Jamie heard the call from the girl with short, green hair, chained at the center of the hall. Her voice was frail and hoarse. Yet, it didn't matter how different she appeared. She was taller, more defined, every muscle tensed beneath her grimy skin, and still, those eyes were unmistakable. They were her eyes, even if the body was not her own.

Moments before any soldier could react, the bard sprang into action. As if the world around him had slowed, Jamie vaulted toward the stone platform. Mid-leap, one of his daggers glinted as it whirled toward the first hooded figure, who only had time to blink in surprise. The dagger struck in the center of his face, splitting flesh and bone. The man collapsed like a ventriloquist's dummy with its strings cut.

"Stop him!" came a desperate shout from another cultist. "We're almost finished!"

"Protect the ritual," Another cultist warned.

However, Jamie's attention had already drifted back to Jessica. On the floor, glyphs drawn in a crimson liquid gleamed under the torchlight. The smell in the air made the truth impossible to ignore. It was blood and not just a little. To paint so many glyphs, it would have required tens or hundreds of victims.

"Attack!" Maria commanded her soldiers to surge forward. Still, Jamie seemed unwilling to leave any of the cloaked figures at their mercy. Each move he made was swifter, deadlier than the last.

Breathing hard, he dashed straight for the second foe. The remaining hooded ones tried to circle the bard, but all they accomplished was to make his work easier. Daggers flew and slashed at frightening speed, cutting the cultists down before they could utter more than a gasp.

"Dorsan an uaigh-mòr!" shouted the lone figure who remained close to the platform. The eerie words rang out, laced with a vile power. From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw dread shadowing Jessica's features. He did not want to learn what would happen if that chant were to run its course.

Before Maria's soldiers could reach him, a tar-like ooze began to seep up from the cracks in the floor, trapping their boots and rooting them in place. Seeing themselves locked in place, several soldiers drew their bows and fired arrows. Some focused on aiding Jamie, while others attempted to target the cultist leader.

Andrik and Serana, however, remained free. Feeling the sticky mass tightening around his ankles, Andrik sliced through it with his blade. Meanwhile, Serana conjured a freezing spell to encase the goo at her feet, then shattered it in a single motion.

Seeing Jamie battling most of the cultists, Andrik and Serana rushed towards the cultist leader. Andrik leveled his sword at the enemy's throat. Serana stood close by, a whirling orb of frost hovering at the tip of her staff, crackling with arcane energy.

"Stop whatever you're doing," Andrik demanded, voice firm. "It'll be better for you if you stand down now. What is this ritual?"

The cultist had both hands raised as if in surrender, yet no fear showed on his face. Instead, he moved calmly, taking hold of his hood's edges to pull it back.

Behind them, Jamie threw a dagger into the last remaining cultist who dared to stand. The steel buried itself into the man with a dull thud; life left him in an instant. Four down in the span of a heartbeat. Only the leader remained.

Jamie looked over his shoulder to see Andrik and Serana keeping their weapons pointed on the hooded figure. Yet shock had spread across both their faces.

"Lower your sword, will you?" the cultist leader said, turning his gaze toward Andrik. "You ought to be aiming at him instead."

Even among the swirling blood, the roiling shadows, and the scent of raw magic, Jamie recognized the man's likeness to Lord Varric. The short, raven-black hair, the faint angles of his jaw, there was no mistaking it.

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"Theren!" Serana burst out, disbelief sharpening her words. "What in the Nine Hells are you doing here?"

"What am I doing?" Theren responded innocently, turning his attention back to Yessika. "Did Father not send you both to protect me? I'm almost finished with our project."

"Project?" Andrik repeated, incredulous. He glared at his younger brother. "How in blazes do you call this… a project?"

Theren's eyes glinted with deranged excitement, and he let out a laugh that echoed off the chamber's walls. "I'm creating the strongest weapon this world has ever seen!" he announced, voice quivering with maniacal fervor. "FrostHell is in danger. Our enemies are breaching our walls, horrors in the night. We live not knowing which day will be our last!"

He looked between them, a dark smile pulling at his blood-smeared lips. Jamie's gut twisted, certain that no good could come from this so-called "project." Yet Theren showed no hesitation, no remorse. The only emotion was a raw, relentless determination of someone who believed himself chosen by fate.

Theren turned to the others. "Two years ago, I discovered this part of the mine. I told our father. I'd been guided by the gods. I heard their voices calling me here."

"Here?" Andrik asked, uncertainty edging his voice. "What do you mean 'here'?"

A twisted smile spread across Theren's face. "This place contains the greatest weapon ever known. The remains of a god," he whispered conspiratorially, as if only they were meant to hear. "A dead deity, sealed behind divine barriers."

Serana's grip on her staff tightened, alarm bright in her eyes. "Theren. Theren, does Father know you're attempting to summon?"

"Of course not," Theren replied, an almost childlike lilt to his voice. "It's my surprise. Our surprise. The gods and I will reveal it to him. All this," he gestured to the half-obliterated glyphs and the slick sheen of blood on the stones, "has cost me quite a lot. I only needed a few souls. Well… many souls. One hundred and sixty-eight, to be exact. And with each sacrifice, the barrier grows weaker."

Andrik's face paled, a mixture of horror and pity twisting his features. "You're insane, Theren. If- if Father learned what you're doing… He's a paladin," he said, voice wavering. "He upholds every—"

"He only cares about defending the city," Theren cut in icily, a sneer visible even in the half-light of the torches. "What are a few lives for true victory, brother?" His unsettling laugh echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "And now, I only need one more life. Hers." He pointed toward Yessika, still chained and trembling in the shadows. "She carries noble blood… and enough magic in her veins to tip this ritual. Especially divine magic."

"That's all very impressive, but forget it, cousin," Jamie remarked, voice laced with cold resolve.

"Cousin?" Theren echoed, arching an eyebrow. "Who would have thought her little brother would come strolling in to greet me?" Despite the looming threat, the cult leader showed no sign of fear. At least, not until Jamie raised his dagger at Theren's throat.

"We outnumber you," Jamie continued, cutting straight to the point. "Andrik, Serana. I've got no quarrel with you. If you help me drag him back to FrostHell, I'll see to it he's punished by the Lord instead of dying here. I don't have to remind you that summoning a dead god, especially one requiring so many sacrifices, goes against every oath sworn to protect the North."

Andrik stood paralyzed, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might crack his teeth. Serana, however, seemed more collected, likely recognizing the dangers of the unholy ritual.

At last, Andrik exhaled, loosening his grip. Slowly, he lowered his sword. "Theren… surrender."

"You can't fathom what you're doing," Serana interjected. "Our father could face trial from the Emperor himself if word of this gets out."

"No. No, they don't understand," Theren muttered, almost as though speaking to invisible onlookers. His eyes darted feverishly. "I tried to explain. It's them who refuse to listen."

Maintaining his measured composure, Andrik stepped forward, blade lowered but still ready. "Theren, I'm going to put you in ch—"

"NO! THEY WON'T LISTEN!" Theren roared.

In a flash, he wrenched free from his brother's hold. A wicked gleam of steel flickered in the torchlight. But way too fast for Andrik to react. The blade plunged into Andrik's stomach, slicing through flesh until the tip appeared on his back.

A strangled cry tore from Andrik's lips as crimson drops of blood spattered onto the stone floor. The blood trickled down the engraved symbols, making the sigils shimmer.

"Tòisichidh sinn!"

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