It was hardly the first fight in which Estella had been of almost no use at all, but she was keenly reminded of how far she still had to go in moments like this. Frankly, she would have dwelled on it, had it not been for the much more pressing need to continue forward, to find the Lord Seeker and stop all of this, somehow. She hadnât seen a person afflicted with red lyrium since Kirkwall, and even then, it had only been one. Meredith was fearsome enough, though Estella had not had to confront her directly. She still had nightmares about the events of that day, sometimesâso much death, and such desperate conflict, all in service of something she couldnât begin to understand, a madness that this substance had brought on.
It made her feel faintly nauseated, though that was more than likely at least partially due to the lyrium itself. She suspected a better mage, like Cyrus, felt it even more keenly than she did. Sheâd be surprised if the others were oblivious to it, either. Leon may be able to brush it off, but she knew that they really shouldnât be touching it, if what sheâd heard was true.
Not desiring to linger here, she followed the Commander out of the room. They headed deeper into the barracks first, SĂ©verine giving directions whenever they came to a turn or door, since she knew the area by far better than any of the rest of them. The fighting didnât seem to have made it this far out, and though they occasionally ran into a small pocket of the lyrium-infected templars, none of those groups were even as large as theirs, which meant short work, considering the prowess of the others.
After the first such bout, Estella could swear she heard something. It was perhaps no more than a whisper, but in something close to the Lord Seekerâs voice, as though he were standing right over her shoulder and speaking into her ear. âCome to me, Herald of Andraste.â She shuddered, reaching up with her free hand to touch the nape of her neck, and glanced over her shoulder, but of course all she saw was those of her allies who walked in the rear. Biting her lip, she faced forward again and kept going, reaching the outsideâand another fightâwith the rest of them.
She was just shaking some of the blood off her sword from her last opponent when the whisper sounded again. âYou will be so much more than you are!â It was more emphatic this time, more sudden, and she jumped, dropping the blade in surprise.
âCan⊠can anyone else hear that?â
Cyrus approached, stooping to retrieve her blade and handing it to her hilt-first. His concern was evident in his eyes, which had always been his tell, if nothing else was. âHear what, Stellulam?â
"Whispers," Vesryn said, from Estella's side, where he'd situated himself for much of the fighting. "You mean the whispers, right?" He glanced between Estella and Cyrus rapidly.
"I haven't gone mad, I swear."
"We should keep moving," SĂ©verine urged from the front, where she kept watch. The rain continued with no sign of stopping, steadily washing the blood from the fighting into the softening earth.
It was almost a relief to know someone else had heard them. âI⊠yes. I think⊠with the Lord Seekerâs voice.â She pursed her lips, but started forward again. SĂ©verine was rightâthey had to keep going. Peopleâs lives were on the line here, and whatever strange thing might be happening wasnât worth stopping and trying to figure out.
âShow me what you are.â Estella locked her jaw and increased her pace, though it seemed unlikely she could simply outrun it, whatever it was. She had a feeling theyâd know in time, regardless.
âDO NOT IGNORE ME!â This time, it thundered, loud enough for all to hear and then some, a strange multi-tonal cadence to what was clearly still based on the Lord Seekerâs diction. âI WOULD KNOW YOU!â
âSo much for whispering.â Cyrus wore a look of open displeasure, his lip faintly curled. âBut youâre right; it does sound like the Lord Seeker. One more problem we solve by finding him.â His features shifted, clearly from some internal musings, but he didnât choose to let the rest of them in on what he was thinking, for the moment.
At SĂ©verineâs direction, they took a turn into what was apparently a guard building, because it contained stairs to the lower wall. There they came upon a few other templars, these ones clearly unaffected by red lyrium, striking down one who clearly was. They turned at the partyâs approach, their postures easing when they recognized at least the Knight-Captain, and they both saluted her.
âKnight-Captain! The other officersâtheyâve all gone mad.â
âWe know,â Leon replied. âWe need to reach the Lord Seeker. Any idea where he is?â All three shook their heads, leaving the party to continue in the direction of their best guess. Of course, the fact that the Lord Seeker continued to speak to themâor, well, her at leastâwas as good an indication as any that they were on the right track. Clearly, he wanted this confrontation just as much as they did.
