Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Chalice stood upon a tall, narrow table, in the center of the room. The walls held shields emblazoned with griffons; the floor, under Daea's feet, was cold, dusty stone. They could not look away. They could see the dark liquid that filled the cup, could taste it still in the back of their throat. Their blood was burning, the unending pain of the Joining, as they stood there and looked.

The first one was their father. He was covered in blood, red and black seeping out of so many wounds. Two wardens in full armor, their faces hidden behind impenetrable visors, dragged him to the table and tilted his head back.

"No." They couldn't even hear themself. "No, please, no."

The wardens angled the cup reverently, a trickle of the liquid poured into their father's mouth — some of it ran down his slashed throat, but enough found its way. The wardens dropped him and he started convulsing, his wounds opening again, a painful rasp coming from his throat.

"No!" Daea threw themself forward, but their feet did not move. "No! Father, no, not him, not him please —"

On the floor, the corpse of their father turned his head, his eyes dead and bloodied and staring right at them. Daea's throat swelled as bile rose up, the smell of rotten, blighted meat reaching them.

The wardens rolled him to the further end of the room, then grabbed someone else through the door. They dragged them in with little care, and now Bellara was there, her hair undone, matted with blood and viscera, black veins running under her skin, darkening her eyes like a ghoul.

"No, no, no, don't, please—" Daea tried to move forward again, and again failed. The wardens repeated the same gestures, opening Bellara's mouth before tipping the chalice, making her drink. She screamed incoherently, a blood-curling wail that tore through Daea's chest and ended with wet gurgles as she spat out black blood. Like before, the wardens dropped her and her head lolled towards Dara, eyes unseeing. Then she was thrown unceremoniously over their father's corpse, before the wardens fetched the next person.

They were so small that Daea recognized them immediately, even before they were brought in the light. Their cousin was seven, and frail, and he was covered in bruises, bones broken, listless. The gash through his throat was ugly and so wide he couldn't possibly be still alive, and yet the wardens made him drink, and when the blood just dripped from his face, they threw him away too.

Daea threw up, dropping to their knees, as the wardens left and came back again, over and over and over, not matter how much they pleaded. Andrea, their Crow plummage lacerated, burned out by their own fire. Neve, sores all over her skin, her hands blackened by both frostbite and blight. Davrin, and then Nadasa, so corrupted by the darkspawn taint in their veins, and yet the wardens simply forced them to look upon the Chalice and drink from it again anyway, the last ounce of infection their bodies could take before giving up. Daea threw up again. Then hahren Palavel, who'd taught them to use a needle, his arms almost torn off, dangling uselessly; Suzanne, who mended the wardens' weapons, her skull half crushed; Emmrich, his kind eyes bursting with tar; Julianus, consumed by the Calling; the pile of bodies grew and grew and grew, the stench so thick Daea couldn't breathe, their stomach turned from the grotesque display. They screamed with them, unable to stop it, unable to do anything, rooted to the ground, the darkspawn blood scorching in their veins.

They brought in Lucanis, torn apart and yet still breathing, his eyes glowing purple with Spite; its wings were trailing down, bloodied too, and when the wardens made them drink they both howled, the unbearable pain worse from sharing it. Daea sobbed and kept looking, waiting for Lucanis's eyes to turn to them, brown and dull, Spite and life both gone.

"Daea!"

Daea gasped in surprise, their lungs scraped raw. This couldn't be— the wardens had stopped, and it was Lucanis's voice, but he was laying there dead.

"Daea!" It sounded closer now, and it wasn't coming from his mouth. Maybe they'd finally lost it, Daea thought. Maybe they just could not bear any more.

"I believe they're in shock." Emmrich, but he was dead too. Were they going to be haunted? Was that the price for not preventing any of this?

"Get. Them. Out!"

"We've already weakened the spell, it should—"

A hand landed on their shoulder and the room vanished, corpses and wardens and Chalice gone. The smell of bile remained, but not of death; Daea hiccuped and blinked, clearing the tears from their eyes.

Chapter Text

They were in the library.

Emmrich and Lucanis were crouched by their side, Lucanis' hand resting on the naked skin of their shoulder, almost tentative. They'd been looking at the books. They were kneeling on the hard floor, but all that surrounded them was furniture, not bodies. It was cold.

"What happened?" Their throat was raw from screaming; they tasted blood on their tongue.

Lucanis helped them up as Emmrich answered. "Something has happened to the Lighthouse. I'm afraid it looks like a powerful demon has…" His lips twisted sadly. "Well, taken over is probably the most accurate description."

"Curiosity. Where. Is it?"

"Manfred is alright," Emmrich assured, checking Daea over. "He did seem affected, but I left a ward around him. He is safe for now."

Daea tried to spit out the rest of the bile, then wiped their mouth with the bottom of their shirt. It hurt to speak. "How come you two…?"

"Lucanis. Is. Mine." Purple sparks danced along Lucanis's shoulders. "Helplessness can't have him."

Helplessness. That certainly fit, Daea thought bitterly.

The tip of Lucanis's ears reddened at the declaration, but he did not comment. "Spite pulled me out almost immediately. We flew across the courtyard, but it was… difficult. Something's changed."

"I'm afraid our Caretaker might have run afoul of the demon, and their influence been removed." Emmrich put his hands together, his expression somber. "As for me, what the demon showed me was nothing I had not pondered over already. The cracks became apparent quite quickly."

Daea started shivering and crossed their arms, moving closer to Lucanis. "Did you see what it showed me?"

Emmrich looked stricken. Lucanis started unbuttoning his vest. "We did," he replied without looking at them.

"You must know, these were just visions," Emmrich said gently. "Figments taken from our deepest nightmares. None of it is real, or will be."

Daea swallowed again, trying to soothe their aching throat. It still tasted horrible. "I know. It's obvious, now that I'm not in it." Lucanis placed his vest over their back, still warm from his body, and Daea accepted it gratefully. They caught his hand as he retreated, keeping him close — warm, alive. "How do we get rid of it?"

"Take. Its food. Away."

"Quite so." Emmrich nodded thoughtfully. "It is likely the demon has tethered itself to the Lighthouse by using its occupants — us — to grow. That is the point of those visions: to trigger feelings it can use to fuel itself. If we break its hold on everyone else, we'll weaken it considerably. Possibly enough to force it to leave."

"Possibly?" Lucanis repeated.

"We might need to, ah, weaken it further before then."

Fight it, then. At least they knew how to do that. "I'll need to get my sword."

They started towards the stairs; the first step was easy; the second one was like going through water; the third one was like wading through heavy mud. "What the fuck?"

"That is what I meant when I said it was hard to get here," Lucanis said as they extracted themself and walked back. "The ground looked odd, too, but moving is difficult." He frowned, holding an arm out for Daea, wrapping it around their shoulder when they came close enough. Daea welcomed it, although his shirt and skin were cold, too. "Although it looked like you got further than I did before getting slower."

"Proof that we're making progress!" Emmrich sounded genuinely cheery, a very unsettling contrast to what Daea had been experiencing a minute ago. But they supposed, at least, that it was a good sign.

Unable to go up the stairs, they looked around. There were no weapons around — they all kept theirs in their quarters. The best they could get was a whole chair, but lugging one over their shoulders while struggling to even step forward seemed unappealing, and inefficient.

"Right. Well, let's keep going, then," Daea said. "Do you know if anyone else is in here?"

"We saw. Other spells. Outside."

"And I don't sense any other disturbances nearby."

Lucanis frowned. "You can sense them?"

Emmrich shrugged. "In a way. It's a very distinctive type of disturbance."

They all braced themselves and stepped towards the large doors of the entrance. Quickly the air grew dense again, the cold making every breath a little more painful. Daea had waded in swamps and muddy ponds before, and this was very reminiscent of those experiences — not a comparison theyd'd ever hoped to make. At least they did not have their armor on to carry as well, but the lack of protection and sword was not a trade-off they were happy with.

Eventually they reached the doors, which opened with surprising ease in front of them.

"Curious," Emmrich remarked as they caught their breath. "It seems that this might only affect us."

Lucanis's mouth flattened. "So it's all in our mind?"

