Andersson didn't waste time.

He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on the holographic display now spinning above the center of the table. DNA strands, protein sequences, and comparative anatomical overlays rotated slowly, illuminated in crisp blue light.

"Well," he began, his voice steady but dry, "I suppose the news you were expecting is the news we've confirmed."

He tapped the panel, highlighting two overlapping genetic profiles—identical in structure.

"There's no doubt. Humans and Shemlen are the same species."

Silence followed. Not the stunned kind. Not anymore. It was the kind of silence that came from confirmation—one heavy with implication, not surprise.

Karass's golden eyes didn't shift from the data. He studied the projection like it might blink if he stared hard enough.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"I assumed as much," he said quietly. "But assumptions are weak things. I prefer evidence."

His gaze flicked to Andersson, sharp as ever. "So you are not simply echoes. Not evolutionary cousins. You are the same."

Andersson didn't look away from Karass. His next word was a command.

"EDI?"

A soft chime answered, and the air above the table shimmered.

The familiar blue shimmer of EDI's holographic form resolved beside the display, her projected feet resting just above the deck, hands folded neatly in front of her. She didn't bother with preamble.

Karass straightened slightly. Not alarmed—but wary. His posture shifted the way a predator might when something in its territory moves strangely. His gaze flicked to Andersson, then to Reece.

"You permit this intelligence to observe your strategic briefings?" he asked, voice low.

"She is our strategic intelligence," Andersson replied flatly.

EDI inclined her head slightly, addressing Karass with professional courtesy. "I am the Enhanced Defense Intelligence of the Pathfinder SR1. I do not simply observe. I learn, I process, and I adapt. Observation is a byproduct."

Reece leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Yeah, if it wasn't for EDI, I'd still be trying to remember the names of the suns in this system. Now I know… stuff. Like, lots of stuff."

Karass didn't respond immediately. His expression remained neutral, but the slight shift in his stance—the subtle repositioning of his weight, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes—suggested disapproval. Not fear. Not mistrust. Experience. Like a soldier recognizing the difference between a tool and a weapon.

"I do not trust that which speaks with no heartbeat," he muttered.

EDI paused, then offered—without irony—"A common sentiment among organic species. I am unconcerned."

Reece smirked, watching the exchange like someone enjoying a slow-burn chess match. Andersson cleared his throat.

"EDI, the data."

She turned toward the table and raised a hand. The holographic strands shifted. Charts bloomed outward—chromosomal overlays, protein folding diagrams, fossilization timelines, and divergent evolutionary paths.

"Based on genetic, biochemical, and evolutionary modeling," she began, "the likelihood of two distinct species evolving separately—across galaxies, across billions of years—and arriving at this level of anatomical and genomic compatibility is statistically zero."

She gestured to a rotating model of the Shemlen genome—then overlaid it with the human sequence. They pulsed in perfect synchrony.

"This is not parallel evolution. This is replication. Down to the smallest nucleotide."

She let the data hang in the air, cold and clinical.

"There are no known environmental conditions on Thedas or Earth that would account for such identical outcomes unless one was seeded by the other. Genetically. Purposefully."

Karass's eyes narrowed, watching the patterns cycle in eerie harmony.

"You're saying," he said slowly, "that they were moved."

"I am not 'saying,'" EDI corrected. "I am confirming. The data leaves no room for ambiguity. Humans did not originate on Earth. They were relocated there. Intentionally."

Karass didn't respond immediately. He just stood there, massive arms folded, gaze locked on the spinning double helix. He didn't blink.

Finally, he said, "By whom?"

Andersson exhaled slowly. "We were hoping you might know."

Karass said nothing, so Andersson pressed on, choosing his next words carefully. "We've also uncovered evidence suggesting… the Qunari may not have originated on Thedas."

That earned a pause.

For a split second, Andersson wondered if he'd overstepped. He wasn't sure how tightly Qunari guarded their origin—or how personally Karass might take the implication.

He said it carefully, watching Karass's expression.

No reaction. No flicker. Just that unreadable stare.

Andersson continued, slower now. "There are physiological anomalies, cultural gaps, and no archaeological or mythological evidence tying the Qunari to Thedas before a certain point in history. If this is new information… we understand that it may be difficult to hear."

Karass's golden eyes burned into Andersson for a few seconds before his expression turned to something that resembled mild amusement.

"Very good, you are smarter than I gave you credit for," he rumbled. "You think we didn't know?"

Andersson kept his voice even. "It wasn't clear from the records."

Karass's eyes narrowed. "It has long been suspected that the Qunari are not of this world," he said. "A taboo subject, for a time. But I confirmed it when we rediscovered Skyhold after the Inquisition was reformed." He looked back at the helix, expression unreadable. "The evidence was buried—not hidden, just forgotten. Lost beneath layers of war and dogma. But the truth never vanishes. It waits for someone to notice."

He paused, then added, "The free Qunari accept this. However, the followers of the Qun are mostly unaware—they hear what the Qun wants them to hear."

Andersson folded his arms, gaze steady on Karass. "So what are you going to do with this information?"

Karass didn't hesitate. "Nothing," he said flatly. "The Qunari may not have originated on this world, but it is now our home. The same way you consider Earth to be yours."

Andersson nodded slowly. "We believe that Corypheus may be behind introducing the Qunari to Thedas."

"That would make sense," Karass said, his voice quieter now. "I am under no illusion what my people are. We are a pain in the ass. If it weren't for us, Thedas would have united millennia ago."

There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy, like the air had shifted.

Karass tilted his head. "So you believe there are other forces at play? Beyond Corypheus?"

