A/N: Uh-oh! Author's notes before the chapter? Problems ahead!

Nope, not at all.

Once in a while, my agenda ends up suffering a bit with my RL problems, and I ended up skipping a week, but nothing new until here. This time, however, I will put Kallian's Sketchbook into a short hiatus for other reasons.

I'm working on a spin-off of this story - a short tale, about Noah's sister - that is half way done. The problem is that I can't write two stories at the same time - not with this crazy schedule, at least.

So, there will be no chapter next week. I will finish the short tale first, and then come back to this. You won't have to wait more than two weeks to read the next chapter, this I promise you. :D

I'm giving you a longish chapter this time - three POV's plus an overall perspective in third person. I hope you like it!

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What was left when that fire was gone,

I throught it felt right, but that right was wrong.

All caught up in the eye of the storm,

And trying to figure out what it's like moving on.

And I don't even know what kind of things I said,

My mouth kept moving and my mind went dead.

Picking up the pieces,

Nowhere to begin?

The hardest part of ending

Is starting again.

-Waiting for the end - Linkin Park

Chapter 38

Echoes of Consciousness

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Kallian

There are certain things in life that make a person think. You know, about everything - life, principles, objectives ... And at that moment I thought: What am I doing here?

This question would not leave my head. It persisted - hammered, like a Chantry bell at noon, and the more I tried to get an answer, the more lost I was in the midst of my own chaos.

The point is that I was here for a reason. But ... What reason was that? What had I done to deserve this place?

With each passing day, I realized that the Blight was more than cruel. It was far more than insane. It was much worse than chaotic or evil.

It was not from this world.

I saw a lot of death today - including my own, more than once even - and all I kept saying to myself was ... "One more."

It was more than a mantra - it was a plea.

A silent plea for us to be able to save one more, always one more, to create that false sense of peace for having done the right thing, for having done the best we could, and go to sleep with the impression that, in fact, we did something good for that city.

For those people.

"Then, what?", you may ask. A single life worth all of this? All the effort, all the mobilization, all the risk and salvaging among hundreds corpses?

It was worth it.

I would do everything again, even if only for a single life. I'm sure of that. But… "Then, what?"

We'd saved a life, yes. The "one more" mantra had worked more than once, so, why I was not satisfied?

Why did the swinging of those ropes, an awful sound of old and rusty hinges creaking; the sound of boots pounding on each other every time the wind blew its scent of death and the sweeping silence, which was broken only when a mere mortal dared to breathe, bother me so much ?

I had forty people behind me. FORTY. This meant four groups of ten people. It was the standard number of the patrol groups of Denerim overnight, scattered in the streets. It was the number of bronze coins that my father earned every month to feed four people and take care of the household expenses.

Forty.

I saved forty lives today, but all I could think about was the lives of the four children hanged before us, hanging in trees as trophies on display. Their bodies were burned, torn, marks of a cold, cruel extermination. I could not recognize them, so great was the damage. That was a warning from the Darkspawn – We were here; we have triumphed over your misfortune, and will do the same to you.

All I could think about was how I could not do ANYTHING. Duncan had put his faith in me, but I couldn't prevent these atrocities from happening.

It was not ingratitude. I was happy for those forty people, and would come back for them as many times as necessary. The looks of thankfulness they gave us every time our gazes met was worth every burn on my body. All they needed was a chance, and it was exactly what we gave to them. A second chance, where no one else cared, in a world where everyone was out for themselves, and where the only priority was survival at any costs.

However, when I said that certain things lead us to think, I meant it. Lothering was created by the empire as a trading post, a way to supply Ostagar more efficiently. Of course, the city grew more than that and it turned into a modest rural village with a good commercial potential. It might have been a small town, but at the time of the attack, there was about three thousand and two hundred people there, between the town, farms and outskirts.

Three thousand and two hundred.

And of three thousand and two hundred, only forty made their way out.

As much as this small victory was worthy of celebration - a celebration of life – it was very difficult to disperse this heavy and dense haze of failure that weighed mercilessly on my shoulders.