"No, no, the physicality is very real." Emmrich pushed his hand forward to demonstrate, inch by inch. "But it might be something that is only effective against sentient beings, or even living ones. Very interesting."

Daea looked outside. The courtyard was empty — no Caretaker, or Assan, or anyone else. The Fade around the Lighthouse, which only rarely changed, and always very little, was a vivid green full of dark clouds, some of which reached down with thick, ominous arms into the buildings on both sides of the yard. Two of them also shot down into the upper part of the courtyard, into what looked like dense, misty spheres.

"I'm guessing that's where the others are," Daea said, not bothering to point at the clouds.

Emmrich hummed. "But how do we get there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look down," Lucanis said.

Daea did. The stones that made up the pavement were glowing. Runes that they had never seen before, and certainly not here, adorned every single one, shimmering in the dim light; they seemed oddly familiar, just beyond intelligible yet easy to comprehend. If they turned their head and squinted, just a little, the patterns became clear, illuminating paths across the courtyard.

"There are trails in the runes. Can none of you understand it? Even Spite?"

"No."

"The Crossroads and Lighthouse were an elven invention," Emmrich pointed out. "It could be that you are perceiving things we cannot."

"What are you seeing?"

"Harsh light. Too bright to look directly." Lucanis shrugged with one shoulder, the movement halted almost before it began. "There's also noise I'd never heard before. Grating."

"I hear it too."

"Huh." Daea blinked slowly. The paths were right there, not quite straight but easy enough to follow.

There were clouds descending on both the workshop and the conservatory.

"If I am able to see clearly because I'm an elf, we should try to get to Bellara first." They pushed their legs forward, onto the path. It did not quite make walking easier, but the air felt less oppressive. "Then we can split up."

"Split up?" Emmrich repeated. He did not sound thrilled.

"Just place your feet exactly where I do."

It was slow going, and Daea soon realized it was even slower for the two humans. They struggled to follow, and Daea had to slow down to point out exactly which stones they could step on. They were both squinting, like it was a sunny day and they were looking at the sky, and barely got by; Spite did not seem to be able to help at all. As they managed the first few meters, something moved in the periphery of Daea's vision.

Slowly, they turned their head, only to see the Chalice again. It was there on its high table, wardens flanking it, holding tall banners with griffons that billowed in the soft breeze that always blew over the Lighthouse. They were silent. Unmoving.

"Can either of you see this?" Daea kept their eyes on the wardens.

Lucanis, right behind them, glanced in the same direction and visibly paled, and Spite snarled. "It's not real," Lucanis said, though neither he nor Spite seemed comforted.

"We've likely not broken the entirety of Helplessness's hold," said Emmrich from a pace further. He was still looking down, choosing very deliberately where to step. "Remains of our visions will subsist."

"It's not the same."

"It's worse." Lucanis sounded like he was choking.

Emmrich stopped, right behind Lucanis, still refusing to look up."My apologies. I don't know of anything we can do to avoid these."

The wardens were looking back. Daea was certain of it. Waiting for them to make a mistake, and then they would bring them back and start all over. First their father—

"Helplessness. Cannot. Have you."

Spite's words jolted Daea out of the strange draw of the vision. It said it like a declaration — like a claim. At the edge of their vision, purple shimmering feathers floated over Lucanis's shoulders, and he looked a little dazed but regrouping, too. Daea exhaled and turned away, unable to shake the feeling of being watched, and plowed on, stone by stone, every step of the stairs down to the workshop an exercise in balance, until they reached the door, Lucanis and Emmrich both close.

They lifted their hand to the doorknob. It was ice cold. "What do we do to stop the demon?"

"Just going in seemed to be enough of a disturbance." Lucanis shifted, lowering his hand toward where one of his many throwing knives was concealed. Not that he would be able to actually throw it, but Daea would have loved to have the comfort of a blade too. "But it took you… some time, to respond."

"Isn't there any magic…?"

"I believe, since we are existing physically on the same plane as the demon's effects, Lucanis is correct, and our presence is the most efficient impairment." Emmrich caught up, level with Lucanis, both of them just behind Daea. "I'm afraid there is nothing to do but open this door and hope for the best."

Daea breathed out and pushed the door. It went easily, shut but not locked, and suddenly they weren't in the Lighthouse anymore.

Chapter Text

The trees of Arlathan sprung up around them, tall and impenetrable, circling a clearing. In front of them, kneeling on the ground away from them, Daea recognized Bellara. Past her were dozens of dalish elves, kneeling, head hung in defeat; they didn't recognize most of them, but spotted Irelin and Strife both. Daea stepped forward, the movement almost too easy here.

In front of Bellara, Cyrian was turning an older woman into a demon. Anaris stood by him, hands joined in front of him, staring at the process with rapt attention, not a single glance spared for Bellara. Cyrian finished his task and a shade rose up where an elf had been. Cyrian stepped back and let it move, fetching the next person down the line. He turned to his sister, eyes sorrowful behind his mask.

"I'm doing this for us, Bellara. You know I wouldn't if there was any other choice."

Bellara made a small, broken noise, but did not respond.

"We can't survive like this," he continued as the next person was brought before him. Anaris waved a hand, dismissing the shade and binding the elf. They had a vallaslin of June, and long brown hair. "We're hunted everywhere we go. This is the only way."

Daea shook themself out from listening to him and sprung foward, reached Bellara in three easy strides and knelt down next to her. "Bellara!"

She didn't react. Her face was marred with tear streaks, eyes red and bloodshot and vacant as she looked ahead.

Daea remembered Lucanis's hand and touched Bellara's shoulder gently. "Bellara!"

This time she turned around, her brown eyes barely focused; she looked up and down, opened her mouth but nothing came out. Daea swore and grabbed her hands, met with a slick sensation. They looked down — Bellara's left arm was covered in scratches and blood, fresh and dried, like she'd tried to tear it apart. It was real. It had to be.

Lucanis came closer. Emmrich was a little further, standing at the ready. "Bellara, can you hear us?"

Daea held up their bloodied hand and Lucanis's expression hardened, then he nodded. They shuffled around so they could sit in front of Bellara and block her view; she followed their movement listlessly, barely reacting when they framed her face in their hands.

"Bellara, this isn't real."

"Cyrian," she said. Her voice was weak and scratchy, like she'd screamed herself hoarse. She probably had. Daea still tasted blood in their own mouth.

"He's dead." The words came out without care; even in this state Bellara flinched. Daea softened their voice. "We fought Anaris. Cyrian helped. He didn't do all of this. We stopped Anaris, remember?" Bellara looked away again and they moved her face back to them. "Bellara. Do you think we would let this happen? Do you think you would?"

"Vora'shivan—"

Chapter Text

The illusion broke as Bellara shut her eyes and sighed, a long, throaty, painful sound, and she collapsed on herself. Lucanis ducked to catch her before she fell, and Daea grabbed her shoulders, righting her.

"What—"

"You're okay," Daea said gently. "It wasn't real. None of it happened, I promise." They glanced down at her arm, and she followed their gaze.

"The gauntlet," she said. "They were using it— making me use it—" She hiccuped a sob and could not stop, tears flowing with every attempt at breathing. Daea embraced her, letting her hide in the crook of their neck to cry out, murmuring the same soothing words their mother used to when they had a nightmare. Emmrich put a hand on her back, trying to ease the sobs, and Lucanis dug around for clean rags, getting to work on removing the blood on her arm.

"Do you allow me to heal your arm, Bellara?" Emmrich asked softly.

She wiped her face and held her arm out. Daea let Emmrich and Lucanis take care of her and started rocking her gently, rubbing circles in her back as she calmed down.

"It was so real."

"I know." Their father's dead eyes, their friends and family being made to drink. Daea closed their eyes. "I know, I'm sorry, it's over now."

"It's not over. Until Helplessness is GONE."

Daea made a face towards Spite over Bellara's shoulders, but she just inhaled and leaned back, extricating herself from Daea. "Helplessness." She cleared her throat. "That makes sense, I think. I couldn't even…" She pressed her lips together. "My arm's better. Thank you."

