A/N: This game has been my current hyperfixation for the last six months and a massive comfort amid work stress (immigration attorney here) and moving stress and mental health nightmares. I've got seventeen chapters written so far, so art commissions pending, and more still to be written. So I hope you enjoy!

Lucanis

Lucanis had never been one to waste an opportunity when one presented itself.

He'd been trained in patience from an early age, his grandmother drumming it into him to wait for an opening. Or, even better, to force an opening based on the tiniest slip. He'd been taught to be calculated, ruthless, and unrelenting. Imprisonment in the Ossuary was his hardest test yet. It strained his training to its limits—strained him beyond his limits—but he knew the Venatori would eventually make a mistake. He'd been pushing them, testing and prodding, for the duration of his confinement. He'd broken out of his cell four times since capture. He killed them when they got overconfident, and he often paid the price for it. Luckily, the demon within seemed to enjoy killing, even knowing pain would be inflicted as punishment. It only fueled Spite more.

He had learned to ignore it when Spite thrashed and howled—he did that often—and learned to pay attention when Spite coiled like a snake ready to attack. Lucanis knew something big was happening when Spite giggled maniacally and seethed with impatience. So he waited and watched.

Flares of magic outside his icy cell told him that something was happening and growing closer. Blood magic burst in the air, making his eyes itch so painfully he thought they might bleed. Then it abated. As the itchiness calmed, he realized the persistent humming from the doors was silent. The persistent itching was gone too.

The wards were down.

He and Spite tensed, readying themselves for whatever was about to happen. It might be Zara Renata returned from whatever had kept her away these weeks. Perhaps the lackey left in charge was coming to dispose of the troublesome Crow.

When the cell doors opened and the Venatori turned their backs to his crystalline prison, he waited, ears pricked for any hints of what was to come. Words were exchanged but muffled through the thick ice. Still, the Venatori weren't paying him any mind as they drew on their magic.

Whoever it was, they weren't allies of the cultists.

Seeing their chance, the demon gave him the strength to burst free. They fought as one, funneling their shared rage and eagerness for retribution into each of Lucanis' attacks. The demon's power gave strength to his weakened body. The year of imprisonment had done little to undermine a lifetime of training. Even tortured and starved, his muscles remembered how to strike and dodge, how to twist and where the killing spots were.

He acted swiftly and efficiently, dispatching the three Venatori within seconds. Broken necks, impalement on an ice shard, stabbed with their own blade—it was easy enough, and it felt good.

Then he was left with them. One woman with a focus in hand—'mage,' he noted—and a coiled cobra for a leg eyed him warily, her dark eyes and hawklike features telling him that she didn't miss a trick. The other was a slip of a woman with wild curls and head cocked curiously. Her lack of fear stopped him in his tracks as she watched him, one hand loosely grasping a dagger at her hip.

"Impressive. I'm guessing you're the reason we're here," she said dryly, lilting accent pinning her as a Tevene commoner. Her companion huffed in amusement.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" he demanded, surveying the pair.

Both Tevene, one a mage, and both spattered with sweat, seawater, and gore. They'd fought their way here and made no move to aid his captors, so they were no friends of the Venatori. That didn't mean they were friends of his either.

"My name's Rook and my friend here is Neve," the shorter woman said, clearly the leader. "Caterina sent us."

"Caterina…" He cocked his head, muscles tense and at the ready should this prove to be some new Venatori plot to torment him. He wouldn't be surprised if this was some elaborate Fade-vision cooked up by Zara and her dreamer. "But you're not a Crow."

"And you're possessed by a demon." She said it so simply, like she was commenting on the weather. "But you're not a mage."

'Both mages,' he silently corrected, tamping down the urge to rub his eyes at the phantom itch brought on by the thought of magic.

Still, her fingers stayed tight on her dagger. Lucanis couldn't fault her for that. Caution was key. Caution kept people alive. If they were to be allies against the cult, there couldn't be any posturing. So he shrugged, purposely holding his hands to show he was unarmed (though the bodies of the Venatori littered about undermined the message he was trying to convey).

"It's complicated."

Rook—clearly a cipher—nodded and sheathed her weapon. It was an honorable show of good faith. He could work with that.

"Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here," she said, seemingly unfazed by the oddity of two mages seeking a mage-killer.

But that was the way of the Imperium. Mages killing mages for power and personal gain, though he doubted any of the Vints would seek out a fabled, underwater prison just to hire a killer for a petty rivalry. It was too much effort for a simple murder. Still, he'd learned long ago not to judge motives for assassination. It wasn't good for business. Judgment also wouldn't get him out of this nightmarish prison. These women were his best shot at escape, and he had no interest in alienating them by questioning their motives.

