Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wake.

She blinked. Sleep called, like a lumbering animal in the corner of her mind.

Shivana, your eyes must open.

Emotions touched her then, creeping fingers—foreign and strange. Cold. Her brow furrowed. Too many feelings. Too much. Sleep was better, easier.

Open your eyes.

She took a breath. Her eyes opened. Everything was bright, harsh, wrong.

From the Fade, she had witnessed newborn babes born into the arms of loving parents. The children always cried when exposed to the world, even when delivered safe into a new reality. There weren’t many born in such a way, but she had always been drawn by the emotions present in those moments. Her spirit had always pulsed with synchrony, focused on the emotions of the new parents.

She wondered now if this was how those babies felt. Ripped suddenly from the familiar and thrust into a strange and dangerous world. It didn’t feel right.

The woman turned onto her side, her body heaving uncontrollably. Yellow bile spewed from her mouth and she gasped wetly, the pain and confusion only increasing.

Around her, hundreds of others were doing the same.

Though the place they had been pulled into was beautiful, it was also frightening. Sunlight touched her mellow-brown skin, seeming to set off the golden hues as her hair drifted forward to frame her face. She touched the silver strands of silk, wonder and horror akin in her mind. Where were the violet tendrils of her spirit?

She rose to her knees, staring at the surrounding building.

Tiles made of pure gold reflected the light from the sun streaming down from decorative stained-glass windows. The room was expansive, and she could feel the blood of titans moving around them, set into the stone that surrounded each golden tile. She watched as men and women all around her groaned, fearful and expectant. All of them were naked, all shaking with unrestrained panic.

At the head of the room stood a man with razor-sharp features and piercing golden eyes. He watched the gathering with the quiet satisfaction of someone long accustomed to power. His smile was cold and unreadable as he looked down at the spirits now given flesh.

His armor shimmered. It was woven from shifting gold and threads of pure magic, as fluid as it was formidable. This was a being forged in war, steeped in command.

And yet, she knew him.

Elgar’nan.

Once hailed as the spirit of Command. Now whispered of in hushed tones as something darker, twisted into Tyranny.

Beside him stood a woman whose presence was no less striking. Her hair flowed like ink, dark and gleaming, cascading down her back. Her eyes mirrored Elgar’nan’s in color, but held a sharper edge, as though they saw further, deeper.

She was beautiful in a cold, unapproachable way. She had angular features and full lips. Her wide hips dipping down into long, smooth legs. She was clothed in a gown spun from silver so fine it seemed made of starlight. She stood like a queen beside the Sun-Tamer, unmoved and unbowed.

They each wore crowns, each had eyes that stared dispassionately at the gathered men and women. Behind them, stood row upon row of men and women clad in shimmering armor. Each bore spears, each prepared for a war they knew could erupt at any moment.

But the newborn woman’s eyes seemed drawn instead to the man just to the right of Mythal.

He wore pale white vallaslin, elegant and severe, marking him as Mythal’s chosen, her Second. He stood with quiet discipline, hands clasped behind his back, every inch of him poised like a blade sheathed in ceremony.

There was a dusting of freckles across high cheekbones, the shade matching the color of his hair, a dark brown that could almost be crimson in the sunlight. But it was his eyes that held her fast: a rich, haunting shade of blue, so dark they neared violet.

And they were looking at her.

A jolt passed through him the moment their gazes met. His breath caught—sharp, sudden, as though he’d been struck in the chest—and she blinked, startled by the intensity. Mythal turned toward him, drawn by the shift in his demeanor.

Immediately, his expression collapsed into stillness. Blank. Controlled. As though nothing had happened at all.

But something had.

In that instant, something passed between herself and Mythal’s Second, though she had no word for it. There was sorrow in his gaze, ancient and raw, a weight of grief so profound it pierced the fragile, newborn layers of her spirit-made-flesh and struck something buried in her core.

Her heart, so new to sensation, sped up. A flutter stirred inside her belly. Connection bloomed even now, and she wanted to step closer to him, drawn as though tethered.

She did not know him.

But somehow. . .

She felt as though she should.

“Hear me, kin,” Elgar’nan bellowed.

His voice rang through the chamber, too loud, too full of force. The gathered men and women fell into stunned silence, some clutching at their ears, the sound piercing, unbearable to their still-fragile forms.

“You have been chosen to join the armies of Elvhenan,” he proclaimed, golden eyes blazing. “Rejoice, for you have found true purpose.”

She blinked rapidly, her brow furrowing as a chill crept down her spine.

Elgar’nan stepped through the crowd, his every footfall a weight that pressed against the floor. . . and against her chest.

She felt the cold sink into her stomach, sharp and sudden, like ice water pouring through her veins. He was coming closer.

Her eyes darted, frantic, to the man standing beside Mythal, the only one who had looked at her with anything close to warmth.

But he did not move.

His gaze was fixed forward, his posture rigid, unreadable. Whatever softness had passed between them before was gone, buried beneath layers of discipline and silence.

Her breath caught in her throat as Elgar’nan stopped before her.

With a single, commanding gesture, he motioned for her to rise. She did so, the movement fluid despite the tremor in her limbs. Her long silver hair slipped forward like a curtain, veiling her body from his view.

His hand snapped out, rough fingers seizing her chin. He forced her to meet his gaze, golden eyes like twin blades, cold and gleaming.

“You will train your new bodies to serve in our armies,” he said, voice lower now but no less forceful. “And together we will fight for a brighter future.”

He leaned in slightly, his grip unrelenting. She felt something sprout beneath that touch, discomfort that only escalated the harder he gripped her.

“When the battle is won, we will build an empire unlike any other. A world where we are free—free to learn, to thrive, to reclaim what was taken from us.” His voice darkened. “But for that to happen, you must obey.”

Again her eyes darted from his to the man beside Mythal. His jaw was clenched tight now, but still he had not moved.

Mythal stepped forward, her bearing regal, her hands spread wide in a gesture of welcome.

“Your bodies are new,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, resonating with quiet power. “Take the time to learn them. Know your strength. Know your shape.”

She moved among them like a queen among supplicants, her silver-threaded gown whispering over the floor.

“Choose a name for yourselves. Anchor your spirits to this world.”

Her eyes swept across the gathering, lingering on her, still trapped and afraid. She came to stand beside Elgar’nan, her hand gently touching his until that harsh, bruising grip eased, and then released.

“Once that is done, you must pledge yourselves to me, or to my lord husband, Elgar’nan. The choice must be made swiftly.”

Just then, the ground began to shake. Stone cracked and she watched the sentinels move with grace and precision—they ran to Mythal and to Elgar’nan, bodies shaped protectively as the two monarchs leapt away to safety. But Mythal’s Second lurched forward, into the space Elgar’nan had vacated. His hand was warm as it touched her newly-flesh arm.

He smelled of something wild and untamed. Though she had no words for it, it filled her lungs like the sweetest intoxicant as he steadied her. She held onto him while the quake shook detritus from the roof. When she glanced up, she saw large boulders floating in midair above the gathered men and women. 

He had saved her. He had saved them all.

As quickly as it began though, it was over.

He stepped back, releasing her as though burned and moving to Mythal’s side as though he’d never left it.

she blinked in ragged confusion, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Elgar’nan watched the sky. “So, you see what is happening. Go now, and return when you are ready.”

***

She was a spirit no longer. It was a fact she was forced to confront after several days spent awake and seeking out the tendrils of the deep Fade. She could not fly anymore. Walking was tedious and made her legs ache after a time, a wholly new experience. The babes she’d watched from the Fade had been much the same: learning to navigate a new world without the benefit of understanding.

Several others felt the same.

There was a raw pain in each of them, come from desire denied.

Aenor had been a spirit of Compassion, but the new world ripped him apart inside. He had bright blonde hair, shorn short to his head. I cannot heal hurts if I cannot feel them. Why am I here?

Itha had been a spirit of Knowledge, and she often stared into space. She had sharp features and dark skin, hair black as midnight. I cannot fight, I am meant to give answers. Why am I here?

Leilani had been a spirit of hope, and she was filled with despair. Her hair was deep red, her skin pale and freckled. I am corrupted, I cannot offer hope. Why am I here?

She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering the same. Her heart raced with fear daily. Pulse pounding in her throat. Every sensation was overwhelming. Their magic was new and strange too. It burned bright within them, seeking exit through their fingertips. A stone-faced man named Abelas had taken to teaching them to fight. It was made very clear from the start that this was their purpose.

She stared into her eyes in the mirror. They were vibrant, an iridescent shade of purple. She touched the mirror with her fingertips, watching herself moving. Fighting was not against her nature in the way it was against others’.

She would adapt. She had to.

She wanted to keep her old name, Shivana, the name she had carried through the Fade, but it felt wrong.

Shivana had belonged to a being of light and translucence, a spirit shaped by thought and will alone. But this body was different. It was dense and warm, formed of blood and breath instead of raw essence.

Shivana had never known what it was to ache, to tremble, to hunger.

But this new form would. So, she chose another name.

Ellana.

Because it meant one who has the ability to do anything.

And she wanted to be able to do it all. To endure. To survive. To Rise.

She had not liked the feeling of Elgar’nan’s fingers trapping her chin. She had not liked the quiet possessiveness of Mythal’s words, nor the subtle tension in her Second’s stance, like he felt the tether between them, but was forbidden to follow it.

She was Ellana, and she would not be claimed. She would not be controlled.

She squared her shoulders, the name firm in her chest.

Ellana.

***

Ellana’s sense of self slowly began to take shape; with every breath, she felt her body becoming unmistakably her own.

Aenor, nearby, spoke with a hush of wonder, recalling the moment he’d recognized his beloved among Elgar’nan’s spellbound followers—a fleeting connection shimmering beneath the surface, trembling with possibility.

“What does it feel like?” Itha’s question drifted on the air, delicate as the petal of a dawn blossom. “I have known awe since I first found the library of Arlathan—does it resemble that?”

Aenor only smiled, wistful as they leaned closer. They had gathered in the grand garden, where Elvhenan’s beauty stretched in careful symmetry: cry violets, roses, and the jade-bright blooms of the east pressed tightly together in obedient rows. The artistry of their arrangement was flawless, but Ellana sensed how the garden’s order concealed a yearning for chaos. There had never been a more beautiful garden than the feral wild patch of lilies she had known as a spirit.

Nonetheless, the perfume of the flowers was intoxicating, and she felt herself blooming too, as though her roots were sinking deep, shoulders warmed, in the gentle touch of the sun.

Aenor idly brushed his fingers over the rose petals, eyes half-closed. “It is like this,” he said, voice colored with longing. “When he looks at me, it’s as if a flower is unfurling in my chest and I am stretching toward the light for the first time.”

Ellana shook her head. “How can it feel like that already? You only just met.”

Aenor shook his head. His mouth moved over silent words, as though he was picturing the elvhen in his mind. Instead of speaking, he pushed the feeling into the air, letting the fabric of the Fade wrap around the thoughts and emotions. She saw Miraen, the curling branches of Elgar’nan’s vallaslin spread wide over his face. He had strong features, bold cheekbones and bright green eyes. His fawn-brown hair Strong cheekbones framed bright green eyes that gleamed with warmth. His fawn-brown hair fell softly over his brow as laughter escaped him

Ellana felt the feeling then, the one Aenor described. It was on a lesser scale from what she expected, the Fade only able to communicate so much, buts still, she felt it bright and warm inside of her.

“Emotion is so strong here,” Aenor said, voice low with awe. “I feel deeply.”

“But how? Why?” Leilani asked, her bright hair glittering in the sunlight like spun flame. “I do not understand. I have not felt such a connection.”

Aenor leaned back, tearing slender blades of grass from the earth and releasing them to the wind. They fluttered like green ribbons, carried away. “When I first spoke with him, I felt it. Like a thread drawn tight between us, binding us before either of us understood. I can’t explain it. His spirit… it’s so bright. Like the sun through the canopy. I saw him.”

“I want to feel it,” Leilani breathed, eyes wide. “Show us!”

Aenor lifted a hand, palm open, and let his memory pour outward again. The Fade trembled around them, glimmering with the emotion he loosed into the air. It pulsed like a heartbeat, invisible and unmistakable. This time, Ellana gasped—the feeling pierced straight through her chest, raw and startling.

“What is it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. She’d felt this before, some small, strangled piece of it, but her mind refused to acknowledge what she already knew.

“Love,” Itha murmured, wonder thick in her tone. “It is love!”

As though called by the memory, a spirit of the emotion manifested. Love was bright pink in the garden, blending in with the pinks and reds of the roses. “It is love!” the spirit called, it’s nature burning more vibrantly. “Pulse quick, body flushed, new emotions that save and call!”

Ellana laughed, watching the spirit dance above them, joined swiftly by spirits of Curiosity and Joy. “He is my heart,” Aenor said.

“Your heart, your home!” Love called, twining the tendrils of its spirit around the man.

Elvhen was a language of intent. The words were strange at first, but they communicated emotion. Ellana was just beginning to learn, her mind spinning around each significant meaning she discovered.

“There is only one heart,” she whispered.

“That is right,” Love called. “One heart that beats outside your chest. Love can be in friendship and in duty, but it thrives in the other piece of your spirit.”

Ellana turned her head. Her spirit had formed from an idea that thrived for generations. The idea of a heart that beat outside her chest was something that radiated synchrony to the core of who she was. Or at least, who she had been. She’d watched it in the faces of joyous parents, listened for it in the whispered words between partners, felt it in the space between heartbeats. Those who found what Aenor had, vibrated with her spirit.

“Get up!” The spirits dispersed immediately, and the four of them jolted.

Abelas stood at the gate to the garden, his eyes hard. “It is time for training, not daydreaming. Do not forget the duty for which you took a body.”

The four friends had not chosen to enter the world willingly, but they listened to Abelas, afraid of what would happen should they refuse. They did not speak of Miraen again, but Ellana thought of the feeling that had unfurled within her the first day when she had met pulsing blue eyes and had yearned brush her fingers over a smattering of freckles.

Chapter Text

There was a glowing stone inside of Ellana. Not just the lyrium, but the stone of power at her core that the lyrium fed from.

She could feel it pulsing in her chest when she stilled, humming low like the tremor before an earthquake. It was not like the magic the others summoned, channeled or shaped through will and training. It was stronger, faster, and more deeply entwined with her mana.

“Ellana?”

The voice cut gently through the haze. She turned her head and found Miraen watching her. His pale hair shimmered in the light, eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped closer.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, voice soft, reverent.

She shook her head and smiled at him.

They trained and fought together for a century, learning to become the weapons Elvhenan so desperately needed. For the most part, it was difficult work, but Ellana found comfort in the simple forms. Lately though, it had become more difficult to suppress the power in her chest. It yearned for release, and she wondered how much longer she would be able to hold it back.

Miraen eyes her suspiciously for another moment before reaching out a hand and pulling her to her feet. “Come then, we should return to the others before they’ve left us behind.”

To her surprise, Mythal and Elgar’nan allowed them to explore and to learn outside of their training sessions. While Aenor took comfort in his heart’s embrace, Itha spent days, weeks in the devouring every book she could find. Leilani spent her time in the gardens, tending to the flowers and creating crowns of roses and daisies.

Ellana, ever the quiet observer, threw herself into art. Charcoal was her favorite medium, the smudge of it often lingering on her fingers after a long day spent capturing her thoughts on parchment. She had few belongings, but each time her friends traveled to the city, they brought back new supplies. Ellana’s room had become a sanctuary of paper and sketches, piles stacked high with renderings of nature, faces, and visions from dreams.

But today, they had all agreed to travel to the one place Itha had been begging to go for years now: the library of Arlathan. Elgar’nan’s tower of learning.

It stood like a monument to all that the Evanuris cherished—knowledge, power, and legacy. The spire gleamed with starlight even under the sun, its surface etched with glowing elvhen script, ancient wards and runes that shimmered faintly with protective enchantments. Magic pulsed through every carved line like veins of light, breathing in time with the Fade itself. Its gates had never opened to elves younger than a century. But now, at long last, they had been granted access.

Itha’s joy was impossible to contain. Her feet barely touched the ground as she darted ahead to greet them at the gates, her hair bouncing with every step.

“Come on, come on! It’s time!” she cried, her eyes shining with delight.

Aenor laughed quietly beside Ellana. “If she runs any faster, she’ll outrun time itself.”

Leilani smiled, a chain of blossoms still trailing from her hand. “Let her. She’s been dreaming of this since before she became flesh.”

Ellana said nothing, her gaze fixed on the towering doors ahead. There was a hum in the air, something deep and resonant, as if the library itself could feel them coming. She swallowed the unease rising in her chest and took a breath. She should have felt joy, like the others. She loved to read, to spend time imagining a world different from her own, but the power inside her had begun to stir again.

She stepped forward anyway.

Inside, the library was vast beyond comprehension. Books floated through the air, guided by soft enchantments. Light filtered down from stained glass skylights, the colors pulsing in rhythm with the Fade. Rows upon rows of shelves climbed higher than the eye could follow, and everything smelled of ink, dust, and ancient magic.

Men and women were scattered through the grand space, their robes whispering as they passed. Some paused to glance at the newcomers, their expressions neutral or politely curious, but quickly returned to their own studies.

Ellana’s gaze tracked one man approaching a wide, elevated dais at the heart of the room. There, a spirit hovered its form nearly translucent, radiant with calm anticipation. It was a spirit of knowledge, its energy eager but patient, guiding each scholar to the exact place they needed to be. It greeted the man without words, drifting forward as if sensing his question before it had even been formed.

Other spirits moved throughout the space as well, some drifting lazily above the upper balconies, others darting between shelves with glimmers of inspiration. Their personalities sang faintly in the air, filling it with flickering emotions of joy, contemplation, and wonder, each indulging passing scholars with stray bits of information or nudging them gently toward new curiosities.

Some wings of the library were clearly marked with signposts of glowing veilfire, the letters shifting fluidly above the shelves. They pulsed with a subtle enchantment, pointing seekers toward exactly what they desired.

Others, however, were shrouded in dimmer magic. Not hidden, but watched. Veins of soft blue light ran through the stonework, humming faintly, marking boundaries around knowledge that had been bound, buried, or sealed away. Even from here, Ellana could feel the weight of it, the gravity of ideas too volatile to be shelved without caution.

She stepped further inside, the air brushing her skin like the breath of something ancient and alive.

Itha was already gone, pulled into the current of learning like a stone thrown into deep water.

Leilani was slower to wander, but eventually made her way toward the archives of poetry and song, while Aenor lingered near the maps and histories, his eyes scanning the shelves as though searching for a specific title he didn’t yet know.

Ellana found herself drawn to the far back, where the shelves grew stranger. Older. No cataloging glyphs here—only whispers that brushed the back of her mind as she moved deeper. She didn’t know what she was looking for, where she was going, but her feet drove her onward.

The shape of the tower didn’t seem to allow for the room to extend this far, yet the stone merely shifted for her. She didn’t remember when the sound from the main room faded, nor when she’d crossed the gateway into a darker space, but she kept going until she reached steps that led down to a narrow path. Lining the stone tiles was a more selective collection of titles. The shelves shone gently, not quite touching the ground, but not beyond reach either.

Ellana stepped forward, the path lighting up as she went. The pads of her fingers traced over old tomes, her body thrumming in time with the feel of the room.

She breathed steadily until her thumb stopped at one book in particular.

It was sealed with a sigil she didn’t recognize but somehow understood. Her fingers hovered above it, and the power within her flared, bright and expectant as soon as she touched it.

She didn’t mean to break the seal, but as soon as her skin smoothed over it, the warding faded away.

The book opened by itself, slow and deliberate. The words were written in ink that shimmered with starlight, as though pulled from the very Veil. It transmitted images and impressions into her mind, almost too fast to comprehend.

It was about her, but somehow. . . not?

And the first line read:

Beyond the salt and foam, past the shores we swore never to cross, they wait. The ones who unmake, who devour. The shadows not of this world.

Ellana’s brow furrowed. The resonance in her chest, the power she’d hidden for years now, grew stronger, responding to the words as if they had been written for her and her alone.

We sealed the path. We buried the knowledge, for we could not kill them.

Ellana’s mouth was dry. She could no longer hear the rustle of pages or distant footsteps. She was somewhere deeper now. Not in the library, but in a memory that did not belong to her.

And yet.

The world will tremble, when they return. Wisdom alone, could not spare us. Fidelity to our cause was not enough. Together though, we may survive it.

A shiver went down her spine, and at last the final line came to her not as a whisper, but as a roar that seemed to echo in her very bones.

Beware the sea, for it remembers what we forgot, and it hungers still.

“Ellana?”

She dropped the book. It fell with a loud thud, startling her almost as badly as the voice had.

Her hand went to her chest, trying desperately to slow the too-quick beats of her heart. Her eyes went to the doorway.

There stood Mythal’s Second. Gone was the imposing golden armor she had grown accustomed to seeing him in. Today, he wore a simple cream tunic and woven olive-toned breeches, the kind worn by scholars or stewards of the Fade—the Dreamers. Yet even stripped of ceremonial grandeur, there were still small intricacies to observe: the elegant stitching at his cuffs, the faint shimmer of protective wards sewn into the hem, and the wolf’s fur cloak that hung over his shoulders.

His presence did not diminish without the armor. If anything, it made him sharper, more imposing.

Ellana watched him closely as he made his way down the stairs and straight to her. She was reminded of the way his magic sang against her skin that first day when she had blinked against the harshness of the sun, and he’d held her arm, protecting her from the quake. Then and now, there was something measured in his movements, a softness not usually attributed to warriors of his rank.

He paused a few feet away and then knelt down and retrieved the book at her feet.

She took that moment to truly analyze in his features. From the sharp angle of his jaw to the faint cleft in his chin, every part of him seemed carved with intention. He embodied his name: Pride. Not the brittle arrogance that lesser minds wore like armor, but something older, something deeper. Pride as dignity. Pride as conviction.

As one who stood tall, like his name suggested.

His dark hair was braided back in the style favored by the elite of Mythal’s court, each strand woven with the kind of meticulous care that spoke of habit, not vanity. And yet, on him, it seemed infinitely more beautiful than any other she’d seen in the Dragon’s realm. To her, it looked like tamed fire.

Even in such plain clothing, there was no mistaking what he was. He carried himself like a man who understood what loyalty cost—and gave it to Mythal anyway.

Ellana felt her spirit shift quietly within her chest, as if it, too, was watching him intently and yearned to be closer.

She licked her lips, struck suddenly speechless.

Since that first day, she had not been this close to him. Now that she had a better command of her senses, she was able to take in his scent as well as the sight. He smelled of cedar and mint, faintly of parchment and some spice she couldn’t name. It was a strange, intoxicating thing that made her want to step closer.

Her heart was beating too quickly.

He glanced up at her as he stood to his full height. She only came up to his chin. She knew his eyes to be an intense blue-gray, but in this light, with magic shimmering in the air, they almost seemed to be a light shade of violet.

“Apologies,” he whispered. “I did not intend to startle you.”

She accepted the book from him and held it against her chest. “I-you-well.” She swallowed, mentally kicking herself for the way her tongue tied. “I didn’t hear you come in. This book is—”

She glanced down, and realized she was holding a book on architecture, not the book that had responded so strongly to her touch. “About. . . elvhen design?”

He arched an elegant brow. “Interested in joining June’s faction, perhaps?”

“Hardly,” she muttered, eyes wide. “I can’t say I’m especially gifted at building things. Not the way he and his disciples are.”

He hummed. “Somehow I doubt that,” he replied quietly. “I find it hard to imagine anything you’d truly struggle with.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. She tried to bury it with a laugh, but it came out too soft, too nervous.

His eyes flicked to her mouth, then back to hers—quickly, sharply, as if catching himself mid-thought, but it was so fast that Ellana doubted she’d truly seen it at all.