The lower wall let them out onto a higher level of the castle, which was comparatively empty of occupants, though pitched battles had evidently been fought, with dozens of Templar corpses on the groundâboth laced with red lyrium and without, though there were many more of the second. Estella tried not to hurry too much, aware of the need for a degree of caution, but her pace further increased until she was just short of breaking into a jog.
They reached a large staircase, one that led up to what must have been the main door to the redoubt's central building. She couldn't see anyone there; perhaps the man they were looking for had taken up residence within? âCome, Estella Avenarius. Show me what kind of woman you really are.â The voice echoed still, but not as loudly as before.
âAll of this, for what?â she muttered, tightening her grip on her sword and mounting the stairs. The rain had grown much heavier, and though it did not yet approach what sheâd experienced in the Mire, it was quite close, and very cold.
The whispers returned, this time unintelligible, echoing around the pillars that were lined along the top of the staircase, just before the main doors. Judging by the reactions of the others, all looking about, searching for the source, everyone could hear them. Eventually, a few words could be made out among the slithering noise. Herald. At last. Know you. At last. Learn. At last...
He appeared from behind one of the pillars and rushed at the group with inhuman speed. Lord Seeker Lucius never let his eyes leave Estella, even while Vesryn stood partially between them. He charged them from the right, hands outstretched with no weapons, only grasping fingers. Vesryn's shield hand reached around to grab Estella's shoulder and pull her behind him, but the Lord Seeker's speed was too quick.
He half charged through the elf, seizing Estella by the collar, at which point all three of them began to topple over backwards together. Before her back even hit the ground, Estella's vision filled with a bright light, quickly becoming all consuming, until only the Lord Seeker's piercing whisper could be heard.
"At last..."
She landed in a very different place than she had fallen, or so it seemed to her. Her back hit the ground with a hard thud, knocking the wind out of her, and as her eyes cleared, she could make out a ceiling above her head, a dome lofted high and arranged with gorgeous pieces of colored glass, which filtered the light from above in rich pigments, so that where it struck the dust motes floating through the air, it did so in scattered reds, blues, greens, and purples. There was no sound to be heard, and for a distended moment, she simply stared up at the stained glass dome, running her eyes over the familiar pattern.
There was a kind of loneliness that could only be felt when one was not only utterly devoid of company, but felt it, deep in oneâs heart, the aching of an empty space. She wondered, for a moment, if everything had been a dream, after all. Her flight, Kirkwall, the Lions, the Inquisition, all of it. If that was what left her feeling so bereft nowâthat all of the things sheâd built had been torn away, and she was returning to this moment. The thought intensified the ache, and she drew a hissing breath in between her teeth, raising an arm to place a fist over the center of her chest and push down, through the leathers and her light gauntlet.
Furrowing her brow, she drew her eyes down to the spot, realizing that it was a gauntlet, and she was wearing leathers. Moving the hand to her face, she pressed hard on her cheekbone, but felt no pain. In fact, she wasnât in pain at all. It couldnât have been a dream.
Sitting up, she looked around, a few discrepancies immediately becoming obvious. The chamber was circular as it should be, the light grey stone tinted in many colors by the filtered light, but it was otherwise empty. No furniture, no decoration, just dust in the air and herself on the floor. She wasnât wrong about being alone, but she drew comfort from the fact that she might not have to be that way forever. A daring thought, really. Pursing her lips, Estella clambered to her feet, the task more difficult than she would have anticipated. All of her felt slow and sluggish, actually; awkward. She was like that all the time, though, so it was hardly surprising.
Slow. Weak. Graceless, yes. Show me more. The barest whisper of sound reached her in the still air, and she whirled around, seeking for its source, only to find that it seemingly had none.
As this particular room was at the end of a hallway, there was only one doorway out, an open stone arch, and she started towards it. Normally, it would put her into a passage of ordinary size, but when she stepped past the threshold, she found that it was about three times as big as she remembered it, its own ceiling vaulted high. The floor was bare stone, and her boots made too much noise as she walked along the center. Each side of the path was flanked with tall insets, each containing what appeared to be a sculpture or a statue. They were hard to see, but as she continued down the hall, the first one resolved into clarity.
âCyrus?â Her voice was grating in the echoes, too rough and raspy and hissing, too loud, though sheâd meant it to be quiet. There was no music in it.