Yet.

He needed to prioritize.

"I can still work," he said, perhaps a hair defensively. They'd have to forgive him—a year of torture had done little to help his social skills.

"Good," Rook said, smiling brightly and jerking her chin at the bodies. "I'm pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We should get moving."

"They have a vial of my blood—"

"A phylactery?" The women shared a meaningful look before nodding tersely. "We'll need to destroy it. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes. And… I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here: Calivan." He shifted, fully aware that he was pushing his luck. Even so, he had a feeling they needed him as much as he needed them. If he actually got out of here, he would do it with his reputation intact. "Crows don't break contracts."

"Yes, yes, the famous Crow contracts," Rook laughed, ticking his demands off on her fingers. "So you want a prison break, a blood heist, and assassination help to get you out of here. Anything else?"

He ground his teeth, Spite hissing to him about being laughed at, about being left behind for asking too much. It was a lot, but someone willing to brave an underwater prison wasn't likely to be deterred by a few complications. Still, he was desperate to breathe freely once more.

"I'll owe you."

Having teeth pulled would hurt less than uttering those three words.

Rook waved his words off. "I'm sure we'll owe each other before this is all over. Besides, you might regret saying that when you find out why we need you. But time is of the essence—let's go."

And that was that. He stole weapons and potions from the dead men at his feet and easily worked with the mages to tear through any enemies that crossed their path. Neve would drop back, launching ice magic at the Venatori and demons to slow or freeze them while he and Rook waded to the heart of the skirmishes. It was good to work once more, stabbing at his enemies' soft spots, hurting and killing them as retribution for all the ways they'd hurt him. It was good to know that, while rusty, he hadn't lost his edge.

They explored the grim laboratories where Zara's "experiments" took place, the two women wrinkling their noses and making noises of disgust at the evidence of cruelty left strewn about. Desiccated corpses were left on tables, weakly shining spirits tried to hide in their tiny cages. And notes were everywhere. Pages and pages describing the atrocities committed in this room were on every surface.

Lucanis left them to look over the papers. He didn't need to read the words—he'd already lived them. He picked through the crates and chests shoved carelessly against the wall, silently thanking the Maker when he found a bandoleer they'd taken from him, blades still intact. It wasn't all of his weapons, but his favorite knife wasn't lost to him. He could be grateful for that.

He also found a coat and a pair of boots that were just a little too large. Beggars couldn't be choosers, so he hastily donned them. There was no telling what they'd emerge to, assuming they got that far, and he refused to take another step with unprotected feet.

The nape of his neck pricked and he quickly looked up, locking eyes with Rook. After a beat, she slipped away from Neve to join him.

"What did you find?" she asked quietly, crouching beside him.

Lucanis resumed lacing up the boots, fingers trembling with the effort. "Clothes. Weapons. Things they took from us."

She passed him a waterskin and peered into the chest, carefully sifting through it. "How many people did they hurt?"

He eagerly drank the water—the first clean water he'd had in far too long—and savored the crisp, cool liquid as it quenched his thirst. Logic took over then and he slowed himself. It wouldn't due to make himself sick before ever getting out. It took all his effort to lower the skin from his lips.

"Too many. They kept me separated from the rest," he said, shrugging.

"Here." She dug around in a belt pouch and handed him a bit of hard tack and a piece of jerky. "It's not much, but we have more food on the ship."

"Thank you." He took the food gratefully, even if the rations were uninspiring. It was real food, not stale slop that he only ate out of a vengeful need to survive. "Why did Caterina send you?"

Rook arched a brow at him. "You mean, 'why not send another Crow?'"

Lucanis nodded around a mouthful of the dry tack. The demon inside him shifted, coiling about himself like a snake nesting at the back of Lucanis' mind. He still wasn't fully used to the sensation.

"She didn't trust them." Rook sighed and scrubbed a hand over the back of her neck, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know much about Crow politics, but there were only three other Crows in the room when she told us where you were."

"Tell me everything." He hungered for the information almost more than he did for food.

With a nod, she did. Three Crows—his cousin, Andarateia Cantori, and Viago de Riva—in addition to Caterina. It was the first time they'd heard this news too. The body recovered and buried had been altered by blood magic to look like his. The contract had been tampered with. Naturally, the suspicion fell on everyone in the organization. Caterina had been investigating and searching for him this whole time. Never once had she given up on finding him.

