As the dust settled from the confrontation with Uldred, Knight Commander Greagoir wasted no time in introducing new rules to tighten control over the mages under his charge. Cullen watched his Commander issue additional restrictions, with a heavy heart. He knew that the mages were already struggling under the weight of their current situation and feared that these regulations would only serve to oppress them even further.

As Templars grew more militant in their actions, mages became more resentful and bitter. The rift between the two groups was spreading with each passing day. Cullen tried to bridge the gap but found himself torn between his loyalty to the Order and his compassion for the mages.

The new restrictions didn't just affect the mages though; the Templars were also facing their own set of challenges. Their workload had significantly increased, with each Knight now having to work twice as many night shifts as before. As a result, getting a good night's sleep had become almost impossible, turning what was once a basic necessity into a rare and treasured luxury.

To make an already difficult situation worse, the Templars were now forbidden to take any time off from their duties. This ban only increased their resentment of the imposed isolation. Thomas tried his best to remain optimistic about his inability to visit Mia, especially now that she was expecting, but Cullen could see how deeply it was affecting him. The ongoing stress of being away from his pregnant wife had taken a toll on his brother-in-law, making it increasingly difficult for him to stay hopeful.

Given the hostile environment, the once friendly chats that the young Templar enjoyed with his charges were a thing of the past. This had made his duty as a Knight all the more challenging, with little opportunity for him to interact with the people he was meant to protect.

The whole situation was rapidly becoming unsustainable, leaving the Templars feeling frustrated, isolated, and demoralized.

The dark passages of the Circle Tower were illuminated by flickering torches, casting eerie shadows against the stone walls and the young Templar on another grueling night shift. A high dose of lyrium was the only thing keeping him on his feet, as he had barely had any sleep for the past three days. Suddenly, Cullen caught the sounds of whispers and shuffling coming from the kitchen. Realizing that no mages were allowed to leave their quarters after curfew, his heart raced. He took a couple of deep breaths and went to investigate.

Silently approaching the entrance, he found that the door was slightly ajar. Peering inside, he noticed two women silhouetted against the moonlit kitchen window. The young man could only make out a few words of their conversation as it was barely audible. One of the women seemed to be afraid of something, while the other reassured her in a stern tone. Cullen hesitated, unsure of what to do. Under the new protocol, his orders were to silence the mages, subsequently taking them into custody and escorting them for further questioning. His duty was clear, but his heart told him otherwise. The Templar steadied himself and stepped forward, his footsteps echoing through the silent kitchen.

"Enchanters, what are you doing here?" he asked.

The two women jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. One of them, a young mage with long, curly hair, looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. To his surprise, the second woman was Lea Amell, the spirited and beautiful young mage who had captured his heart. She stepped forward to speak, her fear turning to relief as she recognized him.

"We were just getting some water, Ser Cullen," Lea said, her tone relaxed. "My friend here is nervous about her Harrowing tomorrow. I was trying to calm her down."

Cullen's eyes flicked to the frightened mage behind Amell’s back, and he could see the terror etched on her face.

"I understand," he said, his voice gentle. "But you know the rules. Mages aren't allowed to leave their quarters after curfew."

Lea nodded, but the other woman shook her head frantically. "Please don't report us," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't want to go through any more hardship than I already am. I know you're kind, Ser Cullen. Please, just let us go."

Cullen's heart swelled with conflicting emotions. He knew that he should do his duty and report the mages, but he also didn't want to make things harder for them. He remained silent, unsure of what to do.

After a few moments of tense silence, Amell spoke again. "We understand if you have to report us," she said, her voice calm but resigned. "But please, know that we meant no harm. I was just trying to help my friend."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and sighed deeply. "I won't report you," he said, his voice contained. "But please, return to your quarters and don't break the rules again."

“Yes, Ser,” the enchanter replied.

As he turned to leave, he caught Lea's eye and she gave him a broad smile. Cullen blushed, feeling both relieved and conflicted as he made his way back to his patrol route.

After a few uneventful hours, he finally finished his shift and returned to his quarters, desperate for some much-needed sleep.

Cullen was fast asleep in his quarters when his brother-in-law woke him up, shaking him gently. "Hey, Cullen. Wake up, buddy. You need to eat something. Come on, join everyone for breakfast."

The young man mumbled groggily in a sleepy voice, "I'm not hungry. Just give me a few more hours of sleep. I'll be as good as new." Thomas let out a disappointed sigh, but let him sleep some more.

However, it wasn't long before Cullen was awoken again, this time by the sound of someone violently vomiting. He slowly opened his eyes, still half asleep, to see several of the Templars hunched over buckets, their faces drained of all color. Sweat glistened on their foreheads as they retched and heaved, struggling to keep their balance. Cullen sat up, rubbing the sleep from his face, trying to figure out what was happening.