Ellana’s mind scrambled for something to say. Anything.

She settled lamely on: “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Excellent, she thought bitterly. Truly the height of conversation. What’s next, commenting on the weather?

He tilted his head, lips twitching in the faintest smirk. “Does one need a reason to visit the library?”

She cleared her throat. “Um—no?”

The quiet between them stretched, warm and brittle at the edges.

Then he stepped closer. Not too close, but close enough that she could see the threadwork on his tunic, the faint shimmer of old magic woven into the fabric.

“Of course you don’t,” she finally, intelligently replied, her voice quieter. “I just—wasn’t expecting you.”

He nodded once, then let his gaze travel past her, toward the vaulted ceilings and the shelves spiraling into shadow.

“It’s a good place to be unexpected.” He smiled. “Though I’m not surprised to find you here.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Perhaps it was bold, or foolish, but Ellana’s hand rose, drawn almost unconsciously to the golden thread woven into the front of his tunic.

Her fingers brushed lightly against the embroidery. It depicted a small wolf, stitched into the fabric at his collarbone. The design was simple and subtle, only visible now that they stood so close.

The moment she touched him, his body shivered, his hand rising to grasp hers lightly. It wasn’t a touch to ward her off, nor was it one to draw her closer. It just was.

His fingers curled gently around hers, the fabric of his tunic warm beneath their joined hands. For a heartbeat neither of them moved. The world outside might as well have vanished.

Ellana’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t look away.

There was something in his eyes that made her feel as though she stood at the edge of something vast. Not danger, exactly, but something else she didn’t yet have the words to describe.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

And then, with a soft exhale, he released her. Not sharply or coldly, but just. . . gently. The way she might place a necklace down with care.

The loss of contact felt louder than it had any right to be. 

“Ellana,” he began, his voice tight with some emotion she couldn’t name. “I—”

“There you are!”

Itha’s voice rang through the vaulted chamber, shattering the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. Ellana flinched, stepping back as if caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Solas’s hand fell to his side, already retreating.

Itha rounded the corner, books stacked in her arms and a furrow between her brows. “I told you I needed help with the lower glyphs and—oh.”

Her gaze flicked from Ellana’s face to the man beside her, then to the subtle tension that still hung between them like mist. She blinked.

Solas cleared his through. “On dea, Ellana.”

He moved around her without another word, disappearing into the shelves beyond in an instant.

Itha waited until the echoe of his steps had faded, then turned to Ellana.

“Well,” she said, in a tone that tried and failed to be casual. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what that was about.”

Ellana stared down at her hand, where his fingers had rested moments before.

“I don’t know what that was,” she said quietly.

“Hmm.” Itha raised a brow. “I’ve got a couple guesses.”

Ellana hit her friend’s arm with more force than necessary, but followed behind the woman. She only glanced back once, but Solas was already gone.

When she made it back to her room that night, after helping Itha organize her new collection of tomes, she found her hands busy with a new drawing. As she smudges the charcoal, her mind wandered restlessly over the words she had sensed from the book, a book that had promptly disappeared entirely. She didn’t know what it meant, but she let her mind settle as line after sharp line took shape.

Only once she’d completed it from memory did she sit back to admire the piece.

Sharp jaw, lithe muscle. Kind eyes. The dusting of freckles there over his cheeks.

She had of course seen him in the halls of the palace over the years, but she found herself admiring the memory of their interaction. Usually, his posture was rigid, his hands neatly folded behind his back as he strode from one area to another. Always in armor, always braced for war—nothing like she’d seen today.

He rarely spoke, and even more rarely looked at any of them. Aenor once complained that the man looked down on them, that his cold isolation was because of that. Whenever she passed him in the hall, however, his blue eyes always met hers. Every time, without fail. It was as though it was a compulsion for him, even when she could feel the tension running through him, his aura tightly constrained.

Ellana’s thumb traced over the skin of her other hand, pressing along the path his fingers had today.

Had he been drawn to the same place she had, the same book?

Or, a traitorous part of her mind whispered, was he drawn to you?

She closed her eyes, leaning back onto her bed as she considered the implications of that thought.

In the morning, perhaps she would test the theory. For now, she let her mind drift into the Fade, and put her worries away, right alongside the drawing of Solas.

Chapter Text

Ellana passed through the same bridged hallway every day on her way to her room in the tower beyond. It was her favorite path on the grounds.

High above the forest floor, the corridor seemed suspended in light. Massive stone pillars lined both sides, carved with ancient, curling script and delicate vinework. Between those pillars, open archways framed the vast sprawl of the Arlathan forest, endless trees that had lived longer than any of them. From here, one could spot little animals and the spirits that dwelt beyond, twining with nature in a way the elves never could in physical bodies.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves outside, dancing across the polished floor, casting moving patterns that felt almost like being back in the Fade.

At first, she’d only seen Solas in this hall once or twice, scattered across months. Fleeting glimpses that might’ve meant nothing. But after the trip to the library, those encounters became more frequent. She didn’t know where he spent his days or what duties occupied him, but somehow, his presence in that place always aligned with her passing. She never asked and he never said.

But the air between them had begun to shift.

The quiet glances stretching between them seemed longer, the silence holding something weightier than mere politeness.

She’d learned the finer points of Elvhen society through dreams, scattered whispers from spirits who reflected what she had never experienced. She knew exactly where she stood in that hierarchy, so far beneath him that it was laughable to even imagine sharing breath, let alone space. And yet, she found herself savoring those brief, charged moments in the hallway like they were gifts. Just as she savored that moment at the library.

At the Palace though, they called him Mythal’s lap dog.

Elgar’nan never spoke his name without a curl of disdain on his lips. The other soldiers rolled their eyes behind his back or mocked him outright when they thought no one was listening. But Ellana had seen what they refused to acknowledge: the keen mind that mapped out battles before setting foot on the field, the foresight that kept their armies from being crushed beneath the weight of the Titans.

He conferred with Mythal often, their conversations low and fast, words sparking between them like flint. There was a familiarity in their relationship--but also a tension. At night, Ellana would see him shadowing the General through moonlit halls and every now and again, she watched him disappear behind Mythal’s chamber doors. There was always the faintest pause before he stepped inside. A breath, a hesitation so small, it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

But she saw it.

And it stayed with her.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That what he did behind closed doors was not her concern. He was Mythal’s Second, a master strategist, a figure of legend brimming with power. Ellana was nothing in comparison, she could not claim to have known him near as long as he'd known Mythal. She was a future soldier in Elvhenan’s army, a spirit dragged from the Fade against her will. 

And yet, some days she wondered if she was the only one who saw how it all affected him.

The slight tightening at the corners of his mouth when others mocked him. The tension in his shoulders whenever Mythal spoke to him in that commanding, possessive tone—as though she owned his body and the very breath in his lungs. He stiffened when it happened, his eyes turning hard with fury. He bore it all in silence.

But in that hall, in those stolen, unexpected moments, he was something else. Not softer, but… unmasked, somehow. The careful layers fell away, if only for a heartbeat. Sometimes he would nod in greeting. Other times, his gaze would catch hers and hold, unreadable but intent.

It should have frightened her, to have someone of his station even glance in her direction, but it didn’t. Instead, it made her breath catch and her heart stutter in her chest, as if her spirit recognized something her mind hadn’t yet dared to name.

One day, a week ago, he had slowed as he had passed her. Not enough to draw attention, not enough to be obvious, but enough for her to know it was deliberate, and to wonder what it meant.

Her spirit burned inside her body, too large to fit into the skin they had forced her into. Watching Solas, she wondered if he ever felt the same, even though he’d been here for centuries longer than she had.

The tension broke one day as they crossed paths in that space. Ellana was alone, and so was he.

It was just at sunrise, when few were awake. Ellana had her charcoal kit and a few sheets of paper in her satchel, strapped over one shoulder over her training leathers. She stopped when she made her entrance and watched him freeze as well, his gaze trained on her.

She hadn’t seen him in simple clothes since that day in the library. She hadn’t seen a wolf patterned into the stitching either, since that day.

Today, his robes were plain in cut, but unmistakably regal. Dyed in Mythal’s crimson and black, with an ornate collar that swept up beneath his jaw. Golden sigils traced along the edge in curling patterns, glowing faintly where the light caught them, as though even fabric bowed to the woman he served like a goddess.

He was a handsome man. Striking, really. His features were sharply cut, made even more severe by the way shadows clung to his face, cast down from the towering pillars that lined the arches. But it was more than that, not contained in the strength in his jaw or the arch of his brows. Something quieter, more magnetic.

The freckles dusting his cheekbones were soft in contrast to everything else about him. Barely visible unless one stood close. She wished the pads of her fingers had touched those small marks, instead of his tunic, she wished she—

Ellana shook her head. Madness, I’ve gone mad.

Yet, she wondered if he was remembering it too, that day weeks ago, when she had dared to touch his tunic. When his eyes had flicked down to her lips for the barest second.

She put it from her mind and then smiled warmly at him.

“Good morning, Solas.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His expression was gentle, contemplative, as he cleared his throat, then nodded. “Ellana.”

His voice struck her like a cord. She felt her heartbeat speed up. The urge to step closer warred with her knowledge of Elvhen society’s political standards. She swallowed down the compulsion.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she said, gesturing to the Arlathan forest beyond.

Solas turned, almost reluctantly, as though pulled from some deep place within himself. His gaze swept over the Arlathan forest, then past it, to the mountains that rose high in the distance. The Arlathan forest was one of the mightiest in all of Elvhenan—or so she was told. Looking at it, it was difficult to imagine a more beautiful view. Light filtered through the Fade and scattered across the landscape, turning the world into a kaleidoscope of subtle color.

The forest stretched endlessly, vibrant and alive. Massive statues, half-swallowed by moss, stood among the cliffs like guardians of a forgotten time. Far above, a dragon circled in lazy, graceful arcs, its wings cutting through the mist. The creature dipped low, then soared again into the clouds.

His brow furrowed and she got the sense that for however long they’d been passing through this direction, he’d never stopped to look. Now he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, as though transfixed.

And while his eyes remained fixed on the sky, Ellana stepped closer. Just a small, quiet shift. One foot, then another, until the space between them dissolved.

He startled when he felt the warmth of her body so close, turning to face her and blinking as she stopped in front of him.

His gaze was intense, eyes glimmering as dawn crept out over the land. Somehow, the sun seemed to soften the lines of his face, lighting the faint constellation of freckles across his cheeks. She felt something in her chest ache at the sight of him. There was always a sadness to him, an ache that she spotted in the corners of his eyes, in the tension of his shoulders.

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

Then she asked, softly, “Are you on your way to see Mythal?”

His hand twitched.

It was a subtle motion, but she saw it. It was as though his body moved before his mind could catch it. As though he wanted to reach for her, to smooth a stray curl behind her ear or brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. But he didn’t. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and let it fall to his side.

“No,” he said.

Just that. No.

There was a weightiness to that answer, something deeper that had pain crinkling in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t push him. Instead, she took another step closer. Close enough that she could smell the faint trace of ink and parchment on his robes, the warmth of magic still clinging to him like static in the air.

It would be at least another hour before anyone else was about.

“Do you have somewhere pressing to be?” she asked, her voice quiet, her meaning layered beneath the words.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted back to the open world beyond the arches, where the dragon had long since vanished into the clouds. That look was one she’d worn herself sometimes, when she saw the Fade linger stronger in some places and knew a spirit was curiously touching the air without being seen. Like they used to, before they were made of flesh.

Sometimes, like now, he reminded her of a caged wolf. Watchful, full of quiet strength restrained behind invisible bars. There was a wrongness to his captivity, a tension beneath his skin that never quite eased, a sense that he did not belong here… or perhaps that he did, and hated himself for it.

Even if the cage was one he’d chosen himself.

“No,” he said again, this time softer. “Not right now.”

She waited for him to look back at her. When he did, her smile broadened.

“I do,” she said. “Would you like to come?”

Something shifted in his eyes. She thought it surprise or perhaps hesitation, but then he leaned forward ever so slightly and she realized it was something else entirely: longing.

“Where?” he asked softly. 

She reached out, but noted the tensing of his muscles and dropped her hand. “Come,” she nodded toward the end of the corridor. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

With that, she moved past him, continuing on her way. Her ears flicked back, listening intently.

She felt joy rising in her chest as she heard his steps slowly follow behind her.

***

They didn’t go far.

Solas remained several steps behind her the entire time, as though maintaining the distance between them required conscious effort. As though proximity itself posed some kind of danger. She could still see his face from earlier, the startled expression when she’d stepped into his space, torn between two opposing instincts. Like having her close was something he craved and feared in equal measure.

Ellana said nothing of it.

She led him beyond the palace walls, down a narrow path flanked by ferns and thick-rooted trees, to a small creek that wound quietly through the edge of the forest. The sound of water slipping over smooth stones filled the air, a soft murmur that broke the stillness like a lullaby.

Few ever came here. The opulence of Arlathan proper held more appeal. Why would one choose a quiet moment in nature when they could have grand views, curated gardens, magical lights that never flickered?

As though sensing that thought, Solas asked, “Why here?”

“I love the forest,” she said simply. “It’s peaceful. The warding on the palace is protective. It keeps out threats, dulls the wind, softens the sounds. But it also... removes the world. Out here, I can feel it again. It’s almost like I’m back in the Fade with so much raw magic in the air.”

Solas stood in place, eyes following the gentle current of the stream. He watched her as she stepped lightly across mossy stones and settled on a flat rock near the bank. Another larger stone sat nearby, clearly enough space for two—but he didn’t sit. He lingered, unmoving, as though she were a brightly colored snake in the grass.

And yet, his voice was soft when he said, “Do you miss it? The Fade.”

Ellana opened her satchel, pulling free a piece of parchment, a strip of charcoal worn down by use. She glanced up to find his gaze still on her, his brow faintly drawn.

“I do,” she said, the smile returning to her lips. “But there’s different things now to find joy in.”

She watched as his cheeks heated and he shook his head as though clearing an image from his mind. He huffed. “I suppose you do this often then.”

She shrugged, turning back to watch the water moving along. “Before training, after training. When I need to breathe. Today… I thought I’d draw this creek.”

There was no invitation in her words, not directly. There was just the space beside her and the sound of the water singing, soft and patient.

“I did not know you enjoyed art.”

Ellana flipped her satchel over, balancing it on her knees to use as a base. She began tracing the curve of the creek with soft, confident strokes. The charcoal moved easily, catching the shapes of stones and roots, the rhythm of the current.

“I hear you do as well,” she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him tilt his head, the movement curious and alert.

“What have you heard?”

“That the murals all around the training field… are yours.”

There was a pause as he tucked his hands behind his back, an austere position he often sheltered in as Mythal’s Second. It was almost like a tactical retreat, a refusal to either confirm nor deny her statement.

She didn’t look up, but her fingers slowed across the page as she spoke. Had she said something wrong? But as she studied him she realized he was bracing himself. As though the topic of the murals had come up many times before—and not kindly.

She let her voice drop into something softer. “I’ve been studying them since I arrived. The detail is incredible. The way the spirits twist through circles of light and magic, how the sky shifts shade by shade across each wall...”

She let the charcoal rest, her gaze distant now, eyes not on him but on the image in her mind.

“I always thought they told a story. Spirits moving through the Fade and becoming elves.” She gave a soft huff of breath. “By the last panel, the color is gone. It just fades out. And the lines get sharper. Colder, after the elves emerge.”

Solas didn’t speak right away.

When he did, his voice was quieter than before. “It was not meant to be seen that way.”

Ellana looked up at him then.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “But they’re sad.”

His expression flickered. A crack in the stone that was there and gone in an eyeblink.

He looked past her, eyes following the flow of the creek.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I suppose they are.”

She studied him in the stillness that followed. The quiet tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes tracked the movement of the water but never truly saw it, as if his mind was somewhere far away. Or years ago.

Ellana turned back to her drawing.

Her charcoal scratched softly against the parchment, the lines of the creek twisting and widening into the suggestion of deeper pools. She worked in silence, not trying to fill the space, but allowing it to exist between them, offering him room to breathe—or leave, if he chose.

But he didn’t.

Instead, after another long stretch of quiet, he stepped forward. Not toward the rock beside her, not yet. But closer. His boots crunched faintly on gravel and dirt, until he stood just behind her.

“It was meant to be a progression,” he said at last, voice low. “A record of transformation. From spirit to form. From purity to purpose.”

She glanced up again, taking in the way the light caught along his jaw, how his hands remained clasped behind his back like he didn’t trust them not to betray him.

“You said it wasn’t meant to be seen that way.”

He nodded. “Because it wasn’t meant to be interpreted. It was a memory. Nothing more.”

“But you left it out in the open for everyone to see.”

A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “Yes. I was… less cautious then.”

She almost asked what changed. But she had a feeling she already knew.

She hadn’t discussed the murals with anyone, but she’d thought often about Solas standing beside those walls, spending hours at a time between layers of those frescoes. Alone. Trapped in a thought until at last it was expressed into his art. Now, she understood. It wasn’t fleeting thoughts that caged him, but memory.

“I think memories can be art too,” she said softly. “Even the painful ones… especially those.”

That pulled his gaze to her.

“You prefer charcoal?” he asked quietly, as though afraid to disturb her.

She nodded, filling in the finer details of the creek, the rocks around them, the grass too as the silence between them stretched. After several minutes, Solas took a step closer to her, and her heart jumped. He was looking over her shoulder, watching those details being filled out on the page.

“There is a simplicity to art,” she said. “Like training, you can lose yourself in it. It’s not difficult, it doesn’t need to be complicated or perfect.”

“You are quite proficient at it,” he commented. “I’ve seen you in the field as well. Your indomitable focus is… admirable.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the praise. “Indomitable focus?” she echoed, heavy with disbelief.

A hint of feral amusement lingered at the corners of his eyes, something sharp and undeniably alive.

“Presumably,” he said, lips twitching. “I have yet to see it dominated.”

He licked his lips, and Ellana felt her own part involuntarily, caught in the sudden heat of the moment. His gaze lingered, intent and unapologetic.

“I imagine that the sight would be… fascinating.”

A startled laugh burst from her lips. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, then her throat, trying to tame the fluttering sensation in her chest. She didn’t know what this was, the warmth that crawled up her neck, the strange energy humming between them, but it was disarming in a way nothing had been in a very long time.

That laugh seemed to pull him in.

Slowly, as if unsure whether he was allowed to, he sat on the stone beside her. Still cautious, still just shy of touching, but no longer retreating. She could feel the warmth of him, steady and grounding like the stone beneath them.

Even though she could still see the current of tension under his skin flowing like electricity, she felt his spirit beginning to unfurl. He leaned back, the sun touching his pale skin.

It was cool in the autumn morning, but not cold. The quiet peace of the forest surrounded them, and in that peace Solas closed his eyes, his chin tilted upward. It was as though the wolf had finally scented freedom, settling at last to rest beside its den.

She sketched quickly, silently, capturing the angle of his jaw, the curve of his neck as he tilted his chin toward the sunlight. Shadows pooled beneath his collar, emphasizing the graceful lines of his throat. His eyelashes brushed softly against his cheekbones, freckles glowing like pinpricks of flame.

A quiet breeze rustled the branches above, scattering a few stray leaves around them. One drifted down and landed softly against his knee. He didn’t move to brush it away.

“Are you drawing me?” he asked quietly, eyes still closed, voice low with a thread of quiet amusement.

“Yes,” she said softly, without pausing. “Is that alright?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Yes.”

She paused only long enough to lift her gaze and study him again. He was beautiful like this, unguarded, free from expectation. She wondered if anyone had ever seen him this way before.

“Do you like being a person?” She asked, as she continued drawing.

He didn’t open his eyes as he said, “It can be difficult sometimes to remember that I am not what I once was.”

“I know the feeling,” Ellana whispered, unwilling to break the peace that had settled in the clearing. “But that isn’t quite an answer.”

He opened his eyes, shielding them from the brightness of the sun that shifted through the leaves. “There are aspects I enjoy, and many I do not.”

“Such as?”

“I enjoy having a body.” He admitted. “Many things I could never have experienced as a spirit I am able to now.”

“Such as?”

“Feeling the sea against my skin, touching and being touched…” A slow grin crept across his face. “Walking through the forest with a beautiful woman.”

She looked up sharply, that same heat flushing through her. His gaze locked her to him, and she felt it again, that tug inside of herself that told her to get closer to him.

She cleared her throat. “I presume you take many such walks, hahren.”

A spark of mischief glinted in his eyes. “Perhaps, da’len, I have never truly enjoyed the company on those walks until now.”

“Such high praise,” she said softly, attempting to mask the sudden rush of feeling with gentle humor. “Considering the company you usually keep.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, the word rich with quiet laughter, though his eyes never left hers. “But most of that company is by necessity rather than choice.”

Her mouth closed tightly over the laugh bubbling in her chest. “So you’re suggesting I’m beautiful, then?”

“No,” he replied immediately, that same gleam in his gaze. “I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.”

The blush that ran through her skin, coloring the tips of her ears, held her captive for several minutes after, as she felt his gaze on her.

She shook her head, her smile light. “Sweet talker.”

It was his turn to chuckle softly, the first time she’d heard him laugh and it sent shivers down her spine. She’d never felt quite so good as she did then, as she watched his eyes return to the forest around them. He seemed so taken by it, so lost in the simple wildness of it. She was so taken by him, that she hadn’t even realized he’d moved closer. His hand was just beside hers. Still not touching, not yet, but close.

They spent the next several minutes in companionable silence while she finished her drawing. Then, she blew out a long breath.

“I have to go back now, the sun is climbing too high. Abelas will be expecting me.” She stood and stretched, watching him do the same.

They stood close, bare inches separating them. She swallowed her anxiety, then took a half step closer. She didn’t miss the hitch in his breathing as she did so, or the way his eyes darted to her lips when she smiled at him. With steady fingers, she pressed the drawing into his chest, her fingers lingering for the barest instant against the fabric of his robe, right over his heart.

“A reminder, hahren,” she whispered.

He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in something between amusement and challenge. “Of what?”

She leaned in, her voice a quiet brush of mischief.

“Not to take yourself too seriously.”

He stared at her, the paper still held between them, his fingers finally closing around it. A soft, amused breath escaped him. 

Before he could reply, she was already turning, already walking back toward the palace path, leaving him behind with a sketch in his hand and sunlight still warm on his face.

“Until tomorrow, Solas,” she called over her shoulder. Her voice was light, but behind it lurked a quiet desire, one she didn’t expect him to return.

Then he inclined his head once, a simple movement. “Until tomorrow,” he echoed.

Solas lingered a moment longer, hand still pressed to his heart. He held that drawing as though it were some sacred artifact, something that deserved the kind of reverence he showed Mythal at times.

In the drawing, he was sitting on the rock, his face turned up to the sun and the beauty of the clearing glimmering all around them.

When at last he retraced his steps to the palace, he did so with something she’d never seen in him before: a steady calm, as though her presence had stitched a missing thread back into him.

Internally, Ellana felt a whisper of doubt creep in the further she traveled away from him. It felt like being home when she was near him, but she wondered now if he could possibly feel the same. She wondered if she’d imagined the warmth in his gaze, or the lilt in his voice, or if she’d crossed a boundary with him.

She needn’t have, though.

That night, when Ellana returned from training, sweat still cooling on her skin and her limbs pleasantly aching, she stopped short as soon as she entered her room.

There on the bed, was a leather-bound sketchbook.

It was elegant, elongated to allow more surface area than her simple satchel could provide. The edges were softened, the cover etched with the faint pattern of a wolf, a perfect replica to the one she’d traced on his tunic the other day, but it was so subtle it almost disappeared in certain light. Her breath caught as she stepped closer, fingertips brushing over the supple leather.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her heart thudding as she opened it.

