Standing there beside Emmrich, Ivy, and Bellara was Theadosia Mac Tir, her standard half smile tilting at her lips and a score of soldiers at her back. Loghain was sitting beside the campfire with Sage, watching patiently as the boy demonstrated a series of swoops and squawks that were meant to imitate Assan. Standing beside Thea were Cataline and Nathaniel, the familiar griffon motif etched into the well-worn leather of their armor. It almost made Willow a bit melancholy: had they hoped they would never have to don that armor again? Had they dreamt of a life beyond the constant struggle of the blight only to be drawn back into a fight that was not their own?

Cat seemed to guess her thoughts, offering her a quiet smile. "We were still in the neighborhood," she said with an offhanded shrug. "And not to brag overly much, but no one else here knows these ruins quite like I do. We thought we might be able to assist in a more… direct… way, given what Keeper Lanaya sent in her missive. Not that we had any doubt in your ability to handle things, of course! But this place…" Her violet eyes scanned the borders of the woods, and Willow recognized far too easily the uncertainty and discomfort there.

She managed a small laugh as she accepted the hand Cat extended towards her. "Please, no offense taken. Truth be told, we are grateful for any assistance you can provide. We have had a few lucky breaks, but I am keenly aware that these ruins are… complicated."

As succinctly as she was able, she filled their allies in on the events of their time in the ruins, though even as the narrative poured out of her, she was struck by just how surreal it all felt. Time had seemed to warp and bend around them in this place, and what had felt like days had been hours, with only the movement of the sun and stars marking the true passage of time. It seemed almost inconceivable that they had all been safe within the confines of Gwaren teyrnir barely a week past.

"You all must have moved incredibly quickly to reach us," Willow noted, confusion knitting at her brow. Even given the stops their party had made along the way, the delegation from Gwaren must have left within days of their own departure.

Cat raised an eyebrow in Thea's direction, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Cousin dear, would you like to field that one?"

Thea rolled her eyes, tossing her auburn braid over her shoulder with a flounce. "Alright, fine. Yes. Perhaps I have had more trouble letting this particular puzzle go than I ought to admit." She turned a slightly guilty gaze towards Willow. "It truly isn't a commentary on your skills, for what my word is worth. But this place…" she shook her head slowly. "I respect it. I even admire it, in a way. But I also have a healthy fear of it. I wanted to make sure those of you I sent into the Breceilian made it out, hopefully relatively unscathed."

That last bit was said with just a hint of wry deadpan as Ivy and Bellara emerged from the tent they had shared, Ivy's arm still bandaged where Cormac had slashed at her. They both looked incredibly well-rested, albeit perplexed and perhaps a bit alarmed at their sudden guests. "Uh, hi?" Ivy gave an uncertain wave. "Is there some fresh new horror you've come to warn us about?"

"No, just your ordinary run of the mill horror," Thea replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Forest spirts, mad cultists, blood magic. It's all in the handbills they print for the Brecilian's tourism guild."

Willow did laugh then, albeit briefly. "As I said, we're grateful for the help. Speaking of," she glanced over at Sage where he was now regaling Loghain with a babbling commentary of his time in the ruins. "I don't suppose we could trouble you for an escort to get Sage back to his family in Copse Hollow? Emmrich has examined his mind and found nothing to indicate possession or other magical coercion, so we believe it would be safest, and best, for him to be returned home."

"I will take him," Loghain spoke up, standing and brushing the bark and needles from his clothes. "It is not a long journey, even at a leisurely pace, and I should be back before nightfall. Besides, there's an old war wound that's been acting up that limits my effectiveness in a direct fight. Might as well be useful in this way, at least."

Despite the veneer of sarcasm, Willow knew perfectly well Loghain was lying. He could probably still hold his own in combat just fine, but he also seemed rather protective of the boy. Perhaps he reminded him of someone he'd once known, or perhaps even of his own daughter at that age, but either way, she knew there was no one better to send on this particular errand. She was about to agree when Bellara suddenly darted forward, fumbling in her bag before producing a small, and clearly well-loved, stuffed halla toy.

"Oh, um, Sage? Is this maybe yours?" She asked, offering him the halla. "I didn't know if maybe there were other kids here, or…" Bellara let the thought trail off unfinished, the weight of her words dragging away her usual enthusiasm.

Sage reached out and snatched the toy from her hand, clutching it tight to his chest. "Sir Whiteshanks! You found him!" He looked up at her, grey eyes wide and a crooked grin lighting up his face. "Thanks miss. I was 'fraid I'd lost him when Somniari took me away from the others. Or Cormac, I guess. Why'd he pick a stupid name like Somniari when he already had a perfectly good one?"

Loghain chuckled, scooping Sage up onto his horse's saddle. "A good question, young man," he said with a serious nod before he turned to his wife, lowering his voice and placing an arm around her waist as he leaned forward. "You will be careful, yes? I will be back as swiftly as I am able."

"Of course," Thea promised, arching up onto her toes to brush a kiss to his lips. "You just worry about getting the boy back to Copse Hollow safely. We will manage things here."

He gave a final nod to the rest of them, then mounted up behind Sage and nudged his horse back towards the forest path that would eventually lead to the human settlement. Thea turned back to Willow, her expression thoughtful. "Was he the only survivor?" She asked.

"That we know of thus far," Willow replied carefully. "As you rightly surmised, these ruins have been challenging to navigate. We did not even see that many cultists, so either Cormac has not been as successful at bringing people over to his cause as he'd hoped, or they are out in the field attempting to bring in more victims or recruits, or they are scurrying about somewhere else in the ruins that we have not yet been able to locate."

Thea nodded slowly, but her brow was furrowed and there were clearly several different tracks of thought twining through her head. "Alright, so we know Cormac is attempting to attain divinity, or power that comes near enough as to be indistinguishable from it, like the old gods. He seems to hold no particular allegiance to Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain, so that is something at least, but he is clearly rather enamored with Dirthamen and Falon'Din. There is the possibility this is a direct consequence of his obsession with Bellara, but it may be entirely a matter of convenience. We know he has access to some sort of ritual involving blood magic because, of course, he does. But that now raises the question: why has he not completed it? Is he still hoping to recruit Bellara willingly?"

"No," Bellara spoke up, "I don't think that's it. Even when we were kids, he always had an attitude of entitlement which meant he was confident he'd get what he wanted one way or another. If I won't sign on of my own volition, he'll just try and capture me again and hold me until he can use other methods to 'persuade' me, I guess. Probably not as nicely as he did the first time, either. I don't think that he's holding back by choice, but I don't know what's stopping him, either. He's already murdered so many people just to get to this point, but the amount of blood he'd need for a ritual of this scale is kind of mind boggling, if you really think about it? We're talking like… entire cities that would need to be sacrificed and bled dry. Maybe he's just starting small, as kind of a test run? If he can figure out how to make it work on a small scale, start building up power that way, maybe he could, oh, but what about the return inversions, that could set the whole thing off if-"

"So, it's a good thing he hasn't been able to unlock that kind of power," Ivy interrupted gently, lacing her fingers with Bellara's. "But that does kinda raise the question of why he isn't already stronger than he is? Sure, he may not be god tier yet, but based on the amount of blood we saw in there…"

Where did it go?

That was the puzzle, wasn't it? Where had all that power gone, if not straight to Cormac? Willow stared blankly into the distance, silently entreating the forest to give her something, anything, to make this mess make sense. The sun had crested the treeline now, and the first promises of a warm day crept over her skin as the breeze off the lake whispered incomprehensible truths that sped past her even as she stood in frustrated stillness.

Damn it… Where did it go?

"The forest," she murmured, comprehension dawning on her with the rays of light piercing through the branches. "This entire time, it has felt as though there were two entities present here: one that seemed indifferent, perhaps even helpful at times, and one that felt distinctly malicious. I think Cormac has been expending a great deal of the energy he has siphoned from the life force of his victims just to keep the forest's magic under control, or at least at bay. He hasn't completed the ritual, or even gotten past the testing phase, because the Brecilian is pushing back at every turn."

"So, that wisp we were following in the ruins?" Ivy asked, "That was the forest trying to, what, throw us a bone?"

"Not everything that exists within these borders is antagonistic towards mortals," Cataline interjected. "The Lady of the Forest was a relatively benign spirit who only attacked those who threatened the creatures under her protection. It is possible some remnant of her remains, or it could be another entity attempting to aid you."

"Or it could just be the forest sees us as the best bet for removing Cormac, who I have to imagine is a far greater irritant. I hesitate to give him so much credit as to call him a 'threat' to the forest itself, but I can't imagine the Brecilian's spirit enjoys being restrained," Willow continued, the pieces clicking into place. "Perhaps if he had simply gone about his business without attempting control, it would be a different story. Difficult to say, especially given that everything we once thought we know about spirits has largely gone out the window."

Either way, this had to end today. Now that Cormac's machinations had been revealed, Willow very much doubted he was going to stay his hand any longer, regardless of his failure to capture Bellara. Even if they assumed he would not succeed in the ritual he had planned, he was still incredibly dangerous. "Alright, well, now that we are all up to speed," she said, "Let's decide how we want to approach this. In truth, it is not all that different from many of the missions I ran as a Guardian, but we also are working with more unknowns than I am comfortable with. Cat, do you have any idea where Cormac would go to try and complete the ritual?"

The warden-commander thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think so," she said. "The power in this place was mostly concentrated in the lower ruins, and more specifically in the chamber where the Lady of the Forest held court. Even after she departed, the residual power there was… staggering. If I were a mad mage bent on domination and destruction, that place would be ideal. Well, for him. Not so much for us. There are two main paths of approach we could take: one that winds through a larger section of the ruins and will put us in front of the door to the chamber. The other is much shorter by a wide margin; a service passage that runs from the main entry hall all the way down to a side chamber attached to the ritual site."

"I don't suppose that passage was the western doorway, was it?" Willow asked, "Because that passage is well and truly blocked with rubble. We could possibly blast it with magic, but I am not sure how much more of a mess, not to mention noise, that would create. He already knows we are coming, but I would like to maintain at least some veneer of an element of surprise."

Cat tilted her head. "Blocked? How far back?"

"We don't know," Willow admitted. "We can try and clear it manually, but I have no idea how long-"

She stopped when one of the Fereldan soldiers made a small, polite cough. When Willow caught his eye, he offered a grin. "With all due respect my lady, that pile of rubble has never faced down a score of Gwaren's finest." He hoisted his pack up onto his shoulders and gestured to his fellows.

"We'll have you in there before lunch."

----------------------------------------------

The soldiers were better than their word. Moving with almost brutal efficiency, they cleared the western passage in just over an hour, freeing up the shortcut that would take the rest of them deeper into the yawning dark of the temple ruins. The paths were too narrow for a large group to pass easily through them, and it was decided that Thea and a third of the forces from Gwaren would remain outside, watching for any stragglers that may try to scuttle out and escape, while another third would begin sweeping the halls for the remaining cultists.

No one admitted they would also be searching for the bodies of the remaining victims.

Cat, Nathaniel, and the remaining soldiers fell into line behind Willow and her friends. No one spoke much as they descended deeper into the temple, save for an occasional muttered swear prompted by an inconveniently placed spiderweb or a stray hunk of ankle-wrenching rubble. She could not quite explain it, but the air felt heavier down here; almost as if it breathing. Like the temple itself was coming alive as they wound their way through its marble entrails.

Soon the shuffling sounds of their footsteps faded, muted by a carpet of moss and leaves and a blanket of decay that swallowed up what limited amount of noise had survived the dim march to the ritual chamber. At last, they reached an elegantly carved door set into the stone, its reliefs depicting ancient elves in their quest for Uthenera brought into even sharper relief by the dirt and grime that had settled into every curve and divot of the design. Willow glanced back towards Cat, who gave a single sharp nod of her head.

This is it. This is the place.

Taking one finale deep inhale and reaching blindly for her husband's hand, Willow reached with the other for the handle, the cold kiss of the marble barely registering on her skin numbed by anticipation and adrenaline. She pressed forward, heart drumming fiercely against her chest.

And the door stuck.

"Shit," she muttered, pulling harder on the handle and making little progress. "You don't think he managed to lock this one from the other side?"

"Unlikely," Cat whispered, joining her at the door and adding her strength to the effort. "Most people would be hard pressed to even know this side passage is here. The only reason we found it twenty years ago was because the Lady of the Forest opened it for us."

"Oh!" Bellara spoke up from further back, pushing her way past the soldiers and Nathaniel and Emmrich to join them. "If it's meant to be hidden, or at least discrete, then I'll bet… hold on a sec…" she stared at the wall and door in front of them, brow furrowed in concentration, before her face suddenly lit up. "Ah ha! There it is!"

She pressed a small, unobtrusive oval of stone that Willow likely would not have spotted in a hundred years, and there was a faint click muffled by the inner mechanisms of the door. Cat and Willow exchanged a glance, then carefully tried the door again. This time, it opened willingly at their request, the stone giving only muffled groans of protest as it scraped over the moss and leaves blanketing the floor. But aside from that…

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

Willow did not need to say a word to confirm her companions were equally unnerved by the sudden absence of sound. The sudden tightness in the set of their mouths and the faint gleam of alarm in their eyes spoke volumes. She lead the way into the newly opened space, followed closely by Cataline and Bellara, the former placing a comforting hand on Willow's shoulder as they pressed on.

If she had to guess, and assuming they all survived whatever was about to unfold she was absolutely going to be consulting with Ivy after this to get her thoughts, this was a sort of secondary tomb. Perhaps for beloved family or companions of whoever had commissioned the behemoth temple complex, or maybe just high ranking elves, but the elegant granite sarcophagi were too fine for anyone of less import. The builders had gone so far as to use the harder, less forgiving stone rather than limestone that invited carvings and flourishes far more easily. It was too dark to fully unravel the narrative of the carvings, and Willow could not help but wonder if there were even remains left in them, or if they stood as mute monuments to remains long since burned away to ash and cinder and bone dust.

Yes… yes, she would very much like to come back and study this place someday. To ask her questions of what remains might still linger in this forgotten and forsaken place. For now, however, she was drawn to the other side of the small room, to the deceptively welcoming glow of light and the creeping fear of what she might find should she accept that invitation. The only small, bitter comfort she had was the knowledge that it would be bad. Likely horrifying.

And yet there was a familiarity to it all that was… comforting? She was a Guardian of the Tomb: a defender of the living from the dead, and vice versa. The presence of the sarcophagi, the rote imagery of death and a fanciful afterlife, they were not all that thematically different from those in Nevarra, albeit stylistically distinct. She had led dozens of missions, possibly hundreds, into crypts and tombs like this, often shepherding younger mortalitasi and acting as a silent assessor of their preparedness for their roles in Nevarran society. She had faced spirits of every variety currently known to scholarship (or at least, that had been known before the war of the evanuris), and whatever Cormac thought he was, or that he believed he was about to become, he had not counted on her and her companions, nor their strength or resolve.

Then again, she had not exactly counted on his resolve either.

It was always the smell that was the worst. Even as a student, Willow's least favorite part of her anatomy classes had been the often deeply unpleasant odors associated with the recently deceased. There was a sickening sweetness to it at times; a cloying scent that clung to her nostrils for hours after a completed dissection or autopsy. Other times, it stank of rot and decay, odoriferous testament to vices or desperate choices made by the deceased. And sometimes… sometimes there was simply the smell of death. Words could not fully capture it, and description proved elusive. One simply had to know it for what it was.

And Maker help her, but it was heavy in the air as they crossed the threshold from the side room into the main chamber. The space must have been beautiful, once: vaulted ceilings that arched so high natural sunlight was able to pierce through the failing stone to illuminate the verdant glow of moss and marble. There was no reflecting pool here, which surprised her slightly until she realized why: there was a great, twisting tree in where an altar would have resided, or perhaps had at one point in time. Somehow, against all odds, it had flourished in this subterranean vault, grasping what nourishment it could from the soil and the anemic sunlight filtering in from above. It was beautiful, and humbling, and regrettably rendered irrelevant by the abattoir at its roots.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Willow was not terribly surprised to find none of the villagers of Copse Hollow amongst them. No: the shemlen would have been culled first, considered an acceptable loss in Cormac's quest to become Somniari. The Dreamer, in ancient elven, according to Ivy. A faint, detached thought from deep in her mind questioned when he had realized the blood he had stolen would not be enough; would not come anywhere close to sating the thirst of his ambitious dreams.

Instead, every lifeless figure strewn across the floor and cradled in the roots of the great tree bore the distinct pointed ears of the elves. Most of them were even still in the robes that marked them as members of his cult. If she had to guess, she would say those that did not were likely the poor villagers stolen from Shiral'din, though some small part of her was relieved to not find the youngest abductee amongst them. There was still a chance they had been spared, as Sage had been.

Cormac had sacrificed his own devoted followers, the elves who had actually followed him of their own accord. Even now, above the cloying aroma of death that seeped from his previous human victims where they lay discarded in hasty charnel piles, the metallic scent of freshly spilled blood assaulted her nose. The murdered elves stared back at her, lifeless eyes locked in a final plea of horror and disbelief. Willow knew they had not gone to their deaths willingly. Not one of them had been prepared to lay down their own life for their precious Somniari. All she could do now was hope that, in their final moments, perhaps their own primal fear granted them some moment of remorse for those they had subjected to that same terror.

