Light swallowed the rotunda.
Not fire. Not flame.
Radiance.
The kind that erased shadow rather than cast it.
Elyanna did not pull her hand away.
The sound began as a tremor in the air — not thunder, not wind — something cleaner, sharper, like metal ringing across the bones of the world.
And then the voice descended.
"A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON—"
It carried authority. Certainty. The weight of ritual repetition.
Ciri burst into the rotunda at a full sprint.
"Don't—!"
Too late.
The light intensified.
"LISTEN. HEAR ME AND OBEY—"
The words faltered.
Not stopped.
Not interrupted.
Faltered.
There was a strange pause — long enough to feel wrong.
Then:
"…YOU ARE NOT MY CHAMPION."
The radiance flickered.
Elyanna did not flinch. She stood in it, eyes narrowed, as if trying to understand rather than submit.
The voice changed.
Still vast.
But no longer scripted.
"…THIS IS NOT SKYRIM."
Silence rippled through the chamber.
Ciri skidded to a stop beside Serana.
Sofia covered her mouth, barely containing laughter.
Inigo blinked slowly.
"That," he whispered, "did not sound confident."
The voice spoke again — softer now, not weaker, but searching.
"THIS IS NOT NIRN."
The light flickered again.
Then—
Nothing.
The radiance collapsed inward as if inhaled by the Beacon itself.
The sphere dimmed.
Gold turned dull.
The hum vanished.
Dead.
Utterly inert.
For a full five seconds, no one spoke.
Ciri stared at the Beacon.
Then at Elyanna.
"You touched it."
Elyanna flexed her fingers.
"Yes."
"And?"
"And it announced itself."
"That's the polite version," Sofia muttered.
Serana stepped forward, studying the now-lifeless sphere.
"That's it?" she asked. "No demands? No glowing sword? No eternal destiny speech?"
Ciri narrowed her eyes at it.
"She's confused."
"Who is 'she'?" Leliana asked from the doorway.
Ciri hesitated.
"…a god."
The word landed heavily.
Solas entered slowly behind Leliana, gaze fixed on the Beacon.
"It was not a spirit," he said quietly. "Not a demon. Not Fade-touched."
"No," Ciri agreed.
"She sounded," Inigo offered helpfully, "like someone who opened the wrong cupboard."
Sofia finally lost the battle and laughed outright.
"She went off-script!"
Serana pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
Ciri crossed her arms, staring at the Beacon as if daring it to speak again.
"She always has a script," she muttered. "Always. She rehearses."
Elyanna turned to her.
"You know this being well."
Ciri grimaced.
"She likes to announce things dramatically."
Another beat of silence.
The Beacon did not react.
Did not hum.
Did not glow.
It was as if the god on the other side had abruptly hung up.
For the first time since arriving in Thedas, Ciri felt something unfamiliar.
Relief.
Meridia had not claimed Elyanna.
Had not declared a new champion.
Had not demanded obedience.
She had realized.
And withdrawn.
Which meant something was very wrong on a cosmic scale.
Leliana cleared her throat gently.
"As entertaining as this theological confusion is, I have news."
The room shifted.
"Regarding the merchant."
Ciri's attention snapped immediately.
"He is alive," Leliana continued. "Fled the Hinterlands before the Venatori arrived. My agents tracked his route."
She stepped forward, placing a small marked map on the table.
"Storm Coast."
Solas exhaled softly.
Inigo's ears lifted again.
Sofia groaned.
"Of course it's the Storm. Why is it never 'pleasant meadow with tea'?"
Elyanna looked from the map to the Beacon.
Two impossible objects.
Two different worlds.
Converging.
"Prepare a small party," she said. "We move at first light."
As the others began to disperse, Ciri lingered in the rotunda.
The Beacon sat silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
"You're embarrassed," she murmured under her breath.
No answer.
She almost smiled.
Then she glanced upward — toward the sky beyond stone.
Somewhere far above, something divine had just realized its champion was in another universe.
And that realization would not stay quiet forever.