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Chapter Text

"Bath time!" a cheerful voice emanated from nowhere and I felt my hearts still.

No, no they couldn't make me go. I had power, I had skills, I had experience. They couldn't make me go, not like this, not right now, not ever.

"No fuss no muss," said the voice as faceless men and women appeared on either side of me. Green and black muck spilled from their faces as they began to drag me down the aisle, despite my desperate cries and frantic struggles. No arm reached them, none of my teach latched onto their necks, and my aura only made them vomit out more muck. Sometimes a bone would go with it. Cat, dog, human skeletons were littering the floors.

I struggle and strained as we appeared in the cube, the despot of despair, the shower stall where I was laid bare. I cried as their limbs took hold of me, thin and prodding hands digging into excess flesh, feeling pain despite the fact that is was only cloth they tore from.

I was exposed once more and I couldn't escape myself.

The staring and commentary began.

"Poor thing."

"Stronger than she looks."

"So hard to look at."

"Can we be done here?"

"Are you going to fight me again?"

"Do I have permission to clean you there?"

"Can you feel this?"

"Your Dad couldn't make it."

"Your Mom couldn't make it."

"Your sister and boyfriend are here to see you."

The showers turned on, the rush of water drowning out the voices and washing away the staring faceless helpers..

My fingers on my right hand were carving against the bathroom stall, digging into concrete and feeling the water and dust roll off me with a sensation beyond touch.

My other right hand slammed into the tile floor, trying desperately to crush the reflection in the water.

Useless. Faces to the left and right of me would haunt me, expressions and features so familiar but... different. Expanded, detailed, twisted. Dead inside.

The water was cold, freezing, and my power was useless in keeping it out. I tried to scream, to rend this reality with just the force of my lungs, but this monument of desire could only translate this rage into a guttural moan.

'I'm so cold. Always cold. It can't just be the water.'

A knight in gunmetal gray stood to my left, docile limbs, unmoving but always there. I wanted him to be comforting but all I got was distance.

A cowardly woman cloaked in red was trapped to my right side, mewling, always out of reach of my rending limbs. I wanted to erase her existence, but it felt like she was getting closer and closer.

'I want to end my existence. Ours.'

Above me, taking up an eternity of ceiling and space and time, a weak and tiny fragment of something greater looked down on me with adoration and glory. There was comfort there that the Knight could give, safety that the foolish woman would never compromise, but to reach out to this tiny giant was to compromise something that I couldn't articulate.

'Ours.' The thought was both of us, thinking in sync.

Below me, taking up eons of tile and sustaining itself within an abyss of knowledge, an all-seeing and all-craving being of something older watched me with curiosity and hunger. There was nothing comforting in the Knight, only the obsession of the feeble traitor sister, and to look too deep into this well of desire was to give up all that was I and Ours.

"Mine." The deliverance was none of Ours, solely it's own.

Within that abyss, crawling languidly into life were an infinitum of tentacles and soulless eyes, reaching up and up and up and wanting Me. Us. Ours.

Behind that space and time, piercing through with urgency and care were the multi-limbed light-essence of my partner, grasping and shielding Me. Us. Ours.

Between both beings beyond my existence, I felt torn- shattered- separated- protected- whole- together-

Was this how things were set to be for eternity?

The way things were now?

A thought, one that was all too familiar.

"F-Fuck that."

My eyes opened and I immediately regretted it. Biting cold stung my eyes, causing me to wince, feeling as if I had drunk an entire bottle of tequila without something to chase it down.

That was a basis in fact, a side-note in my every embarrassing high-school state of mind, trying to impress the very handsome Dean Stansfield at one of countless high-school parties. Of course, back then it was simply light itself that made me wish I could destroy my own eye-sockets, rather than this offensive cold.

A shuddering breath escaped me, and I could feel my lips crack. I kept my eyes closed, focused on my breathing.

I took a moment to center myself, feeling the cold radiate across my body, goosebumps rising up in flesh that was sculpted to be similar to my own. There were too many sounds; creaking of wood, birds in the distance, maybe running water? Too much to take in at once, but if I could piece together what was what, I could-

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." A gruff voice spoke up, interrupting my thoughts.

"You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

I blinked, slowly, carefully trying to find the voice without hurting myself in the process. "Ambush? Who-"

A bump sent me sliding slightly, my back slapping against what felt like a short wooden barricade. I instinctively reached out for a handhold, something to keep me upright, and was further shocked to find that moving one arm dragged the other with it.

It was a flash of panic, a memory given vividness despite my lack of clear sight, of trying to move my hands to reach out to her and finding my control lacking. Confused and ripped away from myself. Every day a struggle to perform even basic tasks like typing on a keyboard or tugging at my braided hair.

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" A voice to my right, "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

Full of vitriol, I wouldn't have been surprised if they literally spat the words out.

Ignore them. Look at your hand. Focus. Piece these things together. Be the badass you know you are.

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and be half way to Hammerfell!"

Slowly, always slowly, I raised up my right arm. Felt that pull that brought my left with it. I stamped down on the fear, ignored my heart hammering in my chest, and moved my left arm as well. Moved them both.

There. A delay. Different sensations. A rocking motion set me sliding slightly again.

Am I in a car?

I brought my hands in front of me, strained my eyes. A rope. A knot to be specific, tying my wrists together. I opened and closed fists, even as I fought back tears in my eyes, relief overflowing my senses. The scars on my hand and right arm were apparent. Mine.

Mine.

"You there." I turned, eyes wide now. A man bound in ropes like I was sat diagonally from me, face scrunched up and nostrils flaring. His black hair was unkempt, and by my estimate, hadn't been washed in days. His clothing could barely be called such, like if something stitched together a potato sack and gave it openings for limbs.

When he spoke, he spoke with a fervent anger, "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

The voice who had spoken to me the first time, to my left, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" Another man. Too many sounds.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the headache pulse.

I glanced at the original speaker. A muscular man, easily filling out his chainmail costume, adorned with what looked green cloth in this dreary weather. His hair was should length and dark-blonde, a trimmed beard gracing a sharp face. He was watching the other man - the "thief' - with an expression I couldn't read. The man who shouted was so close I could literally touch him if I wanted, his back to me as they drove... not a car, but a carriage.

Now I could smell it. Horses and their waste, just like those times Aunt Sarah would drag us along to stables outside the city for short vacations.

I'm in a carriage, hands bound, surrounded by people I don't know talking about things I don't understand and I'm fucking freezing.

Figure this out Victoria, Glory Girl, Scholar, Warrior, Monk, Antares. Figure this out.

I looked down at myself. My costume was gone. Replaced with the same rags as the "thief", frumpy potato sacks with no sleeves and pant legs that barely reached my ankles. No buttons either, exposing more chest than I had done comfortably in years. Boots that I had scrounged a literal apocalypse for were gone and replaced with worn-out leather sandal slash slipper hybrids.

Someone had taken my stuff. Had undressed me, after ambushing me apparently, and taken me away from my teammates. Even my connection to Kenzie was gone, if not one of my blinks had activated her implanted eye-camera.

All while the world was suffering from it's second apocalypse?

Something is wrong.

I stood up in the carriage, my flight keeping me stable as the vehicle trotted over the bumpy path.

Are you there, old friend?

The man to my left looked up at me with curious eyes, "Take a seat lass, do not give your life in vain now-"

I felt my forcefield respond as I pulled against my bonds, tearing apart the rope like a string torn between two moving trucks.

Hello there. Had me worried Fragile One.

The driver glanced back to me, his expression one of shock and surprise, "What in the Divines are you doing-"

I took off, flying straight up into the air and through the mist. I was still cold, my forcefield unable to warm me up, but it was able to keep the chill from outside at bay. I experimented as I flew up, clenching hands, moving faces, and opening mouths. I rotated the field, feeling an equal measure of relief and anxiety as it responded.

Master-Stranger Protocols were in effect. There were too many variables and too many questions with too few answers.

When would they have had time to target me, plan this out to remove me from the field, and then carry it out during the Titan attacks?

How did they get past any Thinkers, my team, taken me by surprise,, and removed Kenzie's tech in the frantic moments of our constant rush from battlefield to battlefield?

Where could they have taken me that was beyond Warden or allied supervision in such a short amount of time, while I was surrounded by allies, and through various checkpoints between Earths?

The short answer was that they, he or she or them, couldn't.

My best guess was a Stranger-Shaker. My surroundings might be different from my last recollection of the battlefield, but the power effect warped it further to the point that imaginary scenarios were being filled out by some combination of my consciousness and their power. It could even be that this simulation was taking place while I was unconscious. Rain had mentioned a cape who invaded dreams and the Wardens had one who was dwelving into minds for Stranger Titan victims...

My heart sank.

I had blasted a hole into the section of the Shardspace, cracks in reality that led to the foundations of where powers belonged. I didn't recall much after that, but I did recall that the Stranger Titan had landed near me and had been regaining it's powers as I dived for my gun.

Is this it? My mind separated from reality, perhaps permanently, while my Team has to fight for themselves? My heroes left to the wolves? Those civilians left without a guardian?

Care to chime in there my ever-so-quiet friend?

Nothing.

Okay.

Fuck.

A cold entirely unrelated to my state of dress and the air around me took hold of my self. I glanced around me, seeing water sleeking off my many faces like slick glass. I had to look for cracks, pieces of this supposed reality that didn't fit. A fucking mountain of an obstacle when my surroundings where so alien, when my headspace was so fucked, and my heart had fell to a place somewhere around the bottom of my gut.

I pierced the mist layer, finally free of it's confines, and found myself surrounded by a dreary grey sky. Cracks, tears in space-time, perspectives that didn't correlate properly, feelings of space around me that felt jarring compared to what I was seeing. I looked for all of these flaws, every sense I had available and what my Fragile partner would grant me held to bare.

Nothing. No cracks, no erronous feelings of space and relativity, no vertigo or dulled senses. The air was thinner now.

I'd reached out for a life-line and all I got was mountains. So, so many mountains, capped with pure white snow, peaking out of the mist. Here and there were pockets of forest and what might have been parts of a settlement.

I hung in the air, out of place in the dull scenery, and struggled to articulate the feelings welling up inside me.

Help me out here. Please.

A brief moment. The words shot out like bullet, "Fucking why?!"

Chapter Text

I dipped back to the Earth and heard shouts of frustration. Loud, angry, panicked.

I was silent as I dropped, my flight lacking the whoomph and flutter that many old films had for the heroes back in the day. More than once I had made use of it as a means to silently approach or ambush an unwary foe who had let their guard down. This scenario wasn't too different, although the line of ally and foe hadn't exactly been drawn in the sand yet.

My hands toyed with my hair as I rubbed my arms, feeling goosebumps from the chill. I hadn't noticed when I had taken off, but even my hair had come undone when I had awoken. Like someone had taken their fucking time to put me in the worst headspace possible.

Intrusive thoughts abounded, almost tripping over themselves. Loud, angry, panicked.

Focus on the hair. Is she improving?

Hard to say. There weren't any bands or scrunchies to keep the hair in place, so my friend was limited to braiding and unbraiding it, like a child might practice with their mother. From what I could feel - both hair and forcefield wise - there was maybe a weaker degree of shakiness as it went back and forth over the motions.

Despite myself, a smile made it to my face. My mom had let me practice on her, once. After the resulting disaster, she had delegated Amy to the task of being the dress up doll.

The smile fell.

Maybe don't focus on the hair.

I felt like an absolute wreck. And I really wanted to wreck someone else's shit for that. Preferably those responsible, but beggars couldn't be choosers when it came to fucking up monstrous villains. Even a Titan would be nice, right about now.

At least then it'd be a cold comfort.

The voices grew loud enough that I could make out some words now, and I oriented myself to better aim my descent towards them.

"...heads for this! You should've made better preparations!"

"Better preparations? We had no idea the waif was a mage! She was bound and cuffed after a simple clubbing, never got the chance to display her magics."

"Only a fool would think Ulfric Stormcloak wouldn't have such a trick hidden up his sleeves! Fools, all of you."

There was the sound of feet hitting dirt, metal clanking. Movement.

"You find this funny, Ralof?"

It was a voice I recognized that spoke up this time, "I find many things about this situation amusing Imperial. The fact that Skyrim is in the hands of such incompetence is not one of them."

More movement, a deep thudding sound, an impact.

Quiet.

"...like your traitorous Jarl. Get back on your horse Sevitus, we'll finish the transport to the execution, and then patrol the woods. No levitation spell could have taken them far, even with the morn on the horizon."

Well, he was right in a sense. I hadn't gone far and morning was getting closer, peeking through the mist in thin beams of gold.

Keywords; Mage, spell, club. Whatever they account for as a 'Mage' it's relatively common. Same goes for 'spell'. Those who thought powers were magic made up a decent population. In a primitive world, it's more than possible to play the role and take advantage of the populace.

I felt tension beginning to recede, reciting old statistics and popular cape talk. It lined up with the hypothesis of me being in a different universe. Over two-hundred Earth's had been breached according to Dragon's files, more than a few were hundreds of years behind my Earth's tech level. If I were to commit to this theory, then approaching these guys would violating more up-and-coming laws and citations than we had fingers with our collective bodies. I wasn't sure how that held up with reality potentially ending, but it was something to consider, if only to keep my mind occupied.

But the guard claimed to have clubbed me. How does that line up?

I had been thinking on the way down, trying to organize my thoughts and memories as best I could with my new situation. Hazy in the end, but I knew for certain that I was near my gun and the weakened but recovering Stranger Titan...

But there are no cracks in this fake reality. No sense of detachment in my movement or thought cohesion.

Would a fully powered master effect from a Titan even have the similar tells of a normal cape? Sort of a dumb question. Arachne apparently ignored Manton Limits in summoning her wires, while Skadi never showed the capability of teleporting inside or around Capes or Titans. Oberon was a similar example. Powers, even at their height, refused to easily fall into prim and proper categories.

What about you, friend? Last chance I think.

She was also not someone easy to place. Sometimes it felt like her pushes were overt enough to be a guiding hand on my shoulder. Sometimes I felt like she wasn't there at all, beyond the way my power expressed itself.

I really fucking needed someone here for guidance.

My hair dropped from my hands, a strand falling over my shoulder. I could hear the clutter of sounds as the strange men began to ready for travel, and my mind brought me back to those times where I had watched teens gear up for treks across the ruined multiverse. When had I first taken command of a squad? The third big patrol? The second? Both cases where I felt like staying behind and letting them go as they were would only leave me feeling regrets.

No. No more regrets.

I finished my descent, piercing the diminished mist barrier, making myself visible to the contingent of guards and prisoners below me. I didn't touch ground, keeping myself at least one person high, and cleared my throat loudly.

The sole guard on horseback turned to me, fast enough that his horse whinnied in protest. Ahead of him, my fellow 'prisoners', one of whom I only just now noticed was wearing a very high-quality fur coat, with plated armor that made me long for my own costume. Where his eyes narrowed in suspicion, the 'thief' wide in fear, it was the man who's voice I recognized - Ralof - who tilted his head in surprise; sporting a fresh bruise along his mouth, I noticed.

"Uh, hi-"

An arrow bopped my forcefield, snapping in half at the force of metal head meeting transparent alien energy, and my defense... didn't pop. I waited a moment, but the field remained, all limbs and faces now front facing towards the new threat.

The carriage driver, but not from my wagon. I hadn't noticed in the heat of the moment, but mine wasn't the only one on this road, nor was it the only one filled with prisoners. Most of whom wore the same armor that the snarky Ralof did.

Puzzle pieces were coming together, but I was admittedly distracted by my forcefield. I had known that it had changed, felt those changes in the fight against Oberon. Almost certainly would have died if some aspects hadn't shifted somehow, but without any immediate real threat nearby... it was a strange thing to process how the tolerances have adapted.

"You've got a lot of nerve Mage," the archer growled out, already knocking another arrow, "Come to rescue your treacherous leader I see."

I raised my hands up, placating, only to see the other guards flinch back. The other carriage driver pulled out a sword, while the one on horseback did the same, circling around me to flank.

Right, okay. Fuck.

"Look, there's been some sort of misunderstanding here. I don't know who these people are or-"

The archer let loose another arrow. It bopped the forehead of one of my skulls, breaking harmlessly apart as it fell to the ground.

"-where I am." I finished lamely.

The thief stood up, "Exactly! Me and her, we're in the same boat! Nothing to do with these wretched Stormcloaks!"

"Sit back down you low-life scum or you'll get an arrow to the back instead of the executioners blade! The former is far more painful."

The thief quietly sat back down.

"Powerful magic," the horseback rider commented, "Can't even see the Ward."

I glanced behind myself, keeping most of my attention on the archer, wary that the next arrow might actually pop my field. The rider was young, baby faced almost, but his body was well-defined, fitting into the leather armor well enough. It looked Roman, if the bits of history channel Ashley had made me watch were to be true.

The sword in hand, the intensity of his eyes, and the sweat on his brow betrayed his nervousness.

Sevitus?

"It's not..." I paused, thinking on how to continue. "Not a kind of magic that you're thinking of. Or that I am, I guess?"

The archer growled, "Ulfric is borrowing muscle from foreign lands now eh? Just when I think you can't sink any lower."

"Tough words, coming from the Thalmor's lap dogs," Ralof spoke up. "Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at the Empire's hypocrisy. Not anymore."

"You'll die for those words traitor."

"No, Invictus. I'll die for my honor."

Okay, this is getting a bit out of hand.

"Look." I cut in before they could continue, "I'm just trying to ask some questions, because a lot of things aren't adding up about this situation and-"

Another arrow was let loose. An invisible hand caught the wooden projectile, the arrowhead inches from striking the field once more. A gentle squeeze snapped it like a twig.

"-And if you fire another arrow at me, I'm not going to be civil anymore."

I flared my aura, not nearly at full strength, but enough that the waves would reach the archer/leader. The horse-rider's hand began to shake, earning another concerned whinny from his poor stead as he widened his circle. The prisoners and Ralof took a share of the blast, unfortunately, and I could see how each of them shivered or shuffled nervously. The gagged man in armor seemed to be handling it the best, controlling his breathing.

The leader was at the edge of the effect, but coupled with my words he at least paused mid-grab for another arrow. Where the man I pegged as Sevitus was young, Invictus - if I presumed correctly - was... not old but harder. Long face, dark shadows under his eyes, and faint scar above his right brow.

Slowly, he lowered his hand and I lowered my aura.

"Okay. Good. Let me restate: I have no idea who any of you are and no idea where I am. Last thing I remember was... fighting in a city and then I woke up here, in some sort of mountain range? These aren't my clothes either."

Silence. The guards kept their eyes locked onto me, confused or not. Ralof continued to study me with an expression I couldn't place, while the gagged man appeared simply... curious.

"Alright, how about you just tell me how you found me then? What I was doing, wearing, anything? One of you mentioned clubbing me right?"

In the corner of my eye, Sevitus flinched. I zeroed in on him.

"Please. Lives are at stake right now. I need to know."

Nothing. Sevitus refused to look me in the eye, glancing between me and his leader, who simply scowled. I ramped up the aura slight, he and his horse both reacted like a hot poker had nudged them... but still they refused.

Fuck this-

"You were crossing the border," Ralof spoke, "Our group was seeking a passage through the mountains beyond Imperial patrols, but someone tipped them off. Ambushed us as we began to set up camp. You and the thief here-"

"Lokir," mumbled the thief.

"-Lokir, were hiding among the stables and found once the fighting broke out. I didn't see what happened to you exactly, but they dragged you to these wagons unconscious."

I flew closer, ignoring how the guards and prisoners shrunk back a bit, "And I was wearing this? These clothes in particular? They didn't..."

The leader, Invictus, growled, "Don't be ridiculous! To undress a young woman while she's unconscious, criminal or not, would be the height of dishonor. We caught you and the thief attempting to make off with the horses, and Sevitus dolled out what was needed to bring you to justice."

Ralof barked out a laugh, "To hear an Imperial cry about honor while a Jarl remains gagged and my face numb is a tale that not even the cheapest of bards would tell."

"We are honorable, not stupid. Ulfric has already used the power of the Voice to get his way. As for you... well, think of it as a taste of justice for all the good men who have died by your hand."

I clapped my hands, grabbing everyone's attention, "Sorry to interrupt, but let's not get sidetracked here. You said I was trying to steal horses? To ride with?"

"Obviously," replied Invictus.

Lokir looked up, "A crime that isn't worthy of an execution!"

A glare from Invictus had him shrink in on himself.

"Invictus," I said, "Don't you see the problem with this idea? Why would I need a horse?"

Invictus rolled his eyes, "Many reasons. We aren't fools Mage. We know that Magic has it's limits like anything else in this world, and prolonged use of a spell would leave you defenseless when you inevitably succumb to exhaustion."

Interesting. Something to file away for later, even if it didn't help me in the moment.

"Do I look like I'm exhausted? I've been flying non-stop for awhile now."

"Mhm. Could have drank a potion before the hit. Out of Sevitus's sight, burning through magic to bluff us. Or you could be one of the mad ones who eats wild plants in search of restorative abilities."

"A potion," I raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Of course, the simplest explanation is that Ulfric hired you from another land. A Nord mage who travels the continent isn't unheard of, especially one who works for the right amount of Septims. You couldn't leave him behind, so you stuck to horse-traveler or on foot if you needed to steal one."

"All of this," he gestured at the stopped carriages and prisoners, "Is to stay an execution, until you at least get paid."

I spent a moment thinking through what he was proposing. A lot of things weren't tracking, with how he described powers as requiring 'potions' and 'spells'. The closest I could think of was the vials of Shin, closely guarded by their government, and a few Capes who fell hard for the Magic angle.

Myrddin had been the most famous, often spouting magic related puns or giving words of wisdom as a Wizard, but it hadn't gotten in the way of his career as a Hero. To my best recollection, despite the criticism some fans threw at him, he didn't go as far as brewing actual potions or using cauldrons.

Speaking of... could this be one of their test bed worlds? Playing up the fantasy aspect while breeding powers?

Chilling. Horrific.

A gong echoed through the air, catching everyone by surprise. I felt the tremors of the air through my field, faint as they were. Like the air was shaking.

The gagged man, Jarl, seemed to perk up.

"Did you hear that?" Lokir murmured.

"Thunder?"

"It's not the season nor time of day for thunder," Invictus met my eyes, "Is it Mage?"

It took me a moment to parse what he was thinking, "You think I did that? I haven't moved an inch."

"You were gone quite some time in your escape attempt. Could have performed any number of rituals."

"If I wanted to escape Invictus, I would literally be gone right now." I pointed at myself, "And according to you, I'm apparently burning 'magic' as we speak."

"Enough coin from an ex-Jarl could make anyone loyal, Mage."

Fuck off.

"I don't have any money, I don't know who Jarl is, and my name isn't Mage. You can call me-"

Another echo, louder, deeper. The woods reverberated with it's presence and I felt it reverberate within my bones.

Jarl was trying to get Ralof's attention.

"There it is again!" Lokir cried out, "By the Divines what is that?!"

"A clever trick by a Mage with money on the line, clearly."

Frustrated, I pointed at Jarl, "If anyone know anything about this, it's the guy who's gagged and trying to talk to... Ray-loff right?"

At the mention of his name, he met my eyes, "Ralof of Riverwood, yes. Ulfric seems to be trying to warn me. Warn us."

Oh. That's who Ulfric is. Huh.

Invictus smirked, "And there it is men. A ploy to get us ungag the former Jarl for answers, headed by a Mage in his employ and one of his right-hand men. Clever, for the short time it took, but the game is over."

He turned his back on me, shouting, "All of you are going to be executed under the supervision of General Tulius! Skyrim will be at peace once more, and you will be footnote in the history of the Empir-"

The ground shook. Slightly, but it shook none the less, causing the proud man to stumble.

An echo - a voice - broke through the air. Through the woods. Through my forcefield. Through my bones.

It broke through me.

Everyone stumbled as the sky erupted into a deep and volcanic red, the clouds morphing and twisting to a will that I couldn't understand but felt spellbound to observe. The morning turned from a dreary gray to a vengeful crimson.

And then the sky began to fall.

Chapter Text

I had been sleeping when the world first ended.

It was a rough week for me, having doctors perform new procedures to try and find a way to untangle the useless spinal cords wrapped around each other, without it potentially robbing me of what limited movement and action I had.

Which meant it had been a rough week for the handlers, trying to coax me into some measure of positivity, forced to withstand my animalistic bursts of fear when they would inevitably fail.

Which meant it had been a rough day for the visiting specialists who only had superficial knowledge of how things were being run inside the facility, even less so for every individual emergency.

The result was that when Scion betrayed humanity, I had been in a deep sleep of physical and emotional exhaustion, thankfully not dreaming. Thinking back on it, I wondered if I had woken up slightly to the earth shaking from his first few blows and then fell back to slumber, or if I simply added that experience in post.

In any case, I ended one day anxious on how my world could possibly be over with a botched surgery... and woke up to the world ending by a botched attempt at saving it.

No, that wasn't fair.

That was misplaced anger at being helpless while news and radio were alight with how the tallest buildings were crumbling down onto innocent people, bemoaning the fact I couldn't be with my family during this ultimate betrayal. To rescue those in dire straights.

To be a hero once more.

Balls of fire rained down from the sky like falling stars, streaking through air that seemed to have been made dimmer.

Not through the smoke and ash of the burning debris, but by the fact that the world itself seemed to have been overlaid by a cosmic filter. Trees shattered into a shower of splinters, the ground exploded into craters larger than myself, and the people below cried out in fear and pain.

Wish fucking granted Victoria.

It was too late for the front wagon, it's remains spread out along the ruined road like a burning carcass.

Hands that couldn't be seen with normal vision latched onto Sevitus, pulling him from his horse just as a flaming rock struck the ground at it's hooves. I spun the field around, keeping Sevitus out of range from shrapnel and burning flesh, feeling the edge of the explosion ripple across limbs, breasts, and faces with a sense that went beyond touch.

My forcefield dropped, and I felt the filtered air from within expel out and form a brief pocket around me, a fragile shell from the burning fumes of the forest. It didn't last long, the dry air bringing tears to my eyes.

Sevitus for his part was sent rolling into shrubbery, the momentum of my brief spin caring him away from the new flames before he came to a stop.

Dazed, he looked up me, as if searching for direction.

"Run!" I shouted, aura flaring briefly, "Deeper into the forest! Stay low and keep the tall trees and rocks behind you!"

He began to scramble to his feet, but I couldn't stay and watch after him. I had to trust he would at least consider following my orders.

There were others who needed me.

Ralof, Lokir, and the one called Ulfric were crouched behind the wagon, all of their eyes pointed towards the sky in fear. The driving horse had been maimed or killed, a patch of skin smoking and the reigns torn from the wooden latch.

Ralof kept a steady hand on Lokir, as Ulfric struggled with the gag using bound hands.

Invictus was nowhere to be seen.

Keep your wits about you.

How many times had Crystal and Aunt Sarah drilled the caution for aerial attacks into my brain?

I flipped myself over, the front of my body facing the sky as I dove towards the wagon. The clouds were spinning, moving so fast and forcefully that I couldn't imagine the risk of flying through them, even with my forcefield. Still, it seemed as though we were in a bit of a reprieve at the moment, with small pockets of meteors seeming to fall a short distance away.

Further down the road, the barrage of flames appeared to be far denser and continuous.

A roar filled the air as I finally slid beneath the wagon, feeling the coarse earth scrape up against my elbows as I dipped just a bit too low.

Fuck me, I missed my armor.

On cue my forcefield reformed, blossoming around my body, and I set my phantom limbs to the task of lifting the wagon off the ground. Not even in the top twenty heaviest things that I've lifted, even before my power changed, and the added dexterity allowed the primitive vehicle to remain steady as I flew above the trio of men.

All three looked at me with wide eyes. Lokir running his hands through his hair, snot and tears carving lines through ash that marked his face. Ralof seemed lost in wonder, but he had an appreciative smile on his lips.

Ulfric's eyes were hard as they took me in. They looked nothing alike, but the brief image of Gary overlapped with his own in my mind.

"Go deeper into the woods! I'll cover you!"

Ulfric and Ralof shared a single glance before taking off, Lokir stumbling in Ralof's grip as they picked up speed. I shadowed them, splitting attention to follow them and keeping the disposable wooden shield at my back.

The roar filled the air once more, and as distant as it was, seemed no less powerful.

What the hell is happening?

I had told them to run into the forest based on a hunch, the gut feeling that trees would be safer than an open road when it came to avoiding a threat that had turned four men and a horse into unrecognizable pieces. The canopy tops kept the descent of the meteors hidden, and the light snow of the fields slowed their run, but I felt that the trade-off would be worth it in our scramble to safety.

I was forced to reconsider as one of the great trees began to fall, the base of it's trunk torn away by a glancing blow of molten rock, tipping towards the fleeing trio of prisoners.

I soared towards the lumbering foliage, spinning the wagon around me fast enough that the wind was shaking the smaller trees nearby. High-speed wagon met forty-foot pine, the sound almost deafening on collision, my shield tearing in two.

But it worked perfectly. The tree bounced away from the impact and I followed it down, my forcefield in between it and my charges, holding the remains of the wagon for even a bit of added defense. Landing parallel to the party, I could see how the shockwave made them all stumble slightly, turning their attention to me as I flew back to meet them.

More meteors broke through the forest canopy, but they were definitely smaller and more spread-out. They weren't even coming down as consistent as before.

As if to mock me, two more fireballs burst forth from the canopy, twigs and branches offering no resistance as they came straight for us.

I spun the remainder of carriage around me, the build up lacking somewhat due to lack of time, but still sent the chunks of wood and metal bits soaring with a release of my hands. The rock demolished the chunks in a glorious explosion of flame, cascading out into the nearby shrubbery.

Molten rock slipped off of my field, tracing thin lines as I wicked them off, barely a focus.

I cursed as the second one broke through the cloud of ash, it's aim still true.

Risky to lose a defense now, but if I spun it just right-

FUS RO DAH

Even within my forcefield, the sound was nearly deafening, air shuddering against my forcefield. A wave of force echoed past me, tightly focused into a stream of power, unrelenting as it obliterated the rock. The power continued on, quenching fires from nearby branches and parting the canopy like an artillery blast.

Heart pounding against my chest so much it hurt, I turned to the group.

Ulfric stared back, breathing deeply. A torn gag of rags in his hand.

Powers.

Now wasn't the time for questions. Not yet.

The forest was dying, flames spreading from the top down, pockets of heat in the earth where the meteors had crashed through. Animals were fleeing the forest now, deers, rabbits, and foxes sprinting for their lives.

A thin-green figure was running among them, only to vanish past a tree in the distance, too far to make out completely.

Just more questions.

I flew down to the group.

"Thanks for the save! Do any of you know how far until we breach the forest?"

Lokir flinched, eyes to the ground. Was my hearing so borked that I had shouted that? Poor guy.

Ulfric nodded as he spoke, "Aye, around sixty paces from here. We could make it at a run, just barely, but only if these damned flames haven't cut us off first. You wouldn't happen to have frost magic, would you Mage?"

Ralof glanced my way.

His voice was deep and smooth, and despite the situation I felt a sort of familiarity in the way he held himself as he spoke to me. Carol had drilled it into me often enough, and I had practiced similar ways of presenting myself as a hero in the mirror of my home.

Standing tall even in the worst of situations. Failing to do so more often than not.

Still, he seemed exhausted, and I wondered how much of it was running in plate armor through a rough forest dusted with light snow, and how much of it was power related.

Barker had been a small-time crook before joining the Undersiders, with a similar vocal power, if not quite as focused. There had been reports that his power and voice got weaker with every use, till he was reportedly out of commission for a week or two.

A meteor crashed through, a lone missile that hit nothing of importance. A reminder that the danger was still very present, if lowered.

I floated in the midst of the three, "Frost or ice isn't really my move-set. But I can get us out of this forest. Sorry about this."

More than one voice spoke up to ask what I meant, and more than one voice cried out as my hands and legs gripped their armpits and buckles where they had them. Ulfric didn't pop the field immediately, and I took that moment to take flight through the forest, the cries louder in spite of the wind drag.

I wasn't moving all that fast, if I was being really honest.

Thirty miles per hour was a snail's pace when in such a deadly environment, but with the abundance of trees in my path and the size of my forcefield making me have to account for the narrower gaps in nature, it was better safe than sorry.

Still, even with those hindrances, the fire was steadily falling by the wayside and the sound of meteors just dull thuds in the distance.

It took only a minute to finally breach the forest proper, a small hill looking over a dirt road winding down the mountain side. The air here was fresh, no longer filtered in the oppressive grey and blood red of the road and inner forest.

I cast a glance back at the forest as I set my passengers down. Smoke was billowing beyond the tree-line, but it wasn't the deep black kind I was used to associating with heavy fires like Lung or Spitfire. As devastating as the initial shower had been, the snowy landscape and cold climate was doing wonders in preventing the fire from getting out of hand.

More ominous was the swirling clouds and red sky hanging over it, clashing violently with the calm grey skies on the outskirts. A power of some type for sure, massive in range and destructive capability.

A dark mass flickered through the red and grey, incredibly large, before vanishing completely. I only knew it wasn't a trick of the eye by the shift in cloud position as it had passed, and the faint roar from the sky.

I wasn't sure if it was distance or some other factor, but the twisted clouds seemed to be slowing down-

A retch broke off that thought, and I turned to see Lokir on his hands and knees. What looked like chicken broth spilled beneath him. I felt an immeasurable pang of guilt for this man I'd only just met minutes before.

It hadn't been a pleasant morning for him, and I probably played a part in that recently.

Ulfric was taking a deep breath of fresh air, staring off the mountain. Ralof knelt down next to the man, a strong hand on his back as smaller retching continued.

I floated towards the pair, "How's he doing?"

"Well enough all considered, much like the rest of us. Not many a man can say in this day and age to have soared through the air like an eagle."

Lokir retched some more, with sobs added into this new batch.

Ralof patted his back, "But perhaps.... a warning for the future? My stomach is made of iron for eating, not sudden flights above our earth."

I grimaced, but nodded, "Fair enough. It was a rushed call, I'll admit to that. I really, really, am sorry about that."

"Apologies are unneeded." Ulfric glanced back my way, "You've saved our lives with your quick thinking, and thus the life of a movement in our homeland. You have my gratitude, fair Mage. Say only the word, and I shall return your favor."

"Perhaps a start would be to finally learn her name." Ralof gave me a bruised smile, beard crusted with ash and snow, "Even I could hear your aggravation as our Imperial 'friends' kept calling you that title."

Well, now that it was time for it, I... honestly didn't know what to go with. Victoria was my name, as was Antares, as was the Scholar, the Monk, and Glory Girl. I don't even know what I was going to say to Invictus in the heat of the moment, and that felt honestly kind of terrifying.

I felt like I had been given a set of options that could determine more than just how people addressed me in this odd world.

I wasn't even seventy percent sure that I was Victoria Dallon. If I gave them that name, would it sound believeable?

What do you think Fragile One. Who do you think I am?

I let her unfold for a moment, released the control I kept on her actions.

Nothing.

A hand fell on Lokir's shoulder, not a rub, but just... there. He shuddered under the touch.

Okay.

I met Ralof's eyes, "You can call me Antares or Victoria. Either one is fine with me."

"....long enough." Lokir murmured.

Ralof interjected, "Victoria is good, a strong name. Yes, it puts in mind Victory."

Ulfric cleared his throat, "On the subject of friends. Victoria, it seems our brave and gallant Empire captors have made an appearance."

Ulfric turned from his view off the mountain, pointing further down the rough road.

Sure enough, Invictus and Sevitus were there, staring at our group but too far to read their expressions. Body language wise, their weapons hadn't been drawn, but both of kept their hands close to the hilt.

Invictus's bow was gone, I noticed.

Ulfric took confident steps down the path, eyes like steel and a voice to match.

"Let us see how much of their blood must be shed for our passage to freedom."

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I watched from above as the ropes were tied around the wagons, invisible hands and teeth finding purchase on the twine and pulling taut to form knots, with more pulls testing whether the wood vehicles would handle the stress put on certain areas. Wood creaked where the stress was too much, and rope was untied then reapplied to better spread out the weight.

Test, assess, retest, apply.

Above myself, a smaller number of extremities worked to form a suitable harness out of the remaining ropes that would fit snuggly along a ten foot body with multiple heads and necks.

It was busywork, but not for me.

I winced as one pull of the rope saw a splinter of wood fall to the ground. Easy there friend. Treat it like you would my hair.

A knot being tied was unraveled, then retied again. Was it my imagination that saw it seem to pause in consideration? A trick of the light that made me want to believe it was moving slower?

No way to really tell, not with the way things were now. Our communication was stronger, but there was still that gap, that door that wouldn't open fully between Host and Symbiote. In a way, it was the same reason that talking to the Titans had been so fruitless, some missing puzzle piece that prevented everyone from getting the full picture.

I looked back toward the mountains from where we flew in from. The clouds blocked most of the view, but there was an unmistakable greyness that was blended into the scenery, ash and smoke mixing into the formations.

Back there, somewhere, I had been dropped into this world and held captive. Stripped of my arsenal, my costume, the things that made up who I was.

More importantly, they had taken me away from my team. My friends. My family. All of them trapped in a race against time as the world, every world, teetered on the brink of destruction.

My team was good, damn good, and I felt like I could trust them to pull through in some of the toughest of clusterfucks. But that did little to help soothe that irrational part of me, that tiny but loud voice who couldn't help but fret about how I wasn't insuring their safety as best I could while I was trapped here.

Everyone that died in the time since you've woken up here, said the voice, Might have had a chance if you had been there. Innocent civilians you've drafted for war will never find the peace they deserve.

You could never silence the voice, not completely, because it was always founded in truth. To say otherwise was to admit that my being there didn't matter, that nothing I did could make a difference for the best, because it was... it might have been hopeless.

I have to get back home. If I don't, I might go insane.

"Antares!"

If I had been on the ground, I might have jumped. Instead I felt my body tense and the ropes pull just a bit too taught, more wood crackling in response.

"Fuck, sorry!" I said, glancing down.

Irileth stood below me, hands on her hips, looking pissy as usual.

I lowered myself, adjust the harness and ropes along the way, manually taking control of the knots now.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Only once you've left my city," she said tersely. "In the mean time, could you not flagrantly break the law in my sight? I can practically hear the dungeons calling out for you."

I gave her a questioning look, "Why is flying even illegal? I can think of hundreds of benefits for the spell to be handed out."

The Dark Elf shook her head, "Pick your poison; a noble child falls to his death after his instructor goes lax in his teachings. An attempt to limit some discrimination from Mages to less knowledgeable common folk. Maybe no one likes to clean up after every fool who forgets to sustain their mana with proper potions or equipment."

She raised her chin, "Whatever the case, keep your feet on the ground until you've graced us with your exit."

I crossed my arms, "Look, I get it. You don't like me and I sort of don't blame you. It's a shitty situation-"

She sneered, "Were you raised by Hagravens? Never washed your tongue for your audacity?"

"I don't know what that..." I pinched the bridge of my nose, "My point is that I'm not happy about being here either. I have a home and friends who need me, far away from here."

"And yet, here you are."

"Yeah, here I am.” I blew a lock of hair out of my face, “Against my will. Saving lives of people I don't even know, because what kind of person would just leave them to suffer and die?"

I paused, appraising her, "Or... would you?"

Irileth straightened, her face tense. "Just because I don't have a bleeding heart Antares, doesn't mean you have some moral high-ground. War is an ugly business, and yes, people will suffer and die by the hundreds or thousands. Which is why Jarl Balgruuf has kept Whiterun a neutral territory, where the most we have to concern ourselves with are the occasional bandit raids in the surrounding farms."

"A neutrality that you endangered by bringing them here."

She gestured to the surrounding plaza.

The Imperial soldiers had healed enough to be able to stand and walk now, and though many of them still had faint scars and bruises, none of them seemed to actually be in any pain at the moment.

The fourteen of them were haphazardly grouped around Invictus, the toady for Claudya I didn't know, and a bald guard with an unfortunate hair-style around the crown of his head.

Irileth and I had briefed Invictus about our deal with the Jarl, and now he and what was probably a fellow guard captain were breaking down things to the other soldiers in a similar way.

Does this potion heal mentally and physically? Some of them were half-dead.

"I already apologized for this." I murmured.

She shook her head, "Apologies don't fix everything."

"Yeah, and neither does complaining about it constantly."

Irileth scowled, "You're testing my patience."

I gave her glare right back, "Then leave me alone! Let me do what I need to do so that I can safely take them out of the city, and you can go back to doing... whatever you do in the castle."

"Something more important than you'll ever achieve in your life, child. Living and serving with honor."

She inspected the roped together carts with disdain, "Your departure will bring me great pleasure. Surmounted only by my never having to see you again."

I sighed and ran hand through my hair. I felt the dull pain at the side where the small burn was.

"That's the plan."

Earlier

"Your plan is atrocious."

"What's wrong with making sure our city gets a bit more gold to go around in this deal?” His reply to Irileth came out almost like mewling. “Our walls are crumbling as we stand here in a palaver."

"Aren't you the one who tells me to have faith in our castle walls, Proventus?"

"Oh of course my Jarl.” Now his voice all cheer. “But there is always room for improvement in certain respects."

I sighed at the back and forth banter, "I'm not guaranteeing anything when it comes to money. The best I can do is put in a good word for you guys, if they even listen to me."

Balgruuf gave a flat hmph, "If they as care about honor as much as they proclaim, the General won't turn a deaf ear to someone who's proven so useful to them."

"But please, give us more reason to just toss you all into the dungeon," Irileth said.

I frowned.

"Calm, Irileth." Balgruuf chided, "The time for aggression has passed."

"As you say, Balgruuf." Still, her eyes looked as cold as her blade when she turned back to me.

Ignore her. She wants to start a fight.

She's making it hard to resist too.

I glanced at Proventus as he penned the letter.

“You're writing down a lot more than I expected.” I commented, “I'd think talking about the Dragon attack or this Dragon stone, and healing the soldiers would count for enough."

Proventus clicked his tongue, "Oh hardly. This Dragon business is simply the newest in a long line of troubles we've been facing lately. Why, it only last month that we got word of that Dwemer ruin in Winterhold being caved in. We had a few guardsmen decide that Adventuring in such places was the more lucrative career choice for them, leaving us with a smaller force and more funerals to be held."

"Not to mention the constant requests for more armor by the Battle-Born and Gray-Manes." Irileth added.

"Another friendship torn apart by this war." Balgruuf grumbled, eyes downcast.

"I'm guessing these two chose different sides?" I asked.

He nodded, "Aye, a pair of the oldest Nord clans in all of Skyrim. Descendants of the five hundred companions. Now bitter enemies who can't even have a drink in the same bar without causing a ruckus ending in blood."

Skyrim. I made a note of that. I'd heard it enough times to guess that this was the name of the nation or continent.

I nodded, "Sounds like you all have your hands full."

I could see Irileth's mouth twitch, visibly restraining herself from saying something. Probably a sarcastic remark to me.

"Oh, that's just a small sample of our trials here in Whiterun." Balgruuf intoned, "We've had brief reports from a visiting member of the Vigilants of Stendarr as well. It seems there have been increased numbers of Vampire raids for the smaller settlements of Haafingar Hold."

I paused for a moment, letting my mind catch up to what he had just said, not sure if I heard correctly. Not sure if I wanted to hear correctly.

"Vampires?"

"Aye, you know of Vampires, young Antares? Wretched beings inhabiting the darkest corners of the land."

