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Aayilah’s arms trembled as she pushed against the cold, blood-stained ground in order to rise to her feet. For a split second, she stood at full height, before her knees buckled and betrayed her. She sank back to the floor, barely catching herself with her knee. She coughed, an excessive amount of blood spilling onto the floor.
Ever since leaving the Circle, Aayilah had became intimately familiar with the suffocating metallic smell of blood. And even still, there was enough blood everywhere that it made her stomach curl in disgust. She could practically taste the bile at the edge of her throat.
All around her were fallen soldiers. Some of them laid perfectly still, eyes opened, but hollow. Some shook on the ground, hopelessly clinging onto their lives. All of them deserved better; their families deserved better. Aayilah felt her shoulders slump. I’m sorry to everyone I couldn’t save.
A bone-chilling roar reverberated throughout the battlefield. Aayilah’s eyes snapped to it. There the Old God Urthemiel stood, single handedly dismantling hordes of valiant soldiers. The soldiers attempted their hardest to poke and prod at the ancient dragon, but their reward was being thrown aside like paperweights. With one swing from the God’s wing, a battalion of soldiers flew off Fort Drakon. With one blast of fire from the God's mouth, archers burst into flames, crumbling into ash. Their screams haunted Aayilah’s ears.
The Old God roared to the heavens trumphiently. Despite its victorious stance, Urthemiel was clearly hurting. Gaping holes lined what was remaining of it’s shredded wings. The dragon’s footsteps no longer shook the ground; each step was sluggish as if at any moment its legs would give out. A few more solid blows would be enough to send the dragon toppling to the floor. If only anyone else remained standing.
To Aayilah’s right, Leliana sat slumped against the wall. She was conscious, if only barely, but clearly unable to fight. Her bow laid next to her, snapped in half. Despite all the blood staining her clothes, Leliana appeared mostly unharmed. During the fight, Aayilah had kept a steady supply of Heal magic directed towards her, sacrificing much-needed Heals on herself. As long as Leliana survived, it was worth it.
Aayilah tried to cast Heal on herself. Nothing happened. Usually her magic was always present, a part of her like an extra body part. Now though, her magic was severed from her, as if she were made tranquil. Aayilah tried once more, screaming at her magic to work with her. It backfired as a wave of exhaustion spread throughout her entire body, paralyzing it. I guess I’m completely drained , Aayilah morbidly chuckled to herself.
The Archdemon marched forward. The last of Fereldan’s forces were about to fall. Loghain alone found the strength to pick himself up. He moved to meet the Archdemon’s path, glaring the monster down. There was a fearless fire raging within Loghain’s eyes. He still believes we can win , Aayilah realized, laughing to herself at the absurdity of that. But of all people, she figured it would be Loghain. Loghain was a war hero, the general who led Fereldan’s forces against Orlais. 10 to 1 odds of victory and Loghain found a way. He was proof that the impossible was worth believing in.
As the Old God approached him, Loghain readied his sword and shield and charged forth. He weaved in and out around the God’s legs, using its size to his advantage. He struck deep gashes into each of the dragon’s legs. The dragon screamed in rage, flailing his legs and tail in an attempt to remove the fly pestering it. Loghain dodged his fair share of blows, but the sporadic nature of them meant one was eventually going to hit. The one that did sent Loghain flying across the Fort. He landed on his back, bones crunching. Loghain lifted his head up for a moment and Aayilah thought he was actually going to get back up. She prayed that he would. But Loghain’s head dropped and his hands let go of his sword and shield. They emptily clanked against the floor.
With Loghain out of the way, the Archdemon continued on its path of destruction. In front of the Archdemon was a wounded soldier who was desperately trying to crawl away from the Archdemon’s feet. He wouldn’t be nearly fast enough. Any second now, the Archdemon would snuff out the soldier’s life, and it would have been just another happy accident to the God.
Seeing the soldier attempt so hard to survive and inevitably fail sparked something within Aayilah. She growled, balling her hand into a fist and slamming it against the stone floor. What am I doing!? I can’t just give up now! The entire country of Ferelden and her people’s hopes lay on her shoulders. They anointed her the hero who would lead Ferelden against the Blight. She didn’t ask for it, Maker knows she never wanted it, she might not have even deserve it, but it was still her responsibility. As long as she breathed, Aayilah would fight for the future of Ferelden.
Aayilah rose to her feet. She screamed to the heavens as she called out to the deepest pits of her mana reserves. This time, it called back. She cast her Combat Magic and layered it with Shimmering Shield . She grabbed her dual swords, clutching them as tightly as possible. Like Loghain before her, Aayilah charged towards Urthemiel.
By the time Urthemiel noticed her, Aayilah was already under the belly of the beast. Like a force of nature, swift as a whirlwind, Aayilah slashed at the dragon’s limb, black ooze dripping out of every wound she inflicted. Any blow Urthemiel managed to land, Aayilah brushed off, holding so firm to the ground that the stone beneath her feet cracked.
