Chapter Text
Rook’s legs nearly gave way from underneath her as the world rematerialized around her, a jolt of pain shooting through her entire body. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings, a pit of dread settling in her stomach once she realized where they were. She had seen these ruins in her dreams, when she replayed the events of that night over and over again. She whipped around to face Solas, who looked at her with what she could only describe as guilty puppy eyes. Even his ears drooped, making the image complete.
The ruins of the ritual site stretched before them, bathed in the ghostly glow of the moon. Once, this place had been part of elven civilization, a beacon of wisdom and power. Now, it was a husk, the stones long abandoned to time and memory. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old stone, the lingering remnants of spells cast long ago.
Rook took a careful step forward, her boots crunching against fragments of crumbling stone. The silence was oppressive, pressing down on her like a weight. The wind moved through the ruins in a whisper, stirring the ivy that had reclaimed much of the stone. She could almost hear echoes of the past; Neve and Harding arguing about strategy, Varric who was so convinced that Solas would listen to him. Ghosts without forms, haunting a place that had already died.
Her fingers clenched at her sides. This was where she had first seen Solas, months ago, when everything had seemed so much simpler. She had thought him an enemy, someone who had to be stopped no matter what. Now, she wasn’t sure what he was anymore. He stood beside her, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the ruins. Unlike her, he belonged here. This was his past, his failure, his burden to bear.
"Why here?" she asked, her voice quiet but sharp. "Of all places, why bring us here?"
Solas exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the center of the ruins where large steps ascended to the center. "Because this is where it began. It is only fitting that we end it here."
She narrowed her eyes. "The Veil?"
"Yes." He stepped forward, the faintest trace of reverence in his movements. "It was here that I made the Veil and shattered the world."
She followed him up, watching the arches appear where she had truly spoken to Varric for the last time. "And now? You think bringing me here will change anything?"
His eyes met hers, ageless and full of something she couldn’t name. "I think it already has."
The words unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She looked away, focusing instead on the cracked stone beneath her feet. The ritual site loomed ahead, and with it, the decision she feared was coming. She could feel the Veil, fragile, thin enough that she could almost reach out and touch the Fade itself. Spirits lurked at the edges of perception, drawn to the place where the world had once been unmade.
She took a deep breath, meaning to settle herself. Instead she stilled when she caught a whiff of a strange scent; brine and sea salt. Solas seemed to realize something was the matter, turning around, cocking his head as he watched her. She took a deliberate sniff, her hand moving to her mage knife when she was certain of it - there was sea water in the air, and there shouldn’t be. Solas copied her movement without a word, drawing the lyrium dagger. His silent trust in her instinct was touching to see, but she didn’t have time to linger on it.
A hooded figure appeared in the archway, seemingly waiting for them. Rook strained her eyes to get a better look, regretting the action almost right away. Her vision swam any time she tried to look straight at them, she had to blink before she could focus. It hurt her eyes, her head, everything.
The figure stood unnaturally still, their robes flowing like ink in water. The air around them was colder, heavy with something Rook could only describe as wrong. When they finally spoke, their voice came as a whisper that was somehow everywhere at once.
"We see you. We have always seen you."
Solas stiffened beside her, his knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger. "Executor."
The figure tilted their head, the movement too slow, too measured, much like the shadows she had seen through the lens. Their voice was a voice and yet it wasn’t, as if this being only had a vague idea of what a voice should be. "We watch. We listen. We have listened long enough."
Rook swallowed. It was if she was listening to the Circles, and even though the presence was less heavy, the effect was almost the same. All other sounds seemed to have drowned out, and there was only this concept of a voice echoing in her head.
"You stand on the edge of ruin," the Executor continued, voice layered, as if multiple people spoke at once. "We do not allow what you would do."
Rook felt a chill settle in her bones. The way they spoke, it was not a plea, not a warning. It was a statement of fact, an inevitability. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade. "Why? What does it matter to you?"
