The doors to Karass's private chambers slid open without fanfare. The room beyond was stone and silence—polished, precise, and lit with the soft pulse of embedded crystal. Karass sat behind his desk like he'd been there for hours, unmoving and entirely in control.
He didn't stand. Just watched them enter with that unblinking gaze of his.
"So," he said, voice low and composed. "Tell me what happened. What did they do to you?"
Andersson didn't answer right away. He stepped in, arms loosely crossed. "Your friend Davrin took us into the forest."
At that, Reece cut in. "Yeah. Straight to the tree—which proceeded to screw with his head. Now he's got a psychic pen-pal and an encyclopedic knowledge of ancient Thedan produce."
Karass's expression held for a beat. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "I like this one," he said, nodding at Reece. "You should keep him."
Reece didn't miss a beat. "Oh, he is."
"I might've threatened to punch Davrin," Hale added. "A lot happened."
Andersson glanced between them, unamused. "Can I speak now?"
Karass gestured for them to sit. They did, and the room quieted. Still, there was a charge to the air—expectation, curiosity, maybe something more guarded.
"Vhenasul joined minds with me," Andersson said, his voice even but distant. "I'm told it's rare. First in living memory, supposedly." He paused, then added, "They called it an honor."
Reece scoffed. "Felt more like a neural ambush."
Hale crossed her arms. "And we got titles out of it. Starborn, Flame, Daughter of Thedas. The tree apparently had a résumé waiting for each of us."
Karass chuckled low in his chest. "The Elarin do enjoy their poetry. Though Vhenasul… she doesn't speak lightly. If she chose you, there's purpose behind it."
He fixed his eyes on Andersson. "So. What did you see?"
Andersson leaned forward slightly. "Civilizations. Ones that came before. Advanced species rising and falling across Thedas's history. And every single one of them—gone."
Karass's amusement vanished.
"They were wiped out. Not randomly. Systematically. Repeatedly. I think it's the same force, over millions of years. A cycle."
Karass's jaw flexed. "Corypheus?"
"Not directly. But he's part of it. Like a saboteur planted in every cycle. I saw him—always in the margins. Stirring chaos. Feeding it."
Karass's eyes narrowed. "He's been here that long?"
"I think so." Andersson hesitated. "I saw it all. The fall of the Shemlen. The Elarin enslaved. Qunari landing. Andraste rising. And behind it all… him. Or something using him."
Reece muttered, "Would've saved us a lot of reading if you'd just done the brain upload earlier."
Karass didn't respond. He looked to Andersson again. "And the source?"
"There was something else. Watching. Not a presence like Corypheus—less active. More... observing. Like it's been waiting. Maybe even the reason we're here."
Karass sat with that. Then, softly: "So we're already pieces in a larger game."
He stood and crossed behind his desk, staring out the tall, crystal-veined window.
"I've contacted the Citadel Council."
That drew Andersson's attention. "You told them what?"
"Very little," Karass said without turning. "Only that I intend to send a peace envoy. That I wish to establish formal contact."
Reece raised his eyebrows. "Nothing says non-threatening like 'mysterious envoy from a myth-world.'"
"They know Thedas lacks the strength to invade. The gesture is political. Symbolic. I've kept it vague for a reason—I don't plan to reveal everything just yet."
He turned to face them again. "But this is necessary. Silence is a threat in itself."
Andersson's eyes narrowed. "And let me guess—you're sending us."
Karass nodded once. "You'll represent the Shemlen."
"We're not Thedan," Hale said. "Not to the Citadel. Not even to your people."
"You will be," Karass replied. With a flick of his fingers, a projection shimmered to life above his desk—three rotating holographic documents, each bearing a face and seal.
Andersson. Reece. Hale.
Under each name, Thedan script crawled across the surface.
Andersson didn't need to read it aloud. He understood the language as if he'd always known it. The knowledge dropped into place like a piece long missing.
Citizen of the Inquisition of Thedas.
Caste: Shemlen.
He let his gaze linger on it, unmoving.
Karass stepped forward. "To present yourselves before the Council, you need citizenship. Recognition. A place to speak from. I've given you that."
Reece blinked. "Didn't know you could just hand out a homeland like a party favor."
Hale frowned. "You gave us identities without asking. That's not a gift—it's a script."
Karass's tone softened, just slightly. "Not a replacement. Your past is your own. But being outsiders only gets you so far in this galaxy. This gives you relevance. A seat at the table."
He paused. "And after what happened with Vhenasul... I believe this was always meant to be your home. I'm only formalizing what's already true."
Hale didn't answer. Her arms stayed crossed.
Reece leaned closer to the projection. "Is that my old Alliance ID photo? Seriously?"
Karass didn't miss a beat. "We accessed your systems during the refit. It was efficient."
Andersson looked over. "Would've been nice if you'd mentioned it."
Karass opened his hands. "You learned about us. We learned about you. Nothing sinister."
Andersson grunted. "Just invasive."
Reece tilted his head at the hologram. "So… are we getting paid, or...?"
Karass raised an eyebrow. "You'll need to do something useful first."
Reece gave a wounded gasp. "He wounds me."
Hale deadpanned, "Diplomatic service: comes with free travel and zero dignity."
Andersson didn't speak. He was still looking at the word on his file. Shemlen. Not a name he'd chosen. But one that settled on him like it had been waiting.
Karass folded his arms. "I've done what I can. The rest is yours."
Andersson straightened. "We don't even know how to get there."
Karass waved a hand. "All relevant data has been transferred to your holographic woman."
The ceiling comm chimed.
"I believe that's me," EDI said, tone cool and composed. "I've received the navigational data, Mass Relay protocols, and diplomatic etiquette files. I recommend reviewing them. Missteps may be interpreted as intentional."
Karass inclined his head. "She seems capable."
Reece leaned back. "So to sum up—we're magically citizens of a world no one knows, repping a caste that doesn't exist, and heading to the political heart of the galaxy to wing it."
Andersson rose from his seat.
He didn't speak, didn't look back. Just turned toward the door as it opened again, light pouring into the chamber.
The name, the title, the mission—none of it felt right. But it didn't feel wrong either.
It felt like motion. And for now, that was enough.
