the words we speak in the silence between

The forest pressed quiet and close, branches and boughs enshrouding the meandering paths. Beneath the trees a perpetual twilight spread dark-tendrilled fingers into an oppressive gloaming blanket, where even the sounds of Katriel's movements were muffled. It was the sort of ancient, sacred space that birthed its own dreams and nightmares, stories whispered in the wake of its mere existence. It was almost a familiar feeling - though the forest itself would have been young the last time Katriel had stepped into it.

She could not allow herself to be distracted by nostalgia, though. A missing child had spurred her venture into the fearsome wood, gone for hours by her parents' reckoning. With the Blight yet underway and demons prowling ever more frequently, nowhere was truly safe; even if her duty had not required it of her, Katriel would have volunteered for the sake of her own moral compass. Yet now, as she waded through the mud and the brambles, she sighed as her search turned up little of note. Millenia old, centuries of power at her fingertips, and she was reduced to this. A Warden in a tattered cloak, with wet socks and leaves in her hair. How glamorous, how powerful, how noble she must have seemed.

Just as she paused to cast a small search-and-find spell to help guide her way, the sound of a cracking twig echoed throughout the gloom. Her pointed ears twitched, and her yellow eyes cut through the shadows in search of her quarry. "Da'len? Garas tor, ra'eth. Ar ju'sul'ema vhenas." She cast her voice softly, so that even if the meaning was lost, her intention would be clear. The search-and-find spell flickered in her palm, confirming that the child lurked somewhere nearby - but for the moment, all that answered her was silence.

Solas had set out to stretch his legs, unbeknownst that there was a child missing. He missed his wolf form, and though he was a wanted man, the forests of Arlathan were familiar and safe. He could wander through them and nothing but rumors of the Dread Wolf would circulate the great Elven city.

He heard someone call out, and his ears pinned to his head, six orange eyes peering through the shadows of the undergrowth that he'd been wandering through. The voice spoke the ancient tongue, and he scented the air.

The first thing he smelled was the ancient creature before him. The second? Fear. His ears swiveled, and he lowered himself to the ground.

He would wait for this woman to pass.

Silence continued to ring in the wake of her summons, her words either ignored or unheeded. Katriel's nostrils flared with a brief huff of annoyance - though truly, she would not fault a child for refusing to come to an armored woman who looked like...well. Katriel was painfully aware of the physical alterations conferred to her in her creation. She'd even been accused of being a demon before, and although the ignorance behind such a claim was laughable, she knew that her appearance did not lend itself to the contrary. She was beautiful - or so ancient Elvhen had exclaimed - but on the heels of such a descriptor always came another.

Deadly.

And in this moment, it was a hindrance to her more than anything else.

She stepped towards the sound of the cracking twig, the soft yellow light of her magic illuminating her cupped talons. In that moment, the finder's spell gave an unnaturally strong pulse, and Katriel's eyes narrowed in response. The spell, with origins in blood magic, was a rather broad sort of aid - it pulled her towards the strongest life force in the area. In the midst of a forest, this would certainly have been a lost child. But this...this was something different.

Something...large.

The ancient elf doused her spell and rested her hand on her sword's pommel instead. The situation had grown rather complicated. Though it would have been easy enough to set the forest aflame to smoke out whatever lurked in the shadows, the possible presence of the lost child - and the likely rebuke she'd recieve from the locals, to say nothing of her fellow Wardens - forestalled that simpler plan. Still, she was a beast of battle first and foremost, and the prickle of awareness at the corner of her mind sharpened her tone as she hissed into the dark, "Garas tor."

Solas eyed the spell, huffing quietly as it alerted the stranger to his presence. She spoke Elvhen, but he did not know her. Though he could guess what she was, given the stench of dragon so heavily imbued into her scent. Another huff, loud enough for the woman to hear.

He did not want to shift back, not at the moment. He'd been enjoying his time in the wilderness. It was like he was chasing a memory, Mythal running through the woods, hiding, whilst he hunted her. They'd been young and had enjoyed such things, then.

