Virehn was awake with quiet activity as Davrin led them through its winding walkways. All around them, heads turned—some slowly, others with audible gasps. Conversations halted mid-sentence, replaced by hushed murmurs. One word drifted among them more than once: Shemlen.

People stared not with suspicion, but reverence. A few bowed their heads as the crew passed; others placed hands over hearts, whispering excitedly to one another. Children peeked out from behind woven archways, wide-eyed and grinning, while elders watched with solemn, knowing expressions. A pair of young Elarin paused mid-step, clutching each other's hands like they'd just seen a myth step off the page.

No one stopped them. No one interfered. But the attention was absolute.

"You'll have to forgive the stares," Davrin said over his shoulder, his voice velvet-smooth and faintly amused. "It's not every day legends walk through the city."

Andersson offered a faint smile. "We're just trying not to get in the way."

Davrin's chuckle was warm. "You won't. But that won't stop people from staring."

They wove through the city, crossing an arching bridge where cascading vines dipped toward the water below, their leaves catching the morning light like scattered emeralds. They passed through open-air courtyards where Elarin scholars debated in hushed but animated voices, and past floating platforms that carried archives of glowing script, their contents shifting and rearranging in elegant patterns. The city was alive in a way that felt ancient yet impossibly advanced.

Finally, Davrin led them toward a grand structure nestled between the towering trees—an elegant, sweeping building that seemed less built and more grown into place. The entrance was framed by vast, interwoven roots, their gnarled surfaces smooth as polished stone, forming an archway that looked as if it had existed for centuries.

Davrin gestured toward it. "Please, come. This is Fen'Shallas, the heart of Elarin governance. It is where we debate, make policy, and, more often than not, argue until someone gives up out of sheer exhaustion."

Andersson glanced up at the intricately carved façade, his gaze tracing the elaborate murals woven into the wood. They depicted sweeping histories—figures of great leaders, battles fought beneath unfamiliar constellations, and a central, radiant tree that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Inside, the beauty was just as staggering. The walls bore ancient etchings, their spiraling designs accentuated by soft golden inlays that pulsed gently, as if carrying the heartbeat of the city itself. Hanging banners of deep green and silver swayed in the warm air, marked with geometric sigils that Andersson could only assume denoted different ruling factions or historical lineages. Everything looked impossibly old yet pristine, a testament to centuries of care.

"This is… stunning," Hale murmured, running her fingers lightly over a carved railing as they walked.

Davrin gave a knowing smirk. "Wait until you see this."

He led them deeper through the building, past great hallways lined with open balconies, before pushing open a set of elegantly curved doors that led into his personal chambers. Unlike the grandeur of the entrance hall, this space felt both regal and intimate—lined with shelves containing ancient tomes and glowing data tablets, a curved table set near a wide-open terrace.

And beyond that—

A view that stole the breath from their lungs.

They stepped out onto a sprawling balcony that overlooked an enormous lagoon, its waters an almost unnatural shade of blue-green, so clear they could see the smooth stones resting at its bottom. Across the surface, delicate ripples of Vhenasul's energy shimmered faintly—like veins of living light beneath the water—casting luminous threads through the lagoon's glassy depths. Bioluminescent flora trailed along the edges of the water, their delicate glow creating a dreamlike reflection against the surface. Waterfalls tumbled from high cliffs into the basin below, their sound a steady, rhythmic hush that blended seamlessly with the distant calls of unseen creatures. The air smelled of earth, rain, and something subtly sweet—like the whisper of blooming flowers carried on a cool breeze.

Hale, almost speechless, exhaled slowly. "It's… breathtaking."

Reece let out an impressed whistle. "And this is your office?"

Davrin leaned casually against the carved wooden railing, clearly enjoying their reactions. "Not bad, is it?"

Andersson shook his head with a half-smirk. "I'd never want to leave work."

Davrin laughed. "That's the trick, Captain. Work doesn't feel so much like work when you're surrounded by this." He glanced at them, his expression shifting slightly.

