The war table had never been built for this many worlds.
Maps of Orlais and Ferelden lay pinned beneath daggers and markers, supply routes inked in careful lines, reports stacked in disciplined piles.
And over all of it—
a new drawing.
Not green.
Red.
A rift sketched from memory.
Wrong in every way.
Solas stood on one side of the table, long fingers resting on its edge as though he could feel the tear in the Veil through wood and parchment.
Inigo stood beside him, tail still, eyes brighter than Elyanna had ever seen them.
Excited.
Frightened.
Alive in the presence of a mystery.
Leliana watched from the shadows.
Cullen stood at Elyanna's right hand, solid as a shield.
The others had not been summoned.
This was not a room for chaos.
This was a room for decisions.
"They are not the same," Solas said quietly, gaze fixed on the drawing.
"The green rifts are wounds in the Veil — tears between this world and the Fade."
His finger moved to the red ink.
"This is something else entirely. A displacement. Not a breach — a pulling. A hook set in reality itself."
"You speak as if you have seen it before," Leliana said.
Solas did not look at her.
"I have studied the Veil longer than your Chantry has existed," he replied calmly. "I know the difference between damage… and intrusion."
Inigo leaned forward, placing a roll of parchment on the table.
Maps.
Old.
Weathered.
Not Thedosian.
"These," he said, unable to keep the thrill from his voice, "are Dwemer schematics. A vanished people from our world. They built machines that bent space, time, and reason until all three screamed."
Elyanna had never heard anyone speak about their own history the way he did — like a story that had teeth.
"We believe," Inigo continued, glancing once toward the door as if expecting Ciri to appear, "that the artifact which brought us here is one of their greatest relics."
"The Elder Scroll," Solas said.
They were not Thedosian words.
They settled like ash.
"And you are certain this is connected to the rift in the Plains?" Cullen asked.
Solas finally looked up.
"The Anchor reacted to their arrival with violence I have only seen when the Breach first opened."
His gaze shifted to Elyanna's hand.
To the mark.
"To whatever power resides in her," he finished quietly.
Elyanna resisted the instinct to close her fist.
The doors opened.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But every head turned.
Ciri stepped inside alone.
No armor.
No followers.
No mask.
Just the weight of decision in her posture.
For a moment no one spoke.
Because yesterday she had been an unknown.
Last night she had been a revelation.
This morning—
She was something else.
"I heard," she said, voice level, "that you're planning a mission without asking the person the red sky tried to tear apart."
Leliana's eyebrow lifted.
Cullen did not move.
Solas watched her like a scholar watching a new star appear.
Elyanna held her gaze.
"You are not required to—"
"I am," Ciri cut in.
Not sharp.
Not defiant.
Certain.
She walked to the table.
Not to Elyanna.
To the map.
Her hand hovered over the red circle drawn in the Exalted Plains.
"That's where it opened," she said. "That's where it pulled us through."
She looked up.
Directly at Elyanna.
"I fight under your command."
The room changed.
Not loudly.
But in the way soldiers shift when a battle line forms.
"You do not have to prove—" Cullen began.
"I'm not proving anything," Ciri said.
Her voice did not rise.
"I'm choosing."
Her eyes moved to Elyanna again.
"You said yesterday that everything here carries weight."
A pause.
"So does this."
Elyanna studied her.
Every instinct screamed caution.
Risk.
Complication.
But another voice — the one that had led an army against a god — spoke louder.
She is not asking for permission.
She is offering allegiance.
"This is not a hunt," Elyanna said. "It is a reconnaissance in hostile territory. We do not know what that rift will do. Or who controls it."
"I've fought dragons," Ciri replied.
"So have I," Elyanna said.
And for the first time—
they both almost smiled.
"You will follow my command," Elyanna said.
"I said I would."
"You will not break formation."
"I said I would."
"If I order retreat—"
Ciri hesitated.
Just once.
Then:
"I retreat."
That was the moment.
Not the words.
The hesitation.
The choice to give someone else control.
Elyanna inclined her head.
"Then you are part of this mission."
Inigo made a small, delighted sound.
Solas looked—
not pleased.
Not worried.
Intrigued.
Deeply.
"There is one more matter," Solas said.
"The Herald's mark reacted to your arrival. Violently."
Ciri's eyes flicked to Elyanna's hand.
"The power within you is not merely draconic," Solas continued.
"It is… attuned to reality in a way the Anchor recognizes as… kin."
"Kin?" Leliana repeated softly.
"Two forces bound to the structure of the world itself," Solas said. "The Anchor closes tears in existence. The Dragonborn—"
He studied Ciri like a puzzle that refused to remain still.
"—rewrites them."
Silence.
Heavy.
Mythic.
"That is why I am always the expert on rifts," Solas finished quietly.
"I do not study them."
His gaze moved between Elyanna and Ciri.
"I feel them."
Cullen exhaled slowly.
"So we have two walking catastrophes in one operation."
"Three," Leliana murmured. "If the artifact is involved."
Elyanna straightened.
"Then we move quickly."
Her hand came down on the map.
"Exalted Plains. Limited party. We observe, we gather intelligence, and we withdraw."
Her eyes met Ciri's.
"Together."
For the first time since the red sky had opened—
it did not feel like two leaders in opposition.
It felt like the beginning of a command.
Outside, the horns of Skyhold sounded the change of watch.
Inside—
two women who carried the weight of gods stood on the same side of the war table.
And the war shifted.