And the image of those children will remind me of this every night before I go to sleep.

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Six small bodies, mutilated and burned, hanged from the trees before them.

Six lives exposed as trophies, symbols of the cruelty and wickedness of the Darkspawn.

Those children were not the only ones - in the distance, it was possible to see more people hung from trees, scattered around the city limits - their bodies only a shadow of what they once were. That was the way these beasts marked their territory, to fill their enemies with fear, and make it clear that they would not stop until they inflicted their reign of terror and corruption on every living being, slaughtering everyone in their path.

The shock of seeing those children in such a distressful state hit everyone, just as if knives were slicing through their bodies. It was the last straw, something that seemed to exist solely to push the limits of the mind and soul to the edges of the unbearable - where even the strongest ones, the brave warriors who'd faced the chaos and torment of the Blight, and suffered the corruption within the city, crumbled at once, as if all their years in the battlefield were worth nothing. Even the senior Templar, the most experienced among the refugees, couldn't stand such pressure, and vomited behind a tree.

And he wasn't alone - each of the refugees reacted in a different way, all affected by the same pain. There was gasping and sobbing everywhere, and if the scene wasn't shocking enough on its own, it was also the affirmation of what everyone had been trying to deny until now. The confirmation of what the majority had chosen to ignore, for the purpose of protecting themselves from the brutal impact of the reality they could no longer avoid.

Noah fell to his knees.

Beside him, Lenna stared at the scene perplexed, fighting against her own feelings. Part of her wanted to break down, just like the Warden in front of her, and surrender to the panic that she had been trying to keep away since it all began. She saw the future her family would endure if she failed, and could not help but feel a twinge of relief that they were not the unfortunate ones hanging on those trees. The other part of her felt guilt - guilt for being selfish enough to be happy to be alive, guilt for having been lucky enough to get out of Lothering with no more than a few scratches; guilt for not having done more, even when she was exhausted from having fought so hard to stay alive.

Feeling the inner torment of his sister, Carver just embraced her, without saying a word.

The truth was that no one dared to break the silence. After all, what could be said?

Only the muffled sobs of Leliana competed with the painful creaking of the dry ropes. As the sister responsible for spreading the teachings of the Maker and the kind words of Andraste, she'd met daily with many of the townsfolk. Her lute always brought joy and celebration to the locals, especially the children, who stayed with her for hours after the end of Chantry services, just to hear her stories, or listen to her sing.

She recognized those little people, despite their now deformed figures. Their names, their families, their dreams, their fears ... every small detail she knew about each one surfaced like a book full of memories, flash after flash, snatching her mind and soul just as the fierce waves of the ocean smash against the jagged rocks of the coast.

So many lost dreams ... It was too much for her to endure.

With the death of her dear friend Bryant, the person who had supported her the most during her first months in Lothering, she had chosen to honor his sacrifice by doing everything she could to fulfill his last wish, which had been to save the refugees. That, and only that, had helped her to remain sane and focused during the horrible things she'd faced so far, but this ... This was a reminder of all those she'd lost, all the friends that she had failed to help, and how the home of her soul - her harmonic refuge, her place of peace - no longer existed.

Her tears fell indiscriminately on the taint-corrupted ground, as she tried to stifle her cries.

Driven by a deep empathy and a momentum that she couldn't explain, Mahariel put her hand on Leliana's shoulder, offering her what consolation she could.

She'd watched Bryant falling. She had seen the reaction of the sister when it happened, and how she'd changed from her usual cheerful and hyperactive self to that sobbing, red-eyed figure, who'd completely lost that spark that usually made Mahariel so uncomfortable. There was no way to avoid feeling the pain of the bard, even if it meant having compassion for a human.

"No. ..." Noah mumbled weakly, his strength completely drained. "No. .." He repeated, begging the Maker that it wasn't true. His eyes were fixed on the boy, no more than ten years old, who hung swaying at the end of a sturdy branch. His face was unrecognizable, the burned and blackened skin falling in tatters off the exposed bone of his skull. The only details that Noah could make out were a few strands of black hair that covered his pointed ears.

