A/N: So this is the new fanfic I promised you guys, but like I said, I will be going on vacation in about two weeks time, so I will be then be gone for over three weeks which will give me plenty of time to come up with new ideas and refresh my imagination.

Also, the poll is closed, and due to majority winning, I will be doing another new fanfic which will be a Starcraft/Mass Effect crossover, once I have made some progress with this story.

Now that is done, I hope you enjoy reading.

Prolouge: The Beginning

A lone Elven man, taller than the average Elf – and the average human, groaned heavily as he tried to open his eyes to assert his surroundings, his strange, black padded leather armour caked in dust that was easily flung off with a swipe of his gauntleted hand.

He was confused; he felt as if he had just lost his memory, a void in his memory that was blank, incomplete and lacking sustainance. Waking from his sudden, brief state of unconsciousness, he got up to find himself in-

The fade!? Why in Yggdrasil's name am I even here in the first place? The Elf thought to himself as he was momentarily stunned by his surroundings, his hand reaching for a sheathed weapon on his side that was not even there.

Curses, first I am trapped in this damned dimension, and now I am left without my beloved katana! He cursed mentally, becoming angry with himself for being so careless.

Loud insectoid hissing and chittering brought his attention to several unnaturally large roaches – far larger than ordinary roaches – that were converging on his position.

His mind raced through two main options; either make a stand and fight with his barehanded martial arts, or try to find an exit out of the fade itself.

In the end, he settled for the latter, as being trapped for eternity in the fade to battle demons just for survival did not seem to sit well with him, as he was unable to utilize his abilities to the fullest for some reason; he did not know what curse was inflicted on him, but he was unable to use his magic at all.

Run! He heard a voice shout in his head, and he turned to find its source, which was an iridiscent, ethereal woman waving to him from the top of a mound of earth that was very steep, and difficult to climb.

He ran, as fast as his trained body would carry him up the slopes as his training began to take over, his hands deftly grabbing spaces in the rock face to allow him to climb higher and let his feet do the rest of the work.

Hurry! You are almost there! The Elf heard the ghost of a woman reach out to him in his mind, who then extended a hand for him to reach.

Just a bit further, all he needed was to grab her hand and he would be out of the godforsaken place.

A flash of light blinded his eyes, and by the time his sight corrected itself, he could see that he was no longer in the fade, yet still not far from it's presense for some reason.

He could not stay awake any longer, the green mark on his hand now glowing uncontrollably as the colour began to fade from his eyes, his mind shutting down as he once again fell back into unconsciousness.

Whilst he was unaware, several soldiers in modest but fully functional combat gear surrounded his unconscious form with swords drawn, with two more women coming closer to have a good look at his face.

One of them, dressed in purple with a hood covering most of her face, was visibly shocked when she looked at his face, looking so similar to a good friend of hers, and after a brief, heated argument, deferred to the other woman's judgement and settled for taking him back to the mountain village for further interrogation.

No one knew just who this Elf was, but he was certainly not Dalish, judging by his strange armour and tatoos that did not resemble any vallaslin they had.

The hooded woman could only hope he was their hope, their salvation, instead of their doom.

IIOII

His mind felt like it was intoxicated, unwilling to awaken and function properly. His eyelids were heavy, forcing the Elf to put more effort into opening them and looking at his surrounings.

He found that he was indeed no longer in the fade, but in a dark, damp room of stone that looked suspiciously like a prison with at least four people that looked like professional soldiers pointing their swords at him.

Damnit, am I cursed with eternal clamity that will befall me? The Elf growled mentally as he began to move his hands, which to his growing annoyance, were shackled in a set of manacles restricting them, though he was thankful his feet were not subject to the sa-

A terrible jolt of pain coursed through his left hand, the result of a flaring green mark that was previously not on his hand.

The door banged open, showing the same two women who had taken him into custody and who the soldiers deferred as they withdrew their weapons.

One of them, wearing modest armour and purple clothing underneath, her sword, shield and breastplate adorned with the symbol of sunburst eye, confronted the Elf face to face with an expression of indignant anger.

"Tell me who you are," He heard the woman – probably Nevarran, judging by her accent – demand from him.