A soft rustling drew their eyes to the lagoon's edge, where a creature emerged from the treeline like a spirit made flesh. She moved with eerie grace, her golden coat catching the filtered light like molten silk. The shimmer of her fur shifted with each step, her antlers, unlike any ordinary deer's, branched into an elegant lattice of golden bone, twisting skyward like living sculpture.. She bent her head to drink from the water's edge, her reflection flickering across the mirror-still surface like something pulled from a dream.

Hale blinked. "What is that?"

Davrin's voice dropped, almost reverent. "That's a halla. But not just any halla—her name is Seranil. The golden halla are sacred to us. Rare, elusive… they only appear when they choose to. I hoped she might come today."

Andersson didn't take his eyes off her. "I don't think I could imagine a more perfect surrounding."

The four of them descended from the balcony, footsteps quiet on the smooth, root-woven path that led to the water's edge. The golden halla, startled by their presence, lifted her head from the lagoon. For a moment, she tensed, preparing to bolt—but then her gaze landed on them. On Andersson. Her crystalline eyes studied him, and instead of fleeing, she stepped cautiously toward them, hooves barely making a sound on the moss-covered stone.

Andersson, Reece, and Hale instinctively froze, the stillness between them absolute. They exchanged a single, silent glance before lowering themselves into crouches—slow, deliberate movements born more of reverence than strategy. Davrin remained where he was, hands folded behind his back, watching with measured patience.

The halla came closer, pausing only once as though deciding whether to trust her senses. Her golden coat shimmered like sunlight on water, and her antlers glowed faintly in the dappled light of the lagoon. She moved past Hale, then Reece, her breath visible in the cool air as she finally came to a halt before Andersson.

He raised his hand slowly, palm open in a quiet offering. She sniffed it, her warm breath brushing his skin. Then, with a soft exhale, she pressed her snout gently into his hand—just for a heartbeat. She pulled back, studying him longer than the others, head tilting ever so slightly. And then—gracefully, deliberately—she dipped her head in a gesture that was almost a bow.

Andersson didn't move. None of them did.

A second later, she turned and bounded away, vanishing silently into the trees beyond.

Andersson straightened slowly, eyes still fixed on the trees where the golden halla had vanished. "That was…" He trailed off, unable—or unwilling—to name it.

"A sign, Captain," Davrin said softly.

Hale turned to him, brow raised. "A sign?"

Davrin nodded, his voice carrying a quiet certainty. "That you may be exactly what we need you to be."

He gestured back toward the balcony, his movement smooth, almost ceremonial. The others followed, still silent, as they climbed the steps and returned to the overlook.

As they stepped back onto the balcony, Davrin turned to them, his expression unreadable but no longer neutral. "The golden halla's connection to Vhenasul runs deep. Some say they are her extensions—others say her eyes and ears."

Reece tilted his head, one brow rising with pointed curiosity. "And what do you say?"

Davrin's lips curled into a grin, a flicker of mischief behind the calm. "I say… I trust their instincts."

Davrin gestured toward a curved wooden desk positioned at the very edge of the balcony, its surface polished to a deep sheen, reflecting the soft glow of the lagoon below. "Please, sit with me," he said, his voice warm with invitation.

Andersson approached the desk, taking in the way it seamlessly blended into the natural beauty around them. There was no clutter—only a few data tablets, a delicate quill-like stylus resting on an inkstone, and a small, softly glowing device that looked like a communication console. It was clear that this was where Davrin worked, where he made decisions that shaped the Elarin people.

Reece eyed the setup with an amused smirk. "So, you work outside? On the balcony?"

Davrin gave a small chuckle as he settled into his seat. "Wouldn't you?" He leaned back slightly, casting a glance at the shimmering lagoon stretching out before them. "I find the water helps me focus. You'll find the Elarin are rarely inside if they can help it. We're a people of the wilds—buildings, even ones as beautiful as Fen'Shallas, are a convenience, not a necessity."

Andersson, Hale, and Reece took their seats across from him, the warm breeze brushing against them as the sounds of the forest mingled with the ever-present murmur of water. It was impossible not to feel at ease here, the atmosphere perfectly balanced between authority and tranquility.

As Andersson rested his hands on the smooth wooden table, something caught his eye—a holo-picture, its image frozen in mid-air just above the surface of the desk.