I let out a long-suffering sigh, "Of course there are. Why wouldn't they be here too.”

A thought came to me, "You wouldn't happen to have heard of Count Dracula have you?."

Balgruuf frowned, "Not that I recall, no. Should I have?"

"I don't know." I shrugged, honestly unsure, "He was big deal in my home when it came to Vampires. Not really important here I guess, since he doesn't exist.... exist anymore, I mean."

He nodded, "My heart goes out to anyone who has had to deal with the Vampire menace. I'm glad you were able to rid yourselves of him."

I nodded back, not entirely attentive as I considered what I had said.

Count Dracula was a fictional creature... right? I knew he was based off of a historical figure, a king of Turkey I think, but with the existence of this magical world... could he have actually been a vampire all this time?

Fuck me, I am not ready for these kinds of questions.

"Disgusting vermin." Irileth spat and broke me from my reverie, "The fact that they dare openly attack settlements now is unforgiveable. And the stronghold of General Tulius and Elisif at that!"

Proventus spoke up, "Just goes to show how worse off everyone is due to this fruitless war. Ourselves included, I might add."

Balgruuf growled, "Save your incessant lectures Proventus. You'll be getting your Imperial coin thanks to Antares here, so keep that in mind before you complain."

"I complain only to express my care for Whiterun, my Jarl," He rebuked, though not severely.

There were a pair of eye-rolls at that, including from Proventus himself in reaction.

I wasn't sure how to describe these three's relationship honestly. Sometimes their words were barbed towards each other, but never to a point where I felt anything close to dislike or detesting the other.

And was it my imagination that Irileth's defensiveness seemed a bit too... intense for just a knight and her Jarl?

Is she even a knight? Are Knights even a thing here? It wouldn't make sense that they weren't right?

Ugh. I couldn't help finding more and more to be reasons to be confused about this place.

"There!" Proventus proclaimed, folding the letter with a wax seal, "That should cover the costs of the potions, the healing administered by the Temple, a slight tax for the Hold of course-"

"Enough Proventus," Balgruuf interrupted, "Just give Antares the letter."

The old Jarl turned my way as his advisor did so, gently handing me the note.

"Keep that safe, Antares. It may potentially be the first step in your eventual return. Hopefully in better circumstances than these that you've found yourself in."

Irileth spoke, "Or made for yourself."

I had expected Balgruuf to lecture her again, but he leisurely leaned back into his throne.

"Farewell, Antares.” He said almost regretfully, “May the Divines guide you to safety, wherever you may go..."

His eyes met mine, "So long as it is not here."

Danica approached me, hands hidden within her robe sleeves, a tired smile on her face.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Victoria.” She bowed slightly. Or do you prefer Antares?”

I smiled, “Victoria is fine, Danica.”

“Not Antares? What's the difference if you don't mind my asking?”

“I-” I hesitated, struggling to phrase it, “It really doesn’t matter. Both are fine.”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Then I look forward to seeing you again, Victoria.”

“It might not be for a while. Like I said, sort of banned from the City.”

Not that I'm complaining.

Danica smiled, “Then let Kynareth bless us with good will until such times have changed then.”

My own smile grew. I had been nervous around her, still felt that a bit if I thought too much about the superficial similarities, but Danica had been good to me in the brief time I'd been here. She had stuck out her own neck to save my own, despite not really gaining anything from it.

If only everyone was like that.

“Will you be okay?” I asked, thinking of Irileth’s anger, “You’re not going to be punished because of me are you?”

“Oh, I’m sure Irileth will give me a lecture after you leave, but nothing too serious. I’ve helped her soldiers enough through some hard times after all.”

I felt a weight off my shoulders at that. “As long as you’re sure.”

"Oh!" She reached into a side pouch along her rope belt, "I almost forgot!"

She pulled out a red vial, about as long as my index finger and only slightly wider. With the way the light hit the bottle, the liquid within looked a lot like blood.

"A token of goodwill from our Lady's temple," she said. "Kynareth shall preserve us."

I kept the smile on my face, even as I felt a chill run through me. It was with good intentions, the best of them really, but what I wouldn't have given to toss the vial as far as my super strength would have let me.

Just as she superficially reminded me of my sister, these vials reminded me of Cryptid and what he had allowed to happen to me. What he had done to me, using his "medicine".

I can never use this. Could never trust myself to this strange magic.

"Thank you," I said, pouring fake gratitude into my voice. "No offense, but I hope I never have to use it."

She waved me off, "None taken. Nothing wrong with having something just in case of course. Or if you'd like to take care of your burn. Just don't wait too long, or else the potion won't heal it properly."

That easily caught my attention.

I glanced at the bottle, "It has an expiration date?"

"A what?"

"Um, it wears out eventually if I don't use it?"

"Oh, no, don't worry about that." She smiled at the misunderstanding, "It's more that the longer you let a wound remain, the more likely you're inner self begins to see it as a part of you. Once that happens, you're going to need far stronger potions or magic to heal that wound."

"Huh," I said smartly. God, how I wished for a notebook to be jotting this information down now.

A cough caught both of our attention.

Invictus stood beside us, still covered in sweat and grime.

"I apologize for interrupting, but the men are loaded up Antares."

"There's no need to apologize." Danica raised her hands, "May you feel Kynareth's warm embrace in your travels."

He thumped his armored chest with a fist, "And for you as well, Priest."

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "If I can, I'll find some way to pay you back Danica."

She waved me off once again, smiling as she walked back to her temple.

A crowd was forming once again, despite Irileth and her guards holding a perimeter around us. For what it was worth, I respected her sense of public safety at least.

I felt my hands reach out and find the ropes, then the harness as it was placed around me.

"Did you warn them about the trip?"

Invictus grimaced, "As much as I could warn them about the... rare experience of a flying carriage. I'm very concerned that more than a few of them will lose their servings while I'm on board."

"I could always carry you like last time." I offered.

His expression was answer enough.

"Don't worry too much." I gave him a confident smile, "I'll be gentle."

I had only just landed the two wagons, the wooden wheels buckling under the stress, when all fourteen men dove off of the sides and onto the ground below. This little portion of the camp was soon filled with the gagging of over a dozen men, most of them were just dry heaving as they'd lost their stomach's sometime within the first fifteen minutes of the flight.

It was just a tad bit overdramatic in my opinion, but I tried not to be too offended.

Invictus hopped off the wagon last, sandaled feet squelching as they touched ground.

"Stop your pathetic mewling you mutts!" He shouted, "On your feet maggots! Our brothers and sisters are depending on these potions, fighting Arkay's caress as we speak, and you're all retching like children forced to eat yer greens?!"

It was a slow process, but the sick men eventually found their legs and began making stumbling steps towards the wagon, reaching in roughly.

"Don't drop these!" I added, "Lives are at stake here and we can't afford to spill even a single drop!"

There was some grumbling and muttering at this, but I did notice they took their time in unloading the potions.

Invictus was hurling more abuse while he directed them to the sick and injured tents, while deposited the ropes to the ground, happy that the Fragile One's knots had actually held together.

A good feeling that didn't last long as I saw Claudya approach with her guard.

"Invictus." I said, catching his attention.

"Right." He rubbed a hand through his short hair, "Right. Let's face the gallows together then."

I grimaced, "I hope it doesn't come to that. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Never let it be said you aren't confident."

I had nothing to say to that.

Claudya and her troops stopped a short distance away. Thankfully, the bows remained firmly at their backs.

"Captain," Invictus gave a short bow. I followed his lead, doing the same.

She didn't seem to acknowledge him, keeping her eyes on me.

"You've finally returned, Antares." She didn't sound pleased, "I was beginning to think you reneged on your own deal."

I shrugged, "We got turned around a bit. And the Jarl of Whiterun wanted to address you or General Tulius if he showed up. Give you a heads up about some important political information."

My hand grabbed the letter from my fingers, carrying it across the seven foot distance Claudya kept from us.

Unimpressed, she simply snatched it from the air, glancing at it briefly.

"Hmm." She handed it off to her guard, who promptly left back the way he came.

She met my eyes, "Three more have died since you've left, Antares."

I had been shot in the chest, had my heart briefly stopped by electricity, and been nearly crushed to death by a Titan.

Those words hit just as fucking hard.

"Captain!" Invictus spoke rapidly, "Antares did her best to get our men proper medical attention! It was the-"

"It took some time to gather all the necessary healing supplies," I interruptedfeeling cold despite the forcefield. "They weren't prepared for our arrival and I did a poor job explaining the situation to them. They worked as fast as they could with what little time they had. I take full responsibility for that."

I was completely aware of Invictus shooting me a look, not understanding why I hadn't bothered to defend myself. I only hoped that he wasn't too obvious about it.

Claudya crossed her arms.

"I don't think I'm happy with your tone, Quaestor. An hour away, and you're already mouthing off to your superior officer?"

I glanced his way, just as he gave a short bow. "My apologies, Captain. The... flight there and back has left me rattled. Forgive my emotional state."

She rolled her eyes, "Find your boy Quaestor. He's been prattling on to the other men about your harrowing escape through the woods. Go to him before he talks his tongue off."

What is with you and tongues, lady?

Another short bow, "Aye, Captain."

Invictus moved on, not even giving me a glance back as he passed Claudya.

Now she gave me her full attention, one eyebrow arching under her helmet. I matched her with a look of my own.

None of us said anything.

Claudya gave me the impression that she was the sort of person who found it easy - no - natural to separate issues into 'us or them'. I imagine that it might have even been beneficial in the heat of an actual battlefield, when it came to considering what the best options were for her and her soldiers.

Yet I couldn't help but remember just how close she had came to filling two of her soldiers and a stranger with arrows. Threatening to cut Sevitus's tongue out. Her clear reluctance to accept my offer to help.

This civil war that was going on in 'Skyrim', it was tearing these people apart. I haven't even been here a full day yet, but with all differing perspectives and opinions that had been tossed my way, I'd have to have been blind to not notice that much at least.

Whiterun went into full panic mode just from me landing with slightly more than a dozen injured soldiers, going through desperate measures to try to show they were clearly staying neutral, and Claudya's emotions were running hot after dealing with a Dragon of all things.

If she learned about the hoops I had to jump through to get our asses back here, I had no idea how many ways she could go about fucking things up for everyone.

I wasn't willing to risk having her start something that couldn't be stopped.

Dealing with Deathchester had been the same, now that I thought of it.

Could we have beaten them? Yeah. I'd argue that we had been beating them, obviously so, even.

But could I have risked so many lives being lost if Damsel had let loose her power at the wrong time, started the cracks even earlier while Teacher had still been in action?

No. Hell, no.

I didn’t feel like I was the kind of person to handle innocent lives so carelessly.

It couldn't have been more than a minute, but the silence between us felt like it stretched on forever.

It was petty, but her breaking it first felt like a needed win.

"What do you want."

I raised another eyebrow. That sounded more like a demand than a question.

She rolled her eyes again, "For your reward, Antares. You aided my soldiers despite your... circumstances, whatever they may be. To not give you something would be an insult to the Imperial creed, despite my better judgement. So. What do you want?"

I found it utterly incredible how someone offering a reward could make it sound like they were chopping of a limb against their will.

Fine. Fuck it.

"Decent clothes for starters," I said. "Some armor as well. A canteen of water and some food. Then a map of Skyrim."

"And?"

I blinked, "And... that's it."

She stared at me, disbelieving, "All you're asking for is some clothes, food, and a map?"

I shrugged, "It's all I'll need for now."

Claudya bit her lip in thought.

She shouted, "Heinricks!"

The soldier behind her stood at attention, "Captain."

"Lead Antares to one of the women's tents. They should have some leftover apparel for her, along with some food and a map within."

She gave me a searching look, "They might not fit exactly right, not without measuring you, but the Imperial gear is made to be slightly adjustable in any case. It'll have to do."

I nodded, "That sounds fine with me. Thank you."

Claudya snapped her fingers and the man named Heinricks turned on his heels, walking away at a decent pace. I flew after him, not wanting to lose him among these crowds of reds and brown leather.

Claudya's hand reached out and grasped my by the elbow. I could feel the faint pressure as her fingers dig into my bare skin, my mind momentarily seeing a red filter in my peripheral.

Don't kill her. I thought, eyes wide as I turned. Easy does it.

Her eyes were cold, like Irileth’s, but there was a touch of shadows under her eyes that betrayed her stress.

"I don't know what your game is, Antares. I don't know why you've done all of this... this... charity." She hissed. "But I wasn't born on the morn. I want you gone by days end, do I make myself clear? You aren't wanted here."

I nodded.

She left go of my elbow, but found herself unable to move her wrist.

Her eyes widened as I flew in close, invisible grip on her armguard tight. My aura was at a low thrum, short range.

"Don't ever do that again. Please."

I kept my eyes locked onto hers, until she nodded ever so slightly, her face a mask of confusion and wariness.

I let her go. "Thank you, again. I'll be gone soon anyways."

With that I flew off, feeling my emotions boiling in the center of my chest, unrelieved at my brief outburst.

I tried to keep my expression neutral and devoid of the black thoughts that bubbles up as I caught up to Heinricks at one of the tents.

I must have failed, because he was quick to open the tent flap as I landed, not meeting my eyes.

Within was an older woman, arranging some clothing onto a nearby cot within. She saw whatever face I was making, instantly standing up and brushing grass off her dress knees.

"Can I help you with something dearie? I've got some washcloths and clean rags in the back if you-"

I shook my head, "Clothes and armor please. That'll be fine for me right now."

She was out of the tent in a flash, and I was alone with my thoughts.

It felt good to return the favor, didn't it?

Barely. Maybe if it had been Glory Girl. Now it just feels empty.

I had felt the same way when Shortcut had harassed me after our fight with Oberon and Skadi. There was an underlying enjoyment of shutting someone down, it was only natural to feel some catharsis.

But that feeling was tainted, knowing the kind of person who would default to those tactics. That wasn't being the bigger person like I wanted to be, just the opposite.

The tent flap opened once again, the old woman now carrying folded armor. Faster than I could thank her, she had laid the armor pieces and underlying cloth across one fo the cots.

I was admiring the leather craftsmanship for the top when she brought out the bottom half.

I couldn't stop the cringe at the sight of the leather skirt.

"Please tell me you have pants as well?'

Chapter Text

Claw marks along my left arm where the acid centipede had found traction with its spines. On that same arm was the burned hand from my fight with Lung, trying to force the Fragile One to move the way I wanted by physically grabbing hot metal.

A closing of the fist and flex of the bicep felt both injuries twinge a bit. Not pain exactly, but a tightness that emphasized ongoing healing.

Good.

My right arm still had the scar from the bullet wound, a slight divot between bicep and shoulder where meat hadn't filled in the hole all the way. I would probably never have full strength in this arm again.

The skin on my hand was a dark-blue going purple around the edges where it had been stitched back on, connecting it with my arm-flesh in a haphazard way as the tissue reformed. I wrapped the hand and wrist in cloth, hopefully lessening the chance of infection, and noticed my fingernails.

Or lack of them, rather. My choice.

Still good.

Grabbing the hand mirror's wooden handle, I lifted up my bare chest with both hands, giving me a better view of the damage.

The purple bruising from raiding Teacher's base was subsiding slightly, but fighting the Titans had likely enflamed it enough that I would have to keep an eye on any major chest pains or trouble breathing.

A twist to the side for a better look with the mirror showed that the lacerations I'd gotten from Oberon were still red as hell, a pattern of cuts and rashes from arm-pit to hip.

Not deep enough to be a concern, just ugly to look at. Since I had them treated by Uncle Mike, I doubted infection was going to be an issue.

I'd still have to be wary of any hits landing on my ribs and side.

I had already felt the twisted muscle in my foot from Skadi and rubbed the chemical burn along my hairline from Fumehood. A bit of work with the mirror showed a vague star shape of pink skin, a small patch of no hair at my temple.

If I wanted to, I could probably comb over it with my 'luscious locks', as Crystal once teased about my hair in her overly-dramatic way. I decided to let it remain visible for now.

I have all the injuries I accumulated in my career. The war wounds I've earned fighting the good fight for my city and my team.

I smiled.

It was probably the best thing to happen to me since arriving here. My costume and weapons might have been taken from me, but whatever or whoever dropped me into this fucked up world couldn't take away what was really mine.

It wasn't perfect. I still had lingering suspicions about what Amy had... done to me while I was passed out in her care, but I had a torn off fingernail to prove that I could make this body of cats and dogs my own.

And a friend who can help me along the way.

Fingers ran lightly through my hair in place of a brush. Soothing. Comforting in a sense.

There was a slight draft where a bottom tent flap hadn't been completely nailed down in the rushed construction, and I shivered as goosebumps sprung up along my body.

Even within the forcefield, all it did was prevent me from getting colder rather than actually warming up, and staying like this was bound to catch me a cold eventually. As I rubbed my arms to regain some circulation and warmth, other hands grabbed the clothing that had been given to me by my hosts.

The new bra and panties were similar to the ones I had woken up with on the cart to Helgen along with the prisoner clothes, an ugly yellow-brown that seemed to be made of wool rather than silk or softer cloth like I preferred. I tried not to think about the implications of that situation as I slipped the pair on with invisible hands.

For what it was worth, they fit snug around my frame, but I could already imagine how any fast paced movement would lead to a raw chaffing nightmare in unfortunate locations. I debated just going commando for a fraction of a second before moving on, not wanting to get sidetracked over such a minor annoyance.

The armor they had given me was next, the same kind that Invictus and Sevitus wore, all leather with buckles down the middle for the straps and softer cloth serving as a second layer underneath. The woman who delivered these called them 'light armor', the kind given to every foot-soldier in the army.

It was better than the rags I had woken with, but that wasn't saying much honestly. It certainly looked functional, but if I had to compare it with my golden armor, designer hoodie, and battle cloak... well I was just setting myself for disappointment no matter what.

Deft hands unbuckled the straps and I stepped into the armor, feeling the inner cloth embrace artificial skin as the hands pulled the buckles across my chest. I winced at the sudden pressure, feeling the ache resonate down to my bones. Claudya wasn't lying when she mentioned that it wouldn't fit exactly right. My tits were squashed tight by the armor-turned-corset and I was slightly frantic in adjusting the buckles to try and alleviate the pressure.

I felt my breathing soften as I found that sweet spot.

After the pain in my ribs subsided, I rolled my shoulders and turned from side to side a few times, testing the armor's flexibility. Still a bit stiff, but more due to being unworn till now, rather than any actual faults in the material itself.

The pants were next, the old woman having found some in some spare tent supplies, which I was eternally thankful for. It wasn't like I was ardently against skirts or dresses in combat; Ashely made her cocktail-dress costume work and I had worn a skirt as Glory Girl myself.

But I found the idea of a skirt and armor combo to just be a ridiculous pairing, style-wise, especially when it came to exposure in all meanings of the word.

It didn't help that some of the rougher kids on the Patrol Block had made it something of crude joke to imply mini-skirts as a uniform change whenever a female member happened to be nearby. The good ones had shaped up and could maybe one day match up to Gilpatrick and Jasper as men. The bad ones didn't always last long, but some did, unfortunately.

In any case, these Imperial leather-skirts weren't the worst I'd seen and I could even bet they offered some protection against glancing blows, but... no. Just no.

The pants were the same rough material as the prison rags, but dyed to a darker brown that wasn't bad on the eyes, and a softer inner layer for added warmth. It was apparently meant for larger men, hanging dangerously loose even with my hips, but using the belt that had come with the abandoned skirt solved that issue easily enough.

The looseness of the pants reminded me of my own red pair back home, the ones I had bought in remembrance of Dean. Looser clothing always brought to mind being embraced.

Five year old me huddling together with Dad on rainy nights, spooning with Dean while wrapped in his comically fluffy blankets, pressing myself against Ethan on that too-small cot only a few hours ago...

The smile on my face felt melancholy as I put on the accessories; leather braces with metal studs, rags, and leather boots.

The rags were of softer material than anything else I had gotten my hands on in this world before, almost like fluffy socks. I had asked the old woman whether these were meant to be wrapped around my feet like said socks. She gave me a look of total incomprehension before shaking her head and pointing to my pelvis, one eyebrow arching.

It took me a second to connect the action with the intent and I felt my ears grow hot. I had calmly thanked the woman as she left, casting one last confused look at me before departing.

Now I put the rags into one of the pockets of the my pants next to Danica's vial, hoping to all that was good and just in the world that I would be home before ever having to use either of them.

Working the boots on gave me some issues with my injured foot, but once I was able to squeeze past the pain, they fit well enough. The lack of socks was an odd sensation, but the boots were padded enough that it didn't feel gross. It went without saying that my old boots I'd scavenged the end of the world for were still sorely missed.

The Fragile One went to work running her hands through my hair as gently as she could, tying off my braid with Danica's strap as a finishing touch. My little hand mirror wasn't great at getting the full picture, but I definitely felt more whole than I had been while running around in a potato sack.

I caught my own eye in the reflection and moved one of the many invisible faces over my own, feeling the mold match perfectly with both touch and powered senses.

"We're going to find our way home" We said, mouths moving in sync. "We're going to save our friends and our world."

Powers were all about headspace and mine was especially tuned to my desires. I wanted her to understand the gravity of our situation and share that resolve with me.

I waited for a reply, any sign of movement on my alien friend's part.

There was none.

I guess that'll have to do, right?

Fully dressed, I turned off my aura, no longer relying on it to keep any curious peepers from getting a free show. Stepping out of the tent, I kept myself to my little float-walk, not wanting to instigate another altercation with Claudya or her lackies.

Which is why I was surprised to see two soldiers guarding my tent, for a definition of it anyways. Both them were breathing heavily and reeked with sweat. When I passed by, one of them practically jumped out of their skin, while the other stumbled back at my presence, nearly tripping over himself.

Damn it. They must have been just at the edge of my aura for some time now.

"Lady Antares," the one who jumped breathed out. His hand was on the handle of his sword, shaking slightly, "You surprised me. Us."

"Sorry about that," I said and meant it. I only wanted to scare off anyone who got too curious, not make these two poor guys suffer. "Claudya sent you two here?"

"Aye." He said. He was regaining some color to his face. "To make sure you leave without any trouble."

I raised an eyebrow at that, "She thinks I'll cause trouble? Gratitude doesn't go far here does it?"

He shifted uncomfortably, "Our Captain has to remain ever vigilant in these trying times, Lady Antares. New threats have bared their teeth in unexpected way this sad morn."

"I'll take that as a no then."

My 'guard' pressed his lips into a thin line, caught between a frown and a scowl.

I crossed my arms, "Whatever. I was promised a map, food and some water before I go."

The soldier behind me spoke up, his voice reedy, "I don't know about any maps, but we can get you situated at our supply tent. You go on your way, no hassle, and everyone's blessed for the better when the Captain improves her mood."

I turned to him, "And my map?"

He shrugged, "Bound to be one somewhere."

Great. I traded Invictus and Sevitus for tweeddle-dumb and tweeddle-dee.

I gestured for him to lead the way and he about faced, walking quickly through the muddied grass. I followed, keeping my feet less than an inch off the ground, noting how tweedled-dumb kept close behind me. For his part, tweedled-dee kept glancing back my way every few feet, and always quickly turning back when he notices that I can plainly see him doing so.

I rubbed the bridge of nose and sighed. I felt bad about not feeling as bad as I should about blasting these two with my aura, but they were making it really fucking hard to manage.

Thankfully, we didn't have to walk far enough for me to stew in those conflicting emotions.

Coming from the opposite direction were Invictus and Sevitus, the former drinking heartedly from a glass bottle while the latter carried a plate of food in one hand and a leather pack in the other.

I picked up my pace when they saw me, incorporating a bit of skip into my step as my flight compensated for my foot, leaving my guard detail behind to their surprise.

Sevitus beamed as I approached, "Antares! It is good to see you return!"

"And prancing like a maiden." Invictus added, wiping his mouth with his arm. His breath smelt slightly of alcohol as he spoke, "Healed your leg have ya?"

I shook my head as I slowed to a stop, "Sort of cheating a bit with the 'no flying' rule. Don't tell on me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He took another hearty swallow of his beverage, "I've had enough of the Captain chewing me out for one mission, Stendarr preserve me."

I looked at him, really looking at him since we had separated twenty minutes ago. He had washed his face but it was in a very unorganized way, streaks of ash and dust left in lines where the water had cut through but not actually cleaned. His eyes were red from the smoke, but I couldn't imagine that beer or wine he was drinking would help on that front.

He just looked so tired.

"Are you-" I paused as the rattling of armor and boots approached.

Tweedle-dumb on my right and Tweedle-dee on my left, both breathing heavily.

"Questar Invictus," Tweedle-dumb greeted with a short bow. Tweedle-dee followed suit.

"Atticas. Romulas."

Invictus glanced over the trio of us, "You've traded us for them have ya?"

I shrugged, smiling a bit, "Claudya thinks I deserve some personal attention. Seems like I might cause some mischief."

"I never said that." Tweed- Atticas said.

"I can imagine what the Captain said." Invictus gave a rueful grin of his own, "I imagine mischief was the least offensive word used to describe you."

Atticas looked like he had to physically bite his tongue. Romulas just looked lost.

"Tell you what men." Invictus took another swig, "Me and my boy will take it from here. We've known Antares for a bit now, and I think I can see when she gets an odd thought or two in her head."

I smirked, "Oh, do you now?"

"Oh I do," He nodded very gravely. The beer in his hand sloshed as he pointed at me, looking at the guards. "She gets that twinkle in her eye she does. Tilts her chin in the way that makes you think she's sizing you up, and then she raises one golden brow like so-"

He gave an exaggerated arching of an eyebrow, eyes wide to the point of looking ghastly with how red they were.

"-and then she starts talking and making sense. Fills your head with these funny thoughts about flying you miles above Nirn to save time, or breaching neutral territory to get some much needed aid. But let me tell you now men, all that sense falls out one ear or another when you're being pulled faster than any horse and the head-winds threaten to tip the wagon and pour you out to the unforgiving crust like dirty mead."

At this, he tipped his bottle down, letting the foamy liquid splash against the torn grass below.

"Should I feel insulted?"

Invictus waved me off, "I got fourteen good soldiers who got to throw up their morning stew, where such things would be wasted in the guts of the dead."

"But!" He pointed at the two guards, making them back up slightly at the force of it, "That's the kind of thinking and doing that our Lady Antares likes to rope us into! Now, you men both got strong character and iron wills-"

I couldn't help but notice that they were still pale from his mead interpretation of our wagon trip. Sevitus was resolutely keeping a stone cold expression.

"-And I hate to take this duty given to you both from our honorable Captain. But if you want someone with an experienced eye for these signs and a hardened stomach, I will gladly take over from here for you both."

Neither of them looked completely convinced, but it was clear that they were wavering.

"I won't tell the Captain if you won't." Invictus gave them a smile that looked like he was deeply uncomfortable with the act.

It seemed to have worked though, with both men giving the other a look, and wordlessly walking on towards the food tent.

The smile dropped from Invictus's face as soon as they passed. He looked longingly at his empty bottle while Sevitus broke out a far warmer smile.

I crossed my arms, chin tilted up in exaggeration. "I guess I owe you one now."

"Bah," He tossed the bottle to the side of the grass, "We were going to replace them anyways. Captain's orders, with my convincing. Just decided to have a bit of fun with it is all."

I rolled my eyes.

"You look great!" Sevitus blurted out suddenly, "With the armor I mean. Like a real Imperial!"

Invictus sighed deeply.

I couldn't help but smile, "Thank you, Sevitus. Sorry I didn't say so before, but it's good to see you too."

The smile on his face made him look so much younger than I guessed him to be, not helped by how much cleaner he was compared to Invictus, looking like he'd actually taken time to wash out all the grime he'd collected. More than that, it served to emphasize just how different in appearance he was to his 'father'.

He spoke in an excited whisper, "Is it true that you stared down the Jarl's personal guard until they acquiesced to your demands?!"

"Not what happened," Invictus murmured.

"Definitely not what happened," I agreed, "Besides, your Dad was the one who did a lot of the work back there."

Invictus shrugged as his son gave him a questioning glance.

I gave Sevitus a serious look of my own, "Please don't go spreading those rumors around. I literally just got here, but I can tell that things are fragile between Whiterun and your Empire. No need to get things even more muddled."

"My lips are sealed," he said equally seriously, "Da's already sworn the men to secrecy on how tough you had it there."

I gave Invictus a surprised look, "And they'll keep it?"

He shrugged, "Enough that I don't think it'll be much of an issue for now. I leave the future to prophecies and prophets."

Prophets brought to mind the mountain-sized enemy to mankind that was roaming free in my world, leading alien forces while still communicating something with the Simurgh in ways that no human could possibly understand.

The goosebumps that ran up my flesh this time had nothing to do with the cold.

"The Captain told us you were hungry, Lady Antares." Sevitus held out the plate, "Would you like some Goat Roast and Boiled Cream?"

My nose was assaulted with the scent of cooked meat and suddenly I was back in the Warden HQ, forcing myself to devour some of the best chicken I'd ever eaten, all the while fighting that impending sense of doom in the forefront of my mind.

"I'm absolutely famished," I said, forcing a smile as I took the plate. The boiled cream looked almost like a glazed donut, but with egg yolk or butter on top. I wasn't a fan of the former if that was the case, but I wasn't going to turn down a free meal from someone being considerate.

I paused, "Do you guys wash your hands? You.... You know what germs are right?"

Invictus looked appalled, "What do you think we are, Argonians? Of course we clean our hands. Who would eat with dried blood and feces on their hands?"

"I would have taken a yes," I mumbled, grabbing that bit of meat. I would save the cream not-donut for later.

"There's more in the sack," Sevitus said excitedly, showing me the satchel-pouch thing. "Mostly salted goat meat, but I was able to get some plums in there as well. And the water liver of course. With my own liver, we can make the trip to the border in a day's time-"

I was in mid-bite on the small goat meat when his words caught up to me.

I swallowed, "We?"

He paused, mid-rummage, looking up at me in surprise.

"Well, yes. Claudya told us you'd be leaving, and we both knew you came from the border of Cyrodiil. I'll be going with you, since you aren't familiar with the area and the path there isn't marked on most maps."

I shook my head, "Sevitus, I can't- Look, you and your father have done enough for me-"

"Don't be dragging me into this," Invictus almost growled. He turned to his son, "I told you boy, it was a fool's thought in the first place."

"It's not about being a fool or not." I gave Invictus a sharp look, "I really do appreciate the offer. But I think it's best that I don't cause anymore waves with Claudya, not while things with Whiterun are so fragile."

"I wouldn't be missed!" Sevitus insisted, "I've been talking to the men in the camp while you two were gone, and they aren't going to be moving on for at least another two days! The time it'll take for me to guide you there and then come back will be a day and half at most. Father will be waiting for me-"

"Never agreed to this."

"-Father will send some men to wait for me past Helgen on the day I return."

Said father just harrumphed.

I bit my lip, thinking of how to put this nicely. "Sevitus, where I'm hoping to go, it's not just across the border. It's... not a place any one of you would know, and the area around it could be dangerous to say the least."

I was thinking of how space-time would twist to the point that my own forcefield was shredded apart. Invisible and without any warning, whatever portal was used on me could be littered with these dangers.

I didn't want to see what would happen to a person who walked into one of those, let alone a kid like Sevitus.

Sevitus frowned, seemingly deep in thought. He reached into the pack, rummaging a bit before pulling out a roll of paper.

I could guess what it was.

He unfolded the map in front of me, eyes over the top of the paper. "Can you point me at the Skyrim part of it?"

I looked over the map.

I blinked.

I looked over the map a second time.

"What the hell?"

Invictus peeked over, "Is he holding the damned thing upside down again?"

"No, I-" I looked at him, "Is this the map of the continent?"

He gave me an odd look, "That's Tamriel, clear as day. Obviously a bit bigger than the paper of course."

I looked at the map again, biting my lip as I took in the image.

What the fuck?

It wasn't a continent that I recognized, not unless I imagined it to be some supercontinent like Pangea. I was no stranger to alternate Earth's with different geography. Earth Aleph didn't have the mountain range that helped form Brockton Bay in Bet for example, and Shin was the result of a land-bridge for ancient man existing for far longer than my Earth.

But wouldn't something like this continent require even more drastic changes to how the world was formed in billions of years than either? I wasn't an expert by any means, but was it wrong to feel that something was off here?

Of course there is. This world has magic in it.

Oh. Right.

I felt my panic recede. Only slightly, but still.

Powers arriving had altered the way of life on my world in unique ways, some more obscure than others when it came to damage being done. I didn't even have the basics when it came to understanding magic, so who knows how the world had been affected by it's use for god knows how long?

More importantly for my situation now, I really did have no idea where to go from here.

I glanced at Sevitus, and then to his father.

The former caught on immediately and his frown deepened.

I sighed, "Prepare your horse Sevitus. I guess you're my chaperone for the day."

He crumpled the map in a way that made me feel bad for it's creator, excitement at the edge of his voice, "Truly, Lady Antares?"

I gave him a small smile, "Truly. You made your point loud and clear. Got me good."

He laughed good naturedly.

Then he seemed to remember where he was, coughing awkwardly when he noticed his father's stare.

"I'll... I'll go get my things then. Father-"

"Go on," Invictus drawled, "Before she changes her mind and leaves you here in annoyance."

Sevitus seemed slightly panicked at that. He gave his father and I a bow before running off, nearly slipping in a particularly nasty patch of mud.

I crossed my arms, bandaged finger tapping at one arm.

"I'm sorry." I said, putting real regret into it. "I didn't want him to come along... but I need to get back home. And I need his help to do it."

"I overheard the Dark Elf as she was talking to you." He said nonchalantly. "She said sorry doesn't fix everything, right?"

I sighed, "She was right. It really doesn't. Only actions can do that, and only sometimes."

He hummed, but didn't say anything.

Silence, for a moment.

I had to ask, "Are you drunk?"

"Aye."

"The meeting with Claudya was that bad, huh?"

He sighed, "Aye."

I winced, "How bad?"

He was thoughtful for a moment.

Was it wrong to wonder how much of the moisture in his eyes was due to alcohol?

"I'm due to lose my position most likely." As if he was talking about the weather, "The boy should be fine, not like they can afford to send him back to Cyrrodiil, but my career is effectively over for now. Only reason I'm not taking his place is because he couldn't lie to save his life without some guidance. He'd be executed for desertion and I'd be given the same treatment one I returned. At least while I'm here I can use what leftover clout I have to keep some keen eyes and ears shut."

Christ.

"I'm so sorry, Invictus. If I had known-"

He waved me off again, "You would have found some other way to do some good. I've barely known you a day, Antares, but I've caught on to that much about you. You aren't the kind of warrior to leave things be, not when you think there are better ways. It took the clarity of some flat mead, but I see now that you were trying to keep Ulfric from killing me and the boy, right?"

I nodded reluctantly, hoping I hadn't hurt his pride.

"Aye," He nodded back. "You saw the bigger picture and took steps to keep it in your mind. The boy is right about how you could be an Imperial. Despite lacking half of the armor course."

I played with the hem of the chest piece, "Skirt didn't really suit me, no offense."

"If you meant to offend me," he deadpanned, "You'll have to try harder than that."

I gave him a small smile.

We stood in companionable silence for moment, looking to where Sevitus had gone for his horse and pack. The camp was filled with the sounds of meaningless chatter and the stomping of boots, the clanking of metal on earth.

There was a sense of restlessness in the air, the men and women here antsy about their next orders, and I felt that restlessness add to my own tension. The desire to fly off now and never return was stronger than ever, held in place by the reality check Sevitus had given me about how hopelessly lost I'd be.

Invictus broke the silence this time.

"He's all I got. My sister found that boy crying in the gutters, and she called it a miracle that he wasn't Skeever food. She didn't raise that boy more than a year before she lost her head against those damned elves. I've... I've done all I can for him, good and ill."

I nodded, "I'll keep him safe Invictus. Anything or anyone tries to hurt him, they'll have to go through me."

"Can you?" His voice was grave enough that I had to look, "Keep him safe? There isn't much left to tie me to this realm. My loyalty to the Empire is one. The boy is another, Antares. If I lose him-"

"You won't."

He tried to challenge my gaze with that cold eye of his, but there was no give. There was no pushing back against this promise, because it was only a facet of the whole, the larger part of what drove me to save as many people as I could.

Because those people deserved copacetic lives at the least, spent safe with loved ones, and every life that was lost was my personal failure as a hero that I refused to forget.

Invictus nodded. "Men will be waiting past Helgen in a day and a half. If he isn't there, then I'll do everything I can to make you regret it."

I didn't need to say anything as he turned away.

The look in my eyes was answer enough.

Chapter Text

My day had gotten off to a rough start.

I had been sick and grieving and sick with grief. Dinah's prophecy had been dropped into our laps while my team and I had been recovering from the lowest point in our lives. Minutes later we had to fight Deathchester and deal with Damsel's whole fucked up situation. Then I had to take Kenzie to her teammates and narrowly avoid having to murder some kids who would have done worse to her.

After that was our journey into the Dream Room, where I had been lacerated to hell and my skin was melted off while facing an Alien Avatar of Death and Destruction.

From there it was traversing the Shard-Realm, finding out just how far ahead Teacher was in starting his own apocalypse. While down there I had seen... ‘truths’ presented to me from the Network, things about my family and loved ones that I should never have known.

Maybe had been better off not knowing-

I felt fragile but powerful finger nails comb through the side of my hair, scratching an itch I barely knew I had. I dismissed them, feeling them vanish in mid-comb.

- Maybe not.

I fought and defeated the mutated Teacher, staving off the apocalypse for a few more hours. From there, me and my team were sort-of-but-not-really held under Warden supervision, while Amy and Chris had revealed their fucking giants to play a part in Shin's wargames. I had to talk down my lunatic sister with promises I didn't want to keep and I had to deal with Eric while that was happening.

It wasn't a bad thing, but I had also found some closure with Anelace for most of an hour, which was an exhausting hurdle itself.

Eric broke my phone and the anti-parahumans broke Fumehood, and thus broke the world. I spent hours fighting Oberon, Skadi, and unfortunately Fumehood, getting majorly fucked up for my troubles. I had to deal with the scenario of us not being able to fight back the Titans and that my Uncle Mike's family will never have another get together. I forced myself to sleep, a short and restless affair, and from there I asked humanity to fight with us Capes to defend our reality.

Innocent men and women were killed while I fought on the frontlines, dying as heroes, but dying all the same.

And then... I woke up here. After more than twenty-four hours of fighting and near death scenario's, one would expect sleep to have rejuvenated me on some level, granted my mind some much needed clarity.

There was nothing like that. It didn't even feel like I had been at rest. If anything, it felt as if a portion of my life had been skipped over or discarded, transitioning the me from then on the battlefield, to the me on the cart to Helgen.

Like the difference between a mover who can run faster than sound and one who simply apparated from A to B, the latter left me in a weird state of time, mentally.

Was I tired?

My body was sore and bruised, my adrenaline was spiked after having a meteor shower dumped on top of me, and my mind was still racing a mile a minute trying to figure out how the fuck magic was tied into the Cycle and what that meant for powers.

If I was tired, then it was in a distant fourth place to literally everything else I was feeling at the moment.

The young man saddling his horse next to me didn't look tired either. Sevitus had taken some more time to clean himself and his armor, the sweat and grime from the forest fire was about seventy percent gone now, and he was smiling with anticipation. It was weird how he looked like he could be a year or two older than myself, but 'young' felt so attached to how I saw him now.

"Aren't you tired?" I asked. "How long have you been up?"

Sevitus seemed surprised at my question, but his boyish smile was back in a second, "I had a spare stamina potion from my last trip back home. It wasn't a large one, but I feel like I got a solid nap. You don't need to worry about me falling off my horse like a new squire."

Huh. Well, damn.

"Color me jealous then. Wasn't exactly a comfortable nap for me when I woke up."

He flinched, "Does your head still hurt from where I struck you?"

"Nope. Don't even feel a thing." Which was true. I had inspected my body from head to toe earlier, and besides the war-wounds I was physically fine. The only injury close to my head had been the chemical burn at my side.

Sevitus smiled, "That is good news then. Finding my steed safe and sound was another boon."

The horse below him huffed out a breath and he laughed.

I chuckled, "Seems she agrees. And what a beauty."

"Aye!" Sevitus agreed enthusiastically, "Have you experience with horses Lady Antares?"

"Just Antares, please." Lady reminded me too much of Director Piggot and it felt wrong to take her call-sign. "I used to ride horses with my Aunt, years ago. It was her favorite hobby."

I inspected his ride, "She's a... Palomino?"

"Aye, her breed was brought to Skyrim alongside the first of men." He sounded very proud of that fact. He patted the side of his mount, "This one here is Daisy. Got her a winter ago while breaking in a new herd, and she's taken to me ever since. Have to admit, Divines have mercy, I was just as worried about Daisy's fate as I was with General Tulius."

I smiled, gently brushing a hand down her snout, "Hi Daisy."

No response, but I counted the flickering of her ears as a 'How do ya do'.

Sevitus was looking at me curiously, "Were your family Ranch Hands, before you became a Mage?"

I shook my head, "Not a mage. And no Ranch either. Just a hobby."

He opened his mouth, likely to ask another question, but I held up my hand. "We should go now. I don't have a watch on me now, but it feels closer to noon than I would like."

Sevitus glanced upwards, squinting a bit before nodding, "Aye, time is slipping while we palaver. Would you saddle with me?"

"I think that would be too noticeable for when we leave." I didn't bother to mention that I was pretty sure riding would play hell on every ache and bruise on my body. "I can fly alongside Daisy, keeping close so that at least one part of the camp won't notice me leaving with you."

"That would be better, wouldn't it." If he sounded a bit disappointed, I elected to ignore it.

I looked around, searching for a specific person.

"My father won't see us off."

I looked at Sevitus.

He smiled sadly, "He's always hated goodbyes, even for when he went out to the merchants. He won't be around to watch us leave."

I could recognize the feeling in that smile and in those words, "I'm sorry Sevitus. I'm sure he cares about you, it just... sometimes its scary to see someone go."

Sevitus shook his head, "My father fears nothing. He's a model Imperial."

What the hell do I say to that?

I could imagine how Jessica might have felt, listening to me talk about my Mom or Dad, and how I saw them compared to reality.

"In any case, he was able to pack us some coats and blankets for the trip." Sevitus deflected, "Pale Pass gets a bit windy as we travel through the mountains."

"Odd to think it would only take a day and a half for you to get back." I commented.

He smiled, "Daisy will get us there, won't you girl?"

The horse, unable to speak English, did not deign to reply.

"I like her confidence." I said.

He laughed as I got around her side, floating up so that my body was parallel to her body.

Let's go.

We traveled as fast as we possibly could for a good hour, silent as we made the trek back towards Helgen. We weren't insane enough to go through the route leading directly to the still burning settlement, which meant long detours through the brush to cut into less-traveled roads.

I did my part in clearing away the worst it, working with the Fragile One to swipe away branches and fallen logs that barred Daisy's path.

Daisy, giving credit where it's due, put in the work for the first few hours of constant travel. She wasn't a breed meant for speed, but I knew most horses would not have lasted nearly as long on paved trails, let alone while having to weave through trees and on roads that looked as though they might have been used once decades ago.

Still, it was glacially slow progress for someone like me, trapped at barely a quarter of my real flight and with this fucking ash cloud above our heads. The lack of speed meant that more of the ash from the sky had time to cover the Fragile One, giving my forcefield a vague outline of soot, sliding off only for more to take it's place.