The Elf remained silent, unwilling to answer.

"Tell me how you got this," She demanded again, holding up his marked left hand for him to see, then throwing it back down to the floor.

"I do not know," The Elf simply answered back.

The warrior woman did not seem satisfied by his answer, and forcefully grabbed his armour by the chest to bring his face closer to hers.

"You're lying!"

"Cassandra, calm down," Another woman of Orlesian descent tried to persuade, "Let me talk to him."

Still burning with rage, Cassandra reluctantly put the Elf back down on the cold, hard stone floor, letting the other woman talk directly to their charge.

"I am Leliana, Left Hand of the late Divine Justinia," The Orlesian introduced herself, doing little to stop the Elf from feeling indignant at being the object of suspicion.

"I would tell you my name, but I have long forgotten it," The Elf said, confusing those present with his strange accent.

It did not seem to match any known accent; Fereldan, Orlesian, Anders, or even the Free Marches – given the realm's diversity compared to the other larger countries.

Also, given that he had no name to give to his interrogators, meant that it would be even harder to judge whether he was truly innocent or guilty; no one would forget his name so easily if, as it was tantamount to losing your own identity.

He would have been mistaken for an escaped slave, but his accent was not Tevinter, so that possibility was ruled out.

Stuck at an impasse, the two women were running out of options to find out if the man had an alibi or not, and time was beginning to run out for all of them.

"Then do you remember anything? Of what happened before you became our prisoner?" She asked.

The Elf scrunched up his faces in concentration, as he struggled to recall past events as his captors asked him to.

"I remember being trapped in the fade, then I was being chased by demons. I ran, and ran," The Elf recalled, still unable to recall most of what happened before he even ended up in the fade, "Then I saw... a woman?"

It was far too vague an answer, too little information for them to go on, but it was the best the Elf could recall, so they were back to the drawing board.

"How about this," The Elf suggested, "I will go with you to where you found me, and we shall see if I truly am guilty or otherwise."

He could see surprise registering on their faces; perhaps they were not expecting for their suspect to willingly volunteer for what was turning into a suicide mission, given their predictament.

After they deliberated about their next course of action, Cassandra then said to her Orlesian colleague, "Leliana, go ahead to the foward camp. The prisoner and I will meet you there."

Leliana nodded, but before she turned to leave, she asked the Elf one last time.

"If you truly have lost your name, do you at least know your family name?"

He pondered for only the briefest of seconds, then answered, "Sardothien."

All those in the room were caught off-guard by his surname, but decided to not give it much thought as Leliana and the others quickly dashed towards where the foward camp was stationed.

Once Leliana left, Cassandra motioned for the soldiers to leave, and once they were gone, proceeded to take out a key that unlocked the manacles holding Sardothien's arms in place, allowing him freedom of movement for now.

Sardothien touched his wrists as he smiled at finally being freed, then stood up from where he was kneeling, facing Cassandra with a serious expression contrasting with his earlier mood.

"Take me there," He said, and Cassandra obliged, opening the door to the outside world.

Once outside, Sardothien reveled in the fresh air of the cold mountainous region, the cold kiss of snowflakes touching his smooth, unmarred face.

It was a good feeling, but it would not last long, as the agonising burn of the mark flaring on his hand forced him to the ground, the pain overwhelming even his mental strength.

Cassandra moved to help him up, so that they could quickly move to their destination, but Sardothien simply refused her, standing up despite the agony he had just endured. Along the way, the locals seemed angry at the Elf for something, as if he had just murdered the most important person of their society.

Curses were flung at him, others simply stayed away from him, all of them being no concern to the Elven warrior as he began running in the direction where other soldiers were headed.

Looking up at the sky, he could see that the sky was torn asunder; a large green hole lay open in the sky, spewing forth comets of baleful felfire that landed everywhere around them, giving rise to abominations, twisted forms of life that were a perversion of mother nature herself.

"What is the hole in the sky?" Sardothien called to Cassandra, "What caused this in the first place?"

"We call it the breach," Cassandra answered, "It is a hole in the sky that grows everytime your mark pulses. Eventually, it may grow bigger until it swallows the world."

