Dawn broke over the village of Haven as Solas stood before the tent where Leliana usually took her rest.
To his surprise, it was Josephine Montilyet who received him, an Antivan noblewoman and the diplomat charged with mediating among the leaders of this group: a handful of people determined to impose order on the chaos unleashed by the explosion of his Orb.
A titanic task. Even for him.
Josephine was whispering with Leliana, visibly uneasy. The redhead clutched a bundle of papers, their edges creased by her grip. Solas felt out of place, intruding on a conversation that wasn't his, and stepped back just as he nearly collided with the Seeker of Truth.
- Oh, Solas… You couldn't sleep either? - she asked, as serious as ever. In her hands, she held a thick, ancient-looking tome.
- Actually, I was just looking for some fresh air, Seeker - he replied evenly.
Cassandra gave a brief huff, almost a smile.
- I haven't thanked you yet, Solas. You've done excellent work with Elentari. I'm glad we managed to stabilize the Breach.
Cassandra's prisoner had awakened the day before, and had helped successfully seal the great rift that had formed within the Temple of Sacred Ashes during the Conclave explosion.
The Dalish girl had introduced herself as Elentari and shown composure from the start. She had fought without hesitation, pressing forward despite everything. Solas suspected she must have felt fear upon waking in a cell and yet she had chosen to help her captors, not out of resignation, nor submission, but with unexpected resolve.
- The credit goes to Elentari, Seeker. I did nothing.
The warrior smiled again, then took him by the arm and led him inside the tent where the other two women waited.
- Josephine, this is Solas.
The dark-haired woman, still in quiet debate with Leliana, turned and greeted him with polite warmth.
- Oh! you're our expert in Fade matters, aren't you?
Solas blinked in mild surprise. She had called him "expert on the Fade," not "apostate" as Cassandra often did.
- It's a pleasure - he replied.
- The pleasure is mine - she said, then Leliana stepped in:
- She's our ambassador and chief diplomat. Now…- The redhead dropped her documents onto the table and faced Solas squarely. - You believe we need to channel more power into Elentari's mark to fully seal the Breach, yes?
Solas nodded.
It still felt strange to hear them call it Elentari's mark... when, to him, it remained the mark of Fen'Harel.
- The hypothesis is that if we concentrate enough magic into her hand, we might be able to succeed.
He didn't reply. Leliana hadn't asked a question, only stated something she needed to hear aloud.
Yes, the Breach had to be sealed.
But not for the reasons they imagined.
Not because the heavens had torn open in divine punishment. Not because a "chosen one" bore a sacred purpose. But because he had not yet completed the prison he was building... a proper one, for the enemies he had once sealed away. Because the Blight was still alive. And because his mistake (the Veil) was starting to fracture too soon.
One day, the Veil would fall.
But he would decide when.
He listened in silence as Josephine listed diplomatic challenges:
Rebel mages. Closed-minded templars. The Chantry branding them heretics.
All of it made sense. All of it was reasonable. But none of them knew what was truly at stake.
- We need to engage both sides as soon as possible… Build bridges - the diplomat concluded.
- Elentari and I will handle that - Cassandra said firmly. - We'll explore the Hinterlands and see where things stand.
- She's awake already? - Leliana asked.
Cassandra looked to Solas for an answer.
He blinked, surprised. He hadn't seen to the elf since they assigned her care to the apothecary, Adan.
- I'm not sure. Remember, Adan was assigned to her.
Leliana made a sour face.
- Right… - she sighed, exhaustion breaking through her posture. - Well, I suppose it's time to gather everyone in the Chantry, Josie…
- And declare the Inquisition reborn - Cassandra added.
Solas watched them with renewed interest. The mention of the Inquisition caught his attention.
He noticed, almost unwillingly, the insignia stamped on the book Cassandra carried. A part of him itched to ask for it… but he restrained himself. Showing interest would be unwise.