The Executor turned to her, and for a moment, she felt the weight of their gaze despite never seeing their eyes. "You think you fight for choice. We see only destruction. You are the kindling, the flame. We are the hands that smother."
Solas let out a breath. "Then you will try to stop us."
"Yes." The Executor took a step to the side. "We end this now."
Rook counted on the hooded figure to attack, but was sorely mistaken. The smell of brine intensified and suddenly, there was a creature swiping at her. It had a human upper body and arms, but its lower body was almost insect-like, with entirely too many legs and a tail. There was a gray substance dripping from its limbs, thick and viscous like blood. The moment the liquid touched the cobbles and grass, it froze up, shattering underneath the creature’s stomping.
Rook barely managed to throw herself to the side, the creature’s strike narrowly missing her. She landed hard, rolling back onto her feet, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Another fight; she had barely recovered from facing Elgar’nan, and now she had to deal with this. Frustration burned through her exhaustion, but she shoved it aside. There would be time to rest later.
When she saw the ice, her mind immediately thought of fire - she didn’t hesitate to summon multiple fire beams, hitting the creature over and over again. Yet every hit seemed fruitless. The moment her magical fire came into contact with it, it sputtered, died out, and disappeared. She had never seen anything like it. For a split second she wondered if her mana was running out, but it didn’t feel like it; her spirit was not full, but certainly not empty either. She had no trouble summoning the fire itself, and yet, she barely made a mark.
Solas had already shifted to the side, circling the creature. "Magic will not work," he called to her. "We must use steel!"
Rook nodded sharply, gripping her dagger tightly. The creature turned towards her, its many limbs skittering across the ground, leaving a streak of the gray substance in its wake. She needed to be careful; there was no telling what it could do to her magic, not to mention that she wasn’t keen on getting frostburn.
Solas lunged first, striking at the creature’s torso. His blade cut deep, but the wound did not bleed; it simply gaped, as if the flesh refused to acknowledge injury. Rook followed his lead, darting forward to slash at its side. The creature shrieked, an ear-splitting sound that sent a chill down her spine.
"We must aim for the head!" Solas shouted. "Whatever it is, it still needs to see!"
Rook dodged a swipe of its clawed hand, gritting her teeth. At this moment, she missed Davrin so much. He would be thrilled to see a new kind of monster, and he had a sword to decapitate with. No matter how skilled she and Solas were in battle, their equipment at this moment was very much lacking. Rook lunged again, trying to drive her dagger into its eyes, but the creature swatted her away effortlessly. She hit the ground hard, her freshly healed wounds ripping back open. She rolled just in time to avoid a swipe of one of its many limbs, frost shattering stone where it hit the crumbling walls instead.
Panting, she pushed herself up, watching how Solas fought the Executor. He seemed to be faring better than she did; once he got a solid hold on the hooded figure, it seemed to still completely, fabric and all. Somehow, the mutant creature reacted to the loss of its master, rearing its ugly body to focus on Solas. It broke through Solas’ conjured barrier as if it wasn’t there at all, screeching as it aimed its spiked tail at him. The sting bore into the ground where Solas had just stood, narrowly missing him.
Rook gritted her teeth. She had thought by now she was prepared for anything; she was a skilled mage who had stood against Venatori, Antaam, dragons, and gods. But this thing, this abomination, was something else entirely. Every move they made, it countered effortlessly. It was learning, adapting, and worst of all, it was immune to their greatest strength.
She dodged as the creature lashed out again, its clawed limbs scraping deep furrows into the stone where she had just been standing. If she had been a second slower, she would have been skewered. She rolled and came up in a crouch, her breath ragged. Another swipe from the creature nearly took her head off. She barely ducked in time, jumping behind a collapsed pillar to put some distance between them. Her thoughts were spiraling, but she forced herself to focus.
The ground beneath her trembled; this was just the one creature, and just the one Executor. The Devouring Storm had wiped out the first Qunari expedition. The Qunari were not weak; they had undoubtedly come prepared with steel, discipline, and sheer numbers, and it had not mattered. They had vanished, swallowed whole by whatever forces Those Across the Sea had at their command. If another Storm came, how would Thedas fare then?