Folds in the skin meant buildup of ash that wouldn't easily slide off, which meant I had to adjust her positioning to dump them out.

Sevitus never noticed, eyes focused only on preventing Daisy from injuring herself and holding his fur coat to his nose to keep the worst of the ash at bay.

The dark clouds hung ominously over us even as we passed the territory around Helgen, and even though the ash eventually ceased to fall around us, it was easy to see how it corrupted the sky beyond. What should have been a bright afternoon remained a solemn shade of morning, refusing to let us have any reprieve or taste of needed sunlight.

By the time we began to see deep bans of snow off the trail, black clouds began to form grey, and Sevitus had slowed Daisy to a trot.

An hour of that and he suggested letting her take an hour break, giving him time to feed and water her before continuing on the journey. As much as I wanted to say no, to beg him to push her another hour, I couldn't conscience having him or his horse run ragged. So I agreed, helping him set a makeshift camp and unload thin logs of firewood while he had Daisy settled in and grazing.

He offered me a blanket as the fire began to grow and I accepted, wrapping it around myself and keeping the forcefield off to allow the heat to reach me. With Sevitus finding a log to sit on and me floating a foot off the air, I knew what was coming.

Questions.

And he had a lot of them.

What was the name of my home?

Earth, which he was surprised by, as he felt strange for a place to name itself after the ground they walked. I wasn't entirely surprised by that, since Shin had a different name for their Earth as well, and specified that it was technically called Earth Gimel. I expected him to ask what that meant, but he seemed more interested in moving on.

What are the people of Earth Gimel like? Did they all look like me?

We had people of all shapes, sizes and color, which he understood. He was floored by the idea of my home having no Elves of any kind, beyond fairytales and stories, as though I told him the sky was purple and the moon was made of cheese. No Argonians or Kajeet, which were apparently half-lizard and half-cat people.

Argonians… well, I had seen some shows that talked about how if Dinosaurs hadn't gone extinct, they could maybe have evolved into humanoid size. Half-cats though? I couldn't really wrap my head around that and I almost didn't want to try and envision what that would look like.

Did we have Gods? Oh yes. Hundreds depending on what you believed.

What did I believe?

I... didn't know how to answer that. He saw my hesitation and moved on.

What did my home look like?

This one was far easier and I gave my best recollection of my flights over Brockton Bay and the Megacity, trying to express how beautiful the whole looked when you were disconnected from the individual pieces.

"Castles hundreds of feet high as far as the eye can see..." He spoke dreamily, as if I had told him that my world was made of gumdrops and ice-cream, rather than impressive feats of engineering.

He didn't want to use 'skyscraper', finding it a terrifying word to use, and... yeah it kind of was when I thought about it.

I didn't have it in me to tell him that a lot of those 'castles' were toppled by our greatest hero giving in to his alien nature, and that what we left were shoddy imitations from that time. I especially couldn't bring myself to mention that even those imitations were desolated despite my best efforts.

"My turn for a question." I said. "You seemed to know a bit about Magic when we first met."

He gave me a questioning look, dreams of skyscrapers forgotten. "Aye, I know a bit. Everyone knows a trifle amount, and the Empire makes sure it's troops know what to look out for in battle. I would say that you would know more that I do... but, you say you are not a Mage."

I shook my head.

"...Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." I sighed, "Back where I'm from, Magic is considered... less than believable."

"Less than!" Sevitus looked aghast. He looked at Daisy, as if expecting the damn horse to share his shock, before turning back to me. "You can levitate! I've seen you use invisible Wards to block arrows and telekinesis to carry wagons through the sky! I felt ghost hands that you summoned hold me tight!"

Would it be bad to admit I was surprised that he knew what Telekinesis was?

Best to keep that to myself.

Still, I had to smile at that idea of Fragile One being a ghost. It fit surprisingly well.

"All of those came to me naturally. More or less." I continued, chewing on the piece of crème pastry, "My home calls it powers. Superpowers. Very few people ever gain these superpowers, all of them very different from each other."

He looked contemplative, "And you were born able to levitate, carry things with your mind and summons ghosts?"

I shook my head, "Not born with it per se. More that I was given them at a point in my life where I was most vulnerable."

"Like a blessing? I've heard some Gods do that for followers and champions."

I shrugged, "Yeah, in a way it is like a blessing."

Sevitus was silent for a moment, studying me as a I swallowed another piece of pastry.

A twig cracked and a bird flew off in the distance. I glanced that way, eyes narrowing, wondering if I would see another dark mass soar within the clouds.

"Where do you hail from, Lady Antares?" When he spoke, he sounded a lot more like the soldier he was dressed as, immediately catching my attention, "Where do you come from where wagons are made of steel, castles dot the land, and Magic does not go by Magic?"

"That's a bit of a complicated question," I replied, deigning to ignore the 'Lady' part. "I think I told you that I'm not from here."

"Are you from this realm?"

"What's your definition of 'realm'?"

"Don't." His brown eyes stared straight into mine. "Don't dance around the subject like that. I've met too many people who try to parry the truth and none of them have ever had my best intentions in mind."

My eyes widened at the emotion in his voice. Sevitus saw my surprise and looked away, his expression morphing into one of regret.

"I'm... I'm sorry Sevitus."

"No." He shook his head, "I let myself be carried away in my excitement."

We were silent for a moment and the only sound was the fire crackling.

"I-"

Another snap. The woods were always full of branches falling and with the snow adding extra weight, that was bound to increase in number.

But I prided myself on my situational awareness, trained by Carol and honed in my experience as a Cape, and I trusted my alien friend when that awareness focused on something seemingly innocuous.

I floated up, discarding the blanket away from the fire and faced the woods opposite our side of the trail.

Sevitus looked up at me in shock, "Antares-"

"I know you're out there! Show yourselves!"

Now Sevitus scrambled to his feet, following my gaze, hand on his hilt.

Nothing. I was going to be real embarrassed about getting ready fight some dead foliage.

No, there was movement. One shadow rising from a bush directly in front of me, two to the right, and another two to my left.

The first one who broke through the forest was clearly the leader. He moved at a leisurely pace, confident, strutting across the trail as though he owned the place. He was wearing snow-crusted brown and black leathers, a long fur coat trailing behind him while also concealing his arms. One side of his head was shaved smooth, the other long and parted to the side. It was hard to say in the gloom, but I could imagine his hair being so greasy that it was flammable.

The others who followed suit matched him in style, though none wore cloaks, settling more for fur sewn into leather and what looked like pieces of chainmail armor.

The two on the right looked like twins, their tan skin marked in blue war-paint, leaving hand prints on opposite sides of their faces. They each carried metal axes, identical in design and decoration. In comparisonthe duo on the left couldn't have been further apart in how different they were.

A young woman with deep scars above her eye, the back of her hair tied into a pony-tail while the sides had been sheared messily down to the skin, a bow and arrow in each hand respectively.

The other was one of the largest men I'd seen without the aid of powers, not muscular like Tristan or Rachel were, but with his six-foot frame his rotund body was intimidating. He didn't hold a weapon like the others or conceal it like his leader was likely doing, simply rested one oversized hand on the staff that poked behind his back.

I heard the sound of movement behind me, knowing that Sevitus had drew his sword.

The group fanned out around us, the leader nearly ten feet away, catching us within their little net.

"Hark, strangers! What is a young Imperial Scout and an absolutely-"

He looked me over in a way that made it clear he wished that my armor was at my feet. It was a look that I had seen on Coalbelcher so many months ago and on Eric when we had first been acquainted.

I could already feel a migraine coming on.

"-ravishing young mage doing out here alone like yerselves? On a little escapade away from yer commanding officer? Looking to share some much needed warmth under one bed-roll in these trying times?"

The group chuckled and snickered, eyes darting between the two of us, fingers twitching.

This is a show. He's trying to rile them up

"Fly away." Sevitus tried to whisper, but his nervousness betrayed his volume, "Get help while I hold them off."

"If you fly off Mage." He chided, "We'll gut your little bed-roller like a slaughterfish."

"They'll try it anyways Antares!" Sevitus scowled, sword raised, but with the number of Bandits surrounding us he couldn't focus on any one opponent without leaving himself open.

He was so pale, eyes darting to each of the villains. It occurred to me that this might be the first time he had been in any kind of conflict.

Your father was right to worry about you.

One of the twins shouted, "Why don't he trust you Guff?!"

The leader - Guff - literally guffawed, "Oh, I don't blame'em. No one ever trusts the handsome stranger."

More laughs, more shifting movement. Edging closer to acting

His cold eyes looked over my shoulder, "Still, yer so pessimistic my legionnaire friend! If our striking young lass were to stick around for a bit and join our company at ole' Fort Nuegrad, we'll keep ya both alive. You might be have to stay in some cramped accommodations my dear soldier boy, but Antares will be given all the... proper attention that such a lady is worth."

Yeah, I didn't need to know what he meant by that.

"You always thinking with the wrong head, Guff." The female member of their group spoke up, echoing my thoughts in a weird way. The difference was that she was smiling, "You gotta give a lady a gift before she sheathes your sword. Make her appreciate what your offering her."

Guff nodded, as though he had been told some fundamental truth about the world. "You be right like usual Rave. I be too eager to jump bones. What would I do without you?"

She gave me an ugly smirk, "Probably break them in too early for it be a challenge."

Everything about her disgusted me, and the fact that she could smile while joking about these horrific threats cemented that disgust. Sidepiece had been a similar type of person, now that I thought of it, the kind of person who had learned about what had happened to me and then used it to mock me.

An entirely different breed of monster compared to Endbringers or Titans, who would break and kill you, because that was all they could do. It was what they made to do, when you got down to it.

No, Rave and Sidepiece were the kind of monsters who dragged you down into the muck because they couldn't or wouldn't raise themselves up to a higher standard, incapable of seeing people as people. I was disgusted, and despite myself, found myself feeling pity for someone who had fallen so far.

She must have seen something in my expression, because her smirk morphed into a scowl when I caught her eye.

Guff smiled at me, revealing several lost front teeth, "If you'd kindly disrobe, my beautiful little sprightling, I would happily gift you my personal fur coat. A touch more comfortable than those old leather straps. A gift from one gentleman to a fair lady."

There were rough barks of laughter from the group surrounding us, Rave excepted.

This was as much of an act as it was a threat. Horrendous and vile as it was, I could read how the flow of conversation was going exactly as he wanted it, Guff allowing most of his crew a chance to say a few words. Supporting any outbursts that served his goals of rattling us.

Posturing was a key part of the Cape game, and villains especially relied on it when even the slightest amount of weakness could mean having leadership or worse taken from you by a particularly ambitious lackey.

It was a sad life to live.

"You diseased mutts!," Sevitus growled out, face growing red. "I should-"

I raised a hand, stalling Sevitus's threat. The bandits, for their part, backed off quickly as weapons were held at the ready. Rave moved with eery grace in loading her bow, aiming it in direction.

Ah, I thought, Forgot that magic comes from the hands.

Guff's smile lessened, but unlike the others, he didn't care to move.

"Easy there waif," His voice was cold, making the smile feel all the more fake. "Don't make me have to cut off those delicate hands of yers because yer got a little heated in the wrong place."

No laughs from his troops this time. Vile as they were, they were on guard the moment it looked like I was going to take action.

I gave him a small smile of my own, crossing my arms over my chest. "Let's make a deal?"

His eye twitched, "Oh?"

"Antares!"

"It's alright Sevitus." I said, never taking my eyes off of Guff, "I've handled these types before."

"Well, by all means." Guff moved his hand in an 'as you will' gesture, "Let's hear out your deal, dearie. I'd love to hear how you handle my type. Money? Expensive scrolls? Maybe even a plead to our higher character?"

I shrugged, "It's nothing so grand."

I gave them all a brief once-over, "You, Guff, and all your bandit friends will surrender your weapons to us. Just toss them on the ground in front of us, nothing fancy. After that, I will let you all leave here unharmed and whatever dignity you have left intact. I won't even lift a finger. You run back to the fort with whatever excuses you want to use to explain your missing weapons. Dragons seem to be pretty topical."

My eyes were wide, "In any case, you leave us the fuck alone, and I don't destroy you."

Silence.

"Would you look at that." Guff said with a small amount of awe, "Our dainty little mage has a sense of humor to her. Whatcha think Bruen, should we take the deal? Tell our mates back down that trail that we bravely escaped a Dragon? Sounds mighty generous of our lass to give us that honor."

Bruen was apparently the large-man, now holding long sledgehammer and wolf-cowl. His voice was slow and dreary as he replied, "Nay. M'ybe happier to see the generous tits behind that armor, rather listen her flap her gums anymore."

There was a smattering of chuckles at that, and even Rave felt comfortable enough to start smirking again. She still kept her bow drawn and her eyes on me though.

Guff shook his head, shoulders going up and down as he laughed. "Oh, Bruen ya old wolf, yer still have a way with words."

He gave me that toothless grin, "Sorry waif. Seems that your deal has been struck down."

I shrugged again, "It's your funeral."

"Now, now." He chided, "Save your breath for later. As I love a squealer, you're going to need-"

Two things happened very quickly, one after the other.

The first was a simple finger flick, nothing more and nothing less. That finger belonged to a ten foot wide amalgamation of overlapping bodies, an energy outline of my old warped flesh, strong enough to throw trucks like footballs. So when the very tip of the finger belonging to that powerful and violent forcefield flicked the center of Guff's nose, the results were explosive.

I could imagine the scene in slow-motion, the ripple of flesh from the impact and the crack of bone as the force was transferred.

Guff staggered back like a feather-weight fighter who just swallowed a right hook from a juiced up heavy-weight champion, blood gushing down his nose in a water-fall of red that drenched the front of his fur coat. His eyes were wide and rolling, uncomprehending of what had just happened.

The second was that I blasted my aura at full power. Not long enough that Sevitus would be crippled by fear, but a short enough burst that served as an emotional upper-cut to stun the four lackeys.

Emotion powers were always a gamble when in use, each person reacting differently to varying degrees. Fear could be turned into aggression, resistance, and in one weird case, arousal.

But I felt that I had their measure; they had approached us with larger numbers, had tried mind-games instead of immediately charging in, and - Guff excepted - all were wary of me for being able to use "magic".

They were cowards, scavengers, and their reactions fell in line with that thought.

The twins backed away like they had touched a hot stove, crying out in shock, one of them tripping into the snow. Bruen hunkered down, long-hammer held out in front of him as if he expected he could ward off fear itself, his teeth bared and grit.

Rave's eyes were wide with shock, and she stumbled back as well, but she had enough forethought to let loose her arrow.

The Fragile One swiped it out of the air and dashed it to pieces.

Identify the biggest threats. The keystones to their group.

Guff, Rave, and Bruen.

Guff, still dealing with sudden destruction of his nose, had the whites of his eyes showing from the follow up aura blast. He was in no position to resist as I had one invisible arm take hold of his ankle and pull his feet out from under him. Snow muffled the fall and the subsequent drag created a small flurry as I pulled his ass through the snow, sling-shotting him in Rave's direction.

It was on the mark, a man easily over a hundred and fifty pounds hurled at her shins with surprising speed while she reached back for another arrow. The impact sent her literally spinning in the air for long seconds before landing face first into the snowy trail. Her legs stuck up in the air briefly before gravity reasserted herself, the limbs flopping useless onto the ground.

A dull groan of pain alleviated any fears of accidental killing.

Bruen was next-

Sevitus roared and it was my Mom telling me to calm myself, my Dad pleading with me to see reason, and telling myself that I shouldn't let paranoia rule my mind. It was weak, but no in the same way as Precipices was. Where his power could be ignored, it held an insidious nature as an undercurrent, and served the purpose of training the mind to act. This was blatant in it's goal and far easier to get a handle on.

Still, though the calm was cast aside by my natural resistance and training, the act itself was surprising enough to stall me for moment.

Whatever I felt, Bruen must have had it far worse, because he was staring at his hammer like he had never seen a weapon in his life. As I watched, he slowly began to 'sheathe' his hammer behind his back, the motions wary and uncomfortable to see. The other two mooks were frozen in place, both of them looking equally unsure as to what was happening.

Sevitus dashed in, sword swinging through the air-

No.

- And I was there before I could register what he had intended to do. One hand caught the blade, freezing in mid-air while I flew in front of him, flesh hands reaching through gaping mouths to grab his shoulders and arrest his momentum.

His eyes were wide as he stared at me in confusion, glancing between me and the blade held in the air.

"What are you doing?" He breathed out, his voice sounding much like Ulfric's had after he blasted the comet.

"You were going to kill him Sevitus!"

He blinked, "Of course I was Antares. He's a bandit! They are bandits! They've killed who knows how many travelers down this path and they threatened to do...."

He swallowed and looked just like the boy I thought of him as, "....They threatened you."

This sweet kid. How did you end up a soldier?

I nodded, "I understand Sevitus and really, thank you. I'm happy to know you have my back. But we don't need to kill them now. Whatever you did, stopped them cold."

I released my grip on his sword and floated back a bit, letting him have his space.

Sevitus looked at his sword and then at the surrounding bandits.

He shook his head, "The Emperor's voice won't last long Antares. Maybe a minute left before it wears off at most, since I caught them off-guard. Then there will be bloodshed."

"Let me handle that okay?"

He frowned.

I met his eyes and asked again, "Okay?"

He bit his lip, but nodded. His sword slid into his sheath and I felt myself relax.

Now how the hell am I going to handle this?

Five bandits, two taken out of commission completely, two more who would probably bolt the moment the power wore off, and a third who might do anything if desperate.

They were garbage, trash, the worst of the worst, but I couldn't bring myself to kill these people anymore than I could bring myself to remove Deathchester from the game-board.

What a fucking pain in the ass.

A memory stirred in my mind, of a Fallen Biker I had fought in woods near Rain's old home, and how I resolved that confrontation.

I smiled.

Chapter Text

The Mer in Black fled across the tundra and the Archer’s Companions followed.

The Archer’s knees bulled through the snow dust like hearty mammoths, powerful joints and muscles honed by years of tracking game along the Throat of the World. A marvel of his home, he had once claimed to his lover to have scaled half of the seven thousand steps chasing after a buck twice as large as any recorded.

Though if he were more modest (or, as his lover would say, honest), he would have admitted to merely covering a seventh of those daunting steps to chase down an average sized buck that vexed him with tenacity despite the arrow embedded in its neck.

Thoughts of home brought on a somber feeling in his gut, and he huffed out a breath in an attempt to remove this distracting emotion from his soul, pumping his arms to and fro faster to increase his pace and distance himself from the memory.

“This one believes his pale friend grows irksome, yes?”

The Archer turned his head to the voice on his right, his iron helmet preventing him from getting away with just a glance.

The Khajit's brown maw poked out of his tan hood, bits of snow catching onto his fur, only for a long tongue to slip out and catch them for a quick clean. The eyes beneath the hood were hidden for now, but he knew they’d be a startling emerald green, an intelligence behind them that could make any of the Archer’s old tutors back in Whiterun look a fool.

“Your pale friend is fine,” said the irked Archer. “Just not in the mood for questions.”

“Jakir knows that mood very well, hmm. Always when it is about the warm sands of home, yes? When this one gets to thinking of the times his father would bathe with Jakir in the sun, the irksome fleas will find their nest in his fur.”

The Archer said nothing, keeping his attention on the snowy path up the mountain in front of him.

There was quiet, neither willing to break the silence they had acknowledged as wanting but went unspoken.

The Archer did not think Jakir was truly experiencing the same feeling in regards to thoughts of home, but did not begrudge the peculiar beast. How could he? He had once thought of home in a similar way after all, a place of respite and peace after a week or month-long quest to hunt down a bandit or a pack of mangy wolves. The Archer would come back to Whiterun, coins in pocket and a saddle-bag with gifts for his lover.

He could still remember how, after a delicious bottle of mead gave it's life for the evening, he had convinced her to sleep with him outside the city walls. They had cozied up together in a tent, a leather sleeping roll shared between the two as they star-gazed and then made love as the stars gazed at them.

Stupid in retrospect. They could have died a myriad of ways, but wasn't that the folly of youth? Living stupidly so that you can look back with comfort, knowing you lived?

Perhaps so. Yet when he looked back to those moments, seeing her crouched above him and the stars framing her, he didn't know what to feel. Not after what she had told him.

"Ahead, pale friend. Jakir's eyes see our future coin."

The Archer glanced up sharply, trained marksman eyes coving the way forward for a landmark. As skilled as he was, it took him long seconds before he could see the outline in the distance, deep morning fog obscuring any obvious details.

Still, the Khajit was right. They had found their coin.

Snow Point Beacon.

The Archer smiled, chapped lips splitting, "Good eye Jakir. You should have taken up archery instead."

"This one feels most at home with his hands free, yes."

The Khajit sniffed the air, "This one smells rot in the air."

The Archer nodded, "Matches the reports we'd gotten from the Whitewatch Tower and the Vigilants. Damned wood-elf forcing the dead to fight for himself while he reaps the rewards."

He scanned the way forward, noting the environment.

"There," he pointed, "I'll move forward to the outcropping of rocks. Bring the others in with your magic, I'll keep watch here. If he sends any of his damned slaves down the slope, I'll be able to at least warn you all."

"Jakir will take your word then, pale friend. Think of warm sands while you wait, yes?"

The Khajit bared it's fangs in what was an attempt at a grin as a faint purple hue shimmered briefly engulfed him. In a moment, the beast was gone, invisible to the naked eye with it's quiet casting.

If he had wanted to look for them, the Archer was sure he would be able find ways to detect the transparent creature. Footprints left in the snow or perhaps the way his outline stood out slightly as it made it's way through the fog. But that was only circumstantial, dependent on him knowing that there was an unseen foe in the first place.

The Archer was confident that the Khajit would make it down to his companions unscathed.

Now all alone, he moved forward, stalking through the snowy slope towards the bundle of rocks. Although he lacked the spells and enchantments that the Khajit had to muffle his approach, he made up for it with experience in hunting far more alive and wary prey for a living.

His powerful knees were no longer merely thrusting through the snow; now the Archer was careful to calculate the best footing needed for the least amount of noise, paying close attention to finding areas where the snow was not as deep so as to hasten his trek.

He had only just reached the outcropping when he saw a body in the fog, and quickly darted to the far edge of the rocks to avoid detection.

Silence.

The Archer glanced up and over the rocks, careful to not even breath too hard. The body still stood there, standing listlessly on it's lonesome, facing the slope from which the Archer and Khajit had came.

The corpse guard glowed with ethereal energy, and where the light glowed the most was where a gaping hole had been blown through it's chest. The Archer did not know whether it had lost the armor before or after it's death, but the corpse guard stood there now with it's upper body bare, uncaring for the cold.

It had once been an Imperial woman.

Sloppy.

Or perhaps arrogant was the right word. The Mer in Black had raided several watchtowers and villages successfully after all.

The Archer had never encountered undead before, but he had traded stories at many a tavern, and heard that some necromancers felt secure in allowing the undead to serve as their watchdogs. Some adventurers had warned him that a talented necromancer could bound the will and mental fortitude of their victims as though they still lived, but this one didn't seem to be the type.

It's eye's glowed with unnatural life, yes, but that life was also dim and unaware of it's environment. The Archer was reasonably confident that a living being, even a child, could maybe have spotted his approach up the slope. Whatever sense of broader awareness or higher thinking had been lost in this damned soul's death, remained out of reach of it's new life.

The Archer looked beyond the guard and could see brief flashes of movement. More undead most likely, ordered to stay or prowl along a set route, as anything more would be beyond them. He counted what he could, edging between ten and eleven, but the fog was shifting and covering more near the Tower.

If there were any human protections, then infiltrating would be far harder, but the Archer didn't feel as that would be a concern. He had been tracking the Mer for over a month now, listened to reports from surviving villagers and guards, and not once had any collaborators of the mortal variety been mentioned or seen.

The Mer had a taste for the theatrics it seemed, loudly announcing his presence and demands once he caught his victims unawares.

Sloppy? Or arrogance born of success?

Not enough of either for him to stay in one place, considering how quickly he had fled once word got around of Adventurers on his tail.

The corpse guard groaned and the Archer took notice, hunting eyes taking in the lone body. She had been an Imperial in her time among the living, hair cropped short much like a boy's, face and neck covered in sloppy hand-print tattoos. He wasn't sure what she might have served as back in her bandit days; her arms weren't built enough for archery or most handed weaponry, but he supposed she might have favored knives or even magic as a support.

Beyond her race, she looked nothing like his lover back home, but he still felt that pang in his gut he had been desperately trying to remove. His lover would never stoop so low as to accept the bandit life-style, would rather beg Talos to strike her down before that ever came to fruition. He was confident that, alone as she was without him, she could make a life for herself that she might be happy with.

But she wasn't truly alone, not anymore.

It had been three months since she broke the news to him and a month since he left on this adventure. He had told himself that the time was right, that there would be plenty of women in plenty of Holds whom he could find comfort in, and that some time with his companions would stoke the fires of freedom that drove all Nords of Skyrim.

It didn't matter that every day saw something that would remind him of how she would admire his bow-work, and every night had him restless from thinking about the look she gave him as he left Whiterun.

He would forget about her soon enough. Surely.

Despite putting himself on full alert, the Archer was still caught off guard by the touch on his shoulder.

His arm moved in a blur to reach for his bow-

The spell faded and a grinning Khajit was where empty air once stood, companions in tow.

The Archer swallowed his surprise and rising anger as best he could, "You're lucky. You might have ended up in whatever plain of Oblivion you worship if I was a second faster."

"This one believes the night is still young, no?"

The Orc behind him chuckled, and it was deep enough that he was worried it might alert even the unalert corpse.

The Breton placed a hand on her armored shoulder, "Easy there Shurm. No need to wake up the Necromancer yet."

"Of course." The Orc smiled, large jutting tusks growing more pronounced, "The call for battle always puts me in a good mood."

Excited as she was, she still took the moment to place her green hand on his tan one. The Breton smiled.

The Archer didn't pretend to understand it. The Breton and Orc had joined half-way into this trip, also hunting the Mer, given the quest by a Noble house after their eldest was killed in a raid. To call them an odd pair was an insult to odd pairs; The Breton had been a wandering merchant before growing tired of the business and investing all he had into gear and weapons. According to the Orc, he had nearly died to a roaming pack of Mudcrabs until she happened along and saved him. From there a... something formed between the two of them that he felt less than comfortable to assume.

In any case, they worked well enough together and decently as additions to the party. The Archer was a natural stealth fighter by nature, but he could appreciate the strength and finality of a mace swung hard enough to shatter stone. The Breton was slightly average in terms of fighting prowess, but he was silver tongued when it came to getting locals and strangers to open up with clues.

The Breton took a peek over the rock shelter. He grimaced at the sight of the guard, "How many more like her?"

“Undead? Easily ten men strong.”

The Orc nodded, “Guess that explains why the fort was empty. But why move from an easily defensible stronghold to a ramshackle tower?”

The Breton shook his head, “Not sure about the rest of you, but walking up a mountain to get to said tower has its benefits for him I think.”

"Jakir believes his rotten enemy has feet on the ground but head in the clouds."

"It doesn't matter why." The Archer interrupted, "Only that I doubt he has more than ten on him. The tower doesn't have enough room to hold that much more, and he seems to have primarily set them up as early warning systems."

"You think he's overconfident?" The Orc asked.

"I do."

The Khajit hummed, "This one thinks his magic is formidable. Jakir wonders if we are not the overconfident ones, no?"

The party was silent at that.

"It doesn't matter." He repeated. "We aren't going to allow him a chance to use his magic in the first place. We'll take out his sentries as quietly as possible and launch an arrow into the back of his head. Let his soul go to whatever prince in Oblivion favors him."

There were nods. No one was going to back down after they had gotten so close to their prize.

The Archer took hold of his hunting bow, feeling the polish of wood that he crafted himself while his lover watched by the Hearth. He remembered the face of his father as the old man taught his eldest how to feel the resistance and hunger in the string of the bow, each nocked arrow seeking out to drink blood from his enemies.

He rose from behind the rock outcropping and his hands were a blur; arrow pulled, knocked, and tensions run through his thick biceps. His eyes felt hyper-focused and the world slowed down around him. It didn't matter that the Iron Helmet normally limited his vision; he was aiming from his Hunters heart, not his eyes.

One.

The arrow was released, thirsting for death. Not even a moment of surprise, if the undead was capable of it, as iron pierced the soft flesh of eye and then brain. Whatever foul magic kept the corpse in this twisted unlife, it couldn't handle the destruction of the body's organ.

Ash was all that remained of the Imperial woman.

Blurred hands were already moving on.

Two, Three, Four...

Ash pile to ash pile. Dust to dust. The strum of his Bow's twine didn't quite make a song, but he imagined it gave a very satisfied hum.

Five, Six, Seven...

The Archer was unaware of his feet moving him forward silently, but he knew wasn't still. It was a natural progression in this state of awareness, where stillness meant death for predator and prey.

Eight, Nine, Ten...

There was an eleventh, but his arrows didn't reach him. The mechanical kur-chank of a crossbow bolt did, however, and the final corpse on the hill dissipated into ash. The Breton reloaded, the act longer than loading a normal bow, but the Archer couldn't deny that it was useful for support and power. He had balked at the purchase before, but the Breton appeared quite adept with it's use.

He allowed them all a moment to shift through the ash, grabbing anything they had an interest in, which wasn't worth much all told. Some Septims, a few extra arrows, one lock-pick. Only the Khajit gained a boon of any kind, collecting the ash with great pleasure and excitement.

The Archer felt that uncomfortable feeling once more, same as whenever he observed the Breton and Orc together. Keeping piles of human ashes was also something he could not nor want to understand.

"Let's move on." He said, wiping his arrowhead free of human dust, "To the Tower."

The arrow whistled through the air and just as easily through the wind-pipe of the bandit corpse at the tower's entrance. Ash collapsed in it's stead as the companions moved in.

"He's taking all the fun," the orc grumbled. She turned to the Breton, "Jeram, tell him to stop taking all the fun."

"Patience dear," he said casually, "Maybe he'll let you bash open the mage's skull."

The Orc's smile lit up her face, and the Archer could almost see a glimmer of what the Breton might have always known.

He held up a hand instead and the group grew quiet, joking nature subdued. The Tower was only three stories tall and as much of a blessing the fog had been to dampen sight and sound, it would still travel quickly if they spoke too loudly.

They weren't true companions, definitely not the kind who could perform complex operations using only hand signals, but they had been through enough skirmishes to understand the basics of what they wanted to get across.

They followed his lead, into the first floor, where barren remains of books and porridge sat on a wooden table. There was a murmur in the air, not a whisper so much as something shouting from so far away that it was difficult to make out.

They made their way up the stairs, the Archer leading with the Khajit right behind, the Orc and Breton bringing up the rear.

A sound pierced the quiet. Conversation.

“-Towers are failing, the world is moving on without us, my master. The Thalmor’s insidious grasp tightens on creation, I've seen it in your visions! Please, give me guidance in this dire time.”

A rumble of chimes echoed through the air and everyone paused, feeling instincts ingrained since the creation of their mortal ancestors raise warning beacons in their mind's eye. One did not need a touch of magic to understand the danger. This was primal, as natural a sensation as one might feel the kiss of fire in the air against skin, and that kiss was one that all remembered since their ancestors made claim to the land.

An overbearing tutor mocking a failing student. A father disappointed in their child's life choices. Fellow children pitying you for being born less talented than the rest. One's creator disgusted by the being molded in their image.

Eventually, the rumbling subsided, that feeling of inadequacy and lack of wisdom growing dimmer as time went on.

It never completely disappeared, but that wasn't surprising. It came from within them after all.

The Archer stepped forward and his bizarre companions followed, no voice given to retreat or smoke out the mad mage. Something, some sort of event in the World, had been triggered and all knew that they were within it's grasp now. There were only two ways through it now.

Victory or Death.

The companions eased their way to the top of the tower, feeling as though hours where passing between every step. Which was blatantly impossible; the Tower was only just a few stones above three-stories, yet it felt... longer. The Archer felt as though every time his powerful legs took a step, there was a large chance that the stairs would no longer be there. Or perhaps they would, only to shatter beneath him like cheap glass.

How long would the fall be to the floor below? Seconds, surely. Yet, he felt that it could be minutes, hours, years.... how many? Five thousand? Ten? Long enough that he might surely go mad for the desire to end his life, the knowledge that a quick death from a broken neck would have been preferable to an iota of this cosmic torment inflicted on his psyche.

The Greybeards were wrong, he thought with a detached sort of panic. These are the seven thousand steps and you can never walk them back.

Madness. Magic. One or the other, the Mer must have done this.

He gestured to Jakir, a firm chopping motion from head to the stairs. The Archer didn't bother looking to see if the Khajit adventurer understood what he meant, simply continuing his trek up the stairs, each tap of boot on stone sounding as false as his story about the giant buck.

“Corrupted? By whom? Or what? Your power is as infinite as your knowledge, you must have the answers I seek!”

There was second (or eternity) where the Archer feared for another round of those maddening chimes, bouncing off the walls of these Divine abandoned tomb of a tower, slamming conscious thought against sanity in his mind like a pebble dragged through a torrent of river water.

The eternal second passed with no chimes. What had been done, had been and now was.

Jakir whispered in a tongue the Archer didn't understand and blue-green light appeared in his paws, coalescing into their tell-tale orbs. The Archer noticed how their shadows distorted grotesquely from the light, stretching down and into an abyss that had once been the second floor.

When did we pass the second floor?

And then the blue-green energy engulfed the party, fantastical magic seeping into the air and embracing their bodies. The Archer could feel it's power seeping into his mind, feel the fear not dissipate, but rather be muffled like one might cover a cough with a handkerchief.

Harmony.

The spell was thankfully not strong to render them docile to danger, but he could sense how the distorted Tower had lost the bite from it's fangs. He heard a few sighs of relief from behind him, and felt unconcerned with the sound potentially alerting their prey.

The Archer moved on and the companions followed.

He lifted a leg-

Only to put it back down. They were there, at the top of a tower that shouldn't be, and had that spell not calmed their nerves the jarring change in scenarios might have very well knocked them from their perch.

“I-I don’t understand.”

The Archer moved into the... the... the....

He closed his eyes, focused on that slowly diminishing feeling of harmony, and opened his eyes again.

Space was wrong. To describe it accurately would require words he had no idea existed, if they ever truly could. The closest that came to mind wasn't a word, but rather a memory. A diamond he had spied in a merchant's shop, held up near a window so that the light would land it in just the right way to show all the refractions in it's form.

Refractions came close, but still not quite, because he would still see himself in those jumbled mirrors within the diamond. Here, these refractions were collages of thing that weren't. He could see his father near the Throat of the World as it stretched out along a wall that could reach past the clouds, only for a blink to show a band of Orcs sitting around a campfire on a wall only slightly taller than himself. To his left he could see a mixed band of Khajit and Imperials having a discourse on a road, blended viciously with an old man counting coin behind a counter.

And in-between each of these refractions of make-believe, he could see green tendrils snaking through the images, acting as horrific barriers that pulsed with bubbling tar. Horror began to grow as soulless eyes would occasionally rise from these pits of tar and tentacles, bobbing to and fro before sinking back beneath their pitch black depths. Or perhaps they were pulled under, as whatever rested beneath took a glance at that world above.

Even the floor was wrong, wood smeared over a hundred feat as though a water droplet had run through a painting canvas.

Madness, he thought and knew it to be true.

He looked back to his companions. The Khajit was looking on in awe or horror, impossible to say, emerald eyes trying to take in every image. The Breton was aggressively rubbing his eyes, as though he could banish this mistake like a dream. Only the Orc looked on, her eyes razor focused on thing in particular.

The Archer turned and saw what had become of the Mer in Black.

He stood among refractions within refractions and the focus of every image was of him. One of him with his eyes gone, replaced by black voids seeping with tar. A second where his entire upper body was only eyes and tentacles, riving in endless pain as green light glowed deep within their cores. Another that could have been him in a more ceremonial gown, arms crossed behind his back and wearing a golden mask invoking a squid on his face, implacable despite the horrors occurring all around him.

The Mer in Black stood with his corpse guard and spoke to these refractions of himself- no. Not himself.

To the black mass of tar in-between the cracks of images. How could the Archer know this? He didn't. Or rather, he did not know he knew this. Knowledge was flowing in and out of his mind like one breathes air and exhales carbon dioxide, though he too did not know what that was or how he came to think of it.

What he knew then and knew now was that the madness had to stop, or their minds would be lost to the flow of information.

He moved faster and more frantically than he had ever down before in his life, the threat of death not even close to the only reason his body was thrumming, the arrow sliding back as smooth as silk.

The chime returned, only this time it was an echo of the force from before.

The Mer in Black turned, eyes wide, and every fractal turned with him to face the companions. The masked iteration simply cocked it's head, as though finding this whole situation to be curious at the worst.

The Archer let loose-

And a portal to Oblivion opened before the arc of the projectile, shredding it from reality. The Frost Atronach stumbled forth into this plain of existence, supported by a swirling storm of frost and chill.

All around them, the refractions duplicated the purple tint of Oblivion and gave way to a cacophony of red-black cracks arching through the sky of distant lands and ancient ruins, crystals spearing forth from the void and into forgotten dungeons. He could see glimpses of horrific Falmer torn to shreds, Dwemer constructs absorbed into the landscape, and Dremora poured out of the tears in reality as mutants.

Madness. Madness all around them.

The Orc strode forth, powerful lungs bellowing as she met the Frost Atronach's plundering pace and the Breton followed through. She lashed out with three blows in as many seconds, mace colliding with solid ice in a crash that sent the Archer's ear's ringing. Strikes capable of turning stone to rubble bounced off the apparitions body, sending showers of ice and frost through the air, yet he could tell how the damage was only surface deep.

They were able to budge the creature slightly, but it's mass was simply too much in comparison, and for every second the Orc stood within it's aura of ice, the slower she became. The Breton peppered the monster with shots, aiming for the cracks the Orc made, but for as powerful as the projectiles were, there was no vital organs that could be nicked to slow it's advance.

The Frost Atronach swiped and caught the mace in it's strike, a blow that would be normally devastating now becoming destructive as it's trunk arms smashed into her chest alongside her own weapon.

The Orc was sent slamming into the wood, the entire front of her body encased in ice now. She struggled to get up as the Atronarch lumbered over to her prone form.

The Mer struck out his hands and the Khajit leapt forward, animal prowess allowing him to move with a grace that the Archer could never hope to replicate. Arcs of lightning flew from the Mer's palms, only to crash into a shimmering Ward of magic, branches of electricity flying off to strike out at the nearby refractions. Where they hit, they continued on, traveling through a space that couldn't be perceived and warping the images within.

Already, the Archer could see the Ward begin to dissipate under the continued onslaught.

He pulled another arrow from his pack-

And he fell, his knee buckling beneath him as pain lanced up his body and spine.

Wide eyes looked down.

An arrow to the knee, bone torn loose of the skin, the shaft caught in the half-way point of ligaments.

The corpse.

It had hidden itself behind a pillar, an act of intelligence that shocked the Archer to his core. He had never thought that the Mer could perform such a thing.

He cold see it reaching back for an arrow, glowing eyes focused on the Archer.

Behind the corpse, he could see a cascade of images in between the red and black chaos, and he felt a reversed sense of nostalgia.

Images of his lover manning a stall in Whiterun, frowning as an elderly man spoke dramatically to her. She was older herself, but her features were just as strong as they were before. Another showing a young girl watching a boy run to a man in armor and he knew instinctively that it was the boy's father. A final image, showing the Archer carrying the young girl on his shoulders, his lover strolling beside him while walking through Whiterun in the sun.

It was the face of a happy father that took hold of his mind, and he pulled forth two arrows from his quiver.

The Frost Atronach was pummeling the Orc into the ground now and the Breton was screaming as he bashed it with his crossbow, uncaring of how ice was beginning to encase his body.

The Khajit was near death, his Ward invisible under the constant onslaught of lightning.

The Archer remembered the face of the father in those refractions, hands blurring with a magic of their own and he knocked back both arrows.

The corpse fired and the Archer returned his own.

Iron heads sparked and reverberated across this expanse of condensed time and space.

A twist of the hips and he launched his second arrow forth

The lightning cut off.

The Atronach vanished and the Archer could hear only heavy gasps and sobs on that end.

The Khajit… The Khajit was dead, his corpse smoking.

The Archer sat down heavily as the fog began to encroach on the open floor. The refractions and intimate knowledge were gone, and what was left were three corpses and two injured men. He took off his helmet as the sobbing continued to grow in volume and power, feeling a chill as the sweat in his hair mingled with the cold air and the aches and pains made themselves known now that the fight was done.

His knee was oddly quiet, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before it lashed out again.

He layed down his bow. The adventure was over.

The Archer died there, but left no corpse.

Chapter Text

One thing they don't tell you about caping: You're going to have to eventually get creative with restraining criminals.

Certain capes could cheat with their powers, like my cousins and aunt. Sarah, Crystal, and Eric could create forcefields to hem in and pin criminals against other forcefields or sturdy walls, with their lasers acting as the 'Ouch, fuck' stick to the forcefield's 'Let's not do that' carrot if they were trying to find some way to squeeze through. Benefits of the shaker classification, a chaotic battlefield could be enforced with order with seemingly random but durable light-fields.

For the capes without those benefits, we had to do things the old fashioned way, which meant a lot of utility belts and hidden pockets to cart around during a patrol or fight. My mom, dad, Neil, and myself fell into that category. The men preferred the utility belts, harking back to the Golden Age of heroics where everyone had a utility belt and extravagantly long cape regardless of whether it fit their themes, costume, or power set. Mom and I worked more with the pockets sewn into skirts and body-suits, so that zip-ties and small cuffs could be carried around without it looking too gaudy or too similar to some the X-rated heroes of the mid-nineties.

Eventually though, you were going to run out of zip-ties, the cuffs would be snapped by a Brute, or there where simply too many people to hold conventionally. From there, it was a game of playing it smart and playing it quick unless you wanted the bad guys to realize that you were in a tight spot.

My mom would have to decide between the dramatic - creating a giant light-scythe to bar the exit - or the personable, where she would hold light-blades to the throats of criminals and bluff them into submission with the heat emanating from the weapons. Uncle Neil could use his electromagnetism to help set up metal barricades and use his seven foot stature to emphasize how maybe trying to get past him was a bad idea. My dad had the short end of the stick when it came to that aspect of caping, at best using his grenades to get groups to scatter or lie and tell them they would only explode if they moved. By the time they dissipated into light bubbles, one other family member would have moved in to secure the targets.

For me, I had a few more options available. The aura had been one of the strongest factors of course, allowing me to emphasize how resisting wasn't the best plan to take, or to let me briefly stun them while I went to work. Flight had been another tool for corralling those who tried to slip past me and often finding that I was already at the exit, floating there patiently for them. Strength had allowed me to live out the most cliché of superhero movie tropes; wrapping rebar around them, trapping them in dumpsters by squeezing the lid shut, and one particularly memorable case involved me holding a car aloft while they tried to gun the engine.

That last one had made the front page of the Brockton Bay Inquirer and various recreations at Meet 'n' Greets and charity events.

In my time with Breakthrough I learned a new, simple but effective, means of keeping dirtbags roosted in one spot.

"You're mad!"

"Very." I agreed, ramming the sword through to the hilt. I tugged on the handle with a flesh hand, jostling it to test it's security while the bandit above me panted with fear.

