeepers, tavern wenches, and the myriad people that will see me and remember my face. The unknown is my enemy, but there's no way I can explain that to these women without giving them my name. I won't do that. My anonymity is the only protection I have left.

I say, Let's wait until dark to go in.

Thea's mouth drops open. She's so easily riled up, it's almost like she prefers to be angry. She cries out: Andraste's tits! I knew he was a criminal!

Liam bites his lower lip and looks away, trying very hard not to laugh. He's heard some pretty mature things in his life, but for some reason, swearing about Andraste's body parts – which Thea seems to do recreationally – always inspires his laughter. I almost wish he would laugh so I could feel happy for a few seconds. Anything to make this anxiety go away.

I say, Well, if you'd prefer, we could dance through the city square, and I could sing your names in a song for all the citizens to hear.

Nes turns a dark scowl in my direction. She says, There's no way around this city that won't get you killed by mercenaries. They patrol the Imperial Highway looking for marks like you.

Thea is still flailing around, and as she yells, little puffs of frost escape her mouth. She says, I've never met anyone so demanding and entitled in my entire life!

Right. If she only knew my mother—had known...

She flops down to the dirt, flinging out the contents of her satchel like garbage from a bag – a map, a medicine kit, lockpicking tools, bandages, a sack of coin, some papers, small bits of clothing that resembles underthings – finally pulling out a tinderbox. She glances at Desh who immediately turns about and wanders off. I recognize their routine; he's gone off to find kindling.

Liam's small hand tightens around mine.

Senestra's scowl turns to a glare. Once it's dark, she says, we'll get to an inn, and then Thea will go and buy you a sword and bring it back. And then, you will give us the rest of the names.

I bring my hand to my forehead and then my chest, and then say, I give you my word.

Thea rankles, stuffing her things violently into her pack. His word! Who does he think he is – the King of Ferelden? Andraste's lily-white ass! His word means precisely shit to me!

Liam stifles a giggle; he's afraid but his compulsion to laugh is good for my nerves.

Nes places a hand on her sister's shoulder. She says, We'll need you to call on Courtland. He will help us cover our tracks with the guard. Meet us all at the inn. We'll draw less suspicion if we aren't together. After a pause, she adds, I mean, they're looking for two gingers, not one.

Thea's jaw snaps shut, her eyes alight with fire, and she aims them straight at Desh who is a little ways away, scouring the dirt for twigs and leaves. She looks worried. Why is she worried? When he returns, Thea resumes glowering at me, which seems like her second hobby. I am her solution. I am the curse of her existence.

Desh arranges the kindling into a neat pile, and somehow while building a fire, the grip on his sword never loosens. It's been months, and he still manages to look moments away from killing me and Liam if we make one wrong move. I can't really tell what a wrong move would be at this point. The warrior focuses on Liam more than me, as well. I know that Senestra suspects Liam, too. I've seen the way they look at him. Maybe they know he's a mage. Maybe they think that I'm a mage, too. Maybe Desh can see the fear in my eyes right now. But he can't possibly know that I'm more afraid of Liam than for him. In my training, the masters taught to us trust our instincts above all else. If it feels like danger, it probably is. If it looks like a mage, it probably is. Desh looks at Liam. He never lets go of his sword.

I'll give you the location of where the Crows transfer their slaves and the rest of the foremen's names when I get my sword, I say.

I knew this would get their attention. This location would be extremely valuable for someone who intends to smuggle people – slaves – away from the Crows. And I hope they do. I hope they free every last one of them.

Thea draws a breath in excitement, but Nes remains calm when she says, And then that's it. Then we part ways.

I quickly agree, though I'm almost certain that they are planning to kill me, capture me, and probably take Liam. They'll descend upon me with a small army, probably provided by Courtland, whoever that might be. They think they are smarter than me, but they aren't. I see right through them.

Right when the sun disappears over the horizon, we hit a paved road – the Imperial Highway. We see a campfire in the distance and hear drunken singing voices – Nes was right about avoiding this stretch of road, and so we trek off the path and into the darkness left by the setting sun. The torches at Perivantium's gates guide us to the city. I watch the sisters. I watch Desh. I keep moving.