The first page was faintly smudged with charcoal.

It depicted the creek in sharp, familiar lines. Her lines. Her sketch, carefully transferred by someone with the patience and talent to mimic her hand nearly perfectly. But she hadn’t drawn this one. She’d never finished shading the rocks, never added the detail to the branches overhead. Now, each blade of grass was blended seamlessly with the artistry of a man who knew his craft.

He had completed it.

Whereas he’d been the central figure in her sketch, Solas had drawn her into this scene. Her hair gently mused in the wind, smiling at him in a quiet moment of peace.  

Beneath the rendition were the words:

To the beautiful woman who walks through the forest—I presume your focus remains indomitable, but I look forward to further study.

Her cheeks flushed, a laugh slipping unbidden from her lips. She traced the edge of the page, her chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with training.

She was still smiling stupidly at it several hours later.

Chapter Text

Several months passed without either of them truly realizing it.

What had begun as a single shared detour from the hallway had become a quiet pattern—never something scheduled or articulated, but somehow still preserved. When duties allowed, they slipped away to the terraces above the palace to watch the people in motion, or they traveled to the forest to interact with spirits of wild joy and gentle exploration.

Soft conversations bled into something deeper, a kind of companionship they both seemed desperate to maintain. Sometimes he came to her with nothing, while she drew the landscape. Sometimes he brought his own art materials while she read. Today, they had found a small clearing beyond the palace walls, high enough that the sunlight filtered gently through the canopy of the Arlathan forest. She held in her hand a piece of charcoal, the dark color smudging her fingers while he read quietly beside her.

Solas seemed more at ease here, as though nature calmed him like little else did.

Though only a season had gone by, the tension of their earliest encounters had been dulled by familiarity. Solas no longer sat with his back ramrod straight or his hands folded tightly behind his back. He sat beside her, one knee drawn up, fingers idly brushing moss from a root near his bare foot.

The war still raged outside of Arlathan, often calling them both to their duties, but here the world seemed far away—and it was just the two of them. Warm emotion bloomed inside her chest as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began, leaning back against a great oak, her sketchbook open to a new page. “What were you actually looking for in the library that day?”

Her question lingered in the air between them, his silence quiet and contemplative. Slowly, he set the book in his hands aside.

Then, he glanced at her. “How do you know I wasn’t just wandering, idle?”

“You were too focused to be wandering,” she replied, a piece of charcoal poised in her hand but still over the sketchbook. “I know what distraction looks like and you are rarely that. You weren’t avoiding anything, you were hunting.”

He tilted his head slightly, impressed. “Very few people in this world care to notice fine details.”

“Very few people know just how extraordinary you are,” she said, before realizing how that sounded. “I mean… well, I just…” she trailed off.

Their eyes met. A beat passed, then another. But he didn’t tease her or retreat behind a wall of formality, like usual. Instead, his expression grew thoughtful. He leaned closer to her, their lips only breaths apart.

Ellana’s heart raced, but he stopped there, his eyes bright in the morning light. “Extraordinary,” he whispered. “I shall have to live up to that descriptor. Especially when such a word is spoken from the lips of an exceptionally beautiful woman.”

She blushed, and watched his gaze sharpen, darting to the corners of her face to track that subtle color spreading up her cheeks.

They had been playing this game for weeks now. She would pose a serious question about the Fade, about the past, or his desires, and he’d answer with something light, something teasing, just enough to distract, just enough to charm. When she flirted, he matched her with a glimmering quip or a murmured innuendo, always stopping short of full honesty or intimacy. Yet he always had that heady glint in his eye, the one that made her heart beat just a little faster.

Ellana felt it in the air between them, a gentle pull in the center of her chest.

She faltered now, her smile flickering, her gaze slipping away before returning to him with an edge of caution. “Sometimes,” she said carefully, “it feels like you’re always just out of reach. Like I’m chasing something I’m not meant to touch.”

The words landed in the quiet space between them like a single rain droplet on still water.

Solas opened his mouth, then closed it. His brow furrowed slightly, and for once, he looked uncertain. It was as though the mask he wore had finally cracked enough to reveal the man beneath. She spotted the tension in the corner of his mouth, the subtle shift in his eyes. Maybe it was regret, or longing, she didn’t have time to figure it out.

Because, as always, he pulled back.

His lips curved into that familiar half-smile, the one that rarely reached his eyes. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that from spirits of Desire and Curiosity,” he said lightly, wetting his thumb to turn to the next page, as if the conversation had never touched anything delicate. “It’s always the unknown they find most alluring. The things they can’t quite grasp.”

Ellana blinked, the emotional weight of her words still heavy in her chest while he moved effortlessly beyond them. His gaze refused to touch her, eyes darting across the next page as if nothing had happened at all.

“In fact,” he continued, voice casual, “some of them perceive longing as a kind of taste. Desire described it to me once as bittersweet wine.”

She sat still, watching him shift from truth to abstraction. From her to something safe.

And yet, even as he spoke, his fingers trembled slightly as he anchored the vellum.

Ellana looked away, swallowing her reply. She didn’t push him further, but the ache in her chest remained. She cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know about bittersweet wine, but I’ll remind you that you still owe me an answer about what you were doing at the library.”

The tension left his shoulders. Predictably, he gave her a vague, unhelpful answer: “Research.”

She replied with a hard stare, and eventually he raised his hands in surrender.

“I was looking for records,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet.

She sat forward, kneeling beside him, her eyes watching him intently. “What kind?”

He hesitated.

“Why are you fidgeting?” She gestured at his hands which had been idly twisting in his tunic. Caught, he exhaled slowly and laid his palms flat over his thighs. “You never fidget.”

He sighed. “I was looking for personal accounts. Journal fragments. Old letters.”

“From…?”

“The ones who came before.”

She lifted one brow. The words from that book returning to her mind in a flash. “Before?”

He nodded, “Something Elgar’nan said to me. He believes there is a threat lurking beyond the sea. He says before we took bodies, others were here. Before the dwarves even.”

“How does he know that?”

Solas shrugged. “He says he felt it when he took the glowing stone for his body. He describes it as something whispered on the wind. Mythal says she felt the echo as well, though she does not believe that whatever it was is a threat.”

He always took on a strange expression when he spoke of Mythal. A reverence that was neither gentle nor kind. It was colder, sharper—like a blade held to the throat, compelling obedience even after it had already drawn blood.

It unsettled her every time she saw it.

“I was seeking more information about it,” he continued, unperturbed. “Unfortunately, even for a society as ancient as ours, there is no record of anything about them. No record of findings to even suggest their presence. There is only the truth that none who have set sail from the Eastern shores have ever returned—though that may well be the result of the monsters that have appeared in the seas.”

Ellana was quiet for a long moment, her sketchbook resting forgotten in her lap. She had never seen the ocean, nor had she truly pictured it before now. Of course, she had read about the monsters that had spawned seemingly overnight several centuries ago. She had seen them in the drawings some brave men and women had managed to depict, but now she saw in her mind’s eye horrible beasts with tentacles the size of spires.

She shivered, then whispered, “Maybe those monsters are good for something after all, if they’re keeping us from reaching the other shore.”

The breeze stirred her bright silver curls across her face.

“Perhaps,” he replied, equally quietly.

Solas’s voice carried weight, the kind that only came when someone had spent sleepless nights turning a thought over and over until it wore them down.

“You think he’s right, then?” she asked softly. “That there’s something out there beyond Elvhenan?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t know. That’s what bothers me. Elgar’nan believes it with conviction—but conviction has never been proof.”

His hand rose, shielding his eyes from the sun as he tilted his head back. “I hoped to find records that might confirm or deny it, but it’s as though it was never written down… or has been stripped away.”

“Or buried,” she murmured.

His gaze flicked to her again, sharper this time. “Yes.”

She swallowed tightly, her mind circling the message she’d received, one only she had been able to access. She’d returned to that library several times since, always with Itha, hoping to find it again, hoping it would reveal itself the way it had before.

But it never had.

The book was gone, as though it had never existed at all.

“I think…” she hesitated, unsure how much to say, unsure of the words to use. “I think I may have seen something once.”

Solas turned fully to her then, his expression darkening with a quiet, wary intensity. “Where?”

“In the library,” she said. “The day I saw you. Before that, there was a book. Somehow my touch broke the seal on it and it opened. It-it showed me something.” She shook her head. “A-a memory or an impression, I’m not sure.”

“What did it show you?” His voice thick with tension.

She gazed at him. Usually, the memory of the experience was difficult to hold, even when the feeling it left behind was unmistakable. Cold. Vast. Wrong.

But as she thought of the words now, it felt like the words needed to be said to him. Only to him.

She breathed out, and then told him:

Beyond the sea.

Beyond the salt and foam, past the shores we swore never to cross, they wait. The ones who unmake, who devour. The shadows not of this world.

We sealed the path. We buried the knowledge, for we could not kill them.

The world will tremble, when they return. Wisdom alone, could not spare us. Fidelity to our cause was not enough. Together though, we may survive it.

Beware the sea, for it remembers what we forgot, and it hungers still.

His gaze never left hers as she spoke, completely intent on her face. His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the book in his lap.

Clouds darkened the clearing as they blocked the sun. The forest was utterly still, even the birds had gone quiet.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Ellana’s gaze jerked up to him. “That’s all you have to say?”

Solas didn’t return her gaze right away. His fingers kept drumming softly, the marching beat of a mind calculating a thousand possible meanings. She knew that look on his face. The one he wore when everything inside him was shifting, rearranging.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. “What you describe has never existed in any library on the face of this continent. I know, I have asked every spirit, been to every house of knowledge, searched the very depths of the Fade—all for the information that you have had for months now.”

Ellana’s fingers curled tightly around the edge of her cloak. “I know. In part because it wasn’t written in Elvhen.”

“How did you read it then?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. Usually when I read something written in Veilfire ink, it gives impressions, but this was…different. The message was imbued into the pages with something else, and I get the feeling I could have understood it no matter if I was just learning Elvhen or if I took up the Dwarven chatter. But where would such a thing come from?”

He hummed softly.

“That is the question, is it not?” he murmured. “A book that should not be. A memory sealed away and then offered freely only to one person. There is an intent behind this, some power beyond what we can see.”

She felt cold all of a sudden, like the appearance of the clouds had sucked the heat from her bones. “Who would create such a thing?”

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest.

“Let us examine what we know,” he began. “Someone used the knowledge of how to thread thoughts into physical form, and put it into a book that, for all intents and purposes, does not exist. They then squirreled it away with a very particular trigger, a trigger that likely did not exist when it was created.”

She sat back slightly, heart still pounding, mind racing. “But why was I the trigger? Why not to you?”

His fingers stopped drumming, then moved to scratch at his chin. “Have you told anyone else about what you observed?”

“No, every time I have so much as thought of the words around others it’s…” She pressed her palm to her temple, wincing. “It’s like I’m swallowing ice. There’s pain and cold. Like-like the words don’t want to be spoken out loud.”

Solas leaned closer, concern etched in the sharp lines of his face. “And when you spoke them just now… was it worse to give them voice?” He paused, searching her eyes. “Do they still wound you?”

“No.”

“Not right now or not when you said them?”

“Neither.”

Solas stilled.

His hand dropped from his chin. “Neither?” he repeated quietly.

Ellana nodded. “When I said them to you, it was like—” she hesitated, searching for the shape of what she wanted to communicate, “like a release, maybe?”

For a moment, he just stared at her.

Then, Solas’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A message delivered with intent. With direction. To… Wisdom.” His gaze jerked back to her. “To me.”

She tilted her head. He didn’t go on to explain his words, instead merely resuming the drumming tap of his fingers, as though he needed the physical movement to make the thoughts arrange themselves into articulable suspicion.

He stood, wandering to the edge of the clearing and staring out at the view of Arlathan below. For several heartbeats, the silence stretched.

He broke it with a quiet tone. “The book sought you, granting only you the information. It spared you pain when you shared it with me. Which means…” He trailed off, then looked at her with sudden intensity. “Which means it wanted us to know it. Just us. No one else, at least that we know of.”

Ellana frowned. “Why?”

“I have never heard of someone casting a spell that lingered such as this,” Solas admitted. “Whoever did this had the foresight to expect us to someday come together, and yet by your description and the words themselves, they formed eons ago.”

She caught the undercurrent of tension beneath his tone. “Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” she murmured.

“There’s always danger in buried truths,” he agreed, brushing dust from his tunic. “Especially in ones people have worked so hard to erase.”

She shivered, her skin pebbling in the breeze. Slowly, she rose to join him at the edge of the clearing. “There must be a reason,” she whispered. “There must be a way to find out more.”

Solas grimaced. “The only way I can think of it to travel across the seas ourselves, which, as discussed, I am by no means inclined to do.”

“I thought you enjoyed mysteries,” she replied, her smile shifting. “I rather counted on your curiosity.”

His expression softened into amusement, a faint gleam lighting his eyes as the heaviness of the moment before melted away. “Mystery I can handle, but a magical prophecy of unknown origin, tied to a unique threat to our very society? That is a danger beyond anything mere curiosity can solve.”

She felt the weight on her chest loosen, as she fell into their pattern. “I find danger suits you.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “Does it now?”

“Oh yes.” A sharp grin. “I’ve always said I admire your tenacity.”

Solas chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “It is comforting that whatever traits I lack you will simply invent for me.”

“Or I simply see them more clearly,” Ellana replied, her voice dipping into something softer. “And I rather think you like being seen.”

His gaze seemed to shift with her, blue eyes almost appearing a shade of violet. “By you, yes. More than I probably should.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Perhaps it was the tension from their conversation, or the uncertainty of what was next for them, but Ellana decided right then that she was tired of the endless back and forth between them.

“Sweet talker.”

The repeated words had barely left her lips before she leaned in, fingers catching his chin and tilting his face toward hers. She kissed him.

There was a sharp inhalation, as her hand cupped his jaw, smoothing along the edge of it, before she broke away. She swallowed, tracing the shock in his features. As much as she wanted him, she also feared she was chasing something she was never meant to touch—as she’d said before.

What have I done?

But Solas didn’t retreat. He stared at her for half a breath, his own eyes stunned but not angry, lips parted but not speaking, and then his expression became something wholly unguarded.

Without warning, he drew her right back to him so that their mouths collided once more.

She had never experienced a kiss until today, but she leaned into it now, into him, chasing the warmth of his body and the strength of his hold. There was no hesitation in his mouth against hers, only heated intent. His tongue traced the seam of her lips until she yielded with a violent shudder.

His hands slid to her waist, steadying her, and her body molded instinctively to his. Heat pooled disarmingly in her belly as she felt the nudge of his knee between her thighs, and something inside her opened wide in response.

She had never wanted a body. Had never longed for its hunger or its weight, nor had she wished for a tether of flesh and sensation. But now, pressed against him, she could feel herself unfolding in ways a spirit never could.

There was nothing the Fade could offer that she craved more than she craved him.

When at last he leaned back, she caught herself from reclaiming the distance. A strand of her hair had come loose against her cheek, and he softly tucked it behind her ear.

“Lovely,” he said, his gaze deeply focused.

Her fingers, still smudged with charcoal, rose to trace his cheek, right over the little freckles there that she’d imagined touching. He laughed, his hand closing over hers.

Ellana could feel his heartbeat against her, steady but quickened, like hers. She let her eyes drift closed for a moment, taking in the warmth of his body, the scent of the forest and of him.

Her nose brushed the underside of his jaw and she felt him shiver in reply. “Are we exchanging compliments?”

His shoulders shook, and he leaned back to look at her. “Extraordinary, I believe, was the word you used for me, right?”

“Fair point,” she replied.

He kissed her again, this time less urgent, less demanding. More free. As though it was the first action he’d ever chosen for himself.

Then, his gaze traveled to the lavish halls where their people dwelt, where Mythal dwelt, and he tensed as though suddenly reminded of something he didn’t truly want to accept or speak aloud.

In all the time she had known Solas, between the second she’d opened her eyes to this quiet, stolen moment they shared together, she had never seen him truly conflicted. Now, she spied that inner turmoil boiling to the top, tipping the lid over as his eyes returned to scan her face.

“What were you like?” he asked softly. “Before they… before you entered this world.”

She tilted her head, her brow furrowed. “When I was a spirit?”

He nodded, expression turning distant. It felt like the warmth had been sucked away from his chest, leaving only quiet contemplation behind. She was beginning to understand the way his mind worked, and today it segued into darker waters—working furiously beneath the waves for some thought he couldn’t quite reach.

Her fingers traced idly over the golden threads in his tunic. “I… don’t know,” she replied. “It was jarring, but I…” A low breath. “My confusion faded quickly, and I set myself down a new path rather easily. I am adaptable, perhaps I always was. I don’t feel at-at odds with myself, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah.”

The sound came somewhat sharp, his attention turned introspective.

“Why do you ask?” she prodded gently.

He pulled away from her and wandered to the very edge of the small clearing. Ellana joined him a heartbeat later, standing behind him, watching the tension in his shoulders. “I think a great deal about the way you came into this world,” he said. “Torn from the Fade by Elgar’nan.”

“And Mythal,” she added softly.

He stiffened, as though that truth was one he had never fully accepted, but then he nodded. “And Mythal.”

“What about it?”

She watched the bob of his throat. “I…” he trailed off, then shook his head resolutely. “Forgive my melancholy. You are simply… unexpected.”

Ellana stepped closer, arms crossing gently as she watched him. The sun-kissed warmth that had wrapped around them moments ago was now cooled by the weight of his thoughts. She recognized the tone, the faraway reach of his voice. He was seeking an answer to something he was too afraid to voice.

“Unexpected how?” she asked, her voice soft, inviting him back to her.

Solas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the gates far below them, where no doubt Mythal and her people wandered. His jaw clenched, his hands flexed, but still he stood so very still.

“You were meant to be a tool,” he said at last, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “Something hollow. That was what they wanted, what they are shaping you to become. A weapon to be wielded… like me.”

She said nothing, waiting.

“But you’re not,” he continued, voice quieter now. “You’re kind. Curious. You laugh when you’re tired. You sketch pictures of people and places, and sometimes you forget to sleep when you’re too engrossed in a subject. You are alive, Ellana, in every way a spirit can never be.”

She touched his arm then, her hand brushing lightly against the fabric of his sleeve. He flinched at that simple contact, and her brow furrowed. “That troubles you?”

“It terrifies me,” he admitted. “Because I do not know if this world made you this way, or if it broke you into being.”

She thought of long nights and fears over corruption. She stepped in front of him, gently placing her hands on either side of his face until he looked at her. “And what if it did break me?” she asked. “Does that mean I am less real to you?”

“No,” he said quickly, too quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant. Only that I do not know what it means.” He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath, steadying himself against the storm in his chest. “And I am unaccustomed to not knowing things.”

Her hands remained on his face, gentle but firm, as if holding him there would keep him from slipping back behind the walls he had so meticulously built around himself. “The People look to you for wisdom,” Ellana reasoned, “and right now you question yourself because I’m…alive?”

“No, I—” He broke off, uncertain. Solas opened his eyes, and there was something raw in them, something entirely unguarded. “I am just trying to communicate that I am not certain this is the best idea, Ellana. It could lead to trouble.”

“How so?”

“Because I…” He trailed off, breathing harshly. Her fingers trailed over his vallaslin and he jerked away from her. “I am…”

Before he could finish the statement, the underbrush behind them snapped with movement.

Solas moved before Ellana could even react, stepping in front of her, his body a shield between her and whatever danger awaited them. Magic sparked faintly at his fingertips, a controlled, precise burst that let the sentinel and Ellana know he was ready for anything. The same way he was always ready.

Then, a sentinel barreled into the clearing, armor glinting in harsh strips of sunlight, his breath ragged, urgency radiating from every step.

The sentinel bowed slightly at the waist. “Forgive me,” he panted. “There’s been an incident. The southern ward has been breached.”

Ellana was reminded then why she was here. Why any of them were here. Solas was right, she was meant to be a tool—a weapon.

Peace was fragile, and she was fodder for an army that had yet to call her into service.

“How much time do we have?”

The man shook his head. “There was no warning, the ward ruptured before any alarms triggered.” The soldier hesitated, gaze flicking nervously to Ellana. “But something came through with the Children of the Stone”

Solas went still.

“What kind of something?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already had a guess.

The soldier’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “A monstrosity made of rock and steel. It’s... massive. Our arrows break against it. Swords shatter. Only the General’s magic is slowing it down.”

Solas’s head snapped toward him. “Mythal is on the field?”

His voice had risen, just barely. But it was enough for Ellana to hear the shift—that subtle, unmistakable change from the composed, calculating tactician to something more raw and personal.

Worry.

Not the kind bred from duty or the protective instinct a soldier might feel for their commander. This was different, deeper. The kind of worry a man carries when the person in danger is someone he cannot bear to lose.

And that realization struck Ellana like a blow.

“She shouldn’t be out there,” he muttered, the words quiet, as if he hadn’t meant to say them aloud. “Not until we understand what we’re dealing with.”

A sharp, cold ache bloomed in her chest, uninvited and unwelcome. She didn’t know why it hurt, only that it did.

She looked at him fully now, taking in the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of emotion that passed behind his eyes when the soldier confirmed it. Not panic or fear, but something harder and more dangerous. She reflected on his words from before, and realized this must be the why he had hesitated to articulate.

Ellana stood straighter, pushing the feeling down, locking it away in the place she kept all the things she wasn’t allowed to feel as a soldier in Elvhenan’s army. She berated herself harshly. She should not feel the heat, the sting of betrayal that wasn’t betrayal at all. It was just a mistake. Her mistake.

Of course his loyalty lay with Mythal. Of course his concern did too.

She had been a fool to believe otherwise. She was not the solution in his arithmetic, she was the mistake in the formula he didn’t yet know how to remove.

She folded back into the warrior she’d been trained to be. The soldier taught over centuries to value focus and discipline.

And silence.

“Where is the breach?” Solas was asking.

 “Near the southern cliffs. Just north of the watchtower ruins. If you hurry—”

“I will,” Solas said, already moving. “Ensure our troops are ready at the eluvian within the hour, I want every soldier prepared…”

His voice faded as he led the sentinel back down the path that they had taken that morning. He didn’t even turn to look at her again as he made his way toward Mythal.

Ellana swallowed, looking down at the sketchbook he had gifted her several months ago.

She returned to the Arlathan battlements, leaving the book to be forgotten in the dirt. Within the hour, she would face her first true test of will.

***

In the end, Ellana had been assigned with Itha to remain in Arlathan in case of another attack, rather than journey to the South with Solas and his troops. Now, she watched in horror as her people staggered back through the Eluvian.

Despite herself, she found her eyes wandering over every man who returned, searching for dark hair and a freckled face.

He came through last, with Mythal at his side.

He wasn’t hurt.

She found something in her chest loosening at the sight, her body relaxing at the confirmation that he was alright. He spoke animatedly with the general, his movements hurried and clearly upset.

Elgar’nan followed shortly behind the two.

“Be silent,” the Sun-Tamer growled, his hand cutting through the air as though it was a dagger. “Control your yapping dog, Mythal—before I do it for you.”

The glare Solas leveled against the man could make weaker men quail. But Elgar’nan merely smiled cruelly. “I’ll remind you it was my magic that saved you from that last blow, dog.”

Ellana felt her magic prickle at the slight, as though he’d said it about her and not Solas. She shook herself, dispelling the magic instantly.

Solas was not a man in need of defending.

He proved that as he let his lip curl. “Let us not forget it was my tactics that won us that battle, Sun-Tamer.”

Elgar’nan waved a hand, dismissive.

“Enough you two,” Mythal commanded, holding her side gently and leaning against a wooden table beside the eluvian.

