The silence left behind by the vanished portal was a physical weight, pressing down on the narrow street. The Night Owl Café's warm amber light spilled onto the scene, illuminating the broken form of Lorian on the cobblestones and the ragged, shallow breaths of Silas slumped against the wall.
Varric knelt beside his brother, his large frame shaking with silent, gut-wrenching sobs. He didn't look up, didn't react as Nola, her face chalk-white but her movements steady, rushed past him to Silas's side.
"Dad? Dad, can you hear me?" Nola's voice was tight, clinical, her new glasses helping her focus past the horror. She assessed the wound on his chest – deep, ragged, bleeding profusely. Critical.
Amelia stumbled out after her, Gavin, Ronan, and Leo crowding the doorway behind, their young faces etched with shock. Nachtan lingered just inside, his eyes wide and unfocused, the vibrant colors of the café seeming to leach away at the edges of his vision, leaving everything grey and indistinct.
"We need… need to move him," Nola managed, her hands hovering uselessly over Silas's wound. "Varric?"
Varric didn't respond, lost in his grief beside Lorian.
Silas coughed, a wet, rattling sound. His eyes fluttered open, finding Nola's face. "Elora…" he rasped. "He… the masked one… said something…" His eyes unfocused again. "Have to… find her…"
"You're not going anywhere like this," Nola insisted, her voice trembling slightly.
But a desperate resolve hardened Silas's features. He pushed himself upright with a groan, ignoring Nola's protest. "No time. He's… he's not from here. That energy…" He trailed off, clutching his chest.
The journey back to their sprawling, slightly dilapidated home was a blur of fear. They moved through Nexuria's back alleys, Silas leaning heavily on Amelia and Gavin, every step an agony. Nola scouted ahead, Ronan watched their backs, and Leo seemed to drift beside them, his presence unsettlingly quiet. Nachtan trailed behind, the strange black book heavy in his pocket, a cold counterpoint to the chaotic fear churning inside him. Varric remained behind at the café, a silent sentinel beside his fallen brother, lost to a grief too profound to follow.
Inside their home, the familiar clutter felt strange and the silence oppressive. Silas collapsed onto a worn sofa, but waved off Nola's attempts to tend to his wounds properly. "No time," he repeated, his voice strained but firm. He fumbled with the clasp of his dimensional bag – the small, shimmering pouch Elora had carried – pulling out compact medical supplies, advanced tech, and otger things..
"Dad, you can't," Nola pleaded. "You're hurt. Badly."
"She's gone, Nola!" Silas snapped, the grief and pain momentarily overriding his control. He winced, pressing a self-sealing bandage to his chest. "I have to track them. That portal residue… it won't last. It's the only chance." He looked around at the children, his expression softening slightly but his resolve unwavering. "Listen to me. All of you."
His gaze was intense, sweeping over each of them. "You stay here. Lock the doors. Don't go outside for any reason. Don't contact anyone. Varric… Varric should be back soon, hopefully. Stick together. Wait for me." His eyes lingered on Ronan. "And you, Ronan. Especially you. No teleporting. No following. That's an order. Do you understand?"
Ronan met his gaze, his usual smirk absent, and gave a stiff nod.
Silas stood, swaying slightly, his makeshift bandage already darkening. He looked utterly broken, yet driven by a singular, desperate purpose. He paused by Nachtan, who was huddled near the doorway, looking smaller than ever. Silas hesitated, then rested a hand briefly on his head. "Stay safe, kid."
Then he was gone, slipping out into the Nexurian night like a ghost, leaving behind a house filled with fear and the heavy weight of his command.
Silence descended again, thick and suffocating.
It was Ronan who broke it, his voice low but determined. "He won't make it alone. Not like that." He looked at the others, his eyes flicking towards the door Silas had just closed. "I can follow. Keep distance. Make sure he's…" He didn't finish.
"No," Nola said immediately. "He told you—"
"He's barely standing!" Amelia cut in, her fists clenched. "Ronan's right. Someone needs to watch his back."
"I'll go too," a small voice piped up.
All eyes turned to Nachtan. He stood straighter now, his earlier blankness replaced by a fragile, flickering determination. "I can help. I want to help." He looked around, seeking validation, wanting, just once, to be useful, to not be the one left behind or causing trouble.
Amelia rounded on him instantly, her own guilt and fear twisting into a sharp, protective fury. "Help?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with a bitterness that startled everyone. "You? Don't be stupid, Nachtan. You'll just get in the way."
Nachtan flinched as if struck. "I won't! I can—"
"You can what?" Amelia stepped closer, her eyes blazing, the earlier trauma making her lash out. "You heard our Dad. Stay here. You're always messing things up, always needing someone to save you or seeking some kind of attention! We don't have time for that now. We don't have time for you to slow us down." The words were harsher than she intended, fueled by the image of Silas bleeding, of Lorian dead, of Elora gone – a terror she couldn't voice, redirected at the easiest target in the room. "Just stay out of it. Stay out of sight. Be the shadow you always are."
The air crackled. Nachtan stared at her, his eyes wide, the fragile determination shattering. He saw no anger in her face, only a cold, dismissive finality. Shadow. The word echoed the emptiness he felt creeping inside him, the fading colors, the gnawing sense of not belonging, of being fundamentally wrong. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The hurt was too deep, too sudden.
"Amelia!" Nola gasped, stepping forward. "That's not fair!"
"It's true," Amelia snapped back, refusing to meet Nola's eyes, refusing to acknowledge the pain she'd inflicted. "We're going. Ronan, let's move."
She turned, grabbing her straps. Gavin hesitated briefly before nodding grimly and took his new gauntlets. Leo pushed off the wall silently. Ronan gave Nola an apologetic glance, then activated his recall marker , ready to track Silas.
Nola looked torn, glancing between the departing group and Nachtan's stricken face. "Wait! We shouldn't split up!"
But Amelia, Gavin, Ronan, and Leo were already heading for the door, driven by a reckless need to do something. With a frustrated sigh, Nola hesitated, followed them, casting one last worried look back.
Nachtan stood alone in the center of the room, the silence amplifying Amelia's cruel words. Shadow. Useless. Get in the way. Each phrase was a hammer blow against his already fragile sense of self. A choked sob escaped him, raw and ragged. He couldn't breathe. The room felt like it was closing in, the shadows on the walls lengthening, twisting.
He turned and fled, stumbling blindly towards his own small room. He slammed the door shut, collapsing against it, sinking to the floor. Tears streamed down his face, hot and furious, blurring the dim light. He curled into a ball, pressing his hands against his ears as if he could block out the echoes of the explosion, of the masked man's voice, of Amelia's dismissal. He wasn't just sad; he was breaking. The carefully constructed walls around his fear and his otherness crumbled. He gasped for air, rocking back and forth, overwhelmed by a grief and an emptiness so vast it felt like the shadows in the room were reaching for him, pulling him down into a cold void that threatened to swallow the last pieces of the boy he used to be