Liam gets tired, and eventually I have to carry him. Sometimes, I wonder if he has truly become like one of my brothers. I can remember times when I carried both of my other brothers. Goran fell out of a tree when he was eight and broke his leg – the last time he was ever adventurous – and after I carried him back inside the royal palace, our mother summoned the healers faster than we could get him a pain tonic. I carried Sebastian more times than I can remember. Sometimes laughing and often drunk, I slung him over my shoulder and carried him back to the palace where there were no healers waiting in the corridors. I wonder how far I'll carry Liam. He's not heavy on my back, and every so often, I crane my neck around to look at the top of his head. His oily brown hair tickles my neck, and his cheek is mashed into my shoulder. Being this close, I can see the troubled lines between his eyes. Little boys shouldn't have lines between their eyes.

The chill of the world without sunlight – light that used to be the Maker's, but has since left me – seeps through our furs right as Senstra, Desh, Liam, and I arrive at the inn. I didn't realize how much I was relying on the darkness until we step into the bright light of the inn, the illumination coming from a giant hearth on the opposite side of the room. The patrons stare grimly into their mugs of ale and the innkeeper barely looks at us as we drop a few silvers on the bar. There's a bard in the corner stringing a lute and doing a horrible job with the tuning. As we pass by him, heading towards the stairs, I wonder if my lute is still sitting in my room back home. I wonder if my room is still made up. I wonder if anything is like I remember it.

Our rental is no more than four thin walls and a rotten wooden roof. There's a desk, a bed, and a night table, and all look a bit rickety. The ratty curtains are drawn on the window against the far wall. The bed creaks noisily when I set Liam upon it, and just as I turn around, Desh closes the door and leans back against it, blocking the main exit.

Now we wait, Senestra says from the center of the room, crossing her arms.

I have a suspicion that Desh is the reason that the sisters are in such trouble in Tevinter. Part of me wonders who Desh belonged to before they stole him. I've never seen him use magical spells, but the way he never sleeps... I mean, literally, I've never seen him sleep. That's not natural. I would bet that they stole him away from some magister and he wants to recover his warrior or guard or protégé or whatever.

Perhaps you should start writing down the names of all those guards, Senestra suggests.

I wonder if she's going to hold up her end of the bargain or if she's just stalling me. I glance at Desh who watches Liam who is watching Senestra who is now watching me.

As soon as I'm holding my shiny new sword, I say.

She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. You don't trust anyone, do you?

I don't trust you, I say.

She points a finger to her chest defensively. I keep my promises! I make deals that are true!

By preying on the less fortunate?

I've met people like you, she says distastefully. Hero types. You think that because I made money by helping people, that I must not care. Well, you're wrong! I've helped more people than you, I bet.

Well, she's got me there. I haven't actually made anyone's life better. Maybe Liam... not that his life has improved all that much.

She waves her finger around when she says, You think it's easy to be dependent on a stranger? It's not easy – it sucks, but that what I'm asking from you. But... if this is some trap, if you have people waiting here in this town, you can think again about shaking me down. I've got friends, too!

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch that Desh is resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. As I look back and forth between them, I almost want to laugh. I've been waiting for them to cross me this whole time, but I never once thought that they might suspect the same thing from me. I suppose it makes sense: I demand to come to this city, I have a history with Antivan slavers, I refuse to give them my real name, and I am escorting a little boy who they must know is a mage. It's a wonder they haven't killed me. They must really be desperate.

Senestra is still irritated, babbling about being a businesswoman and how she makes honest deals. I feel a bit sheepish as I ask for a quill, and she shoves one into my hand haughtily. She looks partly relieved but also angry. It's as though she wants to hold onto it for as long as she can. Like she hasn't been entitled to it for too long and she's making up for lost time.

I sit down at the writing desk which is little more than five pieces of wood nailed together. The legs of the table rattle as I write, but I write. A lot. I remember every name, every face, every accent and sneer, because when you've seen horrible people do horrible things, those people and things get branded into that space of your memory that you wish you could erase, but you can't. You just can't.

