#merith

“Is this true, Zeal?” Elgar’nan asks, a halo of fire growing in size atop his head. Zeal pants, his hair and large swaths of skin have been burned from him - and not entirely from Elgar’nan either. Asha’thylgar’s keeper had torn through the camp with her flames and magic. Certainty now bore his own scar down his back from the fire. No matter, the scar will fuel him just as his Lord’s desire for Asha’thylgar.

“Certainty failed to express the seriousness of the solution -

“Enough of these excuses! Both of you FAILED! SPECTACULARLY!” Elgar’nan booms, rising from his throne. Falon’din remains on his, watching, blue eyes darting from Zeal to Certainty. His facade wavers for just a moment, giving Certainty a glimpse of the horror of his burned face.

Even with the burns, Certainty’s lord is more beautiful than any other person to have ever existed.

“My Lord,” Certainty says, falling to his knees in abject prostration, “It is my every privilege and love of life to serve you. Beat me, break me, and I will come back stronger and more dedicated to you than before. I will bring Asha’thylgar to you, I swear it with my very blood.” He trails a sharpened claw over his palm so that blood flows, binding him to his vow.

With extreme grace, Lord Falon’din rises from his repose.

“It is so difficult to find loyalty like yours, Certainty.” He runs a finger down Certainty’s face before raising his hand, pressing the finger into the blood. Certainty gasps but does not grimace at the pain. Relish in it, it is what the Lord wishes.

“Is what you say true? Is the failure to secure Asha’thylgar due to Zeal?” A heavy question and one that Certainty answers with ease.

“Yes.”

Falon’din straightens and turns to Zeal. His hand reaches out and secures around Zeal’s neck.

“FALON’DIN!” Elgar’nan shouts.

“I AM OWED!” Falon’din roars back as the life is pulled out of Zeal. Falon’din inhales as if he is breathing in Zeal’s life force. Perhaps he is, Certainty doesn’t know. What he does know is that Falon’din has granted him another chance.

And he will make the most of it. Asha’thylgar can elude him for only so long.

**

When Ash was a little girl, before her magic manifested, her and Mama had to cross the Frostback mountains into Ferelden. She doesn’t remember much from the trip other than it was bitterly cold. She clung to Mama the entire time inside of her cloak. She whined and cried about the cold. It felt like it was invading her body and there was nothing she could do. Inescapably cold.

On her seventeenth birthday, a volcano erupted from the magical torsion in the Fade that now merged fully with the waking world. The ash and soot shot up from the eruption blocked the sun. The next month was spent freezing and cut off from the main source of heat. She huddled with Uthvir, trying to stay warm. The cold only abated when the sky was set aflame and the end of the world was further hastened.

Ash has experienced cold. She knows it causes deep issues within her, even with her fire. Perhaps it is because of her fire that the cold affects her so much. She has experienced cold, and yet this chill is unlike all of the cold that has touched her.

This cold slips inside of her spine, wraps a hand around it as a voice whispers unknowable words in her ear. She feels the cold spread into her body, chasing the heat that normally courses through her body. Mamae shifts in discomfort while Ash grimaces in pain.

“Da’len?” Mamae asks and Ash waves her off. She is no stranger to pain.

“I don’t handle the cold well,” she says softly,  “I’ll be fine.” Just as she says that, Nimronyn opens her mouth and golden fire spills out, blowing back due to their momentum. It curves over the barrier, chasing away the invading chill. Ash feels a hiss and pop where the cold had been leaching into her body. It slithers away, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of Memae’s fire.

Ash inhales and exhales a directed flame towards Memae in gratitude. The small blue flicker travels up and circles around Memae’s antlers before dissipating along her scales. She rumbles in affectionate acknowledgement that makes Ash smile briefly before turning her attention to the pulsating black mass of sucking energy. It pulls at Ash and a deep seated worry takes root.

Demons, Nanae once said, are corrupted spirits. They corrupt for a number of reasons, each one unique to that demon. Most corruptions are situational and dependent upon what the spirit embodied - a spirit of wisdom can turn to pride if its knowledge is never questioned, or if it remains in isolation, or perhaps if it decides that it can fix the world. They were fond of that analogy. Looking back, Ash understands why.

But this mass of negative energy is unlike anything she has ever encountered. Besides its massive size, the demon feels different. It should have been a Keeper, which...what could have happened to this spirit that was on the brink of turning into an immensely powerful being like a Keeper to turn it into...this? The idea terrifies her, but she also feels for it too. It must have been so horrible and traumatic to do this. As much as she fears the great beast before her, she can’t help but feel for it as well. A part of her recognizes that she could have easily been this - terrible and dark and lashing out in pain due to her trauma. It’s only because her adoptive mothers found her that she was able to work past it, to grow from her ashes instead of continuing to burn.

“Lock into formation to bolster the barrier!” A shout from another aravel interrupts Ash’s thoughts, making her realize they are about to breach the living darkness. It’s strange, for something so dangerous, it seems...so inviting.

Ash brings her spear forward, holding onto it so that her thumbs run over specific runes for barrier creation. She forces her magic into the spear then out to join the many others also lending their strength for the barrier. Their combined magic sets into a lattice pattern over the existing barrier, reinforcing it just as they breach the darkness.

It is not like nightfall, there is no gradual loss of light. It is a sudden, all encompassing void that leaves Ash temporarily blind as her eyes adjust.

Chanting reaches her ears then several small lights materialize inside the barrier around the aravels. Those not lending their strength to the barrier are lighting the way, she realizes, or at least keeping a light so that everyone can see what is happening.

What Ash first saw as one giant entity becomes clearer as really a mass of negative energy and spirits, colliding and separating in chaotic fashion. Their forms split then reform, and they scream as they hurtle through space so fast they nearly shatter. Several of the spirits, lesser demons, she recognizes as Rage and Despair, careen towards the barrier at breakneck speeds. They do not slow and shatter themselves upon the barrier.

“What is this?” Ash asks in disbelieving horror.

“Keepers cannot corrupt once they are corporeal, but they can corrupt still as spirits. It’s a delicate time. When what was corrupted into Desolation, it created a nexus of negative magical energies - spirits that came into contact with it are twisted and trapped. Turned into unwilling demons that further feed Desolation’s own power.” Sylmae’s voice is low and harsh but it does not escape Ash’s notice that there is concern there. She doesn’t imagine it is for Desolation per se, but more for Nimronyn.

Ash’s brow furrows. Spirits can be such delicate things with their natures. A tip in the wrong direction and they can corrupt or even shatter. Those that become Keepers are old and strong, true, but that fear of corruption...it stays, doesn’t it? Does Mamae fear Memae will corrupt still with all the fighting?

Worse, could it happen? Is that what the madness is? The Keepers corrupting as they go against their natures?

Unwilling to continue this line of thinking, Ash directs her attention to the swirling mass of demons. More shatter upon impact of the barrier as they continue to fly in deeper. While the barrier keeps the lesser demons out, she can hear them. Screaming spirits who assume misshapen faces that press against the barrier before they crack and shatter, begging for help. Poor, lost spirits sucked into Desolation’s pit.

Ash hazards a glance up and nearly loses formation with the barrier. While the barrier is keeping all the aravels and those within it safe, the Keepers are left exposed. The demons crash into Memae, screaming and clawing at her. Fire flies across her scales, chasing them off but only more replace those that fall off or shatter. She shakes her head, the talismans hanging from her antlers jerking around as she somehow continues her steady flight.

“Mamae!” Ash cries but Sylmae is already gone, leaping onto aravels and scaling them so she can get to Memae.

“Hold your position!” She shouts down to Ash as she climbs, one hand propelling her upwards while the other holds tightly to her weapon. Ash takes a deep breath and locks herself back into position, pushing more energy into the barrier. Her fire skitters across the lattice work, shattering several more lesser demons. She glances up to see Mamae leaping into the air and breaching the barrier to grab hold of Memae’s foot. Ash keeps herself from hollering in victory as Sylmae begins to swing demons and spirits off of Memae. She clambers up onto Memae’s back properly and the hammer begins to swing in full arcs, felling multiple demons with each swing.

