"Fade Child." The Lady of the Forest greeted me with a serene smile the moment I stepped into the chamber, and I groaned inwardly, briefly tempted to turn back before remembering my simmering frustration with Alistair. "Our gratitude for your aid cannot be measured, and shall never be repaid."

"I'm just passing through." I said, dismissively, scanning the chamber for a route that would keep me at a safe distance from the spirit and her furry entourage. "Don't mind me."

"I suppose, in a way, we all are." She replied, sadly. "Just passing through."

I sighed, reluctantly turning to face her.

"Look, I'm having a bad day. Can we save the cryptic chat for another time?"

"Time grows short." She said, firmly. "I am afraid there may be no other time for us to speak."

"Well, great!" I forced a smile, edging away from her. "That works for me too. I'm just…looking for a phylactery."

"Yes." The spirit said, gently. "She looks for you, too."

"She?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If you say so. You're connected to this place, right? You can point me in the right direction. Small, glowing gem? Contains the essence of an Arcane Warrior?"

"Oh." The spirit replied, looking a little disappointed. "Yes. I know the pitiful soul of which you speak. Like me, it too seeks an end...perhaps you will grant one more spirit the gift of endless silence this day. My wolves can show you the way."

"Thanks." I said, feeling my shoulders relax a little now that we finally understood one another. "That makes my life a little easier."

"Return here, when you are able." The spirit said, her voice laced with urgency. "There is much to discuss, and so little time yet left to us."

I nodded, reluctantly, and she gestured to two of the werewolves closest to me. With a low growl of acknowledgment, they slinked towards a door veiled in shadow, a path we had previously skirted thanks to Swiftrunner's shortcut. Their eyes flickered back to me in a silent invitation to follow them. Despite my efforts to appear composed, my muscles tensed involuntarily beneath the unwavering scrutiny of the spirit and her lupine companions as I trailed after them.

They led me from the main chamber and through a labyrinthine series of rooms and corridors. Despite the growing distance between myself and the spirit, an unsettling sensation persisted, as if her gaze lingered on me. Cold dread pooled in my stomach, and I forced myself to push the feeling aside, steeling my nerves. I am Lauren Duval. I reminded myself. I can endure anything.

"Be on your guard, elf." One of the werewolves growled at me. "The veil is thin here."

"I'm not an elf." I muttered, tucking my hair behind my ear, pointedly.

The werewolf snarled an acknowledgement, but said nothing.

We reached a small room full of broken down bookshelves and statues so ancient that once intricate stone carvings were now so faded and worn as to be illegible. I sensed the presence even before my eyes landed on the phylactery. I picked it up, feeling the gem vibrate slightly in response to my touch. I turned it over in my hands, trying to remember what I was supposed to do with it, when I felt it grow warm against my skin.

The presence within reached out to brush my mind, but was swiftly expelled by Valour. I rolled my eyes, silently urging the spirit within me to cooperate - play nice, I thought, I know what I'm doing.

"I'm sorry about that." I whispered to the gem, glancing up to see the werewolves watching me with perplexed stares. I cleared my throat, looking back down at the phylactery in my hands. "I'm here to help you."

The presence reached out once more, hesitantly, met this time with Valour's reluctant permission. I was suddenly assaulted with a series of hazy visions, flickering too quickly for me to make sense of, and I silently urged the presence to slow down. It complied, allowing me to gather my thoughts and attempt to communicate with it.

It was challenging. With the presence entrenched in my mind, my efforts to suppress thoughts of the game only fuelled its confusion.

You know me? I heard an indistinct voice echo within my thoughts, small and genderless…the spirit hadn't only forgotten its name, but its entire identity.

I know that you were once an Arcane Warrior. I thought back, receiving no response.

I remembered a conversation between my Knight Enchanter Inquisitor and Solas. The formal name for the techniques you have learned is the Dirth'ena Enasalin, knowledge that led to victory.

The presence flickered in recognition of the Elvish words in my memory, and I felt an excitement that wasn't mine wash over me.

Can you teach me? I ventured hopefully. The presence didn't respond in words, but I sensed its willingness. In exchange, it sought an end, as I knew it would. I looked around the room and the presence guided me towards an alcove behind one of the fallen bookshelves, where an altar awaited.

Desperate images of the phylactery's destruction flooded my mind. The spirit's yearning for oblivion was overwhelming, and it suddenly occurred to me that exposing myself to this urge when my own embrace of life was still so tenuous might not have been the best idea.