“Are you alright?” Solas asked, his hands hovering over Mythal.

That stab of pain echoed in her chest, hollow as she watched them together. Elgar’nan must have felt the same thing, she thought, as he pushed Solas aside and took his place beside his wife. His hand lit with magic that seemed enraged, pulsing between them like an angry storm.

“I will take care of my wife,” Elgar’nan growled. “You see to it that the weakness you spotted in the monstrosities is communicated throughout the empire. We’ll need that advantage in the future.”

Solas turned, his gaze stretching over the gathered troops and lurching to a stop when he spotted her. For a moment, that glue-gray gaze heated, then he was sweeping away, his hands closed into tight fists at his sides.

In the following months, Ellana didn’t see Solas. Not in the hallway, or at training, or the creek. Their pattern shattered, the schedule burned up, the tether broken.

She told herself that he was the General’s Second, that he had duties to attend to, and that he simply didn't have the time. She reminded herself again and again that she was a weapon, no more or less.

But it still hurt, especially when her abandoned sketchbook suddenly appeared in her room after the battle. This time, with a simple note atop it, the script achingly familiar:

Ir abelas.

Chapter Text

Throughout the following months, the empire bled. The titans exacted their cost with each battle, sending monstrosities into war against the People.

Elvhen weapons were a perfect combination of the raw magical energy of the Fade and stone or wood or metal. Arrows were tipped in purpose, bows carved with runes to enhance aim and efficiency. Swords crafted of obsidian or shaped of will to cut through armor. Spears tipped in poison, to allow for both close combat and enhanced defense. Daggers formed of pure shadow that existed even in the brightness of the sun.

Yet not one of those weapons was effective against what Solas had taken to calling golems.

His cunning had allowed him to spy a weakness to elemental attacks, aimed precisely at the small opening in the center of what could be the belly of the monstrous rock formations. The information was quickly proliferated throughout Elvhenan, but even so, the empire was losing ground.

Elvhen blood soaked the earth, and there was nothing they could do about it, at least not yet.

Many of those training in Arlathan were dispatched throughout the continent before even making their pledge to the generals. As Ellana watched, she could see why.

Many didn’t survive long enough to need such an oath.

Ellana, Itha, and Aenor were among the very few who remained in Arlathan in the months that followed as Summer became Fall became winter. Now, the Arlathan forest slumbered beneath a blanket of white. The spirits that once dwelled in the forest had fled to the tops of the trees, dancing amid the snowy branches and taking up animated discussions.

She didn’t see them as much as she would have liked, and she certainly envied them as a violent shiver shook her frame.

“The wards keep out the worst of the danger, why couldn’t it also keep out the cold?” Itha complained beside her, the woman wrapping her cloak tighter around her.

“That, I’d love to know the answer to,” Ellana replied with a wry smile. “Maybe once we have more time and magic to devote to it, when the war is over, we can find a spell to hold back the whole world.”

Ellana’s eyes darted down, drawn like a magnet to the two men who passed out of the gates toward the forest beyond. He leaned slightly now, speaking low to Solas, his body canted forward with quiet urgency. This close, she could hear their conversation drifting up to her ears.

She had not interacted much with Felassan in the years she had known him, but his dark hair and profile were familiar from the many times she had seen him beside Mythal’s Second. He always had a gentle energy thrumming beneath his skin like a current flowing beneath ice.

That energy came out in small ways.

Even now, standing in the snow-laden clearing, his fingers twitched against the seams of his gloves, shifting every so often as if brushing away thoughts that ran too quickly through his mind. He rolled his shoulders back twice in the span of a minute and adjusted his cloak again even though it hadn’t moved. Restless, but never aimless. His movement was quiet and thoughtful, a man whose ideas filled every inch of his frame and refused to let him rest.

He was a man who saw the little details, small things that would go unnoticed by others. He considered the placement of military tents to best utilize the wards and ensure efficiency through the ranks.

Then there was Solas.

Solas, who shaped the direction of that army. He orchestrated its strategy, its ambition, and its cost. He chose where the blade of Elvhenan would fall, and where it would merely threaten. His mind moved in vast strokes, concerned with movements across continents, always considering how his decisions would lead seamlessly into the next. Even now, as they walked side by side, Felassan’s steps were quick and sharp, already shifting toward the next concern, while Solas moved with slower, more deliberate precision. Weighted, like he bore the entire empire on his shoulders.

His gaze flicked upward toward her. A momentary lapse, an instinct he could not quite suppress. But just as quickly, it was gone. His eyes returned to the snow-covered path before him, as though that moment in the woods had been nothing more than a momentary lapse of judgment.

Felassan spoke then, his voice low, but tinged with frustration. “The midlands are nearly lost. Nine territories gone, swept away by those damnable monsters. The farms are gone. Crops withered under mountains of rock. People are scattered, hiding in the remnants of their homes only to be crushed when the ground opens up beneath them.

“Worse… the dwarves are building something atop the rubble,” Felassan went on. “We’re not sure what, but it leads to the sea.”

Solas’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze fixed ahead, but she saw the subtle note of discomfort in the way he rolled his shoulders. His eyes flicked to her, and she wondered if he’d repeated the words of the book to anyone.

She wanted to speak, to step forward and offer him anything to soothe the tension in his body, but the words died in her throat every time she tried. The space between them was too vast, too heavy, like a rift that only grew wider with each passing day.

Instead, she kept her distance, pretending to watch the spirits in the trees above, her heart twisting as she watched Solas and Felassan continue their quiet conversation.

“And,” Felassan said quietly, “Andruil’s people report… changes to the landscape.”

“The mountains,” Solas whispered.

Felassan nodded. “The ground shifts beneath our feet, but its more than that. New ranges are forming every night. It feels like the earth itself is waking up, like it’s trying to bury us alive.”

Solas paused, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon. The mountains, dark shapes in the distance, were growing taller and more ominous each day. His jaw tightened as he turned his attention back to Felassan. “We will not let this world swallow us, Felassan. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Felassan acknowledged, “but even you must see we’re losing this war—badly.”

“We haven’t lost yet,” Ellana called down to them, leaning on her forearms over the side of the wall. “I have faith in the minds that guide our empire,” she said, her eyes intent on Solas.

Solas didn’t reply, merely moving on further down the path and leaving Felassan to look between them helplessly before offering a slight shrug and following after him.

Ellana’s breath hitched in her chest, the cold air biting at her face.

She missed him. Missed Solas’s warmth, his trust, his presence. The way they once sat for hours discussing the world and their dreams, history and philosophy, learning the way their spirits echoed with familiarity.

It sometimes felt like she was nothing more than a shadow in the corner of a room, a fleeting presence he could ignore.

Her hand unconsciously pressed against her chest, as if to still the pounding in her heart. I don’t know what happened, she thought. Why are you pulling away from me?

For a long moment, she stood there, fighting the urge to follow him, to demand answers that he might never give, or worse, ones she wasn’t ready to hear.

Instead, she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, then stepped back from the wall and caught up to Itha, who had wandered farther along its icy curve, boots crunching softly over packed snow.

“So,” Ellana said wryly, “tell me about this girl you met in the city.”

***

The harshest part of winter had come and gone without Ellana truly noticing. Now, the air was cool but no longer bitter, and the snow had receded into patchy drifts, leaving behind grass that was damp and springy beneath her feet. Spring was on the way, but there was no joy in the thaw as Ellana made her way along the small creek where she had sat beside Solas many months ago.

Clouds stifled the light of the moon, but Ellana pressed forward, needing to clear her mind after another long day.

She found her mind drifting to Solas often throughout the day. He’d been more present in Arlathan of late, his mouth always pressed into a tight line, following behind Mythal or with Felassan at his side.

Something was wrong, and she had no idea what it could be.

Each step she took through the forest was met with a pulse from the earth, subtle but certain, as though the land itself was breathing sharply. Or grinding its teeth.

She paused, listening for the familiar sounds of spirits dancing amid the branches. It was quiet though, not even the echo of birdsong to be heard. The air was heavy, charged with something that made her hair stand on end. Something in the earth resented the melt, the footsteps, the disruption. Even her presence.

Maybe especially that.

More and more spirits were being pulled from the Fade, wrenched from idyllic lives and placed here in Arlathan to train and become the army the generals so desperately needed to replace. Living stone, bright with lyrium veining and buried deep for a reason, was being taken from the earth, and each time a shard was ripped from the ground, the forest shifted in protest. Tremors rattled the roots. Trees groaned as if waking from a terrible dream.

The more the earth rebelled, the more the elves took to fight it, leading to yet more retaliation. It was a vicious cycle.

The South and the coastlines had been the target for many months, but Ellana could feel in her very bones that the war would soon be at their doorstep.

Much sooner than she could have anticipated, in fact.

The ground ruptured three hundred paces ahead of her, massive but somehow nearly silent as dirt spewed upward and the slowed as it came back down.

Ellana stood frozen, chest heaving, that strange taste blooming sharp and metallic at the back of her tongue. Copper. Her fingers twitched toward her blade out of habit, but even that felt distant, dulled by the rush in her ears.

Fear, her mind whispered. You are afraid.

She hated it. Hated that it made her legs tremble, hated that her breath caught too high in her throat. But she knew better than to ignore it. Fear was not weakness, it was survival. Abelas had drilled that into her with every snapped order, every blow that struck too hard. Fear was the body’s warning. Listen to it.

She dropped, low and silent, disappearing into the brush like a shadow slipping beneath water.

Something ancient pulsed with light from that fissure. It was a bright, vibrant blue. The glow spilled upward in shimmering waves, and then she spied movement.

They rose slowly, as though dragged from the bowels of the world itself. Creatures, their bodies carved from what looked like pure lyrium and black rock. The armor wasn’t smooth or graceful like those the elves wore. No, they were jagged things, like shards of something shattered and then meticulously pieced back together with lyrium for adhesive. They bore wickedly sharp weapons and spoke in a language completely foreign to her.

Their forms pulsed with inner light, each movement sending tremors through the ground beneath her.

Ellana knew the shape of the enemy, but seeing them was an entirely new phenomenon. She now understood why they were called the Children of the Stone. They had been birthed from the ground itself, not summoned or constructed like the elves. The earth had opened like it was offering something sacred, and from within its depths, they marched forth. They had faces, men and women hidden beneath that armor, their eyes determined and angry. Too many.

There were thousands of them.

They moved as one, and they moved toward Arlathan.

Ellana’s breath caught as she crouched low in the underbrush, her body pressed close to the forest floor, the faint shimmer of the Fade curling around her in silent instinct. She slowly moved backward, retreating in small steps.

Her duty was clear, she had to raise the alarm swiftly, or they would be overrun just like that city to the South that had been swallowed when the enemy breached the wards without warning.

She felt a twig snap beneath her foot and knew the moment they were on her.

Instinct had her twisting beneath the path of an arrow, and she felt it slice across her cheek, just barely missing her eye.

Ellana ran.

Her feet pounded the earth, her heartbeat a war drum in her chest. Magic surged to her fingertips as she leapt into the Fade in short, sharp bursts of travel that carried her over roots, stones, and ravines. The spirits stirred as she passed, watching with wide, ethereal eyes.

Spirits whirled in the air now, drawn by the disturbance. She reached for the one with armor etched into his essence, luminous and tall as a blade.

“Authority!” she shouted, nearly colliding with the spirit’s tendrils as she broke back into the world beyond the treeline. Her voice shook, not with fear but with urgency. “Wake the generals! We are under attack.”

The spirit glowed with purpose, its form flaring brighter for a heartbeat before it popped out of existence, presumably to spread her warning.

Ellana felt another arrow whiz past her head and she ducked just in time to avoid another volley. Shouts echoed behind her and she jumped as she felt the earth shift beneath her feet. She jumped, just in time to avoid a fissure that suddenly opened beneath her. She landed awkwardly on the other side, looking back at the attackers who were quickly closing in. She felt another fissure beginning to open and Ellana thrust her hand out.

Her power was a wild thing inside her veins. It was everything she was as a spirit combined with the strength of the lyrium in her veins.

Their lyrium, titan blood.

She screamed, voice splitting the air as she leapt over a fresh fissure that tore open before her. The ground cracked like thunder, reaching for her feet. She pushed mana out in a surge of instinct, her will shaping ice along the forest floor. Sharp, jagged spears erupted upward and pierced through the legs and torsos of the warriors on her heels.

In that horrible instant as they died, Ellana watched the light go out in eyes that looked far too much like their own. Inside, her chest ached at the realization that these were people. Even birthed out of stone, their faces bore the shapes of fathers, sisters, friends. One had a braid not unlike the style she’d seen among the elvhen. Another’s hand had reached out just before her ice struck—not to attack, but shield the one beside him.

And now they were gone, their bodies left to rot, because of her.

Her chest clenched tight, breath catching as the realization clawed its way up her spine.

They had lived.

They had families.

They had homes they would never see again.

But the ache didn’t last, it couldn’t.

A sharp whine split the air and something fast moved toward her. It was no more than a glint of silver. An arrow, fletched with jagged black, slicing through the chaos with lethal precision. She twisted on instinct, but knew she wouldn’t be fast enough to dodge it.

Her mind flashed to a time when she had parried her partner’s lance, only to hesitate to strike back at them. It granted her opponent the opportunity to retaliate, leaving Ellana on the ground.  Abelas’s voice rang in her memory, steady and merciless: “Your feelings mean nothing if you are dead. Raise your barrier, soldier.”

It flared to life around her, bright and stronger than steel. The arrow struck with a metallic clang, ricocheted off, and buried itself in a tree behind her. Abelas was right, and she was sure he’d be smug as ever if she ever told him that. For now, she put her emotions away, and became the weapon he had taught her to be.

Her jaw locked with resolve, she moved with grace born of centuries of practice, hands weaving sharp lines of frost into the air. Mana spilled from her like breath, as ice raced across the ground, climbing their armor, locking limbs in place before exploding outward in a spray of shattered crystal. She heard the screams, but she didn’t let them stop her.

Ellana turned, hoping her people were on the way, only to see him.

Elgar’nan stood high on the wall, armor gleaming in the starlight, his face cast in serene indifference. His head was tilted slightly, as though watching a dancer on a stage rather than a bloody massacre unfolding. With a single, effortless flick of his wrist, he crushed a dwarf who dared come near the gate, his magic precise and absolute.

But he made no move to help her.

He simply watched.

He is going to let me die, she realized, her eyes widening.

The thought hit her like a blade between the ribs. A shard of ice settled deep in her spine, colder than any magic she could conjure. For all his power, all his talk of protecting the People, he would let her bleed into the earth without lifting a finger. Like she was a curiosity. A test, and nothing more.

Her body trembled as anger rose to replace the sifting dread.

If Elgar’nan would not save her… then she would have to save herself.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then let go of the restraint she’d wrapped around herself like armor, the caution that had haunted every training session with Abelas, every measured spar, every quiet moment of holding back so she wouldn’t show too much.

With the enemy bearing down on her, knowing they sought to slit her throat and kill her people, she fought like an animal unleashed.

Every motion was deliberate and brutal. Her arms snapped through the air as she twisted, catching her weight in a pivot and launching another bolt of energy forward. This time it cracked as lightning, a jagged spear of raw energy that lanced through the front line of warriors. Their bodies convulsed violently as the electricity surged through their armor, and the acrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air as metal fused to skin, screams cut off by sudden silence.

But still they came.

Like a swarm of locusts, they pushed forward, tireless and many. The fissure behind them glowed brighter now, casting eerie light across the trees as more of the dwarves emerged.

Ellana growled low in her throat, frustration and rage curling into her chest like flame. She reached behind her and tore her twin blades free, the familiar weight of them grounding her like breath in her lungs. With a flex of will, she poured her essence into them, her spirit twining with the steel until the blades blazed with pale electric blue fire, runes along the edge flaring to life.

She met the enemy in the crush, cutting a path through their ranks with a savage bellow. Her blades carved glowing arcs through the air, trailing light with every strike. Every attack fed her barrier, strengthening her defense while augmenting the power in her blades. The only weakness to this formation, she’d found, was that she could not stop casting. If she did, her barrier would fall—and she would be dead in seconds.

She ducked low beneath a swinging hammer, then came up hard with both daggers driving into her attacker’s torso, twisting and pulling free in a spray of hot red blood. She spun through them, her body a blur, blades finding joints, throats, weak points between armor. Mana surged through her with each breath, feeding into her strikes, lighting the ground beneath her feet as she moved like a storm.

A warrior lunged, his massive frame barreling into her, an ax raised high. She met him head-on. One blade caught his wrist, the other slipped beneath his chin, eradicating the light in his eyes before he collapsed.

The fury of war sang in her bones.

In that moment, Ellana became the thing the generals had molded her into, not a mere guardian or warrior, but a weapon honed and tempered in silence, her edges sharp and glinting.

“To the void with you!” she called, cutting down three more of them as they rushed toward the gate. Her mana sprang forth, as though drawn from an endless well.

She called on fire next.

It roared from her palms in a searing arc, catching the next line of warriors mid-charge. Flame curled beneath their armor, devouring the lyrium-laced plating as easily as flesh. Screams split the air as their skin bubbled and burst beneath the heat, their movements faltering for the first time.

The stench of burning metal, blood, and mana thickened in the air.

She was holding ground, but even as she threw everything into the battle, she saw them slipping around her in droves toward the gates.

When she had a second’s reprieve, she glanced behind her, finding Elgar’nan still there, still watching with a small, interested smile on his face.

Still, he did nothing to help her, though his eyes still blazed in the darkness like a dragon contemplating its next meal.

Her focus tore back to the advancing line. She released wave after wave of elemental energy into them, but it didn’t seem to make any difference as more came through.

She was only one and they were many.

As if to prove the truth of that thought, Ellana felt the ground beginning to shake, as though the earth itself had just realized the blood soaking into it was not elvhen. She heard the sound of something monstrous bursting forth.

It stood there, towering over the land with the weight of a mountain, its skin fused with plates of stone armor sculpted into its flesh. Veins pulsed beneath the surface in a ghostly blue glow, like rivers of magic carved through granite. Every step it took cracked the earth beneath it, and with every breath, that monstrous chest swelled with the light of something impossible: a heart forged and bound in fire, made of solid lyrium.

A heart that beat.

For all his intelligence, Ellana had to disagree with Solas on this point: these things weren’t golems. A golem was something crafted, something that wasn’t alive or dead, a mechanism of destruction. This thing was alive, and deep in her memory, she knew the word for what they truly were: ogres.

They were a creature of legend, once described by the ancient texts as boorish animals the first born had come across as they settled the land. The boorish animals were destructive and bloodthirsty. They killed indiscriminately, and because of that they were too dangerous to be left alive. The last she had read, the generals had been forced to eradicate them from the land. Not one had been seen in thousands of years, and yet this one lived and breathed.

And it had been claimed by the titans.

The dwarves hadn’t made this creature. They had reforged it. Hollowed it out, filled it with power until it obeyed.

How many did they have underground? How many were alive, waiting to be implanted with a glowing stone that would drive them mad, and force them under the control of the titans?

Her pulse pounded in her ears, louder than the thrum of magic in the air, or relentless march of the enemy.

No alarms sounded behind her. She was still alone. Still exposed. And she’d stopped moving, stopped fighting, and that momentary lapse was enough for her magic to falter.

Arrows struck again, cracking against her barrier, each blow weakening the weave. Her breath hitched as one found a seam in the spell and scraped her shoulder. Pain flared bright, shocking her enough to force her into motion. She let her spirit blades drop to the ground, the light fading from them and returning to her body.

The only way to kill golems, her teachers had explained, was for a general to arrive and pierce its heart with raw magic. Elemental magic, specifically.

There was a general behind her who could bring it down, but he had shown that he would not help her. So, her hands began to move, fingers shaping the air, building into a tiny sphere of light so bright it lit the night sky.

She swallowed down her fear, watching the dwarves back away as the ogre strode forward.

Lumbering steps approached. It’s maw full of jagged teeth and dripping with spittle. The stone ogre roared, but Ellana stood still, building that power between her hands. She imagined a new blade of will, just like her daggers, but this one stronger, not needing steel to guide the flow of it. She poured everything she had into it, limbs growing weak as the monster began to run toward her, his clawed hands extended—

It never touched her though, as Ellana unleashed her magic in a radiant blast of energy.

The air split with the booming sound of it, like the sky itself had torn in two.

The light from Ellana’s spell surged outward in a column of white and blue, frost and fire braided together, incandescent and screaming with the raw force of her will. It struck the charging ogre square in the chest, where the lyrium heart pulsed brightest. The creature’s roar caught in its throat, turning from fury to something else. Pain, and disbelief.

The ogre reeled, its massive form skidding to a halt as the light pierced through the plates of its stony chest. The heart flickered wildly, cracks racing through the glowing lyrium like spiderwebs before shattering completely.

The beast’s claws hung limp in the air, and then slowly it dropped to its knees.

Ellana stood unmoving, arms lowered but still glowing faintly, her magic flickering like a candle at the end of its wick, the radiant power fading from beneath her skin. She watched, unable to look away, as the ogre lifted its head with a creaking groan of stone and sinew. Their eyes met. Hers were wide and burning with spent power, and the ogre’s were hollowed by a lifetime of forced servitude.

In those final seconds, the brilliance in its gaze dimmed. The blue glow that had marked it as a Titan’s tool faded away, revealing something beneath.

There in its eyes she saw a spark of intelligence. It was not mindless, nor without reason. It was an animal that knew what had been done to it, and mourned for the life it would never live.

Then the light went out completely.

Its body slumped forward with the sound of boulders breaking, dust rising in great clouds around its fallen form. Stone cracked and settled, the unnatural armor splitting from its hide like shedding skin. What remained was no longer a weapon. It was only a corpse, another victim of the endless war between the titans and the elves.

She heard the warning bell and then felt the surge of a united presence gathering behind the wards.

Her body trembled with fatigue, the wellspring of her power entirely spent on killing the ogre.

She glanced up, watched as more dwarves poured from the ground like ants. In moments, she would be consumed by the horde, but she didn’t have the energy to move. She didn’t even have the energy to scream, when an arrow slammed into her shoulder.

She hit the ground hard, her knees buckling beneath her as the arrowhead drove deep into flesh and bone. The pain was searing. White-hot at first, then cold. Icy. Wrong.

It spread fast. It wasn’t just a debilitating venom of the body, but something else, something crafted to unravel her from the inside out. Her connection to her magic faltered, flickering like a dying star. Where before she knew her well to be empty, now she couldn’t feel it at all. She gasped, trying to rise, but her limbs betrayed her, growing heavy, unresponsive.

The dwarves were on her before she could gather breath to scream. Their boots pounded the broken stone around her, their voices a low hum beneath the rush in her ears. She saw flashes of armor, of hammers and runes and jagged blades.

Still, she fought.

With her left hand, she grasper her dagger. Even without her magic, she moved just fast enough to slice at the armor of one of the dwarves. It didn’t sink in like it would have if she could see straight, but they stumbled back voices growing angry.

But the effort cost her. The poison screamed in her veins now, crawling into her lungs, into her spine, threading its way toward her heart.

Another of them reached for her, and she snarled as he grasped her wrist in an iron grip. She felt bone shift and screamed, but still managed to shove him back.

They circled.

She tried to rise again, but the world tilted sideways and she fell hard on her side, the stone biting into her skin and the arrow shifting enough to blind her with the raucous roar of agony.

And still, they didn’t kill her.

One knelt beside her, expression obscured by a helm carved like a skull. His hand reached toward her slowly, whispering something in a language she couldn’t understand. What she did understand though, was the metal chains in his hands. She thought of a legion of ogres, trapped underground, bodies veined with lyrium until they went mad, and felt her heart raging against her ribs.