It had something tightening in his chest, the painful fluttering making it hard to breathe. His trainer, his tormentor, his grandmother—all one and the same—had never given up on bringing him home. Hearing it hurt. Not because he doubted she felt some affection for him, but because it wasn't really him coming home.

He was an abomination now. A demon in a man's body.

The Lucanis of a year ago was dead, buried with a stranger wearing his face. Zara Renata had seen to that.

Lucanis callously shoved the emotion aside. There wasn't time to deal with that right now. Right now, he needed to refuel his body, complete his contract, and leave the hellish prison behind for good.

When they moved on from the lab, Lucanis made it a point to take as many killing blows as possible. Spite hissed and spat at the Venatori, clamoring for blood and violence. He also hissed at the demons, claiming ownership of Lucanis and telling him where to hit to quickly dispatch them. It was helpful, if distracting. Still, he wouldn't admit that to the demon. Where Lucanis once found a quiet calm in his job, it was all shattered by the rage coursing through him and the demon that grew ever hungrier for vengeance.

But Rook didn't flinch away from any of it—the blood and violence, the demon living in his skin, his reputation as a mage-killer. She simply nodded and fought at his side like it was commonplace. Maybe it was just another day for her. If that was the case, a less desperate man would think twice about getting involved in whatever she wanted from him.

Unfortunately, he was a desperate man, though he was loathe to admit it.

On the ship back to Treviso, the two women filled him in on the details of the contract they'd approached Caterina about. The contract that had set them on his trail, that the First Talon thought him suited for was…

It was utter madness.

"You mean to tell me you interrupted one elven god's ceremony that was tearing holes in the Veil and flooding the world with demons, only to accidentally imprison the first god and free two more elven gods in the process?" He scrubbed a hand over his too-long beard as he tried to make it make sense.

Neve and Rook exchanged a loaded look where they sat together on deck. Rook broke it with a shrug and turned back to him. "We were hoping to recruit you to help kill them."

"Mierda. Is that all?"

She shrugged again and ticked things off on her fingers. "The freed gods are blighting the world with a new-old version of the Blight. Our base of operations is in the Fade. It used to belong to the god whose ceremony we interrupted—Solas. We can use magic mirrors to get around quickly. Oh, and he can use blood magic to talk to me in my sleep because I bled at the ritual site."

He blinked at her as his mind fought against the farfetched information she provided so matter-of-factly. "You have to know that you sound mad."

"Yeah, I've been getting that a lot lately, and figure I'll get it a lot more before we're done."

Lucanis blinked at her and shook his head. She was so nonchalant—maybe she actually was mad. He didn't know what to make of her, this woman who stood inches shorter than him and fought with an electric focus that was at odds with her breezy demeanor. A mage who hired a mage-killer. And didn't just hire him—no, she ventured into a prison held together by ancient, fraying magic at the bottom of the ocean to rescue him just so he could complete a contract. A harebrained contract with world-shaking implications.

If she was mad, then he was no saner for accepting such a deal.

Neve snorted a laugh beside the other woman. "And that is why Varric recruited you."

"Varric? Is he another member of your team?" he asked, trying to sift through it all.

"Varric Tethras started working on this mission thirteen years ago after the dissolution of the Inquisition," Neve told him, her gaze going distant and voice somber. "He was—Solas stabbed him in the chest with his ritual dagger the night of the ritual. A dagger we now possess and plan to use to kill Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain."

He understood what she couldn't bring herself to say and nodded silently. "Varric Tethras the author? How did a writer end up on this job?"

"Before joining the Inquisition, Varric ran spy rings in Kirkwall and was close with the Champion of the city," Rook said, staring out at the water. "He was friends with Solas during the Inquisition's time. Varric just… didn't know that his mage friend was also the Dread Wolf of elven legend and intent on tearing down the Veil that he put into place millennia ago. When he found out, he was determined to stop Solas. He thought talking would work, but... Well, you know where things stand."

Lucanis cursed again and ran his fingers through his tangled, matted hair.

Absolute madness.

And he was no better for accepting the assignment. He hadn't actually agreed yet, but that was a formality. The First Talon had given him this job, and he was bound to see it through to the end.

When they returned to the Cantori Diamond and learned his grandmother had been killed by Venatori, Rook offered nothing but kindness and understanding in the face of his dilemma.

He needed work to focus his mind and the contract from Caterina—her final, insane job for him—would fit the bill. He would not drown in the pain, he would not wallow. He would work, exactly as Caterina taught him, both to fulfill her final wish for him and to avenge her death.