- This was Divine Justinia's order. - Leliana said. - To restore the old Inquisition and stand against the chaos. Justinia asked Elentari for help at the Conclave. We heard her call out! She is the aid the Maker sent us in our time of need.
Solas listened to those words, fully aware of the power they might carry in the future... if each of these women played their pieces well.
They seemed more than competent.
And one thing was certain: They believed in what they said.
That mattered.
The stories that shaped history (the ones that lasted) often rose from emotional projection and desire. True believers were the keystone of every great ideology.
And that was precisely what was forming here.
The mage-templar conflict had plunged the continent into fear. The Divine's death, into despair.
Only time would tell what the world would do with a woman said to have touched the sky.
He couldn't explain why, but something inside the mage stirred at the thought.
For the first time since the Veil had been cast over this world, an elf stood at the center of a myth in the making.
Was it possible?
What future would be drawn under the guidance of one who bore the mark of Fen'Harel?
And of all people… a Dalish?
He pushed further.
- Forgive me, but are you aware of what it means for Elentari to be a Dalish elf?
Both Cassandra and Leliana looked surprised. Solas showed no reaction... he wanted their answer.
Could the Andrastian faithful, those whose Second Exalted March had created the Dalish, now revere one?
It was Cassandra who spoke.
- She is exactly what we need, exactly when we need her. It's providence, Solas. She's the help the Heavens have sent in our darkest hour.
Hope flickered in the warrior's eyes.
Providence. What a useful word.
Solas nodded politely and excused himself. It wasn't wise to press further.
As he left the tent, the cold air greeted him like an old companion.
He walked toward the ridge, where snow crunched beneath nearly bare feet. The morning was crisp, frozen, untainted by red lyrium or scars in the Veil. For a moment, Thedas reminded him of what had once been.
But it was only an illusion.
This world was not his. A defective replica. A broken copy. An echo of Arlathan, without its splendor or truth.
And yet, now a Dalish elf stood at the heart of the story that was beginning to unfold.
That unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
What if they succeeded? What if the Inquisition prospered, gathered followers, earned songs? What would be said, in the future, of the woman marked by his power?
Because it didn't matter who Elentari was. What mattered was who she would become in the eyes of others.
And that myth, that symbol, that narrative taking shape… Might weigh more than truth.
Solas closed his eyes.
He knew what happened when stories became stronger than facts.
He had seen it. He had lived it.
And now, that woman bore in her flesh the power of Fen'Harel.
A Dalish elf.
He, the great adversary of their mythology marked on her hand.
What a cruelly convenient irony.
He felt his blood rise.
Fen'Harel's power, in the hand of a Dalish girl who knew nothing of the truth he sealed in blood.
Then he saw it.
A raven soared overhead, majestic, unshaken, drawing a perfect silhouette against the dawn. It flew as if the sky belonged to it. For a moment, Solas held his breath.
It was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
Life, untainted, was art in motion. That flight reminded him of another time, another sky. Higher. Vaster. Of ancient lands where magic danced on the wind, where rivers whispered secrets, where mountains were not mute stone, but living rock. A home that no longer existed.
Here, he was a stranger. A fragment out of place.
The air was colder. The leaves no longer sang. The spirits were silent.
Thedas was not his home. It never had been. Only a broken reflection of what was lost.
And still… he had to protect it.
He closed his eyes again, letting the pain settle.
Nostalgia was a form of punishment. And he accepted it.
When he opened them again, the raven still soared above.
And in the distance, near the treeline, a figure stood against the snow.
Small. Familiar.
The Anchor's pulse in the air was unmistakable.
Her.
Elentari.
Solas lowered his gaze, silent.
He didn't need to approach to know what must be done.
He had to earn her trust.
Not for her. Not for this fledgling Inquisition.
But for the echo of a lost world still beating inside him.
Because if the story of this age would name Elentari as its hero…
Then he had to be at its margins from the very beginning.