Bethany ran.

Flickering shadows behind her told her that her pursuers were gaining, inch by inch. The Blightlands flashed by around her.

Farther ahead, Bethany spied the glint of silvery steel as her older sister, Clarissa, and her younger brother, Carver, cleared a path for them. She saw their blades rise and fall, cleave and block, slash and parry, all the while moving forward. The feral screams of Darkspawn echoed in unison, adding hideous vocals to the deadly dance of visceral combat.

Gathering her power, Bethany loosed a ball of crackling, orange flames at the tainted creatures behind her. It impacted, ferociously, forming a wall of fire that blocked the winding path and licked at the incoming Hurlocks with tongues of orange light. It would keep them at bay, but only for a short moment.

Bethany kept running.

To where, she knew not. Until when, she knew not. All she knew, and wanted, was to run. Leave all else behind, save for her and her family, or what was left of it.

Her staff flashed as she loosed bolt after bolt of magical energy at the relentless Darkspawn, setting them aflame, freezing them solid, or just blasting them apart with raw, physical force. She succeeded at keeping the Darkspawn at bay, although their numbers never waned. At times, it seemed that she could see empty space between the advancing Hurlocks, a sign that their numbers were dwindling, but then more would leap from the ridges, cutting off the sight of the empty path behind them once again. No matter how hard Bethany tried, no matter how many she felled, where one fell, another would rise in its place.

After Maker knew how long, they reached an open plain. It was a round patch of land, with a narrow path opposite where they came from. It was the only way out. Setting eyes on the landscape in front of them, Bethany felt an ominous chill run up her spine. Had she seen this before? Had she been here before?

She looked behind her.

The Hurlocks were gone. The only sign that anything had happened was the occasional splotches of blood on the sun-baked rock. The Blightlands around her were deserted.

Or so she thought.

At that moment, Bethany felt, or rather heard, a deep rumbling. It approached at an alarming pace, twin footfalls that shook the ground like an omen of impending doom.

It had to be big.

Not a Hurlock.

It had to be bipedal.

Not a Genlock.

Bethany felt her blood go cold as she realized the source of the disturbance, and remembered why she had seen this place before.

Casting her eyes ahead, she saw Carver. Saw his blade poised at his side. Saw his muscles tighten. Saw his eyes burn with a strange light.

She saw him start forward.

She grabbed his arm.

"Carver, don't do this. You don't have to do this!" She said. She asked. She pleaded, remembering now. The memory was lucid and clear in her mind's eye. "Not again."

A huge fist, rising.

A limp body, falling.

Carver turned around, and Bethany felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her.

"Farewell, sister. Take care of Mother for me." Carver said, voice weary with resignation and inevitability, victim of a wretched destiny he could never hope to resist.

"Well, it's always been me doing all the caring." Clarissa Hawke said, trying hard to smile. A single tear found its way down her cheek, released by violet-blue eyes laced with infinite sadness. "Go get 'em, Carver." Her voice broke at the last word.

Bethany didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. She just watched as he walked away from them, step by doomed step.

A shadow blanketed Carver, a shadow with horns.

Bethany closed her eyes, not wanting to bear the sight again.

A limp body, fa-

Bethany Hawke woke with a start.

Light filtered in through a window above her cot, casting a yellow light on her face.

She looked around, half expecting the Blightlands around her. Blank yellow walls surrounded her. The sandstone was rough to the touch. The room she was in was small, furnished by nothing else than the bed she found herself in.

Something shifted beside her. Flame-red hair rolled around, revealing her sister's tousled face. Even while half asleep, the sight of her familiar features reminded Bethany of the days back in Lothering, where countless young men (and quite a few women) fell victim to her sister's sculpted face, lean jaw and mystic violet-blue eyes. Her shoulder-length caramel hair further complemented her tanned skin, drawing admiration and envy alike from fellow women, which she weathered in stride with her easy-going personality and strong tendency to laughter.

But, much has changed since then, and Bethany felt the images slip away, replaced by the nightmare she had just woken up from.

Long eyelashes batted as Clarissa's eyes struggled to open, half-focusing on Bethany. "Beth? What is it?" She asked sleepily. Bethany still couldn't speak, the combined potency of her memories and waking nightmare still vivid in her mind.

Yawning, Clarissa slipped out of the cot and tidied her hair. As her eyes adjusted to the morning light, she noticed the lingering expression of shock and pensiveness on her younger sister's face.

"Bethany? You look like you've kissed an ogre, sis. Are you okay?" She said. Bethany's mind jumped at the word, bringing back visions with surprising clarity, but she recovered amiably and shot back sarcastically, "I was fine, Clare, right up 'til you said 'ogre'."

"Well, good morning to you too." Clarissa laughed, shaking off her grogginess. Walking over to the other side of the room in three steps, she poked a finger into a milk-coloured pile of fur on the floor. "Rise and shine, Luffy!" She said, receiving a huffin response.

Bethany stood, wincing when a splinter buried itself in her left foot. Shouts and clinking reached her ears from outside the window.

"Market open so early?" She asked, stretching herself, feeling the familiar touch of Mana in her mind.

"Apparently, a new group of traders had arrived some days ago." Clarissa said, buckling on her leather underpaddings and donning her armor. As Bethany faced the wall to change into her light blouse, Luffy had the sense to turn around and busy himself scratching an imaginary itch. After a few minutes, both of them were properly attired.

"All that work with the Red Iron paid off! We seem to have some extra coin than I expected." Clarissa said, checking her purse and sheathing a dagger at her waist. "We have all afternoon till Varric's little rendezvous at the Hanged Man. Want to see if that Orlesian silk has finally shown up?" She asked, running her hands through the air and batting her eyes in a dreamlike fashion.

"Only if you're paying." Bethany answered, tightening the laces on her boots.

"That's what I agreed to, right?" Clarissa sighed. "Payment for dragging your unwilling arse to a tavern, I suppose. Carver would've jumped at that, you know."

Bethany froze at that, casting her eyes downward, thinking of the time when Carver turned sixteen, almost draining Dane's tankards dry. Looking out the window, she tried to clear her head.

A huge fist, rising.

A limp body, falling.

A hand touched her shoulder. Clarissa's. Turning around, Bethany noticed her eyes. They were a shade duller than usual, less vibrant and joyous, more torn and weary.

"I miss him, too." She said simply.

Trotting up next to them, Luffy whined, sharing his sympathy. Bethany nodded, grateful that she still had Clarissa, who understood what she was going through. "Mother must be feeling the same way," She said, "if not worse." The sight of Leandra kneeling next to her brother fresh in her mind, she recalled what her mother had said but a few weeks ago.

There were four of us when the Blight began. It will never be over while there are just three.

Bethany looked at her older sister and saw the same thoughts running across her face.

They stood there for some minutes, leaning against each other and feeling the soothing touch of the warm sunlight until Clarissa finally said, "Come on. Every moment we dawdle here means that Orlesian silk may be slipping through our grasp." Bethany felt strong arms beckoning to her, gently, but firmly, tugging her away. Away from familiar sorrow and heartbreak.

Away from a promise broken.

Away from a horrifying memory best forgotten.

Away from Carver Hawke. The cheeky little brother, the ruthless warrior, and the one person they failed to protect.