Willow wondered if some part of Cormac had always known the truth. That it would eventually, inevitably, come to this.

She could have told him. She could have warned him that it always, always came to this when a desire for power overrode ones conscience; their soul. There was an ending to this story, and it was one she knew had been written the moment Cormac set foot down this path. The moment he had decided there was no price too high to pay for what he wanted; what he believed he deserved.

Now, all that was left to do was to wait and see how long it took before he himself was overtaken.

There he sat, crumpled and silent on his knees before the great tree of the forest, his vacant eyes staring at hands slick and stained with the ochre of his people. Without thinking, Willow reached out and grabbed Bellara's free hand, and was relieved to see that Ivy had already taken the other. She knew where her mind would have gone in her friend's position; what dark imaginings might ooze into her thoughts as she wondered if her own brother had ever gone this far. If he'd ever stared at the blood on his own hands.

Bellara gave Willow's own hand a squeeze, then took a step forward, away from the soldiers and her friends. Willow moved to follow, then stopped. Somehow… somehow her instincts told her this had to be Bellara's choice. If there was any way to resolve this without further bloodshed, to see that Cormac faced true justice rather than a swift death he did not deserve, it would be Bellara that would find it. And if he so much as wiggled a finger in a way Ivy or Willow did not like, they would be there to back her up. But she was strong, and smart, and they had been trying to protect her for far too long. She trusted her friend; trusted her abilities and her cleverness.

"Cormac."

He looked up as Bellara gently spoke his name, his head tilting slowly up through a fog of confusion. "Bellara. You came back. I knew you would come back."

The words were clipped and mechanical, his gaze unfocused even while they stared in Bellara's direction, and Willow recognized the signs. She had seen them far too often in the deep crypts; those places few save the most senior mortalitasi and their sole Guardian dared to tread. Whatever they may have hoped for here, whatever chance there was of Cormac leaving these ruins alive… they vanished. He was already too far gone. All she could do now was pray he did not take any of them with him, or that the thin sliver of hope Bellara was offering him would be enough to pull him back from the abyss.

"We had such dreams, Cyrian and I," Cormac spoke again, none of the earlier conviction or fervor in his words. "When I chose the name Somniari, I thought of him. We wanted to elevate our people; show the shemlen they would never again own us. When the other clan found me, they showed me the way. They believed in my dreams. They said they could give me what I needed. And in a way, they did: their blood fueled the first ritual I required to break through the forest's natural protections. They died willingly, joyously, knowing their sacrifice would mean a future for their children, their grandchildren, and far beyond what any of us could hold account for."

"This wasn't Cyrian's dream, Cormac," Bellara replied, keeping her voice even and kind, though Willow was close enough to see the flash of pain that darted across her friend's eyes. "He made mistakes, too. Some of our people, they… they became…" She swallowed hard, then took a deep breath before continuing. "He became a monster. But he also came back to me in the end. He did the right thing, and saved us. If he hadn't, the evanuris would have won. Cyrian was a hero, and I know he wouldn't want this for you anymore than I do." She took another step, kneeling down next to him. Too close, Willow thought, hands already flexing around the hilts of her daggers. Too close.

Cormac stared at Bellara, a conflicted flicker in his amber eyes. "You… Bellara. Please. Stay with me. I will walk away from this ritual, from this place, and you and I can find a new home. A new place where we can begin rebuilding our strength and draw in those who share our purpose. Grant me your love, and I will spare the others. You have my word."

Shit.

The daggers came out of their sheathes, and at her side, Willow could feel Emmrich gathering strands of magic and hear the whisper of Cataline's bowstring as it drew taut. There was only one response to an offer like that, and they all knew it. Bellara sighed, standing up and stepping backwards towards them.

"I'm sorry, Cormac. I don't love you. I never will."

He had known, too. Even as the last motes of coherence fled his eyes and he fell forward to his hands with a low, guttural growl, Willow could tell that Cormac had known exactly what Bellara was going to say. Perhaps part of him had simply been looking for the excuse to finally give in to the rage that had been building inside him; the petty, bitter, petulant rage that had made him a shining beacon for the spirits straining at the weakened fibers of the veil in this place. There was the familiar blinding flare of flames and the heavy scents of iron and ozone. When her vision finally returned and the spots cleared from her eyes, Willow's worst fears were realized.

She should have known. The flowers left in Bellara's room, her favorites, the ones they had always used for their bridal bouquets as children. The carved halla statuette that Cyrian had lovingly crafted for his big sister, gone missing. It had never occurred to Ivy that someone might have stolen it; she'd honestly always believed that it had just gotten lost like one of the multitude of notebooks Bellara was constantly scribbling in only to misplace them in one ancient ruin or another. Sad, but not suspicious by any means.

And of course, the glaring fact that all the most violent attacks had been directed squarely at her. Cormac had always, always been resentful of Ivy's friendship with Bellara. If he thought that Ivy was trying to 'move in on his territory,' a thought that made her nauseated in its own right, of course he was going to target her. And she had absolutely zero doubt in her mind that, had he been given half an opportunity, he would have killed her.

It was gonna be a cold day in the void when she let that happen.

"Ok," she said, stumbling to her feet with more effort than she would have preferred. She must have landed harder than she thought when she tackled Cormac. "What's next? How do we find this asshole and stop his plans for, what, world domination? Enslavement of all non-elf kind? Let's go."

Davrin shook his head. "Ives, I think we've done all we can for today. We need to regroup. First rule of a good hunt is to know your quarry, and now we may actually be able to do that if you and Bellara can fill us in."

"What's there to know?" Ivy demanded, painfully aware of the almost petulant impatience in her tone. "Cormac is behind all of this! The murders, the ritual attempts to become a god, abducting Bellara… I think we've got a pretty good handle on the situation."

She took a deep breath as Bellara slipped a hand into hers, but was disappointed when it was almost immediately withdrawn again. She looked to Bellara, and was alarmed to see her fingers stained by smears of blood still unpleasantly sticky in their freshness. "Maker, Bellara… are you hurt? Where, let me see if I can't patch you up, or maybe Emmrich, could you-"

"Ives," Bellara interrupted gently, "It's not me…" She carefully lifted Ivy's arm, and she suddenly realized that even that careful motion sent a flare of pain through her. Looking down, Ivy saw the vicious gash that had been rent through her borrowed cultist's robes to reveal a gaping wound just above where her leather bracers would have actually been helpful. A lucky strike, she'd guess. Ivy refused to give Cormac any more credit than she absolutely had to. Instead, she looked to the floor where she had fallen. Well, sort of: her head kind of fell in that direction and she was too exhausted to fight it.

"Huh. Well… that's a lot of blood."

---------------------------------------------------

The first thing she saw when consciousness dragged her back into the waking world was Bellara's eyes, which was nice. It would've been better if those eyes hadn't been tinged with frantic concern and if they hadn't been joined in short order by Davrin, Willow, and Emmrich all crowding in as well, but still. Bellara had cleaned up Ivy's arm and one of them, probably Emmrich if she had to guess, had healed up the wound and sealed it against infection. There was also a sweet-smelling paste that had been smeared over the freshly knit together skin. Ivy took an experimental sniff, then raised an eyebrow in Willow's direction.

"Helps with the scarring," the Guardian said with a small smile. "Don't worry: it can't prevent it entirely, so you'll still have a good story to tell at the tavern, but it will look a little less angry than it would have otherwise."

Ivy sat up slowly, then allowed Bellara and Davrin to hoist her up into a standing position. "Right, thanks, everyone. But we should get moving: we've got to catch Cormac before he does something anymore stupid than he already has. And trust me: he will find a way to do something even more stupid."

Willow sighed, and Ivy could already guess what she was about to say. "Ivy, we need to retreat and regroup. You're wounded and, though Emmrich was able to repair the damage, you lost a lot of blood and you are going to need to get some real food and a proper night's rest before I will feel comfortable putting you back on the front line. Also, I agree with Davrin: we need more information about who this man is, and you and Bellara are the only ones who can provide it. And, while I realize we all probably forgot about him for a moment, we need to get Sage the void out of these ruins and far away from Cormac."

"You can't be serious! We have to go after him, we have to stop him, we-" Ivy felt another dizzy spell twist around her mind, but for once, she was oddly grateful for it. It forced her to stop and think before running headlong into danger, as she would be the first to admit was not one of her better impulses. She took an inventory of what she knew: they were still in the ruins, and their helpful wisp had vanished. They had her map, but she already knew it did not include all the hidden tunnels and passages that honeycombed the temple complex, nor where Cormac might have retreated to. She was not in the best of shape, they had the kid to worry about, and if nothing else…

"What do you think the likelihood is this ritual he found will actually work?" She asked, and Bellara and Emmrich exchanged a thoughtful glance.

"Realistically?" Bellara replied, "Not great. I mean, you would probably know better than us since you were almost definitely able to translate the original ritual instructions more accurately and more completely. I also just don't remember Cormac ever being all that great with magic, if I'm being completely honest here. I really think his reach may be exceeding his grasp, which could be really, really bad if things go sideways. They'll probably go sideways. We have no idea how many people have already been sacrificed, or who he may still murder to get the blood he thinks he needs, but either way that's going to be a lot of potentially untethered magic, and that could go really wrong really fast and really badly."

Ivy winced as the pain in her arm protested against her rising to her feet, though she was grateful for the supportive arm Bellara twined around her waist. "Ok. Yeah. Either way, not great." She looked to Willow. "Ok, follow-up question: what are the odds any of the villagers that were taken are still alive?"

Willow's head fell back as she exhaled softly. Tilting her head forward once more to face her, Ivy could see the pain etched in the Guardian's eyes. "Low," Willow murmured, "Very low indeed."

She's already done the math on this, Ivy realized. Probably even before we left Copse Hollow. "So… going after Cormac right now as opposed to after we've had a chance to regroup…"

"It's probably not gonna make all that much of a difference, Ives," Davrin filled in with grim resignation. "Based on what you and Bellara said you found, and the number of people we've estimated went missing from Copse Hollow, it doesn't seem real likely that anyone else survived. Not amongst the humans, anyways."

But they could still potentially get Sage out, especially if they left now. "Ok," Ivy conceded, noting the look of gratitude and relief that washed over the others' faces. "Ok. We'll go back. But I'm not letting this go."

"None of us are giving up, Ives, I promise," Bellara reassured her. "We're going to confront him, and we're going to stop him."

No one said what they were all thinking: that there was a very good chance that in order to stop Cormac's mad quest for divinity, he was going to have to die. Someone like that was dangerous, pure and simple, and worst of all? He truly believed every word he was saying. He would see them all burn in his pursuit for the power and worship he thought he deserved; that he somehow believed he had been denied by humans or the Veil Jumpers or maybe just the world at large.

They retreated to the hall where they had left Sage and Assan, and Ivy was relieved to find both still exactly where they left them, the boy nestled snugly in the crook of the griffon's body where it was curled in alert vigilance. Assan gave a soft trill as they approached, tilting his head in curiosity. "Not today, boy," Davrin informed him, ruffling the feathers on the griffon's head before scooping Sage up in his arms. Assan made what Ivy would swear was a nod of confirmation, then followed them back through the ruins.

Either luck was with them, or all of Cormac's lackeys were out in the field doing his insane bidding, or maybe they were just the only ones left alive. Ivy didn't know, and at that moment, she didn't care all that much either. She was just grateful they were not having to fight their way back out of the winding and confounding halls of the temple. The righteous flames of her rage had been tempered by the blood loss and by sheer exhaustion, and now they had decided to regroup before pursuing Cormac, she just wanted to get the void out of these ruins and back to the relative safety of their camp.

She needed to talk to Bellara.

After the rush of adrenaline from that first impossible kiss, the confrontation with a man they'd thought long dead, the constant strain they'd been under since they first stepped foot in that damn temple… selfishly, Ivy needed some reassurance. Reassurance that what was said within those blood stained halls would still hold true in the free air, and that Ivy hadn't just poured out decades worth of secret feelings and longings that would be incredibly embarrassing if anyone else had heard them. Mostly, she just needed to know that amidst all the bullshit and chaos of this little quest they'd found themselves on, maybe this could be real. Maybe this could be a future, for both of them.

No one spoke much as they navigated back to the main entry hall, save for an occasional request to reference the map Ivy had found. It felt like an eternity passed before they finally found themselves back in the cavernous room where they had started their search. They stumbled out into the fading twilight of the forest, the entire day having passed them by whilst they sought out answers in the subterranean ruins. No one bothered trying to mark a trail on their way back. They all knew they would find their way again, one way or another, no matter how much they might have wished otherwise.

Just as Ivy had suspected would be the case, their camp had been left untouched. Cormac didn't care about stealing or destroying their property, he just cared about getting what he wanted. In this case, that meant Bellara, and likely the rest of them dead (certainly true for herself, Willow, and Emmrich) or converted to his cause (maybe he still held out hope for Davrin?). Either way, Ivy had never been so grateful for a warm campfire as she was for the one Willow sparked in preparation for making dinner.

"Ivy, my dear, would you mind letting me take another look at your arm?" Emmrich requested. "Now that we are no longer in immediate peril, I would like to make just a brief examination of it to ensure the healing took properly and there were no poisons or enchantments on the blade that I may have missed that we should to keep an eye on."

"Sure," Ivy agreed, knowing full well the request was a ruse and fully not caring. At this point, she was happy for even the flimsiest justification to be able to sit down for a moment. She peeled off her blood-soaked bracer and presented her arm to Emmrich, who poked and prodded at it experimentally, muttering a few observations to himself, but nothing Ivy hadn't already noted herself. After a few moments, he sat back and gave a satisfied nod.

"Very good! The healing is taking nicely, and while there will likely be a scar, it will be relatively faint thanks to the balm. My wife does know her alchemy," he added with a hint of pride. "Now, the best thing for you will be rest, but I think you and I both know that prospect is unlikely until you go and have a chat with our other young Veil Jumper."

Ivy snapped to full attention at that. "What do you… I mean… Well, yeah, of course I should go talk to her. She's my friend and we've had an epically shitty day."

"Ivy," Emmrich chided gently, "You know precisely what I am talking about. Perhaps you think the rest of us blind, but your feelings towards Bellara have been apparent since the moment you stepped foot in Castle Gwaren. And while it is hardly my place to make assumptions, I would venture a guess that she cares for you as well. Quite deeply, in fact." His attention flickered briefly towards the campfire where Willow was preparing dinner, and a smile lit up his face. "Being honest about ones feelings, allowing yourself that vulnerability… it is a rather terrifying prospect, isn't it? But, my dear Ivy, is it truly any more daunting than anything else you have faced down in this forest?"

He had, she begrudgingly admitted to herself, a point. "Thanks, professor," she said with a lopsided smile and a pat on the shoulder as she stood. "Willow is a lucky woman, you know that?"

"Ah, I could argue that I am the lucky one," Emmrich chuckled quietly, following her over to the makeshift dining area they had cobbled together out of fallen logs and a stump that was just large enough to hold their plates while still reminding them it really wasn't big enough. "We bring out the best in each other," he added, bending down to brush a kiss against Willow's head.

And wasn't that a beautiful thought? The idea that two people who were perfectly awesome on their own could give each other the kind of love and support that would make each of them shine all the brighter for it. It was the kind of romantic idealism that Ivy had always rolled her eyes at, and maybe she still would a little bit, but for the first time ever she also kind of got the appeal. Bellara always saw the best in her, and it made Ivy want to be better. To curb her impulsivity, to think on her feet and problem solve in dynamic situations, to show kindness when it would be easier to scoff. The kind of lessons Cormac never learned, and now, likely never would.

Conversation over dinner was kept superficial, mindful of their young guest, but after the food had been cleared and the dishes washed, everyone sort of just drifted off to their own space. Sage would bunk with Davrin and Assan, and fell asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Ivy could feel the currents of restlessness radiating off the others. She checked her herb supplies, then double checked them, then unfolded and precisely refolded all of her clothes before repacking them in her backpack. A few flakes of dried blood fluttered onto her sole remaining clean shirt, a reminder that she hadn't had a proper bath since Copse Hollow.

Grabbing her soap and the towel that was still more or less clean, Ivy ducked out of her tent and nodded her head in Emmrich and Willow's direction. They were taking first watch, and it definitely wouldn't hurt for them to know where she was going and when she planned on being back in case Cormac decided to initiate some sort of shenanigans while she was in an undressed and, as far as he knew, vulnerable state.

Joke would be on him, though. Wouldn't be the first time Ivy would have had to fight with her ass hanging out.

The forest felt less oppressive, somehow, as she meandered down what might have once been a well-worn trail that lead to the small lake (the large pond?) that lay just beyond the safety of their huddled campsite. Spring was creeping inexorably forward, and the night air held only a hint of chill, but Ivy could already tell it was going to be a bitch to adjust getting into, and then out of, the water, but if she added one more day's worth of grime and grit to her skin suit she was going to start looking like some sort of forest cryptid herself, so bathing was not exactly optional.

