I see what must be done, and I do it.

If one thought that getting out of radio duty for the day meant Cassandra would sleep in, one did not truly know Cassandra Pentaghast. No; she was taking advantage of the extra time to put in an early sweep of the island before resuming her training in the salle. She had done such sweeps recently, but they had lapsed to twice a week rather than once a day, largely because it had become rather obvious that simply walking over the causeway would not get her home.

She had explored various exit points already, to no avail. The causeway was both the most obvious and the least likely choice, which made it her end point.

She regarded the long stretch of road critically, the metal of her armor clacking together as she crossed her arms. The books had always said some nonsense about 'thinking of home' when you wanted to return, but that had clearly never helped. Still, she brought the image of home up in her mind: the vast spires and artful bridges of Montsimmard, the halls of the Montsimmard Chantry, lit with candles. The Seekers, their armors shining, running their swords along the whetstone. The sound of the Chanters outside, reciting their lines.

"The one who repents, who has faith," she murmured, "Unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace."

She took a step, and then another step, and then another, all in firm rhythm; there was no uncertainty in her, nor in her gait. She saw the blue sky, and the road before her, and she heard the bustle of Fandom, and she felt...

...she felt a sweep of cold beyond her nose.

Her gait stuttered, then stopped. She looked over her shoulder and saw mountains.

"Cassandra!"

Her gaze snapped back. Candles. Runes. Empty vials. Bodies. And--

"Byron!"

[[ establishy! last five lines nfb due to distance. ]]