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In the year 9.37 Dragon, the Chantry in the Hightown of Kirkwall was destroyed in a vast magical explosion, sparked by the apostate known as Anders. Of course, it wasn’t all his own work; it made use of the fragile Veil and the intricate sigils throughout the city’s layout, both relics of the Tevinter magisters of old. Kirkwall had always been created to be the site of a massive feat of magic to change the world - it had just fallen dormant.
The explosion lit up the city of Kirkwall, rattled teacups as far away as Starkhaven, but its shockwaves reverberated through the Fade even louder. Spirits swarmed or fled, depending on their nature; those who had been asleep at that moment all awoke at once with an intense feeling of foreboding, that something had happened or was about to happen.
In fact, only two remained in the Fade, dreaming or close enough.
Somewhere in Nevarra, a young boy sat by his dream of a stream near a cabin, shaded by trees, his friend at his side. The boy was making floating animals out of the water, which danced and flew in the sunlight, occasionally splashing them both and making him shriek in delight; his friend said nothing, but then they never did, a silent being made of smoke and shadows, who simply sat, and watched, and listened.
The friend heard the blast before the boy did, head whipping up and round to scan the distance as it felt the tremor in the very fabric of magic itself. With a speed and strength that the boy had not seen from his friend before, they suddenly pushed him down flat against the ground, covered his body with their own, moments before the shockwave from the blast hit them.
The boy felt it as a physical force that tore through him like the iciest of winds, but hot and crackling rather than cold - it ripped the air from his lungs, blinded him with a vivid red light, and left the taste of ozone strong on his tongue. He screamed, confused and frightened, but his friend held him tighter, hummed strength and enduring in their chest, willed them to hold on.
When it finally went quiet, settled, the pair of them carefully sat up and looked around. Most of the cabin, the stream, the dreamed hills of Nevarra, had been wiped clean, leaving bare rock and green sky above. Their shared demesne was weak, the creation of only a boy’s imagination and seven years of shared dreaming, and not capable of withstanding such a blast of raw magic.
“What happened?” the boy asked. His friend could not answer, but stayed close, coiled around the young boy like it might protect him. Guard him from whatever came next.
And elsewhere, far away, a great wolf stirred from a slumber that had stretched for years beyond counting - the slightest rumble deep in his chest, a twitch in the paws, a sniff of the air. For a moment, it smelled like a world long lost and forgotten, enough to catch his attention. Enough to spark some hope, and begin the slow journey back to waking.
-
The wolf had caught a scent.
Travelling took time, even in the Fade. The wolf was still incredibly weary, drained, and had to stop to rest frequently on his journey. But every day, more strength returned to his limbs, his brain woke a little more from its sluggish stupor. He was not ready to wake into the other world, not yet, but dreaming was open to him once more.
And on his journey, he learned from the other spirits what had befallen the world whilst he had slept.
His heart was heavy by the time he reached his destination. He had not known where he was travelling, only following the scent of things long gone, and had not known what to expect, but even so, it was a surprise: not a grand palace, or a temple, or a ruin, but a small stone cabin, nestled in the Nevarran hills. A stream nearby, a cow and some chickens in a small hutch adjacent, and, almost like an afterthought, an eluvian propped up in a lean-to, like there was no space for it indoors.
The boy by the stream did not have elven features, but he had something of them in his spirit. Mixed parentage. And he was alert, awake, even in a dream; a Dreamer. A gift inherited from his parents, or shared with the other being present as he shared his soul? Impossible to tell.
The being of shadow and smoke had known of the wolf’s approach, of course. Had been strangely unsettled for days, endlessly keeping eyes to the horizon, sticking close to the boy rather than roaming further. It did not have eyes, but the wolf still felt the focus of their attention as he drew nearer.
The boy himself noticed when other spirits nearby, nestling in his dreamed trees and murmuring along with his dreamed riverbed, fell silent, like birds when something large passed close beneath their canopies. He looked up and saw the wolf, and smiled brightly.
“Savhalla!” he called, jumping to his feet and giving a little bow, as he had been taught. “I’m Kieran. Andaran atish’an. You’re very big,” he noted, with a blink. Much bigger than most spirits he had visiting. Politely, he asked, “What are you seeking?” His Mamae had always taught him to ask this, rather than How can I help you or what do you want, which a spirit might take as an invitation to take.
The wolf settled down across the stream from the pair of them with a weary huff, watching the pair of them closely with his many blue eyes. For now, a place to lay my head, the wolf replied, not speaking through his mouth but mind to mind, and yawned for emphasis, showing his many long sharp teeth. My journey has been long, and I am only recently reawoken.
“Oh! You’re very welcome to sleep here.” Kieran’s friend rumbled uncertainly at this, the smoke and shadows that made him up swirling rapidly, but Kieran hummed in response, reassuring. “Our little place here is quite small, but it’s safe.” His friend made it so. Made it so they could be here night after night, and demons never dared cross the stream.
Ma serannas. A well brought up boy. Polite, friendly, curious. Nothing remarkable, save…. The wolf’s eyes drifted to his friend. Who is your companion?
Kieran’s eyes brightened, and he smiled. “This is my friend! They have a long name, but I call them ras’udh.” Truly, it had been his Babae who had dubbed Kieran’s friend as little shade, but the name suited and Kieran had adopted it eagerly. Much easier than Urth- whatever.
The wolf’s nose twitched in something that might have been amusement. Enansalen, ras’udh, he murmured softly. The shadow creature did not respond, save for drifting closer to Kieran and coiling around him like a vine.
“They can be nervous around strangers,” explained Kieran, summoning a soft magelight to his hand and holding it up for Ras’udh to see, a common habit that soothed them. The spirit hummed and softened, watching the light. “They’re only little, you see.”
Little indeed. The wolf’s nose twitched again. They guard their friend well, he rumbled. You are important to them. They know the Fade is a dangerous place.
“It is,” Kieran agreed. Then, he added: “I hope you’re not a dangerous thing. Did you know the Qunari call their mages ‘dangerous thing’? Saarebas. Saaaaarebaaaaas,” he said again, elongating the syllables, liking the sound of it. Liking the idea of being a dangerous thing.
I can be a very dangerous thing, the wolf said solemnly, then yawned again. Right now, I am just sleepy.
“Sleep then,” said Kieran firmly. Naps were important. “We’ll be quiet.”
The wolf rumbled softly, a noise warm enough to be a laugh, and rested his head on his paws as he drifted back to slumber. There was plenty of this world to see, and plenty to be done - but for now, he could sleep a little longer.