The barrier rocks and Ash nearly stumbles, her gaze going down as she rights herself. Merith is fairing no better than Memae, worse actually. A cloud of green tinged air surrounds him that Ash recognizes as poison but poison does so little to those without bodies. Ash is about to call for someone to help him when a flash of black of fire barrels past her only to land on the aravel below hers.

Melarue. They are shrouded in a black flame as they leap from aravel to aravel, weapon raised high. It is a spear-like thing, their weapon, with a wicked blade attached resembles the end of a sword at one end. They launch themselves down to Merith and disappear into a sea of black.

Fear pulses through Ash. Has she lost them again? Only having just found them? They have not reconciled or -

There! She seems them! An incredibly fast figure battling the dark back with their own black fire. It wraps around the demons, yanking them from Merith and tossing them into the barrier. Their weapon glints by the light provided by the barrier as they carve into the demons. They are fast and meticulous as they clean Merith of the clawing fiends.

Reassured, Ash returns her focus to the barrier. It is becoming more difficult to maintain as more and more demons throw themselves against it. Each hit drains it just a bit more. How long can they keep this up? There is no end in sight of this horrid place, and if anything, it is getting worse.

The demons stop shattering upon impact and instead begin to wail upon the barrier, ghostly talons and fangs and wings ripping into it. She funnels another burst of fire into it, but it does little to stem the tide. Few demons die from it, none shatter.

“We need more power!” She shouts over the roars of the Keepers and the screams of the demons.

“From where?!” Henne’thel shouts back to her from her central aravel.

From where, indeed. She racks her brain, thinking…

“Blood!”

“Are you insane! The demons draw power from that!” Henne’thel shouts, clearly straining as she carriers the bulk of the barrier.

“So can we! If you can hold it, I can send out a pulse of fire to get us through!”

“Are you sure!”

“Yes!”

“Then fucking do it!” Henne’thel screams.

“Letting the barrier go,” Ash yells before she steps back. Immediately the weight shifts off her and Henne’thel groans loudly, a draconic sound as she takes on more of the barrier. Only for a moment, Ash reminds herself, grabbing the knife from her belt.

Taking a deep breath, Ash slices her palm and begins to recite a spell her nanae taught her.

“I didn’t know you had fire!”

“It’s a Fade Fire, da’len, now pay attention.”

She harnesses the memory and the spell inside of her. The power concentrates in her palm, a hot white sphere she guides to her spear. Carefully, she eases the spear forward just so that the tip reaches outside of the barrier.

Using all the force inside her body, she forces that sphere of power out through her spear.

It explodes from her and the spear into the inky air. A blazing white supernova tinged red with her blood. Magic shots from her and blazes through the demons in an arc surrounding barrier. It A great pulse of fiery magic that sends the demons up in smoke or flying from them in terror.

Drained and needing to catch her breath, Ash stumbles back, her spear retreating from the outside.

“Good, Ash! Now back in formation!” Henne’thel calls. Right, she has to help. With a groan and a set determination that is not so easily overwhelmed, Ash rises to her feet and resumes the position. Her magic joins the others to hold the barrier together. The shift is painful but quick, locking her into the system again.

A glance down shows that her burst of fire helped Melarue as well. They need only shove off the remains of demons from Merith’s hide. There are wounds all over Merith’s body that they quickly set to bandaging. A glance upward reveals a similar scene for Memae, but she seems to be in a better position overall. There is less blood sliding down her sides and there are no large wounds. Relief courses through Ash. They will survive this, this is only the trial before the promised land - quite literally.

The journey to Skyhold had been fraught as well. Haven had never been a secure location, which had only been exploited by the Red Templars lead by a mad, Blighted Corypheus who knew far more than they ever gave him credit for. She had nearly lost her mama that day to the avalanche she caused. Nanae had to carry her, screaming and crying to not leave Mama behind, away from the battle.

It was over a week before he had taken them to Skyhold, and even longer clearing the rubble to make it somewhat livable. For all its faults, Skyhold had been amazing. It was big enough for an army and defensible. In the end, it fell because he knew it so well.

This land they are traveling to is unknown to their enemies. It is far, far from the empire and from anyone that would interfere with their growth and resistance. It may not be entirely true, but when all you have is hope, you have to hope hard to get through the worst of it. Right now, speeding through a maelstrom of demons with only a barrier maintained by a couple dozen people, she needs all the hope she can get.

A great quake shakes Ash from her thoughts and pulls her attention to her surroundings once more. The darkness around them opens up, keening as it is pulled into a singular nexus below them.

“She’s here!” Henne’thel yells and Ash knows - they approach Desolation.

Another quake rocks the barrier and the Keepers grumble with discontent and worry. The shadows move, twining up over the barrier - long tentacles curving over the sphere. Magical weight presses against Ash, making her grunt at the strain. She’s pulling them down, Ash realizes. Or at least she is attempting to pull them. Memae hisses and her wings snap more quickly. All at once, fire chases the shadowy tendrils, snapping much of their hold. Nimronyn roars once more and begins to ascend. Merith issues a replying roar and follows Nimronyn. The aravels rock at the sudden direction shift, but Ash and the others hold fast, maintaining the barrier.

They fly high, up, up to escape the reaching tentacles when a roar shakes the world around them and a great mass smashes into the barrier. Unable to withstand the sudden onslaught, the barrier shatters.

**

When Fear saw an opportunity to escape Certainty and his lackeys, it took it. The night Asha’thylgar attacked, its cage was damaged, allowing it to shrink into the tiniest form it could then scurry away in frantic escape. It ran even as it knew that the chances for capture were high. It ran and ran and flew so much and so fast that it wasn’t until days later that it realized that no one had come after it.

It had stopped, looked around - no one was pursuing it.

Fear was...free?

Unsure of what to do with this newfound freedom, Fear continued to fly. To put more distance between it and the empire, just to be safe. It could be wrong, after all, they could be pursuing it and just biding their time. Fear wasn’t going to risk it.

It flew and flew until it felt her. As soon as it felt her, it tried to turn in the other direction, but like a fish caught in a whirlpool, struggle was futile. Little Fear was sent into the mass of Desolation. It was all it could do to keep from the other demons caught in her storm. It was flung through the air, ricocheting off of spikes in power and abnormalities in the Dreaming. It tried to escape, over and over again, to no avail. The pull was too strong.

Soon, it found itself being pulled into the nexus, spiraling down...down…

**

Chaos erupts with the shattered barrier. The once carefully held aravels go spinning, their magicks no longer tethered to each other. Ash’s aravel spins and careens downwards, a shadowy tendril shooting up and grasping her aravel.

“No!” She shouts, stabbing her spear into the tentacle and sending forth her fire. It screams and sizzles but holds fast.

“Fuck off!” She summons a white hot whip of fire and slams it into the tendril. It screeches and blessedly releases its hold. Before Ash can set to righting the aravel, three more tendrils shoot up. They seize the aravel and begin to tear it to shreds in its anger. Ash springs into action, summoning as much fire as she dares to fight the tendrils. But as she fights, she cannot right the quickly descending aravel. And if she rights the aravel, it gets torn apart. It very well may be torn apart anyways.

A roar of draconic pain catches her ear before she can decide anything. Her head automatically snaps up to see shadowed tentacles wrapping around Merith’s body, pulling him down. Melarue stands upon him, slashing and burning the tentacles but there are too many, Merith is too grand of a target -

Decided, Ash backs up to the hull of the aravel and angles her spear downward. Focusing on the Dreaming and the will to go, she sets the spear ablaze. The thrust is immediate and the aravel speeds through the air, wrenching itself free of the tendrils. The sail is shredded and the cabin has been opened to the world but she is ascending and it’s holding, that’s all that matters.