So this is what it's all about, is it? Sardothien thought to himself as they ran higher up the pathway, I seem to be responsible for tearing the sky apart, but by the looks in the locals' faces, I seem to be responsible for killing someone important to them.

"What happened exactly? I have no memory of what happened before this damned hole appeared in the sky!" Sardothien asked kindly, the loud volume of his voice somewhat unfitting for such a kind question.

"We happened to find your unconscious form at the site of the explosion, where the breach opened, so we naturally brought you in as our prime suspect," Cassandra explained, panting heavily as she tried to catch up with the Elf's remarkable speed.

They stopped talking afterwards, and eventually reached a bridge where a couple of soldiers were running from, the gates wide open for them to pass through. Without sparing a second thought, the duo began to cross the bridge, but they only made it halfway before one of the felfire comets impacted on the bridge, breaking it's foundations and causing it to collapse.

Both hid the frozen river hard, but were otherwise unharmed aside from slight bruises.

To spite them, fate decided to make sure yet another comet landed not far from where they lay, causing two shades to spring forth from the impact site.

"Get behind me!" Cassandra barked as she drew her weapons.

If Cassandra thought to take both on, she was sorely mistaken as only one began attacking her, while the other shade moved towards Sardothien, fangs brandished as it hissed an unnatural sound reminiscent of wailing.

Rather than try to find a weapon though, Sardothien simply assumed a defensive stance and landed a solid kick on the shade's equivalent of a torso, then, all of a sudden, a large, gaping hole appeared where the shade's heart should have been, causing the shade to fade into nothing more than dust.

As soon as Cassandra took care of the other shade by ramming her sword into its head, she pointed her weapon at the Elf, still untrusting of Sardothien's trustworthiness.

"Put your weapon down, now!" She shouted, then realised that Sardothien was wielding no such thing; no dagger, staff, bow and arrow, or even a sword.

Flabbergastered, and somewhat embarrased by what she just ordered the Elf to do, considering his lack of personal weaponry, she quickly put down her sword, mentally berating herself in the process.

"Surprised that I killed the other demon without any weapon or spell?" Sardothien asked, guessing correctly what Cassandra was thinking about.

Rather than answer his question, Cassandra simply sighed heavily as she said, "I should remember that you willingly agreed to come."

"Naturally," The Elf replied.

Without wasting time on further deliberation, both continued their rush up the numerous stone steps that led up the mountain to the site of the disastrous explosion; it was where the Temple of Sacred Ashes was built, and where Divine Justinia V, currently nominated leader of the Chantry organised peace talks in an attempt to prevent the continued war between the Templars and Mages.

No one knew that many of the leaders of both sides and the Divine herself would be killed in a sudden explosion of fade energies, sundering the religious monument into ruins in the process.

After fighting and killing many weaker demons that were no more than mere nusainces to the duo, Sardothien's sensitive ears picked up sounds of fighting nearby, much earlier than Cassandra as they hurried up the stairwell.

"Hear that? Someone is close by and needs our help," Cassandra informed the Elf, even though such a mundane thing was not necessary.

Once they climed over several wooden debris that were scattered in the snowy climate, they stumbled upon two people fending off waves of demons spewing forth from a smaller, yet very distinct green hole that looked exactly like the breach in the sky.

The mini-breach itself was a warping mass of sickly green crystals that warped all reality around them, bending and shifting into different forms at every second whilst black masses came out of it at the same time.

Fighting the demons were a Dwarf wearing a red coat and firing a masterfully calibrated crossbow that fired bolts at a faster rate than ordinary crossbows, and another Elf that wore modest clothing meant for travel, and wielded a staff that cast magic of a very similar nature to the rift itself.

Sardothien and Cassandra immediately got into the thick of the battle, relieving some pressure from the Dwarf and Elf.

Although they were fighting demons in all seriousness, the others could not help but be impressed at how Sardothien was killing demons with only his bare hands, and he managed to do so without any use of magic which either the Elf or Casssandra would have otherwise detected.

He was an embodiment of serious efficiency and graceful lethality, as his moves could both kill and bewilder with their surprising gracefulness. Demon after demon died at his hands as he was merciless yet conservative on his strength.