Although, when she got to the shore of the lake, she began to question that assessment. Because she was not alone.

Bellara was there, standing in the water up to her collarbone, staring up at the stars as the lazy currents of the lake lapped against her bare skin and the moonlight cast her complexion silver. Cormac was a fucking idiot: Bellara didn't need his shitty blood magic or his empty promises. She was already a goddess brought to earth, beauty radiating from her mind, body, and soul, and no matter what grand plans their erstwhile friend might have had, they would never be worthy of her.

Not that Ivy exactly had any illusions of being worthy of her, either. She knew she should return to camp, come back later or the next morning and just give Bellara a few precious moments of privacy and peace, but before she could force her legs to take even a step in the opposite direction, Bellara turned to face her.

"Ivy," she called softly. "Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, Bel," Ivy nodded, even that simple motion feeling somehow clumsy. "I was, um… I was gonna try and rinse off, make myself at least a little less gross, but I can wait. Definitely didn't mean to interrupt or intrude or… I don't know."

This was stupid. This was not even close to the first time Ivy had seen Bellara naked. Maker, they'd been half feral as children, frequently careening into sun-warmed summer lakes in naught but their skins, splashing and giggling and teasing. She could still remember the day that had stopped. They'd just turned fourteen that spring, and both had suddenly become painfully aware of their own bodies. It wasn't shame, exactly: Ivy distinctly remembered she still didn't really care if Cyrian or Cormac saw her naked (ok, maybe not Cormac), but Bellara… something had changed. Something Ivy would not be able to really put words to for a few more years.

"Oh, no!" Bellara's voice shook her loose from her thoughts. "You're definitely not interrupting. I don't mind the company. Unless you wanted to be alone! In which case I can totally wrap it up and hop out. Sorry," she finished with that same sweet, endearing, almost apologetic smile.

Ivy looked at her for a long moment, her heartbeat thumping against her chest. "Nah," she finally managed to say, "I would love company. Safety in numbers, right?"

She began peeling off her clothes, reminding herself not to race through the process like a lunatic and making this more awkward than she probably already had. Ivy had expected Bellara to maybe look away, but instead the rich warmth of her starlit gaze remained on her. Stepping into the water, Ivy had to repress a yelp at the sudden cold, but couldn't quite stop the grimace that prompted a giggle from Bellara.

"You'll get used to it pretty quick," Bellara reassured her. "I'm… I'm actually really glad you're here, Ives. I wanted to talk to you now that we're not like, in immediate peril."

The breath seemed to leave Ivy's body, drawn into a well of anxiety and impending heartbreak and disappointment that was spiraling in her chest and threatening to drown her quicker than the lake would. "Oh, um… sure. Of course. What's up?"

Bellara took a deep breath, the motion causing her collarbone to rise distractingly above the water. Under ideal circumstances, Ivy would have thoroughly enjoyed the effect. "Back in the temple," Bellara began carefully, "When I… I mean when we… when we kissed," she finally blurted out, "Did you mean it? What you said?"

Now or never, Ivy. What else have you got to lose?

"Yeah, Bel," she said quietly, the words almost absorbed by the velvety depths of the water. "I meant it. I meant all of it."

"Oh thank fuck," Bellara exhaled in a gasp. "Ok, I know I've been super distracted with all this cult and death stuff so I was really really really worried I had reacted badly or not expressed myself clearly because you know I struggle with that sometimes. A lot of the time. But hearing you say that was like having a window opened into a dark room and suddenly so much made sense, and so many of my weird and confusing feelings made sense, and I can't even begin to tell you how great it felt to finally have all those pieces click into place and the answer was you. I don't even know when the love I have for you shifted from little kid friendship love to… well, what I feel now, which is definitely very adult. I just know that hearing you say it, having you make it real, it… wow, your hair looks so pretty in the moonlight."

Ivy's chest exploded in a burst of laughter, all the tension and fear that had been coiled and waiting to strike released in a harmless shower of sheer, unmitigated joy. "Thanks," she finally managed to wheeze between waves of giggles. "I'm glad you weren't around when I experimented with green. I looked like I had just crawled out of a swamp."

"Well now I'm definitely sorry I missed it," Bellara retorted, then her expression shifted to something that made Ivy's entire body suddenly very, very warm despite the chill of the water. "Can I… I mean…"

"Yeah," Ivy nodded, swallowing against the sudden bundle of nerves in her throat. Bellara paddled closer, and Ivy reached out and wrapped her arms around her waist, drawing her against her chest. Which may have been a mistake, because the resulting surge of sparks that flooded her at even that simple touch nearly sent her spinning. She leaned forward, the difference in their heights made moot by buoyancy, and pressed her lips against Bellara's. She drank in the soft moan muffled by their kiss, sweeping her tongue against Bellara's lower lip and nearly losing herself all over again when Bellara deepened their kiss. Enthusiastically.

Ivy ran her hands along Bellara's sides with agonizing deliberation, thumbs brushing along the bare curves of her breasts and further down to her hips, rounding over her backside and shamelessly using the opportunity to press their hips closer together. Bellara's head fell back, a staccato gasp punctuating the motion, and Ivy dipped her head into the curve of her neck and began kissing a trail along the skin there. "Bel?" She murmured against her ear.

"Yeah, Ives?" Bellara whispered, her own hands touching, experimenting, exploring Ivy's body and making it incredibly difficult for her to form any sort of coherent thought.

"Would it be ok if I touched you?"

Bellara's face went blank, save for a puzzled tilt of her head. "But, you are touching me, what do you- oh." A sweet, but somehow still mischievous, smile lilted over her lips. "Yeah, Ives. I… I would really like that. A lot."

"Mmm," Ivy hummed against her skin, pressing a feather light kiss to the spot where her neck met her collarbone before gently spinning Bellara around in the water so that her back was to Ivy's chest. Using one arm to wrap around her waist and pull her close, Ivy's other hand traced a slow, deliberate path down Bellara's chest, over her belly, and down to the apex of her thighs. Her fingers danced lightly over the silky curves of her sex, experimenting, testing… A sudden shiver ran through Ivy's entire body as she briefly imagined just how clever Bellara's own hands, so accustomed to tinkering and delicate experimentation, would feel on her.

"You ok, Ivy?" Bellara asked, the sound pitching higher as Ivy found a particularly sensitive spot.

Ah. Right there.

"I'm better than ok," she reassured her, kissing the tip of her ear and beginning a slow, but consistent, pattern with her finger, letting her other hand drift up to cup Bellara's breast in her hand and running a thumb over the delicate bud hardening beneath her touch. "This is… I'm not sure what an afterlife is suppose to look like anymore, but I'm pretty sure it's this. Me, and you, the forest and the sky… this is paradise."

Bellara didn't answer, or at least, she didn't with anything resembling coherent words. Instead, a single, pure, crystalline cry escaped her lips, beautiful and brilliant as the stars above them. Her entire body seemed to arc forward as a tremor ran through her, and Ivy held her close as she rode out her high, peppering her skin with kisses and whispering soft promises to be sealed with each touch of her skin against Bellara's.

Ivy cradled Bellara against her chest as they stood there, staring up into the arcing celestial cathedral soaring above the shadowed treeline, the only sound apart from their steadying breaths the faint call of an owl and the persistent brush of the waves against the lakeshore. It was the first, and she had to pray it would not be the last, most pristinely perfect moment of her life. And she was about to risk it.

"Bellara?"

"Yeah, Ivy?"

She leaned down, nuzzling her face against Bellara's shoulder. "I… I love you, Bel. I've been in love with you since before I even really knew what that meant."

Bellara nodded slowly. "It seems so silly now… I always thought… I told myself that I loved you as my best friend. As a kind of sister. I mean, we were literally born within minutes of each other in the same birthing aravel. It wasn't even that I didn't want to acknowledge the other feelings I just… I didn't really know how? And then as we got older and I thought you were interested in Cyrian, I kept telling myself over and over again that what we had was good enough. That I was lucky to have such an amazing friend and if you and Cyrian actually did end up together, it would just make our own connection stronger.

But it always hurt, thinking about the two of you together," she continued, her voice somehow smaller as though she were admitting something she shouldn't. "I thought I was just jealous, and I guess I was, just not in the way I thought. And knowing now that it was never him, that it was always me…"

"Always, Bellara," Ivy murmured, turning her back around so they could face each other. "It has always been, and always will be, you."

Bellara's lips, her beautiful, perfect, kissable lips, tilted up in a brilliant smile. "Can I say it back? Would that be ok?"

Ivy laughed, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night. "If you're ready, and if you want to, it would be so much more than ok, Bel."

"I love you, Ivy," Bellara said, pulling herself closer until her body was twined with hers, and pressing her lips to Ivy's. "I love you so much. And if that idiot Cormac thinks he's gonna take you from me after I finally put all those pieces together, then he is even dumber than I thought."

"Oh, he definitely is," Ivy agreed with mock seriousness, then realized that both she and Bellara were shivering, and not in the fun kind of way. "Hey, it's getting late, and if you're up for it? I've got a lot more ideas I want to try back in your tent. Why don't you wade back to shore, get dressed, and I'll come join you as soon as I've scrubbed off and rinsed at least three layers of sediment out of my hair."

Bellara giggled, the sound sparking another grin on Ivy's face. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so damn much."Ok, but don't take too long? Also, we should go to your tent instead."

"Sure," Ivy shrugged, dunking her head under the water and scrubbing at her scalp. When she popped back up, she called back to Bellara, trying not to let her mind get too distracted staring at the absolutely perfect heart-shaped curve of her ass. "Any particular reason?"

Bellara turned back to face her, her smile now holding just a hint of teasing and sultry invitation, and her next words just about sent Ivy spiraling all over again.

Ahead of her, Ivy took another flying leap over a small stream, her sun gold hair threatening to come loose from the haphazard braid she'd insisted on plaiting herself. Bellara didn't know then that would be the last summer Ivy's hair would be anything resembling its natural color. She didn't know a lot of things about the future. All she knew was that she liked the way the light caught the amber highlights in it, and the way there were always just a few strands that never quite got woven in quite right in Ivy's haste to just go. Bellara jumped over the stream as well, her foot slipping on a stone on the opposite bank. She felt herself falling backwards, tried to brace for the sudden chill of the mountain runoff, but instead found herself jerked back upright as Ivy's hand caught hers.

"I got you!" Ivy grinned, cheeks red from the exertion of their frantic flight through the forest but her eyes glittering with glee. "C'mon, we can go up to the overlook, wait for 'em there. I brought those honey and nut bars my mom makes. Might as well start the 'reception' without them."

Bellara laughed, allowing Ivy to pull her further up the game path to the rocky outcropping that hung over a relatively clear section of the forest. She was still a little nervous, hanging her legs out over the edge to dangle so high above the forest floor, but it never seemed to bother Ivy. Or if it did, she was much better at hiding it. "So," her friend said around a mouthful of honey and dried fruit, "How long you think it'll take 'em to catch us this time?"

"Oh, probably ages," Bellara replied with mock seriousness. "Cyrian was laughing so hard at the 'vows' you wrote telling him he had to always make sure you had a pet monkey and that you wanted cheese served at every meal or else you would leave him for the monkey."

Ivy leaned back, a satisfied smile dancing on her lips. "Yeah, been working on those ones for awhile. A monkey probably wouldn't be the best idea, but come on: cheese at every meal should be a part of everyone's wedding vows. Unless you're allergic, I guess. That would be awful." The smile faded from her face and her brow knit together. "Cormac was big mad though. He hates it when we don't play 'properly.'"

"I know he can be kinda bossy," Bellara conceded, "But he's Cyrian's best friend, outside of us, and he can be really nice when he wants to be." Granted, he didn't seem to want to be nice all that often. Even Bellara had to admit he could be hard to get along with, and most of the other children of the clan avoided him even if they didn't necessarily outright shun him. She couldn't exactly blame them, but she couldn't help but feel sorry for Cormac. It wasn't his fault he'd been spoiled as a kid, or that he'd been spoiled as a direct result of the guilt his mother felt at not always really remembering that she had a kid due to her devotion to her work.

"He's nice to you, at least," Ivy pointed out, the sharp edges of her words surprising Bellara.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ivy shrugged, her fingers idly twisting a blade of grass. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Oh come on, Ives," Bellara pressed, "Now you have to tell me."

Ivy let the blade of grass flutter to the forest floor below them, watching its erratic twirling until she could no longer see it amidst the shadows of the great trees. "Honestly Bel, Cormac is kind of a jerk to everyone except you. Even Cyrian, sometimes. He acts like he's better than us just because his grandfather was our hahren and his mother knows a bunch about the old lore of the gods. And I really, really don't think he likes me hanging out with you. He says I'm a 'bad influence' and that I shouldn't be 'corrupting' proper elven girls."

"He actually used the word 'corrupting'?" Bellara asked with an incredulous snort, then sighed before amending her statement. "I guess he does like using big words. But for what it's worth, I don't think you're a bad influence at all, Ives. I think you're a pretty great influence, actually. And what even is a 'proper' elven girl? Is Helles more proper than Antiria because she's a weaver rather than a scout? Is Lyria more proper than Mezzi because she's a huntress rather than a halla tender? That's just dumb. I think a 'proper' elven girl is one who is just honest about who she wants to be, so long as she isn't hurting anyone else, right? Or at least, not trying to hurt anyone else. I guess there was that one time Mezzi accidentally left the gate open between pens and that male halla got out and knocked Taryn down, that probably hurt. Or that time Helles forgot one of her sewing needles in the blanket she made for Old Thorne and it poked him in his backside. Or-"

She stopped short, suddenly painfully aware that she was rambling. Again. Ivy didn't seem to mind, though. Ivy never seemed to mind. In fact, she was flat on her back giggling. "Yeah," she agreed breathlessly between laughs, "that probably hurt. But you're right. Cormac sure doesn't get to tell me what is and isn't 'proper,' so as long as you're still putting up with me, you're gonna be stuck with me. He can go kick rocks for all I care."

Bellara smiled, laying down beside her friend amidst the carpet of wild grass and moss and wildflowers, staring up at the endless expanse of sky above them as sheep's wool clouds swam lazily through the blue, carried on the same summer breeze that bore her the thoughts she did keep silent. The ones she refused to entertain even in the deepest parts of her heart.

I want to be stuck with her forever.

She wondered why it was that memory that struck her now, rather than any of the countless others that may have been triggered in this moment. That summer had been utterly ordinary. Wonderful, of course, in its simplicity, but none of them had appreciated that as much as they ought to have at the time. Maybe that was in and of itself an answer to her question: that summer had been peaceful, the four of them absolutely oblivious to what would come later.

None of them knew that years later, Cyrian would 'die' in a tragic accident that even now, or that he would die a second time in his sister's arms. They didn't know that Ivy would be sent away from the Veil Jumpers simply because she chose to save lives rather than knowledge, or that Bellara would become the unwilling plaything of an ancient mage with delusions of godhood. Cormac would be grievously, and apparently mortally, wounded during a hunting expedition. They never did recover his body, the wolves and bears apparently being more efficient than they were. His death had been yet another bead on a string of losses that had weighed down Bellara's neck for too long.

Or at least, she'd thought he'd died. She was apparently really, really bad at telling when someone was mostly dead as opposed to all dead.

Recognition hit her a half second after it must have hit Ivy, and cognizant thought was still trying to catch up. The man who had removed the hood of his cloak to face them open-faced and unashamed looked familiar, yet hauntingly distorted from Bellara's memory. The thick black hair was longer now, but cut unevenly in a way that seemed to highlight the blades of cheekbone and jaw, and the intense amber gaze that had passed with what could almost be disinterest over the others now focused on her. An ugly scar puckered the skin across his bare chest in three distinct lines, and shadows darkened the hollows beneath his eyes.

"How…" Bellara whispered, the single word cracking on the dryness of her tongue. The initial wave of shock began to ebb, and she began to absorb the rest of the scene in front of her. While the space in front of the altar had been left pristine, the stone scrubbed almost to gleaming, her eyes caught the telltale signs of sacrifice in the periphery of her vision: viscous stains, some old and flaking, some so new as to still bear the faint sheen of crimson in their reflection. A simple golden locket lay strewn against a pedestal, and a pair of well-worn boots had been shoved unceremoniously in the corner. Bellara turned back to the front of the room. "Why?"

Cormac laughed, the rich sound rolling through the room in a discordant echo. "My Bellara… I have waited so long for you to find your way back to me."

"She does not belong to you, you fucking psychopath," Ivy spat angrily, and Bellara was pretty sure it was only the careful hand Willow placed on her back that stopped the other woman from leaping forward and attempting to slit their old friend's throat. Cormac's expression soured, but he did not deign to respond to her outburst, instead addressing Willow.

"Lady Volkarin, called the Grave Daughter. Hero of the war against the evanuris. You should not have come here. None of you should have. Only Bellara was called."

