The three of them sat around the breakfast table, the silence broken only by the occasional clink of utensils and the low hum of the room's ambient field. Andersson worked his way through the unfamiliar offerings with the wariness of someone used to meal packs and black coffee.

He eventually settled on something that looked vaguely like yogurt but had the texture of mousse—light and airy, with a sweet, floral taste that lingered pleasantly on the tongue. It paired surprisingly well with a plate of small, pastel-colored puffs—bite-sized pieces of something that fell somewhere between pastry and soufflé. Not sweet, not savory. Just… different.

He nudged one of the green ones to the center of his plate, making a mental note: favorite. Soft on the outside, warm on the inside, and strangely comforting—like edible nostalgia, if nostalgia had never existed before.

"That's new," he said around a spoonful of mousse.

Reece popped one of the yellow puffs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "The purple one's… floral. Kinda like chewing perfume, but not in a bad way."

Hale didn't look up from her cup. "The orange one's got a kick to it. Spicy? Sweet? I can't tell, but I think I like it."

Reece snorted, nearly choking on his spoonful of mousse. "Great. Can't wait to meet the chef and ask what these flavors are from."

Andersson poked at one of the pastel puffs with his spoon. "Did either of you see who brought this in?"

Hale shook her head, not looking up from her cup. "Nope. Didn't hear them either. I've been up for hours. The second I opened my door, it was all just… there."

Reece blinked. "That's… kind of creepy."

Hale nodded, finally taking a sip. "I don't love the idea of someone silently scrabbling around in here while we sleep."

Andersson frowned. "It does feel a little… intrusive."

Reece leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "How long before someone actually tells us what's happening?"

Almost on cue, the doors hissed open.

Fenris entered the room without a word.

Reece gestured vaguely. "Sure. That's normal."

Fenris gave him a sidelong glance, pausing only briefly before continuing into the room. "I trust the accommodations were to your liking."

Andersson nodded. "Very comfortable."

Hale stretched her arms with a soft groan. "That bed might've ruined every other bed for me."

Fenris's reply came flatly, with almost no real inflection. "I am pleased."

Andersson pushed his cup away. "I have some questions."

You could almost see Fenris resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Very well. You may ask them on the way. If you are ready. The Inquisitor is waiting."

They stood, chairs scraping lightly on the stone floor.

As they started toward the door, Hale leaned in between the two of them and muttered under her breath, "The Inquisitor is waiting… to eat you."

Reece didn't miss a beat. "Well, I am a snack. Let's hope he doesn't think so."

Hale gave him a flat look. "I hate you."

Andersson didn't even speak—he just shot them both a look and tilted his head toward the hallway in a silent, weary move.

As Fenris led them through the winding, vaulted corridors of Skyhold, his boots made no sound on the stone. The place was strangely quiet—too quiet for a stronghold this size.

Without turning, Fenris spoke. "You had some questions?" His tone made it sound like he was hoping to dispatch them like one might a troublesome fly.

Andersson nodded. "Yes. A few things happened that we weren't exactly expecting."

Fenris gave the faintest sigh, subtle but audible.

Andersson continued, ticking the items off on his fingers. "Cabinets opening the exact second the item inside is needed. Uniforms moving rooms. The dinner table disappearing overnight. Breakfast arriving silently while we slept."

Hale didn't look away from the hallway ahead. "And I've been up for hours. Never heard a sound."

Fenris finally glanced back at them, his expression unreadable. "And you wish to know who prepared your first meal and delivered your uniforms."

"Each space in Skyhold is self-regulating. The architecture responds to presence and intent. If a guest awakens hungry, sustenance is deployed. If clothing is required elsewhere, it is routed. The systems are designed to anticipate and accommodate—nothing more."

"The function is always present," Fenris said, "but concealed. To a guest, it may feel as though things appear and vanish. They do not. They are delivered—discreetly."

Andersson nodded, brow furrowed. "So it wasn't brought in by people? It was… technology?"

"Yes," Fenris replied. "The system is fully integrated into the surroundings where possible. Your first meal was curated by assessing your biological state while you slept. The selection was designed to fulfill your specific needs."

Fenris paused, as if weighing his words. "Our technology is intuitive."

Reece tilted his head. "Like… it reads your mind and does stuff?"

"In a manner of speaking," Fenris said. "It was developed by the Elarin. Designed to respond to intent rather than instruction."

Andersson frowned. "Intent. Meaning… what? It knew I needed a clean uniform so it… moved it for me?"

Hale didn't look at him. "It knows you didn't stay in your own bed."

Reece snorted. "Great. The laundry system is judging me."

For the first time, a flicker of amusement crossed Fenris's expression. "Correct. The systems monitor environmental cues—motion, stress levels, biofeedback. If a person stands near a bathing station, the system anticipates hygiene needs. If a cabinet is opened while you're thinking of clothing, it selects the appropriate garment."

Andersson blinked. "So you have been watching us?"

Fenris stopped walking. "Not exactly."

Hale folded her arms. "That's not a denial."

"The system is reactive, not surveillance-based," Fenris replied. "There are no watchers. No cameras. Only sensors—programmed to detect patterns, to support rather than observe."