The dried blood was still visible, but alongside it were freshly healed scars. She flexed her hand, testing the pain, and winced a little but stood up. Daea did as well, suddenly realizing how warm she had been and how cold the air had gotten — their breath was fogging up now. Bellara was quickly caught up to speed as she grabbed her gauntlet — real, this time — with grim determination.

"So we're the only ones who can actually navigate the Lighthouse?" Bellara asked as she rummaged through a chest full of unfolded clothes.

"If Emmrich is right, yes." Daea rubbed their own arms to try and get some warmth in them. "If it works, then we can split in two teams and get the others."

"Do we truly think it wise to separate?" Emmrich accepted the scarf Bellara handed him gratefully. He'd not grabbed anything before leaving his library, and was starting to shiver. "The demon has not caught us yet, but it is only a matter of time."

"In that case, the faster we weaken it, the better," Lucanis said. "We don't even know how long it's been since this started."

"Do we not? You said Spite took you out quickly," Daea pointed out. Bellara handed them a large shawl; they shrugged off the too-narrow vest and draped it back over Lucanis's shoulders, still warm from their own body, with a gentle swipe of their thumb over the soft skin of his neck, before wrapping themself up. "It can't have been more than a couple hours, right?"

"No, I'm afraid Lucanis is right," Emmrich said. "There is no way to tell if time passed at the same rate it seemed to while we were inside our visions."

"And the way we're slowed down will have skewed our perception as well," Lucanis added.

Bellara handed him a long winter coat. "Does Spite have a better idea of—"

"No."

"We can't waste time." Daea knotted the ends of the shawl together, securing it. "We know we don't need all of us to get someone out. This is our best option." They looked up. Bellara had donned her heaviest armor, the gauntlet fastened over it. "Who's going with who?"

Lucanis raised his head. "I am not leaving you."

Daea looked at him, frowning slightly. They were about to suggest that Lucanis go with Bellara, and Emmrich with them — an elf and a mage in each pair. But his tone brokered no argument, and the tension around his eyes betrayed more emotion than he was trying to show. Daea wondered if they had been in his vision, the way he'd been in theirs. Now was not the time to ask. After a moment, they nodded. They had not needed magic to break the hold on Bellara.

"Alright. Let's try."

Once again, when they left the area where Bellara's vision had been, moving got much harder — though it felt a little easier than before. Daea was grateful for Bellara's shawl; the temperature had dropped even further now, and the walls of the buildings shone with frost, even without the light of the Fade's sun.

"Ooooh, I see what you meant now." Bellara struggled forward so she could peer at the runes. "I've seen these before, on waymarkers mainly. We thought they were just signs, but maybe they were guarding the paths?"

Emmrich coughed delicately. "This is fascinating, but—"

"Right, yes." Bellara blinked, taking in the scene. "Where do we…?"

"Emmrich and Bellara, go to the conservatory and get Harding. Taash might be in there too." Daea turned left — it was definitely easier to move. Odd, but welcome. "Lucanis and I will get to Neve. Then we work our way to Davrin and Nadasa."

"And then?"

"We. Kill. Helplessness."

"What Spite said." Or that was the plan, at least. Daea wasn't sure if they could do much against a demon this powerful with their bare hands, but they would handle that when it happened and not before. "Let's go."

Bellara nodded. "Good luck."

She and Daea both took the lead, their respective companions sticking close. Daea could hear Lucanis breathe through the effort with disciplined regularity, one of his hands almost touching their back. Through the layers and the cold, they couldn't feel his warmth; the wardens appeared again, closer, still silent as they watched them, and suddenly Daea wished they could turn around to be sure it was Lucanis behind them.

"Do you see things again too?" The cold was numbing their face.

Lucanis took a few seconds to answer — they seemed to stretch into eternity. "Yes."

Daea stopped and reached back without looking. Once Lucanis slid his fingers through theirs, ice cold even where they touched, they squeezed his hand, just to remind themself he was real, and started again. The stairs required careful planning and placing, but they got up.

"Neve first?" Lucanis asked.

"She's closest."

Daea led them both to the half-covered walkway to Neve's door. The runed stones stopped there, meaning Lucanis could walk freely, but he only stepped a little closer and kept their hands linked. They paused for a second in front of the entrance, then Daea tried to push the door, but it didn't move. Locked.

"Let me," Lucanis said. He slid in front of them and knelt, taking out one of his knives — a very thin one. He carefully, slowly inserted it into the keyhole and started working it.

"Hopefully she didn't put up a ward too." Daea was standing with their legs right against his back, their arms crossed in a futile attempt at keeping their own warmth from evaporating.

Lucanis grunted, focused. "She didn't. I would feel it." A few seconds later, they heard the telltale click of an opened lock. They put their hand on the door, waiting for Lucanis to stand up again, and looked at him.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

Chapter Text

Stepping into Neve's dream was jarring. It was warm in it, hot even, and where Bellara's vision and Daea's own had been contained, Neve's stretched over what seemed to be a very large stadium. It was filled to the brim with people — all dressed in red, with Venatori symbols on their clothes, speaking amongst themselves and creating an overwhelming wall of noise. They'd appeared at the bottom of the stadium: a few meters ahead Neve was standing, held by magic binds, her shoulders and arms bleeding where she'd clearly strained against them. Further in front of her —

A familiar view now. Gibbets, with bodies hanging from them. Daea recognized some of them. Tarquin, Lorelei, Halos, the Viper. They'd been hanged, but then they'd all been cut open from throat to groin and left to bleed dry. The blood had soaked the gallows red and was dripping still, forming lazy rivers in the sandy ground towards someone standing between the structure and Neve — Aelia. She'd traced a large circle around herself, and etched symbols in the dust, the grooves filling with blood now their walls had been soaked solid.

"The People's Circus," Lucanis said. "It's in Minrathous."

Daea gritted their teeth. "Let's get her out."

There were guards and other prisoners waiting for their own fate standing near, but none paid attention to them, the same way the wardens or Cyrian had only looked at their own captives.

"Neve!" Daea spoke as Lucanis examined her restraints with a frown. "Neve, this isn't real."

"Rook?" Her eyes widened, naked fear obvious on her face. "Lucanis? What are— you have to go, Maker, leave now—"

"Neve, listen to me, this—"

"My, what have we here?"

Daea's head whipped around. Nobody in the other visions had bothered with their intruders. But Aelia had turned, holding one of Neve's scepters in her hand and pointing it lazily at them. Her fingertips were dipped in blood. "A little rat come to save you?"

"Please leave," Neve pleaded. "You can't take her right now—"

"She's not real—" Pain exploded in their shoulder, radiating through their body, and they stumbled forward against Neve. Lucanis swore and immediately abandoned the bindings to fly behind them, placing himself in the path of any other spell Aelia might throw.

"What is happening?" he demanded, giving them a worried glance. "They didn't do that before!"

Daea hissed, righting themself. They could feel the burn on their skin, and the carbonized fibers of Bellara's shawl rubbing against raw flesh. "I don't know!"

"Surely you didn't think I would let you run around?" Aelia twirled the scepter slowly, a cruel smile spreading her lips. "You are all mine."

Spite's wings fluttered and grew, larger and brighter and adorned with spiked feathers. "Not. Yours."

"Oh, how adorable." She fired another spell and Spite's wings deflected it, sending the fire crashing to the side. As it hit the ground, the illusion shattered, and they were standing in Neve's room again, one of her shelves badly singed, a hooded shape hovering in front of her evidence wall.

Chapter Text

Neve was free, the magical ropes gone, and she immediately sent a shard of ice through the shade, piercing it through. A knife shot out from Lucanis's sleeve and he slashed at its throat, or what would have been its throat if it had been a person. The shade had no time to do anything; it dissolved with a cavernous gurgling sound — and a spectral echo of Aelia's words. All mine.

"Well. That's not ominous." Neve sent a spray of cold to some of her papers on fire. "What kind of demon was that?"

Daea could see behind the front she was putting. The wounds on her arms were real enough, and they had a good idea of what Neve had seen, over and over, to know she was shaken, even if she'd already dismissed it. "Is. This was just part of it." The burn on their back was very real too, and hurting. They shrugged off the shawl as delicately as possible. The room was freezing again. "Spite says it's a Helplessness demon. Do you have anything…?"

