In the depths of my rest, I began to dream.

  Not the formless dark or disjointed memories I sometimes caught in my sleep—but something vivid. Something alive. Too real to dismiss.

  I was in a chamber. A reflection of the one I now slept in—but amplified. Larger. Breathed full with arcane power. I felt it humming in the air like a taut string, even though I couldn’t name the spells. Candles floated through the space with a lazy grace, casting soft, warm circles of light that danced across walls inked with sigils I didn’t recognize. The bed—massive, luxurious, glowing faintly with etched runes—looked like it belonged in a royal sanctum. Maybe ten could rest on it and still have space for a dream or two each.

  The room was hazy, cloaked in a pale fog that clung to the floor like silk mist. I couldn’t make out all of it. But there was a balcony.

  Light streamed through it. Not just light—a beam, sharp and radiant, piercing like a blade. It didn’t illuminate anything, it consumed visibility. The world beyond it didn’t exist—or perhaps it was too holy for eyes like mine.

  I moved toward it, drawn.

  And then I heard it.

  A cry. Small. High-pitched. Fragile.

  A child’s cry.

  I turned. A crib rocked in the fog—gently, rhythmically, like it was being lulled by the room itself. A woman sat beside it, calm, sipping tea.

  But she was strange. Her face shifted. Constantly. Her features morphed between youth and age, beauty and weariness. Even her hair changed—color, length, style—sliding like water between forms. I could never quite see her. But I knew she saw me.

  She gestured gently, inviting.

  I sat without question, and she poured me tea. Black raisin.

  My favorite.

  I hadn’t spoken a word, yet she knew. She seemed distressed, somehow—her composure delicate, as though she were holding back a dam of emotion. She spoke, but the words didn’t reach my ears. I felt them, pulsing inside me, vibrating through my bones and blood. They spoke of the child. Of danger. Of something unraveling.

  I leaned in and looked at the child.

  A human.

  Not an elf, not anything divine or fey. A simple human infant. That alone struck me in the chest, harder than it had any right to. Something old in my instincts stirred. A primal unease. A whisper of importance.

  The woman—whoever, whatever, she was—continued to speak through that pressure of emotion, but it blurred and frayed.

  Then, I spoke.

  Not of my will. The words spilled from my mouth like they didn’t belong to me.

  Only one remained clear in my waking memory.

  “Celphan.”

  And I woke. Violently.

  My body was calm—rested even—but my mind felt scorched. Like the dream had carved itself into my thoughts with a hot knife. It hadn’t been a nightmare. But it left behind the same cold sweat, the same breathless confusion. It felt like something had reached for me.

  And maybe it had.

  I sat up. Midday light filtered faintly through the high, magical ceilings of the temple. I moved through the morning ritual—washed, relieved myself, dressed—trying to push the dream from my head.

  But that name echoed.

  Celphan.

  An Elven word. I knew it, somehow. “Beacon of Hope,” or perhaps, “That which is to be hoped for.” It wasn’t just a word. It was a name.

  A child’s name.

  Why had I dreamed it? Why had it hit so hard in my gut? Why did sadness cling to the edges of it, like grief waiting for shape?

  I didn’t know. And I didn’t like not knowing.

  I needed clarity.

  I stretched, rolled my shoulders until the bones cracked with satisfaction, and stepped out of my room.

  I knocked on Jorguh’s door.

  No answer.

  Figures.

  I made my way upstairs, passing priestesses and paladins alike. Some bowed slightly, others merely nodded. All moved with a calm, practiced grace. No one questioned me.

  I stopped a passing paladin. “Where can I eat?” I asked, trying to sound polite.

  “The main hall,” he said simply. “First underground floor.”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  I followed the path, soon finding myself in a modest lodging area. Well—modest by their standards. Golden plates adorned the walls, a fireplace glowed warmly, and fresh flowers bloomed in ornate vases. Tables and chairs lined the space in neat, intentional clusters. It felt both welcoming and ceremonial.

  A buffet sat along the far wall. Not grand, but generous.

  I filled a plate—green tea, eggs, and some kind of sausage wrapped in flaky pastry. Simpler than what you’d find in a royal court, but leagues beyond what the Citadel had ever served us. There, our food was utility. Here, it was hospitality.

  I sat alone.

  Eating in silence helped. My mind began to stir gently. Green tea lifted the fog of sleep while I planned my next move.

  I’d find Manach. He came first.

