Nine months had passed since the battle of Ostagar, the day the world seemed to crumble. Teyrn Loghain's betrayal had condemned King Cailan and the Grey Wardens to death, and Ferelden's noble houses had been thrown into disarray. Among the chaos was the fate of House Cousland—a once-proud family reduced to whispers of tragedy. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were slain in their own halls, their daughter, Aedan Cousland, had been named a Grey Warden and vanished like the other legends.

And Fergus Cousland, the eldest son and heir to Highever, was gone. Last seen leading a patrol of soldiers through the Korcari Wilds, his fate was presumed grim. Darkspawn had overrun the Wilds, leaving no survivors. Fergus's name was etched into Ferelden's growing list of the dead.

But stories do not always end in the darkness they begin in.

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The Korcari Wilds were a place of raw power—ancient and untamed. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting wood, and the shadows of great trees stretched endlessly into the gloom. It was here that Fergus Cousland's patrol had fallen.

They had been ambushed by Darkspawn. The fighting was brutal, frantic—a cacophony of screams and clashing steel. Fergus had held his ground as long as he could, rallying his men as the creatures swarmed. A hurlock's blade struck him low in the abdomen, leaving him crumpled among the corpses of his men.

He should have died there.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw her.

The woman who stood over him was young, her face marked by swirling tattoos that spoke of the Chasind. Her hair was wild, a tangled cascade of dark curls that framed sharp features. Her expression was grim as she crouched beside him, her hands moving deftly to stem the flow of blood from his wounds.

"Be still," she muttered, her voice accented with the lilting cadence of the Chasind tongue. "You'll die if you fight me."

Fergus groaned in protest, his vision swimming as pain and exhaustion dragged at him. "My men… the Darkspawn…"

"Dead," she said bluntly, glancing toward the carnage. "You'll join them if we don't move."

With surprising strength, the young woman hefted him to his feet, half-carrying, half-dragging him through the Wilds. Fergus lost track of time, slipping in and out of consciousness as she brought him to her village.

The Chasind village was small, nestled deep within the Korcari Wilds where the shadows of ancient trees blanketed the earth in near-perpetual twilight. The air was thick with the scent of damp moss and smoke from cooking fires. Around the village, sharpened stakes jutted from the ground in jagged rows, forming a protective perimeter. Huts of woven wood and mud stood in uneven clusters, their roofs sagging under layers of thatch. Voices murmured in low tones, carrying a mix of curiosity and unease as villagers peered from behind curtains of animal hide.

Fergus Cousland was barely conscious when the young woman dragged him into the largest hut. The space was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on wooden posts, their flames casting jagged shadows across the rough-hewn walls. He could hear the heavy footsteps of those who gathered around him, their presence pressing in like the weight of the Wilds itself.

"You brought an outsider here, Nira?" A man's voice rumbled, sharp and filled with anger.

Fergus struggled to focus, his vision swimming. He saw the man step forward—a towering figure with broad shoulders and a face as weathered as old leather. His hair was streaked with gray, and like the woman, his features were adorned with swirling Chasind tattoos. Fergus had no doubt this was her father.

"I couldn't leave him to die, Father," the woman—Nira, apparently—said sharply. She moved to stand between Fergus and the advancing man, her arms crossed in defiance. "He's badly wounded. Helpless. Do you think he crawled here to harm us?"

Her father scowled, his dark eyes narrowing. "Helpless or not, he is not one of us," he spat. "Bringing him here risks everything. What if he leads others? What if the Darkspawn follow his scent?"

Nira raised her chin, unflinching. "And what would you have done? Left him to rot in the Wilds?"

"Yes!" another voice barked from the corner, an older man clutching a gnarled staff. He jabbed it toward Fergus for emphasis. "That's exactly what we should have done. His kind would do the same to us."

"Not all of them," Nira snapped. "Not all of them are like the banns and teyrns who call us savages." She motioned to Fergus, her tone softening, though the steel in her gaze remained. "He's not wearing armor. No crest. He's just a man."

Fergus stirred weakly, coughing as he tried to speak. His voice came out hoarse and strained. "I… I'm not just a man. I'm…" He paused, his head pounding, the words slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Nira turned, crouching beside him. "You're alive, which is more than can be said for the rest of your patrol." Her voice dropped, quieter now, as if she wanted no one else to hear. "You're lucky I found you before the wolves did."

"Lucky," Fergus murmured, his lips curling into a faint, wry smile. He tried to lift his head to see her better, but the effort left him dizzy. Even in the dim light, he could make out her striking features: high cheekbones, dark, intense eyes framed by wild curls. He swallowed hard, the pain in his side momentarily forgotten. "Who… who do I have to thank for saving my life?"

"Nira," she replied flatly, her brow furrowing. "And you are?"

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Fergus. Fergus Cousland."

The name drew a few mutters from the gathered villagers, though none of them seemed to recognize its significance. Nira raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between suspicion and faint amusement. "A Cousland, are you? I'd heard your kind lived far from here."

Fergus gave a weak chuckle, though it dissolved into a wince as pain flared in his ribs. "Far enough. We don't… we don't often make it this deep into the Wilds."

"No," Nira agreed, glancing over her shoulder as her father shifted restlessly. "And there's a reason for that. You don't belong here. The Wilds don't take kindly to trespassers."

Before Fergus could reply, her father's voice cut through the hut like a blade. "Enough of this!" He stepped closer, looming over Fergus. "He's too weak to answer for himself now, but make no mistake: if he's trouble, he won't live to regret it."

"Father, stop!" Nira said, her voice sharp. She turned to face him fully, her stance protective. "The elders haven't spoken. You don't decide his fate."

The tense silence was broken by the eldest among them—a woman who stood leaning on a polished staff, her back bent with age but her voice strong. "Let him stay," she said, her words cutting through the noise like a knife through fog. "For now. He is no threat in his condition. But if his presence brings danger to the village…" Her sharp gaze swept over Fergus. "He will not be spared."

Fergus met her eyes, summoning what little strength he had. "I don't mean you harm," he said quietly, his voice hoarse but steady. "I just… I need time to heal. That's all."

The elder woman gave him a long, considering look before nodding. "Then you will have it."

Nira exhaled sharply, as if she'd been holding her breath. Her father grunted, his displeasure obvious as he turned and stormed out of the hut, the other villagers following in his wake.

When they were alone, Nira knelt beside Fergus, tilting her head as she regarded him. "You've got a lot of nerve, introducing yourself so politely after nearly dying in my arms."

Fergus chuckled softly despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "Well, you did save me. Seems only right to show some manners."

Her lips curved in a small, reluctant smile, though she quickly masked it. "Just don't expect everyone else to be as charitable as me, Fergus Cousland. You're alive because I said so. Don't make me regret it."

Fergus watched her rise and move toward the doorway, the flicker of torchlight catching the curve of her profile. His mind, still fogged by pain and fever, couldn't help but marvel at her strength and determination.

"I won't," he murmured under his breath as she stepped out into the Wilds.