But the statue, fifteen feet tall and exceptionally well-formed, did depict her brother, in white marble. Somehow, though, the eyes were the right color, as though someone had inlaid a dark sliver of lapis lazuli into the space each of the irises was supposed to be. Something was the faintest degree off about it, and when she leaned to the left, its features seemed to shift, rounding out from the well-defined lines of a manâs face to the soft, less sure ones belonging to a child, and then the emergent, nearly gaunt bone structure sheâd known him to have as a teenager.
Yes, yes, excellent. First and last, you say. Always but never. So much to know, always knowing.
The return of the whisper made her jump, and she cursed herself for being so quick to startle, shaking her head. Whatever the meaning of the statue was, she could not decipher it. Her steps carried down the hall and rebounded back to her, emphasizing the inelegant shuffle of her gait by making it a dozen times louder. As though she could forget, and needed reminding.
To her right, something flickered in the corner of her eye, and she turned towards it, sucking in a harsh breath when another statue resolved into her vision. This was an elderly man, his features craggy and weathered and stern, his carriage unmistakably proud. Though the lines near his eyes were deep, they only seemed to lend authority to him, and he peered down at her from a height of no fewer than twenty feet, giving her the distinct impression that she had shrunk somehow. It was difficult to make out his face properly, given that he was carved from obsidian, but she knew its every line quite well, and swallowed thickly, her lower lip trembling.
Not wishing to linger, Estella turned and hurried onwards. More. More. I will know you.
The intervals between statues at first seemed random; it was much longer before she reached the next one, just as tall as the last, but of a younger man, with a clearer expression: one of soft frustration, tinged with affection. She closed her eyes and moved past.
The space between the third and fourth was much longer still, but the fourth and the fifth stood across from each other. One was a dignified man in armor, holding the hilt of a large sword, the tip of the blade resting at his feet. In contrast with the serious line of his mouth, his eyes carried a gentle humor about them. The one across from him wore almost no expression at all, his hands folded into his sleeves. Even the way heâd been carved was somehow enough to convey all the grace and finesse with which he moved in life, and these at least, she smiled to see.
Walking between giants. So much attention. Show me. Who is the you that they see?
Estella shook her head. Whatever this whisper belonged to didnât understand anything at all, that much was clear. Her step was light and airy as she advanced, and she almost felt as if the hall was not so much longer after all, and wondered what might be behind the next door.
Whatever good mood had begun to lift her spirits was swiftly quashed when she reached the end of the hall and saw the last statue. For a long moment, she stared up at it, trying to quell the return of the bottomless solitude she felt. It reminded her of so many things, and her last treads towards it fell loud and ponderous on the stone.
So many faces. So many changes. What are you? I see what you see, not what you are!
âIâm no one,â she answered in the ugly murmur, and turned her eyes to the floor. The door was just ahead, and she wanted to be through it. Another few long strides did the trick, and she pushed the door open with her palm, stepping through the frame and into what seemed torn from another memory, another almost-death that had not come to pass.
The ground was scorched black, stone flooring ripped up and scattered everywhere, to say nothing of the debris from the rest of what had once been the Temple of Sacred Ashes. All around her, petrified corpses studded the landscape, their faces twisted and frozen in masks of fear, the barest remnants of almost-mummified flesh left to cling to their skeletons, just enough that if she squinted, she could almost imagine the people they had once been. Her squad⊠they were here somewhere, too, though she knew not where. Her recollection had not granted her even that much.
Her feet dragged as she tried to keep moving forwardâit felt like they were weighted down, as if by shackles that made no noise and could not be seen, chained to she knew not what. Every step was a torment, but Estella drove forward all the same, tripping more times than she kept track of, often catching herself on her hands, but sometimes not, an unfortunate lack of reflex that rewarded her duly with several cuts and scrapes on her face, which stung terribly in the grainy wind that whipped the smallest pieces of stone dust and scree directly at her.
She became increasingly aware as well of the cold, seeping into her bones and setting her teeth to a permanent chatter, the clicking sound loud and grating and annoying in her own ears. Still, she staggered forward, though she wasnât even sure why anymore, because if this place even had an end, she didnât seem to be getting any closer to reaching it, and even the whispers seemed to have abandoned her for now. A hard stumble brought her to her knees, and for a moment, she remained there, arms wrapped around herself, bowed over, the rasp of her breath sawing in and out of her lungs and the clatter of her teeth the only sounds audible over the driving gale. When had it become a gale? She didnât recall. It tugged at her cloak, ripping it free of her shoulders before she could hold it in place, and blowing it behind her on the wind.