Her voice rose in one last defiant, terrified call, only to feel a blast of power spread around her. She recognized that aura instantly. Somewhere inside of her, she felt it reaching for her. Her lips were too numb to speak, but her mind called down that hidden, tethered pathway, Ma halani! They mean to take me!

She heard something massive shake the earth and wondered for a moment if another titan-forged ogre had risen.

But then a snarl ripped through the air.

Solas did not arrive as a man. He came as wrath incarnate. An ancient, colossal wolf wreathed in shadow, his fur like smoke-touched silk, his eyes replaced by six stars of piercing blue light. He flew into the circle of warriors with such force that the air cracked around him, claws tearing through stone and flesh with equal ease.

The dwarf reaching for Ellana had no time to scream. The wolf’s massive jaw locked onto his torso, and in one vicious twist, bone splintered and armor buckled. The chains meant for her fell useless beside her hand.

She could only watch blinking against the pain as chaos spread through the dwarven ranks.

Solas’s gaze seethed with fury, and his massive jaws clamped down on warrior after warrior, yet he held himself back, remaining directly above her, as though the earth itself would have to break apart before he let another hand touch her.

Each time a dwarf came close, he struck with terrifying precision. Every motion was deliberate and controlled. A predator protecting something far more precious than territory.

The wolf moved like living shadow, anchoring himself between her and the tide of enemies pouring from the dark. Teeth flashed, claws tore through metal and flesh alike, but never once did he step away from her. His bulk cast a wide shadow over her body, his form a living shield of fur and wrath and magic.

Ellana let her head fall to the bloodstained stone, her body trembling with the last echoes of adrenaline. Her limbs were leaden, her vision swimming, but through the pounding of her heart, she saw Solas shed the form of the wolf and rise as a man once more.

A sword flared to life in his hand as he descended into the fray like a storm given shape. Magic crackled around him, lightning arcing from his fingers, splitting the air with the smell of ozone. The charged energy was so sharp it raised gooseflesh along her arms.

A distant horn sounded, low and deep. It carried through the trees like the voice of something ancient, and Ellana knew the tide had turned as her people harried the dwarven lines.

The enemy faltered, stumbling, retreating back into the earth that had birthed them. She watched as they leapt into the deep, harried by flame and arcane fire, vanishing into the stone.

Aenor dropped to his knees beside her, his hands already reaching for the arrow buried deep in her shoulder. His breath caught as he saw the wound.

“Shit,” he whispered. Then louder, more certain: “Hold still.”

He gave her a grim nod—and then ripped the arrow free.

Pain exploded behind her eyes.

Her scream tore through the air, and with it, something shifted in the air. She felt it ripple outward, a tremor that reverberated through her spirit. And then, just as suddenly, something answered her terror with strength and stability.

That achingly familiar presence surged around her, holding her close, keeping her tethered to consciousness.

“Move!”

Aenor was shoved aside, and then Solas was there, kneeling over her, his eyes wide and burning with a toxic mixture of fury and fear.

“Save the arrow,” he snapped, already pressing fingers to her wound. “It’s laced with something. I can feel it.”

She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t move. Her body felt too far away, like it wasn’t hers anymore. Yet she knew tears fled from the corners of her eyes as she stared up at him, begging for something she didn’t know how to articulate.

It was the first time he’d been this close to her in months, and now his palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tear as he whispered, not it words but in her mind, I will not let you go.

In one fluid motion, he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She felt his heart beating hard and wild as he broke into a run toward the gates.

She saw why a moment later, as the ground began to disintegrate beneath their feet. The titans were retaliating, taking as many elves as they could to repay them for the losses their people had endured.

Unlike the dwarves who were welcomed into the soft earth, when the elves fell, they screamed as they were crushed alive. The smell of blood was thick in the air, coating her tongue like syrup. Spirits retreated, fearful of corruption by the emotions spinning out of control below.

Ellana couldn’t do anything but press her face into Solas’s shoulder, her eyes squeezed tightly shut when horror rippled through the Fade at the massive loss of life.

Once at the gate, Solas turned, two more sets of eyes opening on his face. He roared with bestial rage, clutching her tightly against his body. She felt energy cascade through her and realized it was going through every other elf that scrambled to get behind him.

Then, she saw it—a barrier so powerful she couldn’t fathom the energy it had taken to cast it.

That barrier stood strong, holding the ground itself closed around them. She had heard of Solas’s barrier spells being incredibly powerful, but to see it was another matter.

She was distantly shocked at the casual expenditure, at the way the very land obeyed. And yet, he hadn’t moved, hadn’t lifted a hand to do it.

This was Elvhenan’s Pride. This was the man Mythal had needed at her side.

She watched him, when the screaming had stopped. He was breathing heavily, his eyes scanning over the bloodied ground. Without realizing it, her bloodied fingers had reached up to him. The moment she touched his face, his focus shifted from the battle to her. There was fear in his eyes, as he gazed down at her. Fear, and something else as her blood smeared on his cheek.

“Hold on,” he whispered only to her. “Please, do not leave me yet.”

She clenched her teeth as another wave of that hateful poison ran through her. But she did as he asked, she stayed conscious as he went inside the gate, leaving the other elves to clean up the mess left behind.

As soon as they were inside, her head lolled on his shoulder, her blood dripping down from his fingers now. She felt his mana trying to seal the wound, but knew it wasn’t working.

Solas cursed under his breath, the sound sharp and foreign in his mouth as he laid Ellana onto a bed she didn’t recognize, in a chamber veiled in unfamiliar light. The walls pulsed faintly with wards, the space humming with Solas’s magic, but she could barely focus through the pain threading like fire through her veins.

“Oh dear,” came a dry, disdainful voice. “Is she going to die?”

Solas’s response was a low snarl that crackled with power. He stripped away her armor with urgent precision, jaw clenched tight as his fingers moved to the wound.

“You allowed this to happen,” Solas growled. “You have no right to speak, Elgar’nan.”

“If she can’t handle a single battle, she’s of no use to us.”

Solas’s hand stilled for half a breath.

“Is that all they are to you?” He asked, his fingers moving again, working steadily on drawing out the poison. “Weapons to be used and then discarded?”

Elgar’nan raised a brow. “What more is there?”

His hands were careful, but his voice was stone. “You let your arrogance rot your judgment. If there is to be a future, someone must be left to live in it.”

Elgar’nan didn’t answer at first.

“Did you see what she did?” Elgar’nan appeared above her and she looked away, focusing on the concentration knit on Solas’s face. She didn’t want to see the greed shining in the general’s eyes. “She annihilated an entire battalion. She killed a golem single handedly. She is the perfect example of what we need if we are to win this war.”

His hand reached down, fingers curling beneath her chin, forcing her face toward him. She tried to turn away, but her limbs were still too weak. Elgar’nan’s smile was slow, indulgent and cruel. “Clearly, sometimes children need to learn by doing.”

The air shifted violently.

The spellwork in the room flared, and Solas exploded forward with a force that cracked the very floor. He seized Elgar’nan’s hand, ripping it from her skin.

“Do not touch her!”

Ellana flinched at the sudden boom, but Solas was already between them, hand outstretched, magic blazing at his fingertips. He shoved Elgar’nan back with raw power, the ancient general staggering from the depth Solas’s fury.

His voice dropped into something colder than ice.

“Get. Out.”

The words shook the walls.

Elgar’nan met his eyes steadily. And for a moment, barely a breath, the general hesitated.

Then the man sniffed, his lip curling as though the air itself offended him. His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly with annoyance, and something colder beneath.

“Very well, dog,” Elgar’nan sneered, brushing invisible dust from his armor as though the encounter had dirtied him. “Just remember your place.”

He turned, gaze cutting like a blade as it fell on Ellana once more before returning to Solas.

“You heel at my wife’s side.”

The door slammed with a final echo as the general finally exited.

The moment he was gone, the air felt less oppressive. She felt another flare of pain and her teeth chattered with a sudden chill. Ellana felt her mind spinning, her head shaking back and forth on the table. “Solas—”

The man turned back to her immediately. His hands trembled, as they traced over her skin with impossible tenderness.

“You are safe,” he whispered hoarsely. “I won’t allow—”

He broke off, his head turning as Aenor entered the room, the arrow clutched in his palms.

Ellana didn’t quite remember what happened after that. Her mind split from her body, and she was only vaguely aware of words whispered above her. She became aware only in the sharp moments. When the poison slithered from her veins. When a needle of magic was needed to close the wound. When raised voices spoke around her.

And then, she came back to herself in a moment of clarity, when fear rushed in to sweep away the lingering tide of exhaustion.

She saw Solas in a chair beside her, his head bowed and hands splayed on the sheets. Ellana reached for him without thought. The moment her fingers brushed over his, he startled, wide eyes rising to hers.

“Ellana?”

To her surprise, he let her lace their fingers together.

Am I going to die?, she whispered through that pathway in her mind.

She heard Solas respond in kind. No, my storm. You are safe.

Ma'Tarasyl'nin, he called her. With his gentle reassurance, and the endearment echoing in her mind, Ellana lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

Ellana woke in small bouts of fevered disorientation. Most of the time, she didn’t know where she was, or why. She had only the feel of blankets, sharp against her oversensitive skin, and the warmth of a hand in hers. Sometimes she felt a forehead pressed to her knuckles, a familiar voice asking her to wake up, to be alright, but it was so subtle it was hard to recall with any certainty.

Her eyes opened only twice, and both times she saw concerned, intensely blue eyes staring back at her.

Solas.

Her mind was a nest of gnarled pieces. She struggled to understand, to make sense of the sensations, but every attempt only made her more exhausted.

Words came and went, a familiar voice full of emotion.

My heart…

…not leave me…

…Should have been beside you…

I’m sorry. I’m so…

She faded out.

If she merely dreamed the words, she couldn’t say. But as the words echoed, her mind latched onto one. Vhenan. Was that what stood between them? The bond of souls she had only ever read about—and seen in Aenor’s memories.

She wondered, especially when the nightmares came.

She saw them swarming over her. The chains flashing in the darkness, their words garbled as her limbs were held down. she felt the world shift beneath her feet, replaying that memory of the ground opening and swallowing people alive. She saw bright blue veins and the angry faces of mountains. But there was something else too. Something malicious that hungered.

Something that melted from the rock of new mountain ranges into the sea. The words of the prophecy returned.

The world will tremble, when they return. Wisdom alone, could not spare us. Fidelity to our cause was not enough. Together though, we may survive it.

Yet every time the panic rose, she felt a gentle tug on her mind, drawing her away from the shadows and into the light. That tether felt familiar, and reminded her of the feeling of being in Solas’s arms, warm and safe after so much fear.

Sometimes when she woke her friends were there. Aenor whispering about being too slow, Itha murmuring about idiotic coincidence and the need to find more books on poisons. It all faded out.

Ellana turned in her sleep, toward the warmth gripping her hand.

She dropped back into the sea of black, unconscious once more.

***

“Welcome back, dear.”

The words jolted Ellana from the heaviness of half-sleep. Her body felt leaden, her vision blurred, and for a moment she thought she would see Solas. Instead, it was Mythal who sat beside the bed.

The goddess wore armor that blazed with its own light, every curve etched with designs so fine that Ellana’s eyes ached to follow them. A cloak of dragon leather spilled over her shoulders, its folds pooling like wings. Black hair fell in a river over her chest and back, catching the gleam of her eyes, eyes that looked through Ellana as if nothing within her could be hidden.

Behind Mythal stood Solas. The scales of his red armor gleamed as though freshly polished, but his hands betrayed him. His fingers twitched and curled as if still remembering the blood they had carried. His eyes held hers for a moment, and something inside her ached.

She reached out, her arm trembling. Solas. The word brushed against him along the tether they had shared. His presence grazed hers, warm and unmistakable, but it did not speak. He gave the smallest shake of his head, his gaze falling to Mythal. Understanding struck, and Ellana let her hand drop back to the sheets. Pain flared in her shoulder, dragging a gasp from her throat.

“General,” she whispered.

Mythal smiled. It was all teeth, sharp as the creature whose name she bore. “We have not met properly. Solas tells me your name is Ellana.”

Ellana struggled to sit up, but found her body unresponsive, unable to lift herself. She fell back again, gasping. Neither one of them moved to assist her, their eyes staring down at her dispassionately. “Yes, General.”

A low hum filled the silence as Mythal studied her. “You have survived more than most. Death’s hand pressed against your chest…and still you live. That pleases me.”

Solas shifted, leather creaking against his frame. His silence carried its own weight, like stone pressing down.

Ellana forced her lips to moisten. “If I live, it is not through my own strength alone.” Her eyes flickered toward Solas before she could stop them.

The goddess’s smile deepened as she glanced between them. “How curious, that his presence steadies you.” Her gaze stopped on Solas. “Do you agree, Wolf?”

He stiffened but said nothing.

Ellana’s heart thudded, the chamber pressing close. “I owe him my life,” she said softly.

“Perhaps,” Mythal replied. Her tone was smooth, her words deliberate. “Or perhaps you owe me—for allowing it.”

The air tightened. Solas’s aura brushed against her again,

Mythal chuckled softly, the sound odd and garbled to Ellana’s ears. “Don’t be so tense, dear. I surveyed the battleground outside these walls. The titans sent thousands to slaughter us all in our sleep. They even sent a golem. Thanks to you, they were unsuccessful. Such a feat requires a boon.”

Ellana blinked. “A boon, my Lady?”

Mythal leaned back in the chair, one gauntleted hand draped over its arm, golden eyes never leaving Ellana. “You have strength enough to rise again after the world struck you down. That is no small thing. You are clever as well, and Solas speaks of your resolve with a care that is not easily won.”

Ellana kept her gaze lowered, her mind churning through the exhaustion.

“I have no wish to waste what the poison sought to destroy,” Mythal continued, her voice as smooth as tempered steel. “You may serve me, as Solas serves me. Think of it, Ellana: the chance to hold power, not as a shield to survive, but as a weapon to shape the world.”

The words struck through Ellana’s chest. She forced herself to breathe evenly, though every beat of her heart echoed against her temples.

Behind Mythal, Solas’s fingers stilled, the tension in him so sharp she felt it echo through the tether they shared. He did not speak, yet his silence carried the weight of a plea.

Ellana parted her lips, but Mythal raised a hand. “I do not require your decision tonight. You are wounded still, and your spirit must find its footing once more.” The goddess’s smile returned, calm and edged. “Rest, da’len. When the time comes, you will choose. I am patient.”

Her gaze lingered for a long moment before she rose, the golden armor catching the torchlight and scattering it in radiant shards across the chamber. The cloak of dragon hide whispered over the floor as she turned.

Ellana’s eyes went to Solas, her eyes tracing over the pale vallaslin on his face. She licked her lips. “Yes, I understand.”

“There’s a good girl,” Mythal said.

Her hands clenched, eyes darting away from the two. She faced the ceiling, then closed her eyes.

Mythal had been known as Benevolence in the Fade.

Nearly everyone in the palace had started as a spirit called to a body of lyrium. Spirits, of course, were intensely linear. They embodied a single emotion that could be corrupted or changed in only a few different ways.

Wisdom could become Pride when twisted against its purpose. Benevolence could become Cruelty if exposed to strong emotions of hate or disgust. Fidelity could be turned to Desire or Despair if pushed too far.

It was true that they were spirits no longer, that they had taken physical bodies, but the core of them could never entirely change. She’d seen Solas’s face light up as they spoke about the Fade, especially when she’d asked questions, seeking knowledge—and she’d seen his pain as he discussed being discounted, or derided as a fool. Thus, it was fair to assume that the desire to resonate with one’s purpose never entirely faded.

Now, Mythal sought to appeal to Ellana’s nature by implying the decision was one of fidelity. But she did not understand. Ellana had not simply been a spirit of Duty or Loyalty. She had been Fidelity. A undying sense of belonging to a cause or person. Fidelity was made of deep emotion, and freedom of choice was one of the most important aspects of her nature. In a lot of ways, she suspected Solas was the same.

Ellana had not had a body for long, but she knew one thing: she was loyal to the People, and the cause of the People did not necessarily align with either Mythal or Elgar’nan. She opened her eyes.

She was not ready to make a decision.  “I have given it some thought, General, but I do not yet know what choice I will make.”

“Be sure to consider it.” Mythal stood. “I do hope you make the right decision, Ellana.”

Ellana faced them, her eyes meeting Solas’s briefly before he turned to follow Mythal out of the room.

The door shut with alarming finality, leaving her with her thoughts.

She didn’t see Solas for several weeks after that, not even after she’d healed and returned to training. Not even in the hallways. Not even in the forest.

She was alone, and Solas did not visit her again.

***

The coming of Spring left her people warmer, but no less shaken.

Her class dwindled steadily, names disappearing one by one as men and women were called to the front lines. Some left in the night with no farewell. Others were given brief ceremonies—no time for proper goodbyes. The emptiness they left behind echoed in the training grounds, in the meals grown quieter, in the eyes of the instructors who had taught too many, and lost more.

Still, Ellana remained.

She withheld the deepest part of herself, kept that kernel of power close and untouched, like a blade not yet drawn. But in every other way, she gave her all. In sparring rings and tactical briefings, she pressed forward. When studying formations, she went out of her way to propose refinements to her instructors suggestions that sometimes earned her raised brows, other times quiet nods. She drilled until her muscles burned, dissected old battles until the pages wore thin beneath her fingertips.

She listened. She watched. She learned.

During that time, she sometimes spotted Mythal in brilliant red and black armor and always, just a few steps behind, was Solas. Mythal’s stare burned through her like the flame of a dragon, even as her obedient dog dutifully avoided Ellana’s gaze.

And then there were the days that Elgar’nan came to watch their progress.

He made no effort to hide his inspection. No warmth colored his gaze. His amber eyes moved over her with the weight of a verdict. It felt like a flash of too-cold numbness, a sudden burn beneath the skin that sliced through every barrier she’d built between herself and the world. She never knew if he saw her as threat, a curiosity, or entertainment.

Only that he saw her.

There was something in Elgar’nan’s gaze. It was clinical, dissecting, like he was peeling her apart layer by layer without ever lifting a hand. Like he was looking not at her body, or even her magic, but something deeper. Something he thought belonged to him. It made her think of that moment years ago when his thumb and forefinger had grasped her chin in quiet assessment.

It made her stomach twist.

She knew it wasn’t affection in that gaze, or anger, or anything so base as lust. It was something worse than all of those things.

Interest.

And that was what terrified her, because nothing good ever came of being interesting to men like Elgar’nan. She was sure of it, because she saw the way Solas reacted to that attention.

Even though he wasn’t speaking to her, nor even acknowledging her presence most days, he was always there when Elgar’nan’s path crossed hers. Whenever his slow, deliberate steps took him near the training circles or the inner courts where she walked, Solas would move.

It was so subtle at first, she didn’t even catch that it happened. Solas, so quiet an still beside Mythal, would shift his weight, step sideways as though by accident, or mumble a word to catch the other man’s attention.

Over time, it became apparent.

Solas would place himself between them. Perhaps he had retreated into the visage of an obedient commander, but he was steadfast in his actions, even when they placed him at odds with both Mythal and Elgar’nan.

He moved, forcing Elgar’nan’s gaze to shift away from her by the simple act of blocking it.

It happened again and again, without fail. Every time, Ellana felt the cold burn of Elgar’nan’s attention retreat, if only slightly. It should have made her feel safer, but it didn’t.

Because she still couldn’t tell why he was doing it.

If Solas meant to protect her, why not stand beside her, why not obviate the need for subterfuge? Unless he merely hoped that by steering Elgar’nan away from her, he was increasing the likelihood that Ellana would choose Mythal at the final ceremony, that she would become Mythal’s creature—just like him.

She hated the question. Hated that she didn’t know the answer. Worst of all, she hated that she was too afraid to ask.

But she got her answer the following week regardless.

Mythal found her in the garden, her attention sharp as a serpent’s. Solas trailed behind her, eyes trained on the ground rather than Ellana.

“Tell me, dear, how goes your training?”

“It goes well, General,” Ellana replied, though her cloak felt heavier in the morning sun. “We will be moving on to the final stage soon.”

“Good.” Mythal stepped closer, her gaze unyielding. “You learn quickly. Your instincts are sharp. You remind me of myself, before the world required me to become something greater. That is why I have chosen you.”

Ellana’s throat tightened. “Chosen me?”

“To serve,” Mythal said simply. “As Solas serves. To carry my will, to lend me your voice, to walk as my hand in the places where mine cannot reach. You are not yet ready, but you will be.”

Ellana’s voice cracked when she spoke. “Apologies, general, but I-I don’t want to be yours.”

“You already are,” Mythal answered, her tone soft as a caress. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Ellana’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to turn, to search Solas’s face, but the weight of his silence pressed against her like a wall.

Just then, Mythal’s hand rose, brushing a strand of Ellana’s hair from her cheek, her touch lingering with deliberate possession. “In time, you will see. Service is not chains, da’len. It is purpose. And what greater purpose could you have than to stand at my side?”

Ellana went still, the weight of that touch sinking into her skin. Before she could even draw breath, Solas moved. He stepped forward with a certainty that filled the space between them. His hand closed around Mythal’s wrist, firm and unyielding, halting her gesture as though the act itself might be rewritten. He pulled her away from Ellana.

The garden fell into silence. Even the rustle of leaves seemed to withdraw. For a moment they were statues carved into the morning light, a triad locked in a stillness more profound than speech.

Then Mythal’s smile returned, sharpened into something colder, its warmth gone like the sudden withdrawal of fire. She pulled her hand back without struggle, but the air rippled with the promise of consequences. “Hmm,” she murmured, voice threaded with amused disdain. “An interesting reaction.”

She turned, her cloak shifting like the sweep of wings, and Solas followed. His back remained rigid, his eyes never once seeking Ellana’s. No words, no acknowledgment. Yet Ellana stared at him as if he had spoken volumes.

It struck her then—the reason for his silence, the meaning behind every small defiance. He would not give her comfort in words, nor risk her safety with open rebellion. But he could act. He could position his body between her and their gaze. He could intercept a hand, disrupt a reach, absorb the weight of their attention.

The memory of Elgar’nan’s eyes returned, the searing power in them diverted only when Solas shifted into his line of sight. The same pattern revealed itself now with Mythal: a movement that carried intent as sharp as any blade.

His actions were not borne of habit or reflex, nor were they incidental. They were a quiet form of resistance, rooted in choices he alone could make.

And every time he did it… it was to protect her in the only way he could.

He wouldn’t speak to her, wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t acknowledge the thing that still stretched like a living thread between them. But he could do this. He could place himself in harm’s way, to ensure they never made her into something she was not…to keep her from experiencing the same corruption he so clearly felt he had been through.

Ellana felt the echo of that in her heart, where it had become warmer than the spring sunlight.

Chapter Text

It was a long time before Ellana had the time to wander into the woods again, but she found herself pulled to go farther and farther each night. She couldn’t say what she searched for, but that restless itch led her on.

Away from the decadence of elvhen society, there was beauty.

Her breaths came evenly, as she watched the sky. Colors shifted across the stars. Magic was everywhere. It was different from the Fade, but it wasn’t worse. She was beginning to gain mastery over her emotions, recognizing when they were coming and why. There was still a raw feeling sitting inside her chest, but it wasn’t unmanageable like it had been.

“Come, come!” Joy said, its light tendrils brushing across her face in exultation. “It’s just over this hill.”

“I don’t know, we’ve traveled far from the gates, the wards—”

“Hush!” Curiosity said at her other side. “I must see, I must know!”

Ellana huffed out a laugh, wishing she had brought Itha along. She would have loved to see something new, but even her friend had been called away in the end, leaving Ellana with her walks and the spirits who dwelt around them.

As her feet led her to the top of the hill, she gasped.

