"Of course they do," Anders scoffs. Speaking of similarities. It'd be funny, if it wasn't just more fuel to that low-simmering fire he's always trying to bury, keep tamped down. It's simply a matter of survival; he's harmless, he's charming. He's not like those dangerous mages they always talk about, and other charming fairytales he tells himself when he can't sleep at night.

"My father is the reason I spent so many years locked up in the Circle. He sold me out to the Templars the first chance he had. Like it was nothing. Like I was." And admitting it aloud, perhaps for the first time ever, makes him feel no better. That wound is still open and raw and ignoring it for nearly two decades hasn't improved things much.

"If these are the answers we're supposed to be looking for, then I don't want them."