With a groan, Estella pushed herself to her feet, and kept moving forward.
For all she walked, for all it felt like ages, she never reached what should have been the bounds of the Temple. Nothing seemed to repeat, but at the same time, several times she looked around her and was confronted with the vague sense that sheâd made no progress at all. Still the faces of the dead begged her to help them, though they were long past saving. Still the ground wore away at her feet, and the wind and cold at her spirit. Still her chest ached with hollowness. Still she kept walking.
The next time she tripped, her arms gave out from under her when she tried to catch herself, and she felt a sharp stab of pain. Rolling over into her side, she reached down towards her abdomen, where she could see in the dim light that a shard of granite had buried itself in an unlucky joint in her leathers, punching a hole in the left side of her belly. Grimacing, she used trembling fingers to pull it out, trying to summon a rudimentary healing spell in the other hand to stop the bleeding, at least. But of course, she was no mage, not really, and so that was impossible. She almost laughed at herself for trying.
It left her with precious few options, however, and she tried to decide what she needed most. Loosening her jerkin, she tugged it off, rolling another quarter-turn onto her back and taking hold of the hem of her tunic with both hands. She had to tug several times before it tore, but from there she was able to remove enough to tie around the wound as tightly as her numb fingers would let her, and then fold herself back into her armor, which now sat uncomfortably directly against her skin from the end of her ribcage to her waist. But it was better than giving up her boots to take the bandages from her breeches.
It took several deep breaths before she could gather the strength to roll back onto her hands and knees, and quite a few more before she could ease to her feet. For the first time, she looked behind her, but the landscape that way looked just the same as the landscape in front, and she couldnât see the door sheâd come from in any case. Somehow she doubted going backwards would help anyway.
When she returned her attention to the front, she was surprised to see a dim light in the distance, glowing softly blue. It was the first change in scenery since sheâd arrived here, and she struck out for it immediately, hoping against hope that what she found there might make a difference.
As she approached, the light took on the shape of a person. A woman, and by the point of her ears, an elf. Her back was turned; her body was entirely unclothed, but her shape was made up of the light, to the point where she was partially transparent. The sapphire glow kept her exact appearance indistinct, as though it deliberately unfocused whenever Estella attempted to see her clearly. It was not difficult to tell, though, that she had a powerful figure, both taller and significantly more muscled than Estella was.
She turned when Estella neared, and even blurred her features were noble, proud. The gale whipped at Estella, but the glowing woman seemed entirely unaffected by it. Her hair, which glowed like the rest of her did, fell neatly to rest upon her shoulders. The source of the light seemed to emanate from her chest. With the severity of the cold around her, it was obvious to Estella that the woman in front of her was radiating warmth into the air.
The figure raised her hand slowly, and a spark of blue light lifted into the air above them. It burst over their heads, and a translucent dome slowly fell around them, until it reached the ground. The wind stopped altogether, and within moments the warmth had filled the entire space.
The woman bowed gracefully in greeting, nodding her head forward.
Estella, battered, chilled, clumsy and no doubt looking like a wreck, blinked slowly. It took her several seconds to even properly comprehend what she was looking at, as though her mind, no longer in the simple state of forward, now again, had to lurch back to a start. The warmth helped, and though the feeling returning to her extremities was quite painful, she was glad it was pain she could feel, because that was much better than the alternative.
Despite that, she managed to dredge up a smile from somewhere, and bowed back as best she could. She wasnât the kind of mage that frequently conversed with spirits, but she dreamed like anyone did, and occasionally, one of them had a reason to notice her, and so she did generally know what they were like. This one was strange, a little different somehow, like she might have been incomplete, the way her features appeared to shift, losing sharpness when directly focused upon. It was almost easier to see her from the periphery of her vision.
âThank you,â she rasped, though it might have been more an effect of the dry wind than anything. âYouâre⊠Weâve not met before, have we?â It would be very strange if they had, but stranger still if they had not, considering the location.
The figure smiled, not parting her lips, and then shook her head. A moment later, she waved her hand, and beams of light traveled along the glowing surface of her body, leaving armor in their wake. Were it not transparent, it would look quite heavy, and its design was ornate. In fact, as it completed its formation, it took on a very familiar shape, as did the tower shield that now leaned against her, and the spear she carried in her grasp. She tilted her head, and awaited recognition from Estella.