Joy and Curiosity lunged forward, tendril wings extended as they swirled around a docile swarm of wisps.

They hummed delightedly, greeting Ellana like a sister and welcoming her beneath them.

She raised a hand, and Compassion appeared at her elbow, bright blue nerves sparkling in the light. “Think of a shape!” It said. “Once it is in the air, the wisps will respond to it!”

“Truly?”

“Do you not remember?”

She didn’t. Had anyone ever shaped her this way?

Undeterred, she thought of the little warren of foxes she had seen a week before. She imagined a mother with her pups, then let the memory flow into the air.

Immediately, the wisps shot forward with an excited tribble. They bunched together until their forms became a seamless entity—a mother fox, with four little wriggling pups. The wisps could not imitate sound, but they moved with quiet chirps, acting out the scene in her mind and then going past it to show a progression of growth as the pups emerged from their den to shuffle awkwardly outside it.

“Incredible,” she murmured.

“Wisps are new,” Compassion explained. “They do not yet know what they will become. They yearn for a shape, because they know not what emotion will seize them. This,” the spirit gestured above their heads, “helps them feel closer to what they will someday become.”

She smiled. “And that eases the anticipation of becoming something new, it makes them feel better.”

Compassion inclined its head, voice low and certain. “The hurt is less. For everyone.”

Ellana frowned. “Everyone? What hurt?”

The spirit turned without answering, its gaze shifting toward the trees beyond the clearing. Ellana followed its line of sight, and her breath caught.

Solas was stepping out of the tree line his eyes lifted toward the drifting wisps overhead. For a moment he didn’t see her, too lost in whatever thoughts had pulled him here. But then he stilled, his gaze dropping and landing on her. He looked startled, as though her presence fractured something he’d been holding too tightly.

But unlike before when they’d passed in the halls, this time he didn’t look away.

She wondered what he must see in her here. Her hair was undone from the sever braid she’d been wearing it in lately, and now it pooled like silken moonlight beneath the glow of the wisps still dancing through the sky above. His eyes lingered as though he was seeing a dream he hadn’t allowed himself to relive in months.

He wore deep crimson and black, the robes marked with subtle branches of light to match the vallaslin on his face. Draped over one shoulder was a dark wolf’s pelt, its edges worn and familiar. His hair was braided tonight, and she found her eyes catching on the bone charms glinting along the plait. Thin silver rings traced the tip of his ear, catching in the moonlight. They didn’t look new, but it was the first time she’d seen them.

The robes suited him…But also unsettled her.

The style was too exact, too formal. This was not the man she had met in the library, at ease amid learning minds. The crimson of the uniform was rich, the black too polished, and the embroidery, those pale, branching lines, looked like they belonged to someone else.

Someone, like Mythal.

She could see it in the way the patterns echoed the general’s armor, in the cut of the shoulders, the line of the collar. Each piece was meant to highlight aspects of Solas that he rarely indulged. As though Solas had been dressed like a piece on Mythal’s gameboard, made to match her court. Every thread was part of the pantomime. Every ring, every braid, every carefully chosen charm threaded into his hair was a sign. Perhaps it meant to communicate that they were united in purpose, but Ellana got the sense that wasn’t always the case, especially now.

Only the pelt seemed out of place. It wasn’t refined, or elegant like Mythal’s typical outfits. It was rough, weather-worn, clearly taken from a creature that hadn’t been bred in a pen. It belonged to the man she remembered. The man who had contemplated society, lore, and history with her. The man who had spoken to spirits like old friends instead of focusing on the good of the empire alone. It added a sense of wildness to him, something older and more honest. It was quiet rebellion, draped across one shoulder.

She didn’t comment on it, tucking the thoughts away like the ragged edges of a letter she’d read and reread too many times.

“Solas,” she greeted him. “I thought maybe you’d left on another campaign.”

“I’ve just returned,” he replied softly.

Then his expression crumpled and he turned to leave, but Ellana was quicker. She folded the Fade between them, her legs carrying her to stand before him, blocking his path. Her fingers touched the back of his hand, and his next breath came too sharply.

“I’m glad,” she murmured, gaze searching his.

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

She tilted her head, waiting for an explanation that seemed to rest on the tip of his tongue.

“Too many have been lost in this endless war, and many more will fall before it is over.” His lips curled into a frown. “I wonder when the cost will be deemed too high, and what state the world will be in when we reach it.”

Solas watched her, his eyes turning distant. “For what it is worth, I am sorry for how you and your friends were brought into this.”

She swallowed, her heart still aching for the pain she spied in his features. “Were you not brought into the world the same way?”

“No, I—” He grimaced. “I came…willingly.”

She looked at him sharply. “That does not seem right…” She waited for his gaze to meet hers. “You love the Fade, why would you leave it willingly?”

“Mythal needed me.”

Her brow scrunched. “Did she need you to take a body for that?”

A soft chuckle filtered into the air, bitter and wry. “Full of questions, aren’t you?”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she turned away. A sigh escaped. “Abelas is always getting on me for it. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. Forget I spoke.”

He muttered something under his breath, grasping her arm before she could wander far from him. “No, do not apologize.” His fingers loosened on her skin. “I… am not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

He breathed out a heavy laugh. “Others caring about what I have to say or why.”

“You are respected as Mythal’s Second, are you not?”

His gaze turned distant. “They respect her.”

“You don’t believe they would follow you alone?”

His expression soured. He did not respond.

“Mythal listens, doesn’t she?” Ellana pressed.

“Mythal is…” He closed his eyes. He didn’t seem to have the words to finish the statement. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I do not want to speak of her. Not here. Not with you.”

Ellana watched him for several long moments. His pain was deep and growing deeper. There was something in his tone as he said the general’s name. An undercurrent of something close to distress. Something that physically hurt her to hear.

Solas was one of the strongest mages she knew. He followed Mythal not long after she took a form. But his form in the Fade had been massive and powerful. Yet Mythal and Elgar’nan were the first born. They had lived for centuries more than any of them. Rather than feel awe for the kind of strength that entailed, Ellana felt something sick twist in her stomach.

What sort of twisted abuse had she heaped on this man’s shoulders? What had Mythal done to put the tortured anguish in his eyes?

Ellana had never truly thought of Mythal as a cruel woman. But something had happened between her and Solas. Their connection to one another was strong, a loyalty that ran deep and resonated with the core of him. At the same time, connections to a person did not mean the relationship was healthy or even beneficial to either or both people.

The one thing she knew for certain was that he’d been hurt, and that very idea made poisonous anger fill her chest.

“You’re dressed for her,” Ellana said quietly.

His expression shifted. Just slightly. Enough for her to know he’d felt the sting of it. And he didn’t deny it.

“She prefers order,” he replied, after a long moment. “And appearances.”

“And do you?”

He met her gaze, something flickering there in the depths of his gaze. Finally, he muttered, “No.”

He shifted slightly, the pelt sliding across his shoulder as he stepped forward. Only one step. No closer.

“She dresses you like a blade on her hip,” Ellana murmured. “And you let her.”

His voice was low. “It’s safer that way.”

“For you?” she asked.

“For you.”

Her breath caught.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

A frustrated sound worked from his lips. “I’m sorry, Ellana. This isn’t fair to you, it never was.” He shook his head, pulling away from her. “Forget I spoke of it. I should head back.”

But she reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm. Though he was older, hardened, a leader in his own right, he let her stop him. He stilled under her touch, back turned, the line of his shoulders tense but unmoving.

But he didn’t pull away.

There was a weight to him tonight, one she recognized too well. In the Fade, she had seen men and women return from war looking like this. Their eyes hollow, full of burdens they couldn’t set down. She hadn’t known then how to name it.

Now she saw grief. Exhaustion. And something deeper. A man carrying the wreckage of what he had done, and what he still might before the war was over.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he replied softly, almost to himself. “But losing you would…”

He rounded on her, the words cracking as they left him.

And then his mouth was on hers.

There was no hesitation, but no urgency either. It was raw and heated, his mana surging into her own as their lips moved in perfect tandem. She felt his emotions, years of silence beneath Mythal, heartrending longing, and denial so sharp it scraped against her skin. Every emotion erupted in a kiss that left her breathless.

His hands grasped her hips, pulling her to him like a man starved for something he had once buried too deeply to name. His kiss was a confession, a surrender, and an apology all in one.

It tasted of regret and desperation.

But also love.

When he leaned back, his eyes seemed both overbright and dull, as though he’d performed some unforgivable act simply by touching her. By giving in to the emotions that burned too hot inside of him.

Then she cupped his cheek, her palm bright with magic that yearned for him, and he leaned into that touch. His eyes closed. Ellana rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him again, and this time it was softer, gentler in a way she sensed he needed.

When at last their lips parted, he released a shuddering breath, then rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, “but I can’t seem to let it go.”

“Then don’t,” she urged him. “Stay here with me, at least for tonight.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes still closed tightly. “Mythal will be expecting me.”

“Then grant me an hour. Grant me a minute. Grant me a heartbeat.” She shook her head. “I won’t keep you if you truly wish to leave… but I get the sense that you want to be here with me, more than you want to be with her.”

He breathed in sharply, as though some painful thought had just come to him. The silence stretched, full of the wind and the wild whir of spirits overhead.

At last, he opened his eyes, meeting her gaze as he lay the truth at her feet.

“I do,” he whispered. The words were hoarse, dragged from somewhere deep within him. “I want to be here more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time.”

She stepped back, retreating from his warmth and causing him to release a soft, bereft sound. But her hand remained in his, tugging gently. “Sit with me then. Not forever. Just for now. Let this be real.”

His gaze took her in. There was that hint of something in his eyes, the thing she’d caught sight of when she’d first woken in this body. She didn’t have the words to describe it, but it made her feel warm inside.

And yet, he hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Ellana. I am not. . . the best company right now.”

She titled her head, reading that heaviness again in the set of his shoulders. Ellana’s eyes sparkled with quiet mischief, her fingers tightening just enough around his to remind him she was still there. Still waiting.

“Then it’s fortunate I’m not looking for good company,” she said, voice low and teasing. “Just yours.” Her lips turned up. “Especially when you brood so attractively.”

He smiled slightly, barely there, but enough to let her know he was considering it. His eyes drifted back toward the treeline only once more, his throat bobbing as he considered whether to remain, or return to Mythal.

Her gaze dipped briefly. “Unless,” she added, “you’re afraid I’ll charm you into staying longer than you mean to.”

His fingers twitched against hers. For a moment, his gaze faltered, then found hers again as if it cost him something to do so.

“I’ve survived worse dangers,” he murmured, “than giving in to something one had desired for longer than they should admit.”

Ellana stepped closer, her voice softening. “Then take the risk, Solas. Sit beside me and pretend we’re just… two people, just Ellana and Solas.”

She tilted her head, letting the silver fall of her hair cascade over her shoulder as she smiled. “I promise not to bite.”

A deliberate pause.

“Unless you ask very, very nicely.”

That did it. He huffed something like a laugh, quiet and almost reluctant, but real all the same. His shoulders eased just a fraction. She saw the crack in his armor, the moment he forgot to keep the weight of everything between them.

And she pressed her advantage, gentle as a creek flowing down from the mountains.

“I know you’re tired,” she said, her tone low and sincere now, all teasing tucked away. “So rest here with me. Just for a little while. Let your mind settle beside me.”

His next breath was warm against her skin and he leaned down, placing another searing kiss to her lips before nodding softly.

He let her lead him to her place beneath the wisps, and his body relaxed beside hers. The little beings chirped happily above them, expectant.

“Did you know that with a collection of wisps like this, you can put an idea into the air, and they will recreate it?”

He hummed softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You can share thoughts with the Fade, it’s no surprise that shapes and ideas can be pressed into it.” He said it as though he didn’t expect her to know it. She laughed, rolling her eyes at him.

“Sharing memories is easy, this isn’t about sharing memories though.” She raised a hand and the wisps shot forward excitedly. They took on the form of great koi fish, swimming through the air. “I have no memory of these fish, and yet the wisps create this pattern all their own. Compassion told me that they yearn for a purpose. Creating shapes is as good a one as any, I suppose.”

There was a bitter twist to his lips. “Most would simply bind them.”

She looked back at him.

There were horrors in him. Demons that chased him, raised by the things he’d seen and lived. “I was called to this world against my will,” she said. “I avoided corruption for thousands of years, only to be. . .” She shook her head. “Binding a spirit to a body, twisting it against its purpose. . . is wrong.”

“How many do you think agree with that perception?”

She looked down, away. Her fingers tore at the grass, lifting the blades into the air and letting the wind carry them away. “Do you?”

Solas was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he turned onto his side, propped up on one elbow to better see her. The shimmer of koi wisps drifted between them, casting soft light across the hollows of his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.

“No,” he said. “I do not agree with the binding of spirits. I never have.”

Ellana glanced at him, watching the emotions drifting across his features.

He continued, eyes locked on hers. “They were meant to be free. Each one is a fragment of something vast and unknowable, and to take that… to warp it into something lesser for the sake of convenience or power—” He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “It is not right.”

Two of the fish swam around one another, their tails almost seeming to meld together briefly, mimicking the way water would ripple around them.

Ellana smiled at him sadly. She gestured to the wisps. “Can you make a shape?”

He turned his head to look at them. “Like what?”

“Whatever you like.”

“What I like. . .” his brow furrowed. He looked up at the dancing koi, his brow scrunched.

He raised a hand, letting his magic flow into the air. The taste of it sat on her tongue like a drop of honey. Then, the wisps shot forward joyously, taking the shape of a massive wolf. Its neck arched brilliantly as though howling at the moon above them.

“I’ve always felt an affinity for wolves. They are proud creatures, cunning and fierce. Protective. They are worthy of respect.” He smiled, watching the beast. “They are born and live for each other, and for freedom.”

“There is no better display of loyalty than among a pack,” she replied softly. “Fidelity.”

He nodded. “They are free in a way I can never be.”

His sadness sank into her like a blot of ink in water. Her body felt tugged toward him. She yearned to breach the distance, to touch his cheek, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But she knew instinctively that he didn’t want to be touched. Not right now. Not while his emotions were so close to the surface.

“You are free,” she told him.

When he didn’t reply, Ellana waived a hand and they both watched as the shape of the wolf shrank. In moments, a second wolf had joined the first. Solas looked at her, a swift inhalation moving through him. She smiled at him.

“We are as free as we allow ourselves to be, Solas,” she explained. “If a wolf wishes to be with others of its kind, it can be. They deny themselves nothing that makes them grow and thrive. There are lessons to be learned in that.”

“Such as?” he asked.

“Such as,” she replied quietly, “the fact that none of us was ever meant to be alone, not truly.”

His breath stilled for the barest hint of a moment, but it was enough that she heard it.

They watched as the second, smaller wolf nuzzled the first with its muzzle, a gentle flick of affection. They shimmered like moonlit water, refracting light with every graceful shift. The two wolves seemed to move as one, circling each other in a graceful dance of breath.

“I was meant to be,” he said at last, voice barely audible. “Alone.”

She tilted her head. “Were you? Or did you just decide that was simply easier?”

He blinked slowly, as if her words had landed somewhere deeper than she’d aimed.

“Solitude makes you stronger,” he explained. “Love is a potent a distraction, and needing another is weakness.”

“Do you truly believe that?” she asked, gently.

Ellana’s gaze returned to the wolves. There was something intimate in the way the smaller wolf leaned into the larger one, brushing its side, pressing close like it had always belonged there. The larger one stilled for a moment, then lowered its head, resting it lightly atop the other’s in a gesture of trust.

He swallowed. “I used to,” he admitted. “Then I watch these two, and I see you… and I wonder about my answer to that question.”

Ellana’s throat tightened. She shifted closer to him, their bodies not quite touching, but closer now as her hand found his.

“We all need something to fight for,” she said, “but we also need something to return to. A home, even if it’s just a person.”

Above them, the wolves curled around each other then, tails tucked in, forming a perfect circle of light. A quiet, mirrored infinity.

He exhaled shakily. “I do not know if I can be that. A home.”

She smiled. “Maybe you already are.”

He jolted, as though a blade had been pressed to his neck, and he’d never even heard the approach.

For a long time, he was silent, seeming to consider her words, the implication beneath them. He watched the two wolves as they rose and leapt over one another. There was joy in those creatures, and he seemed drawn to it. Neither of them spoke. The wisps changed the scenes with small flickers of light, but somehow Ellana’s gaze remained fixed on Solas, and his on hers.

Then, Ellana went to her bag and drew out her sketchbook. She drew them both under the stars, under the wisps who looked like wolves.

She offered the drawing to him when it was done, and this time she knew it was intentional when his fingers brushed against hers as he accepted it.

Chapter Text

Ellana didn’t see Solas for weeks after that moment in the field. It wasn’t avoidance exactly, but it was close to it. It was an intentional distance that pressed at the edges of her awareness like a bruise. He walked closer to Mythal now, his head always bent toward her ear, his voice lowered as though he feared anyone overhearing—especially her.

She wondered, in those moments, if she had done something wrong, in reaching for him. If she had broken something, merely by touching him.

And then, in rare moments, he would glance her way. His eyes would find hers across the hall or amidst the crowd, and the hardness would fall away from his face. In that softened gaze, she knew the man who had sat beside her wasn’t gone, nor was he imagined.

The danger lingered, threatening to stifle what rested between them, but for now, he could look at her. And she could look at him.

And the generals never stopped looking. Their eyes tracked her with a predator’s patience as her training intensified. They measured her stance, her endurance, the sharpness of her will. The weight of that scrutiny made her skin itch, but she could do nothing about it, other than succeed.

Among their kind, shape-shifting was as natural as breath. Eighty percent of the population could slip from one form to another with fluid ease, bending bone and flesh as though the body were no more than clay in the hands of a sculptor.

She supposed it made sense, for creatures who had once lived and breathed and flown through the Fade, their tendrils of being stretching far and wide across its endless expanse. Lyrium only sharpened that talent, saturating the body until even the smallest flicker of intent could reshape it.

Or, that was the theory anyway.

Ellana had yet to achieve it.

Abelas had told her to find an animal she felt an affinity for, and to take its shape for her own.

Aenor had chosen a hawk. He’d winked at her as he explained that Miraen often took the form of a magpie. He flew through the sky and she had to admit the sight of him spinning with his beloved sent waves of emotion through her. It was like a yearning, but sharper.

Leilani found her spirit resonating with the shape of a rabbit, swift and nimble. Itha preferred the shape of a snow leopard, the form strong and fearless.

She flipped through the pages of her book. Images burned into her mind, memories of animals seen in the wild. The form she took could be large or small. Only the strongest among them could choose larger forms, but she found she did not want something massive.

She didn’t know why she hesitated, or why she even needed to consider it when she found it. She let the images of the animal coat her mind. Every impression she had of them tightened the feeling of rightness inside of her. The beasts were loyal to a fault. Some would defend the den to death, even knowing there were hopeless odds. Solas had discussed them with her, had shown her the animals through the wisps. And knowing he took that form, that he was called the Wolf, felt important to her, resonating with her being.

She tried it for the first time in her room in the palace. After several unsuccessful bouts, and with a spirit of Joy laughing raucously in her ear, she decided some fresh air might do her some good.

She had just passed into her hallway when she saw Solas at the other end, leaning against one of the columns, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He seemed relaxed, though a subtle tension ran through his body. He wore her colors again today—notably absent the wolf’s pelt.

Her spirit thrummed in her chest at once, as if recognizing him before she did. Magic rose unbidden, reaching for him without her conscious command. Relief shuddered through her when she felt his aura stir in answer, opening to hers as though some part of him had been waiting for the same connection.

He glanced her way, and for the first time in too long, his lips curved. A smile, no, the smile. The one he gave her and only her.

Her breath caught. “Hello,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Hello, Ellana.”

She swallowed, heat rising to her cheeks as she thought of the way he’d rounded on her that night, the wild taste of him on her lips. She watched his eyes dart over her face and then down to her lips and knew he was considering the same thing.

Emboldened, she asked, “Are you free tonight? To visit the wisps?”

The color drained out of him and his gaze dropped to the polished stone beneath their feet. “Not tonight.”

The refusal was quiet, almost gentle, but it slammed between them like a door shutting. She remembered then the months that passed in silence, the harsh winter when he rebounded from her. The constant ebb and flow of whatever this was between them. Ellana’s stomach tightened. She tried to mask the sting with a small nod, though her fingers curled into the folds of her robe.

“Of course,” she said, though it came out thinner than she intended.

He pushed away from the column, straightening, though his eyes still avoided hers. “There are matters I must attend to,” he explained. “Mythal’s summons cannot be ignored.”

Something in her flinched at the name, though she forced her features to still. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” he murmured. He stepped closer, in that quiet unassuming way of his that somehow still seemed to consume her.

Ellana looked up at him, her eyes searching between his as the warmth of his body settled into her skin. “You’re here,” she said simply. “It is enough.”

“I find myself drawn here often.”

“Do you?”

Another step, this one leaving a feeling like electricity arcing through her. “Against my better judgment.”

She tilted her head, taking in the intensity of his gaze, the way his magic seemed to weave itself through her own. As though they were two pieces of the same whole, finally reunited. “Perhaps you should consider realigning yourself.”

A wry smile, another half step. “Perhaps.”

Slowly, allowing him time to retreat, she placed her hand in his. “There’s a lot of weight to that word.”

“There is.”

His fingers twitched in hers, as though the instinct to close around her hand warred with the discipline that held him back. For a heartbeat, it felt like he might retreat. Then his palm shifted, angling, allowing their hands to settle more firmly together.

The noise of her thoughts quieted until there was only the sensation of his fingers brushing hers, his magic curling like smoke around her own.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Ellana…” he whispered her name like a prayer.

She leaned in without meaning to, drawn by the invisible tether that had always pulled them together. His aura surged to meet hers, weaving into her spirit so tightly it left her breathless. The warmth of him, the faint brush of his breath ghosting her lips, made her heart beat wildly against her ribs. They almost touched.

Almost.

Then a voice cut through the silence.

“Solas.”

The single word carried the timbre of command. She felt the air itself stiffen, his eyes wide as he stepped away from her, his magic retreating as though struck.

Mythal stood at the far end of the corridor, her eyes gleaming with quiet fire, her presence consuming the air between them. Solas’s hand slipped from Ellana’s, the loss sudden, cold. He straightened, his expression already shuttered.

“General,” he said, inclining his head.

Her lips curved faintly, a smile without warmth. She gestured for him to follow. “Come. There are matters that require your attention.”

Ellana’s heart twisted as she watched him. For an instant, she thought he would resist, that he might choose her as he had on that field.

But then he turned away.

He sighed, a frustrated sound working from his lips. He didn’t look at her as he whispered, “Another time, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” she repeated.

She heard the audible click of his tongue. For a moment longer he lingered, caught as if torn between staying and going. His aura brushed hers one last time, tender, reluctant. Then he inclined his head and walked down the corridor, his footsteps fading as he joined Mythal and strode away at her side.

Ellana remained where she was, heart fluttering in her chest, the echo of his magic receding too quickly. Her arms circled her middle, spirit still aching for the connection that had just slipped beyond her reach.

At last, she drew in a steadying breath and nodded to herself.

Fresh air. That’s why I left my room.

The doors beyond gave way to the night, and Ellana stepped outside. The forest was alive around her, bands of magic unfurling in the new spring air. She breathed in, filling her lungs with the damp, green promise of earth waking after a long sleep.

The canopy above shimmered faintly where starlight pierced through. She trailed her fingertips along the bark of a young birch, transfixed on the sap leaking from within. Each touch answered her, the Fade whispering faintly through every living thing. In those first few steps, she felt her body easing, the tension of a breaking heart soothed by nature.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the night.

