With a gasp, she finds herself in the streets of Arlathan. The Lyrium buildings gleam in the sun, and a light breeze ruffles her hair. The sky is blue again, and nothing seems to disturb the serenity of the city's inhabitants, dressed in elegant and carefully embroidered robes, walking with their noses in the air, admiring the dizzying peaks of the monuments.
Without noticing, she reached a square. In front of her stands the most majestic palace of all. Through the huge stained glass windows, she glimpses Evanuris feasting and dancing with one another, she hears the happy, light-hearted voices bouncing off the soaring ceilings decorated with glittering lyrium mosaics.
In the centre of the square is a fountain from which gushes crystal clear, pure, transparent water. She wants to drink it. She moves closer to admire the rays of sunlight playing with the shimmering water, painting it with unique, brilliant colours. But when she lowers her eyes, she can not see her reflection.
Fear grips her.
The water turns blood red and begins to spill from the stone, rushing through the streets.
The mountains below shift, rattling and shaking the air. Buildings collapse in a cloud of dust and screams. Ainur'Len tries to get to safety, desperate screams wrapping around her like a cold blanket. Exhausted, she surrenders to the power of the water and closes her eyes.
She sees Solas leading an army of elves and spirits. The mountains move, crush them, swallow them up in huge caverns that collapse on themselves.
She sees his soldiers, his friends, fall.
She watches as Solas hands Mythal a lyrium dagger, as she has asked him to do. His eyes are filled with despair at the horror they are about to unleash. She hears him warning his friend of the dangers, begging her to listen to his wisdom. Mythal grabs her weapon and puts a hand to his face, then she turns away from him, and in an instant the mountains fall silent, one by one. A deafening stillness fills the valley. Unnatural. Terrifying.
"The Titans will no longer be a threat to our people."
Ainur'Len opens her eyes and finds herself inside the building she had been admiring from the outside just a few moments before. It is night. Solas faces the towering window, from which he can see the vast horizon, spirits swirling in the air and wild creatures moving in packs.
Mythal glances into the room and stops when she sees the elf standing there, lost in thought.
"I knew I would find you here," she smiles, approaching him. Solas looks at her with eyes full of sorrow, veiled by a weariness he can only now allow himself.
"Mythal..." he whispers, bringing his gaze back to the glass window. "What have we done? "
"We did what was necessary. You have served our people well, Solas."
"You cannot possibly think there will be no consequences. The severed dreams of the Titans are sealed, but you saw what happened. What if this corruption is released one day?"
"Whatever happens, my friend, I know you will be by my side to face it." Mythal takes his face in her hands and rests her forehead on his companion's. Solas closes his eyes and his body relaxes. He looks exhausted. His shoulders hunch slightly forward, carried by the long sigh that clears his lungs. Mythal's lips rest on the Vallaslin that adorns Solas's forehead. They linger in that loving kiss, hearing only the sound of their breathing.
"I still need you," whispers the ancient elf, pulling away slightly and looking into her friend's eyes with a smile. Solas caresses her hand, kissing her fingers gently before pulling it away from his face.
"Now that the war is over and our people are safe, we can finally be who we were. Even in this physical form."
He looks for the same longing in Mythal's eyes, but does not find it. She lowers her gaze and slowly shakes her head. Solas squeezes her friend's hand tighter, trying desperately to meet her eyes again, hoping to find in them what she had promised him.
"Elgar'nan has no intention of leaving command, Solas," she whispers. She looks up into Solas's face, devastated. He stands in shock.
"But Elvhenan..."
"...is the Empire our people deserve."
"No. We are no better than the servants who polish Elgar'nan's shoes. We can be free," he tries to shake her, to make her keep her promise. "We can go back and live the Fade together."
"I fear our brother will not be persuaded. But if we stand with him, we can lead our people with Justice and Wisdom."
He lets go of Mythal's fingers and takes a step back. His expression is one of disbelief, of pain.
"Mythal, please," his voice betrays the tremor that has shaken his heart.
"Tonight I will speak to Elgar'nan, love. But you know what my spirit asks." A hope. It's enough for him. He smiles uncertainly, his eyes filled with trust in her.
Mythal nods to the door behind him. Festive music emanates from the lower levels.
"Now come with me. Let us join our brothers in celebrating this victory. You deserve a little lightness," she smiles. "Treat your body to a night with someone, perhaps a beautiful golden-haired maiden or a charming green-eyed boy. I know you enjoy it. You need it."
Solas takes a step towards her, somewhat tempted to follow her advice, but his face is too tired and worn from the battles with the Titans. Perhaps also from the worry of seeing Mythal break her promises.