I approached the altar, and the spirit's longing grew almost unbearable. I felt Valour grow restless, and gritted my teeth to maintain control.

Okay. I thought, firmly. Show me, and I'll give you an end.

The memories that flooded my mind were disjointed - fractured and hazy, and I tried not to feel too disappointed. Some of the memories added to the foundational knowledge I already had from the game, making it tangible - translating it into abilities I knew I could master, in time. The gem fell silent once more, and the presence pulsed within, waiting.

I thanked it, silently, and laid it gently on the altar. The next words that came out of my mouth were not my own.

"Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas. In uthenera na revas."

The phylactery vibrated violently. In the moment before it exploded into a thousand pieces, I felt a rush of pure joy and then…nothing. It was done.

I nodded to myself, reeling slightly from the void left over by the intensity of the spirit's emotions. I closed my eyes, focusing on the memories I had gained, and frowned. They were difficult to parse, but I realised that my mana felt different than it had before. For a start, I could feel my mana, without casting. It felt like adrenaline, or endorphins…it was physical. I clenched and unclenched my fists, staring down at my hands.

I reached for one of my daggers, ignoring the warning growl of the werewolves, and smiled a little when I felt my mana extend beyond my fingers and into the blade itself.

It wasn't the coolest arcane magic, but it was a start. I wondered if I could pull off a Fade Step, but thought that might be an ill-advised thing to attempt on my own. It would probably be wiser to try it for the first time while under the careful supervision of two practised mages who could lend a helping Mage Hand if I happened to find myself stuck between planes of existence.

I followed the werewolves back to the main chamber, half-hoping that we would be ambushed by some beastie so that I could try out my new skills, but the trek back was uneventful. I was so lost in thoughts of how I might develop my new talents that I almost forgot how badly I wanted to avoid the Lady of the Forest and her relentless, incomprehensible babbling.

"Fade Child." She greeted softly as I approached and I struggled to suppress an audible groan.

"Thanks for the escort." I said, with a pained smile. "I should really go and check on Zathrian, see how his preparations are going."

"I can offer you little, in return for the kindness you have shown us this day." The spirit said, giving no indication that she had heard me, or sensed my desperation to get away from her. "But I can offer you answers."

"I didn't ask you a question." I snapped irritably, my tone sharper than intended. The chamber echoed with several menacing snarls in response, a warning to temper my aggression. With a frustrated sigh, I rolled my eyes in reluctant resignation. "Fine. Let's…talk."

The door of the ritual chamber creaked open, and Morrigan, Grayson and Alistair stepped into the room, their expressions wary as they surveyed the scene. Alistair met my gaze, a grimace of apology flickering across his features, but I wasn't ready to accept it yet.

"Is everything okay?" Grayson's voice cut through the tense air, his tone business-like. "Lauren?"

"Fine." I replied, curtly, my frustration evident.

"We heard…"

"I said I'm fine." I snapped, cutting off any further probing. "We're talking." I looked back at the spirit and folded my arms. "Not that we're getting anywhere. You said you could give me answers, but every time you speak, you just give me more questions. And a tension headache."

"Why do you call her Fade Child?" Morrigan asked, suddenly, and I threw her an exasperated look, which she promptly ignored. Her eyes glinted, curiously, as she regarded the spirit. "You spoke of her creation, spirit. What did you mean when you said that you are not so different?"

"Do you not feel it, mortal?" The spirit asked, approaching me. She closed her eyes and raised her arms, hovering her palms over me and breathing deeply. "Do you not hear it? Echoes of a song, younger than noon…a sapling - grown not from the earth, but from seeds of intent." I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling my temper flare again, but she continued, unfazed. "A child of two worlds - born to one, yet destined for the other."

"That's not a secret." I muttered, irritably. "I'm not from this world. They already know that."

"A half-truth." The spirit said, gently.

"See? This is what I mean!" I said, throwing up my arms in frustration. "No answers, more questions."

"Does that mean that you're...half from this world?" Grayson asked, frowning. "Could one of your parents be from here?"

"That…doesn't make any sense." Alistair said.

"Finally, something we agree on." I muttered under my breath.

"Perhaps." The spirit said. "Yet, it is so."

"Fade Child. A child of two worlds…I recall a passage." Morrigan mused, casting a nervous glance in my direction. "From Flemeth's Grimoire. I…presumed it to be a parable, of sorts. I did not think such a thing truly existed."