Thomas entered the room, his eyes glistening with an unhealthy glow and his face pale and clammy with sweat. "It’s a good thing you didn't attend the breakfast. I am starting to think that we've been poisoned," he said, his voice hoarse and full of worry.

Cullen's eyes widened in shock. "Poisoned!? How is that possible?" he asked, his mind racing.

"I don't know, but how else to explain the fact that every Templar in the Circle except you has suddenly fallen ill? Just thirty minutes ago, Commander Greagoir and the Knight Captain went to the First Enchanter for treatm-" Before he could finish his sentence, a blood-curdling screech tore through the air, sending shivers down Cullen's spine. It seemed to come from the Harrowing Chambers. With a sense of growing dread, the young man felt a wave of dark magical energy wash over him. Someone nearby was summoning demons. "Merciful Andraste, preserve us," he whispered.

"Templars, to arms!" bellowed Thomas, his voice ringing with urgency and command as he unsheathed his sword. "We are under attack! Draw your weapons and follow me to the Harrowing Chambers." Turning to face Cullen, he spoke in a low, hurried voice. "Knight-Templar Cullen, I need you to perform a vital task. Head to Commander Greagoir's quarters and find the Litany of Adralla. It's our only hope against the blood magic. Once you have it, join us at the Harrowing chambers." He paused, his grip tightening on the sword hilt. "But beware; the enemy is unknown to us, so tread carefully." Cullen nodded curtly, his jaw clenching with tension. "I will do as you command, Knight-Lieutenant. May the Maker watch over us all."

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The Templars who were fit to fight quickly rallied to Thomas’s side. Their pale and gaunt faces were taut with grim determination as they followed their leader toward the Harrowing Chambers.

As Cullen hastily donned his Templar armor, his heart raced with a sense of urgency. He knew that time was of the essence and that he needed to act quickly to protect his fellow Knights. The panicked screams of the tower's inhabitants started to echo through the halls, adding to the growing sense of unease that gripped him.

With each piece of armor he secured into place, Cullen felt his resolve harden. He had trained for years to become a Templar, and now was the time to put his skills to the test. He reached for his lucky coin, the silver glinting in the dim light of the barracks, and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.

On his way to Commander Greagoir's quarters, he felt a sense of purpose, knowing that he would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of his fellow Knights and the innocent inhabitants of the Tower.

Cullen approached the room and a putrid stench of charred flesh and sulfur filled his nostrils. He could feel the magical energy that had been unleashed here mere moments ago. Slowly, he pushed open the door, sword drawn and at the ready. Cullen stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his chest as he surveyed the scene before him. The room was in utter chaos, as though a raging inferno had ripped through it with reckless abandon. The walls were charred and blackened, and the heat was still lingering in the quarters, making it almost unbearable to breathe. The window panes were shattered, and the curtains that once adorned them were now nothing but tattered remnants, scorched and burned beyond recognition. The glass from the windows lay in glittering shards across the floor, crunching underfoot as Cullen moved cautiously through the room.

The Templar noticed a pile of rubble in the corner, and as he approached it, his heart sank. Between the remains of a bookshelf lay the burned and maimed body of the Tranquil. The old elven man had been the Knight-Commander's personal assistant for more than a decade and was well-liked by all who knew him. Cullen's eyes widened in shock as he saw that the elf was still alive despite his horrific burns. The man's robes had been consumed by flames, leaving his skin blistered and covered in a black, charred crust. Cullen draw a healing potion from his pouch and dropped to his knees before the dying man. "Please, hold on," he pleaded, "this will ease your pain."

The Tranquil shook his head weakly. "No need… Knight-Templar. It's…too…late for me." He took ragged breaths between each word.

The Templar felt a lump form in his throat as he heard the man's final words. "The Litany of Adralla," the Tranquil whispered, "was taken…by Enchanter Amell. Tell... the Commander…. I am sorry… I couldn’t protect it..." The elf’s eyes grew glassy, his expression relaxed, and he drew his final breath.

Cullen closed the man’s eyes, offering a short prayer for the deceased. His heart swelled with a mixture of grief and anger as he realized the truth.

"That blighted wretch!" Cullen cursed under his breath. "She fooled me. Now it all makes sense...her being in the kitchen at night, the food poisoning."

As he struggled to control his rage and shame, Cullen heard the screams of other Templars as they were struck down by the mage's spells. He knew he had to act fast before more lives were lost. The young man rose to his feet and rushed out of the quarters. He needed to report back to Thomas, and fast.

He sprinted frantically through the narrow passageways, where ash, blood, and carnage coated every surface. The ear-crushing tumult of chaos echoed around the Tower, filling it with the piercing screams of people and the howls of demons and abominations. The air was thick with the foul reek of sulfur and death.

