Let's continue!
3
Back at Haven, Cullen welcomed Ophelia and her team. The lines of worry softened on his face upon seeing her unharmed. But instead of showing weakness, he focused on the details of the mission.
"Did you accomplish what you set out to do?" he asked, crossing his arms as snow fell around them.
"Yes, the mages have agreed to join us as allies, not as prisoners." Ophelia looked directly at him, knowing what this decision meant to him. "I know it's hard, Cullen, but I believe we can face this together."
Cullen looked at her in silence for a moment before nodding slowly. "I trust your judgment, Ophelia."
The sincerity in his words moved her, and for a brief moment, they stood there, in the cold of Haven, sharing a feeling they didn't yet know how to name.
With the alliance of the mages secured, Ophelia and the Inquisition faced the largest Rift yet. Thanks to the coordination of their forces and the power of magic, Ophelia managed to close it, sealing the breach with an explosion of green light that illuminated Haven's night sky. Mages and warriors celebrated, relieved that, at last, a major threat had been contained.
However, the celebration was brief. That same night, a shadow descended over the valley. From the watchtower, the scouts spotted a dark, massive figure soaring through the sky: a red lyrium dragon. As it passed, the air grew heavy, and the flames of the fires extinguished as if fearing the presence that now loomed over them.
Corypheus had arrived.
Alerted by the shouts and chaos, Ophelia gathered with her advisors in the chapel. Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana awaited her with tense expressions, aware of the gravity of the situation.
"We don't have time," said Cullen, his brow furrowed. "We must hold off his advance long enough to evacuate Haven's residents to the monastery. If we can delay Corypheus, maybe they can escape."
Ophelia nodded, her jaw tight. "We won't give up. We will defend this place and its people."
Leliana, ever vigilant, added, "But if Corypheus reaches the chapel, all will be lost. Ophelia, you must carry out the avalanche strategy. If we release the largest rocks onto the mountain, we might block part of the red templar army."
Cullen looked at Ophelia, worry reflected in his eyes. "It's a dangerous tactic, but it could give us the advantage we need. Are you sure you can do it?"
"I have no choice," she replied with unwavering determination. "You all hold the defense here. I'll handle the rocks."
/Ophelia stepped onto the battlefield, with snow swirling around her and the sounds of war filling the air. Beside her, her team—Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric—fought with the same ferocity, knowing that each second they held out might mean the salvation of another life in Haven.
Waves of red templars charged at them, their faces disfigured by the red lyrium, blinded by corruption. Ophelia faced them with the agility of a shadow, slipping between them with her daggers, bringing down enemies before they could even react. But her gaze kept drifting toward the mountain, toward the rocks that had to be dislodged to trigger the avalanche.
"Dorian, cover the flank!" Ophelia shouted as Cassandra held off another group of soldiers with her heavy sword. "We need to reach the catapult."
Dorian nodded, his hands summoning powerful bursts of fire to slow the templars' advance. "I hope you know what you're doing, dear! This is chaos even by my standards."
Ophelia flashed a quick smile. "I wouldn't ask for better chaos than this!"
With each strike, each movement, Ophelia's determination shone like a flame that refused to be extinguished. Finally, they reached the catapult, and with the help of Varric and Cassandra, managed to launch it toward the mountain. The rocks began to fall, rumbling down with a thunderous crash that echoed through the valley. Snow and stones tumbled, creating an avalanche that buried part of the red templar army, halting their advance.
Ophelia and her team returned to the monastery, where survivors huddled for refuge. As she entered, she saw Cullen organizing the soldiers, his voice firm, though his gaze softened upon seeing that Ophelia had returned.
"You did it." His tone was a whisper, as if afraid the reality might be different.
Ophelia nodded, though her body showed signs of exhaustion. "But not for long. Corypheus won't stop."
At that moment, Dorian entered with a wounded monk, a man who had been part of the Conclave and had despised Ophelia from the start. Now, his face pale from blood loss, the monk pointed to a hidden passage.
"There's… a way to escape." His words came out in gasps. "If… if you are truly Andraste's chosen, now is the time… to prove it."
Ophelia took a deep breath, looking at Cullen, knowing what she had to do was risky. She had to return to the battlefield and trigger one final avalanche to stop Corypheus, allowing the others to escape.