She directs the aravel close to a thick tentacle then whips her spear around while continuing the strong blaze of fire. It slams into the tentacle and she forces the fire down it, severing it and its hold on Merith. One down. She looks for and finds another tentacle, wrapped around Merith’s back leg. Melarue is fighting one that keeps trying to secure his neck -

Ash goes for the one on the leg, quickly attacking and severing it so she can take aim for the other tentacle. She sends a blast of fire farther down the tentacle, severing it. Melarue untangles it from Merith’s neck, then runs along his back to hack at more of the tendrils now trying to widen his wounds.

“For fuck’s sake,” Ash groans, casting fire as close to Merith as she dares. Her aravel rocks and starts to descend once more. Shit. She can’t keep the aravel up and fight the damned tentacles at the same time.

Somehow sensing her conflict, Melarue turns from their task for the briefest moment, “Let it go! Get up here!” They shout. Shit. Ash backs up only to run and leap across the space between the aravel and Merith.

For a brief moment, she feels the pull of gravity and wonders if she won’t make it - only to collide with Merith’s paw. Holding fat, Ash clambers up to his back to aid Melarue in ridding the Keeper of his assailants. She sweeps her spear down across his flank, slicing into a tentacle. It begins to writhe so she sets it aflame. Black fire joins hers for a moment then redirects to another tentacle, engulfing it.

Black and blue flames dance over Merith’s scales, and together they manage to push the tentacles far enough off to allow him to fly upward to rejoin the others. Ash doesn’t dare look up to see what is going on, lest she be distracted from the task at hand, but she hears another dragon’s roar and knows that Henne’thel must have taken on her draconic shape.

Ash and Melarue are on their knees as Merith’s ascends, looking for some stability even as they sweep their weapons down and out to the still reaching tentacles. They’re back to back, fighting, not unlike how she always pictured her nanae and mama fighting together - closing rifts and dispatching Red Templars.

A tentacle whips out and smacks Melarue hard enough to send them sprawling. They grunt and slide down Merith’s hide.

“No!” Ash shouts and lunges, stretching herself so that she straddles Merith’s spine as she reaches for and grabs Melarue’s hand. She grimaces at the stretch, but she has them, she’s not losing them. “Climb up me, I can’t pull you up!” She grinds out and they set to pulling themselves back to Merith’s steady back over Ash’s body. They pull and tug but it’s over quickly as they settle themselves back onto Merith.

“Thank you,” they breathe. She nods, still regaining her breath and trying not to pay too much attention to the aching stretch in her side and groin. She reaches out and touches their arm in acknowledgement.

The tentacles amazingly recede into the darkness below, allowing Merith to fly even faster. They’re so close to rejoining the others, and with the tentacles gone, Ash looks up.

Nimronyn and Henne’thel have managed to gather most of the aravels back between them, a new haphazard barrier surrounding them all. Sylmae is still astride Nimronyn, fighting off tentacles herself. Daern’thal of all people sits atop Henne’thel, but instead of fighting the tentacles, he seems to be casting what looks to be wide nets to pull in stray aravels.

She rests a hand on Merith, feeling his pain and determination to reach the rest of the clans. They just need to get through this and then he can rest. She suspects the other Keepers will need to rest as well.

Ash is contemplating how much farther they have to go to escape Desolation when she feels it. A great magical pull that snaps her attention to in front of Merith’s head. The biggest tentacle yet shoots up from the dark, larger than any of the Keepers and arcs down, too fast for Merith to dodge -

The tentacle slams into Merith. Ash is thrown violently from his back and she screams, unable to hold onto her spear. She flies through the air, accelerating downward into the darkness while Merith roars and Melarue yells. Everything is moving so fast, it’s hard to keep track of where she is and where the others are -

A wing clips her, redirecting her right into Melarue.

She smashes into them with a broken scream. The base of her right horn collides right into their face and she feels more than hears the snap of their nose breaking. They clutch at each other, trying to hold onto something sturdy even as they plummet.

“Stop! Stop!” Ash cries, moving her grasp to their hands. “Force fire out of your feet!” She screams, their position shifting until they are falling belly first. Dammit, wrong position. Ash tries to reangle herself so that they’re falling feet-first. Her and Melarue both strain for the feat, and once in that position - fire!

They don’t stop plummeting right away, the fire while being forced down, comes up around them in a swirling mass of black and blue. Purple eyes meet bright silver ones and for a moment, she feels so close to death’s doorstep she swears she is finally going to cross over. She could curse it. How long has she thrown herself carelessly towards death? How often has she come so close, waiting to be reunited with her family, only to live? And now that she wants to live, she dies?

The universe can fucking suck it, she decides, and forces more power out of herself until there is nothing left. The fire burns brighter and brighter until it is no longer black and blue but black and white that surrounds them - and then it doesn’t surround them, but propels them up!

Melarue smiles and even with the blood running down their face, they look so much like her nanae in that moment it makes her heart ache and spurr her to continue the flame. She, they, can do this. Together.

“Not sssooo fasssssst!” A thunderous voice echoes around them. All light save for her white flames flash out, leaving them in the dark. In a breath, what feels like a great hand seizes Melarue and Ash and forces them down. Ash’s concentration breaks and her fire goes out. They fall, fall -

Stop.

The sudden cease of falling jars them, jerking them back until it is like they are on their knees on the ground, looking up -

To the face of a monster.

Her glowing orange eyes are the size of aravels, peering down at them in hated curiosity. Shades and other demons trapped from her nexus make up the rest of her “face”, writhing and opening their own eyes to gaze upon Ash and Melarue. In hope? In fear?

“You daaaare enter my realm!”

“We mean only to pass through,” Melarue says.

“Ssssilenccce!” Desolation booms. “You will not take them from me! They are MINE!” A shade detaches itself from Desolation’s face and launches itself at Melarue, claws extended. She can see them struggle and know from her own immobility they cannot move -

“Stop! Please! It...It was my idea to come through here!” She shouts and the Shade stops just short of Melarue before turning its attention to her, its eyes burning orange. It slinks toward her, growling low.

“Ashokara!”

“Shut up!” She hisses back to Melarue even as they glower and fight against their restraints.

“Whyyy?” Desolation hisses, “You can’t have them!”

“You were going to be Keeper, right? You weren’t always like this,” Ash says, “when I heard that, I thought how could someone so great fall so far? What happened to you? Who, what hurt you?”

“Ssshut up!” She screams.

Ash continues, “You lost them, didn’t you? They were taken from you, the people you were meant to Keep. They were taken from you!”

“ENOUGH!” Desolation quakes with power and the Shade leaps forward, wrapping its claws around Ash’s throat. She gasps and feels its darkness slip into her mind.

“You’re all mine, now! Mine!” She wants Ash’s memories? She can have them!

Ash opens her mind like a book and remembers her world, burning and dying all around her. She remembers running from a collapsing Skyhold, an explosion taking her mama and then her nanae. She remembers having to let Aili go to plummet to her death. She remembers Uthvir’s shout for her to run as they twisted themselves into a more monstrous version of themselves. She remembers how the corruption overwhelmed even them. She lets Desolation see and feel it all.

“WHAT IS THISSSSSS?” Desolation wails. It’s only when Ash opens her eyes does she realize she had closed them. To her amazed horror, her memories play in the clouds of darkness around her. Not just the world burning though, but precious memories of Nanae tucking her into bed, reading to her. Mama singing to her as they walked along a flowering path in Orlais. Uthvir showing her how to properly hold a spear and stealing apple cakes from the kitchens with Aili. Krem giving her a soft dragon plush that has purple eyes just like hers. Dorian reading magical texts aloud to her because she always struggled with the words.

Mama and Nanae coming home and sweeping her into a hug, telling her they love her.

Love and heartbreak paint each memory and Desolation seems...enthralled by them.

“I lost them all too,” Ash says quietly, “because someone thought they knew how to fix the world and destroyed it instead. I lost...everyone I loved. I wanted to die for a long time, to see them again.” Desolation shifts so that her face is mere inches from Ash’s.