She peeked from behind the pillar, taking in the situation. Solas was fast, but even he seemed to be struggling to stay ahead of the thing’s attacks. His usual grace, his perfect precision, was faltering. This thing was draining him just as much as it was her. Rook took a deep breath as she came to her decision, no longer feeling the pain and weariness the battle had brought her. She pushed herself to run, circling around the creature to reach Solas. “Go!” she yelled, pushing him towards the arches that led to the ritual site itself. “Do what you need to do. I’ll keep it busy, go!”
Violet eyes met hers in surprise, and for a split second, he seemed to want to ask her something. If she was certain, perhaps, or why she had changed her mind. However, the creature didn’t allow them their little moment of peace, striking at them with precise accuracy, driving them apart. Solas lingered on the spot, looking at her as if he was torn about what to do.
“Go,” she urged once more, her fingers curling tighter around her mage knife. He nodded and took off, disappearing through the arches. The mutant seemed to want to follow him first, but she quickly threw herself in its way, successfully distracting him.
Behind her, she heard Solas begin the ritual. His aura, steady and commanding, wove magic into the air, the very fabric of reality vibrating with his intent. The energy that surged from his spellwork was unmistakable, an ancient force waking from slumber. The creature felt it too. Its grotesque form stiffened for a fraction of a second before its many limbs twitched in unison, redirecting its attention. The pull of magic was irresistible to it, an unnatural hunger twisting its body as it turned toward Solas.
"No!" Rook snarled, lunging forward to intercept once more. She slashed with her dagger, the sharp edge slicing deep into one of its many legs. The creature howled, ichor spilling from the wound, but it didn’t falter. Instead, it thrashed wildly, forcing her to dodge backward. She barely had time to regain her footing before it came at her again, its erratic movements making it nearly impossible to predict.
She heard Solas strain in the background, unfaltering, the ritual demanding all of his focus. She needed to keep this thing away from him, no matter the cost. The monster’s attention wavered between her and the magic that pulsed behind her, and with every moment, it edged closer to him, driving her through the archway as well. The battle started to weigh on her, and her stamina was running out.
Her eyes flickered to the broken ruins. She couldn’t use magic directly on the creature, but that didn’t mean she was powerless. With a flick of her wrist, she ripped one of the large bricks free from the crumbling wall, hovering it in the air before she hurled it toward the creature’s head. The first few missed, but one struck true, smashing into the creature’s face with a sickening crack. It shrieked, reeling back, giving her the opening she needed.
Rook grinned, flinging another stone into its skull, bashing it in completely. She hurled another one after for good measure, jumping back when the creature’s body crashed into the ground right underneath the arch. She was faintly aware that she was destroying architecture that had been there for thousands of years, the history of her own people. But then the creature twitched, and all that didn’t seem as important as surviving right now. With a sound of exertion, she collapsed the entire arch right on top of it, crushing its body underneath the stone.
The smell of sea water was so overpowering now its ichor was soaking into the dirt; it was almost like she had taken a gulp of it, the scent clogging her nose and choking down her throat. Rook couldn’t help but gag, a shiver running down her spine as she turned away from it. She had to physically shake it off before turning her attention to Solas, watching how the Veil gave way bit by bit. It felt strange to stand there and watch, unnatural, after having spent so long to track him down to stop him. Her mind jumped to when she had stood here last, with Neve, and Harding, and Varric. She wondered if she had made the right choice, but it was too late to go back now..
The air around them shimmered, rippling like heat over sand, but colder, like the night sky. As the Veil began to thin, something within her shifted. It was subtle at first, like the faintest brush of static against her skin. Then it deepened, coiling through her veins like a second heartbeat. Her breath hitched. The Fade was closer to this world than she had ever felt it before, no longer a distant realm that she could step into and out of but a force pressing against her very essence.