On his right arm was wrapped a partially burned bandage. Nihael.

"We should go ..." This time, it was Alistair who broke the silence with his hoarse whisper, resting his hand on Kallian's shoulder. His eyes were glistening, but he kept a tight rein on himself, holding back the cry of pain and outrage that threatened to burst through his chest. He knew it was too late to help them, and that the time of mourning would have to come later. Instead, he silently prayed to the Maker to guide those souls to a better place.

His heart ached, but he still had to get those left alive to safety.

Kallian didn't look at Noah at first, and unlike everyone else, she was the only one who spent the whole time staring at the terrible scene in front of her. More than pity, her eyes showed signs of a large internal conflict - More than sadness, the flames of anger burned strongly within her... It was as if she couldn't look away from that cruel and gruesome reality, one to which all Fereldans would be condemned if they failed their task.

The cruel reality to which her family would be doomed if she failed.

Kallian let out a long sigh, turning her attention to Alistair with narrow, small eyes, as if they were sleepy. But it wasn't only because of fatigue - it was a different kind of exhaustion, an emotional weariness so intense, that it was as if her strength had been drained all at once.

It was an expression of pain, pure and genuine, which paralyzed Alistair as he gazed back at her.

When she questioned him silently, he made a quick move with his head, pointing at the group behind him, specifically at Morrigan, who was leaning on her staff, nearly uncounscious. Her body was moving, but her mind was long gone.

And the Darkspawn behind them, coming closer with every passing second.

Suddenly, a muffled noise attracted the attention of everyone, especially Kallian's - Noah fell forward, his knees still on the ground, supporting the weight of his body with his elbows. Stones poked his forehead, but he didn't seem to care - in fact, the more he felt the small, points of rock threatening to rip his skin, the more he forced her head against the ground.

His bare fist pounded hard against the dirt, repeatedly, each blow stronger than the one before it. It wasn't like he was getting rid of his anger, as he did with the trees, where the gesture itself was a way to release his tension - it was more like a necessity. As if he didn't trust himself to contain the weakness he felt, or the painful emptiness in his chest, and needed, needed… something, anything.

It was no longer only about Nihael - it that was about everything.

Each death without mourning, each tear unshed, each sudden loss and every piece of pain held inside his heart was being thrown at him mercilessly, all at once. It was like the heavy ax of an executioner slamming down on his exposed neck.

But Noah was too proud to cry. Too strong for his own good, and at the same time, too unstable for his own mind to take in anything else. The pain was too intense - the loss, the realization of their situation, it was the moment when the penny had finally dropped... The load was too heavy, even for his warrior's body.

To Noah, It was not Nihael, that small yet strong boy, who'd been so full of life, who hung on that tree. It was Oren, his clever nephew, who every day found a way to slip away from his teacher only to go to the grounds to watch him train, and to talk about dogs and wolves. Because, of course, the boy loved animals - he wanted to grow up and become a skilled trainer, to help his father win great battles.

Noah remembered how the little one had called him "Uncle Bear" when they were alone. Because, for the boy, that was what he'd looked like - a big, strong and protective grizzly bear, due to his girth and his height. And now, the small and briliant young trainer was dead, buried along with the dreams of all who'd fallen.

The ones who'd fallen, like Nihael.

The memories made Noah's eyes burn violently, but he didn't cry. He didn't cry when his parents died, didn't cry as he'd watched his home go up in flames, didn't cry when the world collapsed on his head, and neither did he the next day, when he'd woke up realizing that the nightmare was real, and his life would never be the same. He wouldn't surrender, not then, not now. Not because he had a stone heart, but because he no longer had enough strength to react.

Even to suffer, one has to have energy, and Noah had none.

If before he was only the shadow of the strong and protective warrior he once was, today he was nothing. He was just a fragile human being who'd just realized that he had lost everything, and whose realization made it impossible to breathe without all the muscles in his chest twisting in distress.