Somehow, and Bellara was really going to ask her how she did that someday, Willow managed to maintain a veneer of calm. "Well, your invitation of seven human corpses displayed on the Gwaren border was rather compelling. Ivy, Bellara? Perhaps introductions are in order?"

"You… you were dead," Bellara said helplessly, "We searched for you for days, weeks, and never found anything more than a few patches of blood on the leaves." She faced her friends, and for some reason she could not quite untangle there was a feeling of shame welling up inside of her, warming her cheeks. "This… this is Cormac Sanvere. He's… he was…"

"Cyrian's best friend," Ivy filled in, taking pity on her Bellara's fumbling attempts, or perhaps simply taking advantage of the chance to express her own disdain. "He was part of our clan, growing up. Even trailed after us when we all joined up with the Veil Jumpers, even though he constantly complained about the work. Called it a waste of time, though based on that old scroll we found I'm guessing his opinion has changed somewhat since then."

Ivy's tone grew more bitter, and Bellara knew she ought to jump in; try to mitigate whatever harsh honesty Ivy was about to unleash on their host, but she found she could not bring herself to do it. Instead, she simply let Ivy continue. "As far as we knew, he was attacked by something in the forest while out with one of the Jumper teams, though no one could ever say exactly what," she said, her eyes seeming to pierce straight through Cormac's chest into his very soul. "We thought he was dead; eaten by the beasts of the forests. The one useful thing he could have actually managed to do."

"Oh, Ivy," Cormac chuckled, but the notes were jagged and cruel. "Of course you do not understand. Always too concerned with the past to consider our future. You spent so much time uncovering what we were, but never once dared to use that knowledge to advance what our people could be. I do not bear the weight of such cowardice." He returned his attention to Bellara, a feverish, frightening devotion in his eyes. "But you… Bellara, you were always special. So different from the others. Only you were willing to take the world apart to figure out how to put it back together. To use the tools and knowledge of our ancestors to improve the lot of our people."

"I… no," Bellara stammered. "I mean, yes, I want to help our people and I want to maintain the parts of our heritage that are worth maintaining, but not at the cost of lives, Cormac! All this," she gestured broadly to the room around them and the altar to Dirthamen and Falon'Din, "This isn't you! This isn't us!"

Cormac just smiled. "But it could be, vhenan. It could be."

A wave of nausea roiled through her at the term of endearment, the single word a validation of every dropped hint and awkward interaction she'd ever had with her friend. Ivy had tried to tell her, of course, but Bellara now suspected Ivy had also held back on some of her harsher assessments for fear of revealing her own feelings. "Don't call me that," she said, a little surprised at the venom in her own words. "I am not your heart, and you don't have mine. We were friends, Cormac, but that's all. And we still could be friends," she prayed he couldn't hear the lie woven into her plea, "but you have to stop this. Stop all of this. Let these people go." If there are any left.

He seemed unaffected by her rejection, brushing it off as if it were no more consequential than a bit of lint on his robe. "You'll come around, Bellara. I did. After the Veil Jumpers abandoned me in that forest-"

"Nobody 'abandoned' you, you self-absorbed lunatic," Ivy interrupted, "We looked for you for weeks and never found more than those sparse of old blood."

"Of course you didn't," Cormac shrugged, "I had already been found by my true comrades; my true family."

"Someone else found you first," Willow spoke up, her tone deceptively conversational. Bellara knew the other woman was trying to buy them time; trying to spool out any thread of possibility to get them and any survivors, including Sage, out safely. "Who?"

Cormac seemed to be sizing Willow up, measuring her for some inscrutable purpose. Finally, he shook his head. "Your presence here is… problematic, Lady Volkarin. A handful of villagers from a backwater settlement will raise little concern with the powers that be, but having you disappear would be inconvenient. It would draw unwanted attention to our cause too soon. We are not ready."

Willow smiled, the type one might give a particularly frustrating child when trying to convey patience. Bellara was more amused than she probably ought to have been that it seemed to irritate Cormac even more. "And you have not answered my question, Cormac."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Of all the things you could waste my time with… very well. If you must pry, I was found by another Dalish clan, one that still holds to the nomadic way of life. For now. They took me in, healed my wounds, and more importantly, they healed my mind. They purified me of the lies I had been taught by our people for years."

"Cormac, what are you even talking about?" Bellara asked, painfully aware of the desperation in her words. "Is this about the evanuris?"

"The evanuris failed," Cormac sneered, "As did our people. Bowing our heads to humans, trading with the dwarves for scraps, debasing ourselves by joining the Qun… All in the name of survival, when in reality, we are the superior race. We always have been, and it is our responsibility to rule over the lesser cattle of this world."

Bellara was fairly certain her jaw had dropped at this point, but Cormac either didn't notice or, more likely, just didn't care as he continued his monologue. "They revealed to me my true purpose. They saw my potential, nurtured it as they nurtured my broken body back to health. In me, they saw not only a leader, but one who could become something so much more. Someone who could bear the terrible weight of divinity in order to shepherd our people into a new world where the old gods no longer hold sway and a new power can arise."

"They saw you as an easy mark they could manipulate," Ivy snorted. "A fragile little man rejected by the woman he loved; who believed he was somehow entitled to more just because his mommy said he was 'special' and the world was out to get him."

For the first time since they had entered the room, Cormac's careful control seemed to slip just a fraction. There was a twitch at the corner of his eye, and his hands gripped into fists for a moment before they relaxed once more, an arrogant smirk oozing across his face. "And you were the impulsive little brat who thought the rules simply didn't apply to her, and who was delusional enough to think a woman as brilliant and beautiful as Bellara would ever deign to love a failure like yourself. You could never have the strength it takes to do what I have done, Ivy Aldwir. And you will never deserve her."

"Cormac," Bellara said carefully, kindly, "I'm sorry we didn't find you first. I really, really am. I promise we didn't abandon you though, and if we'd known you were still out there we would have come for you, but this isn't the way to fix things. Killing all these people isn't going to make things better for the elves, it's just going to make things worse for everyone."

He almost seemed to be considering her words, but then he shook his head. "You don't understand, Bellara. Not yet. The evanuris were not wrong, they were just foolish. Arrogant. And they could not resist the temptation to enslave their own people rather than conquer the lesser races as is our divine right."

"Divine according to who, Cormac?" Bellara pressed. "The Maker? We're not even sure what that looks like anymore. The evanuris? The old gods of Tevinter? It was all built on a lie. How can you claim 'divine right' to anything when divinity is meaningless?"

Cormac just smiled at her indulgently, like he was humoring a petulant child. "You do not yet understand, beloved," he repeated softly, "But you will. And when you do, you will see that your place is at my side, ruling as a goddess. Think of what you could do with the sort of power this ritual promises! Think of all the good you could accomplish, the wonders you could create! Bellara, you have the most brilliant mind I have ever known. You could craft marvels to surpass even those of June, given the proper tools and the enough power. We could rebuild the elven empire, together, you and I. But this time, we could benefit from the wisdom we have gained from the failures of our predecessors. We could leave their pathetic legacy in the ground where it belongs."

"How exactly is doing the same fucking thing as them leaving their legacy in the ground?" Ivy demanded. "How many people have you already killed for this sick little game you're playing?"

Cormac's eyes slid away from Bellara to fix on Ivy, a coldness there that sent a shiver running down her spine as he spoke. "I have killed no one that did not already deserve it. These pathetic shemlen were scraping out a meager existence in their hovels but had the audacity to strut around this forest like they held lordship over it. They ought to be grateful I gave their death meaning."

His gaze returned to Bellara, warmer now, but not in any sort of way that she found comfort in. It felt like the heat of the sun when she was too far from shade, or sitting too close to a campfire. Cormac smiled, the expression made unnatural by the sharpness of his cheekbones and the dark hollows beneath his eyes. He reached out a hand towards her, but stepped no closer. No, he wanted her to come to him, one way or another. "Bellara, you have always been meant for me, just as truly as I have always been meant for you. You must feel the threads of fate that bind us together. We were both chosen for something greater: to usher in a new age for our people.

I have loved you since the day I met you," he continued, his attention devoted solely to her, his hand still outstretched. "I knew from the very beginning that you were special, and I was right. You are one of the only elves still alive who has touched the mind of a god; who conquered that mind through sheer force of will. Imagine, Bellara, what we could do!"

He kept saying that word, 'imagine.' A dream for the dreamer, a fervent wish, maybe… but he didn't have a plan. Not a real one, anyways. Bellara shook her head slowly. "Cormac… I'm sorry, but I just don't feel that way about you. And even if I did, what you're proposing is just… I can't. I can't sacrifice innocent lives in the name of a new elven empire."

"And you would have us return to our place as their slaves?" He snapped angrily, the fragile mask of control slipping away before he took a deep inhale, replacing it nearly as quickly as it had vanished. "You will come to love me, in time. It is inevitable. Once your mind has been cleansed of the lies and false promises the shemlen and the blood traitors have poisoned you with, you will understand my vision and your place in it. You will see that I have always been your destiny, just as you are mine."

Her blood ran cold at the final word. Mine. The same word that had constricted around Ivy's mind, a promise and a threat and a taunt compressed into a single simple word. A wave of revulsion rolled through her belly, and she was almost afraid to open her mouth again for fear she would throw up all over the cult's nice clean floors. "Cormac," she repeated slowly, "I do not love you. And I am not going to set the world on fire for you. The ritual you're attempting is insane, and it's dragging you down with it. I want to help you, I want us to still be friends, but I can't if you keep going down this path. I can't save you," she said, painfully aware of the helpless timbre of her voice; praying it would conceal the lies in her words.

For a brief moment, something in Cormac's expression flickered, hesitated. His hand fell to his side in a slow, deliberate motion, and Bellara risked taking a single step closer. "This isn't you, Cormac," she said, keeping her tone calm, gentle, denying her panic and anxiety the foothold it was clawing for in her brain. "This isn't the boy I played tag and hide and go seek with, or even the young man who whose face would light up every time they sang his favorite songs around the campfire. Bring back that person. Please," she felt her words begin to fail, "Please don't make me lose another friend."

Cormac was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and his voice had changed somewhat when he finally spoke again. "Your brother… Cyrian… I mourned his loss as well, Bellara. I wanted to be there for you, to comfort you, but by the time I returned you were gone, off with the Veilguard to save the world." His smile was bittersweet, almost nostalgic. "He and I were two sides of the same coin, you know: we both wanted a better world for our people. Wanted the strength that only the gods had ever held. Had he not thrown his lot in with Anaris, perhaps I could have saved him, too. Perhaps we could have built that world we long dreamed of."

Bellara swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, willing herself to say the words she knew they both needed to hear, all the while mindful of the fact that if she said the wrong thing? There was a very good chance Cormac would attack her friends. "You might be right," she admitted softly. "Cyrian lost his way after the accident. And maybe I failed you both by just blaming myself for his death rather than looking harder; trying harder. I don't know, but you don't either. When Cyrian did truly die, he did so doing the right thing. He knew it would almost definitely meant he was going to die, but he did it anyway because it was the right thing to do not just for me, or the Veilguard, but for our people." She glanced at the bloodstains where they lay in silent testament on the unfeeling tile floor. "The sacrifices he made for Anaris were not worth it, Cormac. And neither are the ones you're making. And that doesn't make what happened to us right, either, you know? I just know I don't want to become a monster. And if we do this? If we keep making these sacrifices of those who you've decided are 'lesser'? That's exactly what we'll be, Cormac. We'll be monsters. And we'll be wrong."

For a brief moment, it almost looked like she was getting through to him. Cormac's hands had fallen to his side, and the manic sheen had faded from his eyes. For a brief, impossible moment, Bellara saw the boy who had been her friend all those years ago. A little boy who was bossy, and conceited, and struggled to relate to his peers, but who could also be bold and dedicated and industrious.

The moment passed. Somehow, Bellara knew that it had been an inevitability.

They were too far past rationality, or any chance at turning back the clock. The little boy she had once called her friend, so full of youthful potential, had grown into a young man poisoned by the bitter realities of a world that did not bend to his whims as he expected, no, demanded they do. Bellara knew, in the practical part of her brain, that even if she'd been able to convince Cormac to stand down, he would have to face the consequences of his actions. Whatever freedom he had been looking for, for himself or for the elven people, would remain a distant dream. For him, at least.

What happened next unfolded almost too quickly for Bellara to process it, even as her mind could not help dissecting each movement, each action, as it occurred. Cormac's eyes fell away from hers, maybe from shame, maybe from disgust. The hand that had been outstretched towards her now flowed smoothly to the dagger still lying on the altar, fingers twisting around the hilt with alarming ease. He had always planned for this possibility, Bellara realized. He had been ready to fight them; to kill them. Without a single word, Cormac lunged forward, blade flashing in the veilfire.

He is going to attack Ivy first. He hates her the most. Throw up a shield, buy the others time to react. The blade will deflect but he'll be expecting that. He might not expect a blade from Willow, though, might not know she's not a mage. Emmrich will overwhelm him with necrotic energy, drain as much off him as he can. Ivy will have recovered by then, and I can-

She was almost unaware of the spells her hands were weaving. Her physical body was disconnected from her mind, a sensation she had not experienced since her brother had died, and every move she made seemed to be based on instinct rather than the careful scenario she was spinning out in her head. Emmrich and Willow were reacting as well, showers of jade necrotic magic washing over the room and the precise whisper of daggers snaking through the eerie silence. They needed to stop him, needed to stop all of this, needed to get the void out of here. Panic rose in her chest, threatening to suffocate her ability to move; to act. At least, until a single unforgiving sound slashed across her consciousness.

3. What are you looking forward to right now?

New tattoo on Sunday. :'D This one wasn't exactly planned, but I needed an anniversary gift for my husband anyways, and an artist has an insanely good deal on her Jurassic Park flash right now, including a design we've been talking about getting together for years. The timing is just right: not only is our anniversary coming up on 8.7, but this Saturday is also the two year anniversary of my dad's death, and he was the one who first took little four year old me to see the very first Jurassic Park movie because I loved dinosaurs. And who had to tell me afterwards not to tell my mom that I laughed every time someone got eaten.

I was a very normal child.

4. If you could do anything at all today, what would it be?

Not be at work? XD Honestly, I wish I could just pop an edible and be outside somewhere like the beach or maybe the gorge. I think that sometimes I take it for granted that I'm literally an hour and half away from either the mountains or the beach depending on which direction I drive

5. Drink of choice?

That really just depends. I usually start my day with tea or coffee with just a touch of creamer. Then it's ice water until my 2:00 p.m. juice break when I get my energy drink (currently the Lando Norris Monster Energy). Then in the evening I usually have a can or two of sparkling water and mooooooore ice water. :'D If I'm out and about, I enjoy a good stout or porter, or basically anything my favorite bartender whips up for me when I let him just make something on vibes.

6. Hair routine?

Shampoo and conditioner every 2-3 days. Curl cream if I'm trying to emphasize that; coconut oil mist if it's particularly frizzy. About 2-3 times a year I do a full blow out and flat iron, but with my hair's length and texture that takes upwards of an hour, so it's rare. :'D I have been thinking that I'd like to go back to purple again like I did during lockdown, but I think I'm going to wait until this round of hair tinsel finally sheds.

7. Favourite way to travel? Is there another you want to try?

Weirdly enough given my fear of heights and general anxiety, but I love flying. Hate the stress of getting through airport security and actually on the plane, but I love flying. It also helps that Portland literally has one of the best (and many years the best) airport in the country. It's awesome.

8. Favourite month and why?

September. It's starting to be autumn, the weather is cooling down but it's still nice enough for hikes, the leaves are changing, spooky season is just around the corner...

9. Favourite time of day and why?

As much as I despise getting up early, I am for better or for worse a morning person. I tend to be far more productive before noon, and honestly, sometimes it's nice just having the apartment to myself and the girls (the reason I never get to sleep in much XD) for an hour or two before my husband wakes up.

10. Do you play or follow any sports?

I don't really play sports anymore. I played volleyball briefly in middle school and I was a dancer (ballet, jazz, ballroom). I do, however, follow Formula 1 pretty religiously (in that you'll usually find me awake at some obscene hour on Sunday mornings to watch a race, depending on what country it's in). I'm an Oscar Piastri fan through and through, but I also root for his McClaren teammate, Lando Norris, Alex Albon from Williams Atlassian (his cat family is goals) and Valtteri Bottas from Cadillac (because that guy is just living his best life and I support him).

11. What kind of music has been stuck in your head lately?

Well, I've been playing a lot of Hades II and Disney Dreamlight Valley, so mostly those soundtracks. :'D I cannot tell you how disappointed I was while watching the Odyssey and there was not a single eighties power rock ballad during the Scylla scene. What a waste.

12. Dishes or laundry?

I do both! Not because my partner can't or won't, I'm just... I'm very particular about chores, and I have a cleaning schedule I try to stick to pretty rigorously. My laundry system is labyrinthine, and while I will let him hand scrub dishes I find particularly yucky, I kind of took over packing and unpacking the dishwasher just because I usually want the kitchen sink available for cleaning. :'D

13. Something you learned recently?

...have you yet heard the good word of our lord and savior Jimothy? Because I would absolutely wage holy war for that raccoon. WE RIDE AT DAWN. And yes, I absolutely already have the Mike Bennett Studios Jimothy sticker. Multiples, in fact.

