Andersson stepped into his quarters and immediately knew something was wrong.
Not bad wrong. Just… different.
This room hadn't been on Branka's tour—which, in hindsight, was probably intentional. The place looked like it had been pulled straight out of a design catalogue titled Captain's Retreat: Five-Star Edition. He barely recognized it.
The bed was bigger now. Wider, deeper, like it had ambitions beyond just sleep. If the mattress was anything like the one in Skyhold, he wouldn't have to worry about rest anytime soon. The bedding was crisp white, tucked with precision, and it smelled—somehow—like clean linen and warm cedar. Expensive. Inviting.
He stepped further inside, eyes sweeping the space like it might vanish if he blinked.
The wardrobes had been completely overhauled. Gone were the creaking doors and mismatched hangers—now smooth, integrated panels slid open with barely a whisper, revealing his uniforms neatly lined up in perfect order. Pristine. Pressed. Probably judged by Branka's standards and found barely acceptable.
His desk had been upgraded too. Larger, more ergonomic, with a chair that actually looked comfortable for once. Integrated holo-displays flickered to life as he neared, glowing with crisp, amber light. Even the small alcove beside it—previously an afterthought—now included a place for his datapads to stack neatly. No more teetering towers of reports.
A couch now sat between the desk and the long counter, angled just beneath the widened viewport. He paused there, catching the view across the spaceport.
Branka was on one of the lower platforms, halfway through what looked like an impressively detailed tirade aimed at a Qunari docker easily two and a half times her size. Her hands waved wildly, her stance defiant, her voice—if the body language was anything to go by—filled with words best not repeated over ship comms.
Andersson smiled to himself.
Across the room, the counter had been extended, sleeker now, minimalist in a way that whispered engineering confidence. His old coffee machine was gone, replaced by something tall, chrome, and vaguely judgmental. He remembered Branka's warning about their dwindling supply—and her total lack of faith in the taste of coffee—and tapped the panel to start a brew anyway.
He wandered toward the bathroom, pushing open the door with one hand. The shower unit inside matched the one in Skyhold—streamlined, touchless, glowing faintly at its base. No more towel-drying. No more brushing his teeth manually. One energy sweep, and the ship took care of the rest.
A compact laundry unit was tucked beside the sink, nearly invisible unless you knew to look. He recognized the model. Same as the one from the Skyhold guest wing. At least that meant he'd have fresh clothes.
The lighting was warmer now, tuned to the rest of the ship's aesthetic—low amber tones that made the room feel less like a military coffin and more like a retreat. It wasn't blinding. It didn't hum. It just existed, quietly perfect.
The coffee machine gave a soft chime.
Andersson walked back to the counter, retrieved his cup, and eased down into the new couch. It was comfortable—dangerously so. He took a sip. Even the coffee tasted better, somehow.
He leaned his head back, let his eyes wander the room, then murmured under his breath:
"The only thing missing are the chocolates on the pillows."
But the humor faded quickly, a low curl of unease creeping in around the edges. The ship was better. Sleeker. Stronger. It was everything Branka had promised and more.
And yet…
Was it still his?
He sat there for a long moment, the warmth of the coffee steady in his hand, the soft hum of the upgraded systems whispering around him. Everything had changed.
A soft chime drew his attention.
The holo-screen above his desk flickered to life, a new message pulsing in gentle amber. Andersson leaned forward, coffee still in hand, and tapped the notification.
Reece:
Need help settling in?
Andersson smirked, thumb hovering over the reply for longer than he'd admit. The temptation was real—gods, it would be easy to ask him up. Let the comfort of this new space be shared. Let himself slip.
Instead, he reached for the datapad beside the screen, typing with precise taps.
Andersson:
Briefing room. 30 minutes, Commander.
A pause. Then another ping.
Reece:
Fine. Lonely down here :(
Andersson exhaled a soft breath, the edge of a laugh caught somewhere in his chest. He took another sip of coffee, eyes lingering on the screen for a moment longer.
Kyle.
He couldn't help the warmth that curled in his chest. Quiet, unspoken, but present—settling into the corners of the room like the soft amber light.
He set the mug down. Time to get back to work.
But he didn't clear the message. Not yet.
He didn't need a shower—hadn't been that long since Skyhold—but the thought of seeing Kyle again had him glancing at the bathroom door with a sigh and a shrug. If he was going to walk into the room like a proper captain, he might as well look the part.
The moment he stepped inside, the shower activated with a soft hum, recognizing his presence. The energy field shimmered to life, sweeping over his body in calibrated waves—cleansing, drying, even moisturizing his skin and running a light pulse across his jawline that left him feeling suspiciously... refreshed. His hair settled naturally into place without effort. His teeth practically sparkled.
Technology. He wasn't sure if it was a miracle or a curse. But for now, he'd take the win.
He returned to the main room and crossed to the wardrobe. The sliding doors hissed open soundlessly, revealing his neatly arranged uniforms—fresh, pressed, pristine. He selected a clean set of undergarments and a dark jumpsuit with red detailing, pulled them on with practiced precision, and paused just long enough to give himself a glance in the mirror.
Still him. Still Andersson.
Just... better lit.
With one last sip of coffee and a final tug at his collar, he stepped out of his quarters and headed for the briefing room.
As Andersson stepped into the briefing room, the door sliding shut behind him with a whisper, he found Hale and Reece already seated—opposite ends of the sleek new table like opposing commanders, with EDI standing poised at the side like a sentinel.
Hale glanced up and around the space. "Okay, it's not just me, right? The ship feels... bigger?"
Reece nodded, dragging a hand along the newly polished surface in front of him. "It's like they took what was already here and made it... fit better. Like every centimeter of space has been optimized."
EDI inclined her head, her holographic form pulsing faintly in agreement. "That is correct. The redesign was executed with operational efficiency in mind. Crew stations have been consolidated to allow for a more fluid command structure. Some departments that previously required multiple operators have been streamlined—engineering diagnostics, for example, can now be handled remotely via an integrated interface rather than requiring physical access to the core systems. The same is true for weapons control, power distribution, and environmental regulation."
Andersson paused in the center of the room, letting it all sink in. The quiet hum of the newly restored ship felt almost too clean—too perfect. Just days ago, she had been broken, held together by grit and grief. Seven dead. Every step down her corridors had echoed with loss.
Now it was as if none of it had happened.
He exhaled slowly and turned to the others.
"How are your new quarters?"
Hale leaned back in her chair with a grin. "Sooo much better than the bunks. I know we don't have a full crew right now, so it's not like I'd be sharing... but still. It's nice. My own little space."
Andersson nodded, then turned to Reece. "And you?"
Reece gave him a look that said exactly what he wasn't saying aloud. The implication was clear—I better be staying with you tonight—but all he said was, "It's... nice."
Andersson didn't smile, not outwardly. But internally? He was definitely enjoying watching Reece squirm for once.
He moved to the head of the table, lowering himself into the command chair with deliberate calm. The data unit Karass had handed him sat at the center, pulsing faintly, waiting.
Andersson placed a hand on it, fingers brushing the smooth surface, and looked up at the crew.
"Let's begin."