Neve turned them to the side and eyed the wound. "Maybe." She gestured to Lucanis. "Third drawer on your right. Bandages and ointment. What's the situation?"

"The demon seems to have locked everyone like this," Lucanis replied as he followed her instructions. "Bellara and Emmrich are out. We came to you, and they went to the conservatory. Nadasa and Davrin are out there, too." He crossed the room and put the supplies on Neve's desk. She unscrewed the small pot and dabbed some of the mixture on her own wounds. "Whatever it's done, it also changed the Lighthouse. It is harder to navigate." He tugged on Daea's shirt, on the uninjured side. "There are paths that are only visible to elves."

"But the visions hadn't hurt us before now." Daea pulled their shirt off. "I didn't expect it."

Lucanis started applying the ointment. Daea grimaced, trying not to make a sound. "It was not very powerful. This is a bad burn, but it is only a burn." His fingers stopped moving. "A spell like this should have taken your arm."

"It's growing in strength." Neve rubbed the salve into her skin, where it was open and red. "Either from feeding on us, or having less people to manage. Either way, that's a problem." She looked pointedly at both of their outfits. "No armor, no weapons. Why not?"

"You'll see when we get out." Daea could not hide a wince when Lucanis started bandaging their shoulder. His movements were precise and sure, but he lingered a little on their collarbone, an apology pressed from his fingertips. "It's… hard to move. Getting easier, but at first it was like the air was solid. Didn't have the time to go back in my room and grab anything."

Neve looked at Lucanis. "You have knives."

"I always have knives."

Neve smiled wryly. "Wise precaution, evidently." She walked around her desk and opened a drawer. Daea heard metallic clutters as Neve pulled out three of her magic foci, short scepters with the orbs mages used embedded in them — although one of them was cracked, and the orb of another was missing, knocked out into the sewers of Minrathous during an encounter with Venatori. They knew she had a fourth, the one Aelia had used in her vision, but she left that one.

"You should take these," she said, grabbing her newest one and gesturing toward the last two.

Daea frowned. "I'm not a mage."

"No, but I'm sure having something with a pointy end will come in handy." Neve shrugged on her white coat, though she didn't bother buttoning it. "I'll go have a look."

As she opened the door, peeking out, Lucanis finished wrapping Daea's shoulder and they put their clothes back on, grateful for the layers, even with the new holes burned in them. They and Lucanis each grabbed one of Neve's scepters — she was right. Any weapon was better than none.

"How does your shoulder feel?" Lucanis asked quietly.

Daea rolled it gingerly. "Sore, but good for now." They reached for Lucanis's free hand, entangling their fingers. "Thank you for taking care of it."

Lucanis lifted their hand up and kissed their knuckles, red and dry from the cold. "Don't overdo it."

Daea cupped his face and smiled, placing a chaste kiss on his lips before they stepped away and joined Neve. She had one arm out, testing the density of the air, scowling as she got slowed just outside her own door. "It's frustrating."

"Tell me about it." They slipped out past her. It had become easier again. They turned their head slowly. None of the others were visible — they tamped down the worry that started rising. Bellara and Emmrich would be fine. They both had plenty of experience with demons and the Fade.

"Follow me exactly," Daea instructed. "I don't know what will happen if you stray from the paths, but we don't have time to find out."

They set off first, heading for the strange misty dome across from them. They reached it very fast, and there was no door to stop at; they simply stepped into it. One moment they were back in the Lighthouse, and the next—

Chapter Text

—Weisshaupt. The familiarity was unsettling. They knew the old stones, the walls running around the large main courtyard, the well in the middle, the perpetual feeling of damp in that part of the Anderfels. It was blighted beyond recognition, worse even than when Ghilan'nain had attacked. There were tendrils everywhere, fat boils leaking black and red, and dead wardens.

And griffons.

They did not see Davrin at first. The griffons were circling the space, jumping not on darkspawn, but on wardens, killing any standing and tearing into dead ones, before bringing their finds to the same place — to Davrin, body and head held down by Assan and one of his siblings, both monstruously large and bursting with blight. There was a cluster covering Assan's eye, dripping down onto Davrin's face. He was wounded, covered in laceration, looking away from Daea — looking at the pile of arms and legs and heads of wardens the infected griffons were bringing him proudly.

Daea forced themself to start walking again, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of their stomach. "Davrin! Davrin!" He did not react, but the griffons did, their eagle's eyes fixed on them as they approached. When they were just two steps away, they both shrieked, opening their wings wide, Assan posturing forward and the other tightening its grip on Davrin, claws sinking through skin. Daea stopped, holding out their hands in a calming gesture, which did nothing.

The other griffons noticed something was going on and echoed their siblings's call in a discordant cacophony. They sounded wrong — too deep, too long. Daea winced and tried to cut through. "Davrin!"

He finally turned his head. There were bleeding claw marks on his jaw, and he looked terrified.

"You're dead."

"This isn't real." Daea tried to come closer but the griffons howled even louder and clung deeper to Davrin. He didn't even react to the pain.

"No," he said. "No, you're dead, you…"

He looked away again and Daea followed his gaze. They hadn't lingered on the dismembered limbs, but this time they saw it. At the bottom, under someone else's hand, was their head. Their eyes had been pecked out, but it was their hair, their vallaslin, directly in Davrin's line of sight.

Daea couldn't look away, morbid fascination keeping them still.

"Davrin!" Neve and Lucanis finally arrived, flanking Daea. Lucanis was stone-faced, but Neve looked vaguely ill. "This is a nightmare."

"I can't get to him," Daea said, finally dragging themself away from their own severed head.

The new arrival had agitated the griffons further and two more flew closer, landing on either side of Davrin, who himself was looking their way once more. He was glancing rapidly between all three of them, wide eyed.

"This isn't possible." He was half choked by one of Assan's paws now.

"It isn't real." Lucanis kept an eye on Assan, scepter in hand and ready to strike. "This is the work of a demon."

Davrin barked out a disbelieving laugh. "A demon announcing itself!"

They weren't getting anywhere. Their only hope was to make Davrin break the hold Helplessness had on him, but he wouldn't be able to believe that this was not real, not like this. Daea put their weight on their back leg and nudged Neve and Lucanis both. "Get ready."

They knew better by now than to ask for what. Daea crouched and lunged to Davrin, low enough to avoid the griffon's beaks, though they got a swat on the back for their trouble. Neve and Lucanis entered the fray right after them, diverting the griffons's attention — for now. They needed to be quick. Daea rolled over Davrin, grabbing his face, slippery from the blood.

"I'm real, but this Weisshaupt isn't." They searched his eyes, desperate for any sign of recognition. "You saved the griffons. We're in the Lighthouse."

Davrin focused on them. They could feel how fast he was breathing under them. "What did I do?"

"What?"

"With Assan and the others."

Before they could reply, they were violently thrown aside and into the body parts. The flesh was soft, breaking their fall and squelching under their weight. They scrambled up trying not to gag, eyes half-closed so they wouldn't see their head. "Arlathan! You left them in Arlathan! Assan came back!"

Chapter Text

Another griffon leapt for them and they braced themself, but it dissipated just as its beak was about to tear their arms away, leaving a shade in its place. It seemed as surprised as Daea and couldn't stop, running into them clumsily, barely hard enough to make them stumble, and they only had to strike twice with their borrowed scepter for it to crumple to the ground. Behind it, Davrin, Neve and Lucanis were surrounded by half a dozen other demons; Daea yelled and charged, stabbing one through the chest and elbowing another out of the way and the protected path — when it left the boundary, it shrieked into the fog until the sound ended abruptly. In a handful of seconds and a flurry of movement, all the shades disappeared, disintegrating into ice flakes that scattered over the stones.

They were all breathing heavily, taking their bearings; Davrin was bent over, hands on his knees and eyes closed. He was bleeding from several cuts, a few shallow ones on his face and several deeper ones on his chest and legs, though the flow of blood was shallow at worst.

"Everyone alright?" Neve asked.

Daea and Lucanis nodded in unison, but Davrin sank to the ground. Daea dove after him, but he simply kneeled and brought the heels of his palms to his eyes. They put a hand on his shoulder gently — he was shaking.