14. What would you talk about if you could give a TED talk on anything?

America is Not Rome: why comparing ourselves to the classical empire and it's fall is ABSOLUTELY IDIOTIC AND A COP OUT FOR NOT TAKING ANY MEANINGFUL ACTION. Sorry, but as a historian who literally got one of their degrees in classical history, this whole nihilistic 'this is inevitable, just look at Rome!' bullshit is really wearing thin.

15. Piece of advice you find yourself giving a lot?

You can't make people like you or appreciate you. You can give and give and give, but that's a choice you are making, and if people don't appreciate you or your efforts it's perfectly fine to step back and not pour from an empty cup.

16. Piece of advice you would give yourself five years ago?

She's not worth it.

17. Do you believe in luck and superstition? Do you carry any lucky items or follow any rituals?

Kind of? I mean, I consider myself an amateur green witch, so I read the cards and I have a variety of rocks and crystals for channeling certain energies. I still pray rosaries when I'm particularly stressed out or worried about something, and I haven't been Catholic in over a decade. But at the end of the day? The world is chaos. The best we can do is just be kind to each other. In the words of the late, amazing true crime author Michelle McNamara: "It's chaos. Be kind."

18. Are you musical (play any instruments, sing)? Would you ever perform for an audience?

I sing decently enough (trained through university), and I play piano, a bit of guitar, flute, clarinet, saxophone, really most of your basic woodwinds (tin whistle, piccolo, recorders, any of those things). I desperately want to learn bagpipes but that's not gonna happen in an apartment. XD As far as performing? Not so much anymore, but I used to do regular recitals. Now I am just a karaoke junkie (it was a great way to get my drinks paid for by old white men while I was in college).

19. Write, type or speak?

Typing, trust me. My handwriting may as well be hieroglyphics.

20. What do you wish someone would ask you?

How are you holding up?

I will tag @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @dags-over-caravans, @thefrostyshepard, @sorrygoldfish, @blackestnight, and anyone else who feels like participating! Open tag! Here are the questions:

Her eyes remained fixed on the scrawled message on the wall in front of her, chips of stone still littering the floor where the graffiti had been hastily gouged into the surface of the wall. Some distant part of her mind was offended that someone had so vandalized an ancient site, but the more immediate part of her brain said a silent prayer of thanks for idiots who were willing to leave blatant clues behind them. "'Flee, unworthy mortals, lest the righteous wrath of the old gods smite you down in their eternal glory," she muttered under her breath, staring at the words. "It answers part of the question, but not the whole."

"Agreed, dearest," Emmrich sighed. "Some of the events that have transpired in this place could be attributed to powerful mages, though I would hesitate to give them credit for all the strange occurrences we have run into," he added, placing a hand at the small of her back. She leaned her head against his chest, letting the steady drum of his heartbeat center her, but her eyes remained fixed on the message.

"The evanuris are dead," she spoke slowly, "We killed Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain ourselves, and both they and Solas seemed fairly convinced the others had perished before them. Only Solas and fragments of Mythal remain. I suppose it is possible this is related to Solas, but somehow… somehow I do not think it is. This lacks any sort of cunning or finesse; it mostly feels like someone is trying to use brute magical strength to get what they want."

"Which almost certainly means blood magic," her husband noted, a hint of derision in his tone. "I know such practices are, or at least were, rather common in the Imperium, but my word is it easy to abuse! And those who are willing to go to such measures are often the same ones who can not be trusted with the heavy responsibility of such power and potential."

Willow pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the headache that was threatening to creep in behind her eyes the longer she stared at the wall. "It's also possible these 'old believers' simply refuse to acknowledge their so-called 'gods' were, ultimately, mortal. They may not truly believe they're dead and, to be honest, I am not entirely sure I blame them. After all, look at Solas. Look at Mythal. They found a way to endure. The only reason I am confident we ended Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain is because we used the knowledge the other two gave us in order to truly defeat them once and for all. But if I didn't have that knowledge, and if I was desperate enough…"

"You might still believe there was a chance to bring them back," Emmrich filled in, pulling her closer. "Oh, Willow… you don't think…"

"I don't know," she shrugged, sitting down harder than she intended to on a nearby stone bench, her tailbone immediately protesting her lack of consideration. "But yes, I think we need to consider the possibility that those who have been taken were sacrificed in the name of trying to bring back one of the evanuris. Likely Dirthamen, judging by their penchant for his symbology. And yet…" her eyes squeezed shut. Something didn't add up. It didn't feel right. If they were really trying to bring back the evanuris, even just one, why pick the Brecilian? Why not Arlathan, or even the catacombs of Minrathous, anywhere that the elven 'gods' had left their touch? "All I know," she finally continued, "Is that we need to find our friends, and quickly."

She turned to Davrin. "Any chance Assan might be able to get a scent off of something that belonged to Ivy or Bel?" She asked, a small grin breaking free of her gloom as the griffon crouched down in a mock attack, his tail whipping back and forth and his beak clicking enthusiastically.

Davrin offered a small smile of his own. "I think it's a distinct possibility. I'm guessing they weren't counting on the best trackers in Thedas being on their tails, were they boy?" He directed the inquiry at Assan, who sat back on his hindquarters and shifted his head in an inquisitive tilt. Davrin reached into his backpack and pulled out a couple of items that had been carefully stowed there. After the initial weirdness of the forest had made itself known, it had been decided that, as a precaution, each member of the party would hand over an item to be used in tracking should the worst happen. Bellara had handed over one of the ribbons she used to tie back her hair. Ivy had tossed them a sock of indeterminate cleanliness.

"Probably not a good idea to try and give him both scents at once," Davrin cautioned. "It could confuse the trail, especially if they ended up separated at any point. So…" He looked to Willow, expectation in his eyes alongside the unspoken question.

Shit.

Bellara was one of her dearest friends, and she had already been through so much. Too much. No one would blame her if she decided to track her first. On the other hand, with the exception of the incident with the statue, every malicious event that had been directed at their party had targeted Ivy. Whatever was behind this, it seemed to hold a particular animus towards her, and she was almost certainly in more danger than Bellara was.

"No matter where Ivy was taken," she replied slowly, "I know she is going to fight tooth and nail to find Bellara, or to remain with her." She did not have to explain the reasoning behind this logic; the feelings that Ivy had for Bellara would be visible from the heavens to everyone except for them, apparently. "I think if we find her, we'll find Bel, so… so let's start there."

Davrin gave a brisk nod and, though he didn't say a word, Willow was grateful for the flash of understanding that had passed over his eyes. "Got it. Alright boy, here, take a sniff." He offered the sock to Assan, who approached it with a curious snuffle. The griffon sniffed a few times, then exhaled a huff of impatience and darted towards a door on the far right of the chamber they had found themselves in. Willow and the others followed, nearly tripping over their feet in their attempt to keep up with Assan as he shot through the ruins.

"I sincerely hope there are no further traps waiting for us," Emmrich noted, "Given we are currently short both our experts."

"Assan has a pretty good idea what to look for," Davrin assured them, rounding a corner to follow Assan down a hallway to the left. "I mean, he's not as good as Ives or Bel, but we should be ok. I'm guessing these parts of the ruins are more lived in than some of the others, so hopefully that'll work in our favor."

They descended deeper into the ruins, following Assan down a dreary stairwell into what appeared to have once been a dungeon, but smelled as though it had more recently been used as a primitive bathroom. Assan paused briefly, sniffed the air, then darted back up the stairs.

Willow was not sorry to leave.

Further into the winding halls they pushed, occasionally sinking into the shadows when the faint echoes of conversation drifted past them or the tread of footsteps rang out on the stone floors, but otherwise continuing on the chase. Then, without warning, Assan came to a sudden stop, his dark eyes darting about in confusion. A soft trill hummed through his throat, and he crouched lower to the ground. Not hunting; searching. And whatever it was he had detected, Willow had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't Ivy or Bellara.

"What did you find, boy?" Davrin whispered, kneeling beside Assan. Assan stepped forward on careful claws, entering a small room that seemed to have once been an office or other administrative space that had since been demoted to use as storage. Stopping in front of a large wardrobe, Assan nudged insistently at the doors, making a small squawk of alert.

And in the wardrobe, Willow heard a small gasp.

Another split decision: leave and continue their search, or reveal themselves and risk exposure. "It's alright," she said softly, calling out to the presence in the wardrobe. "We're not going to hurt you. We're just trying to find our friends."

The room fell silent for a moment, then the door pushed forward ever so slightly, and small, pale fingers tentatively slipped out. Then a flash of a a fearful eye peering through the crack, until finally the wardrobe was cautiously opened to reveal a young boy tucked amongst musty coats and moth-eaten shirts. He couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, with ashy blonde hair and grey eyes that seemed somehow familiar.

"You're Sage, aren't you?" Willow asked, keeping her tone gentle. "Laurel's little brother; Florian's son. We met your family in Copse Hollow."

The boy seemed to perk up a bit at that, a little of the fear draining from his face to be replaced by hopeful curiosity. "You… you met them? Laurel and my da?"

"Indeed!" Emmrich chimed in, and Willow could see out of the corner of her eyes that he was forming subtle sigils with his hands, trying to determine if the boy was possessed or otherwise injured. "Your sister is the one who helped us locate you."

Sage rolled his eyes, and Willow had to resist the urge to laugh at the universal preadolescent expression of skepticism that settled on his face. "Yeah, right. She's probably just glad I'm gone so she has the room all to herself like she always wanted."

"I promise you, she's not glad you're gone," Willow countered. "In fact, she's very worried about you. Everyone in the village is. Do you…" She hesitated, hating herself a little bit for the questions she knew she had to ask the poor boy, "Do you know where the others are?"

What light had been rekindled in Sage's eyes vanished, extinguished by the heavy burden of knowledge he'd been subjected to. "They failed him," he said, voice cracking on the words. "He got angry because they failed him. They were supposed to be sent back home to bring more humans for the ritual, but the magic didn't work right when they went back. Something broke in their heads, I think, but they weren't right anymore. The spell didn't work."

Despite the dire implications of the news, Willow felt a thrill of vindication. She had long suspected there was more than one force at play in the forest, and she now had a bit more evidence that she was correct. "The forest… I wonder if it interfered with the magic; kept it from working as intended," she muttered to herself. "Perhaps it was trying to protect the villagers who had not been taken yet, or at the very least it was trying to stymie the efforts of whoever cast the spell in the first place out of spite." Turning back to the boy, she asked again, as kindly as she could, "Sage? Do you know where they took the others?"

He nodded with obvious reluctance. "Yeah… Yeah, I think I can find it again. They pretty much let me go wherever I like so long as I don't leave the ruins, so I've had loads of time to explore. If we take the back halls we can probably avoid the others, if we're quiet and careful."

"Don't suppose you know how many others are holed up in this place, do you?" Davrin asked as Assan leaned his head forward in curiosity, trilling softly as Sage held out a tentative hand to stroke the griffon's feathers.

"There used to be lots," he said, his voice tinged with sadness but surprisingly no particular fear or anxiety. "I don't really know how many, exactly. There were a lot of elves, but some of them were prisoners and some weren't. The humans were all brainwashed or something. Like I said, they were supposed to bring more people back, but they couldn't, and he got really mad."

Willow knelt down beside Sage so she could look up at him rather than the other way around. "Who is he, exactly?"

Sage shook his head. "Dunno," he shrugged. "'Least, I don't know his real name. I don't think any of us do. They just call him 'Somniari.'"

"The Dreamer," Willow muttered. "Such an innocuous name." There was another question nagging at the back of her mind; one that she simply could not bring herself to ask the poor boy. She had no idea why he had been spared when, if her grim suspicions were correct, no one else who had been taken from Copse Hollow had survived their 'failure.' They were likely never meant to, in the long run. Maybe Sage was too young and his initial abduction had been a mistake, or maybe this Somniari, whoever he was, had a soft spot for kids. Or if she really wanted to consider the darker implications, it was possible the boy still had a much darker purpose that he was not even conscious of yet.

She glanced over at Emmrich, and she could tell he was mulling over the same possibilities in his head. Returning her attention to Sage, she offered what she hoped was a comforting expression. "Would it be alright if my friend checked to make sure you're alright? It won't hurt at all."

Sage's brow knit together in a frown. "You want to make sure he didn't scramble my brains too, huh?"

Despite herself, Willow laughed. "Something like that," she agreed. "Would that be alright?"

He bit his lower lip, considering. Finally, he gave a shrug that was probably meant to appear brave but seemed to bear an air of resignation. "Yeah, that's ok."

Emmrich stepped forward with an encouraging smile. "No worries young man, this won't take but a moment!" He drew upon his magic, the familiar jade glow blooming between his palms as he reached them out to hover over Sage's head, then his heart. As the glow faded, the relief in his hazel eyes was clear. "Excellent!" He pronounced. "Not a thing wrong with you, my boy. Your mind is completely your own."

There was the faintest hint of confusion beneath the cheer that Willow suspected only she could detect, and she was fairly certain that her husband was also wondering why, exactly, the boy had been spared. Sage didn't seem terribly bothered, at least. In fact, he seemed to be growing a bit impatient with the adults in the room. "Can we go now? I hate it here, and if you can get me out I'll take you wherever you want. I just don't want to be here anymore."

"Can't say I blame you, kid," Davrin said with a wry chuckle. "Think you can take us to where they might have put our friends?"

Sage nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I think so! Somniari really only wanted the dark-haired elf. I think he's sweet on her or something; he keeps sketching pictures of her all the time. I don't get it," he sniffed with all the worldly wisdom of a child who has not yet discovered if they will be inclined towards a romantic sort of relationship or not. "But the other one? They probably took her to the dungeon, but I'd bet she got loose. Those bars are really weak, especially after some of the other prisoners tried to escape."

"That's incredibly helpful Sage, thank you." Willow had to hold back the sigh of relief she was tempted to exhale. Both women were, as far as they could tell, still alive. She stood back up, planting her hands on her hips and looking to Emmrich and Davrin. "So if Ivy got out, what is the first thing she is going to do? Where would she go?"

"She's gonna go straight for Bellara," Davrin replied, picking up on her train of thought. "She likes us, sure, but we all know how she feels about Bel."

"Precisely," Emmrich agreed. "Ivy is clever, and she has experience with these types of ruins, so she will hopefully be able to navigate them with some celerity. Sage, do you know where they will have kept Bellara?"

Sage shuffled uncertainly on his feet. "Weeeeell…" he hedged, his eyes dropping to the floor, "They weren't supposed to hurt her. Somniari said he would kill them all if anything happened to her, and I think he meant it. They probably took her to his private rooms, past the dormitories. I can take you there, but I don't know how many people are out there. Some of them got send out to hunt and gather supplies, and some are already…" he paused again, and there was a distinct quaver in his voice when he spoke again, steadfastly refusing to say the word 'dead.' "I don't know how many are left," he said helplessly.

"That's alright," Willow replied, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing gently. "We'll sort that out when we get there, alright? And I do think you will be safer with us than you will be hiding in that wardrobe. Why don't we all stick together and try to keep following the trail. Davrin?" She turned to the warden. "Do you think Assan will be able to pick up the trail again now that we have some insider help as well?"

"Don't see why not," Davrin replied, once again offering Assan Ivy's sock and waiting as the griffon sniffed inquisitively. A breath of time, and once again Assan was snaking past their legs and back into the corridor, pausing just long enough to ensure they were following. Every once in awhile Sage would provide guidance when the trail became confused, and the party pushed farther into the ruins.

"Maker, this place is huge," Willow observed after coming to another junction of hallways. "And the deterioration of parts of the structure certainly doesn't help. How long have you been here, Sage?"

Their new ally shrugged. "Dunno. Time moves funny here, and sometimes I don't see the sun for what feels like forever. I just… I just know I want to go home. I miss my family."

His words stung Willow's heart. "We're going to get you out of here," she assured him, praying that she hadn't just told an unforgivable lie to a child. "We're going to find Bel and Ivy, and then we're going to get you home, and then we're going to stop whoever is behind this."

Sage did not reply at first, skepticism and hope fighting behind his eyes. "I hope so," he finally said, before pushing open a broad pair of double doors. "I don't want this," he gestured to the room, "To happen to me. Or anyone."

They stepped into the newly revealed space, another massive chamber that somehow still felt as if it were closing in on them. What statues still retained any sort of defining features seemed to be staring directly at them, making silent judgments and making it clear they were trespassing somewhere they ought not to. Just as in the front hall, there was a large, shallow pool that dominated the space; however, this one had been carefully restored and filled with cool, clean water. It might have been peaceful, save for the distinct crimson pattern suspended in perfect stasis on the water's surface.

"Dirthamen again," she said, the resignation in her tone making it clear she was not exactly surprised. Looking to Emmrich and Davrin, she could tell they weren't either. "When we do find this lunatic, I would love to hear his logic behind the obsession with that god. Is it directly related to Bellara, or is he fixated on Bellara because of her perceived connection to Dirthamen?"