It was immediate. âSaraya?â Estellaâs eyes went wide, and she took a half-step backwards, though it was more that she lost her balance again than anything. This was an alarming development, for more than one reason. Mostly, she was extremely concerned about this because she knew for a fact, or close enough, that she was inside her own consciousness right nowânothing else explained all the phenomena. Which meant that if Saraya was in here with her, then she wasnât inside Vesrynâs head, and that was very, very bad.
âHow did⊠ah. The Lord Seeker.â Whatever heâd done, she recalled Vesryn had attempted to stop, which might have interfered in part with the magic that had pulled her in here. Estella chewed her lip. âHeâs in here somewhere, too. Do you think that if we found him, made him reverse⊠whatever this is, that youâd get back safely?â
Saraya nodded once, apparently all that she believed was necessary.
Suddenly, a crack of lightning blasted against the dome she had erected, and it split apart in several places, allowing icy wind to cut back through.
Begone, thing! I am learning. You cannot help her...
Saraya gazed up above them, her expression annoyed. Stepping forward, she set down her shield when she was within easy arm's reach of Estella. Slowly, she reached out a glowing hand, and gently placed it upon Estella's forehead. Instantly an intense feeling of envy filled her mind, envy directed at herself. The envy was stemmed by thoughts of freedom, a youthful, strong body, a position of authority, of opportunity. It was powerful in magnitude, but it ended before it could carry on too long, and Saraya took a step back.
She pointed up to the sky.
âEnvyâŠâ She knew the feeling, though she wasnât sure sheâd ever felt it so strongly as this. To feel it directed at herself was⊠uncanny, and very strange. It made no sense, and yet she could only interpret what Saraya imparted upon her as that. âThe Lord Seeker is an envy demon?â Or, perhaps more accurately, an envy demon was assuming the form of the Lord Seeker, which meant that they werenât dealing with the real one at all. Perhaps they never had been. Saraya nodded gravely, confirming her suspicion.
âThis shape is significant.â The voice, at once more familiar than her own and somehow distorted, sounded from behind her, and Estella turned, met with the visage of her twin, though he looked ill in the light, wan. The demon didnât hold the shape like Cyrus held himself, eitherâshe supposed that made sense; envy wasnât self-assured, rather the opposite. She knew from experience that attempting to falsify confidence could only work so well. âWill it help me know you?â
âYou will not tell me about you. All you will think is of others. But I must know you!â
She understood, now, what it meant about learning. It wanted, for some reason, to assume her shape, to imitate her. And in order to do that, it needed to know enough to pass as her. So it had brought her here, to seek the answers it would need to wear her face. Even now, it was trying to understand. Estellaâs hand went to the hilt of her sword, but then paused, her fingers still loose around the grip. Everything she did was now another piece of information for it, potentially. And if that was really what it wanted, then she had to avoid giving it that. Knowing how she moved, how she fought, however poorly, was information. She wasnât even sure she could kill it, here.
No. What she needed to do was make it do all the talking and thinking aloud. She needed to understand it better than it understood her, and use that information to frustrate it to the point of making a mistake. And what she knew about it right now was that it wanted to learn about her. The way it looked at her made a mockery of her brotherâs natural inquisitiveness, that fervent curiosity that so often lit his eyes. It looked sick, while the demon wore his face.
Taking a breath, something she tried not to make too obvious, she answered with a question. âWhy do you want to know me?â She asked it as neutrally as possible, showing it her best imitation of Rilienâs face. It was almost ironic, that she planned to outdo the demon by being, in some sense, the superior imitator. If she could manage it.
As if in response, its features shifted, until it was wearing the face of her teacher, down to the sunburst on his forehead. âBeing you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.â In its left hand, the demon toyed with a knife, a replica of one of the Tranquilâs daggers, running a precise finger along the edge. It was also not an excellent likeness, considering the fact that sheâd never once known Rilien to fidget or move idly. Hopefully that was a sign that it wasnât being as careful.
âDo you know what the Inquisition can become? If only I were youâŠâ It lunged at her, and she jumped backward, but no sooner had it completed its forward arc than it burst into smoke and disappeared.
"When I am done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will be you.â It was Asala that time, and the voice from the left, where the Qunari woman appeared as well, though envy walked straighter in her skin, assuming a demeanor more like Asala when there was healing to be done than Asala at any other time. Still Estella kept herself mindfulâthe details were important.