“Why didn’t you?” The question is softer than the screams from before and asked so...earnestly. It makes Ash’s heart hurt - this creature is not so different from her, is she?

“Some amazing people showed me it’s possible to love again. I still love all of them, and I love new people - as long as I am alive...I can love, and I can grow. And so can you.”

Desolation...blinks and the orange gives way to a soft blue. The demons still. One falls off, then another, and another. Or they’re released, Ash doesn’t know, all she knows is that Desolation isn’t what she seems. All this pain, all this rage - she is the product of what something did to her and she survived the only way she knew how.

“Who were you?” Ash asks, “what happened to you?”

Instead of replying, new memories begin to play around them. A beautiful, verdant field stretches out before them and in it rests a clan with a truly radiant Keeper. Their scales are an iridescent shade of green and instead of horns, two large frills crown their head and run the entire length of their serpentine body. She knows somehow that they were Patience, a softer spirit that took the form of a Keeper many, many years ago. She sees another spirit, a beautiful blue spirit of...Love. And Love loved the clan so much, she loved this Keeper too. As time stretched on, she grew more powerful and Patience waited for her while she gained enough power to become a Keeper herself. A clan with two Keepers - it was always the goal, and they were so close.

The memories swirl and rage and despair taint the images. A foreign force with no Keeper arrived, two elves astride harts approached Patience. Elves Ash recognize as Mythal and Elgar’nan, though younger and not nearly as powerful as she knows them. They brought Patience to talks under the guise of peace and then...slaughtered them. When their people railed against this, they too were slaughtered.

Love...lost everything, lost their love, lost what tethered her to the world. She felt her power was immense and so she laid waste to the Empire’s camp, she burned it and with each soul she took, she corrupted further and further. She wanted to shatter, she wanted to break, but couldn’t. So she flung herself to this far corner of the Dreaming to wallow, corrupting further and further until she didn’t recognize herself.

“You will always love them, you will always be Love,” Ash says to her, “they will always remember you as Love.” Testing the boundaries, Ash attempts to move her arm and finds she can. With her limited mobility, she reaches up and touches Desolation’s face that is now just shadow with the demons having fled.

A corrupted spirit cannot revert back to what it was previously, but it can change into something new, something...different. Desolation closes its eyes for the last time...to open them as Hope. Ash smiles, tears rolling down her face. That is always the first step, isn’t it? Hoping to move forward.

The darkness slowly dissipates and Hope’s form shifts from shadows to a sheer dark blue. Her hands come up under Ash and Melarue and they rise.

Nimronyn is diving and flying as fast she can when Ash spies her. “Memae!” She calls and Forgiveness turns, holding Ash and Melarue out to the searching Keeper.

Memae turns just as fast as she can, her jaw opening to release fire -

“Memae, no! She’s different now!” Ash calls, waving for her to stop. Her mouth doesn’t close but it doesn’t open any more than it already is. She stops just short of colliding with Hope’s face. The two stare at each other while Mamae leans down and helps Ash and Melarue to Memae’s back.

“Come quickly. Vhenan, we need to go, Merith can’t hold it for long,” Mamae says in Nimronyn’s ear. Clearly not happy about it, Memae turns and flies back to the aravels.

Ash, feeling the exhaustion and relief in equal measures flow through her, turns to look back at Hope. She winks and mimes blowing a kiss, but when she blows, a great magical wind catches them all. Ash yips in surprise to find them flying through the Dreaming - her, Memae, the aravels, Henne’thel, Merith, everyone - until they are at the edge of where they were to exit Desolation’s realm.

Memae works her wings quickly to orient herself.

“What did you do?” Mamae asks bewildered, staring at Ash.

Before Ash can say anything, Melarue answers, “She helped the spirit, who just helped us, it seems.”

They then take a moment to look around them. The sky is a brilliant shade of indigo, the land below is catching the dying sunlight but there is enough for Ash to know where they are.

“Glittering wildflowers,” she murmurs.

The great Temple of Fate stood atop a hill overlooking the small city of Nevarra; still young, but quickly growing and full of promise.

The people of Nevarra brought tribute to the temple, in the hopes that Fate would smile upon them; animals for the slaughter, fresh incense, fine wines and rich, silken cloth…

...and beautiful children to serve the temple as acolytes.

Children of Fate, the people of Nevarra called them. But Melarue and the others called Fate by another name. To them, she was Mother Moonlight.

She only came to them at night, after the sun had set. She would smile and sing to them, and call them her precious children, and she was the most beautiful person Melarue had ever seen. Her skin was frigid to the touch but her smile was warm, and so was the magic that danced at her fingertips.

At night she would show them her magic, show how she sowed it into the very soil to help the people that worshiped her have strong crops. Or take them all down to the banks of the Minanter River and show them how she would calm the waters, or call fish to the boats.

“These people believe I am their god,” She would say, and laugh in a way that always made Melarue’s chest tighten. “It is as it should be. I must be what I must be.”

---

The children keep up the temple: they sweep, and wipe the dust from the polished altar pieces, and make sure there is always incense burning. Melarue’s favorite part is tending the large garden behind the temple. The other children like roaming the dark tunnels below where Mother rests during the day, but Melarue loves nothing more than the feeling of fresh soil beneath their bare feet and the sight of hydrangeas in the sunlight.

Anaris is the eldest of them, and comes of age when Melarue is still young. He is the first that Mother turns, made to be her childe in full, to live in the dark with her and join in the destiny she has crafted for them all. The night of his turning Melarue sits with the other children in the upper chambers, and waits.

Mother Moonlight comes just before dawn, and tells them that Anaris is well.

“You must wait to meet him, my darlings. He must learn to control his hunger now, as I do.”

It is several months before they see him again, at Mother’s side when she comes to visit them all. Though physically he looks much the same, there is a sharpness to him that accentuates his beauty. His skin and eyes seem to glow from within, and his usual teasing charm seems amplified.

A vampire’s charm, now.

One day I will be that beautiful. I will be Mother’s childe truly, and she will be so proud of me. Melarue looks into Anaris’ eyes and smiles to themself.

When Anaris leaves the upper chambers, a new acolyte is brought in. Thremael, so young he can barely walk, orphaned by war, the son of a refugees seeking safety in the city of Nevarra. He looks so small in Fate’s arms, held close as he sleeps.

Melarue and Merith braid his hair, and weave flowers into the thick strands, and feed him goat’s milk when he cries out with hunger.

Merith is Melarue’s best friend.

He is kind and bright, and so very unlike themselves. They are always noticing faults in others, even if they do not say them aloud. They are good at lying, at telling stories that the others always believe. They are good at hiding, and getting their way. The others says it isn’t fair that they can always ask Mother for things and she will make certain they get them, but it is just because the others don’t use the right words.

Merith tells them that lying isn’t a nice thing to do, and that they should try to tell the other children how they feel properly. That seems foolish, because if they told some of the others how they really felt about them, well, Melarue thinks they’d probably get angry.

Merith is the only one who never gets angry.

Melarue counts down the years till their turning as they grow older, and taller. They are told they are beautiful and when they look at themselves in one of Mother’s mirrors, they find that they agree. Vanity, it seems, is another of their faults.

Merith is the same age, but he never gets quite as tall as them. His hair is wild and unmanageable, and his face is plain. Melarue still finds his smiles warm, and his friendship a comfort. He is still their dearest friend, even if he is not as eager as themselves, to receive Mother’s blood.

“What will it be like, to never feel the sun again?” Merith whispers to them one evening. Mother and Anaris have gone out to hunt so there are no lessons that evening, and the others have all gone to sleep. Melarue inches forward in the darkness, and wraps their long arms around their friend.

“We will all be together with Mother, forever. That is better than sunlight, is it not?”

“What will you do without your flowers?” Merith continues.

It has been one of their worries, certainly. “Mother is all that matters,” They say at last, “The flowers will still be there, even if I cannot see them bloom.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Melarue holds him closer. “I am afraid of failing Mother.” It is the first honest thing they’ve said that evening, and they know that Merith knows it is so as well. He has always been so very good at seeing through their lies.