Satisfied with the work, I lowered the bandit till his feet were firmly planted on the handle.

"Hug the tree."

"Piss on you and yer family's name!"

I met Bruen's eyes and ramped up the aura, a wavelength that couldn't be measured by anything short of Tinker Tech and a primordial part of the brain.

"Hug. The. Tree." I ordered, each word punctuated by a brief flare of aura and me invading his personal space, unblinking.

The bandit swallowed and looked away, reluctant, but his arms still moved to wrap around the bark. Satisfied, I released him from my forcefield's grasp, keeping the hands ready in case the handle failed on us.

It held.

"Piss!" He said, voice muffled against the wood.

I ignored him, floating back to observe my handy-work. The Twins were tied to the tree using spare rope from my carriage operation, arms bound tight against the other, neither one willing to look my way. I used Bruen's warhammer to handle Guff and Rave, spearing the weapon through the tree and tying them on opposite ends by their hands. Guff was quiet, still a little loopy from the broken nose, aura blast, and being tossed through the snow at high speeds.

Rave was the only one who was willing to meet my eyes now that I had cowed Bruen, but there was none of her earlier arrogance. Her face was red from where it had been buried in the snow, but the cold hadn't done much to handle the swell of her busted lip or the bruise on her forehead from where she landed. I could only describe her expression as searching, like I was a puzzle that had to be solved or a mystery to be unraveled.

I gave her a look as I held up the weapons around me, mostly knives, but the short sword Guff hid in in his cloak and her bow were among them.

I held the knife between the two of us.

"Fort Nuegrad. How many of your men are there?"

She pursed her lips together, face beginning to form a glare.

But not before the crunch of metal rang in the air as the knife was folded in on itself gently by an invisible hand. A brief burst of aura served to reinforce that shock before the crumpled up knife was dropped.

Another knife was brought between us.

"Are you going to make me ask again?"

Rave swallowed, audibly gulping. Still, she answered, "Thirty men strong. We got a pack of wolves too."

"Anyone there that can use magic? Traps?"

"I-"

"Rave!" Bruen's dreary voice was horrible at conveying anger, but it was enough to shut her up, "Shut your trap you Hagraven's ass! Yer keep talking and she aint gonna have no reason to keep us alive! She'll-"

This time it was my turn to interrupt, knives and swords crumpling and cracking all around me. The wood of the bow began to creak-

"Not the bow!"

I paused, fingers that poked holes in steel pressing slightly against fragile wood.

"Why?"

Rave looked at me with wide eyes, "It's my Da's! It's all I got from him before he croaked!"

I brought the bow around and in front of me. It didn't look like anything special to me. No special carvings or insignia that might have pointed to it being some special family heirloom.

Just a bow.

"Why should I believe you?" I asked, keeping my voice level. "It looks like any other bow I've seen, it could be anybody's. You guys kill and steal, and probably more if what you're friend was implying was true-"

"It aint!" She shook her head desperately, "Guff was playing all big and nasty and it was all a lie! We both women-folk here, I wouldn't have let 'em do anything to yer womanhood! Just some bark so you give up without a fight."

I felt that sadness and pity in my gut from earlier slowly start to boil.

"If it came down to it, if I asked your friends if you were lying, and told them that I would kill them if they were lying... would they back you up right now?"

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Closed.

Now her eyes were wide, wider than Bruen's had been when I had been dosing him with fear, and her struggle to keep eye contact was apparent.

Yeah. I thought so.

"It doesn't matter," I said, even though it did. "He made the threat and you backed him up. You all backed him up. The same would apply if you had pointed an arrow in my face, because as far as I'm concerned, you intended on fucking with me."

She looked down, shoulders sagging.

I hated it. Hated these people, what they represented, and the fact that I was threatening them with murder to get them to submit just like they tried with us.

It brought mind to the images I and many others had seen only hours earlier, how people could perceive my actions as monstrous even when compared to someone as detestable as Victor.

And as much as I could argue that the context was different, that the justifications couldn't be properly compared, I still couldn't completely convince myself.

"Are there any traps or magic users in your fort?"

"...Two witches." She was quiet, subdued as she answered, "No traps. We didn't think we needed them."

I nodded, not feeling any better with the admission or her giving up.

"What can they do? Strengths and weaknesses?"

She blinked, "I don't know. They fling fireballs mostly. I only ever see them do that when Skeevers pop up. Probably other magical mammoth-shit they don't show off."

I frowned at her.

Rave withered under my gaze, "It's all I know. I never cared about foolish witches."

I had to resist the urge to sigh.

At least it's something.

"We'll be back for you in a few hours hopefully. After that, we'll take you to an Imperial camp past Helgen, and they'll decide what to do with you."

Bruen's muffled voice from the side of the tree, "You'd have us wait for yer to take us to our execution?"

I shrugged, even though he couldn't see it, "You could always try climbing down once I leave. I don't really care what you want and none of you have my sympathy right now. The only reason I'm going through all this trouble is because I have bigger things to worry about."

"Yer regret this." He threatened while hugging a tree, "Bruen never forgets a wronging."

Oh good. We have that in common.

I was silent as I moved, placing the bow along a branch on a different tree, directly opposite of Rave's view.

I didn't look back as I descended.

I flew down the remaining thirty feet, phantom limbs smashing the majority of the branches on the way. Making it so that even if they could free themselves, they might not want to when the only way down was a potentially crippling drop.

I floated towards where Sevitus sat atop Daisy, a concerned look on his face.

I ran a gentle hand along her snout, feeling a bit of warmth from the touch. Horses and their connection to my aunt wasn't the smoothest of memories of me, but at least it was a connection of some sort. It didn't help that pit of burning anger all that much, but that would fade in time, like usual.

"Did they give you trouble?"

I shook my head, "Just had to scare them a bit. They should stay put until we come back and I'll help you carry them over to the camp. You know anything about Fort Nuegrad?"

Sevitus shook his head, "Only that it was abandoned some time during the war, reclaimed after, and then abandoned again. Not surprised that it's been taken by bandits, but they were never a threat our legion had to worry about."

"They've got some c- magic users with them. Witches who fling fireballs if that means anything."

He shrugged, "We'll handle them like the rest."

So cavalier about facing unknown abilities.

He glanced up to the bandits, "We should have killed them Antares. Bandits are a scourge on Skyrim and many of them don't deserve to draw another breath. Just as likely that'll be their fate at the camp."

I sighed, feeling that simmering anger recede back into sadness a bit more, "I think that no matter what I'd do, I'd be unhappy with the outcome. Maybe it would have even been the right thing to do. But I didn't want to have six more people's lives on my conscience, not when I have to live with the all the other's I've taken and failed."

"Every soldier has to take lives eventually."

"I was never a soldier," I replied. "Never will be. Never want to be."

A glance back showed how hurt he was by that last statement, practically crestfallen.

The relationship between Capes and military service had been a topic since the beginning, ranging from Air-Force Pilots attempting to corner Scion for containment, to several court cases involving the legality of Capes of former military units getting severance packages and benefits like vets. Approaching it from the research and scholarship angle, Capes simply weren't people who served well in the old fashioned structure of yesteryears military, with hundreds of reports detailing the monumental issues that each independent cape brought to a unit using the old methods.

The PRT and Protectorate had been built under a more flexible regime, one that allowed capes and their neuroses some breathing room without making them feel trapped or overly committed. Costumes defied uniformity, teams were shuffled around on a controlled basis based on merit and deeds, and almost every day was part shore leave when a patrol was over. If you wanted it, you could start a family and live your short life with them as you worked as a hero, or even start something with another hero without any real repercussions so long as it was clean.

Were there exceptions to the rule? Absolutely.

The CUI, Russia, and Japan were all varying degrees of success and failures. The CUI used mind-control of the powered and normal variety to keep their main-force docile, depriving them of their humanity as best they could to enforce diehard loyalty. Russia had used isolationist tactics to induce distrust and paranoia into their capes, with normal soldiers often serving as spies for commanders waiting for the order to eliminate the problem elements. Japan had tried a more novel approach with the Sentai Elite, something that I could only describe as two-faced; colorful and varied costumes that were uniform in design, teams that supposedly preached positive individualism while also being subjected to societal pressure, and a squeaky-clean roster of teammates that would eventually be revealed to have been funded by the largest of the Yakuza.

Two out of three of those countries had also been suffering from in-fighting and outright revolt before the world ended for the first time. The third had been devastated before it's cape team could really show the fruits of their labor, for all the good and bad that might have led to their cape society as a whole.

Teacher... Teacher was the worst of culmination of every aspect of military life for capes ramped up to eleven. Chastity had been right when she pointed out that he lacked any humanity, and how much of that was himself or his Agent was also dependent on whether he willingly gave himself up to it's control.

All that being said, I could understand the appeal of a more militarized cape team that drew in outspoken individuals like Crystal to the PRTCJ. There was a comfort in following a chain of command, where choices are made for you instead of agonizing over every decision, and sometimes allowing for a stronger and faster response. The Wardens were similar, in a fashion, but still keeping that more relaxed structure of the Protectorate while lacking most of it's normal human oversights.

Sevitus had no context for any of this, might not even understand it even if I had days to explain it. He was a boy and a soldier in a world that had hundreds of years of divergence, where dealing with powers was handled with a shrug. I had no comforting words to mend the hurt in his expression, not with such a wide gap in culture between us.

My team could. Ashley would have. Tattletale would as well, though probably from an annoying villainous angle.

I missed them. I was scared for them.

I was scared of what I might find when I returned.

"Let's go." I said, floating forward.

It took a moment, but eventually I could hear the clopping of Daisy's hooves behind me.

I wasn't usually one for quiet travel when I was with others. Sometimes I wasn't in the mood for conversation, be it exhaustion or simply bad timing, but for the most part I liked to make idle chatter when I was with people I was comfortable around.

This didn't qualify for comfortable unfortunately.

I liked Sevitus. He was a good kid who felt bad for hurting me, even though it didn't happen, and I saw a bit of Presley in how quickly he had become enamored with me and my "mysterious" origins. Sure, probably some red-blooded male interest was part of why he was so interested, but so far he had been nothing but kind and respectable since we escaped the meteor shower.

And it wasn't like I didn't have questions for him either.

He never explicitly said so, but I felt he had given the impression that he didn't know magic, and yet he used some sort of Master power to calm the bandits instantly. If it wasn't magic then... could it have been a power? Obviously this Earth was available to the Agents Cycle, otherwise I would never have arrived here nor would my powers be working like normal, so it stands to reason that other Agents found their way here and to new hosts. With this Earth's years of studying magic, they might have been able to tell the differences in functionality and origin, even if not to the true scope like we had.

Magic itself was a subject that was constantly rattling in my brain, formulating hypothesis after hypothesis for each and every question I could think of. This world felt so carefree in regards to magic and what could be learned, so what did that say about it's limits? Could it only be cast by hand or was that a cultural aspect rather than function? What were the types of magic available beyond healing and apparently manipulating flames? Flight and telekinesis were mentions a few times, but how were they represented? How was magic learned, even? Where did it come from? How long has it existed?

More important to my situation: Did magic play a part in my arrival here?

I had been so caught up in considering the Powers aspect of my arrival, fearing madness from the Stranger Titan or sabotage from a faction of villains, that I hadn't really bothered to think about the other side of the equation. Magic was real and with it were also Dragons, Elves, cat and lizard people, and Mages with unknown capabilities. Was it possible for a Mage to have mastered me so thoroughly that I had no recollection?

The fact that it had happened to me twice now back home... It was all too plausible to deny the possibility.

But that still left a lack of motive. Who would do this and what did they have to gain? Why would they leave me at some border crossing?

Maybe the Stormcloaks were involved, but I couldn't imagine Ralof going through with the plan and Ulfric seemed to know nothing about me, for as little time as I had getting to know them. The Empire that Sevitus served was another option, but again, I couldn't see that read with how they treated me. And would Invictus have trusted me with his son, if they played a part in kidnapping me?

I doubted it.

And the lack of injury. Sevitus claimed to have knocked me unconscious, but I didn't feel any bruising.

Healing was possible, but why waste it on a prisoner?

Doubts, I thought with a grimace. So many doubts.

Doubts that were only matched in questions. Questions that I couldn't bring myself to ask Sevitus.

I couldn't put it in words, not exactly, but I felt that I had made a crucial error in his eyes that widened a gap between us that hadn't been there before. I had felt it when I pressured Dean about his trigger event, forcing him to lie to me, and when Damsel had wrapped her claws around my head in an attempt to regain some sense of power over me. Something hadn't been communicated properly when I decided on the bandits fates or he had read deeper into what I had communicated.

I was brought to mind of Eric's old video games with multiple choice dialogue, letting you be able to keep track of what options had been picked so that you could always cover the bases of the discussion. If you messed up badly enough despite that, you could always reload the game to a point in time where it best suited your needs.

Real life wasn't so easy and I didn't have the benefit of a safety net in proceeding without consequences.

The result was an awkward but extended silence as we traveled along the trail between two mountain ridges, with the brief breaks in-between only consisting of drinking water and scouting the area for potential threats.

Rinse and repeat for what felt like easily two hours, even though the gray and black sky made accurate time-telling nearly impossible.

The silence had grown so ingrained, that Sevitus voice startled me at how loud even a normal speaking volume was.

"Something doesn't feel right."

I looked sharply at him, careful to keep one eye on the trail in front of me so I wouldn't accidentally slam into the nearby mountain.

"Wrong how?"

He shook his head.

I slowed a bit, till I was mostly neck and neck with him. "Sevitus, if there has been any lesson I've learned to appreciate, it's to not ignore that niggling doubt or concern in your mind. What's wrong?"

Sevitus frowned, "It's a gut feeling Antares. I- I'm sure it's nothing."

"Gut feelings are important." I said gravely, "They've saved lives back where I'm from."

He was silent as he rode and I began to worry that I had overstepped my bounds when I had properly figured out what line I had crossed earlier.

"Where are all the people?" He asked, eyes not leaving the trail. "When we came byhere earlier, we passed by Redguard caravans and fellow soldiers scouting out the area for threats. Even a family of Khajit camping off the beaten path. We're just about to reach the gate and I haven't seen head nor tail of anyone."

"Maybe the meteor shower scared them off? Or they went to check on Helgen."

"Maybe. But..." He glanced at me, "The Bandits."

I frowned.

"They were surprised at us being there. As if they never expected Imperial legions traveling through this official border."

I thought back to the confrontation, playing back the words used as best I could.

My frown deepened, "You just brought something else to mind Sevitus."

"What's that?"

"No tracks. Fresh powder on the on the trail, ever since we got back on it. Barely a hint of ash grey in there."

His eyes widened, "And no carriage or horse prints either."

I nodded.

Something wasn't adding up. The pit in my stomach that once held the anger and sadness was now beginning to fill with anxiety, because now there were cracks forming in what should and shouldn't have happened yet. Or at all.

We turned the corner along the trail-

And Sevitus skidded to a halt, Daisy's hooves digging deep to find traction, and I was afraid I would have to use the Fragile One to keep her from injuring herself in the attempt. Daisy surprised me by quickly adjusting herself as she slid, bleeding off inertia and finding traction in the thicker snow blankets while Sevitus reared back along the reins, thighs squeezing against his mount for dear life.

A gentle nudge from a transparent palm kept him from falling back to the point of total collapse.

As Daisy whinnied and trotted in anger at the sudden stop, Sevitus and I had only eyes for what was in front of us.

The gate was there, just as Sevitus had said it would be, built in as the connective tissue between the two opposite mountain sides. Abandoned despite seemingly being a border crossing for the Empire's supply chain.

And in front of it was a stone larger than I was tall, a boulder placed right now the middle of the path, embedded into the ground so hard that dirt clumps rose out around it.

The front was carved in a script only one person could understand, with four large notches embedded below it.

M/S

IIII

"What in the fuck?"

Chapter Text

It was time to get down and nerdy.

Master-Stranger protocols, often overly implemented by some PRT affiliated organizations as the catch-all for any stranger powers possibly being used. I'd studied them with Dean on our various dates, studied them by myself when alone, and I drilled it into my team after our run-in with Goddess.

Unlike with Goddess, the eyes-on protocols were in effect, and I made sure to keep Sevitus in the corner of my vision.

He was brushing Daisy's mane, keeping her or himself calm through the repetition. I couldn't see his face all that well, but I could imagine his confusion and concern with me having told him to keep quiet and not move earlier.

Not like I'm doing so well either.

Black and white text. Documents, interviews, gossip magazines, brief chats with heroes, and briefer chats with my 'cellmates' at the Asylum. All conforming along strict rules to follow, a solid foundation for centering myself.

Which was important, when being angry, reckless, or too passionate would play into the Master-Stranger's influence. It was vital to place oneself into a position where decisions could be made carefully and with a lot of deliberation.

A snowy trail between two mountains didn't really fit the implications of a command center or interrogation room that was present in the documents, but with my forcefield keeping the worst of the cold and light snow out, I was at least only having to deal with internal influences and exclude the external.

Chain of command automatically passed down the chain as though people were dead or out of action. If discussions of the chain of command took more than a set amount of time or if the affected individuals couldn’t be trusted or detained, it meant a mission abort to a safe location with self-isolation once there. A good team with the right organization would see the leader step down the moment he might be compromised, the next person taking up the mantle.

Simply mentioned the protocols was supposed to elicit that response, with the second or third or fourth in command taking up leadership depending on the range of the effect. All the while deferring to communication from HQ for orders on how to proceed.

We didn't have any of those options.

I reached and picked up three stones near my feet.

"Antares?"

I would have jumped if I wasn't already floating, but I did nearly crush the rocks into dust in my grip.

"What are you-"

I held a finger to my lips, my face a hard glare. His mouth closed with an audible pop. He pointed to the rock, questioning, but I just shook my head.

He sighed, which was annoying, but otherwise remained silent.

Keep calm. Don't let your frustrations be in control.

Right. Easier said than done, but I've handled worse and... not come out on top. I couldn't say that with a straight face, but I got through it. Survived.

I held the stones around me. I didn't know the vector of the supposed Master-Stranger Power, nor the time of it being implemented or even if it was being implemented at all. That being said, actions taken while under the influence would still have notable consequences and reactions. If not, then the power was so absolute that I was doomed anyways.

In a way, it wasn't that different from when I first woke up in this world.

Test number one.

I tossed the first stone lightly, arcing it so that it landed a foot or so away from the etched boulder. The snow gave a little crunch on impact. I kept Sevitus in the corner of my eye, looking for any obvious tells. No change there, other than looking at me like I was going insane.

No change in sound, no cracks in the way reality held itself, and I didn't feel any external force pressing on me in retaliation.

Okay. Test number two.

I flung the next stone past the boulder, still keeping it within a foot or so of it's radius as it flew by. A louder crunch on impact with the snow near the wooden gate. Still no change.

Test number three then.

A final toss, with stone hitting boulder just at it's peak, careful not to nick any of the words and etchings. It produced a mild clack on collision, but aside from the sound nothing different from the previous tests.

Alright, maybe a new approach was needed.

I flew up and back in a wide curve, bringing in more of the scene with my Thinker one; bird's eye view. Sevitus, the boulder, and the surrounding woodwork leading to the wooden border gate were all together now as I scanned the area. As I shifted from one direction to the other, alternating between buoying up and down, I tried to zero in on any perspective shifts, delayed adjustments to distance, or even simply feeling resistance from the action. If it was the boulder that emanated the effect, then maybe the boulder would be the target of the change. If it was the environment itself, with the boulder being the one anchor to the real world, then there could the be chance that it wouldn't shift to account for the power.

Nothing changed beyond Sevitus's concerned expression.

When I had been networked with Darlene, with Syndicate, I had been able to feel and intuit the sensations of everyone else in the network even from alternate universes. It had been a realization that it couldn't have been that different from how my Fragile One and her kind saw all of reality, from angles that I couldn't begin to perceive.

Can you share that? Let me see through your eyes?

Nothing. Again.

To be fair, that was probably for the best. As much as I sorely wished for that capability right now, there was no telling that I wouldn't be giving up something that was vital to who I was in return. I trusted Fragile One, enough to expect her to save my life back in the dream world, but Natalie had clued me in to the idea that there might be a warped translation between communicating ideas that had to be navigated carefully. She hadn't meant our Agents, not on purpose, but with how close the Titans were... the precautions had some merit.

It still didn't leave me any less frustrated.

I approached the boulder, just barely keeping that ten foot distance as I floated closer. Tentatively, my body tense as I did so, I lifted six pairs of hands and touched the rock barring our path. Hands formed from cosmic alien energy brushed against smooth stone, feeling some bits of grit tumble from the contact. There was no reaction, no jolt as power lanced across my forcefield, nothing aiming to strip me of my mind.

Just normal rock.

I retreated and flew down next to Sevitus, hands on my hips as I considered the situation.

"I think I'm being fucked with."

"Beg pardon?"

I gestured at the boulder, "You see the M and S? Those mean anything to you?"

He shook his head, "Not in the least. Nor do I understand where this stone came from, but it wasn't here originally. Our patrol would have removed it from the path." He looked around, eyes squinting as he zeroed in on the border gate. He scratched his head as a frown formed, "And for anyone to leave this border unguarded... I understand that it's not often traveled but even a skeleton crew would have been preferable to simply abandoning it."

I bit my lip, "I'm beginning to wonder if there were ever any people here at all. We might not even have been here before."

He turned to me, uncomprehending.

"The letters mean Master-Stranger. Back home, that phrase was meant to automatically warn people to beware hostile mental influences. Illusions, mind-control, and memory loss to name a few. Part of what I was doing earlier was some improvised testing, seeing the limits of the supposed effect, among other things. I have some history of dealing with these types of powers, so I know what to look for."

"An illusionist then?" Sevitus frowned, "But to what end? And to what extent?"

"I have a few ideas but nothing definitive. It's mostly just looking at the pieces that I have and trying to consolidate them into a cohesive picture. My lack of memory prior to waking up here, the lack of injuries from supposedly being ambushed, and the lack of any other people or soldiers along this border trail."

"A lot of things lacking," he remarked.

"Exactly." I said, feeling a bit rejuvenated with the discussion, "The lack of explanations are forming pieces of the puzzle. For now, I'm seventy percent sure that the events as you recall them either didn't happen, or if they did happen then they were heavily altered from what actually occurred. Same thing goes for my missing memories, I think."

"But why? And why the rock?"

"I don't know." I admitted, "A lot of this is guesswork. Back home, I was in the middle of battle and my side had landed a pretty devastating blow to our opponents, with me helping that effort along. It could have been an attempt to remove me from play via power interactions and with how many dimensional effects were in use, I can't remove it being a partial accident either. I honestly doubt it, but it's a possibility."

But that still leaves this fucking boulder.

It could be a warning. A message from my world about what was happening to me and that I was actually a victim of some power. With our dives into the Agent's weaker defenses around dreaming, I could imagine Rain or Kenzie trying to reach me here.

It could also be a bluff. Something literally planted here to mislead me in going in one direction rather than another, whatever the fuck those directions actually are.

Times like these made me wish Tattletale was here. Sharp pain in the ass that she was, we could at least bounce ideas off each other and work towards a solution faster thanks to her power and intuition.

"I'm so confused, Lady Antares."

"That makes both of us." I said, ignoring the Lady part, "And that might even be the point of this. Confuse us so badly that it prevents us from going forward."

Sevitus gave a weary sigh, "The descriptions of what you deal with in your homeland exhaust me with their mysteries."

"Ah, right. I owe you a bit more of an explanation."

There was a ghost of a smile there, "It would be appreciated."

"I come from a different world. An alternate universe, if you guys have that sort of terminology."

"Like a... plane of Oblivion?"

"I honestly don't know." I answered tiredly, "Could be that we're using the same meanings with different words. In any case, my world's entire history and culture is different than yours. Even the continents are completely different, unless there are other maps out there of the world. Have you guys sailed around the world yet?"

He shrugged.

"Right. Might have to ask your dad about that one. In any case, my world is very different than this one."

"A world without magic and mer, nor beastmen. With people blessed by gods, as you've mentioned before."

I shrugged, "I guess that falls into interpretation really. Alien beings from space who bond with you in ways I couldn't explain in a hundred years, with unfathomable motives and methodology, and almost incidentally make you feel insignificant? Sound like a god to you?"

"Well... yes?" He answered as though it was a trick question, "I don't know much about these Ahleens, but I've heard many stories about how a god of magic formed our sun and his disciples made the stars. The planets that make up our night sky are said to be our forefathers and gods, above us all and always watching. Your gods do not sound so strange."

"How often do you get proof of them actually existing?"

Sevitus frowned, "The Voice of the Emperor is considered a blessing from the Gods."

Huh. "That's not just magic? I thought you were holding out on me about not knowing much. Seemed similar to Ulfric's magic."

"I know very little, Lady Antares." His voice took on a frustrated edge, "Gifts such as my blessing are different than those of studied mages, and both are different from the Tongues. The Thu'um. I cannot tell you much beyond those facts, but I know for certain that my gift is a gift. To say otherwise... it would be heresy."

He said that last word with a hint of venom, his eyes wide in his speech, as though he were arguing with his life on the line. For a brief moment, I could see a man who could one day become a soldier as gruff and tough as his father was now.

Daisy neighed behind him, clopping one hoof in the snowy trail while fog shot from her snout.

Sevitus paused, and I could see that soldier melt away to the boy that felt guilty for supposedly injuring an innocent person. Folding in on himself wasn't the exact term to use, but it was the best suited for seeing him take a step back and away from me, gaze to the floor while the tension seeped from his body.

Sullenly, he spoke. "My father told me about it. How much of a gift it was and how few loyal Imperials had it."

Seeing him like this, I wondered not for the first time why I was here. Rain or Tristan could have found some commonality with Sevitus in his religion without stepping on his toes. Sveta would have been able to see what the right path of action to take was here, and Byron might have been able to keep a stronger perspective. I wasn't unconvinced Kenzie couldn't have just built her way back home by the end of the day, if she didn't get distracted.

As much as it hurt to think about her, Ashley could have at least pretended to know what to do better than I ever could.

I was reminded of my brief time as a part time mod for PHO debate forums, partly for enjoyment, partly to share my behind-the-scenes-knowledge, all of it egotistical for a sixteen year old. For a while, there was a running meme that capes who fell into the jack of all trades category were often the least effective on their own, with many debates looking only at the powers involved compared to those who mastered a style or theme of Caping.

I had never considered myself as part of that category, and my rising popularity in the Bay seemed as vindication enough to reinforce that perspective, but I also felt that they weren't giving enough of those capes a fair shake. I would comment and argue about how a skilled cape with support powers or even multiple weaker powers could pull as much weight as Alexandria or Legend when things got rough in a battle.

I don't think the younger me was wrong to believe that in that idea, but having seen how far capes like Legend, Valkyrie, and Dragon could go with their focus, I was now realizing that real limits I faced. Nothing in my powerset was proving useful in getting me home, my knowledge was lost in translation and culture, and I didn't have access to the right frame of mind to parse what information I was given. If someone wanted to take me out of action, then I had to say they did a damn good job.

In terms of hypothetical scenarios, I don't think younger me would have been confident in my current chances.

So what are you going to do about it?

Apologize for being an asshole for starters.

I sighed, keeping my arms crossed and meeting his fleeting eyes. "I didn't mean to sound like I was belittling your religion Sevitus. I know it's shitty of me to say when I did it earlier too, but I'm really not trying to play games or insult your customs. I know you must have a lot of question and trust me, I get it. It's just... I'm just..."

I looked back at the boulder. It's carved letters and five notches seemed to silently mock me as I stood on the precipice of one action or the other, as though any and all would be the wrong course to take.

"....I'm just feeling lost right now."

It was quiet for a moment, so quiet that I wondered if he actually would accept my apology at all and the guilt from that hurt more than I expected. It felt a lot like I imagined letting Presley down would.

Which made it all the more surprising when he spoke, "Only the one question for now. How can I help?"

I frowned, "Are you sure? I know it's not fair to be left in the dark like this."

"To be quite honest, I'm really just happy you aren't a Daedra in disguise. Wasn't sure what to do if that was the case, especially when you saved my life. Do Daedra take life-debts?"

"I don't even know what a Daedra is, Sevitus."

"Oh. Right."

"And don't worry about life-debts," I said. "That's not the kind of person I want to be. You should save people just because it's the right thing."

He nodded, "In that case, it would mean that I have to save you anyways. Right?"

I blinked, "Huh. You got me there."

He smiled sheepishly and I couldn't help but return one of my own. The tension wasn't quite gone, but maybe the worst had been neatly side-stepped for now.

Yeah, for now.

I thought for a bit, "The best way to help right now is to narrow down our theories. Right now I'm putting a lot of focus on my world's side of the equation, but you just reminded me that magic is also in play here."

"Magic is always a tricky business, from what I hear."

"I'm taking your word for it," I said. "So, Magic. What is it and how do you get it?"

His brows furrowed, "Its been years since the lessons back in training. From what I recall, Magic is simply something that exists in everything on Mundus. Um, your 'Earth' as you'd call it. Plants, animals, men and mer, beastmen, Gods and Daedra all use magic. Or can use magic. It's not really something you gain, so much as something you can have an aptitude for, like swordsmanship or singing or-"

I held up a hand, "Okay, hold on, that's a lot to take in. Magic exists in everybody and anyone can use it?"

He nodded.

"Then- wait, hold on, something doesn't add up. If anyone could just learn magic, then why were there so few healing mages then? That was the whole issue with me having to race to Whiterun in the first place!"

"Magic has fallen out of favor, due to the Oblivion Crisis, Antares. It's not shunned within the Empire, but many have become wary of those who become too enamored with it. Coupled with the time needed to train and often a lack of proper teachers, then I imagine it makes people wary to invest time in it."

I swallowed, thinking of the potion in my satchel, "Does healing magic have drawbacks? After effects?"

"What? No. Not unless you're an undead I suppose. It's literally a life-saver to have."

"So you can use healing magic then?"

"Oh, no." Sevitus said, shaking his head, "I was never interested in the magical arts. I much prefer the sword to the spells."

"...Why?" I asked, unable to hide my incredulity, "Why wouldn't you want to know how to heal yourself or others with no drawbacks? Or even just telekinesis like you thought I had?"

He rubbed his chin in thought, "I don't know. It just never appealed to me as a soldier I suppose. I always fell asleep when we had to study texts about magic, personally. A few of my fellow brothers and sister in steel have mentioned something similar."

I took a deep breath, trying to not melt my brain with the implications of this world's access to various degrees of what were basically super-powers. And not wanting it.

I let out the breath, "Fine. Okay. Sure. You mentioned Illusionists earlier, so that means this world has people who mess with the mind using magic?"

"We do. My father once told me a tale of a Dark Elf turning a small company of Imperials into madmen, stoked into a frenzy of slaughter."

Like Love Lost. "Then there is a chance that this an illusionary effect? It can't be dismissed out of hand then?"

Sevitus nodded, "I suppose it's possible. From what I hear, it's usually not so subtle, but if we are already effected then we wouldn't know would we?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself. " I agreed. "Got anything that might help us here?"

"Unfortunately not. I'm really starting to regret not studying enough. We do have the College of Winterhold though. They should know more about these kinds of magics than even the average mage."

I couldn't stop the amusement seeping into my tone, "You have a school for witchcraft and wizardry?"

A look of abject horror crossed his face, "Gods no! Witches would sooner harvest your heart for a sacrifice than help teach you anything! Don't catch any mages hearing you talk like that, lest you earn their ire or curse!"

Why do I even try to be funny sometimes?

"Right, don't mention Witches. Anything else you need to warn me about?"

He paused, "Just a moment."

Sevitus turned to the border gate, eyes narrowed. With that profile, there was a sharp edge to him that struck me as peculiar, like he was unconsciously copying a routine he'd seen before.

His fingers tapped against old armor as he spoke, "We might find more clues in the border barracks. Notes and supplies perhaps. It's worth checking out I think."

Sevitus stepped forward, only to stumble slightly as a hand took hold of his fur cloak. The act was instinctual and without thought, barely at the edge of my control. Barely, because while I wanted to get his attention back on magic, I was going to use my flesh and blood hand, not the ones she had been cursed with.

"No." I said, and meant it.

"No?" He asked, bewildered.

There was a sense of concern at that random act from my power, but it wasn't in that she had reached out without my bidding. The concern was that something was wrong with Sevitus or the actions Sevitus was about to take, something that resulted in a surety that this had to be stopped somehow. The only comparison I could make was when Win had shown me Amy's threat rating, but I couldn't help but feel as though the real danger was hidden in plain sight.

Or in this case, I hadn't accounted for the right kind of trigger for.... whatever this place was.

A gut feeling. She had been so quiet when I was investigating the rock, but when Sevitus considered moving past that border... It was there.

She was with me, trying to get my attention.

"No." I repeated, feeling that connection die down slightly. "We'll head back to camp, make sure your dad sees you alive and well. For now, tell me everything you know about the College."

Chapter Text

I'd seen a lot of weird shit since I got here, shit that would make even the most experienced of Capes blink twice, which was saying something considering how utterly fucked my universe could be. I'd seen victims of the Slaughterhouse Nine, my time in the Asylum saw me share a living space with multiple other people who were tortured by powers and while I looked at my time with Breakthrough with a real sense of love, it was also marked with people I loved being torn apart and worse.

That was without accounting for every fucked up thing that had happened to me in that short timespan. Getting shot, nearly impregnated, skin melted off, technically dying from leaping off of a cliff-face into solid rock. I'd been through the fucking wringer and then some.

So I was a bit proud of myself for only freezing for a few moments when Sevitus and I stumbled onto a scene involving dozens of dog-sized spiders clambering over each other as they tried to climb up a tree.

"Help! For all the love of your inbred-fucking ancestors! Help! Me!"

One leg wrapped around a limb like a vice-grip, Rave swung her bow with all her strength, the carved wood smashing into the eye of the closest spider. The mutant twitched with inhuman reactions, flailing and falling back off the tree trunk and into the pile beneath it. It's fall took down a few in it's wake, but an equal number were soon skittering up to replace them.

Jesus fuck. Skitter eat your heart out.

Rave let out another scream as the spiders closed the distance and I flew forward, not taking a moment to see what Sevitus's reaction was. My aura was blaring at max output as I dove into the fray, Fragile One prepared for action around me. I had no idea how giant arachnids would handle induced fear, especially when human reactions could be so varied, but anything would be better than seeing someone eaten by spiders.

The spiders visibly paused as my aura reached them and whatever they felt from the power, the results were immediate as they scurried in a mad scramble. More than a few set about attacking each other on the spot, curling around each other gruesomely in balls of death and madness. In that chaos though, some of the spiders located the source of the fear and went on the attack.

The fact that said attack involved literally spitting web as projectile weapons was not something I expected. Still, the Fragile One's hands swept out and around me, slapping aside the moist webbing with ease as the lack of traction allowed the attack to slip off harmlessly. As I closed the distance, several of the spiders leapt into the air, easily crossing a distance twice as tall as Sevitus was.

Those same fragile hands took hold of the closest spiders' mandibles and legs, whipping the mutant to the side in a fluid motion that saw it slam into the oncoming creature with a sickening crunch. Yellow blood or pus billowed out from the collision, but there was enough mass left for me to chuck the corpse at another leaping spider, sending it crashing into a nearby tree with a large crack and spray of blood.

I landed in front of the maddened horde, hands reaching down into the snow for ammunition. One spider ventured too close and got a splitting kick that sheared it's body in half, sending most of it flipping upwards from the blow and the rest of it's steaming entrails onto the snow.

Four of my hands found serviceable weapons; three pebbles and a stick.

Let 'em fly.

The pebbles were sent rocketing out at speeds faster than sound, each piece of rock obliterating a spider that strayed into it's path, one even taking out a second spider behind the first with enough force to have chitin scatter through the air. The stick didn't have enough mass to be thrown fatally, but it could serve other uses if I was creative enough-

A spider landed in front of me and I stabbed down, impaling it's torso with the wooden weapon and pinning it in place. Even then, the monster didn't immediately die, all eight legs trying to dig into the ground for traction. My own eight hands took hold of the body and pulled in different directions.

Nothing useful from the bits I'd retrieved and I was left to drop it's remains to the snow.

The numbers had thinned. I'd killed seven myself and I could see Sevitus leap atop another, iron sword piercing it's skull and then dragged long-ways through it's body in on smooth motion. Two more had been killed by their brethren and the remaining two were visibly injured from the scuffle.

Sevitus and I charged at the same time, and as injured as the creatures were, they still forced themselves to met our attack. One spider's ball of webbing was cut out of the sky by Sevitus's blade, and a follow up thrust saw him cleave it's foremost legs in pieces. A second swing cut through it's eyes then skull and the mutant dropped.

My opponent leapt at me, fangs longer than my hand bared, only to be literally slapped aside. The spider crumpled on landing, not even capable of giving off a death twitch.

Twelve mutant spiders dead, torn apart in various ways, and all I could think was that I had no fucking idea what just happened.

I looked to Sevitus, "Do I even I want to ask?"

He scowled as he used a cloth to wipe yellow gunk from his blade, "Frost Spider brood. Must have lost it's Mother and went foraging for prey. I'd seen one or two in small caves, but never so many in one place. Never wanted to."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah, I could have done without that nightmare fuel."

I was scouring the surroundings, making sure no spiders where waiting for us to let our guard down, when I noticed.

"Where the hell are the bandits?"

"What?" Sevitus followed my gaze, "Oh for Kynes' sake!"

Hours ago, I had left a dozen men trapped atop tree branches, easily twenty to thirty feet of a fall once I broke the branches beneath them.

And now it was empty, barring the weapons I had buried into it's body.

Sevitus sounded immensely tired as he spoke, "I think I see some tracks leading across the main trail. I'll give them a brief look, but I'm guessing the bandit girl would know best."

I nodded, but couldn't afford to meet his eyes. The sound of his feet crunching snow felt especially heavy.

I fucked up. I fucked up big time.

But how? That had been a drop that could kill or cripple normal people and yet all of them just... walked it off? How did some of them even get free?

I flew up to the opposite tree where Rave was situated, lying prone along one of the branches and hugging her bow close to her. As I approached I could see her wiping her eyes with her sleeves, careful to keep her face out of view.

"You okay?"

"Bal's balls I am," she said with a hoarse voice. She looked up at me, "I can't climb down. Busted my ankle on a bad landing."

"But you could climb a tree to escape mutant spiders." I said incredulously.

She shook her head, "Guff gave me a boost so I could get my bow. Couldn't get down and then the spiders found me."

"They left you?"

She scowled at me, an animalistic expression I'd seen on Bitch before, pure anger and frustration coming to the fore. She seemed to remember that I was someone who could tear steel like paper, because a brief look of concern crossed her face before she turned away, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Hear, let me take you down. I'll be gentle."

I took hold of her and peeled her from her branch, careful not to jostle her too badly. She seem more focused on keeping her bow held closely and if I put her in any pain, she didn't say anything.

I dropped down slowly, hovering an inch or so above the snow and letting her touch the ground. She hissed and then leaned against the blood-stained tree, lifting one ankle off slightly to not put pressure on it.

I could empathize with that at least, "How bad is it? Broken?"

"Sprained I think. Divines this day has gone to shit."

Isn't that the truth.

"I'm honestly surprised they left you here alive." Sevitus commented, back from inspecting the trail left behind from the fleeing bandits. "You were pretty much dead-weight to them and a big security risk if you point us in the right direction."

"Guff knows I ain't a squealer, no matter what irons you dig into me. Ah've got grit and they respect that, not that you'd understand soldier boy. We don't get fancy tents and swords paid for by the squawking folk in your holds. We're survivors, we take what we got from the land and from weaker, softer, fools who might as well drink from their mother's tit. You can't break a bond based on needing to hunt down a pack of wolves together to live through a winter with barely any scraps of cloth. It's thicker than blood and water."

"They left you." I repeated. "You seriously would have died if we hadn't come back for you."

I saw a flicker of that scowl, even turned away, but she didn't say anything in response.

"We should honestly finished the job," Sevitus said, hand going to his sword hilt. "Less chance of her slowing us down or trying to stab us in the back."

Rave twisted up, her eyes wide, and tried to back away. Her injured leg gave out and she fell back a centimeter before my hands caught her, holding her in place.

Likewise, Sevitus was still, unable to find the strength or leverage to draw his blade.

"Antares-"

"We are not murdering her Sevitus," I said sternly. "I thought that I made that clear when I killed a giant spider to save her."

Sevitus sighed, "Antares, what do you think will happen to her when we return to the camp? She either pays the hefty fine for banditry, she rots in a jail cell for most of her life, or they just execute her instead of wanting to take care of another mouth to feed. I doubt she has any gold on her person and if she's in prison, she'll probably be killed or worse by a variety of nasty critters and people. She's just not worth it."

I was silent for a moment, taking him in, and I could already feel how my posture shifted slightly in the air. A position I'd taken a few times when dealing with something unpleasant, but not necessarily threatening.

I was beginning to grow a bit annoyed with how often he seemed to lapse into this kind of mentality.

"What was going to happen to me, Sevitus?"

His soldier-like expression that I found so aggravating cracked and crumbled, revealing the boy beneath it. "That isn't fair, Antares."

"It's not about fairness Sevitus. Just answer honestly about what you and your father would have done to me, had I not woken up in time."

He stood there for a time, a young man wearing old hand-me-down armor that his father gave him, hanging off slightly since he hadn't grown into them quite yet. I wondered if this was how Jessica had seen Chris at first, a poor kid trapped with a mind of a man or a man trapped with the hormonal body of a kid.

"We should go." He said, backing away from my hands. He turned to the main trail and walked back to Daisy. "If we don't move soon it'll be too dark before we make enough headway."

I... I didn't know how to feel about him not answering the question. I wanted him to understand that things weren't so cut and dry now, not with this Master-Stranger bullshit fucking with our heads. If I wanted to, I could even consider this as him acquiescing to that unspoken statement... but it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like he truly understood the message that I had wanted to get across and I wasn't sure why that was.

Sveta had said that we both tended to judge others slightly for not stepping up and doing the right thing, consciously and unconsciously. Was that a factor here? That I wanted him to outright say that his means of enacting justice wasn't right? Was it just annoyance and frustrations boiling over and spilling out to harm him like lava?

Sevitus was already mounting Daisy, the bow strung along her side, still resolutely looking down the main-trail.

"I can't ride with him," Rave murmured. "He'll toss me off the side and break my neck."

"You're not riding with him," I answered. I placed a hand, a real hand, on her shoulder and pushed out with my aura. With my body acting as a conduit, she was given a purer taste of my power, a pulse of fear. Rave gasped a bit and tried to back off, but my grip was like a vice. "You're going to behave yourself. You are not going to talk to Sevitus, you aren't even going to talk to me unless it's urgent or if I ask you a question. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

I released her from my grip, but kept the aura churning just enough for her to be in reach. "Tell me if this get painful for you."

I shifted the Fragile One's hands around Rave, keeping focus on getting a grip along her waist, shoulders, and back of the head. I lifted her up off the ground and she whimpered.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No." She grit out, both eyes closed. "I... I hate being raised up so high."

Ah. Right.

"I'll keep us flying low. Bare with it unless your leg starts acting up, I'll try to keep it as comfortable as I can."

Sevitus was watching, an expression that for the first time I really couldn't read on his face, before he spurred Daisy onwards. I maneuvered the Fragile One so that Rave was to my back and not forced to withstand the cold wind as I flew to catch up.

"We should have kept going."