Oddly, no spirits lingered in the trees. None greeted her, not even Compassion who had been a constant companion for weeks now.

Still, her feet padded along.

Wolves belonged in the forest. They were not dogs bound to obedience, but sovereign creatures. They balked at chains, living for the rush of freedom. Loyal to a fault, steadfast and fierce. They served one another, and never bowed to any master.

Ellana admired that about them. Their defiance, their refusal to be anything less than what they were meant to be. For the first time that night, she felt her heart settle.

Shape-shifting was about connecting to the creature she sought to be, and there was no better place to connect with the wolf than outside the confines of walls and gates.

This time, when she let her power loose, it did not strain. It flowed like lava through her veins.

Silver fur came first, bursting from her skin in a shimmer of light that caught the starlight. Her bones cracked and moved into position. Her fingers curled, nails hardening into claws, while her breath tore from her throat and returned as a low, resonant growl.

The world tilted.

Scents flooded her nose. The damp musk of moss, the faint sweetness of new blossoms, the lingering trail of deer somewhere beyond the trees. Every sound sharpened: the creak of branches swaying above, the hum of insects, the soft rush of a nearby stream.

When her paws touched the earth, she felt the pulse of the forest itself beat into her. Her muscles coiled with strength, her chest expanded with a new rhythm of breath. She shook herself once, silver fur rippling like moonlight across water.

The wolf was powerful, and she lifted her head, the animal’s urge to howl overtaking her. She let it go—her voice calling to all the wild things in the environment around her. She smiled in that lupine body as she heard an answering set of howls far in the distance.

A pack was out there, outside Arlathan proper. She felt pulled to them, and ran. Her body easily ate the miles between them. The Arlathan forest shone with currents of the Fade, the spirits guarding it swam just out of reach, watching the animals flurrying with activity.

Once, she could recall being one of those observer spirits, she could remember watching that fox digging a den for its pups, a bird creating a nest high above, a rabbit rushing through the underbrush. She recalled being fascinated by them before.

Now, she felt joy rising in her chest as she ran free among them.

She found the pack two miles outside of Arlathan. They were cresting a hill, chasing an elk and nipping at its heels. Ellana watched, panting softly as the beast was finally brought down after a concerted effort by the lead pair.

They were ravenous, tearing into the elk, ripping off pieces of the carcass like it was parchment.

“What a curious thing to find you out here.” The voice was familiar, though not one she appreciated so far from civilization.

Elgar’nan watched her from high above, his golden eyes shimmering in the pale light of the moon.

“I am still learning,” Ellana replied easily, maintaining her lupine form as the words tumbled out.

“As you should be,” he said. A moment later he appeared at her side. The scent of him made her crinkle her nose. Blood and ash, the same as Mythal.

The general’s hand brushed over her fur, and she startled. The instinct was older than thought, a jolt that tightened every muscle beneath her skin. Physical touch remained strange, even after centuries of inhabiting flesh. It had not felt like this when her fingers traced the cut of Solas’s jaw, memorizing its edge. Nor when Aenor’s grip closed around her arm, firm but fleeting, to draw her attention to the sky and its shifting stars. Not even the incidental press of shoulders in a crowded hall had carried this feeling.

This was different. His touch felt too hot, as though branding her. Claiming her.

“Relax, child.”

The reprimand cracked like a whip. His fingers sank deeper into her fur, gripping more tightly. She whined instinctively, attempting to pull away, but he held her steady.

Elgar’nan had come from a spirit of command, but she felt now that perhaps he had been twisted by time into something darker. In the Fade, she had strayed away from him, fearful of corruption. Logically, she understood that she had a body now, meaning that she was capable of complex emotions and that the corruption she’d once feared was no longer possible.

Yet, as his shadow stretched over her, all that surfaced was the same dread she had once known.

“Do you like the body you were granted?”

She hesitated, his golden eyes boring into her, waiting for an answer. She gulped down air, narrowly suppressing the instinct to pant. “Yes, my lord.”

He smiled. “Let me see it.”

Without warning, Elgar’nan’s power struck. It swept over her, wrenching her form apart and forcing the shift. The world jolted. fur retreated, bones snapping into a new shape, skin knitting over raw flesh. She yelped, the sound jagged with pain, and staggered as her body resolved into that of an elf once more.

His fist still gripped her by the hair, tugging sharply.

Ellana’s fingers touched on his wrist, a silent plea in that contact, but his hand did not release her.

She stared up at him, eyes wide.

She’d worn a loose-fitting robe tonight, anticipating running through the forest. It was a bright purple to match her eyes, spindles of silver running up the collar, but it now felt flimsy beneath his gaze. She may as well have been naked again, standing, trembling, before him in a new body.

Elgar’nan ruled this place. He led armies and commanded absolute power. This was his city, shared only with Mythal, but he ruled as though it belonged to him alone. If he ordered her to follow, to kneel, to obey…what power did she truly have to refuse?

The question burned sharper than the pain in her scalp.

And beneath it, deeper still, another thought clawed its way to the surface: if he killed her here, now, would her energy, the essence of her, return to the Fade? Or had the gift of flesh taken that away?

The answer eluded her. Fear made the question taste like ash on her tongue.

She hissed as he pulled her from the ground. “My wife’s sentinel tells me that you have named yourself Ellana. Is that true, girl?”

Her throat worked. She swallowed, then gave the smallest nod.

“El-lana.” His tongue rolled over the syllables as though tasting them, his lips curling with satisfaction. “A fitting name.”

The general stepped closer, the heat of him consuming. It felt like standing too close to a fire, just passed the point of comfort. His face drew close to hers, golden eyes flaring with the promise of command.

“Tell me, Ellana, have you considered who you will serve?”

Fear spiked, dragging memory with it. She saw Mythal’s face overlaying his, the same question asking that same damned question. That same petition for allegiance. That same promise that there was no safe answer.

Her mouth went dry, but somehow she still managed an answer. “No, my lord.”

He released her at last. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself to remain standing, refusing him that weakness.

A tight-lipped smile curved his mouth, one that held no warmth. Behind him, the wolves had finished off the carcass, their maws glistening red in the moonlight. They stared in her direction, their gazes sharp in the night.

“You are powerful,” Elgar’nan said, his tone appraising, “and rare.”

She had never been this close to him before. He was broad-shouldered, his armor glinting in the moonlight. He wore a cloak that bore metals of rank, each more pristine than the last. Around his neck, a crystal of lyrium swung from a chain of hammered gold. The blue glow of it pulsed faintly and she knew instinctively that it had been carved from the same luminous stone he had used to sculpt his body. As he leaned forward, that crystal swayed, bright blue flaring against gold.

“Do you know,” he asked, “how it was that you were pulled from the Fade?”

The question hung between them, thick as smoke. Then, she shook her head, taking a step back only for him to reclaim that distance immediately.

“Mythal and I designed a net,” he said, “to drag as many spirits as we could into flesh. To give them form. To serve in our armies against the rebellious earth.”

He paused, watching her, his golden eyes narrowing in satisfaction at the fear that flickered across her face.

“But…” His smile widened. “I altered it. I chose certain spirits myself.”

He leaned close, the shard of lyrium at his throat glowing bright against the planes of his armor, its light painting her face.

“I chose you.”

Her breath caught, confusion breaking through the fear.

He chose her?

The words rattled in her chest, tangling with disbelief. Of all the countless spirits that might have been bound into flesh, why her? She had never been exceptional in the Fade. Never sought glory or dominion. She had only wanted to exist, to wander, to learn and to teach.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She could only stare at him

When she took another instinctive step back, his hand darted out, grasping the back of her neck with grounding pressure. His thumb feathered over her fluttering pulse point. His grip was not painful, but she felt the silent threat in it.

“W-why?” she stuttered.

She felt his thumb skimming over her skin, the touch could almost be mistaken for tender, but she knew better. It was possessive and domineering. His gaze glanced to the forest beyond, and she could see his mind working.

He was the first of the First Born. Power coursed through him like a pulsing sun, older than any other spirit alive. It was why he commanded armies. It was why cities were built beneath his banners. It was why spirits whispered his name with equal parts reverence and fear.

“Spirits are shaped by will and emotion,” he told her.

“Some are ubiquitous. Curiosity is common, Knowledge less so. And Wisdom?” His eyes narrowed. “That is rare. As rare as Solas’s command of the storms. He alone has bent the elements into his hand. He can shape-shift into a vast creature, vast enough to blot out the horizon. He is… unique.”

He sounded begrudging as he spoke, as though paying a compliment to the man was physically distasteful. He went on, “Justice and vengeance are common enough. Benevolence is not, and my wife is brimstone. She is the unfiltered strength of dragons. There is nothing like her.”

He chuckled eyes still trained on the trees beyond her. “Creativity and Wonder are again quite common, yet Ingenuity, the combination of the two? That is unique, and so too is the brilliant mind of June.”

Finally, his gaze returned to her. “Do you see the connection?”

“Rare spirits,” she whispered, voice small against the insistent press of his thumb. “And power.”

He smiled as though the conclusion was not merely guided by his own. “When only one spirit embodies an emotion, it is theirs alone,” he murmured. “All the will. All the strength.”

He bent closer, his shadow devouring hers, the glow of his lyrium shard painting her in an icy cold fire. In the very center of that glowing stone, she saw a spark of red that made fear dance down her spine.

The heat of his breath brushed her skin. “All the power.”

Ellana ripped from his grasp, backing away several feet, keeping her eyes trained on him. In the back of her mind, she heard Solas’s voice, beloved and warm, telling her it was safer to surrender to Mythal. Safer for her. And now she understood.

This was what it felt like to have one of the First Born standing too close. Her body screamed at her to run, but somehow his golden gaze kept her pinned in place. Unable to move, unable to look away.

He laughed, the sound full of serrated edges. “Among the many, it is the rare that rise above the rest. The rare that are chosen. The rare that belong at the top.” He didn’t move to follow her, not yet, but she saw his fingers twitch, like he wanted to wrap them around her neck again.

“Your spirit struck me, as we cast the net,” he told her.

“It is incredibly rare, in a world of immortals, to find fidelity. I was excited to see what might become of you. I waited to see what abilities you would develop.” He frowned. “But the first reports of the training field said you were mediocre at best. I thought you a wasted effort. Useless as the dirt beneath our feet.”

As if to demonstrate, he ground his boot into the earth, leaving behind an imprint.

“Then I watched you unleash devastation on our enemies.” His smile returned with a sort of manic glee and she watched the blue in that crystal glow faintly red once more.

She couldn’t ignore her body any longer, she turned, ready to flee—

It took an eyeblink, and then he was standing right in front of her, stopping her short with a fist wrapped firmly around her throat. His power flooded her veins. It was like an ocean, dwarfing her within it. She had a spark in her chest, something powerful as he’d said—but revealing it now felt ludicrous. She was strong, powerful, but it felt absurd to set herself against him. She was a candle set against a storm. One gust could smother it, snuff her out without any true effort.

Fingers scrabbled against him hold. She wanted to deny him, to spit the word no into his face, but her voice refused to rise.

“You were breathtaking. A goddess of death.” He leaned closer, his nose bare inches from hers. “I can feel your strength simmering beneath your skin. Fidelity, if bound to a new purpose, would be a lifelong ally, don’t you agree?”

She felt blood under her fingernails, but she wasn’t sure if it was hers or his anymore. “G-General, you-you’re hurting me.”

He didn’t react to her words, still watching her intently. “I could nurture your power. You would know strength beyond what you thought could be possible, if you joined with me.”

Her vision darkened, narrowing to the bright light of his eyes.

“I could raise you high, darling.”

Fenorain, he called her. Rather than the endearment it was meant to be, the word felt possessive, cloying, increasing the sense of wrongness. His thumb pressed down, and she felt her heart beating faster, knowing he could feel it too.

“You are holding back in the training fields,” he said. “Tell me, why would you do that? Why not show them how powerful you are?”

His nose brushed against hers. Fear choked her as much as the hand around her throat. Elgar’nan tilted his head, his gaze sharpening, the spirit of command taking shape. “Answer me.”

 “I do not wish to be seen,” she gasped.

The fingers of his other hand rose, tracing over her skin like it was a compulsion, like her heat drew him closer.

“What a strange answer.” He clicked his tongue. “You were made to be seen.”

She felt a fine tremor going through her body. Her words didn’t feel safe with him. She shook her head, frantic now as he moved closer still. "We will need you, when the end comes. When the whispers from across the sea rise again."

The words echoed, biting into her mind, the same as the the ones she'd spoken aloud for the first time with Solas.

Then, his lips pressed against hers.

Ellana startled badly, her body going rigid.

This felt wrong. It was a denial of her nature, a denial of autonomy. Her eyes stared and stared at him.

With only her arms forming a fragile barrier between their bodies, and with his fist wrapped around her throat, he could manipulate her any way he liked. He did so now, holding her firmly in place as he forced her mouth open so that his tongue touched hers.

Her jaw hurt, aching as he put more pressure on her. This was nothing like the kiss she'd shared with Solas. With Solas, it was gentle, warm. Tender. This was violent. It was painful. 

It was taken.

She pushed against him, her panic rising. Her hands slapped against him, fighting earnestly now. It only earned another laugh from him.

He drew back, his grin wide. “You were not meant to hide, dear. You were meant to burn everything around you.”

His words coiled like living chains, but something in her snapped against them. Perhaps it was the sting of his mouth on hers, the way his thumb pressed into her jaw like she was already his. Perhaps it was the memory of Solas’s gentler touch, his kindness, his warmth.

Or perhaps it was simply the part of her that refused to kneel.

Her pulse thundered beneath his grip, but she forced her gaze to lock with his. Golden fire met lilac ice, and she made herself speak, her voice raw, shaking but defiant as ever.

“I am not yours.” She shoved against his larger frame. “And I will not burn.”

Ellana’s whole body quivered, terror surging through her veins, yet beneath it ran a deeper current. A spark. Her spark. Fidelity, not to him but to herself. To what she chose. To the life and love she had devoted herself to.

She drew in a ragged breath. “You may have pulled me from the Fade, but you do not own me.”

He leaned closer again and she flinched in his grasp. Disgust rose with bile in her throat. She hoped she did vomit, right in his smug face. Let him clean it from his pristine cloak.

“We’ll see,” he whispered, his voice rasping with a raw sort of hunger that only made the terror inside writhe. For a moment, she thought he would push this farther. That he would take more.

But then, just as abruptly as it all started, it ended. He let her go.

She collapsed to the ground, a shaking hand wiping at her mouth as nausea swamped her once more. As soon as it registered she was free, she scrambled back, away from him until her back hit a tree hard enough that the leaves above shook loose and drifted down to tangle in her hair.

“Know this, Ellana,” he said.

He towered over her, wielding his size as a weapon.

“I am not as the others are.” He went on. “I am no mere spirit bound into flesh. I am the First, the fire that forges and consumes. Tamer of the sun. Armies march because I will it. Cities rise and fall beneath my banners. Even Mythal bends to the truth of what I am.”

He spread his arms wide, as though the forest itself should bow.

“I am a god.” His smile widened. “And gods do not ask for fealty, girl. They demand it.”

“You will start training like your life depends on it. Because it does.” He advanced on her, but she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as his lips curled into a snarl, “If you can’t manage it, we’ll have to have another of these chats.”

He crouched down before her. “I’ll make sure you are prepared to face the world beyond the palace walls. And if you are not up to that task… well. There are other uses for someone like you.” His hand rose, fingers brushing her cheek with false tenderness. His voice dropped into a purr. “I am, after all, a kind and loving ruler.”

With that, he turned and left.

She jerked each time she heard his soft footfalls, the crunch of the leaves beneath his heel. Ellana sat on the ground for a long time after she could no longer hear him.

The wolves were gone, the skeletal carcass of the elk the only evidence of their presence in the forest.

For a moment, she felt a bit like that elk—torn apart by forces it didn’t entirely understand, led by instinct to run only to realize it wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to survive.

She had been created by Elgar’nan and Mythal. They had said her purpose was to fight, to join the cause of Elvhenan. But there were darker recesses to the world, darker purposes for which a man could have uses for a woman. Purposes she had never strayed close to as a spirit. Tonight, she’d seen that purpose in his eyes. Elgar’nan craved power in all its shapes. That was how she felt as he held her—she was a glass jar ready to break beneath the pressure of his hands.

And she was terrified of experiencing it again, because she knew she came so close to shattering.

The walk back to Arlathan was long and silent as she carefully pulled herself back together.

***

The walk through the woods had acted as a balm to her pain, her fear. She had just returned to the main thoroughfare when she saw Solas exiting Mythal’s quarters.

He hesitated for a moment after closing the double doors. His head was bowed, shoulders slumped. Then, as though he’d felt her watching him, he straightened. Whatever emotion he’d been feeling was shaken away, and he turned, his eyes catching on her. He was a level above her, and for a moment they simply stared at one another. Him on the balcony, her just below.

She had her arms wrapped around herself as she walked, and he seemed to take in her disheveled appearance, noted the way she was still curled in on herself. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, as though analyzing the information his eyes told him.

For a moment, she considered telling him everything. She considered asking for his help. She considered laying bare the fear that still squirmed beneath the marks Elgar’nan had left on her. But then she thought of him turning his back on her and joining Mythal.

And she wasn’t sure if what they shared was strong enough to stand the weight of the truth.

He smiled tightly. “The woman of the forest, the blessed hero sent to save us all from the Titans.”

Ellana swallowed, her throat still raw. She knew Solas expected a barb, a witty retort, but she didn’t have anything left of that right now.

She gave him a simple truth instead.

“I took a second form today,” she said quietly.

She didn’t want to converse, not when her neck ached so badly, but she found the urge to speak suddenly overwhelming. Perhaps it was because of the sadness etched into the lines of Solas’s face as he exited that room. It had been there and gone instantaneously, as their eyes met. But she’d seen it. She’d seen him.

“Is that so?” The cadence of his voice was smooth, refined.

He moved forward, settling his elbows on the balcony railing. She could see the spark in his blue eyes so clearly, it felt like they were standing just two feet apart. Some of the tension leached out of him and she felt an answering relaxation in herself.

She nodded.

“What form did you take?” he asked.

“A wolf.”

He tilted his head, as though recalling their conversation beneath the wisps. “An interesting choice.”

Interesting, Elgar’nan’s voice echoed in her mind, and she flinched.

Above her, Solas’s eyes narrowed and Ellana looked away, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. She could taste it on her teeth, that coppery flavor. But she forced herself to breathe, to calm herself.

Elgar’nan was not here.

She’d sense it if he was.

For a long, tense moment, they were both silent. The moon was passed its zenith and the hour was late. No one else was awake, no one else would hear the words she said next.

“Do you ever think of running, Solas?” The words whispered out, barely audible over the sound of the wind and the forest behind her. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “in your other form. In the forest.”

He sighed, his head shifting down so that his hair fell into his eyes. “There was a time when I would.” He sighed. “Running in another form is… freeing.”

 “Why have you stopped?” she asked.

“There’s never enough time.”

From here, she could feel his pain, his weariness. It felt like those vallaslin on his face were drawing his head to bow down, down, like a weight pulling him beneath dark waves, like the tidal wave that Elgar’nan had threatened to drown her in was forcing him under too. Only it was Mythal’s ocean that hurt him, not Elgar’nan’s.

She looked to the stairs, an emotion tugging her to go to him. But she recalled Elgar’nan’s words, his hand around her throat.

But being near Solas right now felt dangerous, no matter how she wanted to ease the suffering that shone in his eyes. She didn’t take the stairs.

Instead, she made an offering.

She swallowed thickly. “Come with me, tomorrow night.”

His eyes opened, that sadness easing slightly as he gazed at her.

“We can make time,” Ellana said, her voice dipping into desperation. “You and I. Just like before.”

He laughed, a ragged and broken sound. Some of the misery in his expression had eased. He seemed to look at her for the first time, his brow scrunching. His eyes darted to the stairs, as though he wanted to take them down to her too. If he did, Ellana didn’t know what she would do, but her mind reached for him. It reached and reached, seeking comfort she knew he could provide.

“It is a fantasy,” Solas said softly then. “You are not real.”

It was as though something wrenched when he said those words. Her heart ached horribly as her mind remembered her experience in the forest. The glass jar Elgar’nan had held so tightly fractured now. She was meant to be a tool, a weapon for the empire. Perhaps that was all she ever was to any of them. If she were still a spirit, and she’d had this interaction with Solas, would she be corrupted into Despair? Was this what it felt like?

Solas took in her expression, and opened his mouth, as though he had more to say, but then the door behind him opened. She heard Mythal’s voice calling him back to her. He closed his eyes tightly. She watched him swallow.

Then he stood, beckoned to return to the dragon. He looked back at Ellana only once more. “Good night, Ellana.”

She wasn’t sure if he heard her say it back to him. The Dragon’s door shut with alarming finality. And then she was alone, so utterly alone.

Chapter Text

Elvhenan’s finest warriors stood in neat rows around the training fields. Veteran soldiers watched the newcomers, each of them judging the capabilities of the next generation. This was where their ranks were formed, and where the selection of factions would take place in a few short months’ time.

Ellana stood among her peers, bare-armed and sweating, her braid sticking damp against her spine.

Across the field, Elgar’nan watched.

His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable but for the faint narrowing of his eyes. That was enough. His scrutiny was hotter than the sun; she could feel it like a brand searing the back of her neck.

She reached inward, fingers twitching as she called for the spark that lived in her veins. It stirred immediately, eager, hungry. But she held it back. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose control.

The restraint cost her. The power writhed beneath her skin, pressing against her ribs like something alive. Still she swallowed it down, matching her movements to Aenor’s as they sparred, blade ringing against blade, boots sliding in the dust.

Then she felt it.

Elgar’nan’s displeasure. It felt like a rush of air over her skin, his breath trailing over her face.  Her pulse faltered. He wanted to see her break.

Fine.

When Aenor lunged again, too close this time, she let a small spark loose. It flared through her blood and the air cracked. Aenor’s blade flew from his hand as he spun, wide-eyed, the shock mirrored in the crowd of soldiers now frozen mid-movement.

The scent of scorched earth hung between them. Ellana lowered her hand slowly, the faint glow still coiling around her fingers.

Across the field, Elgar’nan’s mouth curved.

Ellana’s hand trembled slightly, her fingertips tracing over her neck where his hand had been last night. She wasn’t afraid.

She wasn’t.

Elgar’nan inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging her performance before turning his gaze upon Aenor. Her friend had fallen to one knee, clutching his arm where the static still hissed through his veins.

“Get up,” Elgar’nan commanded. The words struck like a hammer.

Aenor scrambled to obey, stumbling as the charge in his limbs made his movements jerky and stiff. Ellana felt her own magic still rippling under her skin, the aftershocks of power uncoiling, hungry for more. She closed her fist and forced it inward again, grinding her teeth until she felt the taste of blood.

Then the general started toward her.

The crowd of soldiers parted instinctively, creating a path between them. The sound of his boots heavy even on the sand. Ellana stood her ground, though her pulse thundered in her ears.

When he stopped before her, the field went silent.

“That,” he said quietly, “is what lies beneath your weakness.”

Her body tensed. “I did not wish to harm him.”

He looked down at her with the patience of a hunter watching a creature tire itself out. “Compassion,” he said, “is a luxury of the untested. Power demands blood. Yours, or another’s—it matters little.”

Her mouth went dry.

He turned to Aenor, who had only just risen to his knees. “Again,” Elgar’nan commanded.

“Please—” Ellana started, but his gaze silenced her. It burned, gold and cruel.

Aenor hesitated, then lifted his blade. Ellana barely had time to ready herself before he lunged. She blocked the first strike, parried the second. The third, she didn’t. Magic surged through her like fire through oil, uncontrolled.

Aenor hit the dirt again, gasping.