âWhat is the Elder One?â Short questions, and only questions. It was already talking a great deal more than she was, even if it was deeply unsettling that it used the voices of her friends to do so.
The creature laughed, shifting again so that what began as a feminine sound ended as a masculine one, and it wore the same familiar face as the second statue, draped in dark blue robes and carrying a staff with a scythe-blade on one end, a thick hand with heavy knuckles gripping it with surety. âHe is between things. Mortal once, but no longer. Glory is coming, and the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else: by dying in the right way.â The corners of his mouth turned up in a twisted caricature of a smile, probably the best envy could manage, and this time, it called lightning to itself, lifting the staff and throwing the spell in a broad arc from the scythe.
Estella stood no chance of getting out of the way in time, she knew, and indeed, her body was extremely slow to react, almost like she was moving through water.
Saraya was not so restrained, and she intervened before the lightning could reach Estella. Planting the glowing shield into the ground before her, the spell crackled and smashed against it, leaving the woman reeling and digging a foot into the ground. The envy demon hissed, infuriated.
"Insolence! This will be my place, not yours! Begone!" He threw a straight bolt of lightning from his hand, a spell which exploded directly against Saraya's shield, and the glowing body burst into a dozen wisps of flickering light. They scattered into the wind.
âSaraya!â Estella didnât have time to think, only react, and her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, which rang free of the sheath with a hissing rasp. She lunged into the place her ally had been, bringing the saber down on the envy demon, which still wore the face of Tiberius. As soon as her blade made contact, it shrieked and dispersed.
âYou cannot stop me! I will have what is yours!â Its voice trailed off with the motes of black dust that seemed to have constituted that particular form, but Estella hardly cared. She fell to the ground, plunging the end of the saber down into it and leaning heavily against the blade, which glimmered brightly in the dark. From her knees, she dragged a hand across the ground, as though hoping to recover some remnant of the remnant, something that would show her that Saraya was still alive, still present. What did it take to kill something in the mind? Cyrus would know. Of course he would. Heâd be able to fix this.
But she couldnât. She couldnât fix anything. âWhy me?â she muttered miserably, losing all will to keep herself upright and remaining so only because she saw no more point in removing her grip from the hilt of her saber than she did in keeping it there. âI donât matter. Iâm nobody.â If the demon had chosen anyone else, this wouldnât have happened. But it had chosen herâmiserable, wretched, worthless Estellaâand so everything was going straight to shit, just as sheâd always known it would. That she was surrounded by so many talented, impressive people, that Romulus had a mark, too; these things had allowed her to believe that they might succeed, that they might really close the Breach, and that she might be able to go back to being anonymous and unimportant without having ruined anything, save the lives of the families of her squadmates.
Her back bowed further under the pressure of her thoughts, and she fought the bile that rose in her throat. How could she have forgotten? How could she have let herself, for even a single moment, fail to recall her own incompetence, and how dangerous it was, for those around her? How had she let herself believe that she could ever be the kind of person others might be able to lean on? Where had she gained the pretension to suppose that one day, she might be strong, or worthy, or valuable in any way at all? She had no grace, no skill, lackluster intelligence, and a terrible, crippling inability to improve for all the first-class instruction and arduous practice in the world.
How dare she forget. How dare she let other people pay the price for that.
She was pathetic.
And she deserved to suffer for all the things she could not be.
Some combination of the brittle-bone cold, the weight settled over her body like a cloak of lead, and the furious churning of her own thoughts overcame her, and she retched, dry-heaving painfully, folded in on herself and at last relinquishing the grip she held on the sword. Another thing she wasnât worthy of. Another grace extended to her that she could not hope to repay in kind. Estella fell onto her side, curling into a small ball and pulling her knees against her chest, willing the ordeal to simply end. Sheâd proven what she knew all along: she was incapable of meeting a challenge of this magnitude. She couldnât do it alone, and she was toxic to anyone who would be her ally. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them againâdry, because even she knew she was wallowing in self-pity and she wasnât worth crying overâand they found immediately the bright edge of her saber. She stared at it for what seemed the longest time, fascinated by the way the enchantment made it glimmer with a light all its own. Like a little star, right there in the dark.
A bitter smile slashed her face, and she chuckled weakly. âStellulamâŠâ Cyâs nickname for her was ridiculous. Even he would surely be disappointed in her, if he could see her now. She was disappointed in herself. Then again, she was always that.