“I am not special, like you or Anaris or the younger ones.” Merith shakes his head, and his curls brush against their cheek. “What if I am not strong enough?”

“You will survive the turning,” Melarue vows, “You will survive because you must. Mother has chosen us, we will not fail her. She has never been wrong before.” Melarue knows that if either of them fail, it will be through a fault of their own, and not a decision Mother has made. Still, they think of the two they are the most deficient. If one of them were to fail, surely it would be them.

When Melarue and Merith turn twenty, Mother tells them they will undergo the turning at the next full moon. Melarue can barely contain their excitement, and even Merith seems pleased. They spend the next few weeks listening to Mother’s instructions, to Anaris’ descriptions of what will happen, and preparing their rooms down below where they will soon make their permanent home.

The night of their turning, Merith is taken below first. Melarue remains in the open chamber at the foot of the stairs, and listens to the sound of Merith’s screams. They can feel their heart beating wildly in their chest—out of fear for themselves or Merith they do not know. It is the last time they will ever feel their heart beat, they know, whether the turning is successful or not.

Finally, Anaris comes forward and gives them a smile, “Merith is well. Come with me.”

Some of the tension in them eases, at that. Merith succeeded! He is a true childe of Mother now, just as they will be. Please, they think, as they follow Anaris deeper into the lower chambers. Please let me succeed. Let me make Mother proud. Let me stay with my family.

Mother awaits them in the ceremonial room. It still smells of blood and Merith is nowhere to be found. They suspect that Mother has taken him to his rooms before letting Melarue inside. She opens her arms wide, and they walk into them without hesitation.

“My clever Melarue,” Fate sighs, “It is time.”

“I am ready,” Melarue answers, and they are not certain if it is a lie or not.

Fate lowers them gently to the cushions on the floor, her smile gentle and kind. Her eyes are bright, nearly glowing in the dim torchlight. They can feel the magic in the room, heavy, like a blanket being draped over them as Fate whispers words of bonding.

She uses her nail to slice along her wrist, tilts Melarue’s head back, and places it to their mouth. Mother’s blood is thick and sour, it burns as it trails down their throat. For a moment their mouth is full of the taste, and then everything goes white.

Pain lances through their body as their skin burns. They try to tear it away, but Mother is holding them close, whispering in their ear. They cannot hear her, can only think I have failed her. I have failed Mother. If I cannot do this, I am worthless.

They remember being alone, being small and without purpose. A world before Mother. They cannot go back to that. They can’t.

They blink, and look up at Mother’s beautiful face, and smile.

The hunger is...jarring. They do not fully remember their first feeding. Mother praises them, as they drain the body before them to the last drop, their stomach full, the blood so sweet they nearly weep.

“Clever, clever Melarue, you have done so well,” Fate pets their head, “You did not spill a single drop.”

Fate teaches them not to kill as well, teaches them how to feed and when, and who to choose from. Teaches them how to wipe the minds of those they leave alive. They find they are very, very good at it. They learn early on that they can alter those memories, turn them into other things that they wish. It earns them more praise, even as Fate tells them that even if they do not always kill, it is their right to do so.

Their ability to choose is what separates them from the other vampires, Fate tells them. Beasts that gorge themselves on human blood, who hide in caves and think that they can take what they will; base creatures that do not understand the higher calling of their immortality, of Fate’s plans.

“The mortals of this world pray to us for protection. We are their gods. It is our right to take what we must in return.”

That, they learn, is Fate’s true plan.

To become the God of all the mortals, to be worshiped forever. Is it her calling, she claims, and theirs as well. “My children will be gods at my side. The mortals needs us, just as we need them. We feed from them, and they do as we command, and we provide them with protection. It is nature’s way.”

Fate shows them what she has done with her magic, what she has used her thralls to make down below, where none of them have yet traveled; miles upon miles of tunnels and chambers below the surface. A city beneath a city.

“One day this will stretch across all lands,” Fate whispers, and Melarue can feel the certainty of her words in their bones.

“Why not find a way to block out the sunlight instead?” Thremael asks mother years later, after his own turning. “Surely that would be better. Let us walk outside without fear, instead of hiding beneath the ground.”

“And what would happen, if there was no sun?” Fate hums, weaving magic into a dark cloak.

“The mortals would die,” Merith answers for her. “They cannot survive without the sun. Their food would perish, and the air would be too cold.”

“And without their blood we’d die as well,” Anaris adds, sneering, “Come now Thremael, think for once.”

“Children,” Fate warns, even as she looks at them all fondly. “Do not fight among yourselves. It was a simple question, and Merith has provided a simple answer. Let this be the end of it.”

Melarue watches her siblings joke with one another, the moment of tension gone immediately, and looks back to the cloak in Fate’s hands. “What is that for, Mother?” They have not seen that type of magic before. They have been learning, over the few hundred years. Magic comes easily to them, and they have become more adept at it than even Anaris in this short time, a fact that they tell him often when he annoys them. They pick up the nuances very quickly, learn to manipulate and add, to twist what was seen. To trick and deceive. Mother says they are clever, they want to prove it true.

Fate holds the fabric up for Melarue’s inspection. “A minor protection, against the sun. It will not give more than half an hour’s worth of time, but it is enough, should you find yourselves in need.”

“Why would we have a need for it? We never leave the city,” Anaris sighs, curling up on the cushions beside Fate. There is a wistful tone to his voice; he does not like being so confined, even if there is an entire city to explore. He has always craved more; always the first to leave for a hunt in the evening and the last to return.

“I am sending you on a very important mission.” Fate responds, “War is upon the horizon. The people of Nevarra have asked for Fate’s aide, to turn the upcoming battle in their favor.”

It is not the first time they have been asked to help in times of war. They had even helped Mother sink enemy ships in the harbor with rough waves, once. Mother had needed to draw on the strength of all four of them for it, and it had left them all drained for weeks, but by the time the magically summoned storm had passed, not a ship had remained.

“The enemy army of Orlais is large, and has gathered on the edge of the Fields of Ghislain. The Emperor’s sons lead the force.”

“Their army is thousands strong.” Thremael shakes his head, “We cannot kill them all.”

“Kill the princes, and their top generals.” Fate orders. “You must fill the armies of Orlais with terror. You must show your power, so that when the bodies are found in the morning, Orlais will tremble in fear at the might of Nevarra.”

Merith swallows. Melarue catches the uneasy look in his eyes; aside from the night of his turning he has never killed a mortal he has fed upon. He does not enjoy killing, or the thirst they all have. Fate knows it as well, as she motions for him to sit on her other side, and gathers him close; even now they all seem so small in her arms. “I know it will be difficult, my childe, but this is your destiny. You are serving a higher purpose than yourself, and for that you must do things you do not wish to.”

Fate dismisses the others, so that she can continue to speak with Merith.

“Merith is going to get us all killed if he hesitates,” Thremael mutters, as the three walk down the hallway toward their rooms.

“Do not speak of Merith that way,” Melarue warns.

“You know it as well as I do. He does not believe in Mother’s plans. He thinks we should live as others of our kind do, and keep to ourselves rather than take the positions of greatness that Mother sees for us. He is weak.”

Melarue snarls, baring their fangs as they shove Thremael up against the wall. They are taller, but he is more muscular, and he quickly shoves them away with a growl of his own, eyes glowing in the darkness.

“It is a wonder he even survived the turn,” Thremael gives one last huff before storming off toward his rooms. Melarue watches him go, nails digging into the palms of their hands as they hold themselves back.

“He is not entirely wrong,” Anaris points out, after a moment of silence. He holds up his hands as they turn toward him with a glare, “I do not mean that Merith is weak. I just worry he will hesitate at the wrong moment, because he is too kind.”

“He would never disobey her.”

Anaris sighs, “Come into the city with me tonight. We should enjoy ourselves before tomorrow.”