With a heave, Aayilah sank Spellweaver deep into the dragon’s front leg. The sword pierced through the Blighted skin, pinning Urthemiel into place. It screamed in agonizing sorrow as it lowered its head. Seizing the opportunity, Aayilah climbed up the dragon’s head and anchored herself to it with Shimmering Shield . She reversed her grip on Starfang, clutching it tightly with both her hands. Over and over again, Aayilah pushed the blade deep into Urthemiel’s head. The sound of the blade tearing apart Urthemiel’s skin drove her, each blow revenge for a life that the demon stole. She could feel as Urthemiel’s attempts to shake her off it’s head weaken, until it finally relented, accepting its fate. With the dragon mute, Aayilah launched herself off the head. Violently, she tore Spellweaver out of the dragon’s leg. Urthemiel cried out, lifting its head up in pain. She spun, raising her swords to her chest. As she turned around, with all her power she had remaining, Aayilah sliced apart Urthemiel’s neck. Blood gushed from the wound, overflowing everywhere onto the battlefield. Aayilah’s swords were raised at her sides, basking in their victory.
Urthemiel gave a whimpering roar. As the last of its blood exited its throat, its entire body gave out, toppling over. The fall of the God’s body sent shockwaves through Fort Drakon. Being at the head of the blast, Aayilah was thrown meters away from the fallen God. The last dregs of mana in her body faded away. Her Combat Magic and Shimmering Shield wore off. Pain hastily dug to every corner of her body moving through it like electric jolts. Every part of her felt like a thousand knives were cutting into her.
But Aayilah knew the job wasn’t done yet. She could feel Urthemiel. It was dying, but the soul refused to move on. It desperately clung to the last shreds of the broken battered body of the dragon-god. It was even attempting to crawl on its limbs, seemingly trying its hardest to run from her. Its claws pathetically scraped against the floor.
Somehow, Aayilah found the strength to stand and endure the pain. Her eyes searched for her swords, but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, she settled on a steel greatsword throttled into a nearby darkspawn. It’ll make due.
Limping, Aayilah stumbled over to the blade. Her body felt like it was made of glass. With a groan, she managed to bring the greatsword to her hands. She narrowed her eyes at Urthemiel.
“Please… Mercy…. Mercy,” a distorted grueling voice echoed in her mind. Aayilah froze in place.
I shouldn’t be able to hear you , Aayilah thought, speaking to the Archdemon.
“Spare me…” it begged. “Spare me…”
Did she have the right to kill a creature begging for its life? No , part of her whispered. It was her most important principle: to kill only in self-defense. But if she didn’t, the Blight would continue and thousands would suffer. The death of the Archdemon was the only way to end the Blight.
Another more hopeful thought popped into Aayilah’s mind. By killing Urthemiel, the Old God would be reborn, wouldn’t he? Reborn as a babe, free of the Blight and Corruption currently coursing through its veins. No, not killing , Aayilah realized. Freeing.
Gathering all the strength she had left, Aayilah sprinted towards the fallen dragon. She ran the greatsword through what was remaining of Urthemiel’s throat. It didn’t even scream, only meekly stopped crawling.
Aayilah stood over the head of the Archdemon. She allowed herself a respite as she looked around Fort Drakon. Everything around her was unsettlingly quiet. It was as if the entire world was giving a moment of silence for all the fallen Fereldans. A moment of silence honoring their sacrifice. The Fifth Blight would end here.
Gripping the greatsword like she did with Starfang, Aayilah plunged it into the head of the dragon. The sword ripped through its skin, and then its bone and finally exited its head on the other end. She twisted the sword around the wound, ensuring the blow would slay the dragon. Only then did the dragon-god finally succumb to the Blight of death. An overwhelming white light radiated off the dragon, launching into the blood-soaked sky above. The light expanded, growing to consume the dragon-god’s body and Aayilah along with it.
According to Morrigan, Urthemiel’s soul should have transferred to the unborn child resting in Morrigan. But for a brief moment, a minute at most, the God’s soul settled in Aayilah’s bosom, using her as a conduit to find the child.
In that moment, stretching out to an eternity, Aayilah became a god. Not a false one like the Archdemons, but a true Old God. The Blight that once masked the brilliance and power of Urthemiel’s soul was gone.
Aayilah could feel the intoxicating power call to her. With one twitch of her finger, she could destroy Denerim. With one wrong step, she could move the entire continent of Thedas. With one wave of her hand, she could bring back all the soldiers who had laid down their lives for Ferelden. But to do so meant splitting the Veil and in the process, destroying the world. Being a god meant every action had severe consequences.
So instead Aayilah choose to do nothing. She simply relaxed and rested. She closed her eyes, letting Urthemiel’s soul run through her, caressing and soothing her aching bones. Once the soul left Aayilah, a familiar exhaustion washed over her. Every other time, Aayilah refused to answer its call. There was always something more she had to do, another battle or more people to save. A Warden’s duty was never truly finished. But this one time, Aayilah could lay back and let the Fade come to her.