Cullen stepped forward, and for a moment, fear crossed his face. "Ophelia, this could kill you. I don't want…"
She met his gaze, touching his arm with a tired but determined smile. "I can't let him win, Cullen"
He clenched his jaw, struggling with the words he wanted to say. Finally, he simply nodded, his voice breaking. "I know you'll do the right thing. But come back, please."
Ophelia gave him one last look, committing Cullen's expression to memory before heading once again into the darkness of the night, ready to face Corypheus and an uncertain fate.
Snow fell steadily as Ophelia and her team made their way to the last catapult. Their feet sank into the frozen ground, and the cold air burned their lungs. But determination burned in her eyes, a flame that refused to be snuffed out by the desperation surrounding them. Beside her, Cassandra advanced with her shield raised, protecting Dorian as he cast fire spells to keep the red templars at bay. Varric, with his crossbow Bianca, covered their rear, taking down anyone who got too close.
As they reached the catapult, Ophelia prepared it for the final launch, hoping the avalanche they triggered would be enough to save Haven. However, before she could complete the task, a powerful roar echoed in the air. Ophelia looked up and saw it.
From the shadows, Corypheus emerged, mounted on his red lyrium dragon. He was a grotesque figure, a blend of monster and ancient mage, with claws instead of fingers and his body twisted, intertwined with glowing red lyrium veins. His face was twisted with hatred, and his deep, resonant voice made the ground tremble beneath Ophelia's feet.
"You…" His voice boomed through the night like thunder. "You are a mistake. A waste of chance. You should never have survived the Conclave. You ruined my plans with your mere existence."
Ophelia felt the weight of his words as the cold closed in around her, her strength wavering before the enormity of the figure towering over her. But she didn't look away, meeting Corypheus's gaze filled with contempt.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice defiant, though it trembled with exhaustion.
"The Orb." Corypheus raised a claw, pointing to the mark on Ophelia's hand, which glowed with a sickly green light. "You absorbed the magic that was meant to be mine. You stole it from me! But it doesn't matter… it's useless to you now. Today, insignificant mortal, I will take the life that does not belong to you."
Before Ophelia could react, Corypheus's claw closed around her body. She felt the sharp pain as she was lifted off the ground, her breath cut short by the pressure on her chest. Corypheus's voice became an icy whisper as he held her suspended in the air.
"You will die, and the Inquisition will die with you."
With a sharp motion, Corypheus hurled Ophelia against the catapult. The impact left her breathless, her bones cracking under the force of the blow. Pain surged through her body, but something deep within refused to give up. Blinking to clear her vision from the creeping darkness, she spotted a fallen sword a few feet away. Trembling, she reached for it, using the blade to prop herself up and stand once more.
Corypheus's voice thundered as he advanced, his malevolent gaze fixed on her.
"Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.
Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.
Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!
I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched,' what you flail at rifts—I crafted to assault the very Heavens. And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!
I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.
Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the Throne of the Gods, and it was empty!"
Ophelia felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, the sheer scope of his ambition and the chaos he sought to unleash terrifying. Yet, despite the pain and fear, something within her surged—an unwavering will to resist.
"Your ego blinds you, Corypheus." Her voice rose in challenge. "But today is not the day I die."
With all her strength, she struck the lever of the catapult, launching the largest stone toward the mountain. This time, the avalanche was far more violent, and a wave of snow and rock tumbled from the peak, descending with unstoppable fury into the valley, burying much of the red templar army.
Corypheus glared at her with burning hatred, his eyes filled with supernatural rage. For a moment, Ophelia thought she had trapped him. But then, with an enraged roar, his dragon lunged toward her, grabbing him in its claws just before the snow reached him. Corypheus's eyes flashed in the darkness as he rose into the sky.
"This isn't over, elf!" were the last words Ophelia heard before the dragon vanished into the shadows.
Ophelia barely had time to react before the wave of snow hit her. She ran toward a wooden ledge, leaping blindly and feeling the brutal impact as her body struck the surface. The cold bit at her skin, and the snow engulfed her like a shroud of death, snuffing out the light and sound around her.