"Do you know where Assan is?" Lucanis looked around, but Davrin's companion was nowhere to be seen.

Davrin inhaled sharply. "In my room. I think." He stood back up, shrugging Daea's hand off not unkindly. His eyes were red and shiny, but his voice was firm. "What's happening?"

As Lucanis and Neve explained the situation, Daea stood up and glanced around as well. Before, they'd been able to see all of the Lighthouse, albeit in dim lighting and over odd rune lights. Now, though, it seemed as if the mist that had been trapped Davrin had spread, making it impossible to see anything beyond a few feet. They could not hear any sound either. In the shadows around them, they could see silhouettes in griffon-adorned armor, watching. Daea avoided lingering on them.

It was also freezing. The air was sharp and numbing against their face and hands. When they looked back to their friends, Davrin was shivering, and Lucanis wasn't much better. Only Neve seemed unaffected — Daea suspected an ice mage wold have long since learned to protect herself against the cold.

"We need to keep moving." Their words sounded muffled even to their ears. "Nadasa is still trapped, and we haven't seen Bellara and Emmrich again."

They blinked, and for an instant, they were back in the round room, the Chalice standing tall. Their throat closed, trapping their breath, and they fiercely shut their eyes, reminding themself that none of this was real. None of it had happened — or would happen, if they could do anything about it.

That was the crux, though, wasn't it? It was a demon of helplessness. What if they couldn't? What if all of this came to pass and they —

"Daea?"

Daea's eyelids flew open. Lucanis was close, holding their arm, searching their face with concern. "I'm fine. Well, I—" They hesitated. "The demon. I saw the ward— I saw my vision again. But I'm back."

Lucanis frowned, but let it go as Neve and Davrin's faces settled into grim expressions. They didn't have time to dwell on any of this.

"We need to go," Daea repeated. "Davrin, can you fight?"

He grimaced. "As much as I can empty-handed."

Lucanis handed him his own borrowed scepter. Davrin started protesting and he cut him off. "I've got other weapons. Take it." He looked pointedly at the cuts over Davrin's face. "We can't afford to be unarmed."

Daea tried to get their bearings. They squinted at the runes still glowing faintly under the fog swirling around their feet, trying to make out the paths, avoiding their friends's eyes.

"I think Nadasa is that way," they said eventually. "Stay close to me; Davrin, bring up the rear." He was the only other one who would be able to find his way by himself. "I'll go slowly, in case I'm wrong and we end up at one of the edges."

Davrin and Neve made faces at the idea of plunging into the empty space that surrounded the Lighthouse. Lucanis seemed unperturbed — but of course, Spite could actually fly. Daea put him behind them in their walking order. With any luck, if they did tumble over the edge, Spite and Lucanis would be fast enough to catch them.

Luckily they had oriented themself well enough. Soon they reached the door of the kitchen and ducked inside. The mist was just as thick, but the stones were dull and blissfully inert. The four of them dashed across the room and up the side stairs, and Daea didn't wait to open the door.

Chapter Text

Nadasa was kneeling in a cave. The walls were covered with the black residue of Blight that plagued the Deep Roads. His fingers were covered in blood, the tips raw and open, skin torn off, like he'd scraped something repeatedly with his bare hands. He was turned away from them, looking at another man a few steps in front of him. An elf, short, wearing the armor of the Grey Wardens, his back turned.

"Mahanon," Nadasa pleaded. His voice was rough, his face marred by tear streaks but his eyes dry. "Mahanon, please, stay, please—"

Daea watched as Nadasa reached for Mahanon — the Hero of Ferelden, his mentor, his— and Blight tendrils held him back. Daea started running and they heard someone else do the same, instinctive response to the danger — we have to get him out of there.

"Mahanon!" Nadasa begged, throwing himself forward.

"Nadasa! Nadasa, look at me!" Daea said, but he did not seem to hear, unable to tear himself away from Mahanon's back. He was sobbing uncontrollably, whole body spasming.

Just when they reached him, the black walls started moving; like something just under the surface wasw crawling around. One by one darkspawn emerged from the taint, armed and armored — some approached them and Daea saw Davrin ready himself from the corner of their eye, but most were looking in the same direction Nadasa was.

Mahanon Tabris turned from an elf into a beautiful golden dragon, fire roiling in his mouth, forced to hunch by the cavern ceiling, and he was immediately swarmed by darkspawn, cut and stabbed and hacked into pieces in front of their eyes.

"Talk to him!" Davrin circled Nadasa's prone form to stand between him and the few darkspawn that had not joined in the frenzy. Daea turned away from the spectacle and grabbed Nadasa's shoulders, shaking him firmly.

"Nadasa, can you hear me? Nadasa! This isn't real!"

He was still not looking, even though they were right in front of him. He let out a feeble keening sound as the horrible noise of butchering behind them stopped. Daea tried again to turn Nadasa's face to them, but he would not budge, and they followed his gaze.

Mahanon was elven once again, lying on the ground, face down. The darkspawn had stepped back, forming a circle around them and the body. The blood pooling around him was black, and it smelled like Blight. Daea could taste it in the heavy air.

Suddenly Nadasa slipped free and fell forward, escaping their hold to scramble over to Mahanon's body. "Please, please, Mahanon, papae, please, you can't leave me alone—"

Daea looked away. They met Davrin's gaze, and saw in his eyes the devastation weighing over their heart. They'd seen Nadasa's reaction to Mahanon's letter, when he'd finally opened it — they'd pieced together some of their relationship, from stories Nadasa told. But this…

One of the darkspawn lunged for Davrin and cut across his back, snarling; he stumbled forward with a cry and Daea sprung up, extending an arm between him and the hurlock, pointing Neve's scepter at it with the other. It seemed content to have hit only once, oddly, and retreated back into the circle — that was slowly tightening as the darkspawn all came closer. Daea stepped backwards and, pulling Davrin along, walked all the way to Nadasa.

"We can't take this many." Davrin was at least standing upright without trouble — a superficial cut then. "We have to snap him out of it."

"I've tried, but—"

"Try again."

Daea glared at him, but he was right. They shoved their scepter into his empty hand and knelt with Nadasa again. He was dry heaving over Mahanon's body, and Daea tried not to look at how the corpse looked more and more like darkspawn by the second. They braced themself and manhandled Nadasa to face them, keeping their grip firm when he tried to throw himself back.

"Lethallin! Listen to me!" They brought his face against theirs, leaving no room for him to look at something else. For the first time, his violet eyes focused on them. "This is not real! It's a demon! This didn't happen!"

Nadasa went limp. "It did, it did, he died and he left me— he left me all alone." His eyes were dry and bloodshot, like he physically couldn't cry anymore. "He left. Mahanon—"

"You didn't see him die." Daea hoped they were right. Nadasa had been cagey about this, but they were almost certain. "This didn't happen to you. And he wouldn't just walk into this kind of ambush, right?"

They heard the clash of metal, once, twice. Another darkspawn taking a swing. "Daea," Davrin said, urgently.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't have gone down fighting."

Nadasa's breath hitched and he truly looked at them for the first time. The black blood had reached them now — Daea could feel it under their knees.

"Nadasa?"

He closed his mouth and swallowed. "No." His voice sounded like grinding sand. "No."

Chapter Text

The cave shattered, along with the darkspawn and Mahanon's body. They were on the ledge near the kitchen, kneeling on the wood, no demon in sight this time. Daea released Nadasa's face only to bring him into a tight hug when they saw him shaking. Davrin sighed in relief and turned to them both.

"Where are Neve and Lucanis?"

Daea frowned, looking behind them, but there was only grey fog. "They were right behind us."

Davrin swore under his breath, and Nadasa pulled back. He'd composed himself some, though Daea could tell he was still shaken. "What happened?" He looked around and corrected himself. "What's happening?"

Daea stood up, helping Nadasa upright as well. He didn't need it, but they did not know how else to try to comfort him right now. "Helplessness demon attacked the Lighthouse. It trapped all of us in…" They trailed off, but Nadasa nodded in understanding. "And the stones outside are enchanted and only elves can see safe paths. If anyone else but Bellara got stranded, they won't be able to come to us."

