[ This world is.... new. Waking, woeful, and he wanders. So much of it doesn't feel familiar. There is a different hum in the air. The magic is soaked in blood. The spirit is restless with the thought: blood, blood mages, blood magic. Bound, broken, twist him into what he is not — a demon. But he is... safe. The Amulet will keep him himself, won't turn him, won't bind him to another's beck and call. Solas's magic charged within it will keep him safe.

But oh— the hurts. There is... so much here. A world that is so wrong, but filled with hurt — and he knows that he can help. There is so much for him to do—! And he can help the hurts, hold them for a moment before smoothening them with balms. Comfort, care, compassion. ]

She's not really mad at you. She's just upset because you're punishing yourself when you shouldn't feel guilty. She doesn't want you to hurt yourself over it. Talk to her. [ The man stares at him for a moment with wide eyes, he seems to take in the words, but makes no reply. Cole turns away, heading off from them without another word — leaving the man reeling for a moment before they resume their conversation with their companion. And then he's gone, disappearing into thin air.

The spirit wastes no time, honing in on the next hurt. Bigger this time, a low and aching thing. He crosses the Boardwalk over to a Hunter staring off towards the ocean, the grey swell seemingly calm. In a instant, he is there once more as if he'd never broken his stride. Stepping close, he tilts his head as he plucks at the hurt — holds for it a moment within him before he finds the words to say. The right words. The words to help, to let the pain fade. ]

You were the last thing he thought about. He didn't feel frightened, he felt loved. [ The Hunter doesn't move, doesn't seem to notice him either, save for the slow bow of her head. And quick enough he flits to the next person, someone tending to a store. He appears behind them, hovers at their shoulder. The softest voice as he speaks to him gently: ]

You were scared, backed into a corner. You didn't know what else to do. Tell them you're sorry.

[ The natives of this world see him, but for a moment. Seeing but unseeing. It is what he is. He is there but not really there. He helps the hurt then they forget him. And he is glad to help. But for Sleepers, they will notice him as he flits about: the strange, scrawny young man hiding beneath a wide-brimmed hat, twin blades strapped to his back. But Cole notices too, and he will voice a quiet surprise, curiosity when he confronts: ]

... You can see me—?

[ He does not require soup, he does not eat. But he answers a question, and is given a voucher in exchange. It is better to have someone strong to work beside, he agrees. Adding 'only if they will help people' to his answer. He is reminded of those back home: the Inquisitor, Solas, Varric, Leliana, Cassandra, and all the others. Even the Enchanter. They are working together, they will help people. They will stop Corypheus.

He stands cross armed, head low. He doesn't seem to shift much, or interact. After his initial interaction with the Disciples and Scholars, he returns to being unnoticed by them. People are hesitant to take the soup offered, he finds. The worry, fret, remember old pains. A wolf amongst the sheep, all within a bowl or heaped upon a plate, or filled within a goblet or tankard. ]

Suspicion. Snakes, seeping with poison. They have made fools of you, burned and burned once more. [ Too many times mislead, too many times hurt by the offerings of food. It always seems to turn sour, to rot. Grows foul within their guts. He is quick to offer assurances. ] It is good soup. It helps.

[ He appears from seemingly nowhere, stepping out from nothingness. Had he always been there, following the lost? Who knows. But he is there now, and he is here to help. Only this time, it is in another way. He helps, but he can fight. He helps people by fighting.

They are not demons. Not the demons he knows. Monstrous, burning things with sharp teeth. It is easier to kill beasts, and monsters. Because that is what they are. The pack approaches, slow and salivating. Ready to pounce upon them both. His hands flex, he does not look to his companion. He'll fight these creatures, stop them from causing any hurt. ]

Snapping teeth. Hungry. Hopeful. Howling. You can't hurt me.

[ He reaches behind him, draws his twin blades from his back — holds one in each hand. Ready. ]

I will kill them.

[ Someone tell him 'no'. ]