He was just a lonely grizzly bear, lost in an immense forest of darkness - dying with an arrow carved into his chest - whose strength and courage weren't enough to save anyone. All his muscles, his titles and medals, everything he had always strived to win and that he was so proud of, hadn't saved anyone. And, apparently, It was not enough even to save himself.

What came out of his dry mouth was only incomprehensible grunts, loud and disjointed. Even he didn't know what he was talking about - his body was just reacting to his desperate sobs and attempts to get air into his lungs.

The dark, corrupted ground beneath him gradually tinged with the red of his blood, and the air was cut by his choked voice, loaded with silent prayers that not even the Maker could fulfill.

Nihael was dead.

Bryce, Eleanor, Oriana, Gilmore, Oren ... All dead. Friends, mentors, fellow companions, family ... He remembered the name of each inhabitant of that castle, from Nan, the kind cook who'd always complained about Estúpido and his visitis to the kitchen, to Aldous, the gentle storyteller.

And the worst was that he couldn't even give a decent burial to any of his loved ones.

Of all the names, however, two caused him the most anguish - Fergus and Helena. His brother and sister were the perfect picture of uncertainty, the false hope of salvation for his lonely future. Only the Maker knew where they were now, if they were alive or dead, or even if one day Noah would get this answer. Until then,the waiting would be his faithful companion.

The waiting, and all its friends.

Kallian watched the scene in shock. Noah, a true giant in comparison to her small figure, strong as a bull, and a real killer of trees, was crumbling before her very eyes, and she didn't know what to do. In fact, she didn't even know what was happening, only that the angst and screams of Noah were hurting her.

After watching him shudder slightly, cowering on the ground, she turned to the other Wardens seeking an answer. She was completely helpless, and the only thing she knew was that seeing her poor Grumpy grabbing at the sand with his already weakened and bruised hand, was just too painful.

His suffering fed her worry, but she was too stunned to realize that.

"The boy, he ..." Mahariel began, a quiet and muffled whisper in the silence, but her emotions made the words die in her throat. She was also feeling disconcerted by the scene before her. She felt sorry for that human, and the most selfish part of her could not stop trying to make her believe that he'd brought it on himself. That it was the disunity of his people that made the rest of the country pay. That his suffering was deserved for leaving her on that road as if he were disposing of a dead animal.

But the other part, the same part that understood Leliana's pain, felt empathy for Noah as well. She'd liked the little boy, and knew not only that the human liked him too, but that it was a mutual affection. She could understand his pain. And even to feel a little bad for him.

The few words said were enough to make Kallian look more closely at the bodies, finally recognizing some of the few features that remained. However, it was not the bandage wrapped on his arm or the small pointed ears that made her understand the situation; Noah lifted his head suddenly, in silence, puffing like a ox before its final assault on its prey.

His gaze caught her attention - predatory, angry, with small red lines of vengeance spreading through his brown irises. More than that, she saw a hint of surrender hidden behind everything, and that was exactly what worried her the most.

She knew that look very well .

Noah stood as quick as lightning itself, strongly pushing at the ground him, raising small grains of sand and dust with his mad dash. His loud, husky cry broke the silence, like thunder that echoes through rocky valleys on a moonless night.

He was determined, and wouldn't have stopped for anything; and would have succeeded if the little elf hadn't acted quickly as well, anticipating his intentions and throwing her body against his, in an attempt to make him stop.

Of course she didn't succeed - her was twice her size and had three times her strength, but even so, she didn't give up: her little arms were firmly locked around his waist, holding him from behind. Her bare feet were burying deeper and deeper into the sandy ground, leaving a trail of small ditches where Noah dragged her.

"Noah!" She called, without much success. His ears were deaf from the pounding of his own heart, which seemed like it could blow off his head, so fast and strong it was beating. "Noah ... Noah, Noah!" She called, locking her knees and burying her heels even more into the hard ground, but all her efforts proved useless. "Help me, somebody!" she commanded to the wind, seriously considering knocking him to the ground. How she might possibly do that, she didn't know, but she was sure that she could handle a bronto with her bare hands easier than she could keep Noah in place.

