As soon as Fenris leaves the room, Karass's demeanor shifts. The cold, intimidating aura that had filled the space upon their arrival begins to ease, like the slow exhale of a held breath. The air in the chamber, once thick with quiet authority, lightens just enough for Andersson to feel the difference.
Karass leans back in his chair, his imposing frame settling into a more relaxed posture. He folds his arms, his expression contemplative, but there's an unmistakable flicker of intrigue behind his gaze as he regards Andersson.
His authority remained—it always would—but now something else had surfaced beneath it.
Then, with a slight tilt of his head, Karass speaks, his tone far less formal than before. "So," he muses, almost conversationally, "what do you think of Thedas?"
The shift in tone catches Andersson off guard. After the shuttle ride with Fenris, he'd started to assume Thedans were all formality and protocol—every word calculated, every gesture precise. But this? The sudden ease in Karass's voice, the casual cadence, the almost conversational tone—it wasn't what he expected.
The question itself isn't a demand. It isn't an interrogation or a challenge. It's simple. Curious. But that simplicity makes it all the more disarming. The man who had greeted them like a statue come to life is now asking for his thoughts.
Unexpected. And yet… it still feels like a test.
Andersson hesitates for only a moment before answering, his tone calm and even.
"It's beyond beautiful, Inquisitor."
Karass leans back, exhaling like he's letting go of something unspoken. The tension in his shoulders eases. His golden eyes shift—not exactly softening, but shedding some of that inscrutable edge.
Then, with the faintest hint of a smirk, he shakes his head.
"Please," he says, voice low and dry. "Cut the formal crap. I'm Karass."
Andersson blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Karass was the leader of an entire planet—and yet here he was, casually brushing off titles and ceremony like they meant nothing.
"The shift was jarring. But not unwelcome.
It peeled back a layer of mystery, reframing the meeting—not as a confrontation of power and politics, but as something more human. A moment between two leaders, equally out of place, trying to bridge the unknown."
"Forgive me, Inquisitor... Karass," Andersson said carefully. "You're not what I was expecting."
Karass threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter. It echoed off the high, crystalline ceiling like a thunderclap.
"And neither were you, my friend. You're much smaller, for one thing."
Andersson laughs along with him, appreciating the rare moment of levity. Despite everything going on, despite the weight of what they've learned and what's to come, there's something oddly comforting about this exchange—something human, even in this alien world. It's strange to find humor in a situation like this, but maybe it's just what they need.
Karass leans back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement. "I play the part my people will have me play, Captain," he says, his voice tinged with something unreadable—resignation, perhaps, or quiet amusement. "They need a leader who looks like he could crush mountains, who can stare down warlords and make them blink first. They need an Inquisitor who seems larger than life."
He gestures vaguely, as if to indicate the grand throne room beyond the chamber walls. "So that's what I give them. The brute. The warrior. The unshakable force. But in here?" He taps his temple lightly. "In here, I have to be more than that. Ruling a world isn't about swinging a sword—it's about knowing when not to."
Andersson watches him carefully, intrigued. He knows what it's like to wear a mask, to be what people need rather than what you truly are.
"Must get exhausting," Andersson remarks.
Karass smirks, golden eyes glinting. "It would be, if I weren't so damn good at it."
Andersson's gaze returned to Karass. "It's strange," he said quietly. "It feels like I've stepped into both the past and the future at the same time."
Karass hummed in agreement, leaning back slightly in his chair.
"Thedas is old, Captain. Our recorded history stretches back farther than most care to imagine—and still, there is so much we do not understand."
He paused, eyes narrowing with quiet certainty.
"But age does not mean stagnation."
His golden gaze gleamed with something unreadable—something sharp, deliberate.
"We've spent centuries learning how to balance both ends of the blade. Honoring what came before… while forging what comes next."
Andersson tilted his head, intrigued. "And you? You strike me as more of a force for change than preservation."
Karass smirked, the expression wry and appraising.
"You're quick." He exhaled, shoulders rolling with something halfway between weariness and pride.
"Yes, I suppose I am. Thedas has resisted change for most of its history. I only gave it the push it needed."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk.
"Unity isn't in this world's nature. Whenever we've found it, it never lasts. But I—along with the Elarin and Stonari leaders—helped re-form the Inquisition to change that. To forge something lasting. A true era of cooperation."
