The battlefield roared around her—steel striking steel, fire licking the edges of the ruins, soldiers screaming into smoke. Yet Nora felt a calm pulse inside her skull, steady and insistent.
“I’m here,” Solas whispered, not aloud, but inside her mind. The resonance wrapped around her thoughts like a tether, guiding her attention.
Nora closed her eyes briefly. “Show me,” she breathed. “Tell me what to do.”
The threads of the Weave shimmered faintly at her fingertips. Light flared along her sword. She felt Solas’ presence in each filament, each vibration in the strands of energy linking every life, every soul, every fragment of existence in the battlefield.
“We can bend it together,” he said. “Focus. Not on destroying, but on redirecting. Let the threads guide the attacks, the openings. You will feel the fractures first, the points of strain.”
She nodded. Even amid the chaos, the vision in her mind sharpened. Soldiers, enemies, the creeping influence of the Unmakers—all of it pulsed along the threads. She could see where strikes would fall, where shields would break, where the dark tendrils threatened to consume the living.
Nora swung her sword. Light flared, guided along the thread Solas had marked. A wave of energy ripped through the battlefield, disarming several attackers without a single casualty.
“Good,” Solas murmured. “Now anticipate. Let the threads reach further.”
She extended her awareness. The battlefield unfolded like a living tapestry. Each movement, each breath, each heartbeat—connected. The Unmakers, sensing the pull of the fracture-point amplified by Solas’ presence, shrieked across the psychic plane. Shadows twisted, flailed, and struck—but their strikes misaligned, diverted by the careful weaving of Nora’s intent and Solas’ guidance.
“Hold them at the edges,” he said. “Do not confront them directly. Let them overreach.”
It was unnatural, beautiful, terrifying. With every motion, they wove the battlefield like threads in a loom. Soldiers moved as if guided by unseen hands; enemies stumbled as if the ground itself betrayed them. And all the while, the sword in Nora’s hand blazed with light, pulsing in harmony with Solas’ voice.
She gasped, sweat and ash on her brow. “This power… it’s… it’s incredible.”
“Incredible,” he agreed, soft but urgent. “But exhausting. You must not falter. One misstep, and the Unmakers will reach through the fracture and tear everything apart. Remember—your fear will open the way, Nora. But your resolve… your resolve can close it.”
The battlefield tilted. The threads shimmered like a living net, bending the tide of war just enough to give their allies breathing space. For the first time in what felt like eons, Nora realized that her fight was no longer merely survival. It was creation, control, balance.
“Keep the connection,” Solas warned. “Even if you lose sight of me, feel the pulse. We are one through the Weave.”
Nora’s grip tightened on her sword. She felt the threads, felt Solas’ mind brushing hers, guiding, steadying. And as the shadows of the Unmakers writhed at the edges, she whispered back:
“We’ll hold it… together.”
A pulse of light surged along the threads, and the battlefield shivered, alive under their hands.