The Qunari, the only one of the group that was not shaken by the whole situation, just held Noah by his wrists, allowing Kallian to slide to his side and stop in front of Noah, who now had both arms locked tightly by the white-haired giant.

"Let me go!" Noah growled, his eyes fixed on the group of Darkspawn approaching them.

"Noah, look at me!" Kallian ordered, placing both hands on his chestplate, as if pushing him back. "Noah ..." she called out again, giving him a slight shake. It was as if his mind and body were in different places. He simply didn't respond to anything.

"Let me go!" he ordered again, growling furiously. He was obsessed, blind and deaf, only following the most primitive part of his feelings - revenge above everything, regardless of the consequences. There was no reason or logic to his actions - he wanted to follow that momentum, no matter where it took him. But time was running out, and Kallian was not willing to give up that easy - she held his face with both hands and pulled it down, until they were face to face.

"Look at me," Her hands were locked firmly on his jaw, his rebel beard jabbing her palms.

"They will pay," he stammered, still refusing to meet her eyes. "They will pay, they ...!"

"They will!" Kallian's voice rose above his, finally getting his attention. "But it will not be here, not today," she breathed slowly, looking deeply into his teary eyes. "Not like this." Her tone was warm, comforting, rather than strict and harsh. Noah was just looking at the elf, his chest rising and falling violently from his decompensated breathing. When his shoulders finally dropped with a sigh, Kallian released him, watching his muscles slowly relaxing.

"We need you," she whispered, still staring at him in that way that seemed like she was reading people's souls. "Please, come with us. Please..."

Noah, feeling cornered yet also surprised by the sincere request of the elf, averted his gaze to the ground, nodding weakly before ceasing any form of remaning resistance. With a quick gesture from little elf, the Qunari let the human go free, returning to his initial position at the bottom of the group. Noah staggered but remained standing, still staring at the ground, as if he had no more strength to stay on his feet.

"Okay, all of you, listen to me!" Kallian shouted, walking into the middle of the group. She briefly looked at each of the survivors before continuing, worlds of different information going through her head at the same time. The heavy atmosphere of death in this place wasn't healthy for any of them, especially after all they'd been through, and the danger was closer than she liked. The more quickly they left, the better. "It's past time we get out of this place. We will march to the Eas-"

"I will not follow the orders of an elf," said one of the survivors, a human merchant who'd joined the group only recently.

"So feel free to test your luck alone," the Templar senior growled, pushing the man's chest hard enough to make him stagger back.

"We'll march to the East, as quickly as possible through the forest," Kallian continued, ignoring the merchant. Of all her problems, he was at the end of the list. "Elzer," she called the senior Templar by the name she had heard more than once, since he joined them. Elzer, meanwhile, jumped, surprised that the small warden had remembered his name. "I need you, Natasha and the Qunari on the front line." She looked at Elzer's sister, who seemed as surprised as her brother. "Clear the way for us - kill everything that moves."

"Yes, ma'am!" He nodded, more determined than ever, driven further by the fact that he had been treated not as just "another" soldier, but as a person with skills and and a proper identity.

"Okay." She looked around, still studying the group. "The others will follow them closely. Those who still can handle a sword, defend the group at all costs, and don't stop running."

The refugees listened intently, only nodding now and then as she spoke. Lenna stared at her with some anger, not pleased to be taking orders from someone she considered to be just another dog of the Chantry. But even so, she nodded, positioning herself in place within the larger group.

"Carver," Kallian called. "Take Morrigan with you. I need someone reliable to keep her safe. Can I count on you?"

"Absolutely. I'm won't disappoint you," he said, smiling, glad that she entrusted this mission to him. Without delay, he over to the witch was sitting and lifted her in his arms, being careful to not further injure her broken arm.

"I know you won't," Kallian told him, returning his smile. "Leliana, Mahariel," she continued "I need you two to stay with me to hold back the Darkspawn."

"Yes, Da'shal," Mahariel promptly replied, already pulling her bow off of her back. Leliana just nodded, repeating the gesture.

