The Pathfinder's airlock hissed open with a reassuring thump, the familiar scent of sterilized filters and faint ozone greeting them like an old friend.

EDI materialized in the corridor as they stepped through. Her form shimmered into focus with precision—sleek, serene, and as unbothered as always.

"Captain," she said, "I have received the navigational and diplomatic data package from Skyhold for our journey to the Citadel."

Reece exhaled like he was bracing for a root canal. "Here we go."

Andersson nodded. "Alright. Let's head to the briefing room."

They moved through the halls with quiet purpose. Despite the upgrades, despite the unsettling familiarity that had crept into Thedas, the Pathfinder still felt like theirs. Steel. Gravity. Order. It was home.

In the briefing room, Andersson stepped to the central console. "Alright, EDI," he said. "What have we got?"

"Since we have not taken the Pathfinder anywhere since our arrival on Thedas," EDI began, her tone precise, "I will briefly cover the fundamentals of Mass Effect–based propulsion."

A schematic of the ship shimmered into view on the display.

"The core of the system is a drive containing lyrium—commonly referred to as element zero or eezo throughout the wider galaxy. While the cultural context and applications differ, the substance is chemically identical. Exposure to an electrical current causes the substance to emit dark energy, which in turn manipulates mass fields. By reducing the mass of the ship, we can achieve faster-than-light speeds via a Mass Relay or independent drive core."

"Mass effect fields are not limited to propulsion. They are also used for artificial gravity, inertial dampening, and structural reinforcement.

For example, during high-acceleration maneuvers, localized mass effect fields reduce the ship's inertial impact on the crew, preventing internal trauma. The same principle is used in kinetic barrier systems to absorb or deflect high-velocity impacts.

In short, lyrium—or eezo—is the foundational technology behind nearly every system aboard this vessel."

Andersson folded his arms. "What are the risks?"

EDI responded without hesitation, her tone as composed as ever. "Minimal—especially when compared to the nuclear fission reactor this vessel previously relied on. That system produced more heat, more radiation, and required extensive shielding. Its energy efficiency was significantly lower, and any breach risked catastrophic failure."

She allowed a moment's pause, then continued. "Mass effect propulsion is cleaner and more responsive. It allows for precise control of acceleration, reduced crew exposure to G-forces through inertial dampening, and carries no risk of radioactive contamination. The improvement in safety is considerable."

Reece leaned against the console, arms crossed. "Alright, so how does the Mass Relay actually work?"

EDI appeared on the adjacent display, her expression as unreadable as ever. "Relay stations are unmanned. They operate autonomously and maintain continuous subspace links to the rest of the relay network. Until recently, this vessel lacked the necessary hardware to initiate handshake protocols. That limitation has now been corrected."

She turned her gaze toward the holoprojection, where a simplified schematic of a relay began to rotate slowly. "The Pathfinder's upgraded communication array can now access the correct frequencies. As you approach a relay station, it will identify your vessel and request a destination. You transmit your route. The relay handles the calculations and transitions automatically."

The schematic zoomed in, highlighting the curved arms of the relay core.

"The Mass Relay functions by generating a sustained zero-mass corridor between two fixed points in space. Once the field is active, it accelerates the vessel to terminal velocity by altering its effective mass—without subjecting it to internal stress or relativistic distortion. Travel is near-instantaneous from the crew's perspective."

She paused, as if anticipating the next obvious question.

"There is no pilot input required during transit. Once engaged, the process is fully automated."

Reece squinted at the projection, then glanced over his shoulder. "Do I get to do anything? Or are we just passengers now?"

EDI didn't miss a beat. "Pilot input is no longer required for any journey since the Pathfinder was refitted."

Reece narrowed his eyes. "Hey…"

"There is, however," EDI added, "an option to retain manual control if you prefer. Your inputs will be acknowledged—unless they conflict with safety parameters."

Reece muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Glorified autopilot," but didn't argue further.