The picture displayed three figures standing side by side—Karass, Davrin, and a short, broad-shouldered Stonari man anchoring the composition with sheer presence. While Karass radiated intensity and Davrin effortless grace, the Stonari projected something older—enduring. His thick, dark beard framed a stern, dignified face, and his long hair was pulled back beneath a heavy crown set with an emerald centerpiece and flanked by rubies. His eyes were sharp beneath a strong brow, the kind that had seen too much and forgotten nothing. Gold and crimson armor clung to his frame like a second skin, etched in ancient motifs and studded with gemstones.

Davrin followed Andersson's gaze, a flicker of nostalgia softening his features. "The three leaders of the Inquisition," he said quietly. "This was taken when we re-formed it—after a long, bitter conflict with the Carta."

Hale leaned in slightly, brow raised. "Who's the Stonari?"

"That is King Balan," Davrin replied, his voice tinged with fondness. "King of Orzammar. The leader of the Stonari."

Hale gave a low, approving hum. "Kind of hot."

Andersson shot her a sideways glance. She didn't flinch. Davrin, catching the moment, smiled—genuinely amused.

Davrin's gaze lingered on the image. "During the last war with the Carta, the three of us stood united. Each of us led our people through the aftermath."

He paused, then added with a knowing look, "Well—Karass wasn't the outright leader of the Qunari. The followers of the Qun kept their distance. But he led every one of them on Arlathan who stood with us."

Reece let out a low whistle. "So let me get this straight—you lead the Elarin, Balan leads the Stonari, and Karass… leads the rest of the planet?"

Davrin's fingers paused mid-gesture on the desk, a ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Karass led the Qunari on Arlathan. The Qun itself does not recognize individual leadership—it rejects hierarchy in favor of doctrine. They supported the fight against the Carta, but they would not name him their leader."

He looked back to the image, his voice quieter now. "The title of Inquisitor was his first. But the agreement was clear: we would each serve. Leadership of the Inquisition must rotate—no single voice should ever speak for all of Thedas."

Andersson leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "That seems fair—making sure that all races have a voice, that no one holds absolute power for too long."

Davrin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That was the idea. It ensures that no single people dictate the fate of Thedas. But as you can imagine, such a system has… complexities."

Hale scoffed lightly. "I can imagine."

Andersson studied Davrin carefully, sensing the weight behind his words.

"Has it worked?"

Davrin's gaze dropped to the desk, fingers brushing a corner of the holo-picture without focus. For a moment, he said nothing—just watched the light flicker across Balan's crown. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost distant.

"It has held." His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "For now."

Andersson folded his arms. "I'll admit, I'm surprised the Qun would help fight the Carta. Disruption seems to be their currency. You'd think they'd admire the chaos."

Davrin inclined his head, not disagreeing, but reframing. "It's no secret the Qun upends the status quo. But what many fail to understand is—they do so with doctrine, not impulse. They follow a rigid code. It may appear unruly to us, but to them, it is structured… ordained."

He paused, letting the distinction settle before continuing. "The Carta, on the other hand, are lawless. Dishonor without purpose. The Qunari did ally with them once—briefly, centuries ago. But they fell out over territory. Order, even in its harshest form, cannot abide true chaos."

Hale muttered under her breath, "Better the devil you know."

Davrin turned to her, brow slightly raised. "I'm not sure I understand the meaning."

Andersson offered a faint shrug, his tone even. "It's an old saying. Means sometimes it's safer to side with a threat you understand than gamble on something worse. At least the devil you know follows rules—even if they're ugly ones."

Davrin nodded slowly. "I understand. And that would seem to be correct."

Reece leaned back slightly. "Do you think the Inquisition will last this time?"

Davrin's expression turned thoughtful, his gaze drifting to the shimmering light beyond the balcony.

"What we're attempting hasn't been done in an age," he said quietly. "True unity is… difficult. There is resistance. And not without reason."

He turned to them, voice calm but edged with something older, deeper.

"One race has always suffered at the hands of another. Sometimes by design. Sometimes by fear. But the damage runs deep, and it does not fade easily."

Andersson nodded, his tone measured. "We've heard of the struggles and conflict. Your people seem to have suffered the brunt of it." An unspoken reference to the scars of slavery still evident in the Elarin people.