The wolf flicked its ears, and carefully stepped into view. Seated itself, studying the woman. If she pulled her sword, he'd react. But for now, he watched. Ears swivelled towards the quiet, but nearby, whimper of a child.

Fear was that way. Right behind him and to the left. He did not shift because he did not want too; but he had also promised Vela that he would lay low. Rumors of the Dread Wolf could circulate, as long as nobody ever viewed his body — they could not be allowed to put a face to the wolf.

A breath stirred the still forest air, a great wash of sound that instantly put iron into the aberration's spine. The following shifting of shadows, of a ghostly mass moving in the murk, had her shifting her weight into a battle stance. It was familiar, this feeling, the heart-pounding rhythm of imminent battle, of a threat unknown and unspoken. A part of her had missed it. A part of her loathed it. Though she already rested her right hand on her sword, she called more magic into her left; her blood sang in her veins as her adrenaline spiked, her yellow eyes flashing dangerously as she peered through the dark.

And then Katriel froze, stunned and wide-eyed, as a huge, six-eyed spirit creature stepped into the light.

Fen'Harel. The thought whispered into her mind like an echo of the past, and she once again stood in the shadows of a great ballroom, watching as ancient nobles and Evanuris alike drifted across the floor to ethereal music that emanated from the air itself. It was a common scene, and a regular occurrence. In the beginning, when she'd been new-made, Ghilan'nain had brought her to many such galas - a shiny toy, a fancy accessory to display - only to abandon her to the shadows when something else drew her attention away. And all too often at these events, a wolf had stood at Mythal's side - and when asked to dance, he'd shifted into the shape of a man. Ignored and discarded, Katriel heard the whispers that named him the All-Mother's Chosen - and later, much later, when she'd escaped from the labs, when Ghilan'nain had forgotten her existence entirely, she had heard the whispers naming him the Evanuris' bane. She'd known him - known of him - in both guises, both loyal dog and dread rebel.

But she had not expected to see him here.

Immediately her thoughts were sent into a spiral. Confusion reigned, questions sparked and died like embers in a dying fire. If He was here...Her nostrils flared, but she managed a tiny bow after a moment of silence, never taking her eyes away from the wolf before her. "Andaran atish’an, Fen'Harel." She slowly drew her hands away from her sword, knowing that such would be useless against one of the Evanuris - but she did not banish the magic that cloaked her other hand, ready to be shaped into a weapon in itself. She was cautious, wary, but not foolish. He had not attacked her, and so she would grant him the benefit of the doubt...but that did not mean she would trust him.

At a loss, however, she said the only other thing that popped into her mind. "Ma tel'ema unvena ena'lin, ema?"

The wolf huffed, and padded back the way he had come. Slow, patient, waiting on the stranger to follow him. Dragon-scented as she was, she was seeking a child and he could not fault her. No-one deserved to lose their child, in any sense of the word. He could relate to that.

He sat in front of the bush that the child had hidden itself in, tail wagging slowly.

It was foolish, perhaps, to ask a boon of the wolf. Even this simple question - for the humans' sake, not hers - placed the ball too firmly in his court. But Kat was frozen to do aught else, shocked into stillness by the unequivocally tangible proof of the Evanuris' existence in this mortal age.

In answer to her question, the dark creature moved, liquid ink against the dark backdrop of woodland shadows. Draconic eyes glided over the wolf's form, hesitating - before her body lurched forward, drawn after him reluctantly, like a puppet on a frayed string. Her mind whirled with questions and possibilities, but she bit her tongue to keep it still. She'd get her answers one way or another, but she was lulled into incredulity anew by the sight of Fen'Harel's black, wagging tail.