Hale crossed her arms. "Am I the only one concerned about us getting our insides scrambled in this Mass Relay network? We're the only humans here. It's never been tested on us."

EDI responded without pause. "Physiologically, you do not differ significantly from most Thedans. The relay network is stable and used by a wide range of species with diverse anatomical structures."

"So you're saying it's safe?" Hale responded cautiously.

"The transition is stable," she replied evenly. "However, some disorientation is common. Shifts in gravity and inertial dampening may cause temporary discomfort."

Reece leaned back, eyeing her. "Discomfort like turbulence… or like 'my organs just got blendered'?"

"You may experience dizziness, mild nausea, or brief spatial disorientation. I recommend securing yourselves before transit."

Hale let out a low whistle. "We haven't even test-flown these upgrades yet—let alone hurled ourselves across the galaxy. I have concerns about jumping into a eons-old network of acceleration gates using an untested ship."

Reece scoffed. "Jeez, Hale. When did you get so boring?"

She shot him a look. "Not wanting to become a smear on the back wall of the bridge isn't boring. It's called survival instinct."

"The ship's internal inertial dampeners and compensatory field projectors—enhanced by Thedan energy harmonics—will regulate motion within the vessel during transit. The crew will remain spatially stable, even at superluminal speeds."

Reece blinked. "Okay, so... science magic. Got it."

"Do you even know how fast we'll be going?" Hale asked, glancing toward the holo.

"It is impossible to measure precisely," EDI answered, "but suffice to say, you will have travelled faster than any other human in recorded history."

Reece grinned. "I am so down to break some records today."

Andersson shook his head with a small smile. "I think we've already broken a few this week. Not that we've had anyone to tell about it."

Hale snorted. "Yet."

Andersson folded his arms. "Alright. So we know how we get there. What's waiting for us when we arrive?"

A soft chime echoed through the room as a projection shimmered into place above the console. The Citadel rotated slowly—vast, symmetrical, and far too engineered to be natural. Five arms curled outward from a central ring, its design alien and eerily elegant. The structure looked less like a station and more like a celestial engine frozen mid-motion.

"The Citadel," EDI began, "is located in the Serpent Nebula, near the Widow star. It serves as the political and cultural center for multiple advanced civilizations. Current estimates place the population at approximately 13.2 million intelligent beings."

Hale gave a low whistle. "Thirteen million people packed into a floating city? That's bigger than most colonies."

Reece folded his arms, eyeing the display. "A city full of aliens, politics, and interstellar bureaucracy... This is going to be a hell of a first contact."

Andersson leaned in, studying the station's geometry. The shape made sense to him in a way he couldn't explain. Not memory. Instinct. Like some corner of his mind had been built for this without his permission.

"Let's just hope these Thedan translators hold up," he muttered. "Otherwise, we're about to butcher diplomacy in front of a galactic audience."

Reece snorted. "Yeah, what's it been—three hundred years since Thedas last saw the Citadel? I'm sure they've been waiting with open arms."

EDI's form flickered slightly as the briefing room lights adjusted. "Once we arrive, standard docking protocols will apply. I have been provided with the necessary diplomatic codes for transmission."

Andersson nodded. "And the Pathfinder?"

"It is likely the vessel will be subject to a full inspection," EDI replied. "Expect inquiries regarding crew manifest, armament status, and any modifications made since its original configuration."

Reece leaned back, draping an arm over the back of his chair. "So this is the part where the airlock opens, and three humans from another galaxy stand there like the setup to a bad joke."

Andersson gave him a sideways glance. "Shemlen," he said, with a wink.

Reece pointed at him without looking. "You keep saying that word like it's sexy."

Andersson shrugged. "We make it sexy."

Reece grinned. "Yeah we do."

Hale flatly, without looking up. "Send help."

EDI continued, unfazed. "If we are granted permission to disembark, you will be escorted to the Council chambers in an area known as the Presidium."