  And then she approached.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A woman in white. Robe, dress, hood—everything flawless and unmarked. She moved like a whisper. Her face was hidden beneath a scarf, save for her eyes—oceans of blue. Calm. Deep.

  “May I sit with you?” she asked.

  Her voice was soft. Like memory. Like the dream.

  “Uh… sure,” I said awkwardly, surprised at myself.

  “Thank you.”

  She sat, removed her scarf, and took a sip from her cup. Coffee, I guessed. Her face was young but knowing. Features delicate enough to pass as Elven, though I wasn’t sure. She carried herself like someone older than she looked.

  She didn’t speak. Didn’t pry. Simply existed in quiet beside me.

  And I didn’t speak either.

  If she wanted something, she would ask.

  I wasn’t about to disturb the strange peace that had found me.

  After a few long minutes of silence, the quiet started to itch at me. It crawled into my bones like a whisper I couldn’t quite shake. The woman across from me sipped her coffee slowly, unmoved by the stillness.

  “…Who are you?” I muttered, unable to stop the words from slipping out.

  She looked up. Not surprised. Her eyes held something strange—like she recognized me. Not as I was, but as I could be.

  “Nauenna,” she said calmly.

  Elven name. No doubt about it.

  “You’re an elf?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  She smiled faintly. “And you’re a Coldian?”

  She giggled. It wasn’t mocking. It was light, effortless. Disarming.

  “…Why are you here?” I pushed, unable to stop myself.

  “Where else should I be?” she answered, still wearing that mischievous smile.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you a priestess?”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Do I look like a priestess?”

  “…I guess,” I said, unsure.

  “If you say so,” she replied with a soft grin.

  I wasn’t annoyed. Or bored. I should’ve been. But instead, I felt... curious. As if I were a piece in a game and she'd just moved me without touching the board.

  “Why did you approach me?” I asked.

  “There was an empty seat,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  I blinked. Words spun in my head but none came out. I needed something—anything—to regain control of the moment.

  “…How was your coffee?” I asked.

  And immediately regretted it.

  She didn’t laugh, but her eyes danced. “Fascinating.”

  I flinched inwardly. What the hell was I doing?

  “Are you going to speak to me?” I asked, leaning forward slightly.

  “I am speaking to you,” she said, and giggled again.

  “Not truly,” I muttered.

  She paused. Then, with a soft finality, she said, “Perhaps. Some other time.”

  And just like that, she stood. Left her cup. Walked away.

  I sat frozen, staring at where she’d been sitting, my brain chasing the moment like a dog chasing a scent in the wind.

  What the hell just happened?

  I shook my head. Weird conversation. Weird place. And not the first time an elf got tangled up in this religion.

  I finished my food, quickly and silently, then stood and made my way toward the medical quarters. No one stopped me. No one questioned me. They let me move through their sacred halls like I was meant to be there.

  The healing area was spacious, filled with low beds and the soft rustle of movement. Dozens of the injured lay in varying degrees of recovery. Priestesses moved between them like whispers, each one wrapped in soft cloth and reverent focus.

  I checked each room. One by one.

  And then—I found him.

  Manach.

  He lay still. Peaceful. No tubes, no restraints, no signs of struggle. Just a man resting in a clean bed. He looked better. Paler than usual, but not broken.

  Alive.

  A priestess stood nearby, tidying the space. She glanced at me.

  “Excuse me,” I said, stepping closer.

  She turned politely. “Yes?”

  “Is he… alright?”

  She nodded gently. “His body is healed. However, there is an issue.”

  I frowned. “What issue?”

  “Your companions told me what happened,” she said. “But that is not the reason he remains asleep. He was placed under an alchemical coma. Only a specific antidote can rouse him. Without it… he will remain in slumber. Perhaps eternally.”

  My gut turned.

  The Endless Slumber. I’d heard stories. A rare alchemical pair—one potion to induce the sleep, one to reverse it. Bound together. If one was lost, the other was useless.

  My mind jumped. The alchemy room beneath the ruined mansion. Maybe it was still there. Maybe. But I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She nodded and turned back to her work.

  I moved to Manach’s side and sat down.

  “Fucking hell,” I muttered.

  His chest rose and fell gently. Nothing unnatural about it. He looked serene. Like he was just… on break from the world.

  “You’re really pissing me off,” I told him. “So much shit went down. You slept through it all.”

  I chuckled, despite myself.