Her hands trembled. Was this what it felt like to be unbound? To be part of both worlds at once? A dizzying rush filled her, the echo of spirits brushing against her thoughts, their voices whispering just beyond comprehension. For a moment, she felt as though she might dissolve into them, become something more and less than herself. It was intoxicating, terrifying.
And then Solas faltered.
She saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened, how his grip on the magic wavered for just a second. The strain of holding back so much raw power was taking its toll. Rook’s pulse pounded in her ears. If he failed now, after everything, after all they had fought through -
Absolutely not.
Without hesitation, she ran up the stairs, pressing her hand against his. The contact sent a jolt through her, their magic entwining as she pushed her mana into him, feeding his strength. The moment she did, she felt herself pulled deeper into the unraveling Veil.
A sharp inhale left her lips as her senses expanded, stretching out past the crumbling divide between Thedas and the Fade. She could see it now - the boundary between the worlds tearing like silk, the threads fraying, the light spilling through. The spirits surged forward, reaching, calling. The ground beneath them shuddered, the ruins groaning under an unseen force as the Veil split further. Her body wavered as she felt her magic grow stronger, and she gripped onto Solas more tightly, a lifeline against the oncoming tide.
The Fade’s colors bled into the world now, shimmering gold and green streaking across the sky, curling around their forms. Spirits manifested from the mists, shapes twisting into beings of thought and memory, their voices a cacophony of longing and exultation. Some reached toward her, others toward Solas, their fingers made of light and shadow brushing along her arms. She gasped at the contact; warm, knowing, welcoming.
Solas groaned under the weight of it all, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. She could feel how much this was taking from him, how close he was to breaking. She had thought herself ready, had thought that she understood what this moment would be. But now, standing on the precipice, she realized how small she was in the face of what they were unleashing.
The final thread of the Veil snapped.
A rush of energy unlike anything she had ever known poured through her, slamming into her chest and stealing her breath. She staggered, her vision whiting out as the Fade flooded into Thedas. The two realms collided, merging and unraveling at once, an unmaking and a rebirth all in the same moment. The world itself seemed to exhale, as if freed from a great and terrible constraint.
Rook gasped as she looked around, overwhelmed. Around her, the spirits surged forth fully now, no longer half-seen shadows but real, solid entities. Some wept. Some laughed. Some screamed. And next to her, Solas stood, radiant in his exhaustion, his eyes glowing with the light of his spirit.
It was done. The Veil had fallen.
For a long moment, she simply breathed, feeling the world shift around her. She looked down at her hands, feeling her magic. Its power, raw and untamed, coursing through her veins like liquid fire. It was no longer a thing she had to reach for from deep within her, no longer a force she had to grasp and shape with careful precision. It was simply there, ready, waiting, a part of her as natural as breath.
Rook lifted a hand, and before she could even think of calling on her magic, it answered. The air hummed around her fingers, golden sparks trailing from her fingertips, swirling, eager, restless. It felt effortless. It felt intoxicating. It felt like too much. It felt right. She clenched her fist, suppressing the surge of power before it overwhelmed her, her heart hammering in her chest.
She turned to Solas, who was watching her with knowing eyes. "It’s different," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s... easier. Stronger. It’s like I’m not pulling magic from around me anymore. It’s just… mine."
Solas inclined his head slightly, exhaustion heavy in his features. "Ar lasa malan revas," he murmured. "The Fade is no longer separate from this world. The barriers that once restrained you are gone. You are feeling magic in its true, unbridled form. This is who you are truly meant to be; complete."
She swallowed hard, glancing at her hands again. "And what if it’s too much? What if we have changed too much?"
Solas stepped closer, studying her, and for the first time, there was something almost hesitant in his expression. "You have changed," he admitted. "You, me, everything. But it is not for the worse. This is how the world is meant to be."