---

Melarue enjoys themselves quite thoroughly, at Anaris’ prompting. They know being well-fed is important for the task at hand, and they drink a bit more from their targets than they would usually do so. They twist memories, plant fake ones, get inventive because they can and because a dozen different bloods are swimming in their system and their lips taste like fire.

Thremael joins them halfway through the night, and despite their earlier irritation with him they pull him close and into the pile of bodies twisting beneath them. Merith is absent, they note, but it is a fleeting thought before they return to the moment and the feeling of hands on their hips and between their legs.

It is a long night.

When the sun sets the next evening, Melarue takes the cloak Fate hands to them with reverence. It is a powerful magic, and for her to have made one for each of them...they can feel a bit of Merith’s magic in the weave as well, and feel a rush of fondness for their friend. He must have stayed with Mother to finish them the night before.

“Do as I have instructed, and we will finish this war before it reaches the walls of the city.”

Slipping across the bridge and through the forest is the easy part. The four of them are quick, as Anaris shifts shape and goes ahead, leaving the others to travel on foot. Even without wings they do not take long, immortal bodies moving without strain or need of rest at a pace no mortal could match.

The four pause on a hill overlooking the edge of the woods, and survey the scene before them. Little glimmers of torchlight move across the fringes of the army camp; sentries and guards, moving between rows and rows of tents that stretch as far as Melarue can see.

They remember the map Mother had shown them, with the locations of the princes and generals among the soldiers, they remember where they must go, to the far west of the camp, where the second prince lies sleeping.

They look to Anaris and Thremael, who nod and head into the shadows without a word, and look back at dear Merith. His expression is conflicted, eyes worried as he looks ahead. “They have not tried to harm us, Mel. Isn’t this too cruel?”

“The mortals that worship Mother will be harmed if we do not kill them.” Melarue points out, “And the Orlesians bring with them their worship of the Maker. They would tear down our temple if they overran the city. They would rape and pillage the people that come to us for protection.”

“I know,” Merith whispers. “I know.”

Melarue leaves him with a reassuring kiss to the forehead and goes where they must. They hear him move somewhere behind him, heading off to complete his own task, albeit reluctantly. 

It is not difficult to walk unseen, to deflect the gaze of guards, to silence their footsteps, to make their image hazy. They navigate through the tents until they arrive at their destination, and slip beneath the folds of the heavy fabric.

The room is dark, but they can smell smoke from the nearby candles, not long doused, and feel the warmth rising from the furs on the bed in the corner. The prince shifts, mumbling to himself as they walk forward.

He is not the first they have killed; but he is the first they will murder in cold blood. They know that Mother is right, and they do not hesitate, as their nails lengthen and they tear open his throat. His eyes open wide, full of panic and confusion as he chokes. His body surges forward but they pin him down, keep him quiet as the light fades from his eyes. Still, they do not think they will ever enjoy killing for the sake of killing.

They lick the blood from one nail and frown. It tastes no different than blood they have had before. There is nothing special about you, they think as they look down at the corpse. You may be a prince, but you are still just a man.

The next part they enjoy even less. They must make the Orlesians afraid, make them fear monsters in the shadows, make them think their God has forsaken them to the whims of demons.

They place his head upon the map in the center of the room, blood soaking through the vellum, crimson blossoming out from the center of Nevarra City and traveling outwards. The rest of him they pull apart and toss around the room. They leave his torso in bed, his limbs to the four corners, fill wine glasses with the blood that remains...and it is over so quickly they hardly register that they have done it.

Not so difficult, to take a life.

Two more they must take, before the night is through.

They kill the generals in a similar fashion, just as easy, but a tightness begins in their chest, a noxious twisting in their stomach. It may not be difficult, but it makes them feel wretched.

When they return to the hill they find Merith waiting for them, smelling of blood, eyes glossy and expression lost. He crumples into their arms and they let him sob as they wait for Thremael and Anaris.

The two arrive together, laughing over something, mouths crimson. Anaris catches their gaze and his smile fades a bit, but Thremael does not seem to notice as he walks forward, “Did your prince taste royal, Melarue? I thought I noticed a hint of rosewater with my own, though it could have been from the prostitute in his bed.”

“Enough,” Melarue mutters, both to Thremael and to Merith who still clings to them. “We must return before the sun rises. Even with Mother’s magic we will need to move quickly.”

“It isn’t like you to be so serious,” Thremael pouts, as the four head home.

---

When they return they learn that Mother has made the twins, Oranani and Felralan, true children in their absence. Welcoming their new family into the fold eases the tightness in their chest, and by the end of the week they have pushed it aside entirely. It was all Mother’s plan, and it works exactly as she had claimed. The Orlesians run, panicked, when they find their princes and generals slaughtered in the night.

Merith never forgets; the hollowness in his eyes never leaves him, no matter how comforting Melarue tries to be. They argue over it more than once, when Merith comes to their rooms to rest and seek solace, and asks them if they think it was right to do such a thing.

“It was Mother’s decision and we will obey it. Mother knows what she is doing. She has always known what we must do. Do not question her again,” Melarue whispers, holding him tight.

They know Mother would never hurt any of her children, but a part of them worries, deep down, that Merith would be in danger if someone else were to hear his doubts.

People continue to bring offerings to the Temple of Fate, as years go by.

New acolytes, as well.

The beautiful Geldauran, who Melarue can’t help be jealous of. His beauty outshines their own, they think, and he believes it as well. It takes a while for Melarue to warm to him, to see that there is more to him than conceit. They are both vain, and that vanity makes them competitive at first.

They learn that each of their new siblings has their faults, but their strengths as well. And no matter how much they fight, they are all children of Fate, and that connection is more powerful than any other.

Daern’thal is the last.

Shy, eager-to-please Daern’thal, all gangly limbs and sharp, perceptive eyes.

Not all who were given Mother’s blood survive the turning. Okri, Harra, Tamlen...Melarue mourns each of their deaths silently, for when Daern’thal had wept openly Geldauran had slapped him viciously.

“They were not worthy of being Mother’s true children, do not shed tears for them.”

There were others, they know. Others that ran through the marble halls and ate and laughed with them, whose faces they do not remember. Blurred visages, hints of memories that never quite surface.

Melarue focuses on their magic, as the city grows around them. They learn to shift their form, to take on shapes previously unknown to them, how to turn to mist, to pull themselves apart and put themselves back together.

They spend long evenings discussing new books and languages with Daern’thal and Oranani, or reveling in the growing brothel district with Anaris and Thremael. They try to pull Merith out of his melancholy to no avail, and quickly go frustrated, leaving him to sulk with Felralan, whose own somber demeanor matches him perfectly.

It is a phase, they tell themselves. Give him time and he will become his old self.

Wars rage around Nevarra. The city becomes a kingdom, borders spreading further and further. If Fate is worried by this new development she does not share her worry with them, simply continues her work. She shuts herself off in her chambers for longer periods of time, distant in a way they have not seen before.

One evening she calls all her children into her chambers, expression sober. She gives them all a gentle smile, the kind that warms Melarue still, a feeling of love and safety and belonging filling them. “My children, war looms upon the horizon once more, and my loyal worshippers call for aid.”

“I guess the Orlesians have forgotten our last battle,” Anaris jokes, and Melarue frowns as Merith stiffens beside them.

“It is not the Orlesians,” Fate continues, “The growing empire of Tevinter seeks to conquer Nevarra.”

“Then we will do to them what we did to the Orlesians,” Thremael shrugs. “There is no need to worry, Mother.”

“Orlais worships the Maker. Their strengths are limited. The Tevinter Imperium disregards many of the false god’s teachings.” Fate shakes her head, “They are not above seeking the aid of vampiric forces.”

Other vampires? Melarue swallows. They have never fought another vampire, never seen one aside from Fate and their coven. The concept seems so foreign to them, that others would exist out there in the world, or that they would somehow be a threat to Fate.

