From Stone To Sky

For a moment, Duran thought he had gone blind. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the searing brightness that stretched across the entire ceiling—or rather, to what he now realized was the "sky." A vast expanse of blue unfurled above him, seemingly endless. He noticed white shapes drifting slowly across this "sky," their movements serene and deliberate. When Duran turned his gaze toward the primary source of light, he feared blindness a second time. A radiance like fire, yet far more intense, burned into his vision. Was this a yellow orb? That's how it seemed. But he couldn't look for long—tears welled up beneath his weary eyelids.

"Take the time you need, Lord Aeducan. It's much the same for us when we return from long expeditions in the Deep Roads." Duncan rubbed his own eyes before turning to address his fellow Wardens.

"At least the stone beneath our feet keeps us grounded," Duran mused, a small smile curling his lips, "and we don't go flying into the sky, as some fools might claim."

In the past two weeks, Duran had barely begun to process the treachery Behlen had used against him. But for now, at least, those bitter thoughts seemed distant. Before him stretched a landscape unlike any he'd known: towering trees adorned with leaves of every imaginable hue, and plants that he'd only ever seen as offerings in Orzammar. He felt the soft grasses beneath his boots and heard the whisper of the wind as it murmured in his ear. Through the gaps in the trees, he glimpsed a vast expanse of water—a "sea," perhaps, as he'd heard in stories.

In the center of this "sea," a magnificent tower rose skyward, its spires catching the light of the celestial orb above. The shimmering reflection danced on the water's surface, painting a scene so beautiful that Duran's eyes watered once more. This time, though, it wasn't the brightness but the breathtaking splendor that brought tears. It was as if a painting from the grand halls of Orzammar had come to life before him.

The leader of the Grey Wardens noticed Duran's awe and stepped to his side. "Lake Calenhad," he said, gesturing toward the scene. "Crowned by the Circle of Magi, it looks particularly striking at this time of year, with the autumn leaves hinting at the coming winter."

So, it wasn't a "sea," but a "lake." The distinction mattered little to Duran in that moment. He turned to Duncan, a faint smile lingering on his lips. "Perhaps I could grow accustomed to traveling on the surface after all."

"You'll have some time to adjust, my lord," Duncan replied with a nod. "Ostagar is still about a week's march from here."

"Please, call me Duran," he said softly. "I've lost my caste and my title as a dwarf of Orzammar. There's no need for such formality anymore."

Though curiosity stirred within him—what else lay waiting on the surface?—Duran couldn't shake the question of whether he would ever return to Orzammar. For now, his thirst for vengeance against Behlen lay dormant, but he knew it would resurface one day. When that time came, he needed to be ready.

But for now, there was only one mission: to end the Blight.

And so, with the weight of both vengeance and destiny upon his shoulders, Duran took his first steps into a world bathed in light—a world he would fight to save, even as it challenged everything he had ever known.