Rook wasn’t sure if she believed that yet. But as the world settled around them, as the spirits whispered and the air crackled with the evidence of what they had done, she knew there was no turning back. All across Thedas, the elves would be feeling the changes by now the way she felt it. Her thoughts flickered to Davrin, and Bellara, and the Inquisitor. They would be whole, the way she was. She wondered if everyone would be able to handle that change; if she was able to handle that change.
She looked back down at her hands, studying her fingers until Solas suddenly took her hand into his. The touch was warm, and she felt it much warmer and deeper than usual. “The world owes you a debt,” he said earnestly. “Both for your victory over the Evanuris, and for this.”
“You were right. The Evanuris were partially my responsibility,” Rook said, trying her best not to show how deeply she felt this simple gesture. “There’s no debt to consider. I only hope.. I hope I have made the right choice.”
He squeezed her hand before letting go; it made her tingle in the strangest way. “What will you do now?”
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the question. “Honestly? I don’t know. I didn’t think I would make it out alive.”
“I suppose that was realistic of you,” Solas said with a hum. “Still, what you do next doesn’t have to be a big thing. You can just simply, I don’t know, have a shower, go sit down, and have a lyrium potion.”
Undoubtedly he meant it to tease, but it was honestly a great idea. “Actually, that sounds amazing. Especially the shower part. I am not so sure about the lyrium potion part; do I still need those?”
“Need? No, not necessarily. But they can still give you a boost for increased duration for instance,” Solas explained as he walked down the stairs. “And I had the impression you didn’t need them as much as you like them.”
“I do like them,” she said with a laugh, following him closely. “But then perhaps no lyrium potion. I still want to shower and to sit down, though. My body feels like it has been through the wringer.”
Solas gave her a small, knowing smile as they walked together through the ruins, the remnants of ancient power still humming in the air. The Fade was no longer just beyond the Veil; it was here, fully merged with the world. The familiar shimmer of magic pulsed with every step they took, and Rook could feel spirits watching, whispering in the wind.
As they approached an ancient eluvian standing among the broken stones, Solas extended a hand toward it. The mirrored surface rippled like disturbed water, revealing a passage into the Crossroads. He turned to her. “Let’s go to the Lighthouse.”
Rook expected it, but still, she hesitated. What would they find there? Would the rest of the team still be using it as a meeting point after all this time? Were they even still alive? She had no real sense of how long it had been since they left Tearstone Island; days, perhaps even weeks. If the others were still there, the questions they would ask would be overwhelming, far more than she felt capable of handling at the moment. And what if it didn’t stop at questions? She wouldn’t put it past some of them to turn it into a full-blown fight, and in a way, she’d deserve that. She exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts away. She would deal with whatever awaited them when they arrived. For now, all she could do was move forward.
She took a steadying breath before stepping through the eluvian beside him. Whatever happened, she would cross that bridge when she got to it. The sensation of crossing over was both familiar and new, as if the space between places had changed along with everything else. The Crossroads stretched before them, winding paths of pale stone twisting into the distance. The sky above was an endless expanse of light and shifting color, reflecting the merging of the two realms.
They walked in silence for a time, the only sound the faint echo of their footsteps against the stone. Rook found herself glancing at Solas, studying the way he carried himself. He had asked her what she was going to do now, but she found herself wondering what his plans were in return. There was relief in his posture, but also an uncertainty.
“What you do next also doesn’t have to be a big thing, you know,” she said eventually.
Solas looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened. “I suppose not.”
They walked to the next eluvian together, the Lighthouse waiting on the other side. Solas met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them. For now they had won, but victory had reshaped the world in ways they could not yet fathom. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with questions, with choices yet to be made. And Those Across The Sea wouldn’t give up so easily, she was sure of it.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with possibilities, with decisions neither had spoken aloud. The world had changed. She had changed. And as much as she had fought to be here, to survive, to carve her place in the wake of what they had done, she did not know what came next.
With a final glance at Solas, she stepped through the eluvian into the Lighthouse, the journey ahead as unknown as the world they had reshaped. But whatever awaited, she would face it as she always had - on her own terms.