Soon afterward, no more demons emerged from the rift, at least for the time being. Seizing the moment, the other Elf moved towards Sardothien, grabbing his hand out of urgency.

"Quickly, before more come through!"

He pointed the marked hand towards the rift, and to everyone's surprise, a green tendril of energy extended out of the glowing mark towards the rift, and after a few seconds, a loud popping sound accompanied by the abrupt shutting of the rift in a brief burst of green energy had occured.

"So I was right in my theory after all," The Elven mage said as he smiled, observing Sardothien under a scrutinizing glare.

The snowy haired Elf turned to face Cassandra and asked, "What does he mean by 'Theory'?"

"I can explain for myself," The Elven mage said, "But I believe introductions are in order. I am Solas, wandering Elven apostate and the closest expert the Chantry has on the fade itself."

"And I am Varric Tethras," The Dwarf introduced himself, "Dwarven Merchant from Kirkwall, famous writer and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong."

The Dwarf winked at Cassandra as he said the last part, causing Cassandra to wrinkle her face in irritation in response.

"And I am Sardothien," The snowy-haired Elf introduced himself as he bowed respectfully, "Before you ask anything else, that is my family name, for I have forgotten my first name."

Both Varric and Solas were unsure as to why the prisoner would lose his first name, but they decided to leave it for another time, something Sardothien was secretly thankful for.

"So I believe your theory was that the mark on my hand was the key to sealing these rifts, yes?" Sardothien inquired as he took the time to get the answers he currently sought.

"Indeed," Solas confirmed as he continued, "And it seems I was correct."

The breach in the sky pulsed once, causing Sardothien to reel under the sheer pain coursing through his arm as he gritted his teeth.

"The pulses are coming faster now," Cassandra stated as she rushed to help Sardothien up, despite the Elf waving off her hand as he stood back up.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

With no time to waste, the group of four had continued their way up the lengthly stairwells as they killed demon after demon that continued to block their way, their magic considerably weak against years of combat experience.

Varric himself could not help but feel that the way Sardothien fought with only his legs and arms; it reminded him of the one time when he saw the Arl of Redcliffe fight the Arishok, though his movements were more heavy handed compared to Sardothien's, which were like those of a graceful swan in the water.

The Arl of Redcliffe looked very similar to Sardothien without taking the body physique and different ears in mind. Snowy white hair, alien yet ancient markings adorning the right arm and similar side of the face, they almost looked very alike, as if they were descended from the same parental heritage.

Ironically, both also happened to have the same surname, which would have solidified anyone's belief that they were family, but that would be a matter to be investigated for another time.

One glaring difference between the two, however, was their social behaviour and perhaps, their manner of speech as well.

The Arl of Redcliffe, or more commonly known as Sebastian Sardothien, both to the general public and his inner circle, always had the attitude of a social outcast and was atrociously disrespectful to everyone, even the arrogant nobles of modern society – though his inner circle would be spared such treatment.

If not for his great contributions to the development of science and technology, that has improved the lives of many a Fereldan – which earned him the hatred of the Chantry since he openly employed magic without a Circle or a band of templars – and caused the previously backwater country to turn into a rapidly growing power in the whole continent.

The Elven Sardothien on the other hand, seemed a lot more respectful and generally well-mannered, if albeit too cultured a man, almost sounding like one of the kinder Orlesian nobles who were less concerned about superiority and more about public image.

He did not look like he had the makings of a scholar, but the Dwarf was certain that he would become good friends with him, if he proved to be an admirer of top-class litreature.

None of them knew how much time had passed as they traversed the near endless stone steps, but they knew they were getting closer to the foward camp up halfway up the mountain, as they saw a heavier presense of soldiers frantically fighting off waves of demons spewing forth from a nearby rift.

After sealing about two rifts on the way up, Sardothien had gotten used to the feeling of hot needles prickling his arm whenever he used the mark to seal a rift, and how to control the mark so that it would do it's intended job.

The Elf had to admit, he had seen little magic that could do so much as to sunder the sky, and rip open a gaping hole that allowed demons to spew forth every minute of the day. It had not been since the days of Arlathan that such a spell was misused for someone's nefarious purposes, and on such a large scale as well.

