Solas lay stretched out on the bed, his head resting on his forearm, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of his room. With his other arm extended, he summoned a dense, compact mist—almost spherical—only to disperse it an instant later. He repeated the motion without thinking, over and over again.
The words he had drawn from his agent's note using Veilfire continued to echo in his mind, corrosive. They seemed capable of eroding his composure with cruel slowness from the very moment he had learned them.
And he felt overwhelmed.
Wolf:
I have been investigating in Tevinter as you requested.
The illegal market grows more influential by the day, evil whispers in the shadows, and slaves vanish weekly. No one truly cares, and the Imperial templars have learned to look the other way—though even among them, fear can be felt… The times are restless in the Imperium, and more and more powerful mages seem interested in listening to the ravings of a supremacist group calling itself the Venatori.
I do not foresee a peaceful future for the north…
The Vir'abelasan has begun to murmur. And someone has been listening to those murmurs. I have little more to tell you. Just one name: Calpernia. Pay attention to that name if you hear it. She has some kind of direct connection to Corypheus.
And at last, I have found Taren's trail. He was investigating a sectarian cult devoted to worshipping the Dragon of the Night when he was killed. The cult is called The Last Moon. It has deep ties to House Krastium in Tevinter.
Something big is brewing here with blood magic. The level of corruption is nauseating.
I will continue my investigation.
G.
He could not find a precise term to name the collection of sensations overwhelming him. It was not fear. Nor was it anger. It was something more primal, more unsettling—because those words had touched a part of his mind that was the most difficult for him, the one that knew all too well the secrets of the ancient elven world, and the danger they carried. Solas, in his time, had possessed the audacity to alter those forces, with mad consequences… that was why he felt so… unsettled. It was the uncertainty of not knowing what Corypheus might do if he came to learn those same secrets himself. Another corrupted god?
Solas clenched his fist, and the misty sphere crystallized into ice and shattered.
He felt disappointed in himself. How many times was he capable of being wrong?
He was tired.
"The Vir'abelasan has begun to murmur. Someone has been listening."
"Calpernia."
"The Last Moon."
How in the Void could he set the entire machinery of the Inquisition searching for the name Calpernia without arousing suspicion?
Another misty sphere formed in his hand. He shattered it again. He felt some pain—it did not matter.
He knew that, of all the words in the message, only one had truly made him tremble:
Vir'abelasan…
In ancient times, June had crafted the first eluvian from a single lyrium crystal, perfectly split in two. Two resonant halves—mirrors that sought one another regardless of distance. Thus was born a system of paired mirrors that could only reflect one another, transforming the way the elvhen lived in the Empire of Elvhenan.
But Solas… Solas had been more clever.
He had also changed the way of life of slaves and the oppressed—those displaced from class privilege and forgotten by the false gods.
He had always studied the limits of magic (including the works of his peers) and refined June's design. He had modified the eluvians so they no longer depended on a fixed pair, but could instead connect to any other through a song capable of altering the melody of the singing stone. Thus he built the Vi'Revas, an eluvian capable of connecting to the representations of all other mirrors within the Crossroads.
His Crossroads.
That innovation had allowed him to escape his pursuers while freeing his People. He had turned the network into shifting territory, indecipherable to the Evanuris. He had made the mirrors his domain—and the labyrinth of the Crossroads his second home.
And Felassan had ended up giving it to a mortal… betraying him.
The misty sphere crystallized once more. Solas crushed it until it broke—once again. Pain struck like thorns. It did not matter. It never did.
In June's original design, eluvians functioned through paired resonance. Each eluvian had a unique magical frequency, like a note in a song. It could connect only to its "pair"—another mirror resonating at the exact same frequency.
And the eluvian of Tarasyl'an Te'las had been built to connect to the Vir'abelasan, within the Temple of Mythal.
They had built it together—when they were still fighting to preserve the love they felt for one another. When they still believed they were two wills sounding together, without dominion—only complementarity.
The connection between mirrors had never been random. It was a harmonic dance, a looping song between two points. And those points, in the past, had been him and her.