There was no time to truly mourn while a contract was on. So he shoved it all down, down, down.

Lucanis fully intended to deal with the thorny, complicated emotions surrounding his grandmother another time. Perhaps after his own death. He had no idea where to start untangling that mess. It was too much on top of dealing with everything that happened in the Ossuary. So much had changed in so little time that he just… couldn't. His own problems seemed almost trivial in the wake of the gods threatening the world and his latest contract. Shoving it all down was the only solution for the foreseeable future. It would just have to do.

Once in the Lighthouse, his first order of business was bathing and taking control of his appearance once more. It was undignified to be so disheveled. A year's worth of hair growth would not do. Rook showed him around, leaving him at the bathing room to hastily cleaned himself until his skin was free of dirt, blood, and the crawling sensation of blood magic. He didn't allow himself to linger or relax in the hot water, instead setting about trimming his hair and beard until they were healthy-looking once more.

It returned a sense of ownership over his own body to him. The face in the mirror was still too gaunt, too thin and the eyes haunted, but it was his. His beard was thick and full, something he was actually a little proud of.

He'd joked once about growing a beard.

Knowing that he could actually grow one that wasn't patchy or thin assured him he'd made the right decision to keep it.

"Lucanis smells. Like soap and salt," Spite murmured. In the shaving mirror, pinpoints of violet flared in his dark eyes, confirming the demon's presence. "Not like Ossuary."

"No, not like the Ossuary at all," he replied softly.

"Want out. Outoutoutoutoutoutoutout."

"We are out," Lucanis sighed. A glance around confirmed that this was no hallucination. They were no longer caged in the Ossuary. That place didn't have a room like this one—no, nothing natural, warm, or welcoming existed in that place.

"Liar."

He ignored the demon and finished his ablutions before making his way back to the kitchen. He'd decided to set up a cot in the pantry—dark, quiet, far from the others and the eluvian—but the space needed attention. So he set about scrubbing the surfaces and floors, taking inventory of their supplies, and making the space habitable. The team needed a functional kitchen. Or, at least, he did. How the women had survived this long with only a single onion, stale bread, and dusty tea in the cupboard was beyond him.

It was good to be active again, to have something to keep his hands busy. That it kept his mind occupied was a fringe benefit.

That night (or he assumed it was night), Rook surprised him again as she managed to win Spite's allegiance. The others sat at the newly cleaned kitchen table and talked of ways to dispatch the demon. Bellara and Neve, the other mages, danced around the simplest way, Lucanis could only sigh. It would be funny if it weren't sad.

When he matter-of-factly stated that they'd have to kill him to separate him from the demon, she used humor to dispel the tension.

"Well… That's awkward," she laughed, clearly dismissing the idea of killing him.

"She's fun! You're never fun," Spite exclaimed gleefully, circling Rook like a predator determining whether something was prey. "I want to talk to her."

"Before we do, well, that," Bellara, the elven artificer, said hesitantly, "let's think through this some more. There has to be a solution."

While the three women talked about possible solutions to the demon problem, Spite grew ever more petulant at being ignored. He hissed and snarled at Lucanis, tantrum only worsening as he tried to focus on the conversation. He needed to be alone in his own mind, in his own skin again, but the demon wasn't going to vanish without a fight.

"Let me talk to them! I want. To talk. To Rook!" The spirit's fist collided with his nose then, his usual response to not getting his way.

The others leapt to their feet at his grunt of pain and his eyes itched as the three mages harnessed their magic.

"No, it's fine," he said, stilling them as best he could. He didn't want to die because of Spite's fit of pique. "I'm fine."

"What did he do that for?" Rook asked, releasing her magic and slowly approaching him near the fire.

"Throwing a tantrum when he doesn't get his way." He resumed his pose leaning near the fireplace, soaking in the warmth of the flames after a year at the bottom of a cold, dark sea.

The other two talked, theorizing and hypothesizing about the demon in the room and this strange form of possession. A non-mage housing a demon—it was certainly odd, but the rules were constantly changing with blood magic and the Venatori involved. And the ancient elven gods rising certainly did nothing to help matters.

Spite quieted as Rook settled near him, circling and assessing once more.

"I like her. Smells like citrus and rain—not scared of us. Want more."

Her arms crossed over her chest as she appraised him, and he knew she saw too much in what he'd said and all he didn't say. When she spoke, she was careful to keep her words low, voice gentle.

"He's done this before, enough that you just shrug it off."