“This battle will not be easily won.” Fate holds out her hands with a soft smile, “But I have faith in you, my children. Nevarra’s pantheon must defend it against all who threaten this city. This is the beginning of what I have foreseen for you all.”

“Of course Mother.” Geldauran grasps one of her hands between his own. “Tell us what we must do.”

---

The night before the battle Melarue goes into the city with the others, managing to drag even Daern’thal, Oranani, and Felralan along to feast and revel. A distraction, something to remember instead of the bloodshed that will come the next they awaken. Only Merith remains behind.

“You are acting like a spoiled child,” They snap, when he refuses.

“Why must we fight our own kind?” Merith asks them, “What if they only wish to speak with us?”

“Stop doubting Mother. If she says they are our enemy then they are our enemy.” Irritation rises in them, hot and sharp, and then guilt overrides it, as they see the pained look in their greatest friend’s eyes. Their shoulders slump, and they gather him in their arms. “Oh Merith, I am sorry. I wish I knew how to make you smile again.”

“I love you Melarue,” Merith sobs into their neck, “I am sorry I cannot be like you.”

“I am glad you are not,” Melarue laughs softly, “I think you are much better as yourself. Come with me? It will do you good to get out of the temple. Enjoy yourself tonight.” They kiss his lips. “It can be just the two of us. Or would you like me to ask Anaris to join?”

Merith simply pulls away with a shake of his head. “Go without me. I do not think I would be good company.”

In the end they do not press him. They leave, and spend the evening with the others. They dance with a drunken Geldauran, and ride his slender body as he digs his nails deep into their thighs, and whispers adorations against his skin until he begs them for release.

They are sated and exhausted by the time they return to their chambers to rest before the sun sets, and do not think to check on Merith to see if his spirits have lifted.

It is their greatest regret.

---

Merith is gone.

Melarue is inconsolable, as they search the entirety of the temple and its underground chambers for him. Gone, as if he never existed at all. Fate holds them, and whispers comforting words, sings them into a state of calm to keep them from lashing out, sends the others to look for signs of him in the city.

“We cannot waste time,” Oranani states matter-of-factly, “If we do not leave now we will be unable to return before the sun rises. We must continue with your plan, Mother, before the Tevinter forces enter the city.”

“We must find Merith!” Melarue turns to her, glaring, “What if he was taken? What if he went out last night and could not return before the sunrise? What if he is waiting for us?”

“Melarue,” Fate sighs, brushing hair from their forehead. “My sweet, clever Melarue, it pains me to see you so distraught, just as it pains me that Merith is gone. We cannot let the city be taken, we must go and fight.” She pauses, “Would you like to remain behind? It will be difficult without you, especially now that Merith will be absent, but I understand your grief. I share in it.”

It is a rebuke, even if a gentle one. Melarue feels guilty over their reaction. The others are worried about Merith as well, how could they have let themselves act so shamefully? How could they have assumed Mother did not worry about Merith even more than themselves? They shake their head. “No...no I will go with you, Mother. I will look for him when we return.”

“We will all look for him,” Mother nods, “I promise you that.”

---

Melarue moves through the forest mechanically, following the presence of Fate as they fly through the air. They remind themselves that they are doing the right thing, that Mother needs them, and even though it rings hollow, they force themselves forward.

Merith left you and Mother when you needed him most. He is the traitor, not you.

It does not help.

They are so caught up in their thoughts that they nearly collide with Thremael in front of them, catching themselves just in time, shifting back into their vampire form as they land on the soft grass beside him.

Mother stands several feet ahead of them, looking into the woods ahead, as if she can see past them to the enemy that lies beyond. Perhaps she can. Melarue can sense the vampires somewhere ahead of them in the trees. So alike themselves, yet so different.

“They have set an ambush ahead,” Mother murmurs, turning toward her children. “Once they attack, I will leave the vampires to you, and move toward the mortal force.”

“Anaris should go with you,” Oranani responds, “There are too many. The size of the force will overwhelm you.”

“Leave the mortals to me.” Fate repeats, before she moves forward.

Melarue agrees with Oranani, but knows better than to defy Fate. They follow behind her, the comforting presence of the rest of their coven around them as they move deeper into the forest. They know from studying the maps of this region with Daern’thal that the forest continues for several miles before the ground drops to a wide, flat plain.

That is where the mortal army lies, waiting to move forward through the nearby ravine.

It does not take them long to find a small clearing—the ideal place for an ambush. The others know it as well, as they exchange glances, and feel the unmistakable presence of vampires around them; incapable of masking themselves. Young. Foolish.

Abundant.

Melarue dodges to the right just as the ground where they had stood erupts in a pile of stone and dirt, a shadowed figure standing in the small crater left behind. They hear the sounds of battle around them, the shouts of their coven,  the tang of magic in the air sour in their mouth.

So it begins.

They press their hand to the earth, feeling the roots of a nearby tree surge upward with their magic, shooting from the ground as a mass of vipers.

The vampire screams as they are torn to pieces, but Melarue has already turned, throwing up a barrier as flames encompass their form. They can feel the heat against their skin, but their own magic keeps it from burning as they brush the flames aside and redirect them, orange fire turning black.

It becomes a blur, after that. They do not remember how many they kill. They channel their grief into rage, imagine each of these shadowed strangers as the one that has taken Merith from them. These vampires are younger, less experienced, their magic weak. Many resort to claws and fangs or mortal weapons in the end, and Melarue slaughters them all.

Even so, Melarue does not come out unscathed.

They do not notice the pain at first, as the last vampire falls at their feet, and the clearing goes silent. Then their body begins to ache, the cuts along their arms begin to sting, and they notice that a large chunk of their side is simply gone.

They clamp a hand to their ribs and grit their teeth, pouring healing magic into the gaping wound. They feel their skin knit itself together beneath their palm, but know that it will take a good feeding to recover fully.

“Melarue!”

It is Anaris, who seems unharmed save for a cut along his forearm. He slings their arm around his shoulder and they gratefully put their weight against him as his own magic finishes mending the damage beneath the skin.

“Where is Mother?” Melarue manages, as Anaris leads them through the forest.

“I do not know. We separated after the ambush.” Anaris answers.

They burst through the trees just as the sky turns white. They both lift their hands to cover their eyes, but the light burns through their fingers—not painful, but blinding. The wind roars in Melarue’s ears, and blood trickles down their nose as the magic in the air condenses and then seems to pull itself apart.

The light slowly begins to dim, and Melarue blinks back tears, their blurred vision coming into focus to see Anaris staring ahead of them, eyes wide in shock. They turn as well, and let out an audible gasp.

Standing at the base of the cliff is Fate, arms outstretched before her, surrounded by three prone figures—the last of Tevinter’s vampire forces.

Beyond her is a field of corpses.

Melarue does not know what magic Fate has wielded, only that in its wake, the army of Tevinter is no more. Soldiers charred and turned to ash, husks left in place of bodies. The heavy magic they had felt moments before lingers like a fog among the corpses, before dissipating fully.

“...she truly is a god...” Geldauran whispers from Melarue’s right.

---

They do not find Merith.

Melarue searches for him for months, going as far as they can each night, always returning empty handed. They cannot understand why he would leave them, cannot bring themselves to think that he was killed by Tevinter’s vampires, or had taken the morning walk.

Surely he had not been so miserable as to leave them behind without a goodbye.

They mourn, they clean his chambers, hoping he might return. Mother lets them, mourns just as keenly. It is a comfort, knowing they are not alone in their grief.

They cannot stand to sleep alone. They fear one of the others will disappear, and cling to the thought that if they are with them, then at the very least, they cannot be fully abandoned.

It takes years for them to accept that he is gone, and that he is never coming back. He has left them, they are certain. Not dead, surely not dead, but gone. Unable to shoulder the burden of Mother’s great vision, Geldauran claims, and his words sting but they are meant as a balm, they know. Meant to give them hope that he lives.

As time passes, more city-states and kingdoms begin to rise and rain power, and the borders of Nevarra grow. Fewer worshipers come to the temple.

