Light came back as gold.
Not the harsh white of snow.
Not the grey of smoke.
Gold — soft and impossible — spilling across fields that rolled like a promise.
Ciri stood at the edge of Whiterun.
Alive.
That alone felt like a miracle.
The city rose ahead of her, banners moving lazily in the morning air, wooden towers glowing under the sun as if the world had decided — for once — not to be cruel.
She had not eaten.
She had not slept properly.
Her body still hurts.
But the wind did not bite.
The ground did not demand anything from her.
And no one was trying to sell her.
No one was trying to execute her.
Behind her, in the present, Sofia slowed to a stop.
Her usual grin was gone.
"…Oh," she whispered.
Because she had never seen the world through Ciri's first sight of it.
Everything was brighter.
The grass is greener.
The sky is wider.
Hope did that.
Memory-Sofia was exactly where she always had been.
Near the stables.
Unbothered by the concept of clothing.
Unbothered by the concept of dignity.
Unbothered by the concept of literally anything.
Present-Sofia choked.
"BY THE TALOS—
WHY AM I NAKED?!"
Varric turned his head politely.
"I am choosing to look at the horse. The horse is fascinating."
Inigo covered his face with both hands.
"I remember this day differently."
Cole tilted his head.
"She thought she was beautiful. She thought no one was looking. She was wrong."
Ciri, in the memory, stopped walking.
Because someone was talking to her.
Not at her.
Not about her.
To her.
"Hey!" naked-Sofia called, cheerful as a summer festival.
"You look like you've been dragged through Oblivion and back. You alright?"
No title.
No suspicion.
No order.
No fear.
Just concern.
Wrapped in absolute chaos.
Ciri blinked.
Her brain did not understand the moment.
Kindness without price did not exist in her world.
It had always been a transaction.
"I—"
Her voice cracked.
She had not used it in hours.
Memory-Sofia walked straight up to her — entirely without shame — and looked at her like she was the most normal person in Skyrim.
"You look hungry," she said matter-of-factly.
Then she leaned in.
"And like you desperately need a friend."
Present-Sofia made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.
"Gods… I was insufferable."
"You were magnificent," Varric said gently.
In the memory, Ciri laughed.
It came out wrong.
Rusty.
Broken.
But it existed.
The first real laugh since the garden.
The world proved it was real by not collapsing.
Sofia shoved a bottle into her hands.
"Drink. It's not water. But it helps."
Ciri stared at it.
Not because of the alcohol.
Because someone had just given her something.
No cost.
No contract.
No future debt.
In the present, Serana stepped closer.
She had never heard this part.
The way Ciri's breath changed.
The way her shoulders — for the first time — lowered.
Cole spoke softly:
"She thought:
If I stay near her
I might be allowed to exist without being useful."
Memory-Sofia flopped down on the ground beside her.
"So," she said, as if discussing the weather,
"What's your tragic backstory? Everyone in Skyrim has one."
Ciri looked at her.
Really looked.
At ridiculous confidence.
The absolute lack of fear.
The complete, defiant freedom.
And something inside her — something that had been locked since childhood — shifted.
Not opened.
Not healed.
But it cracked.
"I have nowhere to go," Ciri admitted.
The most honest sentence she had ever spoken.
Sofia grinned like she had just won a prize.
"Perfect! That makes two of us."
In the present, Sofia covered her mouth.
"I didn't know," she said, voice shaking.
"I didn't know that was the moment."
Inigo stepped closer to her.
"It was the moment," he said quietly,
"you saved her."
The memory brightened.
Not magically.
Emotionally.
The sounds of Whiterun carried on the wind.
Hammer on steel.
Children laughing.
The creak of the gate.
A life continuing.
For the first time in her existence—
Ciri sat down beside someone
and did not feel like property
or prey
or a weapon.
Just a girl.
She watched Sofia talk endlessly about absolutely nothing.
Bandits.
Drinking.
Someone is stealing her boots.
A plan to become rich that made no sense whatsoever.
Ciri did not understand most of it.
But she understood the feeling.
Warmth.
Noise.
Presence.
Safety.
"She chose this as her most beautiful memory," Cole said.
"Not because it was grand.
Because it was the first time she was allowed to be small."
In Skyhold—
A tear slid down the real Ciri's temple.
The first in days.
Back in the memory—
Sofia stood and grabbed her hand.
"Come on," she said.
"Let's go annoy a city."
Ciri let herself be pulled to her feet.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to.
That was the birth of her family.
Not by blood.
Not in Myrwatch.
Not in battle.
By choice.
Here.
In sunlight.
Next to a naked lunatic who offered her a drink and a place to stand.
The memory dissolved in gold.
Not ending.
Just… settling into her.
Present-Sofia wiped her eyes aggressively.
"I was amazing," she declared.
Then quieter:
"I didn't know she needed me that much."
Serana looked at her.
"Yes," she said softly.
"She did."