Suddenly, the Templar felt the searing heat under his feet. In a second, he was thrown back to the ground by the rage demon that had emerged from beneath him. For the first time in his life, Cullen found himself face-to-face with the demon; his heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, his breathing became shallow, and his mouth went dry. The monstrous entity made entirely of molten lava loomed over him; its eyes, like burning coals, stared straight into his soul, petrifying him with fear. With a bellowing roar, the demon attempted to smash its fiery fists into the terror-stricken Templar. Fortunately, Cullen's honed reflexes kicked in, and he instinctively rolled to his right, narrowly dodging the infernal attack. Rising to his feet, he thrust his shield forward just in time to withstand the next blow. Despite the shield shaking violently from the force of the impact, it held strong, protecting the Templar from harm. Cullen's sword began to glow with a brilliant light as he summoned the power of the Blessed Blades. Startled by the sudden radiance, the demon hesitated for a brief second, which proved to be its fatal mistake. Taking advantage of the creature's momentary distraction, the Templar lunged forward, thrusting his sword deep into the demon's chest. With a swift upward motion, he sliced open the rage demon and leapt backwards, dodging the blast of molten fire that erupted from the wound. With a deafening crash, the rage demon collapsed to the ground, its flames flickering and dwindling to nothingness. Leaving the stench of sulfur behind, the creature disintegrated into a pile of ash. The young man stood over it, his sword raised high. He took a deep breath, his body still shaking with adrenaline.

The Templar had no time to savor his victory, as more demons were coming. Seven shadowy figures darted towards him, their bodies shrouded in ominous clouds. He recognized them immediately: shades, infamous for their scorching flames that could incinerate a man in seconds.

Cullen's hand trembled as he clutched the hilt of his sword. Summoning every iota of courage he possessed, he braced himself for what was to come. Though he had mastered the technique of the Wrath of Heaven, he had only ever practiced it on a dummy before. This would be the first time he would wield its holy power against real demons.

The young man clenched his teeth and tapped into the lyrium coursing through his veins, igniting his Templar powers once more. He became consumed by a surge of unbridled energy, causing the air around him to be bathed in a vibrant radiance. With a fierce cry, he unleashed a devastating blast of holy light that rained down like a divine storm upon the approaching shades. Four of them instantly evaporated into the thin air, while the other three were hurled backward, dazed but not defeated.

The young man’s body was drenched in sweat and wracked with exhaustion, but he refused to yield to his fatigue. He charged forward.

The demons circled around him with savage ferocity, their eyes smoldering with infernal rage. As the first shade lunged at him, Cullen deftly sidestepped its attack and struck back with a swift blow from his sword. The demon howled in agony as its form dissipated into the ether. Before he could catch his breath, the other two shades pounced from behind, their claws raking across his back and leaving deep gouges in his armor. Cullen grimaced in pain as he fought back with all his might. He managed to kill one of the shades with a well-timed thrust of his sword, but the other one was proving to be much more resilient. Shade's eyes flashed with a malevolent fire, and it unleashed a searing blast of flames at the Templar. He raised his shield to defend himself and started to advance. From behind his shield, he saw the glow of the metal being overheated, as if exposed to a forge. He flexed his hand on the leather straps as the heat began to seep into his gloves and gauntlets. He had no choice but to withstand the flames, even if it meant maiming his arm. It was still preferable to being burned to ashes.

As the inferno raged on, the shield's edges started to bubble and warp under the intense heat. The once smooth surface now had deep ridges and valleys etched into it. Suddenly, a cracking sound split the air as a jagged line formed down the center of the shield. The demon's onslaught began to wane, its fury seemingly spent after the powerful attack. The crack widened, and just as it seemed the shield would shatter completely, the shade's assault finally ceased. The Templar screamed in rage as he closed in on the shade. Summoning all the lyrium that was left in him, Cullen channeled the power of the Blessed Blades and swung his sword with all his might. The blade sliced through the air, cleaving the demon in two with a resounding crack. With a final gasp, the last shade dissipated into nothingness.

Groaning, the Templar slowly sank to the ground, his body aching and battered from the demon's relentless attacks. His left hand throbbed with searing pain, the skin badly burned from the heat that had engulfed it moments ago. With frustration, Cullen tossed away his now useless shield and reached for his pouch, hoping to find some relief in the healing potions and extra doses of lyrium it held. His heart sank as he realized that it had been ripped from his belt by the demon's claws and now lay shattered on the ground beside him.

For a moment, despair threatened to overwhelm the man. He was wounded and out of options, unable to heal himself or use any of his Templar abilities.

Then, with a deep breath, he summoned the last of his resolve and pushed himself to his feet. His eyes narrowed with fierce determination as he gritted his teeth against the pain. He knew what he had to do. He had to reach the Harrowing Chambers and join his fellow Templars in the fight against the blood mages and demons. With every step, he recited the Canticle of Trials, his voice ringing out through the chaos of the tower, "Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me."

As he advanced towards the Harrowing Chambers, his sword at the ready, Cullen felt a sense of calm wash over him. He was a Knight-Templar, and he would fight until his last breath to defend the Circle of Magi. No matter the cost, he would stand against the darkness and emerge victorious.