Andersson's jaw tightened. "It's unlikely Corypheus would have gone to the trouble of ensuring the survival of the Shemlen—if he's the one who destroyed them in the first place."

Karass exhaled through his nose, gold eyes flicking toward the holographic helix again. "Interesting indeed."

Andersson glanced at the emitter. "There's more. EDI?"

EDI's voice rang out clear from her projection.

"Fifty thousand annims marks several pivotal events across Thedas and the broader Ytherra system."

"It is theorized that an older, dominant civilization on Thedas was wiped out during the First Blight, clearing the way for the Shemlen, Elarin, and Stonari to emerge as the new dominant species.

There is no definitive proof, but biological timelines and fragmented oral histories suggest the Qunari arrived shortly after the Blight—likely in its immediate aftermath."

She paused, then continued, voice steady but weighted.

"It is also worth noting that the neighboring planets, Mondas and Sundas, were both inhabited until that same timeframe. All signs of civilization on both worlds vanish within the same temporal window."

Her tone dropped slightly, the words sharper.

"The convergence of these events suggests external manipulation."

Karass, still eyeing EDI with guarded suspicion, spoke without shifting his stance.

"So you believe this manipulation isn't limited to Thedas?"

EDI turned slightly toward him, her projection flickering with soft pulses of light.

"There is no way to confirm that without further evidence," she said. "However, it is highly probable that these events form part of a larger pattern—one that may span across other systems, or even the galaxy."

Reece leaned forward, arms on the table.

"But without more data, we're just guessing."

EDI nodded. "Correct. An understanding of the histories of other races in this galaxy would be a significant advantage."

She turned her gaze back to the holographic display. Threads of data spun slowly between system markers.

"We need to look for patterns—any signs of external interference in their development that mirror what we've seen on Thedas," EDI said. "If Corypheus has tampered with the evolution of species here, those manipulations may have left traces—breaks in continuity, inexplicable advancements, or sudden collapses. Any indication that someone else is moving pieces on the board."

Her voice dropped half a register. Calm. Measured. Inevitable.

Karass folded his arms, gaze fixed on the holoprojection still hovering over the table.

"What do you know of the rest of the galaxy?"

Andersson met his gaze. "Nothing so far. We've concentrated on Thedas."

Reece added, "That was going to be today's subject, actually."

Karass gave a low hum. "There is a place where you can gain this knowledge. But it will not be easy."

Andersson straightened. "Where?"

"The Citadel Archives," Karass said. "There is—an alliance of races. They are known collectively as the Citadel races. Thedas was once part of this community, before we were banished from it."

Hale leaned forward, brow furrowed. "So they're not likely to just hand over the keys to their archives."

"No," Karass said plainly. "But there may be a way."

Reece glanced sideways at Andersson, then back to Karass. "What is it?"

Karass's tone was slow, deliberate. "As the leader of a major world, I can request an audience with the Citadel Council. They are the governing body of the Citadel worlds. If we offer them a full and open exchange of information, they may allow access to the archives."

Andersson's voice was skeptical. "You think they'll listen to you?"

Karass gave a half-shrug. "Probably not. But they might listen to you—aliens from another galaxy. That might pique their interest."

Hale frowned. "Would they even find us interesting?"

Karass didn't hesitate. "Definitely. Especially the Salarians."

Andersson blinked. It was the first time he'd heard a species name spoken aloud in this galaxy.

"The Salarians?"

Karass nodded. "They value knowledge above all else. If you offer them knowledge of your world… your galaxy… that would be a very tempting offer."

Reece leaned back, arms crossed. "And the other races?"

"The Council, last I checked, has three member races. The Salarians, the Asari, and the Turians. There are many more worlds under their umbrella, but those three rule."

Karass's expression hardened. "The Turians will refuse you outright. They are the military force of the Citadel—disciplined, conservative, slow to forgive. There were many disputes between Thedas and the Turians before our isolation. It was they who pushed hardest for our removal from Council space."

Karass's gaze shifted, thoughtful. "The Asari are the wildcard. They are the diplomats of the Council—pragmatic, patient. They value cooperation and stability. If anyone is likely to see your arrival as an opportunity to mend old wounds between Thedas and the wider galactic community… it would be them."

Reece leaned forward, brow raised. "So let me get this straight. The Salarians are the brains, the Turians the brawn… and the Asari…the glue?"

Karass allowed the faintest smirk. "In a manner of speaking… yes."

Hale leaned forward, arms folded. "So let me get this straight—you expect us to hand over everything in our database? Doesn't that leave us a little exposed? Info on our tech, our defenses?"

Karass didn't flinch. "Your primitive technology would be of no interest to them," he said flatly. "They could swat you like a bug if they wished to. But the knowledge of where you came from? That is something else entirely."

Reece raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Yeah, what are they gonna do with Alliance intel anyway? Not like they're hopping over to Earth anytime soon."

Andersson said nothing for a moment. He stared down at the table, absorbing the weight of it all—another world, another Council, another gamble. He rubbed his jaw, thoughtful.

"You think it'll work?"

Karass met his gaze without hesitation. "It is the best way to gain access to the archives," he said. "And the most diplomatic. It is worth a try."

Andersson exhaled slowly, then gave a single nod. "Alright. I guess you'd better make the call."

Karass inclined his head. "It will take time to arrange."

He stood, then added, "In the meantime, you are to take a shuttle to Brelan. Vhenasul requests your presence."

The room fell silent.

Andersson straightened in his chair, Reece and Hale exchanging a glance.

Vhenasul herself. Which meant this wasn't a mission anymore. It was a reckoning.