"Not a good idea Antares, not with how wolves and Frost Spiders hunt. The bandit girl was lucky there was still daylight. Night time is when the Spider Mothers go out to hunt for their broods."

Rave shivered at the mention of the spiders, pulling herself closer to the fire, allowing the light to outline the bruises on her face and the amateur war-paint she shared with her gang of raiders.

Sevitus glared at her for a moment before going back to tending the fire, his small blanket draping his shoulders.

I crossed my arms, "Not even another mile or two?"

"In this light? Or lack of it? Antares, I'd be concerned about Daisy hitting the road wrong more than the beasts that lurk in these woods. Not to mention she's exhausted from traveling and I'm tired of riding her. If we rest now, I promise you we will get up extra early in the morning to get that head-start back to camp. But I can't risk night travel in good conscience, not when we have... baggage."

Baggage. He meant Rave and from the brief scowl on her face, she knew it too. I, however, was thinking of an entirely different kind of baggage.

I floated up slightly, peering past the barricade I set up around the camp. Night had fallen and Sevitus had been adamant about making camp away from the main-road, but away from any major groupings of trees. The main road was an easy target for bandits like Rave's group to follow and too many trees together meant things called 'Spriggans' could nest there. My suggestion for a cave was denied as well; too many animals like wolves, bears, and werewolves made those their homes.

Fucking werewolves. That was an honest to god concern for camping on this fucked up planet. Vampires, Elves, Dragons, Werewolves, and Magic Rocks.

Fine. Whatever.

With fucking werewolves on the mind, I set to the task of breaking down the smaller trees nearby and laying them down at an angle around our campsite near the base of one of the mountains. I had been worried about them being alone with each other for more than a few minutes, but the both of them seemed a lot more interested in my depositing of trees than any arguments.

It had taken a few trips before it occurred to me that neither of them had seen feats of strength like that before, which could point to magic not normally amplifying strength or telekinesis to that extent. The following thought was that it might also mean that I was the strongest person on this planet.

That thought made me feel mucho uncomfortable, to butcher a quote from an old Alexandria show. Goddess had been the most powerful person on Shin and her mistakes left a way for people like Amy and Chris to find more victims. Eidolon fell from grace. Scion betrayed everyone.

Where did that leave me?

Yeah, mucho uncomfortable.

Better to look out into that dark wilderness and think about home than to consider the consequences of me staying here any longer. Considering my track record on introspection, it was far easier said than done.

"I'll take first watch," Sevitus said from below, beginning to stand.

"What?" I turned to him, "How does that make any kind of sense?"

He paused mid-movement, glancing up at me, "You're both-"

He stopped, mouth open, then shut it.

I raised an eyebrow. It wasn't a hard to imagine what he was planning to say and at least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Tired? Sevitus, you've been horse-riding all day." I said, giving him a lifeline. "It's been years since I've done it, but I do remember how sore I was after. If you're half as exhausted as Daisy is, then you need to rest up first."

He made a pained face, "It doesn't feel right."

It was corny, but I actually did find it sort of charming in a naïve sort of way. Maybe I had just gotten used to seeing Sevitus like that, rather than what he was trained to be.

"I've flown all day today Sevitus. I've basically done nothing tiring all day." Physically. Emotionally? Well he didn't need to know that. "I'll keep watch for the first four hours, you cover the last few. If anything happens I'll do this-"

I sent out a brief pulse of my aura, seeing how Rave and Sevitus both flinched slightly.

"-And it'll wake you up, one- ninety percent sure."

He glanced between Rave and I, "Promise?"

"Promise."

He nodded. Then nodded harder, like he was really trying to convince himself this was a good idea.

Still, he turned and went to his bed-roll near Daisy, curling up under the blankets as best he could while wearing his armor. I wasn't quite surprised when I heard snoring that was too jarring to be faked coming from his direction.

Rest up kid. You deserve it after what I put you through.

A whisper cut in, "Your man is the worrisome sort huh? Not my type, but at least he's got a decent body to look at."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

Rave had shifted in her cot to face me, hands and feet tied together using the leftover rope we scrounged up. With the way the light hit her, it seemed to make the swollen and bruised parts of her to be etched in shadow, while her scar and paint glistened.

"Must be a damn good lay to get a Battle Mage like you on the side."

"I thought I said not to talk to me unless absolutely necessary." I said archly.

"Come on," she whispered, rolling her eyes. "I've kept my trap shut for hours after you dragged me through that the air. And I get the feeling you mostly didn't want me to upset your man."

"He's not my man and you're vastly underestimating how much I dislike you. Maybe you should take those as a hint about where this conversation will lead you."

She frowned, dark green-eyes glowing from the light. "You kept my bow safe. Even after you called my bluff, you didn't snap it in front of me. Why not?"

I crossed my arms, not saying anything.

"I'll tell ya why I think so." She continued, "I think it's cause you're strong. Well, I know that obviously, you uprooted trees from the ground for oblivion's sake. But most Mages, hells, most people I've seen who got that kind of power would lord it over others. I don't just mean the bandits either. Imperials, Stormcloaks, Thalmor, even Priests, they all act like the realm revolves around them. You notice that? I'm sure you have."

I thought back to everyone in power that I had met here. Claudya. Irileth. Ulfric. Even Invictus initially.

"Yeah," she said as though I answered her. "But not you. Nah, nah, you tried to give our little dozen an out. Avoid the fighting, because you knew how it would end."

Her whisper grew in intensity, "I think you've honed this strength. Yeah, you've experienced going a little crazy, a little drunk on power. I'm guilty of it even, taking my time with potshots on a rival gang or giving some fat merchant a head start to test my aim. Don't give me that look. I aint got shit for brains when it comes to books or writing, but I can do a fine job of seeing people at their worst because I've been at my worst."

You are the worst.

Rave leaned in close, almost manic in how she smiled, the bruises getting a bit more light from the movement. "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you wanna go Daedric? My gang back there would accept you with open arms. Not gonna lie, if you dropped me off there, they'd probably kill me even if Guff tried to stop them. But if you come with me, ditch the boring soldier boy... well you get worshipped I bet. Probably given leadership if you throw a tree or two to scare them. Men, women, they'll supply you with whatever you want."

"I aint saying that you gotta let go all your rules or what not. Not asking you to kill your soldier boy either. But come on, let's ditch him for something bigger yeah? You kept my bow safe, so let me guide you to a way of living where you can relax a bit, to return the favor. Hell, I'll even change my ways if you want, I'll nail every defiling man to the wall with the bits their legs if you want me too."

A memory came to mind. Amy in Shin, promising to change her ways, go to that therapist and seek out help... so long as I went with her. Later, offering to get me and my team out of prison early... if I just talked to her for a bit. Even later, saying she'd go with my plan to fight the Machine Army... and then attempted to murder my best friend in the whole world.

I don't have rules, not like she did back then.

But I have fucking morals.

"-have to talk about what groups to hit, but that can wait-"

"Please stop talking." I said, "I kind of want to throw you into a hillside so hard your brain rattles."

"A- A what?"

I looked into her eyes, my tone calm and collected as I spoke, "I've done it before. And the mountain is right here."

Those green eyes of her searched my own and I took a fair bit of pleasure in seeing her fucking smile crumble. She shut up, her swollen mouth pressed firmly into a line as she laid down near the dying light of the fire.

I sighed and turned back towards the ever seeking darkness that encroached on our camp. Was it a mistake to spare her? To drag her with me? It wasn't like Etna, who was a fuckup of epic proportions, but at least got a clue and went full-blown hero after. Rave reveled - no - raved about the horrible acts she committed and any change to her person would only come by as a means of getting me on her side.

Despite that, despite every little bit of bullshit she uttered to me just now, I couldn't let her be murdered in good conscience. It would go against everything that I promised the pieces that made up the Victoria of breakthrough. Even the parts of Glory Girl that I had accepted wouldn't be okay with it.

The Fragile One surrounded me, engulfed me in it's protective shell and trapped the warmth of the fire within itself. I loosened the control I had over her, partially to experiment, mostly because I needed some company without any overly complicated strings attached.

Considering our history, that's saying something, isn't it girl?

She didn't respond beyond having impossibly strong hands and feet brush against cloth and snow. I waited to see if I needed to prevent her from crushing something important or awakening Sevitus, but there was only the soft touches. I could feel every head looking in the same direction I was, my allies peering into the blackness, daring it to make a move.

I hated this. Loathed it. Forced to stay a full day and night in a reality that wasn't my own, while my team faced cosmic horrors without me, and innocent people dying in a war that I brought them into.

I wondered if I could convince Sevitus to let me keep watch the entire night. I didn't want to deal with the nightmares. Not when I knew I would wake up to this world again.

You helped me out back there. Thank you for that. I don't know what I would be doing without you.

No response there either. That was okay.

We'd handle this together.

Then

The evening sky was a dark green and where that green met the low orange of setting sun, one could see how the colors twisted around each other in layers of tendrils rather than mix. The result of such a light show breaching through half-closed blinds was an almost psychedelic effect as the contrasting colors projected onto blank white walls.

Lyo-Leo prowled his territory amid the dying light, mighty paws of cotton causing the bed-sheets to tremble in his wake and dust-bunnies were left to quiver in fear under the bed.

Dean watched helplessly as Lyo-Leo approached, unable to tear his eyes away from the lion's figure, knowing that running away wasn't an option anymore.

With my helping hand, I lifted Lyo-Leo into the air and pressed him so close to Dean's face that their noses were touching.

"Rawr." I said, because Lyo-Leo could not.

"Ahhh." Dean uttered, his monotone conveying paralyzing fear.

I lowered my voice as dramatically as I could, "What's someone as delicious as you doing in my Kingdom?"

"I'm sorry, Lyo-Leo-"

I had Lyo-Leo bat Deans face with a stuffed paw, the limb bouncing off harmlessly. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"It is Lord Lyo-Leo, to you, my dessert."

"Not lunch, Mr. Lord Lyo-Leo?"

I batted his other cheek with a paw, smiling, "No mister needed. And you're too sweet for lunch."

"Please, spare the face," Dean said. "It's the only thing my girlfriend likes about me."

"Rawr. You think she only likes you because of your pretty face?"

"It's all I got going for me." Dean put out an overly exaggerated sigh, "She's so smart and beautiful, kind and compassionate, always up to date in fashion. She has this thing where when she laughs she feels like she has to cover up because she gets self-conscious, even though her giggles are impossibly adorable. Whenever she's frustrated she scrunches her face like she's const-"

I buried Lyo-Leo over Dean's pretty face, muffling him, while trying to ignore how flushed my own was. "Stupid. Dumbass. Moron."

His hand snaked out, a finger prodding me in my armpit, and I let out a squeak as I drew back. Poor Lyo-Leo fell from my grasp, revealing a smirking Dean.

"Brutes are ticklish. Better update the Protocols."

I gave a mock scowl, "Oh, I'll show you ticklish!"

I used flight to catch him by surprise, grabbing his wrists and twisting him onto the bed so that he was laid-back while I floated above him. Still keeping his arms pinned, I took a note from the lion playbook and went for the throat, vicious kisses peppering him. He squirmed beneath me, struggling in vain while laughing breathlessly.

"Mercy!" He called out, louder than he'd normally be as he tried not to laugh.

That was fine. My parents were out of the house on a date night and Amy still had an hour before she finished her hospital shift. I had even texted Crystal to warn me if her family was going to give me a surprise visit, and she had given me her promise.

Which means I don't have to show you any mercy.

He looked like he was gonna cry out again, so I put a stop to that by pressing my lips to his. I could feel his breathe leave him and enter me, heart still running wild after my prolonged tickle torture, but he was quick to adapt to the circumstance as he returned my eagerness with his own. My heart was currently doing Olympic gymnastics.

We broke the kiss, meeting each other's eyes, both faces red and panting.

"Safari's would be one hundred percent cooler with jungle cats like you."

I smiled, "Rawr."

I kissed him again, longer, feeling that connection that went beyond the physical grow between us. There was a sense of surety in that connection, pure righteousness, that we could conquer evil and protect the weak together. It was what I imagined my mom and dad felt when they moved in-synch on the battlefield, facing down monsters of every stripe.

Love. True love. The kind that withstands the occasional fight and bounces back even stronger in the aftermath, because it was just right. There was nothing fragile about it.

I could never lose if I have you by my side.

I broke the kiss, nuzzling against his neck again as I pressed myself on top of him. Feeling him entirely, letting him feel me in return, and allowing that connection to resound in my mind. We stayed like that for long moments, just embracing each other, not quite willing to get into the rude stuff. That could come later.

"Do you ever get the feeling that things are coming to a head," Dean broke the silence. "And that even though you can feel and see these things reaching that head, you have no idea what you can do about it?"

I spoke into his neck, "I could show you what you could do about that feeling."

I felt a breath leave him, "Down girl."

I smiled a bit, glad to have gotten the laugh out of him. "Something happen with your parents again?"

"Sort of. They've always been there on that road, but now I can see C- Aegis there, standing beside them on a different road. Other people too, bottling up stuff to a boiling point."

"Is this in the abstract or is meant to be literal?"

"Yes."

I lightly bit him, growling.

I could feel the smile as he spoke, "Sorry, couldn't resist. But also sort of serious of an answer. Aegis is going to graduate soon and Clockblocker right after him, leaving me as the Ward captain. My parents are always putting pressure on me to leave the cape life, but once those two graduate that ultimatum they gave me will be shoved in my face every day."

"And the others?"

He was quiet for a moment, normally quick-witted Dean taking his time.

"I think," He said slowly, "I can handle the others. There are steps I could take to put them off that path. But that still leaves the big two and I just don't know what to do about them."

I could understand it. My life prior to getting powers was going down a similar track, if perhaps in reverse. Where Dean felt as though he was hurtling towards parts of his life he was destined to confront, I had felt as though my destiny was being denied no matter what I did. Yeah, opposite paths, but the result was still the same.

Anxiety. Fear. Loneliness. Burning that candlelight at both ends.

Can't have that.

I squeezed him harder, "Mhm. Typical Thinker neurosis. You've overlooked something major."

I could feel him shift slightly and I looked up at him. His blue eyes met my own, searching.

"Me. In every one of those roads, those paths, I'm there with you. You stay in the city for your parents, I'll be here to visit your office when you get lonely. You leave the city as a star member of the Protectorate, I join and support you."

"You shouldn't force yourself to live your life according to my issues."

I rose up, using flight to balance myself, straddling him. I pressed a single finger against his chest and pushed him back down onto the bed, my long hair falling down around him. "The only thing I'm forcing is getting that simple fact through your head. You're mine and I'm yours. We get through the dark shit together, because we're stronger together, and because I love you."

His eyes were glistening, just a bit. Now that I was giving him my undivided attention, I could see how scared he was, how vulnerable. I wanted to kiss those tears away and would if he gave me the chance. "Even if my pretty face gets mauled by monster?"

"You have the personality to make up for it."

He laughed, "I love you too. Dahmaan daar los ni vahzen."

"Good," I said, adjusting my position. "Now show me that you mean it."

He did. We did.

Together.

Chapter Text

A heavy crack hung in the air and I felt my body tense for destruction.

I felt like I could understand capes like the Flower of Hetacomb, Ex Nihilo, and even Goddess a little bit better now. Capes who were ripped from their homes by a power they had no context for, left stranded dimensions away surrounded by strangers with a foreign mindset and no guide to getting back home. The feeling of being so utterly lost that you might as well be on the ocean floor looking for a gleam of light to point you at the sky, oppressive in a way that rattled you down to your core, threatening to crack it like glass.

Or ice.

More cracks, smaller than the previous one, rang out and my palms hurt from squeezing my fists too hard. The wet sensations could have been sweat or blood, but either one of them made my artificial flesh feel so much more like a prison, the real Victoria Dallon swimming beneath a mixture of cat and dog bones packed in tightly by cat and dog meat. Skin that was crafted by insects, eyes the amalgamation of pets, hair strung together by fur and fibers.

The darkness was all encompassing without the protection of the campfire, and the bottomless ocean felt all too real. I wanted to summon the Fragile One, to have her shelter me from these thoughts as she would from even Scion. But I couldn't if that meant the cracks finding that channel to this place via whatever extra-dimensional tether my powers produced when activated by my Agent. It was an assumption for how the Titans formed, but I felt like it was along the right track at least.

Unfortunately that track meant I couldn't afford to use my newfound protector to her greatest effect.

So this is how I go then? This world and I helplessly swallowed up by Fortuna?

Fuck that, I wanted to say. No fucking way.

But the night had passed and I was still here in Tamriel. An alien world with concepts of power that I couldn't wrap my head around, and I'd left behind the only possible clue to getting back home on a gut feeling. My team was in the midst of fighting monsters like Victor and the Stranger Titan, Rain desperately exploring the inner workings of the Agent systems, and the civilians were stuck in the middle trying to do the best they could with what we could provide them.

What happened in the twenty or so hours since I arrived here? How many died without my Gun to supply covering fire on approaching Titans? How many were drained of their knowledge, turned into mountains of scrabbling flesh, or driven horrifically insane at a glance?

With me gone, I could see Tristan trying to pick up the reigns for Breakthrough and work with Tattletale to find some answers. Trying being the key word. I could recall their expressions and attitudes during the opening fights with heartbreaking clarity, and I wasn't confident that either of them were capable of balancing their own sense of helplessness with the drive to keep moving forward.

Fucking hypocritical of you to say Victoria.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I rose from the sleeping bag.

Sevitus was poking the ashes of the campfire with the bottom of his sandals, shifting snow onto the wood remnants. The crackling sound they made had my skin crawling, which really didn't help that ocean I was trapped under.

Sevitus gave me a small smile, "Sleep well?"

I stretched, feeling back and shoulders pop under flesh. The aches and pains from my fights were still going strong, which was a relief. "I've slept better."

"I heard. You mumbled in your sleep a fair bit."

"Nothing embarrassing I hope?" I tried to keep my tone light, but my brain was already running damage control for anything I might have said.

He shook his head, "Nothing that I could make sense of. Apologies if that was rude to bring up."

It was, but I didn't feel like confronting something so minor right now, not when I wasn't in my best headspace. The dreams had been unpleasant but not in a way that could easily be remembered.

The sky was still clouded in ash and fog, lending to the darkness of the early morning, and the cold air clashed with the warmth I'd gained in the bed. There was a melancholic sense of nostalgia with the cold and snow, because my team had formed when winter was on the horizon, and even light showers meant ice and snow soon after in the months preceding.

It would be all too easy to lose myself in those thoughts, like I had been as I laid awake.

Sevitus kicked the bag next to me, producing a cough and groan from Rave.

"Get up. We're getting ready to leave."

I frowned and stood up myself, "You didn't have to kick her Sevitus."

A mix of emotions crossed his face before he sighed, "Apologies, Antares."

"No apologies for me you prick?!" Rave squirmed her top half out of the bag, scowling at him, "So tough when you got a lady tied up and a mage to keep you safe. Why don't you untie me right now and I'll show you a real kick in the ribs?"

"No one is going to be kicking anyone in the ribs." I interrupted.

"He just did!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Do not make me mom you right now.

Rave continued to cuss out Sevitus as I packed up my bag and straightened out my armor set. It hadn't been the most comfortable apparel I'd worn to bed, but I would have been far more uncomfortable undressing to sleep while with someone I barely knew and another that I sort of hated.

"At least give me some grub before we get movin'. I only had a light lunch before you both ruined my day."

"We ruined your day?"

"And I'm out of food." Sevitus replied, "Couldn't feed you even I wanted to. Which I don't."

"Sevitus-"

"Well, then I need to piss."

"What do you mean 'well'? You sound like you want to piss to spite me for not having food."

"If I wanted to spite you boy, I would have pissed myself and your shitty rucksack, just to make you carry it along the way. Unlike you Imperials, I'm civilized."

"Rave-"

"You would watch your tongue you quim, lest I cut it out for you!"

I clapped my hands and pulsed my aura, "Guys!"

They shut up, both flinching from the sudden burst, power and sound working to disorient them.

This is why I didn't want to mom you two.

To Sevitus I said, "Give me a moment to get ready? Please? I'll let Rave do her business while I'm at it."

Sevitus nodded, "Just be careful then. We can't trust her."

"I will be. For now, just cool off a bit okay? Don't let her get to you.

He sighed but nodded again, going back to packing away the supplies.

Rave opened her mouth.

I held up a hand, "Not now. Please."

She shut it, looking at me reproachfully.

I unfurled the Fragile One around me, body still tense with the expectation of reality shattering. I felt the chill of the wind die down as she expanded, replaced by another, personal chill as I felt her limbs jitter slightly even as they remained in place.

It's the same thing back in Rain's home.

I focused on that connection between my mind and the actions of the forcefield, thinking back to the height of feedback while we were in-sync. Dancing with me against Oberon, becoming a whirlwind to dispel toxic fumes, carrying our teammates to safety, jousting against Skadi with the Gun.

The jittering slowed and then stopped. I turned a flesh hand over and felt eight more palms do the same. Mouths yawned open and closed, heads turned, and the forcefield itself spun slowly at my command.

Back to normal. Or what constituted as the normal for now.

That feeling of disassociation for myself hadn't left. Not entirely.

At least you haven't abandoned me yet.

Fragile hands reached out and find leverage with Rave, pulling her from the sleeping bag as gently as I could. She squirmed a bit more in my grasp, but didn't voice a complaint.

I pointed, "We'll be in that stretch of woods Sevitus. If anything happens, just shout."

He gave me a thumbs up, which was so bizarrely out of place that I had to pause for few seconds to wonder how that became a thing on this world. Rave's cough drew me out of my fugue and I flew us both into the woods. It took a bit to find a spot sufficiently blocked by trees and foliage that I was comfortable dropping her off at.

I was just happy I didn't have to go in the wilderness.

"I need my ankles untied," Rave mumbled.

I gave her a look.

"Tough talk is one thing, but I got some self-respect. I don't want to piss my trousers on accident and have to deal with the fucking jeers that'll get me."

"Okay." I said, "But if you try to run off, I will catch you. One hundred percent guarantee that I'm faster than you."

She rolled her eyes, "I aint gonna run off on ya. I got nowhere to go here and I aint looking to leave my bow behind."

"You really do care about that thing don't you?"

"Look I told ya it's my pa's, that's reason enough alright? Now can you untie my legs so I don't start dripping elven mead down one pant?"

Right. Invisible hands went about untying the hemp knot, and despite a few miss-tugs here and there, I felt she handled it in a timely manner. Once the rope was removed, Rave immediately went to unbuckling her belt along her pants, and turned away partly to give her privacy.

A memory came to mind of the asylum workers undressing me for my baths, or the many times grown men and women had watched me lose control of bowel movements in their company before they had installed the catheters. Even after, the pumps of the device were morbidly loud when they activated, letting everyone know of the time and reason.

I backed away a good fifteen feet, keeping just the bare minimum of her in my peripheral, and hopefully far away enough that the sounds wouldn't reach me too much.

I took a deep breath, trying to force myself into a calm state that I didn't think I could actually reach. It was like shooting for the stars and landing on the moon; the former was unlikely but at least you got to the latter, with the moon representing any progress at all.

Center yourself. Care for yourself. Handle your shit.

Which meant that while she went about her business, I took time to care for myself at a basic and primal level. I loosened the armor slightly, feeling the air hit sweat damped skin that still partially clung to the cloth interior. Water dumped onto a spare rag could be used as a makeshift bath in a pinch, but there was no sense of relief when I applied it to the more exposed parts of the armor, even as the sweat I was drenched in was wiped clean. Only more of that chill that had nothing to do with the cold water and everything to do with how off my body was.

What am I going to do?

Maybe a better question was what could I do?

Options; fly back to the border and investigate that fucking boulder and see if there's a clue for getting back home. Not a solid option if I was being honest, despite the simplicity. Beyond the Master-Stranger aspect that I was still technically following, there was something about the area that had my gut reeling and I couldn't put my finger on why yet. I wasn't entirely comfortable yet with how the boundaries between the two of us had eroded, but talking with Tattletale and the results of following her lead had done nothing but help. In that way, I could and did trust my Fragile One to do her best to help me when she could.

And she wanted me to stay clear of that rock.

I felt hands run through my hair and felt a bit of tension release as they began to work out it's kinks.

Okay then, what's next?

Magic, and connected to that thought, this supposed school of wizardry but definitely not witchcraft. The College of Winterhold. Magic was the X-factor in all of this and there were apparently multiple classifications of it that operated differently than how our power systems did back home. The Voice, blessings of 'gods', and the kind that could be taught in a school that anyone could take if they wanted. The fact that Sevitus and, apparently, many others didn't take those classes could mean that there was a limitation or clause that I wasn't aware of at the moment. I didn't get the feeling that Sevitus had deceived me in any way, but he did leave the impression of being a bit too unconcerned about magic as a whole.

The College was a strong choice. If I wanted to get some clue as to how the powers in this world worked and why they were so different from my own, there could definitely be a chance among scholars and researchers.

There was a similar option in deciding to stick with Sevitus and Invictus, but that had too many problems for me and them. Claudya clearly hated my guts and made it clear she didn't want to see me in her camp any time soon , and I had no idea how readily her soldiers would enforce her retaliation if I tried to convince her to let me stay. That didn't matter so much, compared to what it might mean for Sevitus and his father. Invictus had already suffered enough for helping me and even if I didn't like him all that much, he still didn't deserve what she would no doubt do to him.

The only real issue was that without the two of them, I didn't have much to go on in terms of directions, even with the map on hand. I had a general idea of where Whiterun, Helgen's remains, and the border were in relation to each other, but no way to figure out the time and distance on my own. I'd have to talk to Sevitus before we separated at camp, see if he could mark up the map a bit more or point to someone who could-

A snap to my right and I looked up just in time to see a club of wood twice as thick as my fist strike one of the faces of my forcefield. Wood exploded on impact and the resulting force sent Rave stumbling back, keeping her balance just barely with her newly freed ankles, wincing in pain as the weapon fell from her grasp.

"Ah piss-"

Forcefield now down, I kicked off the tree to supply that extra bit of force to my flight, crossing a five foot gap in a second to deliver a sharp elbow to her ribs. There was a moment of satisfaction in hearing the gasp of air from her and seeing Rave fall back from the blow, despite the jolt of pain that went up my arm, but she was quick to roll with the momentum and attempt to keep her distance.

My forcefield and flight were quicker, and the moment she tried to rise to her feet I was already upon her. With one hand I took a claw to her leather armor and lifted her completely off the ground. She attempted to kick at me, but two extra arms bloomed held them in place.

We were both breathing hard. Her from the retaliation and losing the air in her lungs. Me from the shock of the attack and a simmering anger at being caught off guard. I knew that I was deep in thought, but for her to get so close to me? Or even prior, to get clothed and find a weapon so soon? She had so fucking quiet.

A simmering anger probably wasn't accurate. I was pissed.

I held her there, aura brimming enough to encompass the two of us, my eyes searching for something in her that could explain what had just happened. For her part, her breathing hitched and her eyes became shifty, trying to look at everything barring me.

"Fucking why?!" Because the question had to be asked.

Rave licked her lips nervously and swallowed, "You let your guard down. I had to give it a shot."

"I held back," I said incredulously. "I gave you a second chance and saved you from giant spiders. From being executed even!"

"Ya. Thanks."

"Fuck you." I snarled, incensed.

"Ya, well-"

"No." I interrupted, "You don't get to have the last word here. You asked before if I'm tired of people in charge trying to throw their weight around and yeah, I really am. I've been shot at, threatened, and insulted by almost everyone I've come across here and I honestly feel like banging my head against a wall for a kinder change of pace. But I could handle all of that, all of that posturing and bureaucratic bullshit, because I've dealt with worse. Way, way, way worse than anything these people have done.

"The one thing I don't trust myself to have a handle on? Dealing with people like you, Rave. Rapists, unabashed murderers, their accomplices and people who take pleasure in ruining the lives of innocent people. I have a bad history of breaking people like you Rave. Breaking them so badly that others can only look at me with horror and disgust. Hell, I get disgusted with myself thinking back to those days. So when you pull bullshit like right now or back in the treetop to save your own skin? It gets really fucking hard not to break you, Rave."

I let go of her clothing, but she remained pinned in the air, unable to move. Unable to do much but sweat and look down at me with wide eyes and flaring nostrils.

"I wouldn't have to lift a single finger to do it." I almost whispered. Not to be sinister or threatening, but because I felt drained in seeing her terrified expression, and raising my volume suddenly felt like a monumental effort in willpower. I turned off my aura, seeing her visibly relax, and I turned my back on her.

The calming center I had worked to find by going through my choices had left me, the rage I gave into was fleeting, and now all I was left was sense of emptiness. I fucked up in letting my guard down even slightly around a monster and I had fucked up in letting my anger take the reigns to bring her down. Adding it to my still waking up on this fucking planet, I had fucked up nearly three times in row.

I could have gone on longer down that road, but I just wanted to put distance between myself and the forest by that point, and tearing myself down wouldn't help with that. There was always later, after all.

I flew us out of the forest and found Sevitus standing by, sword in hand, expression concerned. Seeing me, his face softened, which helped and hurt my heart, and he sheathed his blade.

"I heard shouting and rustling in the woods. Are you alright Antares?"

"I'm fine." I said, forcing my voice to a normal volume, "Rave and I just had an argument right now. Nothing serious."

Rave coughed behind me.

Sevitus frowned, "You speak truly? If she did anything to you, I'll-"

"Sevitus." I patted his shoulder, "It's fine. Really. Right now I just want to get back on the road and talk about my options."

He looked between the two of us, frown so deep that I wondered if he had genes from Invictus after all. In the end though, he nodded and mounted Daisy. He cast one last glance back to me before he had her take off and I was quick to pace myself to her side.

If Rave gave a surprised grunt at my sudden speed, then I didn't hear it.

We traveled in silence, heavy and uncomfortable, but thankfully not too long as we passed the Helgen checkpoint. The light of morning was finally finding some strength as the hours ticked by, some rays of light even dipping through the clouds and the canopy's of trees.

I felt a bit disappointed that I couldn't feel the warmth in those brief moments of sunlight breaching onto this untamed road, but there was a comfort in knowing that we would eventually be out of the shadow of this ash.

"Antares!" Sevitus called out, "I see Father's men!"

I did too. Two men in the Imperial armor I'd come to wear myself stood along the road, just out of sight of the camp as the trail moved around some foliage and likely away from Claudya's as well. It was a reasonable enough precaution. I wasn't sure I was in the mood to handle Claudya myself either.

We slowed our descent as the soldiers noticed out presence, hands going to the bows across their backs briefly, but not actually drawing their weapons.

"Hail, Archaveus!" Sevitus said, apparently recognizing one of them.

The man closest to us relaxed, lowering his hand as we stopped before us.

"Sevitus. Surprisingly punctual for once. It must be a miracle of Kyne."

Archaveus turned my way, "Lady Antares. It is good to see you as well."

I blinked, feeling off-kilter from the remark, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"The appreciation is all mine." He thumped his fist to his chest, "My brother was one of the men whom you took to Whiterun for healing. I had prepared myself to pray to the Gods for his soul and dreading to write the letters back home to his wife. Now he laughs and fills his belly with mead like the fool he is. He owes you his life and I owe you my thanks."

I felt a tension in my throat as his sincerity filled every word he spoke. My mind was still going a mile a minute thinking about home, my emotions still charged from Rave's betrayal, and the chill in my meat body still permeating.

When was the last time anyone told me half as sincere? It couldn't have been that long has it?

Feels like forever ago.

I brushed my hand through a lock of hair that the Fragile One hadn't touched, "Thank you Archaveus. That really means a lot to me."

He thumped his chest again, "That being said..."

Archaveus glanced backwards, toward where the camp was located.

"I won't be returning to the camp." I said, "I know I'm not exactly on her good list right now."

"Very few ever are," muttered the soldier behind him.

Sevitus laughed

I tilted my head back, "Do you have a tent for prisoners?"

Archaveus raised an eyebrow, "For that Bandit? No. Every tent is being used to house our supplies and soldiers resting quarters. Best she be put down, spare the effort."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rave turn her head my way. It was a struggle to not lash out with my aura or use my forcefield to wrench her head back. The former would probably wash over the soldiers as well, who hadn't done anything wrong, and the latter was just... too reminiscent of my mom.

I kept my cool as I asked, "Do you think you could makeshift a sort of prison? Or just tie her to a post? As a favor maybe?"

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin, "I suppose we could do with a makeshift pillory. Might even work as motivation for the troops and stress relief."

"Fuck yer pillory!" Rave shouted.

"She doesn't seem to like it." I noted. "What is it?"

"Some call them stockades," Sevitus answered, "Head and wrists bound in wooden blocks and chain."

"Ah." I felt a smile cross my face, "I'm familiar with those. So long as she's treated humanely, I have no issues.."

Archaveus shrugged, "As humanely as any other Bandit spared the blade in return for rotten tomatoes I suppose. I can't guarantee she won't once we get moving, but if she's bound to a pillory then she just might be."

I turned to Rave, saw her head shake, and turned back to Archaveus.

I put in extra false cheer as I said, "I think I can live with that."

"Fuck you, you magic shitting bitch! I should have ripped your throat out with my teeth and-"

I semi-dropped and mostly shoved her forward with my forcefield, forcing her to cut off the rant and focus more on hopping to stay upright. I felt a little bad about that, but the soldier next to Archaveus caught her before she could fall.

I sighed, feeling a weight be lifted off my back, "She's all yours."

Rave scowled at me, but remained silent as the guards pulled out actual iron cuffs to replace the rope.

"We'll tell the Captain that we caught her skulking around the camp and captured her. Gag her after Fobios, no need to let her voice her own story for now."

I turned to Sevitus, "Her bow please?"

He nodded, grabbing it from the saddle and tossing it my way. It froze in the air briefly before I rotated my forcefield, bringing the bow to Archaveus.

"Take care of this please. It's her fathers and it means a lot to her. I'm not asking for special treatment but..."

Archaveus nodded and grasped the weapon. He seemed more amused at the bow rather than the invisible limb holding it, "Even monsters may love at least one person in their lives I suppose. I will make sure that it is kept out of harms way for now."

Behind him, Rave glanced at me before looking to the ground.

Yeah. I don't know if any of this will ever get through your fucking head. I hope it does because I want to believe that there can only be one person I've met that can be so fucking ignorant.

Sevitus dismounted, walking next to me, eyes still on Rave.

"Good riddance I would say," he spoke. He paused and turned to me, "Not to you of course! I'll miss you dearly Antares. Not, uh, not in a way that would be uncomfortable-"

To my front, Archaveus sighed deeply.

"-Just that it's been an exciting journey for the both of us. Or, uh, it was certainly one for me and I hope for you-"

"Sevitus." He stopped and I smiled slightly, "I'll miss you too. If you wanna help make some notes on my map, I'd really appreciate it."

He smiled back, full of youth, and I wished I had time to coach him in heroics. It made me sort of sad to see someone who could be so kind in a group that would likely hammer in a militaristic mindset.

I hope I can leave some bits of goodwill and guidance for you.

Rapid footsteps caught everyone's attention. Several hands going for weapons while I floated higher, hoping to get a better look of the approaching person or group.

Another soldier broke around the trail, panting hard as he ran, and his eyes widened upon seeing us. Despite his apparent exhaustion, he immediately picked up his pace to reach Archaveus.

"It's an emergency sir!" He cried out, "The Captain is having us moving out, double-time! Direct orders from General Tulius's messenger and the report says-

The exhausted man did a double take at my appearance, "Lady Antares? I thought you had left long ago?"

"Out with it soldier!" Archaveus scolded before I could answer, not that I knew what I would say in the first place.

The soldier swallowed, eyes wide, "They've heard reports form folk fleeing near Whiterun. A dragon has attacked!"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

D O V A H K H I I N

The words rippled through the sky and shook the earth below, not through sound, but through the fabric of reality that held onto the concept of the sky and earth itself. The clouds did not shift. The snow around him did not stir. These were objects of the material and his message was through that of the immaterium. Only when it encountered those of the mortal coil, or adjacent to it's purpose, would the message manifest around them.

A word of power. A shout.

He could taste the Thu'um leaving his lips, spreading through wavelengths that not even the most dedicated of Mages could perceive with the mortal eye, feel his will be imparted on the world. This wasn't metaphorical. His literal will, his self, his entire being was reaching out like a prodding hand. As always, there was a sense of satisfaction and purpose with each use of the Thu'um.

Kyne's gift, imparted on man by the grace of a being infinite in scope compared to their own. The fact that this gift required decades of training to master and the dedication of one's mortal life was not a deterrence in the slightest, in Arngeir's opinion.

He recalled the fires of his youth as he once scaled these thousands of steps, the passion for power thriving through his veins even as he faced down the mountain's native Trolls. He held no fear, for he was young and the young always knew that they could not truly die, not to such an ignoble death as to a wild animal.

He believed that even as he weakly knocked on the temple doors, one arm broken and blood spilling from a gash in his shoulder blade.

The Greybeards of then took in the foolish youth, healed him, supped with him, and put up with his endless demands for training. Strong willed though they were, he could imagine that they were close to reaching the end of their ropes when he continued to challenge them, insulted their traditions, and try to plead to their ancestry.

Arngeir smiled, feeling the bits of snow that crusted his beard as he stood outside the temple entrance. The wind was harsher than the strongest of rivers near this part of Hrothgar, whipping at his cloak and beard, but he found it comforting all the same.

What danger was rough wind next to the thrum of the Voice within himself? A core of power that he meditated on even now, he could feel the sensation of Tonal alignment center itself, and once his duty was done he would ruminate on how to better express the gift he had received.

He did not pretend to understand the intricacies of the Thu'um, as to do so would have been arrogance of the highest order. Perhaps, if he had taken it more seriously as a younger man, he would have delved into the scientific aspect of how the Voice were to work and try to strengthen it for his own ends.

There was no doubt in his mind that it would have stalled his change from boy to man far longer than necessary, obsessed as he was with power.

And I would have grown weaker for it.

To approach the Thu'um as a tool or weapon was to see a bed of water as foundations for a home. An exercise in futility and ignorance. True power was not something that had to be wrangled and forced to bend to one's whims. True power is something to grow, to cultivate, and to appreciate in it's design. To work with, not against.

In spirit and in body.

It was this strength that he called upon, sitting within the uncaring winds and drifts of snow, and it was this strength that kept him at peace.

A strength so honed, that even as a shadowy figure loomed above him now, he found himself more curious than threatened. It grew nearer, uncaring of winds it flew against as he was, and once in view he felt that strength begin to be tested.

A wraith or specter, he thought. Has to be.

Three heads of ice were facing him, expressions placid and eyes unblinking, long hair of layered snow cascading down bare shoulders. It wore no clothes in it's spiritual form, not that he knew how it could go about doing so.

From head to stomach, it's structure was apparent and anatomically correct, but once it reached it's hips...

He held back a shudder.

Flesh he presumed. Creases and folds of flesh, limbs, breasts, all encased in ice and snow to varying degrees. Arngeir refused to acknowledge the faces hidden within the flesh, none with necks or skulls to give them shape or definition, simply masks etched in cold.

You poor creature. What monster spawned you?

The amalgamation of spirits and ice floated forwards, it's silent descent a stark contrast to the howls of the world around it. Arngeir didn't move a muscle as it settled in front of him, six pairs of eyes focused on him, waiting and trying discern the potential threat that now confronted him.

Eight legs planted themselves in the snow before him.

Silence.

"What brings you here, apparition?" He intoned, "If it's peace you wish to find here... then I'm afraid I may not be able to assist you. I have duties to this realm that I must attend to."

The amalgamation twisted- no, spun. Ice and snow were cast aside like one would discard a robe, and the deformed creature vanished as a result.

In it's place stood a young woman, barely in the beginnings of adulthood, skin and hair unaffected by the tenacity of the storm. She wore Imperial armor that was singed black on her right, from shoulder to breastplate, and at her mid-riff leather knots had come undone or been torn apart. Her arms were heavily scarred with one hand still bandaged, and he could see how one cheek was swollen from a recent bruise.

She flew, head held high, but her eyes looked so very tired. The shadows under her eyes implied she hadn't slept for quite some time.

Still, a far less intimidating appearance than before. And a curious way of ascending the steps.

He tilted his head, "A levitating necromancer? Quite daring in these sorts of times."

"No," she said. Her voice was so hoarse, as though she had never used it before. Or perhaps worn it ragged.

No it's not daring? Or no, not a necromancer?

Arngeir hummed, thinking. He asked, "Are you with the Empire?"

She glanced down at her armor and sighed, "No."

"Mhm. A Stormcloak spy perchance? Or maybe a bandit with the spoils of war? Ah, worry not, for I do not judge either. Although I would recommend returning if they were the case. The Greybeards stay out of political games of Tamriel and we would not take kindly to a thief taking advantage of hospitality, if that were to become an issue."

The woman said nothing this time, simply shaking her head. Snow was beginning to collect along the spirit body she was encased in and she took a moment to wave her hand, the casual act causing the spirit to spin once more. Snow flew free and it was gone from sight once more.

"Then I suppose I should ask again, young stranger. What is it that you seek here at High Hrothgar?"

She was quiet for a moment before spoke, "Answers."

He gave her a questioning look.

"The sound. The... shout, in the sky. You were calling someone... for two days. I felt... I felt it. In me-"

She stopped, expression twisting, as though she had tasted something foul.

"It felt like I was hearing my name spoken, but I didn't understand it. Like a compulsion. I thought it was an attack, some power effect trying to warp my mind, but I- it didn't feel the same. I don't know how to explain it, but it felt so natural that each time I heard it, I wanted to respond. Not with my voice and not with my power, not exactly but... somehow..."

The young woman trailed off, exhaustion seeping into her words, "It felt like home and... I'm so lost."

Arngeir's eyes widened at the implications of what she was saying, feeling a sense of hope and excitement flutter in his chest. "So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

She glanced at him sharply, exhaustion turning to curiosity and attention in seconds. "Is that what they are called? Not Dragons, but Dragonborn?"

"No, my dear, it may be what you are. Dragons are, well, Dragons. The Dragonborn is... complicated. We would have to verify it, of course, but for you to respond so strongly to my call means that a connection must have been made."

"Wait, hold on please." She held up a hand in a pleading gesture, the other going to touch a stray hair at her temple. Around her, the phantoms brushed off snow without her prompting. "I'm not sure I'm following you right now. I'm... I'm a bit of a mess, I'm sorry. What's a Dragonborn, exactly? Does it have anything to do with what I- what happened to me in Whiterun? Or how I got here?"

More evidence to support it. His heart was beating so hard and fast he was afraid his inner Voice would leak out if he spoke too carelessly. Paarthanax had opened up the way to his disciples and bequeathed onto them the news of his brethren's demise and where it had taken place.

For the first time in centuries, a Dragon's soul had been consumed.

"I will answer these questions in due time, but first let me see if you truly are Dragonborn. Allow me to taste of your Voice."

Her eyebrow arched, "My voice?"

"The Thu'um or Shout, as you referred to it. I apologize for not making that clearer."

Comprehension dawned on her, "Like Ulfric."

Arngeir blinked. That was a name he hadn't heard of in quite some time.

Ominous, for the supposed Dragonborn to draw that connection.

Or perhaps I am but an old fool jumping at shadows.

In any case, he replied, "Yes, that is one example of the Voice. However, the tonal power used by those of Dragon blood are far more refined than those of most mortal kin. As part of my training with the Greybeards, we excel at deciphering the variations in tonal manifestations in our Thu'um's. Once I taste your Voice, then we shall know the truth."