"You go, I shall join you later," he sighs, smiling faintly. "I need to rest now."
Mythal simply nods. Never losing contact with his companion's blue irises, she leaves the room, granting his wish to be alone.
The scene stands still for a few moments. Ainur'Len approaches Solas and touches his face. This time she can feel the soft elf skin on her fingers. He cannot see her, crystallised in this memory.
"I'm so sorry, Solas," she whispers, her voice broken. "If I had only known..." she feels a sudden anger stain the blood in her veins.
"It's terrible what they did to you," she continues, not stopping to stare into those sad eyes. "They tore you from the Fade and threw you into war. Your spirit. It broke."
As she swallows back the tears that threaten to cross the threshold of her eyelashes, a terrible awareness of what she has just seen begins to take hold of her. She has just witnessed the greatest crime in centuries. The severing of the dreams of the Titans. The murder of the dwarves' dreams. The rise of the Blight, perhaps?
She turns her angry gaze to Mythal, who stands still in the doorway. The mother of all elves, she read in the books she loved to lose herself in. She takes wide strides towards Mythal, her hands tingling with the urge to hit her. But she freezes when she sees the goddess's face come to life and fix its icy gaze on her.
Ainur'Len freezes in disbelief. Those eyes search her curiously, then light up so brightly they blind her for a moment.
When her sight returns, the sun has risen.
The people look cheerful and their spirits are full of hope. The splendour of the celebrations fills the streets of Arlathan, with gleaming Lyrium statues of war heroes, wreaths for the fallen, and ribbons of magic in the sky. Destruction is everywhere, but the magnificence and decorations are so jubilant that they hide the horror and wreckage.
Elgar'nan stands on the balcony of the Evanuris palace, looking out proudly at his people gathered in the vast square below, clapping their hands and embracing each other in joy, chanting the name of the Evanuris. Mythal stands beside him, and her gaze catches sight of Solas, hidden among the people, who is staring at her with eyes full of hope. She looks away.
Elgar'nan raises his hands.
"Elvhenan is free!"
A roar rises from the crowd at his words, and the ancient elf smiles triumphantly.
"The Titans have fallen. We have won the battle of the fertile and the young against the hysterical and the fading. Our superiority has triumphed."
A roar of applause and cheers interrupts him. Elgar'nan wallows in it for a few moments before raising a hand as if to placate his people. Solas cannot hide his disgust.
"Elvhenan stands as strong, proud and compact as ever," the ancient elf continues, all eyes on him. "But do not draw hasty conclusions: we are no longer mere Spirits, we do not look to what has been, but always to the future. The war will not be victorious until our Empire stands in all the borders of this world."
Solas' face crumples into a pained expression. Betrayed. By his family. By his brother. By Mythal.
"Until every elf who breathes on this earth has attained wealth, glory and knowledge, we will not lay down our arms! We will lead you to the days of glory, under our leadership no one will suffer! No one will ever again oppose the greatness of our Empire! No one will ever be able to lift a finger against you, for we shall be here to protect you."
"Elagr'nan!" Solas's angry shout is so loud that it brings silence to the square. Hundreds of eyes are focused on him, but the wolf can only see Mythal, standing close to her brother, unmoved. "You can't do this! You swore that we would relinquish command when this horrible war was over." Around him, the elves flinch, giving him space and allowing him to stand out in the eyes of the two Evanuris.
Elgar'nan looks at him slowly, as if he were an annoying fly.
"Our people need our leadership. If you are unwilling, leave.' His tone is soft, but loud enough to be heard by all present, and betrays a hint of contempt.
Solas turns his eyes to Mythal, begging her to follow him, to intervene. But she remains silent. She does not escape his gaze. Then she speaks without opening her mouth, it is a thought intended only for him and Elgar'nan.
*Our people must rebuild. And we must help unite them.*
Solas grits his teeth and points a finger at his brother, seething with anger.
"So we did not fight for freedom, but to conquer the land and our own," he blurts out. The people around him exchange unsteady glances, some in disbelief, a few nodding, many beginning to urge him to stop. The murmurs from the crowd are not loud enough to drown out Elgar'nan's answer.
*We fought to win, and now the Evanuris are like gods* he says in a controlled voice, then raises his arms and turns to the crowd, as if seeking their support. "I do not answer to Mythal's annoying lapdog!"
The crowd shouts at Solas, clapping and praising their leader's words. Someone starts shoving the wolf, while a tall, well-dressed, handsome elf with ebony hair and eyes like newly sprouted leaves stands beside him, shielding him with his body. He whispers something in Solas' ear, trying to lead him away. But the wolf just stands there, not moving. The sharp eyes are fixed on Elgar'nan.