But no one, not even the ancient Elves had come close to having the sheer mana capacity and capabilities to rip open such a large rift; only a catalyst capable of storing immense power was able to fuel the mana for such a spell of immemse power requirements.

This could only mean...

No, Sardothien thought to himself in growing disbelief, Only an Elven artefact of legendary make or a Draconian artefact of similar power could be capable of such a feat. For the culprits responsible to be in possession of such an item...

The thoughts raging through Sardothien's head threatened to give him a terrible aneurysm as he tried to comprehend just how did-

Another demon spawned in front of him as he was distracted, his fist making short work of its head as it was smashed into tiny bits.

IIOII

As he was still contemplating the possibility of such a scenario turning out, the group had eventually managed to reach a camp set on a stone bridge, where they could see Leliana arguing with a middle-aged man in garments of red and white, with the symbol of a sunburst adorning his black headwear – the customary uniform of a Chantry cleric.

"We cannot continue this any longer!" The older man shouted, "Do you really think the prisoner is the solution to this crisis as of now!?"

"You know very well we have no other choice, Chancellor Roderick," Leliana addressed the cleric in a stern tone, "Speaking of which, here they come now."

Leliana turned to face the group of four that had just passed the gates, causing a scowl to form on the cleric's face as Cassandra approached both of them.

"Leliana, thank the Maker you are okay," She said in slight joy as she then turned to Roderick, "Chancellor Roderick, this is-"

"I know who he is," Roderick retorted, his voice carrying a cutting edge, "Chain him! I want him taken to Val Royeaux to face execution!"

"You are a thug!" Cassandra insinuated as she became angrier at the cleric's attitude, "A glorified bureaucrat who thinks himself better than others!"

"Justinia is dead!" Roderick shouted, this time slightly sorrowful as he straightened his face in anger once more, "We must elect a new divine in order to prevent the country from falling back into chaos!"

"If we do not seal the breach here and now, there will not even be a new election to hold, Roderick-san," Sardothien countered, his strange accent causing the cleric's name to feel different on his tongue.

The Elf grabbed the cleric by his collar, and then fixed a deathly, withering glare at his poor victim, who was already beginning to cower under his domineering presense which was enhanced by his eyes, changing from a cerulean blue to a golden amber, his round pupils becoming slited holes that were animalistic in nature.

"That is enough, Sardothien," Leliana barked at the Elf, causing him to turn the same glare on the Left Hand of the Divine who was barely keeping her wits about her.

Soon enough, he reverted his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then proceeded to apologize, "I am sorry for my outburst, Leliana-dono."

Leliana was taken aback by the Elf's sudden change in demeanour, but decided to not let it show on her face, as she nodded to accept his apology and turn her gaze back onto a map before her.

To Sardothien's eye, the map Leliana was reading was surprisingly detailed to the point that every small geological detail was drawn with pinpoint precision; from the vastest of dense forests to the most isolated of roads, all were near-perfectly drawn to scale for the actual size and distance of said geological features.

The mountain range they were currently in was marked with a red cross, while the supposed Temple of Sacred Ashes by a circle, allowing Sardothien to get a clear read on their position and formulate a possible battle plan that would allow them to clear a path to the ruins of the once great temple.

All around them, soldiers were frantically running around to their assigned posts, either to keep watch for anymore incoming waves of demons, or to cover the bodies of the deceased with blankets as they mourned them.

Unfortunately, it seems that the garrison in the camp was beginning to dwindle in number, as Sardothien counted the number of bodies being laid to rest by the soldiers covering their bodies with whatever fabric they could find.

"So what is the plan, Leliana-dono?" Sardothien inquired as he inspected the map with a scrutinizing glare.

Leliana proceeded to face the Elf with a monotone, yet serious expression. "As it stands, there are two paths we can take to reach the Temple; either we charge in straight, or we take a detour by the mountain pass."

"The mountain pass is too risky, Leliana," Cassandra warned with caution, "We lost an entire scouting party up there."

"But at the same time, a direct charge to the Temple will be equally costly on our devastated numbers, Cassandra," Leliana countered, "Neither option is without their consequences."

"What do you think we should do, Sardothien?" Cassandra asked the Elf, whose face was contorted in thoughtfullness, his eyes closed as he ran simulations in his mind to find the best way to the temple.

