And if he would have come from the same time, Dorian would had remembered, he would have not been so shocked but here he was, looking down at the other, protectiveness and awe, a complex emotion bubbling up within his chest wanting to do anything and everything to the individual who may have done this, to close his eyes and will the future forward, to delve into the magic of time and pull the situation out. He was not a man who disliked not being informed, educated on a situation and this was a perfect example; he was caught off guard, he was tense and it was obvious he didn't approve of it. His welling anger, not directed at the Inquisitor herself, caused a heavy breath, his brows furrowed, nearly narrowed.

He could feel the mana swelling in his blood.

When the woman told him to follow, he followed. She looked slightly different, hair colour, the shape of her lips. It wasn't anything he would rightfully question at the moment because she was missing her hand, the hand that would have saved them all, that did and his heart clenches because of it. It was clear she expected him to know, clear he didn't and as he followed her he kept in silence, moving along her side, staying close and gripping his staff tightly. If anyone would dare attempt to interrupt their path, it would not be a kind intervention on his behalf. For once his lips are sealed as his footsteps keep in step with her own, for once he has nothing to say, only the need to demand.