And now someone was listening to the whispers coming from the Vir'abelasan.
And that was… extremely dangerous.
Why had the Vir'abelasan begun to whisper? And why had he not heard it?
Suddenly, he felt as though someone were knocking at his door—but the sound of ice shattering (once again) prevented him from being certain. He raised his brows and dissipated the pain in his palm, which was already bleeding. He turned, propping himself on his forearm, and focused on the door. Had he imagined it?
It was not usual for anyone to seek him out at that hour. Generally, everyone respected rest periods—and the only person who had ever interrupted him was attending the Ghislain duchy for an important celebration, so Elentari could not be.
Solas healed his hand with a flick of magic—and then the door sounded again.
Strange. But he welcomed the distraction; even Leliana would be welcome at this moment.
In fact—much better if it were the spymaster. This time he would be a docile wolf. He would enthusiastically answer her arcane questions and gently steer her toward Tevinter politics, nudging her to investigate The Last Moon and Calpernia…
Corypheus, plainly and simply, could not gain access to the secrets of the Vir'abelasan. The Inquisition would have to act first—and he would guide them… even to Tarasyl'an Te'las if necessary. The question was how to do so without raising suspicion.
He stood, fastened the trousers he had worn loose for comfort, and grabbed a shirt without really looking before putting it on. He approached the door, then paused to inspect himself.
Too… relaxed.
He twisted his mouth in displeasure. Leliana might not appreciate seeing him like this—but he was in his own quarters. He was not donning light armor for her sake.
He sighed, rested his hand on the handle, gave himself one last glance, and opened the door with apparent indifference.
Then he found Elentari standing there.
He had not expected her—he had to admit it.
In the name of all that was rational, what was she doing here?
Because Elentari would not lead him to Calpernia the way Leliana would have.
Because Elentari simply should not be knocking on his door in the middle of the night. Much less dressed as she was.
Because Elentari was a naive young woman, a victim of this entire tragedy.
But above all… because tonight Solas's mind was under the dominion of Fen'Harel—and she had never dealt with the Wolf.
He let out an irritated breath and focused on her.
She wore an elegant dress, fitted to her body, adorned with delicate gemstones. The neckline suggested just enough to stir the imagination, but not enough to be overtly provocative. She was disheveled, and the makeup—too heavy—sharply accentuated the dalishan's features. Beautiful, yes… but in a dangerous way. Too striking. Impossible to ignore. And that was a mistake... Elentari was the Herald of Andraste; she should not seek to be remembered for her appearance.
Why had she dressed like this? A miscalculation, perhaps?
They looked at one another. She—expectant. He… well, being himself.
And then… silence stretched between them. Elentari did not take her eyes off him, as if she had no intention of leaving. He lowered his gaze.
She was barefoot. Her feet touched the snow directly.
He looked back to her face—and stopped at her lips, already tinged with a dangerous bluish hue. She was freezing.
Why was she not using magic to balance the external conditions? Did mages in this world not do that—or did only the Dalish restrain themselves? Were they so afraid of the power of the Fade that they preferred hypothermia over maintaining their vital signs in equilibrium?
Solas lifted his gaze to those golden eyes. Those cursed eyes that reminded him of his past. A past too painful—yet one that never ceased to torment him.
What was he to do with her? Why had she come to him?
Elentari shivered, wrapped her arms around herself, and shifted uncomfortably—but said nothing.
And he, as before, yielded.
There was something about this young woman that made him yield—and it was not only strategy.
So he clenched his teeth discreetly and prepared to play a role.
- ... In a hurry? - he feigned ease with a faintly mocking smile as he stepped aside to allow her in.
She seemed to accept the silent invitation gratefully and hurried past him. Solas closed the door behind her.
Fine.
His ruminations about the Vir'abelasan would have to wait in the face of the Herald's demands. It did not sound so bad, after all—tonight Fen'Harel was his worst enemy.
Much better if he were forced to keep the Wolf at bay.