I have about fifteen names and descriptions written down when there's a knock on the door. We all assume it's Thea, but it's not Thea. Once Senestra sees who's on the other side, she panics, scrambling to close the door, but the visitor slams his hand against the door's face faster than anyone can react. He's tall, wears an overcoat, and holds a long, twisted wooden staff. Behind him are two women, and behind them are about a dozen—well, the best way to describe them would be henchmen. They remind me of that pack of mountain hyenas; dirty, unscrupulous, and hungry for a fight.

Though panic prickles the hair on my neck, it doesn't belong to me. It's Liam, and he's woken up. Senestra and Desh must feel it, too.

The man in the doorway smiles devilishly as he takes a single step into the room. I hadn't even heard Desh draw his sword, but he holds it up defensively. I reach for the knife on my hip, but we are in a bad position, spread out and away from each other.

I glance at Senestra, and she looks frightened – no, it's more than that; she looks like she's living her worst nightmare.

The man bows, speaking conversationally when he says, Desh, I'm so pleased to see you.

Desh doesn't move. He doesn't stiffen or relax or anything. He's a living statue with his sword drawn.

Senestra whimpers out the words: I'm sorry, Halcinus. I'm so sorry.

Halcinus... Have I heard that name before?

I know, I know, Halcinus says with a genial smile, holding up his hand in a conciliatory manner, though it's quite clear that he's not conceding anything. He speaks slowly through his thick Tevinter accent: The important thing is that you've come home.

Now, I've never seen a magister in the flesh before, just read about them, but if I had to imagine what a magister looked like, Halcinus would be it. He's shockingly tall – taller than me, with wild brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His clothes are expensive, his skin is flawless, and his green eyes are as keen as bolts of lightning. Fleetingly, I wonder if he could shoot sparks from them.

I ran into your sister and figured you weren't far away, he says.

Senestra opens her mouth to ask a question that is preemptively answered by one of the guards who tosses a green velvet bag into the room. It lands with a thud, rolling across the cracked wood flooring. There's a dark stain on the side of the bag, and as it rolls, red marks are inked into a dotted line across the room. That looks like blood... It comes to a stop somewhere in the middle, and it's then that I notice a wisp of red hair threaded out from between the golden drawstring closure.

Maker have mercy... Thea's head is in that bag.

Senestra starts to choke on her breath. She drops to her knees, her shaking hands reaching for the bag but stopping just short of grasping it. I would not recognize this as the same woman who was arguing with me earlier. Desh stares at the bag with what looks like fury, maybe disgust, he's hard to read. The mages behind Halcinus are unknown to me, but I recognize them. They are no different than the Antivan slavers; like cruel vultures, they watch poor Senestra with perverse envy, as though they wish they had been the ones to cause her pain.

I want to crawl away, to snatch up Liam and break down the walls and the door and run as far and as fast as I can, but I can't look away from that bag and those red splotches on the floor.

No one is talking or moving, just standing around enjoying the spectacle and so I stand up from the chair, but this draws the magister's attention. I feel his gaze upon me terribly. It feels sour, rotten – is that him or Liam? Staring at this man, at this magister, I come to understand a few things. He will see Liam as a mage, but not much else. When he looks at me, he sees another nameless nobody that he will have to mow down to complete his quest. I see it very clearly; my death is inside this room, and I am not ready to die.

His gaze slowly drifts to the little boy on the bed. The little boy who has started to cry. The little boy who is staring at the soiled, green velvet bag. Don't look, Liam, I want to say, but I can't speak. I'm afraid to speak. Oh, Maker in the Heavens, let me take him away from here. Let us escape this room, please. Please...

What is this? Halcinus asks, and his eyes twinkle in the dim light – no wait, they shine briefly and he squints, like they are reflecting light from somewhere.

I step forward, aiming to place myself between the magister and Liam, but this provokes a serious reaction from almost everyone in the room. Desh's eyes widen and he starts to shake his head, warning me to stop. The warriors in the hallway tense up, and I hear the clinking of their armor as they bring up their swords. Halcinus laughs, but does nothing. It's one of his mages who takes action. She thrusts her hand out in front of her and, faster than I can blink, a tremendous invisible weight slams me in the chest. I sail backwards through the air, and I feel my weak shoulder crack against the thin wall. I groan and gasp at the same time as I land, because the force of that spell has knocked the wind out of me, and because Liam is not an experienced healer, so my shoulder has never set properly.

