For the first time since their arrival, the conversation shifts—no longer about Thedas, but about them.
"Seems like we're entering a world with as many political complexities as our own," Andersson mutters, mostly to himself.
Fenris's eyes flick toward him. A quiet acknowledgment, no more than a breath.
"Tell me of your planet," Fenris asks, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity.
Andersson exhales, running a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. "Earth," he begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight only history can give. "It's a world teeming with life—vast oceans, endless forests, frozen tundra. Diverse and unpredictable, much like the people who live there."
He pauses briefly, then adds, "There's only one sentient species on Earth. Us. Humans. Billions of us, spread across continents, cultures and now, other planets. For better or worse, we're the ones who shaped the planet."
He pauses for a moment before continuing. "For most of our history, we were divided. Countries, nations, ideologies—always at odds, always fighting. It wasn't until we nearly destroyed ourselves that we found unity. A global conflict—World War Three—pushed us to the brink. Entire cities burned, millions died, and for a brief moment, it seemed like we would wipe ourselves out."
Hale shifts in her seat, arms crossed loosely. "Sounds like we weren't too different from Thedas until the fire got hot enough to burn everyone."
Fenris listens without interruption, his bright blue eyes piercing, unreadable.
"But in the aftermath," Andersson continues, "when the dust settled, there was... clarity. A realization that if we didn't stop tearing each other apart, there wouldn't be anything left to fight for. So, humanity did something it had never done before. We united. Not perfectly, not permanently, but enough. Through cooperation, we achieved what had seemed impossible—we developed faster-than-light travel. We took to the stars."
Reece scoffs lightly under his breath. "And brought all our baggage with us."
He glances toward the viewport, as if looking beyond the mountains and into the void beyond. "We spread. We colonized other worlds. For a time, it felt like we had finally moved past our old ways. That we were evolving beyond war, beyond greed, beyond the constant need for control."
Fenris tilts his head slightly, as though already anticipating what comes next.
Andersson lets out a slow breath. "But it didn't last. The peace was an illusion. The conflicts returned—new factions, new alliances, new wars. Out there, among the stars, we found no malevolent force to fight, no ancient enemy to unite against. So, as always, we turned on ourselves." His tone remains even, but there is a quiet frustration buried beneath the words. "The wars never stopped. They just moved to new battlefields."
Reece shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Hale remains silent, her expression unreadable.
Andersson turns back to Fenris, meeting his gaze. "In that way, we're not so different from Thedas. Your people have spent centuries fighting each other, and when you finally came together, it wasn't by choice—it was because you had to. Because something worse forced you to unite."
Fenris regards him for a long moment before speaking. "And yet, your conflicts are of your own making."
Andersson nods. "They always have been."
A heavy silence settles between them. For a moment, the hum of the shuttle is the only sound, the weight of two worlds—two histories—hanging between them.
Another moment passes. Then Fenris asks, "How did you come here?"
"A spatial anomaly," Andersson replies. "A vortex. We were on a shakedown cruise near the edge of our home system—then after a few minutes we were here."
He pauses. "As far as we know… we're the only humans in this galaxy."
"I have never heard of Earth," Fenris says, "nor the word human."
He studies Andersson again—this time slower, more deliberately. As if trying to see beneath the surface.
"Yet… you are known to us."
Reece leans forward, voice quiet. "How can we be known to a galaxy that's never heard of us?"
Fenris doesn't look away. "I am unable to say."
A pause lingers between them.
"The Inquisitor will explain more when the time comes.."
Andersson looks at Fenris, his brow furrowing. "If I may... the races of Thedas—they resemble creatures from Earth's folklore," he says, carefully choosing each word. "Elves. Dwarves. Giants. Beings from myth—stories we told ourselves long before we reached the stars."
Fenris doesn't respond at first. He watches Andersson for a long moment, unmoving. The shuttle hums softly beneath their feet, the only sound filling the stillness between them. Then, at last, he speaks—quietly, as if the thought wasn't meant to be voiced.
"Perhaps we are connected in ways we do not yet understand."
Andersson nods, slowly. Whether it was a simple musing or something more… he doesn't know. But the idea lingers between them like a phantom—half-formed, impossible to dismiss.
He turns back to the viewport, watching the jagged teeth of the mountain range rise like guardians before them. Vael'Theron is gone, lost to the clouds behind. But something keeps gnawing at him.
He glances at Fenris again. "Your people have technology far beyond ours—ships, infrastructure, energy systems we've never seen before. And yet…" He gestures toward the empty sky beyond the glass. "Aside from Karass's ship, we haven't seen anything. No stations. No orbital platforms. No civilian traffic. Where's the rest of your fleet? Where's the life that should be up here?"
Fenris's expression darkens. His fingers flex briefly on the armrest, a small, controlled gesture.
"Thedas was not conquered," he says quietly. "Nor was it forgotten."
He turns his gaze forward again, voice low. Steady. But heavy with memory.
"We chose to leave the stars behind."
Hale glances out the window. "And no one came looking?"
Reece mutters, "Hell of a choice."
"Our wars were not only with each other," Fenris says. "There were... external conflicts. Ones that cost us more than territory." His jaw tightens, a shadow flickering through his expression, but he offers no further detail. "For centuries now, Thedas has stood alone. By choice. Some believe it should remain that way. Others... are not so sure."
Reece leans forward, his tone sharp. "So there are other planets with life in this galaxy?"
"Yes," Fenris replies simply. "Several. Thedas was once part of a larger galactic community. Trade routes. Shared knowledge. Political alliances."
He pauses before continuing.
"But around three hundred annims ago, after a series of devastating conflicts—some internal, some not—we turned inward. The space fleets were dismantled. Orbital infrastructure abandoned. Starports decommissioned. What few ships remain are used sparingly, and only out of necessity. Not for exploration."
Silence stretches between them for a beat. The revelation lands hard in Andersson's mind. Thedas wasn't some lost world, some undiscovered relic waiting to be found. It had been part of something greater. Known. Connected. And yet, here it was—withdrawn, isolated, forgotten.
The shuttle glides over the jagged peaks of the mountain range, the vast expanse of Thedas now far behind them. The harsh, frozen cliffs and sheer rock faces give way to something slightly more hospitable—broad plateaus, valleys carved by rivers, and stretches of evergreen forests clinging stubbornly to the mountainsides. Though the terrain remains rugged, there is a sense of shelter here, a break from the brutal elements that define the rest of the range.
Glacial lakes dot the valleys below, their surfaces catching the light of the twin suns, fractured reflections shimmering across the ice. Unlike the desolate peaks they had passed earlier, there are signs of life here—hints of pathways winding through the trees, firelight flickering from distant outposts, watchtowers blending seamlessly into the cliffs.
This is not just wilderness. This is a place meant to be lived in.
The shuttle banks gently, following the natural contours of the landscape. And then, through the thinning mist, Skyhold emerges.