There are no words to bridge this gap. It is a horror built from his own inescapable grief and regret, an emotional depression sunk so deeply into the foundation of the fade that it had come out the other side, a castle in the sky, cage and monument to the Evanuris' downfall. There was no escaping it, not from within, not with all the power and cunning in the world— not without some connection, counterpart, or help, from the outside. That was how it had been built, and without knowledge of its construction it would take a lake of blood to breach by brute force.

The weight of his hand on Solas' shoulder is unexpected enough a comfort to startle him, but the long, slow slide down into his vision is pure Felassan, even (or perhaps particularly) with his cheeks bulging like an overfed rodent. Somehow, with nothing said at all, it is strangely comforting. Six millenia, his own death, and the end of the world had not shifted this strange spirit even one degree away from his nature. Solas doubted anything ever could.

"I missed you. And I do not deserve it, but— thank you."