Rubbing my shoulder, I glance up to see Liam staring right at Halcinus, and I wouldn't need to feel it to recognize his expression. Intense fear. Frustration. Confusion. Please, no... I will him to look at me, to stay calm, but he doesn't. His breaths come short now.

Senestra is still crying on the floor, her gaze locked onto the soiled bag that contains her sister's head. Desh looks somewhere between bewildered and murderous, with his sword raised, alternately watching Halcinus, the mages, and the guards, all of whom hover just outside of the room, their swords shifting in twitchy hands.

Then Desh says to Halcinus, Your quarrel is with us. Not with them.

He's talking about me and Liam. Is he trying to help us?

My quarrel is with anyone in my way, Halcinus says conversationally.

I wheeze a little, trying to catch my breath, but manage to say, Leave the boy alone.

But he's a mage, Halcinus says, as though he's stating the most obvious thing in the world. He's come here for this.

I say, He will choose his own path.

Choose? Halcinus laughs, and then informs me: No mage ever chooses.

Many things happen at once. Halcinus lifts his hands which inspires the henchmen to push into the room which causes Desh to lift his sword above his head and bring it down hard on the nearest henchman. But what happens to Senestra is something that will burn in my memory for as long as I live.

I barely have time to yell Liam's name before Senestra lets out a wailing, tortured scream that rattles the walls. I look up in time to see the henchman draw his blade away, revealing a thick line of red across Senestra's throat. With a wide-open mouth, she reaches up, trying to stave the flow of blood, but it's fast turning into a waterfall that cascades down her chest, soaking into her vest and pooling around her knees.

Halcinus reaches over to Senestra's neck, submerging his hand in the flow of her blood. He smiles. His eyes begin to glow and the tip of his staff starts to blur – blood magic!

My hands find the wall, and I lean against it, scrambling to stand up. The bustle of movement, clinking of armor, and ringing of swords hitting swords swirls around me. There are so many people that I can't count that fast, and I barely dodge one sword before ducking another, and then everything stops.

Freezing as though shackled to the dirty floor, terror locks me into place. No... No! Liam! I want to turn, to calm him down, but it's too late because Liam starts screaming. Everyone in the room – me, Halcinus with his blood-dripping hands, Senestra as she slowly slinks to the floor, Desh as he sinks one of his parrying daggers into the belly of one of the fighters, and all these henchmen – we all stop, slapping our hands to our ears to escape the piercing sound. There's some kind of bright light on the other side of my eyelids. It's like being outside on an especially sunny day, and I crack open my eyes, but I am not prepared for what I see.

Liam is glowing. His eyes, his hair, his skin, everything about him is radiating orange, bright and fiery, and without warning a flash erupts from him, knocking me back. I am dimly aware that there are screams coming from somewhere, but I can't focus on it because my skin feels like it's on fire. I crouch down as close to the floor as I can, balling up to the bed to shield myself from the heat which rolls over me in unsteady waves. They come at me in pulses of twos and threes, over my left shoulder, then my back, as though tiny comets are sailing over my head, their fiery inferno sparing me. But the roof does not.

The comets blast through the walls, buckling the supports. Planks of wood aflame plunk down from the ceiling, landing on my back and one or two crack against my ailing shoulder. I shake them off, trying to avoid serious injury, but the room is literally caving in. I hear what sounds like crackling ice on a pond, but it's the window – long cracks are drawing lines across the glass for the frame is buckling.

I hear agonizing wails, gurgles and grumbles and moans, singing fabric, wood popping with cinder, and gasps for breath that seize and then stop. The smell of burnt meat fills my nose and I try feverishly to breathe through my mouth only, but there's no escaping it as the dense taste hangs in the air.

I think about the mine and the explosion, and for one eternal moment, I think that this will be the last memory that I will ever have. That I will be sent to Maker's Kingdom, into Andraste's eternal embrace, to passively live forever, watching those that I have loved and left behind go on without me. The thought chokes me with fury – No! I will not die in this room today.