Fenris inclined his head slightly, voice calm but certain. "For example, if you approach the bath with the intent to use it, the system registers your posture, your biometrics, your stress levels. It knows you intend to bathe. It will analyze your specific needs and adjust—depth, temperature, even mineral composition—to suit."

Andersson looked at him. "And the water... I've never felt anything like it. It felt charged."

Fenris's gaze didn't waver. "Vhenasul provides us with water. With heat. With food. With energy. Her presence flows through everything."

Reece blinked. "A tree can do all that?"

Fenris didn't smile. "More than you can imagine."

Reece gave a low whistle. "So basically… the whole place is aware."

"It is efficient," Fenris corrected. "And discrete. Though not without controversy."

Hale raised an eyebrow. "You mean not everyone's onboard with mind-reading room service?"

Fenris nodded. "The Stonari refuse to live with it. The Qunari distrust anything they cannot command directly. Even among the Elarin, many prefer more traditional systems. But Skyhold was designed for ease. To anticipate, not to intrude."

Reece leaned slightly closer, squinting at Fenris like he was trying to catch him in a trick. "Still sounds like magic to me. So you're telling me… if I want a horse, I just think about one, and boom—horse?"

Fenris gave him a withering look. "Of course not. The systems cannot conjure matter from nothing. Each interface serves a specific function—cleaning, climate, clothing, sustenance. The difference lies in how they interpret intent. The network is designed to respond on a subconscious level. You don't issue commands. You express need."

Hale crossed her arms, unconvinced. "Still feels like an overstep to me."

"It was not our intention to make you uncomfortable," Fenris said calmly. "And we are not watching you in the ways you believe. If you wish, we can disable any of the intuitive functionality."

Andersson glanced over at Fenris. "You say Vhenasul provides for your needs. When we approached the planet, we noticed the pollution levels were… incredibly low. Surprisingly low, for a society this technologically advanced."

Fenris gave a slow nod. "Most—though not all—of our current systems are designed to function in harmony with what Vhenasul offers. Energy. Water. Nutrients. We've integrated our infrastructure with these natural flows. But it wasn't always this way."

He paused, as if weighing the memory of it.

"There was a time, before the Age of the Mother, when we did not understand the depth of her presence. We mined too much. Built without balance. Stripped the soil, poisoned the air. The planet began to suffer."

He glanced sideways, voice tightening just slightly. "The Stonari were the worst offenders. Their industries burrowed deep. Their refineries ran hot. They valued efficiency—production over preservation."

Andersson's brow furrowed. "And now?"

"Now," Fenris said, "even they have begun to change. Slowly. Begrudgingly. But change nonetheless. After the last Blight, it became clear: unchecked growth was no longer sustainable. Vhenasul was not a resource to exploit. She was a force to respect."

Reece let out a low breath. "So your entire technological evolution… reversed course?"

"Not reversed," Fenris said. "Refined. We did not abandon advancement. We adapted it. The systems you see here—intuitive, energy-neutral, harmonized with the land—are the result of generations spent learning from our mistakes."

He continued, voice even. "That harmony extends beyond machines. We no longer farm animals in the traditional sense. Overfarming, overbreeding—it created imbalance. Now, most food is cultivated with minimal environmental cost. Animals are only taken when Vhenasul yields them—when the time is right. To force it would be a breach of our pact with her."

Hale raised an eyebrow. "So no slaughterhouses? No factory farms?"

"Not in Brelan or Arlathan," Fenris said. "The Stonari have adapted much of their agriculture. The Elarin do not raise animals for food at all. But Par Vollen and Tevinter… they continue to do things their own way."

Reece's mouth twisted. "Lemme guess—the Qunari still hunt for fun?"

Fenris's jaw ticked ever so slightly. "They call it tradition. I call it excess."

Andersson nodded slowly, absorbing it all. A society rebuilt around restraint. Balance. Consent. And yet… cracks remained.

Andersson kept his pace even, but his voice turned thoughtful.

"When we passed through the system, we noticed two other planets in the habitable zone. One was completely oceanic—dense atmosphere, violent tides. The other… just radiation and fallout. Like something wiped it clean."

Fenris gave the faintest nod. "You saw Mondas and Sundas."

Andersson glanced over. "Those are their names?"

"Yes," Fenris said. "Mondas is the waterworld. Sundas, the irradiated one. According to our long-range studies and what remains in the ancient records, both were once inhabited. Until roughly fifty thousand annims ago."

Reece raised an eyebrow. "What happened to them?"

"We believe they destroyed themselves," Fenris said simply. "Or were destroyed by the consequences of their choices. Overconsumption. Environmental collapse. A failure to live in balance with what sustained them. Their ruins are gone, but the damage remains."

Reece let out a low whistle. "Hell of a warning."

Fenris's voice was calm. "One that came too late. Now only Thedas endures."

Andersson frowned, the thought lodging sharp and unwelcome in the back of his mind. He said nothing, but it stayed with him. Two dead worlds in the same system. Fifty thousand annims gone. And no one able to say what really ended them.