They stop sending offerings.

“After all we have done for the city,” Geldauran rages, “How could they do this?”

“Mortals are foolish,” Oranani frowns, “They will see the error of their ways soon, when they face danger and their city needs protecting.”

“Mortals feel like they do not need us anymore,” Daern’thal points out, and shrugs when all of them turn toward him. “Some of us speak with mortals instead of always feeding off them.”

“Or fucking them,” Anaris grins, and Oranani rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of fucking and feeding,” Thremael throws an arm around Geldauran’s shoulders, ignoring the younger man’s glare, “I say we enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Most of the others head into the city, to drink their fill and enjoy the night. Melarue remains behind, despite Thremael’s protests.

Mother has begun to isolate herself, calling on them less and less. Something is worrying her, has been ever since their fight with the other vampires in the mountains. Anaris has gone to speak with her, Melarue knows. If anyone can find out what is trouble their mother it is him, her first child.

Still, Melarue finds they cannot enjoy the night. They read for a while, look through their collected scrolls but cannot seem to focus on the words. Their mind is elsewhere.

Daern’thal, they know, has stayed behind as well, to study a book of drawings he received from a merchant at the river market; designs for buildings of some kind that he had found fascinating. Perhaps he can sufficiently distract them, and the two can wait out the night until the others return.

They head toward his rooms, only to find them empty, the door still open.

A surge of magic catches their attention, sharp and unmistakable, running through the ground like an electric current. It makes the hair along their arms stand on end. They follow its source, deeper into the maze of tunnels and chambers beneath the temple, fear rising as they realize where they are heading.

Mother’s chambers.

They are not ready for the scene before them.

Anaris stands over Fate, body trembling, her blood dripping from his fingertips. Daern’thal lies still beside her, throat torn open.

For a moment Melarue thinks he is dead, before he gasps, choking, blood pouring from the wound. They hurriedly use their magic to close it, feeling Fate’s own lying in the wound, fighting them. But Fate’s magic fades quickly, and they realize it is because she is gone.

Dead. Mother is dead.

It is hard to focus, with Daern’thal’s head in their lap and Mother beside them, unmoving. They do not know what is happening. Mother is dead, Anaris—Anaris has killed her. How? Why? It hurts. Something in their chest throbs, pain lancing throughout their limbs at the loss.  

“What did you do?” Melarue gasps out, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Anaris looks down at them, as if only then noticing their presence. His lips tremble, and he is crying as well. “I...I had to. I—” Before he can finish his explanation the door opens. Oranani and Felralan walk inside, smelling of fresh blood, talking together before they both stop in their tracks.

Melarue wonders how this all must look, watching as Oranani’s pupils dilate in full, pitch black against her pale skin, as her mouth opens to reveal growing fangs. “What have you DONE?” Her voice roars like thunder, and her form grows as she charges forward before either Melarue or Anaris can speak.

Anaris throws up a barrier just as Oranani’s claws carve through the air, sparks flying where her nails dig into the obsidian disc in front of him, chips of sharpened glass flying across the room and shattering; A sliver slices into Melarue’s cheek, jolting them out of their own stupor.

“I had to—” Anaris begins, but Oranani does not let him finish as she shrieks, stones flying from the walls and launching themselves toward him.

“Murderer!” She screams, grabbing the granite table from the floor and hurling it in his direction.

Anaris holds up a hand and slices it clean in half, the large chunks falling to either side of him. A flicker of movement on their side, and Melarue turns just as Felralan surges from the shadows on Anaris’ left.

Melarue had never thought of who they loved more among their coven, had never seen it as a scale or quantifiable difference. But their body reacts before their mind can process what is happening and they throw up a barrier, black flames eating away at the twisting vines that shoot from Felralan’s outstretched arm.

They have chosen Anaris.

The two halves of the table move, slamming together just as Anaris turns to mist, seeping between the cracks before reforming a few feet away, the golden beads in his hair beginning to glow.

Melarue twists their flames, burning the vines that erupt from the ground near their feet, grasping for them.

A bramble slams into their midsection, three inch thorns tearing into their flesh as they are thrown back against the stone wall. They let out a chocked gasp and swallow a mouthful of blood as more vines encircle their arms and legs.

They can feel poison seeping through their veins, burning their skin, as Felralan walks toward them to deliver a finishing blow. His expression is unreadable, the upper half of his face hidden behind an ornate, eyeless mask. This one has rubies in the place of eyes, an odd detail to notice, they think.

“I am sorry,” He murmurs, as the vines tighten.

So am I, Melarue thinks, as they close their open right hand and watch as the metal mask crumples, hearing Felralan’s skull crack as he falls to the ground, headless.

The vines around them turn to ash and they stumble to their feet, turning to see Anaris on his knees, kneeling atop Oranani’s prone form, his golden beads scattered on the ground around them, stained crimson. Melarue hooks a hand under his trembling arm and pulls him to his feet and off of their sister.

“...what will we do when the others come?” Anaris asks numbly, staring at the bodies before them.

They had laughed and loved with these two, had lived with them for centuries. Melarue had shared secrets with Oranani that no one had known, had gardened at night with Felralan who had taught them that some flowers flourish in the moonlight.

What have they done? They have killed their family. There is only one thing they can do, now. The one thing they are so very good at. They must lie.

“Oranani and Felralan murdered mother,” Melarue claims, voice oddly cold. They seem to have gone numb.

Anaris blinks, “But—”

Melarue grabs his face between his hands, their fingers still slick with blood. “They killed her, Anaris.”

They see the pieces falling into place as he nods, but a part of them feels sick. They have failed mother. They are letting her real killer go free because they are a coward, and they are afraid of losing more of their family. “They meant to kill Daern’thal as well, and nearly did so. We barely managed to stop them.”

A bit of tension leaves Anaris’ shoulders. “Yes.”

Melarue swallows, and tries not to look at their Mother. They can feel her eyes upon them, wide and unblinking; accusatory. “Let me tell it, when the others come. I am better at lying.”

---

The other two believe them, as Melarue knew they would. Geldauran mourns the most, his beautiful visage twisted by grief and rage, and the fear in him so sharp they can nearly see it rising from his skin like steam. Thremael takes Felralan and Oranani’s bodies outside without a word, to be turned to ash in the morning sun.

When Daern’thal wakes he cannot remember the night before...and despite Melarue’s rushed healing, he never regains the use of his voice.

“The mortals will keep coming for Mother’s blessing.” Thremael says at last, once they have all gathered in the lower chambers that had once belonged to their Mother. She is lying in the room off of this one, clean and covered in a crimson shroud. They had all gone to pay their respects to her, save for Anaris, who refused to enter the room.

Melarue’s own vigil they had spent apologizing, sobbing against her unmoving form, begging for forgiveness. How could they have let this happen? How could they have let Anaris live after doing such a thing?

You are no childe of mine, they can hear her whisper, curses crawling through their head like a writhing mass of serpents. They will never forget the feeling of numbness that had settled in them when they had seen her at Anaris’ feet. No rage, no desire to kill him for what he had done. That was their largest betrayal, they know. That they could not find it in them to want him dead.

They do not know what led Anaris to killing Fate. He does not tell them, does not speak of the night ever again. It is his penance, they think, to hold in the truth of that night and blame himself for it.

None of them have had the strength to suggest sending her off in the morning light. If they do so it will seem too real, make her death final.

“We will take up the duty, then.” Geldauran murmurs. “We are Fate’s Children, it falls to us. She said we would be gods beside her, let us take up the mantle now.”

“The world is changing. The Andrastians are gaining strength with their god, even here. The mortals are smarter now. They are learning ways to kill us.” Melarue shakes their head. “I am no god.” I cannot stay. I cannot stay here knowing that Anaris killed Mother and that I helped murder my siblings and lied to the others. I am not worthy of Mother’s plan. I have destroyed it.

“Where will you go?” Thremael asks softly.

Melarue shakes their head. “I do not know.”