"Oh, really?" I crossed my arms impatiently. "Did the book mention anything about how repeatedly calling someone a nonsense word with no explanation is likely to result in that person losing their temper and setting you on fire?"

"I do not recall…there may have been a note in the margins." Morrigan replied, with a coy smile, but her curious gaze lingered on me. "You say she is such a being, spirit? I admit, it would explain a great deal. I have wondered how Flemeth was able to restore you…this would offer something of an explanation."

"Stop it." I said, quietly. "Whatever you're talking about, I…stop it. I don't care. Let's just…get this ritual done and get out of here."

"Lauren…" Grayson's voice was gentle as he stepped forward, concern etched into his features. "This sounds important."

"No it doesn't." I scoffed. "It sounds like nonsense."

"What did the grimoire say, Morrigan?" Grayson asked, his brow furrowing.

"Oh, come on!" I exclaimed, with a shrill laugh.

"I did not pay it much heed, at the time. But I was reminded of…Alistair." Morrigan said, turning to him. Alistair jumped, startled by the mention of his name, and looked at me as though I was the one who had called on him.

I met his gaze nervously, and he offered me a sympathetic smile. I wasn't sure why I suddenly felt like bolting, but something inside me screamed that I didn't want to hear whatever came next.

Morrigan continued.

"Your Chantry teaches children that babies come from the dreams of their parents. Is that not so?"

"I know where babies come from, Morrigan." He retorted, sharply. "I've already had this conversation with Wynne."

"Well, that is certainly a relief." She smirked. "But that is not why I ask. I ask because the passage I read in the grimoire spoke of something not unlike this - 'tis why I thought it to be a parable."

"Is there some kind of point that you're rapidly approaching, Morrigan?" I asked, masking my discomfort with annoyance.

"What did it say, exactly?" Grayson pressed. We exchanged a doubtful look. Wherever she was going, she'd started off in the most far-fetched place imaginable.

"It spoke of a Dreamer who conceived a child with one she had loved only in the Fade. But the child was born: flesh and blood and just as real as any of us."

"Cute story. What does that have to do with me?" I snapped, feeling defensive for reasons I couldn't quite grasp. I could have just laughed at her. I should have just laughed at her - dismissed her words as ridiculous, but instead, an ache gnawed at my stomach. "What are you…I mean what are you even saying? Are you saying I'm some kind of freaky dream-spirit-baby?"

"No…" Morrigan replied, cocking her head as she studied me. "You are flesh. And blood. And just as real as any of us."

I narrowed my eyes at the implication of her words and let out a growl of frustration.

"Look, even if this Fade Child story was true, which I doubt, it has nothing to do with me." I insisted, backing away from her. "I mean…you can't really believe that, can you?" I turned to the spirit. "Sorry, Lady, I don't know what you think you're picking up from me, but you're wrong. I mean, for a start, there is no connection to the Fade in my world, so…that's that."

"No connection that you know of." Morrigan offered. "Perhaps whatever barrier separates your world from the Fade is simply…thicker than the Veil."

"Thicker?" I repeated, my tone dripping with scepticism.

"Thicker." She confirmed, undeterred. "There must be some connection, or you could not have journeyed here. 'Tis possible that a Dreamer could find a way across. The magic of Dreamers is ancient and powerful…I do not pretend to know all that they are capable of. They are rare, even in this world."

"And they don't exist in my world. My parents aren't Dreamers. My parents are boring and normal and...why am I even talking to you? This is completely insane." I said, crossing my arms. I looked back at Grayson, expecting him to share my disbelief, but he only looked concerned.

"I did not suggest that both of your parents were Dreamers. Well…not the parents you grew up with, anyway." Morrigan said, gently. "If your mother were such a Dreamer, in a world with no knowledge of the Fade…it is possible that she was never truly aware of it. She may have dismissed any ventures to the Fade as particularly vivid dreams."

"My Mother? My mum is a part-time accountant with a gluten-intolerance who cries at John Lewis Christmas adverts every year." I scoffed. "And…what? What, you're saying that my dad isn't really my dad? That's such bullshit. My dad is my dad. My real dad. He…he's too annoying to not be my dad. I'm normal. My sister was normal. My parents are aggressively normal. My mother is an accountant. My father is an architect."