"Wait, Kallian!" Alistair called, holding her elbow. "Let me stay with you, I can still fight."

"I need fast people with me, to be able to catch up to you later," Kallian said gently. "Besides, I need you to do something for me. It's Important." She moved closer to him, talking low enough that only he could hear. "I'm afraid that Noah will do something stupid."

"So you want me to keep an eye on him ..." he said, a little disappointed. He did not want to leave her alone to handle the worst of the danger. He still had the strength to fight, he...

"I know you can handle it," she said, almost as if she could read his thoughts. "But I need someone to keep Noah walking, no matter what." She cast a worried glance towards Noah, who seemed mesmerized by the ground, standing at the edge of the larger group. "I would feel better if you would do this for me."

"Okay ..." Alistair sighed. Still unconvinced, he drew his sword and handed it to her, the blade pointed downward. "Be careful."

"I will." She picked up the sword, grateful to have more than a single dagger to stop those monsters. And even more to know that the Templar cared about this minor detail. "Now go, I will meet you soon. Come on, Shaw-Shaw!"

She turned to leave, but Alistair's hand on her arm stopped her. When she looked up into his eyes, there was so much care and concern, it nearly stole her breath.

"Don't die," he whispered.

Kallian nodded, swallowing hard.

With a barking dog and a nod, the two groups parted, heading in opposite directions.

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Mahariel

Oh, Falon'Din ... Lethanavir - Friend of the dead. Please, guide their feet ... Calm their souls ... And lead them to their rest.

Poor people ... Poor boys and girls whose dreams were now forever lost ... Poor souls who would no longer inhabit the earthly world to shine alongside their creators, their gods ...

In front of me, two of the humans were crumbling before my very eyes. The two least probable ones, to be clear. One, characterized by the ability to always be smiling, no matter what, and the other for his cold and apparently unshakable nature.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

In Leliana's case, I could say that I understood her pain - the pain of losing everything at once. That terrible feeling that weighs so heavily on the chest when one looks at the sky on a beautiful day, and has the sudden realization that this was now her new roof. Realizing that, upon looking back, the sight of her home had been transformed into an empty horizon.

Noah, on the other hand ...

He was .. No. Humans, in a general context, were curious creatures. In a bad way, obviously. They act with arrogance and superiority when in fact they are not so different from other races as they claim to be.

They breathe, like everyone else. Walk, like everyone else. Feel pain like everyone else ...

But humans… No, not them. Humans have this habit of thinking that they are better than the rest of the world without considering that they bleed like everyone else.

Death does not distinguish between a bee and a bull - all precious souls that provide Death the same pleasure when gathering their spirits, regardless of the shape of their bodies.

There, hanging on those trees, there were only corpses. Dwarves, elvhen, humans ... it matters not. Before Death, all were equal. But it's human nature to be blind, either through ignorance or convenience, and choose to ignore the obvious in favor of their own interests. And the most absurd thing was that even witnessing this absolute truth, they never get down from their pedestal of false superiority and unite to fight for their future - even among themselves!

If their leaders had a little more common sense and a little less selfishness, tragedies like this would be avoided, and these poor souls could be alive right now.

Nihael could be alive.

However ... The way Noah behaved some moments ago... The insane way he reacted and how he groaned and grunted names, lying on the ground and clinging to the earth as if he had nothing else, is what made me believe that he was sincere. That he cared.

Maybe that's why I looked back one last time after Da'shal called me to assist her in the evacuation of the people. And in his eyes, I found death. They were dull, dry as a great white oak.

What I felt when our eyes met was very different.

Compassion? A little. Pity? Maybe. But surely there was a closeted curiosity, the desire to know the outcome of the situation.

An intense conflict was happening inside him, that was clear. Two wolves fighting for control of his mind and soul. I don't know who these wolves were, or what they wanted, but I longed to know which of the two he would feed.

Good or bad, right or wrong, life or death ... Not matter. Whatever his choice, it would change him forever.

The same for the sister, who was wielding her bow beside me, her eyes full of tears. Really close to me, to be exact.