He paused, his expression darkening slightly.
"But even in this new era, not all have joined us. Tevinter remains a rogue state, clinging to its old hierarchies. And the Qun? They have isolated themselves entirely. Their loyalty is to the Qun, not to Thedas."
Hale leaned forward, arms crossed. "What's stopping you from maintaining the peace?"
Karass didn't hesitate. "Mistrust. The desire to preserve old traditions. Fear of change. Clinging to what was, instead of building what could be."
Andersson nodded faintly. "Sounds like Earth."
Karass's gaze darkened, and for a moment, something deeper passed behind his eyes. "There is something else. Something more."
Andersson tilted his head, his attention sharpening. "Go on."
Karass studied him for a beat, then said, "I know Fenris has told you of the Blights. Of the darkspawn."
Andersson nodded. "He did."
Karass leaned forward, his voice lowering. "What he gave you was truth… but only in part. There is more. A force behind it. An entity—called Corypheus."
Reece frowned. "The same entity? Across all five Blights? That can't be right."
Karass's expression remained steady. "There are many inconsistencies in the ancient texts. Descriptions of his form vary. Sometimes he is named, other times only implied. But the thread runs unbroken. Corypheus leads the darkspawn… and more than that, his influence doesn't end with the Blights. It is said he is always present. Always watching. Manipulating events. Disrupting unity. Seeding collapse."
Andersson narrowed his eyes. "How do you know this?"
Karass exhaled slowly. "Because we've seen the patterns. And because we've found the records."
He stood and moved to a recessed panel behind his desk. With a gesture, a section of the crystalline wall shifted, revealing a projection—ancient symbols, fragmented glyphs, and timelines stretching back tens of thousands of years. Data cascaded across the air, flickering like memory reborn.
"It began when the Inquisition was re-formed. Skyhold had been lost to time—buried by snow and history. For centuries, it was a ruin known only in fragments, spoken of with reverence, but never found. When we rediscovered it, we uncovered something more."
He turned back to them, his voice tightening with meaning.
"Vaults sealed beneath the foundations. Preserved archives. Records left by the last Inquisition. Warnings. Instructions. Truths too dangerous to share in their own era."
He gestured toward the projection, which now displayed ancient battle maps, coded timelines, and repeating motifs tied to each of the five Blights.
"They chart a pattern. Every major upheaval, every war, every moment of collapse—it all spirals around the same unseen center. Corypheus. A name that persists across time. Sometimes hidden. Sometimes overt. But always there, when unity threatens to rise."
Reece leaned forward, brow furrowed. "So you're saying it's not just myth—it's a strategy?"
Karass nodded. "Exactly. He doesn't conquer. He corrodes. He waits. He divides. And when we are weakest—he strikes."
He let the projection dim, returning to the center of the room.
"For generations, each race kept its own fragments of this truth—stories, rumors, contradictions. But only when we stood together—when Elarin, Stonari, and Qunari historians pooled their knowledge—did the picture emerge. Only then did we understand what we were looking at."
His golden eyes locked with Andersson's.
"Corypheus was never just a name. He was never just a threat of the moment. He is the author of the cycle. The hand behind the Blights. And he is not finished."
Hale leaned forward, brow furrowed. "But what does he want? Power? Control of Thedas?"
Karass shook his head. "No. Control is not his aim. Division is."
Andersson exhales, slowly processing Karass's words. A cycle of devastation, a force that refuses to stay dead, twisting the world in its image time and time again. The thought gnaws at him. He's seen it before—not in monstrous hordes, but in humanity's own history. Earth had nearly destroyed itself more than once, wars that left entire cities in ashes, conflicts that scarred generations. And every time, people swore it would be the last. That they had learned. But history never truly stopped—it only repeated with new faces, new weapons.
"You're saying Thedas is caught in that same cycle?" he asks, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.
He took a step toward them, voice steady and grim. "He seeks to isolate us. To keep us fractured, suspicious, always at odds. Since recovering the archives, we've traced nearly every major internal conflict—every civil war, every shift in leadership, every Blight—back to patterns of influence tied to Corypheus. Subtle at first. But undeniable."