Davrin's voice darkened, the usual silk of it drawn taut. "A sickening reality. In ages past, this entire continent was a slave colony. Its forests razed, its people denied even the concept of freedom. Things have changed… but not enough. Since the rise of the Carta, slavery has touched every Elarin in some way. One in four children are taken."

Hale shook her head slowly, gaze fixed on the view beyond the balcony. "They live with such care for the world… and get treated like this. It's wrong."

There was a pause. A quiet, careful kind of silence.

Then Hale spoke again, gentler this time. "Can I ask? About your markings?"

Andersson stiffened, glancing at Hale before he could stop himself. The question wasn't offensive on its own, but the wrong phrasing, the wrong assumption—it could turn something civil into something much worse. He shot Davrin a sidelong glance, half expecting a shift in his expression, a flicker of discomfort, a guarded silence.

But there was none.

"Please do," he said evenly.

Hale studied him for a moment before tilting her head. "They're different from other ones we've seen. They don't glow."

Davrin nodded, running a hand absently along the swirling tattoos etched into his skin. "They do not. It is a sign that while I may not have been a slave myself, I was one of the lucky ones. I descended from slaves—my parents, their parents before them. We bear the same markings to honor them and their sacrifices."

Reece exhaled softly, his voice unusually sincere. "That's… kind of beautiful."

Andersson felt the gravity of those words settle over the group. "Our home planet—Earth—shares a similar, ugly history."

Davrin turned his gaze back to him, his golden eyes unreadable. "Then you understand. We have rebuilt our home, but our past struggles remain. And slavery is still an issue that won't go away."

Silence lingered for a moment, heavy with the knowledge that history had a way of repeating itself, no matter the world.

A soft rustling of movement signaled the arrival of several Elarin aides, their elegant robes flowing as they set a series of carved wooden trays onto the balcony's central table. The air filled with the warm, spiced aroma of unfamiliar dishes, the scents rich yet balanced.

Davrin gestured toward the spread with a welcoming smile. "You must be hungry. Please, share a meal with me."

Andersson eyed the spread with quiet curiosity. The dishes were vibrant and fragrant—delicate parcels of roasted root vegetables wrapped in crisp, golden leaves, bowls of citrus-dressed grains that glowed in the light, and platters of seared fungi dusted with crushed herbs that released an earthy sweetness as the steam rose. Denser offerings followed: small, dark loaves speckled with seeds and drizzled with something that smelled like honey steeped in wildflowers.

Davrin smirked as he lowered himself gracefully into his seat. "The Elarin have... bold tastes," he said, his tone equal parts pride and apology. "Our food is often heavily perfumed and over-seasoned—too much, sometimes, for guests. I've asked the kitchen to rein it in today."

As they began to eat, Andersson was pleasantly surprised. The flavors were fresh and layered, sharp in the right places and mellow where it mattered. Nothing bland, nothing overwhelming. Just right.

As the meal gave way to quieter conversation and the suns climbed higher through the canopy, Andersson set down his cup, his gaze lingering on the rippling surface of the lagoon beyond the balcony. "Karass told us about a prophecy," he said—light in tone, but the meaning landed with quiet force.

Davrin looked up from his plate, his expression unreadable. "The Prophecy of the Starborn."

Hale leaned back slightly. "Sounds… big."

Reece snorted softly. "And vague. What are we supposed to do?"

Davrin's smile returned—serene, patient, infuriating. "That is not for me to say. When the time is right, Vhenasul will share her knowledge."

Hale gave a dry laugh, pushing a curl behind her ear. "How cryptic. Just what we need."

But Davrin didn't bristle. If anything, he seemed almost pleased by the skepticism. "I'm sure you'll understand more shortly," he said, rising from his seat in one fluid motion. "The time has come. We are to take you to Vhenasul."

The words settled like a shift in the air—subtle, but unmistakable.

Andersson stood slowly, the rest of the crew following his lead. Reece straightened his uniform. Hale checked the clasp on her belt. No one spoke.

Whatever waited in the heart of Brelan—ancient, sacred, sentient—they were about to face it.

And Andersson could feel it in his chest already.

Something was about to change.