The battle had ended exactly two hours ago.
In that time, I'd spun a tale for King Cailan and Duncan—a half-truth about a magical experiment gone wrong, one that had torn a hole in reality and flung me into Thedas. Cailan, ever the optimist, had taken it in stride, his excitement bubbling over like a child discovering a new toy. Duncan, by contrast, had watched me with the wary eyes of a man who'd survived too much to take anything at face value.
The Templars, predictably, were less enthusiastic.
"She must be taken to the Circle," one had snapped. "This reeks of forbidden magic."
Cailan's reply came with a king's weight behind it. "Amelia is the hero of this battle—our savior. She is under the protection of the Crown. No Templar has the right to touch her."
The Reverend Mother is going to have a fit, I thought, suppressing a smirk.
After the obligatory political dance, I healed Cailan and Duncan of their wounds. My magic flowed easily, almost too easily. And then I noticed it—status boxes above everyone's head. Just like Arcana Online. A familiar, digital shimmer that made information flicker to life: names, stats, affiliations, hidden traits. It was an unexpected boon—and a dangerous one, depending on who noticed.
We agreed to resume discussions in the morning. For now, I had other matters to attend to. My eyes turned to the Tower of Ishal.
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The Tower of Ishal stood in eerie silence. The Wardens were gone. A massive hole yawned in the back wall, scorched and jagged. I frowned. Why had Flemeth intervened? I'd already handled the darkspawn. Her timing didn't make sense—unless she was playing her own game. I made a mental note to confront her later.
For now, there was a far more immediate threat to deal with.
Loghain.
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His tent was heavily guarded, but the man himself stepped out as I approached. He looked like someone who had aged ten years in one night—tired eyes, clenched jaw, armor slightly askew.
"What do you want, elf?" he asked gruffly. "This couldn't wait until morning?"
"I think you'll want to hear this in private."
He narrowed his eyes but gestured for his guards to stand down. We stepped inside. I cast Four Eyes, a privacy spell that cloaked our conversation from all prying ears and eyes.
Then I dropped the mask.
"I'll be blunt, Loghain Mac Tir," I said, voice hard as steel. "You didn't stop Rendon Howe from slaughtering the Couslands. You knew his plans for months. You made a deal with a Tevinter magister to sell the elves of the Alienage like cattle. You poisoned Arl Eamon. You conspired with Uldred. And you helped a blood mage escape the Templars so he could carry out the poisoning."
His face drained of color.
I stepped closer. "I don't need to convince you how badly this could go for you. The Reverend Mother alone would see you executed. But I'm offering you a path forward."
"And what exactly do you want?" he asked, voice tight.
"You'll speak to Cailan—honestly. Tell him why you're against the union with Celene. Tell him what you know about Howe. The rest? I'll keep to myself. The blame falls solely on Howe."
His eyes searched mine, calculating. "And how do you plan to make that happen?"
I didn't answer. Not aloud.
Bring them, I whispered through the bond.
Three portals flared open in a rush of arcane light.
From the first stepped Ernest, hooded and unreadable, his aura laced with cold death. In one hand, he dragged Caladrius; in the other, an elven woman—wounded, her right arm gone but alive. Her identity didn't matter. What mattered was what she represented: witnesses.
Ernest.
From the second portal strode Abigail, flame-haired and deadly in her runed armor. She was all precision and ice, her axe gleaming. Floating behind her was Uldred, suspended in stasis.
Abigail.
The final portal revealed Skay, my unstoppable tank. Towering, armored, and as silent as the grave. He dropped Jowan at my feet like discarded meat.
Skay.
"Here are your problems," I said, gesturing to the array of enemies at our feet. "And now, they're gone."
I whispered two words: "Black Hole."
A shadow bloomed in the center of the tent—a swirling vortex of nothingness. One by one, Caladrius, Uldred, Jowan, and the rest were dragged in, their screams muffled by the crushing silence. The void collapsed with a soft sigh, leaving no trace.
I turned to Loghain. "You're clean now. No loose ends. Speak to the king. Be wise."
Then I left, my companions trailing silently behind me into the night.
Once we were clear of camp, I dropped the illusion concealing us. The stars blinked above, indifferent.
"Skay," I said, turning to the giant. "How's Redcliffe?"
"I arrived in time," he rumbled. "Gave Eamon the potion, started training Connor. Isolde protested, but… she's been overruled. The undead have been cleared."
"Excellent. Ernest?"
"Denerim's under control," he said. "Howe is locked up. Templar prisoner' memories have been altered. I handled the demon in the Alienage orphanage and wiped out the blood mage cells. Also saved Waylon. He gave me this." He handed me a map.
Haven.
I felt a thrill pulse through me. The cradle of the Inquisition. Soon.
"Abigail?"
"The mages believe they slept through the battle," she said, casually flipping her axe. "No memories. No questions."
"Perfect. We're not done yet. Abigail, go to Crestwood. Make sure the mayor doesn't try anything stupid. Ernest, keep Howe on ice until we get back. Skay, return to Redcliffe and continue Connor's training."
They nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" they chorused, vanishing one by one into shimmering portals.
All except Ernest.
He lingered.
"Kelley…" His voice, usually so steady, wavered. "Promise me you won't vanish like that again. These past few weeks… they were unbearable."
I stared at him, surprised. Ernest had always been the most unshakable of my companions—calm, calculating, cold. But now he looked almost… human.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. "I promise. I'm not going anywhere."
He nodded once and stepped into the void.
And then I was alone again.
I sighed, rubbing at my temples.
Love complications... Right. Later. First things first—the injured.Wrapping myself in another illusion, I turned toward the wounded tents. There was still work to do.