She studied him, tired eyes now having a spark of life as she looked him over. Not just life, but interest, as though he were a Dungeon puzzle to be figured out and solved as quickly as possible.

Though his interactions with Dragons were limited to one being, there was a ghost of a resemblance in the way they both seemed to look through him.

Finally, she responded, "I can't use this 'Voice' of yours, though. I've only ever seen it one time and that was with Ulfric Stormcloak."

Arngeir quirked his head, "Not even in your battle at Whiterun?"

Her expression darkened, "No."

"Fascinating. Not unheard of in history, but to slay a dragon without the Thu'um is an impressive feat nonetheless. Unfortunately, I admit I am at a loss as to how I can proceed at the moment."

"I came all the way here, responded to the voice rattling my body like a fu- like a Master compulsion from Hell, and you're saying you won't give me any answers?"

His raised his hands, placating, "I understand this may be frustrating for you my dear, but please understand that I only wish to proceed with caution. This would not be the first time one has claimed divine connection for the Voice."

She frowned, those sharp eyes of hers never leaving his own. The bodies around her shifted and stirred, the crackling of snow echoing as they seemed to orient themselves in an embrace of each other. If she noticed this peculiar movement, she didn't give any sign of it in her expression.

Please do not misjudge me, he thought. I am but a man.

Silently, she brought her bandaged hand up to her chest and broke the incessant stare to study the appendage. The young mage seemed focused on one finger in particular, though Arngeir could not see why at his distance from her.

When she spoke, it was so quiet that he had to strain to hear, "I have his memories, I think."

"His?"

"The strong-hunter Dragon. Mirmulnir."

Arngeir felt like his heart had stopped.

She took in a deep breath, " I don't think I ever actually knew his name until I said it right now. It's not something I can tap into on command. It's instinctive, I think, thoughts that aren't my own or... or the ones that I've accepted into my life. I have too much fucking experience with intrusive thoughts and feelings to not recognize a new one that crops up when I get hungry or angry. And when I sleep I-"

She cleaned her fist and the bodies all around her held themselves tighter.

"When I sleep I think I can remember bits of his life. What he's done. Who he was. What he was thinking as he- as I killed him. Those are the clearest to me, I think. Because he fucking complimented me, at first, until I..."

Fear crossed her face, so deep and so powerful that Arngeir wondered if she would simply flee.

The young woman looked at him desperately instead, "What did I do to him? Do you know?! There was just so much fear in his thoughts, when I really feel them in me, and... and I can't stand not knowing what I did to that monster. Even though I know, I just know for a fucking fact, that I'll hate whatever answer you give me. But I can't ignore this. It's not right.

"I have so many questions and no one has given me any answers. Please. Please, help me."

The wind howled and the phantom women looked up to the heavens, as though they expected the Divines to answer the poor woman's pleas themselves.

All of the faces, phantom and not, wore expressions of pure grief.

Arngeir turned aside and beckoned the young mage forward, "I am Arngeir, of the Greybeards. I am ashamed to have someone suffer the cold and harsh nature of High Hrothgar, especially the Dragonborn herself. Come with me Dragonborn, and I shall answer as many question as you desire. I feel as though you deserve that much."

There was a pause as the Dragonborn took in his answer. Once more, he witnessed her fragile composure strengthen, so quickly it could have been an illusion. But the relief and exhaustion in those blue eyes were all too real to dismiss.

She flew forward, the phantoms shifting to one-side as she neared him. Still they embraced themselves, and in a roundabout way, herself.

Side by side, Greybeard and Dragonborn walked the first steps into the Way of the Voice.

The voice behind her wouldn’t stop talking and it was seriously beginning to wear on her good mood. Mood mood mood mood, always changing with what she learned and what she wanted.

"I can give you anything you want."

Aranel nodded, "You could."

"I can! Do you want coin? I-I can get you that. I know people, wealthy people, and I know their patterns. I- You and I, we can make a living with the people I'm talking about. I know the ins-and-outs of this entire island."

She shook her head sadly, "Oh, Darian. If that were true we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Sad, but true. True true true, he fell prey to every aspiring mind's enemy; complacency.

There was a sob as she toiled away at the runes. It was an intricate piece of work, using the blood of Argonians infused with the taint of Hysteria and Calm, deep red lines that seemed to mold themselves into the stone floor like tattoos on skin. A finger dipped into the jar, finishing off the maw with a dash of blood, and Aranel set to cleaning herself up for the ritual proper.

Hysteria to raise her blood pressure. Calm to retain her control. The duality, the facets of seeking what she sought. What they all sought.

Another sob, "I-I'm offering you everything I have. Please, just think about it."

"How rude," she replied as she placed the blood bottle back in it's home. The shelf was filled with other necessities for her alchemy; Spriggan Essence, Werebear claws, Frost Berries, and her favorite Argonian Maid novel. A little bit of inspiration for her vial's components.

It took a long time to track down Argonians this far out, but the promise of extra work usually did the trick to bring them in. Times were tough in Skyrim after all, and everyone needed a little bit of coin here and there. Aranel was nothing if not a fair employer and made sure to deposit ten septims into each of the graves as was promised.

Clink clink clink into jars that were covered in loose soil. Some creatures wouldn't go hungry for a time.

"Rude?" Darian asked after Aranel didn't elaborate.

"You assumed I didn't think about this." Aranel intoned, putting on her teaching voice and tone, "I'll have you know that I'm a scholar, dear sir. It's a title I take very seriously, and as such, there are very few things I don't think about on a daily basis. For example, if you were to put a Nord, a Breton, and an Imperial to the stake and set them on fire, who would burn the slowest and who would burn the fastest?"

There was a pause. She held back on thinking about it too much.

"D-Did you do that?"

"Answering a question with another question?" Aranel tutted and shook her head. Tutt tutt tutt. So very rude. Had she had known this would be whom she was dealing with, she would have been more careful with the selection process.

She rifled through her drawers, feeling a bit distracted. "It really doesn't matter whether I did it or not. But have you considered or thought to consider what the answer might be?"

"That'd be insane."

Aranel rolled her eyes. "What's really insane is how I seem to lose everything- Ah!"

There it was! She reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out her tool, "Nevermind, found it."

"Found what?"

Aranel held the needle and thread aloft in the torch light, checking to make sure she wouldn't run out mid sew. If she did, that meant she would have head to Raven Rock to shop for more and, ugh, interact with living people. Ugh ugh ugh ugh, no need no need indeed.

No, best to avoid that awkward situation all together and stick with Darian for the time being. As rude as he tended to be.

"Are you going to fix me?"

She sighed, "There's nothing to fix Darian."

"Nothing to-"

"And!" She pointed the needle back in his direction, "You haven't answered my question. Breton, Nord, Imperial."

There was a pause. Always a pause pause pause as answered were picked up and discared.

"Nord?"

"Oooh!" She said as she began working the thread through the needle-hole. Now they were getting somewhere. "Please, do go on. I'm curious as to how you came to that conclusion."

"Uh, well, they're bigger? And bigger, um, logs burn slower? So they might... too?"

Aranel was silent for a moment, letting the torches' crackling fill the shed as she considered the explanation. She began to wrap the thread, feeling faint hints of magicka flow through her fingers and into the spool. Nothing concrete like spells or runes, simply imbuing it with the latent energies as a conduit for later use.

Touch touch touch touch, letting more and more magicka flow. Thrum thrum thrum thrum went the threads as she tested their strength.

Good enough.

She bit her lip as she came to a decision, "Hm, rudimentary, but I can see how you might have reached that conclusion. Unfortunately, I can't say that I agree, since we don't have any actual means of measuring the mass of the individual races of Men to each other as a whole."

"So I was... wrong?"

"I don't know!" She said cheerfully, "But it's interesting to consider. Personally, I think it'd be Bretons."

"Everything in Nirn from the plants, to the animals, to the Men and Mer who walk it's corpse, all of them have magicka flowing through them. Some more than others of course, but that's besides the point. So, by that metric, the soil would have magicka right? How else are the plants getting it? And when plants burn, well, those flames must be expelling or at least made up of magicka! With a Breton's innate resistance to most things magic, I assume the time it would take to burn them alive would be significantly longer."

She waited for a counterargument, excited at the idea of her hypothesis being challenged. It had been so long since somebody broke down each point she made piece by piece, enticed her with the thrill of a debate. People flourished when challenged and forced to re-evaluate themselves after all.

Flourish flourish flourish oh fellow of mine.

"You're mad! All of this is madness! I didn't do anything to deserve this!"

Ah. Aranel felt her mood sour. Disappointed once more.

People always prattle on about what they did or did not deserve. Fools. Idiots. Buffoons. How can you quantify something so subjective in the first place? For all we know, none of us deserve anything. Or maybe we deserve everything. It's ridiculous.

She didn't say this out loud of course. Just because she was right didn't mean she had to be rude about it after all.

Aranel turned to face the still blathering mer, needle and thread prepared.

Darian was a handsome fellow, sharing his sharp features with Aranel as a Dunmer, but with a higher brow and exquisite chin. He wore clothes of the finest silk, meant to keep out the ash and dust of their little island, and an ascot of similar expense around his neck. Looking at him, one might assume he was of a noble house or elite soldier now retired.

In life, however, he was one of the most successful thieves in all of Solsteim. He was infamous for seducing women of power and prestige, be it in politics or magic, and then leaving them penniless and powerless as he fenced their wealth on the black-markets for himself.

Darian probably wasn't even his real name, but it was the closest she could divine as she tracked him down and he refused to surrender it to her. Not even her Clairvoyance could help, too weak to give her everything about him. Tricky tricky tricky tricky.

Enough to corner him, at the very least.

In death, he was a specter, a ghost, a spirit, or perhaps an echo of his experiences and his expression was haunted. A truly extraordinary facsimile of the living, many overlooked Ghosts or Spirits, some barely even caring to classify them in any specific way. Ask a hundred mages what they were, and one hundred mages would tell you the same thing; spirits who are trapped on Nirn due to external or internal factors.

How? Why?

The realm of mortally-challenged was filled with beings that were beyond that of Men and Mer; Aedra, Daedra, curses given life, and even the souls of Dragons as they lingered through time. What kept the nebulous and fragile pieces of mortal souls anchored to the corpse of Nirn, where they lacked any special qualities compared to other beings? What made their obsessions strong enough to overpower the release of death? What made magic capable of doing the same? Was there a connection?

Questions questions questions questions questions questions. Rattling through her skull and begging for an answer, any kind of answer, so that she could pick it apart and ask even more questions.

She was a seeker of knowledge and of answers, and they devoured each other like an Ouroboros in her mind, a way of living that sensualized every single new experience in her quest for more more more more more-

Ah. She was getting too excited. There would be time to ask more questions, when the ritual was complete.

Darian corpse had been splayed open earlier and she had gone about the gruesome progress of removing bones from ligaments and muscle, and then the muscle from the flesh, and then washing out blood from the skin. Messy messy messy, but necessary. She made sure to clean the bones and meat for later use, maybe for summoning, maybe if she got hungry, or maybe just for decoration.

She recalled an old colleague who carried an Orc skull with him at all times, claiming it added to his mystique. She ruminated on the observation after she had incinerated him and took his scrolls, and she had to admit that he looked quite dashing with it laced across his robes.

Perhaps she could have Darian's skull perched on her shoulder. Perhaps perhaps perhaps she could bind his soul to the skull for power. A skull of a thief that quieted her steps or made her kills unnoticeable.

Distracting but so damn intriguing. She was beginning to lose focus, which wasn't good. Not when you were keeping someone waiting.

Darian's interior had been covered in scripture, scrolled in words of power that predated the Empire, and written in the blood-ink of more Argonians. There was enough paper within that it would be almost like a scarecrow in mass. Mass mass mass, more the better.

Now she set to the task of sowing the skin-suit together, hearing Darian's pleads to fix him somehow filtered in the back of her mind, instead paying more attention to how the runes she had drawn had began to crawl across the stone. She felt herself be lost and found again and again and again in the motions of running needle and thread through soft flesh and crinkling paper.

The Runes continued to crawl crawl crawl crawl, sliding up the shack walls and ceiling. She could feel them work beneath her feet and inch their way over Darian's corpse, though they did not touch her directly. Not even Darian's spirit was immune, his astral form screeching as the runes enveloped his being. Black and green ink filtered through him like blood in water, and his cries were soon drowned out by the flapping of pages.

Pages turned turned turned turned all around them, because this was no longer a shack on Nirn, but a book being deciphered by an unimaginable power. Power of knowledge and answers and questions and theories and doubts and conquest and rule and more and more and more and more and more.

Yes, she thought. Madness could not describe her euphoria. Yes yes yes yes yes yes!

Darian's corpse rose to it's feet without her prompting, but it was no longer Darian's nor an actual corpse.

It was a Being, a Figure, a Deity, in the making and it continued to grow and grow and grow. It could have shattered the island Aranel lived her whole life on, it was so powerful, and so wise that it could have put it back together again even better than before.

It's form was humanoid, outlined in green and black energy that reeked of ancient magicka, and draconic wings of white light sprouted from it's back. The face was a wooden mask of living tentacles and glowing eyes, adorned with ethereal horns and scales.

Beyond Him, high above where not even He could reach, a glowing warmth hummed through the paper of this reality. The light was dimmed, much like the Sun in an overcast, but glorious feeling still reached through. Even as tendrils of green and black script tried to obscure it's might, the ink would dry too quickly and flake away.

The Being observed the dull light for a moment before turning to his disciples. Unconcerned at the struggle of power beyond Itself.

Brilliant. Brilliant brilliant brilliant!

She was not alone. All around her were fellow followers and seekers of knowledge, power, and answers. All were surrounded but untouched by the runes and scribes and scrolls and pages that this domain of infinite wisdom could provide. Some reached out, only for the ink to smear and become unreadable.

The message was clear. Only He would bestow what he thought they deserved.

The rest would have to be taken. By force most likely. Force force force force, an unrelenting drive to acquire what they desired.

That's fine with me. Oh Miraak, let me know what must be done to receive your grace.

Was that her thoughts?

Yes.

No.

It was all of theirs and it was His will made manifest within them. They would do what must be done, when given what He felt they were worth.

Their Lord spoke with a Voice of power and Aranel knew what must be done and knew how to proceed. Her clairvoyance grew, twisted in size much like a tumor, though she had never heard the words before. It was not a knowledge that she had possessed, but one she was grateful for in her mission.

Victoria Dallon. Scholar. Warrior Monk. Glory Girl. Antares.

False Idol.

Beware beware beware the Dragonborn comes for you.

Chapter Text

I floated in the abyss and nothing could touch me.

I wouldn't let anything touch me. Not until I centered myself with a mental anchor of sorts, anything to give me a solid foothold to puzzle this shit out. The irony of me wanting to be grounded and also wanting to remain floating freely wasn't lost on me.

It wasn't so long ago that I felt these same conflicting desires. The... reunion, I suppose, with Uncle Mike. Lightstar. The hair loss and the radiation scare that came with that. Even now, looking back on it nearly three days later, I really don't know how long I stayed in mid-air while I felt the world close in all around me. Was that the precipice of going Titan? Wanting to be grounded, wanting to escape, and your reality collapsing around you because obviously you can't have both.

Not with my powers.

Jasper was the one who grounded me, using terminology to get my headspace focused. He'd taken me away from the Fallen church, effectively letting me 'escape', and allowing me to really breathe. He'd been source of human companionship, when I had felt so alienated from the fucking stress of it all. I'd been such a shitty friend for him, even if he played it off.

If he wanted to be called Jester, then it was the least I could do.

He might be dead by now.

They all might be.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. Black. The kind of blackness I'd felt when Teacher's conspiracy began to make waves, when I struggled to be in the same room with Bough, and that loomed in my heart every day of Sveta's operation. It was at the center of me, but it leaked out like ink without a filter, enveloping me. Weighing me down with a life of it's own.

I blamed the Wretch then.

I knew better now.

I opened my eyes, and the abyss returned, although the surface was well in reach. It was bright, not blindingly so, but it broke the surface of the water just enough that I could see the slightest of definitions in the faces around me. The bridge of the nose here, the curve of the lips there, the imprints of eyelids as I had them blink to test my control. Not a perfect seal unfortunately, water was slowly dripping through nostrils and ears, but it kept me dry so to speak.

I estimated it had been nearly twenty minutes since I had gone under, long enough that the water on my bare body had mostly dried, but there wasn't any chill that I had expected in creating this pocket. The same effect that prevented the chill from seeping in out in the snowy mountains prevented the heat from escaping me. Coupled with the bath water being heated around me and it almost recreated an artificial sauna.

Not quite hot enough from experience, but something to keep in mind just in case.

Distractions. Thoughts that didn't mean much, didn't really add to any new conclusions for me, and certainly weren't helping my overall situation.

But fuck me, did I need them. Twenty minutes underwater, assessing whether there was a delay like some powers experienced while submerged, and just thinking in general. Working with my power like this, reasserting my control over the forcefield by focusing on that connection we held, it worked to keep me from that chaotic sense of desires.

Still, it had to be close to twenty minutes and pushing it anymore would be testing my luck. I didn't want my hosts to think I drowned myself and then barge in here in a panic. That would have been mortifying on more than a few levels.

I rose from beneath the water and the definition of the Fragile One became all the more clear as water poured out of her crevices and moisture outlined her body. Every part of me was laid bare as I left the bath, but I felt an odd sort of connection with my fragile friend in this instance. Was it the vulnerability, having ourselves exposed and at our near lowest? Was it the mentality, expressing myself so adamantly to a stranger just like the old faces of my forcefield used to?

Was it sympathy? Fear? My cosmic partner not enjoying the implications of my situation anymore that I was?

Yes? No? Anything?

Somewhere in the middle, probably.

Right. Makes as much sense as anything else about this situation.

Hands grabbed the towel and robe my hosts had left for me in the bathroom, the towel being a dull, worn out clothe that felt only a little less coarse than sandpaper. The robe was worse in a way, because it was in the same basic design as Arngeir's but lacking any of the decorative linings his outfit had. It could have been called a nightgown if it was lighter and less rough, but it was too thick for that. Built for warmth most likely, coming down past my feet, but definitely not for style.

I wiped myself down with the towel before I donned the robe, not wanting to deal with the squishy sensation of having to wear a slightly damp outfit to bed. I'd done that a few times as Glory Girl, exhausted from a fight or patrol during the rainy season and tried to rough it out on the couch. Each and every time I'd wake up with the costume practically plastered to skin and a lecture about soaking the furniture out of laziness.

Despite myself, I couldn't help but smile. It had been one of the few times I'd seen my Mom lose control of herself while laughing, seeing Dad plop down on the wet couch and freak out for a second.

It was a nice memory, but it was tainted by the fact that memories might be the only thing I'd have left of them when all was said and done.

And not even those are safe now.

That ship had long since sailed, with the memories I'd unfortunately recovered from Amy, but she was a known demon to me. I would never say that she was the lesser evil, but she was an evil I had history with, good and horrific. Not so much now.

Trooper Littlejohn had tried to my team a rough time months ago about what constituted failures and successes, and I had tried to explain to him how every villain we stopped, another was waiting to capitalize on the moment for themselves. It created the illusion of the many headed Hydra, countless heads cut off and countless more to replace them. I almost believed it myself at my lowest points.

This felt like that. One head cut, two more take it's place, and from there you get four for your troubles if you keep going.

From cart to camp, camp to Whiterun, Whiterun to Rave, Rave to the Boulder and back to Rave, Rave to Camp, Camp to Whiterun, and Whiterun to a literal fucking Dragon.

And you haven't moved on from the Dragon. Not yet.

I pulled the robe over myself, desperately wishing for something to wear under it. Like seemingly everything else on this planet, it was rough on spots that very much did not appreciate or need roughness, and smelled vaguely musty. Whatever they used for handling odors wasn't very effective. It didn't bode well for their offer to clean my clothing, but I was in no position to refuse, nor was I really in a state to go about menial tasks like that myself.

Staying grounded and distracted was important, but something that dull would let my mind wander into very uncomfortable territory. Far better to focus on myself for the time being.

No major injuries. Well, okay, no new major injuries. The scrapes and cuts at my side were agitated from the earlier fight, and skin peeled slightly from side to upper collarbone where a glancing splash of fire caught my armor. Not pretty, but honestly I was far more concerned about my hair or the rags on my hand to catch ablaze. Fighting a monster without the extra protection of my normal costume and armor had been daunting, forcing me to be a lot more overly cautious than I usually would have been.

I had the Fragile One grab the small, cellphone sized, hand mirror and held it up to my face. Ugh. Bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, which were still slightly red from the days of crying, and even after drying my hair it still looked like a bird's nest. I couldn't do anything about my eyes or the dryness of my face, but I could at least work on the hair myself.

No forcefield hands this time. This was more about me than her, as weirdly selfish as that felt to say.

Taking care of myself? In the process.

Taking stock of what I know? Dragons were real. I honestly felt kind of stupid for holding out for so long in a world filled with 'magic' and elves, but seeing that monster attacking Whiterun had cemented things in my mind. The rules of this Earth had changed, somehow and someway, possibly centuries ago and it seemed to be molded into that of fantasy. I imagined it wasn't so dissimilar to Aleph encountering a world of superheroes, before they started getting their own, and the disbelief that followed.

Magic was now a factor that I had to keep in mind, and there were enough different variations that I couldn't be confident at the moment to even begin classifying them. A high priority, considering that they may be the key to getting home.

Or what's left of it.

I scowled, picking at a tiny knot that kinked a few strands of hair together. Annoying.

This world had men, elves, and even lizard and cat people according to Invictus. Maybe Witches counted separately as well, considering his reaction to my joke, but I'd have to figure out why they differentiated from mages then. Ah, and Vampires. And werewolves. Those were things as well. Great.

I missed Invictus and Sevitus. They were decent company, although I wasn't sure that the latter counted as a 'decent' person so to speak, and in our short time together they'd been a great help for me.

But I didn't want to see them. I didn't want anyone to see me. For as hazy as those two days were, those thoughts were clear in my mind then and now.

The Dragon was intimidating, it was ferocious, and objectively it was powerful. But as a purely physical threat... I'd handled worst. Experienced and fought bigger and scarier opponents. Goddess, Lung, Lord of Loss, Nursery, Teacher, the Titans. All far more powerful and having far greater consequences for failure than the Dragon. Slavery, alien impregnation, the collapse of human will, all these fates worse than death.

No, to say the Dragon was an issue due to being tough was a lie. Losing was never in the card, if I was being honest with my self. I knew that a few minutes into our fight.

It was-

A huff of hot air that didn't exist blew across my bare shoulders. The hair of my reflection shifted imperceptibly, even though the hair in my hands didn't so much as twitch.

Eight hands pressed into the stone walls closest to me, not hard enough to shake the building, but enough to leave imprints in the material.

Stupid. Dumb. Brutish.

I released the breath I'd been holding back, feeling the shudder and goosebumps on skin that felt so ill-fitting, and forced myself back into braiding. Forced myself to keep my vision straight with my reflection, expression unwavering, and hands retracting back to me. Dust clung to the folds of forcefield palms, grinding and falling away as hands clenched into fists.

Yeah. We were on the same page on this.

Winning had been the real danger and I had won that battle.

Saved the city and now I suffered for it. Isn't that always the way it goes Vic?

It didn’t work as humor. No morbid sense of relief in making light of the situation. Just more of that inky blackness around me.

I put the mirror away and did the best that I could blind, the motions feeling awkward and robotic. The time may come where the Fragile One would be better at braiding my own hair than I was.

Ah, I thought. At least I have that going for me. A personal stylist.

I huffed out a breath that wasn't even close to a laugh. But it was an effort at least. Now there was some light in that darkness, a pinprick maybe.

I finished as best I could and left the bath, floating enough so that my feet didn't have deal with the bare stone floors and the robe wouldn't have to drag against it either. Hopefully not enough to appear intimidating to my hosts.

I wasn't that surprised to see Arngeir waiting in the halls, hands clasped within his robe-sleeves, standing serenely in place. His beard was long and healthily maintained, tied into a knot near the end to keep it controlled. His robe was decorated beautifully, rich designs woven into the material to give it the illusion of being segmented scales, and a great amount of detail given to the dragon-crest in it's center.

Coupled with his posture and his age, he brought to mind the classic martial arts sensei or mystic sage, a theme shared by Eidolon and Myrddin. More than a few cluster capes had gone down similar routes, although the popularity of the style waned occasionally.

Argneir bowed his head, "I'm glad to see you are well, Dragonborn."

I bowed as well, feeling awkward and unsure if this was necessary, "Thank you for the bath, Argneir. Sorry if I took too long and made you wait. I, uh, sort of left hand marks on the wall. I'm sorry, but if you want me to help in anyway-"

"Fret not," he replied casually. "We have other facilities for such uses and it was clear that you needed time to yourself. We Greybeards may live amongst one another, but even we understand the sanctity of privacy for the mind and body."

I smiled, but it felt forced. Nothing against him, and I honestly appreciated the sentiment, but I just didn't feel like I had the strength for it. It didn't help that I didn't have much privacy in either.

He turned, "Come, I will show you to your room. Brother Borri has already saw to your clothing as best he could. I do apologize, but he was unable to do much about the damage it sustained."

I floated after him, "Thank you, again. I really do appreciate the hospitality."

Arngeir smiled, "It is my pleasure and sworn duty, Dragonborn. If there is anything else you require for comforts, please feel free to ask and I shall do what I can."

"About that," I said. "Why do you call me Dragonborn? Just because I killed a Dragon?"

"Ah, no, not as such. Closely related to the idea, but no one who merely kills a Dragon can be called Dragonborn." He shook his head, "Unfortunately, I must hold my tongue until the 'morrow."

I frowned, "Because I don't use this Voice?"

"That is the biggest concern, yes. But we have always been careful about our teachings, even when we show care for visitors and outsiders. There are many who would wish to use the teaching of the Voice and the title of Dragonborn to obtain power for their own ends. We may abstain from the politics of the world, but we are not careless nor reckless about the effect we have on it."

"But you think I am one," I said. "This Dragonborn. Because even without using the Voice, I remember... because I know things that nobody else should."

He nodded, "Indeed. Your sincerity and your knowledge have convinced me. Now I would work to convince my brothers of the same."

"If you need me to recount what happened, I will." I wasn't looking forward to it, but anything to help get more answers.

"You need not worry, Dragonborn." He gave me a concerned look, "I'm not blind to the anguish in your heart. I would not ask you to harm yourself as such any more. I am confident in my abilities of persuasion, and would prefer you to rest for the night."

I blinked. Taking in what he said and how he said it.

I had to blink even more, feeling some water at my eyes. Ever since I had arrived here, I had been met by hostility and distrust, and every bit of headway I earned had to be made against that. I've had to bend the knee to people who hated me and listen to bullshit spouted by monsters who wanted to hurt and use me as they saw fit. People died because I wasn't fast enough and I had those deaths shoved in my face.

Anytime anyone showed me kindness or compassion in this world, it was only after I showed how useful I was, often by solving their problems.

To be cared about and for, with very little in me doing anything for him? It hit me hard.

I wiped my eyes, not wanting to make Arngeir uncomfortable with a crying floating girl behind him. Tears could wait until I was alone.

I still had questions that needed answers.

"If you don't mind," I spoke, careful to keep my voice sounding normal. "I have a few questions that don't necessarily have to do with this 'Dragonborn' business."

"By all means, ask away."

"Okay." I took a moment to put my thoughts in order. "Portals. Any knowledge of magic that can create them or manipulate them."

Argneir hummed, "I know little about the intricacies of magic, but I do know that most portals are used for different planes of Oblivion. Usually to summon Daedra to fight on the users behalf, although they have been sometimes used for travel. Possibly the most infamous was the Oblivion Crisis."

The name rang a bell, "I think I've heard it before."

He gave me a confused look, "I would hope so. Nearly two hundred years ago, the Daedric Prince of Change attempted to ravage all of Tamriel, opening portals from his plane of existence into ours. He unleashed his minions on Man and Mer alike."

My eyes widened, "An invasion from another world."

"Of a sorts, yes. High Hrothgar was untouched due to Kyne's protection, but there are records of our members descending the mountain to aid in battle. One of the few times in recent history that it was required."

"What happened after?" I asked. "I assume that the Prince was defeated, right?"

He nodded, "Indeed. A costly battle, but won nonetheless. As to how... well, I don't rightfully know. It was a massive event across the world and was followed by several other battles and calamities in it's wake. Attempts to find the true history of that time will give you conflicting answers. Some say it was an unnamed hero who worked behind the scenes in Cyrodiil. Others claim the Thalmor's subtle magic closed the gates. I'm afraid I cannot give you a true answer."

Right. Not too dissimilar to Golden Morning in that regard. A cascade of portals, fighting a being from another reality, and the truth hidden from everyone. For one reason or another.

The timelines weren't even close to matching up and the events didn't sound that similar, but the parallels were spooky nonetheless.

"What about rocks?"

"Rocks?"

"Magic rocks," I clarified. "Might have markings or appear in random places?"

"Ah, you must mean the Standing Stones." He spoke with a tone of nostalgia, "Yes, I remember those quite fondly. When I was a youth I would regularly worship the Warrior Stone, hoping to be gifted like many heroes of old. Luckily, it was not so."

I swallowed. A clue? "So these are common in Skyrim?"

"In a sense, yes. Built by our ancestors, forgotten by time for the most part, some still get the occasional visitor. They are sacred sites in honor of our constellations and to match the months, with an exception for the Serpent Stone who represents the Unstars. If you've come across them, treat them with care and consideration. Take some time to clear the vegetation off them, or clean the runes carved on them, in respect."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hm. A possible connection. There was definitely something magical about the Boulder, thinking back on it, but... it wasn't giving off the same vibe as these Standing Stones. For one thing, I imagine Invictus would have at least known about them, and he claimed the Boulder wasn't there prior. Secondly, the M/S was clearly something from my world. No ancient runes decorated it from what I recalled either.

Argneir stopped by one door in the hallway and I had to push back a bit with my flight to prevent myself from running into him. A bit too lost in thought.

He turned to me, "Your room Dragonborn. Food will have been prepared for you within, along with your bedding and clothes. If you have no other questions, then I will return to my brothers and confer with them on your situation."

"Just one more," I said. "What do you know about the College of Winterhold?"

He rubbed his beard in thought, "Not much more than the average denizen, I'm afraid. We occasionally have their students or teachers come visit us, often asking questions that we cannot answer or do not know the answer too. We treat them respectfully, even if a few of them have... quirks. Mages often do, so that's not so surprising. A bit unfortunate that we are considered similarly to them though."

I crossed my arms, thinking out loud, "I've heard magic isn't seen in as great a light as it used to be."

"It is so," He answered. "The Oblivion Crisis has incurred damage in too many ways to count. The College and those who wish understand or embrace the spiritual included. That being said, they are of the brightest of minds in Skyrim, and they likely have forgotten more knowledge than I've accrued in a lifetime. If you wish to someday visit, as I understand you curiosity, I can get you a map to it."

"Thank you. I know I've been saying that a lot, but you've been a much needed source of help."

"I only wish to help, Dragonborn." He smiled, "Rest and have a pleasant night."

I smiled back, a little easier now, and he left down the hallway until I couldn't see him in the gloom of the building.

I sighed, feeling both relieved at having asked the questions, but frustrated that there weren't truly answers. Not the ones I was looking for at least. Hopefully tomorrow would have more for me to go on in my investigation.

I entered the room and made sure to lock it behind me. A precaution, even if I didn't necessarily feel in danger at the moment.

The room was... clean, at the least. I wasn't a fan of the stone walls or floors, making the place feel like a dungeon rather than a home, but they went to the effort of adding comforts to the room. A large bed with blankets that felt almost as soft as my own back home, a simple writing desk with a single drawer, and candles for better light than the stained glass windows offered.

A plate with bread, a giant slice of cheese, and a jar of liquid sat on the desk. A closer inspection revealed it to be Mead of some sort. It had been a long time since I had gotten drunk, at least since after the Kronos incident, and I wasn't particularly craving it now.

Still, it would do for a meal.

A shift in the reflection of the glass had me grip the bottle tighter. Gently and slowly, I put it back down on the plate.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Breath in. Breath out.

In.

Out.

I had told Argneir that I had memories that weren't my own, and that was true. They were strong when I slept, when I was hungry in the forest but too worried to try the wild berries, and when I felt myself growing more and more frustrated with myself. Pockets of events and feelings, but not whole memories.

But that wasn't everything. Not entirely.

I could see him in the corner of my eye. He wasn't there, but he was. It was never obvious, never something that could pass muster if I really focused on it for more than a second. If it weren't for the protocols and my limited experience with Mama Mather's powers, it might have taken me far longer than a day to realize what was happening.

He existed in how the shadows cast by the room's lantern seemed to meld themselves against the walls and floors like a puddle. The furniture gave his form shape, a foundation for the shadows to start with, and all at once his presence was pieced together.

A faint facsimile of life in darkness, existing only in my head. Draconic.

The fragile one sprung to life around me, engulfing me in her protection. I kept my head straight, not focusing on any one part of the room, letting him persist at the edges of my vision. I could feel every head and face I had around me looking in one direction.

The left.

There you are, I thought. The reason I had so much trouble sleeping. The reason I wake up crying in the middle of the night.

"Hello." I spoke, feeling my heart thrum in my chest. "You're the one who's been haunting me, haven't you Mirmulnir?"

No response. The shadows didn't move, didn't change, and neither did the fragile one's attention.

I swallowed, "They say I'm stuck with you now, but if you are then you already knew that. Probably knew when I- when we fought, at the end. I get your memories somehow, scarily similar to a cape back home, and you get... what? A special hell, where you're forced to watch me live my life, maybe having to feel everything I do?"

Silence.

I thought of Capricorn. Lauren. Dauntless. The Navigators. Ashley. Sveta.

Myself.

"You don't deserve this. Nothing you've done could ever have deserved this, even with what little I've gotten from your memories." I spoke with sincerity. "Neither of us do."

I felt invisible heads turn and sensed the shadow of the ghost dim.

"I'm getting you out this. Somehow. Someway. I-"

The faces lost their focus. Shadows became only shadows.

"I promise. I'll put everything on it."

No one disagreed, but no one agreed either.

Only the two of us now. If he was ever really there.

Gone like your world.

No.

I took in a deep breath. No. Fuck no. Fuck that. Fuck off with that kind of thinking. I was on an Earth, no cracks in the ice to be seen, where Magic and Dragons reigned supreme, and I was still alive and kicking.

Kicking myself while I was down was pointless when I had new avenues to explore and I could put my faith in others to hold the line until I got back. Tristan, Byron, Rain, Kenzie, Sveta, and Natalie. My team and my heroes.

Missy, Crystal, Mom, Aunt Sarah, Dad, Uncle Mike, Ethan, Gilpatrick, Jester, and Presley.

Tattletale and her kids. The Malfunctions.

More friends and loved ones.

I wouldn't abandon them. I would die before I let them feel an iota of what I felt in the hospital. Isolated. Alone.

Fuck that.

Tomorrow, it's time to Scholar the fuck up Victoria.

Chapter Text

The circle of mystic sages surrounded me, and I wouldn't lie and say I wasn't a little bit intimidated.

All of them were quiet, dressed identically to each other in their scaled robes, arms folded within massive sleeves. Living up to their names I supposed, they all had long grey beards, tied by a superficial not to keep it tidy. It was hard to read their expressions with this lighting, especially so when they all kept their hoods up.

For my part, I wore the white blouse and brown trouser pants they'd offered me as an alternative to the armor, and as much as I may have disparaged this worlds sense of fashion, this was by far the comfiest piece of clothing I'd worn so far.

Not my most intimidating appearance by far, but if worse came to worst, clothing didn't mean much in the kind of fight I could bring to the table.

"Are there books for me to read or... I don't know, spells? It can't be as easy as you guys just giving me the power right?"

They had summarized the process of teaching me the Thu'um, after Arngeir took time to eat breakfast with me and ask for my blessing in participating this very day. I had been both ecstatic and skeptical of being granted a chance to learn magic of any kind so soon, but Argneir had assured me that it could potentially help me on my travels, and that it would be the Greybeards honor to tutor me in the ways of the Voice.

Arngeir chuckled lightly, only identifiable by him standing so close to me. "We Greybeards spend decades of our lives in the monastery, studying our inner Voice, and mastering our own self-control before many of us learn even a single word of power. Not out of necessity, mind you. There are many who can learn to use the Thu'um in half the time, often for no other purpose than to strengthen themselves."

I swallowed. Five years. Potentially a decade.

I was willing to give myself a bit of slack timeframe wise, to better understand magic and investigate my appearance here, but I was far from willing to sped so much of my life studying new powers. No matter how tempting it might be to the Scholar within me.

"When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons," Arngeir continued. "Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

"Meaning I don't need to spend so much time on them?"

"Need, I do not know. The needs of one may not include those of all."

I nodded. Good advice and I could already imagine how it might apply to the villains of Gimel. More than a few heroes as well.

"An advantage though? Perhaps. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you 'Fus' and 'Ro', the first and second Word in Unrelenting Force."

Einarth stepped forward from the circle, giving me a short bow as he passed. It was only up close that I could see past the hood and beard, but even his aged expression felt similar to that of Argneir. I think one could be forgiven for assuming they were potentially all related with how well they carried the mystic sage theme.

"Ro means 'Balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus - 'Force' - to focus your Thu'um more sharply."

Einarth bowed slightly and whispered, "Fus."

I felt it. Something rippled through the air within the room, not with sound or air, but in the faintest of impacts on the area around us. The best comparison I could make was to my aura and how I could feel it channeling out it's invisible energies to assail my opponent's mind.

This effect, however, was entirely physical. A marking had been left, carved into stone, glowing as if under intense heat. I could almost see the wicking of flames rising from nothing.

This is magic, I thought. Curiosity, excitement, and fear were racing through my veins. I was going through a process that no other sane parahuman had ever dreamed of and I had no fucking idea of what to expect.

Einarth whispered again, "Ro."

Another force and another carving. Was the power and shape instinctual? How much of was honed over years of training? Could there be a means of using tricks for adapting powers on my Earth for magic here?

Not for the first time I wished that I had my phone here with me to record this for future reference. A thought that led to Kenzie and the worry about how she would be handling my disappearance. She had been on the edge for so long now, with Ashley gone, that I could only hope Sveta and Tattletale took hold of the reigns for now.

The old master stepped back into the circle and Argneir gestured, "Come, Dragonborn. Study the Word of Power, and see for yourself what it means to be who you are."

I floated forward, cautious, but Argneir stood patiently by as I did so. The thought of this being a trap once more crossed my mind but it was easier to dismiss this time. I would have the forcefield up and I would bolt through a window the moment it seemed like there would be any danger.

Besides, I thought. I feel like I can trust him.

Gut feeling, but that was enough for me.

I stopped in front of the symbols, still glowing from whatever energy was transferred into them, and tried to interpret them as best I could. I had never been one for languages, beyond two classes of French in highschool, and that did absolutely nothing to help me here.

I stared at the symbols, wondering if I was going to have to have to get closer when I felt something click. It was a sensation I'd felt back home, when something caught my eye or a memory stuck out to me during a particular moment. If I chased that feeling, there was the possibility of finding a resolution to whatever issue I faced.

Because it wasn't my eye. Not entirely, anyways.

I felt a new perspective take hold of me as I looked at the symbols with a renewed perspective and suddenly understood. The way the lines crossed, how it was etched, the weight carried with the stroke of one leading to another. Force and Balance swept up and into me, and from there I knew.

I know these words as well as I know my team. Like they've become a part of me.

The light faded and then died, the symbols now mere etchings on the floor.

I turned to Argneir, eyes wide, "I can read them now."

"Like a master," he smiled. "A true natural."

"How?" I asked. "Did it connect to my mind? Some sort of.... I don't know, psychic echo from Einarth? Will it fade over time?"

"In mind, in spirit, and in blood, Dragonborn." He nodded approvingly, "You're curiosity is understandable, as are your worries. Fret not, what you have gained cannot be taken nor lost so easily. These words of power are a part of you, as you might be beginning to sense."

I nodded, running a hand through my hair, thinking about the implications. The light of the words penetrated the Fragile One, just as the Dragon's did, which meant there might be offensive kinds of magic out there that could do the same. If there was the ability to gift knowledge regardless of barriers in place, that must mean there exists magic out there that can curse one's mind just as easily.

And despite what Arngeir said, it could be equally possible to remove knowledge as well.

Who's to say it hasn't happened already?

I didn't like it. It was all too possible with what I knew now, and it answered so many questions. Not all of them, not even close, but I had a foot in the door now, at the least.

"You truly do have the gift," Arngeir spoke. "But learning a Word of Power is only the first step... you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts."

He paused for a moment, looking me over. An expression of sympathy crossed his face, "As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly."

I stared at him, unmoving.

In a way, I had known. Since Mulmirnir's death, I'd known on some level what this meant.

"As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Fus' and 'Ro'."

Einarth stepped forward again while I watched Argneir. "That's what this all comes down to, huh. To even train this power, I have to kill more of the Dragons and... and force them into being prisoner inside of me."

"You carry with you a heavy heart, Dragonborn," Argneir sighed. "It is commendable for you to care for it as such. But yes, you must retain the soul of a Dragon to strengthen your Thu'um. That is your gift and your burden."

"I've always been ambivalent on souls," I said quietly. It felt hard to speak now. "I had teammates who believed in God, who talked about souls, and I think I came about as close one could to seeing an equivalent to them. I don't know if these are the same thing. I don't even know if these are just core memories forced onto me for some defensive purpose. But I can't kill them if it means having them suffer like this Argneir. It's not just or fair to them. Or to me."

Argneir met my eyes, "I do not know if they truly suffer, Dragonborn. I have been told that, as children of Akatosh, the Dragon souls wish to be reunited as one. Yet, I cannot experience what you are feeling. I cannot see through your eyes. If that is the way you wish to proceed, then we shall support you, as we have done throughout millenia."

A millenia of 'souls' being devoured.

I nodded, but said nothing.

This is all so fucked.

Einarth stood waiting, quiet despite my outburst. I glanced at him, "What will you have him do?"

"Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding and experience with 'Fus' and 'Ro'. Theoretically, this should allow you to use the Thu'um within a manageable time."

I frowned, "Then why can't we do this all the time? What's the catch?"

"Time, as it always tends to be," he answered. "Einarth is one of the few who have mastered this skill over their period of training, and even then, can only bring forth these two Words of Power."

"Right," I said. Fuck me, I thought. Things could never be fucking simple.

I floated towards him before stopping, considering.

I floated back another ten feet and unfurled the Fragile One to her fullest. "Just keep your distance if you can. For your safety, please."

Einarth bowed once again, before straightening out and spreading his arms wide. He uttered a word so quietly that I didn't think I could have heard it if he had been right in my ear, but the result was immediate. Light engulfed his form in an instant, his body shaking slightly as he continued to chant wordlessly, bright enough that my eyes started to water.

It was in that second of blurred vision that a tendril of light reached out of Einarth and enveloped me as well, somehow morphing through my forcefield like water.

I had a second to think. Blackness.

And then I sank into a bright darkness that rattled my very core.

"-Victoria. Come back to Earth Victoria, we miss you!"

I blinked, the action feeling heavier than usual, and for a terrifying moment nothing made sense. The world around me was a mosaic of intermingling colors; a glory of light from all sorts of spectrums, colliding with each other within the circular arena, morphing themselves in ways my mind couldn't process.