Sardothien was no grand strategist, but he was very concerned about whether they could make it either way with the few men they had, whether or not they managed to rescue the lost scouting party up the mountain pass.

If they charged in directly, they risked losing too many men just in attempting a charge, because with dwindled numbers composing their small army, their charge would be far too blunted, and risked going in blinded without an accurate report from the scout team.

On the other hand, if more men were to be diverted to creating a diversion to allow a small team of veterans the time they needed to retrieve the lost scouts, then even with the new information, their numbers would be cut down even further, and there would not be enough men to reach the temple at all.

Both were costly options, as both women had stated. There was just the option of judging which was more costly than the other.

Once he was sure he had made the best choice, he opened his eyes to face the two women with an expression that was a mix of uncertainty and solemnity, opening his mouth to state his choice.

"We will charge straight in," The Elf said, "The scouts are a lost cause."

The choice had been made. There was no turning back now. As Leliana and Cassandra moved to relay their orders to the other soldiers, Sardothien turned his gaze to a curved, sleek blade sheathed in a jet-black scabbard laying on a nearby table.

Picking it up, he unsheathed the blade, revealing an ornately engraved blade with alien symbols of a foreign language and an engraved dragon on either side, which were glowing a cerulean blue – the same colour as his irises.

Immediately, he could feel the blade's immense sense of satisfaction as he held it in his hand; testing the blade with a few swings, he realised that it was indeed his favourite blade, one which he could never seperate from in his entire life.

Smiling with genuine satisfaction himself, he sheathed the blade back into it's resting place before strapping it onto his waist with his cloth belt.

To their credit, the soldiers managed to assemble themselves in full combat gear at the edge of the bridge, steely resolve being put to the test against unending tides of demons from the sky.

Without further delay, and after Roderick opted to stay behind at the foward camp, as one, all surviving soldiers made their way to the temple itself, with Cassandra, Leliana and Sardothien spearheading the assault, Varric and Solas just behind them.

IIOII

Predictably, hordes of demons moved to form a rough barricade to block their advance, hurling their magic or brandishing their claws against tempered steel and hardened resolve, but the soldiers were a reinvigorated machine as Cassandra and Sardothien led the charge that broke their shoddy wall.

Sardothien's skills and unnatural agility with his martial arts had become as deadly as any rouge's assassination skills, and combined with Cassandra's tenacity as one who would protect her allies, they showed no mercy to any who dared stand in their way.

Sardothien was ruthless efficiency, merciless to all his enemies, yet never expending more energy than he needed to. Cassandra was iron will and stubborn resilience, stalwart and unwavering as a warrior woman. The soldiers that accompanied them, who were originally near routing and fleeing, were rallied under their commanding presense and fought harder with renewed vigour and zeal.

As they carved a path through the hordes of demons infesting the mountain pass like a plague, they could hear other soldiers fighting desperately in a last stand against yet more demons swarming their position.

Among them was a slightly older, if not handsome man with golden blonde hair wearing better armour than most soldiers and a pelt of brown bear fur on his shoulders, valiantly fighting off demons with a sword and shield like Cassandra did. Above them, yet another rift was spawning more of the abominations every minute, causing the Elf's mark to flare in response to it's presense.

Wordlessly, Sardothien and the others drew their weapons, and charged staight at the demons, catching them in a pincer attack and hopelessly dooming the demons to their deaths.

At first, many demons tried charging the Elven warrior, but as they neared him, the runes on his blade began to glow a crimson red, radiating an intimidating aura that caused many of them to cower in fear, their unnatural wailing carrying their abject fear.

It was only for a few seconds, but those few seconds were more than enough for the Elven warrior to quickly close the distance between them, and cut their heads off cleanly in precise, fluid swings.

As soon as the demons died by his blade, their very bodies disintegrated into dust and – much to everyone's shock and amazement – flowed directly into his blade and melded with it, every trace of the dust disappearing as the sword somehow absorbed it all.

Uncaring about the looks of shock and awe from the others, Sardothien approached the blonde-haired man who looked no worse for the wear, panting heavily as he sheathed his sword after cleaning the black ichor from it.