Hale tilted her head. "That sounds… very official."

Andersson leaned forward, eyes on the rotating Citadel. "What can you tell us about the Council?"

The holographic display shimmered, shifting to reveal three stylized figures, each representing a different species.

"The Council is comprised of representatives from three key species: the Asari, the Turians, and the Salarians," EDI explained. "They oversee galactic diplomacy, security, and law. However, their exclusive control of Council policy has long been a point of contention."

Reece squinted at the projection. "So, the three biggest kids on the playground make the rules for everyone else?"

"Essentially, yes," EDI replied. "There are many species who contribute to galactic society but are not represented on the Council. This has led to unrest and political division, particularly from fringe systems and marginalized worlds."

Hale crossed her arms. "Sounds like a system designed to irritate absolutely everyone."

"There are factions who believe the same," EDI said. "Still, the Council remains the most powerful governing body in known space. Their approval—or lack thereof—can have significant consequences."

Andersson exhaled sharply through his nose. "And we're supposed to convince them to care about a world they forgot existed."

Reece rubbed his jaw. "Great. We're walking into a bureaucratic lion's den without even a laser pointer."

Andersson eyed the projection, jaw set. "Then we make sure they don't underestimate us."

Reece leaned forward. "So who's the most likely to hear us out?"

"The Asari," EDI replied. "They value diplomacy and long-term vision. They will be your best chance at establishing common ground. The Salarians will be inquisitive—particularly if you offer new data or scientific value. The Turians will be the most skeptical. They view strength and structure as paramount, and they are less forgiving of unproven elements."

Andersson nodded slowly. "So... impress the Asari, feed the Salarians' curiosity, and don't challenge the Turians unless we want to end up on a list."

"That would be a reasonable summary, Captain."

Andersson leaned slightly toward the display. "Tell us more about the Citadel races. The ones we're likely to meet first."

EDI's projection adjusted. The Citadel schematic dissolved into a rotating triad of new images—three distinct species, each framed by a data readout.

The first image expanded: a lithe, blue-skinned figure with elegant facial ridges and luminous eyes.

"The Asari are a monogendered species originating from the planet Thessia. Widely considered the most advanced race in the galaxy, they are all biologically female. Their physiology is highly adaptable, and their long lifespans—often exceeding a thousand years—have allowed them to cultivate a reputation as natural diplomats, scholars, and historians. Asari society prioritizes unity, consensus, and intellectual refinement. They are also highly proficient in biotics, which they regard as both art and weapon. Their influence is subtle but pervasive—many serve as advisors or mediators across Citadel space."

Hale blinked. "Wait—all female? No men at all? How is that even possible?"

Reece leaned back, deadpan. "Sounds awful. I love men."

Andersson rolled his eyes.

EDI didn't hesitate. "Asari reproduce through a process known as melded parthenogenesis. During reproduction, they form a neural link with a partner of any sex or species and combine genetic traits by interpreting the partner's DNA through biotic fields. No physical transfer of genetic material is required. The offspring is always Asari, genetically unique, and female."

Hale gave a low whistle. "All women. No wonder they're the most advanced species in the galaxy."

The image shifted, replaced by a figure with angular features, segmented facial plating, and a posture that radiated discipline.

"The Turians hail from the planet Palaven," EDI continued, "A radiation-heavy, militarized world. Their biology includes metallic trace elements, which gives their skin its characteristic sheen. Turians are known for their rigid social order and an ingrained sense of civic duty—military service is not only common, it is considered a rite of passage. Their society is deeply hierarchical, and loyalty to the state often overrides individual desires. As such, they serve as the primary enforcers of Council law and constitute a large portion of Citadel defense forces."

Reece gave a low whistle. "An almost all-military civilization? Hale must think that sounds like heaven."

Hale didn't look away from the projection. "Really? Now, this is more what I was expecting aliens to look like."

Andersson tilted his head. "They look... sharp."