Nadasa raised an eyebrow, but took it in stride. "What happens if you step out? And where is everyone else?"

Daea remembered the shade they had pushed out and its cry of agony cut short. "I'm not sure, but nothing good. And I don't know."

"Lucanis and Neve were with us," Davrin said. He handed one of the scepters back to Daea. "They should be here."

The metal of the scepter was so cold it burned Daea's skin. They shivered, and then could not stop. The tip of their ears that had been numbed by the cold now felt acutely painful, too. They spared a glance at both their companions — they had both been dressed lightly when caught in the demon's trap, and though they were making a valiant effort, Daea could see their bodies shaking in desperate attempts to find warmth.

"Let's go back inside first," they decided. The perpetual fire of the kitchen had probably been snuffed, but the couch in the corner always had some blankets. And, though it would hurt Lucanis and Bellara's hearts a little, cast iron pans were better than no weapons.

The platform was narrow enough that they found the entrance just a step away, and ushered Davrin and Nadasa in before them.

Chapter Text

The second they followed, they were in another vision again. This wasn't one they recognized immediately. There were people milling about, mostly humans, dressed in formal clothing. Daea noticed the crow sculptures dotting the room just before they caught sight of Caterina, her stature in no way diminishing her presence. She was standing in the middle of the room and looking at Lucanis, someone lying between them.

Daea's eyes caught on the hair. It was them. They stepped closer, shoving attendees in the vision out of their way. Lucanis and Caterina both turned towards them.

"Lucanis—"

"I know." He was visibly relieved to see them.

"We. Cannot. Get. Out." Spite's voice was angry, more clipped than usual, but it also sounded exhausted.

Caterina sneered. "Why could you? You're only spite." She held her cane up over Daea's body. They chanced a quick look; they were dazed, their eyes glazed over, barely breathing.

"I", Caterina continued, "am helplessness."

She plunged the cane into their chest with a sickening crack. Daea felt a phantom pain in their ribs, imagining the point splitting their bones to pierce their heart. Lucanis closed his eyes, his jaw clenched. Caterina grinned, an expression all the more terrifying when Daea wasn't sure they'd ever seen the real one smile, and pulled her cane out with a disgustingly wet sound. Lucanis winced, and Spite growled, but they were held still by whatever magic the demon was using. Daea carefully stepped towards them, expecting Caterina to stop them, but she just smiled and pushed the cane into the body at her feet again, grinding it deliberately. Daea tried to ignore it, but the same morbid fascination that had taken them in Davrin's vision pulled their eyes back to their own body despite themself.

"Oh, how sweet," Caterina said. "It won't help. You've been going around and breaking your little friends out, but you cannot truly escape." She stabbed Daea's corpse again. Lucanis's eyes were still shut tight but he couldn't keep back a pained noise, and Daea reached for him on instinct. He immediately linked their hands, holding as tight as he could.

"Get. Us. Out!"

"You cannot win," Caterina continued. "You are mortals, held back by your very nature, susceptible to even the slightest—" She punctuated her words with another stab, "— of illusions. What could you possibly hope to accomplish?"

Daea adjusted their grip on the scepter and, stepping over their own body, plunged it into Caterina's chest.

Chapter Text

The vision fell apart as the demon hissed, jumping back — before Daea could even try to strike again, Lucanis buried two knives to the hilt in the cowled shape and kicked it even further back. They were in the kitchen, the mist dissipating slowly — Davrin, Neve and Nadasa were barely three steps away, battling their own demon. They were not shades, but something else, closer to the Despair demons they'd encountered. More powerful, too — the one Lucanis had stuck knives in was still standing and did not seem particularly bothered.

"Daea! Lucanis!" Davrin threw one of the kitchen knives at them, which Lucanis caught easily.

Daea slashed to the demon's right in a wide arc; it sidestepped the scepter only to find Lucanis's knife biting into its side and shrieked, swiping its claws at his face. Daea stepped in again, sinking the point of the scepter in the demon's middle with vicious satisfaction, and Lucanis finished it, slicing the head off the shoulders, before it could retaliate.

They whirled around to find that the other fight had come to an end too. Daea and Lucanis hurried to the others, finding them a little worse for wear but not grieviously wounded. Nadasa even seemed to have perked up some.

"Good to see you again," Davrin said.

Daea clasped his arm briefly. "We have to take what we need here and find the others."

Neve's lips thinned into a line. "And then what?"

"I— don't know." Daea shrugged. "You're the one here who knows most about killing demons."

Neve sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Davrin and Nadasa draped themselves in two of the blankets on the couch and sighed with relief, then took off in the direction of the stove, Lucanis trailing behind them after a look. Daea and Neve followed more slowly.

"I don't think I've ever fought something like this," Neve confessed. "It keeps throwing us off. It's kept us separated."

"Not all of us."

"Enough of us."

Daea conceded the point silently. "Do you think we can kill it?"

Neve looked at the extinct fireplace thoughtfully. "Something that powerful? I don't know. Probably not, unless Emmrich or Bellara knows better. We could seal it into something, maybe."

Lucanis chided in. He was wiping his face with one of the kitchen rags, and only now did Daea realize the demon had gotten him. There were three claw marks spreading from his temple, trickles of blood sliding down Lucanis's face at their ends. "What do we need for that?"

"A container, and mages." Neve's face grew more somber. "Or one mage, if we have to."

"Can the container be anything?"

"Unless you have something ready for that kind of thing, then it'll have to be."

Daea crossed their arms, and noticed they were less cold than before. They glanced at Neve. Was that her work? "How big?"

Neve looked around, sliding over Davrin and Nadasa loading themselves up with cooking utensils, and stopped over the iron pot that had held most of their meals. "Like that," she said with a jerk of her chin.

Lucanis turned around and sighed. "We're going to need a whole new kitchen."

"You've been complaining about all of it anyway," Davrin pointed out, counting out on his fingers. "Not solid enough, too small, should be made of copper…"

He grinned as Lucanis huffed. He and Nadasa had gathered the cooking knives and grabbed the ladle as well, tucking them in their belts, and were holding lids as shields. Terrible shields, but shields nonetheless. Davrin handed Daea the large pan Bellara used most, the bottom worn with use.

"I guess I should not be surprised an assassin kept all his knives sharpened," Nadasa observed as he tested the edge of one.

"It's good practice for cooks, too," Lucanis replied. He gave the knives a chagrined look. "Try not to break them."

Daea tucked the pan under Bellara's shawl in an haphazard approximation of a strap, then grabbed the iron pot. It was heavy, but not so much they couldn't load it on their shoulder to carry. "Davrin, take point."

Davrin nodded and led their group to the doors, pulling them. Beyond, the Lighthouse was visible again, though the clouds were darker, heavier, and the buildings were shining with ice patches. At the end of the bridge that led to the conservatory, Daea saw Bellara, Emmrich, Harding and Taash, making their way to them across the runed stones.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Neve murmured.

Lucanis shuffled uneasily. "This is too easy."

"Agreed." Nadasa readied one of the knives, advancing slowly behind Davrin.

As far as Daea could see, there was nothing else around. No shade, no demon, no ominous mist. But they had definitely not gotten rid of Helplessness just now. As both groups reunited, they kept an ear and eye out, expecting shades to spring from the buildings or fog to descend from the sky once more, but nothing happened. They set the iron pot down at their feet.

"It's so good to see you!" Bellara ran to Nadasa and hugged him briefly, her embrace immediately returned, before lowering her hands to his arms and looking him over. "I was so worried."

Daea watched as Davrin and Taash exchanged relieved nods, and Emmrich, Harding and Neve started talking rapidly about what had happened to everyone, but they hung back with Lucanis, holding an arm out to keep him from joining in. Something was wrong.

"Can you feel anything?"

Lucanis tilted his head, and shook it after a few seconds. "Spite doesn't either."

"Is that normal?" Daea could not shake the unease creeping up their spine. "Here, in the Lighthouse?"

Chapter Text

No reply came. Daea turned around and gasped, stepping back, almost to the edge of the path. Lucanis and Spite were gone, replaced by one of the silent wardens.