"I presume you were leading the troops back there?" Sardothien asked the man.

"Yes, I was," He answered back, "My name is Cullen Rutherford, and I assume you are the prisoner?"

"I'd rather you call me Sardothien, but it is nonetheless nice to meet you, Cullen-dono," The Elf greeted, confusing Cullen with how he addressed him.

"Cullen! Praise the Maker you are alright," Cassandra called to him as she approached alongside Leliana.

"Cassandra, we're in a tight spot here," Cullen informed her, "Most of our soldiers are already dead, and the final passageway upwards to the temple is swarming with demons."

"There is still another route where the demons are not so deeply entrenched," Leliana suggested, "The secret tunnel network that we discovered when we began building the temple."

"That could be a good idea," Sardothien agreed, "But we do not know for sure whether there is yet another rift at that route."

"At least it is better than charging out in the open right now," Cassandra countered, waving a hand at the soldiers to indicate their tired state.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

IIOII

All of them were half-right when they said that the tunnel passageway was shorter than charging in the open; there was a lot less space in the old mines to maneuvere in the case of an attack, so moving a large troop of soldiers through such a place was much more difficult than anyone thought.

To further compound their troubles, there was an open rift spewing forth demons that began impeding their progress through the tunnel network to the temple, and it was only with the tactical decisions of Cassandra and Leliana, and their unwavering resolve, that they even managed to make headway to the upper levels of the temple.

When they did, all of their noses were assaulted by the smell of burning flesh. The once intricate stone structure designed by the best architects, was now no more than ruined, craked stone walls that barely reached more than one and a half stories, the pavement scorched and caked in thick layers of soot.

All around them, several corpses lay burnt beyond recognition, their expressions transfixed in absolute fear or surprise.

The strength of the stench was enough to make more than a few of the soldiers reel from it, forcing them to cover their noses as they waded through the destruction wrought on the temple.

What they saw next was more disturbing than burnt bodies, however; in fact, it was something none of the were even expecting to find at all.

Several crystals glowing a baleful red extended from the ground, radiating an aura that set Sardothien and the others on edge. In their minds, they could hear the crystals, calling to them, haunting them with whispers of an old, corrupted song that felt extremely uncomfortable to them.

"Is it just me, Seeker, or am I seeing red lyrium right here?" Varric asked Cassandra with a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"We know about the dangers of the substance very well, Varric," Cassandra replied.

"But what's it doing here?" Varric countered, tightening his grip on his crossbow.

"I believe the one responsible has also planted it here," Sardothien suggested, his fingers tensing as they kept close to his blade's hilt, "But I have never encountered such an evil substance before in my life as a wanderer."

The sheer presense of the red lyrium felt wrong. A sone emnated from the crystals, one Sardothien could feel was very clearly probing his mental defenses, threatening to break apart his sanity bit by bit.

He was immune to such a thing, but he doubted it would be the same for his companions. Urging them onward, they eventually began hearing voices that were not of the red lyrium's song.

Someone help me!

Little by little, the voices were beginning to get louder and louder, and as they descended the ruined stairs, he began to hear a voice that was demonic, inhuman, all of those evil qualities that befit all those of a demon.

We have an intruder...

Soon enough, after they descended to the centre of the explosion, where they first found Sardothien in his unconscious form, the environment around them became warped and twisted, alerting all of them to the change happening around them.

"What is happening?" Cassandra shouted as she drew her weapons.

"The veil is especially weak here, allowing the fade to bleed into this place," Solas explained.

They could soon see the images of two people in the area, one was Divine Justinia V herself, her aged, wrinkled face currently transfixed in abject fear for her life as her arms were restrained in what looked like blackish mist with a tinge of crimson red.

The other being's full body was shrouded in mystery, indicating that the spirits of the fade were far too fearful of it to replicate its appearance, but his red, baleful red eyes were clearly seen by all.

"Somebody, help me!" The image of Justinia cried out.

"What's going on?" A familiar voice called out, the bearer being no one other than...

Sardothien.

His image raced towards both Justinia and the unknown being, both turning their attention to the newcomer who had interrupted whatever was taking place; the Elf did not want to even think what happened that time.