Gold was the predominant color, embracing and emboldening the other lights in ways that made me feel... familiar? As though I were looking at the still image of a home video, but without enough context to really understand the scene coherently. I didn't know how that was possible when all the lights were still moving constantly, but it was the best way for me to parse it.

There was a tint of green in my vision that made me feel anxious. I couldn't place it exactly, but I had the feeling that it was under or outside of the glory in some way. Where the gold and other, lesser, colors shined with power, the green seemed to ripple. Less like light and more like water trying and somehow failing to reflect the light.

Water, the thought came to me, Or Poison?

I blinked again, and this time it felt far more natural. The world around me coalesced into solid images, more like a badly designed video game than anything with real clarity.

Another blink and the quality improved. I was staring out of a windshield, watching the streets slowly go by as the car I was in drove on.

"Sleeping Beauty finally awakes," cried a voice in the back seat. Katherine. Kathy. "That's a shame, I had sharpies all set to go."

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Kathy with a plethora of sharpies, all different colors, held between her fingers like a ninja holding shuriken. Despite the fact that the top layer of her face seemed to be shifting ever so slightly, the sinister smile on her face was all too clear.

I sent a mock glare to the driver. Bethany. "You didn't try to stop her?"

Bethany smiled, half guilty and half covered by white geometric lines that clashed with her deep black skin. "I did call you out and look, you woke up! I think you should be saying thank you."

"I should be calling you traitor," Kathy said as she stuffed the sharpies back in her backpack. "Helping Victoria when she fell asleep on the best day of her life with her two best friends? Awful. Just awful."

I smiled, "We're going to have to adjust your standards if you think beating you two at bowling is the highlight of my life." She offered up an exaggerated haughty tone, "Barely a challenge, my dears."

Bethany gave a mock scowl that sent the lines in a tizzy, "Ugh. If you're going to talk like that I'd wish you stayed asleep."

"Agreed!"

"I have no idea where the exhaustion came from," I said. "I've been sore these past few days from longer patrols, but never really tired before. I guess it just hit me all at once."

"Mhm," Bethany said. "Must have been a good dream. I heard some murmuring."

"Oh god, no." I covered my face with my hands. "I always tease Ames about her talking in her sleep too."

Kathy piped up, "I can guess exactly what she was dreaming of. A four letter word starting with 'D'."

I rolled my eyes, "Come on, I don't think about Dean all the time."

"That wasn't the 'D' I meant."

I laughed and Bethany let out a guttural groan that evolved into gagging. She mimed throwing up, turning to me slightly as she faked it and I mock screamed, pushing her away from me and pointing back at the road.

We settled down and into our usual chatter. Kathy going on about how she still hasn't figured out if she can get into the college she wants with her grades and Bethany offering to have her girlfriend tutor her. I put in a few choice words for engagement, but I fell silent as the duo kept up their own rhythm.

It was nice, it was calm, it was...

It's lonely.

I frowned, feeling the chatter as background noise, thinking. The talks about shitty grades, the gushing Beth would do about Sydney if she was given a chance, bowling with the two of them on a Saturday afternoon. It was fun, but it also felt wrong. I couldn't ever say it was there fault, but I couldn't imagine sharing the same enthusiasm, not when I could look out the window and see a city slowly falling apart at the seams.

Brockton Bay was a city that looked nice on paper, thanks to the booming tech industry, but there were things that any Bay native could pick up on underneath the facade.

Almost no one walked into alleyways in this city, and if they did it was going to have to be quick, or risk losing their valuables. Construction crews were almost always on the streets with better equipment to handle the bigger messes, and the blare of Police and PRT sirens tended to group around the downtown areas of the Bay.

We passed by a pastry shop that had been vandalized, police tape covering shattered windows, and painters working on the storefront where a slur had been sloppily tagged onto the doors. Some morons didn't approve of the Japanese owners it seemed.

I turned away from the scene, feeling a dour mood settling in. The dream was already passing, but I couldn't help but feel a bit off. Some weird kind of connection my subconscious was making to that store and the detached feeling when hanging out with my friends.

Dean was on patrol for another few hours and he'd probably want to rest a bit if he had Shadow Stalker on his rotation. Which was fine, I didn't want to be the overly clingy girlfriend PHO made me out to be sometimes, but in moments like these it only increased this growing pit in my chest.

Amy should be home by now though. She was a good listener and she knew the stresses of fighting for this city. Not usually on the same battlegrounds as the rest of the family, but healing innocent people out of the goodness of her heart was it's own level of heroic, one that I wished to reach one day.

Yeah, she'd understand me. She'd help me to understand this.

We pulled to a stop right at the intersection, yellow quickly turning to a dark-green that seemed to seep out of the signal box rather than shine. Beth cursed up a storm at her streak of greens being ruined and I gave her a small chuckle out of obligation.

A man was using the crosswalk.

Moppy blonde hair, blue eyes, with sharp cheekbones and chin that made me think of royalty in a way, not helped by the way he held his head so as to look down on other passerby. His clothing was a stark contrast, looking more like a librarian with a small degree of flair; dark blue sweater-vest over a long-sleeved tan shirt and black pants, finishing with a gold-scaled scarf wrapped around his neck. A ratty book was tucked under his arm-pit, trails of torn paper falling behind and vanishing into the ground that passed him.

His outfit was okay, I guess, but I had to appreciate that quality of scarf and definitely considered flying out to ask him where he bought it.

Some awkward cosmic force must have drawn his attention to my direction, but stopped briefly and met and my gaze. His eyes were searching and appraising me with a surprising intensity, before his face broke out into a cheeky grin. I awkwardly raised my hand to wave, but he was already moving on, picking up his pace under the creeping green lights.

"Friend of yours?" Beth asked.

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe a fan who recognized me?"

I heard Kathy giggle behind me, "Jul haal sil, Dovahkiin. I bet he's a Bahlokah and you've caught his eye, Vicky.

I turned to glare at her, meeting her glowing parietal eyes as she smiled back, frost and flames leaking out of her jaws.

"Dahmaan faal fen, Dovahkiin," Beth groaned, the lights of her face beginning to dissipate. "You might as well get out and fly away Vic. The light isn't changing soon"

Brockton Bay is though. All of this is temporary. I want to scream it at you guys. At everyone. I want every monster in this city to understand that they've made things worse for everybody. I want to make people better. I want people to understand that we all matter.

The thoughts didn't connect with me, with my actions. As I began to unbuckle myself, as though I was waiting for an excuse to leave the vehicle. Beth smiled, but it was a sad one, while Kathy just watched and burning spittle fell to the car floor.

I want to stay, but I want to handle this feeling in my heart even more. This pressure inside is eating me up.

They wouldn't understand.

Would they?

What if this is the wrong way to do it? What if-

I stepped out of the car and took flight, straight into the gold sky above, leaving the dripping green to shudder endlessly in my wake.

Everything hurt.

It felt like being rag-dolled out of a crashed bus, smacked into the ground by Skadi, and being hit by Love Lost's crippling lightning all at once. No breaks in-between each blow, just a cascade of shocks to every part of my body, and I couldn't help the tremors that came with it.

My hands clenched and unclenched unceasingly, my jaw ached from the constant chattering of my teeth, and my vision wavered.

If I didn't have flight, I wasn't sure I would have been able to remain standing. It was very possible that I would have fallen to the ground so hard and fast that I could have popped the Fragile One, doing massive damage to the temple in the process.

For her part, I could see the imprints her hands and feet left on the ground around me, carving into solid stone like soft clay. Much like the day before, I could sense the aggravation in that sense that went beyond mere tactile awareness, fingers grinding stone to dust and jaws snapping at the air around them.

Dangerous.

Argneir and the other Greybeards had expanded their circle around me, even more than when I had asked them before, and all of them had varying looks of concern on their faces. Fear.

It wasn't rational, but I hated it. It was too close to pity and I'd seen those kinds of looks far too often. Men and women forced to get close to me, having to physically lift flaps of skin to scrub away oils that might have congealed, and having to feel the sensation of someone getting far too intimate with my body in ways that no one should have ever experienced.

Moments where I would cry out because the isolation was too much, my vocal chords nearly strangling themselves with the effort, and needing to blast my aura to get anyone's attention.

The memory flipped a mental switch in my head. My aura. Now that I was focused on it, I felt how my power was radiating at full blast, a constant pressure of paralyzing fear that probably engulfed the entire temple.

I turned down that internal knob to zero, seeing relief wash across their faces, and the act seemed to help in more ways than one. It was the first step in self-control, and it made the next one just a bit easier. The Fragile One's limbs stopped their incessant grinding. Their mouths snapped shut, held firm under my control. I brought her into a hug, feeling her wrap around herself - and in a way - around me.

That was the easy part.

Logic past emotion, I thought. It's not exactly a master power, but close enough to treat it like one. You're emotions are overloaded Victoria, but think back to the dream. It's already going away.

It was and that helped too. I couldn't recall much, beyond a stinging sense of nostalgia and anxiety, but even those were dampened with how fleeting that images were in my mind. Vague impressions at best, not the worst thing I've had to wrestle with my head.

My hands unclenched themselves and I fought to keep them that way. I worked my jaw, feeling it crack a bit from the release of tension.
My eyes were still watery from the stress of everything, but I didn't trust my own hands to handle it just yet. A fragile hand reached through an open mouth, a single thumb carefully wiping away the waterworks.

Another ran invincible nails through the side of my hair. Not meant to fix, just for reassurance.

It would have to do.

Arngeir was the first to approach, taking slow, cautious steps forward while the others stayed back. I couldn't even look him in the eyes as he got closer, the shame of my outburst and of forcing them to endure my aura for god knows how long still resonating within me.

I prided myself on keeping myself in check, in looking professional and kept together, hopefully a role model for those who needed one most. To debase myself like this, so soon after having hundreds see something similar back on Gimel, it was digging into a wound too fresh.

"Dragonborn?" He spoke smoothly and calmly. "Antares? Victoria?"

"I'm here" I whispered, voice feeling raw. "I'm back."

"You never left. Once you connected with Master Einarth, you..." He floundered for a bit, seemingly at a loss as to what to say.

I answered for him, "I lost control. I'm so sorry."

"Twas only for a moment, Dragonborn. I feared that we had failed you in someway, overlooked an aspect of the Dragonborn for all these years."

Only a moment, but it felt like I've been gone for years.

No, that wasn't quite right, but it was the best I could think of at the moment. Adjacent to that idea of time though. My head was reeling and my heart was pounding so hard it hurt, but I didn't have to fight the shakiness as hard now. Still there, but less for the time being.

Did you do something Mirmulnir? A trap set for me?

I didn't know. There was so much I didn't know about this magical fucking bullshit. Questions I should have thought to ask but didn't. Stupid. Dumb. Impulsive.

But. There was something I did know now. In the back of my mind, it stood out, glimmering with power.

I forced myself to meet Argneir's eyes, thankful to see two very human ones staring right back at me. "I understand them now. It worked. It somehow worked."

"Incredible," he murmured. "Can you-"

I nodded and he gestured off to the side. After a moment a voice echoed behind us, "Fiik... Lo... Sah!"

A portal opened in the center of the room, it's shape such that I couldn't tell whether it was two or three dimensional despite it being so close. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, the purple and black energy seeming to collapse in on itself.

A man stood where the portal had once been, glowing with a haunting light, wearing clothing that seemed to match those of the townsfolk I'd seen in Whiterun. He was partially transparent, brighter up top as he crossed his arms and 'thinner' down his legs.

"An astral projection, of sorts," Arngeir explained. "Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um. Use your Unrelenting Force shout to strike him down.

I stared at the projection, "It'll be instinctual?"

"As much as you and I are breathing, yes."

I nodded, dropping my forcefield and felt back to that glimmer in my mind. Closing my eyes helped me visualize it a bit more clearly. It was like small star within me, dimly shining all on it's lonesome, and eager to reach out towards me as I observed it.

I reciprocated and felt that small star begin to run it's power through me like fire across oil.

As I opened my eyes I shouted, "Fus... Ro!"

That fire, that power, that magic soared out of my throat like a cannon ball as it morphed through the air. It's form was visible as it moved as soundwaves, rippling through space and colliding with the projection. The false man merely stumbled back, shocked, but disappointingly unharmed.

Still, after a second he vanished, breaking up into pinpricks of light.

Magic, I thought and couldn't help give a shaky grin. I performed magic. Weak, but holy fuck, its Magic-

Something was dripping down my lip. I reached out to wipe whatever spittle it was, slightly embarrassed, just as it hit me.

Pain. Sudden and absolutely devastating pain as I felt my throat tighten up on me. I fell to the ground coughing, feeling the burning in my throat as I desperately gasped for air. All around me I could hear shouting, calling out my names and titles, as if they could cure me with the right one.

Something is wrong.

Below me, blood fell to the floor in heavy droplets, somehow overbearingly loud despite the shouting around me. Another cough sent more splattering along the stone.

Something is very, very wrong.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

There was something to be said about the costumes capes wore and the relationship we had with them.

I told Kenzie and Darlene, when our team was just starting out on our well-intentioned dream escapade, that the agents preferred the masks because it was a way of helping to solidify the identity of their hosts. Beyond examples like Valkyrie's warrior flock and how powers worked to incorporate costumes into power effects like Breakers or my own forcefield, it was a gut feeling of mine that costumes may play a part in setting landmarks in the vast cosmic system that structured powers for future cycles.

Bookmarks in the library of data stretching back untold ages, to use a metaphor I could relate to the most, with segments of chapters highlighted in men and women wrapped in dramatic conflict. In the dust of Cradle's agent, I'd seen the ghosts of it's past hosts, alien life used much like we were to complete an even greater alien agenda. How would those aliens be bookmarked in comparison to us? If we lost this battle against the Titans, what would we look like compared to the future victims of the system?

What history do you have, my Fragile One? What history will we have down the line?

Concerning. Concerning as hell.

But that wasn't my biggest focus in the moment. No, costumes and agents were a larger relationship than what I had in mind.

My Antares costumes was a work of love and the result of reaching out to those who could help solidify that facet of myself. Weld to handle the melding and forming of metal armor under my direction, Crystal to offer her opinion on the glitz and glamour, and Sveta and I to work the needle for the fabric parts. The golden armor had saved my life more times than I could count; from bullets to blades to far too many deadly powers. The wide and removeable sleeves had given me a feeling of being held and a defense against the world, further enforced by the addition of my armored jacket.

Kenzie had further enhanced the glamour aspect, allowing me to literally radiate light.

Together, they worked as a representation and compromise between myself and the Fragile One. A representation of what we were and what we strived to be; a star holding a dangerous center, reaching hands ready to lay waste to all that stood in my way of keeping the City safe. A compromise, because to throw myself back into the hero scene after years of torture and hatred was to acknowledge that I was going to need the power that would remind me of those hellish years for the rest of my life.

I wasn't sure if I could ever accept those black feelings for what they were, but slowly, so so slowly, the Fragile One and I had grown closer. One compromise after another, to the point that I felt the Victoria was ceding ground to the Antares.

Still concerning. Not as concerning as it could be, with how I felt about the Fragile One.

I ran my hand over the leather breast of my armor, feeling the texture difference between where crafted leather met slightly crisp fabric, the latter half taking up maybe forty percent of the armor space. Similar marks were left on my left-shoulder armor, where that splash of dragon fire had curled up and nicked some exposed flesh. Brother Borri had done his best to clean out the armor and care for it's damaged sections, but even after two days of scrounging the temple for materials, there was only so much he could do for repairs.

I didn't begrudge him for it, instead asking for his services in adding a few details to the armor for my eventual departure to Winterhold, him replying with written text. If the name wasn't obvious enough, Arngeir had explained the dangers of traversing the cold tundra of Winterhold, expositing on its lack of vegetation for food and shelter, and the deadly chill of the constant heavy winds. That was excluding the bizarre creatures called 'Ice Wraiths' that apparently thrived in these hazardous conditions, among other threats like ice wolves and werewolves.

Ice Wraiths, wolves, and fucking werewolves aside, the cold was my biggest concern. My forcefield was great for handling extreme temperatures, but it couldn't warm me up if it broke at the wrong time and left me exposed to the elements.

Our combined work culminated in sewing multiple removeable sleeves into sockets of the leather armor and a cloth tasset wrapped around my waist, also sewn into the armor, scavenged from unused robes in the temple. The tasset was more for added warmth than anything protective, offering a decent cover for the front and back of my upper thighs, and the sleeves were much the same with the added benefit of being one tiny step closer to my old costume.

The final bit of work was the incorporation of the Greybeard hood into the neckline of the armor, another accessory that was both functional and identical to Antares, though the hood was a bit larger than my old one. It wasn't a problem for me; I had always enjoyed clothing that was larger than normal on my frame.

From that point on it was only a matter of dying the rest of the leather, pants, and boots a similar color as the robes to prevent them from being an eye-bleeding clash of a fashion disaster. The effect was better than I could imagine, the leather now taking on a black-grey tone that blended well with the robes and even made the charcoal burned section of my armor pop in a distinct way, like a small shimmer of black flame on grey. Matching dyed gloves completed the set.

It wasn't even close to my old costume and the lack of gold dye or even thread for highlights made that feeling all the more powerful. But it was another step towards making this outfit something I controlled. Something that was mine.

And, in a thought that brought a small smile to my face, I could imagine Ashley approving of the color scheme at the very least.

"Taking one last look of the world, Dragonborn?"

Arngeir had stepped next me, hands clasped between the large sleeves of his monk attire. The two of us were outside the temple grounds, staring out and down at the view below the mountain, and I couldn't help but wonder how he handled the cold. I at least had my forcefield to shield me from the worst of the wind and snow, shaking her a few times to dislodge any buildup, but Arngeir just seemed to take the freezing temperature in stride with only his robes and thick beard.

I wondered if he had a spell that gave him some protections against the cold like Byron had passively, but I couldn't think of a reason for him to not share that information with me. And from how he acted, magic wasn't something he was well versed in, when all was said and done.

Just another oddity of this world, Victoria. When will you not be surprised?

Hopefully soon.

I turned back to the view, watching as the fog and mist below moved slowly over the tallest of trees. I answered, "Just readying myself for the journey. The last time I really traveled from place to place, I had a guide with me, sort of backed me up when things got rough."

"You traversed the woods of the Whiterun Holds by yourself for two days, battling inner concepts many warriors would break under," He intoned. "And you made your way to us by yourself, following your instincts."

"I sort of cheated with my forcefield and flight in the woods," I said. "Didn't have to worry too much about the cold and safety when I could just sleep in the tree tops with natural protections."

I glanced at Arngeir, "Plus, it was you who called to me. I just followed the voice."

"Did you follow, knowing where you would end up?"

I shook my head.

"Then accept the wealth of knowledge that your instincts have provided you in fulfilling your destiny. Trust that those same instincts will guide you further down that road as time moves on."

"I do. Now, I mean." More than you know. "It took time, and help from some very close friends, but I've learned to trust what my gut says. It's just..."

I gestured to vast world below the mountain.

"...Just a bit daunting to go out there with only a map."

Arngeir hummed, "Daunting though it may be, there is no other option, no?"

I thought about it. Had thought about it. Fight, Flight, Freeze. I could and was going to fight whatever or whoever was keeping me here, be it via magic or powers, and I would return home to continue my fight with the Titans, so long as that was still possible. I would avoid any unnecessary detours and conflicts when I could, keep myself focused on the task at hand.

But to Freeze? To stay in this crazy world of dungeons and dragons, and give up all hope?

"Fuck that," I said and felt a bit embarrassed when I remembered I was in company.

Arngeir merely smiled slightly, stroking his snow covered beard, "Words of Power that is. No judgment here. I was a fiery youth years past as well, once. Maybe not quite as sharp tongued."

My cheeks warmed, "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Mhm. As for going out into the world with just a map..."

He glanced back to the temple entrance and I did the same, happy to move on past the moment. The backpack was huge, almost comically so. A bed roll, various kinds of blankets, several changes of clothes, rudimentary toiletries, baskets filled with food and mead, all tied together with makeshift straps of rope. Even when bundled together as tightly as possible, the amassed luggage was easily up to my chest in terms of size.

Somewhere in that bundle was sack of gold coins, around three hundred 'Septims' according to Arngeir. I had initially rejected fifty septims, only for the monks to return with a hundred and fifty. After the second rejection they came back with three hundred, and I was worried that rejecting them again might literally have them go broke, leaving me with a large sack that I begrudgingly carried with me. Not that I didn't appreciate the money, just that I felt a bit off in taking so much from people who have at least tried to help me in this world.

Much like with the wagon transport to Whiterun, I had the Fragile One knot the straps together, and I was more than a little proud to feel how the fingers handled the delicate task even better than before.

Only a little less than a week and she had already improved her dexterity so much.

Keep it up girl, I thought. Every step we take is invaluable.

I floated to the backpack while Arngeir trekked slightly behind, taking a bit more effort to walk through even the lighter patches of snow. Once there I took a second to have Fragile One shake residual snow off herself and then pat down the pack, removing snow from it as well. By the time Arngeir had caught up, I had already maneuvered the backpack behind me, a similar way to how I had once carried the Gun Dragon built for me.

"Should you desire, Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke, "You can wait another day while we send a message for more supplies from nearby villages. More food or gold, perhaps?"

I smiled but shook my head, "You've done more than enough. I know we didn't agree on everything, but I can't thank you guys enough for helping me out. You're not wrong about needing to get out there, no matter how nerve-wracking it might be."

Arngeir looked up at me, a wistful expression on his face, "I will wish you well, Dragonborn. Although your journey will be fraught with peril, I believe you will persevere, so long as the path of wisdom remains open to you. "

I held out my hand. Arngeir seemed surprised for a moment, before smiling and clasping my wrist. We shook.

"Sky above, Voice within, Dragonborn."

I nodded, "And also with you." I didn't know much about religion compared to Rain, but that sounded like a neutral way to respond.

It must have been close enough, because he smiled, releasing my hand and stepping back as I floated up a bit more. I gave him one last parting salute and he returned it with a bow.

I took off, the weight of the backpack meaning nothing to me as I went from zero to forty-five in a few seconds, turning off my flight and letting momentum carry me over the edge of the mountain. I let the backpack roll me around, getting a final look of Arngeir peeking over the edge. I waved as gravity took hold, twisting myself to face the oncoming descent.

I fell into the rolling mist and fog, forcefield outlined in droplets of water, unimpeded by flight for a few long seconds. The slight nausea I felt from finally imparting flight onto my body had nothing to do with vertigo, even if my power didn't protect me from that sort of thing.

I slowed to a stop and flew to the right, away from where Arngeir had been looking out in the distance.

I wasn't going to Winterhold.

Not just yet.

I circled around High Hrothgar, making sure that I wouldn't be visible to Arngeir or the other monks as I flew up. Arngeir had mentioned it on the night I asked him to tell me as much as he could, how the leader of the Greybeards isolated himself from humanity at the 'Throat of the World', surrounded by an eternal blizzard. From what he said, Paarthurnax would only allows visitors when he called for them, even if they were the most loyal of disciples.

Or if they were 'ready', whatever that meant. He didn't feel that it should be elaborated and I held my tongue when I saw how serious he was about it, moved on to another topic, another line of questioning.

But it never left my mind.

Sorry Arngeir, I thought. But I have to try to reach this Paarthurnax and get some answers. Whole universes could depend on it.

Maybe so, but it didn't help that pit in my chest that came with the lie, and betrayal of trust Arngeir had given me. The same feeling I had gotten when my team and I knowingly went behind Defiant's back to reach the dreamspace and stop Teacher from destroying the world.

It wasn't regret, not exactly, but there was still a feeling of guilt and empathy to be had. I liked Defiant, respected him, and it hurt when he said that his opinion of me was lower after the fact. I didn't know Arngeir half as much, but he was an anchor of sanity in this bizarre reality, and I imagined that however he felt about this... it would hurt.

But I couldn't let myself be lead around the nose with potential information held out of reach. Not anymore that I could stand by and let Teacher get away when I had the chance to nail that son of a bitch to the wall.

That heavy feeling was a weight when I felt so very light in the open air.

Air that quickly began to darken and chill as I flew higher and higher. It took me a moment before I realized that the eternal blizzard didn't extend to just around the mountaintop, I could feel how drastic the difference in air pressure was through the forcefield's senses, how much quicker it was to collect ice rather than just snow. Despite the lack of exertion for me, I could almost sense the air thinned as I went higher and higher.

We've done this song and dance before, haven't we? Flying so far up that we could feel the slightest of differences in air with our power.

It wasn't a happy memory, but it was one of the few where we truly began to be in-sync.

I spent some time making sure that the ice didn't collect on the backpack too much, not wanting to test how water proof the materials were, beginning to wonder if I'd have to double back and hide my backpack somewhere before I returned. Wouldn't do to sabotage my own trip-

A phantom shape in the wind caught my eye. Or rather, caught the corner of my eye, and made me give it my attention. Gone of course, that was how Mirmulnir seemed to operate, but not before bringing attention to the aberration of mother nature above me. My eyes widened at the sight.

Leviathan's arrival in Brockton Bay had created storm-clouds so thick and so powerful that only the most catastrophic of hurricanes could compare, but he usually only isolated it to large city in scope. The blizzard that wrapped around the mountain peak wasn't nearly as large, but whatever force concentrated it over the mountain had also condensed it to the point that it almost looked like a solid mass, a literal blanket of weather draped over tons of rock.

It didn't look impenetrable, per se, but it didn't look like it would be easy to navigate either. Even a hundred feet or so away, I had to constantly spin away the ice that was splashing against my forcefield, and I couldn't imagine what it would do to my backpack.

That return trip is looking more and more likely.

I ventured forth a bit closer, keeping my forcefield arms out and reaching, slowly closing that distance to the blanket of cold. I didn't want to go back down just yet if I didn't have too, but I didn't want to risk my backpack too much. If I felt the danger was too severe, I'd retreat and think of something to do-

One of Fragile One's limbs made contact with the very outermost of the layers and everything immediately went wrong.

The limb, already encased in ice from the surrounding wind, was engulfed in a blue light that slid up and around the forcefield faster than I could process. There was no logic to my actions, only instinct, but I dove down and back from the whirling blizzard, blinded by a light that seemed to stick to my forcefield like glue. Surrounded by the light, my eyes strained to make anything out as we fell, but it was about as successful as staring directly into my dad's flashbangs once they went off in your face.

All of a sudden the light dimmed and then vanished, leaving spots in my vision as I felt my forcefield pop immediately after, and I slammed bodily into the ice-shell of the Fragile One that I was encased it. The biting cold wind and the ice barrier was a slap in the face, knocking my hood back and making my own breathing hurt. I blinked rapidly as I tried to figure out what the flying fuck had happened, keeping pieces of ice away from my face, before belatedly noticing the backpack tumbling beside me.

Fuck fuck fuckity shit fuck!

I flew to the spinning backpack, practically slamming into it with my vision still slightly fucked up, feeling the remnants of iced forcefield hands shatter against my armor on impact. I dug my fingers into my cargo and began flying out more than down, pushing against it's weight to slow the fall while still getting away from that killer cold. A second later and my forcefield was back, pushing away the worst of the chill and taking hold of the backpack with ease, but still leaving me to shiver within.

I pulled up my hood and rubbed at my face, wiping away ice that had already collected at my eyebrows and lashes, and I could already feel my lips crack.

"What the fuck?!" I breathed out, puff of fog following suit. I was still reeling from what had just happened while my body was desperately trying to warm itself up again after the sudden temperature drop. I had prepared this costume for the tundra cold in mind, but I didn't think I'd have to rely on it so fucking soon.

My forcefield had been tested in the field of battle against extreme temperatures and had always held up well. I still backed away from things like Sundancer's plasma ball - I wasn't crazy - but I'd endured streams of flames from Lung, blasts of water from Byron, and even balls of lava from Teacher's goons. Not once had my forcefield broken under those kinds of attacks, not without there being secondary factor, like Byron's water being condensed enough to act as a physical impact or the Pharmacist's flames targeting powers themselves.

I was very fucking tempted to go with the latter interpretation, because there was nothing natural about that light. It was hard to tell when I had been busy panicking, especially since I was still flustered, but it felt like my forcefield had held on for less time compared when I tanked Saint's laser sword head on. What didn't make sense was that my forcefield returned faster than under Saint's assault, which went against every experience I had with the rules of how it functioned.

Had the light counted as a singular hit, despite engulfing me over a period of time? What metric was being used here that made the distinction for that effect? And what the fuck would that light have done to me if I had touched it? The ice had already formed around the forcefield before I touched it, and I was basically blinded, which means that I didn't even see what effect it dealt beyond extreme cold.

I gave the shrinking form of the blizzard a wary glance as I flew back even more, wanting to get more space between me and the anomaly. Beyond my pride, I wasn't hurt, but the experience left me more than a little spooked.

Great job Victoria. Not even five minutes into departing and you already fucked up.

"What about you girl," I asked as I flew along, rubbing my arms to build up friction. "Any insights you want to share? Or just more of the silent treatment for now, because you're just as embarrassed as I am?"

No thoughts that felt overly focused on. No odd shapes in the corner of my eyes or lurking in the shadows of the clouds. I even relaxed my control of the forcefield, careful to make sure the backpack was secure, but there was not directed movement by my agent. The Fragile One was content to stay in silence and my gut said I wasn't too far off the mark in that regard as to why.

I continued to fly, still bathed in the fog of the world.

The plan to force a meeting with Paarthurnax was scratched for the time being, at least until I could get my shit together and figure out something to bypass that storm. If everything went well with the College, I might not even need to return, and I would leave this world up to it's own devices. If not... then I had options. Not as many as I would have liked, but some nonetheless. I could return to the Imperials or Whiterun, explain my situation and see what resources I could scrounge up there. Research more about the Dragons, which was already sort of parallel to my goals anyways, if I was to figure out this whole soul dilemma. The same could be said for the rock back at the border.

Will it be that simple though?

Experience told me no. Hustling back and forth between two different locations, avenues of investigation cut off, and random changes made to my fundamental self in ways I didn't understand. All this in little less than a week? Not so simple after a first glance.

My instinct had me think of a running theme in all these events; myself. Always faced with a problem I couldn't solve and forced to retreat, backtracking and desperate for something new. The magic rock, Mirmulnir's soul, and now the eternal blizzard.

It wasn't a new feeling. I had thought as much while I was exploring with Sevitus. 

Without my team at my side, there were things I couldn't do alone, no matter how hard I tried.

As the endless fog surrounded me, I didn't want to think about what that meant about my chances of getting home.

Chapter Text

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It was hard to describe how beautiful this world appeared as I soared through the open sky, feeling the wind rushing around my forcefield with so little resistance. I opened my arms wide and took in a deep breath of fresh air, feeling that tizzy in my stomach I got when I truly delved into the wonders of flight, warming me up in an emotional way, if not physically.

Despite the literal load on my back, I hadn't felt this free while flying since I took little Audrey on a ride at the hospital.

The dark storm clouds of High Hrothgar were behind me now, the swirling mass of supernatural chill a blotch of grey and black on a canvas of blue sky. The contrast between that winter mountain and the clear skies around me was so stark that I could imagine Sveta falling in love and wanting to paint it herself. 

It reminded me of the time I had flown over the mountains of Brockton Bay on a lark, way outside of New Waves jurisdiction, just because I was a teenager and why not? What was the point of flying if you couldn't abuse it? It wasn't something I regretted, not with the kind of view I saw. 

Nature surrounded by a modern city, making the dark trees and massive mountain all the more powerful, standing apart from the problems of a dying home for heroes and villains. I had wanted to venture out there again after Leviathan, just to escape the weight of my fucked up family, but to do so when everyone else was suffering just as much as myself? 

It felt selfish. I promised myself that I would go back soon after, when everything was... not fixed, but maybe not so broken.

Yeah. It didn't work out that way. Even when I flew to mourn Eric, Auntie Jess, Aunt Sarah, and Uncle Neil, I never once looked back on those mountains again. Or what remained of them. 

There were no modern cities in this world, according to Sevitus and Arngeir anyways, and the villages like Whiterun were barely comparable. But that was fine, because that meant I had a stunning view of sprawling forests and snow-covered hilltops that blew anything back in Earth Bet out of the water, as far as I was concerned.

It was nature as was intended by the Earth, left unmarked by the callous hands of people looking out for themselves. It was how Gimel must have looked when the first prospective Bet immigrants had set foot into its wilderness. Even four years later, Gimel hadn't completely soured it's beauty, but there was still that sense of modernity with how people grew into the world. 

Nothing like that here. Even the brief signs of human life I saw pass below me didn't change that. Small homes and villages built into mountains or lakesides rather than around or over them. Like they new better than to try and ruin the landscape and did the bare minimum for shelter and design.

Others were relics or ruins, pieces of stone placed into ground as a hallmark of time since passed by men and women long since dead. I passed over two giant towers connected by a stone bridge over a roaring river, the stone carved into the banks and cliff faces, simplistic design and architecture but still fascinating even from a top down view. 

The structures had to be ancient, hundreds of years old, but they still stood. Alone, and quite possibly forgotten to everyone except the few who traveled down the roads on either side of them.

I paused over the towers, admiring how they stood the test of time while the Fragile One shuffled through the side of the backpack. It took some work to slide under the ropes, and I gave it a few glances to make sure she didn't accidentally untangle the knots and dump my supplies into the river, but eventually she was able to find a grip on the map scroll and gently place it in my hands. 

I couldn't actually remember the last time I held or looked at an actual physical map, spending most of my life depending on GPS to know where I was going, but I felt I had a good handle on the directions so far. It helped that Arngeir had spent hours detailing the map as specifically as he could, giving little notes on what he knew of, what he didn't, and what could have changed since he last heard.

If I was reading this correctly, then this landmark would be the 'Valtheim Towers', a holdover from an old 'Keep' from centuries ago apparently. Other little notes, scratched in a way that made it hard to make out unless I held the paper just right, called it a haven for bandits and wanderers for a similar amount of time. A potential pit-stop for rest if needed, but not a favorable one. 

A final punctuation of 'Dangerous' was underlined near it's location on the map, followed by an arrow to Shearpoint and so on until it reached Winterhold. 

I folded up the map and handed it to Fragile One, trusting her to not crumple my only means of navigation in this lost world. I gave the towers an appraising once over, not for the scenery but for potential trouble. It didn't look like there was anyone using the two of them and I really didn't want to have to deal with more bandits after my hassle with Rave and her crew, but it would weigh on my conscience if others were hurt here because of me.

In and out, five minutes of investigation.

With a slight grimace I descended, keeping a lookout for anyone who might pose a problem. If a wayward arrow hit hard enough, there was the possibility of my backpack tumbling into the river and truly screwing me over. And making me pissed as hell, but that went without saying.

No arrows were fired my way. No shouts or cries about some random lady descending from the sky with a small mountain of bags behind her. No feelings of being watched yet either.

Which was odd, since I didn't think the wooden perches attached the top were anywhere near as old as the building itself, and would be the perfect place for scouts.

My feet touched down on the stone bridge and I took a moment to center myself, glancing both ways and straining my hearing for even the slightest tell of life here. 

Nothing.

Five minutes might have been an overestimate.

I felt a bit of relief at the possibility of not having to fight anyone two hours after leaving the Monastery and a return of my previous curiosity and excitement at the prospect of exploring just a bit. Not too long, not when so much depended on Winterhold and on me getting back home, but Arngeir had said to trust my gut before. And investigating a random building in the middle of nowhere was what led me to him in the first place.

I floated forward, deciding on the left tower for my first bit of investigation, backpack held high. It would be a bit too big to fit through the frame, but I could at least use it block off that passage so no one could surprise me from behind-

"If you're looking for leftover loot, I'm afraid you'll have to settle for dust, blood, and rotten pie."

I slammed on the metaphysical brakes, halting in mid-air with enough of a jolt that I felt the backpack shift a bit in my eight hands. A figure approached from the darkness of the tower passageway, and for the briefest of seconds, I could see how the shadows looked draconic as it slivered over the figure's form. 

A blink and the image was gone, a woman in a white and brown robes like Danica's standing just in the frame, leaning against the tower entrance with her arms crossed. Her hair was as blonde as mine and worked into a delicate braid that I had to admire, giving her a vague horned appearance in the right amount of light and shadow. 

Her hazel eyes almost seemed to shine with gold flecks and she held an amused smile on her face as she studied me.

"You can unclench your fists, mage." Her voice had an light tone to it, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

I did, not having realized having done so, and let out a slow breath. "Sorry," I said as I met her eyes, "I didn't think anyone would be here."

"If you got here a day ago, there wouldn't have been. I just arrived here last night, felt it would be a bit more comfy that camping out doors, especially since I heard the previous... tenants got the boot a few nights prior."

"Bandits?"

She nodded, "It seems they robbed the wrong kind of person. Sent some very scary folks to clean up their act. All that's left of them are overturned tables and blood splatters on the walls."

"Sounds like it might have been more comfortable sleeping in the woods then."

Her lips quirked up a bit, "I'm used to being surrounded by the blood from strangers."

I arched an eyebrow.

She smiled and gestured at her outfit, "Healer and priestess. I tend to go where I'm called for to tend to the worst kinds of patients."

"Ah," I said, looking her up and down. Totally clean and barely any sign of wrinkles on her clothes. They didn't look like they'd seen a lot of travel. "Must be pretty famous then. Desperate too, if they depended on a letter reaching you when someone was sick."

She laughed, "I suppose I am famous, in a sense, though I would chalk that up more to my family's brand than purely myself. And there are better ways than a letter, for the those who are truly, ah, desperate as you say."

What kind of family brand would that be?

The woman nodded at me, "And what of you, miss traveling mage. Such a unique outfit, one could almost mistake it for an Imperial uniform. Taking a break from the war effort, hm? Or perhaps on the run for making a bit of a mess to get that armor for yourself."

She gave my backpack a curious once over, "Among other things."

I shook my head, "A gift from some old friends. With a few minor touches. Beyond flying, I'm just an average law-abiding... mage."

"Well, I approve dearie, no matter the circumstance. A bit of red on it would work well I think, should you ever choose to add another touch to it."

A bit too close to someone else's theme, I thought. I gave her a tight smile, "I'll think about it."

"I'm sure you will, dearie." Her eyes crinkled a bit at her own smile back, and I got the feeling she fell between me and my mom in terms of age, and a bit like Tattletale in terms of smug.

My fists clenched.

"I wouldn't try your luck with the other tower either. I checked and it's more of the same. Big puddle of blood, old food, and a foul stool."

I nodded, not taking my eyes off of her.

We stood there, neither of us saying a word, degrees of fake smiles on our faces as the seconds passed. A knife cutting through air would have sounded too loud for the situation.

Her smile lowered slightly and her eyes glinted a bit more as she finally spoke, "Well, I suppose we best be on each other's ways. I'd like to get a bit more rest done before I pack up and leave. There are always more patients to attend to and it wouldn't do to keep them waiting."

"I won't keep you then," I said. I flew back and up slightly, "Hopefully, your workload lightens up soon."

"Oh, I hope not," she chuckled as she backed into the building. "It would be bad for business."

I said nothing, watching her form slither into the tower's darkness so smoothly that you could almost wonder if she was ever there at all.

For my part I flew higher and higher, only once the towers were a near speck did I turn away, flying away as fast as I could. Something was off about her, in more ways than one, to the point that I mentally adjusted her from Tattletale to Cradle without feeling bad about it. 

There was no rational. No tell that I could put a finger on to treat a brief conversation with a total stranger as though I was talking a monster. Was it the way she appeared so quickly after my landing? Her blasé attitude towards death as a so-called healer? Was it that shadow that plagued my vision?

The weird thing was that I didn't get the sense she was lying, not completely. Or she mired the lies in enough truth that I couldn't call it out explicitly. It was logic adjacent, all of the above and none of the above, just... just a bad feeling.

I unclenched my fists, but couldn't relax. Not completely, at any rate. The good feeling of soaring over the world was numbed, because for just that moment, I met someone who reminded me a bit too much about home in the worst of ways.

I just didn't understand why. 

I flew on and barely cared about the lush vegetation turning to more and more spots of snow.

⊙

Snow. Snow. Snow. Hill. Hill. Snow. Snow. Snowy Hill. More snow.

A lot of fucking snow.

The monotony of the journey was beginning to get to me, but I still wasn't willing to take a break. A real one, in any case. Lunch had been taken in the sky, carefully prepared bagels and cups of mead eaten while I floated over a landscape of white that didn't seem close to ending, careful to not lose my position while the wind began to whip up a flurry of snow around me.

At least it's not as bad as Hrothgar yet.

The wind wasn't magic, it seemed, just mother nature showing she didn't mess around. There was another benefit of a world without any modern buildings, in that I didn't have to worry about slamming into a skyscraper if I my vision was hampered by snow that occasionally collected on my forcefield faces. 

I did have to worry about accidentally flying too low and maybe clipping one of the occasional hillsides, and if I overcorrected and flew too high, it would be easy to get lost in the clouds lose my sense of direction. 

That would certainly be a problem, because Arngeir's notes on potential landmarks was a lot more barren on the map for this part, barring a few Words of Power he marked and the occasional ruin. He had explained to me that there were few if any villages in the open tundra and for good reason, considering the many, many hazards that existed. Natural and supernatural alike.

What landmarks remained were pockets of ruins jutting out of the snow, almost indistinguishable from the rocks and hills that took up real estate in this barren land, and time spent inspecting them meant time lost in my flight over to Winterhold. Which wasn't to say the ruins weren't interesting; many looked like giant bronze pipe organs or valves imbedded into the ground, and I had no idea how the hell that was possible. 

Yes, Arngeir had said the Dwemer were a race of engineers, but I was expecting something like Caesar's wooden bridge rather than what looked like pipes big enough to drive a small vehicle through. I couldn't even imagine the time and technology needed to build the materials in a medieval world like this, let alone place them underground.

Where did they lead? Why were they built like this? What happened to them?

So many questions, but far, far, far too little time. They were things to ponder after getting my bearings with each quick stop, rather than something I intended to investigate in any depth. The strange healer had soured any real wonder for that sort of thing for me.

I flew on, letting myself get distracted with my own thoughts.

Shearpoint was the next predicted landmark, and despite being one of the most important ones along the trip, it had some of the least amount of notes given my Arngeir. I couldn't expect him to know everything there was to know about the Voice and it's connection to me, but it was a bit disheartening that my closest lead was almost as clueless as I was in some ways.

A bit more for them to admit to keeping secrets from me, for their own reasons, even if potentially good ones.

Ease up there. Don't get caught in the mire.

Easier said than done, but it was doable. Jessica and a few other therapists had talked about how we judged other based on actions and ourselves based on intent, and made it an exercise to try and workout the intents behind the actions of others in our group. To ourselves of course, because there was no way our group in the Asylum was strong enough for a bunch of emotionally damaged individuals trying to pick at our thought processes in an open forum.

It wasn't a good memory, but it was a memory about attempting to be better, which helped a bit.

The wind was picking up as the day went on and I felt a real concern about getting lost in a blizzard and having to build a makeshift shelter while mostly blind once the night kicked in. Even in the daylight, the snow flurry was messing with my sense of distance and time, and I didn't want to imagine the kind of trouble I'd be in at night.

Shearpoint can't be that far from the last Dwemer ruin. An invisible hand brushed aside a mask of ice, already being replaced by more clusters of water crystals. It should be in an open area with noticeable foliage according the notes.

The fact that the notes were based on an elderly man's reminiscence was a bit concerning.