  “Still… somehow… this is all your fault.”

  I shook my head and leaned back. The silence in the room felt softer here. Like it respected what he was going through.

  “I’ll get you back,” I said quietly. “I’ll find the damn antidote. I swear it.”

  I stood, nodded to him like he could hear me, and turned to go.

  As I stepped into the hallway—

  Leliana.

  Right there.

  Eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

  I looked at her and—gods help me—I felt happy. She was alive. She’d made it. She got Manach to safety, just like we agreed. She honored the deal.

  Before I could say a word, she stepped forward and hugged me.

  It caught me off guard. I don’t like hugs. Never did. But I didn’t push her away.

  She pulled back just as quickly, her arms retreating, her expression amused.

  “Holy hands of the Light,” she chuckled. “You’re cold.”

  “I’m a Coldian,” I smirked.

  She smiled, then her gaze shifted—worry creeping into it like a shadow. “You’re alright. The people here told me what happened. I tried to check on you, knocked a few times, but you never answered.”

  “I was sleeping,” I muttered. “Deeply, apparently.”

  She nodded, accepting that. Then, “What about you and Leon? What happened?”

  “Come on,” she said, motioning with her head. “Let’s go upstairs. The terrace. I’ll explain everything.”

  I followed her, steps slow but steady. She walked like someone with a weight lifted—tired, but resolved. As we made our way through the temple halls, she told me the rest.

  They went to the hospital, like I ordered, during the chaos of the raid. They didn’t face much resistance on the way—got lucky. But when they reached Manach’s room, they found it frozen solid. Ice on every surface, walls covered in frost so thick it glittered like crystal. And there, above Manach, was a man frozen in place, dagger raised mid-strike—locked in death like a statue of ice.

  My trap had worked.

  Manach, Coldian like me, was immune to frost. The ice had helped, not harmed. It froze the life support machines, shut everything down, made it easier. His body had stuck to the slab beneath him—immovable—but not in danger.

  Together, Leliana and Leon dragged him out, across half the city, back to the temple. Her idea. The people here welcomed them. No questions. No resistance. Light protects.

  That was the summary, in her words. Clean, but I knew the weight behind it. The risk. The fear. The trust.

  When we stepped out onto the terrace, I had to stop and take it in.

  It was... grand.

  Pillars ringed the entire terrace, carved from white quartz and veined with gold and platinum. The floor spiraled downward in soft steps, like a divine amphitheater, until it reached a circular basin at the center—a pool of fresh, clear water, still and perfect. Overhead, floating at the heart of it all, was a massive orb radiating soft light. Not harsh. Not blinding. Just warm. Its magic spread across the terrace like sunlight without a sky.

  The outer terrace was open, surrounded by silver railings with golden filigree twisting through the metal like vines. Beyond them, you could see the rest of the temple rising like a holy mountain, and above that—the city beyond, distant and muted.

  There was another door, nestled between two larger pillars, leading upward to the third floor. That level was forbidden. I had no urge to explore it.

  Leliana turned to me with a smile. “What do you think of the temple?”

  I looked around. Too much white. Too clean. Too perfect.

  “It’s grand,” I said.

  Then paused.

  “But… maybe a bit too much for my taste.”

  Was that a lie?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I usually hate places like this. But right now… it felt good. Soothing. Like I belonged, in a way I didn’t want to admit.

  “Anyways,” I added, brushing it off. “Are you in custody here too?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “Leon and I weren’t charged. But they did ask us to stay—security reasons.”

  Her expression darkened slightly.

  “Good. You should stay,” I said. “I’ve got things to handle before the Parliament convenes. I was charged, so I’ve got to defend myself either way.”

  I forced a smile.

  She nodded, then hesitated.

  “My father,” she said, voice softer. “I heard… you let him live?”

  I stopped walking. Took a breath.

  She deserved the truth. All of it.

  “Your father is a traitor,” I said bluntly. “I have evidence—direct links between him and enemy factions working against the Empire.”

  She looked like I’d slapped her. Stunned. Silent.

  “That means…” she started, voice cracking.

  “Yes,” I said. “He’ll be summoned to the Citadel. He’ll stand trial. I’ll charge him with treason.”

  I didn’t soften the blow. She needed to hear it.

  Leliana turned away, staring out over the city, the light orb casting long shadows across her face. Then she turned back, eyes sharper now, emotion tempered into something more... dangerous.