EDI adjusted the projection to highlight the Turian skeletal structure. "Turians evolved from avian species. Unlike birds, however, they developed a rigid exoskeleton that protects vital systems and aids in radiation resistance. Their physiology is highly adapted to Palaven's environment, which also informs their cultural emphasis on structure and survival."

A third figure replaced the Turian—tall, wiry, and almost amphibian in appearance, with large black eyes and flickering movements.

"The Salarians originate from Sur'Kesh," EDI said. "A warm, humid world that has shaped their fast metabolism and rapid cognitive development. Salarians live comparatively short lives—rarely exceeding forty years—and compensate with extreme efficiency in science, espionage, and information management. Their culture emphasizes rapid innovation, intellectual superiority, and preemptive strategy. They speak quickly and often appear distracted, but they rarely overlook detail."

Reece raised his brows. "Fast-talking geniuses with a forty-year expiration date. That explains the twitchy energy."

Hale smirked. "No wonder they get so much done—they're on a timer."

EDI added, without inflection, "They are the shortest-lived of any known sentient race in the galaxy."

Reece elbowed Andersson lightly. "You hear that? If you were a Salarian, you'd be in your twilight years."

Andersson didn't miss a beat. "Think of the peace and quiet."

Hale snorted. "You'd still find a way to brood."

The display expanded again, showing a heavy-set, reptilian figure with pronounced humps, thick armor-like skin, and tusked features.

"The Krogan were once a dominant force in the galaxy," EDI said. "Native to the planet Tuchanka—a world shaped by nuclear devastation and extreme environmental conditions—they evolved redundant organ systems, high radiation resistance, and formidable regenerative capabilities. As a culture, they value strength, survival, and legacy above all."

Reece leaned in. "Now that guy looks like he could give Karass a run for his money."

Hale tilted her head. "Who do you think would win in a fight?"

Andersson didn't take his eyes off the projection. "Not sure. But I'd watch."

EDI continued. "The Krogan played a key role in defeating the Rachni during a previous galactic conflict. As a reward, they were given access to advanced technology and allowed to expand. That expansion, however, led to widespread violence—resulting in the Krogan Rebellions. In response, the Salarians engineered a biological weapon: the Genophage. Deployed by the Turians, it severely restricted Krogan fertility. On average, only one in a thousand pregnancies results in a live birth."

Andersson's brow furrowed slightly.

Rachni. The name sent a ripple through his mind—unfamiliar, but not unknown. Like something half-heard in a dream. It stuck in his thoughts with an echo he couldn't place.

The room fell quiet.

Andersson's expression darkened. "That's not a tactic. That's extermination by another name."

Hale crossed her arms tightly. "They didn't kill them outright. Just made sure they'd never grow again. That's... slow death. Dressed up as policy."

Reece shook his head. "That's cold. Even for space politics. And coming from me, that says something."

EDI's tone remained neutral. "The strategy was intended to avoid total war. It succeeded in ending the conflict. But the long-term consequences were… severe. The Krogan were eventually removed from the Council and politically sidelined. Thedan intelligence believes they have recently begun re-engaging with the wider galaxy, though their influence is significantly reduced. Much like Thedas, they were isolated—both by force and fear."

Andersson looked away from the projection, jaw set. "Let's hope no one decides that's the right answer for us."

Andersson watched the last projection fade from the central console. The room settled into silence, the crew absorbing everything they'd just seen—everything they were about to walk into.

He exhaled slowly, then said, "I don't know if all that makes me feel more relaxed… or more apprehensive."

He straightened, glancing between them.

"Either way, we're going in. Full officers' uniform. Not dress uniforms, but sharp. Clean lines, clear rank. I want us looking like we belong there."

Reece raised an eyebrow. "I always look great. It's the two of you that need an hour."

Andersson didn't flinch. "One hour. I want all of us ready to step off this ship like we were born to do it."

No one argued.