"You may be on the right track," Emmrich replied, his expression thoughtful. "While I cannot speak to the Dirthamen connection, our young Bellara has the dubious distinction of having known, even tangentially, the mind of a so-called 'god.' Perhaps that is what makes her particularly valuable to our adversary?"

Willow rubbed her forehead, warding off the ache that was creeping in behind her temples. Sage was right: time seemed to be off kilter in this damn place. She had no idea how long they had been here, only that the sense of urgency had just ticked up another notch. "I don't know. But I suspect this room was used for dark purpose; evil purpose." She did not say the rest of the thought out loud: that this was likely where the missing villagers had been sacrificed, their lives cut short by the senseless ambitions of the illusive Somniari. "Love, is there any chance of the spirits being able to assist us with this?"

She already knew the answer even before Emmrich spoke, genuine regret in his words. "I think not, dear. The impressions that have been left in this place… the currents of the Fade are in a veritable torrent of fear and despair and anxiety. I am not certain any sprits we attempted to communicate with would be coherent, not to mention the high potential for hostility. I am not terribly comfortable with the level of risk we would be taking." His eyes darted briefly towards Sage, and Willow could read the unspoken message there.

He has been through enough.

"Right," she sighed. "Even under the best of circumstances this place would probably be an absolute tangle of impressions and emotions. Best we put our efforts elsewhere, at least for the time being." Perhaps they could make an attempt later, after they had safely gotten Sage, Ivy, and Bellara out of this nightmare. "But let's go ahead and look around for just a bit, see if we can't find anything they might have left behind that will give us a clue as to what their broader intentions are."

They spread out to comb the room, Sage sticking close to Assan and the griffon in turn offering companionable chirps and purrs. Willow could tell Emmrich was sending out exploratory tendrils of unseen magic, testing the veil for weak spots that could cause problems down the line and attempting to determine if anything had already slipped through. She noted a few spatters on the tiles beneath her feet of varying hues. Some were so dark as to nearly be black, others were a sickening shade of ruby that testified to how recently they had been cast. This strange pool, so innocuous at first glance, was a sacrificial altar. Even Willow, with no magic in her veins, could feel the malignant power that had been drawn by the blood spilled in the name of… what? This mysterious 'Somniari?' The pursuit of the evanuris? The gods were dead, some by her own hand, and yet…

Resurrection was not an impossibility. Not in the world she lived in now. And that knowledge sent a thrill of terror down her spine.

"Hey Will, check this out."

She shook herself loose from the dark tendrils of anxiety that were wrapping around her mind, turning to Davrin and looking where he was pointing. There, faint but unmistakable, were dusty footprints, and they must have been relatively fresh given how clear the impression was. "No way of knowing whose they were, of course," Davrin admitted, almost a little apologetically, "But they're about the right size and shape to be Ivy."

"I may be able to pick up on the resonance of whoever left those prints," Emmrich suggested, "Assuming the background noise does not drown out my attempt. Granted, I am not nearly so skilled as Neve when it comes to these things, but she has taught me a trick or two." He drew some of his magic into his hands, cautiously reaching down towards the prints without making contact with them. After what felt like an eternity, he popped back up with a satisified smile. "Ah ha! These prints were definitely left by our young Veil Jumper friend. She was here, and very much still alive. Fairly recently, too, based on the strength of the impression she left."

Willow's breath burst forth from her chest in a sudden huff of laughter. She knew damn well she'd been holding it too long, but she couldn't help it. Not until she heard the words she had been silently praying against all hope for. Ivy was still alive. "The prints look like she left through that door on the far side of the room. I suggest we follow, as carefully as we can, and hope we find both her and Bellara wherever they have ended up. Worst case scenario, we at least find Ivy, and we'll have an even better shot at finding Bellara."

Davrin and Emmrich exchanged a look that told Willow they both knew that was not even close to the worst case scenario, but to her relief they seemed to silently agree to let it pass without comment. Instead, Davrin addressed Sage. "I don't suppose you know where this door leads?"

Sage shook his head, his eyes still darting back to the intricate swirls of blood patterning the eerily calm surface of the water in the shallow pool. "No… I'm not allowed in this part of the ruins usually. Somniari said he didn't want me to see."

Willow resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Apparently, abducting the poor kid was fine, but Somniari drew the line at letting him witness human sacrifice. Good to know the lunatic had at least some boundaries. It might be something they could exploit later, once Sage had been gotten to safety and they were on more even footing. "That's alright, we'll just keep pressing on carefully, see what we can find further in, alright?"

They followed the footsteps out of the ritual chamber, walking as softly as they possibly could through the dark halls. Every once in awhile, Willow thought she heard something whispering just behind them, but every time she turned to confront it, she was faced only with the yawning darkness from whence they had just come. Following the soft glow of Emmrich's magelight, she nearly missed the faint, gentle wash of deeper green illumination spilling out of one of the side rooms. "Wait," she called softly to the others, "I want to take a look at this. It will only take a moment."

When she entered the room from which she had been certain the light had been coming from, it vanished, leaving only the standard flickering of torches along the walls and a trio of guttering candles huddled together on a long, cluttered desk. Bookshelves lined most of the free space in the room, though nearly all the tomes there had fallen into such disrepair as to be utterly illegible, their sagging spines propping each other up in mutual commiseration of their dismal fate. There was very little dust present, which told her the room had been used fairly recently, and likely with some degree of frequency. She made a mental note not to linger overly long.

Moving quickly to the desk, she pushed aside the expected mess of frayed quills, empty ink pots, and a clay mug with dregs of what might have been tea in the bottom before she found what she was looking for, even without knowing she was looking for it. Willow stared at the scroll in front of her, the paper thinned to translucence with age and the illuminations on the borders faded from what she imagined must have once been a riotous menagerie of color. The words were ancient elven and, while she could make out some of it, much of it was well beyond her. The scroll was so fragile she was honestly a little surprised it had not simply crumbled into dust by this point.

Still, she was not comforted when she glanced at the much newer page that had been set beside it. It was a translation of sorts, though even Willow could tell it was probably not a very good one given the number of question marks, strikethroughs, and notes written in a crabbed hand that littered the page. Her eyes scanned the crude translation, each word drawing a bit more warmth from her body, leaving in its place the cruel chill of fear. "Maker take me…" She whispered, turning back to look at the others.

Bellara's guesses had always been the best, mostly because she had always seemed to be the one to come up with the most outrageous and absurd suggestions. Once, they had kept up a running joke for over a month when her best friend had suggested Ivy was secretly madly in love with Strife and that their contentious working relationship was the result of too much sexual tension. Maker, Strife had hated that one, which had of course made it all the more hilarious to the rest of them. In retrospect, Ivy couldn't help but wonder if anyone had ever guessed the truth. If Bellara had ever guessed.

But just at the moment, she supposed that really didn't matter all that much.

Before she could think better of it, she bent down and brushed another kiss against Bellara's lips before she could respond, more gently this time but still with clear intent. Neither of them were great at reading signals sometimes, and if absolutely nothing else, Ivy wanted to make sure Bellara understood that this meant something to her. Something more than simple relief at having been found, or the chaotic euphoria of adrenaline driving her to do something she wouldn't have done otherwise.

That she had wanted to do for years.

"Ives," Bellara finally murmured, her beautiful eyes blown wide as she stared up at Ivy. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't… I mean, I shouldn't have just glommed onto you like that! Are you hurt? Have you found the others? Do you know where we are? I've been looking for you guys, trying to find a way out, but I almost feel like I've been going in circles. Are you sure you're not hurt? I didn't know where they-"

Ivy couldn't stop the burst of too-loud laughter that erupted from her chest. Yep. This feels right. "Bel," she spoke up, trying to soothe the look of vague annoyance from her friend's (her friend?) face at the interruption. "Yeah, I'm ok. Think they knocked me out by magical means, but based on the lumps and bumps on my back and shoulders I'm gonna take a wild guess they dragged me at least part of the way down to the dungeons."

Bellara's eyes widened to saucers, the ambient veilfire glinting in the wells of anxiety there, and Ivy risked pulling her a little closer. "I'm fine, Bel," she repeated, quietly but firmly. "And let's just answer your other questions real quick, including the ones you haven't asked yet: I haven't found the others. Not yet, at least, but I can guarantee they're looking for us, too. You've got good people, Bel. No idea where we are, exactly, but I've found one ritual chamber and based on a really sketchy map I found, I think there's an even bigger one a little further in that I haven't run across yet, but we'll probably want to check out."

She took a deep breath, then continued on. "Now, as far as the 'unasked' questions… yeah. Yeah, I've got feelings for you, Bel. Strong ones. Really strong ones. Like, the kind that drove Cormac to write those horrible love poems to his mystery girl 'from another clan.'"

Bellara couldn't stop a small snort of laughter at that one. "Right, the one who couldn't come to visit because she was an important huntress," she giggled at the memory. "But, Ives…"

Ivy plowed on, afraid that if Bellara tried to argue or let her down gently that she would never again work up the nerve to say what she needed to say in this moment. "I think you're amazing, Bellara," she said, trying to rein in her words so they came out in something resembling coherence rather than the stampede she had been holding back for decades. "I think you're incredibly intelligent, and clever, and brave, and the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life and, if I may briefly and shamelessly brag here for a sec, I have seen a lot of beautiful, mind-blowing places, people, and creatures in my life. The upshot to living in 'interesting times,' I guess, but even still, every single thing I have ever seen does not come even close to how in awe I stand of you."

Bellara seemed stunned, or maybe just trying to find the words to best let Ivy down gently because they both knew she was too polite to slap her down hard, so Ivy decided to take the opportunity to press on. "Bellara, I have been in love with you since… well, since I was too young to even really understand what those feelings were. And more than half the reason I've been so angry and bitter and resentful ever since Strife sent me off to forest jail was because I missed you so damn much it almost ate me alive. And then… then you were with the Veilguard and you were doing all these amazing things, so by the time you came back I thought… I guess I thought you had probably outgrown me, or that you had met someone on your grand adventures that was just as amazing as you were, and…"

She offered a helpless shrug, finally running out of steam only to have it replaced by the creeping sense of dread that always came from the sort of confession that could make or break your entire existence. Bellara took a step back, but picked up Ivy's hands in hers almost absentmindedly, her brow creased in confusion.

"What about Cyrian?"

Ivy blinked rapidly. "What… what about him? I mean, yeah, his death, both times, definitely kind of gave me pause when it came to telling you the truth about how I feel. I didn't want you to have to deal with that on top of your grief, and I really didn't want you to feel like I was taking advantage of you when you were in such a vulnerable place, you know?"

Bellara shook her head forcefully, almost dislodging one of her beautiful hairpins that Ivy tucked gently back into her hair. "No, I mean, I thought… I guess I just always assumed the reason you were always hanging around wasn't just because we were all friends, it was because you… I mean…"

Ivy wracked her brain, trying to figure out what exactly Bellara was trying to get at. "We were all friends, Bel," she agreed, "I just liked you more. Differently."

"Oh! I just always thought…" Finally, Bellara threw her hands up in exasperation. A fair reaction, given that Ivy was still immensely puzzled. "I thought you were in love with my brother, ok?"

Ivy… in love with… Cyrian?

Despite knowing it was a really bad idea, Ivy couldn't help a second burst of laughter that she quickly tried to smother with her own hand before dissolving into giggles. "Ok, you know what, actually? That answers a lot of questions," she nodded with mock solemnity. "I thought you always just paired me off with your brother for our games because you had a crush on his friend Cormac."

Now it was Bellara's turn to laugh, though she managed to do so much more quietly than Ivy had even bothered to try. "Oh, Maker no," she snorted. "Cormac was nice, to me at least, but just really intense sometimes in a kind of creepy way, you know? I just thought… I guess in my head, I thought that if you had a reason to hang out around Cyrian, you'd have a reason to hang out with me? I never imagined it was because you just liked me, you know? I mean, I know I'm a lot. Like, a lot a lot, so I told myself you were just being nice when you played our silly games or when you would take me on long hikes when I got too overwhelmed by everything going on around me or when you would make me my favorite tea whenever I got sick, or… or…"

Her rambling trailed off, and Ivy took the opportunity to lean down and kiss her again. "Or maybe I was just head over heels in love with my best friend and was too stupid to know how to tell her without risking our entire friendship?" Ivy suggested softly, running her thumb along Bellara's cheek.

"Yeah, something like that," Bellara agreed with a weak laugh. "Look, Ives, I… I'm not sure if I'm going to be any good as anything other than a friend. You know better than literally anyone else still alive how I can be, and you know my last relationship didn't survive my penchant for squirrel thoughts. But," she hesitated, then let her head fall forward slightly to rest against Ivy's shoulder, "I think if there is absolutely anyone on this planet I would be willing to give it a try with? It'd be you, Ivy Aldwir."

Ivy did not even try to suppress the grin that broke out over her face. "Hey," she murmured tilting Bellara's chin up so that she was facing her. "We can go as slow as you want, for as long as you want, and we'll check in with each other, ok? We'll keep having conversations just like we did when we were just friends, but now there can also be kissing and fun stuff in there too. And we can have discussions about just how fun we want things to get and what that will look like, but maybe after we escape the deep dark creepy temple and find our other friends?"

"Probably a good plan," Bellara agreed with a brilliant smile of her own. "I don't know about you, but I would love for our first date to not be in a blood soaked temple of doom. Although that would be pretty on point for us."

"True!" Ivy laughed, then, glanced at Bellara as they began making their way back down the hall Ivy had already been traversing. "So… you know I don't like men at all, right? I mean, they're fine as friends, but I'm not interested in them romantically or anything like that."

"Oh!" Bellara exclaimed again, and Ivy could not help but find the small noise even more endearing now. "I always thought… I guess you never really did have any male partners, did you? Actually, I don't remember you ever have any partners."

No kidding, Ivy thought wryly to herself. Bellara would put those pieces together eventually, or so she hoped. "Nope," she said instead. "Why do you think Laryas was always hanging out with me when his mother started going on one of her 'we're going to find you a proper wife' tears? Kept her off his back for a bit, and kept me out of at least some of the trouble I could have gotten into. Then the traitor had the audacity to meet his future husband and fall in love and be all perfect with him."

She was joking, of course: she had been thrilled for her friend when he had finally found the man he wanted to marry. She'd been even more thrilled when Laryas's mother had simply been overjoyed at the prospect of a new son-in-law rather than bitter over the loss of the daughter-in-law she might have imagined. "Point is, it was convenient for both of us, 'cause he didn't have to complete with me for cute girls, and I could give him honest assessments of the men he was interested in."

"You… Ooohhh. So you and Davrin aren't..?"

Ivy gave a small snort. "Nope. Don't get me wrong! He's fantastic, and he's been really helping me hone some of my woodland tracking skills. 'Course, I don't have the benefit of a super adorable fluffball to help me out in a jam, but still. That, and honestly? I think he's just really protective of you, but not in a romance-y kind of way? More like a, 'this is my little sister now, and if you hurt her I'm gonna let Assan eviscerate you alive' kind of way. He just wanted to make sure I was good people."

"You're the best people, Ives," Bellara replied quietly, slipping her hand into hers and letting their fingers naturally lace together. "And that's really sweet of him, but I'd argue he's the one who needs looking after more than I do. I didn't literally die for a while."

"Hey, trauma and grief are not a zero sum game," Ivy pointed out, squeezing Bellara's hand to emphasize the point. "You guys just went through different bullshit. Doesn't mean that bullshit wasn't awful. And when you're ready to talk about it, we absolutely can- wait…" She froze, instinctively pulling Bellara back around the corner they had just turned. "Do you hear that?"

The faint but unmistakable padding of footsteps broke the silence in the hall. Ivy felt Bellara tense up beside her, and by unspoken agreement they both released each other's hands to instead gather up threads of defensive magic. Neither of them wanted to blast the approaching figures to smithereens. Not yet anyways.

They waited as the footsteps grew closer, but there was another staccato sound there: quiet, but distinct and somehow familiar. Frowning slightly, she tilted her head in the direction of the subtle click click click, click click click. A grin slowly spread across her face, and she let the magic drain from her hands. Bellara looked up at her, a question written in her expression.

"It's ok," she reassured her softly, "I bet my buttons I recognize those claws."

She peeked around the corner, her sudden appearance startling poor Emmrich. "My word, Ivy! What a profound relief it is to find you alive and well!" He seemed to be trying to peer around the corner. "I don't suppose you have had any luck in finding poor Bellara?"

Bellara gave a muted chuckle. "Right here, professor," she said, and he took both her hands in his to shake them warmly.

"Ah! What luck! It seems we are all together once again." Despite his chipper tone, Ivy could tell Emmrich had been worried. He still was, as were Willow and Davrin, but at least now it was mingled with relief. There was also, for a yet as unexplained reason, a child with them. And he was staring at her.

"Uh… hi?" She said, keenly aware of how awkward even that simple word came out.