Andersson sat straighter, tension creeping into his shoulders.
Karass continued, "We were once part of the galactic community. We traded, we shared knowledge, we had allies beyond this world. But then… one dispute after another. Diplomatic failures. Cultural clashes. Threats where there had been none. One by one, ties were severed."
His voice dropped, barely more than a murmur. "We believe Corypheus orchestrated it. Not with armies. With ideas. With shadows. He made us distrust each other. He made the stars feel like a threat. Until finally, we turned inward. And the rest of the galaxy turned its back."
A long silence followed.
Karass stepped away from the console, his tone shifting once more.
"And that," he said slowly, "brings us to the Shemlen."
Andersson tensed, the name hitting like a low note in his chest. He knew where this was going—even if part of him still refused to believe it.
Karass turned to face him fully now. "The Shemlen were once a unifying force on Thedas. They bridged the gap between the Stonari and the Elarin—not just politically, but genetically, culturally. They were diplomats, explorers, scientists. For a time, they held us together."
Hale crossed her arms. "Until they were wiped out."
Andersson's voice was quiet. "Corypheus."
Karass nodded, his expression darkening. "Yes."
He paused, and when he spoke again, there was no embellishment—just truth wrapped in bitter memory.
"For millennia, their extinction was attributed to the Fifth Blight. A terrible, sweeping war. But the more we uncovered from the archives, the more the pattern emerged. Dozens of incidents—coordinated sabotage, misinformation campaigns, biological anomalies that selectively targeted Shemlen populations. Entire settlements erased from existence, records purged, even linguistic traces scrubbed from early archives."
He turned slightly, activating a projection. Faded documents scrolled past—maps, genome breakdowns, sociopolitical charts, and images too blurred by time to make out clearly. But the data was there, layered beneath the dust.
"All of it pointed to manipulation," Karass continued. "A campaign not of conquest—but extermination. Engineered to ensure no bridge remained between the races. To tear out the common thread."
He let the images fade.
"It was Corypheus. Not in open battle, but through quiet devastation. He didn't just want to erase the Shemlen. He wanted to erase what they represented—unity."
Karass let the silence stretch for a breath before finishing the thought.
"The Fifth Blight wasn't the beginning of their end—it was the final stroke. The last, deliberate stage in a centuries-long eradication."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now, more grave.
"It wasn't a war. It was a purge. Coordinated, precise. By the time the last darkspawn horde descended, there were few Shemlen left to defend. The Blight was merely the final act—the illusion of chaos hiding the cold efficiency of extinction."
Andersson stared at him, the weight of it settling like ash.
"They were erased," Karass said. "Not just killed. Removed. From records, from memory, from maps, from monuments. Their legacy was fractured, scattered, reshaped into myth. A handful of murals. A name whispered in reverence or scorn."
He paused, golden eyes locked on Andersson.
"And now... you arrive. Not as descendants, not as survivors. But strangers—bearing the face of our forgotten dead."
Andersson shifted in his seat, a knot tightening beneath his sternum. The implication settled over him like a too-heavy cloak. "You know we can't be the Shemlen," he said quietly. "That would be… impossible. We're not—"
Karass didn't blink. "And yet," he said, his voice calm, unwavering, "here you are. Arriving exactly when you were expected."
Hale straightened, eyes narrowing. "Expected?"
Karass's gaze swept over them, his amber eyes glinting like molten gold. "It's a prophecy," he said. "One that dates back to the annims after the Fifth Blight—when the Shemlen were lost."
He rose slowly to his full height, casting a long shadow across the room.
"It speaks of a return. The Shemlen would return… not from this world, nor any we knew. From somewhere else. Somewhere unimagined."
His voice dropped—low and reverent.
"They would return in the shadow of the Sixth Blight. The last one. The one meant to consume us all.
And in an act of vengeance, they would destroy Corypheus. End him.
And end the cycle."
The words hung in the air like thunder waiting to strike. No one moved. No one spoke.
Andersson's pulse pounded in his ears. Hale's jaw clenched. Reece stared at the floor, eyes darting, as if trying to make sense of a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit.
Karass sat back again, the room heavy with silence.
"When you stepped onto Thedas," he said, "our world changed. Whether you believe the prophecy or not...
you've already set it in motion."