Wonderful. Her eyes narrowed on the bush behind him, and with suddenly swift, expedient steps, Kat sidestepped the false god to reach directly into the brambles. A shrill squeak, a choked off cry, and Katriel gently - or as gently as she could - dragged the missing child out into the light. Tears dripped down the young human's face, wide eyes bleeding terror. She looked first from Katriel and then, fearfully, to the giant wolf beside her. She desperately tried to tug away in vain, ignoring Katriel's soothing murmurs - and then, with a full-body shudder, the child suddenly went limp. Her eyes rolled back into her head in a dead faint. Katriel moved swiftly, left to lower the unconscious child tenderly to the ground, all while keeping one eye still on the Dread Wolf.

Perhaps this was for the best. She was not altogether equipped to deal with children, and was relieved that she was absolved of the burden. Especially as now that she was distracted by other matters. "Ma serranas. Ash lethal ju ea," she offered slowly, feeling her way into the conversation. She turned to face the giant wolf directly. It was not fear that she felt, not truly...but rather something like adrenaline. It gripped her heart and refused to let go. "Dirtha i em? Ar ema sil."

The wolf peered at the strange woman, giving no indicating if he heard her request to speak with him. After a long moment of staring at her, he shifted. Long hair tucked behind his ears, the first thing he did in his elven form was circle the aberration.

Va may kaweh. If he was concerned about this woman telling others about him, it did not show in the way he walked around her, eventually stopping in front of her once more. The child was passed out, and he vaguely wondered if from fear or if the draconic woman had done something to it. It was not his concern, though.

Serpentine eyes watched as the wolf became a man, cataloging the features of his new form with clinical interest. When he spoke, however, Katriel's eyes narrowed, catching the specificity of his words. 'You may speak', as a reply, was...telling. No guarantee of response, no indication of interest or agreement of reciprocity. She wasn't sure why she was surprised, but as the start of a conversation, this was not perhaps the best of beginnings.

Katriel's experiences with the other Evanuris had been...distant, by design. Ghilan'nain had lauded Katriel as the first of her works, a triumph of engineering, a prize worth envy - but she had never been an equal. She had never been introduced to them as such. Held aloft, and then cast aside, Katriel wondered if the Dread Wolf's apparent disinterest was because he remembered her...or because he didn't.

Annoyance flickered through her mind, but she was careful to mask it in her expression, and she wiped it clean from her voice entirely. She kept him in her peripheral vision as he prowled around her, still trying to sort through years of emotion and memory as she formed the questions that burned in the back of her mind.

She spoke still in flowing Elvhen, her tongue much more eloquent than when trusted to alternatives. "I was alone when first I woke. What little I know of the time spent between, I was forced to garner from somewhat....biased sources." She frowned, recalling the ridiculous tales that she had been fed from various encounters with the Dalish, either at large or within the ranks of the Wardens. She forced the shard of herself that railed at the innacurracies inherent in the information into silence, shifting her priorities.

"I apologize for the presumption, but...I had thought you dead. To the world at large, you had been banished to the beyond twice over. If you are here, sir Solas, should I expect that the other Evanuris have also emerged from uthenera?" She stilled, bracing herself for his answer...or for his wrath.

The Dalish, I presume? A knowing smile curled his lips, and he chuckled softly. Their ideas of... the Evanuris are quite wrong, but it's fascinating how wrong they managed to get in just a handful of centuries. Without immortality, no-one who remembered the truth survived unless they went into uthenera.

She apologizes, and he shook his head, Ahhh, merely asleep. I did not seal myself away, too many important matters to take care of with the Evanuris behind the Veil. He explained, easily. It's the truth. Though he doesn't dive into what was so important that he sequestered himself in a different plane than his brethren.

Yes. The Veil has been removed, save for small pockets of the Fade here and there. They've returned in... pieces, might be the best way to say it. The Veil had shattered their entities, destroying their bodies and eventually weathering their souls into shards.

He doesn't correct the aberration on her usage of 'sir' for him, though it does make the corner on his lip twitch. He's never been fond of titles, not in this day and age. But he won't fault her. She was from the same time as him; it was likely ingrained.