The child tilted his head in what might have been curiosity. "I like your hair. I tried to color mine purple with blackberries once and it kinda came out pink like that. Ma yelled real good about that one and I wasn't allowed to have blackberry pie for a month after I used up all her berries."

"Yeah, moms'll do that," Ivy laughed. "I'm Ivy, by the way, and this is Bellara. Are you one of the villagers from Copse Hollow?"

He nodded. "Yep. My name's Sage."

Ivy glanced up at Willow, who just gave a small nod. Yes. That Sage. "He is the one who told us that whoever is behind this? They are calling themselves 'Somniari,'" Willow explained.

"The Dreamer," Ivy muttered to herself. What in the void did that mean? "Well, Sage, when we get out of here, I'll teach you the right materials to use to get a proper purple, ok?" She looked to the others. "Assuming we have a plan to get out of here?"

Willow considered for a moment, then breathed a long, slow exhale. "Well, on the one hand, I would very much like to get Sage out of here." She nodded towards the kid. "On the other hand, I am not certain we will find a way out until we resolve whatever is currently toying with our minds. In addition, based on what we found… well, time may not be on our side."

"What do you mean?" Bellara asked, a flicker of anxiety in her tone.

"While we were searching for you, we found… I don't know, an office of some sort?" Willow explained, reaching into her satchel and handing over a scroll so ancient it looked liable to disintegrate at any moment, and a much newer sheet of paper. "We think we know what this Somniari intends to accomplish. Or at least what he is going to try."

Ivy scanned the parchment. A translation, obviously, and likely a bad one. "I take it this," she held up the page, "Is meant to be a translation of whatever is on this?" She gestured with the scroll. Willow nodded slowly.

"We believe so, yes. My ancient elven is mediocre at best, which is why we're hoping you can take a look at it and tell me I'm wrong. I would very, very much like to be wrong, here, Ives."

Well, that wasn't exactly promising. Ivy carefully unrolled the scroll, running her eyes over it rapidly at first, then with more intent on the second pass. Then the third. And a fourth. She looked back up, and based on the grim set of Willow's features, she suspected she already knew what Ivy was about to say.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Willow sighed, her lilac eyes squeezing shut as she massaged the bridge of her nose. "Damn. So I take it that terrible translation is at least vaguely accurate in its intent?"

"Way more than I'd be comfortable with on a good day," Ivy retorted, looking over the other sheet again. "It's nowhere near perfect, but close enough that this asshole can do some real damage if left to his own devices."

"Why?" Bellara asked, huddling close and peering over Ivy's shoulder. "What is it? What does it say?"

Ivy tilted a bit so that Bellara could examine the pages, pointedly ignoring the smile Willow was biting back and the twinkle in Emmrich's eyes. "It's instructions for a ritual. A very old, very dangerous, very bad ritual. I don't think this was widely disseminated even at the time, because it would basically amount to blasphemy as far as the evanuris were concerned. Ostensibly, it is a blueprint for a mortal to become, functionally, a god, or at least a mage on the same level as one of the evanuris."

"Oh… oh no…" Bellara murmured. "That's bad. That's really bad. Is it even possible?"

"We don't know," Willow replied, and Ivy could hear the exhaustion in her words. "I do know that I do not want to give this Somniari an opportunity to find out. From what little I was able to parse out, the ritual is based heavily in blood magic. No surprises there, of course, but the sheer volume of life force required is staggering. It is enough to make even a Tevinter magister blush. Given how thin the veil already is in this forest, it is… well, theoretically, yes. It is possible."

At her side, Ivy could feel Bellara's shoulders sag. "So… all the villagers…"

"We do not know what has become of the elves from Shiral'Din," Emmrich replied gently, "But as for the residents of Copse Hollow…" His voice trailed off, his gaze dropping briefly to where Sage still stood in silent stoicism. No one needed him to fill in the blanks there, and certainly not in front of a child who had already seen too much.

Without warning, a sudden tremor shivered through the ruins, not so much beneath their feet as through their very souls. It took her a moment, but Ivy realized that neither Willow nor Davrin had felt it, but were rather reacting to Ivy, Bellara, and Emmrich's sudden alarm. Magic, then. Bellara's hand reached instinctively for Ivy's, and Ivy grasped it tightly.

"Well!" Emmrich said, voice more strained than usual, "That was unpleasant."

Bellara's expression twisted in concentration, and Ivy made a mental note to tell her later how endearing it was. "Yeah," she said, "It almost felt similar to those ruins in Arlathan where Anaris was preparing his ritual, but not entirely the same, if that makes sense?"

"It does, actually," Willow tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "Anaris was attempting a similar type of feat, so the magic likely is reminiscent of that, though I am selfishly grateful to not feel as though I am being torn apart in slow motion." She shot a worried glance at her husband. "Has the sensation passed, or is it still present?"

"No worries there, dearest," Emmrich reassured her. "The initial wave was certainly jarring, but I for one can detect no lingering effects. What about you, Bellara? Ivy?"

They both shook their heads. "No, it doesn't seem to be hurting exactly, but I can still sense it. It's like this morning, when we felt that strange current that lured us into the narrow hall." Maker… how was that only earlier today? Was it still 'today', or had they walked blindly into tomorrow? She had absolutely zero sense of time in this subterranean complex. "But this time it almost felt like an accident? The current I felt earlier, it was moving with intent. Purpose. This feels erratic and almost kind of impatient."

Willow arched a single brow. "Well, I do not love that," she observed wryly. "The only thing more dangerous than a lunatic with access to this sort of magic is one who does not know how to access it as intended. The magic in this forest is already unstable and unpredictable. Assuming this ritual could work, and unfortunately it seems likely it could, we have less than zero idea of how the forest's inherent power will warp it. We could end up with a mortal masquerading as a god, or we could end up with some as yet unknown atrocity unleashed in the Brecilian. Personally, neither of those choices sound appealing."

"Nope, which means we've got to stop this bastard now." Davrin pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, prompting Assan to give an expectant squawk. "I say we follow whatever sick trail of bread crumbs we've got, because if we don't, the alternative is a void of a lot worse."

"You don't think it's another trap? Like, it's trying to just lure us into another ambush?" Bellara asked, and Ivy's heart twinged at how small her voice sounded. Bellara was going to walk headlong into danger one way or another, because she wanted to protect them and she wanted to find whatever villagers may have survived, but that didn't mean she wasn't scared. And Ivy couldn't fucking blame her.

Davrin shook his head. "I don't think that, whatever is behind this? Is stupid enough to try the same trick twice now that we're on to him. And if he really is losing control, I've got to think the risk we run by trying to track him is less than that of doing nothing and waiting for whatever fresh horror comes barrelling through these corridors." He sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I don't like it either, Bel. I really don't. But I just don't see us having another good option at this point."

They all turned to Willow, who in turn leaned her head back and appeared to be studying the ceiling, though it seemed disinclined to provide any particular guidance. With a long exhale, she faced the rest of them. "I agree with Davrin. I would have greatly preferred to get Sage the void out of these ruins before we confronted Somniari, but we do not even know where we are, let alone how to get back out at this point. I say we go with the flow of the magic, try to nip this in the bud before it gets any more out of hand or we- Oh!"

Willow's words were cut short by the sudden appearance of the same bouncing emerald orb that had guided Ivy through the dungeons to the ritual chamber. "Hey little buddy," she grinned. "Wondered where you bopped off to."

"Friend of yours?" Willow asked with a bright smile, offering an open palm to the orb, who seemed delighted by the gesture. It bounced a few times over her hand before making a chittering sound and circling her head. "I have never seen a wisp quite like this one. What a beautiful shade of green you are! Were you the one helping Ivy find her way?"

The wisp darted around in a zigzag pattern, seemingly pleased. "You can understand it?" Ivy asked, trying not to sound too surprised. Willow did not seem terribly offended; in fact, she gave a small laugh and a modest shrug.

"Mostly? The wisps of the Grand Necropolis were my first friends. They say there was a full half dozen of them floating around me the day I was found in the Memorial Gardens. Without magic my efforts were somewhat clumsy and probably rather amusing, but we managed to work out a system of communication that, apparently, your friend here understands."

Chirping insistently, the wisp floated purposefully towards a door farther down the hall in the opposite direction they had been considering. Ivy tilted her head in Willow's direction, but the other woman just shrugged again. "It has been helpful to you thus far, yes? I suspect if it was attempting to lure us to our dooms it would have taken advantage of being able to pick you and Bellara off on your own, first. I have a theory about out little friend, but for now I think we will be best served taking whatever guidance it is offering."

"Yeah, alright, seems as good an idea as any," Ivy agreed, taking the lead as they followed the ethereal glow deeper into the ruins. Emmrich seemed particularly interested in their new guide.

"Such a wonderful little creature," he remarked, keeping his voice low. "Distinct from the wisps I am accustomed to, certainly. There is an… an aura about it that seems unique. Perhaps something that is giving rise to your own theory, dearest?"

Willow studied the wisp's flickering form. "I will simply say I do not think the color variant is random," she replied, something in her tone that Ivy couldn't quite parse out. "And… and perhaps we have been granted an emissary by something much bigger. Likely something much older."

They continued on, and every once in awhile a shiver would ricochet through the mages, a spark of rogue magic acting as a grim affirmation of their chosen path. After the third, Bellara paused, prompting Ivy to stop short and rapidly scan the hall for… well, she wasn't exactly sure what, but she would beat the stuffing out of it if it came anywhere near them. "You ok, Bel?" She asked, placing a hand at the small of her back, her thumb tracing the column of her spine.

"There's something… Ives, can you feel that?" Bellara asked, her brow knit in confusion. "The tremors or pulses or whatever we want to call them, they almost feel… familiar."

"You will forgive me if I do not exactly find that comforting," Willow interjected, the wry twist of her voice punctuated by the hand she moved to the hilt of the dagger on her right hip. "The last time you felt familiarity in magic, it nearly ended with you, me, and Neve disincorporated in slow motion. I would sincerely prefer to not experience that particular sensation again."

Bellara shook her head forcefully. "No, it's not like that… but also it is? Cyrian's magic I could recognize; spot the signature in it if I thought to look. This is also tugging at something in my memory, but I just can't quite make the pieces come together right. Maybe it's nothing?"

"When is it ever 'nothing,'" Davrin and Ivy said in near unison, prompting a muted chorus of chuckles from the group and a sheepish smile from Bellara.

"I'll keep thinking on it," she promised, but Ivy could tell it was still nagging at her. Whatever it was she was detecting, and Ivy fully believed Bellara was picking up on something, it was probably not good. She was even less comforted when Bellara took the lead following the wisp, an almost frightening gleam of intent in her eyes. Ivy knew that look. Maker only knew she had seen it in her own reflection often enough.

Another dark hall, devoid of life, then finally… yet another set of massive double doors, though this one did not have the convenience of a smaller entry point set into them. By unspoken agreement, Emmrich and Willow placed their hands on one side, while Bellara and Ivy took the other. Davrin hung back in a position dead center such that he would be the first thing to draw the attention of whatever was lurking beyond. Ivy turned to Sage.

"Just hang back here, ok?" She instructed softly. Assan planted himself firmly at the boy's side with a decisive squawk, and Ivy grinned. "Thanks, Assan. He's in good hands, er, paws. Alright," she looked at Willow. "We doing this?"

Willow nodded, her knuckles white where they gripped the handle. "On three," she whispered. "One, two, three."

The door swung open with eerily silent acquiescence, revealing a ritual chamber less grand than the last, but somehow more commanding. And there, standing with their arms raised before an elaborately carved altar to the gods of secrets and death, stood a lone figure draped in a black, hooded robe. They turned slowly, pale hands reaching up to push back their hood so they might face their adversaries head on. There was no question in her mind that this was the dread Somniari.

Or at least, she supposed that was what he was calling himself these days. Ivy had once known him by an entirely different name. She stared in open disbelief, confusion mingled with rage and dashed with a fair dose of incredulity cascading through her brain. It was only when the dry air of the ruins started to make her throat itch that she realized her jaw had dropped. She snapped it shut, the gears of her thoughts reluctantly grinding back into service as she summoned the only words she could think of in that moment.

With luck, the others would have already made their escape. Whatever had been hunting them, it had been clear from almost the beginning that it was Bellara it wanted. She still had no idea why, though there was a growing suspicion in her heart that the answer was going to be much closer to home than she would have liked. Whoever was behind this? They knew her. They knew her favorite flowers, and how much that silly carved halla had meant to her, and every sweep and curve of the lines composing her vallaslin.

She wondered if they also somehow knew how much she had wrestled with the decision of whether or not to keep it, or to undergo the physically and emotionally painful process to have them removed from her skin. Some Dalish elves had, in the wake of the war of the evanuris and the violent revelations regarding the dark roots of their heritage. Others had kept them, bearing them as a mark of pride and defiance of what the people had become in spite of what their 'gods' may have intended them for.

Bellara had been so excited that day. She and Cyrian and Ivy had talked about it endlessly in the weeks and months leading up to the ceremony, debating which god they would choose as their patron and carefully weighing the various gifts and rivalries such a commitment might entail. It was largely symbolic, of course: even at that age Bellara could not remember the gods directly intervening in their lives in any sort of meaningful way. She wasn't sure anyone in her clan had, but the tradition had endured. It was a coming of age in the clans, and a way to distinguish themselves from the so-called 'city elves' who were viewed with varying degrees of suspicions, derision, or pity.

Ivy never had made a choice, her impulsive nature for once held in check by the gravity of the decision placed in front of her. Ivy, however, also had the luxury of knowing that no one in the clan would dare suggest she was not capable of holding her own. She never had to prove herself to anyone, or at least she never made it look as though she had to try. For better or for worse, Ivy stuck by her decisions, taking credit or responsibility for them as required. Bellara could not but help but envy that focus, even when it did result in them getting in trouble. And now… now she could not help but envy Ivy the freedom she had in not having the marks of the evanuris tattooed on her face. The constant reminder of where they had come from. A persistent question as to where they would go next.

In the end Bellara had chosen Dirthamen, the god of secrets. It made sense at the time, or at least, it had to her. Who better to invoke in her ceaseless search for hidden knowledge, and her drive to uncover the mysteries of her ancestors and their technology that somehow seemed to far outstrip their own. Ivy used to joke that Bellara just needed to know everything, and honestly? She was kind of right. Bellara just wanted to understand how the world worked, and if the patronage of Dirthamen could lend aid to that quest, well…

Cyrian had made the same choice two years later, when he underwent his own ceremony to receive his vallaslin. His design was slightly different from hers; a bit more intense in the shading, and a slightly more complex in the linework, but undeniably a tribute to Dirthamen. Despite her teasing her little brother about copying her, Bellara had been thrilled. It was comforting knowing her brother would always be on her side, chasing the same goals, working towards a better future for their people. If she had known then how things would unfold, the choices they would all be faced with… would she still have undergone the ceremony? Would she have encouraged Cyrian to do the same?

You have a good heart, Vora'Shivan. You should listen to it.

Bellara's feet caught on the stone floor, her elbow swiftly caught by a silent but steady hand that prodded her along the corridor. For a moment, only a breath of time, she could have sworn she had heard Cyrian's voice in her head. An echo of a memory, maybe, but… but it had felt so real.

There had been too many turns and doors and stairs for her to have had any hope of memorizing a path back out. For all she knew, her captors had done that intentionally just to confuse her. Bellara was finally about to try and make a noise to get their attention when they stopped, and there was the unmistakable sound of a door, albeit this time a conventional one, opening. As she stepped forward, Bellara could swear there was a shift in the atmosphere around her. It almost felt like the chaos of the magic in the ruins was somehow muted in here, the sudden quiet kind of jarring after her senses had grown accustomed to the background 'noise.'

She took another deep breath, but before she could exhaled there was a shift in the light around her. Her abductors guided her to what felt like a sofa or maybe a chaise, gently sitting her down and briefly, and inadequately, checking her bonds before stepping away. She could hear footsteps softly padding back in the direction they had come, the sound muffled by a rug or carpet maybe. Bellara poked experimentally at the ground with her toes, her boots meeting plush resistance. Wherever she was, she was getting the feeling it was probably nicer than the rest of the ruins. Kind of a low bar to clear, but still.

Whoever her captors were, they didn't seem like they wanted to hurt her, which she supposed was something. They also did not seem to be the brightest lights in the night sky, given no one had bothered to properly double check her bonds before they left, or even leave a guard behind to keep an eye on her. So either they weren't very good at their jobs like, at all, or they had a super unfounded confidence in her willingness to sit put and wait for… well, whatever it was they had planned for her. Either way, it didn't take all that long for Bellara to carefully channel just enough fire into her finger tips to carefully begin burning away the strands of rope. Once she could feel the flames starting to warm the skin of her wrists, she pulled back on her magic and simply snapped the last remaining fibers.

Hurriedly pulling off her blindfold, Bellara had to blink rapidly for a long moment before her eyes adjusted to the sudden, surprising, amount of light in the room. It was obvious she was still somewhere within the ruins: the air still managed to hold that distinct dusty staleness that permeated places long vacant of any inhabitants save for what creatures and insects might scurry through the cracks in its foundations, and the walls bore the same distinct amalgamation of architectural styles that had confused her in the main hall.