Elgar’nan’s voice was quiet when he spoke next, low enough that only she could hear. “There it is,” he murmured. “The truth of you. The strength I’ve been waiting to see.”

She stood trembling, her chest heaving, the scent of ozone and ash clinging to her skin. When she looked down, faint veins of light pulsed beneath her flesh.

He turned from her then, addressing the others. “You owe your allegiance to this empire,” his voice thundered. “To win, we must fight. To fight, you must hone your skill.” His golden eyes swept across the gathered soldiers, hard as forged metal. “I will be inspecting your progress tomorrow. Any I find lacking will be… removed.”

A murmur rippled through the ranks.

Aenor straightened beside her, whispering hoarsely, “What does that mean? We’re all people now. Just because we don’t fight doesn’t mean we’re useless.”

Ellana’s throat felt tight. She kept her eyes fixed ahead, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think that’s exactly what he means. If we aren’t useful to him this way, he’ll find another purpose.”

Aenor’s gaze darted toward her. “What other purpose?”

She swallowed hard, the unease twisting deep in her gut. “I don’t know,” she murmured. Her eyes flicked to Abelas, who stood rigid at the front of the group, jaw clenched so tight a vein pulsed at his temple. “But I’m betting it isn’t good.”

The speech ended. Elgar’nan gestured sharply for them to bow. As one, they did, forming an ocean of bent heads in the bright sun. The gesture felt like a collar tightening around her throat.

When she finally straightened, Ellana’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the mountains cut sharp and silver against the light. She wondered how far she could run in the shape of the wolf, how fast her legs would carry her before the empire caught her scent again.

***

The moon hung full and white above the marble spires of the palace, its light spilling over the terraces like water. The air was cool, touched by the scent of lilacs and the far-off cry of nightbirds echoing through the forest beyond. It should have been peaceful, but Ellana’s skin prickled with unease. The pull of the woods was stronger tonight, a wild call whispering in her blood.

She paced. Her bare feet made no sound against the polished stone, though each turn of her body carried the sharp restlessness of a caged animal. She’d seen Solas enter Mythal’s chambers hours ago. She had counted the moments, matching them to the rhythm of her pulse. Before, he had always emerged by midnight. But tonight, the balcony remained silent, the door unmoving.

She bit her lip, tasting iron.

You are not real.

His words still rang inside her. If she wasn’t real, then why did her heart ache when she thought of him? Why did the memory of his voice stir something that felt so alive it hurt?

He had looked at her with such conviction when he said it. And still, when she thought of his hand brushing hers, something in her sparked. Real or not, she felt. And that was enough.

It had to be.

She turned her gaze toward the woods again. The moonlight silvered the treetops, painting the world in shades of quiet promise. That freedom she longed for, that running pulse of the wild, it was waiting for her there. She could almost hear the soft pad of paws on leaves. She wished she could run beside him.

To stand with the wolf who had saved her life.

The thought struck with the same quiet ache that had followed her since he’d slipped through that eluvian and run to Mythal.

Her throat tightened.

She turned one last time and set a bit of folded parchment onto the marble table beside the stairs. On it, she had drawn the wolves she’d seen the night before. Their fur rippled in a phantom wind, eyes bright, alive. A pack of the great beasts that called to them both.

At the top, she had written his name. Beneath it, in her curling handwriting:

“Freedom not given, but taken.”

Her fingers lingered on the paper’s edge before she let go.

The night pressed close around her, heavy with the scent of stone and moonlight. She straightened, lifting her chin to the balcony above one last time. The door to Mythal’s chambers stayed closed, no light spilling through the crack as it had before.

After another several more minutes passed, Ellana made her decision. Ellana turned toward the forest, her heart beating with something like fear. The wolf inside her stirred, eager to run.

She leapt, her body shimmering a moment before her paws hit solid ground. A sound of elation fled her throat and each pawprint she left behind was a secret signal of where she had been. One a person could only find if they looked closely.

Ellana felt the presence of the spirits in the forest. They pressed against her skin gently, a joyous exaltation—a recognition of what she had once been.

This time, she didn’t give in to the impulse to howl. She made herself a silent wraith, slipping through the trees like she belonged there. She stopped at a creek that bubbled softly. Her reflection stared back at her. Her lupine form was coated in silver and black fur, her eyes were the same vibrant shade of purple. Her tongue lapped out, disturbing the ice-cold water and taking a long drink as her heart calmed.

She spotted playful wisps dancing overhead in the water. Above them, the spirits of the forest moved. She spotted spirits of Faith and Justice twirling together. She called out to them, watching as they floated down to her.

Faith brimmed with vibrancy, the tendrils of its body like an extracted nervous system. “You are bright!” it said.

“Why do you wander these forests so late at night?” Justice asked. “Are you seeking treasure? You should not.”

She laughed, her eyes swirling with mischief. “I am merely enjoying the beauty of the forest, far from the palace grounds.”

“It’s so nice!” Faith said. “The Fade is so close, it feels like being back where you belong, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” she said. “I miss it.”

“Pulled from the Fade like a chained animal. You yearn for release. The chains are still there.”

“I’m not chained,” Ellana replied quietly. “I am free.”

“You would not yearn for release if that were true,” Justice declared.

“Perhaps not.” There was a lot of weight in that word, a lofty consideration. “There are good things about having a body. It is not all bad.”

“Your friend found love!” Faith exclaimed, its body spinning up and down. “The spirit that once was Knowledg found a library and reading is different from watching!”

“And you found love as well,” echoed Justice.

Ellana’s heart gave a quiet jolt at that.

The word love shimmered in the air like a fragile thing, barely able to hold its own weight. She looked down at her reflection in the water—the silver of her fur, the violet gleam in her eyes—and for a moment, she did not recognize herself at all.

“I did,” she murmured at last, her voice a low vibration in her lupine chest. The admission startled her. “And lost it.”

Faith’s glow dimmed slightly, its tendrils curling inward. “Oh,” it said, soft as a sigh. “That is the part that hurts.”

Justice circled once above her, its voice deeper, resonant, as if spoken through stone. “Loss does not end love. It only changes the form it takes.”

Ellana tilted her head. “You speak as though you have known love.”

“I have known the consequence of it,” Justice answered. “Every choice born of love leaves a mark. Some heal the world. Some destroy it.”

The creek murmured, and her reflection shimmered again, split into pieces by the current. Ellana stared at the fragments of herself drifting in the water. “He told me I wasn’t real,” she whispered. “That I am only a dream.”

Faith gasped, small and indignant. “You feel. You shine. That is as real as anything!”

Justice hovered closer. “Reality is not what he questions,” it said gently. “It is his own guilt. He built a cage around himself and cannot bear to see you step inside it. To face you is to face himself.”

She blinked slowly, feeling the ache of that truth settle into her bones.

Ellana frowned, her claws scraping lightly at the creek’s pebbled bed. “He made his choice. I cannot undo that.”

Faith’s tendrils drifted close enough to brush her muzzle. “Maybe not. But you could speak to him.”

“Speak?” she echoed, a hollow laugh escaping her throat. “And say what? That he hurt me? That he made me doubt whether I exist?”

Justice’s tone softened. “Say that you still feel the bond. That you wish to understand it. That you need his protection. Silence deepens the wound. Words may ease it.”

Faith brightened again, its voice bubbling with insistence. “He will listen! He always listens to you, even when he pretends not to.”

Ellana thought of the man she had spent days and nights beside. The man who once traced shapes of wisps in the air beside her, who smiled when he forgot to guard his heart.

“Perhaps,” she whispered, “you are right.”

Faith bobbed in delight. “Then go to him! Tell him what has happened, tell him the bond survives still!”

Ellana’s head drifted down, thoughts returning of the last night she’d been in the woods with the general’s scent crowding her nostrils. She swallowed. Inside, her mind struggled with conflicting impulses. Tell him, and risk him turning her away?

But Justice inclined its luminous form in agreement. “At his core, he is a guardian. Do not let Pride become another chain. For you, or for him.”

Ellana drew a slow breath. The night air felt cold but clear, sharp with possibility.

“Very well,” she said at last, her voice barely carrying above the stream. “I will find him tonight.”

“Good, that is—”

Before Faith could finish, Justice brimmed with power, its light shifting. Alarm coated the air as sudden as a lightning strike. “You are in danger,” it said.

“Danger?”

“Flee, Ellana!”

Ellana’s head tilted. She looked into the creek, and spotted golden armor glinting in the forest beyond her reflection.

Her paws carried her across the creek in seconds. She darted through the trees, barely registering the beauty of the night anymore. Each step took her farther from Arlathan, deeper into the southern woods. She forced herself past the point of exhaustion, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

She slowed. Her ears flattened.

The air thickened, charged. A low rumble spread through the ground like thunder rolling beneath her paws. Then, the shadows ahead split apart.

He stepped from them.

Elgar’nan.

She felt his power circle around her and then bite down on her leg. The wolf yelped, spinning through the underbrush and slamming hard against a massive oak tree. In the blink of an eye, Elgar’nan was before her, undoing her transformation and grabbing her by the neck in one smooth movement. She choked, her fingernails digging small crescents in his skin. He was nearly double her size, dwarfing her with his body.

“The she-wolf returns to the woods,” the General cooed, his voice full of male satisfaction. He held her against the tree, the pressure of his grip crushing her against the tree. “You did better today, but you’re still holding back.”

Ellana’s heart pulsed through her body. The emotion in her was something deeper than fear, something stronger.

Terror, her mind supplied. This is terror.

She didn’t have the air to scream, nor did she have the air to respond. Instead, she stared at him, her eyes wide.

“Did you think my words the other night were mere jest?” He squeezed down, and Ellana choked, her nails digging deeper, desperation taking hold as she suffocated. “Let me show you what power feels like, little wolf.”

His power rushed into her, tearing through her defenses like parchment. It was as though he’d pressed a hot iron beneath her skin and now dug around inside of her. A savage thrust of that energy forced what little air she had out of her lungs.

Her breath caught on a sob she couldn’t quite release as tears scraped down her cheeks. Then warmth brushed her skin, a slimy wetness as he licked them away.

The heat of his body pressed against her then, and she sobbed brokenly, her fear changing into something tangible.

She felt her dress tearing beneath searching fingers, and she wanted to scream, but she had nothing left. No air, no power, nothing.

You are not real.

And yet, she struggled. Weak, futile writhing. No more, she wanted to tell him. She grit her teeth and managed a stuttered, “G-Get off of me!”

Really, those words should have come sooner. They should have come last night, when he’d kissed her. But they seemed to register with the man and as suddenly as the assault began, it ended.

Ellana hit the ground hard, her body collapsing into a ragged heap, her palms slapping against the dirt. The world rang with the echo of thunder, the scent of burnt ozone clinging to her skin like smoke. Her breath came shallow, each inhale a knife. She could feel her ribs tremble with it.

Elgar’nan’s laughter rolled through the clearing. “Well done, little wolfling,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

She lifted her head weakly, blinking through the blur of tears and dust. He loomed over her, radiant and terrible, gold light still bleeding from his skin. The air around him shimmered with power, alive and oppressive.

He turned his hand over, studying it. The flesh was scorched and blistered, electricity still crawling faintly over his palm. A faint smile curved his lips as he flexed his fingers, watching the blackened skin slowly knit itself together. “I must say,” he murmured, “I’m surprised to see this manifestation.”

Ellana stared, dazed, the meaning of his words slow to register. Manifestation.

She glanced down at her own hands—and froze.

The ground around her still sizzled faintly, a faint ring of scorched earth spreading outward where the lightning had burst free of her body. The air hummed with energy, and her fingertips still sparked in uneven pulses of ultra-violet light.

She hadn’t felt it happen. She’d just reacted.

“You dared to strike me,” Elgar’nan continued, voice heavy with dark delight. “You, who should be dust beneath my feet, raised your hand against me... Tell me, was it instinct?” He leaned closer, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Or did you mean it?”

Ellana’s voice trembled. “You would have killed me.”

He chuckled. “And yet you live. Because I allow it.”

Her stomach turned. She tried to push herself up, her arms shaking under her weight. The electricity within her still hummed, refusing to be forgotten. This was nothing like the buzz of energy that she’d felt when Solas was near. This was angry, defensive.

Alive.

She bared her teeth. “Mythal—”

“Chose Solas as her champion six hundred years ago,” Elgar’nan cut in, his voice sharp as shattered glass.

Ellana flinched at the venom in his tone.

Elgar’nan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the faint shimmer of power crackling beneath his skin. “Since that day,” he went on, “he has belonged to her. Her creature. Her weapon. Her pet.”

He began to pace, the ground trembling faintly beneath his boots. “He has never once defied her will. Every command she gives, he obeys.”

“Even now, when she sleeps, she whispers in his dreams. He would burn the world to dust before he turned his back on her. That is the hold she has.”

He glanced back at her. “You think this makes you strong,” he said, raising his hand. “That defiance grants you freedom. But power is only real when it bends to will. Solas has bent to her will.” His voice dropped lower, smooth as a blade sliding home. “And you will bend to mine.”

He crouched, close enough that she could smell the heat off his skin, the acrid tang blood and ash. “Still,” he murmured, almost fondly, “I will enjoy seeing what more lies beneath your skin. Perhaps there is more to you than I thought.”

Her breath hitched.

“Do not fear,” he said as he rose again, straightening to his full, towering height. “Fear wastes what little strength you have. Train it. Control it. When next I test you—” his gaze flicked to his still-healing hand, “—I expect to be impressed.”

And then he was gone, the air collapsing in on itself with a sound like thunder swallowed by the earth.

Ellana lay where she was, trembling, the cold seeping into her bones.

Her fingers twitched. Tiny sparks leapt between them before dying out, fading to nothing.

She couldn’t get enough air down. Her whole body felt numb, her power retreated so far from her grip that she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to change into the wolf anymore.

She hoped, prayed, it would come back, but for right now, her fear kept her rooted to the spot, curled into a tight ball against that great oak tree.

It seemed wrong that he should just appear and then vanish as he had. But in reality, she understood.

He had made his point, there was no further reason to remain.

This wasn’t about her power, not really. Nor was it about the joy he took in hurting her. It was about Mythal and Solas. It was about the jealousy coiling like a snake inside of him. If she listened close, she could hear the rattle of it.

But if this was truly about jealousy, about getting back at Mythal, then Ellana knew it wouldn’t end with just this. It wouldn’t be over with a lingering glance or touch. The idea filled her with a dread so deep, she felt paralyzed by it.

For a long time, Ellana couldn’t move. She listened to the forest as it slowly shook off the evil that had infected the clearing. Insects once again took up their song, owls hooted in the distance, and the leaves softly sighed in the wind. But Ellana could barely hear them over the sound of her heartbeat.

She did not want to be owned.

The word itself sickened her, clawed through the fragile seams of her being. She had not wanted a body to begin with.

She supposed it wasn’t very much different from being bound as a spirit to some purpose opposed to its will. Corruption took root, but in a complex being, one that had already taken on a physical form, the corruption was complex as well, it just had another name.

Trauma, her mind supplied. A concept she barely understood. She had undergone something terrible, and her mind was trying to understand what her spirit could not.

Crying was a new sensation, So were the raw, unbearable emotions that accompanied it. She curled in on herself, sobbing quietly into the dirt. Each breath stung, each hiccup scraped out of her raw throat. The pain lingered too from what he had done to her, the searing agony still running deep. Her magic was gone, and each time she reached for it she felt that pain again.

You will bend to mine.

Was this what it meant to be elvhen? And what would he have done to her if her magic hadn’t lashed out?

To take a form only to become someone else’s possession? And if her magic hadn’t lashed out, if it hadn’t burned him, what then?

She thought back to that first day, when he had looked at her with that same fierce hunger. She hadn’t understood it then. Now she did. It was claiming. He had shown her why he was First among the Firstborn, why others knelt. Power was its own divinity to him. He did not want equals; he wanted worship.

He had said once that he would be a god when the war was won.

A god would never relinquish power. And if he became that, there would be no hope.

Helplessness. She hated that word, hated the way it tasted. Yet now it consumed her.

Eventually, she forced herself to face what she already knew. He had offered her a seat at his table, with a knife pointed at her throat. Accept, or bleed. Obey, or die. And so she would play his game, for now. There was nothing else she could do.

She hated the thought, but she could not deny it.

He had just told her how powerful she could be—then shown her exactly how small she was beside him.

Her mana felt raw inside of her, her legs wobbling precariously as she attempted to stand only to fall back down. The dress she’d chosen was all white. Now, that dress was ripped and covered in dirt. Spirits pulsed nearby, drawn by her emotions, but she shut them all out, using the last dregs of her power to rebuild her mental shields. She was still cowering in that hollow in the dirt when a spirit of compassion approached her.

The tendrils of its nervous system reached out to her. Let me help, it whispered. Your pain hurts.

She would not be the reason a spirit was corrupted. Not because of this, because of her.

It was not about you, it whispered. It was not your fault.

She shook her head, her heartbeat becoming frantic. She needed to bathe the dirt from her skin, to remove the stain Elgar’nan had left inside of her, but there was dirt beneath her fingernails and her dress was torn and the filth may never be wiped clean.

Ellana touched at her neck, realizing it was swollen and hot to the touch. How bad did it look? She hadn’t been able to breathe for several seconds when the General’s hands had been around her throat. The possessiveness in his touch, the gleam in his eye, haunted her.

Solas has bent to her will . . . You will bend to mine. The general’s words ghosted the shell of her ear, like his breath still coiled around her. Ellana gulped down air, her chest aching horribly. She couldn’t seem to slow her heartbeat, stop her shaking limbs, or force the tears to dry up. She’d seen frightened animals from the Fade. A scared fox pup, separated from its mother came to mind. She felt like that, paralyzed by what had happened.

“I don’t want to be owned,” she whispered.

The spirit curled around her, it’s tendrils bright in the moonlit forest around them. She felt warmth around her, easing the tension in her muscles. Compassion eased her mind, pulling her from the darkest thoughts as it whispered, You are not a thing, Ellana. People cannot own people.

“They can here. Elvhenan is not what the Fade was.”

It will be well. Your Heart is waiting in the Palace.

Before she could process the information, a twig snapped nearby.

She started, her entire body freezing. She turned wide eyes up, searching for the source of the sound. He’d come back, he was going to do worse, he was going to dig inside of her until, until they were one, and she would never be clean again—

She saw a shape moving through the trees, and a moment later she saw a wolf peering at her. Its fur was a deep crimson, and she recognized it as one of the animals she’d seen taking down the elk the other night. It blinked slowly at her, head tilted as though trying to understand. For a long moment, the two merely stared at one another. Compassion whispered into her mind, it is curious.

Instead of thinking about the way Elgar’nan’s dark hair had flared forward, sticking against her skin, she focused on the way the wind rustled the crimson wolf’s fur. Instead of considering the heat of him pushing against her, she thought of the way the animal’s tail wagged, just slightly, as its paws danced on the ground.

The wolf scented the air, its nose flaring. It licked its lips, blinking slowly, before turning and wandering off into the brush.

The experience was enough to calm her, to give her something different to focus on.

By the time the wolf had gone, Ellana felt her mana beginning to stir again in her blood. She nodded at Compassion as the spirit twirled up. The hurt is less now, I am glad!

Ellana changed into the body of her silver wolf, thanking the spirit, and then making her way carefully back to the palace. Each step felt heavy, her muscles twitching every time she heard so much as a twig snapping around her. In the body of the wolf, however, she could scent the air. She knew Elgar’nan was long since gone.

She made her way through the gate, past the fountains in the main courtyard and through the garden. She stopped briefly beside the balcony where she had seen Solas the night before. The note she had left him was gone, indicating he’d seen it. But he hadn’t gone to the woods, and she scent of him was faded. He’d said he didn’t have time, perhaps Mythal had swept him into some other obligation.

She moved on, finding her way to the corridor she’d ambled through a thousand times before—

Ellana froze in the archway.

For a long, unbearable heartbeat, she thought her mind had finally broken. The sight before her didn’t fit in the world she’d just staggered through. The agony still burned in her ribs, her magic was little more than a whisper, and yet there they were.

Solas.

And Mythal.

He had the general pressed against the wall, his body angled into hers, one hand splayed against the marble beside her head while the other gripped her thigh, keeping her there. Mythal’s lips moved against his with deliberate slowness, her fingers threaded through his hair, and the sound of their breathing filled the corridor.

Ellana’s breath caught and held. The world seemed to narrow until all she could see was that single, frozen image: the wolf she loved bent in worship before the woman who owned him.

Mythal chose Solas as her champion six hundred years ago.

Elgar’nan’s words came back to her, haunting in their clarity. Solas is hers. He has never left her side for long.

She couldn’t breathe.

Ellana watched them, feeling a cold numbness settle over her. The world seemed to tilt beneath Ellana’s feet. Her lungs refused to draw breath. Every heartbeat felt like the dull thud of something breaking deep inside her chest.

She stood motionless, staring, the air around her heavy with the scent of them. Mythal’s back pressed to the wall, her leg hooked high against Solas’s hip, his hands moving over her as though her body were something sacred. Their mouths met and parted again, the sound of it echoing off the marble.

Ellana’s stomach twisted. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

He had told her he had no time.

A cold numbness crept through her, dulling the ache in her ribs, the pain in her bruised throat, everything that had come before. Her mind flickered through the what-ifs like broken glass:

If he’d met her in the woods, would Elgar’nan still have struck?

Would Solas have stopped him?

Or would he have only watched, the obedient champion of his goddess, allowing her to be broken in service of a greater plan?

The thought hollowed her out.

That undeniable pull, the thread that tied her heart to his, still tugged faintly in her chest, but now it burned. The connection that once steadied her was poison.

He is not yours, her reason whispered. He never was.

Beyond a few glances, a shared silence, the photo, the sketch, the wisps… there had been nothing. No promises. No truth between them. And yet, the sight of him with Mythal tore through her as though he’d reached into her chest and wrenched the spirit from her body.

Mythal’s laughter was soft, rich, knowing. “Touch me, Solas.”

And he did. Instantly, without hesitation. His hands slid over her hips, her waist, down the curve of her body. Mythal’s purr vibrated through the still air, a sound of possession, of victory.

Something inside Ellana shattered. Her wolf form broke with it, the magic collapsing inward. She stumbled forward as the change consumed her, fur melting to skin, the silver fading from her limbs until she stood bare and trembling in the hallway, the raw scent of magic and sweat all around her.

Solas stilled, tearing himself from Mythal’s grasp. His breathing came fast, shallow, but when he turned toward Ellana. But when his eyes found hers—there was nothing there. No recognition. No remorse. Only a terrible, distant calm.

And the horrible thing was, she recognized that expression. It was the same emptiness she had felt when Elgar’nan had called her his.

Her heart clenched painfully. She wanted to speak, to ask why, to demand some fragment of honesty, but the words wouldn’t come.

It struck her then how foolish she had been.

A spirit learning what it meant to feel, she had mistaken kindness for affection, curiosity for connection, and hunger for love. She had been so desperate for warmth that she had chased the first spark that burned her way.

He had not deceived her. Not truly. She had deceived herself.

Ellana’s lips parted, but all that came out was a ragged breath. The corridor seemed to shrink around her, its gilded walls pressing in, choking the air from her lungs.

She swallowed, and watched his gaze dart down to her neck, then down her body, noting the dirt, the ragged tears in her dress.

“She won’t say anything. Ignore her,” Mythal said breathlessly. “Kiss me now, Pride.”

For a moment Ellana thought she saw pain in his gaze, a raw horror at the marks on her. But then Mythal grabbed his chin, pulling him back to her waiting lips.

Ellana turned away, swallowing the sound that wanted to escape her throat.

She did not cry this time. She couldn’t. The tears had been burned out of her.

She simply walked.