Chapter Text
Utter chaos followed the explosion that tore the Temple of Sacred Ashes—and the Conclave within it—to pieces. Rifts in the air spewed demons like bile. There were few survivors, and no matter where Cassandra searched she could not find Divine Justinia.
Then another tear opened, and she and Leliana’s scouts tensed. Out came Divine Justinia, bloodied and battered but alive. She was being supported by a figure nearly a full head shorter than her, who was swathed in loose gray robes and hidden behind a grim silver mask.
“Here you are,” said the unknown figure in a baritone voice. He let go of Justinia as Cassandra ran to them, turning back to the rift. “I’ll be right back.”
“Do not!” said Justinia, and grabbed the edge of the large, white-and-gold shield on his back. “Cassandra, stop him! His curiosity will be his death!”
Cassandra had no idea what that meant, but she did as she was told. She noted the gray staff on his back and assumed that meant he was a mage. Then she was busy seizing him around the waist and literally hauling him back. He was… much slighter than she would have assumed.
“No! This is a valuable research opportunity! Put me down! Who do you think you are, my sister?!”
As he reached out toward the rift like an upset child, the strange green mark on his hand flared. He abruptly stopped fighting her. She stopped moving as well, watching in disbelief as the tear in the Veil… closed.
“Oooh,” said the mage, looking between his hand and where the rift had been. “That is new.”
Justinia sagged into two of the scouts, heaving for breath. She looked almost wholly spent. “Thank the Maker,” she said. “C-Cassandra… be gracious to him. He saved… my life.”
Cassandra dropped the mage to rush over to Justinia. “Most Holy! Are you alright?”
“No. But I will be.”
The mage was sufficiently distracted from his hand to come over. “Here, let me help with that,” he said. Glowing golden light poured from his hands into Justinia. She sighed in relief, wounds visibly healing, and lapsed into unconsciousness.
The contradiction made Cassandra slightly confused about whether to remove the mage’s head from his shoulders or shake his hand. Given Justinia’s command to be gracious, she restrained herself from the former. “What did you do?” she barked.
Graciously.
He dusted off his hands. “Restoration magic, of course. Unless you don’t have that here, in which case I simply healed her.”
Cassandra paused. “Here?” she echoed, confused.
“This plane. Because it sure as Oblivion isn’t Apocrypha or Aetherius. I would know. So it has to be somewhere new.” He looked at his hand again, half-distracted as he answered, then up at the massive tear in the sky they had begun calling ‘the Breach.’ He set his hands on his hips as he stared at it. “Well would you look at that. Must be the same kind of phenomenon.”
“You know what this is? You know who caused it?” She restrained herself from asking if he had caused it.
“Well, no, actually. I’d imagine she doesn’t either. We had some memory tampering go on while we were in that… whatever that was.” He gestured to where the rift had been, still looking up. “I wonder if that tear would put me back there… I need to have some words with the entity that thought it could get away with altering my mind. Words and fireballs. Mostly fireballs.”
The man was absolutely mad. He had also saved Justinia, was able to perform highly controlled magic without a focus, and had a mysterious mark on his hand that could close rifts. This all put Cassandra into something of a predicament.
“We need to move somewhere safer and make a plan,” she decided, gripping the hilt of her sword hard. “Follow me to Haven. Please.”
“Ehh… alright. But first let me check something.” The grim mask looked at her. Nothing seemed to happen, but the man began to laugh like a loon. “Oh-ho-ho! Your godhead hasn’t removed levitation from possibility! Excellent!”
“...what?”
“I’ll be right back.” Then he promptly ascended straight up into the air, much to the shock of Cassandra and everyone watching. “I love it here! I don’t even have to exploit a loophole to do this!”
Cassandra swore colorfully, but there was nothing to be done. The insane mage went all the way up to the Breach and hovered near it, hands on his hips like a displeased inspector. He held up the marked hand at length, and something sparked green. Then he plummeted back down, which made several of the scouts yell, and arrested his fall when he was at eye level with Cassandra.
“I’ll go with you now,” he said. “That thing is going to take a lot of energy to sew up, it’s real nasty.”
It seemed wise not to question that, so Cassandra just started walking. The scouts had fashioned a stretcher for the Most Holy, and they hurried her on ahead. The mage floated along, amusing himself by spinning and tumbling as if he was playing in an Orlesian fishpond.
“What is your name?” Cassandra asked to keep from losing her patience with the childishness.
“My name is Glorious.”
She nearly stopped walking. “What? Glorious?”
The mage quit tumbling and floated along beside her. “Oh, the translation spell is being literal. Hold on.” Nothing happened. Then he said, “There we go. Sorry, my name is Morokei.”
Cassandra had to watch her step as she interrogated the madman. She almost envied his flight. “Your name means Glorious? And… translation spell? I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Like I said, I’m not from around here.” He flipped over and regarded Cassandra upside-down. She caught a glimpse of stray brown hairs and had the distinct impression he was grinning under the mask. “You’re not speaking my tongue, and I’m not speaking yours. Not without magic.”
Cassandra eyed him distrustfully. “And where is ‘not here,’ exactly?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the Aurbis? Or the Mundus? Or Tamriel?”
“No…” she said slowly, wondering why two of those names had merited a ‘the’ before them.
“Didn’t think so. Let’s just say I’m from very very very very extremely far away, then.”
Her distrust deepened. “Are you some manner of demon?”
The mage hummed, flipping over and adopting a posture like he was sitting on a ledge with one leg crossed. “Demon? The word is translating strangely, but no. I’m human. A Breton, to be precise, which does means I have elf blood. Live a little longer than others, do a bit more magic, resist a bit more magic. But still, human.”
“I… see.”
“No you don’t,” Morokei said cheerfully. “You think I’m crazy. That’s fine, I don’t need you to believe me. It’s hardly the first time.”
Cassandra felt a glimmer of curiosity. He was almost certainly mad, but also almost certainly from a distant land. “You are strange even among your own people?”
Morokei burst out laughing. “You have no idea!”
As they reached the first stockade, he dropped down and began walking—sort of. Cassandra noted he wasn’t leaving any footprints, which actually meant he was pretending to walk and floating slightly above the ground. She almost made the mistake of asking why, but quickly realized she didn’t have the patience for whatever he would answer.
“Cassandra!” Leliana called, rushing to her. “Most Holy!”
“She is alright,” said Cassandra, clasping her friend’s shoulder. “This mage, Morokei, saved her from the Fade.”
“Is that what you call it?” he mused. “Fade. Hmm. Interesting.”
Leliana looked at him as Justinia was rushed on with a much larger group of soldiers around her. “Morokei? Were you at the Conclave, then? I do not recognize your name.”
“Nope. Well, not intentionally. I think I was accidentally put there. Or purposefully. You never know with the asshole I was contending with right before I got here.” He glanced around. “This seems a bit out of his capabilities, I will admit.”
“What?”
“The man is quite mad,” Cassandra said flatly. “He came from ‘very far away.’”
“You left off about three verys,” Morokei helpfully clarified. “Anyway, if we could continue? I need to find some mages to consult about that thing up there. Assuming you have any on hand.”
Cassandra and Leliana exchanged a glance. “The apostate elf…” Leliana said slowly. “He claims to be an expert on the Fade. He is in Haven.”
“An apostate? Sounds exciting! Let us keep on, then.”
Cassandra grimaced as the mage continued forward, a spring in his step. Leliana eyed the ground where he was conspicuously not leaving footprints. This was not going to get any more sensible in Haven, was it?
Maker help them all.