Besides that, there was still the persistent, albeit much fainter, hum of strange magic threading through the veil here. Bellara realized it wasn't so much that it was quieter in here so much as that something was suppressing the magic of the ruins; almost smothering it. She also realized that whatever magic the forest ruins held? It was fighting back. And she wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but given that it wasn't the forest who had abducted her, she was willing to give it just a smidge more benefit of the doubt for now.

The room itself was actually kind of nice, for being in the depths of an ancient temple ruin. The stone floors were nearly completely concealed by plush rugs, the kind Bellara had once run her fingers over when an Orlesian merchant made a rare stop at their clan's winter camp. They'd been far beyond what her people could afford that year, but she'd never forgotten the way those fibers had felt. The sconces on the wall were lit with actual oil rather than veilfire, giving the space a warm, almost cozy glow without the pale wash of magic. A spacious bed, neatly made up with exacting precision, occupied one corner, while a desk cluttered with parchment crouched in the space opposite.

Rubbing her wrists gently to try and return the feeling to them, Bellara stood up and approached the desk, curiosity overcoming her previous sense of panic. Most of the drawers were locked, save for the top one which held only additional writing supplies. Turning her attention to the papers on the desk, Bellara felt her heart drop into her stomach.

More of the sketches like they had seen in the village of Copse Hollow. Dozens of them, each painstakingly hand-rendered and exacting in their detail of her likeness. And yet… they weren't quite right. Just like the one Amos had shown them, this picture of her seemed just a little too perfect; almost like it was how someone might remember her rather than attempting realism. There were little details that were off, or more accurately, missing: her distinct ear cuff that she had worn pretty constantly the past few years. And they had left off the small scar on her left jawline that she'd gotten the day Cyrian had… the day of the accident. It almost looked like a portrait of her from when she was younger; from before everything that had shaped who she was now.

And for some reason, this realization made her angry. Whoever had drawn this, whoever had the absolute audacity to think they knew her? They didn't understand her at all. They didn't know what she had been through; what she had survived. Sure, sometimes she missed the girl staring back at her from the page in front of her. The one who hadn't been forced to endure the trauma. But Bellara also knew she wouldn't trade who she was now for anything. She was stronger than she had ever dreamed she could be, and she had uncovered knowledge hidden for thousands of years. She may not be that carefree, blindly optimistic girl in that picture anymore, but she was damn proud of the woman she had become.

She set the pages down with more force than they probably warranted, quickly pawing through the remainder of the documents to see if there might be anything else useful that she could try to take back to the others, but she found nothing except for more sketches and portraits, and nothing that would be useful in picking the lock on the desk drawers. Tossing them aside, she turned and looked to the other wall opposite the bed.

There, bathed in the inconstant light of half a dozen candles, was another small table. Like the desk, it was simple and sturdy, but with an understated elegance in its design, and the wood had been polished to gleaming. In contrast with the clutter Bellara had just ferreted through, this was almost painfully organized, every item placed with meticulous care. Two stone figurines of the blackest obsidian stood in silent vigil, not quite facing each other but not quite facing Bellara, either. One was hooded and cloaked, a single finger pointing towards an unknown doom and an owl perched upon their shoulder. The other wore no hood but instead bore a mask in an expression of utter neutrality, a raven clinging to each outstretched arm and a bear lying as an alert sentinel at its feet.

"Falon'din and Dirthamen," Bellara whispered, reaching out a tentative hand but stopping short of actually touching the figures. Instead, she knelt down on the almost uncomfortably plush rug to examine them more closely. There were other small offerings scattered around the makeshift altar: embrium flowers, commonly used in the soothing potions giving to the dying to ease their passage, and brittle shards of feldanaris, which could be used as protection against spirits or as a conduit to invite them in. A series of smooth, polished river stones engraved with runes associated with Dirthamen's temples were arranged in a precise formation.

It stood in pretty stark contrast to the altar they had found when they had first entered the Brecilian Forest; the one Ivy had been certain had originally been dedicated to Elgar'nan. That one had been a tableau of violence and rage, and the 'offerings' had felt more like a threat than gifts to a god. She was pretty sure Ivy had been right: the fact the altar had originally been Elgar'nan's was likely inconsequential to whoever had made use of it recently. It could have just as easily been a shrine to June or Sylaise and it likely wouldn't have mattered to the people who had just been trying to send a clear and bloody message.

Thinking of Ivy made Bellara's stomach twist into knots, fear and despair slithering in to the cracks of her mind. She was worried about all of her friends, of course she was, but she had just gotten Ivy back after what had felt like an eternity apart. She'd missed her best friend more than she'd ever really been able to articulate in the way she wished she could, and it felt like the cruelest joke that they'd finally started reconnecting; started rebuilding that friendship into something even stronger, only to be separated again. Truthfully (and she felt a bit guilty about this), Bellara had not even realized how badly she had missed Ivy until they had been brought back together by this weird stuff in the forest.

She took a deep breath; tried to re-center her thoughts. Worrying about Ivy, or any of the others, was not going to get her any closer to finding them again. She rocked back on her heels, ready to stand back up, when something gave her pause. It was subtle, so much so that she almost thought she was imagining it or that the stress and constant anxiety of the last few days had finally caught up with her, but no: there was definitely a whisper winding its way through the air. Then a second voice seemed to twine with the first, the words just out of reach yet distinctly elven, but not a dialect Bellara recognized. It was probably the same ancient language that whoever had left the message on the altar to Elgar'nan had attempted to use, to poor effect.

Her eyes darted rapidly around the room, the space suddenly feeling much too large and the furnishings providing too many places to hide. Bellara couldn't quite explain it, but somehow, she knew she wasn't alone. The whispers grew in intensity, mocking her with secrets she could not comprehend, and once again Bellara felt a sharp ache in her heart. Ivy would have been able to understand. Ivy always understood, even when Bellara herself couldn't get her words to come out the way she wanted them to. More than anything, in this moment, she wished her friend was there, to reassure her and wrap her up in the sort of hug that made her feel safe.

Because Ivy always made Bellara feel safe. And there was no one else in the world Bellara wanted at her side in that moment.

The thought startled her, nearly shaking her free from the grasp of the phantom whispers, but still they persisted. Shoving aside thoughts of her… friend?.. for another time, Bellara turned her attention back to the small statuettes sitting on the altar. As soon as her eyes focused on the representations of the gods, the whispers came to an abrupt halt.

Ah ha.

"No," she whispered, fury twined around the word so tight as to almost strangle it. "I don't know what you are, or why you're messing with me, or what you want, but you are not my gods. They're long dead, and wherever they are, I hope they've found no peace after what they did to my people. And you know what? Even if you were one of the evanuris, that would be even less reason to listen to you, wouldn't it? How stupid do you think I am, exactly?"

The statuettes did not answer, and Bellara admittedly felt a little ridiculous spitting out angry mutterings to a pair of figurines, but it did make her feel a bit better. And, it made it just a bit easier to push herself up off her knees and turn her back on the altar. The whispers began anew when she did, but this time she simply ignored them, pushing past whatever lingering uncertainty had held her back in the first place. There was nothing for her in this room, save whatever plans the cultists had for her, so the best thing she could do at this point would be to try and either escape the ruins or, at the very least, find her friends.

Summoning up every ounce of her courage, Bellara began looking for a way out of the room. She had distinctly heard the door push open rather than slide, which meant it was probably wasn't a hidden entrance like the one that had funneled them into that dark corridor in the first place. And if she got really lucky, she would be able to find her way back to her friends. These ruins were definitely different from the ones in Arlathan, with the obvious influence of Tevinter in the style, but the layout was also very clearly still ancient elven with which she was familiar. If she had to guess, she'd say the structure had initially been one of the ancients that was later adapted or maybe remodeled by the evanuris's Tevene thralls.

And maybe someday she would get the chance to come back and study the ruins properly, but that meant getting the void out of this room and surviving whatever horrors this place still held lurking in its shadows. She opened the door with perhaps excessive caution, but it swung open with surprising silence, revealing an annoyingly generic corridor with absolutely nothing to indicate which way she ought to go.

"Wish I had a map," she muttered to herself, planting her hands on her hips and turning first to the right, then to the left. She thought she could make out the familiar flickering glow of firelight to the left, which could mean people, but it could also mean information. If she could be quiet, she might be able to spy on whoever was in the room or, if she got really lucky and it were empty, she could search it for information on how to get out. On the other hand, that could be where all the cultists were hanging out, working on their evil schemes or whatever it was cultists did in their spare time, and she could find herself insanely outnumbered. Then again, her magic felt somehow amplified in this place; stronger than it usually did. She half wondered if she could take them all on even if she was outnumbered.

Bellara shook her head briskly. She was getting off track again, and she needed to focus. She took a deep breath, then turned on her heel and started creeping down the left passage towards the light. There was the faintest murmur of voices, but they seemed to grow no louder as she approached. When she finally reached the next door from which the light was pooling out into the hall, she risked peeking around the edge of the doorframe.

This… this can't be right…

The room was empty, devoid of any signs of life save for a few more tattered cobwebs disintegrating into dust in the corners and a badly eroded cairn of stone, its inscriptions and meaning long since erased by time and neglect. There was no firelight, no people… nothing. Except for the murmurs, which persisted even as Bellara stared into the vacant space. She took a single step into the room, then immediately retreated, a sense of dread and a leeching sensation of cold forcing her back. And yet… yet somehow, she still felt compelled to enter the room. The murmurs, which had been consistent in their volume as she traversed the hall, now seemed to increase in volume ever so slightly, and they seemed to almost be encouraging her to try again. Then, one voice seemed to break free of the mumbling current.

"No. Not here. Not safe."

Bellara swallowed hard, giving a slow nod in acknowledgement of whoever, or whatever, had seen fit to give her the warning. They'd been pretty convinced there was more than one entity in play here, right? So maybe she'd just ran into both of them locked in some sort of battle she couldn't see with her mortal eyes, and one had finally gained enough of an upper hand to communicate with her. Granted, she sure would have liked to have gotten more than a vague warning, but at this point she was just grateful.

She continued on down the hall, fighting the urge to pause every few feet to examine a light fixture that seemed to be attached to nothing, or a spiral inset into the ceiling that apparently had not beginning or end that she could determine from her brief glance. The murmurs had receded as she had walked farther away from the empty room, and there were no further signs of firelight spilling out from any of the doors she passed. Many of the rooms were empty, save for whatever dust and detritus had been left by their ancient occupants, but a few held signs of recent habitation: simple cots with crumpled blankets and relatively clean pillows. A half empty mug of room temperature coffee. A dog-eared copy of Hard in Hightown. On a whim, Bellara snatched the book up. The cultists didn't deserve Varric's words, but she bet Willow would like to have it.

Then, her ears picked up another faint, almost plaintive sound further down the hall. It almost sounded like a woman crying, and Bellara felt her heart leap into her throat. Abandoning any sense of caution, she darted towards the cries. A small, selfish part of her hoped it was one of the villagers; that whoever these lunatics were, they hadn't managed to capture Ivy. Her friend had been doing her best to hide it, but Bellara knew perfectly well all of the malicious incidents that had happened to them in the forest had been directed at Ivy. She just still didn't know why.

Are you sure about that?

The small voice in the back of her head picked the absolute worst time to pipe up, and Bellara shoved the resulting feelings back into the depths of her heart where they belonged. At least for the moment. Reaching another door, this one closed, she hesitated for only half a breath before a fresh cry prompted her to throw the door open and take in the scene in front of her. This time, she was less surprised to find there was in fact no one in the room she had just revealed.

Unfortunately, that did not also mean the room was entirely empty.

Bellara swallowed hard, trying not to choke at the bile rising in her throat. Everything about this room felt wrong, but unlike the first room, this time she forced herself to step inside. This space had not been designed as a dungeon; in fact it looked perfectly ordinary, save for the freshly forged metal posts that had been unceremoniously driven into the ancient stone floors and the cruel iron chains hanging from them in limp testament to the room's newfound purpose. These were relatively new, the metal slightly dulled from use and exposure but free of rust or erosion. Each chain snaked out to end in a heavy manacle, the smallest one being no larger than a child's wrist.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bellara thought she saw something huddled in the darkest corner of the room, and her fingers instinctively began twisting at the edge of her shirt even as she summoned her magic, ready to defend or attack the instant whatever was back there made a move. Every muscle in her body tensed, coiled tight as a spring in one of her tinkering projects, and she could feel her heartbeat thudding wildly in panic or excitement or something in between.

But whoever, or whatever, was lurking in the shadows… it did not seem inclined to move.

Bellara slowly swiveled her head to the left, towards the darkness, but still there was nothing. A scream felt as though it were trapped in her throat, and if she dared to part her lips it would shatter the careful mental shield she had thrown up to protect her from this unknown entity. With cautious, deliberate steps, she turned towards the corner, then summoned a blazing ball of magelight to illuminate the space.

Revealing a pile of laundry.

She couldn't stop the gasp of relieved and exasperated laughter that burst from her lungs. Her relief was short-lived, however, as she began ferreting through the pile and examining the pieces she found there. A lot of clothing, a few in the traditional Dalish style and a lot of items that reminded her of what the villagers wore in Copse Hollow. Simple dresses dyed in the shades of the forest, trousers patched many times over, shirts stained with grass and still somehow smelling of hay. There were a few simple pieces of jewelry: wooden bangles and one time-worn locket, the portraits inside depicting two young elves. And a single well-loved stuffed halla.

Remnants of lives lived. The only common thread between them the faint stains of blood spattered on every single item, save for the halla Bellara still held tightly in her hands. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes, the heavy shadow of realization settling over her and extinguishing the steady flicker of hope she'd been jealously guarding in her soul.

She doubted she was going to find any of the missing villagers alive.

At least this explained the lingering impressions of fear and despair that still clung to the stones of this place. Bellara was honestly a little surprised she hadn't run into any Despair spirits, given how thin the veil felt in the forest and how much blood had been spilled recently. With a deep breath, she stood, straightening her back and walking out of the holding room without giving it a second glance. It was only after she had been walking down the seemingly endless corridor for several minutes that she realized she was still clutching the stuffed halla, and a fresh wave of tears trailed down her cheeks.

She had no idea where she was going. Each room she passed was either empty, locked, or bore only the most banal signs of occupation by her captors. Each hallway branching off the main throughway looked identical, all stone walls and echoing passages and the occasional turquoise glow of a veilfire sconce. Still, Bellara kept walking. What else was there to do? In one room, she swiped a small bit of charcoal from a cold hearth, using it to make small marks on the walls every time she made a turn in a vague attempt to prevent herself from traveling in endless circles.

Time felt as though it had come to a standstill. Without natural light or any clocks to reference, Bellara had no concept of if she had been wandering for minutes or hours. Somehow, it almost didn't feel like it mattered. The only thing that mattered was finding her friends and getting the void out of this nightmare. More than anything, she just didn't want to be alone in the dark anymore. Not again.

More than anything, I wish Ivy was here.

Bellara had lost the energy to fight the intrusive thought this time. She knew it had been rebelling against her rationale mind for days now, ever since her and her best friend had been reunited. Void, maybe she had been rebelling against it for years and had just simply been too afraid to ever entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, her feelings for Ivy ran just a little deeper than friendship.

Maybe a lot deeper.

She was saved from having to analyze this new information, or perhaps very old information, by the sound of careful footsteps brushing carefully, cautiously, against the stone floors. Bellara pressed herself into a small alcove in the wall, likely once the home of a piece of statuary or perhaps a blessings font, and waited. The fact that whoever was approaching also seemed to be sneaking was a good sign, right? If it was one of her captors, they probably would have just been prancing around like they owned the place. That meant it was likely one of her allies, maybe they were even looking for her, and maybe she was finally ok.

Let it be Ivy. Please… let it be Ivy.

Bellara risked taking a small peek out of the alcove. There, sidling her way along the wall, was the familiar brilliant pink locks of hair painted a dusty rose in the dim light, and pine green eyes reflecting worried sparks where the veilfire sconces caught them. Bellara stepped out fully into the hall, watching as Ivy froze for a brief moment, defensive magic already spooling in her hands before her eyes squinted in her direction, then flew open in an expression of surprise mixed with relief. "Bel," she whispered, her voice hoarse as she took a tentative step towards her.

Please… please let this be right…

Bellara took a shaky step of her own, then another, before she realized she had practically run the brief distance between them and she crashed into Ivy's arms, burying her head against her friend's shoulder as Ivy held her tight against her chest, one hand wrapped around Bellara's waist and the other cradling the back of her neck, a soothing thumb running up and down her spine. "It's alright, Bel," Ivy murmured against her hair, "I've got you. We're together now."

Together.

She didn't reply. She couldn't, not with her words anyway. Bellara knew that if she opened her mouth right now, every single word that she had been holding back for years was going to come pouring out, and she would be helpless to stop them. So instead, she did the only thing that felt right. That felt safe. She leaned back, looked up at her best friend…