"Run while you can, warn them!" Justinia shouted in concern, urging him to get out of the temple.

"We have an intruder..." The being said in annoyance, uncaring of Sardothien's identity, "Slay the Elf!"

"You were there!" Cassandra stated after the image had faded, "What was that being planning exactly? What happened to Justinia?"

"I don't remember," Sardothien reminded her harshly.

"There," Solas pointed to a large rift at the center of the implosion, "The rift that connects to the breach."

And certainly enough, a rift that was far larger than the others they usually encountered hovered over them in mid-air, though for the moment it did not seem to spew any demons from the fade.

"The rift seems to have been sealed, albeit temporarily," Solas explained as he observed the shifting rift, "Should we seal it completely, it should also close the breach in the sky, but to do so, we must reopen it, then properly close it in the same fashion."

"But that would mean we must face yet more demons to end this madness," Sardothien pointed out.

"Everyone, stand ready!" Cassandra ordered, then stood next to Sardothien with sword and shield at the ready.

Around the rift, archers began readying their bows to pepper any demons coming forth with arrows under Leliana's guidance, whilst the swordsmen and other soldiers took positions around the rift to cover Sardothien's back, should the demons prove more than they could handle.

Taking a deep breath, he extended his marked hand, and let a tendril of green magic extend forth to touch the rift, which temporarily forced him back when the rift reopened, allowing a large demon to stand before them.

It was a hulking mass of purple, two horns protruding from its head as it conjured a whip of pure lightning in it's meaty, clawed hand. It was a pride demon, the strongest of its kind.

"Now!" Cassandra ordered, at which dozens of arrows began peppering the demon, but it only infuriated the demon as he blindly swung his whip in anger, killing three soldiers unlucky enough to be caught by it.

Sardothien was caught by the demon who held it in both hands, an expression of sadistic glee adorning its face as it thought of so many painful ways for the Elf to die slowly, his sword dropping to the ground in the process.

That expression became abject horror when Sardothien began radiating an aura of power, his strength growing by the second as he forced himself free from the demon's grasp; no matter how much strength the demon tried to summon, the Elf wrenched himself free by punching a large, gaping hole in each hand, causing the demon to scream in pain.

Without functional hands to conjure magic, the demon was effecttively helpless as Sardothien jumped high in the air until he was at the same height as the demon's head.

The Elf drew the sword quicker than the eye could follow, and in one fell swoop, cut off the demon's head, letting it and the headless corpse drop harmlessly to the ground.

All who witnessed his display were shocked beyond description, their weapons clattering to the floor as their minds attempted to register the scene played before them.

Just who was this man? How was he so strong he could take on a pride demon all by himself? At first they thought he was one of those armoured magi called 'Arcane Warriors' currently being trained from many of Ferelden's mages, but the armour's strange design had ruled it out.

He also had a strangely designed blade and strange accent that did not fit into Ferelden society at all, classifying him as a foreigner.

"The rift!" Cassandra reminded, "Now!"

Without delaying any further, Sardothien extended his hand towards the rift once more, a familiar feeling of pain coursing throughout Sardothien's body as a green tendril of magical energy extended forth towards the hole.

Unlike the other rifts though, this one required all of Sardothien's willpower just to maintain the spell he was casting right now, straining his physical and mental endurance to the absolute limit.

For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen other than Sardothien becoming more and more tired, until a loud popping sound went off as everyone was blinded by a sudden outburst of emerald green, washing over their eyes as it expanded outward to the wider world.

For those who were watching from afar, it was akin to seeing a large sun flare going off as the ground literally rumbled in it's wake.

Sardothien never knew what happened next, for he had immediately passed out afterward, his world fading into blackness as the light in his eyes began to dim.

His last thoughts were of his newly-accquainted companions, before his mind succumbed to the cold abyss of darkness.

A/N: There will be some things in this fanfic that will not match with what I wrote in chapter two of The Galaxy's Greatest warriors since this is a prequel to said story, so I edited some parts of the chapter to better fit the two together.

Anyway, I will be going to Japan in about two weeks time, but I can try to put up one more chapter before I go on vacation, so do stay tuned for more.

Until then, this is Ebanu8.