Chapter Text
Even after a year on the surface, Sereda avoids watching the night sky. Its vast blackness seems like the ceiling of an ancient thaig, until the pinpoints of distant light remind her how empty it really is. But Alistair loves stargazing, so she tonight snuggles against him, trusting his strength to keep her from flying away into space. She opens her eyes and looks up, just in time to see a bright streak against the blackness. "What was that?" she asks, tensing.
"A falling star," Alistair smooths her hair. "We make wishes on them. The cook at Redcliffe said those were the souls of dying stars, falling back to earth. A pretty thought, yes. A star's final act, blazing brightly before it burns out forever."
Sereda thinks of Riordan's last words to them, and shivers. She knows what her wish will be.