I scream Liam's name again and again, rising from my crouch, shielding my head from the falling debris, and it's like everything is moving too slowly to be real. Halcinus has his arms crossed above his head, a glowing wall of light arcing out from him, shielding him from the carnage. Desh is diving through the air towards the door, Senestra is on fire, her skin blistering, her mouth open, her head tilting to the side, falling backwards to the floor. The mages are trying to duck, the henchmen are lifting their shields, and as my arms reach out to the glowing boy who is screaming bloody murder, a bright white light blinds me and a force greater than I have ever felt slams me in my already sore chest. I fly backwards again, this time crashing through the window's frame – which finally shatters the glass – and I smash onto the hard earth outside, the remains of the wall crashing down atop me.

I don't know long I lie there nor how long I am unconscious. When I crack open my eyes, I cough for the dust, but the sound is muted and there's a sharp ringing in my ears. I feel so tired. My head, my shoulder, my chest, my back, my arms… everything I try to move hurts, but I move anyway. I push long planks of wood off from me, and I look up to see the evening sky blanketed by haze. There are people around me, staring in shock at the building, which is, in a word, destroyed. The wall that I crashed though no longer exists. Well, it does, it's just been relocated. It's now blanketing me as I lie on the ground.

I don't know how I manage to get up, but I shake away the grit, splintered wood and dirt, pulling the debris off of me, pushing it aside, and before I even know what I'm doing, I'm screaming Liam's name. I finally pull a plank of wood away, and feel a thud of fear so intense that it knocks me back to the ground. Liam! I call his name, pulling myself up—

Maker's breath...

Slumped to the ground in warped metal and burned leather, bodies lay strewn the destroyed-room's floor. They're all dead. Senestra. Desh. The two mage women. All the henchmen. Their bodies are mangled, and beneath the shocks of smoldering hair, I see long stretches of blackened skin bubbled up to a crisp with bright shiny patches of red – oh, Maker. That's not blood. It's skin. Liam has burned them alive.

There are many names for what this is: carnage, slaughter, massacre... I feel surrounded by it; a wave of dizziness rolls over my head and lands on my shoulders. The room shrinks. The bodies swell. I feel smaller and smaller. It didn't have to be this way – did it? I knew Liam had caused some kind of explosion at the mine, but I never imagined that he could do something like this.

I see Liam crouched on the bed. He looks like he's hyperventilating, and just like the waves of heat or fire or whatever it was that he loosed upon the room, I feel unsteady beats of emotions rolling off of him, hitting me like tidewater. He's trying to control it, but he's clearly overwhelmed, and as it pulls and pushes, I close my eyes, trying to focus on those feelings that belong to me.

I hear a voice, but I can't make out what he's saying. It's familiar. Unfriendly. Halcinus. I squint through the dust to see the magister encased in some kind of glowing bubble. He callously steps over Senestra's charred corpse, and towards the boy on the bed. Reactively, I lift my hand and try to speak, but my throat is dry and dusty and so nothing comes out but a cough. Halcinus takes another step – No! I have to stop him!

I manage to say Liam's name and the magister's expression changes. Like a giant that may look upon a mouse that's come to challenge its authority, I see amusement in his face, curiosity, but most of all, condescension. Liam visibly startles at the sound of my voice, looking to me with shock, guilt, and what seems like extreme relief. His eyes fill up with little-boy tears. Was he worried that he had killed me, too?

I may be covered in the remains of a wall, but I am alive. I hold out my hands and though they shake a little bit, I hoarsely say, I'm okay. See? I'm okay.

My voice sounds far away. I can't hear very well.

Halcinus says something with a wide smile, gesturing to me but I think he's talking to Liam.

Liam cries out, pointing somewhere behind me right as I feel a metal-clad hand clamp on my bad shoulder. I cry out, too, trying to jump up, to fight. Crack! Andraste, preserve me! Pain shoots through my jaw and the guard pulls his hand back, or at least, I think he does. The world is getting fuzzy again.

Where is Liam? We have to run. We have to get away...

Another unseen blow against the other side of my head forces me back down to my knees.

My hands. There's blood on my hands. That's the last thing I remember before unconsciousness takes me again.