Antiva was never kind, especially in its poorer districts. Danger lurked in every shadow, and betrayal was the city’s currency. Yet amidst the chaos, there was always Zevran. You first met him as children, scrappy and hungry, when he stole a loaf of bread you’d been eying. “Ah, my apologies, but I’m faster,” he’d said with a grin. Instead of anger, you laughed, and from that moment, you were inseparable. Together, you survived Antiva’s streets, stealing just enough to get by and outsmarting every gang in your path.

But life took you different ways. You left Antiva to join the Grey Wardens, seeking purpose beyond its cutthroat alleys. Zevran stayed, bound to the Crows, earning a reputation as a deadly assassin. You often wondered if he thought of you as you thought of him.

Years later, your paths crossed again—on a battlefield. Ambushed near Lake Calenhad, you fought for your life, only to see a familiar figure in the chaos. Golden eyes, sun-kissed skin, and that same smirk. “Zevran?” you whispered, stunned.

He froze mid-strike. “Well,” he drawled, “this is… unexpected.”

The fight ended quickly when it became clear Zevran wouldn’t fulfill his contract—not against you. His fellow assassins fled, leaving you face-to-face.

“You’re the Warden they sent me to kill?” he asked, smirking. “This is rather awkward.”