"He'd do this in the Ossuary," he admitted. It wasn't anything new. Between Spite and being raised by the Crows, he was used to a fair amount of pain. "The Fade does whatever a spirit wants; real walls and chains, not so much. Just… give me a minute. He'll get bored once everyone leaves."

"I don't like leaving you alone with a demon," she said, watching him solemnly with those steady, dark eyes. The flickering fire highlighted a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks he hadn't noticed before. "I…"

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Lucanis…"

Something softened inside him at the sound of his name in her lilting voice, something he shoved away as soon as he recognized it. He needed quiet, structure, and a return to some semblance of normalcy after everything he'd been through.

"Lucanis likes her too," Spite whispered in a maddening sing-song.

"Please." It was as clear and gentle a dismissal as he could manage. "I just need some time."

The watchful eyes, the magic talk, the sad understanding on her face—it was all too much. Spite wouldn't go quietly after all the excitement. He needed to be alone to wrestle his demon.

And, of course, Rook nodded before ushering the others out as well.

Looking back, he realized that moment of quiet acceptance was the beginning of it all.

Once the kitchen had been cleaned to his standards—everything dusted, scrubbed (again), and orderly—he made a list of things they'd need from the markets. If they wouldn't prioritize nutrition, he would happily take up that task. Cooking was soothing for him. Since he was a boy, Lucanis had enjoyed the organized chaos of the kitchen. Everything had a place, everything had a purpose, and sharing the rewards of his labor with the staff, his cousin, or Caterina had brought him a simple sort of joy.

Learning to make churros at his grandmother's side one sleepless night was his fondest memory of Caterina. It was the only soft one he had.

He was finalizing his grocery list over a cup of tea when Rook slipped into the kitchen. Lucanis surreptitiously watched her take in the change to the space, satisfied when she allowed herself a small smile.

"Good morning," she said, finding an edible bit of bread and slicing some cheese. "You didn't have to do that, you know—clean the kitchen."

"We'll need a functional kitchen for your war against the gods," he replied simply. "We cannot survive on stale bread and Fade water forever."

"Fair enough. I'll make sure we do a supply run soon."

When Rook settled in the seat beside his, Lucanis tried not to recoil. He was free of the Ossuary, and he needed to get used to being near people who didn't want to hurt him. Or people who weren't actively trying to hurt him. Instead, he carefully pushed a mug towards her and poured tea.

"I was planning to go today, unless you need me for something," he said, noting the way her lips turned down minutely as she stared at the tea. "It isn't poisoned."

"Hm? Oh!" Rook laughed and her cheeks pinked in a way that had Spite muttering with interest. "I didn't think that—I just don't like tea, but it's better than nothing."

"I prefer coffee, myself." He sipped his own tea and fought off a grimace. "Good coffee, and a proper cafetera, is at the top of my list."

"Thank the Maker," she breathed, picking at her bread and cheese. "Only Bellara is any sort of decent cook, and it didn't feel right asking her to cook for all of us all the time. So… we've been fending for ourselves. And going hungry whenever Harding offers to cook."

Lucanis gave a small smile at her shudder, reading back over his list as he listened to her with half an ear. "It's a miracle you've made it this far, then."

"Tell me about it." Rook stood and picked up her plate, clearly sensing his waning interest in conversation. "Harding, Neve, and I are going out to Minrathous today. Maybe you and Bel can hit the markets together? It'll do her good to get out of the workshop."

He nodded absently, adding a few more things to his list. "I'll extend the invitation."

Spite snarled at that. "No. Ask Rook. Want to talk. To Rook."

When she left him alone, Lucanis sighed at set aside his grocery list and feigned indifference. The demon was too interested in the dark-haired mage for comfort. He didn't know what Spite would do if he gained control around her, and he didn't want to find out. Best to keep her at arms' length until the demon grew bored.

"Why so rude to Rook? We want to talk to her. So talk."

"No, Spite," Lucanis huffed, steeling himself for a tantrum. "If I lose control, if you hurt any of them, we'll end up dead. Do you want that?"

"Won't hurt. Just talk." Spite clawed at the mental door Lucanis kept between them, pushing and testing and rattling at his bonds. "Need out. Let me out. Let me talk to Rook. She will know. She will understand."

"How, Spite? Even I do not understand. You are out. We're free. The Ossuary—"

"No! Not free. Not yet. Still caged."

"And you'll stay that way until I trust you not to hurt anyone."

"Lucanis lies. Lieslieslieslieslies…"

Maybe the demon was right. Maybe he really was lying to himself about being free, about being safe, and about being a human. Maybe it was only a matter of time before he realized the truth: There was no room for him in the world anymore.