Distantly, she knew that she had to stand up. If she did nothing else, she had to make this right again. Her wound twingedâsheâd hurt herself by falling over. Of course she had, because actual battle wounds were for people who had a fighting chance. She couldnâtâŠ
âI canât.â But slowly, she stood anyway, dragging herself to her feet, resting her hand on the saber, which was faintly warm to the touch, and pulling it from the ground. It felt heavy in her hands, unfamiliar, like the first time sheâd ever tried to wield it. Listing to the side slightly, she took a step forward, and had to scramble not to fall backwards when the scenery around her abruptly changed, putting her back in Therinfal Redoubt.
It was eerily quiet, compared to what it had been like before, but she remembered the route, and followed it. This version seemed to be what Envy imagined the Inquisition would look like, if it replaced her. She thought it was foolish to believe she had so much power as it seemed to assume, particularly when she walked in on a meeting between herself and the Inquisitionâs three advisors. They all stood around the table, though Romulus was a conspicuous absence. "Weâre almost there,â Marceline was saying. "Orlais, Ferelden, then Antiva and the Anderfels. Rivainâs surrender is imminent. Fitting that youâll end where you started, no?â
âSoon enough, my accomplishment will match my ambition,â she heard her own voice reply from the facsimile of her appearance. She couldnât help but find the words ridiculous. Estella had aspired to little. Though her faults were many, arrogance was not usually one of them. Perhaps even believing she could help close the Breach counted as arrogance enough.
âDo you see? What the Inquisition could be without you? When you are dead, and the Elder One has allowed me to become you?â
Estella walked through the ghostly image, dispersing it, and continued on her way. When she reached the same staircase as before, she spotted herself standing at the bottom of it. Or, well, the envy demonâs version of her, anyway. She took some little bit of succor in the fact that it had clearly glamorized her considerably: she looked as put-together as Marceline, and wore clothes as nice as Rilienâs, her armor polished silverite, chain with a heavy silk sash holding her sword in place, and leathers in lighter places. It still wasn't near to accuracy, really.
âUnfair! You are still whole!â In what seemed an instant, the demon was in front of her, its version of her hand tight around her throat, lifting her from the ground with no more difficulty than the Avvar sheâd dueled in the Mire. âWhy canât I have your shape?!â
âWhy⊠would you want it?â She choked out, her hands grabbing pointlessly at the arm holding her. It was uncanny, looking into her own face like that.
âWhy would⊠why wouldâŠ?â It seemed thrown by the question, but then gritted its teeth, its free hand glowing with sickly green magic, and turned to shove her against the door. âWeâll start again! More pain this time! The Elder One still awakes!â
A rumbling suddenly surrounded the two of them, as a ball of impressively bright blue fire burned through the wall of clouds hanging over them, to Estella's left. The envy demon growled, hurling Estella back with force against the door and turning to face the arriving presence. It smashed into the ground, scattered bits of the stone ground through the air, and from the cloud of dirt re-emerged the glowing form of Saraya, now wielding a greataxe the likes of which Estella had already seen.
She whirled forward through the air, the first blow coming down hard on Envy's sword, as it still attempted to retain Estella's shape. Saraya's offense was swift, precise, and brutal, but the demon was able to parry or repel every blow, even when it appeared to have no chance, as though it wasnât actually possible for Saraya to land a hit. Eventually they clashed weapons and locked together. Blue sparks flickered through the air from Sarayaâs axe, and sickly arcs of familiar green lightning careened away from Envyâs feign of a marked hand. Envyâs face was contorted in a mixture of extreme effort, and overwhelming anger.
âWhat are you? How can you remain? Die and leave, forever!â
Estella thanked whatever deities were paying attention for Sarayaâs intervention, and more importantly, for the fact that she yet lived. While she knew sheâd be of little assistance, the elven womanâs spirit had the demon locked in battle, which was opportunity enough for anyone, and so she circled around behind the dark shadow of herself, sheathing the sword quietly and drawing the straight-bladed knife from the small of her back.
Her approach was awkward, and she wound up just running the last half-dozen steps, jumping onto the demonâs back and plunging the blade downwards and slightly diagonally, for her replicaâs less well-protected neck. The knife struck, and the envy demon beneath her dissolved again, this time with an inchoate shriek. Her vision filled once more with white, and she fell back into reality.