/
Ophelia's world turned to silence and darkness as the snow completely covered her, trapping her in a cold white tomb. For a moment, everything seemed to stop: the roar of the dragon, the cries of the wounded, the sense of hopelessness hanging in the air. Everything faded into a frozen void. But as the cold seeped into her bones, a spark of determination continued to burn in her chest. Despite the pain and fatigue, despite Corypheus's contemptuous words, Ophelia was unwilling to give up. Not while there was someone to save, not while there was a chance to fight.
With her last breath, she began to move her arms, struggling to push through the snow, feeling every muscle tense and break under the pressure. But she clung to the hope that somewhere beyond the darkness, her allies were still fighting, resisting so that Haven could survive.
Ophelia crawled out of the snow, gasping, her body aching. It felt as though the cold had pierced her to the bone, and every movement was a titanic effort. But she refused to stop. She could still feel the echo of Corypheus's power in the air, and the threat he represented remained alive in her mind. So she pressed on, stumbling, even though she didn't know where her steps were leading her.
Darkness surrounded her as she walked through the white wasteland, the icy wind striking her face until she could no longer feel it at all. Eventually, her feet brought her to a gloomy cave, a temporary refuge from the storm but not from danger. She had barely entered when spectral figures began to form around her. Sinuous shadows of demons and spirits, drawn by her vulnerability, surrounded her, and Ophelia felt her heart stop.
"No... not now..." she murmured, her voice weak, knowing she didn't have the strength to fight. She had given everything in battle, and her body no longer responded.
However, as the creatures lunged at her, she felt a deep vibration in the palm of her hand. The mark, which had remained silent since her confrontation with Corypheus, began to glow with a green light, enveloping the cave in a ghostly glow. Ophelia looked at her hand, surprised, and with an instinctive effort, she raised her arm. The light intensified, and the demons recoiled, trapped by the energy emanating from the mark.
With a scream that echoed through the cave, Ophelia released the energy, creating a flash that enveloped the spirits, dissolving them into nothingness. The power was immense, beyond her comprehension, but it also left her exhausted. She staggered, leaning against the rock wall, her legs trembling from the effort. But at least for now, she was safe.
Ophelia exited the cave and continued walking. The snow reached her knees, and the cold grew increasingly relentless. Her breath turned to steam with each exhalation, and her body began to numb, the pain giving way to a strange sense of lethargy. But she clung to the hope of finding shelter, of surviving a little longer.
In the distance, something caught her attention. A faint orange glow peeked through the blizzard. Campfires. Ophelia felt a spark of hope. If there was fire, there could be people. There could be allies. She began to walk toward the light, listening to the distant howls of wolves lurking in the darkness, another threat that followed closely behind.
The path was long and winding, her strength waning with every step, but finally, through the storm's haze, she spotted something more than a campfire. A flash of light that was not from flames but the comforting warmth of a camp. She no longer knew if she was dreaming or if death had finally come for her, but a clear voice broke through the fog in her mind.
"It's her!" Cullen's voice resonated above the wind, a mix of relief and desperation. "There she is!"
"Thank the Maker!" exclaimed Cassandra, and Ophelia saw the faces of her friends emerge from the blizzard, running toward her.
Ophelia collapsed to her knees in the snow, her strength finally spent. She felt her body give way, unable to support her any longer. But before she touched the icy ground, strong arms enveloped her, preventing her from falling. Cullen held her firmly, his face pale with fear and concern as he lifted her.
"I've got you, Ophelia..." Cullen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I've got you."
She surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, feeling the weight of the battle and fear fade away for a moment. As Cullen carried her back to the camp, surrounded by her friends, Ophelia allowed herself to close her eyes, trusting that, at least for now, she would be safe among her own.
Cullen brought Ophelia to the center of the camp, where a crackling fire promised warmth and relief from the deadly cold. He gently laid her on a blanket as Dorian hurried to examine her wounds, murmuring healing spells with a look of deep concern. Cassandra and Varric stood guard around them, protecting the camp from any threat that might approach through the storm.
"Ophelia, you have to hold on a little longer," Cullen said as he took her hand, the same one that bore the mark. His face reflected the terror of almost losing her.
Ophelia could barely respond; exhaustion enveloped her like a heavy blanket. But when she opened her eyes and saw Cullen's expression, so vulnerable and filled with anguish, she felt warmth slowly return to her body.
"I'm... here, Cullen." Her voice was barely a whisper, but the relief in Cullen's eyes was immediate.
to be continue...
I needed to add the amazing monologue by Corypheus.