She nodded, confirming his guess - before she snorted with derision. "They tell happy bedtime stories built on lies, and tout it as history." She'd been...disgusted, when she'd first heard some of the tales. Their lives, so many years of suffering and blood, so much pain, reduced to...nothing. Their oppressors hailed as benevolent gods and saviors. She could hardly fault the people for wanting to put such painful past behind them, but she could not suffer the idea of such information being lauded as fact.

When the wolf admitted he had merely been sleeping, she nodded again, easily accepting his answer. It would explain a good deal of what she had already suspected, given the events of the last several years. Much more alarming, however, was the news of the other Evanurs' return. Katriel clenched her teeth and her fists, a certain darkness writhing behind her eyes. She had almost given up on the prospect of revenge, had thought Ghilan'ain sealed beyond her reach...but if that were not the case, if there was a chance that she could return...

"Do you have any thoughts as to where those pieces might be found? Is there any possibility that they might...unite, to become whole again?" She pressed the wolf for an answer, her pupils constricted to blade-like slivers of shadow in a sea of gold.

Oh, yes. Definitely possible. I've tracked... the two halves of Mythal, already. But some of them are in more pieces. He explained, idly. The draconic in front of him was worried; he could see it in her eyes.

You worry about the Mad Scientist, Ghilan'ain? He inquired, thoughtful in how he phrased it. She was no-one's mistress in these days; though she would hardly view it to be true.

Good to worry. She was one of the worst. I don't know where she resides, yet. But if I find them, I can contact you? He raised his gaze from the dragon to study their surroundings. He'd hate to see this world razed by the Scientist and her madness. I have no use for her pieces.

She waited for the wolf's answer, holding herself with the dangerous sort of stillness that came with bracing oneself for tragedy. He confirmed her fears in one fell swoop, touting Mythal as an example. Fear and fire fought for supremacy within her heart - and her nod, when he asked if she worried over Ghilan'nain, was a brittle, fresh-forged thing.

To her surprise, he offered to contact her if he found any of the Mistress's pieces. Katriel paused. Pieces of Ghilan'nain? Did she want them? The answer came swiftly. Yes. If only to be sure, to be certain, that they could never become whole ever again. She needed to know that Ghilan'nain was gone for good. The Mad Scientist had done too much harm, and was beyond any hope of redemption. Now that she knew it was a possibility, she would never feel comfortable chancing her Creator's resurrection.

And she would not deny that she relished the thought of personally damning Ghilan'nain to the Void for all eternity. Her revenge was more than 5000 years in the making, and she would not overlook the possibility now.

"Yes. I would destroy them, if I can - or cast them into the depths of the sea, if aught else." Her expression hardened into one of grim resolve. "How would I find one? Are you able to sense them, or do they take a particular form?"

The man studied the dragon, dark eyes wandering over her features. They might be possessing others, like yourself. Or in objects, swords, goblets, amulets... The list was endless. He studied the woman closer, his nose twitching.

I do not think that you will be able to destroy her. You smell like her. He stated, You can sense them, especially if you have a piece of her... You'll feel inexplicably pulled towards objects, people, places.

He circled the woman slowly, trying to distinguish if she was possessed or if he simply smelled the Mad Scientist because she had created this one.

'They might be possessing others, like yourself.'

Her brain stalled. Steam began to roll off her in sparse tendrils, her control failing as her mind tried to wrap around the ramifications of the Wolf's words. Surely he could not mean that there was a shard within her? But with each breath, he hammered home that possibility, each word brushing against that mote of truth. The breath left her lungs as her mind searched back, looking for an explanation, grasping for any proof to the contrary. Panic, wrath, confusion, loss. Her thoughts alit upon each one, a spiral of feeling that grew with each rotation.

Surely he could not mean that there was a piece of Ghilan'nain inside of her?

Had she ever only been herself? Or had there always been a piece of her Creator in her, tainting her thoughts and warping her interactions?

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "No. You must be mistaken." A desperate denial, a plea. Please let that not be true.