"Think about it." Morrigan urged, gently. "You were brought here through the Fade, through a tear in the Veil - a journey that you should not have survived. You were resurrected by Flemeth - something I did not think possible for one who is mortal. Your magic, the spirit of Valour…it does not just make sense…I think this may be the first thing about you that makes any sense at all. If you had no connection to this world, why else would you be here?"

"Stop it!" I spat, venomously. "This is nonsense! You know it is, Morrigan. Why are you even entertaining this?"

"What say you, spirit?" She asked, ignoring my question, and I scoffed, turning away from them again.

"This is absurd." I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of her words pressing down on me.

"I did not wish to burden you, Fade Child." The spirit said, sadly.

"Call me Fade Child one more time…" I growled, my frustration boiling over.

"I did not think it possible that you were unaware of your nature." She said, and the pity on her face made me want to scream.

"What does this mean?" Grayson asked, his voice filled with concern. "Morrigan?"

"I am not certain." Morrigan admitted. "I shall have to study the grimoire further. Perhaps there is more there that I have not yet found."

"No." I interjected, shaking my head. "No, it doesn't mean anything, because it's not real. I'm not…I'm normal. I mean, I'm not normal, but I'm…normal! I'm human."

"Lauren…" Alistair's voice was low and gentle, and it only served to further stoke the fire of my frustration.

"No!" I wheeled around to face him. "This isn't real! Why are you all looking at me like you believe any of this? I know who I am, okay? I know who my parents are. Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not." He said, softly, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not looking at you like anything. It's okay. We don't have to keep talking about this if it upsets you-"

"Upsets me?" I cut him off incredulously. "Why would I be upset?" I shook my head, attempting to push aside the turmoil churning within me.

"Lauren..." Grayson started towards me, holding his arms out to embrace me, but I backed away from him.

"No!" I snapped. "This isn't fair. This isn't okay."

"I admit, I am surprised by your reluctance to accept the only rational explanation we have for your many unexplained...quirks." Morrigan said, in what I assumed to be an attempt to comfort me. "Isn't this the answer you've been seeking since first we met?"

"Morrigan, so help me God, I...are you implying I'm overreacting?" I hissed. "Please tell me what I'm supposed to feel about this?"

I looked around at each of them for a response and was met with silent, sympathetic stares.

"Your rage is keen." The Lady of the Forest observed. "I understand. But rejection of your true nature will only harm you. You must embrace it, Fade Child. There, you will find strength."

"No, you don't understand." I snapped, as hot tears pricked my eyes. "You said you wanted to give me something - give me answers, but you...you took something from me."

I looked from the spirit to my friends, who were watching me with careful expressions.

"Don't you get it?" I asked, desperately, looking at each of them in turn. I closed my eyes, struggling to voice the conflict raging within me. "When Flemeth brought me back, she told me she'd taken a piece of me." I said, struggling to maintain an even voice. "A small piece. And that would be fine, if that was the only piece of myself that I was missing. But I've left pieces of myself all over Ferelden. At Ostagar. On the road back from Kinloch Hold, when I killed that woman. In Howe's dungeons. In Haven...and in Redcliffe. Little pieces of me just keep being chipped away and replaced by things I don't recognise: Valour. Magic. Fade Child. It's too much. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep losing pieces of myself."

"Lauren, I know that...this is a lot to take in..." Grayson said, gently, and I glared at him.

"No. It's not. Because I'm not taking it in, Grayson. I don't accept this. Didn't you hear me? Pay attention!" I snapped. He recoiled, slightly, and I shook my head, feeling my anger deflate. "I'm going for a walk. I need to get away from spirits and werewolves and blood-mages and fake dads and Chantry propaganda about dream babies and…I need to just...get away."

"I'll come with you." Alistair offered, taking a step towards me, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"No. I want to be alone." I am Lauren Duval. I can endure anything. "Can't I just be alone? Can't you people just leave me alone?"

I backed away from them, staggering slightly before regaining my composure and striding across the room, my eyes fixed on the door. I would be okay. If I could just make it out of the dank, oppressive darkness of the ruins to the fresh air outside, I would be okay.

I heard someone call my name but I wasn't sure who. It didn't matter. I only needed myself. I knew myself again. I was Lauren Duval. I could endure anything. I wasn't going to let a naked tree spirit and some half-cocked tale from Flemeth's grimoire take me away again. Not when I had just found myself again.

I am Lauren Duval. I can endure anything.

Echoes of the ancient arcane warrior's yearning for oblivion resounded in my head. I was unsurprised and unshaken to discover that I envied it.