"Come on." They were getting sick of this. "Stop this. I know it's just a trick."

The demon did not take the bait. Another warden emerged beside it, and took Daea's arm in their heavy gauntlet.

The touch triggered a memory Daea didn't even know they had. Being transported along a long, dark corridor; held up, head back; the Joining bitter and metallic on their tongue, forced to swallow; the pain. They yanked their arm back and looked desperately to the others, but there was no one there anymore. They could not tell how much was an illusion, a veil over their eyes — it occured to them when they looked down that they couldn't even be sure they weren't about to step off the path. The shrieks of the shade earlier echoed in their ears.

They looked back up. The wardens stood there, silent. Waiting. The mere vision had their heart hammering through their throat, their vision swimming. They were always watching. No matter how long it had been, how much of a capable Warden they'd proved themself to be, there were always eyes on them, insistent and heavy and impossible to shake — in the halls of Weisshaupt and in the wilderness camps and in the Deep Roads, not matter what.

"Oh, you fragile thing." The voice did not come from the wardens. It was a whisper, dripping with condescending compassion, curling around them. Daea tigthened their fists. "You struggle so much, for nothing. You will always be at their mercy." Their head was violently turned by spectral hands over their neck, and they could not move as the wardens grabbed their arms again. "And what mercy are Grey Wardens capable of? A death sentence either way."

The tone had turned bitter and derisive, and Daea heard themself. Talking to Nadasa about their Joining, to Davrin about the Wardens's future. To themself, shivering on a cot in Weisshaupt, twenty-one and their blood and flesh changed forever without having a say. The voice continued, intimate, relentless: "They will kill all you hold dear before you, and tell you it's the only way, and you — you will agree."

Daea swallowed, tried to tear themself free, but the wardens's grip on them was unshakeable. "Oh, you may protest, but they've made you this already." The voice sounded almost sad. The hands on their neck moved forward, caressing their face. "You cannot change now. There is nothing you can do. It has already happened."

They could feel the Blight in their veins. They always could. There had not been a day since the Joining they had not been reminded of what they'd become, been forced to become. Daea fought down the old tears threatening to fall. They were getting tired of this. Of this demon — of this mission, trying to kill their own blighted gods — of the Wardens, always taking from them — of pretending every day wasn't another weight on their soul, becoming unbearable. They could have been something else. They could have been someone else. They could have been dead, resting, free.

They could still be. The voice was silent, either waiting for a reply or watching what they would do. Did it know? Did it know about the urge that was always there, to give in and let go and be finally done? Was that what it wanted from them? Death, relief, the only escape they kept coming back to?

Well, then.

They inhaled, shifted their feet, and jumped backwards into the space between the paths.

Chapter Text

All the hands on them disappeared, and they fell flat on their back on the ground. The runes activated, emitting a blinding light and burning through their clothes — they rolled over, burning their palms too, and scrambled up, trying to find their way back to a safer space. They could see everyone else again now, where they'd all been when the demon had taken over again. Daea threw themself into the path and into Lucanis, grabbing him hard enough to bruise nad hurt their own palms further, and dragged him behind as they ran towards their friends. The soles of their boots had disintegrated, and the stones under their feet were burning like ice.

"Daea?"

They glanced at him, his eyes glowing purple. Spite wasn't trapped, at least. They were about to reply when one of the despair demons reappeared and dove for them with a shriek. They pulled Spite down just in time, and it deployed its wings, whatever blow the demon had hoped to land glancing off of them.

"Is Lucanis…?"

"Fine. I am better. At this. We decided to switch." It smiled, Lucanis's face and yet not quite Lucanis's expression. "It's a contract."

Daea huffed an unexpected laugh. "Fine by me. Get the others out — pain helped me. Don't hit anywhere important," they added, unsure how much exactly Spite knew about mortal anatomy.

Spite darted forward. More demons attempted to stop it, but it avoided them easily, navigating the space between them with easy grace. Daea grabbed the iron pot they'd put down earlier and followed it, stepping vigorously on Nadasa's toes and pressing into Neve and Bellara's wounds to jolt them out of Helplessness's hold again. They were confused for a moment then recovered quick — they were all getting used to this.

"Bel." Neve took the pot off Daea's arms and laid it down, turning to Bellara. "Will this work as a seal?"

Bellara looked behind Daea, and they turned around, following her line of sight. A great mass of roiling fog was forming on the lower level of the courtyard, pulling from the clouds and hiding the Lighthouse itself.

"I think so," Bellara replied. "Yes. We can make it work. Professor—"

"I understand." Emmrich rolled his sleeves up. He looked worse than when Daea had watched him go. "We will need some assistance. I doubt Helplessness will let us go about this without disturbances."

Harding drew up her bow, aiming at where the demon was amassing itself. Daea could see limbs forming — outsized legs and arms, and something else. "We'll cover you."

The rest of them gathered their eclectic equipment; Davrin and Daea handed Taash a knife each, a far cry from their usual impressive axes, and as the demon finally achieved the shape it was taking, they walk down with Spite, circling it in pairs. Nadasa stayed near their mages, makeshift blade and shield at the ready, back to back with Bellara as she bent over the pot.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN HARM ME?"

Helplessness was towering over them, easily four times Taash's height. It lowered one of its arms and swung broadly, forcing Daea and Davrin, who were closest to it, to bend down to dodge. Spite cut it and retreated quickly, but it didn't even seem to notice.

"FOOLISH MORTALS, ALWAYS SCURRYING ABOUT." Daea rolled to the side to avoid another hit and Taash cut down into the limb, getting knocked back a step when it flailed. Daea grabbed their wrist, keeping them from stumbling further. At least the paths did not seem to change based on the demon's whims, but they were not wide. "HAVE I NOT JUST SHOWN YOU THE FUTILITY OF YOUR LIVES? DO YOU RELISH IN POINTLESSNESS?"

An arrow embedded itself in the demon about halfway up, and Spite followed it, burying yet another knife next to it before deflty dodging the demon's hands. It made a frustrated noise, a great growl that rumbled Daea's bones, and tried to grab Davrin, but it was slow — surprisingly so, Daea thought, but they did not have time to reflect on why. They continued diving and retreating with their companions, inflicting minor cuts every time, Harding shooting every arrow she had into it, seemingly making no dent in its body yet visibly weakening it.

They understood when they looked down to correct their own footwork. An edge of the demon's body lifted and revealed bright stones under it. It was fighting against its own disintegration — it could not see the paths. The demon had not made a shape that could not fight; it had simply not known about the runes.

"Ha!" With renewed energy, they thrust into its side and kicked into one of its giant limbs, growing limper by the second. "You fucking idiot."

The demon turned what passed as its face towards them, opening a concept of a mouth, all teeth and no cavity, and lunged down towards them much faster than they'd expected. Taash pulled them back just in time, aware enough of their position that they both got out cleanly.

"What was that? Why are you provoking it?" they demanded curtly. "We don't need it angrier!"

"I wasn't trying to," Daea apologized.

"I WILL CRUSH YOU UNDER THE WEIGHT OF YOUR OWN INADEQUACY." Helplessness sent another limb after them, but what it spent on speed trying to hit them, it lost everywhere else, and Davrin and Spite — Lucanis, maybe? It was hard to see from here — wailed on it on its other side, making it howl with frustration.

"Guys!" Bellara's voice rang clear, attracting Daea's attention. The three mages were standing around Nadasa now, Neve and Emmrich guarding him while he held the pot, now shining with whatever magic they'd infused it with. There were several remains of lesser demons littering the ground around them, slowly dissolving and returning to the main body.

"Turn it here!" Bellara continued, gesturing along her words.

Daea threw a thumbs up and saw Davrin do the same. They exchanged a look with Taash and led them around the demon, stabbing it anytime they could as they slowly went along.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU PLAN. IT WILL NOT WORK ON ME." Helplessness sneered, hitting Lucanis mid-flight and sending him tumbling over the edge of the courtyard. "YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU HAVE NO POWER. YOU HAVE NO STRENGTH."

Daea ignored their heart trying to jump after Lucanis and kept walking. The demon followed reluctantly — but it followed, forced to defend itself. It knocked Taash back too, too far for Daea to hold them up this time, and they heard their cries of pain when they hit the runed stones. Daea gritted their teeth and finally reached Davrin, standing right between Helplessness and Bellara and Nadasa.