It felt like an hour, but it could have been longer or even shorter, before I saw something protrude slightly in the distance. I flew on, eyes narrowing, but there was something within me that just knew.

They felt like voices. Chants. A chorus that hummed with a power in my very being. 

It was here. I could feel it in my bones and in that inner star that they called a soul, wanting to reach out and grasp it.

Shearpoint and the Voice were nearer now, and I could practically see the wall, built on top of a precipice in a dramatic fashion. The chorus chanted even stronger and I wondered how much of this was me or the wall itself.

Does it matter? You want this Victoria. You crave it.

I did. I craved any chance at getting home, no matter how strange. But I was a seeker of knowledge and that meant I sought to know why I wanted these things so badly and what it meant for me.

I slowed my descent as the wall loomed closer, no longer obscured by the wall of snow swirled by the wind.

I froze and my eyes widened. It didn't react to my presence, but it didn't need to. It's existence was enough to make me feel colder than any chill.

Dragon.

Immediately I flew up and back away, eyes never leaving the slumbering creature perched atop the monument, I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest from how fast it was beating. Had the flurry been a shade stronger or darker, I would have quite literally flown face first into the Dragon and who knows what the fuck would have happened then.

You could have given me a warning Fragile One. The same goes for you Mirmulnir.

Maybe it was due to it being asleep that I wasn't feeling that pinch of worry like I had back in Valtheim. Or perhaps the chanting, now dimmer that I was further away, had meant to expect this kind of obstacle.

I was over a hundred feet away when I finally stopped, letting out slow and quiet breaths, forcing my focus on the blurrier lizard below me. It hadn't noticed me, at least not yet, but I was still hesitant to make any sudden movements or even breathe normally.

It wasn't fear of the Dragon that made me this way. If it was anything like Mirmulnir, I was pretty confident that I could handle any dragon that came my way. They were big, they were strong, they had decent ranged options with fire and ice, and they could take a punch for sure... but they weren't close to Lung or Lord of Loss, where they got so powerful that I needed an entire team to back me up. 

Nothing that could control an area like Lung did with his ocean of fire or morph constantly to become a different kind of threat like Lord of Loss did with his shapeshifting. If I had to make the comparison, they reminded me more of Bitch's mutant dogs or Bitter Pills hulked out experiments in terms of how much of a threat they could be. The danger was in being hounded or ambushed by more than one before you could really react to the attack.

No, I could defeat a single Dragon. It wouldn't even be that hard, relatively speaking.

But the risk to my Self? This 'Soul' that Arngeir believed I had? No. 

Fuck no. Those days and nights out in the woods by myself, feeling the memories and images of a lifetime far beyond my own was like a waking nightmare, and the way it had felt to absorb the knowledge into myself was indescribably violating. The possibility of being some sort of twisted monster that ate the souls and identity of my victims was too close to home for me.

Arngeir had said that the Dragons were a race that thrived on battle and my vague recollections of Mirmulnir didn't contradict that. But I was still scared for this random creature below me, because nothing and nobody deserved to be permanently trapped as a vague vestige bent to the whims of another. 

They were animals. Sapient and sentient, but no real tricks that made them unpredictable like Parahumans were. And that meant it was too dangerous for them to be around me. It was a weird reversal from my time fighting the Fallen, where I had wanted to be gentle but couldn't, but now I did and could... but that meant leaving a dragon around for someone to stumble upon in this weather.

Worse yet, what happens if the dragon decided to attack a random settlement? Mirmulnir seemed to have strike out at Whiterun for no apparent reason and Helgen was burnt to the ground a few days before that. All the patterns so far indicated that Dragons tended to go after large collections of people and they didn't hold back at all. I hadn't been there that long, but the screams I'd heard and the dead I'd seen when we crashed through buildings said more than enough.

What do I do, I asked my invisible friend. What's the right call here?

No law or process to outline what to do. I don't know what's right.

Reach out and try not to regret it.

I softly rubbed the burnt part of my armor, the rough sensation muted by the bandages wrapped around my hand, reminders of what letting indecision control me for a second had cost in the far and recent past.

I had an option then. I just had to hope it was for the best.

Flying back and up even further, till the wall and Dragon were no longer visible through the small storm, I took a look at my map and decided on my course. It put me a bit off the path I wanted, but it was also possibly a target for the Dragon as well.

I set course for Windhelm and for a potential reunion with Ulfric.

⊙

The campfire was like a beacon in the night and I made a beeline straight for it, diving through the wind and snow, having the Fragile One's hands wipe away residual ice to make my landing clearer. It couldn't have been later than four o'clock in the afternoon, but the cloudy sky gave off a feeling that one could mistake for beginning of sundown. Lowered visibility, dark shades of grey, and cold all around.

It wasn't just the hope of a warm fire to make myself feel alive again that had me rush down so quickly. The camp was also far too close for comfort to the Dragon's lair, almost in a direct path between there and Windhelm, and if that monster were to wake up any time soon then that light would no doubt draw it's attention.

Please don't be hostile, I thought desperately. I don't want to kick your asses to save them.

Well, knowing my luck, they'd think I was the bigger threat than the Dragon.

I slowed down, practically hovering over the very edge of the large campsite, dozens of armed men and women warming themselves up with broth or going in and out of tents. One of them was far larger than the others, made up of many raw animal hides stitched together in an almost haphazard way.

In many ways, it reminded me of Claudya's setup, if on a far smaller scale, and less... regal for lack of a better word. No steel armor here, mostly leathers, a few scaled armors, furs, and horned helmets that looked really good. There were no banners of dragons, instead replaced with a stylized bear on the few tents that draped them along posts.

I dropped down into the campsite, loud and obvious enough that mostly everyone would notice my presence, and settled my backpack behind me.

"Mage!" Someone shouted and everyone rose up from around the fire, giving me a safe distance, their hands going to weapons but not yet pulling them free. Yet.

Well, at least they haven't surrounded me with archers. So far, so good.

A bearded man exited the largest tent around the fire, followed by a pair of soldiers, hands on their sword hilts. The man himself was tall, possibly the tallest person I'd seen so far, and his armor was far more unique than the others. A bear skin for a cape, plated of metal running down his abdomen, his pauldrons and bracers armed with layers of metal and bone, with similar armor for his shins guards and boots. Attached to his fur kilt was a small ax, carved with an intricated design, much like the metals of his outfit.

All in all, I would have loved to appreciate the aesthetics in another time and place.

"Mage!" His voice had a think accent I couldn't place, "State your business with the Stormcloaks or continue on your way! We do not look for trouble, but we are more than willing to stomp it out!"

I blinked. Okay, that made things a lot easier. Now, I had to get them to take me seriously, and hope that my rep meant something here.

I shouted back, "I'm Antares, the Dragonborn, and I've come to warn you about a Dragon nearby! You are all in great danger!"

Shocked murmurs rippled through the camp, everyone except the leader giving each other nervous glances. Not so different from Whiterun, in that regard.

The leader narrowed his eyes, taking me in, "Dragonborn, you claim? I heard she was wreathed in light and rip out the fangs of a dragon with her bare hands. Not a mage of such... stature. Or in what looks dangerously like Imperial garments."

Another rumble of words passed between soldiers and I felt my patience flare slightly, tempered by the fact that word of mouth was absolutely going to be unreliable in this kind of world, and they had every reason to be suspicious of some random stranger claiming to be someone they never met before. The armor wasn't helping matters either.

Running on a timer that I couldn't see just made it a bit harder to sympathize.

Different tact then.

I made a show of crouching down, one hand reaching through the snow to grip the ground beneath me. There was a jostling of weapons, but the leader held up a hand, causing all motion to stop. Praying that the light wasn't enough to give away the trick, I had three of Fragile One's limbs spear into the dirt around my arm, careful so as to not make it too obvious.

With a heft, I brought all four limbs up, and with it a sizeable amount of earth. Seventy percent of it crumbled away, but the ice and cold had frozen it deep enough that what I held up could probably have reached my knees if I planted it on the ground. 

Standing straight up, I met the leaders eyes as I flicked the clump of earth off into the distance, a trail of crumbs falling behind as the projectile vanished from view. Whether it was distance, the wind, or it simply dissolved too much, the impact couldn't be heard.

Besides the crackle of the campfire, there was utter silence in the camp.

"Think I can't rip a fang off now?" I asked.

The leader looked off into the distance and then back to me. He nodded, "I'm Frorkmar Banner-Torn and I lead this camp for the time being, Dragonborn. What's this about a Dragon?"

"It's roosting at Shearpoint," I said, happy to be moving along. "You know where that is?"

"Aye, an ancient shrine, or so I'm told. Cursed is what I've also heard, but never that a Dragon roosted there."

"Well, you know about as much as I do about this then. I stumbled across it while it was asleep, so we shouldn't have to worry about it following me. What we do have to worry about is that these guys seem to love hitting high population centers. Helgen and Whiterun were both hit hard."

Frorkmar frowned, "I've heard of both and of other hold being sundered. Even companies of our soldiers on patrol. I've also heard tales of your slaying of the beast in Whiterun. Why not kill this creature while it's defenseless?"

"Magic reasons," I not quite lied, "Something that I really can't afford to go into at the moment without wasting a lot of time. All I care about right now is getting you guys out of its path of destruction and warning Windhelm, because I have zero doubt that it's a target."

He nodded at his men, who rushed to other tents and shouted out orders to get moving. To me he spoke, "We will take you to Windhelm, to discuss the Dragon issue with Ulfric Stormcloak. I will not say I trust you completely, but that kind of strength your levitating to our camp makes a kind of sense."

"For what it's worth, I've met Ulfric before. During the Helgen attack."

His eyes widened in surprise, "I've heard nothing about him meeting the Dragonborn when he returned to his Keep. No correspondence has mentioned it in our reports."

I shrugged, "To be fair, we didn't know I was the Dragonborn then." 

Frorkmar gave me a grave look, "If what you say is true, then that relieves some of my worries. But we must make a quick stop first as we return to Windhelm, as per Ulfric's orders. A potential threat to our borders has made itself known in the worst of ways."

I frowned, "With that Dragon close by, it's a pretty big risk to make a detour. I saw what happened to Whiterun and it was not pretty. "

"So I've heard, but this could be just as disastrous if left unchecked. Worse, in some ways, considering what we heard from the Vigilants. I do not take their warnings lightly."

I gave him a disbelieving look, "What the hell could be worse than Dragons?"

Chapter Text

⊙

The earliest childhood memory he could recall was that of chains. 

The sounds of chain rattling as man, woman, and child shambled from place to place, always carrying a heavy load in their arms. Whether it was stone, tools, or the corpse of a fellow prisoner who could do no more, hands were never empty in the prison.

Chains had a certain smell as well, several smells once you learned to really look for them. The smell of rust of course, usually followed by a shallow fantasy of those chains shattering with a mighty pull and one making their mad dash toward freedom. The smell of blood, followed the inevitable realization of death that awaited each and every soul that were kept in those mines to toil away at soil and rock. The smell of iron, a constant reminder of their harsh reality and purpose.

The iron was by far the worst. Rust was a fantasy and blood was a dark escape. Iron meant the chains were strong and that one was not near the end of their story in that dark tale of slavery.

He did not know who named him Farengar. Certainly not the Thalmor, who preferred their mix of 'cur', 'welp', 'fool', and 'worm', each often punctuated by a spark of lightning to the back. Probably not his fellow prisoners, who dared not even whisper, lest even an echo disturb the wind near their ever-present wardens and thus incur their wrath. Try as he might, then and now, he could not remember the life he had before the chains and the mines.

It could not have been that long, as he were a child, and he wondered if it was by magic or by the ever mysterious brain itself that removed his origins.

These were the things he contemplated as he slaved away at ores and crystals and he imagined his brethren were not so different. Children such he were given 'softer' treatment by the Thalmor. Twelve hours of mining mandated rest of about half that amount, while the elders were to continue on for full days. Those who passed out were forced awake or put down depending on the mood of the guards.

He did not think there was any real love for children, in the decision to give them more rest. He could imagine it helped breed the distrust and animosity within the mines that prisoners had for each other, betraying or lying about betrayals to earn good will from the Thalmor, such more food and water. 

Perhaps it was a means of conditioning them like dogs, molding them into this system of life so that it could be ingrained within the few people who bred within the prison's confines.

It was very possibly both, tinged with sadism and the thrill of seeing others suffer under their control.

During those periods of rest where he was forced to share a shallow pit with hundreds of other children, many of whom had soiled themselves or cried silently on his shoulder, Farengar would watch the torches on the cave walls with great reverence. The flames brought warmth in dampness, scared off the spiders and skeevers that preyed on the young and sick, and one had to handle them with care, lest they be burned for their ignorance.

So different from the hand Farengar had been dealt with.

Fire, he thought and called himself. Even his thoughts were quiet, for there was no telling if they had magic that could pick words from the mind. I want to be Fire. I want to hold it in my hands, shape it, make it mine.

Sometimes, when he had those secret thoughts, Farengar could feel that heat under his palms and knew it could be done. He did not know how, though he was eager to learn, but he knew he could.

Which meant he knew something that those who ran his life did not. 

Secret-Fire. Farengar Secret-Fire.

It was a childish name, unoriginal and nonsensical, but it was because it was such that he could look back on his younger self with gratitude. To find some measure of control over his life by not only keeping his abilities a secret from the Thalmor, but to also grant himself a name of his own based on pure wonder.

In the months of back-breaking labor he was forced to endure, of literally kicking bodies aside when they fell in the way of his pickaxe, his two secrets kept him sane. It wasn't until Esbern freed them and the young boy had traveled the world in search of knowledge and refuge, that Farengar realized that he might have more than a touch of madness.

Farengar raised a hand. 

Magelight, he thought, and felt the magic flow through his palms. Less than a second passed before the spark of light flew forth, illuminating the passage way before him as it struck the far wall. No longer hidden within the shadows, a crowd of skeletons turned his way, bones creaking as they regarded the interloper in their home.

"Unfortunate," Farengar said, "I'm sorry your slumber has been disturbed. Please, return to your caskets, and allow your descendants to clean up our own mess."

There was no response from the walking remains beyond the crackle of bones as they rushed towards Farengar, glowing blue eyes focused entirely on him. 

He sighed. What makes you so different from ghosts?

Ghosts could be reasoned with, to an extent, and were often tied down to this plane beyond their own accord. The general thought for skeletons was that they were similar in that regard, bound to resurrect unwillingly during times of strife or fear. Why and how varied, and more often than not, there was no real explanation for their awakening.

And they don't like giving hints either.

Still, it was worth the attempt. Not to say that he was the first one to try and communicate with a skeleton, but he felt he was definitely the most consistent. It would sully his professional integrity if he didn't continue to test such situations after all.

With barely a thought Farengar drew forth fire and sparks in both of his palms, collecting power as he charged the spell. A brief input of willpower, and a fireball was launched off at high-speeds, the shower of sparks following soon after but landing first among the group. Electricity lanced through and across bone, skeletal bits popping and chipping off from the power, weakening to the point that the fireballs collision blew through half their number before dissipating.

Five remained, still approaching despite the electric assault, but Farengar felt no tension in the threat before him. Two fell before they could reach him halfway, and the last three shattered like their brethren as another fireball burst upon them.

Farengar relinquished the spells in both hands, feeling the magicka receding to his core, and watched as the Magelight spell slowly dimmed into nothingness. He strained his ears as he felt his inner coils of power recharge themselves naturally, breathing just a bit harder.

He could hear more bones creaking further down the Hall of the Dead, shuffling back and forth aimlessly as whatever dark power reanimated them naturally kept them on patrol. He frowned, annoyance creeping into his empathy. 

He hated this. The dark, the small tunnels filled with the dead, and the rattling of bones down the way. It would be too easy to get caught in the memories of his youth and he had long since moved on from being the slave boy born to die as part of some malicious Thalmor plot.

Farengar was no stranger when it came to battle, but he took no pleasure nor pride in doing so, despite how necessary it tended to be. Surrounded by many hot-blooded Nord soldiers and adventurers, he found that many of them had never truly experienced horror or terror. Not the thrill of battle that got the blood pumping and the primal part of the brain energized, but the understanding that this would be the end. Utterly helpless with no strength to fight back, no plans in mind, and no tools at your disposal.

He would never wish it upon another, but a part of him would always hold it against them.

Farengar conjured another Magelight, dispatching the grim shadows that had taken over, and the darker thoughts in his mind.

The past was the past and it would stay that way. For now. In the present, he had a Hall to clear and an exhausted Danica to attend to.

The court mage strode forth, his not-so secret fire in one hand.

⊙

The young boy wasn't crying, which was impressive.

Granted, one half of his face had been melted off, the burn so bad that skin and meat had almost seemed to mold into the underlying skull. The worst and most lethal damage had been stalled by a minor potion of healing, which had done it's job in preventing the boy from succumbing to infection for the time being. The same was true for the child's neck and left shoulder, an ugly wound from the recent attack.

Had he been capable of crying on that side of his face, Farengar would have been impressed for an entirely different reason.

Arcadia stood beside the two, hands wringing as she spoke, "I know you're busy running errands for the Jarl, but there hasn't been an available healer for over a day and I ran out of the supplies for healing potions. Between the Companions and the guards and the ingredients I lost in the fire.... You don't have to fix it all-"

The boy twitched.

"-Just enough that I can finish the job when my supplies get here tomorrow."

Farengar gave Arcadia a smile, "There's no need to wait till then, nor for you to apologize. I'll take of this well enough."

She nodded, her own smile weak and unsure.

It felt awkward to smile, to give a positive attitude in the midst of a tragedy, and it was definitely not something he was used to. But he liked Arcadia and he liked doing business with her. She was not magically inclined, so to speak, but they were both alchemical workers in their craft. 

She had done favors for him and him for her when they needed it. This was the least he could do.

The untouched half was as dry as the ruined counterpart, brown iris staring dispassionately past Farengar and into the realm of the subconscious daydream. Or nightmare, he supposed. It was not the first person he had seen whom would be lost in the reminiscence of nightmares, now or then.

Golden light enveloped the boy and Farengar felt his magicka dip lower than usual. Not so dangerous that the wounds would revert, but the fact that he had not fully recharged from the Hall of the Dead pointed to an exhaustion of his spirit that needed attention. Still, it wouldn't do to lose face at the moment by stopping halfway.

The light weaved through and over the boy's skin, the flesh reknitting itself as it soaked in the pure energies of life. Seconds passed before Farengar ended the spell, feeling his reservoir of magicka dim just as the light itself did.

In all respects, the child was normal; his face no longer divided by deep red scar tissue, his left eye now clear, and even his hair had grown to match that of the rest of his self. To be a child was a blessing in more than one way, his spiritual identity having not adjusted to his scarred form from the week-ago attack like an adult's would have. The healing spell wasn't as powerful as Danica's, but it did what it needed to do for this one.

Farengar could not say the same for the boy's mind. His stare was still distant, even as he rubbed his newfound skin and hair, not really seeing the world for what it was anymore. Or perhaps it was better to say that he was seeing a side of the world that few truly did.

Arcadia embraced the child from behind, gently caressing his hair, but the boy paid her no mind. His was not a wound that magic or a hug could easily mend.

You would not be the first nor last, child. Farengar had already seen to many who continued to weep through the nights, many who tried to call upon the spirits of the lost for that one final solace in goodbye, and even more who simply vanished. Walked out of the gates and never returned.

This child had it better than most. Arcadia was a good soul.

"Thank you," she said. She had tears in her eyes. "I was so worried that I couldn't help him anymore or that his family might not recognize him with the burns-"

The boy didn't react to that, but she stopped all the same, her words lost. He had wondered if the boy was related in some fashion, failing to recall any mention of sibling or child, but now it all made sense. Another lost child wandering Whiterun and a potential new face in the ever-growing orphanage.

Farengar stuff his hands within his sleeves, "Now is a time to turn to our neighbors for help. It is to be given as a matter of course. Please, Arcadia, do not fret about this kindness I would give you."

Arcadia smiled weakly, not looking him in his eyes. She tended to be bashful when it came to praise or kind words directed at her, but at least it was closer to the woman he enjoyed conversing with on his idle days.

Her smile grew weaker as she looked around her, "I'm wondering if the help we are getting from these neighbors is worth it."

Farengar followed her gaze.

All around them were Imperial soldiers patrolling the streets of Whiterun, carrying supplies out of ruined homes and businesses, or guiding citizens to new locations. The homes in this district were mostly vacant, a victim of the battle between Antares and the Dragon. Already he had heard miraculous tales from the locals; how she was immune to flames that could scorch steel, entire homes torn apart from their collisions, and a daring duel in the sky.

A dragon skeleton being harvested by the Empires army outside of Whiterun's own walls.

The result was a trail of destruction that left many survivors homeless and penniless. Alive in the short term, but the cold of Skyrim showed little mercy to circumstance. 

In that regard, the Imperials were a boon and a life saver, supplying tents and food supplies while rebuilding took place. On the other hand, for every one Whiterun guard, three Imperials were patrolling those same routes, strangers in a city that felt divided on the issue of Civil War. 

Many of the citizens gave them the same concerned look that Arcadia had as well, a mix of distrust and anxiety in their eyes and posture.

"I do admit, I find myself... conflicted about this," Farengar said diplomatically. He looked to where a cluster of children and a guard sat together near some barrels. "But I think there is some good to come out of this situation."

The guard was watching rapt attention as a young girl stood atop a barrel, head held high as other kids used sacks as makeshift fans, giving the weak illusion of her hair blowing gallantly in the wind. A boy stood beside the girl and her barrel, speaking with an intensity that had him fritter back and forth, the girl taking dramatic poses at certain parts of the story he was regaling to the guards.

Farengar wondered if the guard truly believed what he was told. It couldn't have been any stranger than the truth.

Arcadia sighed, "Perhaps so. I confess to not knowing nearly as much as the esteemed court wizard in these kinds of matters."

"Ah," Farengar smiled, "That's a bit of the old Arcadia shining through."

Another smile, a bit stronger, "And I didn't even need a speech potion to do it."

"As much as I would enjoy this company, I'm afraid I must be heading off." Farengar glanced at the sun, "General Tullius will be arriving soon, and Jarl Balgruuf will want my support, for as much help as I would be in such matters. If you need anything, do not fret to tell me."

Arcadia hugged the child harder, "You've been too kind as it is. You'll spoil me."

"I can't imagine doing so. Souls like you deserve it."

"Begone Wizard," she joked. "Don't let this soul get you in trouble. Come, Todvmir. We'll search near the East Gate again."

Farengar watched the pair walk away. The boy's eyes never lost that far away look to them and it bothered Farengar.

As he trekked up to the Cloud District, the eyes remained in his mind. Much like the darkness of the caves, such a gaze was a way to travel to that cursed time of his life where the world seemed built to hurt and not much else. It was only with a great many years that he could pull himself out of it's depths and into the man he was today.

He hoped Todvmir would be strong enough to do the same.

⊙ 

"War is here, Jarl Balgruuf, and it's beckoning at the gates of your city."

"I would have no part in it."

General Tullius didn't look impressed with that reply. In Farengar's estimation, he doubted much ever actually impressed the general in his life. The man was aged, older than anyone else in the room, but in that age he carried an air of nobility and control. There was no sign of weakness in how time had taken it's toll, no fat that one might assume of someone in such a high position, and more than enough steel in his gaze to cut down those who couldn't handle his presence.

Farengar didn't see this man as a warrior. His experience with warriors was that of bluster and arrogance, and while he would not say the general wasn't arrogant as he addressed Jarl Balgruuf, it was arrogance born of experience rather than delusion. Their eyes were full of mirth and adventures.

His were of business and intensity.

No, General Tullius of the Empire's Legion was no warrior. He was a soldier. Cut from the same cloth as Irileth.

Said woman caught his eye, her expression tight as she observed the general beside Balgruuf's throne, hand not quite on her blade. Looking at her, one would never have guessed that she had once dragged her sole surviving soldier a mile back to Whiterun despite the fact that she had been nearly encased in ice, ready and rearing to combat the dreaded Dragon.

Balgruuf had made her survival paramount.

"I would not be so hasty," General Tullius replied. "The Empire has respected your neutrality in the war effort because of your history of loyalty and fairness to our messengers.  We've ensured the roads to your hold remain untouched by Stormcloak infiltrators or their bandit retinue, and have kept the Thalmor uninterested in the lives of your citizens."

"The Thalmor," Balgruuf practically spat the word. "One could argue that the Empire protecting it's citizens from their brutality is to be expected as a right, not a privilege."

"And one could argue that the only reason it is not such a right is because the Stormcloaks brought the attention on themselves, and on Skyrim as a whole, Jarl Balgruuf."

Balgruuf frowned, "To blame one for wanting to worship their faith in peace is both misguided and deceitful."

"Careful." He didn't growl, but there was an undercurrent to Tullius's words that set Farengar's nerves on edge, "Words like that sound awfully close to treason, dear Jarl."

Everyone was silent as the implication made itself known. Irileth looked furious, and while Farengar felt the same, he was also more than aware of the situation at hand. Whiterun was in dire straights, more than a quarter of the city burned down, the guards on low supply, and moral at an all time low. 

They were not in a position to act without severe caution.

Tullius's second in command raised a hand, turning to her superior, "If I may, sir?"

"You may," was the begrudging reply. "See if you can reason with stubbornness and pride."

"As the Spriggan said to the oak, General." Balgruuf glowered at the man, "As the Spriggan said to the oak."

"Jarl Balgruuf," she spoke up before the general could reply, "You know me and of my honor, am I correct?"

"Legate Rikke, of course. We've met and shared bread on more than a few occasions. The stories of you and your father are well known among our circles."

Rikke offered him a smile, "And yours as well. The same goes for your hand, Irileth, and that of Farengar Secret-Fire."

Farengar blinked in surprise, "Flattery is appreciated and unexpected."

"And deceptive," Irileth said, echoing Balgruuf.

"Flattery is not my intention, not in such serious times as what we live in. I am merely laying bare to you all that I know you, because I am you. We are all brothers and sisters in Skyrim, despite how the Stormcloaks have taken the calling for their own misguided purposes."

Balgruuf arched an eyebrow, "An interesting term to describe your sworn enemies."

"Indeed," Tullius grumbled.

"Because, when we get down to it, that's what they are. They have deluded themselves with a fantasy of political and military upheaval that isn't remotely feasible and it's hurting all of us. The Empire and Skyrim are paying the price in blood for the actions of a dissenting minority, who can only respond with blood and violence, not negotiations. And that's what we are here today to do with you, Jarl Balgruuf. Negotiate."

Eloquently said, Farengar thought. It would have convinced him at the least.

General Tullius nodded as well, though he kept that unhappy grimace.

"If negotiations are to be had," Balgruuf said, "Then let us start on expectations. Our obligations to each other have otherwise been met and I am not so willing to throw my hand into the fires of war."

Tullius glanced around the room, "Is the Dragonborn here?"

A pin could have dropped and heard across Tamriel. Eyes darted across the room, even among the guards of both sides. Farengar crossed his arms, observing the general. 

"Antares is not present at this time," Balgruuf said. He sounded uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Has she, at some point, pledged allegiance to Whiterun? I ask on your honor, of course."

"No. She has not."

"Then no, our obligations have not been met." General Tullius smiled and it was as sharp as his tongue, "According to the meandering letter that your late Proventus Avennici penned to us, Antares the Dragonborn has no affiliation with Whiterun. She, and a fair few of my soldiers, are in fact banned from Whiterun and would be treated as hostile if they were to return. Furthermore, it appears that it was the Dragonborn who argued for the safety and healing of my soldiers, against threats of execution and imprisonment.

"My debt for those lives saved belong to her and her alone. Here and now, my forces bringing you aid in your time of need? Supplying you food, defenses, and much needed healing? An isolated, altruistic action for a Keep that has a long history of loyalty and honor."

He could have slapped the Jarl and his children, and the blow would not have been nearly as strong. Legate Rikke didn't look proud nor disappointed, simply taking a deep breath as her superior took charge.

General Tullius crossed his arms, "I agree with my Legate. Negotiations are in order. Not just on the War or about the Dragons, but about reparations and taxing-"

"And what we could do to lessen those two, I take it." Balgruuf grimaced.

Tullius nodded, "That would be an option we could consider."

He's got us. Right in the palm of his hand and we sent the letter that made it happen.

The two leaders continued their political spar, even though the answer was as clear as day to all within the great halls of Dragonsreach.

Whiterun would be an Imperial aligned city by the end of the night. Jarl Balgruuf could possibly argue against supplying resources and soldiers to the frontline due to the damages inflicted, but even symbolic support would send ripples through all of Skyrim. Continued funds for the Keep and a very real target on their backs from the Stormcloaks.

All important, but Tullius had touched on something far greater in mentioning Antares. The Dragonborn. A warrior capable of driving a Dragon into the ground and shaking the earth with her mighty blows.

She was the key to the shackles of tyranny that the Dragons posed to all of Tamriel and no one in Whiterun had any idea of where to look. Even the few messengers they could spare to venture up to High Hrothgar had found she had left, her exact location unknown according to the Greybeards, though it was generally believed to be a falsehood.

There was only one person he could turn to now if they wanted a chance at tracking Antares down.

Farengar could only hope that Delphine wouldn't get into too much trouble along the way.

Chapter Text

It was the cleanest crime scene I'd ever seen, but the story it told was one of absolute chaos.

The door to the home had been torn apart, fragments of wood and iron littering the floor and embedded into nearby walls. Snow had piled up near the entrance to the point that it could have been a tripping hazard for anyone else, but the chill it let into the house allowed the footprints of snow left by the attackers to still be visible even now.

It served as the breadcrumbs for what happened here initially; five steps in, a cabinet once filled with pottery of some kind was tossed to the floor, surrounded by pieces of clay. An imprint atop the obstacle where someone's foot used it for leverage, leading to a collapsed dining table and wooden utensils scattered around the room. Someone slamming into or slamming someone on top of it.

From there it become hard to impossible to decipher the exact sequence of events that took place. Were the nail marks carved deep into the wood floors before or after someone busted a hole through the roof and second floor? Had they been eating when the attack happened or did they know someone was targeting them?

There were no weapons left behind that I could see. Nothing sharper than a fork near the table mess. Had it been so fast that no one had time to react or was this home just not equipped to defend itself? Both?

No way to tell.

I flew up to the hole leading to the second floor, a peak into the room above, Fragile One encased around me in case of any surprise guest still remaining. Nothing and no one; the snow had filtered through the hole and covered much of the room in white powder, but I got the sense it was mostly for storage rather than any living abode. I could see the outlines of small barrels and crates, some blankets, but no signs of life.

No signs of struggle either.

I noted how the wood was frayed from the impact, bristles and splinters bending slightly downwards. I frowned and dropped down.

Back down to the main room, turning to follow the claw marks along the floor boards. Here and there, it looked like the person being dragged tried to reach out for chairs or for purchase on the walls, leaving furrows for a brief moment before going back to floor. Judging by how the marks ended near a broken window, I got the feeling it didn't help much other than delay them for second. I inspected the window, noting how jagged and uneven the break in the glass was, hoping to find a trail of glass or footstep in the snow.

No luck there either. The attack had happened long enough ago that any trail had been covered up by the wind and flurry. Nothing remained on the leftover pieces of glass either.

Frustrating. And concerning on multiple levels.

Where was all the blood?

It was almost like the opposite of the Navigators incident in how it expressed what had happened. Where one let the carnage speak for itself, the other let the lack of fill in the blanks.

I flew out the house, giving it a wary glance before heading back to Frorkmar. All around him, Stormcloak soldiers shuffled in and out of homes, torches lit and swords out. Moments would pass before the soldiers left the buildings, but there was never anyone new leaving with them. More soldiers were leaving the mill and townhouse, all of them keeping their heads on a swivel and their backs to each other as best they could.

Frorkmar stood alone, a lit torch in one hand as he crouched, inspecting other torches gathered into a pile. They were charred and covered with bits of frost, out in the cold for an unknown amount of time.

Beyond some need to know information, like where we were headed and what potential dangers to be wary of, there hadn't been much conversation after we parted from the camp as we trekked down the long road to this Mill slash Quarry. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

On the one hand, I was sort of happy to not have to go over the long and complex story of what I was doing out in the middle of nowhere, or asking about Mirmulnir's death. On the other hand, that meant I wasn't entirely sure how to approach him or his people, which made for a slightly awkward hour long journey.

The whispers from his soldiers that I occasionally caught didn't help.

I coughed lightly as I got near, getting his attention. Frorkmar stood straight up as I landed on - but not breaking the surface - of the snow, wiping ice off his gloves against his kilt. Standing at full height, he must have been at least six and a half feet tall, with enough muscle that I could imagine some of the fittest capes back home would impressed.

As much as his beard hid his expression, the glower in his eyes made his frustration more than apparent.

"Dragonborn," he nodded. "No one?"

I shook my head, "Not a soul. It looked like a two-pronged attack to me. Someone bashed in the door, knocked around some furniture, and a second burst in through the rooftop and second floor. Whoever was inside tried to hold out as best they could, but they were dragged through a window."

The stomp of boots caught my attention as more soldiers came out of a house nearby, crunching and kicking at snow with their footsteps, helmets shaking angrily. I could see in the body language of some watchershow upset they were at the sight. They talked for a moment as the group convened, before heading to another home, the helmet shaker left to stand watch outside.

"Same story for us here," Frorkmar said. "We call this place Anga's Mill, even though it's not technically her mill and it's not just a mill either. Ennodius Papius was it's previous owner, before he went mad from debt and fled into the wilderness a year ago, and this place held a quarry and town home for workers. Some extra homes for those with families, obviously. Must have had almost fifty people at it's biggest."

He turned around, canvassing the area, and that frustration in his eyes dipped into despair. "Not a soul, as you say."

"I know it's a shallow hope, but... any chance of them just packing up and heading out? That's not a thing here?"

"Not unless they desired a shallow grave of ice and dirt." He kicked at the pile beneath his feet, "The signs were all there for Talos knows how long. The lack of consistent patrols through these roads, no return messages to Dawnstar or Winterhold for supplies, the talk of ghost sightings by some travelers-"

"Ghosts?"

"The echoes of the lost or the damned. Or the unworthy perhaps. But they tend to appear in places where death and terror has wrought or would soon come. Like they can almost feel it as a spirit. And where ghosts linger, other undead shall be as well."

I blinked, "Just to be clear here, you're saying... what? Zombies? Ghouls?"

"Vampires," He spat out the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Damned demons. I can practically imagine how it happened and it's close to what you described in that home. The animals were first most likely. To rid themselves of a potentially noisy obstacle and to deprive them of livestock. The most able bodied would leave to Windhelm, or perhaps Winterhold for whatever foolish reason one would want to visit that den of mages, and then they would be picked off by the flock of them. Cowards!"

I almost can't believe it.

"I've heard about them before," I said, softly. I thought of my brief confusion back in Whiterun. He was a lot more tense than he was an hour ago, "Is this their usual MO?"

"Their what?"

"Method of operating," I clarified. "Sorry, shorthand where I'm from."

He shook his head, "I'm not an expert or a Vampire Hunter. I'm just going from what I remember when I was a boy, thinking of being an adventurer back when the world made sense, and before I had any for myself. Two times in my life that I remember seeing the aftermath of a vampire attack, but both of them were years apart and only targeted small homes on the outskirts."

I noted the terrain, "It definitely fills that latter category."

"Aye, but this Mill and Quarry is too big. I remember the Vigilants saying once that vampires were like vultures, picking off those who wouldn't be missed, soon or ever. And again, small homes, usually the work of a single vampire."

"But you said a flock of them?"

He nodded, "A flock indeed. Talos knows how long they staked out this Quarry, picking them off until the folks started getting antsy about none returning. You say you believe the first vampire was a distraction for their brethren to attack from above, aye?"

"I didn't say vampires did it, but yes, basically that."

"Then I imagine the same was true for the whole town. A small number of them made a ruckus, a distraction, or did something that caught the eye. None of them noticed the others coming in for the real kill. Or if they did, it was too late to stop them."

I crossed my arms, imagining it, letting the scene play out in my head.

What would I have done, to do the same? Maybe it didn't even have to be too violent at first. A stranger coming into town, asking for help, playing the part of the victim to get everyone's attention. The rest come in from behind the corners or atop buildings and a quiet invasion takes place.

Until it stops being quiet and doors get kicked down. Roofs caved in.

"They don't need to ask permission?"

Frorkmar gave me an odd look. Somewhere between confused and angry at my question. "Permission to do what? Raid the town?"

"Never mind," I said. "Vampire folklore from my home. Need to ask permission to enter a home, no reflections, and crosses hurt them."

"Well, I aint heard of any of those." He brushed snow out of his beard, still looking at me warily, "But I hear even a vampire fears a steady blade, especially one of silver, and they detest fire. Know any fire spells, Dragonborn?"

I huffed, "Magic and I have a complicated history at the moment."

"Never heard of a mage who didn't know a fire spell."

Never called myself a mage. Technically.

Moving on, I commented, "I still can't believe not an ounce of blood was shed here. Especially if twenty to fifty people lived here. Did they literally lick the glass and floor clean?"

"Hungry enough?" A sneer passed through his expression, "I bet they would... but no, not here. Feels odd to tell a mage this, but vampires are your kin."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"As in, they practice spells and such. Naturally so. Their curse gives them abilities that good folk consider to be unnatural. Drains the life and blood out of ya, making them stronger as they consume your soul and turning you into one of their own. Do you truly know so little?"

He was upset and it was making him more than a little testy. I could understand him, since I was still on that invisible timer with that Dragon in Shearpoint, even with this new situation tossed at my feet.

I sighed, "Being Dragonborn doesn't come with any instructions and everything I've picked up now has been on the road."

"Ahuh." He didn't sound entirely convinced, "You picked up the power to kill Dragons, but nothing else useful?"

I gave him a hard look.

Maybe he remembered the boulder I chucked into the horizon, because his features softened, "I- Hm. That wasn't needed to be said."

"I get it," I replied. "Really. This whole... thing is fucked. Let's just remember we're not enemies here."

"You may dress like one, but I can look past that. Yes, forgive me Dragonborn, I did not mean to offend."

"Apology noted."

A shuffle in the background caught my eye.

"Speaking of looking past things." I pointed, "Is that really necessary?"

A group of soldiers were leaving one of the abandoned homes, all four of them carrying a sack in one hand. A few of the bags had the hilts of swords and what looked like basic tools poking out from the top, while the others seemed to clink like they held loose change.

I could see other soldiers doing the same and not always with weapons or money. Logs of wood were being tossed onto a wagon while more of the men and women carried fruits and bread to someone I assume was in charge of tracking the stolen goods. Clothes were wrapped in bundles or around other supplies, even what looked like children clothes that would fit literally no one here.

Frorkmar took a glance then shrugged tiredly, "It's salvageable."

"It's looting, when we don't even know if these people are dead. They could be alive and needing our help!"

"I have no doubt that they are alive, Dragonborn." Frorkmar looked grim as he spoke, "It would be a waste of blood for the Vampire to slay their prey, when they can feed off of them for months if done carefully. Yes, no doubt of them being alive in my opinion."

My eyes were wide, "Then we need to start tracking them down! I can cover the air, but-"

"But you'll find nothing but empty forests and the occasional beast trekking through it." He gestured with his torch, "Look around you Dragonborn. There's nothing here to track. The wind and snow have covered every track imaginable. The Vigilants alerted us too late."

"You're saying that there's no hope for them? That's it?"

He sighed, "I'm saying that the only one who can save them is Talos himself. Or that they can find the strength finish themselves before the infection can take hold of their souls."

We both let silence carry the weight of that statement for a moment. It probably wasn't right, but I felt a bit of my earlier goodwill melt away.

"Fucking why?"

"Because Skyrim has lost it's fangs," Frorkmar said. There was a dark look to his eyes as he met mine, "And it will remain pathetic and weak as long as it's held down by the Empire and their Thalmor masters. It should be no surprise for you to learn that the Empire is lenient with vampires back in Cyrodiil either. Traitors to the Gods of Man and to their kind."

I said nothing, trying to parse that look. I hated how he framed that speech. Far, far, far, too similar to racist bullshit spouted by the Neo-Nazi's of my home city, but I couldn't begrudge him completely. Not yet anyways.

What the fuck did I know about this world's politics?

Fragile One's fingers ran through my hair comfortingly, not meant to fix anything, just to support.

Frorkmar glanced at the sky, "We'll have to make camp here."

"What?" I said, incredulous. "No, we have to..."

We have to abandon those people to torture, I thought.

"...We have to get to Winterhold." I swallowed and lied, "I can accept not being able to save these villagers, but I can't sit here and wait for that city to be burned to the ground. If it does even half the damage it did in Whiterun, hundreds of people will die!"

"The night doesn't care if you accept it Dragonborn. Already, the dark and snow is so strong that even our torches struggle to illuminate the way. With their ability to see into the night, we'd be sitting ducks to any vampire spies."

He swung his torch lightly back and forth, but it was unnecessary. I could already see how the shadows were starker and that the falling snow was more prevalent than even before. Not as bad as it had been back at Shearpoint, but it was getting close, and I could definitely understand the fear of being preyed on while blind to the world.

Still, I pressed on, "Then give me a torch and point me in the right direction. Winterhold is, what, four or five hours away on horseback? Going my top speed I could make it less than half that time, warn them about the vampires here, and about the Dragon. We can't afford wait any longer."

"It's impossible," he stressed. "Even if I gave you a torch and did as you said, there is no way you wouldn't lose track in the dark and the wind, and then end up having Frost Wraiths hunt you down. Or maybe you get tracked down by the vampires through the night and attackedas you are wary and reorienting yourself. I wouldn't put it past them to be able to fly after you."

"I can fly faster than a Dragon."

"Speed won't matter if you end up going the wrong way!"

"And we won't know if we don't try!"

We were practically staring each other down now, but not to the point that either of us could ignore our surroundings. Soldiers had stopped what they were doing to watch us argue and I could see more than a few pensive glances between each other.

Frorlared their way for a few moments before focusing on me.

I could have shaken that man for wasting my time, putting everyone's lives in danger, and I had half a mind to rip that torch out of his hands before flying off-

But that wasn't me. It wasn't who I wanted to be and it would be stupid. I was letting fear cloud my judgement instead of fueling my inspiration for a better plan.

And I couldn't even think of a good plan if I got lost like Frorkmar was saying. I didn't agree with everything he said or what he was having his soldiers do... but we needed to work together right now.

He apologized the first time and I got the feeling he might lose face if he backed down first, which wouldn't help me down the line if I needed his favor later. I could even imagine it was probably a bit terrifying to face down someone who could rip him to shreds if they reached out to quickly.

So I sighed and lowered myself back down to normal height.

"You're right," I said, keeping my eyes on him. "I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself in desperation."

He blinked and I got the feeling he wasn't expecting me to back down. Still, after a moment he nodded, "Understandable, considering the circumstances. For now, we should focus on lodgings and food."

That we're stealing.

"And," I cut in. "Information. On vampires and ghosts. Just so you don't have to constantly be hounded by me for twenty questions."

A flash of anger before he controlled himself, "I'll send someone your way. Later. Now, we focus on food, bedding, and patrols. Agreed?"

I barely had time to utter a 'yes' before he turned and stalked away, shouting at a group of soldiers to get to work, directing others on rolling out fire wood and a secure perimeter.

Barely a passive-aggressive dismissal, but I could live with that for now.

As much as I hated being ignored, there were things I had to prepare for as well.