I don't know, but something told me that she was seeking some kind of solace in my presence. I was not blind, it was nearly impossible to ignore the totally helpless, sideways glances she threw at me, and how after my gesture of compassion she began to seek me out, always within reach of my shadow.

She was the kind of person who kept her feelings stamped on her face, which in some ways for me, was the most difficult type to deal with.

I Iet out a defeated sigh .

Shit, I had a heart beating in my chest, for the love of the Creators. I could not ignore the suffering of others as if it were nothing, and even more when it was so geunine and pure. I may have certain restrictions and limitations, but coldness was definitely not one of my virtues.

So, as I could not resist looking back one last time, intrigued with the human, I also found myself whispering a little prayer to the Creators - not for the dead, not for myself, but for both of them.

Mythal, all-mother ... Protector of the people, watch over us. For the path we tread is perilous, save us from the darkness, as you did before, and we will sing your name to the heavens.

.

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Noah

Nothing.

I should feel something, but I felt nothing.

Actually ... I felt too way much. Too many dark and distressing feelings competing to erode through my chest first. And, as a result of this mortal clash, the place where my heart supposedly belonged was now turned into a giant black hole that sucked in any form of emotion, reaction or will that dared to approach it. It became a gateway linking my soul to the Void itself. In other words, I was a slave to my own suffering.

I saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing ... Everything inside my head was only flashes - a true bombing of memories, pain, feelings and facts, which made everything else seem unreal, irrelevant, impossible ...

And I needed to know that it was real.

What was real.

The pain from the skin of my hand ripping against the ground seemed real, but there was also pain in my dreams. The blood running down my arm looked real, but there was also blood in my dreams. The corruption in my veins felt real, but there was corruption in my dreams, as well. So, how to know what was real?

Nihael, hanging from that tree was real. The Darkspawn dancing in my mind, imposing their vile presence inside my thoughts was real.

Death was real.

I stood with a simple goal. Embrace the real, plunge myself into the sea of revenge and use their blood to try to make my own heart beat again. To give some meaning, even if negligible, to my empty and aimless existence.

To embrace the roar of endless battle and accept death with my arms wide open - to finally put an end to my perpetual pain.

I could not stand it anymore.

I wasn't tired. I was sick.

My legs didn't want to walk anymore. My lungs didn't want to breathe.

I didn't want to suffer anymore.

I used the last of my strength to move against what was supposed to be the end of everything, but the red headed elf put herself in my way. And if I'd stopped, it was because I had nothing else. I felt nothing. The last spark of strength and determination that remained within my beaten heart, was drained from me when she held me, and nothing was left but to allow myself to be touched like a sheep, simply because I had no more strength to resist. To question. To simply.. resist. Yes, that's the right word.

But ... at least sheep had their own will. I, by stance, was vegetating. My will was no longer mine, and her words were no more than sounds that told me absolutely nothing.

What was left was only the fragments of a broken man, who someone was trying futilely to hold onto. I was just a walking body, a vessel without a soul, a warrior without a sword.

I no longer knew what I was doing there. But the elf, she kept me around, regardless. What she expected of me, I didn't know, and frankly, I was too exhausted to care.

The only thing that caught my attention, perhaps the only highlight of my numbness, was a voice echoing through the dry and toxic air of that city. An angelic voice, sweet, full of light emotions and soft as silk.

A prayer, made with faith and sincerity that it touched my ears and my soul in a way that I would never forget, so pure and true those words sounded.

"Save us from darkness", the blonde elf wished.

Part of my chest was filled with a bit of false hope. After all, I was so sunk into my own vortex of hatred and despair, I doubted very much that I could still be saved one day.

No, there was no salvation at all.

"And we will sing your name to the heavens." But even so, the prayer went on. And as she said her last words, one more glance from her caught my attention, before she turned her back and moved in the opposite direction. That one glance held something else. Something different than the hatred and contempt I'd usually seen in her eyes when she looked at me.

"...And we will sing your name to the heavens," I repeated softly, letting the words echo in the air like a promise of salvation that could never be fulfilled.