*People are afraid, they need to believe in something* Mythal begs him to listen, to stop, worried that someone might go too far and hurt him. But Solas does not listen. Elgar'nan joins the silent conversation, looking down at him.
*They need strength.*
*And wisdom.*
*They need gods to protect them.*
"We are not gods. You will understand that." Solas makes sure all present hear his words, which echo around the square. His eyes glow blue. Desperate, disappointed and broken, he raises a hand to his forehead, and red sparks fly across the Vallaslin, the symbol of the Mythal.
The skin begins to burn, but Solas does not blink. The mark metls, the flames igniting the flesh. The Vallaslin evaporates from his skin, forming a cloud in the sky in the shape of the spirit that once belonged to it, then disappears, swallowed by the wind.
He shows his bare face by moving his hand. The Vallaslin is no more. In its place, only a burn that will leave its mark.
Around him there are stunned voices, gasps, murmurs.
He continues to stare at Mythal's stunned face as he disappears into the crowd. The elf who had shielded him from the roar of the crowd, follows. Mythal can only hold back tears as she gazes at the bare forehead of the friend she kissed so gently only the night before.
"Every lapdog hides a wolf inside," Elgar'nan whispers to her. She lowers her eyes before gesturing for him to continue speaking, to calm the crowd. He obeys, feverishly resuming his speech as if nothing had happened.
Ainur'Len tries to follow Solas and get a closer look at the face of the elf who has followed him, but she feels herself being pushed into the crowd, and it swallows her up.
She is so exhausted that she does not have the strength to resurface.
The darkness returns, and rapid visions appear before her eyes.
She sees endless rows of slaves working ceaselessly for the great splendour of the Empire.
She sees Arlathan rising from the rubble, ever larger, ever more majestic. She sees elves suffering, imprisoned in drab cells. Executions and the blood of captured rebels.
She sees spirits and elves partisans fight led by the newborn Fen'harel.
She sees Solas repeat the same spell that freed him from the mark of Mythal on hundreds of other elves.
She sees the green-eyed man follow him, swearing eternal loyalty to his people.
She sees Solas cunningly building secret passageways and endless portals, and a beautiful place where blue butterflies rest on tall purple flowers and the sun never sets, in the vain hope of seeing her return.
She hears the earth tremble and terrible whispers in the darkness, red sparks cracking the walls of a cage of light supported by heavy seals of lyrium. She watches in horror as it changes colour. Blood red.
At last, Mythal reappears, suddenly. She and Solas are hidden by the long shadows of the night. The moon is covered by a cloak of clouds, dimming its glow.
"I was not certain you would come." Fen'harel says in a low, sad voice, hunched with uncertainty.
"You where the one who walked away". Mythal replies calmly. "I never turn my back when my friend needs me." The tone of her voice is soft, but the words are like knives cutting into her friend's face.
Ainur'Len cannot stand it any longer. Her insides twist with rage.
"Solas, can't you see she's manipulating you? You have to wake up!" She shouts helplessly, aware that she cannot be heard.
Solas gets straight to the point, perhaps fearing that she might leave him at any moment.
"The Evanuris seek the power of the Blight."
Mythal is genuinely astonished and shakes her head firmly, as if to dismiss these words.
"Impossible. The Blight is safely sealed away forever."
Solas takes a cautious step towards her.
"Though I wish I could believe you," he whispers, holding out a hand without touching her, his eyes are clouded with a pain that cannot be forgotten. "I have sensed the breaking of the wards."
Mythal is silent for a few seconds, studying his friend's face, looking for deception, which she does not find.
"I will investigate your claims," she declares, unable to believe him. "If they forget the danger of the Blight, I will endeavour to remind them."
Solas hesitates. He looks at her sideways, as if in fear, as if struggling against something. He parts his lips and seems to choose his words carefully.
"What if instead you left the Evanuris, and remained with me?" he whispers, unable to look her in the eye for fear of meeting her rejection again. "Do you not wish freedom from this struggle?"
Mythal smiles softly. She wraps her hands around his back and lays her head on his chest. Solas closes his eyes, the desire to hold her is obvious, but his body does not relax and his arms remain stiff at his hips. He seems to have already figured out that he cannot break through to her.
"Be at peace, love," she tries to reassure him. She pulls away from the embrace and looks at him solemnly. "I will stop them."
Solas' gaze is now firm and determined.
"As you must. The blight is our mistake."
Ainur'Len is trapped in a cage of pain and anger, unable to move. She does not need to, for her feet lift off the ground and she feels herself being pulled back into a tunnel of memories. But this time it is short, it lasts only a second, the light is close.