"Duck!"

They both went down without question, just in time for a bolt of lightning to shoot over them and hit Helplessness. It screeched and Daea heard the crackling of the magic; they watched it spread like a web, crawling along the demon's form. It was yelling incoherently, clearly less invulnerable than it had thought, and not paying attention to them anymore at all. Daea tapped Davrin's shoulder and jerked their head to the side; he nodded, and they both rolled away, pushing themselves up to their feet a few steps from the lightning conduit.

Bellara was powering it, both of her arms extended, fingers outstretched, as Nadasa visibly fought to keep standing against their kitchen pot where the magic was pouring from. It was blinding, making it impossible to see anything else. Daea and Davrin made their way to them, running as fast as they could across the painful stones; as they did, the lightning threads wrapped around the demon once, then again, faster and faster until they almost entirely covered it.

"YOU WILL KNOW ETERNAL PAIN AND STRUGGLE, AND I WILL HUNT YOU AND BREAK YOU. I WILL—"

Bellara closed her hands and pulled, and the lightning followed. Daea saw beads of sweat on her brow as she worked, and they planted themself on one side of Nadasa, Davrin on the other, helping him resist the force of the magic. They could feel it through his body, rattling their teeth and pushing them back inexorably — but not faster than the lightning was bringing the demon forward, Bellara keeping it firmly wrapped and ignoring its screams until it was almost entirely in. Then she bent down, retrieved the lid, and threw all of her weight behind it as she closed the iron pot.

Quiet immediately fell, all of them holding their breaths for a moment as the lid rattled, but soon it settled and lines glowed over and around it before fading, marking the seal.

Bellara pushed herself away and bent over, catching her breath, and Nadasa put the pot down before sprawling over the ground with a great sigh. The Lighthouse's atmosphere immediately changed; the clouds were gone, the odd eternal sunlight shining once more, and the temperature rose so fast Daea felt too warm in seconds, despite their fingers still being almost frozen stiff. The greenery that covered so much of the stones was now grey and limp, but they could already see burgeons and small leaves. In maybe an hour, the Lighthouse would look the same as it ever did. The runes on the stones were gone — like they'd never even been there.

Daea turned around and saw Lucanis climbing up over the edge, and relief flooded them, forcing them to sit down too as their legs gave in. They'd all made it. Gained some new scars, and probably many new nightmares, but they were fine. He dragged himself to the group, looking more exhausted than Daea had ever seen him.

"The Crossroads," Emmrich said. He was clinging to his staff, letting it support his weight. "We ough to check…"

"Shit." Daea threw their head back and allowed themself one long groan. "Yes. Yeah. Gear up first. Meet at the eluvian."

They scattered in almost silence, too tired to complain. Daea lifted their hand to Lucanis cheek and he pressed his face into it, then they parted. It was strange to move freely again, in a Lighthouse that looked for all intent and purpose like nothing had happened at all. Save for where they'd emptied the contents of their stomach, Daea corrected themself as they passed it. They'd clean it later. They walked to their room and put on their armor with barely a thought, unable to process what had happened yet. The familiar gestures offered some comfort, and the pressure of the chest piece and weight of the pauldrons even more. They put on their spare boots — the ones they were wearing could never serve as shoes again. They paused before putting on their gloves. Their fingers were red and dry, crossed with delicate cracks that started bleeding as they gently flexed them, just enough to highlight the lines where the skin had split. They barely felt the pain. Perhaps they were too exhausted for it.

Chapter Text

They finished getting ready and headed to the eluvian. Only Emmrich and Taash were already there, the other two closest to it. Neither seemed in much better shape than Daea felt.

"I did leave him to rest," Emmrich was saying. "Though Helplessness didn't seem to have done to him the same thing it did to us, he was unusually despondent."

Taash crossed their arms. "Good."

"I do wonder how this affected Spite as well."

"It seemed fine. Tired." They nodded at Daea's arrival. "Lucanis would probably notice otherwise. Right?"

Daea shrugged. "I think so. Haven't had any time to ask how they're both doing, though." They eyed the Vi'Revas wearily. The surface was impenetrable, blurry ripples moving from one edge to another. It was giving them a headache. "Let's get this over with."

Emmrich straightened up. "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

He was right, of course, but Daea could not stand waiting around any longer. The fight with Helplessness had left them restless, itching to actually do something. They stepped through without answering, shield first.

They paused for a second, but no attack came. They took a few more steps, lowering their arm. The Crossroads looked mostly the same — the large square pillars, the sculpted tree, the docks extending in different directions. The only trace that something had happened was the vegetation: like in the Lighthouse, all greenery seemed a faint breeze away from falling off their vines and branches, but as they got closer, Daea saw young buds spreading open.

Emmrich followed after them, wary and frowning. "That was irresponsible."

Daea put away their weapons. "It seems fine. Look." They pointed at a withered flower at the top of the stairs ahead of them. The petals were falling, revealing pale pink new growth. "Like back in the Lighthouse."

Emmrich stayed stiff and silent for a moment, clearly wanting to argue his point, but he was exhausted too. Daea looked at him pleadingly. They knew it had been imprudent, but something in their bones was unsettled, scraping to get out. They'd been almost disappointed to be met with normalcy.

"Dweller."

"Fuck me!" Daea jumped back and saw Emmrich stifle a laugh. They threw him an unamused look. The Caretaker had materialized, although it was lacking its usual long robes, showing its sinewy spirit form, and its mask looked brittle. "It's good to see you," Daea said, genuine.

The spirit inclined its head. "You defeated Helplessness before it could spread. You have our thanks."

Behind them, they heard the rest of their friends coming through the eluvian. Daea hesitated for a second. "What did it do to you? The Lighthouse was… different."

"It ensnared me and cut me off from the Fade." It spoke with no more emotion than usual. "I was not able to maintain the enchantments that imbue the material portion of that area."

"No matter," Emmrich said smoothly. "We are glad to see you are still with us. Do you need our help here?"

The Caretaker joined its hands. "Yes. A messenger was trapped here. We have brought them to you."

Harding made her way to the front. "A messenger? From where?"

The Caretaker regarded her serenely. "I do not know."

Before it could be questioned further it vanished; from the rightmost dock, a man stumbled in, wearing the Crows's armor. Lucanis sighed.

"Maybe it won't be urgent," Taash said in the least convinced tone Daea had ever heard.

Lucanis shook his head. "It's always urgent."

The poor man, a tall, gangly dwarf, made his way to the group, looking between them all anxiously. They probably did not look particularly welcoming, amored and fresh off a fight, Daea thought with a measure of compassion for him. Most of their allies were still uneasy about the eluvians and the Crossroads, and used them sparingly, common superstition about spirits and the Fade plaguing their ranks. It must have made for a pretty awful day for this man.

Finally he reached them. To his credit, his voice was firm, though his countenance was not. "I have a message for master Lucanis Dellamorte."

Lucanis held out his hand and opened the letter quickly. He skimmed it and sighed, then read it again a little slower.

"This is Crow affairs. I'll handle it." He pocketed the letter.

"Are you sure?" Bellara asked. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with Nadasa, leaning against him. "We could come with you?"

Neve yawned. "Speak for yourself. I'm beat."

Lucanis smiled. "I'm sure. Go rest. You deserve it."

Their friends broke away slowly, trudging back through the Eluvian.

"I'll come with," Daea said.

"You should go too—"

"I can't be there right now." The very thought of going back made them ill, the sunlight and gentle breeze washing over the places where they'd all cried and bled and agonized. They couldn't stomach the tought of just going back to normal yet. Especially not with Lucanis away. They would probably not talk about what they'd seen of each other, not yet. But they did not want him to be alone and plagued by visions of their death, when they could just be alive with him.

He was silent for a moment, then took their hand. They were both wearing gloves, but Daea wriggled their fingers through Lucanis's. The messenger politely coughed and turned away.

"Let's go, then."

They set off to the docks, the Caretaker bringing its barge, and let Lucanis tell them what was happening in Treviso as they were swept away.